genre: non idol!au, college!au, fluff, kind of a slow burn with a very happy ending, mutual pining!!!!!!!! he falls first and hard, she too falls hard and fast :)))
word count: 25k, deadass.
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warnings: acquaintances to lovers, economics jumpscare, reader is a tutor and mingi is your not so average frat dude that does an athletic scholarship, eventual smut, praise kink!!!!!, unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it), dry humping, lowk breeding kink mingi freaky, switch!mingi & reader, softdom!mingi, spanking (?), possessive!mingi, cockwarming (a lil!) / lmk if i missed any!
author's note: guys i finally locked in!!! this story has been such a bitch to write but i'm finally happy with it lmfaoaoo. the only reason why it took so long its cause i deadass remembered all my econ concepts from my first year at uni and i got flashbacks sooooo. if its inaccurate don't come for me. also ngl mingi ain't even that much of a fratboy, he is but he's a little nerd!! you'll see - i hope you guys enjoy!!
permanent taglist: @norixseaweed @f3mboienjoyer @liightlizard @minguxxs + if you want to be added to my taglist, let me know :))
You hear him before you see him. The sound is impossible to miss—someone’s torn the universe open and stuffed it with a live wire; the room buzzes, vibrates, orbits around a single axis. Song Mingi is that axis, black hair messy from hands that are never his own, smile bright enough to reflect off the bottles lining the kitchen counter. It’s the kind of house party that exists more as myth than reality until you’re standing in the middle of it, your feet sticky with last weekend’s spilled vodka, your ears ringing from bass and laughter and the high-pitched screeching of people who either want to be him or be with him.
You don’t want either. In fact, you don’t really want to be here, but your roommate insisted—a rare Friday night without any assignments due—and now she’s traded you for a swarm of sweaty college kids in the living room. You’re left clutching a warm can of seltzer, surveying the landscape like a tourist on safari: here, the drunken pack of freshman girls hunched over a phone for a group selfie; there, the duo of varsity rowers relishing about morning practice, each trying to outdo the other’s misery; everywhere, the constant, inescapable gravitational pull of him.
He’s posted at the middle of it all, a bottle of expensive liquor in one hand and a girl in the other. She’s whispering in his ear, probably promising him things people only say out loud when their inhibitions have been loosened by alcohol and the hope of being remembered. It’s a practised scene, and you can tell from the way Mingi’s eyes slide from her face to the crowd and back again that he’s already bored. He’s hunting, you realise, and the realisation leaves you faintly amused.
You’ve had classes with him before and found his intellect sharper than his reputation suggests, but he’s never bothered to speak to you directly, which is fine. You prefer it that way. You know exactly what happens to girls who mistake the man for the myth.
But tonight, for whatever reason, he looks right at you.
You don’t realise it at first; you’re half-listening to the rowers behind you, half-calculating the economic impact of the university’s new housing policy for the department group chat. There’s a lull in the noise, a momentary vacuum, and then his gaze lands like a physical thing. It takes you off guard—the pure concentration of it, as if he’s seeing you in high-definition while the rest of the house blurs into obscurity. His attention is so heavy, so absolute, that even the girl on his arm notices and goes rigid with annoyance.
Your instinct is to look away. But for some reason, you don’t. Maybe it’s the alcohol buzzing in your veins, maybe it’s the novelty of being the focal point in a room devoted to him, but you meet his eyes and hold them. Mingi’s mouth quirks, not into a smirk but something strange and speculative, and when he finally looks away, it feels less like defeat and more like a challenge accepted.
Within the hour, he maneuvers his way to your side of the party, the girl from before abandoned to the mercy of the crowd. He props an elbow on the countertop, leans in so dangerously close, “Didn’t think this was your scene.”
You arch an eyebrow, the response easy. “It really isn’t, my roommate dragged me out.”
He grins, all teeth and promise. “I have to thank her for bringing such a pretty girl to my party.”
You roll your eyes, annoyed but not surprised. The rest of the party moves around you in a kind of staccato blur. A game of beer pong erupts into a shouting match in the dining room; someone’s Bluetooth speaker dies mid-chorus, leading to a plaintive chorus of off-key singing. People bump into you, apologise, and then linger a beat longer than necessary to see if you’re still talking to Mingi. He doesn’t seem to notice, but you do. He asks what you’re studying, and you answer. You ask him what he wants to do after graduation, and he shrugs, but the gesture is so carefree yet careful.
“If this soccer thing doesn’t work out, I’ll intern at some start-up company,” he explained. “Or I’ll sell feet pics.”
You cringe at the image. The girl from before stalks past, her glare sharp enough to sever arteries. Mingi watches her go but his gaze falls right back to you.
By midnight, the house dissolves into its constituent parts: the freshies, the clean-up crew, the drunk casualties. Mingi drifts away, then back again—at your side, across the kitchen, never quite out of reach. He offers you a drink at one point; you decline, still nursing the same seltzer. It doesn’t stop him. He keeps finding his way back, as if every conversation eventually leads to you.
You leave before he does. There’s no dramatic goodbye, no exchanged numbers or whispered invitations—just a passing nod, the kind that could mean anything or nothing at all. You don’t look back. By the time you’re out the door (your roommate long gone with a lacrosse player, leaving you to fend for yourself), the night already feels like it’s starting to blur at the edges. Whatever that was, if it was anything, you let it go.
Inside, though, Mingi doesn’t. He’s still watching the spot where you disappeared, gaze fixed a beat too long, like he’s waiting for you to reappear. The noise of the party swells back in around him, but he doesn’t move—drink untouched, conversation abandoned mid-thread.
A shoulder bumps into his.
“What’s with that look on your face?”
Mingi blinks, like he’s just been pulled back into the room. “What look?”
Yunho huffs a quiet laugh. “That look. You had heart eyes bro don't even play.”
Mingi scoffs, quick, automatic. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
His friend raises an eyebrow, unconvinced, following his line of sight to the now-empty doorway before glancing back at him. Mingi exhales through his nose, finally tearing his gaze away, dragging a hand over the back of his neck like he can shake it off. He should've definitely asked for your number.
══════════════════
Monday morning arrives with the kind of headache that has nothing to do with alcohol and everything to do with three consecutive all-nighters. Professor Kim’s Advanced Macroeconomic Theory is notoriously brutal, and you’ve spent the weekend buried under supply-demand graphs and inflation models. As you slide into your usual seat, you’re already mentally rehearsing your presentation on fiscal policy scheduled for next week.
Which is why, when Mingi strolls through the lecture hall doors at 8:58 AM, you momentarily forget how to function.
He shouldn’t be here. This isn’t his class, or at least it hasn’t been for the past six weeks. You’ve never seen him in this lecture hall before, despite it being nearly midterm. Yet there he is, wearing dark jeans and a simple white button down that somehow looks so irritatingly good on his frame, scanning the room with casual confidence. His eyes find yours immediately, as if it’s magnetised. The smile that follows is different from Friday night’s—smaller, more genuine, it was like he wanted to see you. Before you can process what’s happening, he’s navigating the row of seats, stepping over backpacks and laptops until he’s standing right next to you.
“This seat taken?” he asks, gesturing to the empty chair beside you.
You blink, thrown by the unexpected proximity. “I didn’t know you were in this class.”
“I’m full of surprises.” He drops into the seat, arranging his long legs in the cramped space. “So, how’d you find the party?”
The question is casual, but there’s something careful in his tone, as if your answer matters more than he’s letting on. You notice he pulled out a notebook AND a pen, this was definitely exceeding your expectations of him. Then again, what did you expect anyway?
“It was... something,” you reply, deliberately vague. “Though I’m surprised to see you conscious before noon, much less in an 8 AM econ lecture.”
He laughs, the sound low enough not to draw attention but warm enough to settle somewhere beneath your ribs. “What, you think I spend all my mornings hungover?”
“The evidence suggested a statistical probability.”
“Maybe I’m an outlier.” He leans closer, close enough that you catch the scent of his cologne—smelling faintly of citrus and cedarwood. “Or I just needed the right motivation to show up.”
Thankfully Professor Kim walks in and begins the lecture, leaving you no time to tweak out over whatever the fuck he said. You expect Mingi to lose interest, to pull out his phone, or to doze off, like half the class inevitably does when the professor starts droning on about aggregate demand curves. Instead, he leans forward, elbows on knees, eyes focused on the presentation slides. Ten minutes in, when he introduces a particularly convoluted model, Mingi shifts slightly toward you.
“Hey,” he leans in, his breath warm against your ear. “If the Phillips curve is supposed to show the inverse relationship between unemployment and inflation, why is he saying it’s unstable in the long run?”
The question catches you off guard—not because it’s difficult, but because it’s astute. “Because expectations adjust,” you whisper back. “Workers anticipate inflation and demand higher wages, which shifts the curve.”
He nods, considering this. “So it’s only reliable as a short-term predictor?”
“Yeah, you got it.”
Throughout the next hour, Mingi continues to ask questions—thoughtful ones that reveal he’s not just listening but actively processing. Each time he leans in, you feel a strange flutter of... something. Not just attraction, though that’s undeniably there, but surprise. Mingi, the guy who supposedly once turned the campus fountain into a bubble bath during finals week, is engaging with macroeconomic theory like it genuinely interests him.
“The Solow model assumes diminishing returns to capital,” he murmurs at one point, frowning slightly. “Doesn’t that contradict what we’re seeing with tech companies? They seem to get increasing returns the bigger they get.”
You stare at him for a beat too long. “That’s... actually a good point. The model was developed before the rise of digital economies. Network effects change the math.”
A smile spreads across his face, pleased and slightly smug, as if he’s won something. “I’m not just a pretty face, you know.”
The comment should be annoying, but delivered in a whisper while the professor drones on about growth rates, it makes you roll your eyes and bite back a smile instead. By the time class ends, you’ve had to recalibrate your entire perception of him. He’s taken actual notes. He’s asked intelligent questions. He’s made connections between concepts that some of your study group members still struggle with. It’s disorienting, like discovering your cat can suddenly understand what you’re saying. As you pack up your laptop, he lingers, watching you with that same intense focus from the party.
“So,” he says, slinging his backpack over one shoulder. “I think I deserve some credit for showing up today. Maybe we could grab coffee, and you could explain more about that Phillips curve thing?”
The invitation is transparent—he doesn’t need your help understanding the Phillips curve—but there’s something almost endearing about his attempt.
“Is that your go-to line?” you ask, unable to keep the amusement from your voice. “Pretend to need academic help to get a date?”
“Only with the smart ones.” His grins unapologetically. “Is it working?”
You laugh, shaking your head as you stand. “No. Nice try, though.”
Rather than looking discouraged, his eyes light up with what can only be described as delighted challenge. He falls into step beside you as you head for the door.
“You know what this means, right?” His voice dropped to a conspiratorial tone. “Now I have to come up with something better for Wednesday’s class.”
“Wednesday’s class?” You stop at the doorway, genuinely surprised. “You’re coming back?”
Mingi looks at you like you’ve said something ridiculous. “Of course. I paid for this course, didn’t I? Besides,” he adds, his smile turning slightly wicked, “I’ve got a new reason to show up now.”
Before you can protest this presumptuous declaration, he’s backing away, walking backward down the hallway with that infuriating confidence.
“See you Wednesday,” he calls. “Maybe by then you’ll have reconsidered that coffee date.”
You watch him go, torn between irritation and a reluctant spark of interest. The worst part is, you already know you’ll be thinking about him for the rest of the day, analysing his questions, his attention, the way he looked at you like you were a particularly fascinating economic theory he was determined to master. Despite your best intentions, you’re already wondering what he’ll come up with on Wednesday.
══════════════════
True to his word, Mingi shows up to every single class over the next few weeks. Not just Macroeconomic Theory, but your shared Political Science workshop and even the optional Economics Department lectures that most students skip. Each time, he gravitates toward you like you’re the north to his south, sliding into adjacent seats with casual determination.
At first, you’re suspicious—waiting for the punchline, the reveal that this is some elaborate bet or another frat bro prank. The punchline never comes. Instead, he brings you coffee and snacks, asks thoughtful questions about the material, and occasionally makes you laugh with whispered commentary when Professor Kim goes on one of his tangents about his glory days at the Federal Reserve.
You find yourself slipping into a strange routine. He’ll wait for you after class, walking you to your next destination while debating fiscal multipliers or the ethics of quantitative easing. Sometimes his soccer teammates call out to him across the quad, and you watch the transformation—how he shifts into the boisterous, larger-than-life Mingi they expect, before settling back into the more thoughtful version when he returns to your side.
It’s Tuesday afternoon when everything shifts. The library is packed with students cramming for midterms, the air thick with desperation and the smell of overpriced coffee. You’ve claimed your usual table by the economics stacks when Mingi drops into the chair across from you, his expression unusually serious.
“I need to ask you something,” he says, no preamble, no charming smile.
You glance up from your notes, pen hovering. “Okay?”
He runs a hand through his hair—a nervous gesture you’ve never seen from him before. “I need a tutor.”
You stare at him, waiting for the joke. When it doesn’t come, you set down your pen. “You’re kidding, right? You’ve been getting the material just fine.”
“No, I haven’t.” His voice is lower now, stripped of its usual confidence. “I’ve been barely keeping up. The midterm’s in two weeks, and I’m—“ He stops, jaw tightening. “I need to pass this class with at least a B+.”
“You’ve been answering questions in class,” you counter, confused by this sudden admission. “You made that connection about endogenous growth theory that even Professor Kim said was insightful.”
Mingi’s laugh is hollow. “Yeah, after spending six hours the night before trying to understand it. Look—“ He leans forward, elbows on the table. “I’m not as smart as you think I am. Not naturally, anyway. I have to work twice as hard just to keep up.”
You study him, searching for signs of insincerity. “Why are you telling me this now? And why me?”
“You’re the smartest person in this class. I–I don’t know who else to ask…” His eyes meet yours, unusually vulnerable. “I think you might actually help me without making me feel stupid about it.”
Something doesn’t add up. You’ve seen him joke around with teaching assistants, charm his way into deadline extensions. “I don’t understand–”
Mingi glances around, then lowers his voice. “I’m on an athletic scholarship. Full ride, but I have to maintain a 3.5 GPA, or I lose it.” He runs a hand over his face. “My advisor warned me last week. This class is dragging everything down. If I don’t get at least a B+ on this midterm, I’m screwed.”
The admission hangs between you, reshaping your understanding of him. You didn’t expect him to be so honest, let alone be honest with you. You knew you were more than capable of tutoring him, you’ve tutored multiple students and peers in past. A part of you wants to deny him— to encourage him to try the other capable tutors in this course but something about his vulnerability made you hold back on that decision.
“Why didn’t you say something sooner?” you ask, softer now.
“Because it’s embarrassing?” He gives a self-deprecating smile that doesn’t reach his eyes. “The dumb jock stereotype exists for a reason. I’ve been fighting it since high school.” He hesitates. “And maybe I wanted you to think I was smart enough to keep up with you.”
The sincerity in his voice catches you off guard. This is a different man than the one who struts across campus with practised nonchalance, who holds court at parties with effortless charm. This Mingi looks tired and worried, seeing him like this made your heart sink a little.
“I can’t afford a professional tutor,” he continues when you don’t immediately respond. “Most of my scholarship money goes to housing and food. I can pay you a tutor fee if you have one. Please.”
You should say no. You have your own exams to study for, your own GPA to maintain. But there’s something about seeing him like this—defences down, pride set aside—that makes it difficult.
“If I do this,” you say slowly, “there would be conditions.”
Hope flickers across his face. “Name them.”
“First, you pay me. My normal rate is sixty per session but considering your situation, I can lower the cost—this is work, not charity.” You hold up a finger. “Second, you actually put in the effort. No skipping sessions, no half-assing the practice problems I give you.” Another finger joins the first. “And third, no messing around. This isn’t a backdoor way to—I don’t know—whatever it is you might be thinking.”
“You think I’m using this as an excuse to hit on you?” For the first time, genuine amusement crosses his face. “That would be a pretty elaborate scheme, even for me.”
“I’m serious, Mingi.”
“So am I.” The smile fades. “I need this scholarship. Please.”
You sigh, already second-guessing yourself. “Fine. We start tomorrow. Six pm, here. Bring your textbook, all your notes, and any practice exams you can get your hands on.”
The relief that washes over his face is so raw it makes you uncomfortable. He reaches across the table, squeezing your hand briefly. “Thank you. Seriously.”
“Don’t thank me yet,” you warn. “I’m not going to go easy on you.”
“I wouldn’t expect you to.” He stands, some of his usual confidence returning.
As you watch him walk away, shoulders straight but tension visible in the line of his neck, you can’t shake the feeling that you’ve just crossed some invisible boundary. This isn’t just coffee after class or witty banter during lectures. This is entangling yourself in his future, taking partial responsibility for his success or failure. You turn back to your notes, trying to focus, but your mind keeps drifting to the look in his eyes when he admitted he needed help. The vulnerability there was real—you’re almost certain of it. Almost. As you pack up your things hours later, doubt creeps in. You’ve seen how charming he can be, how easily he navigates social situations to get what he wants. What if this is just another performance? What if you’re falling for an act designed to manipulate you into doing his academic heavy lifting? The questions follow you all the way home, lingering as you prepare for bed. You set an alarm for tomorrow and added a reminder to prepare some preliminary materials for your first tutoring session. Despite your misgivings, you’re already mapping out a study plan, identifying the concepts he seemed to struggle with most.
Surely, this little arrangement you have going on won’t be a mistake… Right?
══════════════════
You arrive at the library fifteen minutes early to set up, spreading out practice problems and your own colour-coded notes across the table. You’ve been overthinking this all day—wondering if he’ll even show up, if this whole vulnerable confession was just an elaborate ploy to get you to do his work for him. The clock hits 6:00 PM. Then 6:05. Your suspicions start to crystallise into something like disappointment.
At 6:07, Mingi rushes through the library doors, slightly out of breath. He’s carrying a tray with two coffees and a small paper bag that smells suspiciously of baked goods.
“Sorry I’m late,” he says, sliding into the chair across from you. “The line at the café was insane.”
You eye the coffee sceptically. “Is this a bribe?”
He laughs, quieter than his usual boisterous sound, mindful of the library setting. “No, it’s a thank you. Here, try this.” He slides one cup toward you. “Oh, and I got those almond croissants you mentioned the other day. Though honestly, I might have also gotten them because I’m starving.”
The fact that he remembered your drink order is surprising enough. That he recalled an offhand comment you made about pastries during a five-minute conversation between classes is something else entirely.
“You didn’t have to do that,” you murmur, but you accept the cup anyway, the warmth seeping into your palms.
“S’alright, I wanted to.” He pulls out his textbook and a surprisingly organised binder of notes. “So, where do we start?”
For the next hour, you walk him through the fundamental concepts of various economic principles, expecting his attention to wander, waiting for the inevitable check of his phone or glance at the clock. It never comes. Instead, Mingi leans forward, brow furrowed in concentration, asking questions that reveal he’s been paying closer attention than you gave him credit for.
“So if technological progress is exogenous in this model,” he questions, tapping his pencil against the page, “then what actually drives long-term growth? Since capital accumulation alone has diminishing returns, right?”
“Exactly.” You can’t help the surprise in your voice. “That’s one of the model’s main limitations. It doesn’t explain where technological progress comes from.”
He nods, making a note in the margin of his textbook. “Which is why we need endogenous growth theory.”
You stare at him. “You’ve been reading ahead.”
A hint of his usual smirk appears. “Don’t sound so shocked. I told you I’m locked in for our sessions.”
“Reading ahead is a bit more than just locking in,” you point out.
“Maybe I’m trying to impress my tutor.” He winks, but there’s something different about his teasing now—less performative.
You roll your eyes, fighting back a smile. “Focus, Mingi.”
“I am focused,” he protests, gesturing to his detailed notes. “See? I’m being a model student.”
“A model student wouldn’t have waited until three weeks before midterms to ask for help,” you counter, but there’s no bite to your words.
“True.” He stretches, his arm brushing against yours as he reaches for another practice problem. The brief contact sends an unexpected jolt through you. “But then I wouldn’t have had the pleasure of your company on a Wednesday evening.”
You ignore the flutter in your stomach. “Haha. Very funny.”
As the session progresses, you find yourself relaxing into a rhythm with him. He’s attentive, asking thoughtful questions and working through problems with determined concentration. When he gets stuck on a particularly tricky concept about crowding-out effects, he doesn’t get frustrated—instead, he listens carefully to your explanation, his eyes fixed on your face with an intensity that makes your cheeks warm.
“Like this?” he asks after reworking the problem, sliding his paper toward you.
Your fingers brush as you take it, and neither of you pulls away immediately. You study his work, acutely aware of how close he’s sitting, the faint scent of his cologne mingling with the drinks between you.
“That’s...actually perfect,” you admit, surprised by the clarity of his work. “You got it exactly right.”
His smile is different from any you’ve seen before—not the practiced charm he flashes at parties or the competitive grin on the soccer field. It’s smaller, more genuine, edged with relief.
“I have a good teacher,” he says simply.
You clear your throat, suddenly finding the library too warm. “Let’s try another one.”
Two hours fly by faster than you expected. Mingi works through problem after problem, his understanding visibly improving with each explanation. When he successfully graphs a complex IS-LM model without assistance, the pride on his face is so unguarded it catches you off guard.
“See? Not just another dumb jock,” he says, but the joke doesn’t land quite right. You hear the insecurity beneath it.
“I never thought you were dumb,” you say carefully. “Unmotivated, maybe. But not dumb.”
He looks up from his notes, expression surprisingly vulnerable. “Most people don’t make that distinction.”
“I’m not most people.”
“No,” he agrees, studying your face. “You’re definitely not.”
The moment stretches between you, taut with something unspoken. You’re the first to break eye contact, shuffling papers with unnecessary focus.
“It’s getting late,” you say, glancing at your watch. “We should probably wrap up.”
Mingi begins gathering his things, but his movements are unhurried. “Same time Friday?”
You hesitate. You hadn’t planned on making this a regular thing, certainly not multiple times a week. But the progress he’s made in just one session is undeniable.
“You don’t have practice on Friday?”
“Not until seven.” He zips up his backpack. “Unless you’re busy.”
“No, I’m not busy.” The admission comes too quickly. “Friday works.”
As you pack up, he helps you organize your notes, handling the color-coded pages with careful precision. His fingers accidentally brush against yours again as he hands you a folder, and this time the contact lingers for a beat longer than necessary.
“Thanks for not giving up on me,” he says quietly, shouldering his bag. “Most people would have.”
The sincerity in his voice makes something twist in your chest. “You didn’t give me a reason to.”
You walk together to the library exit, the night air cool against your skin after hours in the stuffy study area. Campus is quiet, most students either out for the evening or locked away studying. Mingi pauses under a lamppost, its glow casting shadows across his features.
“I can walk you home,” he offers. “It’s dark.”
“I live in the opposite direction from you,” you point out. “It’s fine, I’ve been walking home alone for two years now.”
He grins. “Just being a gentleman.”
“Is that what they’re calling it these days?”
“Ouch.” He clutches his chest in mock pain. “You wound me.”
You laugh at his dramatic act. “Goodnight, Mingi.”
“Goodnight, Miss tutor.” He takes a step backward, still facing you. “Dream of fiscal multipliers.”
“That’s your homework, not mine,” you call after him.
His laughter carries on the night air as he walks away, and you stand watching him for a moment longer than necessary. It’s only when you’re halfway home that you realize you’re still smiling, the warmth in your chest having nothing to do with the coffee you shared.
You tell yourself it’s just satisfaction from a productive tutoring session. Nothing more. Certainly not the way his eyes crinkled when he finally understood a difficult concept, or how his hand felt when it accidentally brushed yours, or the genuine gratitude in his voice when he thanked you. Definitely not that.
As you unlock your apartment door, you find yourself already planning Friday’s session in your head, thinking of ways to explain concepts he struggled with, wondering if he’ll bring coffee again, if he’ll sit as close, if he’ll look at you with that same focused intensity. It’s purely academic help, you insist on yourself. Professional concern for a student who needs help. Even if you don’t quite believe it.
Your roommate is waiting when you get home, practically vibrating with curiosity. “So? How was tutoring Mingi? Did he make any moves?”
“It was just tutoring,” you say, setting down your bag. “He’s actually pretty smart, thought nothing was going on upstairs to be honest.”
Her lips thin out into a straight line, looking disappointed by your lack of gossip. “That’s it? No flirting? No rizz? Nothing?”
You think about the moment he challenged your explanation, the genuine satisfaction in his eyes when he understood a complex concept.
“Nope, nothing at all,” you deadpanned at your roommate.
As you lie in bed reviewing your day, you remember the intensity in his eyes when he thanked you. The way his smile changed when he was actually engaged with the material. The surprising depth of his questions. You wonder what other assumptions you’ve made about Song Mingi might be wrong.
══════════════════
The following Friday, you’re setting up the study materials when Mingi arrives five minutes early this time. You almost burst out in laughter seeing the way he was trying to balance two cups of coffee in his hand.
“Okay once you're done clowning me, you have to try this vanilla latte. It's really good.” He sets them down carefully on your side of the table.
You eye the offerings suspiciously. “Are you sure this isn’t supposed to be a bribe?”
“Hm? For what?” He looks genuinely confused as he takes his seat.
“I don’t know. Extra help? A better grade?” You push the coffee slightly away. “I can’t accept this, you’ve already bought me so much stuff the past couple of days.”
Mingi laughs, the sound unexpectedly warm in the sterile study room. “It’s just coffee, don’t sweat it. Consider it a thank you for the last session. I actually understood what Professor Kim was talking about yesterday.”
You hesitate before reluctantly pulling the coffee back. “Fine.”
His smiles. “If I wanted to bribe you, I’d need to do better than a coffee, doll. Consider it fuel for our session today.”
The nickname catches you off guard, heat rising unexpectedly to your cheeks. Mingi’s eyes flicker briefly to the colour spreading across your face, but he simply slides the coffee closer without comment. You accept the cup, fingers brushing his momentarily. It’s still hot, and exactly how you like it. The gesture is small but thoughtful in a way you wouldn’t have expected.
“Thank you,” you hummed, setting up your materials. “Don’t think this earns you any leniency on today’s session.”
“Wouldn’t dream of it,” he says, already pulling out his completed homework—all of it done correctly, you note with surprise.
Over the next few sessions, a pattern emerges. Mingi has become significantly more punctual as your sessions progress, always bringing you coffee (though sometimes he switches it up with tea when you mention a sore throat), and always has his work prepared. The coffee becomes such a fixture that on the one day he arrives without it, you actually feel slightly disappointed.
“No liquid bribery today?” you quipped, trying to keep your tone light.
His face falls. “The line was insane, and I didn’t want to be late.” He runs a hand through his hair, slightly panicked. “I can go get some if you—“
“I was joking,” you interject quickly. “Don’t worry about it.”
“I’ll make it up to you next week,” he shrugs, as if that helps explains everything.
The following week, he brings not only coffee but also a small paper bag containing a blueberry muffin from your favourite bakery across town.
“Wha— Mingi, this is…” you marvelled, eyeing the bakery logo. “That place is twenty minutes from campus.”
He shrugs, focusing intently on opening his textbook. “My morning run took me that way.”
“Your morning run took you four kilometres out of your way?”
He leans forward slightly, his voice dropping. “I’m an athlete. You could say that I’ve got excellent... endurance. A little detour doesn’t bother me.”
You roll your eyes, you want to press the issue but are distracted when he pulls out the work you assigned him the previous session. He’s not only completed all the assigned questions but has tackled the bonus problems you included as an afterthought. His work shows an elegant approach to the material that makes you pause.
“This solution,” you point to his work on comparative advantage models, “where did you learn this method?”
“Oh,” he looks almost embarrassed. “I was reading this paper by Stiglitz that mentioned a similar approach, so I adapted it. Is it wrong?”
You blink at him. “You’re reading Joseph Stiglitz for fun?”
“God no, not for fun,” he says, looking uncomfortable with your scrutiny. “I was trying to understand why the models in class weren’t clicking for me. Sometimes I need to see the bigger picture.”
“You know,” you say slowly, “you might actually enjoy Behavioural Economics next semester. It challenges a lot of the classical assumptions.”
His eyes light up. “That’s the unit with Professor Ryu, right? I’ve been wanting to take that.”
“Wait, seriously?” You can’t hide your surprise. “That class is notoriously difficult.”
“So am I, apparently,” he scoffed, but there’s no bite to it. “At least according to my tutor.”
The sessions continue, and with each one, your perception of Mingi shifts. When discussing economic inequality, he brings up points about systemic barriers that show he’s thought deeply about privilege—including his own. During a session on game theory, he demonstrates an intuitive understanding of strategic thinking that surpasses most of your other students that you tutor.
“It’s like poker,” he explains when you comment on his grasp of Nash equilibrium. “Everyone thinks it’s about the cards, but it’s really about understanding people’s patterns and incentives.”
“You play?” you ask, imagining loud frat house games with red cups and shouting.
“My grandfather taught me,” he mumbled, something softer in his expression. “He was an economics professor, actually.”
The revelation hangs between you, another piece of the puzzle that is Song Mingi. You want to ask more but sense his reluctance to elaborate. Maybe another day, you hope.
══════════════════
As your midterm approaches, your sessions intensify. You meet three times in the final week, once in the campus coffee shop when the library study rooms are all booked. Mingi still insists on paying for your drinks and snacks.
“Okay hear me out, I’m applying economic concepts for when I order us coffee,” he announced before you can comment. “You’re providing a service, I’m compensating you beyond our agreed terms because the value exceeds the price.”
“That sounds suspiciously like something I said two sessions ago,” you point out.
“I told you, I pay attention,” he corrected, and something in his tone makes you look up from your notes.
He’s watching you with an expression you can’t quite decipher—something more complex than what he shows the rest of the world. It makes your heart beat uncontrollably in your chest in a way that has nothing to do with caffeine. The night before the exam, you receive a text from him. Multiple actually.
The night before the exam, you receive a text from him: If monopolistic competition exhibits zero economic profit in the long run, why do firms bother entering the market?
You smile despite yourself and type back: Non-monetary incentives. Brand loyalty, market positioning, the satisfaction of seeing their competitors throw a bitch fit.
His response comes immediately: So spite is an economic motivator? They just like me fr.
You laugh out loud, drawing a curious look from your roommate.
“Is that Mingi?” she asks, eyebrows raised suggestively. “Just a last-minute economics question,” you answered, trying to sound casual.
“Mhmm,” she hums skeptically. “Smiling over econ, right…”
You ignore her, sending Mingi one final message: Get some sleep. Economics rewards the well-rested. His reply makes your heart do something complicated.
I will, doll. Thank you.
On exam day, you spot him across the lecture hall. He catches your eye and gives you a small nod—no flashy smile, no charming wink, just quiet determination. For some reason, this affects you more than any of his rehearsed moves ever did that you observed in the past.
When Professor Kim calls time, you watch him hand in his exam with confidence in his posture that wasn’t there six weeks ago. As students file out, he makes his way to your seat.
“How’d it go?” you asked as you slowly gathered your things.
“I think,” he hums, “that Professor Kim might actually have to give me an A.”
“Don’t get cocky,” you scoff at his delusion, a small feeling of pride swells in your chest.
“Never,” he agrees solemnly, then ruins it with a grin. “I did crush that section on market failures. Turns out my experience with failed relationships was finally useful for something.”
You roll your eyes, slinging your tote bag over your shoulder. “And here I thought we’d made progress beyond that frat boy persona of yours.”
“Old habits,” he nudges you with his elbow, falling into step beside you as you exit the classroom. “Seriously, thank you. I couldn’t have done this without your help.”
You walk in silence for a moment, acutely aware of how his stride has adjusted to match yours. It’s these small, unconscious accommodations that you find yourself noticing more and more lately.
“So,” he clears his throat, breaking the quiet as you cross the quad, “My frat is hosting our end-of-semester bash this weekend.” His tone is casual, but there’s an undercurrent of something else. “Saturday night, starting around nine.”
You keep your eyes focused ahead. “I’m sure half the campus is already going and planning their outfits.”
“Probably,” he agrees with a light laugh. “But I, uh, was wondering if you wanted to come?”
When you don’t immediately respond, he adds quickly, “As a thank you for helping me ace this exam. I mean, I’m pretty sure I aced it.”
You slow your pace, finally turning to look at him properly. “You’re inviting me to your party? Me?” The disbelief in your voice is unmistakable.
“Is that so hard to believe?” His expression is somewhere between amused and offended.
“Mingi, I don’t do parties.” You adjust your bag strap, uncomfortable with how this conversation is veering into territory you’ve carefully avoided. “You of all people should know that.”
He frowns, “Don’t you want to celebrate? You helped me pull off a minor academic miracle here.”
“I think you’re exaggerating your previous academic despair,” you hesitated. “Besides, I don’t think I’d fit in with your crowd.”
“My crowd?” He scoffs. “You’ve never even met my friends.”
“I’ve seen enough from a distance, I know enough.” You start walking again, faster now. “Thanks for the invitation, but I’ll pass.”
His long strides enable him to keep up with your pace. “Come on, just for an hour. You can leave if you hate it.”
“Mingi—”
“One hour, doll” he repeats. “That’s all I’m asking. I’ll personally ensure no one spills anything on you and tries to bother you the whole night.”
Despite yourself, you laugh. “That’s oddly specific.”
“I know my crowd.” His smile is softer now, more genuine. “Please? I want you to see that there’s more to us—to me—than the stereotypes.”
You study his face, searching for the manipulation, But all you see is sincerity and hope.
“Fine,” you groaned, not quite believing the words coming out of your mouth. “One hour. That’s it. I’m leaving the second someone tries to get me to play beer pong.”
His face lights up. “Deal. I’ll text you the details.”
As you part ways, you wonder what exactly you’ve just agreed to. You’ve spent nearly three years avoiding exactly this kind of social situation. Loud music, drunk students, the messy intersection of alcohol and attraction. Yet somehow, when Mingi asked, your carefully constructed refusal crumbled.
Your roommate squeals when you tell her your weekend plans.
“You’re going to the end of sem party? With Mingi?” She clutches your arm dramatically. “This is basically getting an invite from the MET gala!”
“It’s just a thank you for the tutoring,” you explain, trying to sound casual as you sort through your closet. “I’m only staying for an hour.”
“Sure,” she drew out the word with obvious disbelief. “That’s why you’re trying on your fourth outfit.”
You drop the dress you’ve been holding up. “I just want to look appropriate.”
“Appropriate for what? Or is it for making mister Song Mingi realise what he’s been missing?” She wiggles her eyebrows suggestively.
“For not looking like I’m trying too hard,” you correct her, settling on dark jeans and a simple top that manages to be both casual and flattering. “This isn’t a date.”
“Whatever you say.” She flops back on your bed. “By the way, you should know that Mingi doesn’t personally invite just anyone to these things. Especially not someone he’s been staring at across classrooms for months.”
“He hasn’t been—“ you begin, but stop when you remember all those times you felt his gaze on you in the library and the lecture hall.
“Oh honey,” your roommate giggles, “for someone so smart, you are so stupid.”
══════════════════
On the night of the party, you and your closet have declared war. What began as a gentle sifting through hangers two hours ago has devolved into a cyclone of black crop tops, frayed denim, and shoes you forgot you owned. Your roommate’s voice, pitch-perfect for the college musical she never auditioned for, belts a running commentary from the bed: “You look hot in that, but hotter in the other,” and, later, “If you don’t wear that skirt, I will.” For every option you parade, she offers a one-woman panel’s worth of praise, criticism, and lewd suggestions, but when you finally emerge from the pile in a black singlet and the aforementioned denim mini, she sits up so abruptly the bedsprings squeal.
“Yes,” she hollered, pointing both index fingers at you as if firing a pair of pistols, “That’s the one! Fuck you look good.”
You tug at the hem, self-conscious. The skirt is so short your thighs feel like they might spontaneously combust with the friction of walking, and the top is cut low enough to leave no room . The outfit is, by college standards, conservative. By your standards, the edge of a personal revolution. You pace, boots heavy and loud. You layer on a thrifted blazer, then throw it off, then drape it over one arm for insurance. You sit on the edge of the bed, stand again, cross the room to the mirror, assess your reflection from the most punishing angles. You practice smiling in a way that suggests effortless fun rather than “I’m in hell and wish I were home in the comfort of my bed.”
Your roommate paints your lips red, then wipes it off with a tissue, then reapplies in a shade closer to your natural colour.
“There,” she beams, “like you rolled out of bed looking like this.”
You try not to look at the clock, but it’s everywhere—on your phone, on the microwave, in the stomp of boots hitting the tile as you stalk the kitchenette looking for a cup to fill, then abandon. Your hands shake when you pour yourself a glass of water. You spill some on your wrist, wipe it away, then notice your palms are already slicked with sweat.
“Stop fidgeting.” Your roommate’s tone is gentle, but there’s a note of command you recognize from years of friendship.
She takes your hands in hers, holds them steady, and says, “You’re just going to a party. With a boy. Not even a date.” She squeezes your fingers and grins. “You should be more excited! There might be hook-ups, or at least drama. At the very least, there’ll be free food.”
You want to laugh, but your stomach is a tight fist. You’ve spent the last three years avoiding exactly this scenario—rowdy house parties, the unwritten social contract of collegiate fun, the humiliation of standing awkwardly in a crowd of people who all seem to know exactly how to move, talk, flirt. You’re not anti-social, not truly, but your preferred company is to be alone with your trusted circle of friends. The thought of plunging into a frat house, even for an hour, makes you want to crawl out of your skin.
And yet. There’s Mingi, the wild card. He’s never made you feel like a project, or an obligation, or a checkmark on a list of collegiate experiences. When he smiles at you, it isn’t the rehearsed, camera-ready grin you see him use on campus tour guides or in group photos. It’s something softer, quieter, reserved for moments when he thinks no one else is watching. You remember the way he said “please” when he invited you, the way his eyes didn’t leave yours even after you tried to look away. He made it sound like this party wasn’t just another party, but an extension of the strange, fragile thing growing between the two of you. You’re not sure you trust it, but you want, for once, to try.
You stall in the doorway, hand poised on the knob, running through possible disasters. Your roommate senses your hesitation, materializing at your side with a pep talk worthy of a sports movie.
“Remember,” she says softly, “you’re not obligated to like it. Just survive the hour, and if you hate it, I’ll be waiting with post-party ramen and a debrief.” She presses the blazer into your hands and shoves you gently toward the elevator.
You take the stairs instead, one flight, then another, legs trembling with anticipation. The campus is alive with spring: the air is thick with the cloying perfume of flowering trees, the distant thump of bass from speakers, the migration of students in clusters, each group moving toward its own temporary destiny. You keep your head down, hoping to avoid unnecessary conversation. You find yourself counting steps, then counting heartbeats, and by the time you reach the block of houses that host the Greek life ecosystem, you’ve rehearsed twenty variations of how to say hello without sounding desperate. You pass a group of girls in matching pastel tank tops, their laughter ricocheting like pinballs off the sidewalk. You duck your head, wondering if they recognize you from Intro to Business Law, but they breeze past without a second glance. In the darkness, your reflection glances back at you from every window: a stranger, confident and composed, even as anxiety gnaws at your insides.
You approach the frat house, the lights already blazing, music leaking from every crack in the siding. In the front yard, a couple makes out with the desperation of people who know they’ll regret it in the morning. A boy in a toga sprints past, pursued by a girl wielding a pool noodle. The porch is a wall of bodies, some familiar, most not, and for a moment you consider walking straight past, circling the block, and returning to your dorm in defeat.
You almost do. You’re on the verge of turning around when your phone buzzes, the screen lighting up with a text from Mingi: Where are you? I’ll come out front.
Your thumb hovers over the screen. Before you can reply, the front door swings open and there he is—Mingi, framed in the doorway like some ridiculous cologne advertisement. He’s wearing dark jeans and a simple black button-down with the sleeves rolled up, exposing forearms that make your mouth go inexplicably dry. His hair is styled differently tonight, swept back to reveal his forehead in a way that transforms his entire face.
He scans the yard, eyes skipping past you once before snapping back, recognition dawning. When his gaze lands on you properly, something shifts in his expression—his confident smile faltering, eyes widening slightly.
“Oh,” he says, just that one syllable hanging in the air between you. He clears his throat. “I—you—“ He stops again, seemingly unable to form a complete sentence.
You feel heat creeping up your neck, suddenly hyperaware of every inch of exposed skin. “Is something wrong?” you ask, tugging self-consciously at your skirt.
The question seems to snap him out of his daze. His trademark smile returns, but there’s something different about it—something genuine that settles in your chest in a way you don’t quite name.
“Nothing’s wrong,” he finally blurts out. “You just look... different.” He takes a step closer. “Good different I mean– Like really good different.”
You duck your head, unable to meet his eyes. “It’s just a skirt and top. Nothing special.”
“Could’ve fooled me,” he murmurs, and the sincerity in his voice makes your blush deepen. His confidence seems to grow in direct proportion to your bashfulness, and he extends his hand to you. “Come on. Let me introduce you to some people who aren’t total disasters.”
You place your hand in his, telling yourself it’s just to be polite, but the warmth of his palm against yours sends a current up your arm. He guides you through the crowded doorway, his body naturally creating a buffer between you and the jostling partygoers. You’re fully aware of his proximity, the cologne he’s wearing, the way his hand occasionally brushes against the small of your back as he leads you deeper into the house.
The living room has been transformed into a makeshift dance floor, furniture pushed against walls to make space. The kitchen beyond is crowded with people mixing drinks and laughing over red cups. Mingi steers you away from both, toward a slightly quieter corner where a group of guys are engaged in animated conversation.
“Hey,” he calls out, and seven heads turn in perfect unison. “This is my econ tutor, the one I’ve been telling you guys about.”
You’re suddenly faced with an assembly of some of the most attractive men you’ve ever seen in one place, each with a distinctive style that somehow works in harmony with the others. They regard you with varying expressions of curiosity and amusement.
“So you’re the one who got our Mingi to actually open a textbook,” a guy with sharp features and an even sharper smile walks up to the both of you. “I’m Hongjoong. House president.”
“Co-president,” Mingi corrects, rolling his eyes.
“Pfft whatever dude,” Hongjoong waves dismissively. “This is Seonghwa—“ he gestures to a tall, elegant-looking man who offers you a polite nod, “—Yunho—“ a friendly giant with dark hair raises his cup in greeting, “—Yeosang—“ a guy with delicate features and knowing eyes gives you a small smile, “—San—“ an energetic man with dimples deep enough to drown in waves enthusiastically, “—Wooyoung—“ a mischievous-looking guy with red hair winks at you, “—and Jongho.” The last member, compact but powerful-looking, gives you a respectful bow.
“Nice to finally meet the person who’s been occupying all our friend’s time,” Wooyoung whistles.
“And thoughts,” San adds, earning him a death glare from Mingi.
You shift uncomfortably under their collective gaze, but their smiles are genuine, lacking the judgment you expected from Mingi’s inner circle.
“Don’t believe anything they tell you about me,” Mingi says, leaning close enough that you can feel his breath on your ear. “Especially Wooyoung. He’s a pathological liar.”
“Nuh uh, that’s just not true!” Wooyoung protests. “I only lie on Tuesdays and public holidays.”
The group erupts in laughter, and to your surprise, you find yourself laughing along. There’s an easy camaraderie among them that feels inclusive rather than exclusive, drawing you in despite your reservations.
“Mingi says you’re top of the econ department,” Seonghwa mentioned, his voice calm and measured. “That’s impressive.”
Before you can respond, Yunho chimes in: “He wouldn’t shut up about how you explained game theory using poker analogies. Said it was ‘revolutionary’ or some shit.”
“I did not say revolutionary,” Mingi denies, but the pink tinging his ears tells a different story.
“You did,” Jongho confirms flatly. “Multiple times. Over breakfast.”
You glance at Mingi, oddly touched that he’s spoken about your tutoring sessions to his friends. “It wasn’t anything special. He’s actually really quick to grasp concepts once they’re explained properly.”
Mingi grins at the group. “See? I told you guys I’m not just a pretty face.” He sticks his tongue out at them, more out of habit than real offence.
“No one said you were just a pretty face,” Hongjoong replies, tone even. “We said you’re a pretty face that just so happened to be a little bit stupid.”
Mingi scoffs under his breath, but he’s smiling anyway. “That’s not better.”
“It’s accurate,” Hongjoong snorted.
The banter continues, and you find yourself relaxing into it, surprised by how comfortable you feel among them. They’re not what you expected—not the stereotypical frat boys you’ve spent years avoiding. They’re smart, funny, and surprisingly thoughtful in their questions to you.
After a while, Mingi leans in again. “How are you feeling? Do you want a drink? Or maybe some air?”
You nod gratefully. “Fresh air would be nice.”
He places his hand lightly on your back again, guiding you toward a set of French doors that lead to a back deck. The night air is cool against your skin, a welcome respite from the heat of bodies packed inside. The deck is strung with fairy lights that cast a soft glow over the wooden boards, and surprisingly, it’s empty except for a few potted plants.
“The secret balcony,” Mingi explains, seeing your questioning look. “Off-limits to regular party guests. One of the perks of being house leadership.”
“So I’m not a regular party guest?” you raise an eyebrow, leaning against the railing.
“Of course not, you are far from it,” he mutters under his breath that makes your breath falter.
You both fall silent for a moment, the bass from inside creating a muted heartbeat beneath your conversation. You can’t quite decide what’s more surprising—that you’re here like this, or that it’s with Mingi of all people. You settle on not thinking too hard about either.
“Your friends are nice,” you finally break the silence. “Not what I expected.”
“What did you expect?” He leans next to you, close enough that your shoulders almost touch.
“Loud, obnoxious frat bros talking about the typical one night stand and having the collective IQ of a houseplant.”
He laughs, the sound warm and genuine. “Oh, they can be loud and obnoxious too. But they’re also the best people I know.”
He pauses, looking out over the dimly-lit yard. “We all have our reasons for being here, you know? Hongjoong’s parents expected him to join their firm right after high school, but he wanted to go to college first. Seonghwa supports his younger siblings through school. Jongho’s on a full academic scholarship.”
You turn to look at him, surprised by this glimpse behind the fraternity façade. “And you? What’s your reason?”
He’s quiet for a long moment, and when he speaks, his voice has lost its usual confident edge. “My grandfather, the one I told you about, He was the first person in our family to go to college. He wanted to see me graduate more than anything.” His fingers tap against the railing, a nervous gesture you’ve never seen from him before. “He passed away during my senior year of high school.”
“Oh I’m sorry,” you say softly.
“It’s okay. I mean, it’s not, but...” He went on. “I promised him I’d make the most of college. Not just academically, but the whole experience. The brotherhood, the leadership opportunities, all of it.”
“Is that why you’re so determined to keep your GPA up? For your scholarship?”
“Partly,” he admits. “Mainly because I don’t want to just be the party guy, you know? I want people to realise I’m capable and somewhat intelligent.”
Without really thinking about it, you close the remaining distance just enough for your hand to brush his. It’s tentative at first, almost accidental. When he doesn’t pull away, your fingers curl lightly around his. Mingi stills. For someone who’s always in motion, always talking, always performing, the sudden quiet in him is striking. His gaze drops to where your hands are joined, like he’s trying to process it, like this—you—is the one thing he never quite learned how to anticipate.
“It’s not a bad thing,” you say softly, your thumb brushing once, unconsciously, over his knuckles. “Wanting people to see more than what meets the eye.”
His hand shifts in yours, not pulling away—settling. Grounding.
“I know what it’s like,” you add, quieter now. “Being reduced to something simple. Convenient. Even if it’s… impressive on paper.”
That earns a small huff of laughter from him, but malice behind it. Just something tired, something honest.
“Yeah,” he murmurs. “Guess we’re both victims of stereotyping huh.”
You smile faintly. “I guess we are.”
And then it hits you. The warmth. The contact. The fact that your hand is still wrapped around his. Your fingers twitch slightly, awareness crashing in all at once, and you pull back—just a little too quickly to be entirely casual. The absence of him is immediate, the cool night air slipping into the space where his warmth had been. Mingi notices. Of course he does. Something flickers across his face, it was subtle but you saw it there momentarily. A small dip at the corner of his mouth, a hesitation like he almost reaches for you again before stopping himself. It’s gone just as quickly, replaced by something lighter, easier, like he’s filing the moment away instead of questioning it. He clears his throat, glancing out in the distance.
“Careful,” he teases. “Keep doing that and I might start thinking you actually like me.”
You scoff, grateful for the shift. “Don’t get ahead of yourself.”
“Tragic,” he sighs dramatically. “Here I was, planning our future.”
“In your dreams.”
“Bold of you to assume you’re not already there.”
You roll your eyes, but a laugh escapes you anyway, the tension dissolving into something softer, more familiar. For a moment, you simply stand together in comfortable silence, watching the party unfold below. The fairy lights cast soft shadows across his face, highlighting the angles you’ve studied during countless tutoring sessions.
“Can I ask you something?” he says finally, turning to face you.
“You just did.”
He rolls his eyes. “Why did you agree to tutor me? I asked some other people in our class and they said you turned them down.”
You consider the question, surprised by his awareness of your other rejections. “Honestly? You seemed desperate. Plus you actually pay me on time.”
“Ouch,” he winces, but his smile remains. “At least you’re honest.”
“Why did you ask me?” you counter. “There are plenty of other tutors on campus.”
He looks down at his hands, suddenly serious. “You were the only one who looked at me and didn’t see what everyone else saw.”
“And what’s that?”
“You know the usual stereotypes,” He shrugs, a gesture that carries more weight than it should. “Everyone thinks they know me because they hear all about my reputation.”
Something in his tone makes you pause, recognizing a sentiment that echoes your own experience. “I get that,” you say quietly. “People are like that with me too. They think what we are at face value is what we truly are.”
“Isn’t it?” His question is gentle, not challenging.
You shake your head. “No more than you’re just a frat boy who happens to look good in a button-down.”
He raises an eyebrow as his eyes meet yours, “You think I look good?”
“Don’t fish for compliments,” you scold as you bite back a smile. “Your ego is big enough already.”
“There you go again, humbling me.” His gaze softens as he steps closer. “I like that about you. You never let me get away with anything.”
You tilt your head, crossing your arms loosely. “Yeah? I know there’s a lot of things you like about me.”
His eyebrows lift, a slow grin spreading across his face. “Yeah?”
“Yeah,” you continue, feigning nonchalance. “My intelligence. My work ethic. My incredible patience for difficult students—”
“—woah, woah,” he cuts in, laughing. “When did this turn into a self-evaluation?”
“You asked,” you shoot back. “I’m just being thorough.”
He steps closer, close enough now that the teasing edge softens into something warmer. “You missed a few.”
“Oh?” you raise an eyebrow. “Enlighten me.”
“The way you pretend not to care,” he responded quietly. “But still show up anyway.”
Your breath catches slightly, but you recover. “That’s not a quality. That’s just… basic decency.”
“Mm,” he hums, unconvinced. “And the way you look at me when you think I’m not paying attention.”
You freeze. “I do not—”
“You do,”
You swallow, your voice coming out just above a whisper. “What does that look mean, according to you?”
He studies you for a moment, like he’s debating whether to say it.
“Like you’re trying really hard not to like me.”
Your heart stumbles over itself.
“That’s a bold assumption,” you manage.
“Is it, doll?”
There’s barely any space left between you now. You’re aware of everything. How close he was to you, the warmth radiating off him, the way his gaze drops briefly to your lips before returning to your eyes. Your own breath feels too loud in your chest.
“This feels like you’re fishing for compliments again,” you say, but your voice lacks its usual bite.
“Maybe,” he admits easily. “Only from you, though.”
The honesty of it lands heavier than it should. Your fingers twitch at your side, like they remember what it felt like to hold his hand. Like they want to again.
“Mingi—” you start, though you’re not entirely sure what you’re going to say.
He leans in slightly. Not rushed. Not cocky. Careful. Like he’s giving you time to stop him. You don’t. Your eyes flick down to his lips for just a second—long enough for him to notice—and that’s all it takes. The air shifts, something unspoken settling between you as you both lean in, slow and almost hesitant—
“Yo! Mingi!”
The moment shatters. You both jerk back slightly as the deck door swings open. Wooyoung steps out, slightly breathless, eyes flicking between the two of you with immediate recognition—and absolutely zero subtlety.
“Oh shit,” he says, smirking. “Am I interrupting something?”
“What do you think?,” Mingi says flatly, running a hand through his hair in frustration.
“Tragic,” his red haired friend replies, not looking sorry in the slightest. “Hongjoong’s looking for you. Something about the DJ setup dying and you being ‘useless but still required.’”
Mingi closes his eyes briefly, exhaling. “Of course he is.”
Wooyoung gaze shifts back to you, smile softening. “Hey, you’re staying, right? It’s just getting good.”
You hesitate. And Mingi notices.
His attention snaps back to you, something apologetic in his expression. “I—give me ten minutes? I’ll come find you.”
You glance toward the house, the noise, the crowd, the overwhelming swirl of everything you’ve been holding at bay all night. Then back at him. At the almost-kiss still lingering in the space between you. By the way your chest feels too full, too tight, like you don’t quite know what to do with everything you’re suddenly feeling.
“I think…” you start, then pause, shaking your head slightly. “I should probably head out.”
His expression drops, just a fraction. “Already?”
“I stayed longer than I planned,” you say, offering a small smile. “I have an early morning.”
It’s a weak excuse. You both know it. But he doesn’t call you out on it. Instead, he nods slowly, stepping back just enough to give you space—even if he doesn’t seem to want t
“Right. Yeah. Of course.” He rubs the back of his neck. “Thanks for coming. I can walk you–”
“No need, I can see myself out,” you reply softly. “Thanks for inviting me, I had a really good time.”
There’s a beat. Something unfinished is hanging between you.
“Get home safe,” he adds, quieter now.
“I will.”
You turn before you can overthink it. Before you can look at him again and change your mind and make your way back through the house. The music feels louder now, the lights harsher, the press of bodies more suffocating than before. By the time you step outside into the cool night air, your head is spinning. Not from the party. From him. From the way he looked at you like that. You exhale slowly, starting down the path back to your dorm, your fingers curling slightly at your sides.
Your key turns in the lock with a sharp click that echoes through the empty hallway. The walk back to your dorm passed in a blur. Your mind replaying those moments on the deck over and over, his face so close to yours, the almost-kiss that’s now branded into your memory as a question mark.
Your roommate looks up from her laptop, eyes widening when she sees you. “You’re back early! I thought—“ She pauses, taking in your expression. “What happened?”
You drop your bag and collapse onto your bed, staring up at the ceiling. “I think I just made a huge mistake.”
“What did he do? Babe I swear if he tried anything—” She’s immediately on alert, sitting up straighter.
“No,” you shake your head, pressing your palms against your eyes. “The opposite. He was... perfect. His friends were really nice, funny too. The party wasn’t terrible. And we almost kissed, and then I—I ran away.”
“You what?” She scrambles off her bed and sits next to you. “Back up. You almost kissed him and then you left?”
“We got interrupted, and then I just... panicked.” You sit up, hugging your knees to your chest. “I don’t know what’s happening to me.”
Your roommate studies your face, her expression softening into something you haven’t seen before—concern mixed with understanding.
“Holy shit,” she mumbled. “You like him.”
“No,” you protest automatically, then trail off. “Maybe. Shit. I don’t know?” Your voice muffles as you bury your face in your hands. “This is so stupid. I’ve spent years avoiding guys exactly like him.”
“Except he’s not exactly like anyone, is he?” She nudges your shoulder gently. “Not if he’s got you this fucked up.”
You groan. “That’s the problem. He’s supposed to be this shallow frat boy who only cares about parties and hookups, but then he goes and talks about his grandfather and his friends and looks at me like—like—“
“Like what?” she prompts.
“Like I matter,” you cried out, wiping away the tears from your face. “Not just as a tutor or someone to boost his grade. Like he actually enjoys my company.”
She’s quiet for a moment, then says, “I’ve never seen you like this over anyone before.”
“That’s because I’ve never felt like this before,” you admit, the words coming out in a rush. “I’ve probably ruined it by running away like some character in a bad rom-com.”
“You don’t understand.” You get up, pacing the small space between your beds. “I had this whole image of him in my head…this whole narrative about who he was and what he wanted. It was so much easier when I could just dismiss him as just some guy. But he’s not, and now I don’t know what to do with that.”
“Maybe you could try, oh I don’t know, talking to him?” Your roommate suggests, her tone gently teasing you as she hands you a tissue.
“And say what? ‘Sorry I ran away when we were about to kiss, I’m just terrified because I might actually like you’?”
“That sounds like a start.”
You collapse back onto your bed with a groan. “I fucked up so bad.”
“Maybe,” she concedes, “but not irreparably.” She picks up your phone from where you dropped it and holds it out to you. “Text him.”
You stare at the phone like it might bite you. “Like now?”
“Yes, now. Before you overthink it even more than you already have.”
Your fingers hover over the screen, hesitant. “What do I even say?”
“The truth,” she says simply. “Or at least part of it.”
You take a deep breath and start typing, deleting, typing again. After what feels like an eternity, you hit send on a simple message: Sorry for leaving so abruptly. Ty for tonight.
The response comes faster than you expected, your phone buzzing in your hand almost immediately: All good. Did u get home safe?
Something in your chest loosens just slightly. He’s still talking to you, at least. You type back: Yea, made it back like 5 mins ago.
Three dots appear, disappear, appear again: Can I call you tomorrow?
Your heart does a strange little flip. “He wants to call me tomorrow,” you tell your roommate, your voice sounding strange even to your own ears.
She grins. “See? Not ruined.”
You type back a quick ‘Sure’ before you can second-guess yourself.
His response is just as quick: Good. Sleep well, doll.
Despite everything, you find yourself smiling at the nickname. Your roommate peers over your shoulder, reading the exchange.
“Oh, you’ve got it bad,” she says jokingly. “From the looks of it, so does he.”
“This is such a mess,” you sigh, but there’s less despair in it now. “I’m supposed to be the level-headed one. The one who doesn’t get caught up in... whatever this is.”
“Maybe that’s exactly why you need this,” she suggests, returning to her own bed. “When was the last time you did something just because it made you feel good, not because it was the smart, practical choice?”
You don’t have an answer for that. As you lie in bed, sleep eluding you, you replay the night in your head. The way Mingi looked at you on that deck, the warmth of his hand in yours, the honesty in his voice when he talked about wanting to be seen as more than his reputation. You think about how easily you could have stayed, how different the night might have ended if you had just stayed with him.
══════════════════
Morning arrives with harsh sunlight streaming through half-closed blinds and the persistent buzz of your alarm. The day crawls by in a strange haze. You go through the motions—catch up on any missed lecture notes, meet with your friends, grab lunch at the campus café—but everything feels slightly off-kilter. Your phone burns a hole in your pocket, conspicuously silent.
“He said he’d call,” you mutter to yourself during lunch, checking your notifications for the fifth time in an hour.
By mid-afternoon, anxiety has settled into a knot in your stomach. Was leaving the party abruptly really such a dealbreaker? Or worse—was the almost-kiss just another moment for him, easily forgotten once you walked away?
Your roommate finds you hunched over economics papers in your dorm, highlighter poised but motionless over the same paragraph you’ve been staring at for twenty minutes.
“Still nothing?”
You shake your head, trying to appear more focused on your work than you actually are. “It’s fine. He’s probably busy with frat stuff.”
“He’s nursing a hangover,” she mused, flopping onto her bed. “Those parties don’t exactly end early.”
“Yeah, probably.” You force your attention back to your notes, determined not to care.
The sun begins to set, casting long shadows across your desk. You’ve moved on to grading papers for the professor you TA for, a task that usually requires your full concentration. Tonight, however, each essay blurs into the next as your mind wanders back to the deck, to Mingi’s face inches from yours. At 7:38 PM, your phone finally rings. You nearly knock over your coffee reaching for it, heart leaping into your throat when you see his name on the screen. Taking a deep breath, you answer with what you hope is casual nonchalance.
“Hello?”
“Hey.” His voice comes through warm and slightly hesitant. “Is this a bad time?”
“No, just grading some papers.” You lean back in your chair, trying to ignore how your pulse has quickened. “How was your day?”
“Long,” he admits with a soft laugh. “Had to deal with some post-party clean up that was... not ideal.”
“Sounds rough,” you say, picturing the chaos that must have followed after you left.
There’s a brief pause before he speaks again. “Listen, I was wondering if you’d want to grab some ice cream? There’s this place near the science building that stays open late.”
You glance at your half-finished work, then at the clock. “Now?”
“Yeah, if you’re not too busy. I just...” He hesitates. “I think we should talk. In person.”
Your stomach drops. Those words never precede anything good.
“Oh,” you manage. “Sure. I could use a break anyway.”
“Great.” The relief in his voice is palpable. “Meet you there in twenty?”
“Make it thirty,” you say, already mentally cataloguing what you’re wearing—sweatpants and an oversized university hoodie, not exactly what you’d choose for whatever conversation is coming.
After hanging up, you change quickly into jeans and a sweater that’s slightly more presentable, running a brush through your hair and dabbing on lip balm before you can question why you’re bothering. Your roommate watches with barely concealed amusement.
“Just ice cream, huh?”
“Shut up,” you mutter, grabbing your keys. “He probably just wants to clear the air so tutoring isn’t awkward.”
She raises an eyebrow. “Sure. That’s definitely it.”
The walk to the ice cream shop takes exactly twelve minutes—not that you’re counting. When you arrive, you spot Mingi immediately, leaning against the wall outside. He straightens when he sees you, his expression brightening in a way that makes your heart stutter.
“Hey,” he greets you, hands tucked into the pockets of his jacket. “Thanks for coming.”
“For free ice cream? I’d be an idiot if I refused.” You aim for lightness, but your voice comes out slightly strained.
Inside, the shop is nearly empty, just a couple of students hunched over laptops in the corner. Mingi insists on paying despite your protests, and soon you’re seated at a small table by the window, a scoop of chocolate chip melting slowly in your cup. For a moment, neither of you speaks. You focus intently on your ice cream, hyperaware of his presence across from you.
“So uh,” he finally breaks the tension, setting down his spoon. “About last night.”
You look up to find him watching you, his expression more serious than you’ve ever seen it. “What about it?” you ask, playing for time.
He leans forward slightly. “I wanted to make sure I didn’t... misread things.”
Heat rises to your cheeks. “You didn’t,” you admit quietly.
Relief flickers across his face. “Then why did you leave?”
The directness of the question catches you off guard. You consider deflecting, making a joke, but something in his eyes—an earnestness you’re not used to seeing—makes you opt for honesty.
“I got scared,” you say simply.
His brow furrows. “Of me?”
“No.” You shake your head. “No this. Whatever is happening between us.” You gesture vaguely, as if that could dissolve it. “It wasn’t part of the plan.”
“The plan?” he echoes.
“My plan,” you clarify. “Graduate top of my class, get into a top-tier MBA program, no distractions.” You poke at your melting ice cream.
The words come easier than they should, like you’ve said them enough times to believe they’re ironclad. You scoop a fragile curl of choc chip into your mouth, watching it soften instantly, the chill doing nothing to settle the rest of you.
Mingi doesn’t look away. But something shifts in his expression—subtle, unreadable.
“You think this is a distraction,” he says quietly, like he’s testing the shape of the idea. There’s no bitterness in it, just a blunt apprehension that makes you want to fold in on yourself.
The words thud between you, heavier than any textbook you’ve ever carried. You set your spoon down, forced to confront the truth you’ve been working so hard to avoid: it would be much simpler if you could blame him. If the whole thing could be chalked up to a fluke in your otherwise disciplined trajectory: a blip, a party, a night on a deck that would fade with the semester. However, the real distraction is the way your mind keeps circling back to him even when he’s not there, the way your heart does that ridiculous stutter every time you see his name on your screen, the way—sitting here with him now—you feel some distant tectonic plate in your chest begin to shift. You hesitate. Then, because you’ve already started, you let it spill anyway.
“It’s not just that,” you admit. “I never planned on… this happening at all. And I definitely never thought you’d—” You stop yourself, exhaling a short, humourless breath. “Like, someone like me.”
His brow furrows slightly. “Someone like you?”
You gesture faintly, as if the words make sense on their own. “You know. You. Me. I just— I always assumed you wouldn’t go for someone like me. That you wouldn’t even look twice.”
The admission sits between you, heavier than you intended. Mingi leans back slightly, hands folding together, but not in his usual relaxed way. More like he’s trying to steady something. Then he lets out a breath—half laugh, half disbelief.
“I’ve been trying so hard to get you to notice me.” He says, shaking his head once.
You blink. “What?”
He looks at you properly now, like the answer should’ve been obvious all along. “You think I’m out of your league,” he says, almost incredulous. “I thought you were out of mine.”
That makes you go still. Before you can respond, he continues, voice softer now.
“You’re—” He stops, like the word itself isn’t enough. “You’re genuinely one of the most interesting people I’ve met. And you’re not just smart, you’re…” He exhales through his nose, like he hates how obvious it is. “You’re really fucking beautiful. And your brain? That’s honestly the most attractive part of you. I thought people were dramatic when they said intelligence was sexy, man I was so wrong.”
Your breath catches, and you hate that it does.
“I like what we are,” he adds, a little quieter. “The banter, the way you talk back to me, the way you don’t just—” He gestures vaguely, searching for the word. “Fold. It’s fun. It’s different. It’s… real.”
The honesty lands clumsily, unpolished in a way that feels impossible to fake. You look down at your ice cream before it fully melts.
“That’s… not what I expected you to say,” you admit.
“Yeah,” he says, a small, self-aware smile tugging at his mouth. “Join the club.”
“I know it’s unfair to judge you based on campus gossip, but...” You take a deep breath. “I’m scared of being just another story people whisper about in bathroom stalls.”
Mingi reaches across the table, his fingers hovering near yours without quite touching. “Can I?” he asks quietly.
You nod, and his warm hand covers yours, thumb brushing lightly over your knuckles.
“Listen to me,” he says, voice low and serious. “I won’t pretend I haven’t made mistakes. I have. But I’ve never felt about anyone the way I feel about you.” His eyes hold yours, unwavering.
“How can I know that?” you whisper, voicing the fear that’s been lodged in your chest since the moment on the deck.
“Let me prove it to you,” he says with such conviction that your throat tightens. “Not with words or promises, but with time. With consistency.” His grip on your hand tightens slightly. “I’m not asking you to trust me completely right away. I’m asking for a chance to earn that trust.”
You study his face, searching for any sign of the practiced charm you’ve seen him deploy across campus. All you find is raw sincerity that makes your heart race.
“What exactly are you suggesting?”
“Let me show you who I really am,” a small, vulnerable smile touches his lips. “I promise I’ll put all those stupid rumours to rest. No pressure, no expectations.”
“If it doesn’t work out?” The practical part of your brain needs to know there’s an exit strategy.
“Then we go back to being tutor and student, friends if you want,” he says, though something flickers in his eyes that suggests it wouldn’t be that simple for him. “I think we at least owe ourselves the chance to find out.”
You look down at your joined hands, feeling yourself wavering on the precipice of something that terrifies and thrills you in equal measure.
“Okay,” you find yourself saying, the word slipping out before you can overthink it. “I’ll give us a chance.”
The smile that breaks across his face is nothing like his usual confident grin. It’s wider, brighter, almost boyish in its genuine delight.
“Yeah?” he asks, as if he can’t quite believe it.
“Yeah,” you confirm, a small smile forming on your own lips. “But I have conditions.”
He laughs softly, squeezing your hand. “Of course you do. I’d be disappointed if you didn’t have any.”
“We take it slow,” you say firmly. “For now, this is just between us. I’m not ready to tell everyone about us just yet.”
“Absolutely,” he agrees immediately. “What else?”
“If at any point I feel like this is becoming too much—“
“We reassess,” he finishes for you. “I understand.”
You nod, feeling a weight lift from your shoulders. “One more thing.”
“Name it.”
“No more surprise coffees during tutoring,” you let out a laugh, you hope that he doesn’t take this rule too seriously.
He clutches his chest dramatically. “Wow. Mind you, those were gifts from the heart.”
“The heart doesn’t need caffeine to function properly,” you counter.
“Debatable,” he grins, then grows serious again. “I promise to uphold all the boundaries that you have. If at any point you want outs, just say the word and we can call it off.”
There’s something in his voice—a quiet determination—that makes you believe him, despite all your carefully constructed defences.
“So,” he wonders, leaning forward slightly, “now that we’ve established the ground rules... Can I walk you home?”
“That would be nice,” you smile, finishing the last of your now-soupy ice cream.
Outside, the night air is cool against your skin. Your campus is quiet at this hour, most students either at the library or locked in their rooms studying. Mingi walks beside you, close enough that your arms occasionally brush, sending little sparks of awareness through you each time. The conversation falls into a comfortable silence as you walk side by side through the moonlit campus. Your mind races with everything that’s just happened—the confessions, the promises, the beginning of something neither of you had planned. Mingi’s hand occasionally brushes against yours, each contact sending little jolts through your system, but he doesn’t try to hold it. True to his word, he’s letting you set the pace.
“So,” he says as you approach your dormitory, “I was thinking maybe we could get dinner? Whenever you’re free… O-of course.”
The earnestness in his voice makes your heart flutter. “I’d love to.”
You stop at the entrance to your building, turning to face him. The lamplight catches in his dark eyes, making them shine with something that looks suspiciously like hope.
“Thank you,” you mumbled quietly.
His brow furrows slightly. “For what?”
“For being patient and understanding.” You shift your weight, suddenly feeling shy.
A smile curves his lips. “I’m full of surprises.”
“I’m beginning to see that.”
There’s a moment of hesitation. A breath where you both stand looking at each other, the air between you charged with possibility. You make a decision, stepping forward before you can overthink it. Rising slightly on your toes, you press a quick, soft kiss to his cheek.
“Goodnight, Mingi,” you murmur, pulling back to see his eyes wide with surprise.
“Goodnight,” he coughs out, voice slightly rougher than before.
You turn quickly, swiping your keycard and slipping through the door before you can change your mind. Once inside, you can’t resist glancing back through the glass panel. Mingi stands frozen for a moment, hand raised to the spot where your lips touched his skin. Then, when he thinks you’ve gone, a transformation takes place. The cool, confident frat president dissolves into something entirely different. He pumps his fist in the air, does a little spin, and breaks into what can only be described as a victory dance—all limbs and unbridled joy, like a kid who just got exactly what he wanted for his birthday. He runs his hands through his hair, grinning so wide it must hurt, before composing himself and walking away with an extra bounce in his step. You press your hand to your mouth, stifling a laugh. Something warm blooms in your chest at the sight of him—campus heartbreaker, fraternity president, supposed player—celebrating a simple kiss on the cheek like it’s the greatest achievement of his life.
Maybe there’s more to him than you ever allowed yourself to see.
══════════════════
The following weeks unfold in a series of moments that feel stolen from someone else’s life. Mingi keeps his promise about taking things slow, but he finds other ways to show you he’s serious.
It starts with little things. A sticky note on your economics textbook when you leave it unattended for two minutes in the library: “Study Well!.” A cup of tea waiting for you before an early morning class, with honey already added the way you mentioned you like it once in passing.
Your tutoring sessions continue, but there’s a new undercurrent to them now. You maintain professionalism—mostly—but sometimes his fingers brush yours when you’re explaining a concept, lingering just a second too long to be accidental. Sometimes you catch him watching you with a softness in his eyes that makes your chest ache in the best way.
“Focus,” you scold during one such session, tapping your pencil against his notebook. “Our midterms are in coming up soon.”
“I am focusing,” he protests, eyes never leaving your face. “Just not on economics.”
You roll your eyes, fighting a smile. “Looking at me isn’t going to help boost your GPA.”
“If it means looking at the prettiest girl in the room, it’s worth it,” he shrugs and the sincerity in his voice makes heat rise to your cheeks.
Walking with him after your brain numbing study sessions become so integral to your guys’ routine. It feels a little strange at first but when Mingi’s hand tentatively finds yours, all the stress melts away at his touch.
“You know,” he says during one such walk, “keeping you secret is killing me. The guys think I’ve gone celibate or something.”
You elbow him gently. “Your reputation could use the hit.”
“True,” he laughs, squeezing your hand. “For the record, this is the longest I’ve gone without posting on social media in ages.”
Mingi has been careful about keeping your relationship private. No Instagram stories featuring your coffee dates, no posts of your study sessions that sometimes devolve into conversations about everything and nothing. Just the two of you, learning each other in private moments stolen between classes and responsibilities.
One rainy Tuesday, he shows up at your dorm with takeout from your favorite Thai place and a stack of economics flash cards he made himself.
“I figured we could multitask,” he beams, setting up the food on your desk.
Your roommate, who’s been watching this unfold with barely concealed delight, grabs her jacket. “And that’s my cue to give you two some privacy,” she announces, winking at you on her way out.
Once she’s gone, Mingi turns to you with a sheepish smile. “Too much?”
You shake your head, oddly touched by the gesture. “No, it’s perfect. I’m just not used to anyone doing this for me.”
His expression softens. “Well that's too bad, doll, start getting used to it.”
The study session is productive—mostly. At first, the two of you really do focus, perched shoulder to shoulder with a blanket across your knees, pencils poised as you quiz each other from the stack of flash cards. For a solid twenty minutes, you run through concepts, definitions, and theoretical graphs, congratulating each other with exaggerated fist bumps for every correct answer. Mingi is sharp, more so than you expected, but he keeps getting tripped up on the same three formulas, and each time he stumbles, you make him recite them from memory until he gets it right. By the fourth round, you’re both dissolving into laughter at his increasingly creative mnemonic devices.
Eventually, the flash cards are abandoned in favor of pad thai and mango sticky rice. You eat cross-legged on the floor, passing the container back and forth, chopsticks clacking as the conversation drifts from academics to childhood memories, to music, to the merits of various ramen brands. Mingi tells you a story about getting locked in a janitor’s closet during a fraternity scavenger hunt, and you laugh so hard you nearly spill sweet chili sauce all over your leggings. He grins, watching you with open affection, and you feel your defenses slipping a little more with each shared story, each easy silence.
You mean to get back to studying, really you do, but by the time your plates are empty, you’re both sprawled out on the rug, heads tipped together, trading lazy jokes and favorite movie quotes. The stack of flash cards lies forgotten somewhere behind you. Mingi stretches his arm behind your head, not quite touching, but close enough that you can feel the warmth of him. You’re acutely aware that you said you wanted to take things slow, but now, in the soft glow of your desk lamp, with rain pattering gently against the window, slow feels less like a rule and more like a suggestion.
At some point, you roll onto your side to face him. His hair is a mess, sticking up in all directions, and you resist the urge to reach over and smooth it down. He catches the look in your eyes and grins, that same vulnerable curve of mouth you saw outside your dorm, and you realize you’re not even sure what you’re waiting for anymore. The next hour is a blur of tangled limbs, whispered jokes, and the kind of laughter that leaves your ribs aching. You don’t kiss—at least, not on the lips—but you end up with your head tucked against his shoulder, his hand tracing idle, feather-light circles on your back as you drift in and out of half-sleep. The textbooks are forgotten, the only thing that matters is the slow, steady rise and fall of his breath and the way it syncs perfectly with yours.
You don’t let him stay the night but you walk him to the door at midnight, both of you lingering in the hallway far longer than necessary.
“Tomorrow again?” he asks, voice low.
“Tomorrow,” you echo, smiling so hard it almost hurts.
You close the door behind him and press your forehead to the wood, equal parts giddy and terrified at how easy this is starting to feel.
That’s how it goes, week after week. Study sessions that turn into late-night conversations, walks that stretch on for hours, endless cups of tea and takeout and inside jokes that no one else would ever find funny. You find yourself looking for him everywhere: in the crowd of the dining hall, in the hush of the library at midnight, in the flicker of lamplight outside your window when you can’t sleep. Every time he appears, it feels like a secret only the two of you share. You start to notice the little ways he tries to care for you. The umbrella he brings when the forecast calls for rain, the pack of your favourite pens he leaves in your backpack before a big test, the playlist he makes for your morning runs, even though he can’t stand three-quarters of your “motivational” music. You tell yourself not to read into any of it, but you do. You’re hopelessly, helplessly reading into every tiny thing.
The night before your economics midterm, you meet up in the library’s quietest corner, both of you vibrating with nerves. He brings snacks and a fresh stack of flash cards, all hand-written in his messy scrawl, and the two of you settle in for a marathon review. For once, you manage to stay on task, quizzing each other with increasing intensity until you’re both exhausted. When the clock chimes one in the morning, you start to pack up, but Mingi hesitates, his hand hovering over the pile of books.
“You’re going to ace it,” he says, voice unexpectedly earnest.
You shake your head, smiling. “Only if you don’t distract me during the exam.”
“That’s going to be impossible,” he laughs, but there’s something softer in his eyes. “I’ll try my best.”
You snort, shouldering your bag. “I sure hope so.”
As you walk him out into the silent quad, he reaches for your hand—not tentative anymore, not asking permission, just doing it. You let him. The campus is empty, the sky ink-black and starless, and it feels like the entire world has narrowed to just the two of you, hands entwined, hearts beating a little too fast. He stops at the steps of your dorm, pulling you in for a hug that lasts a few seconds longer than normal. You memorize the feeling: the way his arms wrap around you, how he smells like detergent and the faintest hint of aftershave, the way his cheek fits perfectly against your temple. He reminds you to get some sleep, even as he lingers like he has no real intention of leaving just yet. You echo the sentiment back to him, a quiet reminder about his final. There’s a brief pause—something unspoken stretching between you—before you part with a soft, almost reluctant goodbye, the kind that feels less like an ending and more like something paused.
══════════════════
The morning of the midterm arrives with an electric tension in the air. You walk into the lecture hall, scanning the rows of nervous students until you spot Mingi. He’s hunched over his notes, frantically reviewing formulas, his leg bouncing with nervous energy. When he sees you, his face brightens momentarily before anxiety clouds his features again.
“Doll, I can’t remember anything,” he whispers as you slide into the seat beside him. “It’s all just... gone.”
You reach over and gently close his textbook. “Hey, breathe. You know this material better than you think.”
“Easy for you to say.” His voice cracks slightly. “What if I blank? What if everything we worked on just disappears the moment I see the test?”
You take his trembling hand in yours, giving it a reassuring squeeze. “Look at me. You’ve put in the work. You understand the concepts. Trust yourself.”
He exhales slowly, eyes locked on yours. “I just... I can’t mess this up. Not after everything.”
“You won’t,” you say with such conviction that he almost seems to believe you. “Remember what you told me about game theory? It’s not about the cards, it’s about—“
“—understanding the patterns,” he finishes, a small smile forming. “The incentives.”
“Exactly. And you’ve got this. I know you do.”
Professor Kim enters the room, silencing the anxious chatter. As she distributes the exams, Mingi gives your hand one last squeeze before letting go. You mouth “good luck” to him before turning to your own test.
The exam is challenging, even for you. Two hours of intense concentration, complex problems, and theoretical applications that make your brain ache. Occasionally, you glance at Mingi. His brow is furrowed in concentration, pencil moving steadily across the paper. No panic, no hesitation. Just focused determination that fuels your own.
When time is called, you feel drained but satisfied. Mingi looks up from his paper, meeting your eyes across the room with an expression of cautious optimism.
“How’d it go?” you ask as you both file out of the lecture hall.
“I think... I think it went okay,” he says, sounding almost surprised. “That section on monopolistic competition? I nailed it.”
“See? I told you.”
He laughs, running a hand through his hair. “Yeah, yeah. Don’t get cocky just because you were right. Again.”
Three days after the exam, your phone lights up with his name: Grades are posted, lock in.
Your fingers fly across the screen as you log into the portal. There it is: Econ1000 - Final Grade: A+. Not surprising, but satisfying nonetheless. You’re about to text him back when another message comes through: Can we meet? I’m outside your building.
Your heart races as you rush down the stairs. Mingi is pacing outside, face unreadable. When he sees you, he stops, and for a terrible moment, you think he’s failed.
“Mingi? What happened? Are you—“
His face breaks into the widest grin you’ve ever seen. “I got an A, I did it!”
Relief and joy flood through you as he picks you up in a spinning hug that lifts your feet off the ground. “I knew you could do it!” you laugh, arms wrapped around his neck.
“I couldn’t have done it without you,” he says, setting you down but keeping his hands on your waist.
“Hey give yourself some credit, you did all the work,” you counter, unable to stop smiling. “I just provided occasional guidance—“
“—And motivation, patience, and belief when I had none.” His expression grows serious despite his smile. “Thank you.”
You feel your cheeks warm under his intense gaze. “You’re welcome.”
He takes a deep breath, a flicker of nervousness crossing his features—something you’ve rarely seen from him. “So, I was thinking...” he begins, his hands sliding from your waist but not completely letting go, fingers lightly brushing against yours. “Maybe we could celebrate properly? Tonight?”
“What did you have in mind?” you ask, trying to ignore the flutter in your chest.
“Dinner,” he says simply. Then adds, with uncharacteristic hesitation, “At an actual restaurant with fancy ass menus and shit.” His eyes meet yours, surprisingly earnest. “A date. Just you and me.”
The word “date” hangs between you, weighted with meaning. These weren't the standard study sessions or casual hangouts anymore. He wanted to take you out to dinner.
“A date,” you repeat, testing how the words feel.
“Yes.” He nods, watching your face carefully. “I want to take you somewhere nice. To celebrate, but also because...” He pauses, thumb brushing over your knuckles. “I just want to treat you to a good meal, feels like the right thing to do.”
You laugh, the tension in your chest dissolving into something warm and bright. “In that case, yes. I’d love to go to dinner with you tonight.”
The smile that breaks across his face is incandescent. “Great! I’ll pick you up at seven?”
“Seven works,” you nod, already mentally cataloguing your closet, wondering what constitutes appropriate attire for an official date with Song Mingi.
As if reading your mind, he adds, “Wear something nice. I made reservations at Stellina.”
Your eyebrows shoot up. Stellina is easily the most upscale restaurant near campus—the kind of place parents take their children when they visit, or where professors celebrate tenure. Definitely not somewhere college students typically go for casual dinners.
“Stellina?” you echo. “That’s... wow.”
“Wait, do you not like Stells?” he asks, suddenly uncertain.
You shake your head quickly. “No, it’s perfect. I’m just surprised.”
“Good surprised?”
“Very good surprised.”
He beams, leaning in to press a quick kiss to your cheek. “I’ll see you at seven, then.”
The rest of the afternoon passes in a blur of anticipation. You text your roommate the news, which results in her immediately abandoning whatever plans she had to help you prepare. By six o’clock, your room looks like a boutique exploded—clothes strewn across both beds, makeup scattered across the desk, and your roommate critically assessing every option.
“This one,” she declares finally, holding up a simple black dress you bought for a cousin’s birthday last year but haven’t worn since. “Classic, elegant, but still says ‘I’m not trying too hard.’” You slip it on, the silky fabric settling against your skin. It’s more fitted than you remembered, hugging your curves before flaring slightly at the hem. Nothing flashy, but undeniably flattering.
“Perfect,” your roommate nods approvingly. “Now, shoes...”
By 6:55, you’re pacing nervously in front of the mirror. The dress looks good, your hair is cooperating for once, and your roommate has worked minor miracles with minimal makeup. Still, anxiety flutters in your stomach like trapped butterflies.
“What if this changes everything?” you ask, chewing your lip. “What if it’s weird or awkward or—“
“Or what if it’s amazing?” your roommate cuts in, adjusting a strand of your hair. “Stop catastrophizing and let yourself enjoy this. The man is taking you to Stellina, for god’s sake. He’s clearly serious about you.”
Before you can respond, your phone buzzes with a text: I’m outside.
Your roommate practically shoves you toward the door. “Go! And I want all the details when you get back!”
You take one last deep breath, grab your small purse, and head downstairs. The moment you step outside, you spot him immediately standing beside his car, looking almost unrecognizable in a tailored navy suit. His hair is styled away from his face, revealing the sharp angles of his cheekbones and the intensity of his gaze as it lands on you. For a moment, neither of you speaks. His eyes widen slightly as they take in your appearance, moving from your face to your dress and back again with an appreciation so obvious it makes your skin warm.
“You look...” he starts, then shakes his head, a soft laugh escaping him. “I had a whole line prepared, but now I can’t remember it. You look incredible.”
“So do you,” you manage, taking in how the suit fits his broad shoulders perfectly. “I didn’t know you owned clothes like this.”
“Special occasions only,” he grins, stepping forward to offer you his arm. “Ready?”
The drive to Stellina is short but charged with a new kind of tension—anticipation mixed with awareness. Mingi keeps glancing at you when he thinks you’re not looking, and you catch yourself doing the same. When you arrive, he insists on opening your door, offering his hand to help you out of the car with an old-fashioned gallantry that would seem affected from anyone else.
Inside, the restaurant is everything you expected and more. Soft lighting from crystal chandeliers, white tablecloths, the gentle clink of expensive silverware. The hostess greets Mingi by name and leads you to a quiet corner table partially secluded by a decorative screen.
“This is...” you begin, looking around at the elegant surroundings.
“Too much?” he blurted out in a panic, studying your face carefully as he pulls out your chair.
You shake your head, settling into your seat. “No, it’s beautiful. I’m just not used to... all this.”
“Neither am I,” he admits with a small laugh, taking his own seat. “I wanted tonight to be special.”
The waiter appears with menus and a wine list, addressing Mingi with practiced deference. You watch, slightly amused, as he navigates the wine selection with surprising confidence, asking questions about vintages and pairings that you wouldn’t have expected him to know.
“Since when are you a wine expert?” you ask after the waiter leaves to fetch your selection.
He grins, slightly sheepish. “I’m not. I spent an hour yesterday watching YouTube videos about how to order wine without looking like an idiot.”
The admission is so endearingly honest that you can’t help but laugh. “You’re crazy.”
“I wanted to impress you,” he shrugs, no trace of his usual bravado. “Is it working?”
“Maybe a little,” you concede, smiling.
The wine arrives—a crisp white that pairs perfectly with the appetizers Mingi suggests. As you sip and sample delicate bites of food you can barely pronounce, the initial awkwardness melts away. Conversation flows as easily as it always has between you, ranging from classes to childhood stories to dreams for the future.
“So,” he says as the waiter clears your appetizer plates, “now that we’ve conquered economics, what’s next on your academic hit list?”
“Advanced Econometrics,” you grimace slightly. “Not exactly light reading.”
“Sounds intense,” he nods. “Do you think you’ll need a tutor for that one? If so, I know a guy…”
The teasing question makes you smile. “I think I can manage. What about you? What are you taking next semester?”
He hesitates, something vulnerable flickering across his face. “Actually, I registered for that Behavioural Economics class you mentioned. And...” he pauses, “I’m thinking about adding a minor in Business Analytics.”
“Really?” You can’t hide your surprise. “That’s a pretty intensive program.”
“Yeah, well,” he shrugs, trying to look casual but not quite succeeding, “someone made me realize I might actually be good at this stuff. When I’m not being a, what did you call it? ‘Stereotypical frat boy with the collective IQ of a houseplant?’”
You wince, remembering your harsh assessment from months ago. “I was wrong about that.”
“Not entirely,” he laughs. “I can be that guy sometimes. It’s easier, you know? To be what people expect.”
The honesty in his voice touches something deep in your chest. “You don’t have to be that with me.”
His eyes meet yours across the table, warm and sincere, “I know.”
The main courses arrive—seared scallops for you, steak for him—momentarily pausing the conversation. As you eat, you notice how Mingi keeps finding excuses to touch you: his fingers brushing yours when reaching for the wine, his knee pressing gently against yours under the table. Each contact sends little sparks along your skin, building a current that hums just below the surface.
“Can I ask you something?” he says after a comfortable lull in conversation.
“Of course.”
“When did you start liking me?” The question is direct, curious rather than cocky. “I mean, I know you couldn’t stand me at first.”
You consider this, taking a sip of wine. “I think... it was during our third tutoring session. You spent twenty minutes arguing with me about income inequality and its effects on consumer behaviour.”
He looks surprised. “That’s what did it? An economics debate?”
“You were passionate,” you explain. “And knowledgeable. And you didn’t back down just because I disagreed. I was impressed.”
His expression softens. “For me, it was the party. That first night. When you looked at me and didn’t seem impressed at all.”
“Really? That early?”
He nods, a small smile playing at his lips. “You have no idea how refreshing that was. Everyone else was... I don’t know, wanting something from me. You just looked annoyed that I existed.”
“I wasn’t annoyed,” you correct him. “I was... intrigued.”
“Intrigued,” he repeats, smile widening. “I’ll take it.”
As dinner winds down, the restaurant gradually empties around you. Neither of you seems eager to leave, conversation flowing from topic to topic, punctuated by laughter and moments of surprising vulnerability. When the waiter discreetly brings the check, Mingi insists on paying despite your protests.
“This was my idea,” he says firmly. “My invitation, my treat.”
“At least let me cover the tip,” you argue.
He shakes his head, sliding his card into the leather folder. “Next time. You can plan the whole thing if you want.”
“Next time,” you echo, liking the sound of it more than you expected to.
Outside, the night air is cool and clear, stars visible despite the campus lights. Mingi takes your hand as you walk back to the car, his thumb tracing small circles on your palm.
“Thank you for tonight,” you say quietly. “It was perfect.”
He stops walking, turning to face you under the soft glow of a streetlight. “Thank you for saying yes.”
There’s a moment where neither of you moves. Then, slowly, as if giving you time to pull away, Mingi leans in, his hand coming up to cup your cheek. The moment his lips meet yours, everything else fades away—the restaurant, the streetlight, even the nervous flutter in your chest. His kiss is gentle at first, almost reverent, like he’s been waiting for this moment and doesn’t want to rush it. Your eyes flutter closed as you lean into him, your hands finding their way to his chest, feeling his heartbeat racing beneath your fingertips.
“I’ve been wanting to do that for so long,” he murmurs against your lips, his forehead resting against yours.
You smile, fingers curling into the lapels of his jacket. “What took you so long?”
Instead of answering, he kisses you again, deeper this time. His arm wraps around your waist, pulling you closer until you’re pressed against him, the warmth of his body seeping through the thin fabric of your dress. Something shifts in the air between you—the careful restraint you’ve both been maintaining giving way to something more urgent, more honest.
Your hands slide up to tangle in his hair, messing up his carefully styled look. He makes a soft sound against your mouth that sends heat rushing through you, his fingers digging slightly into your waist as he pulls you impossibly closer. The kiss turns hungrier, months of tension finally finding release as his tongue brushes against yours, tentative at first, then with growing confidence when you respond in kind.
When you finally break apart, you’re both breathing hard. His eyes are darker than you’ve ever seen them, pupils wide as he looks at you with undisguised want.
“I should’ve done this at the party ages ago,” he whispers, voice rough. “That night on the balcony. I’ve been thinking about it ever since.”
You laugh softly, feeling dizzy and light-headed in the best way. “Better late than never.”
He grins, pressing another quick kiss to your lips like he can’t help himself. “Do you want to go somewhere more... private?” The question is careful, giving you an out if you need it.
The responsible part of your brain reminds you of early classes tomorrow, of the boundaries you set, of taking things slow. But the part of you that’s been dreaming of this moment for longer than you care to admit is already nodding.
“Your place?” you suggest, surprised by the boldness in your own voice.
His eyes widen slightly, like he hadn’t expected you to agree so readily. “You sure?”
In answer, you pull him down for another kiss, letting your actions speak louder than words. When you pull away, his smile is almost dazed.
“My place it is,” he says, taking your hand and leading you back to his car with renewed purpose.
The drive to his fraternity house is charged with anticipation, the air between you electric with possibilities. His hand finds yours across the center console, thumb stroking over your knuckles in a way that seems both soothing and maddening at once. At a red light, he can’t resist leaning over to kiss you again, quick but deep enough to leave you breathless.
“If you keep doing that, we might not make it to your place,” you warn, only half-joking.
His laugh is low and warm. “Worth it.”
══════════════════
When you arrive, the house is mercifully quiet—most of his frat brothers either out or already asleep. He leads you through the common areas with your hand firmly in his, up the stairs to his room on the second floor. Once inside, he closes the door softly behind you, and suddenly the reality of where you are—in Mingi’s bedroom, alone, after the most perfect date—hits you all at once.
His room is larger than you expected, and surprisingly neat. A double bed occupies one corner, made with actual matching sheets and pillows. Bookshelves line one wall, filled not just with textbooks but novels, economics journals, and what looks like a collection of vintage records. A desk sits beneath a large window, offering the promised view of campus, lights twinkling in the distance.
“So,” you say, turning to face him, “this is where the golden boy lives.”
He pushes off from the door, crossing to stand before you. “Disappointed that there's no mattress on the floor and it’s not covered in beer pong trophies?”
“A little,” you admit with a teasing smile. “Though I do see at least one trophy.” You nod toward a shelf where a single golden cup sits next to a framed photo of Mingi with an older man, both smiling widely.
“Economics award from freshman year,” he explains, following your gaze. “That’s my grandfather, the day I got my acceptance letter.”
You move closer to examine the photo, aware of Mingi following you, the space between you shrinking with each step. When you turn to face him again, he’s so close you can feel the heat radiating from his body, see the flecks of amber in his dark eyes. Something shifts in his expression—the playful fraternity president giving way to something more raw, more honest. His hand comes up to cup your cheek, thumb brushing lightly across your lower lip.
His fingers tremble against your cheek as he exhales shakily. “I’ve never been this terrified of messing something up,” he confesses, voice cracking slightly.
“Every time I look at you, I see everything I’ve ever wanted but never thought I deserved.” His eyes search yours with an intensity that makes your knees weak. “I keep pinching myself that you’re actually here, with me. You’re not just another person to me—you’re my person.” His thumb brushes your lower lip, reverent. “I adore everything about you. The way you laugh, how you challenge me, even how you roll your eyes when I’m being ridiculous.” He swallows hard. “I’m serious about us. So serious it scares me.”
The word hangs between you, heavy with meaning. You see it in his eyes, the battle between desire and fear. Fear that he’ll scare you away, that he’ll move too fast, that you’ll retreat behind those walls he’s spent weeks carefully dismantling. Your hands, almost of their own volition, drift upward to press against his chest. Under your palm, you feel the erratic thrum of his heart, each frantic beat echoing your own.
“Mingi,” you whisper, and the sound of his name—so soft, so certain—shatters the fragile barrier he’s been holding between you. For a suspended moment, your gazes lock, electric and trembling, and then he moves with a sudden, desperate clarity.
Mingi’s restraint snaps like brittle glass. He surges forward, kissing you with an intensity that’s as bright and blinding as a detonated star—no preamble, no hesitance, just pure want. His lips crash into yours, hot and hungry, arms banding around your waist so tightly you feel like you might dissolve into him. There’s nothing tentative in the way he holds you; he’s all-in, every muscle taut with reverence and longing. The kiss is a reclamation, a promise, and the culmination of every unspoken thing that’s hung between you for weeks.
You can only cling to his shoulders, overwhelmed by the seismic shift in energy. Your breath is stolen, your senses alight, your mind gone white-noise blank. The room could be on fire and you wouldn’t notice. Mingi kisses like he’s afraid you’ll disappear if he lets up for even a second—like you’re the last oxygen left on earth and he’s learning how to breathe. And yet, underneath the urgency, there’s a trembling tenderness, as though every pass of his mouth is asking, Is this okay? Am I too much? Do you want me, too?
You answer with your body, arching into him, fingers curling in the fabric of his shirt, jaw tilting to deepen the kiss. His hands slide up your back, mapping the length of your spine; one finds its way into your hair, cradling your head, the other splayed possessively at your hip. He tastes like citrus and hope and the sharp, metallic shimmer of anticipation. There’s nothing careful about it—your teeth clash, your lips bruise, and when you gasp for air, he only uses the opportunity to trail kisses along your jaw, your neck, the delicate hollow at your throat. This is messy, urgent, but it’s also so fiercely sincere you’re left raw by the force of it. When he draws back, just long enough to search your face, his breathing is ragged, his eyes dark with wonder and disbelief.
“God, This might be better than the first time we kissed,” he pants, chest heaving as he regains control of his breathing. He brushes your hair away from your face, fingers gentle where his grip had been bruising. “Tell me if it’s too much, okay?”
You shake your head, already chasing his mouth again, needing to erase the words and replace them with more—more of him, more of this. He laughs against your lips, the sound reverberating through your bones. You feel untethered, weightless, every nerve ending singing. You’re dimly aware of your back pressing up against the closed door, Mingi pinning you there in a cocoon of warmth and want. Every inch of you is alive, hypersensitive to the slide of his hands, the brush of his breath against your skin.
He kisses you again and again, in greedy, overlapping intervals, his self-control disintegrating the longer you let him. But even as the kiss turns molten, there’s nothing careless in the way he touches you—no sense of entitlement, just awe and gratitude, as though he still can’t believe you’re real, you’re here, you’re choosing him. When he finally slows, his forehead drops to yours, both of you panting, foreheads and noses pressed together, steadying yourselves against the aftershocks.
His lips find the corner of your mouth, then the line of your jaw, then your ear. “Sorry,” he whispers, not sounding sorry at all. “I got carried away for a second.”
You laugh, shaky and breathless. “It's okay, it was kinda cute.”
He smiles, teeth grazing your earlobe. “You’re dangerous, you know that?”
“I learned from the best.”
He laughs again, quieter this time, and it morphs into something softer, more vulnerable. “The student becomes the master now, huh?”
You step back, just enough to create a sliver of space between your bodies, and meet his gaze. His eyes are dark, pupils blown wide with desire, but there’s hesitation there too—a question. You answer by taking his hand and leading him toward the bed, your heart hammering against your ribs. When his legs hit the edge of the mattress, you place your palms on his chest and gently push. He sits immediately, looking up at you with such reverence that it steals your breath. For a moment, you simply stand between his parted knees, admiring how beautiful he looks like this—waiting, wanting, completely focused on you.
“Can I?” you ask softly, fingers playing with the top button of his shirt.
He nods, Adam's apple bobbing as he swallows. “Of course. Whatever you want, doll.”
You take your time undressing him, savouring each new inch of skin revealed. His breathing grows more ragged with each button you slip free, with each brush of your fingertips against his heated skin. Your hands drift lower, finding the buckle of his belt. His eyes never leave yours as you work it loose, the metal clinking softly in the quiet room. There’s something intoxicating about the way he watches you—patient yet desperate, his chest rising and falling with each shallow breath. When you pop the button of his pants, his hands grip the edge of the mattress, anchoring himself down.
“Lift your hips,” you instruct softly, and he complies immediately, allowing you to slide his pants down his thighs. The fabric pools around his ankles, and he kicks them away, leaving him in just his boxers.
You take a moment to admire him like this—the strong lines of his thighs, the subtle definition of muscle beneath smooth skin. Mingi has always seemed larger than life, but here, partially undressed and vulnerable before you, he’s beautifully human. When you trace a finger along the waistband of his underwear, he shivers, a small sound escaping his throat. He tries reaching for you, but you catch his wrists.
“Not yet,” you murmur, and he immediately stills.
“‘M Sorry,” he breathes, letting his hands fall to his sides. “I’ll be good.”
Something about the way he says it—like he’s never had to wait before, like he’s never been the one following someone else’s lead—makes the heat pool low in your belly. You lean down and press a kiss to the corner of his mouth, rewarding his patience.
“Lie back, let me take care of you,” you instruct, and he complies without hesitation, shifting up the bed until his head rests on the pillows.
You take your time undressing yourself, hyperaware of his hungry gaze tracking every movement. When you finally stand before him in nothing but your underwear, he lets out the sweetest whimper that’s graced your ears.
“Fuck,” he whispers, voice strained. “You’re so beautiful. I—“
He cuts himself off, holding back a moan as you climb onto the bed, straddling his hips. His hands hover uncertainly at your waist, waiting for permission.
“Go ahead, you can touch me,” you grant, and his hands are on you instantly. Feeling the warmth of his hands as they trace the curve of your waist, the dip of your spine.
You lean down to kiss him properly, deep and slow, savouring the taste of him. His lips part eagerly beneath yours, letting you set the pace, following your lead with a pliancy that’s intoxicating from someone normally so in control. You begin grinding against him for friction and he reciprocates. He groans into your mouth, mumbling curses under his breath. You felt his boner poking your ass while you both humped each other so so desperately. His bedroom is filled with the harmony of your heavy breathing, his whines, and the wet sounds of your lips crashing.
“Please,” he gasps. “I need—I want—“
“What do you want, Mingi?” you ask, pulling back slightly to watch his face.
“Need to feel you,” he says immediately, no hesitation. “Don’t want to—haah—cum in my pants like a fucking virgin.”
You giggle at his admission, you slowly reach behind you to squeeze his bulge, feeling it twitch in the palm of your hand. Mingi’s head tips back in bliss, growling at the sensation. The rawness in his voice makes your chest tight. You press soft kisses down his throat, across his collarbones, feeling his pulse race beneath your lips. His hands slide up your back, tangling in your hair, but he doesn’t push or pull—just holds on like you’re his anchor in a storm.
When you finally strip away the last barriers between you, his whole body trembles with anticipation. You wrap your fingers around his shaft, feeling the velvet skin slide beneath your touch as you position his flushed tip at your entrance. His eyes lock with yours—dark pools of need and surrender. You lower yourself with deliberate patience, savouring the stretch as his thick length fills you, watching his full lips part and his lashes flutter against flushed cheeks.
Mingi whines the second you ease down on him completely, hips trembling beneath you. His hands fist in the sheets, as if he’s physically restraining himself from thrusting up into you.
“Fuck, baby—“ he gasps, head tipping back against the pillows, exposing the long, vulnerable line of his throat. His jaw is clenched so tight it looks painful as he struggles for control. “Feels so good around my cock, shit—“
You lean down, hushing him gently, both palms cradling his flushed face. You treat him like something precious, something to be cherished as you press your lips to his in a slow, deep kiss. Your tongue curls against his languidly, unhurried, as if you have nowhere else to be but here, joined with him in this perfect moment.
“It feels good, doesn’t it?” you murmur between kisses, your voice soft and sweet and infinitely patient. Your forehead rests against his, noses brushing, sharing the same heated breath. “You’re doing so good for me.”
He moans at your praise, his entire body shuddering beneath yours. He’s all muscle and barely contained strength under you, his powerful frame completely at your mercy. You can feel how desperately he wants to move, to take control, but he surrenders to your pace instead, letting you have him exactly how you want him.
You remain still, just sitting there with him buried deep inside you, feeling the way your cunt pulses around his length. The sensation must be overwhelming for him because his eyes squeeze shut, his breathing ragged and uneven.
“Is it too much?” you cooed, reaching to brush damp strands of dark hair from his forehead, your touch gentle and soothing
He shakes his head frantically, his grip on your waist tightening. “N-no,” he whines with a soft, shattered sound. “Just—fuck, just need a s-second—feels too fuckin’ good—can’t think—“
Sweat beads at his hairline, eyes squeezed shut in some primal effort to hold himself together, chest heaving under your hands like he’s afraid his ribs will break apart from the force of it. You melt a little at the sight of him—a six foot force of raw sex appeal—now reduced to a mass of shaking limbs and shattered breath, undone and writhing beneath you. There’s something intoxicating about the way he trusts you to see him like this, about the way he lets himself be taken apart so openly, without armour or artifice. You savour it, every trembling, helpless second, and you want to draw it out forever.
You lean down, brushing your lips to his cheek in a soft, featherlight kiss. He inhales sharply, but doesn’t flinch away. Instead, he turns his head, chasing your mouth with a need so naked it nearly undoes you. You let him catch you, let him press his lips to yours—not in a kiss, exactly, but a silent plea, a lifeline. You answer by kissing him deeper, slower, letting your tongue trace the seam of his lips, coaxing him open, coaxing him back to the surface. His hands slide up your back, frantic but reverent, like he’s trying to memorise the shape of you by touch and touch alone. His heart beats wild under your palm, a frantic semaphore that reads: I want you, I want you, I want you. You press another kiss to the corner of his mouth, then to his jaw, then down the delicate line where his pulse hammers beneath thin skin. He shudders, his whole body rigid and shivery. You thread your fingers through his hair, stroking the side of his face
“Hey,” you murmur, voice as gentle as you know how to make it, “Relax, I’ve got you. Can you do that for me?”
He nods, so obedient and desperate it makes something deep in your chest ache with tenderness. One breath, then another, and you feel the tightness in his body begin to unravel—incremental, but real. You rock your hips slowly, experimentally, watching his face for every flicker of sensation, every micro-expression. His lips part in a helpless moan, but his eyes finally flutter open, dazed and shining. He tries to say your name but it comes out as a whimper, half-beg, half-blessing.
“That’s it, baby” you praise, kissing him again, softer this time. “You’re doing so well.”
The words seem to go straight to his core—he clings to them, drinking them down like water in the desert. You keep up a steady stream of encouragement, every whisper and touch meant to anchor him, to let him know you want him just like this: open, needy, trembling with the effort of holding back.
You draw the next movement out deliberately. The slow, aching drag of your hips, the way you squeeze around him with every tiny shift. Mingi’s hands grip your thighs like lifelines, fingers biting into your skin, but he doesn’t dare take back control—the restraint is exquisite, painful to watch. He’s at your mercy and loving it, if the way his eyes keep darting to your mouth, your chest, your hands, is any indication.
“Gonna let me do what I want, yeah?” you crooned, savoring how your voice makes him flinch with anticipation. “Keep being good for me.”
He nods, lips trembling as he struggles to keep his composure “Fuck. Yes—pl-please, ‘m yours.”
You build your rhythm, slow and steady, each grind calculated to wring the maximum shudder from him. Sometimes you pause, letting him throb helplessly inside you, watching his jaw flex and his throat work as he swallows the urge to move. Sometimes, you bring yourself up just enough that only the tip of him is inside, and let him feel the loss, the emptiness, right before you sink down again in one slow, molten pulse. Every time you do it, Mingi’s head tips back, a sound escaping his throat that’s closer to a sob than a moan. You let the building friction wind both of you higher, but you don’t let yourself get lost in it; you want to see him come apart, to savour every second of his surrender.
You pick up the pace, just enough to make it impossible for him to stay silent. The bed frame squeaks softly beneath you, his hands finally dragging up your ribs, desperate for anything to ground him in this sinful reality. He reaches up and cups one of your tits, rolling and squeezing your nipple until it hardens against his warm touch. Your eyes shut at the sight, your body starts to falter under his grasp. Every inch of him is trembling too, his body strung tight as wire. His thrusts are growing more desperate, cockhead now slamming into your weakest spot, ripping a pornographic moan from you.
“Please, doll,” he rasps, voice gone rough and wild. “Please, can I—?”
You lean in, your lips at his ear, your breath hot and deliberate. “You want to cum?” you hum, rocking down hard and slow, grinding your hips just the way he likes. “You want to fill me up?”
He makes a strangled sound that could be your name, or a prayer, or both. “Pleasepleaseplease,” he says again, as if the word is being pried out of him, as if he’s never begged for anything in his life.
You decide he’s earned it.
“Do it,” you cooed. “Cum for me, Mingi. Wanna feel you cum inside me.”
The effect is immediate. He bucks up into you, helpless, his face contorting with pure, blissful pleasure. His hands drag you down against him, holding you in place as he comes deep inside you, the force of it making his whole body shudder. Your juices drip down his balls and your gummy walls clamp down hard on his sensitive length, throwing into his orgasm and washing his vision white. You feel his warmth spreading in your insides, creamy ropes of cum making you feel fuller than before. You ride him through it, slow and greedy, squeezing him with your cunt until he’s wrung out and gasping, eyes rolling back as he drowns in sensation. His chest trembles under his shaky breaths as he pulls his half-hard cock out of your sticky heat, looking up at you through dampened lashes. You press your lips to his damp temple, stroking his hair until the aftershocks fade. For a moment, the world goes silent save for the hammering of both your hearts, the heat of your bodies, the sweat cooling on your skin.
All of a sudden, the equilibrium tilts.
Mingi comes back to himself by degrees, eyes still glazed but mouth already curling into a grin that’s all sharp canines and mischief. You’re still trembling, the aftershocks ricocheting through your bones, but the way he’s holding you now—possessive—is different from before. There’s a shift in the air, a gathering of purpose behind the lazy drag of his palm up your spine.
“Alright, you’ve had your fun,” he rasps, voice rough with spent desire, “my turn.”
Suddenly he’s moving, rolling you onto your back in a single, fluid motion. His hands are everywhere—kneading your ass, your thighs, greedy in their hunger. His body covers yours, heat and weight and muscle, and you realise that he’s been biding his time, letting you have your way only so he could give it back to you tenfold.
“Did you really think you had all the control, doll?” he drawls, the words fiery and playful at once, goading you with the memory of your earlier dominance—all while letting you know it was only ever on loan.
His hands bracket your hips, fingers splayed and greedy, and you feel the faintest quiver in his arms as he holds himself over you, like a predator savouring the moment before the pounce. His eyes never leave yours as he takes himself in hand, his cock already hardening again. You feel the blunt head of him brushing against your sensitive folds, teasing at your entrance. He drags it slowly up and down your slit, still slick with his cum and your arousal, circling your clit with deliberate pressure that makes your hips buck involuntarily.
“So responsive,” he murmurs, eyes darkening as he continues to tease you, tapping his tip against your cunt with feather-light touches. “Look at how eager you are f’me.”
You moan as he continues his torturous teasing, rubbing his hardening length against your swollen lips, gathering your shared wetness along his shaft. Your hips buck involuntarily, chasing the fullness you crave. Mingi just chuckles, keeping his movements shallow, the head of his cock just barely dipping inside before retreating. The emptiness is maddening.
“Use your words,” he commands softly, continuing the torturous tapping against your entrance. “Tell me what you need.”
“I— ohmygod... I need—,” you try to answer, but the question melts on your tongue.
His smile is triumphant as he finally, finally pushes forward, sinking into you with one smooth thrust. He buries himself deeper, hips rolling with a languid, relentless power. Every inch of him fills you, presses you open, makes you ache. He fucks up into you with a slow, devastating grind that leaves your toes curling and your nails digging into his biceps for purchase.
“So fucking tight,” he groans, nipping at your pulse point, tongue flicking over sweat-salted skin. “So wet for me. You like being stuffed by my cock don't you?”
“Oh fuck.. yes!” You whimper, and he grips your jaw, thumb pressing into your lower lip, enticing you to be louder.
“Let me hear you,” he growls, eyes burning into yours. “Fuck—let the whole dorm hear how good I’m making you feel.”
He fucks you like he has nowhere to go and nothing else to do but ruin you, each punishing thrust deliberate and deep, perfectly tuned to hit every trembling, oversensitive sweet spot inside you, drawing out increasingly desperate sounds that seem to fuel his hunger. The room is a riot of sensation: the slap of skin on skin, the obscene squeeelch of your own arousal, the sweat that drips from his brow onto your collarbone as he leans in to bite at your shoulder.
He laces his fingers through yours, pinning your hands above your head, and the new angle is exquisite—he’s so deep you can barely breathe, so intense you can’t manage a sound. He’s watching your face, drinking in every flicker of pleasure and pain, cataloguing the way your body arches and clenches around him.
“Look at you,” he pants, fucking you harder now, the headboard rattling with each thrust. “You look so pretty like this—spread out for me, fuck. This is what you wanted, right?”
You feel the weight of him first, that heavy press of Mingi’s body pinning you down against the sheets, his hips grinding slow and deliberate as he sinks deeper. Every inch of his cock stretches you wide, the burn mixing with that sweet ache that makes your toes curl and your breath hitch. Your hands claw at his back, nails digging into the scarred skin, but he doesn’t flinch. He just growls low in his throat, pushing harder, stuffing himself in until there’s no space left between you. All you can feel is him, that thick length buried deep, pulsing against your walls as he drives in again and again. a whimper escapes your lips, broken and needy, your body arching up to meet him even as the overload makes you want to pull away. Mingi notices immediately. his hand shoots up, fingers tangling rough in your hair, yanking your head forward with just enough force to make you gasp.
“Look at me,” He rasps, voice strained like he’s fighting through something sharp and brutal.
His grip tightens, holding you steady so your eyes lock onto his. Yours are wide now, pupils blowing out wide and dark, swallowing the colour until there’s just that hazy black stare reflecting back at him. He watches it happen, the way they dilate under the dim light, pulling him in like you’re lost in the haze of it all. His sounds get louder, desperate almost, grunts turning into these deep, guttural moans that vibrate through his body into yours.
“Fuck—I'm gonna lose my mind,” he groans, the word dragging out low and pained, like the pleasure is edging on torture. his free hand digs into your hip, bruising as he pulls you closer, slamming in one last time. “Your perfect cunt was made for me wasn't it?”
You nod, frantic, tears pricking at the corners of your eyes from the overwhelming fullness. He slows, just enough to let you catch your breath, then leans in, capturing your mouth with his in a kiss that’s as much a challenge as comfort. His tongue is rough, demanding, and he swallows every helpless sound you make.
Then, in a cruel twist of fate, he pulls out entirely, leaving you empty and clenching at nothing. Before you can beg, he’s flipping you onto your stomach, hands manhandling your hips up until you’re on your knees for him, face pressed into the pillows. He lines himself up behind you, the heat of his cock nudging at your entrance, and you whimper in anticipation.
“You're gonna let me fuck you sooo good, right baby?” he promises, voice gone dark and needy, and then he slams back into you in one brutal, beautiful stroke. The sound you make is sweet, involuntary, a sob torn from deep in your chest. He gives you no quarter, hips pistoning relentlessly, the flat of his hand coming down on your ass with a sharp crack that sends you clenching around him.
“So beautiful,” he purred, running his palm over the stinging flesh.
With every thrust he drives the point home, each one punctuated by a filthy litany—mine—until you can feel the word burning into your skin. He grabs a fistful of your hair, jerks your head back so you’re forced to arch, to present yourself to him, to let him see how utterly, beautifully ruined you are.
“Say it,” he orders, voice raw. “Tell me who you belong to.”
You gasp, barely able to form words. “You! Mingi. I’m all yours—“
He rewards you with devastating thrusts, so deep your vision starts turning white.
You can feel yourself unraveling, each thrust pushing you closer to the edge. He’s relentless, fucking you through your first orgasm and into a second, not stopping even when you collapse boneless onto the mattress. He kisses your spine, your shoulder blade, every vertebrae, as he keeps you pinned and takes you, over and over, until your vision blurs and you forget your own name.
“M-mingi! M’ so close, gonna cum—“
“Gonna cum inside you again,” he promises, voice shaking with how close he is, hips stuttering. “You gonna take it for me? Gonna let me breed this perfect pussy?”
“Yesyesyes—fuck!”
The words rip something out of you. You nod, desperate, grinding back against him, greedy for his release.
“That’s my girl, c’mon cum with me baby.”
He bites down on your shoulder, hard enough to leave a mark, and fucks you through his own climax, cock pulsing inside you as he fills you up again, so much it slicks out around the edges and paints the inside of your thighs, messy and obscene.
You collapse together, his arms locked around your waist, breath ghosting warm across your neck. He stays inside you, softening only a little, like he can’t bear to let you go yet. You lie there, bodies tangled and sticky, sweat cooling on your skin, and you feel the heat of him still throbbing inside you, a silent claim.
Neither of you moves for what feels like hours, your breathing gradually slowing to match each other’s rhythm. Mingi’s weight on top of you is heavy but comforting, his cock still nestled deep inside you despite having softened slightly. The gentle pulsing of him against your walls sends occasional aftershocks through your system, little reminders of the intensity you just shared.
“Stay like this,” you whisper when he finally stirs, your hand reaching back to keep him in place. “Just a little longer.”
He makes a soft sound of agreement, pressing his lips to the nape of your neck. “You like feeling me inside you, don’t you?” His voice is a gentle rumble against your skin.
You nod, feeling strangely vulnerable in your admission. There’s something deeply intimate about this—more so, somehow, than the passionate sex you just had. Mingi seems to understand, adjusting his position slightly so he’s not crushing you but remains connected, his chest pressed to your back, one arm draped possessively across your waist.
“This okay?” he murmurs, his breath warm against your ear.
“Perfect,” you sigh, melting into the mattress beneath his weight.
The room falls quiet except for your mingled breathing and the distant thrum of music from downstairs. The party continues without you, but at this moment, the world outside this room might as well not exist. Mingi nuzzles against your shoulder, pressing lazy kisses to the marks he left earlier.
“I’ve never done this before,” he confesses quietly.
“What, sex?” you tease, knowing full well that’s not what he means.
He laughs softly, the vibration traveling through both your bodies. “No, smartass.” His arm tightens around you. “This,” he clarifies, fingers drawing gentle patterns on your skin. “Having someone stay over.”
You twist your neck to look at him, eyebrows raised in disbelief. “Wait, seriously? But you’re—you’re you. How—”
He laughs, but there’s no humor in it. “Yeah I know…I don’t bring people here. Ever.”
“Ever?” You shift slightly to face him better, wincing as you feel him slip out of you. The loss is immediate, leaving you empty in a way that makes you want to chase the connection again. He reaches for tissues from his nightstand, cleaning you both with surprising tenderness before settling back beside you. His eyes meet yours, unusually vulnerable.
“Never,” he confirms, voice soft. “This room is... I don’t know. It’s mine. My space. I don’t share it with just anyone.”
The implication hangs between you, heavy with meaning. You’re not just anyone. You’re someone he wants in his private world, someone he’s letting see parts of himself that others don’t.
“But all those stories about you...” you begin, confused.
He shrugs, looking slightly embarrassed. “Not saying I’ve been a saint. But those hookups? They happened elsewhere. Never here. Never in my bed.” His fingers trace your cheekbone with careful precision. “Never like this.”
Something warm blooms in your chest, spreading outward until your whole body feels flushed with it. You’ve been the exception to so many of his rules already—the girl he studied for, the one he took to Stellina, the one he waited patiently for. And now this—being the only person he’s ever brought to his most personal space.
“I didn’t know,” you whisper, because you don’t know what else to say.
“How could you?” His smile is small but genuine. “I’ve spent a lot of time making sure everyone sees exactly what they expect to see.”
You reach up, touching his face with gentle fingers. “And what am I seeing right now?”
“The real me,” he says simply. “The one who’s terrified of messing this up. The one who thinks about you constantly. The one who...” he hesitates, taking a deep breath before continuing, “the one who wants you to be his girlfriend. Officially.”
Your heart stutters in your chest. Despite everything that’s happened between you—the tutoring, the dates, the incredible sex you just had—hearing him say it out loud makes it suddenly, overwhelmingly real.
“Mingi...” you start, uncertain how to respond.
His face falls slightly, but he quickly masks it. “I’m rushing things, aren’t I?”
“No, it’s not that,” you say quickly, not wanting him to misunderstand. “It’s just—this is all happening so fast. A few months ago I couldn’t stand you, and now...”
“And now?” he prompts when you trail off, eyes searching yours.
“Now I can’t imagine not having you in my life,” you admit. The truth of it surprises even you. “I just need a little time to process everything. Can I... can I give you an answer tomorrow?”
Relief washes over his features. “It’s not a no?”
You smile, leaning in to kiss him softly. “Definitely not a no.”
He pulls you closer, wrapping you in his arms like he’s afraid you might disappear. “Tomorrow it is. I can wait.”
You fall asleep like that, tangled together in his sheets, his heartbeat steady against your back, his breath warm on your neck. For the first time in years, you don’t worry about your schedule or your plans or what comes next. You just let yourself exist in this moment, with him.
═══════════════════
Sunlight streams through the gap in the curtains, painting golden stripes across the bed. You stir slowly, your body pleasantly sore as consciousness creeps in. For a moment, disorientation clouds your mind—this isn’t your dorm room. All of a sudden, rapid flashbacks enter your mind from the events of last night. Mingi is gone, the sheets cool where he should be. For one terrible moment, panic seizes your chest—did he regret last night? Did he change his mind about wanting you as his girlfriend?
Then you hear footsteps in the hallway, the door handle turning. You sit up, clutching the sheet to your chest, heart pounding.
Mingi backs into the room, hands full. He’s balancing a tray of coffee cups, a small box of chocolates tucked under his arm, and—your breath catches—a bouquet of lilies and hydrangeas cradled against his chest. He hasn’t noticed you’re awake yet, too focused on not dropping anything as he nudges the door closed with his foot.
When he turns and sees you watching him, his face breaks into a smile so bright it rivals the sunlight streaming through the windows.
“Morning,” he says, suddenly looking shy. “I was hoping to be back before you woke up.”
“What’s all this?” you ask, unable to keep the smile from your voice.
He approaches the bed, carefully setting down the coffee cups on the nightstand. “Well, I figured your answer might depend on how convincing my case was.” He hands you the flowers, the stargazer lilies’ pink-speckled petals unfurling beside clusters of blue hydrangeas that catch the morning light. “These reminded me of you.”
You bury your nose in the blooms, inhaling their sweet fragrance. “They’re perfect.”
“There’s more,” he says, offering you the box of chocolates. “Your favourite, right? The ones with the salted caramel centers?”
You blink in surprise. “How did you know?”
“You mentioned it once, when we were studying for the midterm. Said they were your stress food.”
The fact that he remembered such a small detail makes your heart swell. He passes you one of the coffee cups, the rich aroma of your preferred brew wafting up as you take it.
“And this…” he reaches into his pocket and pulls out a small envelope. “This is the most important part.”
You set the coffee aside and take the card with trembling fingers. The envelope is simple, your name written on the front in his familiar handwriting. Inside is a handmade card, decorated with what appears to be hand-drawn economic graphs and formulas. You open it, and a laugh bubbles up from your chest as you read the message:
According to my cost-benefit analysis, being with you yields the highest returns on investment. Our relationship has increasing marginal utility—the more time I spend with you, the more valuable each moment becomes. Will you be my girlfriend and help me maximize our happiness and love function?
It’s nerdy and sweet and so perfectly him that tears spring to your eyes. When you look up, he’s watching you nervously, waiting for your response.
“Soooo?” he asks, voice barely above a whisper.
You set the card aside carefully and reach for him, pulling him down until he’s sitting beside you on the bed. “You're so stupid,” you say, cupping his face in your hands. “Of course I'll be your girlfriend”
The relief and joy that wash over his features are almost painful to witness. He leans in, capturing your lips in a kiss that’s somehow both gentle and fierce, like he’s trying to pour every emotion he’s feeling into this one perfect moment.
When you finally break apart, he rests his forehead against yours, eyes closed as if he’s committing this to memory.
“You know,” you say, threading your fingers through his hair, “for someone who was failing economics a few weeks ago, that was a pretty impressive application of the principles.”
He laughs, the sound vibrating through both of you. “What can I say? I had an excellent tutor.”
“Damn right you did,” you tease, pulling him in for another kiss.
Outside, the campus is waking up. Students are heading to class, professors are preparing lectures, life is continuing as it always has. But in this room, wrapped in each other’s arms, you and Mingi have created something new—a world that belongs just to the two of you, built on unexpected connections, shattered assumptions, and the courage to see beyond the surface. As his lips find yours again, more insistent this time, you let yourself sink into the certainty that some economic theories are universal: the most valuable things are often the ones you never saw coming, and the greatest returns come from the investments you make not with your head, but with your heart.
ᯓ Dancing for the devil, Bring your body and your energy
pairing: ballet dancer!Song Mingi x ballet dancer fem!reader
synopsis: at Seoul's most prestigious ballet university, no pair is more legendary than you and Ikhyun - until a scandal destroys his career overnight. Varna is coming up, and you're forced to pick a new partner. But maybe some things are never meant to be replaced. - or lowkey a k-drama that somehow got converted to a fanfic on tumblr dot com content: uni au, ballet dancer au, somewhat enemies to lovers, grief without death, angst, drama, drinking, forced proximity, slow burn, mention of drugs and ed culture (it's ballet after all), reader is lowkey a bitch, and mingi is very sassy, unreliable narrator (?), fluff, smut (nothing too crazy), petnames (princess, baby, good girl, pretty girl, pretty, cruella) wc: 23.5k featuring: '99 liners, h2h: Jiwoo, Stella, Skz: Lee Know, Hyunjin, Twice: Mina, Lsfm: Kazuha
⭑루안: my contribution to @sungbeam 's live alive fic collab - who i thank graciously. you can find the master list for the event here. also warning!! i don't dance ballet, i never did.
this is my longest fic... hope u will enjoy it as much as i did (said with tears in my eyes)
pas de deux
/ˌpɑː də ˈdəː/
noun
a dance for two people, especially as part of a ballet.
"One, two. Let those muscles tighten," the professor's voice bounced off the walls. "Jiwoo, I really hoped you would learn to do your plié better," he tsked, disgust visible on his harsh features. "We're not in starting classes anymore, this is third year ballet if I remember right."
Jiwoo knew better than to try to explain her situation and instead turned her hips out more, the muscles in her glutes burning just as hot as her calves. Minkus' Don Quixote blared through the studio, almost deafening, as sweat rolled down her forehead.
"Minseo, lower," he looked at her in the mirror, giving her a really harsh look from the side. He began softly nudging her legs, turning her pointe outward and pushing her lower into position. The uncomfortable look was clear on her face, her hand holding onto the barre shaking with the strain.
When he moved forward, his eyes settled on your figure, just for a second and went on to Ikhyun's, and then a sort of appreciative noise left his lips, threatening a smile to break out on your face. He just continued walking behind the line of students in front of the mirror, adjusting everyone with small yet harsh moves. Ikhyun's gaze found yours in the mirror, a soft smile playing on his lips.
"Okay, stop." Professor Lee dismissed his hands, coming up to pinch the bridge of his nose in feigned disappointment. The class sighed collectively, dropping from their toes, "disastrous." Okay, maybe not feigned… "I want everyone's pliés looking like those two's by next class, or I swear to god I am failing all of you." His words made some people give you and your partner envious stares, in their breathless misery.
"y/n, and Ikhyun, stay. Everyone else, leave." His arms crossed against his chest, and his nose flared with the breath he took. "So, La Bayedére." His eyebrows shot up in an impressed manner as the classmates scurried out of the room while they could.
"Yes, sir." Your voice betrayed the confidence in your choice.
"You couldn't have picked a piece that requires more control and trust," his lips curled into a snarl, gaze picking you and your best friend to pieces. "Why?" he questioned, looking genuinely intrigued, "for Varna especially, Swan Lake or Don Quixote would've gone even better."
Because Varna called for something new, something unfamiliar to you. It was the biggest challenge for pair dancers. You recall dancing mindlessly at the mere age of six, dreaming of the competition while your seniors trained for it - you even remember the tone in your voice when you asked Ikhyun if he believed you could succeed. Imagine flying to Bulgaria, returning with a gleaming gold medal in hand and a smile wider than you ever imagined.
"We like a good challenge, sir," Ikhyun smiled up at him, his back straight, ready to answer all of his concerns - and voice just as confident as it was when you first asked him. "and as you said, Varna actually requires stepping out of the comfort zone." The Professor only hummed in response, his hand rubbing his chin.
"Okay, show me what you've got," he motioned to the now empty classroom, backing up to his phone to put the music on.
"Gladly, sir."
Both of you were on mark by the time the music started, the violins slicing through the air sharply. You knew the set by heart. Effortless with the movements, turns, lifts and supports. Back as straight as it can get. Moving elegantly from one side of the floor to the other. You didn't need to look at him to stay in sync anymore.
Usually, during performances with Ikhyun - even in the classroom for only one professor - your mind cleared of all worries. Only focusing on his steps and moves as if it were muscle memory rather than a dance. As if it were something rehearsed, not felt.
When the music suddenly stopped after what felt like only seconds, your lungs burned. Sweat gathered everywhere - forehead, ribs, palms. Your feet were nearly numb in the pointe shoes as you held your ending pose. After a few moments, both of you released the pose simultaneously without any cue, because after all this time, that's simply how it happened.
Professor Lee gave one firm nod - which translated to a storm of applause from a real and not-so-harsh audience. "Lift your legs higher, y/n, let the music guide you, not the habit," he told you with a puzzled look on his face, "The same goes for you too, Ikhyun, but with enough practice it will settle, hopefully." You both nodded at his critiques, still breathless from the dance. "What about the competition this Friday?"
"I wanted to tell you one of the reasons we're not doing Don Quixote is because we're doing it this weekend," Ikhyun explains easily, between ragged breaths.
"Easier, not as flashy; and definitely for smaller competitions," you finished for him, trying to stretch your forefoot with the pointes impeding your movement. Mr Lee nodded along to your words, looking deep in thought.
"Take this win home, this is child's play for a pair like you." his voice turned softer than the authoritative loud tone it usually held in class. "Who will be there? No-names, maybe Minho and Mina are the only pair as a respectable rival there," he scoffed, dismissively rolling his eyes. "You will do it." his voice held no argument, practically demanding your return with the golden trophy in hand.
"Of course, Sir," you replied at the same time, bowing in front of him, taking those last words as a dismissal from class, finally. Your bag's strap cut into your aching shoulder, trying to kick off your pointes as fast as possible.
"You want me to give you a ride home?" Ikhyun's voice came from behind you as you stepped through the door he held open.
"Obviously," you giggled at him, shooting him a playful glance, which he rolled his eyes at. This banter was an everyday thing for you since you both learned to talk, way before all this ballet lunacy started.
But when it started, you did it with him in tow - parents pushing you financially to the best masters and educators. The ultimate goal was to get into the ballet university of your choice, an ambition that had seemed entirely childish at the time.
When the letter of acceptance came to both you and Ikhyun, you told the boy to pinch you at least fifteen times in a row, making the soft skin of your forearms sting with every squeeze. All those late nights spent in the practice room, sweat, tears and blood put into your moves and reps - as if it was more than just a passion. It was worth it in the end, but the real work only started in the first year of university.
They pushed you harder, stronger, until failure every day. Attendance was mandatory for first-year students at every competition, even if they weren't selected to perform their variation.
And soon it started to show: the ballet community began talking about your pair, quickly making it one of the most-liked young pas de deux dancers in the country. Ikhyun's shredded figure next to your own, in such contrast, brings out each other's best features: his height and your fluid grace. Everything had an eternal essence to it. That's what people loved most about the two of you.
And that's why, when the music ended, the applause came louder than it had for any dancer at today's competition. It echoed off the walls, swelling around you, forcing your smile wider despite the strain in your chest.
You needed to hold the pose, even though the headpiece rubbed your scalp raw. Even though you wanted nothing but to get off stage, holding the pose at the end sometimes got appreciated more than the whole performance. Even though you felt the last few notes of Don Quixote try to rip your head apart.
These seconds felt longer than the dance itself, but everything must come to an end, right? You bowed to the audience in unsaid synchronisation with Ikhyun, hearing the claps even from the side of the stage.
Some guys from your school clapped Ikhyun's shoulders as soon as he was in reach, not helping the ache in every limb of his - or yours, for that matter. But right now, the adrenaline was still in you, feeding the fire of your ambition, blurring everything that came after the performance.
"You were lovely as always out there, darling." Ikhyun's mother came up to you with your parents behind them. Both of them held flowers in their hands, which was a habit rather than a congratulation at this point. Her soft hand caressed your cheeks, eyes shining in a way they only did after seeing you and her son connect on a different level.
But her supposed son was still all laughs and jokes with the guys - Mingi, Yunho, and some others you didn't recognise. Just other dancers in your year that never lived up to Ikhyun's skill - or at least to you.
They were here tonight to compete in solo categories, dressed in way too tight clothes that have always been the norm for ballet dancing - but on Mingi, the black unitard with silver details seemed to look… good. You wonder if he has already danced his variation - or if you could still wish them good luck.
But your eyes returned to Ikhyun, who was still school girlishly giggling around, not even registering that you had left his side to talk to your families, who seemed to blend after all this time seamlessly.
You called out his name rather sharply, pulling one eyebrow up questioningly.
"Oh, I gotta go, think about that party tonight, Mingi," his smile was wide still as he fist bumped everyone in his little circle. "Hey, Mom," as soon as he was in the vicinity, he planted a loud, sloppy kiss on her cheek. She laughed, swatting him away to wipe her face, but the affection was practically a ceremony by now. He greeted your parents, too, with that usual boyish charm he always wore proudly.
His arms wrapped around your shoulder, "Don't be so stiff, y/nnie, you're coming tonight also," his tone held no argument, but oh, this guy was nothing to one up.
The thought of anything other than a hot shower and your bed made your skin crawl right now, and you doubted it would change any time soon. And there wasn't even a win yet to celebrate. "You know damn well I won't," you chuckled, turning back to face your families. As soon as you were about to speak, the booming voice of the announcer called up the last pair to the stage.
"Hwang Hyunjin and Kazuha Nakamura from Seoul Arts University performing Swan Lake."
Your head snapped to the pair walking onto the stage. A small smile grazed your lips at their grace-filled steps, already giving themselves to the performance.
"I didn't know Hwang was here," Ikhyun said, his tone making it sound more like an accusation than a question, making your eyes roll. Did this guy even use his brain? - better one, did he even have one?
"Name one competition in Seoul- in the country we haven't seen them at," you deadpanned. Your eyes found their way back to their performance, magnetised to Kazuha's frame, "I still envy the elegance with which she moves." A weary sigh escaped your lips.
Ikhyun only chuckled, "You move better, and I outdance Hwang in every possible criteria." his chest puffed with pride, "They are no match."
And suddenly the adrenaline started to wear off, kicking back the strains and sorespots at full force. Giving place to the anxiety to claw its way into you, until the announcements came.
Pointe shoes were discarded everywhere backstage. Sweat mixed with some left behind bouquets that made everything smell like a flower field in the worst way possible. But hearing your name being called for the gold medal made all of this endurable.
When you were packing in your still ecstatic mood, Ikhyun came begging, almost even going as low as getting on his knees to get you to the after-party. But the call of your bed was way stronger than anything he could have promised.
By the time you got home, your mind was muddled. Long forgotten about that shower collapsing headfirst into the bed, still smelling like sweat and hairspray - unusual, but not unheard of.
You woke up early the next day, not by your own will but rather the non-stop buzzing of your phone. Endless messages flood your home screen.
Dahyun
have you seen?
Jiwoo
wake up
this is bad.
link attached
Your stomach dropped even before you opened the article. Skipping every other notification and opening what they all had in common.
Prestigious ballet university student involved in street fight
No.
No, no, no.
Soo Ikhyun, a student at the School of Korean Ballet - and widely regarded as one of the nation's most promising young dancers - has been involved in a disagreement that appeared to escalate into a physical altercation with a student from a rival school, An Kangmin.
Footage from nearby street cameras shows the presence of multiple students from both institutions. The cause of the conflict remains unclear, though further statements are expected once An Kangmin is discharged from urgent care.
With potential legal consequences pending, the university has yet to release an official statement regarding disciplinary action. However, sources suggest that expulsion is being considered, as students have previously been dismissed for significantly lesser offences.
This incident places a shadow over Ikhyun's rising career. The dancer has been preparing for the upcoming Varna International Ballet Competition in Bulgaria, where he was expected to compete as a leading contender in the pas de deux category alongside his long-time partner, y/n l/n.
Tears blurred your vision by the time you finished the article. Your knuckles turned white with how hard you were holding the phone with your grip, and your breath came in short bursts. This isn't real. How will you compete now? How will- wait, will they expel him? Will they let him stay because he is the Soo Ikhyun?
This isn't a matter money can hush; this will be the talk of the ballet community for at least the season - if not the next five. What was he thinking? Going out all mighty, getting drunk beyond recognition, just to hit someone …for what reason exactly?
Your fingers worked with haste, opening the chat with your best friend, who, as of right now, felt like someone you didn't know.
Ikhyun <3 - 12:07 am
i wish you would've came tn
its so empty w/o uuuuuuu
Ikhyun <3 - 01:54 am
fuck this is baasd
thatfucker kangmin is here
Ikhyun <3 - 03:21 am
pick up please
i am so sorry
please wake up
fuck
i messed up
please don't be mad
Don't be mad?
Don't be mad?
You
what the fuck have you done
Your calls go unanswered. Ikhyun and whatever he might be doing better be important. The tears just pour down your face, shaking your whole body with the force. The door opens, figures come in, but it's way too blurry to even think about who it might be. There must be a way to salvage this, there must.
What has he done.
On the other side of town, Ikhyun is taking in the damage from yesterday. The dean and Professor Lee are sitting in the room - or rather, the latter is pacing back and forth along the walls of the room.
"Such careless actions!" the professor murmurs under his breath, the hand he holds in front of his mouth somewhat muffling his words. "What were you thinking?" His voice doesn't carry the strictness that has bounced off the studio's walls every day; students have never seen this side of him.
"Mr Lee, I advise you to sit down," The dean's voice is more collected, her well-manicured hands tapping against the wooden surface of her table. How can one be so calm in a situation like this? "You're only making matters worse."
"Worse?" his steps falter, facing Ms Payer, his eyes turn eerily dark as his next words boom off the walls, "He won't be able to compete at Varna- or more like any competition!" his hands gesture animatedly, anger overtaking all of his earlier rationality, "He will be locked out of ballet circles because of this! It doesn't matter what we decide; it has already been decided by the others!"
"I understand, Mister Lee, and that is why you should calm down; the outcome is out of our hands." He huffs at her words. Hands crossing over his chest, while shaking his head, "And most importantly, I am sorry, Ikhyun," she says to the boy, whose eyes were just snapping from one figure to the other until she finally addressed him. Sorry about what exactly? "You threw away your career the exact time you threw the punch, but I am sure you know that by now."
Oh, wouldn't she like to know. His chest has been convulsing as if it wants to give up on him any minute since he registered what exactly happened. But he couldn't just let the guy degrade you freely when you weren't there to protect your pride. He nods at her, head falling between his sagged shoulders.
"You were the only competition we had against the Russians." Mr Lee's voice broke the sudden mourning silence that settled over the room. Ikhyun's hands balled into fists next to him, nails breaking the delicate skin of his palm. Because that's all he was, an asset - a chance for the school.
When he was dismissed from the room, his eyes immediately took in your shaking frame, barely held up by your parents. Your first reaction was to grab onto his jacket, maybe shake some sense into him, but you just collapsed into his arms. Now crying on each other's shoulders.
Your eyes sting from being unable to cry, and you must ask him: Why did he do it? Why would he do it? Was there no other way to resolve this? What will you do without him now? You never danced with anyone else before - only during practices he missed due to sickness, and never for more than a few hours.
But you can't form the words, can't force them out, no matter how much you want to. You sit there in the suffocating mourning silence in the comfort of your bed and his arms. He is the one to break the silence first after all.
"We went over a few things with Miss Payer and Mister Lee." his words die down into an unsteady breath that shakes your head on his chest. "It's not official yet, but I will be expelled."
The words crumble every last hope you had, starting the dry tears to come back again. He released a weary sigh, letting the silence take over.
Until he couldn't.
"There are a lot of good dancers in the school-"
"No." You support yourself up from the bed, grabbing his shoulders for purchase. Eyes wide in disbelief as the tears still fell.
"I don't want you to not reach your dreams because of me."
"Are they really my dreams if you're not in them?" The words hit him like a shot. He is shaking his head as he closes his eyes, unable to look into your broken gaze anymore. And your cries come back at full force, until his comforting words lull you to sleep.
Your chemistry was a weird one. Everyone thought there must be some romantic aspect to it, but there never was. You loved each other as siblings would. You grew up together, glued together by ballet. But what would happen to the bond if ballet weren't there anymore?
—
plié
/ˈpliːeɪ/
noun
a movement in which a dancer bends the knees and straightens them again, usually with the feet turned right out and heels firmly on the ground.
—
Getting to university is way harder on Monday than it should have been.
Ikhyun wasn't there in the morning to pick you up. He didn't force you to listen to his horrible music, and he didn't tell you at least fifty dad jokes before arriving at the parking lot.
Dahyun and Jiwoo joined your side the minute you stepped into the building, trying to shield you from the pitying glances every student threw you, with more or less success. It wasn't their fault; men twice their size wouldn't have been enough to block them all.
Your blood boiled more with each. Nails digging into your palms, drawing blood. No breathing exercise could have helped, no topic Jiwoo or Dahyun could have brought up, because there wasn't any that didn't concern you or him.
And even the professors joined in the public pity. Making you stay behind after class to ask you if you need help with anything, as if Ikhyun died, not just left.
The cafeteria was the worst part. As if everyone judging each other's plates wasn't enough, you craved the little comforting touches the others gave you with their mock-up sad smiles. The most mind-blowing part was the way some first-years let you go in front of them in the line. You couldn't even help the little "what the fuck" that escaped your lips, and the scowl that came with it.
There were always whispers everywhere you walked, but now they were louder, crueller, and not as slick as they were before. Almost as if the absence of Ikhyun made them bolder.
You were taking your tray back when you bumped into someone.
Poor girl's face drained from blood, white as a ghost, as she murmured repeated apologies while she scurried away, head pulled between her shoulders. Jiwoo and Dahyun chuckled when you looked at them with a questioning glance.
Okay, maybe I lied when I said the cafeteria was the worst - it definitely was the studio.
Chatter fully died down when you stepped inside. You felt every eye on you, but they all looked away the moment you stared back.
These were the same mirrors you looked at for three years now, the same studio, same everything. But all of it was so wrong. How can one feel so out of place, especially somewhere they spend their everydays? Tying your pointe shoes was an unfamiliar experience, as if you were looking through their eyes, only seeing the empty pot next to you.
When Mr Lee came in, that was usually the time he told you to practice the set for any upcoming competition, but even his voice faltered at the sight of you. It might've been the puffiness of your eyes, the messiness of your hair, or the way your leotard was crooked; it could have been anything, honestly.
His eyes quickly averted, not even giving you any task. Just calling out to the others to do their variations, avoiding your existence altogether.
So you do what you know best. Dance.
You try just letting go to the current variation's music playing through the studio's speakers, trying to feel the music instead of letting your body search for the warmth beside you. But somehow entirely different routines steer you right back to a move that's in a dance you did with Ikhyun, and you just let it happen from there.
You dance that choreography anyway, even though he won't be there to lift you, to guide you through it. Because maybe if you held your arms out further and jumped higher, he would be there to catch you.
The stares didn't disappear; they just got softer, not as pointed. Just like Mingi's - his gaze lingering a little longer than the others'. He hurt too. Maybe not as a partner, but as someone who had lost a friend, a constant. So he just watched you in pure silence from across the studio.
By Wednesday, you were over the stares, staring back openly at everyone who still felt the need to pity, who still pointed out the lack of him next to you. On Thursday, you also called them out loudly, "Why the fuck are you staring holes into my head?" and, "Don't you have turnouts to practice?"
Jiwoo and Dahyun only fueled it, adding their own degrading comments to the people you didn't notice, maybe even going further than you would. "You're staring, asshole," came from Dahyun. "At least close your mouth, it smells," Jiwoo said to someone.
On Friday, the verdict finally came. You were called into the dean's office, trying hard not to stab an insult into anyone who passed you. When you saw his frame, your shoulders dropped, knots relaxing immediately, no matter the context. No matter, you know he is here to get expelled.
Mr Lee, Ms Payer and another professor stood there with Ikhyun. Their looks no different from any student you lost yourself over. But with him there, you swallowed the words down before you joined your best friend in being expelled.
The greetings were cut short by Mr Lee, who quickly started explaining, "I'm gonna be straight with you, there is no need to sugar coat it." his voice held despair, and maybe anger, "You have two choices, you don't compete at Varna, or you pick another partner."
You looked around the room, Ikhyun's hand caressed yours in a barely there touch. His eyes are quietly pleading with you to choose the second option. The other professor spoke up, her voice so much more caring than Mr Lee's was before, "There are plenty of dancers who would jump at the chance to partner you." she gave you a weak smile but dropped her gaze before you could reciprocate it.
What was there to lose if you didn't go? You would probably save yourself the humiliation of showing up with someone you barely know and have no chemistry with.
But on the other hand... What was there to lose if you didn't go? Nine-year-old you would shatter. She would scream at you for throwing away an opportunity as not dancing at the biggest international competition.
Would it be worth it?
"I…" Words died down your throat, but the questions just got louder in your head, bringing up more questions. More things to be worried about, more to be mad about. "I'll think about it."
They gave you a defeated smile. Nodding along, because this wouldn't be an easy decision.
Ikhyun couldn't stay any longer. As soon as you left the office, he left, but hugged you tightly before he did.
What you haven't thought of before is how all of this went down on him? He was actually the one getting practically exiled from everything he learned to love from a young age. Ballet was everything for him, too, not just you.
He would soon be shut out of every circle as the guy who beat up the competition. Because in ballet, this was worse than doing drugs or actually sabotaging someone. Drugs were so normalised due to the extreme thinness it required, and the sabotage just came with them.
Everyone thought they were too elegant to physically hurt someone with their hands. Too refined. Too sophisticated. And they made your skin crawl.
You didn't even notice heading to the studio; your feet just took you there. You could've just hoped nobody would actually be there to disturb your sudden need to practice. The doors were open, lights down and… Nobody was there.
You slammed your bag down, letting it fall where it may, already tugging your pointe shoes on. But as soon as they were, you actually realised: for the first time in years, you didn't know what to practice.
—
grand jeté
/ˌɡrɒ̃ ˈʒɛteɪ/
noun
a jump in which a dancer springs from one foot to land on the other with one leg forward of their body and the other stretched backwards while in the air.
—
People don't talk about how hard the first week is without someone who was always there before, a prominent figure. Not in an absolute sense - like dying. Just being robbed of doing your passion, while still breathing… And that somehow feels worse than passing.
Because there Ikhyun was again, lying in your bed with you in his arms, staring at the ceiling endlessly. "You should still go," his chest rumbles under your head, "I'm sure there is someone to match your energy."
His shirt was cold with your spilt tears on it. You were too exhausted to start explaining your worries again, because he was just as stubborn as you were, sticking to his opinion until the very end.
You already told him about everyone's stares, words and endless pity towards you. He listened in silence, a hand rubbing circles on your back, eventually steering the conversation away from school, from ballet, because the wound was still too fresh to be ripping it up continuously.
At some point, the conversation faded. Your voices were overpowered by a random show that was screening on the TV. Occasionally broken by your sniffles, or his longing sighs. The weekend slipped away from your fingers, just like everything seemed lately - no matter how hard you hold onto it - and you were back in the studio.
Warm-up already done and forgotten, as you do certain spins and moves. Getting comfortable high on your toes. But there isn't music to filter out the others' words from your head, and one particular moment catches your attention while you tie your shoes tighter.
The boys are doing Grand Jetés left and right, trying to show how it's done around here, while laughing around, smiles wide on their faces.
San jumped with finesse, arms elegantly folded around his torso, maintaining perfect posture mid-air. He glides momentarily, reminding you so much of Ikhyun. They applaud him, Wooyoung's jaw nearly drops in amazement, while Mingi appears barely entertained.
"Ikhyun still did it better." Mingi declares while still clapping. Your fingers paused mid-knot. And he earns himself a slap on the back of his head from Yeosang. "Yah! It's not like I'm lying!" His hands flew up to shield himself, failing to block the incoming onslaught.
As you watch them, - so domestic, and child-like - you wonder what Ikhyun would do. Playfully order them around, playing his strict ballet teacher part for the day. Which would only make them laugh harder, while also practising and improving. A smile tugs on your lips at the sight; it doesn't last long, nevertheless. Because the thoughts only spiral with the what-ifs from there.
But this was the first time you genuinely smiled since that Saturday.
Jiwoo and Dahyun are still stuck to your side as soon as you leave the studio, leading the way to the cafeteria. "Have you thought about what Ms Payer said?" Dahyun's head is tilted to the side as she looks at you from across the table.
Both of them wait for your answer with curious glances. "I did." They wait for a few seconds only to realise you don't intend to explain further.
"And?"
"I don't know." The truth felt harder to confess out loud. Because yes, you have thought about it. But there were too many odds against both that neither seemed like a good idea. You're getting lost in your thoughts again when someone takes a seat at your table.
And it's… Mr Lee?
The sigh that leaves him as he sits down is sharp. "Girls," he nods to all three of you, but a harsher frown pulls at his when his eyes settle on you. "Have you decided?" Not playing around, I see.
"Not yet."
He scoffs at that, shaking his head before he speaks up again, "You had the time. Your and your future partner's time isn't the only one you're playing with."
Confusion pulls your brows together. It was easy for him to say. While in practice, this is a bigger stake than just a few days of thinking.
Before you could reply, he was talking again. "If you want Varna, you choose this week." He paused, hesitation crossing his eyes. "Or I pull you from the lineup myself." And with that, he was back on his feet, grumbling a goodbye.
His words resonate in your head in classes. The pressure of it is almost physically sitting on your shoulders, hoping to pull you under. And they do, in a way. Pulling your focus from the lectures.
You don't remember pulling your phone out on the way to the studio. Nor typing a message out to Ikhyun. Mind hazy with the spiralling thoughts.
I don't think anyone will match you
Your fingers hover over the mockingly blinking send button. Regretting participating will always be better than regretting not. It could go either way if you try, but at least you tried and didn't give up when you already saw the finish line.
You pocket your phone and pick up your steps towards the building. The message stays unsent. Your chest tightens when you step in, finding Mr Lee alone.
"I'll do it."
You swear you could've seen a smile threatening his way onto his face, but he just nodded.
By the next morning, the whole school seemed to know, and that made you realise this decision didn't concern you alone. But most male dancers in the school.
"Do you have anyone in mind?" The professor who was in the office with you the other day asks. The soft smile seems to be the default on her face.
"No. I haven't danced in pair with anyone except Ikhyun."
"Aah, I understand why it was so difficult-"
Her voice is cut off by the clattering opening of the studio doors. Mr Lee waltzes in with multiple men in tow. "Stand aside, Eunseo, I got this."
The boys set their bags to the side, voices overbearing in the studio. You notice familiar faces, from your classes and lower-years who Ikhyun hung out with. Maybe some were even there at the after-competition parties he dragged you to.
"I don't think this would require such an upheaval." Your voice only reaches the female professor - Eunseo - but even calling her by her first name in your thoughts only feels weird.
She chuckles, but her eyes are just as wide as yours as she takes in the stretching forms. "Warm up well, gentlemen, we're gonna look over lifts, and particular steps from La Bayedére."
One of the younger students straightened immediately. "Yes, Mrs Lee."
—
Ballet lifts are dynamic partner movements designed for height and spectacle in a pas de deux, relying on core strength, precise hand placement, and mutual trust. Key techniques include secure waist grips, using pliés for momentum, and maintaining upright posture to ensure safety. Common lifts include overhead lifts, shoulder sits, fish dives, and the split over, often enhanced by creative, fluid transitions.
—
What you thought about this part was everything, but definitely not this.
Swan Lake blared over the speakers as another pair of unstable hands lifted you high. It just didn't feel right. He was too stiff, too careful. And something you know by now is: being careful gets you nowhere.
The second he put you down, you stopped. Hands finding purchase on your hips as your ribs expanded with each strained inhale. You just shook your head in the Professors' direction, and they looked at each other with an unreadable expression before cutting the music.
Your limbs feel numb after all the trying. You lost count of the partners after the fifth. Nobody felt like him. They didn't even try. Maybe they already felt defeated, knowing whose replacement they would be. But your blood began to boil. May it be all the failed attempts, the hunger, or just the exhaustion - you didn't know, didn't care.
Then the next promising gentleman came. His figure was similar to the one you were used to; he even was in your class - Yeosang.
No more room left for the fatigue to set in, because the music started again. His form was so effortlessly pretty as you locked on his reflection in the mirror. The hold was stable- until it wasn't. The same mistake, over and over again.
This time, you didn't even shake your head; you just stared at them, barely containing your eyeroll.
The next guy that stepped up boomed with confidence. Chest all puffed up as he murmured a small, "Watch this," to his friends in the back. The scowl this time couldn't be held back; it sat out on your face loudly.
The music started again, and you could see the way his eyes were locked on himself in the mirror. Yeah, no. He danced for the mirror. Not for you and definitely not with you. When the lift came, he didn't wait. He just took it. Your stomach dropped mid-air, and you landed harder than you should've. "Is this a joke?"
Another guy, another lift, but this time it just felt wrong. Maybe it looked all right from the outside, given the hopeful looks of the professors. But you shook your head again as soon as the music died down, and collapsed against the handrail on the walls. Your own hope started to fail you, doubts getting louder in your head again, "Next."
The next guy came after you had a few breaths. He looked familiar again, and not just from class. You've seen Song Mingi standing on the sides with displeasure on his face the whole time, eyebrows drawing together every time you dragged someone down. You wonder how he feels to have to compete as Ikhyun's replacement.
But he stepped in, music started, and he followed your lead. Hands exactly where they supposed to be at the lift, stable and controlled.
"…again."
He wasn't perfect either; his touch lacked that familiarity and trust, but that's something you can work on.
What you didn't notice was how everyone stopped for a second. Nobody moved, not the professors, not the boys in the back. And not even him.
Then he nodded when he realised you were on mark already. This time, the move came easier. Not perfect again - far from it - but something clicked. His grip adjusted faster, still following you but taking less time. Your timing met his halfway, instead of dragging behind. Not forced or shaky, and not wrong either.
Your breath hitched, but you didn't falter. Going further with the choreography, pushing, testing him and yourself. He followed, no hesitation, not getting ahead of himself.
The music faded out, silence hitting you harder than the ones before. You stepped away first, looking at the professors again, because you didn't trust yourself to look at him.
Mr Lee's expression was different from before. Arms still crossed, and so were his brows. But he was leaning forward with interest, calculating sharply with his eyes. Mrs Lee watched you more softly, smiling wider than she was before.
"Next." Her smile dropped immediately.
The next few dancers came one by one. One too unsure, too slow, too much thinking, the other not thinking enough. Your voice was harsher with them, "Stop." poor guy's face drained. You knew the next is going to be the last.
But when his arm slipped on your waist mid-air, everything broke. "That's enough." The words slipped out before anyone could stop them. Your chest was falling with rapid breaths, fingers slightly trembling as you took a seat right in front of the professors. The exhaustion caught up with you, but not from the dancing, no. From the trying.
Your gaze flickered across the room, taking in everyone's pained expressions. Until it stopped on him, still standing where you left him. Your eyes snapped away first.
"Alright," Mr Lee's hands clapped together, "You're done for today." Shoulders drooped, long sighs left, and they left eventually. Their packing was loud, but not as chaotic when they came in. But the contrast was still felt when you were alone with the professors again.
"Take the evening," Mrs Lee's voice was the first to break the silence. "Think about it."
You barely heard her over the thoughts. Her eyes lingered on your crumpled-up form. Almost as if she were ready to answer all your doubts. But then she smiled again, "But you already know."
You nodded, even though your mind was anything but settled. Your body, however- has already decided.
You didn't sleep much that night, because every time your eyes closed, you saw the same thing. Lift, almost fall. Lift, fall. Then him - stable, flexible, and adjusting to you. And it repeated every time sleep was about to pull you down.
You went to the studio before classes. The first rays of the rising sun painted the sky yellow behind the building. But he was already there with his little group, stretching, laughing, causing havoc before a normal person would be even up.
You watched him through the glass doors for longer than you'd like to admit. Dancing through a variation on his own, slower than the variation demanded. But it felt refreshing rather than uncomfortable. Emotional.
You took a deep breath before you strutted into the studio, like you owned the place. You didn't bother yourself with the audience, went straight to him, stepping in front of him as he regulated his breaths.
"So you're free for Varna, right?"
His eyebrows drew together, and he took a step back. He took a towel from the handrail, slightly patting it over his forehead. "Am I?" his head tilted.
Your eyes closed to hold back an eyeroll, and with a deep breath, you continued. "You're the only one who didn't make me want to walk out yesterday." The confession felt bitter in the back of your mouth. Especially because you knew Yeosang was here too. His eyes searched yours with caution, snapping from left to right. Not like he would find anything.
When you realised he won't bother with a reply, you spoke up again. Tone lighter than before, losing the attitude. "If we do this, we do it right." Your fingers fiddled with the strap of your bag, and his eyes snapped to the motion. "Just tell me if you even want to do it."
He stared at you for another long minute before he replied, "I don't exactly half-ass things." you could see his jaw tighten, tongue poking his cheek. His gaze was scrutinising, mean. He looked away for a second, dissecting something else rather than you. "So you're… serious."
You scoffed, which made him look back at you, "I don't have time not to be."
His eyebrows twitched, but so did his lips, "Then yeah, we're doing this." You nodded at his response, then left. You won't have to come back here until ballet anyway.
San and Yunho's chests let out a breath they didn't know they were holding, their eyes rounded out. "Fuck, she's intense," San says, trying to make the tense air disappear with humour.
"And a bitch." Wooyoung adds, clearly not pleased by your attitude.
Yeosang hits his arm, "You never felt what she is going through," he tries to reason, but it falls on deaf ears.
"But I am sure, if I were to, my approach would be very different."
—
La Bayadère ("The Temple Dancer") is a classic 19th-century Russian ballet choreographed by Marius Petipa with music by Ludwig Minkus, premiering in 1877. It tells a tragic story of love, betrayal, and vengeance set in India, involving the temple dancer Nikiya, warrior Solor, and princess Gamzatti
—
Your schedule became crammed after that. Practices earlier than when most were awake, staying later than the sun was up. Between classes - everywhere, your timetables aligned.
The texts exchanged were brief between you, calculated and always to the point.
You
I'm free after next lesson
Song Mingi
i am alr here
When you finally joined him, his hand found your waist again. Firmer than before, and definitely not hesitant. But he didn't take the lead; he just waited. You almost missed the cue.
With Ikhyun, you never had to think. Your body would've moved before you even realised. His grip already guiding you into place, every shift anticipated before it happened.
But now - you were a fraction late. He didn't even make a mistake, but he stopped too. His touch a ghost on your skin as he said, "Again," quietly. But he didn't look annoyed or mad, no matter how hard you searched for a reaction.
You swallowed and nodded, already stepping back. Your fingers curled into his shoulder, more deliberate. Checking the placement twice rather than failing once more. Music started again, the count muted in your head. One- two.
You stepped and felt it. The transfer of weight, the slight delay in his response. His hands adjusted, not you, but his grip. It threw you off. Frustration pulled your eyebrow together again, failing to hold back the snarl on your lips.
Your turn faltered, coming a breath too early. His grip tightened, just enough to steady you, but he didn't force you back as Ikhyun would have.
He let it be wrong. Let it be off.
Making you spiral, because you knew you were the one to mess it up, yet it somehow still felt as if it was his fault.
Your feet hit the floor too hard - letting you know exactly where you messed up. You pulled back then, ready to lash out, to reset- to apologise. But he didn't stop. You watched him for a second, resuming the choreography as if nothing had happened. "Keep going." The words were low, between his controlled breaths.
For the first time in years, you had to think. Not just move, with your body guiding you, as if it were carved into it. But listen to the music, to the count, to him. And to yourself.
You joined back on the next count, a little slower intentionally. Falling into rhythm with him. Waiting - just half a second - to feel where his balance would lead him, before settling into yours. Meeting you in the middle. It wasn't clean or perfect. No, it wasn't anywhere near. But you finally felt - knew - where he would be.
Another lift came, this time you didn't rush it. You let the momentum build while paying attention to everything. Felt the axis of your body instead of assuming it would be there. When you landed, his grip steadied you. Not because you made a mistake he needed to correct, but because you chose the timing together.
Maybe this was something you needed. Because no one learned from someone doing it right instead of them. They learned from patience and guidance. From being forced to be great. Because he had nothing to lose if he didn't correct you.
And fuck, it made you mad.
Mr Lee was keeping an eye on you, without disturbing the scene. But when you finally stopped between sets, you saw the low smile curling at his lips. Only making your ambition burn harder, wilder.
With every practice, something simmered deep within you. An unexplainable feeling that kept you up at night. Thinking about all the times you let Ikhyun correct you, instead of pushing to do better himself.
The next day, you were dancing in the back of the room while the others were doing something orchestrated by Mr Lee. You didn't want to be loud, because your newfound audience would hear everything, in the panting silence that settled over the classroom. But it was clear that Mingi didn't share those agendas.
"Stop."
You blinked at him, still breathing unevenly.
His hands dropped from your waist, discarding the contact as if it burned. "You anticipate too much," he ran a hand through his hair. "You already move before I even finish the last step."
A scoff left your lips, "Because if I don't, the lift doesn't happen."
His jaw tightened at your tone, unshaken by the eyes on you. "Or maybe it happens differently."
"Different doesn't win Varna."
"Yeah, neither does not knowing basic counts." The words hung sharply between you. Brows pulling together in another reason now.
You closed your eyes, took a deep breath and started again with a mocking smile on your lips, "Then explain on which count am I supposed to be even near you?"
He stepped back into position, jaw tight as he looked at you. This became an everyday thing between you. Mocking, doubting. The snarls on your lips were default as soon as you stepped within the vicinity of one another.
—
Ballet positions are the foundation of classical dance, focusing on turnout from the hips, posture, and grace. The five basic foot positions, numbered one through five, involve rotating legs and hands.
—
"I hate when people's default expressions are like dying swans," You muttered under your breath as a first-year passed by, clearly shaken from practice. Dahyun snorted at your comment, while Jiwoo suppressed a giggle.
Mingi wasn't even trying to listen; he just heard it as he walked past you with Yunho and Wooyoung. His steps halted, eyes flicking toward you with disappointment. It sat wrong in his chest, "Pretty sure yours isn't any better," he huffed. Not even sure if he meant you to hear it.
Your eyes narrowed on him, "At least I don't look like that all the time."
Mingi's expression didn't change. Which somehow made it worse than if it had. "Funny," he muttered, voice flat, "Could've sworn you did."
Wooyoung's eyes widened as he let out a little "shit-" under his breath, while elbowing Yunho lightly. After that, the whole hallway went quiet. Waiting for your rebuttal or surrender. But you never knew when to stop, did you?
"Maybe it's just because I see you," you shrugged, continuing your walk towards your class.
At practice that day, he was snappier. His moves were cold and rushed, antsier than usual. It reflected on his performance more than you would like. His hands on your waist weren't as firm as they were the day before, having lost that precise anchor point just above the flare of your hip.
"Okay, stop," you snapped, already on your way to turn the music off. "What's up with you today?"
He ran a frustrated hand through his hair, lightly tugging at the roots to stay present. "Nothing," his voice was dull, almost empty. Then he began walking toward you, taking your phone and resuming the music. "Let's move on."
He went back to the middle of the empty studio, already standing in fourth position. His muscles were on display with his arms elegantly in the air, and your eyes lingered a second too long. With a shake of your head, you settled near him in your starting pose too, feeling the music guide you.
You felt free. Dancing, moving to the sound, finally acclimatised to his moves and style. You felt better than you had a few weeks ago, finally feeling as if you had your grounding back. Your jumps were synchronised better, more aware of each other- until today it seems.
His moves were delayed. It was barely noticeable, but you felt it. Especially when he wasn't where he was supposed to be when the lift came, he was a few centimetres more to the left than usual, throwing off your count and rhythm as you had to get closer to him. But still, his hands weren't stable around you.
He stumbled - or rather his hands did - resulting in you slipping from his grasp and having a hard time catching your balance. He grunted, arms still around your waist as you stood closer to him than usual. Your chests pushed against each other with swallowed air. Your hand rested on his shoulder as you stared into his eyes.
His fingers flexed against your side, eyebrows still drawn together, as he stared back. Breaths short and loud when the music stops. You felt your heart beat uncontrollably, faster than usual, faster than it does after an average dance.
The thought of that made you snap out of whatever tiredness-induced daze you were in and pull back from him. "Your timing was off," you said quickly. Gaze averted to the barre on the wall - anything but him.
He took a deep breath, eyes still on your distancing frame. "Yeah," his tone felt defeated. "We should just stop here today." You hummed back in response, hands already working on the ribbon of your shoes. But before you even finished with one, the door slammed shut behind Mingi.
You prepared yourself for his attitude the next day. Whatever snarky reply he may throw your way, what will either of you mess up that day. But today wasn't anything like that. The practice went well, without any insults or huffs. He even stayed longer after, asking about how it would be better for you in supported turns, and even about other classes.
It was almost worse this way, with no snapping, no tension thick enough to choke on. Just small corrections, short nods, and movements that almost worked. You didn't trust this - or him, for that matter.
The next day, you were on the side of the studio, Mr Lee's voice boomed through the open space with instructions to the others. You were practising turns with Mingi, his hands warm on your waist, but never staying there long enough for you to enjoy the feel of it.
You felt the eyes Mr Lee set on you, his gaze basically burned against your nape. Whenever you stopped a turn, you looked at him and saw a specific glint in his eye, which never meant anything good for you. He felt ready to turn your life upside down again.
"Switch partners," His voice made you freeze, snapping your head in his direction. He was still looking at you, which meant that the instruction was meant for you.
"I'm sorry, what?" you barely choked out. Even Mingi's hands stayed on your waist in shock.
"Yunho, Jiwoo, come here."
Oh no.
Now the two of them stood in front of you and Mingi. The other two students were just as shocked. "You do the same thing now but with other partners." He explained, and Mingi's thumb caressed your waist softly, and you fucking hoped that movement was done unconsciously. "Get to it, we don't have all day."
Yunho stood in front of you with a little flush on his cheeks and fidgeting fingers. "So uh-" his voice cracked, "-partnered turns, right?" you nodded in response, the saliva burning and staying lodged in your throat as you tried to swallow, weight shifting from one leg to the other.
His hands were bigger than Mingi's, more slender; when you finally feel comfortable with Mingi,Mr. Lee had to make it difficult again. Despite the initial awkwardness, Yunho's hands were firm around your waist as you turned. Your jaw felt tight, calves burning in an addictive way that made you fall in love with the sport at first. There wasn't anything to mess up in turn like this. But it still didn't feel right.
Maybe the professor heard that thought form in your head with the way his eyes still shone. "Okay, now both of you try the actual dance." All four of you froze again. What was the point of this? Mr Lee's hands crossed in front of him, watching you with careful eyes. "Same combination," He immediately started the music, leaving no room for argument.
You stepped back hesitantly, the music barely made it through the loud pounding of your heart. You saw the way Yunho forced his body to move into position, eyes meeting yours for a second before you had to move.
Your body was screaming at you just like the first time you danced with Mingi. He wasn't there to meet you in the middle again; you had to correct yourself. Maybe that unspoken familiarity formed with Mingi, too. Yunho wasn't a bad dancer; he was always where he needed to be. Hands exactly how they are supposed to be, almost textbook perfect.
But your body was hesitating again before every move, not knowing where to go.
"Again." Mr Lee's voice cut through the violins.
You swallowed again, forced to think about your next move and focused on the count, alignment. You panicked as the lift came, faltering for a second. But Yunho was fast to catch up, adjusting quickly. But it wasn't smooth; you could feel his effort in it.
"Good," Mr Lee said. Your head whipped to him with force, eyebrows drawn together to the point where it hurt. Good? This was good? You never once before heard him say anything was "good" before. Especially not to a move that was mediocre at best. Your chest felt tight- too tight.
Mingi and Jiwoo were watching, their chests heaving as they struggled to catch their breath, their faces holding pained expressions. You wish you could've seen how they danced. Did Jiwoo stand exactly where she was supposed to? Or did Mingi also have to adjust? Did she also hesitate?
You felt a sharp pain in your head. Eyes snapping from Mingi to Jiwoo with haste that made your stomach churn. Air was getting harder to force into your lungs with each passing minute. You weren't staying late tonight, no matter what. You needed to get out of there fast.
It might have been a coincidence or pure luck, but Mr Lee was saying his usual closing monologue. You were out of there as soon as possible. Not even noticing you basically ran home until you were in your room with your back against the door.
Your feet still hurt, but you barely feel them over the pain in your head and stomach. Next second, you were hiccupping with choked tears escaping. Why did you even think you could do this without Ikhyun? How come you never noticed the imperfection of your moves before? Have they always been there, carved deep into you? Maybe that's just who you were.
It was selfish of you, like Mingi said. You should've dropped the idea of Varna that morning you read the texts - maybe earlier, when you applied first with smiles on your face with Ikhyun. How come nobody ever told you this? Maybe you weren't the dancer you thought you were. The thought didn't settle. It scratched at the inside of your skull, repeating, reshaping, getting uglier each time.
You didn't sleep much. Or maybe you did - it didn't feel like it. Every time you closed your eyes, you were back in the studio, half a count too late.
The next day, you were waiting for him in the studio, already warming up, stretching, staring in the mirror with someone so hollow and zombie-like staring back. The warming up you were doing was more muscle memory than thought-through. The door behind you opened with force, but you didn't have it in you to look who it was. Too distracted by the still screaming thoughts.
"You're early." He was stunned, dropping his bag down in his usual spot.
You hummed back in response, staring out of your head without anything to actually look at. You could feel him looking at you longer than usual. As if he was waiting for something - a comment, a jab, anything that sounded like you. But you didn't give it to him.
Your hamstrings stretched as you lay your weight on your leg. The barre creaked as he leaned on it, breaking the silence that settled over the room. The studio has an eerie feeling to it in the morning, with the cold air that travels through the windows and makes goosebumps break out on your skin.
Soon you felt you had to dance; however, you didn't feel ready, yesterday was still too recent in your mind. You reached for your bag, taking the new pointe shoes out, you had already somewhat prepared for today.
"New shoes?" Mingi's eyes were nearing his hairline, and you nodded. He knew from being your classmates for three years now that you didn't change shoes often; you actually dreaded changing them. "How come?"
"The last ones are…" ruined, to say prettily. You didn't notice your feet hurt yesterday because you ran home in them, forgetting to actually take them off in the overwhelming haste. It's a shame, though, you just replaced them not too long ago. "-They had the ribbons sewn in all wrong." The words died down in your throat, feeling bitter in your mouth.
Something unreadable passed in his eyes, and his head cocked to the side. He was looking at you, taking in your half-dead appearance; something unreadable passed in his eyes. He cocked his head, tracking your half-dead appearance with a scrutiny that made you wonder if he’d seen you bolt out of the studio the day before with your pointes still tied to your feet.
"Alright," he clapped his hands together, and saw you flinch subtly at the loud sound - fuck, it's worse than he thought. "Where did we leave it off?"
You were totally out of it as you danced. You were focused, yes, but he saw that you were too focused on certain things. Like the distance between you before the lift, or the placement of your hands on his shoulder. He even saw the little snarl on your lips as you were half a count behind. He let it be; everyone had bad days - maybe you had more than the average person did - but you weren't even friends for him to ask about it.
More like… beneficial partners? No, he didn't benefit from this in any way.
You didn't even say goodbye when you left. Didn't think much of it either, just that it didn't matter. After all it was just practice. But it wasn't just anything.
He was still standing in front of the mirror, repeating some steps and pirouettes that didn't seem good enough for him, and you just… left.
—
For a ballet dancer, shoes are as essential as a pencil is to an artist. Each dancer has their own preferences, methods for using, breaking them in, and customising them. They sew in the ribbons, make the boxes harder if needed; they use everyday items, like Super glue, markers, nail polish - whatever you can imagine, as mundane as possible. They are the most delicate aspect for a ballet dancer because a good pair of shoes provides a solid foundation. But what happens if there's nothing to ground you?
—
Today was one of those days when you had a few free hours before Mingi finished and needed to meet you at the studio. You needed calmness, some quiet in those hours. You needed to be alone.
Some classical music was playing in your headphones as you sat on your bed and looked around the bedroom. Eyes drifted across the shelves. Trophies, medals, and old shoes you kept for- just because. No books you've chosen, no hobbies, no mess. Just a clean room, nothing but ballet. Because what were you without ballet?
The thoughts hadn't quieted one bit, even when you stood in front of the mirror, Mingi's arms around you. Nor did they in the next few weeks. You became softer, no snapping remarks or anything to give him. No words for him, actually, you barely talked.
Considering all of your setbacks, you were doing amazing - both of you. But despite the progress you'd made together, there was still that lack of trust, that undeniable bond only years of being partners could forge, and that hell of a tension was suffocating. Because his hands felt electric on you. Every touch lingered longer, and you found yourself resenting the moments they actually stopped.
You correct more steps and moves for yourself, so he doesn't have to do it for you. So you don't have to feel the humiliation of not knowing a basic step - but also, you don't want him to think less of you. You're the supposed best in this school so act like it. You want- no you need Mingi to believe you are a good, the best partner.
So fake it 'til you make it, right?
But you weren't sure anymore if you were getting better - or just better at pretending.
Mingi took a breather after you'd done the whole dance twice. His eyes never left your figure as he crashed down in front of the barre, taking a few sips of water. You still stood there - dancing and practicing one particular turn that you couldn't get on point with yourself with.
"One, two- ugh, fuck." You mumbled under your breath, the bitter taste of dissatisfaction settling deep in your throat. The studio only gave comfort to you and him in these late hours. Your eyes snapped to his sprawled-out figure as he watched you with piercing eyes. He was biting the inside of his cheek, something unreadable passing in his eyes.
When he finally stood beside you again, his chest was not heaving as hard as it had been before. He was staring in the mirror, hands never finding their place on your waist, the music was already past your queue. Your eyebrows etched together as you looked at him, "…What?" you snapped, more snappy than you wanted to.
Your eyes followed his gaze to your feet, where they were shifting the weight from one leg to another. Your eyes lifted back to find him staring at you. "Are you nervous?" His hands tensed awkwardly beside his body.
"No- what- why would you think that?" There was a bite to your words, nose scrunching in distaste and confusion.
"You're shifting."
"Yeah, and?" He didn't mean to leave the silence that long.
"Every time before a lift - left to right - and you don't even notice it." His hands motioned animatedly with his words, punctuating this habit deeper with every word. Making your stomach drop, because now that he said it, you noticed it.
Heel to toe, heel to toe. Preparing, bracing yourself.
You heard it as criticism first. Not concern, and not quite an observation - just another thing you were doing wrong and he had to point out. "'m just adjusting-" Your jaw tightened before you even finished the sentence. As if you said it confidently enough, maybe it would become true.
"No," he shook his head, "you just don't trust the timing." You just don't trust yourself. The studio felt hotter, smaller. Louder, even though the music had already stopped - and so did your shifting.
"I-I know the timing, I have been dancing for years." Your words are still sharp. Wonder who you are trying to convince, him or yourself.
"Yeah," he ran a hand through his hair as his jaw tensed. "You have."
His words didn't feel like validation, it felt like anything but that. "Then what's your point?" you pressed, already knowing you wouldn't like the outcome, legs already moving your weight - but you stopped it mid movement.
"You're not dancing what's supposed to happen," he breathed out, voice lower than before and softer, "But what you think will go wrong."
The more he spoke, the less oxygen you had in your lungs, and it was crushing your chest - snapping something, so suddenly you even forget there was an option to breathe. Because he wasn't wrong, and that made it even worse.
"I'm not-" Your voice cracked, and you hated how weak you sounded. "I'm just trying not to mess it up."
"I know." He responded, too sincere, too soft.
You turned away from him, hands going to your hair, your temples - anywhere but him. Your weight shifted again without meaning to. Heel. Toe. Heel-
"Stop,"
You froze, one leg on point, the other flat on the ground. "All I'm trying to say is, you don't even realise you're doing it." Your throat felt tight, heartbeat loud in your ears, almost louder than his reassuring, soft-spoken words. "I just told you," he continued, still as patient as ever, something he wasn't usually with you, "and you still did it again."
Your vision blurred before you even registered the tears. The tears came all at once - sharp, sudden, impossible to stop. You turned away immediately, wiping at your face as if it offended you, as if crying itself was the failure. "Fuck," you muttered under your breath, shaking your head. "This is stupid."
You hated that he saw this. Hated the fact that it was him, of all people, standing here while you fell apart. For a second, you almost told him to drop it. To leave it alone, to leave you alone. He didn't move closer, didn't try to comfort you with touch. But he was there, eyebrows drawn together, hands still tensed next to him. "You're relearning," he said after a moment.
You let out a bitter laugh. "Feels more like unlearning everything."
"Yeah," he shrugged lightly, though his eyes didn't leave you, "that's usually how it works." He sighed, flexing his fingers a little before speaking up again, "You relied on him," he stated matter-of-factly, but not unkindly, "That's not a bad thing." Your chest tightened at the mention, nails biting into the skin of your palm. "But now you can't, so you notice everything you didn't have to before."
He finally let silence settle over the studio again, but now it wasn't suffocating, just still. It lets the thoughts consume you. "I hate it," you admitted, eyes on the floor, not daring to look even in his direction.
"You're better like this."
"What?" Your head snapped up, and your expression soured quickly because it didn't feel like a compliment. It felt like being stripped down to something unfinished and told to be grateful for it.
"You hesitate," He said, gesturing slightly, "you overthink, you mess up the count-"
"Wow, thanks-"
"But you know why now." That was quick to shut you up. Words got stuck in your throat as you watched him, teary-eyed. He tilted his head slightly, smile low, playful on his lips as he asked, "Again?"
You nodded, wiping your eyes with the back of your hands with haste. Quickly shaking off your legs and hands, cracking your neck left to right. "Yeah," you gulped down the tears that didn't have the place to escape now. You didn't feel ready - but you stepped in anyway.
It didn't click all at once.
Some days, you catch yourself. Some days you didn't, and some days, you didn't even try.
But then also… You moved with more ease; the tension didn't fully leave your shoulders or moves, but you caught yourself more frequently in the bad habit. If you hadn't, Mingi tilted his head with a pointed gaze on your feet, one eyebrow cocked, making you chuckle every time. Less panic, and fewer moments where your body locked up completely.
You stayed longer one day. The professor was about to leave, too, but he sat down beside you.
"How is it going?" Mr Lee asked, with an unreadable expression on his face.
The words were stuck in your throat. Because, how was it actually going? Mingi made you doubt every step, relearn the basics. Make you want to join first-year classes again to learn everything from the start. Slowly making you realise what you had with Ikhyun wasn't perfect.
You were just lost in the haze of this whirlwind around you, which stopped you from questioning your knowledge and precision. Because if it got you golds, then there wasn't anything to evolve. You reached the top. There is nowhere to develop further.
"Well," you tried to say, but it sounded more like a question. "It's different." His eyes were on your forearm, where you started unconsciously rubbing it with your hand. Legs ready to place your weight from one to the other, but you stopped the motion. "He- he's making me question everything I've stood by before."
He nodded, directing you to continue and pushing you to make this realisation by yourself.
"With Ikhyun, everyone was sold on our connection and- and chemistry, not our skills." His head tilted disapprovingly, "I'm not saying we didn't dance well - I mean, I am - but we could've danced worse and still have gotten podium." you stammered.
"We lacked awareness of our imperfections." Your voice was low, barely above a whisper. "We- we trusted each other too much that we lost the meaning, the art in ballet."
Mr Lee smiled widely as he looked at you, proud of your realisation, before his expression dropped back to that similar stoic one. His hand ran through his silver hair before he stood up and nodded. "Alright." He took a glance around the room, nodding one to your left, before he left.
You haven't even registered that Mingi still sat in the otherwise empty studio with you. But you stayed where you were - by the barre, stretching a little longer than necessary, retying ribbons that didn't need fixing… thoughts storming in your head.
You didn't want to leave first. Didn't want to think about the walk to your car, the suffocating, different quiet that waited there. The one in here felt comforting, like an embrace.
Mingi was doing the same thing in his own way. Not stretching - just… taking his time. Folding his towel, unfolding it again. Taking another sip of water, he clearly didn't need. Breaking the silence occasionally.
Eventually, you stood, slinging the strap over your shoulder with more force than necessary, already heading for the door before your thoughts could catch up. Mingi held the door open for you. When did he even stand up? A small smile grazed his features as he looked at you, motioning for you to go first.
Your synchronised steps were loud against the tiled floor of the hallway. Echoing through the empty, cold space. He was a breath behind you, not too close - but not too far behind either. The moon was already up in the dark sky outside. Mingi opened the door with his shoulder, and you immediately felt the absence of your jacket.
Your steps slowed for half a second - barely noticeable - but he caught it anyway. You saw it in the way his gaze flickered to your arms, then away again. He didn't comment, just adjusted his pace to match yours.
The parking lot was quieter than usual. A few scattered cars, dim lights casting long shadows across the pavement. Your keys clinked in your hands as you walked towards your car. He was still walking with you, silently. Most people would've peeled off by now. Said something, left, made it obvious.
Something he has been doing lately - this silent support. But you couldn't put a start to this, you didn't feel it, and lately you just began to expect it. If it was for a lift or a conversation with the professor, he was there like a pillar - quiet, unmoving. But his presence was enough for you to be aware of everything, and it somehow grounded you. It was strange - how nothing felt fixed, but something felt… quieter.
You reached your car, slowing as you fumbled with the keys a little more than necessary. Your fingers felt clumsy all of a sudden, as if they didn't quite belong to you. You looked over your shoulder when the car finally opened with a low flash of lights. "…Do you need something?"
He pursed his lips, head shaking in response. His hands were in the pocket of his hoodie, his lips pulled into a half smile, "Can't I accompany you to your car?" his smile was full now, teeth on display. "It's dark outside." He motioned around animatedly, "Someone could've kidnapped you."
The sound of your chuckle felt foreign, "Such a gentleman, Song," he shrugged, rolling his eyes playfully.
He was still standing beside your car when your fingers hovered over the start button. He didn't look at you when he said it, "Text me when you get home." The words came out so casually that it took you a few seconds to register them.
"What?"
"So I know you didn't crash."
"Aaah," Your smile widened, nodding at him as you blew out a breath. "I will, then." You barely believed the words as you said them. Mingi was already turning away, walking towards his car.
You didn't drive off immediately. Through the windshield, you could still see him - walking away, hands still shoved into his hoodie pockets, shoulders slightly hunched against the cold, but he didn't look back.
Before you could think better of it, your hands reached for your phone, opening the chat with Mingi.
You
got home
You stared at the way his car's headlights lit up the almost empty parking lot. Your lips pressed together, put your phone down, then drove out.
Your phone buzzed ten minutes later, at a red light. But you withstood the desire to look at it until you were already in the driveway.
Mingi
liar
You stared at the screen longer than you should've, and a breathless chuckle came out. And you noticed how your cheeks hurt from smiling all the way home.
You
Okay, I am for real home now.
Mingi
didn't crash?
You
Nope
We still have to practice tmr
Mingi
:(
thought i could get away w it
You
Damn you hate me so much?
Mingi
you know it
You stared at the messages, with your bag on your shoulder, keys in hand, but still sitting behind the wheel. The screen went dark with a click as you got out. But another message chimed from it when you were kicking your shoes off.
Mingi
goodnight y/n
You
Goodnight Mingi
—
Ballerinas wear specialised ballet costumes - particularly tutus - to facilitate unrestricted movement, showcase technical musculature, and enhance storytelling. These costumes, ranging from classical stiff tutus to flowing skirts, evolved to make movement look effortless, highlight precise lines, and transport audiences into the performance's world. Because ballet isn't just about dancing well - it's about making it look effortless. And sometimes, if you wear it long enough, you start to believe it.
—
Last night, when you went to sleep, you didn't think the house next door would pick that day to throw the biggest party in the neighbourhood. So when you woke up to the sound of your mother's voice instead of the alarm, you already knew the day would be unbearable.
You were awake - technically - but nothing about it felt real. Your mom noticed the second you stumbled into the kitchen, twenty minutes later than you were supposed to be out the door. She didn't even comment. Just grabbed her keys and jerked her head toward the door.
Those thirty minutes spent slipping in and out of consciousness in the car did more damage than help. Your head knocked lightly against the window every few minutes. You felt like a zombie, and probably looked like one too - if your mom's chuckle was anything to go by.
The classes blurred together; your notes were gibberish, words slanting into each other like they didn't want to exist either. Next class was practice, and by now you were sure you wouldn't survive it.
It was honestly a miracle that you could tie the ribbons of your shoes- they were all crooked, and pointing in every direction, but they were on you at least, weren't they? Mingi was trying to suppress a smile when you walked towards him or dragged yourself there rather.
"Rough day?" You didn't need to look at him to see the way he was smiling now. You just groaned in his direction, standing in front of him, ready to dance. But even standing felt wrong - like your weight wouldn't settle properly. This was a new low, even for you.
The rest of the class passed by with Mingi laughing. You even got a half smile from Mr Lee. You weren't there enough however, to notice the anxious shifting of your legs, but you would thank Mingi the next day that he didn't point it out.
At the end of class, Mingi stood tall above you as you fought off your pointe shoes and wrestled them into your bag. He opened the doors for you because he was pretty sure you would've walked into them if he didn't do so.
The next surprise was not finding your car in its usual place. The realisation hit slowly, then all at once. "Shit," you groaned, stopping mid-step. Mingi froze beside you. His head snapped toward you. "What?" past you, to the space where your car should've been. You didn't even bother explaining. Just dragged a hand over your face and reached for your phone, already pulling up your mom's contact.
He resumed walking, just like that. Your head snapped up, watching his back as he moved ahead like nothing happened. Fucking asshole. You couldn't suppress the sigh that came from you as you pressed the phone to your ear- "You coming?"
Your head jerked up again. He was already a few steps ahead, looking over his shoulder at you, brows slightly raised like this was obvious. He reached out to his passenger door, opening it before he walked to the driver's side to sit in.
You blinked at him, still halfway stuck between dialling your mom and processing the fact that your car wasn't there. "…With you?" you asked, slower than usual.
He raised an eyebrow as the car's headlights lit up, "No, I just like asking questions."
You huffed, rolling your eyes as you shoved your phone back into your bag. "You're insufferable."
"Get in." There was no room to argue. Not with your brain lagging two steps behind everything. Not with the cold creeping under your thin clothes. His car was already hot. The leather seats felt like heaven against your skin, already making your eyes droopy, combined with the heat. Your head tipped back against the headrest, eyes closing just for a second…
"Hey," You felt the light tap on your thigh. Your eyes fluttered open, and he was closer than you expected. His whole body was turned towards you, with one hand on the wheel, the other resting on the middle console, hovering just above your legs without actually touching them. Your eyes rested on his hand, how you still felt where he had touched it a few seconds ago. As if staring at it will make it come back. "y/n, seatbelt."
He huffed out a breath that sounded awfully like a laugh, and watched you as you fumbled with it. After a few seconds, he reached over, "I got it." his hand brushed yours as he clicked it into place. Hand settling into that same spot it had been in before. Not quite touching but still there.
His gaze flickered up - not to your eyes at first, but your face. Your mouth. Then finally, your eyes. "Are you always this useless when you're tired?" he asked, voice quieter than before.
You let out a soft scoff, but it came out weaker than you meant it to. "Shut up." For a second, you sat there, both of you too close to one another. Eyes on each other's faces, with the low hum of the car mixing with your heartbeat in your ears. But then he pulled back, clearing his throat, eyes on the mirror as he started reversing out.
"Don't fall asleep," he muttered, "'m not carrying you inside."
You swallowed, forcing your gaze out the window, even though your reflection stared right back at you. "Wouldn't dream of it," you mumbled back through pursed lips.
The drive already felt too steady, too quiet, because both of you were too aware of the distance between you. You were fidgeting with your hands in your lap, looking around, but not daring to glance in his direction.
Because if you would, it would all feel real somehow.
Your eyes remained locked on the outside scenery for the time being - or until your eyes stayed shut for longer than what could be considered a blink, and half a second longer every time, until the combination of warmth from the vents and the slow music on the radio basically screamed for you to close your eyes.
And you totally could, right? You wouldn't fall asleep, but with your eyes closed, you wouldn't have to worry about where to look.
When you next opened your eyes, for a second, you didn't move. There was a dull panic in your chest. That disoriented, floating feeling of not knowing where you were or how much time had passed.
It took you a few seconds to register where you were. Still in Mingi's car with him sitting completely relaxed behind the wheel - thighs spread wide enough to graze the gear shift, one hand resting on the windowsill while his knuckles pressed against his lips. Is pouting his default? He was lazily scrolling on his phone as you watched him.
Your eyes slid to the dashboard eleven-fifty pm. Oh my god. Did he seriously let you sleep in his car for hours? As you were wiggling in your seat, he looked at you, rolling his shoulders as he said, "Good morning, princess."
Your cheeks heated with the nickname before you could even register that he meant it in a derogatory way. "Did you let me sleep in your car for three consecutive hours?" You semi-yelled, as much as you could after waking up.
He looked at you deadpan, "I told you I wouldn't carry you in," he said as if it were obvious.
"And your solution to that was driving up to-" you looked outside the window, was just a random parking lot? "-to wherever the fuck we are, instead of waking me up?- because that is what a normal person would do, by the way."
"Whoa, hold your horses, sleeping beauty, do you always get feisty after you wake up?" His hands came up in front of him protectively, and a small smile tugged at his lips. "And by the way, did you finally get enough sleep? Maybe not, but we're one step closer, and also by the way, did you know you talk in your sleep? Because you do, and it's fucking creepy." He was mocking you now. That fucki-
You scoffed while closing your eyes, trying to bite back any remark with little to no success. "You're unbelievable."
"So are you." You let out a loud groan at that, but your cheeks were still warm. Even though he turned the heating off, but not the radio, it still played random songs you fell asleep to.
You really hoped you didn't actually talk in your sleep. Who could know what things unconscious you aired, as if it were Mingi's business.
You couldn't help but wonder, this is the same man who acted like an ass with you randomly, and also who let you sleep in his car. The same guy who challenged your every word, but also helped you when something was wrong, and he was the person whose touch you didn't want to leave your body. Well, that is a discovery, and even thinking it felt wrong.
"So uh," he put his phone down with a little thud on the middle console, "You hungry?"
"Mingi, it's almost midnight."
He raised an eyebrow, "And?" his lips pursed, "Does the absence of the sun in the sky take away your appetite or?" Why does his sassiness have to be funny? You licked your lips as you collected your composure, but you smiled anyway.
"Alright, what you got on your mind?"
Turns out, it wasn't just a random parking lot; it was next to a seven eleven. The store run was fast; you were back with your desired items in the comfort of his car in a few minutes. And as you munched on your samgak kimbap, you tried not to think about the way his body pressed against yours between the aisles, and the ease with which he pressed his card to the reader when you tried to pay.
He even had the biggest smile on after, that smug bastard.
He was looking out the window and drinking his banana milk when he suddenly asked, "What do you think is the most elite flavour?" and it was safe to say you were shocked, so much so that you choked on your food.
"What are you even talking about?" Your laugh was loud in the car, body almost folding in half with the intensity.
His eyes were shaped into half crescents with his big smile, "What? I'm serious."
You needed a few minutes to be able to talk without bursting out laughing again, "Of what? In general?" He hummed a yes back. You pretended to ponder the question with your finger on your mouth, which he rolled his eyes at. "For sweets, I think vanilla, for savoury, I'd say… I don't know cheese?"
His features twisted into visible disgust. "You're so weird."
"You asked me for my opinion!"
"Yeah, and it's fucking disgusting!"
You scoffed, scrunching up the wrapper of your food in your hand, "Okay, then what do you think is the best flavour?"
"Mint choco, and tofu."
"Tofu doesn't even have a taste! And mint chocolate is like the worst of them all!"
"You just can't believe my opinion is superior to yours." He shrugged.
One day, after the competition, you were going to strangle this man with your bare hands. You didn't reply to his last comment; you were sure neither of you would like it. So you just let the quiet take place, and ate your remaining food in silence.
Until you had a thought, "What the hell did you even do until I was asleep?"
He had a spoonful of pudding in his hand when you looked at him. "I drove around for a while," He said as if it was the most normal thing in the world, "Then I parked here and scrolled on my phone."
You nodded faux-amusedly, "Tough."
"I mean, what would you do if I fell asleep in your car?" Well, now that's a real question.
"First of all-" You pointed one finger up, just as he mocked those words in a high pitch, "I can't think of a scenario which would result with you in my car. Second of all, I would wake you up?"
"Yeah, yeah, yeah. That is the obvious answer, sorry for wanting to be a good person," He waved you off with an eyeroll. His eyes will literally roll out of his head at this rate.
The time after was cut short after a message from your mom. But this turned into a habit - not the part where we were horribly exhausted, and fell asleep in his car, but the driving around and talking one. It wasn't immediate, although. The first few times felt accidental. As if neither of you wanted to acknowledge that it was becoming a thing. As if it would stop, or break if either of you pointed it out.
He always had a random question he would ask you and make you laugh until your stomach hurt - the Mingi special of the day, if you may. It felt good, domestic even. You still bantered; you did it a lot. But you finally smiled at the end instead of letting it ruin your day.
And seeing you together didn't seem strange to the students at the school either. Everyone got used to it, so much so that even the paper that wrote Ikhyun's article got word of it.
The fallen prodigy and the replacement prince
So unique. They even had a picture of you with him coming out of the studio attached. Sometimes journalists go off the rails. But you didn't think it was worth your attention, nor did you mention it to Mingi.
Mingi
did you see this?
link attached
You
Yeah, but I didn't read it
Mingi
"While Ikhyun might have left abruptly, his 'for life' companion seemed to find a replacement quite fast."
who are these people
You
Exactly why I didn't read it lol
Mingi
🙄
Texts became regular too, and not just the "where are you" or "I am ready to start if you come" but more ordinary ones too. As much as you can call this ordinary.
Mingi
you still like ur things vanilla flavoured or did you grow up?
You
Do you still like choco mint flavoured things, or did you develop tasting buds?
Mingi
this was a yes or no question btw
You
Yes, I do.
So it was safe to say, the picking spread to a form that could be read again.
You didn't notice it at first - or you just choose to ignore it deep down - the way your shoulders relaxed more, the way your replies came faster or the way you didn't dread practice as much, almost as if you were looking forward to it.
…But the girls noticed did, via you smiling an odd amount at your screen. "What'chu smiling about?" Dahyun leaned over your shoulder, trying to catch a glimpse of said thing. But you were fast to lock it and place the phone next to your tray.
"Nothing special."
But Jiwoo's eyes were on the other culprit across the cafeteria - also smiling at his phone, which made you feel this weird thing in your stomach. Her eyes locked on Dahyun's and explained all of it with a slight nod in his direction, with a knowing smile on her face.
"Yeah, or no one…" Jiwoo said, and you hit her arm lightly.
"Stop," You dragged the letters out as your cheeks heated, "It is nothing." But then your phone lit up with a notification.
Mingi
wanna dip?
Your hand hovered over the screen, just so you could close it if any prying eyes found it. "But I gotta go practice, now," One of your legs was already off the bench, bag in your hands as you stood. The girls watched as Mingi also stood from his table, and Jiwoo found his eyes colliding with Yunho's just as he shook his head slightly.
A smile pulled on her lips as she muttered, "Unbelievable," to Dahyun.
In front of the mirror, his hands already found your waist, after warm up - just as always. With that practised ease that crept in over the last week. You felt as if you had the lead back over your dancing more every day. That certain ground that got ripped out, you started rebuilding it - but now not in pretend, in faux perfection, but in a real way that still left you specifics to perfect, but you now knew what to improve. And you wanted to be better.
With this newfound mentality, practices also became harder in one way.
You weren't only hyper aware of what you needed to do better at, but also his touches. Those lingering touches, and when your breathing was synchronised, after the music ended - especially when you were way too close to each other, with his warm hand wrapped around your torso.
Today was no different. Every touch felt energised; they lit you up as you danced. And as the music ended, he was close again, too close. So much so that if you even lifted your head just a little bit, your lips would touch.
As you saw his eyes look down to your lips, you knew he was thinking the same thing. You felt it too, because his hold got tighter on your waist. You felt his every exhale on your cheeks, the way it fluttered when you leaned just a breath closer. Your heartbeat was loud in your ears, with that rush that couldn't quite be named but was always present with him.
But then the music started again, breaking the moment - although neither of you moved for a second too long, a second when it could no longer be denied. The "what ifs" started in your head, loud and overpowering every previous thought, but not loud enough to make your ears skip his voice.
"Again," His voice was raspy, deep, and also quieter than before. And you just danced, from the outside, everything looked the same, but both of you felt the change.
And after you buckled your seatbelt in his car, you mumbled quickly, "Can't stay out today." you didn't even throw your bag to the rear seats, but let it rest in your lap. "I got- something at home."
He didn't question it, no usual banter about the way you stuttered or how you clearly just made that really bad excuse up. He just replied with an "Alright," and dropped you off at home.
—
Spotting is a crucial ballet technique used during turns to prevent dizziness and maintain balance by focusing on a single point. The dancer isolates the head from the body - holding their gaze as long as possible before snapping it back into place with each rotation. It keeps everything controlled and predictable. But that only works if you know where to look. Because the moment your focus slips, even for a second, the world doesn't just blur - it spins.
—
You groaned into your pillow as you rolled to your stomach. Your phone rested next to you, with one specific contact, that was your lifeline for years - your anchor. But as time moved on, so did your relationship. But now everything felt weird, new.
You wanted to talk about it because if you needed to think about it in the comfort of your room alone, you would cry. Fuck it.
That familiar screen lit up as you pressed the call button, and it didn't even take him five seconds to respond. "Hello?"
"Hi, Ikhyun, how are you?" When did talking to your best friend get this hard?
"I'm… managing," He chuckled at the other end. You could see his half smile in front of you. "What's up? Why'd you call?"
"Just wanted to talk," your voice was muffled from your hand, your face rested on. "We haven't talked in a while, Hyun."
He hummed before asking, "How is uni?"
The words were on the tip of your tongue, "You know, same old." But instead you said, "Tiring," after a little pause. "We practice every day, more than before. We… We even started hanging out after."
"y/nnie, that's good," His tone was higher in a way it always got when he was happy. "I'm glad you guys get well."
You snorted when he said that, "Yeah, maybe a little bit too well."
"What do you mean?" He chuckled, but his tone felt more serious.
You hesitated a bit, or rather gathered your thoughts. "It's just- different, you know?" He didn't reply, just let you finish. But how were you even supposed to explain this? The way your chest tightened, the way your thoughts wouldn't sit still or the way everything felt louder around Mingi. "Practice goes… Well. But then the minute the music ends, I don't know how to act."
He hummed, his eyebrows probably gathered at your words as he tried to piece them together, "You'll get used to it." His words felt easy, "It's just the new partner, it takes time to adjust." His chuckle made your hold tighten around your phone, "You're probably just overthinking it."
You turned to your back, phone abandoned on the pillow next to you. Overthinking. Yeah, it was possible, and would explain a lot of things. But this time it doesn't feel like it. It felt- feels real. "Hm, yeah, probably." You hummed, but your phone buzzing snapped you out.
Mingi
so
is that thing over now?
Your eyebrows furrowed. You murmured a small "What?" under your breath, but Ikhyun caught it.
"What did you say?"
"Nothin'."
You
Why?
Desperate to talk to me?
Mingi
how come every time i ask you a question you reply with one back?
A snort left your lips.
"y/n?" Ikhyun's voice pulled you back. "You still there?"
"Yeah," You responded quickly, clicking back into the call, and letting your phone drop back.
"You always get into your head like this," His tone was higher again, smile evidently on his face. "Especially about things that'll fix themselves."
You let out a quiet hum because normally, he would be right. As he always was - but this was maybe something else. Maybe you didn't say it right - or maybe… There just wasn't a way to say it."Yeah, I'm probably just tired." You said instead, voice lower now.
"Get some rest y/nnie," His voice softened. "Don't overwork yourself."
A smile pulled at your lips, even though he couldn't see it. "Hey Hyun?"
"Yeah?"
"Thank you."
He chuckled as he responded with delight, "Always." The call ended with a soft tap of your finger. The chat with Mingi lit up your screen again.
You
Don't you like it?
Mingi
fuck off man
You
It's finished tho
Why?
Mingi
i have that drink that's horrible but you seem to like
and i refuse to carry it with me anymore
You
And what you're trying to say is?
Mingi
be outside in 10
Your fingers hovered over the screen, as you reread the messages - because this was new, and you didn't know if it meant good. You should've lied, thought of another excuse - you already did today, what else was there to lose?
But you grabbed your jacket anyway and waited for him outside. When he arrived, you slid into the passenger seat, immediately noticing two drinks sitting in the middle console. "Wow," he glanced at you briefly, before looking ahead, "No attitude today? Should I be worried?"
You shut the door a little harder than necessary, "Just give it a minute."
"Ah," He smiled satisfiedly, "There she is." You rolled your eyes at him, but it didn't have the same energy as usual. Neither of you spoke, just let this awkward silence settle over the car.
You heard him gulp before he started driving. He reached to the middle, shoving a drink your way, "Almost threw it out by the way," as you took it, his fingers brushed yours for a split second. Not as if it mattered.
"So dramatic," You muttered, unwrapping the straw so that you had something to do.
"You're the one who likes it," He shrugged, and for a second, your heart stopped. Are we still talking about the drinks? He might have seen the way you froze when he glanced at you. "That says more about you than it does about me."
A quiet huff left your lips as you took a sip, leaning back into the seat. The silence settled again, but heavier. You watched the scenery change outside the car, but it did faster than you were used to. Your eyes snapped to the speed indicator over a hundred kilometres per hour already.
"Are we late somewhere?" Your tone was chipped. He didn't really drive when you sat in his car, but when he did, he never went above the limit.
"No? Why?" He glanced at you, then his eyes dropped to your hands holding the edge of your seat to the point your knuckles turned white. You saw how his foot pushed the gas pedal harder. He had a smirk on his lips.
"Then why are we going way above legal?" He reached for his drink, and your jaw dropped for a second. "Just give me that." You snatched it out of his hands to open and place the straw in for him, then pushed it in front of his lips.
His eyes dropped down to it for a second, hands reaching for it before you swatted them away. He looked at you, smile still wide. Hands back on the wheel, "If you're gonna princess me for driving this fast, I might have to do it more."
You closed your eyes for half a second and took a deep breath, then said, "Look at the road, Mingi, not me and just drink." He chuckled but did as you told.
After you put the bottle back in the middle console, he spoke up, "So," he started, voice a little lower now, "what was so important?"
You stopped yourself before your eyes could widen. Right… that.
But it was as if you almost considered telling him. Maybe you should have, just 'Don't you remember?' But you didn't say it. It wouldn't even make sense because he is thinking about a family emergency or something along those lines- not you spiralling in your bed.
"Nothing," You said quickly, maybe a little too quickly. "Just uh, family stuff." How pretty is the scenery. But when you looked back, he was already looking at you.
"You're a terrible liar." He said simply, and your stomach dropped. You probably looked like a deer in headlights - but you surely felt as one.
"I wasn't lying."
"Right," He pulled out the syllables, but didn't press further.
He drove for a little after that. The speed indicator didn't go lower; maybe it even went a little higher. But you didn't dare actually to turn your head to look at it. The silence just felt too suffocating, and you both knew he caught you.
You reached another town - or another part of town - either way, you were way past the usual streets and familiar roads. He cleared his throat before he spoke, "So did you eat at this family function?" the words were mocking, almost harsh.
You shook your head - you didn't trust your voice right now.
His grip was tight on the leather of the wheel, turning toward the drive-through of the fast-food restaurant you didn't notice was right next to you. He got you both some fries and an ice cream - per your request.
The plastic spoon's clatter filled the car. You sat with your feet crossed under you, and your back resting against the door, turned towards him as usual. His body faced you also, but not fully.
He finished his ice cream first, but he didn't ask any random questions while he ate. In fact, he didn't even look up from his cup. His eyebrows were furrowed - deep in thought. You let the uncomfortable silence take hold of your lungs; it burned. It didn't burn as much as the idea of opening your mouth and saying something you didn't actually want to.
He might have noticed it - the ideas daring to tear you apart, or maybe the stiffness behind your movements. So he spoke up first - or at least tried to. Multiple times. He took a deep breath, opening his mouth as if he would say something, but hesitated and surrendered to the quiet in the last second.
When he finally seemed to put the thought together - or rather gather the bravery for it. He spoke up, "Do you always run?" What? The word landed wrong - too small for how tight your chest felt.
"What do you mean?"
"When something happens, your first instinct is to fly, run."
The questions made your tongue feel dry, and the car now felt ten times colder. You just stared at him wide-eyed, heartbeat loud in your ears. Because how could you respond to this?
He watched you for another second before he realised you wouldn't say anything. "Or is it just with me?"
"I don't- I- I just." You wanted to reply quickly, and maybe that was your fall. Exactly why the words came out ragged, mirroring the exact chaos in your brain without even finishing a sentence. You tried to piece a defence together, but his eyebrows lifted in quiet challenge, and the words fell apart in your throat before they could mean anything. His eyes stayed on you for a second too long - searching, waiting - as if he was giving you a chance to say it properly, to defend yourself. But you didn't. - His eyebrows dropped right back with a huff and a shake of his head.
"We have an long schedule tomorrow," His hands hovered over the wheel, "I'm gonna take you home." you saw as his jaw tightened, maybe with unsaid words, or just with the tension. But then his hand was already on the start button, not even waiting for your interval. But he knew you wouldn't say anything other than a murmured goodbye in your front yard.
The drive back felt slower, longer. Maybe it was because he was now driving within the speed limit. But something other than that, too. That unexplainable thing that lifted, but neither of you knew where to place it anymore.
The next morning, you didn't want to get out of bed, let alone get to practice. Thursdays were always the longest because you had a few normal classes, then ballet for three hours. After that, you could run to biology, and back to the studio after classes for another three hours minimum - or as much as your body lets you.
Mingi didn't call you out on anything. He didn't talk much during the first practice. Just a little, "Again," or groans came from his direction - towards you at least. He talked to Yunho, Yeosang, San, and Wooyoung with a wide smile on his face. He even made jokes that cost you expensive minutes of practising. Not like that could bother him at the moment.
The second he came back behind you, his smile gradually fell. His attention was there as always, maybe a little more than usual. But just so he could get his touches as short-lived as possible. They were precise, so you couldn't complain, but it hurt. The combination of these interactions made you more exhausted than a common practice would. And that biology class was just the cherry on top.
You tried pushing through the last hours, with more or less success.
You lost count more than once. Not because you didn’t know it - but because every time he stepped close, your focus slipped half a second too late. With the studio empty other than him and you, his focus felt suffocating.
You could hear his eyes roll as he murmured the "Again," behind you - it was sharper this time, closer. You turned, eyes closing a second too long to keep the words in that kept threatening to escape your mouth. But his hold on your waist tightened, "Wait-" his voice was hurried, "From here." his hand moved you back to your position. "Just this turn."
Suddenly, it felt as if someone had sucked all the air out of the classroom. There certainly wasn't enough in your lungs. Your eyes met in the mirror, and you signalled for the turn. He lifted you high. Your muscles strained in the posture, but you need to hold it- definitely not think about the warmth of his hands. Focus.
When he put you down, it was easy, soft. His hands stayed on your waist until he was sure you were stable. The two of you were too close now. The distance seemed like nothing with you now facing him. You looked up at him, his mouth open as he breathed heavily through it. When your gaze reached his eyes, he was already looking at you.
If you craned your neck even a fraction of an centimetre, your lips would touch. You could finally see if he was thinking about the warmth of your skin instead of the combination you were supposed to be executing. If he, too, felt how perfectly you fit in his hands.
But if he doesn't? What if he pulls away and looks at you as if you were crazy?
Maybe then he wouldn't be this close still. You could count his eyelashes. You can clearly see his moles - one on the side of his face, the other under his left eye. His hands were still on you, fingers flexing around you as if he were also contemplating, calculating his chances.
You should just let it happen. Consequences be damned.
Both of you leaned in. Your hands rested on his shoulders, and his pulled you closer, until you felt his lips brush yours. It was electric, just as every other touch you shared in the past few weeks - pulling, addicting.
But also, it was soft. Or at least soft until both of you got pulled into the rhythm. Finding that same accord, just like the one you find when the music starts.
Then it burned. The awareness pushed you away from him. Your hands slipped from his shoulders first, like touching him for another second would make this irreversible. But his stayed on your waist a moment longer - not tight anymore, just there, as if he also didn't quite know how to let go.
Everything felt wrong, too loud, too wide. You could hear the way the lights above clicked as the wind rattled the trees. You became too aware of everything to the point you felt raw.
His hands eventually dropped, and he cleared his throat, "Once more." It took you a few seconds to realise what he meant. But as he stood in position waiting for you, it clicked.
Your heart was loud enough to throw you off count, every time after it. Your breaths were shaky as you stood next to him, following the moves you should be doing, but your mind was elsewhere. His gaze seemed far away, too - both of you moved on muscle memory rather than actual thoughtfulness.
Your mind - minds apparently - revolved around where you touched, and where it lingered too long again. But neither of you looked anywhere near the other's eyes, which would mean something more than what you were ready for.
The practice got cut short. When you brought up going because you were tired, he easily shot you the idea of leaving without a second thought.
His car's engine echoed loudly in the otherwise empty parking lot. The tyres screeched as he drove out. He didn't wave to you, better off he didn't even look at you after you muttered out your excuse, "My mom's picking me up, we gotta go to grandma's." Your words were low, the same kind he already knew you used when you lied, but this time, he didn't argue. Maybe distance would be the best for both of you right now.
You still noticed how his jaw tightened when he gave you one nod.
The next day, it was as if the world tipped on its axis. Or maybe different people attended the school in your skin. An out-of-body experience, yet you did it all. You chose for it to be this way - or at least the silence after it.
He sat with his friends at lunch, just as usual. Laughed with his head thrown back, in that "I know people pay too much attention to me" way. It pissed you off to the point you texted him for it.
You
I'm pretty sure nothing Yunho could say is THAT funny
Mingi
i'm pretty sure the food isn't as bad as your scowl
also i can feel the way your stare is burning my head
can you stop pls im gonna have a bald spot
Dahyun and Jiwoo didn't even say anything about your furious typing. They just shared a look they usually had a lot of.
You
You already have one, that's what I'm staring at
Mingi
that's cruel princess
myb i should just call u cruella
You
You done?
Mingi
don't act so tough i can see ur smile
You
Then maybe you can also see that I'm waiting for you to finish so we can practice
Mingi
practice?
thought u were avoiding me again
You watched him shove his phone into his pocket before standing from the table. Yunho said something that made Wooyoung grin, but Mingi only shook his head once before walking toward you.
Every step closer made your chest tighten harder. As much as you wanted to play it off, the banter didn't have its usual easy rhythm. It felt charged - a thin wire stretched tight between you, making it impossible to tell where the joking ended, and the truth began, especially when he said, "You're distracting today."
"Then stop looking at me," You said in a sing-song voice without missing a beat.
He scoffed as he massaged his arms for a second, "Maybe stop giving me reasons to."
You couldn't think of a reason today for why he shouldn't bring you home. Not as if he believed yesterday's one. So when you sat beside him on the passenger seat, you felt like you could explode any minute.
Frustrated with him not calling you out on your bullshit yesterday. So you did what you did best. "You're in a weird mood today."
His finger tapped once against the wheel before responding, "Am I?"
You hummed back, "Mhm," your eyes on the phone in your hand, "You usually talk more."
"You usually lie less." There it is.
Your fingers tightened around the phone, "Oh my god, you're still hung up on that?"
"Well, you are making excuses to avoid me," He glanced at you briefly.
"I am not avoiding you."
"Right, so that's why you have something with your family every time something happens."
You scoffed, "What do you want me to do, Mingi?"
"I don't know, maybe act like kissing me didn't ruin your life?"
"You're acting like it meant nothing to you either."
You saw his reflection in your window, the way he was looking at you in that suffocating silence that somehow is always present in this car. Your eyes instead, focused on the University, through the glass. The lights were still bright in some classrooms.
His hand snapping to your jaw caught you entirely off guard - but not half as much as his mouth slamming down on yours. It was rougher than the day before, his jaw still tight with an unyielding frustration that effectively drowned out every unsaid word between you.
His eyes were dark when he pulled away. Something sharp flickered behind his eyes - frustration, disbelief, maybe something worse. "You really think that?" His voice came out quieter this time. Both of your chests rose unevenly yet somehow in sync, finding the same length even in distress. "You keep talking like I don't want this," he muttered.
Your lips still brushed when you answered, "Then stop acting like you don't care."
His laugh came out sharp, mocking. "You're unbelievable."
"You kissed me."
"Yeah," his fingers tightened against your jaw again, "because you wouldn't shut up."
You were the one to close the distance this time. Craving the plush of his lips on yours, moving with such fervour. He kissed just as he talked, with a bite and not afraid to hurt. His tongue moved against your lips, fingers tightening around your jaw.
The kiss felt messy in a way ballet never allowed you to be. No measured movements, no counts. Just heat and frustration moving to the surface in a way it didn't need words.
Your hands slipped into his hair without thinking - as if it was second nature - tugging hard enough for a low sound to leave his mouth. One that you let consume you.
"See?" he muttered against your lips, his breath hot and slick against your skin. "You keep acting like you’re scared of me…" He caught your lower lip between his teeth, and a high, breathless echo of his own sound escaped your throat.
"Because you don't give me a second to think," you shot back, though the words dissolved the second his mouth found yours again. He leaned closer over the middle console, one hand braced beside your thigh now, the other still holding your jaw as if he thought you would disappear if he let go.
The windows had started fogging slightly. The air felt too warm, too small. And suddenly you became painfully aware of everything again. The parking lot outside, your dance bag and cardigan abandoned in the backseat - the fact that tomorrow you would still have to stand in front of the mirror together and pretend this wasn't happening. You pulled back first this time, breaths shaky. "This is a bad idea," you whispered.
His eyes searched yours for a second before he laughed quietly in a tired, disbelieving way, "Yeah," he murmured, thumb brushing your cheek once. "Probably."
But rational thoughts never really stopped you, did they?
His mouth curled as he looked in your eyes, that sparkled - sparkled with need, with the inevitable outcome that both of you knew that you won't sober up enough in any scenario to stop.
Your hand found his that rested beside you, and slid it to your thighs and gave his hand a gentle squeeze. You saw as his tongue smoothed over his teeth, but he didn't move his hand. He tried to read your eyes, to see if you felt the same way he did.
Because maybe this is what you needed, to let the tension form into something physical, to a language both of you understood.
When one of your eyebrows lifted challengingly, that's when something broke inside him and freed a part that was raw with need. His hands slid under your legs, and he easily lifted you over to his lap, mouth already on yours the second your thighs touched his.
The movement knocked the breath from your lungs. One of your hands caught against his shoulder to steady yourself, the other still tangled in his hair as he kissed you as if he had been holding himself back for weeks and finally got permission to stop trying.
His grip tightened instinctively beneath your thighs, pulling you closer until there was barely any space left between you. "You drive me fucking insane," he muttered against your lips, words roughened by the way he was breathing. He looked just as wrecked as you felt.
His hair is messy from your hands, and his lips swollen. Eyes dark every time they flicked down to your mouth, then dragged back up again, as if he couldn't decide where he wanted to look most.
And the worst part was how natural this felt.
As if all those nights in the car, all those lingering touches during practice, every argument, every stupid text, and every almost-moment had been leading here the entire time.
Your fingers curled into the fabric of his hoodie as another kiss stole the rest of your thoughts away. Slower this time, more deliberate. Because now both of you finally understood what the other was asking for.
You felt every part of him as he kissed you. His thick, muscled thigh tensing under you, the feel of it dizzying, enough to make you feel as if you were underwater. He bit your lower lip again, pulling another embarrassingly loud sound from you.
His hand on your waist moved with a new purpose - to map out in a way he hadn't before. Because, yes, he had touched you before, but not in this hungry, all-consuming way. He hadn't let himself feel your silky skin under his palms. He only knew the calculated points he was supposed to hold you, so he wouldn't hurt you. But he had enough of it.
His hand traveled to the strap of your leotard, tracking the line of the elastic before smoothing over your collarbone, a hot, breathy kiss following the exact trail of his fingers. But he didn't push it further until your hand enveloped his, guiding him past that studied precision.
You lead his hand, moved without a second thought - straight to the strap, letting his fingers push it down the slope of your shoulder, in a feather-light touch. Your eyes were drawn to his face - his gaze that followed your bodysuit, basking in every new inch of skin that was bared to him.
Your chest rose with wild breaths, even as your breasts were exposed to the foggy air of the car, nipples pebbled. His hands glided from the curve of your chest down your waist, finally resting at your lower back, pulling you in to another kiss.
You moaned into his mouth at the feeling of his rough finger tips on your upper body. He moved with boldness to see which points made you squirm in his hands, which made you let out those delicious sounds he hungrily swallowed down. But never quite touching where you wanted him most.
You felt vulnerable. He was still fully clothed under you, while you had your camisole bunched at your hips; only your tights and wrap skirt remained.
The fog on the windows thickened around you, shutting the rest of the world out. But not enough to stop you from noticing the messages on your phone go off. There were a lot, blowing up your little bubble with him.
His lips hadn't stopped moving against yours, moving with haste, all teeth and tongue, as if he wasn't going to waste a moment now that he had his hands on you. His hand moved from your waist to reach for your phone, which you'd left on the passenger seat.
"Mind if I?" He motioned to it, and you couldn't stop the needy sound that escaped you.
"Jus' do it," your voice was muffled against his jaw as you kissed your way down, leaving little bites and marks all over his neck and collar bones. You didn't miss the way his breath hitched at that particular spot above his collarbones.
His hand's warmth moved down to your buttocks, kneading the flesh of them over your tights. It was feverish, the car was hot with your sighs and moans. He pulled you closer to him, seating you directly above the tent of his pants, both of you moaning from just the mere touch.
His sounds were all-consuming, addicting - you needed to hear them more. So you rolled your hips against his slowly with a wicked smile on your lips, appearing as soon as a dark and gravely tone left his mouth. His hands tightened against your flesh, leaving you with marks of this night for days to come.
You felt soaked; soaked in a way your panties became one with the fabric of your leotard, clinging to your swollen labia - the grinding only making matters worse; until you were certain the heat of you would burn right through the heavy denim of his jeans, leaving a ruinous, undeniable mark of exactly what he was doing to you
His eyes were dark, absorbing mysteriously, demanding everything you had left, daring you to let go of the last shred of your control. Let him do as he pleases, you're just there to feel; to feel the textured leather of the steering wheel pressing hard against your shoulder blades as he crowded you into it, his mouth finally taking total possession of your skin.
The breath that escapes his open mouth that hovers over your nipples sends shivers down your spine, making you arch your back - pushing your chest towards his face. His eyes are following every reaction, pulled- thrilled by them. He craves those pretty sounds, responses. You feel the warmth and wetness before you see it. Your head throws back with the contact, and you can feel him smiling smugly against your skin where he is lapping at your nipple.
He doesn't fully pull back before giving the other bud the same treatment, and you can't help the whine and immediate response of your hands reaching for his head to pull him back. "Where did those snarky replies get lost, hm, Princess?" His tone was raspy, dripping with that familiar, mocking arrogance. A fierce heat rushed to your cheeks as you tried to stare him down, but with your fingers tangled helplessly in his hair, it probably looked like nothing more than a plea.
You were reduced to a puddle in his strong hands, which were now moving down to your inner thighs. Drawing slow, barely there lines along your muscles, always getting closer and closer to the aching centre of you, but retreating to draw another sweet, caressing line on your upper legs. "Fucking- stop teasing me," you whined, eyebrows pulling together in frustration.
"Why?" He rasped, low. "You have another family gathering to attend?" Your eyes shut at his taunting tone, but then his finger finally found your throbbing clit, circling it with careful precision. "Gotta get to it then, huh?" A wicked smile wide on his face, "Wouldn't want you to be late."
The words had barely left his mouth before you felt the sudden, tight pull of nylon against your skin, followed instantly by the sharp, unmistakable sound of delicate fabric ripping. A breathless gasp left your mouth at the feeling. Your eyes snapped to his in your confused state.
"Sorry, Princess," He pressed a soft kiss to your lips, the words said in one quick breath against your mouth. "I'll buy you a new pair," Another kiss. "Someone's just really impatient." That smug motherf-
You didn't have time to finish the thought, because his fingers pushed your leotard and panties aside in one rough movement. His fingers then dipped into your wetness, spreading it to your clit, still teasing you. Testing your limits - and what little patience you had left - to a degree you hadn't known you were capable of enduring. Lewd noises paired with your moans fill the car as he toys with you.
When he finally pushed two fingers inside you, it felt like way more. Already too overwhelming after being denied pleasure for too long, from having the control ripped from your hands with a few sweet words whispered in your ears. Yet he still worked you open at a maddening pace, the heel of his palm rubbing against your bud lusciously.
The volume rise in your moans was enough to tell him he found your spot. You squirmed wildly in his lap, chasing the bliss until a hand on your hips anchored you with a rasped whisper, "Stop moving, baby," he drew circles with his thumb, "You wouldn't want me to stop, right?" You shook your head frantically, whining at him with your lips trapped between your teeth. "Then be a good girl and stay still for me."
The rough pads of his fingers gave you extra pleasure, that undeniable high coming closer and closer - so close you felt it on your tongue. Until his hands left your frame entirely. Right on the brink of ecstasy.
His name left your lips in a loud sob and sniffle. Tears you hadn't registered yet ran down your wet cheeks. And when you looked at him, you didn't see anything but that smug smile that seemed stuck on his face now. He didn't say anything before moving down to work on the metal zipper of his jeans.
His hips lifted, pushing down his jeans and underwear in one solid motion, shifting you in the process too. Your eyes locked onto the V-line of his lower abdomen, paired with a happy trail running down the middle. You felt his gaze on you, piercing, searching for a reaction. A reaction he caught instantly, mapping the way your breath completely hitched in your throat.
Your eyes rounded as his hard cock slapped against his stomach, angrily red, the head slick with precum that caught the low light of the car. The sound of his chuckle broke you out of your trance, raising your gaze to meet his.
His eyes were hooded, head thrown back against the seat. Pumping his shaft in slow, unhurried movements as he looked at you. His head tilted to the side, "Gonna sit on it, pretty girl?" he purred, still moving his hand in a deliberate pace, but tugged your frame closer. "Work for what you've been begging for, hm?" He looked so full of himself, you could feel it roll off from him in waves - yet you didn't have it in you to deny a single word.
You nodded in a barely there motion. Lifting yourself over his cock, you felt his hand guide you down. But it left the moment the head was inside you. You move slowly, slow enough for him to grab onto your hips and still you on top of him with only the head in. Reminding you in the most painful way that he was still the one in charge. You wailed and moved in his hold, trying to get some friction - anything. Because just a little movement would be enough to unravel you.
"Mingi," You cried out, high-pitched, grabbing at his shoulders, even going as far as sinking your nails into his flesh. But he only moaned at the feeling with his head thrown back. "Please."
"Can't understand you, pretty."
This man will be the end of you. The only man who could rip your awareness so far out of reach that you were reduced to begging. Begging for anything he would give you. "Please, Min-" You gritted out through your teeth, "Stop- already." your words were ragged with your breaths, chest heaving wildly.
These moments stretched into what felt like years. Braced against his solid frame, you had been forced to taste that agonising stretch without ever getting what you needed. His hold finally softened around your torso, letting you sink on him. The strain was everything. A heavy burning feeling in your sensitive nerves. your eyes rolling back in your head with every single centimetre.
He watched your face contort with overwhelming pleasure, adapting to his size with a long moan. You looked ethereal, lit from the low lights of the dashboard, hair all messed up and sticky against your temples. He let you find your own rhythm - let you work for your own pleasure in his sick, selfish yet so pleasurable way.
But he supported you, hands helping your thighs work, moving the weight of them - letting you get lost in the feeling. You didn't need much for that all-consuming whiteness to appear behind your closed eyelids, moving faster to reach your peak.
His moans increased in volume too; he whispered some sweet nothings in your ears, you were too gone to understand. Crushed beyond repair. You felt his cock twitch inside you just as you tightened around him, following you into the bliss, filling you up - painting your insides white.
You collapsed against his chest, which rose with heavy breaths. His arms holding you tight against him, caressing your sweat-tainted skin softly. "Everything's alright, Pretty?" You nodded against him, painfully unaware of your spot in the university's parking lot - fully blissed out and content in his arms.
—
Arabesque
/ˌærəˈbesk/
noun
A position in ballet where the dancer balances on one leg while extending the other behind them, creating a line meant to appear effortless and endless. It looks weightless from the outside - suspended, almost perfect. But no matter how beautiful it seems, a dancer can only hold it for so long before gravity reminds them where they belong.
—
Everything was sore. Every limb of your body felt strained in the way it usually did after hours of practising - nothing unusual in that - but rather in the fact that you woke up against a very firm chest.
"You really need to stop passing out in my car, Princess." He chuckled, low, chest shaking under your cheek. You just snuggled closer to the warmth, your face buried in the crook of his neck. The windows were still completely fogged over, sealing the two of you away from the chilly outside air. It had only been a few hours since you both had collapsed into each other, your bodies still tangled together on the reclined driver's seat. His heavy arms were wrapped securely around your waist, holding you in his lap as if it were the only place you belonged.
For a few blissful seconds, you just breathed him in. But the lingering thought of the time, or perhaps just the sheer habit of checking your phone, made you pull back slightly. Your phone was lying face down on the passenger seat, silenced long before things had gotten messy.
With a soft groan, you shifted on his lap, stretching your back to reach over the centre console. Mingi didn't let you go; his grip merely loosened enough for you to lean over, his chin resting lazily on your bare shoulder as his eyes blinked open, watching you with quiet, relaxed fondness.
You flipped the phone over and unlocked the screen. The sudden glare illuminated the cramped car, revealing frantic texts from Dahyun and Jiwoo just sent over two hours ago.
Jiwoo
oh my god, tell me you're awake
Dahyun
link attached
someone leaked the unedited video from the bar
Jiwoo
the audio is completely clear
look at the background
watch Mingi
Your breath hitched. Your thumb trembled as you clicked the link in the message, making sure the volume was set to a low so the sound wouldn't echo off the glass.
The video was shaky, filmed just a little further from where they stood - the exact night the scandal had broken and Ikhyun’s career had vanished. But unlike the blurry, chaotic clips that had circulated for months, this audio was crisp. You could clearly hear the mocking, arrogant voices of the male group members at a nearby table.
"...thought she was the untouchable prodigy, turns out she’s just a pass-around for the department..."
A sickening wave of ice flooded your veins at the sound of Kangmin. But before the familiar humiliation could completely swallow you, a figure slammed into the frame, completely shattering the table's glass drinks.
It was Mingi. He looked visibly tipsy, his posture loose but terrifying as he kicked a chair out of his way, stepping directly into the space of three guys. His recorded voice snarled through the phone speaker, deep, raw, and completely unhinged. "Say that again. Say her name again and see if you walk out of here on your own two feet."
You watched in absolute shock as Yunho, San, and Wooyoung desperately grabbed the fabric of Mingi’s hoodie, trying to haul him back. Mingi had thrown the first punch. He had started the entire thing. And it was only when the brawl escalated into total, violent chaos that Ikhyun had thrown himself into the conflict to protect the guy who was fighting for you - ultimately taking the fall that should have belonged to Mingi.
The phone nearly slipped from your fingers.
Every single muscle in your body snapped tight. Your spine straightened instantly, your thighs tensing against his lap as you went entirely, terrifyingly rigid.
Mingi felt the exact second your body locked up. The lazy, comfortable warmth radiating off him vanished in an instant. His arms tightened around your waist, his hooded eyes sharpening as he stared at the side of your face, his brow furrowing at the sudden, absolute terror rolling off you.
"Hey," His voice was raspy, the casual afterglow completely dropping from his tone. He nudged your shoulder with his chin, trying to peer into your face. "What's up? What's wrong?"
You couldn't answer. Your jaw felt completely wired shut, your eyes wide and pinned to the glowing screen where the pixelated, chaotic brawl was still playing out in a loop.
Sensing the absolute lockdown gripping your frame, Mingi’s gaze shifted from your face down to the phone clutched in your trembling fingers. He leaned in closer, his broad chest pressing flush against your back as he looked over your shoulder, his eyes tracking the video.
The phone speaker whispered out the muffled, violent audio again.
"...Say her name again and see if you walk out of here on your own two feet."
The exact second his own recorded voice cut through the quiet of the car, Mingi froze. The warm breaths he had been exhaling against your neck completely stopped. Every single muscle in his frame went just as rigid as yours, his arms locking around your waist - not out of affection this time, but out of a sudden, defensive reflex.
The screen flickered, showing Ikhyun throwing himself into the fray to drag Mingi out of the line of fire, the camera panning wildly as the table shattered.
Silence fell over the car. A thick, suffocating silence that made the fogged-up windows feel like a prison.
You slowly turned your head, your neck straining from the tension of the movement, until your eyes met his.
The fondness that had been in Mingi's eyes just moments ago was entirely gone. His expression had turned completely blank, his hooded eyes dark and unreadable. But the sharp, furious pulse beating against his jawline betrayed him. He didn't look away from your stare. He didn't even blink.
"You started it," Your voice came out as a ghost of a whisper, barely a breath against the cold air of the car. "It wasn't Ikhyun. It was you."
part two coming soon...
likes, reblogs and comments are appreciated!!!!
✮⋆｡°✩ pipe dream - college au!song mingi x fem reader
⋆ ˚｡𖦹 song mingi is a lot of things. he’s top of the class you hate the most, a mutual friend of your roommates, probably the best dressed guy on campus… and now he’s haunting your dreams, too.
⋆ ˚｡𖦹 smut 18+ MDNI, angst, reader has insecurities, EMOTIONAL CONSTIPATION, everyone smokes weed it’s a college au but it’s also kind of all they do, that being said college kids = drinking, brief toxicity? if you squint
⋆ ˚｡𖦹 wc 26.6k
⋆ ˚｡𖦹 a/n: here is a college stoner romance comedy mingi fic fueled with insanity. it means a lot to me so i hope you like my brainchild. furthermore this is for my dear @sungbeam college collab and i had so so much fun with it & also meeting such lovely ppl thru it <3!!! ALSO hm to @minkieater for the hard fucking banner she's goated and also thank u for telling me not to scrap this fic. OK ENJOY AH
⋆ ˚｡𖦹 a lot of graphic wet dreams it’s the whole plot, so much dirty talk bc i headcanon he’s a talker, daddy kink (sorry), but freak4freak like mingi’s technically dom but they’re both dirty freaky, pervy reader pervy mg, dry humping, so much praise, oral (f rec), vaginal fingering, size kink he’s big, big dick!mingi (he knows it), fingering (f rec), unprotected sex, oral (f rec), unprotected p in v including creampie
It starts off like any other dream.
You’re lying on your bed, comfortably spread out with the same old pyjamas you had on when you fell asleep - a t-shirt stained with hair dye and shorts that have worn elastic, sagging down over your hips. The air’s a little dense at first when you try to move, like you’ve been doing some heavy lifting and your limbs haven’t quite started to work again, and it takes you a moment to come into yourself, fighting through the haze.
Immediately, it feels more real than your dreams normally would. Smoking weed before bed means that you don’t often get any dreams at all, really, and your two best friends-turned-housemates are loud enough at all points of the day that your sleep can be interrupted at regular intervals. However, you can feel the softness of your sheets, the lilac floral set you put on when you got home from class, and you rub your feet against it. It’s nice, comforting, and so normal that you quickly forget what it is - a dream.
A soft brush against your side, and you feel like a fish out of water. There’s someone here with you. On your bed. It’s rare for San and Wooyoung to sit there, and this person definitely isn’t either of them.
It’s blurry initially, so hazy that you can’t quite focus on his face, but his long limbs are splayed across your bed like he’s been here a million times before. The touch was his fingers, and his hands are big too, dexterous and clad in bulky silver rings and drumming a beat you can’t recognise against your skin. It’s too comfortable, familiar in a way that feels almost too vulnerable - it’s almost like you’ve dreamed about this before.
He speaks, and you can’t make out what he’s saying. His voice is a deep, gravelly tone, making you feel like you’re drifting asleep all over again. With insane willpower you blink rapidly, forcing yourself to look at his face.
You finally see him. He’s staring at you like you’ve done something silly, plump lips curled up with the hint of a smile, and his hair is messy and dark and cascading over his forehead. You can just about make out two beauty spots on his honey toned face. He’s not wearing much, not really, clad in a tank top and baggy, below knee shorts for ultimate comfort, lensless glasses sitting on a sharp nose.
He blinks at you rapidly, scrunching his nose into a silly face to get your attention, lips forming a line, and all you can think is pretty, pretty, pretty.
“Are you listening to me, baby?” He says again, and you hear him this time, loud and clear. Baby. It makes a chill run through your body. He’s your type - steady, cool, teasing and big and… he’s so handsome, soothing your skin with his fingertips as if he knows you, has known you for a while and-
“Mingi,” You croak, unable to help yourself. It’s Song Mingi from your economics class, that tall, cool kid who’s always late to class but still really fucking smart, gets amazing grades; unlike you. He dresses really nice, chic, lots of bulky rings and these big chains, like the one he’s wearing now. You think you’ve heard San and Wooyoung say they were friends before, and if you think harder it’s like you’ve seen him drive San home before, but have you ever really paid attention?
Song Mingi from your economics class who is your mutual friend and also… your boyfriend? Right, yeah. That feels right. “Sorry, honey. What were you saying?”
“I was saying,” He sing-songs, but it’s raspy, like he smoked just before he came over. “It’s always nice being here with you. You’re beautiful, you know that? But it makes me…”
His eyes move to your lips. You think you know what he’s going to say, and maybe it’s a little cliche, straight out of a show you’ve seen, but the butterflies still flitter in your tummy.
You rub your feet against the blanket again - it’s exciting, sue you. “Makes you what?”
Mingi’s leaning in before he speaks again, shuffling across your blanket until his breath is tumbling across your face. He’s closer now, but it’s not intimidating, it’s exciting. If you focus you swear you can smell him, something like cedar and vanilla, sweet but enriching and you want more of it, now.
His hand moves to your hip, just barely dipping underneath your sleep shorts. Is he going to kiss you? Even better, is he going to touch you? Your mouth feels dry, and his hands are a little calloused on your skin. He goes to the gym, you remember through the fog. San goes with him sometimes - it’s from the weights. You feel dizzy, head spinning, inching even closer.
“It makes me want more,” he breathes tentatively, “I want to do more with you, if you’ll let me.”
“I’ll let you.” You blurt, and he smiles. He wriggles his way on top of you, your arms closing around those broad shoulders - he is big. While your cunt starts to slick up dumbly at the first sign of a big, strong man, he finally kisses you, a sweet peck to the corner of your lips before a deeper, proper one, tangling his tongue with yours, and it feels so fucking real. Letting out a keen, you squirm underneath him, managing to pull away from his lips to speak. “I’ll let you, please,” you whimper against his lips, messy, “more, Mingi-”
He groans in disbelief, kissing you sloppy again, again, again, finally moving his hand down, cupping your pussy through your sleep shorts and balancing on one forearm. His lips slide against yours a little messily but it’s still amazing, making you whimper when his tongue moves against yours, more than igniting that fire in your belly. You can feel the pressure of his fingertips against your core, sure that nothing’s ever felt like this in your life. “So pretty. You sound so fuckin’ pretty, baby, saying my name like that, shit-”
His fingers slide underneath your shorts, and of course you haven’t got panties on. He meets your pussy bare, slick and sensitive under his touch, and he starts to rock against your fucking leg before he can even get a finger in.
He feels big, from what you can make out, pressing into your thigh. Big, hard, and god - does he leak too? Is he getting so worked up that he can’t help but soak a pool in his boxers? You try to reach down to them, but he pins your hands back to the pillow with one big palm.
You can feel the cold metal of his rings biting against your hole when he adds a second finger. He finds your g-spot effortlessly, curling his long digits upwards, and tap tap taps until your eyes cross.
“Like this,” He murmurs, cheeks flushing. His lips part and his eyebrows knit in admiration when he looks back to your face and sees the way your own expression can’t be controlled in your haze of lust, mouth falling open, letting out a wrecked whimper. “Can you cum like this? Drench your fucking shorts and let me suck ‘em clean after?”
He talks frantically, viciously almost, fucking into your pussy faster, trying to give you more stimulation. It’s filthy and you can’t believe it’s happening to you, hurtling into an orgasm that you know is going to be unsatisfying because he hasn’t even brushed your clit but fuck, you want to be good. Is he doing this deliberately? His spare hand cups your breasts, palm jiggling the flesh with a noise of disbelief.
“I can! F-fuck, I can,” You hiccup, and he pushes your thighs back, uses his thumb and finger of his other hand to pinch your clit in such a way that you think you might cry. It would normally be not enough but it’s the sight of him, the way he pants on top of you from just humping your leg and wants you to cum so badly - you’re done for.
Digging your nails into his shoulders, you seize, crying out - and you wake up in a pool of your own sweat.
Your pyjamas are sticking to you, shorts drenched between your legs and you’re not sure where you are. For a second you think you’re still high, or even still dreaming, but now this is definitely real.
Alone in your room, your chest heaves as if you’ve run a marathon, and when you slide your feet against your blanket it doesn’t feel as good as it did before. What the fuck was that? You just had a sex dream about a guy that you’ve spoken to maybe twice, and it was so real. The surroundings of your room feel like an entirely different dimension, even though you were just there, with him, with his scent and his large presence, almost too overwhelming.
Are you going crazy? Are you smoking too much weed? Probably the latter, but that doesn’t change how that felt. You groan, rolling over to reach blindly for your phone. Knocking over a few things on your bedside table, you finally find it, and the time reassures you.
7:02. Still two hours until class, two hours to sort yourself out.
It would be great if it wasn’t a Wednesday. Your first class is economics, where you normally sit just a few seats over from the main character of your all consuming dream. Can you ignore him for the whole class? Shit, could you just skip it? Did it really matter?
No, you’re close to failing that stupid class already. It’s too complicated, it just doesn’t go into your brain. It would be hard to get a tutor when everything costs money, too, and you’re committed to spending a large part of your student loan on getting high and ordering pizza with Wooyoung and San.
With yet another loud groan, you swing your legs over the side of the bed and bring yourself to go to the bathroom to wash up. In the mirror, your hair is sticking multiple different directions and you have that recently fucked look, eyes half lidded, t-shirt hanging off of one shoulder.
Is this rock bottom?
“What’s up with you today?”
Wooyoung’s gaze feels like the sharpest daggers shooting into your face. Considering you walked from your house together and managed to converse quite well until you got to class, you’re not really sure what you did wrong. You even complimented him on his bleached hair that he did himself at midnight because it really did look good. Despite that he still doesn’t look happy, plump lips pursed in a scowl and fingers tapping on the table.
He sits to your left, and only three seats to your right is his seat. He hasn’t shown up yet, he’s always late, but you already feel like the class is getting a little too hot. You’re determined to persevere, despite the fact that your jeans feel too tight and even though you’re wearing them, it still feels like your legs are sticking to the plastic chair.
Clutching the signature banana milk you always get from the vending machine outside, you grumble - even the delicious taste isn’t helping.
“Nothing. Nothing’s up,” You mumble, licking sugary milk and banana flavouring from your lips, “Woo, should we just go?”
“Baby, you’re nearly failing,” He coos, rubbing his thumb over your shoulder. You don’t know why he’s talking, because he hasn’t even got a bag with him, only a single sheet of paper from your notebook and one of your sparkly pens. Looking at the big clock on the wall, you sigh deeply - he’s going to be here soon - and your friend nudges you under the table with his knee. The movement jostles your milk and you scowl. “What’s the matter? Seriously.”
“I’ll tell you later, but it’s fucking stupid and you’ll laugh.”
Wooyoung seems satisfied with this, grinning and ruffling your hair, but it’s then through messy strands that you see him. Well, the professor walks in first, but Mingi trails in behind her as if he’s got all the time in the world, and you frantically smooth your hair down.
His chains jingle with his movement, and his bag hangs off one shoulder. He looks confident, prepared, probably with books and his laptop in the bag. He’s smart, you know he is, he’s top of the class, probably going to have a really stable analytical job after college that you’d never be able to comprehend. Thinking about it makes you want to giggle like a schoolgirl, and you wish Wooyoung knew what was going on so he could slap you awake.
You drink your banana milk diligently.
The professor begins the lesson while Mingi’s walking to his seat, taking no notice of him as she arranges her things on the stand, and when he sits down you realise no one’s sat between you this time. Low attendance, you suppose, looking around the entire room to see that not many seats are filled at all. He doesn’t even look at you when he sits down and throws his bag to the floor. You’re not sure why you expect him to, but you take the time to analyse him fully.
He never dresses casually. Shrugging off his leather jacket and letting it drape over the chair, the cheap plastic creaks with his movement, and the light glints off the bulky silver rings adorning his long fingers.
It’s suddenly getting really hot now, and your banana milk is doing nothing to cool you. Your eyes scan over his hands and up his arms to his chest. His black turtleneck is tight on firm muscles and such a contrast to his silver chains, so pleasing to your eye. Mingi’s dark hair drapes over his eyes, but you can still see them, chocolate brown and striking and narrowing at you.
At you? You blink, and no, really, he is looking at you, and you’re not sure what to do. He doesn’t give you a chance, thankfully, because he gives you a small smile and a little wave and turns to listen to the lecture.
Wooyoung practically chases you out of class by the end of it, even launching your carton in the bin for you. You manage to get him to a bench outside and once he’s situated, you clear your throat. He has his head in his hands, waiting, foot tapping against the floor. He’s never been good with patience; San always teases him about the time you told him you’d tell them something in class the next day and he didn’t sleep all night.
“I had a wet dream last night.”
Wooyoung groans loudly, kicking you in the shin. You squeal, falling onto the bench with an affronted stare, and he scowls at you. “Is that it? I probably have a wet dream every other night!”
“Woo, listen- listen to me. It was about Mingi. Your friend, Song Mingi. Be honest, is it over for me?”
His eyes light up. His face straightens, and then he leans forward, and you know you’re done before he even starts laughing, but the noise is still so loud that it makes your ears ring when he’s off. Multiple people in the quad turn towards you both, making you scowl at your housemate. He claps a few times in joy before he’s done.
“That’s- that’s probably the funniest thing I’ve ever heard, baby,” He giggles, hitting your shoulder playfully. “Have you spoken to him? At all? You never come to our friends’ parties. Not one, actually, now that I think about it.”
The birds in the campus trees tweet a rhythm mockingly. Your eye twitches. Wooyoung’s lips curl again.
“Maybe once or twice, in passing,” You frown, voice soft and timid, “Woo, it’s not my fault. We don’t choose our dreams, it’s your subconscious or something. Y’know scientists have literally said that?”
“You don’t even know what you’re talking about, do you?” He’s still smiling, and you shake your head. He’s right, you don’t, but you’re still sure you read that somewhere. “I guess you’re right though. Maybe- oh my god, maybe you do have a crush on him or something, a repressed one, and now it’s coming to the surface because it’s time. Like fate or something.”
You hum, thinking, deciding that Wooyoung’s insane. “Still, it felt real. Like, insanely real, Woo. It was better than anything I’ve had in person, and now I feel like I’m seeing him differently.”
Wooyoung raises his eyebrows, but still rubs your knee comfortingly. You’re thankful that he’s still being nice despite finding it very amusing. “It’s just a dream anyway. I don’t think you have to worry about it that much, baby, you’ll forget about him in a few days. I’ve had dreams that have given me crushes before too.”
“What if I don’t? You don’t get how intense it was.”
“Well, then we can talk to him,” He nods confidently, nudging you. “I can put a good word in, get you your dream boyfriend-”
“That is literally the worst idea you’ve ever had,” You deadpan, shaking your head, “I have a solid two friends for a reason, I’m not a people person, I am just trying to get through college with zero problems. And he’s- Woo, he’s… cool. Like you two. I don’t get cool guys.”
“You got us, didn’t you?” He pulls you into his side, kissing your forehead, then adds, “and we love you. You’re our best friend,” It comforts you enough to quell your insecurities for a moment. He checks the time on his phone and whoops triumphantly, “let’s go home. San will be back from the gym and we can smoke and order food. My treat. Oh also, can I tell him?”
“... I don’t think I have a choice.”
“No, you don’t. There's three of us in this relationship.”
Despite the fact that you fall asleep in some form of a puppy pile with Wooyoung and San in the latter’s bed, it happens again.
This time, you’re on the sofa in your living room. Mingi’s positioned underneath you, in a black compression shirt and grey sweatpants like an anime character you’d fantasise over, and you’re on his lap.
What are these fantasies?
Has your brain taken note of outfits he’s worn before?
You know it’s him from the size of his body and the way it feels, intense and all consuming, although you haven’t managed to see everything yet, still fuzzy at the edges with sleep. The sweat drips down your collarbone already, and he seems just as wrecked from the squirming he’s doing, moving upwards into your body while he pulls you down against him by your hips. His hands move up your oversized t-shirt, settling on your flushed skin.
“Feels so fuckin’ g-good,” He huffs, “even just- just like this,”
His deep voice makes your head spin, and when you see his face it feels like a relief. His cheeks are flushed, lips kiss bitten, and you place another few pecks on his lips for good measure. He’s yours, after all, your boyfriend. “Is your little hole wet? Can you feel it, b-baby, drenching these cute little panties?” He whines, nosing into the crook of your neck, licking over the skin, “Is it begging for me? F-fuck, talk to me, please.”
He babbles incoherently but you can make out that it’s filthy, and you can’t fucking believe it. Is he like this, really? Your hips grind down against him sharply, needing more, because he’s right. Panties drenched, too delirious to even think about it, your hands scramble against his shoulders. You can see everything in that t-shirt, the way his biceps bulge against the fabric and the way his chest clenches as he ruts himself against you, nipples poking through, tempting. He’s got that expression again - eyebrows furrowed, lips parted, but this time he’s looking directly down at where you’re connected, bottom lip slick with spit. The pressure of his cock against your core in his sweatpants is so much, and you can’t help it, eyes rolling back to your head.
“Want you, want you so bad,” You pant. It feels like the most honest thing you’ve ever said. He nods, thrusting harder. He wants more, wants you to say more, his hands pulling you down against him. It’s a dirty rhythm, a sinuous grind. “I want it so fucking bad, Mingi, you don’t even-“ you buck, whining, “-don’t even know how bad, please, please-”
“Yeah? Did you touch your little clit thinking about me?” He pushes you upwards, still letting you move against him but slipping his hand underneath his waistband to rub over his cockhead. He’s desperate too, teeth biting into his lower lip. He wants it just as bad. You feel wet, and you look down to see you’ve leaked right through your panties onto his sweatpants. Have you ever been this fucking wet before? “Did you think about my cock stretching you open, ruining you until you can’t even remember your own- own fucking name?”
“I d-did, fuck,” You can’t move, eyes fixated on where his hands move under the wet fabric. “Fuck, Mingi, baby, please show me, I’ll do anything, please.”
His hand pauses, and your gaze flits back up to his face. His eyes narrow at you, just like they did in class, and his teeth have released his lower lip so that he can smirk at you, teeth white as snow. It’s promising, but it’s like a threat, and your hands feel a little sweaty against his broad shoulders.
“Really, pretty thing?” His voice is hopeful, and his other hand begins to move his waistband down. You see the beginnings of his dark smattering of pubic hair and almost shaking, you whimper, nodding eagerly. “You’ll do anything for me?”
“Anything, I promise, please, fuck.”
Your eyes shoot open on a particularly loud snore from San. His leg and his arm are both slung over you, head resting on your shoulder with a steady stream of drool pooling on your t-shirt. When you glance at him, he sniffles out a snore, nose scrunching up and thick eyebrows knitting together. He’s lucky you love him.
Once you’ve spluttered yourself awake enough, the warm light of the desk lamp bathing the room catches your attention, and you see Wooyoung sitting on the chair by San’s desk. He’s eating something, and the smell of bacon is the next thing that you register, slowly unwrapping yourself from the older man to crawl towards the younger at the desk.
He’s already clocked you, a smile pulling at his lips as he loads the fork. “Good morning, sunshine.”
You snatch the fork from his fingers, munching before you can even talk. Eggs and bacon, and you wonder who Wooyoung learned to cook from. You make a mental note to ask, because it’s delicious. After you swallow, you mumble, “time?”
“Nine in the morning,” Relaxed as ever, he stretches out on the chair with an overpronounced yawn. He’s still scrutinising you, and you know for sure that you haven’t gotten away with it. “Two nights in a row, huh?”
“How’d you know?” You raise an eyebrow. Wooyoung looks pleased with himself and takes the fork back from you, continuing to eat his meal. Is it your hair? Were you… God, were you making noise?! He still hasn’t said anything! “Oh my fucking- Wooyoung?!”
“All I’m saying is I’m surprised Sannie didn’t wake up with all that squirming,” He finally responds, and the mentioned man grunts in his sleep at being mentioned, always alert, but goes back to snoring almost immediately after. “Don’t worry, it was cute. I think you do have a crush. Subconsciously and all that.”
“I hate you,” You grumble, and he sighs, patting his lap. You still climb onto him, and he hums until you start to doze, stroking your hair in rhythm to San’s snores. It would make you laugh if you weren’t nearly falling asleep again, but every time your eyes flutter shut you see big hands and a sharp nose and those beautiful dark eyes. Sighing, you stretch your legs out to wake yourself back up, “Wooyoungie, I think I’m going crazy. I don’t even know the guy.”
“It’s okay,” He coos, and you can hear how amused he is. Still, he entertains it. “He’s kind, very loyal. Smart, as you know. Sometimes he’s a little unsettling, but it’s endearing, in a way. A little like you.”
“I can’t tell if you’re being serious or not.”
“Well, I love you both dearly, if that counts for anything.”
Still, this doesn’t solve your problem, “Wooyoung, what do I do?”
“I think it’ll surprise you how easy this is going to be.”
It is a surprise to find yourself done up in a cute dress at a party not ten hours later, San and Wooyoung on each arm. You knew they knew people, sure, but they’d been such good friends to you that they’d sworn to be by your side through college, so you’d never bothered to ask to be introduced to their other friends.
From what you can gather, they’re not frat boys but normal college students, too - Wooyoung told you that the two guys that live here are some of their good friends, and that makes you feel a bit better about arriving uninvited. It’s quaint but well decorated, with music memorabilia on the walls, but you don’t get a chance to take it all in because the house is absolutely packed.
San waves and hugs a few people as he walks through, and you see Wooyoung smiling at a group of people that you think must be in his dance classes, because they look as cool and sculpted as him. Still, they pull you through the throes of people into the kitchen, tipsy and stoned and honestly, a content smile on Wooyoung’s face that he finally got you in this position.
You’re not even sure who’s party this is, but the boys help themselves to drinks and San keeps a comforting hand on your lower back, leaning in close so that you can hear him while your other friend pours you a drink.
“You’re sure you’re okay?”
“Sannie, I have been to parties before, I’m not a total shrew,” You tease. He pulls you into a sort of half-hug and you smell him, something earthy with a hint of jasmine, comfortable and grounding, familiar. Different to… you’re trying not to think about that.
The younger man hands you both the finished drinks, a concoction of something purple, and well, liquid confidence you suppose. You knock half of it down before you can think. He seems satisfied with this, but you hiss at the aftertaste, sticking your tongue out. “I’m definitely a smoker, not a drinker. This is fucking nasty. You guys drink this stuff all the time?”
“He does, I kinda hate it too,” San huffs, swirling his cup in his hand and watching the liquid move.
Wooyoung scoffs, “that and you can’t handle your drink. You pass out after a few.”
San’s already flushed, but you swear he gets redder, shooting Wooyoung a dirty look with a too-cute pout before turning back to you. “Refresh me on the situation again by the way. You had a dream about Mingi? Song Mingi?”
Right, Wooyoung had caught him up over the course of the day while you napped and attempted to study. You lick your lips, trying to somehow clean yourself of the drink’s bitter aftertaste but only getting a mouthful of sticky lipgloss.
“Two dreams,” Wooyoung corrects, pointing at San, smiling so wide you can see his teeth in the dim light of the kitchen. They’re practically shouting over the music, and you want to tell them to be quiet but you are in a quieter area. No one can hear you, you hope, groups having filtered into the back garden, bedrooms and the living room. “And I think she liked him before. Fate, science - look, you had to be there. Anyway, we should go talk to him.”
“Wooyoung, I do not know this man.”
“We know him,” San smiles. He’s too easy. “Hey, this is cute! Is this your first crush? He’s a good guy.”
You swat him away when he tries to pinch your cheeks. “Not my first crush or my first party. You have literally met some of my exes. I also don’t think this is a good idea.”
“First, all of your exes were assholes so I didn’t like them and therefore they don’t exist. Second, you have to think it’s a somewhat good idea because you did come - to the party, I mean,” Wooyoung grabs your hand, pulling you to the back door. “I think they’ll probably be out here.”
Wooyoung’s right, about both things. All of your exes were assholes, men that only cared about getting their dick wet and their own feelings and not at all about yours. You’ve always thought it would be nice to have a man who takes notice of the things you like, the way you feel; the longer life dwindles on it seems to become less attainable.
He’s also right that you came to this party with the idea that your friends were setting you up. You don’t expect them to be subtle about it though - a fact that daunts on you as they lead you through the kitchen.
As soon as the back door opens, you’re hit with the sight of what seems to be a much cooler, more private party. The smell of weed and the sound of softer, less overwhelming music are the first things you can process and yeah, okay, this might be more your type of scene. There’s a cute, shorter guy wearing flared jeans and a shiny tiara, chatting with a group of people enthusiastically; surely it must be his party.
You’re pulled over to a section of outdoor seating where there’s a few people sitting down. There’s a small fire going, contained in a silver pit, and the warmth is welcomed on your skin, cold from the outside air biting at your skin in the cute dress you’re wearing. Really, you don’t clock him at first, but Wooyoung and San are eager to take you over to that area and there can only be one reason why.
“Yunho!” Wooyoung’s way too chipper, but Yunho falls for it, springing up from one of the chairs to wrap his arms around the shorter male. San’s hugging someone too, and from the corner of your eye you see it’s fucking Mingi, and you’ve never felt so betrayed in your life.
“Fancy seeing you here, huh?” San says, way too exaggerated, and you hover in confusion as he continues, “we finally brought our cute friend, look.”
Cute friend? Suddenly all of the attention is on you. Yunho and Mingi are both peering at you, and Mingi is - he has to be assessing you, eyes scanning your frame. You can’t see them properly due to the sunglasses. Does he recognise you? You’ve only spoken once or twice before, in passing. He probably doesn’t even know your name.
Yunho seems to know who you are, grinning from ear to ear and pulling you into a hug before you can even introduce yourself. You can’t help but laugh, throwing your arms around him while avoiding spilling your purple drink on his white satin shirt.
“It’s so good to meet you!” He shakes you happily. Mingi still hasn’t said anything, but he’s clutching a bottle of jagermeister and a cup with a different drink, looking at you as if he’s waiting for the moment. You try not to be uncool right in front of his eyes, smiling at Yunho politely. “Wooyoungie kept talking about you, all nice things, I promise. You have some good friends here.”
“I can’t really get rid of them, kinda like the plague,” You smile, and you’re glad Yunho detects your sarcasm and lets out a loud laugh, a bit too loud to be normal. He ushers you all to sit down, and when everyone’s situated the only available spot left is next to Mingi.
How convenient.
In your peripheral vision, you can see your best friends have already roped Yunho into a conversation, leaving the subject of your fantasies free and still fucking looking at you.
Hesitantly, you sit down. The fire is nice you suppose, warming up your legs quite quickly, and you keep your knees firmly planted together and far away from him. The other three chatter away, preoccupied in such an intentional way that it makes your blood boil. It’s time to consider rooting through your bag in a way that looks like you’re doing something.
He says your name, and it feels like time stops. He’s speaking to you. This is the worst possible situation, how are you even meant to talk to him? Slowly, you turn to look at him. He’s in a black zip up jacket, bottle of Jagermeister in hand, sunglasses pushed down to the end of his nose. Those chains glint in the light again, and he leans forward, saying your name again, pushing the sunglasses onto his head. They push his hair back in the most delicious way that you shiver. No. Not right now. “It’s nice to finally meet you. You’re in my economics class too, right? You sit with Wooyoung.”
He knows you. “R-right,” You blurt, smiling nervously. “I am. Mingi, right?”
“You sit just a few seats over from me, with Wooyoung. I wanted to say hi to you, but to be honest, I never knew how,” He scratches the back of his neck. He’s cute, a little shy despite how big and scary he looks. Just like Wooyoung said. It feels like that makes it all even worse - he really is a dream, delightful traits rolled all into one. “It’s good to all get together though, right? I don’t think I’ve seen you at one of these before.”
“Oh, no. I don’t really get out much, to be honest. I’m a homebird,” You say, and cringe inside. What the fuck are you saying? You need to be cool.
But Mingi only smiles, letting out an ‘ah’. “Me too, to be honest. I’m an anime in bed guy, but I live here, so I have to leave my room. It’s really sad.”
Not only is he actually so easy to talk to, but he reassured you quickly - he’s the same. Wooyoung was right again.
He lives here, though, which means… Wooyoung and San brought you to a party at Mingi’s house? This is some sort of next level interfering that you never even considered, but you have to act normal, so you clear your throat.
“You live with that guy wearing the tiara, then?”
“His name is Hongjoong,” Mingi laughs. “You don’t know who’s house you’re at?”
Fiddling with the clasp of your bag, you look down at your lap. “I told you, I don’t normally go to parties. I got dragged to this.” White lie.
“It’s fine, I’m only kidding. Anyway, you know me,” He grins playfully. You flush, suddenly too warm from the fire, a little too awkward but also with such deep desperation in your belly. His zip-up slips from his shoulder and you see a bit of tanned skin that makes you inhale. “So you drink. You smoke too?”
You laugh. “Oh yeah, I smoke.”
Mingi’s eyes narrow at you again, perceiving you. Is he impressed? Flustered? He’s still smiling, like he knows something about you, but you’re not sure what.
The conversation is interrupted by Yunho, who’s pulling a bong out from by the side of the table with a loud cheer. Wooyoung’s already dragging the bong from his lap. San has fallen asleep next to him, cheeks flushed and shoulders slouched over. Wooyoung doesn’t take any notice, giggling as he readies the pipe. He spills some weed on his lap but doesn’t look bothered.
You point at San. “Is he okay?”
Everyone chimes in at once - “He does this”.
Mingi leans closer to you, and you manage not to tense up when he speaks easily, “What are you drinking?”
You motion at the plastic cup of Purple Concoction on the floor, and he sucks his teeth, shaking his head. While the others carry on, Mingi leans down and you immediately seize up.
“I’m not drinking jager,” you panic, “that’s way too-“
He chuckles and hands you his plastic cup, with a liquid not dissimilar in appearance to coke, and you want to laugh in his face.
Is this like… inadvertently sharing spit?
Reaching for the cup, you take a sip of the drink, and he watches you, waiting for your reaction.
It’s surprisingly nice. A lot better than whatever the fuck the guys gave you in the kitchen, and definitely not jager. It’s some sort of rum with coke and you hum at the taste, handing the cup back to him. He’s still watching you, keeping eye contact as you swallow the liquid down.
When he lets you get this close, you notice the two beauty spots on his face from your dream, one by his eye and one on his cheek, and it makes your heart soar. He’s so cute, despite the way he dresses, rough and raw on the exterior and kind and gentle inside.
“Much better, right?”
“Much better,” You agree. For a second, the ugly, rearing insecurity appears in your head again - what are you doing? He’s so out of your league.
Before it can fester, Mingi clicks his tongue, taking a sip himself. “See, you should stick with me tonight,” he leans back, then smiles, “I’ve got the good stuff, and I’m cooler than San. He’s fallen asleep already.”
Stick with him tonight. Just as you think there might be something there, a little flickering of intrigue in his eyes as well as yours, the guy with the flared jeans rushes over out of nowhere.
“Mingi-ah, I’m so sorry, but someone’s throwing up in the living room and I need your help.”
The gentle voice brings you both out of your trance, and he immediately spins his head to the other man. Hongjoong, you think you remember him saying. Mingi all but rolls his eyes - does he look disappointed? - but swings his legs over the edge of the seat, leaving you with the nice tasting drink.
“Sorry, I better go,” He says, and Hongjoong gives him a look full of something that you can’t work out. Mingi looks awkward, eyebrows raising in expectation for you to say something, so you nod politely and he shoots you a grin. You think you’ll replay that grin forever, late at night when you’re trying to remember all of the angles of his face. “I’ll see you in class, yeah?”
“Yeah.” You nod, licking over your lips. “it was really nice talking to you, Mingi.”
He shoots you a smile that looks a little too upset, but he’s off then, housemate in tow; Wooyoung wordlessly passes you the bong, eyes pink and limbs stretched over the sleeping San. It’s hard not to go over the events with the sudden silence and your clammy fingers wrap around the cup he left you, taking another gulp of the alcohol as it pops into your head.
Apologetic.
Hongjoong looked apologetic that he was interrupting you both, and you want to tell your friends and deepen that and make it more than it is; but you’re reminded that in reality, you’re just another girl Mingi was talking to at a party.
It’s been a couple days with no dreams now, which feels good, because you only saw him in passing again during the party. You have thought about him, in fleeting thoughts where you’ve gone over the events of the party, but it’s good not to let it linger. Just two dreams, that’s all it was, and you sit in economics class the following Wednesday with a relatively clear head and a nice skirt on, determined that you definitely do not have a crush.
Additionally, another decision - you will not fail this class. Two simple resolutions; last week was just a minor setback.
He walks in, and sits in his seat, and there’s actually people sitting between you this time. This is reassuring because you can’t focus on how his thighs fit in those jeans, or how nice his hands look when he types, or how his hair falls over his forehead in such a mysterious way-
No. You stare at your notes, flicking over the pages. It’s good to refresh before the professor starts, you think, and you really think it works when she begins her lesson and does a brief recap… before she starts talking about a test a few weeks after break. Huh?
“Since it’s the last week before fall break, I thought I’d give some of you a chance to study and get your grades up,” She explains, and you think you see her glance towards you and Wooyoung. Everyone groans, and she tuts, laughing. “This test isn’t that hard, I’m being really nice to you guys!”
You zone out again. Now you’re going to have to do a stupid test on something you don’t care about, and you’re either going to let yourself down or just not show up to do it at all, to be honest. You sigh and huff and puff, scribbling a doodle on your page.
To everyone, you included, the bell ringing after the rest of the boring lesson is a welcome sound. You huff when you put your books into your bag, you huff when you sling your bag over your shoulder, and you’re still huffing at Wooyoung as you both walk out of the door.
That is, until a firm hand stops your path and a very clear, deep voice says your name.
Looking up, you see Mingi, lensless glasses on his nose again and that little shy smile on his lips, and the last few days of progression are forgotten.
How could you ever forget how pretty he is? Love songs start playing in your head, intricate violins and piano, and it’s jarring how nervous you feel all of a sudden, uncertain of yourself. He’s so beautiful and he dresses well and he’s smart and kind and easygoing, but you still have that looming feeling of it’s never gonna happen, hopping from foot to foot in your boots.
Wooyoung keeps walking, pretending to be occupied on his phone, and you realise you’re staring at Mingi and not saying anything. “Mingi. Hi!”
“Hi, it’s good to see you again,” He seems a little flustered himself, fingers pulling at the collar of his t-shirt and you can’t help but smile. He’s so endearing. “How have you been since the party?”
“Good,” You shrug easily, like it hasn’t been destroying your nerves for the past few days, “I’ve been good. I- you’re good too, I hope?”
Inwardly cringing, you flush, but Mingi seems to find it amusing, lips curling up. “I’m great. Hey, listen, couldn’t help but overhear you’re not doing too well in economics, and well, I’m not too bad at it myself,” he snaps his fingers, and your eyes widen. No. “I can study with you for the test, if you want.”
“Is that a good idea?” You’re straight to the point, and Mingi offers a pout, confused, and you want to cry. “I mean, Mingi, I would just take up your time-”
“I want to study with you,” He seems to straighten up then, and you remember how big he is, towering over you. “No offence, but I know you’re not doing too well, and I want to help you,” He seems determined, and you can’t work out why, but he continues, “We could bump your grade up a little if you do well on the test.”
You let out a strangled noise, tapping your foot. “… Fine.”
“I- I could come to yours later on today? If you’re free, that is.”
You stare. That’s the second worst fucking idea you’ve ever heard, next to Wooyoung’s that got you talking to this tall, beautiful man in the first place. Why not the library? But you’re going to have to, aren’t you, because you can’t deny that face anything, and what other choice have you got?
The idea of being in close proximity to him like that and being able to trace every single line and dot on his face with your eyes is anxiety and arousal inducing and he’s staring at you hopefully, waiting for an answer-
“Mingi, I’m bad at this class,” You blurt. He only tilts his head in question. “I could bring your grade down, distract you so badly by asking so many questions that you end up at the bottom just like me.”
He’s quick to respond, as if he can’t miss this opportunity. “That’s a bit extreme,” he breathes out a laugh, “very unlikely. Anyway, call it helping a friend out.”
A friend. Of course.
“Right, well…” You rub the back of your neck.
It would be stupid to pass this up. If studying with him could really help your grade, and stop you retaking this dumb class, you’re sure you can reign in the horny demons inside of you for a few nights a week. You look down at the floor, but get caught at his legs.
In the rips of his black jeans, you see a slither of muscled thigh. Your eye twitches.
Shit, can you reign it in? Fuck, you’re gonna have to. “Okay. I’ll work really hard. I’ll be a really good study partner, like, the best.”
“I know you’ll be good,” He grins, and god, did he mean the way that came out? He’s already pushing his phone into your hands for you to put your number in, and you send an emoji to yourself so that you have his too. “Cool. I’ll text you, let you know when I’m on my way.”
By the time he’s walked away, somehow Wooyoung is right behind you again, giggling in your ear about fate.
But that’s how you find yourself in your room not five hours later, unfortunately not high and staring at Mingi, sitting contently in front of you. San and Wooyoung had greeted him in the hallway, mumbling too quietly for you to hear - to your dismay - and now you’re in your room. Your plushies and girly things would be embarrassing if he didn’t immediately pick up a fuzzy teddy bear and place it on his lap, cooing and pulling softly at his droopy ear.
He’s so cute, and the more you think about it the more it’s got you scowling in your loungewear. A matching set, in the hopes that he’d think you look nice.
He’s talking about something, you think, but god you feel like you’re in those dreams you have again with how he’s on your bed and you’re dizzy with it - except you’re not. It’s real, he’s there, perched on your mattress next to you in a zip-up jacket and joggers for comfort with textbooks set beside his lap. He kicked off his shoes in your hallway, and he’s in a spare pair of San’s slippers, two sizes too small.
You focus back in when he waves his fingers in front of your face teasingly, and all you can do is mumble sorry there’s no desk in my room.
“What? That’s fine, it’s better to be comfortable anyway,” He laughs, finally placing the teddy bear back in its spot. He pats his head. You want to scream. “Do you have any idea what you want to start with? We can keep it pretty basic at first and work our way up. She said the test won’t be too bad - if you actually listen to me, you’ll be fine.”
It’s said pointedly, with a little grin like he knows you’re not going to listen.
“Cool, cool,” You smile with way more confidence than you feel. Your entire body hums like a live wire at the proximity. “So I’ll be top of the class when the grades come out, right?”
He narrows his eyes at you playfully, grabbing a textbook from the pile. “Relax. I’m top of the class.”
Oh.
You stare at him, smirking like you’re not the slightest bit affected, even though you really are. He often rides on the line between confident and cocky, like he’s daring you to call him out. Like he knows something you don’t, always one step ahead.
Scooting a little closer, you scoff, accepting the challenge. You can play ball. “Top of the class doesn’t mean you’re good at tutoring. What if you can’t make me any better?”
Mingi glances up at you, playfulness in his eyes, that slow smile forming like it has all the time in the world. His jaw clicks when he speaks, “You’re being cheeky, y’know that? I guess I’ll have to show you what I can do.”
“That-?” You swat him, and he catches your wrist easily, making you gasp and pull back sharply. Heat crawls up your neck. “Let’s- okay, let’s just start.”
He chuckles, low and easy, satisfied at how flustered you’ve gotten. You wonder for a moment if he can feel it between you too, but he leans closer, resting his elbow on his knee as he opens the textbook between the two of you. There’s a decent amount of distance, but you swear you can feel the heat radiating from his thighs - you have to squeeze yours together to calm down. Not now.
“You’re already not paying attention, are you?”
It’s hard to because he smells like warm cologne and something familiar, vanilla and cedar and you’ve smelled this before, you swear, in your dreams. His leg brushes yours like it’s no big deal, like you’re not looking at how much bigger than you he is, like he doesn’t notice how you shiver every time he gets this close. Does he?
He taps a paragraph on the page, saying something about how this part is important, and we should go over this too, but his voice is softer now, almost tender. “You’re not even looking at the book. What’s up? Have you really just got a mental block for this?”
No, you’re just too attractive and it’s overwhelming. “Yup, think so,” you exhale, rubbing your sweaty palms on your leggings, “hey, what if we smoke before we study? I think I might focus better.”
Mingi seems to consider it. He scratches a nail down the page in thought - you notice he’s got some letters painted on his nails, and you want to ask. Eventually he shrugs, shutting the book and throwing it to the side. Your jaw drops that he gave up that easily, but he’s rummaging through his bag all of a sudden with ring-clad hands before he pulls out a little plastic bag.
“I planned for this.”
It’s your turn to grin.
“I mean, if you insist,” You tease, nudging him with your foot, and Mingi chuckles, low and sexy. The thought pops into your head again - you and him. It’s so easy, bantering back and forth, the nerves only electrifying you more. You remind yourself very quickly that this is nothing more than a study session, or preparing for one at least.
Passing him the rolling tray from your bedside table, because you’d be damned if you were rolling with his stuff, you settle back on your pillows leisurely. He immediately begins to roll, pulling papers out of his zip-up pocket, and you want to ask him things rather than stare at his hands. Get to know him. Sue you, he’s pretty. “What do you major in?”
“Music production. So does Hongjoong, that’s how we know each other,” He answers easily, and you’re shocked initially, but actually… It makes sense. He’s relaxed and sometimes shy, but he can ride the line between confident and cocky - like he has two personas, the Mingi you see and the Mingi you actually get. It’s fun. “What about you?”
“English, believe it or not,” You say, and Mingi hums. “So you make music?”
He licks the paper, sealing the joint. “I’m not surprised. You seem smart like that,” He seems confused on where to smoke it, but you pass him an ashtray and he throws you a thumbs up as he lights it, inhaling deep and filling your room with the funky-smelling smoke, “but yeah, I make music. I’m a rapper.”
A rapper? So he’s good with his tongue. You shiver, “Right.”
“Oh, do you? Write, I mean?” He smiles at his own joke, eyes already half lidded and a little pink, handing you the joint; you’ll never admit you giggled at it too.
You take a few diligent tokes, ashing in the tray when necessary. “I do, sometimes, but I don’t get much free time anymore.”
“Mm, I bet,” You’re already a little giggly, and you hand the joint back with a warm feeling on your cheeks and limbs feeling a little slower, less in control. “I could… maybe show you a song I made. Only if you show me something you wrote. That would be cool, I think.”
You can’t believe you’re in here smoking with him, and he’s telling you things about himself, too. You can build on this.
No - you’re getting ahead of yourself again.
“I’d be down,” You smile softly. He hands you the joint again, another quarter smoked, his lips now with a permanent curve of bliss. He’s high, and he looks so pretty when he’s high, fixing his dark shaggy hair with long, ring clad fingers. He lays on his side in front of you, grabbing your teddy bear to hold at his chest while he leans on his hand, comfortable. There’s one burning question in your mind as you examine him, his zip-up slipping off his shoulder, “honestly, I’m surprised you don’t major in fashion. You dress really cool.”
That slow, lazy smirk forms again, ear to ear. You almost choke as you inhale, but you manage to keep it in. “You think I dress cool?”
You shrug, suddenly aware of how hot it is in your room. “I mean… yeah.”
“Thanks,” He says, then adds, almost too casually, “I think you’re really pretty.”
It lands harder than he expected. Your breath stutters, and he licks his lips, eyes widening like he thinks he’s gone too far. “Is that-“ he hesitates, “-okay? Can I say that?”
You nod, still catching your breath. “Yeah, you- yeah, you can say that.”
Now it’s his turn to look nervous, teeth worrying at his lip but this time like he’s trying not to smile too wide. He thinks you’re pretty? Really pretty? The compliment loops around in your head. You hand him the joint back, meaning to follow it up with a question but he simply puts it out in your ashtray, the finality causing you to pause.
He moves into a sitting position with a quiet sigh, and rifles through his bag a little. Just as you’re about to speak, he pulls out his laptop - the screensaver is one of him, Hongjoong and Yunho from a holiday, you judge by the background of the shot, but he clicks away and types his password in too fast for you to examine it fully.
“Anyway,” He says, too deliberately normal, clicking on a file, “I’ve got some material from the professor. It should help clear things up.”
Just like that, he moves on like the compliment was nothing, like it didn’t linger between you. You assume you should too.
Friends compliment each other, right? He’s already pulling the file up, dexterous fingers quick and practiced clicking on the pages he needs and your head spins pleasantly from the weed, rubbing your clammy hands on your legs again.
A few clicks of his cursor, and he motions you closer, utterly unaware of how intoxicating he smells this close - you’re pooling in your panties again. Your knees touch and this time it sends a shock through you, but you catch the gasp in your throat before it leaves.
“Alright,” he says softly, voice deep, “take a look at this…”
Focusing on anything else feels impossible, but you push through it, determined - for him.
It’s only gotten worse.
Rather than the dreams just being sexual, now they’re something more homely and serious than your heart can handle. You’ve had no more study sessions, although you’re due one today, and you’ve had these godforsaken dreams almost every night.
Mingi cooking you dinner in your kitchen, smelling of oil and something delicious. Mingi holding your hand, safe and sure, as you walk through the city at night. Restaurants with Mingi, him pouring you another glass of wine and giggling when your nose scrunches up at the taste.
It’s getting domestic rather than primal, and you’re not sure how to deal with it. It’s made you want him more, while the times you actually see him only remind you that he doesn’t see you like that. At least, not in real life.
To make matters worse, Mingi insisted you continue your study sessions - along with now sending you some motivational GIFs over text during the week to make sure you’re on top form, like that was meant to help your sick little crush - and now you find yourself sitting waiting for him in the library, heart already fluttering something stupid.
A carton of banana milk slides across the desk.
You squeak and barely manage to catch it before it tips over, glad that the campus library is pretty much empty due to fall break and you can make however much noise as you like. The librarian would typically tell you off for saying one word, but she’s got her own nose in an old, weathered book, her eyes fluttering shut from sleep.
A big body drops into the seat across from yours, the weight of him making the table feel smaller. Mingi looks entirely too pleased with himself, nodding pointedly at the carton.
“That’s it, right?” He snaps his fingers, “that’s the one you like.”
You stare. It's the same exact one you get from the vending machine in the building where your economics class is every week, but given that you’re now on break you haven’t had a reason to go there. It had been hard, trying to do any form of studying without your banana milk, but… how could Mingi have noticed that you get this one?
“How…” You shake your head. “How did you know?”
His eyebrow raises, looking confused, opening his laptop.
“I always see you with one,” He says, as if it explains everything. Your gut clenches, and you feel something tingle in between your legs too, like all it takes is a carton of milk, making you feel nothing but desperate - it’s more than that, though. He noticed.
A few clicks, and then he digs in his bag again, setting a carton of strawberry milk down for himself and a set of papers next to you both. Your heart flutters. “I brought worksheets too. I know, not really fun, but at least I can see what you know since you know… we weren’t exactly productive last time,” he tuts at you playfully, “bad influence.”
You gasp dramatically. “Excuse you. We studied after, and it was your weed.”
He nudges your ankle softly with his shoe. “And I brought you a banana milk,” he slides the papers over, “now do the sheets for me, you’re wasting time again.”
For him, you’d do anything. Your pencil scribbles across the paper as you write your name with a heart next to it, as if you’re not his only student. Mingi doesn’t notice - he takes the time to do something on his laptop. You wonder what, because he pulls his headphones over his head and starts working dutifully. It’s hard not to simply watch him at work and ignore what he asked you to do; he clocks in so quickly, eyes narrowing at the screen and lips mouthing words you can’t decipher. He’s comfortable in baggy jeans and a hoodie, chains and rings catching your attention but he looks amazing, like everything he wears is straight from a fashion show.
Shaking your head, you turn to the paper - but you read a total of one question before realising that you really have no idea what the fuck is going on in this class.
“Mingi,” You say finally, tapping your pencil on the page, “I need help.”
To your surprise, he pulls his headphones off his dark hair quickly and leans over to you, eyes flickering to your sheet. It takes everything in you not to kiss him then and there.
“… That’s the first question,” He looks at you, taking in your blank expression, then exhales a laugh. “Okay, I’ve seen you in every class - do you just not focus at all?”
Flailing your limbs around dramatically, you groan, “it’s boring as hell. The lecturer is also boring as hell.”
He snorts, but instead of teasing you more like you expect him to, he pulls his chair around properly, close enough that your knees touch. A shiver wracks through your spine.
“Alright,” he says gently, voice calmer, more soothing, “forget how she explained it. I’ll do it my way.”
He takes your pencil, fingers brushing against yours, sketching quick boxes and arrows across the page.
“Okay,” he begins, “economics is just people making decisions but with maths.”
You blink. “I don’t think that’s correct.”
He grins, sharp nose scrunching, clearly pleased that you’re actually interested for once. “No, seriously. It’s people making choices because they want something and don’t have enough money or time for it. All we have to do is sound smart when we talk about it.”
He sketches two simple lines with your pencil, next to the questions on the sheet, a curve sloping upwards and another sloping down right next to it. You recognize it immediately, which makes you a little proud.
“Supply and demand,” You mumble, pointing at the page. His eyes brighten.
“See? You do know things,” He says softly, like it’s a secret. His shoulder brushes yours as he leans closer, and you remember the party, how close he was then, and you forget everything you’ve ever learned. Fuck.
“So this,” He taps the downward curve, your cat-shaped eraser bobbing comically on the edge of the pencil, “is demand. People want less of something when it’s expensive, more when it’s cheap - dramatic, but predictable, right? Of course we do.”
“And supply,” He continues, tapping the other line, “that’s the opposite. Producers are greedy. They’re willing to sell more when prices are higher.”
He freezes, glancing sideways at you. “You still with me? That’s like, basic basic.”
You nod a little too fast. It makes sense, but fuck, are you allowed to kiss him yet? He’s so patient, so kind, and so cute that even his fucking teeth are cute. “Yeah. I’m here.”
His mouth twitches like he doesn’t quite believe you, but he lets it slide and draws a small dot where the lines intersect.
“Equilibrium,” You say, and he nods.
“The sweet spot,” He murmurs, and you shiver. This has to be some sort of fucked up joke. “Everyone’s equally unhappy here. Price equals quantity demanded equals quantity supplied. No shortages. No surplus.”
He leans back just enough to look at you properly. You’re not confused, rather determined, staring at the sheet.
He fiddles with the eraser, rings glinting in the light. “So what part loses you?”
“All of it,” you admit, “but especially those shifts…? Why do things move?”
His expression softens. You wonder if he’s finally realised you’re hopeless, but he starts speaking again, more determined.
“Okay, so,” He flips to a clean section of the page and starts again, slower this time, drawing the same silly diagrams and the same silly dots and scribbles. His plump lips curl in focus, making him look so handsome that your hands unclench and clench in your lap. “Think of demand shifting like your banana milk.”
Your heart flutters.
“You don’t always want it, right?” He says casually, like he hasn’t just seen you so viscerally. “Like if it’s hot outside, or you’re stressed, or the lecture was particularly boring, then you want it more. I bet you’d even pay more.”
He’s right, you think, but why does this all make sense now, with him? He rubs at the page with your cat-shaped eraser and shifts the curve, oblivious to your internal plight. “That’s a demand increase. Same price, more quantity demanded.”
You stare at the page, then at him. “You’re using me as an example.”
“Well,” he shrugs, too nonchalantly for how you feel looking at him. “You’re the first thing I thought of.”
Your fingers tighten around the edge of the paper. He’s still got your pencil so you can’t fidget, but you can smell his cologne, mixing with the scent of books in the library. It feels way too intimate and the furthest you’ve gone is your knees touching. You want more, but you have to focus.
“And supply, then… if things get cheaper, or easier to produce, you can make more so supply increases,” You try, quieter and uncertain, but he nods encouragingly. “I think this actually makes some sense when you explain it.”
Something unreadable flickers across his face - pride, perhaps. “Good,” he says, softer, “I want you to get it.”
You smile, taking a sip of your banana milk that has you humming with glee. Tasty. He mirrors you and takes a sip of his, sliding the worksheet back towards you, his fingers lingering just a second too long to tap on the words printed. He’s got the same letters written across his fingernails again.
“Try the next question,” He nudges you. “I’ll stay here.”
It takes you a second to decode, but you start to scribble down things here and there, trying to make heads or tails of the question. Mingi is silent the whole time but you feel him watching what you’re doing, and you feel the weight of his arm when he lays it on the back of the chair behind you.
Within a few minutes you seem to have written something of note, and you slide the paper back to him silently.
He clicks his tongue without saying a word and leans forward closer to the desk. Dark eyes narrow at the page and read over the few lines you’ve written, before he side eyes you with a satisfied smirk.
“Good girl,” It’s said teasingly, and he smooths your hair, too casual. Your tummy flips but his grin is content, unknowing, his eyes forming crescents, “see, I told you you’d get it. Try the next one.”
Somehow, it starts to seem easier with him around, and over time, he has to help you less and less. It doesn’t quell the burning in your gut, only igniting it to the point it starts to get unsufferable, and all you can do is try to ignore the flames.
The next time he’s between your legs in your dreams is in your room again, and it feels so much more vivid now that you know more about him, about the way he speaks to you, the way he acts.
“What a pretty fucking pussy,” He muses, eyes fixated directly on your core. He uses his thumbs to pull your lower lips apart, and you can see those letters on his nails. He watches your folds stick together with arousal once he lets go, groaning, running his fingertip up your slit - the contact makes you gasp, hips bucking tentatively for more. “Does she always get this wet?” he spits down on your mound, watching it drip, “fuck- fucking creamy, baby, shit.”
He lets out a little moan before he’s diving in. You can’t get any relief, trying to squirm away - his broad shoulders are spreading your thighs apart as well as pinning them, and his hands are still playing with your pussy while he tongues over your slit.
“Tasty too, good girl, mmf-“ he whines, moving to pull you closer by your ass instead, his rings biting into your skin. He says it the way he did in the library, and your cunt gushes so wet his lips click against it; the moan you let out is like you’re in distress, hand gripping onto the headboard.
How does he know you like this? His lips suck over your clit and you wail, reaching down with your spare hand to push his head in.
“Fuck, Mingi,” you gasp, writhing, “so fucking good, please-“
Yanking at his hair, you can’t help but grind your hips into his face. He doesn’t stop you, hands gripping you and pulling you in rhythm against his tongue, and you think he’s gonna make you cum already. It’s too quick, debilitating as you hump his fat tongue to your orgasm and you pull at dark strands, looking down your body to see dark, narrowed eyes staring right up at you and he groans deep against your folds, you’re so close, almost there-
This time you wake up horny but beyond fed up, almost ignorant to the throbbing between your legs. It’s quick and easy to make yourself cum with your fingers, sticking your hands down your pants to rub one out while thinking of soft lips and rapid rapper tongues, and after that it’s just another day of being haunted by him, you suppose.
Except this time you have a study session at Mingi’s house, and you haven’t been there since the party.
It may have been the excitement and nerves surrounding the plans that caused the dream, but you’re too tired to care about it, yawning over exaggeratedly and stretching the sleep away from your limbs. You’ve studied hard, had a few more sessions with him that weren’t romantically charged and watched countless videos online. You’ve even read some books, some that he gave you and some that you found yourself - you’re ready to impress him, glancing over at the many papers and folders in your bag.
However, despite the attempts to gain his praise, you’re beginning to accept that you’re doomed to a life without Mingi, or worse, a life with Mingi just as your friend.
Every single time something appears to click between you, or you have what Wooyoung would call A Moment, something interrupts or distracts one of you. Then, the moment evaporates, and nothing happens. While you’ve been sitting on pins for days, waiting for something to happen - you’re also unsure something will happen.
You’re unsure if you’ve read the entire situation the wrong way, and he really is just a good, kind friend, and your insatiability has just driven you to blur the line between fantasy and reality.
When you finally get ready and go downstairs after doomscrolling on your phone, Wooyoung and San are both looking at you like the cats who got the cream. They’re standing in the kitchen, heads fully spun towards you while you hover in the doorway in your nice jeans with a tote bag on your shoulder. If it surprises either of them that you actually have books in your bag, they don’t say anything, only smiling wider when you bounce from foot to foot.
You crumble first. “Okay, why are you guys staring at me?”
San answers your question with a question, sipping at his mug of coffee, “Where are you going?”
“You know where I’m going,” You scoff, crossing the kitchen to fill your water bottle up. Wooyoung parts from the sink to let you get there, but his smile doesn’t fall, so pleased your blood starts to boil. “It is not a big deal. We’re just friends.”
“Sure,” Wooyoung says finally, and you groan, stomping your feet. “He’s wasting his time helping you study for a test you’re gonna fail anyway because he’s a good friend.”
You scrunch your nose up, “Wouldn’t you guys do that for me?”
“No,” they reply at the same time, and you screw your water bottle lid on, scowling.
“Wooyoung, you said he was kind. This is him being kind.”
“He’s trying to get in your pants, like, romantically,” San says, and you want to launch your water bottle at him. “Have you tried asking him? Kissing him, maybe?”
“He is tutoring me, Choi San.”
“You need to be tutored in more than economics if you’re this stupid.”
You gasp, affronted, “Since when could boys and girls not be friends?”
Wooyoung snorts, “Since the boy and girl in question both like each other and are being stupid about it.”
It pisses you off even more. They don’t know the situation you’re in, the moments the two of you have had where you think something might break through and every single time, nothing happens, and you’re reminded that it will never happen. It feels like they’re mocking you, and you mumble a “Whatever, goodbye,” that seems to be enough to placate them.
They wave you goodbye, and you choose not to tell them the extent of your hangout to avoid teasing - you’re going to his house. If they caught wind of this, they’d be buying wedding outfits and booking venues.
However, this could really prove catastrophic for you. The dreams were realistic already, but now if you have the information of what his bedroom looks like stored inside your brain, they’re only going to get worse - more variety, more realistic.
You think pathetic horny thoughts the entire walk there, nervous and excited at the same time, hands smoothing down your hair over and over as if the gentle fall breeze was going to make you look effortlessly cool. Not only are you going to his house - his room - you’re hyperaware of your body, of every movement you make, the ache between your legs that’s been lingering since you woke up; it all feels a little too much.
When you knock on the front door, it swings open almost immediately.
“Mmm- hey, girl,” Mingi says, tall and looming, hair a little messy and curling at the ends, glasses on. His oversized tee is loose on his frame like he just woke up and threw it over his massive shoulders. He looks domestic, like he could be your real boyfriend - it’s exactly the version of him your dreams have been conjuring, and it’s getting to you before you’ve even walked through the door. “You’re right on time, look at that!”
“Hey,” Your voice is small, knees feeling weak.
He steps aside to let you in, and his place smells faintly like weed and, well, that scent of Mingi that you’ve been focused on since you met him. You can smell what must be someone cooking something delicious too, faintly, and when you focus you can hear his housemate tinkering around in the kitchen.
His house looks different in the daytime. The sofas look lived in and comfortable and you can see the music memorabilia properly, rap album records and posters donning the walls. It seems they’re both very serious about this kind of stuff, and your brain betrays you instantly, noting everything for future dreams.
“Room’s this way,” he says, already turning down the hallway like he doesn’t see you taking everything in. You almost trip over a half-dead potted plant on your way.
His bedroom is smaller than you expect - you wonder if Hongjoong got the bigger room - and it’s neat but not too neat. His bed is made but the pillows are a little smushed, desk cluttered with papers with scribbled lines of writing, packs of rolling papers on his bedside table and empty baggies in the bin. A guitar sits in the corner, obviously well loved and with a large sticker on the corner of the body. He seems content with you looking around, trying to shuffle some papers into a neat pile until he flops down on the floor by his bed, patting the space next to him.
“We can spread out here,” he motions, brushing his hair out of his face, “I don’t have another chair for the desk, I’m sorry.”
You hesitate for a half second too long before joining him, back against the bed, knees bent. You’re so close that your legs touch again, and you shiver despite being used to it by now. He doesn’t move away.
“So,” he says, nodding towards your tote bag, “ready to actually pass this test? This is our last session.”
You grin, reaching into your bag. “I may surprise you.”
“Oh?” He raises a brow, smiling. “Now I’m excited. Don’t tell me you actually-“
You lay out your notes. You’ve not done a lot, but whether he was expecting something amazing or not it doesn’t matter, because the noise of awe he makes is all you need. Your colour coded, annotated tabs stick out from the textbook he gave you before, and his teasing expression drops, replaced with genuine surprise.
“You did.” He murmurs. “You actually studied.”
“Wow,” you say dryly, “you sound full of confidence in me.”
He laughs, shaking his head, flipping through a few pages, “no, not at all. This is good. I’m so impressed, y’know, you didn’t even care a few weeks ago?” his eyes scan your writing quickly, “you did elasticity? On your own? You didn’t even text me!”
You nod. “A demon came to me in a dream and taught it to me.”
Mingi pales, fingers paused on the tabs. “Please don’t joke like that.”
You laugh, shaking your head, “No, I actually just read the books you gave me and watched some videos online. It’s not too hard when someone explains it to you the way you need.”
Despite your last statement, a warm expression creeps over his face, pride softening his features. “I’m so proud of you.”
The words hit harder than they should. Your throat tightens, and you have to look back down at your notes so he doesn’t see the emotion spread across your face.
“Okay,” he says, scooting a little closer, “let’s test you. Walk me through this one.”
He points to a practice question. You explain, a little slow at first because you haven’t talked about these things out loud before, but once you find your words it gets smoother. He listens intently, eyes on you, not the page; when you finish with a satisfied smile, he nods slowly.
“Yeah,” he says, “that’s it. Well done.”
“Oh,” you smile. “Really? That’s it?”
“You nailed it,” He confirms, and you swat at him again. Surely not. “I’m serious! See, it was always there. You just needed it explained in a way that made sense to you.”
Your knee nudges his when he shifts to point at another question, neither of you moving away. The room feels quieter, heavier, like the air has thickened. You keep going, question after question, and each time he needs to prompt you less and less. Sometimes he just watches you scribble away or think, stumbling over your words, his chin resting on his hand in a way that has to make the rings dig into him, expression soft and unreasonable.
At one point, you get stuck, frowning at a graph.
“Okay, wait,” you mutter, but he’s already there.
“Remember what we said about equilibrium?” He says gently, leaning over your shoulder. His arm comes up and behind you, on the mattress. He doesn’t seem to realise it, but it’s just like at the library, and you want to scowl at the effect he has on you.
Your heart pounds, but you focus, staring at the page. “Equilibrium…”
“You already know this,” he points at the graph, finger dangerously close to yours, “you do, I promise. You’re just second-guessing yourself. Go with your gut.”
It feels like it means a million things at once. You glance up, and he’s closer than you expect - your breath stutters, and he continues looking at the page. His thumb flicks over a few of your tabs, considering.
“You know, it’s really cute that you put in this much effort,” he says absently, and your brain short circuits, stumbling out a few words that seem to make him snap awake. He finally looks at you, realises how it sounded and for a moment, neither of you move, looking at each other.
He laughs softly, rubbing the back of his neck. “I think,” he says after a moment, “you’re gonna do way better than you think you are.”
The praise sits between you. He’s been giving you a lot of it, you think, and it feels like something unspoken is there. Neither of you reach for it, something that doesn’t surprise you.
Instead, you sit shoulder to shoulder again, letting him show you how to understand economics as the sun dips lower and the room grows dimmer. Nothing happens again, and somehow that makes it worse, causing the knot in your tummy to tighten to an excruciating point.
You’re really not sure what’s happening anymore.
Dealing with vivid sex dreams about a man who doesn’t like you back is one thing, but dealing with them while said man is forcing you to study for a test is another thing. Still, if it hadn't been Song Mingi helping you you think you never would’ve studied, never would’ve bothered turning up for the test, and you would’ve been sitting on the same exact cheap plastic chair next semester resitting the entire thing.
You get to class a few minutes before the test starts, a mere few days after your last study session, Wooyoung in tow groaning about how ‘messed up the last minute test is’ - you don’t have the heart to tell him it was mentioned weeks ago and he just wasn’t listening so it can’t be considered last minute. You’re more focused on the crippling fear of you failing this test after all of the work you’ve done, the colour coded tabs and annotations that Mingi checked over to make sure you were on the right track, and you know that Mingi is never on time and so won’t be present to look over your notes with you.
However, you walk into the room and see a carton of banana milk settled on your desk.
There’s only a few other people in here, you, Wooyoung and a few others, but a quick scan shows you Mingi is sitting in his seat and is doing very well at pretending to be occupied. He flips through a folder of notes, and you hover in the doorway, Wooyoung elbowing you frantically.
“That’s-“ he gasps, “he- that’s-“
Your mind is racing yourself. Bringing one for you before when you studied was one thing, but he’s brought you one before the test that could determine your fate with this class, and he’s acting like it’s nothing, like it hasn’t shattered your heart into a million pieces that he actually fucking thought of you, unprompted.
Wooyoung continues spluttering behind you as you continue to your desk, waving at Mingi on his way, and you shoot him a look filled with nerves and want. He’s even put the straw in ready for you, so when you sit down, you take a grateful sip instantly. Mid-sip, Wooyoung snatches it from your hand to see a scribbled good luck note stuck on the other side, complete with a drawing of a chicken holding his own carton of milk.
“This is ridiculous,” He mumbles, running a hand through his newly cherry red hair, grabbing the paper between two fingers, “you two are playing a game that does not need to be played.”
“Whatever that means,” you sigh, snatching it back.
Avoiding staring at the side of your crush’s head, you look back down at the milk, contemplating while the class fills up. It’s not long until the professor comes in, and lays down the paper tests on everyone’s desks. Everyone looks nervous apart from Wooyoung, who just generally does not care, and Mingi, who you know is more than prepared.
A few minutes go by while she talks, and when the class is allowed to start you look down at the questions and hang on… you actually know what this test is talking about. You shoot Mingi a look and he’s already staring at you, smiling with his teeth like he knows exactly what you’re thinking. It hurts your heart, but you smile back, shooting him a nod filled with everything he needs to know.
The test goes by like a breeze, banana milk aiding you along the way. You’re not convinced you’ve done amazing, per se, but you think you’ve done well enough to pass. The entire class pours out at the end of the hour before you have the chance to tell Mingi that you think you’ve done alright. Still, the professor tells you that she’ll upload everyone’s grades online later today, and you hope that you have the chance to talk to him later, for him to tell you how well you’ve done.
Your mind runs with thoughts as Wooyoung yaps the entire way home. He talks about how hard the test was, how annoying the professor is, how you’ve probably done just fine with the star student’s help, and then he pauses in his tracks on the way home.
“Speaking of,” he says, pointing a finger at you, “are you going to Mingi’s party tonight?”
You freeze. Your heart skips a beat, and you lick your lips, swallowing hard, mouth suddenly feeling insanely dry.
He hasn’t invited you. If he hasn’t invited you to his party, then that definitely means that there’s nothing between you, that you really have just overanalysed things in your head. It feels like life couldn’t be any crueler to you right now.
You swallow again. “I wasn’t planning on it,” you say, and Wooyoung’s brow rises, red hair flicking around his jaw due to the wind. He sees right through you. “Okay, fine. I wasn’t invited.”
He scowls, “That’s fucked up, especially with how much time you spend together.” He mumbles, contemplating. The two of you start to walk again before he continues, his hands shoved in his pockets, “whatever, you’re coming with us anyway.”
“I can’t turn up there after he didn’t invite me. You’re deranged.”
“That is exactly what you did last time.”
He leaves no room to argue, and when you cross the threshold to your front door, San is perched on the sofa waiting for your arrival. He’s shoving food into his face, cheeks puffed out beyond belief but he perks up upon your return, eyes forming crescents and hands quickly moving to the TV remote to pause whatever he’s got on. Another soppy drama show, you think, since he looks flushed like he’s just been emotional over it.
“How did the test go?!” He shrieks, stumbling over bare-foot in shorts that show too much thigh. Wooyoung’s eyes linger on his bare skin and you scoff.
“It went fine,” you say, walking in to collapse on the sofa next to the San-shaped dip, “I think I may have scraped a pass. Grades are out later.”
Unfortunately, despite you wanting anything but, you press play on the show that San’s watching and it engrosses you. The boys take themselves out to the kitchen, you assume to fix you all something to eat. From what you can gather, the show is an old one about some kids in school trying to become K-Pop idols. It does seem pretty emotional, but the only thing you can cry over right now is a tall rapper that doesn’t want you.
It only takes a few minutes, but a loud, hysterical laugh from Wooyoung from the other room makes you sigh. Something’s happened, and you hear the telltale sound of feet clambering down the hallway to thrust his phone in your face, all bright smiles and too-red hair.
“Grades are out already,” He’s still laughing, motioning to the block letters, a number sixty on his screen, “how the fuck did I pass?”
San walks in laughing behind him, hands clapping on your other friend’s shoulders in glee, “I have no idea how you did it but I’m so proud.”
Your chest clenches. Shit. They’re out already? Either that’s a good sign for the class or a very, very bad sign, but you dig in your pocket and pull your phone out to unlock it. No texts from Mingi, not that you expected any, but you quickly open up your student portal and sign in, clicking through the pages you need to get to the class overview.
It takes too long to load. Wooyoung drops into the San-shaped dip and San leans over him, two sets of peering eyes focused on your phone screen, and they’re both completely silent as they wait. You think San’s stopped breathing. The loading circle spins mockingly, over and over, and then the page loads.
Sixty-two.
Wait.
“Oh my god, I fucking-”
“You passed!” Wooyoung screams, shaking you by the shoulders. “Do you know what this means? Shit, baby, I’m so proud!”
You know what this means. You don’t have to resit that class, you don’t have to ever bother with a stupid economics class at all ever again, you never have to see that professor again, and you have Song Mingi to thank for it all. It feels like a joint achievement, if anything, and you want to text him and tell him and thank him but - should you? Is that okay?
San and Wooyoung bounce around the living room screaming and shouting so loud that you get brought back to reality.
“I fucking passed,” you breathe in disbelief, and San cheers again.
“Hell yeah, you did!” He hugs you, warm and grounding and so nice but not what you want at all. “We’re so proud. We’re gonna get drunk, and high, and go have fun at your boyfriend’s party-”
“San,” Wooyoung pauses, face suddenly straight, shaking his head solemnly, “not her boyfriend. In fact, he didn’t even invite her.”
San’s jaw drops. “He… what? But I thought you-”
“Yeah, I know.” Wooyoung grumbles. You want them to talk more, eyebrow raising, tossing your phone to the floor haphazardly. It’s already smashed enough, you don’t even think it could smash anymore.
“You know what?” You narrow your eyes, and both boys shake their heads too quickly. That’s weird. “Tell me what you know. Now.”
San waves his hand in your face, trying to calm you down, “Just that you two were getting close. I promise, that’s all I’ve been told.”
“Anyway, it doesn’t matter,” Wooyoung shrugs, too easy. It makes you want to scream. “You’re coming with us anyway, baby. I couldn’t care less what Song Mingi thinks his guestlist is.”
“Hey.” San says, weak. “He is actually a really nice guy.”
You groan, flailing your limbs, and they finally shut up - or at least they start talking about something else.
By the time you get to the party, your head spins, more drunk than you ever have been, feeling nice in your pretty dress and your best boots. The boys had insisted that a strong pregame was essential to celebrate yours and Wooyoung’s results, and Wooyoung fixes your makeup for you at the front door, too sober for your liking, thumbs smudging your eyeliner perfectly.
It’s a little like you’re entering the lion’s den, preparing to be eaten, but your brain hasn’t let you fully understand who’s house you’re entering and the fact that you weren’t even originally invited, too tipsy to care.
San swings the front door open like he lives there, cheering with a happy, intoxicated flush on his face at whoever he sees first, and you let him introduce you to a few people while you giggle along and smile politely. It turns out a few of these people already know who you are, from the boys mentioning you you presume, so it’s easy to mingle and drink a little more when they offer it.
Your head spins. A little embarrassed, you remind yourself it’s a damn celebration. You never thought you would’ve passed that class.
Wooyoung drags you along to the kitchen, forcing another drink in your hand, and you get an immense sense of deja vu. This time, he’s learned and it’s a rum and coke he places into your grip, while you feel present physically and not mentally. San catches up to you after a while, joining in on whatever conversation the other man is leading seamlessly, and you nod and hum along like you know what’s happening, swaying in your spot.
Two big, firm hands land on your shoulders, and Wooyoong’s eyes widen comically at the figure behind you.
“You came!” It’s slurred, but you’d know that voice anywhere - Mingi, in front of you when you turn around, black tank top tight and cargo trousers baggy. You feel lightheaded for a different reason all of a sudden, eyes scraping down big shoulders, big arms and even bigger thighs, the way his body tightens at his waist, the way he slings an arm around you like it belongs there. He smells of tequila and bad mistakes, and in any other situation you’d question his behaviour but now, inebriated, you’re leaning in, inhaling deeply for more, letting him ramble on in that deep, soothing voice. “I’m so happy you came! I didn’t- I’m sorry I didn’t ask you to come, I wasn’t sure-“ he hiccups, “I wasn’t sure you’d want to, y’know? It’s not your type of-“
“You’re right, she probably would’ve said no,” San manages for you, and you nod along.
“They dragged me here again, ‘cause of my test results,” you laugh airily, and Mingi’s eyes widen, round and dark, his hands way too present on your body. He moves down to grip your waist, pulling you into him, and you clock that he’s as drunk as you are - you know that he’d never do this sober, but the warmth of his torso against yours is so nice that you can’t complain. You see Wooyoung trying to drag San away from the corner of your eye.
Mingi huffs out an impatient breath, staring directly into your eyes. It makes your thighs tremble and he raises an eyebrow as if to prompt you, “Your test. How did you do? Why didn’t you-“ he swallows hard, trying to catch his breath, “why didn’t you tell me?”
“Why didn’t you invite me, for real?” You blurt, a bit bolder now that you’re alone - perhaps it’s knowing that Wooyoung can’t see you now, but definitely due to the liquid confidence flowing through you. He at least has the decency to look guilty at your words, one hand coming to the back of his neck.
“I- I’m sorry,” He says earnestly, bouncing from one foot to another, too full of energy and the tequila, “I should have. There was no other- no other reason, I just really didn’t think it’d be your scene.”
You frown. He’s probably right, but he doesn’t know that you’d do anything, go anywhere for him. “I- uhm,” you sip your drink, eyes flickering to the back door. It’s ajar, people milling in and out past you both but like before, the kitchen is quieter than everywhere else. You manage to look back at him, voice quiet when you speak, “I passed, Mingi. I managed to- well, I barely passed the class, but I passed. Thank you for-“
You’re cut off by his arms wrapping around you. He shouts with glee, shaking you around in his grip and causing your drink to splash a bit. If he’s bothered by the liquid leaking on his skin he doesn’t show it, pulling back from you with a huge grin that you can’t help but mirror, issues forgotten. He’s jostled your bag off your shoulder, and you scoop it back up as he gets noticeably more excited, smile growing wider.
“Do you know how proud of you I am?” He gushes, eyes honest, and you melt. Your heart soars, and you smile so wide it hurts your cheeks - this is all you had wanted. Mingi pulls you back into another hug.
This time, it lasts longer and he holds you close, letting you feel his warmth and you wrap your arms around his middle, content. It’s nice, his dark hair tickling your neck as he nuzzles into the crook there - you hear him take a deep breath, holding you closer, and it makes you feel satisfied, somewhat. If this is all you can get, this is okay, you’re sure you can deal with this.
But Mingi pulls away, and something in his eyes tells you despite the alcohol, he knows what’s going on, knows what he wants, knows that you’re feeling it too.
“I’m so proud of you, so fucking proud,” His chest heaves. He smells of tequila but beneath it, you can smell him, and it makes you lean in closer, head dizzy. “Can I just…?”
“Just what?” You ask, fingers curling around his forearms in the hopes it grounds you - it makes you worse, letting out a whimper at the feeling of his skin on yours that you can’t quite hide, “Mingi, t-tell me.”
He licks his lips, shaking his head as if to get rid of some of his thoughts, dark hair tousling and he looks so handsome, looking down at you over his sunglasses with uncertainty. It looks like he wants to say too many things at once, with no clue on where to start.
“Can I kiss you?” He asks, and your breath hitches. What? “I- I’ve wanted to kiss you for so long.”
Nodding before you can question why, when, what or how, Mingi leans forward, nose nudging yours, finally pressing his lips against you. It’s as satisfying as you always thought it would be, and he’s nothing but enthusiastic - he’s immediately letting his tongue push between your lips and into your mouth so far it pushes against your teeth, like he’s trying to swallow you whole. His fists grip into the fabric of your dress and pull you into him, moving down to grip onto your waist and keep you close, afraid you may try to run away now that he’s finally gotten you.
You kiss him back with just as much enthusiasm, placing wet, open mouthed kisses on his lips when he tries to pull away because you can’t help yourself - is this really happening, for real? He tastes of tequila, jager and Mingi, and you open your mouth in a jagged moan for more.
When he sees how impatient you are, he cracks. He pushes you against the wall and forces his tongue back into your mouth, moaning, gravelly and deep from his chest; your legs start to tremble, and he reaches down with a strong arm and hooks one of your legs around his waist.
“Oh,” You moan at the way he moves you around easily, his heavy breaths spilling into your mouth. He’s impatient, fingers scrambling at the bare skin of your leg, touching you as much as he can in a split second like he’s still scared it’ll be over soon. He rocks forward with his hips and meets your core, clothed but you’re sure he can feel how wet you are just from being in his presence, finally feeling his lips against yours for real and not in a dream. “Oh, shit-“
“So pretty,” He murmurs, kissing you again, accidentally rutting against your cunt once, twice, before he forces himself to stop. You can barely focus, unbelieving that he’s real, right in front of you, touching you and kissing you like this - but you’ll be damned if you’re not getting answers. “So gorgeous, lovely girl,” he breathes, urgent, eager, “so smart, so proud, mm-“
He moves away again, sucking over your neck, and you take the moment to speak hoarsely, “Mingi, what- what is this? What’s… what’s going on here?”
“I-“ He freezes. His lips hover at your skin before he pulls away just enough to look at you, palms unclenching and clenching at your waist like he doesn’t know what to do with them. “… Isn’t it obvious?” He asks quietly. “Do I have to say it?”
There’s no smugness or cockiness in his tone anymore, only hesitation, like he’s standing on the edge of something and afraid he’ll fall if he says it out loud. You read his face for something, anything that tells you how he feels, but all you see is need, his eyebrows knitting together in pure desire - it just confuses you more.
“No,” You say, even though it’s a lie and you wish you did know, kissing the corner of his mouth once again - hoping it channels the gentleness and encouragement that you need to show, not the nerves of wanting something so seriously that it feels like it may shatter your insides. It seems to work, because he kisses you again, rings biting into your thigh when he grips you firmer.
Hands moving to Mingi’s hair, you pull lightly at the strands, bringing him as close to you as possible. He groans at the slight pain, nose nudging yours as he devours your mouth, lips so plump and overwhelming that you try your best to kiss back but are left whimpering into his mouth. He controls it, just as you imagined he would, moving you this way and that; he nips at your bottom lip, prompting you to open your mouth and let him massage his tongue over yours, almost useless while he consumes you.
You think your dreams are going to be way too vivid from here on out, overwhelmed with the knowledge of what he actually tastes like and how he actually holds you - unsure but desperate. He’s good at this too, and you curse yourself; he’s perfect, he’s everything, and this is probably going to be all you’ll get, a drunken kiss in his kitchen.
“We can set up the beer pong in here-”
Mingi springs from you like he’s been burned. His cheeks are flushed, lips slick with a mixture of your spit and he spins around to see Hongjoong, looking just as guilty as he did in the last party when he interrupted you but without his tiara, jaw slack, shocked, round eyes flitting between the two of you.
“Or not.” He offers. “Sorry, I didn’t realise you two had finally-“
Mingi starts to babble loudly, drowning out the shorter man, hands waving and mouth making some incoherent high pitched noises that have your eyebrows knitted in confusion. Your chest is still heaving against his damn kitchen wall as you try to catch your breath, yanking down the hem of your dress and he continues babbling - you just about catch the end, when he says, clear as day, “There is nothing going on here.”
Your heart starts to race. Right. You knew that, really, but - well, for a second, you’d hoped that it really was going to be something, forgetting that you’re drunk and so is he and you’re still standing in his kitchen ramrod straight like you’ve been electrocuted. He didn’t even have the decency to take you away to his room - why would he bother, you think, damning yourself for letting your brain run away with hope and excitement. He could have hidden you away from prying eyes and Hongjoong, who seems to interrupt anything good you’ve ever been given by the world, but he didn’t.
It was nothing. An accident, even. Something you shouldn’t have ever dreamed of.
Speaking of Hongjoong, he huffs, folding his arms over his chest. “It didn’t look like-“
“It was nothing,” You cut him off this time, voice a lot more stable than you feel. You don’t look at Mingi, but from the corner of your eye you see something written on his face, something guilty and upset and like he’s at war with himself, and you can’t be bothered to spend any more time trying to figure him out tonight. “It wasn’t anything. Hey, have you seen San and Wooyoung?”
Hongjoong nods, a small pout on his lips. “Living room. Seriously, sorry about that, I-“
“It was nothing,” You repeat, and he nods again, accepting it - finally. You hear some commotion as you turn your back, hushed whispers that again, you don’t have the energy to try to decipher.
Beelining towards the living room, you’re pleased that San and Wooyoung can tell just by the look on your face that you’re ready to leave. They spring up from the sofa, drinks discarded, arms coming to your frame to usher you to a quieter place - it ends up being outside, in their front lawn, and it happens before you even process it’s coming.
Gagging, your body folds, and you vomit right on your crush’s front lawn, just about avoiding your nice boots. Wooyoung stifles his laugh - not very well - and San elbows him behind you, unamused, hand rubbing up your back.
“That’s alright, get it up,” He soothes. “Jeez, we shouldn’t have let you drink this much. Let’s get you home, yeah?”
“I wanna know what the hell happened,” Wooyoung argues, and the other man sighs loudly in response, making him groan. “Fine. We’ll talk when we get home.”
The walk home is longer than you remember, made even worse by how your tummy still flips. You’re not sure if it’s from the alcohol or the kiss or Hongjoong interrupting or it being nothing or some fucked up combination of all of it but you hold back sobs the whole way home, arms enveloping your middle until you finally cross the threshold into your house.
The boys move quickly into the kitchen. Wooyoung still eyes you, unimpressed that he’s left in the dark but he starts to fill up three plain glasses of water, hopefully to calm all of you down but San simply waits, arms folded over a broad chest, eyebrow raised until you finally decide to speak.
“He didn’t…” You breathe. Your handbag drops to the floor unceremoniously, lipgloss and compact clattering out of the bag, and San moves to pick them up before you can even ask him to. Wooyoung moves to you, quick across the kitchen to put his arms around your frame. “I don’t think it’s like that between us. He- Mingi didn’t say he liked me, or anything, we just… Well, we kissed, but…”
Tears are starting to form in your eyes. San and Wooyoung share a look, and San appears bewildered, “What do you mean?” He shoves your things back into your bag, pushing it onto the table, eyes soft when he turns to you, “honey, I can’t put this any simpler. You are awful at economics, and the man offered to tutor you. Even Woo wouldn’t waste his time like that just for some sex.”
“It’s true,” Wooyoung says, hands gentle where they soothe over your shoulders, “I feel it in my gut that he likes you back. Really.”
“Then,” you sniffle, “why didn’t he-“
“Tomorrow, no alcohol, you and Mingi are having a conversation,” he urges, “all the cards on the table. I’m sick and tired of seeing you pining.”
You sigh, “It won’t solve anything. He doesn’t like me like that. He can’t like me like that, I know it.”
“Would you listen to yourself?” Wooyoung laughs, “he had his tongue in your mouth less than an hour ago. You’re drunk and sad, he was drunk and Mingi. You both need to get some sleep and talk tomorrow.”
Turning to San, you expect a different response, but he gives you the same look - slightly amused at your unneccessary plight, but very firm. Tomorrow, you’ll be embarrassed that you got so drunk over passing a test that you made out with your crush and cried in your kitchen to your friends, but right now you’re too tired and sad to care. He hands you your bag, items back in safely, and the other man ushers you to your bedroom, not minding at all that you’re sniffling and whining the entire way there.
The pretty boots you chose for tonight are pulled off by Wooyoung while you sniffle and drizzle on the end of your bed. He doesn’t seem to mind, letting you mess up your mascara and your eyeliner in dark tracks down your cheeks until he sighs so loudly, seriously that it shocks you. He throws your boots on the floor by the door.
“Promise me,” he says, and then storms over to place his hands on your shoulder. You think he’s still a little drunk too, but he says it with so much conviction that your tears stop in their tracks, eyes round and vulnerable as you look up at him. “Promise me that once you wake up in the morning, you will talk to the man.”
You sniffle, folding your arms over your chest like a child, “Don’t want to anymore.”
“Barefaced lie,” San snorts, and you blink through wetness to see him standing at the door. Was he always there? “Sweetheart, you’ve been making this entirely more complicated than it needs to be.”
Wooyoung pulls your dress over your head and slides a big, oversized t-shirt straight back over you - you think it’s one of his, the hem too stretched and the print a little stained with hair dye. “Tomorrow, full honesty,” He points a finger in your face that makes you go cross-eyed. “Promise me. No more lies. No more beating around the bush. Everything gets said.”
“I promise, Wooyo,” you garble, although now that you’ve stopped crying, all you can feel is exhaustion taking over your body.
Your body hits your mattress before you recognise you’re falling, and Wooyoung tuts, covering you with your blanket. Everything’s so comfortable all of a sudden, and you feel a hand move a pillow underneath your head to support it - it feels like a damn cloud.
The last thing you register is San’s laugh and the sound of a camera shutter before you pass out.
It’s almost annoying this time, after the almost-confession.
Mingi heaves deep, staggered breaths into your neck, wearing the same outfit from the party last night - baggy cargos, too many chains, a tight tank top. A bead of sweat drips from already damp, long, dark hair, down the tempting curve of his neck and you’re already won over, too desperate for him to care, reaching up to drag your tongue up his skin.
“Fu-uck, that’s it,” He moans, deep, gravelly, hands determined where they pull down your shorts. You’re left in your panties, edges of your vision fuzzy with your dream and he’s quick to crowd into your space again, thick thighs forcing yours apart. He makes quick work of his trousers, undoing the button and forcing them past his ass just enough to rut his boxer clad erection against your pussy. “There, there you go honey, fuck, move against me-“
You do, writhing and bucking your hips to grind your swollen clit against his bulge over and over, letting him move from your neck to your lips. He kisses your mouth finally, and fuck you know what he’s like now, enthusiastic and all consuming. His tongue forces into your mouth just like it did earlier, when this was real. His lips are slick against yours because he’s so messy with it, desperate and bucking against you like he can’t get enough.
You can’t, either, and with desperate fingers moving to his boxers frantically you beg, “Mingi, please, inside, wan’it-“
He groans, long and broken, rings biting into your skin when he grips your hips and pulls you down hard against him, “Yeah, want it inside, my girl? Can you take it for me?”
My girl. Your head spins, your hands scrambling for purchase against the sheets, his arms, anything, finally gripping wet strands and tugging. Mingi whines this time, too high pitched to be normal, and you struggle to direct his attention to you until his fingertips curl around the waistband of your panties and pull down. He yanks them off your ankle, your leg hanging in the air when he moves back over you and thrusts down again, into your newly exposed cunt, wet and wanting.
“Answer me,” He’s determined, rocking against you so steadily you’re worried you might cum from just this, “can you? Tell me you want me to fuck you, baby, please, tell me- tell me you can take it.”
“I can t-take it,” you cry out without a beat, and he nods, meeting your lips again, “inside, inside-“
It seems to work to convince him, and he leans back on muscled thighs. You take him in, the broad expanse of his shoulders and the way he tapers in at the waist, down to the beginning of his Calvin boxers.
He pulls up the fabric of his tank top just enough to let you see it, the beginning of his happy trail, and it’s never gone this far before. You pull yourself up onto your elbows, excited but nerves going haywire, spread eagle and naked from the waist down, and he finally starts to pull at the waistband.
Down, down, and the smattering of hair at his base has you gasping, toes curling where your legs lay relaxed over his, and you see the base, and then-
You wake up with shorts so wet that you know you’ve orgasmed in your sleep, and now you’re certain it’s gone too far.
Without needing to make yourself cum like every other morning one of these vivid dreams occurred, you have a clear head and can only think that something has got to give. Looking back on what your friends said last night, it feels right that you and Mingi should talk today, completely sober and with clear judgement. It’s probably the best move.
You’d be embarrassed of your behaviour if you didn’t know that Wooyoung and San loved you no matter what, and also they know better than anyone that Song Mingi has been giving you a tough fucking time.
Although the idea has your stomach twisting a little with anxiety, it’s time to be brave, and you roll over to grab your phone… only to see that Mingi has had the exact same idea.
[9:13am] mingi: hey, we should talk. should i come over?
You blink at the text. Sighing, groaning, and sighing again, it’s obvious you have to reply - it was only sent a half hour ago - so you send a quick okay and crawl out of bed. You’re hungover, sure, with a soft pain in the back of your head but the determination takes over anything else you feel.
Everything feels a little melancholic as you walk around, back hunched over, but you have to know even if it hurts you. You do not want to go another day with any uncertainty.
It only takes fifteen minutes for a knock at your door to sound. It’s given you time to get yourself ready, in another cute loungewear set with simple makeup and hair just barely brushed, and when you open the door Mingi looks worse than you feel.
He’s dressed a lot more casually than normal, beanie pulled over his head tight and jumper oversized and hanging off of his frame. A fleeting thought asks you how big it’d be on you, and you shake your head, forcing it out of your brain. When you don’t say anything, he awkwardly tugs at his tote bag on his shoulder, pulling at the bottom of his beanie like he’s got too much energy in his body and doesn’t know what to do with it.
He looks so cosy and domestic that you think that you might just burst into tears in his face.
“It’s nice to see you,” your voice warbles, and Mingi scratches his neck awkwardly, pre-roll in his other hand. That tells you all you need to know. “Should we go to my room?”
“Yeah, I think that’s best,” He sighs, looking more nervous than you’ve ever seen him and you groan internally. He’s normally the picture of confidence, save for the few times you two have… well, you still don’t know.
This is going to end worse than you thought it would, you think, perhaps even getting to the point where you can’t even be friends anymore. Still, Wooyoung made you swear you’d be honest to the man, and you try not to break promises, especially not when it’s one of your best friends.
Leading him up the stairs, you take him to your room, and he falls on the bed like it’s his own, pulling that same teddy he likes onto his lap, running a hand over his face in exasperation. When he pulls his beanie off, his hair springs up fluffy and brown and cute, and all you can do is hand him the ashtray wordlessly so that you don’t scream.
He pulls out the same pink lighter you saw him have last time, burning the end of the joint’s paper off and waiting for it to level. You’re not expecting him to speak yet, settling on your bed across from him with your knees pulled up, picking at a loose thread to avoid staring at him, but he swallows hard and sighs.
“I shouldn’t have kissed you yesterday,” he says, and your heart drops. “I’m sorry. I should’ve- I should’ve talked to you first, explained how I feel. It’s been killing me. I especially shouldn’t have kissed you when we were both so drunk, but I-”
“I clearly enjoyed it as much as you,” Honesty, and you try to smile, but it doesn’t reach your ears. Mingi eyes you like he knows, taking the first drag of the joint. “It’s okay. I understand, it was just a drunken kiss and it’s not-”
“What?” Mingi laughs incredulously, “is that really what you think? Do you think I kiss people like that normally?”
You falter. Well, no, you’d hope not, but you hadn’t really had anything to go by.
A longer drag, and he eyes you again, before it seems to dawn on him and his lips curl up in amusement. His tongue drags over his teeth, eyes looking you up and down. Fuck. “You really have no idea, do you?” He hands it to you, leaning back on his hands on the bed, “I’m obsessed with you. Why do you think I asked to tutor you? I mean, no offence, but you were kind of a-”
“A lost cause, yeah, I know,” you inhale. Then, it clicks in your brain, and you blink at him. “Sorry, you’re obsessed with me?”
“For as long as I can remember,” honest, frank, straight. Your head spins, but you inhale a little more, trying to formulate your thoughts better. “Since before we even spoke. I thought that’s why the guys brought you to my party in the first place.”
Hold on. You ash the joint, handing the ashtray and the smoking stick back to Mingi, “Wooyoung and San knew?”
He shrugs. His cheeks are pink, from nerves or the weed you don’t know, but he carries on speaking like he needs to get it all out in one go or he never will. His eyes avert from you, fiddling with the long drawstrings of his sweatpants, “I don’t know about them. Hongjoong and Yunho knew, that’s why they were acting so fuckin’ weird.” He chuckles breathlessly. “Trying to sell me out, honestly, and this whole thing has been so embarrassing. I tried so hard to get close to you and then- then I fucked it up by not being able to tell you how I feel. I’m not very good at that.”
It makes you pause. Mingi, all along, has been going through somewhat of a similar dilemma as you - and suddenly everything makes sense. The banana milk, the studying, the way he spoke to you at the first party, the way he’s been speaking to you - you’re talking before you even realise you are.
Honesty, Wooyoung said. You’ll stick to that.
“Mingi, this is going to sound crazy, but I’ve had a lot of these really frequent, vivid dreams about you in the past month or so,” you say, breathless, “some before we even started talking to each other."
As soon as it comes out of your mouth, you feel like dying. Mingi doesn’t stop smoking though. He even smokes more, inhaling longer, nodding with every word you say before he finally seems to process it. The flush seems to extend down to his neck, and he yanks at his jumper, pulling at the collar to get air - once the joint’s in your hold, he clears his throat, gulps a few mouthfuls of water down from a bottle he pulls from his tote bag. “I- That’s good to know. Normal dreams, or dirty?”
He’s… okay with it? He’s actually being way more casual about this than you thought he would be. This is the same guy that gets freaked out when he thinks about the concept of demons. You finish the joint and snuff it out, discarding the ashtray to your bedside table.
“A bit of both. Mostly dirty, but like, we were together in them. A little domestic,” You admit. He cracks a grin, showing those teeth that you fell for, and you can’t help but smile back. It is a little funny. A little crazy too, though. “You don’t think it’s weird?”
Mingi shrugs. “Not really, it’s not your fault. You must’ve just had a crush on me too. You know we don’t choose our dreams? Scientists say it’s just stuff from our subconscious, I read about it online.”
No way. You blink. You blink again, and he’s still there in your room sitting with you, the guy from your dreams, grinning crookedly and looking ever so delighted with himself.
“Or,” He coughs. “It could have been the lines I was writing trying to manifest you in my life. Maybe it worked.”
“Mingi… that’s fucking crazy.”
He swallows hard. His eyes are a little red from the weed, but the flush on his cheeks is from solely nerves now, you know. “Well, I had to do something from a distance. You’re hard to approach - y’know, you seem shy - but you’re really cool. And so fuckin’ pretty, you must know that, right?” He huffs out a quiet laugh, embarrassed, “I’ve definitely had dreams about you, too.”
“It’s not shy,” You say softly. “I’m just awkward.”
There’s something fragile in the way he’s positioned now, something you haven’t seen in Mingi yet - something hopeful but hesitant, like he’s worried he’ll scare you off any second - it’s different to last night with no confidence from his rum. When his brows lift, eyes flickering with uncertainty because you haven’t said enough yet, you realise that you never ever want to be the reason he doubts himself again.
“Mingi,” you say, steady even though your heart is racing, “I think I’ve been obsessed with you for a long time. Like, a long time. After this, you never have to doubt that.” You inhale, “Not having you was killing me. The dreams felt so real, and I fell for you so quickly but the way you acted around me… It was so up and down. I didn’t know if you felt anything at all, or if it was-“
He’s moving mid sentence to meet your lips with his, decisive and a little desperate. He tastes like weed and Mingi, enticing, and you melt into it, following his mouth without thinking - how did you hold yourself back from jumping him last night, when he’s real, here, in front of you?
His lips are buttery, grounding against yours, and when you reach out to touch his arms he finally exhales and pulls you closer, yanking you onto his lap on your bed with his hands at your waist.
He mumbles against your mouth, words stumbling out between breaths, “I tried- I did try to tell you how I felt, I just- fuck, I don’t know how to-“
“I know,” You manage, and this time you really do. Two people circling each other, both too excited, too unsure, mistaking intensity for indifference. “I thought… I thought you just wanted something physical after last night, maybe, I didn’t know.”
“God, no,” He chuckles, throwing his head back for a second with closed eyes. “I just get so excited I don’t shut up, and none of what I say ever comes out right.“
“I understand,” Your hand strokes over his hair. It’s said with purpose this time - you really mean it. With Mingi, it was never fear; it’s excitement, pure and unfiltered, knocking everything else out of order, and now that he has permission to show it he can’t stop himself.
The kisses he lays on your neck prove it to you that this is possible, you and him. It’s possible and it’s happening right now, your thighs clenching around his and hands moving to roam down his body, over his broad shoulders and firm chest as he sucks on your neck.
“Fuck,” Mingi breathes. “I feel like I’m dreaming. You’re unreal, baby.”
“I’m right here,” You laugh, because it’s insane he would say that to you, knowing that his mere presence has you feeling like you’re away with the fairies and has been for a while now. “I’m right here, Min, fuck, do you wanna- get this off, please-“
He pulls back and tugs his oversized jumper off by the back of the neck, launching it somewhere in the room and leaning back for you to follow his body - you do, chasing his heat, but with your eyes down. The removal exposed planes of tan skin, muscles that rival the ones you’d fantasised about. It’s soft to touch too, satin under your fingers as you slide your fingers down the muscles of his tummy.
“Pretty,” You murmur, and he shivers under your touch, breath hitching. “You are. I’ve- I’ve thought about how you look, but this is even better, Min.”
“Oh, baby,” He moans at your words, hands sliding under your shirt and onto your skin. He gives you a hesitant look, and you nod, before he’s sliding them upwards and cupping your breasts over your bra. He lets them sit in his hands for a bit, kissing over your jaw again before he slides his fingers underneath the lace. They’re a little cold, and when his fingertips hit your nipples you shiver, further collapsing into his hold, but he takes your weight easily. “So good, fuck, they feel so- can I- can you take your shirt off? I want to see.”
You pull it off over your head quickly, baring your bralette and Mingi’s palms situated under the fabric, and he moans, quickly sliding his hands out to look at them. He exhales, eyes fixated as he starts to pull at your nipples, and you don’t know if you’re just sensitive or if it’s because it’s him, but your spine arches into him with a gentle noise.
“Fuck, so pretty, so pretty. Like that, that’s okay?” He murmurs, and you nod eagerly, making him pinch them again, on the line between pleasure and pain, “tell me more about your dreams. What was I like?”
His fingers flick over the nubs until they yank at the lace, hard and swollen, and he pulls your bralette over your head, leaving you naked from the waist up. You gasp when his head ducks down, sucking one of your nipples into his mouth, your hand going to dark strands to keep him there - but you remember he asked you something.
“You… talked a lot,” you admit, embarrassed but he hums around your nipple, encouraging. You whimper and continue, writhing, “You were nice, but- dirty. Pervy. Am I- was I right?”
Mingi pops off your bud. “Well, your dreams sound a lot more innocent than mine,” he grins easily, lips slick and cheeks pink, “I had you bent over my desk with one of my songs playing. So yeah, I guess I am a pervert.”
It shocks you so bad that you don’t make a noise when he moves you, pushing you back on his dark bedsheets and moving over your body. He’s so big above you, just like you imagined, using one strong arm for support and leaning down to kiss you filthy again.
He tangles his tongue with yours again as he fiddles with the button of your jeans, eventually managing to flick it open and tug the zipper down. You wrestle out of the denim underneath him, giggling when it gets caught at your knees; Mingi lets out an amused huff, smoothing your hair down like he did in the library, fond.
Eventually, you’re left in your underwear wanting him to strip, too, but he pushes your legs apart. “This- this is okay?” He asks again, against your lips, and moans when you nod, “I didn’t want to last night, when we’d been drinking. I wanted it to be special, baby, I-“
“I know,” you say, kissing his cheeks, his nose, his forehead, landing on his lips when his skin begins to heat in embarrassment, “but I think if you don’t fuck me soon I might die.”
“We’re not drunk now,” his breath is impatient, heavy, and his spare hand moves down to brush against your panties, where the cotton is slick between your legs, “I’m high as hell though, and this pussy feels wet. G’na let me touch it?”
Fuck. Your head spins, like the high is returning but stronger because it’s Mingi; you’re finally here, beneath him, his to touch, his to hold. “You can touch it,” you heave, “I wanna touch you too. Please, I think about it so much, I wanna- wanna see it.”
Mingi’s face crumbles in a desperate noise, but he doesn’t move from his position, kissing you again like he can’t get enough of it.
When he speaks, you can hear him holding back, voice strained, “Not yet, baby. Let me taste it first, yeah? Then you can, I promise.”
“Okay,” you breathe against him, squirming when he rubs his fingertips over your panties, right where your clit is. He feels the pudge and brings his thumb down over it a few times, firm, and you let out a strangled whine. You hope San and Wooyoung are out, but you didn’t even bother checking the house before you let your man in. Your man - your breath stutters, and all of a sudden you’ve stopped caring. “Okay, fuck, please Mingi, want you, touch me properly-”
His fingers hook into your panties and yank them down your legs. Your legs rest over his, relaxed, toes curling into his thighs when you’re finally exposed to him. Despite the insecurity biting at your gut again from being so bare and vulnerable in front of him, he quells it quickly, wiggling down the bed onto his chest to examine you closely.
“Look at that, doll, so fucking wet,” He murmurs, thumbs coming up to spread your folds. They stick together with your arousal, something you’d be embarrassed about if he didn’t moan so loud at the sight, plush lips parting and eyebrows knitting together. “Fuck. G’na eat it now, ‘kay? If you need me to stop just-”
You force him into your pussy by his hair, and he moans at the first taste. His fat tongue swipes through your folds, impatient, and he licks up to flick it over the pudge of your clit, spreading your arousal everywhere. It’s so sensitive that you whimper and writhe underneath him, but he doesn’t seem swayed, burying his face into your cunt and making out with it viscerally, messy, claiming.
It’s just like your dream - except better. He’s pulling you down by your hips, rings biting into your skin, whining into your folds but he’s messier - he sucks all of your arousal into his mouth and spits it back on your pussy just to lick it up again. Your pussy is clinging to his lips by strings of sticky arousal and he flicks his tongue over your clit to hear you moan loudly, incomprehensible.
“You’re- how are you so fucking good at this, fuck, please, more-”
“Told you, I’ve been thinking about it for a while,” he states matter of factly, lips brushing against you, and you can see your slick has spread all over his chin, up to his nose. He doesn’t look bothered - he looks like he enjoys it, voice slurred, eyes half lidded, tongue licking over his lips, down to his chin. “This pussy’s fucking pretty. Tasty, too. I’m gonna have to eat her all the time, okay?”
He rubs over your clit, looking up at you expectantly. He’s waiting for a response, but you can’t focus, legs twitching at the stimulation. “F-uck, Mingi-“
“Mm, what do you say, baby?” He says, voice lower, and you keen. He chuckles in disbelief, shaking his head, rubbing a little faster, your pussy making an embarrassing wet noise with his movements. “Are you gonna let daddy come and eat her whenever he wants?”
“Oh my god, oh my god,” you babble, squirming, desperate for him to eat you again and he’s still fucking laughing at you, eyes full of admiration. “Yes, pleasepleaseplease daddy, you can eat it whenever- whenever you want!”
“Good giiiirl,” He hums, diving back in again. He’s just as vigorous and you’re panting, making way too much noise, gripping and tugging at his hair and bucking into his mouth when he groans in delight at the pain.
“Haa, fuck, Mingi- baby, baby, ‘s so good-“
He slides his fingers inside, past the resistance of your hole, curling them up instantly. It’s a stretch so quickly but feels so good, you squeal, humping your hips down onto him. He’s trying to find your g-spot, and it only takes a moment of prodding and pressing for you to make an incoherent noise, hips bucking. He taps a few times, teasing it, and you can’t shut up, gripping the pillow, eyes crossing in pleasure. “Noisy girl. Cunt’s fucking noisy too, talkin’ to me. Can you hear that? She’s telling me I own her now.”
“Mingi- f-fuck, you can’t say-“
“What? Don’t you like daddy talking to you?” He’s suddenly over you again, wet mouth forming a lazy grin. His fingers still pump into you and you reach to grab at his wrist, silver bracelets jingling with his movements. Your eyes water, hips grinding a rhythm into him. “I think you do, ‘cause you’re made for me, aren’t you? Fuckin’ unreal,” he hisses, looking down at where your cunt leaks down his skin, “this hole clenches around me when I talk, askin’ me for more. My hole, yeah?”
“Can’t- can’t be yours if you haven’t fucked it-“
“Shush, pretty, don’t be cheeky,” His tone is firm, but he kisses against your lips with affection. “Gonna fuck it. Gonna fuck it so many times it remembers the shape of my cock and can’t cum on anything else, but I want you to cum like this for me first. Can you?”
You’re nodding before he finishes, riding his fingers, and his thick thumb reaches up to flick over your clit. “I can, fuck, daddy, I can!”
“Yeah, moan my fucking name as you cum, there’s a good girl,” He kisses you again, dirtier this time, swallowing your moans with wet lips. You can taste yourself, and it’s that which does you in, Mingi pulling away just quick enough to hear the broken whine of his name that falls from your mouth. He groans back at you, rubbing your clit slower through your orgasm to drag it out, fingers curling to let you feel the shocks from your special spot just once more.
He’s too good. It’s like he knows your body already and you can’t understand it, but you let yourself cream and gush on his fingers with many babbled words and strangled noises until you’re eventually done. You think you see his fingers stick together when he pulls them out but he sucks them clean quick enough, offering you a crooked, toothy smile as if he just couldn’t help himself when you let out a shaky breath at the sight. He rolls off of you onto his side, leaning his head on his hand all satisfied.
“How was that?” He asks, cute as ever, and you think you see him fucking blushing. He’s so good, and fuck, he’s yours now. “Was it like your dreams?”
Your chest is still heaving, but you lean over to give him a kiss in response. His hand smooths over your lower tummy and you swoon, too happy, too desperate all over again despite the fact his fingers have just been all over and inside your pussy. “Mm, it looked intense, I liked doing that to you,” He’s getting excited again too - you think you can tell now, when his voice starts to pick up, airy, “you’re so fucking pretty, look so sexy when you cum, I just wanna-”
Furrowing your eyebrows, you glance down to his sweatpants. Mingi is definitely still hard, although there’s a small wet patch on his clothed bulge that you think he’s created without realising and fuck, your pussy is throbbing again. You can see how big he is through the clothes, much bigger than you ever thought, ever dreamed of, and it must be aching. “Let’s do more. I wanna do more with you.”
Mingi definitely blushes now, but he’s climbing on top of you again with that look in his eyes again. “Yeah? I want to do more too, you’re so gorgeous when you cum. Do you think you can you do that on my cock?”
He’s a little impatient, pushing his sweatpants down with one hand and leaning above you with his other. You try to look down but he tuts at you, making you look back at his face straight away, and you link your arms over his shoulders. “Um- maybe? I’ll try, shit.”
“Think you will,” He kicks his bottoms off and wriggles out of his boxers, too, and when you look again he doesn’t stop you. He even leans back to make sure your view isn’t obscured. Desperate, you assume, but shit it is big.
His muscled arm swings as he jerks it back to full hardness leisurely, and you were right, it leaks heavily in his palm. The lubrication adds to the sensation and he lets out a sigh. His cock is long but thick too, and there’s a smattering of dark hair at his base that makes you want to press your nose into it and inhale as you deepthroat him. You’re quickly distracted, though, because he shuffles forward and positions his cockhead at your hole. It tries to suck him in already, gummy and wet and pliant after your orgasm.
He pecks your lips again, addicted, nuzzling you with his sharp nose. He looks so pretty on top of you, plush lips pillowing over your cheeks and your chin and your nose, his black hair tickling your forehead. Your belly burns - you don’t think you’ve ever wanted anything this bad, and you’ve known that a while, but it’s real now, happening, not a dream although it still feels like one.
His tip catches in your folds again, and you feel him shiver on top of you but he doesn’t stop looking at you, kissing you again, over and over before he speaks hoarsely, “Condom?”
You shake your head. No fucking way. You’re on the pill for health reasons, and you’ll be damned if you’re having anything between you and this man when you’ve finally gotten hold of him. “Raw, please, I’m on the pill, wanna- wanna feel you, all of it.”
“Shit, you are a fucking dream, baby,” he groans, finally, finally swiping his cock through your folds. You think he’s finally going to put it in but he uses your arousal to slick his cock, letting you feel the pressure of it against you. “Think it’ll fit? You’re- baby, you’re so fucking tiny down here, could barely get my fingers in- oh shit, trying to suck me in.”
You try to squirm, but he’s so overpowering you can barely move underneath him. There’s a burning feeling in your tummy like you need it or you’ll die, and he’s still playing with you. He swipes his cock through your folds over and over, watching the way his tip disappears a little into the slick mess. You can’t help it - “Mingi, please put it in!”
“Fuck, ‘m so sorry, baby,” He grunts, sounding like he isn’t the least bit sorry, repositioning himself on his knees so that he’s more comfortable. You see him pull at his cock, moving the foreskin down to expose the tip, leaking pearly precum that makes your mouth water, “‘s too fucking pretty, all creamy like that, hadta play a bit. Gonna take it all for me now? It’s not gonna be too big?”
“Mingi, please- please, I’ve thought about this for so long, just- please, oh my god- oh, oh-“
You’re cut off by the deep, gravelly groan he lets out as he finally pushes inside. It slides in easily from how soaked you are, but it’s still a stretch, so thick and hard that your pussy throbs and tries to gush around him, begging for more.
“Please,” you gasp wetly, and he gives you the first inch. It’s barely anything, not compared to the whole size of him, but you moan and he grins in satisfaction. His tongue licks over his teeth as he slowly starts to fuck the first inch in and out, over and over until you start to shake, hands scrabbling for his hips to push him further inside. “Please, Mingi, daddy, I want more, all of it, give it to me-“
He grunts, sliding all of his length home as he pushes your thighs further apart, letting the pits of your knees rest on his elbows. It’s then that he begins a sinuous grind, hips steadily rolling against your ass, jiggling the flesh upon impact. Your bed is creaking with his steady movements, a thud every second that has you worried your housemates can hear you but well, you decided a while ago that you were over that.
“That’s w-what you needed, yeah?” He coos, voice shaky from the way your pussy is clenching around him. Every time his hips roll backwards, your hole grips and clings as if you can’t bear to have him pull out, so Mingi shortens his thrusts - quick, deep bursts that almost pain your cervix when he hits it. It feels too good to hurt though, and you can’t help but push against his tummy, overwhelmed with sensation. He catches your hands, pinning them above your head and grinding his pubic bone against your clit. “I know, ‘s so good, just- baby, f-feel it, feel it. Gonna feel it for the rest of your life. Yours now.”
You feel dizzy. It’s so good, and he’s right - this is all yours now, finally, after everything.
Mingi quickens his thrusts, hitting right where you need him to. His shoulders catch your attention, broad and rippling with exertion as he holds himself above you, wet, hot pants spilling from his lips with every movement and you can’t help yourself, you feel so full your eyes start to water. He’s throbbing inside of you, desperate to split you open with his teeth biting into his lower lip as he gazes down at where you’re connected. Your pussy drools, slicking up to your mound and over his pubes, up to his happy trail.
“S-so fuckin’ tight, so wet, so warm,” His voice breaks, palm moving to your lower stomach to keep you steady. It quivers under his touch, but he doesn’t notice, thinking solely with his dick. “Wanted to fuck you so bad. Fuck, I’ve wanted this for so long, feels too good, p-please, baby, I gotta fuck you harder-”
“You can, please, please,” You gasp when he does, shifting his knees to balance himself. His hips start move against you steadier, harder, cock pistoning into your pussy, abs rippling as he grinds himself inside of you. It’s everything you dreamed of and more, and it’s almost too much, too full, too big - you can’t help but whimper and scramble at his shoulders, squealing when he starts to rub over your clit in rhythm with his thrusts. It’s so swollen, so sensitive that you squeal as he makes contact, cheeks burning as your back arches into him - you’ve been waiting so long for this, and it’s ruining you, every thrust taking you apart and putting you back together again.
Mingi’s just as affected. He drools wetly onto your bare shoulder, wrapping one arm around the small of your back and letting the other hand move to cup your breast. He’s flushed, warm and rutting into you like a mindless animal, but the whines falling from his lips are nothing but grateful. “H-How does it feel, baby, is it as good as you imagined?”
“Better,” you hiccup, because it is, “fu-uck, Mingi, so much better, s-so deep!”
“Yeah, pussy’s t-too fucking good,” He cups your head with his hand, pulling your body upright so he’s essentially holding you off the bed to fuck you. He can go harder like this, and you feel his balls slapping against your ass, lips drooling messily on your shoulder while he talks. You don’t think he could be quiet if he tried, and you can’t believe your brain got this so right. “So fuckin- warm, tighttighttight, I could fuckin’ bust now,” he babbles, “feels so good to fuck you open finally, thought about it- s-so much-“
“Baby, oh my god, ‘s so good,” you mewl, hands moving to his chest, cupping the ample flesh and scratching down further, leaving red lines in their wake. It only makes Mingi fuck you harder, thighs trembling as he drives into you over and over, and you realise he’s right - you are gonna cum around his cock, too soon to be acceptable. “Feels- you’re perfect, I can’t, I’ll- it’s so good I’ll cum, I-”
“Oh, honey,” Mingi groans, long and drawn out, “i-it’s okay, you can cum for me. I want you to cum as m-much as you can, okay?” he kisses you, messy and wet against your cheek, “as much as that little pussy lets you, soak my dick over ‘n over, please, baby.”
You hump yourself onto him, managing to push yourself over his shaft and he lets you, lets you fuck your hole on his thick length until you feel it starting to build, too fast, too sudden, too perfect. He holds you close, ruts into you just enough to abuse his cockhead against that spot inside of you and it doesn’t take much, only a few grinds over him until you’re shaking apart.
“That’s it, oh, good girl, my girl, all mine, so pretty,” Mingi babbles through it, and at the crest of your orgasm your lips part in a sharp noise. Your moan is strangled, almost pained, and he moans right back at you, moving one thumb down to your clit to rub over it and extend your orgasm as long as he can. Your walls flutter around him, gummy and soft and gushing so wet down to his balls that he can’t help the way he rocks forward, chasing the wetness - he only causes you to leak more, cumming so long that your pussy starts to force him out; he presses his hips hard against yours to keep himself inside.
“A-Ah, I,” you cry, unsure, still stuttering with the remnants of it, “so good, I- thank you, daddy.”
Mingi gasps, plush lips parting, cock throbbing inside you. “don’t fucking- don’t say that, I almost came,” all of a sudden, he pulls out, gripping his cock at the base to stave off his own orgasm. You see how slick his shaft is, drenched with your arousal and it looks so dirty, white cream moistening his tan skin and contouring the veins with wet mess. As if it catches his attention, he looks down too, groaning at the sight of your release before his eyes move to your body, raking down you unabashedly. You can’t fucking believe this. Was he always this obvious? “Fuck, I… baby, can I have you on your hands and knees? Always wanted-”
You’re moving before he can finish, shaky limbs pushing your body up to your hands and knees. Your back forms an arch that he runs his hand down with a noise of appreciation, and then you hear the sheets rustle where he walks on his knees towards you, impatient.
“Good girl,” he mumbles, smoothing down the curve of your spine and down to your ass, where he seems to hesitate before he lands one firm slap. The flesh ripples as you cry out, but you don’t run from him - instead, you’re bucking back for more, and Mingi pushes his dick back through your folds once again. “Thought of this s-so much. Your ass, you grinding back on me, tellin’ me- tellin’ me how it feels. Thought of you too fucking much to be normal, baby, thought I was going insane.”
“Mm, Mingi,” you shake your hips, distracted, trying to entice him, and it works. His noise is almost pained, eyes fixated down on where your ass perks up in the air, and he’s sliding back in in one quick thrust. It’s deeper like this, and he hits your cervix almost immediately - this time he doesn’t wait, hips hitting your ass consistently. The headboard thuds against the wall again, too loud and steady to be anything else, incriminating.
Mingi hisses and pulls out right to the tip, “P-please, baby. Shake it on me, like I said, shake it for daddy, good girl.”
Perhaps you’re too obedient but he’s engrossed by it, cock throbbing inside you. You start to grind your hips before you can be embarrassed, moving yourself up and down on his shaft in such a slick slide your chest hits the mattress, hands forming fists on your sheets.
“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” you gasp, scrambling for dear life - has anything ever felt this good outside of those damn dreams? You knew it, knew it had to be him, knew it was always gonna be him - “feels so good, please, please-”
Mingi gasps, hand coming to grip your hips, moving you against him, “You’re unreal. Fucking- oh my god, that’s it, just like that. My girl, my f-fucking dream, god, let me-“
He takes over. You’re thankful for it, because you’ve never felt anything so thick and long and veiny and so fucking perfect inside you - it’s like he’s made for you, carving his ridges and curves into your walls until you couldn’t possibly think of anything else. You’re glad you’re his now, because it’d be impossible to be anyone else’s, to even try to be after he’s given you a taste of what you could have.
Mingi’s ravenous. Hands come to push you down, like he’s realised he can be rougher, and you’re forced fully onto your front before his teeth bite at your neck. His hips slap into you, sloppy, uneven, size forcing the cream you’ve created to form a ring around his base, and he whines at the wetness.
“G’na cum, can’t hold it,” He murmurs, hands wrapping around your shoulders for purchase, pulling you back into him. “Can you- f’me, another- fuckin’ give it to me, girl, all for your man.”
His finger and thumb come to roll your clit, and you’re done for. Combined with the feeling of him aching so heavily inside of you you can do nothing more but babble nonsensically, eyes crossing and cunt clenching around him so deliciously that he roars, pressing deep. Bites turn into kisses, softer as he gets closer and he tries to keep the pace the best he can but it’s unnecessary; just feeling his weight on you, his skin, his chest against your front triggers your orgasm, and one hand shoots down to hold Mingi’s wrist right over your bud.
“That’s it, f-fuck, I can feel it,” He gasps, knees scrambling on the bed to get closer to you. He pushes deep once, twice more and then with a sharp whine you feel him too, the head of his fat cock erupting and filling you with more than enough proof that he likes you back.
“Mngh- it’s- fucking deep, I-“ You choke, and Mingi shushes you, voice shaky, pulling your hips back to get it even deeper as he pumps you full, breaths stuttering. Something awful flashes through your brain, something domestic and too serious but it makes your cunt throb, gummy and soothing around his shaft as he empties himself.
Mingi chuckles, kissing the slope of your shoulder. “Maybe it’ll take, h-huh? Claim you properly. Will you believe it’s real then?”
“J-Jesus,” you stutter, squirming - how did he read your mind like that? - and he laughs again, finally coaxing his softening cock out of your hole. It feels stretched, and you know it is when he groans, elongated, thumb rubbing over the slick opening.
“Could fuck you again looking at that,” He muses, and you wriggle your hips, tempted - he huffs and gives you another smack, this time on your thigh, admonishing you. “Behave. We’ll have a spliff and we’ll go again.”
You roll over on your back, deflated, finally seeing him. He sits next to you on the bed, skin flushed, eyes half lidded. He’s just as fucked out as you but somehow more composed, eyeing you like he wants to laugh but he knows he can’t as he’s not much better.
“Weed and then more sex,” Your hand reaches up to smooth over his cheek, and his eyes flutter shut, a smile pulling at his lips until he falls into you again. Limbs intertwined, you peck at his nose again. “Where have you been all my life?”
“Buying you banana milk and trying to be normal around you, actually.”
“Right, yeah,” You giggle, and he plasters himself to you closer. You’re both sticky and exhausted but it’s comfortable, the heat satiating rather than stifling. Nails trailing up his arm, he shivers, and you watch the goosebumps form - real. It’s real. “We have a lot of making up to do. We could’ve been doing this a while ago.”
Mingi’s eyes open, glinting. “You’re not leaving this room until it stinks, baby.”
“Okay, disgusting,” You shove at him, and he’s amused, finally rolling away to put some clothes on with a shake to his shoulders. Watching him as he moves, sitting on the edge of your bed, you’re unashamed this time - he’s yours to look at - and you hum as his back muscles flex, reaching down to pull his discarded boxers back up. When he stands, you see his thighs tense, and well, that ass… your eyes want to water. How lucky can one girl be?
Mingi stretches his arms above his head and turns to you, making you avert your eyes promptly to the blanket beneath you. “Pervert, I saw that. But, hey, are Wooyoung and San still in?”
You yawn, shrugging, finally reaching over for your own clothes. “Honestly, no idea. Stopped caring.”
“They can thank us for the show, and the many more to come,” Mingi grins, cocky, and you roll your eyes like you aren’t obsessed with him. With that, your phone starts to ping on your bedside table, three tones one after another, and you furrow your eyebrows. It’s quick throwing your clothes on before you check - a fresh pair of panties and a tee as your last pair of panties were ruined - and when you pick your phone up, he sidles in behind you, wrapping his arms around your middle and kissing over your neck.
Nosy ass, you think, but you open your phone with a satisfied little smile, before it promptly falls at seeing that it’s your house group chat.
[2:13pm] wooyo: definitely still in baby
[2:14pm] sannie: Told you he’s a nice guy
[2:14pm] sannie: Do u guys want anything btw we’re ordering food
You splutter. “Oh my god-“
“How kind of him,” Mingi coos. “I think San’s nice too.”
“Mingi,” You scowl, but he doesn’t flinch, and when he plants a sloppy kiss on your cheek you can’t help but smile. “You know that’s not the point!”
“Oh, right. Ask him to get me some chicken. He knows what I like.”
“That’s still-”
“Baaaaby. Chicken, please.”
“Fine.”
if you got this far hi, thank you, this is the longest oneshot i've ever posted ever <3
genre: angst, action, drama, enemies to lovers (eventual smut! ;))
wc: ongoing.
|| SYNOPSIS: The Black Fever is not a gentle legend, nor a tavern song: it is a name that runs across the waves like a curse, a shadow that cuts through the mist and leaves behind the silence of those who never returned. And when you find yourself dragged away from your orderly life, from your family name, from the certainties that have always kept you fixed in the proper place, you understand that there is no longer a “before” to cling to. They are not heroes. They are not saviors. And they have no intention of making you feel safe. The problem is that when the sea chooses, it demands.
|| WARNINGS! n$fw, smut, MINORS DO NOT INTERACT eventual smut, slow burn, lots of teasing, mentions of assassination, thievery, pirate stuff, violence, alcohol, fembodied reader, polyamory, fluff, relationships, pirate of the carribbean fanfiction inspo, pirate!Hongjoong, pirate!Seonghwa, pirate!Yeosang, pirate!San, pirate!Wooyoung, pirate!Mingi, pirate!Jongho, pirate!Yunho
|| REMINDER: my works do not represent the irl members in any way, this is purely a work of FICTION.
pairing(s): tutor!hongjoong x f!student!reader (ft. playboy!wooyoung x f!reader & tutor!hongjoong x f!reader x roommate!seonghwa)
genre: college au, slow burn, romance, fluff, angst, smut
summary: struggling in your korean class, you're assigned a tutor—but there might be more than studying happening during your private lessons.
warnings: MDNI. 18+. cussing, explicit sexual content, heavy dom/sub dynamics, harddom!hongjoong, meandom!wooyoung, switch!seonghwa, sub!reader, threesome, consensual non-consent (cnc), degradation, humiliation, exhibitionism, bondage, sex toys, unprotected sex, fingering, p in v sex, voyeurism, cockwarming, impact play, spanking, pussy spanking, nipple play, spit kink, dacryphilia, oral sex, mirror sex, daddy kink, praise kink, knifeplay, biting/marking, overstimulation, dual stimulation, choking, finger sucking, sexual roleplay, punishment, pet names, derogatory names, hair pulling, rough sex, begging, throat fucking, creampie, fearplay, dubcon, mentions of blood/violence, derogatory language, jealous/possessive behavior, manipulative behavior. please tell me if i missed any!
word count: 12.3k
note: this is purely a work of fiction and does not accurately represent ateez in any way. it's so crazy to me how many people have read this. thank you all for the lovely comments and feedback, you really are my motivation to write :)
The first thing you register while waking up is the warmth of Hongjoong's body wrapped around yours.
Your lashes flutter as you blink against the morning sun shining through his thin curtains, the room slowly coming into a hazy focus. The sheets are still tangled around your legs, and Hongjoong's arm is still draped across your waist, holding you against his very bare, very warm chest.
You tilt your head back against the pillows so you can steal a glance at him. He's still fast asleep.
Without his glasses and the constant awkward tension he usually carries himself with, his features look a million times softer. His dark hair falls in a sleep-tousled mess across the white pillowcase, and his lips are parted ever so slightly as his breath fans over the top of your head.
For a moment, the same thought that flickered through your mind yesterday slips back again: maybe this really is a dream.
You stare at him, trying to wrap your head around the fact that this is real. Your tutor—the man who spent months sitting across from you at a table, correcting your pronunciation and quietly watching you over stacks of textbooks—is currently asleep beside you, holding you tightly in his arms.
Closing your eyes, you let yourself bask in the warmth of him for a few minutes longer. Eventually, though, as the fog of sleep continues to lift, your brain begins to catch up to the rest of you.
What time is it? A lethargic flutter of panic kicks in. You hadn't planned on staying the night—let alone falling asleep tangled up with Hongjoong.
You carefully shift, trying not to disturb him as you scan the sunlit room. Your gaze snags on the nightstand. There, resting right beside his carefully folded glasses, is your phone, tethered to a white charging cord.
A frown pulls at your brow. You definitely didn't plug your phone in. The last time you saw it, you were burying it in your purse while walking into the restaurant with Seonghwa. Come to think of it, you don't even know where your purse is.
So how did your phone end up hooked up to Hongjoong's nightstand?
You shake the thought away, blaming your bad memory on the overwhelming events of the night; maybe you'd fished it out at some point and forgot. Whatever the case, you're just glad it isn't dead.
Wiggling loose from Hongjoong's grip takes some cautious maneuvering. You carefully stretch an arm across his body, holding your breath as the skin of your inner arm brushes against his chest. After snatching your phone off the nightstand, you quickly settle back into the mattress.
You tap the dark screen. 9:27 a.m.
You wince. If you and Seonghwa had gotten back around nine last night, what time did you finally pass out? You and Hongjoong must've talked for at least an hour before you drifted off. You can't even remember who fell asleep first. Either way, you slept far longer than you intended. Considering you hadn't planned on sleeping here at all.
But it isn't the time blinking back at you that makes your stomach drop. Your lock screen is exploding with notifications—dozens upon dozens of unread messages from San, Yunho, and Yeosang.
San [7:46 PM]: Update?
San [8:11 PM]: Hello??
San [8:30 PM]: Why aren't you answering??
San [8:31 PM]: Are you still with him??
San [8:45 PM]: It's been an hour
San [8:45 PM]: I'm getting worried
Yunho [9:14 PM]: I didn't want to bother you but San is starting to freak me out
Yunho [9:14 PM]: Are you okay??
San [9:42 PM]: 2 hours
San [9:42 PM]: What the fuck is going on???????
Yunho [10:39 PM]: Just tell us you're safe, please
San [11:22 PM]: WHERE THE FUCK ARE YOU
San [11:22 PM]: You said you'd be home by 11
San [11:58 PM]: ????????????????????
Yunho [12:31 AM]: Does this mean the plan worked?
Yeosang [12:55 AM]: I don't want to interrupt in case things are going well, but I'm getting worried too. Where are you?
San [1:03 AM]: ????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????
San [8:45 AM]: So you never came home
San [8:46 AM]: Hope you're still alive
San [8:46 AM]: Although you apparently don't care enough to let me know either way
Yunho [9:02 AM]: ____?
Yeosang [9:05 AM]: These fuckers woke me up at 9 to check on you. You'd better have had the best night of your life.
You gnaw on your lower lip, scrolling through the panicked texts your friends left you. You feel guilty for leaving them hanging. You probably should've updated them at some point, though your mind had been a little too occupied to even think about your phone.
"Your friends seem a little worried."
You jump, a small gasp slipping from your lips as you whip your head around.
Hongjoong is awake. Sometime during your scroll, he'd shifted closer, his chin now resting near your cheek as he unabashedly reads your phone screen right over your shoulder. His dark eyes are half-closed and languid with sleep, but what really sends a chill down your spine is his voice. His gravelly morning rasp is so attractive that a furious blush rushes to your cheeks.
You stare at him, suddenly at a loss for words. You're in bed with your tutor. His bare chest is pressed against your arm. The blankets are tangled around your bodies, doing nothing to hide the fact that neither of you is wearing a single piece of clothing.
You quickly hit the power button, dropping your phone onto the mattress as you let out a shaky laugh. "Do you always read people's texts over their shoulders?" you ask, your voice a little breathless.
Hongjoong's lips curve into a lazy smile. He lets his eyelids shut again, his body shifting against yours beneath the covers.
"Only when I like them," he murmurs.
Your heart does a pathetic flip. Is he too tired to realize what he's saying, or is he just shamelessly flirting with me now?
Another buzz vibrates against your palm, and you glance down. A new message from Yunho has popped up at the very bottom of the thread.
Yunho [9:28 AM]: If you're alive, meet us in 30 at the café.
You tap the notification. The keyboard immediately glows on your screen, but your thumbs hover uselessly over the letters. What are you even supposed to reply? You aren't necessarily comfortable with typing out, Sorry, I'm naked in my tutor's bed right now, I might need a little more than 30 minutes.
"Go ahead," Hongjoong's sleep-heavy voice rumbles softly against your ear, letting you know he'd read that text, too. "Tell them you'll be there. I don't want your friends worrying about you."
You bite your lip, hesitating for a second before finally typing out a quick response.
You [9:29 AM]: I'll be there. And I'll explain.
You lock the phone and toss it blindly onto the mattress again.
The bed dips as Hongjoong shifts, pushing himself up to sit. The duvet slips low, pooling right at his waist as he grabs his glasses from the nightstand. As he swings his legs over the edge of the mattress to stand, you immediately avert your eyes, suddenly too shy to look at his bare body in the daylight. You stare very intently at the texture of the pillowcase while he rustles around, quickly stepping into a pair of grey sweatpants and pulling a dark hoodie over his messy hair.
Once he's dressed, he looks around the room. His gaze lands on the discarded sweater he'd taken off you last night, lying in a heap near the door.
"Uh," he clears his throat, breaking the silence. You peek up at him. "You... you can borrow some of my clothes. I know all you have here is, uh, that dress."
"Oh... yeah," you agree, a bashful smile touching your lips. "That would be... great. Thank you."
He gives a tight nod and moves toward his large sliding closet. As he pulls the door open, you catch a flash of your own reflection in the mirrored panel. Heat instantly floods your face. You tear your eyes away from the glass, your mind too embarrassed by the vivid memory of what you watched happen in that very mirror last night.
Oblivious, Hongjoong shuffles through a row of hangers before pulling out a white hoodie and a pair of black sweatpants. When he turns back to you, some anxious tension has returned to his shoulders.
"I, um..." he trails off, looking down at the fabric in his hands as he walks back over to the bed. "I actually made this one myself."
He flips the hoodie around to show you. Your eyes widen at the beautiful design sprawled across the back: a stunning painting of a dragon intertwined with dark outlines of different flowers. It perfectly matches a smaller logo—labeled K.HJ—embroidered onto the pocket of the sweatpants.
"And these sweatpants are a little too small on me now," he adds quickly, rambling to fill the quiet. "So they should work for you."
You smile as you reach out from under the covers to take the bundle. "I, um... Yeah, this is perfect. Thank you."
Clutching the soft, fleece-lined fabric to your chest, you sit up just a bit against the headboard. You hesitate, mentally preparing to drop the blanket and get out of bed—but then you freeze. You have nothing on underneath it.
Hongjoong is just standing there, hands in his pockets, watching you with a soft, unreadable expression. He blinks at you when you don't move.
It takes his sleep-fogged brain exactly three seconds to realize why you haven't gotten up.
His eyes snap wide as a red flush crawls rapidly up his neck and paints the tips of his ears. "Right! Sorry!" he stammers, spinning around on his heel so fast he nearly trips over his own feet. He aggressively shoves his glasses up the bridge of his nose and busies himself with picking up the scattered mess of clothes on the floor.
Swallowing back a laugh at his flustered reaction, you quickly slip out from under the covers. You pull on the black sweatpants and drag the thick white hoodie over your head.
You look down at yourself. The hoodie is definitely oversized—the long sleeves consume your hands completely, and the hem drops well past your hips—but it doesn't look entirely ridiculous.
You step away from the edge of the bed, feeling swallowed up by the fabric as you shift your weight awkwardly in the center of the room. The plush carpet beneath your bare feet reminds you of yet another glaring problem: you don't have any shoes. Your heels from last night are currently abandoned somewhere in either the kitchen or Seonghwa's bedroom. You can't remember.
Hearing the soft rustle of clothing, Hongjoong finally turns around.
At first glance, he stops dead in his tracks. His eyes do a slow sweep over you, taking in the sight of his custom designs draped over your smaller frame. Whatever nervous tension he was carrying melts from his shoulders, replaced by an affectionate smile. For a long moment, he watches you without a single word.
Then his gaze drops lower, landing on the floor.
"Oh!" he says, blinking as he realizes you're standing barefoot on his carpet. He immediately pivots back to his closet. "I have some old pairs saved that don't fit me anymore," he explains, his voice picking up a quick, nervous cadence again. "I was going to rework them into new designs, but I haven't had the time to get started on anything. I can give you a pair."
While he rummages through the lower shelves, you catch a sliver of your reflection in the partially open mirrored door. You reach up to quickly tame your hair, but your hands stall.
You look like an awkward, ruined mess. Your hair is tangled, your makeup is washed away, and there are dark circles of exhaustion under your eyes. As you tilt your head, the collar of the oversized hoodie slips down your shoulder, exposing the bruises mottled across your collarbone and tracking up the column of your neck.
You inwardly begin to panic as you realize you're about to walk into a public café to face Yunho, San, and Yeosang looking like this. You hurriedly grab the drawstrings of the hoodie, yanking them taut to bunch the thick collar higher up under your chin, praying the fleece will be enough to hide the damning evidence of the night you had.
But as your eyes flick back to the mirror for one last check, your hands slowly pause on the strings. Despite the messy hair, despite the exhaustion... you somehow look like you're glowing. You have a giddy brightness about you that you haven't seen looking back from a mirror in months. You look happy.
"Try these," Hongjoong says as he stands up, pulling your attention away from the glass.
He slides the closet door shut, turning around with a pair of white sneakers. You notice a sleek, hand-painted black line curving across the side that matches the hoodie and sweatpants you're wearing.
You step backward, perching yourself on the edge of the mattress, and reach out to take the shoes from him.
But Hongjoong doesn't even seem to think about handing them over. He drops to his knees on the carpet right in front of you.
Your whole body freezes. You watch, completely stunned, as he gently wraps his hand around your left ankle, lifts your foot, and effortlessly slides the sneaker over your heel. He seems so focused on the task that you don't think he even realizes the intimacy of what he's doing.
"These shoes are really a perfect match to your outfit," he murmurs in a casual rumble as he pulls the laces tight and ties them into a neat little bow. He reaches for your right foot, repeating the same steps. "I actually had this pair in mind when I was painting that hoodie last month. And I'd already made those pants a few years ago. They're simple, I know. But I made sure they're extra comfortable."
You stare down at the crown of his tousled hair, your heart racing as his warm hands brush against your ankles.
"There," he says softly, giving the second bow a final tug. He tips his head up to look at you from the floor, his eyes crinkling warmly behind the lenses of his glasses. "It's nice to have the full outfit on someone other than myself. Especially since those shoes are too small for me now. Let me see."
He stands up, offering his hands to you. You take them without any hesitation, letting his grip pull you up from the mattress.
You stand in front of him as his eyes rake over the finished outfit from head to toe. The soft smile on his lips slowly stretches into a look of pride.
"Keep it all," he says, his eyes finally flicking back up to meet yours. "It looks perfect on you."
You glance down shyly before meeting his eyes again. "Thank you," you whisper, a helpless smile breaking across your face.
He doesn't let go of your hands just yet. You stand there together in the quiet room, his thumbs absent-mindedly stroking the backs of your knuckles as he admires you.
Then, quite suddenly, Hongjoong’s brain seems to turn back on.
He blinks, visibly snapping out of his daze. A dusting of pink returns to his cheeks as he abruptly drops your hands and shoves his own deep into his pockets. He clears his throat loudly, looking anywhere but you as a bout of awkwardness takes over.
"So," he says, aggressively adjusting his glasses with the back of his wrist. "You can, uh... follow me."
He turns on his heel and marches out of the bedroom, leaving you with both a wide-open door to follow him out of and a massive smile hidden in the oversized collar of his hoodie.
Your new sneakers pad softly against the hardwood as you follow him out of his bedroom and into the open living space. You glance down the short hall toward Seonghwa's closed bedroom door. For a moment, you almost become a little self-conscious—were you too loud last night? Did he hear everything that happened in Hongjoong's room?
But the thought dissolves instantly. It doesn't really matter whether he heard or not. You'd been making the same sounds for him just ten minutes earlier.
Lost in thought, you nearly plow straight into Hongjoong, who has frozen dead in the center of the kitchen. You catch yourself just in time, rocking back on your heels to avoid colliding with his back.
You peek around his shoulder, following his rigid gaze questioningly.
Sitting right in the middle of the kitchen island is a neat, organized pile of your belongings. Your blue dress is carefully folded on top of your coat. Your purse sits beside it, your discarded heels lined up parallel to the edge. The sight of your bra and panties—supposedly tucked beneath the dress, but glaringly visible against the dark fabric—makes you blush.
Hongjoong's jaw is clenched. Without a single word, he abruptly pivots and stalks down the hallway toward Seonghwa's room. He grabs the handle, shoves the door open with unnecessary force, and peers inside.
You watch his sharp gaze sweep around the interior for a moment before he lets out a breath, fixing the glasses that slid down the bridge of his nose.
"Hongjoong?" you ask tentatively, your voice echoing. "What's wrong?"
He yanks the door shut and walks back over to you, his eyes still locked on the pile of your clothes. "He's not here," he mutters. He doesn't say anything else.
"Oh," you breathe out, not really knowing what else to say.
You both stand there in an awkward silence, staring at the neatly folded clothes.
You know for a fact your dress was abandoned on the floor of Seonghwa's bedroom. You have no idea where your coat, purse, or shoes ended up, but you know your phone was inside your bag. Yet, when you woke up this morning, your phone was charging on Hongjoong's nightstand.
If Seonghwa was the one who collected your clothes and arranged them in the kitchen... did he also bring your phone inside Hongjoong's room?Did he push the door open and slip inside while the two of you were fast asleep, completely naked and tangled together in bed?
A weird mix of conflicting emotions washes over you. It's an insanely intrusive, bizarre boundary to cross. But at the same time... wasn't it part of what he promised? He'd pushed Hongjoong to his breaking point, engineered the perfect way to get him to confront his feelings, and then silently packed your bags, charged your dead phone, and vanished so you wouldn't have to face the awkwardness of the situation in the morning.
You can't tell if you want to avoid Seonghwa for the rest of your life or buy him a thank-you gift.
Before you can dwell on it any longer, Hongjoong is moving again. He turns and marches right back down the hallway, this time in the opposite direction—back to his own bedroom.
You blink, standing awkwardly by the marble island in his hoodie. A glance at your phone screen reads 9:46 a.m. You still have time, but what is he doing now?
A long minute later, he reappears, carrying a sleek, black canvas tote bag in his hands, one that you could imagine yourself using as an everyday bag. Without a word, he steps up to the island and begins gently picking up your clothes. He transfers your coat and dress into the bottom of the tote, careful not to ruin the neat folding. You notice his cheeks turn bright pink as he tucks your underwear away, and you have to bite your lip hard to trap the embarrassed squeak threatening to escape. He drops your heels and purse in last, making sure everything is concealed and secure.
Your heart flutters uncontrollably. He's doing it again. He's taking care of you without even thinking twice about it. Rather than letting you endure the humiliation of carrying yesterday's clothes through the crowded campus, he's making sure your dignity remains intact.
He takes the thick straps of the bag into his hand.
"I can keep these here," he says quietly, staring down at the bag, "If you don't want to carry them with you."
You shake your head even though his eyes are lowered. "It's okay. Since everything's packed away, I'll be fine."
He nods and steps closer, holding the straps out to you. You reach out, your breath hitching as your fingers brush against his knuckles. The electricity from his touch shoots straight up your arm.
"T-Thank you, Hongjoong."
He looks at you, his eyes tracing your features. His lips part slightly, and for a second, he looks like he wants to say something else. You hold your breath, waiting. But he presses his lips into a tight line and gives you a small nod instead, turning toward the entryway.
You slowly trail behind him, silence falling over you yet again as you reach the front door.
Hongjoong shoves his hands deep into the pockets of his sweatpants, rocking back on his heels awkwardly.
"Do you..." he starts, pulling one hand free to rub the back of his neck. "Do you want me to walk you there?"
You shake your head, another warm flush rising to your cheeks at the offer. "It's okay," you reassure him softly. "The café is only a five-minute walk from here." What you don't tell him is that you desperately want to spare yourself from having to deal with your friends' interrogation while the prime subject of their questioning is standing right next to you.
He nods slowly. "Okay."
"Okay," you echo, offering a small, incredibly awkward smile.
You both stand there, staring at the scuff marks on the hardwood floor. Neither of you makes a move toward the doorknob. It’s painfully obvious that you don't actually want to separate—it feels like there are a thousand more conversations that need to be had—but as you shift your grip on the canvas tote, the screen of your phone lights up in your hand.
9:50 a.m.
"I should go," you say, tearing your eyes up from the floor. "I don't want them worrying any more than they already are."
Hongjoong nods again, but he still doesn't step aside.
"____?" he asks quietly.
"Yeah?"
He pauses, taking a steadying breath before he speaks. "I, uh, I know last night was a little... unconventional," he begins awkwardly, the words slightly stilted. "But... I had a really good night with you. Really." You feel your breath hitch as he meets your eyes. "And I meant everything I said. Every word. I just... I want to make sure you still feel the same way in the daylight. That you don't regret any of it."
You feel your heart melt into a puddle at your feet. Regret it?
"Hongjoong, I..."
Is it too much to say that you've been waiting for this very moment for months? To admit that you had buried your feelings so deep, completely convinced that he would never look at you twice? That you genuinely believed the world would end before he ever crossed the line and confessed that he felt the same way?
Yeah. Probably too much.
"I don't regret a single second of it," you say instead, your voice thick with emotion as you offer him the warmest smile you can muster. "I promise."
The way his shoulders relax and the way that adorable eye-crinkling smile finally returns tells you he's relieved.
"Then... I'll see you on Thursday," he says softly.
Your smile widens. "Yeah. I... I'll see you then."
It's so ridiculous, so incredibly awkward, standing in his entryway like two teenagers at the end of a first date. But then, Hongjoong steps forward, lifting his hand to your jaw. His touch is a little shaky, his fingers slightly trembling as he gently tilts your chin up toward him. He leans down, pressing a soft kiss to your lips.
It’s sweet and hesitant, completely different from last night, but it still sends butterflies straight to your stomach all the same. When he pulls back, your face is practically on fire. You drop your gaze, avoiding eye contact as it fully hits you.
This is real.
Hongjoong just kissed you goodbye.
You confessed to each other.
The feelings are entirely mutual.
"I—um—yes. Thursday. I'll see you then. Bye," you squeak out.
Before he can say anything else—or laugh at your flustered panic—you quickly reach out, yank the front door open, and flee into the hallway, flashing him one last pathetic, nervous smile before pulling the door shut behind you.
You stand frozen in the empty hallway, your back pressed flat against his door. You squeeze your eyes shut, taking a deep, shuddering breath as you force your heart to calm down. You mentally scold yourself for acting like such a nervous idiot, and yet... you absolutely cannot wipe the massive, goofy grin off your face.
You linger there for a lot longer than you should, basking in the giddy aftermath of it all, when a muffled noise from the other side of the door catches your attention.
It's the faint sound of a phone dialing.
You blink, holding your breath, pressing your ear against the door to listen. Who is Hongjoong calling only a minute after you left?
"Hello?" his voice filters through the wood of the door.
You flinch in surprise. His tone is suddenly authoritative and polite—the exact one you're so used to hearing during your sessions.
"Yes, good morning. I'm calling to speak with the supervisor regarding one of the tutors at the Language Center. His name is James Yang..."
His voice begins to trail off, growing fainter as his footsteps carry him deeper into the apartment.
Your jaw drops. A second later, you have to clamp a hand over your mouth to stifle a giggle.
Shaking your head with a helpless laugh, you finally push yourself off the door. You adjust the strap of the tote bag on your shoulder and turn down the hall, wondering how the hell you're ever going to explain everything that happened in the last twelve hours to your friends.
The second you open the door to the café, the cheerful little chime of the overhead bell sends three heads snapping toward the entrance in unison.
Yunho, San, and Yeosang are huddled together around a small circular table in the far back corner, each already nursing their own drink. The absolute second they spot you, their eyes do a collective scan of your entire appearance—your messy hair, the oversized clothes, and the bag on your shoulder.
You quickly break eye contact, your cheeks burning, and drag your feet over to their table. Pulling out the fourth chair, you swiftly kick the bag beneath the table, praying that they don't try to look inside it.
"Holy shit," San breathes out sarcastically, leaning back so hard his chair creaks. "You're alive."
You roll your eyes as you drop into the seat. "Okay, I'm sorry I didn't update you guys. But to be fair, I only remember saying I'd text you if something went wrong, not if things went right."
"Well, excuse the hell out of me for wanting to make sure you didn't get—"
"San. Calm down," Yeosang cuts in, his voice as flat and calm as ever. Without even looking up, he slides a sweating plastic cup across the table and into your hands: a freshly made iced chai.
You flash Yeosang a grateful smile, wrap your hands around the cup, and take a long sip of your favorite drink. Yunho reaches over, gently patting your arm.
"When you didn't reply at all, San assumed that the plan—if that's what we're calling it—didn't work out," Yunho explains, his tone cautious but curious. "He convinced us that you ended up sleeping with Seonghwa last night."
You whip your head toward San, eyes narrowing. "Seriously? Why is that the first thing you assume?"
"Because you didn't tell us anything!" San exclaims, throwing his hands up in defense."You didn't even explain the whole thing! You kept saying you 'trusted him,'" he says, his air quotes so aggressive he nearly knocks over his drink, "but everything you told me sounded exactly like Wooyoung 2.0! What was I supposed to think?"
You open your mouth to argue, but Yeosang interrupts you before you can get a word out.
"Which is why, when we didn't hear from you, we naturally assumed the worst." He takes a slow sip of his black coffee, his eyes drifting past your shoulder. "But he's been working since before we even got here. So clearly, our theories were a bit off."
He gives a subtle, pointed tilt of his chin toward the front counter.
You slowly turn your head, following the trajectory of Yeosang's gaze across the bustling café.
The blood drains from your face.
He's here.
Seonghwa is stationed behind the front counter, dressed in the same black apron as Thursday, casually wiping down the espresso machine. He looks infuriatingly normal, unbothered, as if the events of last night hadn't occurred at all.
But as if sensing your stare, the white rag in his hand stalls. He lifts his head, and his eyes scan the entirety of the crowded room before slamming directly into yours.
Even from twenty feet away, you catch the involuntary hitch of his chest, a fleeting crack of surprise breaking through the polite customer service facade. He clearly didn't expect to see you here. Meanwhile, you're mentally cursing yourself for not even considering the possibility that he could be working today.
Time seems suspended as his eyes drop, sweeping over your seated figure. He takes in your outfit, recognition flashing in his eyes; you know he's seen Hongjoong wear the same clothes before. But his gaze doesn't linger there. It climbs upward, stopping on the thick collar you've bunched so defensively high up your chin.
He knows exactly what you’re trying to hide beneath that hoodie. He knows the precise shape and placement of every single mark decorating your collarbone and neck... because half of them belong to Hongjoong, and the other half belong to him.
A hot prickle of nerves races across your skin. Feeling dangerously exposed under his watch, you shakily reach up, tugging the neckline just a tiny bit higher against your throat.
As he watches you, the corner of Seonghwa's mouth twitches into a smirk. Before anyone else in the building can catch your secret exchange, he dips his head down, hiding the curve of his lips behind his dark curtain of hair as he turns his attention back to the espresso machine.
Hoping that your cheeks don't look as scorched as they feel, you drag in a sharp breath. You tear your eyes away from the counter, forcing yourself to turn back to the small table—where Yunho, San, and Yeosang are still sitting there, their eyes boring holes into you, silently waiting for an explanation.
"Well... yes, you were wrong," you murmur, looking around the table to meet their expectant stares one by one. "The plan worked."
Yunho chokes on his iced Americano, coughing into the crook of his elbow. A small smile spreads across Yeosang's face as he gestures pointedly at your outfit.
"So, I take it those are Hongjoong's clothes you're drowning in?" he asks.
San blinks, his brain taking an extra second to connect the dots. When the implication finally clicks, he slaps both palms flat against the tabletop. "Wait! Weren't you wearing a dress when you left? Where did—"
"San!" you hiss, your eyes going wide as you furiously wave your hands to shush him.
You dart a glance back over your shoulder, terrified that his booming voice carried all the way to the front counter. Seonghwa is still facing the espresso machine, his back turned to your table, but from this angle, you can clearly see the outline of a smirk playing on his profile. He's absolutely listening to every single word.
"Shut up!" you whisper-yell, turning back to glare at him.
"Okay, ignore San," Yeosang says quietly. He leans in closer, resting his forearms on the table. "Tell us what actually happened. Because clearly, Seonghwa didn’t sweep you off your feet like we thought he did."
Your face instantly burns. You quickly drop your gaze and take a long sip of your iced chai just to give yourself something to do besides react. You are absolutely not going to tell them that Seonghwa did, in fact, sweep you off your feet, far more than they could ever imagine. You already know you're going to have trouble explaining everything that happened between you and Hongjoong—adding a second man into the mix, especially one they already don’t trust, would be too humiliating. And you have a feeling none of them would take it very well. Not after what happened with Wooyoung. Especially not when that man is standing barely twenty feet away and very obviously trying to listen to your conversation. All of it—the threesome, the blurred lines, the madness of last night—is a secret you will be taking straight to your grave.
"Yes, San, these are Hongjoong’s clothes," you say carefully, keeping your voice in a hushed, controlled whisper. "And... yeah. Seonghwa played his part exactly like he promised he would. He flirted with me until... until Hongjoong couldn't take it anymore."
All three men exchange glances.
San speaks up first, his tone still dripping with suspicion. "So I don’t need to go over there and deal with him like I wanted to with Wooyoung?"
You let out a breathless laugh. "No, San. I told you, I trusted him. And it turns out I was right." I think, you add internally.
"Do you wanna elaborate on what 'Hongjoong couldn't take it anymore' means?" Yunho prompts, leaning forward to join Yeosang.
You clear your throat awkwardly. Your eyes dart toward the counter one last time before dropping to the condensation dripping down your cup. Filtering this story on the fly is going to be difficult.
"Well... he got pretty jealous seeing us walk in together," you start, carefully omitting the minor detail that Seonghwa had his hands roaming all over your body at the time. "We were in their apartment, obviously, so he... he took me to the only private place there. His room."
You pause, peeking up through your lashes to gauge their reactions. All three men are leaning over the tiny table, listening to you with total, undivided attention.
You let out another soft, embarrassed laugh, nervously wiping away the droplets on your cup. "And then... yeah. His jealousy made us finally confess to each other, and, um... one thing led to another, and—"
"Come on, don't give us that!" Yunho interrupts, reaching across the table to give your shoulder a light shove. "Don't give us that 'one thing led to another' bullshit."
"Yeah, no skipping to the end!" San agrees while nodding. "We've had to deal with months of you figuring out your feelings for this guy. How did you do it? What did he say?"
You bite your lower lip, self-conscious. It was one thing to live through the confession, but repeating the details out loud in a crowded café with his roommate a few feet away is an entirely different story.
"Um... well," you murmur. "He confessed that he’d been trying to stay professional since the day we met, but that he’s... basically always had feelings for me."
Yunho’s face lights up with a beaming grin. "Just like we all told you."
"Just like I told you," Yeosang corrects, taking a sip of his coffee. You and Yunho both roll your eyes.
"Yes, yes, whatever," you push on, requiring a monumental amount of mental gymnastics to skip over the fact that this whole confession was triggered by a threesome. "I confessed the same thing. I told him about all the little moments that made me think he liked me, and I finally admitted that I’d been avoiding my own feelings, too. As you all know."
"As we know way too well," San nods.
You ignore him. "He said he avoided me after we kissed because he realized he couldn’t ignore his feelings anymore. He was scared of crossing the line because it meant things could never go back to being simple."
"Well, no shit," Yeosang deadpans.
Yunho kicks him under the table.
"Ow!" Yeosang glares at him, reaching down to rub his shin, but you just laugh.
"Yeah. No shit," you agree, nodding. "And then, I... I think I told him to stop pretending I’ve only ever been his student, then."
Yunho's grin widens. He rests his chin on his hands, fluttering his eyelashes at you mockingly. "Aw, look at you with the rom-com lines."
Your face flushes hot, and this time, you're the one who kicks Yunho under the table. "Do you want me to keep telling you the story or not?"
"Keep going," all three of them demand in unison.
You huff, adjusting the sleeves of the hoodie. "Fine. So, I think that's where he really opened up. He said a lot about how... how English isn’t enough to explain his feelings."
Yeosang clicks his tongue in approval. "Very poetic. Fitting for how you two met."
San nods solemnly. "This is great material if you ever wanna write a book, ____. Seriously."
"It'll be a bestseller," Yeosang agrees with him.
You practically slam your iced drink down on the table, glaring at them. "You guys really suck."
"Sorry, sorry," San apologizes, though he’s sporting a massive, shit-eating grin that says he isn't sorry at all. "Anyway. So that’s it?"
"No, no, no." Yunho shakes his head, wiggling an accusatory finger at you. "Where’s the rest of it? That sweet little conversation doesn't explain how you ended up looking like that."
Yeosang chuckles. "Right. Where did the new clothes come from? More importantly, where did your old ones go?"
You clamp your mouth shut, your eyes suddenly finding the melting ice in your cup incredibly fascinating.
"Um..."
All three of them lean in closer.
You swallow hard, dropping your voice to a barely audible and highly reluctant mumble. "I think I might've said something along the lines of... if English isn't enough, he needs to show me in a language we both know."
Yunho practically spits his Americano back into his cup as San and Yeosang completely lose it, barking out loud, echoing laughs.
"You said what?" San howls, bending over the table.
Panic erupts in your chest instantaneously. You whip your head toward the front counter, but thankfully, the space is empty; Seonghwa must've stepped into the back room, temporarily out of earshot.
"Shut up!" you whisper-yell, shushing them as your face burns with the heat of a thousand suns. "You’re so annoying! I know it sounds stupid out loud! But it sounded really, really good in the moment!"
Yunho is biting his lip so hard it might bleed, trying his best to hold back his laughter, though his shoulders are shaking uncontrollably. "I really think you should listen to San’s advice and write that book," he says, completely deadpan, hiding his smile behind his hand.
"Okay. Fine. Laugh all you want," you huff, crossing your arms over Hongjoong's hoodie. "I’m never telling you guys a single thing about my life ever again."
Yeosang finally gets his laughter under control, though his grin remains. "Hey, don't be mad. I'm sure Hongjoong loved it."
"Oh, he definitely loved it," San snorts, wiping a literal tear from his eye. "He probably kissed you right after you said that, didn’t he?"
You pause, biting the inside of your cheek as you stare down at your hands. The dizzying memory of Hongjoong pressing soft kisses over the bruises on your neck —of him guiding you to the edge of his bed—flashes behind your eyes.
"Well...." you drag the word out, a tiny smirk tugging at the corner of your lips. "Not exactly."
"Not exactly?" Yunho asks, one eyebrow shooting up to his hairline.
You look up at them, your smirk growing. "But since you made fun of me, I am officially done talking."
Immediately, a chorus of protests erupts around the table.
"Oh, come on."
"Seriously?"
"You can't just leave it there!"
You shake your head stubbornly, sipping your chai with a maddeningly calm expression until they finally groan and give up. They settle back into their chairs, taking disgruntled sips of their own drinks as the banter finally lulls.
"So... what about after?" Yunho asks, his tone turning a bit more serious. "You guys... talked about things, right?"
"Of course we did," you nod, your finger tracing the condensation on your cup once again. "I mean, he talked about how nervous he is. He’s never actually been in a relationship before."
You glance instinctively back toward the counter. Seonghwa has reappeared from the back room, taking an order from a new customer.
"Seonghwa actually told me that Hongjoong has never really had a crush before," you add quietly, looking back at your friends. "So... I just told him that it’ll be okay to make mistakes. Both of us will inevitably screw up. And that we'll figure things out together."
Yeosang pauses, studying you carefully over the rim of his cup. He slowly lowers it to the table. "Does that mean he was a virgin?"
Your shoulders tense. Right. You'd almost forgotten about that part.
"Um... yeah," you murmur, your fingers tightening so hard around your cup that the plastic loudly crinkles. "He was."
The three of them blink, a complicated look passing between them.
"Did you..." Yunho begins carefully, his voice gentle. "Did you guys talk about that? About your pasts?"
You bite the inside of your cheek hard enough to taste copper. "...Yeah."
San asks, "So you told him about Wooyoung?"
Your heart drops to your shoes. "San, for the last time, keep your voice down!" you hiss, immediately whipping your head toward the front counter. Thankfully, Seonghwa has his back completely turned to you, occupied with steaming milk for a customer's latte. You turn back to the table, leaning in so far that your chest presses hard against the edge. "Seonghwa knows that Wooyoung and I had a thing, but he doesn't know we actually—" You cut yourself off, the damning word lodging in your throat.
Yeosang stares at you, clicking his tongue. "So you didn't."
You grimace, shame burning hot at the base of your neck. "No. I didn't tell him."
Yunho’s eyes widen. "You lied? You told him you were a virgin?"
"No!" you whisper-yell, shaking your head. "I didn't say that! I just... I told him my first time was with my ex. In high school."
San and Yunho exchange a loaded look.
"____, why the fuck would you lie about that?" San asks. He remembers to lower his voice this time, but the judgment in his tone makes you flinch nonetheless.
"That’s not something to lie about when you really care about someone," Yunho says quietly. "You know that."
Yunho’s words twist in your heart like a serrated knife. The guilt you'd desperately tried to suppress comes rushing to the surface.
"I know," you say quietly. "I know it's bad. But you guys don’t understand the context of the conversation. He had just finished confessing that he was terrified of his feelings for me. How was I supposed to look him in the eye and explain that while he was agonizing over his feelings for me, I was actively sleeping with someone else? That while I literally had feelings for him, I still chose to let someone like Wooyoung touch me?"
The three of them fall silent.
"Besides, I'd already lied to him about Wooyoung before," you press on. "The night I slept over at his apartment, I told Hongjoong I was out with Yunho. I lied after that, too, when he accidentally saw a text from Wooyoung on my phone. I swore he was just a friend. And there are probably other little lies I don’t even remember telling him."
San frowns at you, confused and disappointed. "But why would you lie about all of that in the first place? You weren’t dating. You didn't owe him an explanation back then."
You let out a shaky sigh, running a hand through your tangled hair. "I know I didn't. But it still felt wrong. I... I think it was because, deep down, I already knew I had feelings for him. So doing anything with Wooyoung felt wrong... like I was cheating on a crush. I felt guilty about it. I didn’t want him to find out."
You look at your three best friends, your eyes silently pleading with them to understand the corner you'd painted yourself into.
"And then I just couldn’t take it back. I dug the lie so deep. If I told him the truth last night, he'd realize I lied to his face in the past. And he’d know I slept with someone else while I supposedly liked him. Can you imagine how terrifying it would be for him to hear that? A guy who’s never even had a real crush before? A guy who just trusted me with his literal first time?"
You look away from them, staring blankly at the wall. This is your own fault, and you know it. But what else could you have possibly done on the spot?
The table falls into silence as the three of them process everything you've said.
Yunho eventually lets out a conflicted sigh, rubbing the back of his neck. "I don’t know, ____. You always do this. You choose the safety of a lie over just being vulnerable and telling the truth. I think—no, I know—you're afraid of Hongjoong seeing you differently. But if he really cares, it’s not like he’d suddenly stop liking you over this."
You look at him, his words making your stomach twist, and you shake your head. "I don't know if that's true, Yunho. Put yourself in his shoes. Imagine this: you finally, finally tell Mingi how you feel. He looks at you and says he likes you, too. But, then, right in the middle of this beautiful, vulnerable moment, he casually mentions that he was fucking someone else just two weeks ago while claiming to be obsessing over you."
Yunho frowns, shifting uncomfortably in his chair. "I mean, I obviously wouldn’t be thrilled about it, but—"
"And," you cut in, your voice sharpening, "you’re also a virgin. Mingi is your first time. You have absolutely no idea what you’re doing, you have no idea how to navigate these overwhelming new feelings, you are entirely inexperienced, and the guy you just poured your heart out to was letting someone else touch him just days ago because 'it didn’t actually mean anything.' Honestly, Yunho, think about it. How would you feel?"
Yunho opens his mouth, his brow furrowed in immediate protest, but no words come out. He slowly closes his mouth, looking away.
"I get why you lied," Yeosang says quietly after another few moments. "I know I'd be freaked out if I were in his position. It's human nature to want to protect his feelings and keep the peace, especially right after a major confession." He pauses, his lips tightening into a thin line. "The only problem is the corner you've backed yourself into. Because now, you have two options: never let him find out and deal with the guilt for the rest of your life, or tell him the truth and risk him never trusting you again."
San vigorously shakes his head, refusing to accept Yeosang's bleak pragmatism. "What? No! ____, I think you seriously have a lying problem. I'm telling you, he wouldn’t have stopped liking you. Are you all crazy?"
Yunho sighs, his shoulders slumping. "Well... honestly, San, when you put it in the context of Mingi... I don't know. I’d be pretty devastated."
You nod miserably, the confirmation making the pit in your stomach sink even lower.
"You just... fuck, ____. You should’ve told him the truth from the very beginning," Yunho says, shaking his head. "Before the lie got this deep."
"I know," you murmur, picking at the cuff of the sweatshirt. "I’d love to go back and change things, but I can’t. It felt like such a harmless little white lie at the time, and now..."
You trail off.
Yeosang tilts his head slightly, folding his arms across his chest. "Well..." he says slowly, like he's piecing together a puzzle. "You're dating now, right?"
The gears in your brain suddenly halt.
You blink at Yeosang. "Um..."
Across the table, San and Yunho both go still.
"____," San says slowly, squinting at you. "You are officially dating, right?"
"We... we never actually talked about that," you realize, the color slowly draining from your face.
"Huh?" Yunho and San ask in baffled, incredulous unison.
"You didn't talk about it at all?"
"You went all the way and didn't once stop to establish what you actually are?"
"No, we didn't," you realize, dropping your face into your hands in embarrassment. "Not that I remember!"
You might actually be an idiot, you chastise yourself, dragging your hands down your flushed cheeks. What are we? Are we dating? Am I his girlfriend? What does he think we are? Is he stressing about the same thing right now?
"Okay, relax," Yunho says, realizing your thoughts are spiraling. He reaches over to pat your arm. "You'll talk about it. You guys had an emotionally exhausting night. It makes sense that the technicalities slipped your minds. Don't stress about the label right now."
"I was just asking," Yeosang continues calmly, ignoring your minor crisis, "because strategically speaking, you should wait to tell him the truth about Wooyoung until after you’re officially dating."
San narrows his eyes at him, suspicious. "Why?"
"Because," Yeosang explains, "if you tell him the truth right now, in this undefined gray area, his logical thought process will be: She lied to me, she's not a good person to date, so I’m going to cut my losses and back out before I’m fully invested.' But... if you wait until you're officially locked into a committed relationship, leaving you requires a full breakup. Which he’s way less likely to initiate."
Yunho stares at him, appalled.
"What the hell, Yeosang?" San yells, shoving his shoulder roughly. "So your plan is to trap him in a relationship?"
"It's not that I want to trap the poor guy," Yeosang defends himself, scowling at San, "but I'm fully on ____'s side with this. It's the best solution for her."
"My roommate's a sociopath," Yunho mutters under his breath, looking at him like he grew a second head.
You slowly sink forward, burying your burning face back in your folded arms and groaning into the dark. If Yeosang's manipulative hostage-situation of a strategy is genuinely the best option you currently have... you're probably fucked.
Suddenly, the argument at the table dies.
You lift your face from your folded arms, blinking at the abrupt silence. "What happened—"
You cut yourself off. Yunho, San, and Yeosang are all staring wide-eyed and mute at something directly behind your chair.
Before you can even turn your head, an arm reaches over your shoulder, gently setting a ceramic plate piled high with four warm croissants directly into the center of the table.
A cold sweat breaks out across the back of your neck. You know that hand. You even know the way those long fingers feel against your skin.
You swallow hard and slowly turn your head.
Seonghwa is standing right behind your chair, the scent of roasted espresso and his familiar cologne immediately enveloping you. He’s smiling politely at your friends, acting as if nothing is out of the ordinary.
"We didn’t order these," you say stubbornly, pointing at the pastry plate to distract from your quickening heart rate.
He just smiles, his eyes dipping down to meet yours. "I know. Sunday is free croissant day."
"I’m here almost every Sunday. That has never been a thing."
His smile shifts, the corners sharpening. "It’s a new policy. Instituted by me."
As he speaks, his gaze drops from your eyes, landing squarely on the collar framing your neck. You squirm under his scrutiny, and you swear your skin is burning where his eyes linger.
Seonghwa watches your nervous movement with a subtle smirk before turning his attention across the table to Yunho.
"I remember you from the bar that night."
San scoffs loudly from his seat, crossing his arms over his chest. Seonghwa doesn't even spare him a glance, his attention remaining politely on Yunho.
"I wanted to apologize for being so rude," he continues smoothly. "I was dealing with an irritable roommate. Though I didn’t know it at the time, he was actually just irritable over this one."
He tilts his head down toward you, the affection in his voice unmasked. You flush, sinking a full inch lower in your chair.
Yunho blinks, quickly recovering to offer a friendly, if slightly wary, smile. "No worries. I get it. She wasn’t exactly the easiest to deal with that night, either."
You kick Yunho's shin again under the table. He barely suppresses a wince, but he maintains his strained, polite smile.
Seonghwa’s eyes drift over to San, completely unfazed by the rather unfriendly glare San is currently aiming at his head; clearly, despite what you said, San still doesn't trust him.
But Seonghwa doesn't seem to care. He turns his attention back down to you.
"Did you take my gift, angel?"
You feel every eye at the table snap directly to you. You realize that to your friends, Seonghwa had just been playing a role last night to make Hongjoong jealous. There's no reason for him to be using a pet name like angel anymore.
You gulp hard. "Oh... um," you stammer, thinking back to this morning. "I didn't see it when I left."
Seonghwa hums, but he doesn't sound surprised. "It was on the kitchen island. Both of them were."
A chill runs down your spine. He means both of the records. But... you honestly don't remember seeing them there this morning. You didn't see Hongjoong pack them into your bag, either.
Seonghwa’s gaze drifts downward past your lap until his eyes land precisely on the spot where you had kicked your bag beneath the table earlier.
"Are you sure you didn't pack it in your bag?"
You stare up at Seonghwa, your mind racing. You could just brush him off and insist you didn't pack it, but the way he’s looking at you—head tilted, eyes gleaming—tells you that for some reason, he isn't going to just let this go. He wants you to check, like he somehow knows you didn't pack it yourself.
And if you refuse, you’re only going to look ten times more suspicious in front of Yunho, San, and Yeosang.
"Fine. But I know I didn't," you mutter, breaking eye contact.
You lean down, your fingers blindly grappling for the straps of the tote bag. You hoist it up and rest it squarely on your lap. Careful to keep the contents angled away from the others as best you can, you pull the opening wider.
You nudge your heels and purse aside, digging through the bag—only to freeze when the first thing staring back at you, draped across the top of your crumpled dress, is a scrap of lace. Your panties.
Above you, Seonghwa shifts. You don't even need to look up to know his eyes have dropped straight into the open bag, the only one at the table with the advantageous height and angle to see what's inside. A second later, you hear it: the quietest exhale of amusement slipping past his lips.
You quickly shove the lace beneath your dress, your cheeks blazing. Trying to look casual, you plunge your hands deeper into the bag, searching for the square of a vinyl sleeve—even though you're certain you won't find it.
But suddenly, your fingers graze something solid. You freeze, your brows knitting in confusion as your fingertips trace the flat edge. You watched Hongjoong pack your coat first. There hadn't been anything underneath it. Gripping the corner, you pull the object free from the depths of the bag.
You find yourself staring down at the sleek white cover of the G-Dragon record. Hongjoong’s gift.
You blink, confused. Immediately, you shove your hand back into the bag, digging around the bottom, checking the side pockets, and shifting your clothes around. But you find nothing else.
"It's... it's not here," you say slowly, bewildered. Looking up at Seonghwa, you lift the single record resting in your lap. "Just this one."
Did Hongjoong pack his own record and intentionally leave Seonghwa’s behind? You're certain you didn't even see him put Heartbreaker in the bag. When did he manage that?
You worry that Seonghwa might be offended, but instead, he laughs.
"Unbelievable," he chuckles, shaking his head. There’s not a trace of anger on his face—if anything, he looks delighted. "How territorial. Well, I guess I shouldn't be surprised."
You bite your lip at his choice of words. Yunho and San exchange another baffled look across the table.
"Territorial?" San echoes. "What the hell are you talking about?"
Seonghwa finally pulls his eyes away from you to glance at San. The smirk on his lips softens in a way that feels patronizing.
"Just an inside joke," he replies politely. Then, his eyes drift back to your neck. Or, more accurately, the collar of the hoodie covering it. "I suppose this means his... possessiveness didn't end when I last saw you?"
Before you can even process what he's doing, Seonghwa reaches out.
You suck in a breath as the soft tips of his fingers brush gently against your neck. His index finger hooks right beneath the hoodie and lightly tugs it down as he checks for any new marks Hongjoong left when the two of you were alone. The movement is small, but it’s more than enough. The fabric shifts, exposing the skin just above your collarbone.
A collective intake of breath snaps around the table.
You slap your hand over your neck, yanking the collar back into place, but the damage is already done. In that split second, Yunho, San, and Yeosang all catch a crystal-clear, front-row glimpse of the dark purple bruises and deep red bite marks scattering your skin.
San’s mouth falls open. "Holy shit, ____."
Yunho covers his mouth with his own hand, his eyes ricocheting between you and Seonghwa. Even Yeosang's eyes widen as they fix on the spot you're now shielding with your hand.
Seonghwa ignores it all, taking a step back from the table, calmly smoothing his hands over the front of his apron.
"Hm. I was right," he says mildly. "Well, enjoy the croissants."
He offers the three stunned men a parting nod before slipping in a quick wink in your direction. He turns, unbothered, already moving to take care of the growing line of customers at the front counter.
The silence at the table stretches for five agonizing seconds as all four of you watch Seonghwa calmly stroll back behind the counter and greet the first customer in line.
San, who is absolutely bewildered, points an accusing finger at your throat. "What did he do to you?"
"Please shut up," you hiss, horrified by Seonghwa's audacity as you practically strangle yourself with how hard you're clutching the collar around your neck.
"____, you're telling me your tutor did that? Hongjoong left all of those on you?" Yunho asks in disbelief.
"I—well—yes," you choke out, your face burning.
It's not a complete lie. Hongjoong did leave most of them. They simply don't need to know that a few of those marks belong to the very man who just purposefully put them on display.
Was that supposed to be some sort of power move? Or was he genuinely curious if Hongjoong was just as rough alone as he was with his best friend in the room?
"Wow," San says, shaking his head in both horror and respect. "I mean... I knew the quiet ones were supposed to be crazy, but damn."
You let out a distressed squeak, dropping your forehead onto the table. "I'm actually begging you to stop talking about it."
"Okay, fine, then let's talk about the other thing. What the hell was that?" Yeosang asks, his eyes darting back to Seonghwa over your shoulder.
You peek up at him through your arms. "What was what?"
"Seonghwa," Yeosang states plainly. "Why is he calling you 'angel'? And what was that about a gift?"
San points at him in agreement. "Right! I was gonna ask that. Why was he talking to you like you're his girlfriend? And what the fuck did he mean by Hongjoong being 'territorial'?"
You sit up, smoothing down the hoodie as you force your brain to work in overdrive.
"Oh, it was all just part of the plan," you say, waving a dismissive hand as if it's the most obvious thing in the world. "I told you, we had to push Hongjoong over the edge. Seonghwa just... went all out. He bought an IU record to give me as a 'gift' right in front of Hongjoong to set him off."
You gesture down to the other album still resting in your lap. "And it worked! Hongjoong got so jealous that he gave me a record of his own. He... well, okay, this is a little embarrassing, but he packed this bag for me this morning. He was the one who put all of my clothes inside, so I'm guessing he sneakily left Seonghwa's record behind in the process. That's why he was laughing. It proves his strategy worked."
Yunho frowns. "Okay, that makes sense, but... Hongjoong isn't here right now. So why is Seonghwa still using pet names and touching your neck?"
You swallow the massive lump in your throat. "I think that's just how he is," you say honestly, leaning into the half-truth. "It's like when I met him at the bar. He's just a natural flirt. He’s riding the high of last night, and he probably thinks it's fun to flirt with me in front of you guys."
Yeosang raises a highly skeptical eyebrow. "He certainly seemed to enjoy the theatrics of it."
"But how did he know you had those marks?" Yunho presses, not settling for your excuses.
You open your mouth, but your brain can't think of something fast enough. "I... um..."
"Well, he was standing right above her, so he could probably see the edge of them from his angle," Yeosang suggests reasonably.
Yunho slowly nods at this.
"Or he heard them through the wall last night and figured there was some damage left over," San offers with a wicked grin.
You gulp. "For the last time, please shut up, San."
The three of them go quiet, chewing on your scrambled explanation. You hold your breath, your nails digging into the skin of your palms, hoping they don't ask any more questions.
San eventually lets out a loud scoff.
"That guy is a total weirdo," he declares, crossing his arms and glaring toward the counter. "A Grade A, narcissistic weirdo. I don't like him."
Yunho sighs, finally accepting your logic as well. "I mean... it's a little weird to keep the act going when Hongjoong isn't here, but... I guess it makes sense."
"Right," Yeosang agrees, though his observant eyes linger on your flushed face for a second longer than the others. "He made the plan work. That's all that actually matters."
You let out a slow breath, relieved.
"Besides," San adds, his grin returning as he gestures to your covered neck. "It worked really well. I'm curious, does it hurt to turn your head?"
"San!" you hiss, burying your face back into your hands as he laughs.
Yunho lets out a long sigh, reaching across the tiny table to affectionately ruffle your hair. You weakly swat his hand away.
"You're a mess," he says. "A good mess, but still a mess. Go home. Take a long shower. Get some more sleep."
"Yeah," San agrees, standing up and grabbing his empty cup. "Home. Where it's impossible for you to ghost me."
You nod, offering them a tired but genuine smile as the three men gather their things to head back to the dorms. You shove the record back inside the bag and sling it over your shoulder, following them across the café, toward the exit. But as Yeosang holds the door open for you, the chime of the overhead bell makes your feet suddenly stop.
You look back over your shoulder. Seonghwa is behind the counter, swirling a dollop of whipped cream onto a customer's latte.
Something invisible roots you to the floor. You have a hundred questions for him burning a hole in your chest, demanding answers. Was the plan always to sleep with me? Did you know Hongjoong would react that way? Did you know he'd let you touch me, too, instead of dragging me to his room right away? Was any of what you said to me real, or was it all just part of the act? Are you truly someone I can trust, especially now that I'm involved with your best friend?
But as you stare at his perfectly composed, unbothered profile, you realize there's probably no point in asking him any of those things. Seonghwa is smart with his words. He could answer a hundred abstract questions without ever actually handing you a single shred of the truth.
If you're going to ask him anything, it needs to be something he can't charm his way out of. Just to give yourself at least a tiny bit of clarity.
Yeosang pauses in the doorway, realizing what's going through your mind. Though he may not understand why you can't leave without talking to Seonghwa, he meets your eyes and gives a slow, barely perceptible nod.
"We'll wait for you outside," he murmurs, his voice low enough that Yunho and San don't catch it. You give him a grateful smile as he lets the door close between you.
Taking a deep, calming breath, you turn around and walk straight up to the counter.
You wait for Seonghwa to hand the drink off to the customer, lingering silently at the register. The second the cup leaves his hand, his eyes instantly flick to you. A slow, teasing smile spreads across his lips.
"Back for another croissant?" he asks, wiping his hands on a towel as he walks over, leaning a casual hip against the counter. "I have to warn you, I'll need to start charging you for them."
You don't smile back. You lean in closer so no one else in the building can hear you.
"Did you come into his room?" you ask, skipping the pleasantries. "While we were sleeping?"
Seonghwa doesn't flinch, his smile unwavering.
"Your phone was dead," he says simply. "I found it next to your purse in the living room when I was collecting your things. I thought you’d want to be able to text your friends when you finally woke up."
"And you just... walked in while we were sleeping?" you whisper. The image of Seonghwa, fully dressed, quietly turning the handle to Hongjoong's bedroom, standing in the dark, watching the two of you tangled up in the sheets—exhausted from the aftermath of what he started—feels like a strange invasion of nearly all your boundaries.
"I assumed you'd prefer a fully charged battery over total privacy. Besides, I'd already seen everything. I didn't realize you'd still be so shy."
You stare at him, dumbfounded. He doesn't feel an ounce of guilt. In fact, he looks proud of himself.
"And about my gift," he continues, seamlessly pivoting the conversation as he offers a polite nod to a new customer entering the shop, signaling he'll be right with them. "I’ll get it to you eventually, angel. Don’t worry. Joong left it in our apartment on purpose, I imagine. He's always been a bit of a sore loser when it comes to sharing his things around the house. I suppose I should’ve known that possessiveness would translate to you, too."
Sharing. You flinch at the reminder of what the three of you had done only a handful of hours ago.
"I know you're his now," Seonghwa murmurs, his gaze dropping to your lips, then back to your eyes. "And I'm truly happy about that. You really are good for each other. He's my best friend, and naturally, I want the best for him."
He slowly reaches out, his knuckles grazing the fabric of the hoodie covering your collarbone. Covering all the marks he left on you.
"But I still hope you don't forget about me," he says, his voice a mesmerizing, dangerous whisper. "You can try to hide it beneath his clothes, but we both know the truth of what happened last night, angel."
He pulls his hand back and stands up straight, smiling down at you.
"Have a good rest of your day, ____."
You watch silently, rooted to the spot, as he turns to greet the new customer—a stressed-looking student buried under a heavy pile of textbooks—with an easy, relaxed smile.
You can try to hide it beneath his clothes, but we both know the truth.
You don't have any idea what kind of man Seonghwa actually is. Maybe he really did fall for you. Maybe he's jealous that you so clearly prefer Hongjoong over him. Maybe he's trying to manipulate you into believing that because he was the one who pushed the boundaries last night, he now owns a permanent, secret piece of you. Or maybe you're misinterpreting everything; maybe it's simpler than that. Maybe he’s just a bored man who enjoys harmlessly flirting with his best friend's crush. Maybe this was his victory lap: he helped Hongjoong confess, and he got to have a little more fun teasing you before finally stepping back.
Your grip on the bag tightens as you watch him finish up with the customer. Yes, the lines got unimaginably blurred. Yes, you let him touch you, yes, it was intoxicating, and yes, it's a secret you'll guard with your life. But at the end of the day, Seonghwa was only ever the means to an end.
Hongjoong was always the goal. It was Hongjoong's bed you woke up in. It's Hongjoong's record sitting safely at the bottom of your bag. It's Hongjoong's clothes you're wearing. You didn't do any of this for Seonghwa. No matter what mind games his roommate is trying to play, your heart belongs to Hongjoong.
Squaring your shoulders, you lift your chin. You turn your back on the front counter, and this time, you don't look back at the man working behind it.
You push your weight against the door, stepping out into the bright late-morning sun, where Yeosang, San, and Yunho are waiting for you.
They're already a few paces ahead, seamlessly falling back into their usual banter as they argue about where to go for some actual food after they take you home.
You follow a couple of steps behind, slowing your pace and eventually coming to a halt on the sunlit path as a vibration buzzes from inside your bag. You dig out your fully charged phone, tapping the screen. One new notification is waiting for you.
Hongjoong: I meant to tell you earlier—get home safe. Let me know when you're back.
The dots at the bottom of the chat appear, disappear, and reappear three separate times before the next text finally comes through.
Hongjoong: I'm already counting down the hours until Thursday.
A smile spreads across your face, warming you from the inside out. In a matter of seconds, all the residual anxiety and tension from Seonghwa melt away.
You: I will. And me too.
You hesitate before sending a second text.
You: :)
"Hey! What are you doing back there?"
You look up. San is standing a few yards down the path, walking backward as he yells to you, making a show of shivering dramatically. "Come on, it's cold! Walk faster!"
"Relax, I'm coming!" you call back.
You quickly pocket your phone, hurrying to catch up with the three of them.
As you fall into step beside Yunho, you realize that though you're surrounded by three of the loudest men on campus, your mind is finally quiet. For the first time in weeks, there's no confusion. There's no lingering doubt about where you stand, what Hongjoong is thinking, or whether you're just projecting your own desperate feelings onto your tutor.
The lines have been completely crossed. You aren't just his student anymore. You don't think you ever really were.
And even though you've finally gotten exactly what you wanted, somehow, Thursday's session still can't seem to come fast enough.
@ queenofsa1gon, 2026. please do not steal, copy, or translate my work! thank you <33
An unreal silence, as though someone had switched off the world. You hear only the beat of your heart, dull and deep.
One breath. Then another. Your eyes snap open and the sea is gone, so is the deck.
Before you, there are only the wooden walls of your cabin, the oil lamp still burning faintly, and the sheet twisted between your fingers.
Your heart hammers in your chest, your skin is damp with sweat, and for one long instant you cannot tell whether you are still dreaming.
You pull yourself upright, breathing deeply, trying to make sense of all of it.
The Natalius is quiet. No screams, no chaos. Only the sea, calm, gently caressing the hull.
You press a hand to your chest and close your eyes for a moment, but you cannot shake off that feeling… as though the dream had not been a dream. As though something out there had truly awakened.
Outside, the night is still deep. Moonlight filters dimly through the porthole, drawing silver lines across the floor. You wipe your forehead with the back of your hand, your breath still broken, and only now do you realize how badly your fingers are trembling.
You look around. Your cabin is silent, orderly as always, and for a moment the anxiety tightening your chest loosens.
Then your eyes settle on something.
On the nightstand, beside the oil lamp, lies the ring. Thin, golden, with that small blue stone reflecting the light like a drop of living water.
You let out a long sigh of relief, as though seeing it were enough to remind you that everything you dreamed was not real. It was only a dream, you tell yourself, even though the voice inside you does not sound entirely convinced.
You lie down again, the blankets sliding over you like a warm caress. You close your eyes for an instant, then open them again, uneasy.
You reach toward the ring, take it, and hold it in your palm, slowly turning it between your fingers. The stone catches the moonlight, and for a moment it seems alive, as though something inside it is moving, a small current, like the reflection of a storm-tossed sea.
You look at it, caught between fascination and nervousness. It is strange how it makes you feel calm and unsettled at the same time, as though inside that golden circle there is something that recognizes you.
Your fingers stroke it without thinking, and you find yourself wondering what story it truly hides.
Where does it come from? Who forged it? And above all… why, when you touch it, do you feel the same energy you felt before the dream?
A small shiver escapes you. Perhaps you are only impressionable.
You close your hand around the ring, gripping it in your fist as though it could protect you from any shadow. The metal is cold against your skin, but that icy sensation reassures you more than you would like to admit. You turn onto your side and, with your body still tense, stare for a while at the pale reflection of the moon slipping across the ceiling.
It is only suggestion, you repeat to yourself.
Only Lina’s words turning around in your head, her trembling whisper.
“…a ghost of a man… a pirate.”
You force yourself to laugh softly, almost to convince yourself that it truly is foolishness, the tale of a frightened child. But something in the way she said it has remained inside you like an echo.
Perhaps it is only agitation, perhaps you are tired, perhaps the sea is playing cruel tricks on you. You close your eyes, inhaling slowly, trying to calm the irregular beat of your heart.
You turn over several times in bed, but sleep refuses to return. Every time you close your eyes, you see that black sea again, the voice whispering to you in the dark. In the end, you surrender, huff softly, and sit up, slipping into your dressing gown.
…..
The cabin is wrapped in silence, and the only sound you hear is the faint creaking of the wood beneath the slow roll of the Natalius.
Driven by an unease you cannot explain, you climb onto the deck. The air is cold, damp, and a veil of dense, milky fog stretches all around like a living mantle. You stop abruptly: there should not be fog, not at this hour, not with this wind. You slowly approach the railing, clutching your dressing gown to your chest and trying to peer beyond the grey veil.
Every step feels muffled, as though the world itself is holding its breath. You bend to grasp the rail, but trip over the hem of your gown and hear a clink: something falls.
The ring.
You crouch quickly, your heart pounding, and your fingers find it on the damp wood of the deck. You close it in your fist and rise instinctively, turning—
A silhouette.
In front of you.
Tall, motionless, barely visible in the fog. Your eyes try to focus, but panic rises into your throat, and a scream escapes you, cutting through the silence of the night.
Before you, emerging like a ghost from the mist, appears the familiar face of Commodore Norrington. Your hand slips instinctively to your chest, trying to calm the heart hammering there.
“Aurora,” he says, his tone calm, though there is a hint of surprise in his gaze. “Forgive me… I didn’t mean to frighten you.”
You let out a small sigh of relief. “Oh, Commodore… you scared me half to death. What are you doing out here at this hour?”
He inclines his head slightly, and the shadow of a smile brushes his lips. “It is my duty. A few men and I are keeping watch. The fog is thick tonight… better not to let our guard down.”
You feel foolish. Of course. It was obvious. You pull your dressing gown tighter around yourself and lower your gaze, biting your lip. “Right… of course. Sorry, I don’t even know why I asked. I should go back below.”
You are about to turn away when a sudden shout tears through the unreal calm of the night.
“Ship in sight!”
You freeze.
The Commodore straightens at once, his hand on the hilt of his sword. The fog, instead of thinning, seems to grow thicker still, a white wall swallowing every outline. You look around, searching for the shape of the ship that has been sighted, but you see nothing… only shadows moving in the grey, as though the sea itself is taking form.
You turn toward Norrington. He too stares into the void, his lips pressed tight, ready for anything.
“Stay behind me, Aurora,” Norrington says, his voice low but firm.
He doen’t need to say it twice. The Commodore’s tone allows no hesitation. You move instinctively, one step, then another, and stop behind him, your heart beating like a drum beneath your skin.
The fog before you sways, bends as though pushed by a deep breath… and then opens.
What reveals itself beyond it steals the air from your lungs.
A ship.
Immense, dark, silent.
Its hull, smooth as obsidian, gleams faintly beneath the wavering moonlight filtering through the haze in broken patches. The sails, black as pitch, are swollen by a wind you cannot feel, and the ropes hanging from the yards sway as though they are alive.
Its profile is regal and threatening all at once, a shadow carved upon the sea.
You can hardly breathe. You have never seen anything like it, and yet it is impossible to look away.
Your eyes instinctively seek the flag, high upon the mainmast. It is black, naturally, but it does not bear the usual skull and crossbones.
In its place is a broken hourglass, and beneath it, a strange symbol, an interlacing of golden lines that escapes you, like an ancient secret.
And yet one glance lower is enough to dispel any doubt: beneath that flag flies another, smaller one, marked with the classic white skull grinning in the wind.
Pirate.
The blood freezes in your veins, but something else ignites inside you as well; a dangerous spark, a mixture of fear and fascination. You cannot deny it: that ship is a nightmare… but also a vision.
Elegant in its darkness, beautiful in its threat. It seems alive, as though the sea itself had shaped it and the fog were its cloak.
The Commodore takes a step forward, drawing his sword, while you remain motionless, breath suspended, your eyes fixed on that creature of wood and shadow now approaching silently alongside the Natalius.
The gunports on the lower deck of the enemy ship fly open all at once, one after the other, like demonic eyes opening in the dark. You need only a single instant to understand.
“Commodore—” you barely manage to say, but your voice is swallowed by the uproar that follows.
“Take cover!” Norrington shouts, his voice cutting through the night like a whip.
A flash.
Then a roar that tears the fog apart.
The cannons thunder, and the sea explodes with light and smoke.
The impact hurls you away like a rag doll. You don’t even know how it happens, only that you feel your body fly, the air tear a scream from you, and then the dull blow against the wood of the deck. Pain passes through you in a hot, stinging wave, while chaos reigns around you: screams, shattering glass, snapping ropes, and the whistle of cannonballs slicing through the air.
Your head spins, smoke burns your eyes, and you find yourself lying on the other side of the Natalius. Your ears ring, as though the sea itself is screaming.
The cry of the bell begins to echo as the night is ripped into a thousand pieces. Everyone is running. Soldiers slip across the wet planks, the Commodore’s orders are lost among the thunder, and the sky seems to split open above the Natalius.
For a moment, you remain still, the wind pushing your hair across your face, your mouth full of salt and fear.
“To your battle stations! Raise the cannons!”
Your father’s voice reaches you distorted, as though from a distant dream. The Governor stands on the upper deck, sword drawn, his white cloak whipping beneath the rain that is beginning to fall.
A flash of lightning.
And suddenly you see it: the enemy ship rising through the haze like a nightmare from the depths of the sea.
A volley of shots tears through the air. The Natalius’s cannons roar, but smoke covers everything. Your ears whistle, your chest tightens. You duck instinctively, feeling a splinter of wood graze your cheek.
Your father shouts, but his voice is lost.
Then there is an explosion.
A red flare that lights the deck like hell itself. The force throws you back to the ground, water rises, fire devours the mainsail, and rain mixes with ash.
You struggle to get up, your hands slipping on the wet wood.
Everything is noise: metal, screams, waves, the roar of the sea crashing against the hull.
The enemy ship is close now, so close you can hear the roar of its cannons, see the silhouettes of pirates leaping aboard like living shadows.
You hear a gunshot. Then another. A soldier falls beside you, blood mixing with the water, and you scream in fright.
Then a voice whispers in your ear.
“Run… or die.”
Instinctively, you touch your pocket in search of the ring. You pull it out, trembling. It shines, as though the storm itself is drawn to it, and as you hold it in your palm, you feel a subtle warmth pulsing against your skin, out of rhythm with your heart.
While you continue staring at it, as though enchanted, the other ship strikes the Natalius with a violent crash. The world tilts. Your feet slide, and when you fall, the railing strikes your ribs.
In that instant, you see someone watching you.
There is a figure on the enemy’s mainmast, a man dressed in black, his eyes shining as though he has seen something that interests him. He smiles slowly, as though he recognizes you. In response, the gem of the ring vibrates harder.
At that exact moment, the ships lock together. Iron grappling hooks fly through the waves, chains pull taut, and the distance between the two decks vanishes. Pirates leap aboard shouting, cutting through the rain with their blades.
“Aurora!” your father shouts, his voice hard as he tries to be heard over the cannon fire. “You must leave the ship, now! Go to the lifeboats!”
You look at him, your heart beating too hard. The ring pulses against your skin, warm, almost alive.
“And Lina?” you ask at once, your voice cracking.
“There is no time for this!” he snaps, gripping your shoulders to bring you back to yourself. “You must get to safety, Aurora. I order you to do it!”
But you do not let him finish.
Something inside you — perhaps the memory of that frightened child’s face, or perhaps the burn still running through your arm — takes over.
You slip out of his grasp with a quick, almost instinctive movement.
“Aurora!” your father shouts, trying to catch you again, but you have already run.
The stairs leading below deck are lit in broken flashes by cannon fire, and the air is thick with smoke and dust. You cling to the handrail to keep from falling as the ship tilts to one side, and you hear footsteps, screams, prayers from those fighting and those dying.
You don’t stop. You can’t.
You race down, your hair sticking to your face, your breath short and fear biting inside you, but your mind is fixed on a single thought:
Lina.
The child you promised to protect. The one you will not let die.
A sudden roar shakes the entire ship, and a cannonball tears through the wood only a few steps away from you. Splinters scratch your skin, smoke fills your lungs, and you are thrown against the opposite wall with a choked groan. Your breath leaves you.
The ring slips from your hand, bouncing across the floor with a metallic clink, small but deafening amid the chaos.
“No!” you scream, your voice broken by panic.
You throw yourself to the ground, scraping your knees on the damp wood, searching for it among splinters and pieces of burnt fabric.
Your heart hammers in your ears, the floor vibrates, the air tastes of salt and death. At last, your fingers touch the cold metal, and without thinking, you slide it onto your finger.
Better to risk dying with it than losing it. Do you truly think that? You are not really sure.
The moment the ring slips past your knuckle, something changes. A tremor passes through the air, like a submerged heartbeat. Time seems to slow, the sound of the cannons distorts, and an invisible sound wave spreads around you, vibrating along the deck, through the wood, through the water, and dispersing into the sea.
You do not notice it, but for one instant the ocean’s surface ripples by itself, as though something beneath it has awakened.
A deep echo answers that vibration, far away, ancient, and the Sea listens.
Meanwhile, you spring to your feet, breath short, hands trembling, and clutch the finger on which the ring has now become one with your skin… warm, pulsing, alive.
Only then do you realize you can no longer feel its edge.
It is as though it has always been yours.
The sea seeps beneath the doors, rising to your feet. Everything trembles, everything groans. You cling to a pillar, and when you think you cannot go on, a whisper, sweet and distant, passes through your ears.
“Run… or you will drown with him.”
You turn, but there is no one. Only the sound of the sea breaking, and the ring’s gem pulsing warm, like a small heart alien to your own.
You begin to run again, blind, driven by instinct. You feel the Natalius groaning beneath the blows, the planks splitting, the light of lightning filtering like knives through the hatchways. You descend the last ladder almost stumbling, breath shattered, hands shaking from adrenaline, while smoke now makes your eyes water.
The corridor is a maze of shadows shaken by the roar of cannons. The wood groans, the lamps swing as though about to go out, and then you hear the crying.
“Lina!”
You rush toward the half-open door from which the sobbing comes and force it open with your shoulder. The child is there, curled behind a crate, knees drawn to her chest, her face streaked with tears and ash. As soon as she sees you, she runs to you and wraps her arms around your side as though afraid she might vanish at any moment.
“Aurora… Aurora, I’m scared…”
You stroke her hair, trying to stop the trembling of your fingers. “Everything will be all right. You have to trust me, okay?”
The ship lurches and the floor tilts, a deafening thunder roaring above you and making the walls shake. You have no more time. You bend down and search for her hand. “Follow me. And do not let go of my hand.”
You run.
Step after step, stumbling, throwing open random doors in the hope of finding shelter. Smoke burns your eyes, the noise crushes you, but you keep pulling Lina with you, never slowing. You enter a large storage room, perhaps a small galley, and throw yourselves inside.
You close the door behind you and lean against the wood for an instant, your heartbeat rushing through you harder than the ship. A moment of respite.
No more than that.
Because someone kicks the door open.
And for one instant, you think it is a pirate.
You turn sharply, ready to put your body between Lina and whoever has come in, but it is one of your father’s soldiers. Young, his gaze frightened and determined.
His uniform is torn, his sword bloody. “Miss Swann… are you hurt?”
“No… but we need to find somewhere safe.”
He nods, panting. He plants himself in front of you like a wall of flesh and loyalty, though the hand gripping the sword is trembling. “Do not leave the child. I’ll get you out of—”
But suddenly his body jerks as a roar tears through the air, and the wall beside him explodes into splinters of wood and fire. A cannonball breaks through the opposite wall like a demon.
You cover your face with one arm, the heat burning your skin. When you open your eyes, the soldier is on the ground.
Motionless.
You stare at him for an instant that feels eternal, your mind refusing to accept what it sees. Lina sobs, clinging to you.
You breathe once. Twice.
You bend over his body. Gently, you move his hand away from the sword; his fingers had let go before his heart stopped beating.
“I… I’m sorry,” you whisper, without knowing to whom.
To him. To yourself. To the sea.
Then you take the sword.
It is warm, heavy, stained with blood, but in your hand it does not tremble.
“Aurora…” Lina tugs at your sleeve, her eyes wet.
You crouch and look straight at her. “Listen to me carefully. We run now. Without stopping, no matter what happens. Understand?”
She nods, tears glimmering at the edges of her eyes. You take her hand, tight, small, vital, and throw the door open.
The ring on your finger pulses.
Once.
Twice.
As though it feels every movement.
You continue down the long corridor until the end, before the only room that seems intact. You fling the door open, and the smell of dust, salt, and sour wine hits you at once. The room is large, but drowned in compact, solid darkness that seems to drip from the walls like pitch. Only an overturned candleholder on the floor gives off a weak glow; the rest is chaos, crates and barrels.
You push Lina inside first, then close the door softly, your breath short, as though every sound might draw a hostile shadow. Your back presses against the wood, and for an instant your heart hammers so loudly it drowns out even the cannons above.
Your pupils widen little by little until the shapes emerge: stacked barrels, burlap sacks stinking of rotten spices, coils of rope, a table overturned on its side. The room is large enough to hide you for a few minutes, perhaps less.
But for now, only for now, it is shelter.
Lina clutches your arm with all the strength she has, her small fingers like iron. You lift her into your arms and move through the darkness, advancing in small steps, brushing surfaces to orient yourself.
The floor is slanted.
The ship is taking on water.
“Aurora… it’s cold,” Lina whispers, her voice reduced to a thread. You hold her tight against your chest, her warm breath brushing your neck, as you search for a spot beyond the lantern’s reach.
At last, you find it: a hidden corner behind a pile of crates, a gap just wide enough to slip into sideways. You crouch behind that shelter with Lina in your lap, the sword resting on the floor beside your thigh, your fingers ready to close around it.
It is there, in that thick, filthy darkness, that you realize how badly your body is trembling. You inhale slowly, forcing your shoulders to still.
“Shh… I’m here,” you murmur, almost voicelessly.
Lina nods against your chest, then lifts her face slightly. Her wide, shining eyes reflect the trembling flame of the lantern lying half-extinguished on the floor.
Beyond the door, the ship groans under another blow. Something rolls along the corridor with a metallic clang; then a scream, a choked sob, the sound of a body being dragged.
You remain motionless.
The air smells of rotten wood and terror. Every sound filters through the door like a threat. And yet, for a few seconds, with the sword at your side and Lina in your arms, you feel a hard strength growing inside you, fierce and determined.
The world outside may collapse. But you must get Lina out of this hell. And something — an ancient instinct, or perhaps the echo of the ring on your finger — whispers that you will succeed.
No matter the cost.
Suddenly, silence falls.
The world above you, which only an instant before was a living hell, now… feels as if it has stopped.
It is not the quiet after a battle. It is an unnatural suspension, an emptiness more frightening than the roar of cannons.
You strain your ears, but there is nothing. No footsteps, no orders, no shots. Not even the wind: the storm is holding its breath.
You hold Lina a little tighter. The child wraps her thin arms around your neck, pressing her face into your shoulder. You feel her warm, uneven breathing.
The floor no longer trembles, the ship no longer groans. The water, which before was rising along the corridor like a ravenous beast, is now still.
This stillness is wrong. Too complete, too sudden. It is the quiet of death, not salvation.
You wet your lip with your tongue; the salty, metallic taste brings you back to reality. Two possibilities hammer in your mind: the pirates have won, or the Commodore and his men have driven back the assault.
You know very well which one you hope for, but something else twists your stomach.
This silence does not smell of victory.
It smells of an ending.
Lina lifts her face slightly, her eyes shining like two wet pearls. “Did they win?”
You do not answer at once.
For a moment, you think of your father: of his steady gaze, of the voice that did not tremble even before storms. Of the way he looked at you with a pride he never put into words.
Then of the Commodore, of his severity, of the men at his side.
All honorable men.
All ready to defend you.
All… far too silent now.
You inhale slowly. “I don’t know… but I have a bad feeling.”
It is the truth. Bare. Sharp.
Lina nods against your chest, as though she understands more than she should. She strokes your arm, a small, desperate gesture.
Hidden behind the crates, in that room smelling of damp and fear, you wait. With a blade between your fingers and a child in your arms.
With the sea outside silent, as though listening.
It knows you are still alive.
And it knows you should not be.
The sword is warm, your hand cold. The ring on your finger pulses slowly, a heartbeat that is not yours.
Then you hear something.
At first, it is a distant sound, almost confused within the unnatural silence ruling the ship.
A step.
Then another.
Regular, deliberate, as though whoever is walking is neither hurried nor afraid.
You hold your breath. The sword tightens in your hand.
Lina goes rigid in your arms, like a little bird sensing the predator’s approach.
The steps draw closer, and the wood creaks beneath a light, elastic weight.
Two people, perhaps three.
They move with a confidence that chills you.
Then a sound that should not exist in a place that smells of death.
Whistling.
Cheerful, carefree.
Almost… amused.
A simple melody, three repeated notes, a small sound wave slipping into the dark. It does not belong to an imperial soldier. It does not belong to your father. It does not belong to anyone you know.
It is the song of someone who owns his own fate.
And yours.
Lina buries her face against your collarbone, trembling. You pass a hand along her back without taking your eyes from the door.
The whistling stops exactly in front of it, and immediately after, you hear a step coming even closer, slow, precise. Then… the touch of a hand on the metal handle.
Lina flinches.
You grip the hilt until your knuckles turn white.
Your blood boils in your veins — not only fear, but something harder.
Rage.
For your ship. For the fallen men. For what they still mean to take from you.
“If he comes in,” you whisper through your teeth, “he will not have us easily.”
“Aurora… don’t leave me.”
“I won’t.” Your voice is low, taut as a violin string about to snap. “Whatever happens, I won’t.”
The handle moves slightly, then stops. For one second, you think whoever is outside is listening to your held breath.
Then a low, velvet, impossibly cheerful voice slips through the door.
“I told you they were still here.”
He is speaking to someone else, with the amused challenge of a man winning a bet. Another presence beyond the door mutters something incomprehensible, grave, impatient. The contrast is clear: one sounds like a smile, the other like a shadow.
You hold Lina with one arm and lift the sword slightly.
Then that same voice addresses you directly. The tone changes only a little, becoming softer.
Sharper.
More… curious.
“I know you’re in there.” A brief pause, almost theatrical. “I saw you, you know.”
Lina startles, but you remain still, like a beast in its den. Inside, though, something clicks. You saw him: a silhouette moving with inhuman grace among the ropes of the mainmast, dressed in black, agile as the wind. And now that voice belongs to him.
He continues, pleased with himself. “I saw a beautiful maiden running away when our ships locked together. An elegant run, desperate, but… fascinating.”
Lina grips you harder.
Your throat goes dry — not from terror, for you have already turned that into a blade, but from the strange clarity of his comment. It is not an insult. It is not a simple threat.
It is recognition.
“Did you think I wouldn’t follow you? That I wouldn’t notice your little shadow running below deck?”
You can hear him smile.
You do not need to see it.
Another voice, lower and more rigid, calls him back to silence. An irritated breath, a “do not jest” disguised as restraint.
He laughs softly, a sound that slides down your spine.
Then he whispers, “Come out, little stars. I will not hurt you… unless you try to hurt me.”
The ring on your finger vibrates as though those words have touched it.
Your breathing shortens.
On the other side of the door, you hear a brief huff, an exhalation of almost theatrical impatience. Then the whistling one murmurs, lightly but with the edge of an order:
“San, break down the door.”
Your heart skips a beat.
You bend down and brush Lina’s ear.
“Listen carefully: when I tell you, run. Do not look back. Understand?”
She nods, small and trembling, but stubborn.
You do not have time to hold her one last time before the world explodes into a shower of wood.
The door gives way with a sharp roar, breaking in half. A dark figure bursts in like fury: a physical, heavy presence, his step shaking the floor, his breath vibrating in the air.
Behind him, lighter, quicker, the whistling returns for a moment, only to make himself recognizable.
The first, the more massive one, enters with the force of a wave. The second slips into the room like a waking shadow, watchful eyes, a predator’s elegance.
The overturned lantern casts games of light and darkness over their figures. One searches the corners. The other moves calmly, hands at his sides, as though he has all the time in the world.
They do not speak.
There is only the sound of their steps on the slanted floor.
Every muscle in your body tightens.
Lina is motionless against you.
The larger one lifts crates, overturns barrels, his breath heavy. The other, the one with the silk voice, moves almost amused, like a feline playing with its prey.
Then he speaks again.
“One of you…” he murmurs, letting the words slide between barrels and shadows, “…has a golden thing that is calling to us.”
Your hand slips instinctively toward the ring, hidden between Lina’s fingers. The gem, as though it has heard itself named, pulses harder, almost painfully.
He continues, lowering his voice. “It’s curious, you know? The way it shines for us.”
One step.
Then another.
“And even more curious,” he goes on, “that it is being carried by the maiden dressed in white.”
You hear him approaching without seeing him.
“A dressing gown so… pure,” he murmurs, “is not made for running, you know?”
Lina tightens against you, and you grip the hilt, fingers hard, knuckles white.
“But I admit,” he whispers, “it suits you.”
The air around you warms.
He is there.
“They’re back here, San…” he murmurs, and his companion goes still. “Do you see the hem of the white dress?”
The blood freezes in your veins as you realize the mistake you have made. You lower your gaze and notice the hem of your dressing gown sticking out slightly from behind the crates. An innocent strip of fabric turned into a sentence.
The giant’s heavy step approaches.
Lina clings to your back.
You bend toward her. “When I tell you… run.”
She nods, eyes shining.
The man’s enormous hand settles on the crate. His breath brushes you.
You have one second.
“Now.”
You push Lina toward the dark corridor. You hear her dart away. Her footsteps vanish, and in that same instant, you rise.
The sword flashes before you, the blade catching what little light remains. Time fractures. The crate trembles. The first man’s eyes widen when he sees you, and the other’s figure snaps toward you.
You stand there, sword extended.
Before you, the first is enormous. Broad shoulders, powerful arms, a sculpted chest. Red hair, bright as embers, plastered to his forehead. A scar cuts across his jaw. His dark eyes pass through you.
You do not have time to look at the second, slimmer one, because the moment he sees Lina dart into the corridor, he disappears after her, swift.
“Hey! Where are you running, little star?”
You are left alone with him.
San.
The red-haired man does not move.
He watches you.
There is no mercy in that stare. No haste. Only assessment. He tilts his head to the side. His attention slips from your blade to your face, then back to the blade. He seems to measure the distance between your will and your fear.
The message, in the silence, is clear:
You will never beat me. But I want to see if you try.
He brings a hand to the hilt and draws his sword. The metal sings a low sound. The blade is dark, marked. When he lifts it, the trembling lantern light reflects in a slash of silver.
Then you see him grin.
A slow grin, crooked, barely there.
Just enough to make you understand that he does not fear you.
Your chest tightens. Not because of the danger, but because of that smile.
So you grip the hilt, your arms tense, and your feet find purchase.
“Don’t look at me like that,” you murmur, “or you’ll regret it.”
He does not answer. He lifts his chin slightly, as though inviting you.
You do not wait another second. You spring forward, aiming the sword at his side, then change at the last moment, striking for his armed arm.
Metal clashes against metal with a clang that vibrates all the way to your bones. He yields by a single fraction, not because he cannot hold, but by choice.
His eyes gleam.
Something in you has interested him.
You separate. You take a step back; the floor is slippery, but you remain standing.
He advances calmly, keeping his sword low and his posture relaxed. You seize the chance and attack again with a quick lateral slash, but he deflects the blade with the barest movement.
You try again, thrusting toward his chest. He shifts aside. You graze his shirt and tear it. His grin widens.
“You like staring, don’t you?” you spit, circling him, your breath hot in your throat.
He takes a step.
Then another.
He lets you attack.
Lets you try.
As though he is testing you.
Another blow, high, then low. He parries, almost effortlessly, then retreats by a single step, inviting you to follow.
Your arms burn, but you do not give in.
The blade trembles between your fingers as you search for an opening. He offers you one, too easy.
You do not take it.
You aim for his side with a sudden change.
The blow grazes his cheek, leaving a scratch, a thin red line.
For the first time, his eyes no longer shine with mere satisfaction.
They shine with danger.
He pushes forward, fast. His blade overturns yours with a fierce clang, his arm striking your side and making you lose ground.
You stagger back two steps. His presence fills the space. You attack again in desperation, but he parries with a sharp blow. The metal screams.
You move around a crate to gain distance, but he is faster. He grabs your sword arm and pulls you toward him. In an instant, you find yourself trapped between his arms, your back against his chest.
His grip slides from your shoulder to your hand and tightens, sending a sharp pain through your fingers. The sword slips from your grasp and falls to the floor with a clang that sounds like a sentence.
The air leaves you when you feel his breath, slow and warm, brushing your ear.
He tells you, without speaking, that it could end there.
But you do not surrender. You lift your knees toward your chest and push against the crate in front of you, making him lose his balance for an instant.
And that is enough to send you both falling.
His arm slips away from you, and you roll to the side, your hands searching for something.
Anything.
He mutters a curse. He grabs your arm, and you turn like a cornered animal, biting into his hand.
You sink your teeth into his flesh, and salt and blood flood your mouth.
He releases a strangled cry, low and feral.
His grip loosens, then he lets go completely. You take advantage and scramble away on all fours, your knees sliding on the wet floor. You grab the first thing you see: a heavy metal candleholder overturned on the ground.
You seize it.
Turn.
He is already halfway to his feet. His face tense, his breathing furious.
You strike.
The candleholder smashes against his cheekbone with a dull thud. His head snaps to the side, blood staining his skin and splattering across the floor.
You do not wait.
You launch yourself toward the door, breath short, the candleholder still in your hand.
You run.
The ship trembles.
Behind you, you hear a growl.
In the devastated corridor, the walls are split, the planks broken like ribs. Water seeps through the joints, sliding beneath your feet. Smoke scratches your throat.
You glance back.
One heartbeat.
A glimpse into the dark…
And you crash into someone.
The impact tears the breath from you. The candleholder slips from your hand and rolls across the floor.
You stumble two steps back, swaying.
You slowly lift your head, because it is impossible to look him straight in the eyes without making an effort. He is tall, much taller than San, and his bearing makes you feel small and vulnerable. His short pink hair, slightly disheveled, catches the torchlight and frames his face in an almost unreal contrast.
There is a thin but evident scar crossing his right eyebrow, a mark that speaks of past battles and someone who does not fear pain. His dark eyes study you with curiosity and amusement, as though he is observing a small animal trapped in a net.
He tilts his head to the side, an almost imperceptible inclination, and a disturbing smile spreads across his face. It is not a friendly smile: it is a veiled threat, a cruel game that freezes the blood in your veins. His expression tells you at once that he is dangerous and that he does not forgive easily.
You remain still, holding your breath, while he watches you, amused by your confusion and fear.
His voice strikes you like a metallic whisper, low but clear, with a tone that mixes amusement and threat. It is hoarse, slightly abrasive, and yet incredibly controlled, as though every word is chosen to make you tremble without his needing to lift a finger.
“I found you.”
You feel paralyzed, incapable of answering, while the heat of the ring on your finger seems to intensify, as though reacting to his presence.
The unsettling smile on his lips does not fade; if anything, it widens slightly as he observes you carefully, as though reading your thoughts and the frantic beat of your heart.
You step back again, your feet scraping across the floor while your heart races wildly. You want to run, to get away, to find some improvised shelter, but before you can fully turn, something stops you.
Strong arms seize you from behind, the grip firm and inescapable, preventing you from moving. You go rigid, breathless, and taste the metallic tang of anxiety on your lips.
When your eyes finally meet the face of your captor, you understand at once that it is San.
He is breathless, his chest rising and falling quickly. His red hair, disheveled and bright even in the corridor’s dimness, seems almost to catch fire beneath the weak light. His black eyes fix on you with an intense anger, so deep it makes every muscle in your body tense and still.
The blood on his hands and mouth only sharpens the wild, dangerous air surrounding him. Every breath he takes is quick and heavy, and his stare seems to pierce through you, making it very clear that he is furious… and that you are the reason for that fury.
On his face there is only pure anger, barely controlled, and the certainty that he will not let you go without obtaining what he wants. The ring on your finger seems to vibrate, as though it too senses the tension and his rage, amplifying the fear gripping your stomach.
The other laughs, a low, sarcastic sound echoing through the narrow corridor, almost teasing the already tangible tension. “I see you have the situation under control, Sannie,” he says, his tone mocking and amused, emphasizing the nickname with a note of ridicule for the wound you inflicted on him moments before.
San, unaware of the mockery, suddenly jerks you back. Your shoulders hit his chest, the contact tight and suffocating. You feel trapped, your arms pinned by his muscular body as he grips you hard, as if determined to prevent any movement.
Your heartbeat quickens even more; you feel the heat of his body, the smell of blood and gunpowder, and every fiber of your being screams to break free. But San does not let you go, and his gaze is fixed on the other boy with pink hair.
San clenches his teeth, his body still tense, his hands gripping your arms with force. His voice is low and threatening, soaked in restrained anger. “Do you want the same treatment, Mingi?”
Mingi.
San and Mingi.
You memorize their names.
Mingi laughs and slowly comes closer. He watches you with curious, malicious eyes. “She’s pretty…” he says, tilting his head slightly, as though studying a little collector’s item. “We could keep her…”
He chuckles, a light and cruel sound that makes you shiver. His attention on you makes you feel vulnerable, and the ring on your finger pulses even harder, as though it senses the danger closing in.
You feel anger explode through your body.
With a quick movement, you push back against San’s chest, using his grip as leverage. Your legs bend and then snap upward, a sharp leap that surprises even you. The air whistles in your ears as you fly for an instant, and the world narrows down to the single target before you:
Mingi.
The contact is brutal and perfect. The sole of your foot finds its destination with all the strength you have, and a strangled cry bursts from Mingi’s mouth as his body folds abruptly in two. You see his face change, his eyes widening, his mouth searching for an insult and producing only a wheeze of pain.
He instinctively brings his hands down, trying to remedy what you have done, while his knees give way and a tremor shakes him from within.
San, caught off guard, loosens his grip slightly in astonishment.
“Fucking bitch,” Mingi says through his teeth, a rasp of rage and pain.
You grin, satisfied. “Say it again!” Your voice is hoarse, full of challenge, and a shiver of pleasure runs through you because you have finally fought back.
But before you can enjoy the moment, something suddenly falls over your face. A dark fabric, rough and cold, wraps around your head and leaves you in total darkness. For an instant, the air leaves you as you try to breathe through the sack, your heart pounding against your ribs as though it wants to escape.
You feel strong arms lift you from the ground, the weight of your own fear mingling with the strength of the person carrying you. You try to struggle, to kick, to tear yourself away from the hands holding you, but San’s grip is iron, relentless, and every movement you make feels useless.
The corridor, the screams, the thunder of cannons and footsteps all recede quickly as you are dragged away, the world you knew reduced to a blurred memory. The darkness of the sack wraps around you completely; every point of reference disappears, and with it your ability to understand where you are or who is taking you.
Your heartbeat accelerates, fear tightens your stomach, but soon your body begins to give in to exhaustion and shock. Your muscles relax against the force supporting you, your breathing growing uneven.
And finally, as the whole world shrinks into total darkness, you hear nothing anymore.
…..
The darkness is absolute and the sack is suffocating you, but your senses are more alert than ever before. Every sound, every rustle becomes sharper. The footsteps bouncing against the ship’s wood, the creak of the planks beneath the weight of unknown bodies, the shouts and male laughter. Everything speaks to you of a world you know only from forbidden stories.
The world of pirates.
You see nothing, but you feel their excitement, the sharp smell of sea and sweat, the metallic clinking of swords and keys. Someone laughs loudly, another shouts orders you do not understand, and your heart feels as though it might burst in your chest. The sack presses against your face, and you try to breathe slowly, trying not to be heard.
The familiar world of the Natalius seems far away, dissolved into noise, confusion, and fear. The thought of Lina, of your father, of the Commodore, twists your stomach.
Where are they? Are they safe?
You try to move, to understand which direction you are facing, but your body is trapped and restrained.
And then, above everything else, there is a strange sensation. The ring on your finger pulses with a dull, almost painful heat. It is as though it senses the pirates’ nearness, as though they themselves are calling to it. A shiver runs down your spine, and you understand that you are not only in danger: that thing you carry with you, the ring, is what brought you here.
The sack suffocates you even more as you try to breathe, but your mind runs fast. You have to understand where you are, who has taken you, and above all, how to protect Lina.
San grabs you by the waist and lifts you as though you are an object. You feel the air tear away, an emptiness beneath your feet.
And then he throws you to the ground.
The impact knocks the breath out of you. The wood of the deck strikes your back and arms, and for an instant everything spins, everything vibrates, everything stings. The sack over your face amplifies the darkness, chokes your breath, confuses your sense of direction.
You do not know where the sky is, you do not know where the bow is, you do not even know where he is.
But you recognize his presence.
You feel him looming like a storm above your head as he pulls you up by your forearms. And in the silence of a heartbeat, your anger explodes.
“You’re an animal!” you spit, your voice hoarse, still uncertain in the darkness of the sack. “Has no one ever taught you the meaning of the word kindness?!”
Silence.
A dense silence. Thick.
And then the others explode into loud, filthy laughter that spreads across the deck like a wave of mad seagulls.
“Well, look what they found,” comments a deeper voice, followed by a chorus of jeers.
Another laughs. “Aren’t we brave…”
And another. “Fiery little thing…” Then they all burst out laughing.
How embarrassing.
You listen to their voices, the vulgar comments, the tones thick with ignorance, and you feel a hot wave rise inside you, slow and fierce as lava.
Men are all the same, you think. Every single group, every ship, every uniform. The sea changes, the flags change, but they do not: they behave like predators convinced they have a right to anything that comes within reach. They laugh at other people’s suffering, boast about things they have not done, pretend to be strong when in truth they are only terrified of being worth nothing.
Idiots.
Arrogant.
Crude.
And you’ve met enough of them in your life to recognize them even without seeing them. The sack over your head changes nothing.
The ring on your finger pulses again, harder, as though it senses the voices around you and the attention fixed on you. It is a shiver that runs down your spine and reminds you, with cruel clarity, that you are in their world now, and that every breath you take, every movement you make, is being watched.
Behind you, you hear Mingi’s voice, sharp and irritated. “Don’t let her fool you. She’s like a donkey. She kicks.”
The others burst into false laughter, a chorus of surprise and mockery filling the air.
“Really? A little monster like that?” one exclaims, while another pretends to be terrified, beating his hands against his chest.
Tired and frustrated, you roll your eyes. The situation is ridiculous, and yet the shiver of fear does not leave you. You feel like an animal in a cage, watched and studied by everyone, every gesture you make commented on, weighed, mocked.
San is still holding you still, his hands firm around your forearms, and you can feel all of his tension as he listens to Mingi’s provocations.
“Does anyone else want to try?” you dare to say.
For an instant, the deck fills with restrained chuckles and hesitant movements, everyone pretending to step back as though you truly are dangerous.
You continue, your voice sharp and steady. “Or would you prefer a candleholder to the teeth? He knows something about that.”
You nod your head toward San, still behind you. A chorus of laughter explodes among the pirates, their voices blending into jeers and teasing comments as they mock San and Mingi. Someone doubles over, another claps his hands while laughing.
You smile, satisfied. The pride of having embarrassed them, even for a moment, makes you forget the fear and tension surrounding you.
But then San’s hand closes around your neck with a grip so tight your heart skips a beat. Your breath stops for an instant, then returns short and sharp; you feel his hard fingers against your skin, the heat of your blood running faster.
“You’ll pay for that,” he whispers in your ear.
You swallow with difficulty. Your throat is dry, and fear tastes metallic, like iron. You want to answer, but you understand at once that speaking would make it worse, that every word might ignite his fury.
You close your eyes for a moment, feeling the world compress into that breath against your skin.
Amid the murmur of the crowd and the laughter still echoing, you hear Mingi groaning, twisting in pain from the blow you dealt him earlier. The echo of his words mixes with the chaos, but then a familiar sound rises among the voices.
You recognize him — the one who was at the door before, with that clear, slightly amused voice.
“Boys, stop having fun without me.”
His tone is light, almost teasing, but beneath it there is a natural authority that immediately lowers the noise on the deck. The laughter and joking comments slowly fade, and you feel the invisible gaze of the crowd shift toward the new presence.
You clench your fists, your heart beating faster. A shiver runs down your spine when you feel San’s grip on your neck loosen, and the air instantly seems easier to breathe, even though your heart keeps hammering in your chest.
San snaps at him. “Where the fuck did you go, Wooyoung?”
Wooyoung.
San, Mingi, and Wooyoung.
From the darkness, this Wooyoung’s light, confident tone echoes. “This brat was fast, but I got her in the end.”
Lina’s shrill voice cuts through the air. “Aurora!”
Your heart jolts, and without thinking, you cry her name. “Lina!”
She answers with a confused murmur, but before you can exchange clearer words, Wooyoung intervenes.
“Shh… be quiet now,” you hear him murmur.
Lina falls silent immediately while you remain waiting, your heart in your throat, trying to understand what is happening.
“Care to explain what happened to your face?” Wooyoung asks San.
San opens his mouth to answer, but you cut in before you can think better of it. “My work. Do you like it?”
A brief silence falls between them, while you hear suspended breaths and a few muffled chuckles from the pirates around you.
You hear footsteps approaching. The wood beneath them creaks slowly, as though whoever is walking is doing it on purpose, to make sure you hear. Then the voices around you suddenly fall silent. Your heart pounds wildly, your hands tremble behind your back, but you try to remain still.
“What, have you all gone quiet?” Wooyoung says, ironic, circling you like a curious shark. “I thought I’d find a little monster, but you just look like a lost girl under a sack.”
You clench your fists. “Take it off, if you have the courage.”
He laughs softly, a low, shameless sound. “Oh, are you provoking me? I don’t know if that’s wise… I might actually do it.”
His tone is light, but beneath it there is something sharper, something that freezes your blood.
He barely brushes your arm, not gently, but to make it clear that he can, and then stops in front of you.
“I must admit,” he murmurs, “it is not often we capture someone who speaks with such confidence. You have more courage than many men I’ve seen crying on this deck.”
“Maybe because I am not one of them,” you retort, your voice steadier than you expected.
He is silent for a moment, then sighs softly, almost amused. “Yes, I imagined as much. And indeed, San…” He raises his voice slightly toward the one holding you. “…this girl, do not touch her too much. I need her whole.”
Behind you, San stiffens. His cold voice cuts through the other’s laughter.
“We are not here to play.”
For a moment, silence falls again. Then Wooyoung sighs theatrically. “Always the same, Sannie. Ice to the marrow.”
“At least someone on this deck uses his head,” he replies, without the slightest inflection in his voice. His grip on your arms tightens, reminding you that there is no escape.
Wooyoung chuckles again, pleased to provoke him. “Relax. I won’t touch your trophy. I know very well that duty comes first, then pleasure.”
“She is not a trophy,” San cuts him off, dryly. “She is the Captain’s order.”
The phrase weighs in the air.
You swallow as silence returns to swallow everything. Then Wooyoung takes a step closer, close enough for you to feel his breath filtering through the fabric of the sack.
“Welcome aboard, princess,” he says softly, almost whispering. “I hope you like the sea. From here, there is no going back to shore.”
You clench your teeth, your heart hammering in your chest, and that arrogant tone makes you nauseous. “Are you always so good at talking, or do you need an audience to feel important?”
Somewhere behind you, someone bursts out laughing. One laugh, followed by another, then another still. In a few instants, the whole deck explodes into shouting and jokes.
Wooyoung remains still for a moment, then laughs too, a low, almost dangerous sound.
“Funny, are we?” He grips your chin, even though the sack prevents him from seeing your face. “Do you enjoy making my crew laugh?”
“Sorry, I didn’t mean to steal your role as jester,” you reply, acidic.
The laughter grows louder. Now some are pounding their fists against the deck, some are whistling, some are cheering Wooyoung on as though it were a performance. San, behind you, exhales in exasperation and tries to speak, but no one listens to him.
The chaos grows, the air vibrating with voices and a nervous, almost animal excitement.
“Silence.”
A cold voice, controlled and sharp as a blade, echoes across the deck.
You do not need to see who speaks to understand that this is not someone to take lightly. The air seems to freeze around you. Every breath feels heavier, every small sound — the rustle of wind through the sails, the creak of wood beneath feet — becomes amplified.
You hear measured, decisive steps approaching you. When the voice speaks again, it vibrates with authority and control.
“I was clear. I just needed the child.”
You understand immediately that they are talking about Lina. Your heart jolts, a shiver running down your spine. Without thinking, you hide your hands behind your back, gripping the ring so tightly your fingers hurt.
Wooyoung speaks from the other side. “Seonghwa, she says she doesn’t have it.”
Seonghwa.
Good. That makes four.
Plus the rest around you.
“You two.” Seonghwa’s voice cuts through the air, low but so firm it silences even the furthest laughter.
“You always lose yourselves in chatter,” he continues, and the way he says it is not a simple observation.
It is a reprimand.
A warning.
He does not need to raise his voice, does not need any threat; the silence that follows speaks for him. Even the sound of the sea seems to fade for an instant, as though the waves too are holding their breath.
Wooyoung and Mingi do not answer.
They do not dare.
You hear them move slightly, perhaps lowering their eyes, and you understand that this man, whoever he truly is, has an authority that goes beyond physical strength. It is something born of respect… or perhaps fear.
Your heart beats faster, a dull rhythm filling your ears. If he can silence them with a single sentence, what could he do to you?
You remain still, your hands still clenched behind your back. It feels as though the weight of the ring has become more real, more alive. And for the first time, you fear that Seonghwa might be able to feel it too.
“San.” Seonghwa’s voice is even lower now, but sharp as a polished blade. You feel the body behind you go rigid.
“You may release her.”
The order is calm, but allows no reply.
San’s hands detach from your forearms, slowly, almost reluctantly. Air returns to your lungs, but the sack over your head still presses down on you, as though it has taken fear’s place.
One step.
Then another.
Seonghwa is in front of you. You can feel him; his presence weighs more than the silence the crew maintains.
“What happened to your face?” he asks, his voice flat, dangerous.
San does not answer at once. He merely passes the back of his hand over his mouth, perhaps to wipe away the blood. “Nothing important, sir.”
You swallow. Your heart hammers in your chest.
“It was me,” you say suddenly, your voice cracked but firm.
There is a moment of silence. Then Seonghwa speaks.
“Congratulations. Few manage to strike San and remain standing.”
The man’s voice is calm, so steady it sends chills through you. He takes a step forward, and the sound of his boots on the wood echoes like a sharp blow.
“But I advise you not to touch one of my men again. Next time, you will not get back up.”
You bite the inside of your cheek. You are afraid, and you know it. But the more you hear him speak, the more something inside you rebels.
“Your men? Interesting way to describe cowards who attack civilian ships in the middle of the night.”
A sudden silence falls.
San, behind you, stiffens. Wooyoung barely holds back a laugh, amused by your insolence. Mingi, instead, remains serious, his eyes narrowed and brow furrowed, as though he is evaluating your every move.
Seonghwa does not react at once. He stares at you with eyes as cold and sharp as blades. Then, with icy calm, he says only one word.
“Stupid.”
Before you can reply, a sharp order breaks the air. “San, remove the sack from her head.”
The sack falls to the ground, allowing you to finally breathe.
Before you, Seonghwa stands motionless, a tall and impeccable figure. His black hair, glossy and long enough to fall just above his shoulders, is tied in a half ponytail, orderly but with a few rebellious strands framing his face. His posture is elegant, almost aristocratic, every movement measured, and yet he emanates an aura of palpable danger.
His face is beautiful, harmonious, with sculpted features and a magnetism that forces you to look at him, even though fear makes you want to look away. But his eyes… his eyes are something else. Glacial, deep, and so intense they make you feel naked down to the soul. There is not a trace of warmth in that gaze, only a disturbing calm and a concentration that makes you tremble.
“So… what do you want from us?”
Seonghwa tilts his head slightly, as though studying your audacity. He looks you over from head to toe, his sharp, icy gaze making you uncomfortable, and yet you cannot look away.
“From you,” he answers slowly, every word pronounced like a sentence, “absolutely nothing. You are of no use to us.”
His eyes shift with a predator’s precision to Lina, standing a few steps away, motionless and silent. The air seems to grow colder still.
“That brat should know that,” he adds, his tone still calm but charged with authority.
Seonghwa takes a decisive step toward Lina, and you immediately realize the child is being held by someone. Strong arms restrain her movements, preventing her from coming closer or running away.
You recognize the figure at once.
Wooyoung.
His brown hair slightly tousled, a black shirt unbuttoned at the chest, revealing tanned skin, his eyes lined with black pencil, his gaze intense and slightly amused, as though he is watching a challenge.
Noticing that you are looking at him, Wooyoung glances sideways at you. His lips curve into a bold half-smile, and with a quick gesture, he winks.
You huff softly, exasperated, and roll your eyes, trying not to give him the satisfaction of a reaction.
Even Mingi, still not far away, shakes his head in irritation, while Seonghwa does not even bother turning around… his attention remains fixed on Lina, as though everything else does not exist.
“Give it to me.”
Seonghwa’s voice cuts the air like a blade, low but charged with an authority that leaves no room for hesitation.
Lina stares at him, lips pressed together. “What?” she says, pretending innocence.
The silence that follows is dense, almost heavy. Wooyoung tightens his grip on her arms and hisses near her ear, “You don’t want to make him angry. He’s fussier than usual today.”
But Lina does not seem intimidated. On the contrary, she lifts her gaze toward him with an expression of defiance, her eyes bright but steady, as though she is holding back the urge to strike him.
Seonghwa inhales slowly, then takes a step forward. His shadow completely covers the child’s small figure. He bends slightly, dark hair slipping in front of his face as he looks down at her with that icy stare.
“Where is our treasure?” he asks, enunciating every word with a calm more frightening than a shout.
Lina does not answer at once, but her jaw tightens.
“I lost it,” Lina whispers, her voice cracked but firm.
There is one second of silence.
Then a sharp crack.
The slap echoes across the deck, so loud it sounds like a pistol shot. Lina staggers backward, her cheek reddened and eyes shining, but no one… no one among those present moves or seems shocked.
The laughter dies, and only the murmur of the sea remains.
You feel something break inside you. You lunge forward without thinking, your hands grabbing the lapels of Seonghwa’s long black coat, and you yank him with a strength you did not know you possessed.
“Don’t touch her, you bastard!” you shout, your voice broken by rage.
His gaze lowers slowly to you, cold, still — and before you can react, an arm grabs you from behind.
San.
He holds you so tightly the air locks in your lungs, lifting you half a step from the floor to stop you from moving.
“Let her go!” you shout again, trying to break free, but his grip only hardens.
Seonghwa adjusts his coat calmly, as though nothing has happened, and his eyes return to you, two pieces of ice showing neither anger nor mercy.
Wooyoung watches you with a half-smile, his eyes gleaming with amusement and admiration. He tilts his head, curious, as though enjoying the scene like a performance.
Mingi, however, does not smile. He has moved a few steps closer, his face drawn into a dark mask. His eyes burn with an anger colder than physical rage, as though every fiber of his body longs to extinguish that spark of defiance you have lit. He stops a couple of meters from you, and for a moment, the only thing you hear is his restrained breathing.
San still holds you, his fingers biting into the skin of your forearms, and you feel the quickened pulse at his temples.
You look around. The crew is watching you with greedy, amused stares; some pleased, others ready to intervene. The air is charged with salt and gunpowder.
You struggle instinctively, trying to free yourself from San’s hold. “Don’t touch me! Let me go!” you snarl, your voice full of anger and fear. San’s fingers are still crushing your forearms, but you do not give up, fighting to break free.
In the movement, you do not realize your left hand bends backward, revealing the ring Lina gave you: the simple gold circle with the small blue stone.
The glimmer immediately catches Seonghwa’s gaze, and his eyes widen.
He had not expected it.
Wooyoung, on the other hand, cannot restrain himself. He bursts out laughing, his voice bright and incredulous, shaking his head as though amazed by all of it. His laughter rings across the deck, breaking the tense, icy air for a moment.
Mingi and San stiffen instantly.
Around you, the crew begins whispering nervously, the murmur rising. Some exchange worried glances, others laugh under their breath, aware that the tiny object on your finger has just changed everything.
Seonghwa advances toward you, the heels of his black boots striking the wood like sentences. Everything about him — the dark coat, the half ponytail framing his profile, the composed air — speaks of control. It feels as though the man’s shadow stretches out and swallows you. He lowers his gaze to your face and stops one step away, so close you can barely feel his breath.
His voice comes out dry.
“Why is it on your finger?”
You tense, feeling the metal against your skin, and answer without thinking, with that stubborn insolence that has already seemed useful to you more than once.
“I felt like wearing it.”
What a stupid answer.
You see him waver, and for an instant his body seems to hover between rage and control. You prepare for the worst, waiting for him to lose patience, but Seonghwa remains implacable, as though every fiber of his body has been trained to master calm even in the face of provocation.
His voice comes out icy. “I imagine that thief gave it to you. Is that right?”
You hear the venom in his tone, the acidity crawling through the air like smoke, and you narrow your eyes, lifting your chin with a courage you did not think you had.
“I am not required to answer you.”
Your voice is steady, but your heart is pounding wildly, fully aware of the risk of challenging him openly.
Behind you, you sense Wooyoung muttering something, an amused comment, perhaps an incredulous one, but you ignore him completely. Your entire world is now the silent confrontation with Seonghwa.
Seonghwa stares at you with that cold, relentless gaze, and his voice grows even sharper when he orders,
“Take it off.”
You shrug with a sarcastic smile, trying to mask the tension running through your veins. “If the beast stops squeezing me, I can try,” you say, indicating San behind you with a tilt of your head, while he watches you with a dark, controlled stare.
Seonghwa gives a slight nod, precise and authoritative, and San releases you at once, stepping back without a word. Your breathing steadies a little, but your heart still beats hard, suspended between fear and defiance.
Then Seonghwa approaches, his hand extended toward you, and you understand that he expects you to hand him the ring. But before you do, your lips move almost without permission.
“What will happen to us? To me and Lina?”
One eyebrow rises, marking his surprise more at your courage than at the question itself.
“Nothing. For now.”
Carefully, you begin to move your fingers, trying to slip it off, but the ring seems to cling more and more tightly, as though it has a life of its own.
Your palm grows warm, a cold shiver runs down your spine, and you begin to sweat despite the still air on the deck. You inhale deeply, trying to calm yourself, and try to pull it off again, more slowly this time, searching for any possible movement to free it.
Around you, you notice the changes in the pirates’ faces. The smiles fade, the laughter dies, and even Seonghwa, motionless before you until a moment ago, seems unsettled for an instant, a shadow of concern crossing his severe features.
You hear San move slightly behind you, his body tense as though he wants to intervene but does not dare. Wooyoung, who only moments before looked amused, has suddenly turned serious, his face drawn into an expression of disbelief mixed with tension.
Mingi, brow furrowed, slowly shakes his head. “It’s not possible…”
You pull even harder, desperate, but the ring seems to resist your every movement. When the blue stone on your finger begins to burn like living fire, you jolt, letting out a small whimper.
“It won’t come off!” you shout, your voice trembling with fear and pain.
Seonghwa’s eyes, usually so unreadable and controlled, betray a flash of hesitation. He stares at your hand for a long instant, his eyes black as a storming sea, while silence falls over the deck like a weight.
“What did you say?” he hisses, his voice low but sharp, soaked in restrained anger.
With your heart pounding madly, you thrust your hand decisively toward him.
“If you don’t believe me, do it yourself!”
You look him in the eyes while your hand remains still before him, and he gives you a murderous stare.
Wooyoung, who only seconds ago looked terribly serious, steps forward. He forces a smile onto his lips, trying to hide the unease he can no longer ignore.
“If you want, I can do it,” he says.
But Seonghwa does not even look at him. He raises one hand in a sharp gesture.
“You stay silent and where you are.”
Wooyoung withdraws, bowing his head slightly, and for an instant the silence returns completely.
Seonghwa grips your wrist with a calm that is anything but reassuring. His fingers are cold, precise, steady. He does not need strength; he immobilizes you as though you are made of glass. With his other hand, he reaches for the ring, touching it cautiously, almost studying it.
Then he tries to pull it off.
The first tug is measured, almost meticulous.
Nothing happens.
The second is firmer.
You feel the skin pull, the blood rushing to your finger.
Seonghwa’s jaw tightens slightly, a thin line betraying his irritation. Then he changes his grip, his fingers closing more firmly around the metal.
And when he truly pulls, the heat explodes.
Not ordinary fire. It is a living, pulsing heat, as though the ring has become a breathing creature that refuses. Seonghwa inhales sharply, as though something has bitten his skin. His fingers open on instinct, his hand snapping back.
He does not scream.
He never would.
But the reaction is clear: he takes a step back, breath held, knuckles rigid.
You remain motionless, your hand still extended before you, the ring burning softly like a racing heart.
Seonghwa looks at you, and it is no longer mere irritation. Now his gaze is heavy. Restrained rage, sharpened contempt… and beneath it, so deep and fleeting it almost vanishes, something that resembles fear. A subtle fear, the kind that tightens the throat.
Mingi shakes his head blankly, incredulous. Wooyoung stops laughing. San takes a small step forward, as though he is connecting the pieces no one wants to see.
The deck falls silent.
You draw your hand back toward your chest, your breath short.
He straightens slowly, as though reordering every fiber of his composure.
“You should not be able to wear it.”
He speaks to you as though it is an accusation, a threat, and an omen.
Then he turns sharply toward Lina. The fury is no longer restrained; it is clear, cutting. In two steps he is upon her, gripping her jaw with one hand, his fingers digging into her skin. Lina flinches, more surprised than frightened. Her breath catches in her throat.
“Why her?” Seonghwa growls, forcing her face toward his. “Why does she have the ring? What did you think you were doing, Lina?”
The child squeezes her eyes shut. She cannot speak to him.
She does not dare.
She cannot.
You move on instinct. Your body leaps before thought can catch up.
“Stop it!” Your voice comes out trembling, but strong.
You take barely one step before you feel San’s hands settle on your shoulders. They are firm, heavy. Not aggressive… but immovable.
Like chains.
“Wait,” he murmurs. “mind your business.”
You ignore him, because you cannot not intervene.
“I’m sorry!” you nearly shout, and you feel tears burning your eyes. “It’s my fault! I put it on! She didn’t tell me to do it!”
San tightens his grip slightly, stopping you from taking another step. Your heart beats so hard you feel it in your fingers.
But Seonghwa does not even look at you. He does not even listen. His attention is entirely on Lina, as though every word you say is only background noise. Lina tries to speak, but his grip blocks her jaw. Her eyes shine, but she does not cry. She remains still, protected by a fragile pride.
Seonghwa shakes her slightly, not enough to hurt her, but enough to make the warning clear.
“Answer,” he thunders.
“There has to be a solution… something… anything.” Your voice cracks, and you hate the sound of fear leaving your lips. But you cannot help it.
You cannot allow Lina to be hurt in your place.
For a second, you think he has not heard you at all. That your plea has fallen into nothing.
Then, slowly, he releases Lina’s face. His fingers slide away without hurry. Lina lowers her gaze at once, as though the tension itself might break her.
And Seonghwa turns toward you.
His dark irises weigh on you, as though he is studying every breath, every fiber that still keeps you standing. Then he tilts his head slightly, and the faintest shadow of a smile — too subtle to be kind and too precise to be human — brushes his mouth.
“Anything?”
He says it softly.
Like a threat disguised as an echo.
He moves one step closer, no more is needed, and bends toward you until his whisper brushes your skin.
“Are you certain?”
That smile does not reach his eyes.
His eyes remain cold.
Measured.
Lethal.
Then he straightens. In a second, he is as he was before. Shoulders straight, coat perfect, hands composed behind his back, precise elegance, polished, frightening. No emotion. No anger. No hesitation.
Only power.
His gaze slides slowly toward San.
“Cut off her finger.”
The world stops.
The air explodes in a heavy sound, as though the ship has swallowed a collective scream. The bodies around you seem to recoil by a step, the crew gasps; even Mingi and Wooyoung are left stunned.
“No, you can’t do that!” Lina shrieks, small and fierce, advancing a few unsteady steps. Her voice trembles, but it does not break.
Seonghwa turns to look at her with that glacial calm that steals the air from you.
“Why can’t I?” he replies, serene as always. “After all, the princess said anything.”
The word comes out like a sentence, and the nickname with contempt. Then he looks at you again, searching your reactions for proof of sincerity.
“Didn’t she?”
You feel something move behind you.
San.
His hand is silent and precise; he grabs the sheath and, with one sharp motion, draws the knife. You hear it rattle lightly in his grip, and ice runs through your bones.
The metal gleams for an instant in the grey light filtering through the sail; the sound of the knife coming free is a cutting note in the silence. San does not speak. His jaw is clenched, his gaze lowered, and you know that in this moment, he is enjoying it.
Because he wants revenge.
You taste iron in your mouth. Everything inside you contracts: breath, stomach, voice. Your hands tremble, the ring on your finger now seeming like an incandescent planet around which everything turns.
Wooyoung tries to soften it. “Seonghwa… it’s not necessary…”
Mingi, however, does not intervene. Lina screams your name again, her eyes full of tears while Wooyoung holds her still.
“Don’t touch her!” she shouts, but her voice is too thin a blade against the decision already hanging in the air.
Seonghwa turns slightly toward San, as if to make sure the order has been understood.
His tone is calm, irrevocable.
“Do it.”
You no longer think.
“No—” you try to say, but your voice breaks.
A new voice intervenes.
“Since when did we become butchers?”
The murmur vanishes. The crew parts in waves, as though pushed by an invisible force, and a tall young man steps forward.
Taller even than Mingi.
He has broad shoulders, a white shirt tucked into dark trousers, sleeves rolled up to his elbows revealing forearms full of strength and old scars. Black hair falls softly over his forehead, and his eyes are deep.
Not cold, or empty.
But incredibly lucid.
Present.
He walks slowly, without haste. He stops exactly between you and San.
“First,” he says without taking his eyes off you, “we speak with the Captain.”
Seonghwa does not move, but something in him stiffens.
His jaw tightens. His eyes narrow.
“You were not asked to intervene.” His voice is low, flat.
Dangerous.
The other boy does not retreat by a single inch.
“And I was not asked to watch while you cut a girl apart.”
His tone is calm.
Too calm.
“You do not decide alone.”
Seonghwa takes a step forward.
Their heights create no difference, but the tension splits the air.
“No one speaks in my place,” Seonghwa hisses, “nor in the Captain’s.”
The words weigh like chains.
“You least of all, navigator.”
No one dares intervene.
Lina watches the scene with eyes full of terror. San, still holding the knife, remains motionless, as though waiting for an order to move again. Wooyoung watches, his slow hands coming together behind his back. Mingi clenches his teeth and runs his tongue along the inside of his cheek, restraining himself.
The other boy, however, does not change position.
He does not get agitated.
He does not strike.
His voice remains incredibly simple.
“Then call the Captain.”
He takes a step toward Seonghwa.
And passes him, as though he is merely walking by.
“Let us see what he says.”
You, however, feel the air leave you. Your legs, suddenly made of rubber, threaten to give beneath you, but you force yourself to stay standing. Every breath burns your lungs; your heart beats so hard it feels like a crazed drum in your chest.
Seonghwa opens his mouth to speak, his glacial tone promising only danger, but before he can say anything, a shot echoes through the air.
A flash of light.
A deafening crack.
Someone has just fired.
You scream, your fingers flying to your ears, trying to protect yourself from the blast that seems to pierce flesh.
And yet, you do not fall. An arm wraps around your waist, steady, firm, like an invisible anchor keeping you from sinking. It is him, the tall man who intervened moments ago: he supports you without squeezing, holds you upright while the world around you trembles.
Your breath leaves you with effort, warm against his chest. You search for air, for something to hold on to. The noise of the ship, the hurried steps, the whispers and shouts of the pirates — all of it seems to fade.
Every eye turns toward the source of the shot.
White smoke curls through the air, dense and slow, and you taste the acrid sting of gunpowder burning your throat. The men around you go still, almost petrified.
THIS IS PART TWO! I HIGHLY RECOMMEND TO READ PART ONE BEFORE READING THIS
pairing: hongjoong x fem!reader
summary: You've been dreaming of the same guy for what felt like one year. Each time you met him in your dream, he would say that you're his angel and you saved him. How did you save him? And from what? But more importantly: who is this man?
genre: fluff, angst, romance, fantasy (but a little bit)
warnings: mentions of death, temporary character death, blood mention (not too graphic), physical pain description. I removed the ''secondary characters death''. Also, I added new warnings about this chapter but since there are spoilers you can find the new warnings in the comment section!
wc: 11.3k
a/n : Yeah, no, it definitely took me more than two weeks to release this part LMAO I'M SORRY. I kept procrastinating and also the fact that I kept telling myself that the plot sucks didn't help. But then I told myself ''Girl, you had this story in mind for months, it's okay if it doesn't come out as you wanted BUT JUST WRITE IT.'', so that's what I did. Even after I reread for the 283753736363th time I'm still nervous and not satisfy but I think I'll never be satisfy lol. I tried my best to write this, but there could still be incoherences so don't hesitate to tell me if some things aren't clear! As always I wanted to thank @xserenityrq for helping me to improve this story (I hope I didn't scare you with the length of this part I apologize 😭). Anyways, enjoy!
•☽────✧˖°˖☆˖°˖✧────☾•
Okay.
Stay calm.
Don't panic.
Don't-
''WHAT IS MY LIFE EVEN ABOUT?"
You threw your phone onto the floor. You didn't care if the screen broke. At this point you didn't care about anything. Your mind was a mix of chaos, anger, fearness, but above all, confusion. You needed answers.
How is it possible? If you understood properly, Hongjoong was supposed to be dead and all of a sudden he wasn't anymore?
All this time, you've been dreaming of a dead man who just happened to be alive? But why now? Why did he decide to appear now? Why is he even alive? Why him? Why you?
Why? Why? Why? Why?
Right now you just hoped it was a prank and that someone would show up and tell you that none of this has been real. Unfortunately, it wasn't April Fool's Day.
You had no other choice except to ask Hongjoong himself because otherwise you would totally go insane.
What if he stops coming in my dreams?
You shook your head.
What he keeps coming?
You sighed. All those questions started to provoke a headache. You needed some sleep. Even if you were scared of this whole situation, you can't deny that it was a relief to know that he wasn't really dead.
At least I brought him back to life.
You slowly closed your eyes when you felt all the tension of the night dropped, sleep taking you.
•☽────✧˖°˖☆˖°˖✧────☾•
This time when you woke up, he wasn't next to you.
You were still on this familiar grass and the starry sky but Hongjoong wasn't there.
''Hongjoong?''
You stood up, walking, in hope of seeing a familiar ginger head. But the grass stretched as far as the eye could see. You were crowded by plants and grass.
''C'mon Hongjoong, you're not gonna tell me that after I saw you for the first time, you mysteriously have decided to vanish. That's a bit cruel, don't you think?''
No answer. But you didn't get discouraged.
''You promise me you would give me all the answers I'm looking for.''
''And I always keep my promises.''
Your soul left your body when you felt a breath on your neck.
''Is it too much for you to warn people before scaring them like that?''
Hongjoong burst out laughing. You were surprised to see that he was blond again.
''Why did you change your hair color?''
Hongjoong's laugh died slowly before he realized what your question was.
''Oh, I didn't even notice. I must be stuck in my medieval era when I'm in your dreams.''
''Stuck in your what?''
He made a gesture as if he were brushing off your question.
''Ignore that.''
Oh, here we go again.
''Absolutely not.''
He laid down on the grass. You sat beside him, not letting him avoid your question this time.
''Hongjoong, I'm done waiting. I saw you there, our path finally crossed as you wished.''
''Indeed, but...I was expecting something else.''
You frowned. What does he mean? He was literally at the concert and he was very real.
''Our path did cross. You saw me, yeah. And I could feel your presence too among the crowd.'' he lifted his eyes to met yours. ''But we didn't actually meet.''
You froze.
''You mean that...'''
''I want to meet you.'' he confirmed.
Okay you didn't expect that. Of all the scenarios you'd imaginated, never had crossed your mind.
''Why can't you just tell me right now?''
He sighed heavily before he propped up on his elbows.
''Because, I don't want to tell you. I want to show you.''
The silent following his sentence was heavy enough for your heart to feel it. What does that even mean? He wanted to show you? This man was a mystery to all himself. A mystery with multiple responses. He was worse than an escape room.
''Where are we even supposed to meet? Because it seems like you're pretty famous.''
He looked like he was about to say something but eventually smiled instead.
''Tomorrow. At 8 pm. In the restaurant where you usually eat your beefsteak.''
You sighed heavily in frustration but gave up.
''I hate you.''
''Not me.''
You instantly locked your eyes with him. Neither of you broke eye contact for a few seconds. But these seconds felt like one minute for you. Or three minutes. Or one hour.
When Hongjoong finally broke eye contact, he laid properly again, his hands behind his head.
''I'm sorry.''
''For what?''
''For keeping you waiting.''
A sad smile painted your lips. You didn't know what to respond to that.
''I know it's been hard for you. And I'm aware you have probably gone crazy because of me.''
''Probably? Probably, Hongjoong?''
The atmosphere was less heavy. There wasn't any bit in your voice, only amusement. A playful smirk appeared on Hongjoong's lips.
''Alright, let me correct that. You definitely have gone crazy because of me. Content?''
''Very.''
You laid down beside him. For a moment neither of you talked. You both just quietly admired the stars above your eyes.
Then, you felt warm fingers brushing yours.
As if your fingers were inexplicably drawn to his, you interwined them with his.
Suddenly you were very aware that this was all real. Hongjoong was real. His hand in yours was real. His warmth was real. The calm breath coming from him was real.
And the way your heart was beating furiously was real too.
You closed your eyes, feeling appeased. You almost forgot how it felt to be this relaxed. Maybe it was because of the quiet whisper of the wind caressing your ears or maybe the grass under you that felt strangely comfortable or maybe the soft strokes of Hongjoong's thumb on the back of your hand.
Whatever it was, for the first time, you felt like you were in the right place: here, laying next to your mysterious man.
•☽────✧˖°˖☆˖°˖✧────☾•
When you woke up, your mind had never felt clearer.
Being with Hongjoong always felt relaxing. He almost felt like your home. Why almost? Because you still don't know a thing about him. What if he was some kind of psycho who managed to enter into people's minds?
You internally rolled your eyes at your own thought. But...you weren't completely wrong. Hongjoong had always been so kind and patient with you. His calm demeanor had always managed to appease you. He always listened to you talking about your life the past year. But whenever it was about him he would always avoid your questions. And of course it pissed you off.
That's why you really hoped he wasn't fooling you when he said he wanted to meet you in person. Because you swear that if he wasn't willing to give you the answers you needed, you would plunge his head in one of those delicious soup your restaurant makes.
You had a day off today (again), giving you time to wander in your apartment and think. But the events of last night made you want to search for his name again.
This time there were way more articles than last night.
''Well, they're fast...''
You clicked on the first article you saw.
''AN UNEXPECTED AND TERRIFYING COMEBACK: KIM HONGJOONG ALIVE?
Last night, near the end of the first concert of the kpop group named ATEEZ for their tour Adrenaline, Kim Hongjoong, ex-leader of the group, made an appearance.
On December 20, 2025, a drunk driver had hit the young man's car with his truck. However, the police had never been able to find the idol's body among the remains even though it was confirmed that the ex-leader was indeed in his car at the time of the collision. But after months of searching they'd never been able to find him. They had concluded that he was either missing or dead.
The tragedy had been a huge shock for South Korea, including the members of the group and their fandom.
However, the man unexpectedly appeared around 10 pm during the concert, provoking a general panic. The reason explaining his comeback is dividing the internet users. Some think that he has never been dead and was hiding for an unknown reason, others think that he isn't the real Kim Hongjoong and had been possessed by some entity.
Police officiers are on their way to-''
You stopped your reading, feeling your head going dizzy. That was already too much information to process.
So, basically, Hongjoong had an accident that day but mysteriously disappeared and the world don't know where he had been all this time, another detail you hoped Hongjoong would give you during his explanation. Nevertheless, what caught your attention now was the day he ''died''.
How did I miss it the first time?
The accident happened exactly the same day as when he appeared in your dream. And the same day as when you had this unbearable pain in your back.
You sighed, massaging your temples. It seemed that there was too many coincidences but at the same time, too much evidence.
These coincidences are obviously the evidence to what my relationship with Hongjoong is. But I can't seem to find any proper answer. And he won't tell me until we meet.
You felt doubts filling your mind. What if the truth was far worse than you thought? What if Hongjoong was dangerous? Maybe you should have consulted someone earlier? But Hongjoong was firmly opposed to that.
No. He can't be dangerous. You always felt safe whenever you were with him. And he looked harmless.
But what if...
''Okay, stop, stop.'' You tell yourself.
You didn't want to care about that too much especially if you were going to have your answers tonight. But you're still apprehensive.
You still had a lot of time left before your meeting with him.
You could use this time to either pursue your research about Hongjoong's case or to do something else. Considering how insane Hongjoong's situation is and that it always results in you spiraling about him again, you knew you had to empty your mind. So you eventually decided to clean your apartment.
At 7 pm, the alarm you had set rang. Aside the fact that you didn't want to be late, you wanted to mentally prepare yourself to face him because you knew it would unsettle you to see him for the first time in real life at close proximity. Since you didn't really know how to dress yourself, you picked a simple dress. You didn't want to look like you were going to a date but you didn't want to look negligent too.
You wondered how Hongjoong would dress. Besides being alive, you had forgotten that he was also famous. As a result, there could be paparazzis at any moment, hiding somewhere both of you couldn't see them.
You were so lost in your thoughts and focused on your stress which was gradually rising that you didn't notice you were already in front of the storefront. Your hands were moist, your heart was pounding harder than ever, and your poor brain was full of doubts. You squeezed the strap of your bag as if you wanted to anchor yourself in this reality.
No traces of Hongjoong around you. You glanced at your watch. He was late.
You knew it. It was a bad idea. You shouldn't have come. He has never been trustworthy and somehow you gave him your trust and now he's making fun of you by using this trust to his advantage. What was he-
''You look beautiful, angel.'' a voice whispered near your ear.
It would be an understatement to say that you almost had a heart attack.
''HONGJ-''
He muffled your scream with his hand.
''Shh.''
You glared at him. He instantly removed his hand.
''What is wrong with you?!'' you said loud enough to be only hear by him.
He lifted his hands innocently.
''I didn't mean to scare you.''
You rolled your eyes.
''Is it too much for you to just greet me instead of sneaking behind me like that?''
''I apologize for scaring you, angel.''
You felt your cheeks warmed. Hearing him calling you this time in real life made your stomach twist. Even his voice sounded clearer, less like an echo.
That's when it hit you. He was really here. Not just in your dream, but here, just a few centimeters away from you.
He had ginger hair. He was wearing a mask but you got lost in his eyes enough times to recognize that twinkle he had when he was amused. He was dressed in a long coat with a black wool sweater underneath and a pair of slacks. He looked...elegant. And charming.
When your eyes got back to his, he was already looking at you. You cleared your throat.
''You look good, too.''
Something flashed across his face before he smiled. He looked pleased.
''I have to, especially if I'm going on a date with a beautiful woman.''
You widened your eyes at his statement.
''I-It's not a date! It's just supposed to be a formal meeting.''
But you weren't convinced by your own lie.
''Whatever this is,'' you gestured around you. ''Let's not waste time.''
''So impatient.'' he sighed but eventually headed to the restaurant.
He opened the door for you. You walked past him as you whispered a faint ''thank you''.
The restaurant looked chic enough to take someone for a date but also warm enough to look cozy and comfortable to come for a solo date.
After the waiter noticed you and guided you toward your table, you thanked him. You were about to pull the chair yourself and sit down but Hongjoong was faster.
He pulled the chair before sending you a smile that made your heart skipped a beat.
''What did I do to deserve such treatment?"
After making sure you were comfortably sat, he bypassed the table to take the seat in front of you.
''Oh, you did so much for me. But it has nothing to do with this. I'm just being a gentleman.''
You narrowed your eyes.
''That's suspicious.''
He lifted an eyebrow, amused.
''You don't think I'm capable of being a gentleman?''
''No, I actually think that your whole behavior is suspicious since the day we met.''
Well, not really. Of course you knew he was just being careful for some reason, explaining his mysterious behaviour. But he wasn't some creepy guy.
Hongjoong opened his mouth to say something but a waiter stopped by your table to give you the menu. You looked it up ahead of time to figure out what you wanted.
''Why did you want us to meet here?''
''I thought it would be a great place.'' he responded, not looking up from the menu.
''Interesting. But how about you tell me the real reason?''
His eyes quickly looked up at you. He slowly grinned.
And then, just like that, he refocused on the menu.
You frowned. There was no way he would stay silent like that during the dinner.
You lean forward, lowering your voice.
''Okay, look. You clearly told me that you would give me answers tonight.''
''And I still did not change my mind.''
''So what are you waiting for? Unless you just fooled me.''
He sighed, closing the menu.
''I plan to tell you. Trust me. I just want to spend some time with you before telling you.''
''What does it change whether we have this dinner or not? You're still gonna tell me anyway.''
''Because I'm afraid of how things would go after that. I'm worried that...a theory I had in mind, would turn out to be false. ''
You blinked. He held your gaze not flinching. What theory does he talk about? Were all the answers to your questions that bad? He couldn't be dangerous. Could he? Suddenly you weren't sure anymore. You squirmed on your seat.
As if he had read your mind his eyes softened a little bit.
''It's not some disgusting truth. But it would kind of be...disturbing? That's why I want to spend time with you before I tell you. Actually...this dinner is just a shared moment I'd like to remember, in case...things don't go as I've planned.''
Saying you're surprised would be an understatement. You didn't expect such honesty, from him, because it does look like he was telling you the truth. He had this serious eyes but you could also tell he was nervous.
He really is nervous.
And this thought unsettled you more than you wanted to admit.
For a moment you just stared at him in disbelief, searching for the right words to say. Anything. But nothing came to your mind. So you just nodded.
''Okay, I will wait.''
He smiled. Something close to gratitude.
''Thank you.''
The atmosphere shifted. Lighter.
The next thirty minutes passed quickly. To your surprise, it was easier than you thought to talk about anything and everything with Hongjoong. He was also really attentive whenever you would talk about those new books you had recently bought, occasionally sipping his wine.
The meal also seemed to taste better since he was here. You knew it was ridiculous, but his presence, the light talk, the quiet laughs made the whole dinner different from the ones where you would eat alone. It almost felt like everything was perfect. Almost.
After you finished your dessert, Hongjoong insisted on paying the check. When both of you exited, the fresh air of the night made you shiver. Hongjoong didn't hesitate before he took off his coat and put it delicately over your shoulders.
''Thank you.''
He smiled faintly.
''You're welcome.''
You didn't really know what to do so you just decided to follow Hongjoong when he started to walk ahead of you. For a long moment, neither of you said anything, letting the calm and comfortable silence fill the air.
You felt a sense of deja vu when his fingers brushed yours. You instantly interwined your fingers with his. It felt like his hand was not only warming your hand but also something inside your chest. Like a soft feeling was blooming into your heart.
You were so focused on this peace that you hadn't noticed that you were in a park. A park that was still open, judging by the people sat on the grass, contemplating the starry sky. There were couples, families and even people who came alone.
Your hand still in his, he lead you near a tree before he sat down on the grass. You sat beside him. Then, he looked into your eyes.
''Is it okay if I rest my head on your legs?''
You were taken aback by his question. But you eventually murmured a ''yes''.
When he put his head on your thighs, you felt like you were running out of breath. Because he looked...
He looked...
Ethereal.
Beautiful.
Unreal.
His eyes were closed, the light of the moon was projecting onto his face. And suddenly, he looked just like in your dreams. The ginger of his hair brightening under the moonlight. Expression appeased. And when he slightly opened his eyes to look right into your eyes, you felt your heart skip a beat.
His eyes had this fondness and this awe, like you're the one to be unreal.
He slowly raised his hand before cupping your cheek.
Everytime he was near you, your heart, your mind, your soul were claiming him.
And you never knew why.
''Angel.''
You're pulled from your thoughts by his serious tone.
He looked less melancholic. More determined.
''Are you ready?''
You sent him an interrogative look. You were about to ask him what he meant by that when you finally understood.
Oh.
He was about to spill the truth.
''Yeah. I am.''
He observed you, searching for any sign that would indicate him that you were doubting. But there was none.
''Alright.''
He lowered his hand and took yours instead. He squeezed it.
''Take a deep breath for me.''
You do as he told you, inhaling through your nose before you expulsed the air between your lips.
''Close your eyes.''
You looked at him, bemused.
''But-''
''Please.''
You didn't get where he wanted to lead the situation. What is he planning again? You mentally shut your thoughts.
Trust him.
You nodded before closing your eyes.
For a moment there was nothing.
You were about to open your eyes again when a cold breeze wrapped you.
Then it wasn't a breeze anymore.
You felt like you were freezing, the air cooling a few degrees to the point you thought you were turning into an ice cube.
That's when you noticed you didn't feel the grass under you. Neither the weight of Hongjoong's head on your legs. The sounds around you had vanished too.
You couldn't open your eyes. You started to panic and scream when you realized you were falling into the void.
A minute ago I was on the grass the next minute I'm falling, what is happening?
But then a warm hand wrapped yours and a familiar smell. You instantly recognize Hongjoong.
''Calm down, I'm right here.''
You felt the panic ease a little bit but not enough to make you forget that you were still falling.
Suddenly the temperature changed. Less cold. Warmer. You sighed in relief when you felt a ray of sunshine wrapping its warmth on you.
Wait.
A ray of sunshine?
Now, you weren't falling anymore. You were laying on the grass. You frowned. You slowly opened your eyes.
It wasn't night anymore. No more dark sky. No more park.
Just the sun, the grass and this familiar cool air.
Don't tell me we're in my dream again.
You straightened up looking around you. Hongjoong was nowhere to be found.
''Hongjoong?''
''I'm right there.'
You snapped your head towards the sound of his voice. He was there, under a tree, his back facing you.
You immediately approached him, annoyed.
''Can you explain me why are we in my dream again?''
''We're not.''
You lifted an eyebrow.
''What do you mean we're not? I recognize the surroundings from my dream. I-''
''We are in my head.''
You paused.
He turned his head to look at you.
''What?''
''We're not in any of your dreams. We're in my old memories.''
In his old memories? But how is it possible that everything looked the same as in your dreams?
That's when you noticed it. You weren't in some sort of field.
You were on hills.
Below you was a large village in which many farmers were wandering on the stone slabs. Some had baskets, some kids were playing. There was a few merchants here and there who were promoting loudly their fresh fruits. And next to them, there was a cage in which there was...
''A DRAGON?'' you practically yelled in shock.
You rubbed your eyes not buying it. But it was very clear that it was a dragon. A big dragon sleeping in a cage.
You looked at Hongjoong but he seemed unfazed by your shock, as if he had expected it.
''Yes, it's a dragon. And there are others creatures living here.''
Your lips parted not knowing what to say.
''O-okay...It still doesn't explain why we are here.''
Hongjoong stared at you. And then, a smile appeared on his lips. A smile that looked both amused and welcoming.
''Angel, I present you to the place where I grew up.''
•☽────✧˖°˖☆˖°˖✧────☾•
You and Hongjoong eventually went down the hill. You were now both wandering across the streets of the loud village. The first thing you noticed was that no one could see you as if you were invisible.
The second thing you noticed was the look on Hongjoong's face. Since you arrived here, he seemed unusually too serious, like his memories required his full focus. Maybe they did.
''In this village and the other villages, all boys were meant to become knights and serve the king.''
"You too?''
He nodded.
''I didn't want to, but I didn't have other options.. According to my parents, I have always been promised to a bright future in being a knight.. They used to say that I should consider myself lucky to serve the king, that they didn't have this privelege when they were my age and that I was the pride of the family.''
He related it like it was a bitter memory he would rather not recall.
''But I never wanted it. I hated it.''
Two kids passed in front of you, laughing as they were racing.
The place was even more lively than it looked on the hill. There were many taverns open, a market where vendors displayed fruits and vegetables and yelled their prices, a butcher displaying fresh meat, women washing clothes in a lake.
It felt like you just entered in one of your old history book of high school.
''Where are you leading us exactly?'' you asked.
''Where it all begun.''
''Can you be more specific?''
''We're going to the place where I met you the first time.''
You froze.
What...?
''Wait, what do you mean by 'where I met you the first time'? I thought we met in my dream.''
He stopped walking, turning his face towards you.
''Well, you met me for the first time in your dream.''
''You didn't?''
The way he insisted on the ''you'' and when he shook his head in response to your question made you frown.
''I don't..I don't understand.''
''What I'm about to say might sound crazy to you.''
''Hongjoong, I just learned that the man I've been dreaming of for over a year was supposed to be dead and that he is suddenly alive by some miracle. I think nothing can shock me anymore at this rate.''
Hongjoong laughed.
''You're right.''
He turned his back, heading to a wooden house. You instantly followed him.
''There are parallel universes in which different version of a person exist. For example, you live in your own world as an event security guard, right?''
You nodded slowly.
''Well, in an another universe you also exist but you have a different life. There's many versions of you in other worlds. But the particularity is that no matter how many ''you'' exist and how identical you biogically are, there will still be differences between you and the others versions in terms of personality.''
You frowned at his explanation, trying to process all these informations.
''So...does it mean that there are also multiple versions of you?''
''There are multiple versions of everyone.''
You opened your mouth but nothing came out. You didn't know what to do with this information. But it explained one thing.
''So basically, if you belong to this universe, then...''
You widened your eyes.
''The Hongjoong from my world is really dead?!''
You both arrived near the wooden house. To your surprise, instead of entering or knocking at the door, he went at the back of the house.
''If we see it from a certain point of view, he is.''
''But...?''
''But since you don't know the full story, he isn't.''
You were about to ask him what he meant by that when you nearly bumped into his back. He was suddenly very still.
''Hongjoong?''
''Come here.'' he whispered.
Your eyebrows creased but you did as he said
''What is it? Why- ''
Your voice died when you saw what was facing you. Or to be more specific who was facing you.
''Is that...''
A little boy, no older than seven or eight years old, was angrily pulling up grass.
''Yeah. It's me.'' Hongjoong said.
Oh. Your lips parted.
Little Hongjoong looked slighly different due to his farmer clothes which were stained. But you couldn't miss the familiar traits and those malicious eyes.
It's really him.
''That's...that's crazy.''
''I know. Feels a bit weird for me too to see myself.''
You hummed.
''You looked furious.''
''Oh, I was.''
''Why's that?''
A nostalgic smile appeared on his lips.
''Knights are promised to protect the king and the country. As a result, they're really important and precious, if you can say. Training a knight and putting him to the front of a battle require a protection.''
''Protection for knights?''
Hongjoong nodded.
''They need to be protected. And that's why this new role had been assigned to angels.''
Your eyes left little Hongjoong for the Hongjoong next you. He was already looking at you.
''Angels...?''
''Angels are precious ''creatures''. But their existence and lives are bond to the knight they have to protect. From the moment they are born, they are trained to become good protectors, even if it requires sacrificing their life. No one, except us, knows about their existence. That's why they used to be a strategic advantage during a battle. Well, that's what the king would always remind us.''
There was too much informations for you. You'd never imagined this would be the reason. It felt strange, almost unreal.
Hongjoong continued.
''Angels and knights have a special relationship. Some might hate each other while others cherish this bond. To develop it, knights are introduced to angels at an early age.''
He briefly stopped talking and observe his young self.
''The reason I was furious, is because my parents introduced you to me. And for me...For me it made things even more official. It brought me closer to this fate.''
Your eyes widened when you understood what he was about to tell you.
No way.
This can't be real.
But there was no other explanations possible.
''In my universe, you were my angel.''
You closed your eyes. So that's where the petname ''angel'' was coming from. Because he saw her in you. Because in this life, in his universe, you used to protect him. And obviously, he hated you for that. He hated you for bringing him closer to his duty.
Maybe he even brought you here to take revenge on you for ruining his life.
You shook your head.
You never knew about his past and you're not the same person as...his angel. Well, you're the same person as her, physically, but there were differences. But what was the point of showing you his memories then?
Before you could go further in your thoughts the door from where little Hongjoong must have exited, opened softly.
A little girl poked her head out of the doorframe.
That's when your brain froze.
Oh my-
''Hongjoong?'' her shy voice rose in the air.
The little boy instantly stiffened. But he didn't stop pulling up the grass.
The little girl approached him. Those eyes. The voice. The hair.
''Holy moly, it's me.'' you muttered, completely stunned.
You looked at Hongjoong but his gaze remained fixed on the scene before him. There was something in his eyes that you couldn't decipher.
''Hongjoong, hum- hey? I-I am-''
Little Hongjoong glared at her. You heart squeezed when you saw tears rolling down his cheeks.
''I know who you are, stupid angel. I don't need you. Go protect someone else.''
You saw an expression of hurt flashing through her face. Or your face.
She clenched her fists.
''Y-you think I wanted this too? You think I don't want to live like the kids from others c-countries?''
She started to cry.
But little Hongjoong didn't say anything. He just kept looking at her with angry eyes.
''I hate you.'' he said.
''I hate you too.''
No. That's not true. You don't hate him.
The two kids glared at each other for a couple more seconds before the little girl finally broke eye contact. She turned around and walked away, returning in the house.
But you noticed something on her back.
You gasped when the realization hit you.
There were two small wings on her shoulder blades. White wings.
The door closed, not letting you observe the wings closely. In a fit of rage, little Hongjoong kicked the grass, sending a few twigs flying.
You startled when warm fingers brushed yours. You turned your head towards Hongjoong.
''Are you okay?''
''Yeah...It's just...a lot.''
He nodded slowly.
''I know.''
He had this dark expression like this memory was something he'd rather not recall. Or something that internally pained him.
What has he been through?
He sighed, looking at his young self with something close to...guilt?
''I had always been stubborn when I was a kid. I wanted to prove my parents that I wasn't cut out to be a knight. Unfortunately, it didn't work. And eventually I had to meet her again. But the more we met, the more she made this reality bearable for me.''
His voice softened at the last sentence and his eyes held this strange nostalgia.
Hongjoong closed his eyes. And suddenly, everything around you vanished. You let out a small gasp but it didn't last because the surroundings quickly turned into a new environment. Or a new memory.
No more village. No more young Hongjoong.
Instead you find yourself in a middle of field.
A familiar one. The one where you used to meet Hongjoong in your dreams.
But the scene before you took your breath away.
Young Hongjoong was now an adult. He looked like he was eighteen. He was laying on the ground, eyes closed. He was wearing an armor that clearly looked uncomfortable but he didn't seem to mind it because he was smiling.
A smile of pure joy.
A joy caused by a presence next to him.
She was also there. She wasn't a little girl anymore but a woman.
A woman with a long white dress, and eyes looking fondly at Hongjoong.
But especially with wings.
She had wide and magnificent wings.
You heart hammered loudly. It felt weird to see yourself with wings. But it also felt weird how angelic you looked.
''I thought she would be the person I would hate the most. And I think...she also thought the same of me. But it turned out we both needed each other. We eventually built a bond without us even being aware of it. It just...happened. Unconsciously, she became an important part of my life.''
He sighed but it was a painful sigh. Like he was trying to brace himself.
You sent him a concerned look. His eyes were trained on the woman who was laughing brightly at something eighteen-year-old Hongjoong said.
''Hongjoong, I don't want you to feel obligated to tell me everything if it's too much for you.''
He shook his head.
''No, I'm okay.''
You nodded but you decided to interwine your fingers with him. He squeezed your hand.
He inhaled through his nose as if he was pulling himself together. His voice had this firmness, but you didn't miss the tremor in it.
''In this universe, you were my friend. My best friend. My first love.''
The string in your chest throbbed. Even if you're not her (pure, angelic and helpful), you're glad this version of yourself helped him.
''Hongjoong...''
He turned his face towards you.
''Hongjoong, what happened to me- I mean, her?"
His grip on your hand tightened. He didn't answer.
Instead, he just closed his eyes again.
Everything blurred again.
And this time...
This time you were in a middle of a battlefield.
There were blood and knights laying lifeless on the ground.
It was raining but strangely, the rain didn't touch you, as if there was a protection wrapped around both of you. The rainy weather didn't prevent the thousand of knights from fighting for their life.
It was the most lugubrious and dark scenery you've ever seen in your life. And the heavy silence didn't ease the atmosphere.
In the middle of this sad spectacle, there was knight Hongjoong.
Your felt your stomach dropped when you noticed his state.
He looked...devastated. He was sobbing uncontrollably, hair wet from the rain, blood on his armor but also on his hands. And between his arms...
Your breath caught in your throat.
To your horror, you saw your angelic self, blood staining the front of your long dress where an arrow was stuck.
''It happened the day we had the most violent and dark battle. It was raining so hard that it made it almost impossible for angels to keep an eye on knights without being seen by enemies.''
There was emotion in his voice but mostly guilt.
''I didn't see it coming. One of the knights of the opposite camp noticed her and thought she was a gadget or something. He shot her with his arrow.''
You wanted to look away: you couldn't bear the sight of Hongjoong's tears and your own corpse on the verge of death.
''I heard something cracked in my heart. It felt like someone had brutally pulled on a string in my chest.''
You glanced at him. Hongjoong was now looking blankly at his own self, like he had seen this memory so many times that it stopped provoking feelings into him. But despite that, his shaking voice told another story.
Hongjoong's monologue was interrupted by the weak voice coming from your angelic self.
''H-Hongjoong...''
Knight Hongjoong shook his head, abundant tears falling down his face.
''No, don't talk. We're gonna save you. I sent the signal a-and-''
''It's too late...''
You saw his eyes widened at what she was alluding to.
''No, no, no, don't you dare say that! You can't..can't..''
But his sentence was cut by another heartbreaking sob.
''Hongjoong, I-I need you to listen carefully now...''
His eyes, red and puffy looked at her with so much pain.
''No...''
''T-take the pendant around my neck...''
His hands were shaking violently but he did as she told. While he held her firmly with one arm , he delicately took off the pendant with his free hand.
''I want you to do something f-for me...''
''Anything.''
She smiled faintly. She raised her hand before cupping his cheek.
''This pendant will lead you to another world...And...This way, you'll be able to start a new life.''
Hongjoong's glossy eyes widened.
''W-wait...what do you mean? I don't understand.''
''We both know...how much you hate this life...I hate too. But...''
Her breaths became more and more uneven. Her eyes were half open.
''Don't have much t-time...I want you... to be happy... When you'll be ready... Sleep with this pendant... and it will lead you to another universe...away from this one...''
You saw panic crossing his eyes when he realized the situation. She was leaving him.
''Hongjoong...'''
The man closed his eyes as he put his forehead against her's.
''My love, don't forget: what the mind doesn't acknowledge, the heart knows...''
That was her last sentence before your angel self finally closed her eyes.
And just like that, her white wings turn into black.
The memory quickly dissolved and suddenly you were on the hills again.
No more battlefield. No more knights. No more little Hongjoong.
No more angels.
Somehow, this memory awoke something in you.
You wiped a tear on your cheek.
Oh. You didn't notice that you've started to cry.
Hongjoong, the real one, looked at you with sad eyes. But there was something else. Something you couldn't quite put a name on. He seemed tired. Emotionnally tired.
You were still holding hands.
For a couple of seconds, neither of you spoke a word. You just left the soft sounds of leaves and the distant noises of the village fill the space between you.
You were the first to break it.
''So...that's how you end up in my universe.''
Hongjoong agreed.
''I'm sorry for your loss...''
He sent you a sad smile.
He released your hand from his. He sat down on the grass and pat the place next to him, gesturing you to join him.
When he was sure you were comfortably sit his lips parted but his eyes remained fixed somewhere on the grass.
''A few days after her death, the king suggested to assign me to another angel. But I declined the offer. It just felt wrong for me. He saw angels as replaceable tools. But that bond I built with her wasn't something you could brush off like that.''
He laid down, looking up at the sky and for unknown reasons you decided to imitate him. Maybe it was because it felt more intimate. Like in your dreams.
''I retired.''
You snapped your head towards him.
''What?''
''I told you. I hated my life. I never wanted to be a knight. I wanted to be an artist.''
And somehow he did become an artist in your universe.
''I didn't immediately use the pendant after her death because I wasn't ready and I needed to heal from this loss. Four years passed before I finally decided to use it.''
He paused.
''Obviously, my parents cared more about my statut, after I lost this 'precious' title, than my feelings.''
You winced at that. Even when their son was trying to heal, they still didn't show him any support.
Hongjoong has been through a lot and you understood why he wanted to show you instead of telling you. It wouldn't have feel right to just reveal it around a good meal. Moreover, you wouldn't have believed him.
But there were some questions that remained unanswered.
''I still don't understand why you kept coming into my dreams though.''
He took a deep breath, inhaling the fresh air of the day. But you suspect that's more to brave himself.
''Well, those four years made me think. And I came to the conclusion that not only I wanted to change my life but also find you to give you the pendant. That's originally what I was supposed to do. So I kind of made a trip, from dream to dream, until I finally arrived in your dreams.''
The pendant? From your angel self?
He seemed to read your question in your eyes because he straightened up. He brought his hands to the cord before taking it off. You didn't take the time to observe properly the pendant when you were on the battlefield. But now that the object was on your palm, you couldn't miss the blue glow radiating from the small diamond hanging off the cord.
''Why did you want to give me this?''
For a moment you saw hesitation in his eyes.
''If I planned to restart a new life, in another universe...then I needed to also cut off all the things that would remind me of my other life. Including the pendant. So I decided that the best choice for me would be to find you and give it to you and then...left.''
You lifted an eyebrow.
''But you never left.''
''Yeah.'' he admitted while rubbing his neck.
''Why?''
''Well, I tried to leave and start a new life. Turns out something was preventing me from leaving your dreams, even if I tried my hardest to leave.''
You straightened up slowly.
''So what you're saying is that...your very first time in my universe was the night you suddenly appeared at the concert?''
Hongjoong nodded, his gaze still fixed on the immaculate blue sky.
Your eyes widened when you remembered about an important detail.
''Wait, what about Hongjoong's death? You told me he wasn't really dead.
Hongjoong's mouth formed an 'o'. Apparently, you weren't the only one who forgot about this.
''I'm not quite sure but when I was still in my universe, I'd done some researches and read books about the process of shifting universe.''
''And what did you find?''
''Shifting universe implies the risk of crossing path with your other self. It was specifically said that it is dangerous to meet your other self.''
You frowned.
''Well...That's quite specific. But I think I've already heard something similar. But why would it be dangerous?''
''Because it threatens the laws of universe. I mean it can disturb a lot of things and change some faiths. Including the world's faith.''
Oh. You've never thought it would be this harmful.
''I think that when I used the pendant, it changes Hongjoong's faith in your universe to make sure I would take his place. But he never really died. He just...temporarily disappeared. That's why police has never been able to find his body. That's also why the day he 'died' was also the same day I visited you in your dream for the first time.''
Oh. Suddenly, the puzzle in your head was taking its form. And it slowly started to make sense.
''Another thing of why he never really died is because his consciousness and mine kind of...merged. I'm still the man from the medieval universe but I have some memories of the other Hongjoong.''
So there were like...two minds in one body? Wait, no. That doesn't make sense. There was just a mix of knight Hongjoong's mind and Hongjoong's actual mind. But no matter what, they were still physically the same person. They also had the same soul.
Why was it so complicated?
You sighed.
''I know there's a lot to process. But...just keep in mind that, apart from what you tell me in your dreams, I'm not completely unaware of what your universe looked like thanks to the Hongjoong of this universe. There's still a part of him in me.''
There was a silence. But it wasn't awkward or heavy. It was just natural. Like it was something necessary for you to process these informations. Including the moments where you met your other self.
It seemed a bit unreal for you because you never expected something so...big. But somehow it reassures you to finally know the truth. Even if you had to admit that you felt afraid. Afraid of what you could possibly do after this. How were you supposed to live a normal life after that?
You were about to suggest getting out from his memories when a last question appeared in your mind.
''Hongjoong?''
''Hm?''
''Why didn't you give me the pendant the first time we met?''
He didn't respond. At first, you thought he was just trying to gather his thought to come out with an appropriate answer, but after ten seconds passed you turned your head.
Hongjoong had stopped looking at the sky, his eyes were closed. You thought he was sleeping until he reopened his eyes.
Again, he had this expression you couldn't decipher. This emotion you couldn't put a name on.
''As I said...I was about to give you the pendant but...''
Wait. Is he avoiding your gaze...?
''But when my eyes landed on you, I...My brain stopped functionning. I was a little bit taken aback to how identical you were with her. She was right. We existed in all universes, and you also existed, to my surprise. But then, I was afraid that seeing you would remind me too much of her. But what I didn't expect was to feel curiosity blooming within me instead of pain or regret. I didn't want this curiosity. I was just here to get rid of my old memories. But then...I don't know. Something inside me wanted to know this new universe I stepped in, through your eyes. And the more we talked, the more I felt this weight on my mind eased. I finally had this hope that, maybe life seemed more...worth living?''
You felt your heart beat at a dangerous speed. You didn't even notice that you were gripping the grass a little too hard. You didn't notice how warm your face had gone.
He was now looking into your eyes. What you saw, made your heart skip a beat.
''Little by little, I was discovering a new world, a new way of living, little things that made me want to experience it. You made me feel better and change my vision of life. Each night, each dream I was discovering something new. And not only about your universe, but also about me. Those shifts at your work you considered exhausting, those people you would complain about, this passion in your eyes whenever you would talk about a book, your enthusiasm whenever you would ramble about the taste of this beefsteak you had eaten for the fifth times...''
You giggled and he smiled brightly.
''Every little things you told me...helped me to see this thing people call 'happiness'.''
Before you could stop it, tears clouded your eyes. Hongjoong reached out for your face, and with the most gentlest touch, he wiped your tears away.
The string in your chest was tighter than ever.
His eyes...
All you could see was fondness and...something else.
As if your body was drawn to his, you snuggled into his arms. He immediately wrapped his arms around you and held you tightly against his chest.
It was your first time having this feeling for someone. You've never felt this way before. You've never experienced this.
Until now.
But you still had this doubt in your chest.
''Hongjoong...?''
He hummed not faltering his hug.
''If you don't see her when you look at me, then why do you call me angel?''
His hot breath near your ear made you shiver. You expected anything but certainly not this answer.
''Because you saved me from my loneliness.''
•☽────✧˖°˖☆˖°˖✧────☾•
You felt cold.
Who turned on the AC?
Wait.
Your bed felt different. Was it a bed though? Isn't a bed supposed to be soft? Then why did it feel like you were laying on something hard with no sheets, no blanket and no pillow?
''Miss?''
Someone was calling you.
You tried to grip the thing that was supposed to be your bed under you but instead you were met with a strange texture, similar to...grass?
And suddenly everything hit you like a wave.
The date.
The park.
Hongjoong's memories.
Hongjoong.
You snapped your eyes open.
But you immediately regret it because a blinding light flashed your eyes.
''Ma'am? Are you alright?''
You tried to open, this time, slowly your eyes.
You were, indeed, laying on the grass in the middle of a park. There was a hint of sun in the sky.
What time is it?
''Did you sleep here last night, ma'am?''
As you slowly straightened up, you finally noticed the man standing in front of you.
''I...I think so? Sorry, I don't really remember how I end up sleeping.''
The man, who seemed to be a security guard or something like that, had a look of concern in his eyes. Well, even without a mirror you bet you looked anything but suspicious.
''Do you need some help?''
You shook head as you stood up.
''No, thanks. I'll leave.''
The kind man nodded before turning his heels.
You looked around you. You frowned.
Something's off.
''Wait!''
The man stopped, turned his head, sending you a questioning look.
''By any chance, have you seen a man with ginger hair? He was with me but...I don't see him.''
''I fear I can't help you. I didn't see him.''
''Oh, it's okay. Thank you.''
''Have a great day, ma'am.''
You smiled politely before he definitely leaves.
You didn't really know how you ended up in this situation. If you remembered correctly, you were talking with Hongjoong in his memories. He was revealing you a lot of things about his past. You also remembered how secured you felt in his arms. And...the rest blurred.
Now there was no way you had imagined all of that. The pendant was still around your neck
You took your phone out of your pocket, checking the time.
6h00
Okay, you definitely had slept here.
You tapped Hongjoong's name in the search bar. You sighed in relief when the same article you've read a few days ago was still there. Except that now there were a lot more articles about the event.
Maybe he left his number somewhere? You search for his contact but there wasn't his number. You even search on the ground: maybe he left a scrap of paper. But there was no paper.
Your heart squeezed when the realization hit you.
Hongjoong was gone.
•☽────✧˖°˖☆˖°˖✧────☾•
Two years later
Your heart was beating a little faster than usual. You could feel it. Apprehension? Fear? Both?
You had to pause for a moment to take a deep breath. When you felt calm enough to stop your hands from trembling, you reread the email again to make sure you weren't dreaming.
Two years have passed. You were still the same person, except that you've decided to take to another level your job and become a bodyguard.
Hongjoong had stopped visiting you in your dreams ever since the day he revealed his memories. Even in real life you didn't see him.
You thought that it was better this way. He always wanted to live a better life. And finally it has happened.
Sometimes you would see him on your TV or hear about him in the radio. From what you've heard, the year he disappeared, there hadn't been any leader in the group in honor to his memory. But since he came back, he became the leader again the group named ATEEZ.
There has been a press conference a few days following your date, in which the leader admitted that he'd been kidnapped right after his accident. Hearing this unrealistic explanation made you snort. The worst part is that the public actually believed him. He seemed to have thought about this explanation for a long time because he had answered to all the questions without any hesitation. He almost convinced you. Almost.
You had continued to live a normal life during two years. You expected to forget him and everything he told you, but in fact, it was the opposite. You've never stop thinking about Hongjoong. Everytime you would look at the pendant around your neck, you would think about those dreams. Deep in your heart, you wished he didn't forget you.
Does he still think about me? Us?
But you've just been a useful way for him to get into this world. Well, that's what you thought.
Until now.
Until this email you've just received.
The message was clear but you couldn't help but reread it until your eyes would burn.
The mail came from the company itself. Recently, Hongjoong has been followed by a sasaeng who was carrying a knife under her sweatshirt. Her intention was to exorcize him because she had been certain Hongjoong has been possessed by a demon who devoured the soul of the true Hongjoong. Due to this unfortunate event, it has been decided that the security would be reinforced and that all members would get a personal bodyguard, Hongjoong included
Naturally, you've been hired to be his bodyguard.
You received the mail a week ago and obviously it wasn't something that you could refuse. There's been a meeting with all your future colleagues and the company without the members. It has been conclude that you would all start your shift today. Well, you would have him under your protection almost all days so at this point it wasn't a shift anymore or a task but something you would do constantly. He would be a part of your everyday life.
And still, you weren't ready.
You weren't ready to see him again.
You missed him more than you could admit.
But you were afraid. What if he had forget about you? What if he didn't care?
You pushed these thoughts away. It wasn't time to think about that. You needed to be professional about it whether he would remember you or not.
You tried to gather the last courage left, checked if you forget anything important before stepping out of your appartement and locking your door.
•☽────✧˖°˖☆˖°˖✧────☾•
Unfortunately, your stress didn't ease. If anything, it had increased.
By the moment an employee of the staff guided you through the building of the company, your hands were sweaty.
Stay professional. Stay professional.
When you approached a door you heard voices filtering through it.
When the employee finally opened it the voices became louder.
Inside the room, people that you guessed were the other bodyguards were sitting. Not far away from them was also sitting the famous group you would be with for a long time. You recognized a few faces like the man with a birthmark. They all instantly paused when you arrived.
A man, you supposed was their manager, stood from his chair, greeting you with a handshake. He introduced you to each member. You greeted each one of them with a small nod..
''Hongjoong didn't arrivr yet- Oh, there he is!''
You tried your best to not break your composure when you turned around.
Your heart skipped a beat as your eyes were fixed on the figure who arrived.
His eyes slid from the manager's face to you. You saw his eyes slighly widened but his face quickly returned to its professional expression. But you didn't miss it. The flicker of recognition.
He had short black hair and was wearing glasses. Apart from that, he hasn't changed much.
''Hongjoong, she's the new bodyguard I told you about.''
He bowed his head as he extended his hand.
The familiar string that has never left started to pull again in your chest.
Your eyes met his as you both exchange a handshake.
''Nice to meet you.''
''Nice to meet you too, Mr Kim.''
You noticed the way the corner of his lips lifted slighly to your formality.
The presentation over, the meeting could finally begin. It didn't last long, it was only something necessary to set some boundaries and rules. During this meeting, Hongjoong almost ignored you. Maybe to preserve his professionalism.
When it finally came to an end, each member stood up gathering their stuffs, chatting about what they could eat tonight.
You wanted to listen but you weren't here for that. You had to protect Hongjoong. Including following him.
Speaking of him, the man of your dreams looked up from his phone to lay his eyes on you. He rose from his seat, making his way to the door. He looked over his shoulder, and his expression may be blank but his eyes were telling you something. And just like that he exited from the room.
Without any hesitation, you followed him.
•☽────✧˖°˖☆˖°˖✧────☾•
Hongjoong didn't turn when you were behind him, even though you were sure he could hear your steps. It was only when you both arrived on the rooftop that he turned around.
And finally, finally, his composure broke into a bright smile. And you couldn't restrain yours anymore too.
''Hey.'' Hongjoong murmured.
''Hey.''
As he approached you, you felt your ears warming.
''It's been a long time.''
''Well, whose fault is it?''
Hongjoong's smile faltered a bit but he didn't seem surprise by your question. Like he expected it.
''Yeah, it wasn't cool of me to disappear like that. I'm sorry.''
''Oh, I know you are. Now what I want to know is the reason behind this sudden disappearance.''
He sighed as he ran a hand through his hair. Then he just sat on the ground. And without thinking too much about it, you joined him.
And suddenly, you felt this deja vu.
A situation similar to your dreams where you both used to sit down, chatting like there was no tomorrow, the moon casting its glow on your figure.
Hongjoong must have thought the same because you saw something flickering through his eyes.
There was a brief silence before he broke it.
''I...There's something I didn't told you that day.''
You shot your eyes towards him. You expected him to avoid your eyes like that time where he revealed you his most vulnerable part of him, but instead his eyes held your stare.
Your eyebrows creased. What could he had been possibly hide from you?
''I don't really like the sound of that.''
Hongjoong smiled faintly but he didn't seem nervous. At least, not like you would have imagine. Maybe, it meant it wasn't something too important. Maybe.
''Remember what my angel from my universe told me?''
You tried your best to recall it but it was two years ago and you had a bad memory. So you shook your head.
''What the mind doesn't acknowledge, the heart knows' that's what she told me.'' He paused for a few seconds, hesitant. ''At first, I didn't get what she meant by that. Well, I didn't understand at all to be honest. But, one day, when I was still stuck in your dreams and waiting for you to visit me, I had this sudden surge to observe the pendant. But when I truly observed it I noticed something I hadn't seen before.''
He reached for his pocket on his vest before handing you what seemed to be a scrap of paper.
You glanced at it suspiciously but eventually took it.
''It was stuck in the diamond from of the cord.'' he explained.
You unfolded the scrap of paper, reading what was written.
''In every lifetime, there is a me.
In every lifetime, there is a you.
In every lifetime, there is an us.
No matter what, the heart will always know what the mind doesn't acknowledge.''
You blinked, reading the short quote at least three times. There was, obviously, a meaning behind it. But you couldn't seem to see grasp what it was.
''I fear I'm not following you.'' you admitted.
He nodded slowly like he had expected this answer.
''Remember when I told you that something seemed to prevent me from leaving your dreams?''
You nodded.
''The reason I wasn't able to leave your dreams is because we have this bond. My only way to leave your dreams was for our paths to cross in real life. I had this theory thanks to this scrap of paper.''
Your heart raced as you were trying to understand what he was implying.
He stared up at the sky, thoughtful. Or maybe avoidant, like the time where he told you how you changed his life and how it sounded like a confession.
''What...What do you mean by 'bond'?''
A slow grin appeared on his lips.
''Well I thought you would know by now.''
Oh, deep down in you heart, you knew. But it was too good to be true.
''Enlighten me.''
He turned his face towards you.
He waited a few seconds before he hummed.
''The line where she wrote 'In every lifetime, there is an us.' isn't insignificant. It means that even in every life, in every world, in every universe, enemies are meant to be enemies, friends are meant to be friends, and...''
You felt this string in your chest tightened as his eyes were staring at you with this unknown intensity.
''...lovers are meant to be lovers.''
Oh.
Oh.
''I discovered in one of those old books, after I retired from my title of knight, that if an individual is willing to shift in another universe, his path had to cross people's with who he had a bond in his previous life.'' He paused briefly, his eyes brighting slighly. ''My only way to this world was originally this group.''
You frowned.
''ATEEZ? But you didn't have any bond with them in your previous life.''
''We used to be friends. They were also knights.''
But how is it possible you've never seen them in his memories?
He seemed to read your question because he admitted:
''They didn't...survive.''
What? What does that mean? Were they-
You felt your heart sink when understanding replaced confusion.
Oh, Hongjoong.
He smiled sadly as he nodded, confirming your thought.
''Without her, without them, living a normal life wouldn't have any sense at all. They were the reason why being a knight felt bearable for me.''
He shook his head, as if he wanted to erase those dark thoughts.
''What I'm trying to say is that, when I kept telling you that our path would cross one day, it meant that your everyday life would have to collide with mine.''
And suddenly everything clicked in your mind.
All this time, it never had been a coincidence that he appeared that night at the concert.
The ATEEZ concert and your job as a security guard had been a perfect mix, and a breach for Hongjoong to appear and leave your dreams.
It always had been fate.
''Angel.''
You jumped. It's been a while since he last called you that.
''It also implies that even if I had stayed in my universe, you still would have met the Hongjoong of this universe.''
''How can you be so sure about it? And...How do you know all of this? I mean, how did you came at this conclusion? I don't get it.''
It was confusing. Everything felt confusing but at the same time clear. It made sense in your head but...there was something else. All of this implied something more important. Something deeper.
Hongjoong, took your hands in his.
''I figured out all of these things thanks this message,'' He pointed the paper on your knee.'' But also thanks to what I was feeling, and what I still feel, right here.''
And then, he brought your hand to his heart. It was beating fast under your palm. And you swore you could feel yours beat at the same pace as his.
''After I told you about me, I didn't know if you would feel exactly the same as me. I didn't know if you would feel it as strong as I felt it.''
You squeezed your hand that was in his.
''But what if I told you that I felt the same? And that I still feel the same?''
His eyes were brighting with this familiar emotion.
''Then it would definitely confirm my theory.''
''Please don't tell me you had decided to disappear from my life overnight for two years just to be sure I would still have feelings for you.''
You instantly stilled at your own words. Hongjoong also looked at you with surprise. But the emotion didn't go away.
''Well, maybe not feelings but I wanted to see if our paths would meet again. Because if we are meant to have this kind of relationship in every lifetime then we would meet again.''
You widened your eyes.
''You knew we would meet again?!''
''Well, no. I didn't know. But I had a feeling.''
''What if we would have met seven years later instead of two?''
''Then, I would have waited for you for seven years.''
''Ten years?''
''Then, I would have waited for ten years.''
''Thirty years?
''I would have waited for thirty years.''
God, this man is insane.
And I'm insanely in love with him.
You've never fallen in love. Until you saw him.
No matter what, in every universe possible, you both loved each other. And it was something beyond than feelings.
You were more than lovers.
''Now I need to know something.'' He whispered.
You didn't even notice his face that was a few centimenters away from you, neither your hand still on his chest.
And certainly not the thin space separating your lips from him.
''I'm not going to force you to reciprocate my feelings just because we're soulmates in every universe. I can pretend there's nothing between us if that's what you want. I just want to know what do you feel about this?''
''This?''
''You. Me. Us.''
And your heart almost exploded.
''I feel like...my heart craves you.''
And it all it took before your lips met.
The string in your heart exploded as millions of butterflies filled your stomach.
It felt relieving.
You didn't know it, but that's also when the last line of the message made all sense in Hongjoong's head. That first night, when he met you in your dream, he didn't know he would be attached to you. But his heart had always chosen you before he was aware of it. And it was the same for you.
In every lifetime, you both exist.
In every lifetime, your love for each other exist.
•☽────✧˖°˖☆˖°˖✧────☾•
a/n: yeah I know the part where hj said has been kidnapped is absolutely not realistic but I didn't have other excuses lmaoooo (let's just say that the public are naive).
summary: You’re at a dead end after tangling with some dangerous loan sharks. To make matters worse, your boss, Mingi, is ready to let you go. But, being a saditisc pervert man, he has a filthy and nasty proposal for you to keep your job. Desperate, you're willing to do just about anything.
Pairing: Boss!Mingi x afab!Reader
w.c.: 10,6k
warnings: MDNI; DUBCON; monster cock Mingi; cheating (mg is married); he is super mean and an asshole; death threats (not from him); immorality in the workplace; paying for play; spit in mouth; very filthy and nasty sx; unprotected; degradation and humiliation; dirty talk; creampie; and that's pretty much it.
THIS IS ONLY FICTIONAL AND DO NOT REPRESENT WHAT ANYBODY MENTIONED ARE IN REAL LIFE NOR HOW DO I PICTURE THEM!
IF YOU'RE NOT INTO THIS JUST DON'T READ IT AND KEEP SCROLLING!
Thursday morning. The alarm went off at 5:00 AM, dragging you out of bed. Work didn't start until 9:00, but you had to get a head start because of the buses, you needed to catch two of them to get there on time.
Your boss didn't tolerate lateness, but who could blame him? At the end of the day, it was your responsibility.
Considering how long it took you to look presentable, plus the commute on two different buses, you had no choice but to wake up at the crack of dawn.
You got out of bed yawning and stretching, feeling like a herd of elephants had trampled you in your sleep.
You woke up way too early, you knew that, and the toll was obvious when you looked at yourself in the bathroom medicine cabinet mirror, the bags under your eyes, your slumped yet tense shoulders, your brittle hair. Exhaustion had become your new normal.
But there was no choice. In the middle of a crisis that made jobs scarce, you needed that paycheck like your life depended on it. And maybe it did.
The debts were piling up. Not just yours, but the ones inherited from your late parents. Their house had been foreclosed on by the bank, and now you were living with your aunt, your only relative in the city. Even so, their personal loans had fallen on you.
On top of that were your own credit card debts, which had led you to resort to drastic measures: loan sharks.
Now, you were suffocating. Part of your salary was automatically garnished by the bank, almost all the rest went to the loan sharks. What was left was barely enough to survive.
It was a snowball effect. At least you could count on your aunt's compassion.
You worked as a marketing analyst at a paper and office supply company. Your salary wasn't half bad, but given your financial situation and lack of other resources, it was never enough.
And following your streak of bad luck, right at the end of the month with only a few cents in your bank account, your shoe gave out and broke while you were putting it on to leave the house. You had to wear a pair of your aunt's instead.
But nothing was so bad that it couldn't get worse.
On the second bus, nearing your workplace, your phone started vibrating incessantly. Sitting in the passenger seat, you pulled it out of your bag, and a familiar number was calling.
Your stomach did a flip instantly.
“Hello?” you answered apprehensively.
“How much longer are you gonna keep paying us chump change, you bitch?” A man’s voice spoke impatiently, already sounding foul.
“I-I paid exactly the installment we agreed on. I told you, I can’t pay more than that, please…” you said, careful to keep your voice down, not wanting anyone on the bus to overhear.
“I don’t care! It’ll take years to pay back what you owe us if you keep sending this pittance you call money!” The pittance he referred to was a massive blow to your pocket every month. “I told you last month that you needed to send more, didn't I? You didn't hold up your end of the deal. My patience has officially run out.”
“I’m going to pay it all, I swear, I’m just a little tight right now. I explained that the bank takes money out of my account before I can even touch it.” You massaged your temples. “We can talk more when I get home, I promise th—”
“I don’t want your goddamn promises. I’m sick of your bullshit and your whining. If you don’t send more money, I’m gonna rip your guts out. I’m fed up!” Your hand almost faltered, a shiver running down your spine as your stomach turned at the threat.
“I-I’ll pay, I’m serious.”
“Talk is cheap, sweetie. I want to see the cash in my account. I’m not playing games. You have until the beginning of the month to pay what you owe, or I’m coming to your house to blow your brains out and saw you into little pieces for my dogs to eat!”
The call ended abruptly, leaving you dazed and shaken, your head spinning and bile rising in your throat. You suddenly forgot how to breathe, overwhelmed by the threat and the whirlwind of thoughts racing through your mind.
You didn’t even notice you’d missed your stop, only getting off at the next one and walking for several minutes before finally reaching the building. This resulted in you arriving a few minutes past your scheduled time.
After clocking in, you went to your desk and opened your laptop to start working. While you were at it, you noticed out of the corner of your eye that Mingi, your boss, was walking down the hallway with a cup of coffee in his hand, heading toward his private office.
Dammit, he hated lateness.
He looked exceptionally handsome today. You hated noticing that, you felt guilty for finding him attractive since he was your boss and, above all, married. He had a massive, glittering wedding band on his finger. So, you always maintained decorum and kept it professional. Besides, a workplace romance was the furthest thing from rational.
You focused on your work, trying to give it your all to forget the call you’d taken on the bus and to keep from throwing up in front of your colleagues and making a scene.
During that time, you received an email from Mingi through your corporate account asking you to come to his office at the end of the day. You swallowed hard, fearing a warning or some form of disciplinary action for your tardiness, but you acknowledged it.
As requested, when it was time to clock out, you gathered your things and went to his office, knocking on the door and receiving permission to enter.
You walked in feeling bashful, wary because you didn't know what to expect. Your body was already tensing up, your cortisol spiked from all the stress, and now fear was mixing in. You didn't want to get into trouble and hoped he would be compassionate, considering it was the first time in a while that you’d been late.
“Have a seat, please,” Mingi said, pointing to the chair in front of his desk. You did as told.
“Is there a problem, sir?” you asked, trying not to show your apprehension.
“You know, Y/n, you’re a good employee, you really are. But,” the pause he took before continuing sent a shiver through your body, chilling you to the bone and making your skin crawl, “many companies have been going through a rough patch lately, and ours is no different.”
You swallowed hard.
“What do you mean, sir?” You prayed to God that this conversation wasn't heading where you feared it was.
Mingi interlaced his fingers, looking deep into your eyes as if he could scent your emotions, seeing right through your soul.
“We’re undergoing crisis management, and because of that, we’ll need to make some cuts…” You could barely breathe anymore. “We didn’t want to have to do this, but we’re going to have to let some people go.”
You couldn't help but close your eyes for a brief second before taking a deep breath, not wanting to hear the conclusion of the conversation. Mingi was noticing your distress, especially since you weren't exactly doing a good job hiding it.
“Sir…”
“Y/n, I’m sorry, but,” in reality, the last thing Mingi felt was sorry. He was relishing your visible anguish. You were doing a terrible job of masking your emotions, letting all your vulnerability show right in front of him. Fuck, he could get hard just from that. He loved this kind of thing. He hesitated on purpose, just to prolong your agony. “We’re letting you go. Tomorrow will be your last day, you should stop by HR later.”
You felt as if your body had just taken the hit from a freefall of thousands of feet. This couldn't be happening; you didn't want to believe it.
“Mr. Mingi, I—I, please, can’t we—”
“Don’t worry, you’ll receive your severance package with all the benefits you’re owed.” Mingi interrupted.
You couldn't hold it back anymore, your entire body was shaking with distress. You let the tears roll down your cheeks, you had been visibly distraught since he started talking, anyway.
You couldn't think straight, your vision was blurred by tears, and the loan shark's voice from the phone call kept replaying in your head, threatening you.
Even the severance pay wouldn't be enough to cover what was left, the interest had skyrocketed, and the outstanding balance was far beyond your means.
You looked at Mingi, who was leaning back in his chair, unbothered, watching you intently.
“Mr. Mingi, please, reconsider! I can keep working for a reduced salary, I don’t care!” You began to plead, desperate for a deal. You didn’t care if you looked pathetic or if you were embarrassing yourself, you had nothing left to lose.
“Holy shit, don’t you have any pride?” Mingi arched his eyebrows, letting out a stifled laugh as he listened to your whimpering. He was genuinely enjoying the scene, he hadn’t expected this kind of reaction. “Why would anyone want to work for a pay cut with no benefits in return? I mean, that’s not even possible, it would put the company in hot water with the union and labor laws.”
“Please, there has to be another way! I can’t be fired, I—I really need this job.” You were a mess of tears.
“Y/n, it wasn't anything personal. I already told you we’re making cuts.” Mingi was loving how you begged and pleaded as if you didn't have an ounce of pride or decency left. If only you could see his erection behind that desk, he was absolutely bursting with lust.
Watching you break down in tears, begging, your body trembling and your breathing ragged, making your chest heave heavily beneath your tight dress shirt... he could finish right then and there if he kept this up.
Mingi loved humiliation. He loved reducing a woman to nothing, making her just a filthy, pathetic mess. Oh, if you only knew how much you were turning him on by doing that. It even gave him an idea.
As for you, your heart was pounding so hard you were sure you’d have a heart attack at any second. Mingi didn't understand how fucked you were, he didn't get that your life was on a tightrope, and the rope was so thin it was practically a thread.
You were falling apart.
‘’It’s not just that... it’s just that I owe a lot of money to loan sharks. And I have to pay this debt if I don’t want to die. I’m begging you, by all that is holy, don’t fire me! I’ll do anything—I can take on extra responsibilities, I can be useful in any way!”
Anything, you said? That was exactly what Mingi needed to hear. He squeezed the erection through his pants again, feeling like his cock was hard enough to rip through the fabric.
He rested his elbows on the desk and leaned in, getting right in your face. His face wore a cynical smirk, his eyes shimmered with excitement and disdain. He was full of mockery.
“How much do you owe to be this desperate? Tell me.”
You swallowed hard, feeling a knot in your throat, and revealed the total amount you needed to pay to clear your debt.
You weren't made of stone, you felt ashamed, and your stomach was doing somersaults from the whole situation. You wanted to throw up, but you couldn't give in. You didn't know what else to do.
“Holy shit!” Mingi started laughing, leaning back in his swivel chair, acting superior. “How did you manage to run up a debt like that on your salary, and with loan sharks, no less? Are you stupid?”
You stared at your lap, humiliated by his behavior, especially since you knew you really had been stupid and reckless, digging yourself into a bottomless pit.
“I needed to borrow that money...”
Mingi watched you stammer through your sob story like a cat watching a mouse try to protect itself, knowing it would eventually be caught. He licked his lips, relishing the moment.
“That’s a real shame. And right when the loan shark wants to blow your brains out, you’re getting fired...” he said, cold and mocking, jeering at you.
You squeezed your eyes shut. “Please...” you said in a whisper.
“You want to keep your job that badly?” he questioned, one eyebrow arched.
“Yes, I do! I already explained, I don’t have any other choice. I’ll do anything!” You said, referring to your job. You tried to take a deep breath and control your heart rate, but it was useless.
“Anything?” he repeated. You nodded frantically. “Well, in that case, there is one thing you can do.”
You felt a spark of relief ignite in your chest upon hearing that. You would do whatever it took if it meant not losing your job.
“What is it, Mingi? Please tell me—I promise I’ll do it!”
“Stand up. Come over here,” he said, leaning back fully into his chair.
You found it strange, but you didn't question him. You weren't in any position to do so, you simply did as he said, standing up and walking around the desk until you were on the same side as him. He moved in his swivel chair, following your movements and turning to face you directly.
Mingi looked up at you, a sickening, arrogant smirk on his face as he massaged his erection. Your eyes widened, and the air escaped your lungs.
You were shocked to see your boss like that. Your eyes instinctively flickered to the wedding ring on his finger.
He began to unbuckle his belt.
“If you want to keep your job, come over here and prove to me just how willing you are to keep working for me, Y/n. I want to see your devotion.” He looked at you hungrily, his pupils completely dilated.
“What are you doing?! This is absurd, what do you think I am?” Tears began to stream down your face again, hot and thick, your ordeal seemed to have no end.
“What I think doesn’t matter to you. Don't you want to pay off your debt and keep that little airhead of yours intact?” Mingi countered smugly, his voice dripping with arrogance.
“But... but... you’re married!” you insisted.
“And why does that matter to you?” Mingi began to lose his patience with your reluctance, deciding to be even crueler. “You said you’d do anything, didn’t you? Well, then, this is the only way I won't fire you.”
You swallowed hard, taking a step back.
“Think carefully, Y/n...” Mingi continued. “Take one more step back, and consider yourself officially fired. And from what you told me, I think you should consider yourself a dead woman, too.” You squeezed your eyes shut, tears blurring your vision, his words feeling like a hand squeezing your heart inside your chest.
“This is... so fucking messed up,” you whispered.
“I know. And that’s why, if you accept, I’ll give you the money you need. I’ll pay off your debt, Y/n.” You caught your breath, suspicious. He couldn’t be serious. “What, don’t believe me? I always keep my word. If you satisfy me, I’ll clear your entire debt myself. You’ll keep your job and you won’t owe those loan sharks another dime.”
You felt trapped by Mingi’s proposal. You couldn't deny it was extremely tempting, even though you’d be submitting to something disgusting and throwing your dignity in the trash, you’d receive money in return that you could hardly earn any other way.
Just the thought of getting rid of the loan sharks and finally getting your life back on track and being at peace...
Noticing your internal conflict, Mingi laughed, amused as he watched you question your own values.
“Come here, you know you want this.” He unbuttoned his pants, tugging the waistband down to reveal his painfully hard cock inside his boxers, pulsing.
You let out a sigh of defeat. You knew you wouldn’t be able to forgive yourself after this, but you decided to push all your values aside for the moment.
With a few more steps, you were close to him, and he looked at you expectantly, relishing the moment. You dropped to your knees, and he pulled his cock out, making your eyes widen.
the smirk on his lips only intensified at your reaction.
It was big. Really big. Not just that, but thick. It was heavy and girthy, with veins bulging and the head already dripping with pre cum.
He stroked himself gently, up and down, tilting your chin up with his calloused fingers, bringing your face inches away from his shaft.
You squeezed your eyes shut before finally doing what he was waiting for. You gripped the base and looked up at him, he had one elbow on the desk, his head tilted and resting on his hand.
He looked so snobbish, he was making a point to show just how arrogant and superior he was.
You brought his cock to your mouth, licking the head first and letting your saliva run down the shaft, coating it.
Your lips brushed against it, the scent of his masculinity filling your nostrils as you teased the length of him with your tongue, licking from base to tip before slowly taking him into your mouth, being careful not to graze his sensitive member with your teeth.
He reached for your head, panting. “That’s it, keep going.”
You worked hard to take as much of him as you could into your mouth, feeling his size fill the space. With your hand, you stroked whatever was left outside, sucking on him.
Your tongue went around and around the tip, putting every effort into stimulating him. He threw his head back in approval.
“You know,” he began, his voice husky and deep. “I can barely fuck my wife ever since I laid eyes on you.”
You couldn't help but look up at him, confused, but you didn't stop your movements, bobbing your head up and down and drooling all over him.
He smirked at your expression.
“All I can think about is wrecking you,” he admitted, watching you with predatory eyes. His lips were parted as he stared at you intently. With his hand on your head, he slid his fingers through your hair, gripping the strands firmly and pulling your head back. “Here, play with my balls.”
He guided your head down to his balls, rubbing your face against them.
You stuck your tongue out and licked the sensitive skin of his scrotum, tracing the lines on it before taking them into your mouth.
He let out a raspy grunt, pressing your head against his balls while you stroked the tip of his member. Mingi pulled your head back again, only to shove it against his dick.
He was commanding your moves now, and there was nothing gentle about him. He was blunt, rough, going hard, his hand pulling and messing up your hair.
Mingi used his other hand to grip your chin firmly, forcing your mouth open to take his cock. Then, he shoved your head forward without any care, making your nose hit his pubic bone as his cock went all the way into your mouth.
You wanted to cough, instinctively, your gag reflex kicked in, but he held your head still while his cock hit the back of your throat, choking you.
You grabbed his thighs, squeezing them and patting him to signal that you couldn't breathe, but he ignored you and kept your head pinned.
You made embarrassing noises, gagging on him, as more saliva ran from your mouth, making a mess all over him. Finally, he let you take a breath.
With his cock completely coated in spit and his own fluids, he held you in place. He gripped the base of his member and brought it to your face, slapping it against your skin.
His cock was just as heavy as you’d thought, the hard, veiny flesh smacking your cheek with force before he rubbed it all over your face, spreading the mess and turning you into a total disaster.
“Stick your tongue out.” You obeyed him, and Mingi repeatedly slapped his cock against your tongue, splashing pre cum on it. “Keep your eyes on me. Don’t look away.”
He let go of your hair and rested his hand on the back of your neck, giving you back control of your moves. You gripped his base again and sucked as much of him as you could fit in your mouth, jerking him off with both hands.
Your jaw was already aching from holding your mouth open to accommodate Mingi’s cock, making you slow down the pace. But with a look of disapproval from him, you sped back up.
On one hand, it was better for you to go faster and make him come soon to get this over with.
“Look at you,” he began again. “Sucking your boss off like a bitch right in his office. You’re so filthy.” His voice carried a mocking tone, enjoying watching you make yourself insignificant before him.
Maintaining eye contact as he ordered, you intensified the blowjob, swirling your tongue around his shaft, letting the tip of his cock rub against the roof of your mouth, eliciting hoarse, deep groans from him, growling.
Feeling he was close, he stood up and gripped both sides of your head with his hands, holding you pinned in place.
Mingi began to fuck your mouth, and you started gagging and coughing clumsily again. It embarrassed you, but it only excited Mingi further.
Hearing your primitive sounds, listening to you make wet noises on his cock while choking as he face fucked you all the way to your throat made his cock pulse.
“You drive me crazy,” Mingi gripped your hair tight, his thrusts were faster now and had turned sloppy, indicating he was close. “I’m gonna cum in your pretty little mouth. Swallow every drop, or I’m gonna get fucking mad at you, you hear me?”
You only managed to babble a sound that didn't even resemble a yes, due to his cock brutally sliding in and out of your mouth.
With a guttural, raspy groan, Mingi came in your mouth, pulling back just enough to watch his cock shoot cum into your mouth, painting your tongue white and forming a gooey pool mixed with your saliva.
“Don’t swallow yet. Just wait,” You did as he asked, obediently but suspiciously. Mingi reached for his phone and opened the camera, making you panic as he pointed it at you.
“Be quiet, baby. I need a souvenir of you. I can’t let this sight perish from my memory, I need to record this.” Hesitant, you remained with your mouth open, full of cum, looking at him with pleading eyes. He gripped your neck tightly, leaning till his face reached your ear. “Listen, if you don’t let me do what I want, you’ll be breaking our deal...”
You just closed your eyes for an instant before continuing to submit, and without waiting for any other reaction from you, he photographed you in that state.
“Now you can swallow. Take it all. It’s nutritious.” he teased, laughing mockingly as he watched you swallow his cum.
You took a deep breath, trying to catch your wind, which was when Mingi offered you a box of tissues. You accepted them without looking at him again, but he didn’t seem to care anymore.
You cleaned yourself up as best you could before standing back up. Your knees ached a bit, and if it weren’t for your pants, they’d surely be beet red.
Mingi approached you with his phone in hand, showing you a bank transfer receipt. A ridiculously large amount had been sent to your account. However, it was still less than the total debt.
“A little treat for the photo,” he explained. “Give me your phone. I’m going to put my number in and send you instructions soon.”
“What?” You frowned. This wasn’t over?
“Is there a problem?” He looked at your face with disdain. “Oh, don't tell me you thought that was it.” Your silence was enough for him to mock you once more.
“How many times am I going to have to do thi—”
You were harshly interrupted as Mingi shoved you against the wall, gripping your neck firmly, squeezing, but not enough to choke you.
“As many times as I want, you bitch. Or did you think I was going to give you money without fucking that little pussy of yours first?” he growled, his nose pressed against yours.
He moved his hand between your legs, drawing a startled gasp from you as he kept you pinned against the wall. He rubbed his fingers over your clothed pussy, feeling the moisture from your core soaking the fabric.
He laughed and you hated yourself for being wet.
He bit your bottom lip hard, making you whimper in pain before he finally let go and let you leave.
Friday morning. The alarm went off a bit later than usual this time, ringing at 7:30. Last night, you took an uber home since you’d received some money and felt safer that way.
Today, you were going to call a car again. So, you woke up later than usual to get more sleep. As it turned out, that didn't actually give you more rest, because you had trouble falling asleep last night.
You felt dirty and couldn’t stop thinking about what you’d done with your boss at the office, as if you were a prostitute.
On top of that, Mingi had messaged you that same night, letting you know that today he was going to take you to a place he knows, so you’d have more space and comfort, just the way he likes it.
That left a bitter taste in your mouth, but you couldn't lie, sucking him off seemed a lot easier after you’d actually received the money.
People like Mingi didn't know the value of a dollar because they were used to having everything. But for you, receiving a bank transfer with as many digits as your entire salary was beyond your reality.
That was another thing that kept you awake for a while, making you question your own morality. What would be harder? Simply giving in to Mingi, a guy you’d always found attractive and hot, and getting paid for it...
Or taking your chances out there, in the middle of a crumbling economy, with loan sharks wanting to skin you alive?
It was obvious. Mingi was right about you being stupid for getting involved with those guys, but you didn't want to feel even stupider by throwing away the chance to finally get on your feet. You couldn't refuse money you’d likely never see again in your life, money you knew would take years of hard work to save.
Even if it meant submitting to a degrading situation. This was no time to be moralistic. It was a necessity, and that was exactly how you were going to look at it.
You arrived on time, starting your day as usual while Mingi seemed busy in his office. He had hardly come out at all, and when he did, he paid you no attention.
Better that way, you thought. At least you could breathe.
After lunch, as you returned to your desk, your phone started buzzing with notifications.
Mingi.
“When you clock out, go wait for me in the parking garage.”
You limited your response to a simple confirmation message and turned your attention back to your work.
At the end of the day, as the clock hit the end of the shift, everyone started gathering their things and leaving quietly. You took your time on purpose, shutting down your laptop, tidying your desk, and grabbing your bag.
You were the last one to leave the office, making sure to take the elevator alone down to the parking garage, just as Mingi had ordered.
You waited discreetly behind a pillar in a darker corner until Mingi appeared. Noticing you, he caught your eye and motioned for you to follow him.
The two of you walked in silence to his car.
In stark contrast to his rudeness and hostility from yesterday, he opened the passenger door for you. You got in, and he walked around to the driver's side and started the engine.
You remained silent, staring out the window to avoid eye contact, but for some reason, your eyes were drawn to him like a magnet. You stole a glance, noticing the wedding band on his finger.
You let out a sigh.
He parked the car and unbuckled his seatbelt; you did the same, realizing you’d reached your destination. Getting out of the car, you saw the facade of a beautiful, elegant restaurant, clearly a luxury one. A valet quickly arrived, greeted him, and took the keys to park the car.
Mingi walked in with you, so calm and collected that it didn't even seem like he was cheating on his wife with his employee, taking her out to dinner before the slaughter.
The hostess led you to a reserved, discreet table, just as Mingi had requested upon entering.
The seating consisted of booths, and Mingi made a point of having you sit right next to him, very close to his body.
“Have you ever been to a place like this?” he asked while opening the menu left by the waiter. You shook your head. “I figured. Did you know that seafood can be an aphrodisiac? It helps increase the libido.”
You flushed, looking down at your hands.
“I—I didn't know.” Mingi gave a lopsided smile as the waiter approached again.
Without asking what you wanted or even checking if you’d eat the same thing as him, Mingi ordered the appetizers and the main course, both seafood, along with drinks, completely ignoring your preferences.
For the appetizer, Mingi ordered oysters. For the main course, lobster.
Seeing that you seemed restless, he spoke up again. “Don't worry, you'll like it.”
“It’s just that I’ve never had oysters before...” You didn't want to come across like some poor country girl or look even more like an idiot to him.
“I told you, you'll like it.” He placed his hand on your thigh, squeezing it lightly over the fabric of your pencil skirt.
He leaned in with a predatory look in his eyes, like a hunter. He pressed his nose against your neck and took in your scent, sending shivers through your body and making your skin crawl.
“You look extra hot in this skirt. You put it on just to tease me, didn't you?” Mingi tilted your face toward him by your chin, forcing you to meet his gaze. He lowered his eyes to your mouth and brushed his fingertips over your plushy lips.
You didn't even know how to answer him; he was making you nervous and tense.
“People are going to see us like this,” you said, ashamed of being caught by onlookers in an intimate moment with your boss in the middle of a public place.
“I don't care about that one bit. In fact, it’s exciting that they might see us, don’t you think?” Mingi brushed his lips against your ear, training them down to your neck, where he lightly nibbled your skin before pressing a soft kiss there.
You suppressed a gasp, flushing deeply at the contact that left you flustered in the middle of the restaurant. All you could think about at that moment was how embarrassed you’d be to be seen like this, as if you had no scruples.
He pulled back when the waiter arrived at the table with the appetizers, a small tray of fresh oysters and lemon wedges.
He also brought white wine, pouring a glass for both you and Mingi. However, before you could take a sip, Mingi stopped you, preventing you from drinking.
“No alcohol for you.” He asked the waiter to bring water and ice instead, before taking a sip from his own glass. “You’re not having a single drop; I want you completely sober.”
You fought the urge to huff and roll your eyes. Just when a bit of alcohol would have been perfect to relax your body and calm your nerves.
Son of a bitch.
Mingi placed a hand on your back, nudging you slightly toward the table, encouraging you to take an oyster while he picked one up for himself.
You couldn't hide your look of disapproval as you stared at the mollusks arranged in shells on the tray. Hesitantly, you picked one up and looked at Mingi.
“Eat.” he said, sharp and authoritative, before eating his own oyster without breaking eye contact with you.
You ate it reluctantly, feeling the soft, slippery texture play in your mouth. As you bit down, it was as if a burst of seawater flavor exploded inside, followed by a slightly sweet finish.
It wasn’t that bad. You couldn't say for sure if you liked it, but at least it wouldn't be a torture to eat.
Mingi gave a victorious smile, motioning for you to have more.
You stared at the wedding band on his finger as he took another sip of his white wine, for the thousandth time since the day before.
“Won’t your wife get suspicious, since you haven't gone home yet?” you asked boldly. You were already neck deep in this situation, and he had been arrogant and mocking the whole time, it wouldn't hurt to be a little sassy.
Mingi clicked his tongue, poking the inside of his cheek with it before answering. “It’s common for me to work late sometimes. She’s used to it.”
You almost threw up at the casual way he spoke, showing total indifference and coldness. His wife had to be a poor soul to be married to a man like that, you thought. Given how natural he was being, this certainly wasn’t the first time he’d cheated on her.
Time inside the restaurant seemed to pass slower than usual. It felt as if everything was lagging on purpose, prolonging that cold, strange moment.
The main course was served: lobster accompanied by potato mousseline and tomato confit. It was exquisite, you had never eaten anything as delicious in your life. It was a rare moment, considering that if it weren’t for the circumstances, you would never set foot in a place like this.
Whatever Mingi ordered was surely pocket change to him, but for you, spending money there was unthinkable. The cheapest item on the menu would likely still be too expensive for you.
The entire time, Mingi didn't spare you from intense looks that made you feel naked. He frequently ran his hand over your leg under the table, squeezing your thigh and, every now and then, sliding his fingers under your skirt to feel the heat of your skin.
To your relief, he didn't go very far, only caressing as far as his fingers could reach while the cotton fabric of your skirt kept your thighs covered.
Once you both finished eating, Mingi called for the check, left a few bills in the bill tray, and stood up, offering his hand to help you up.
You walked calmly out of the restaurant, and Mingi waited for a few brief moments for the valet to return with his car and hand back the keys.
You got back into the car, feeling an icy chill shiver through your body, making you wrap your arms around yourself. The weather wasn't cold, but the entire atmosphere made you feel frozen to the core.
He leaned toward you again to buckle your seatbelt, it might have looked like a gentlemanly gesture, but he was just making a move. He inhaled audibly near you, making sure you noticed him taking in your scent, and as he latched the belt, he nuzzled your neck again, this time grazing his teeth against your earlobe.
He straightened up in the driver's seat and started the car. After a few minutes, he reached over and rested a hand on your leg, letting it sit on your thigh. Soon, Mingi was caressing your leg, squeezing your flesh until he hitched up the hem of your skirt and pressed his palm directly against your bare skin.
You gasped at the contact, feeling his fingers stroke your inner thigh while he kept his eyes on the road.
His touch was hot, sending chills over your skin, and you hated that you felt electrified by such intimate contact.
Shortly after, Mingi pulled into a roadside motel. You wanted to roll your eyes at the place, especially after he’d taken you to such a fine, high end restaurant. But you couldn't complain, it wasn't like you were playing the part of a puritan.
Even though you’d had that moment with him at the restaurant and the time in the car during the drive, the second you stepped into the room, you didn't even have time to breathe or mentally prepare for what was coming next.
Mingi lunged at you like a feral wolf, pinning you against the wall and pressing the full weight of his body against yours.
His cock was already rock hard, aching inside his pants and straining to be free. You could feel his bulge poking into your stomach, the heat radiating from him warmed your skin and made your lower abdomen tingle.
His mouth found yours, clashing your lips together and kissing you with the hunger of a pack of wolves. He explored your mouth with a fierce, greedy intensity while his hands snaked over your body, tracing your curves with precision, grabbing your flesh every now and then and squeezing it in his palms.
You sighed into his mouth, your hands gripping his broad shoulders, holding on tight as he groped you. His tongue invaded your mouth without asking for permission, tangling with yours in a rushed, voracious rhythm.
The kiss intensified by the second. Mingi explored your mouth as if his life depended on it, you were pressed so tightly together that you could feel his heartbeat.
Still pressing your bodies together, Mingi moved one hand to your breast, still covered by your shirt, while simultaneously sliding his other hand down to your ass, grabbing it firmly and squeezing your butt between his fingers.
Your body grew hotter with every passing second. He used his own feet to nudge yours apart, forcing your legs open wider, and rubbed his clothed erection against you, letting you feel the full, hard length of him. Mingi let go of your breast only to hitch up your skirt, pulling it up until he could see your panties, giving your legs more freedom and increasing the contact between your bodies.
You couldn't hold back a groan when you felt his cock rubbing directly against your pussy through the fabric of your underwear. He was applying so much pressure and grinding in such a way that you could clearly feel his foreskin moving.
He broke the kiss, and as you gasped for air, he trailed his lips down to your neck, planting wet kisses all the way to your shoulder, punctuating them with bites, each one more intense than the last.
He held you by your ass, his hips grinding shamelessly against yours with pressure and vehemence, and you spread your legs wider to give him more contact.
Mingi reached for your shirt, impatient with the buttons as he tried to force it open. You quickly stopped him from ruining your clothes, unbuttoning it for him, and he hurriedly shoved the fabric off your shoulders.
He gripped your breasts firmly, cupping them, then squeezing and massaging them. Every so often, he would rub his thumb over your nipple through the bra until he finally pulled the cup down to expose your tits.
You moaned when he pinched your sensitive nipples, nipping at the tips as if he wanted to wring something out of them. He took his time with your tits, pinching them and pressing his thumb down hard, focused on leaving them red and marked.
Soon after, Mingi leaned down and took them into his mouth, sucking on them and grazing his teeth over the surface while keeping his hands cupping them. He flicked his tongue across your nipple in long strokes, the tip circling it and applying a delicious pressure that sent an electric charge through your body, your hands gripped the hair at the nape of his neck as you let out a long, drawn out moan.
Mingi took your nipple fully into his mouth and began to suckle, creating an intense pressure in your breast and a conflicting sensation, you couldn't decide if you loved or hated it. A moment later, he pulled away, dragging his lips across your thin, soft skin, leaving a trail of wet kisses.
He alternated the kisses with bites, each one becoming harder than the last, making you tremble and whimper against him, but that only encouraged him to go further. He left a hickey in the cleavage between your breasts, and just above the curve of your chest, he sank his teeth in deeper, drawing a fussy whimper from you.
Mingi left pools of drool and trails of saliva over your breasts, purposely doing a sloppy job just for the satisfaction of seeing your tits glisten with his spit over the hickeys and bite marks, leaving you a mess.
He brought his lips back up to your neck, kissing your skin as he tugged at the fabric of your skirt, which had already been hitched up to expose your bottom, trying to force the garment down. You intervened, just as you had with your shirt, stopping him from tearing the fabric, you quickly unzipped it and pushed the skirt down to your feet, kicking it aside.
Mingi moved his lips to your ear, sending shivers through your body, while his hand slid down to your clothed pussy. He wasn't gentle when he touched you, he was rough from the start, feeling the heat radiating from your core.
He rubbed his hand over the thin fabric of your panties, cupping your cunt with pressure. Mingi rubbed his fingers over the damp patch forming at the bottom of the fabric, soaking it even more. Without any care, he used two fingers to press against your opening through the garment, shoving the panties inside as best he could. You whimpered against him, filling his ears with what sounded like the most beautiful melody to him.
Meanwhile, his mouth teased your skin, dragging his wet, plushy lips along the curve of your ear, he let the air in his lungs escape so you could feel his hot breath blowing against the sensitive skin, sending waves vibrating through your nerves. Mingi then distributed more wet kisses until he caught your lobe between his teeth, nibbling it hungrily and dragging his teeth with steady force.
His hand was now rubbing your pussy vigorously in circular motions, still through your panties, leaving the fabric completely soaked.
Until, suddenly, he pulled away, and you almost lost your balance from the loss of support against his body.
“Take off your panties.” he said, his eyes clouded as if he were already drunk on you.
You obeyed, removing the last piece of clothing from your body, but before you could drop it somewhere on the floor, he intervened, holding out his hand for you to give them to him.
You frowned slightly, hesitant. He simply arched an eyebrow with a serious expression, and you placed the garment in his hand.
Mingi brought your panties to his nose, smelling them as if they were a bottle of pure perfume, drugging himself on your scent without breaking eye contact. Your eyes widened, your cheeks flushing a deep crimson in shame, unable to believe he was actually doing that.
You watched him inhale the scent of your panties as if it bewitched him, making him even hungrier, before he tucked them away inside his pants pocket.
“On your knees.” he dictated authoritatively.
You knelt right where you were, and he took another step forward, causing his bulge to poke against your face.
Mingi grabbed your hair, pulling your head against his erection and rubbing your face along the entire length of it through his pants, making you feel every single inch.
He removed his belt, unbuttoning his pants and sliding the zipper down, pushing the waistband and his underwear down just far enough for his hard cock to spring out, smacking against your face.
With one of his hands pulling you close by the nape of your neck, urging you to suck him off, you did just that.
You gripped his cock by the base, stroking him a bit and using the tip of your thumb to spread the moisture pooling at the tip before bringing your mouth to his dick and taking the head, making him release the air trapped in his lungs as he threw his head back.
You started slowly, gradually moistening his shaft with saliva, pushing his length inside bit by bit to let your jaw adjust to his size while your hand jerked off the rest.
You used your tongue to wet his cock, making it easier to slide it into your mouth, you let your saliva coat him, the moisture pooling in your mouth and dripping down his member as you spread it even more with your hand.
He kept one hand on top of your head, gripping your hair to hold you in place, and you prepared yourself mentally, already predicting what he would do next.
Mingi moved his other hand to the back of your neck and began to face-fuck you. Unlike you, he didn't do it gradually. He thrust with power, hard and rough.
You felt the tip of his cock hitting your throat, triggering your reflexes, while your hands gripped his thighs for better stability.
He increased the speed of his thrusts, the friction of his cock against your mouth caused your saliva to mix with his fluids, forming a sticky goo that drooled from the corners of your mouth and coated his shaft, leaving it slippery and soaking wet.
He grunted and groaned hoarsely as he used and abused your mouth, making your jaw ache from the stretch you forced to accommodate his size.
Mingi gripped your head firmly and face fucked you so hard that his cock slid past your throat as if you were swallowing him whole, making you gag as the vulgar sound of saliva bubbled.
He held his cock still in your throat, pressing your head against his pubic bone so you couldn't pull away, preventing you from breathing properly until you tapped his thigh, choked by his shaft.
He pulled out completely, letting you breathe for only a few seconds before shoving himself back into your mouth and pinning you to his cock again. Mingi repeated this several times until tears were streaming from your eyes and your face was deep red from the lack of air.
Mingi pulled you up by your neck, forcing you to stand, and promptly shoved you onto the bed in the middle of the room.
You felt so small in front of him, so vulnerable and embarrassed to be completely naked and already looking like a total mess, while he was still fully clothed, with only his waistband pushed down.
He remained standing, watching you while one of his hands slowly stroked his hard length. His eyes were intoxicatingly dark, his shadow filled gaze fixed on you as you sat on your ankles in the middle of the bed, watching him intently.
“Show yourself to me, pretty,” Mingi said, making you murmur a confused hm, but he just kept looking at you expectantly.
Your hesitation made him repeat: “Open your legs and show yourself to me.” He spat out each word harshly and impatiently, sending a shiver down your spine.
Shy and utterly embarrassed, you did as he said. This wasn't the kind of thing you usually did, so your movements were awkward and unnatural.
However, that didn't matter to Mingi. Your lack of grace only turned him on, it was exactly your humiliation that kept his cock rock hard.
You lay back on the bed, propped up on your elbows, calmly spreading your legs and opening yourself up for him to see.
He grinned wickedly, approving of the view you were giving him.
“Now, sweetheart, get on your knees and arch your ass for me.” You did as he said, settling into a position on all fours. You figured he wouldn't want you burying your face in the mattress. Not yet. “Good. Now use those little fingers of yours to show me that pretty little pussy.”
The fuck.
Hesitation hit you full force again, your brow furrowed and your body locked up, unsure if you’d understood exactly how he wanted you to do it. Did he want you to touch yourself or something?
A sharp smack against your ass made you arch your back and yelp in pain and surprise. He had slapped your butt, hitting you hard with his hand, you could even feel the ring on his finger sting your skin.
“Don’t make me impatient, Y/n. Do as I say, and do it now.” He spat out every word, annoyed, his voice carrying a darkness that masked the lust he felt in making you submit.
You took a breath and did as he ordered, sliding your hand down your stomach and between your legs, caressing your exposed pussy.
He hummed in approval, stroking your ass where he’d slapped it, soothing the area.
“Now use your fingers to spread that little cunt open for me.”
Since Mingi couldn't see your face due to the position, you squeezed your eyes shut, wishing a hole would open in the bed and swallow you whole so you wouldn't have to perform such obscenities.
With no other choice and knowing you were there for a reason, you obeyed immediately, making a 'V' with your fingers and pulling your folds apart, exposing your opening.
Mingi gave a victorious, smug smile from behind you, relishing the sight. His cock twitched, his veins pulsed with excitement and the tip dripped with pre cum.
“That’s it, baby, keep it like that. Show that pussy to your boss.” He caressed your ass, gripping and squeezing the flesh, sinking his fingers into your juicy buns. Then, Mingi grabbed your ass and pulled your cheeks apart, leaving you vulgarly exposed to him while you kept your fingers spreading your entrance.
In a way, the situation was making your pussy wet, a trail of lubrication leaked from your core, leaving a thick streak on your intimacy, between your folds and wetting your clit.
Mingi watched it all with pleasure, and to your surprise, he slowly spat right on your asshole and watched it run down your crack until it hit your pussy, messing up your slit and hole. His cock vibrated on its own as he watched the saliva wet your entrance.
Unable to take it anymore, he pulled away and hurriedly stripped off his shirt and pants, standing completely naked just like you. He moved back to the bed, keeping you with your ass arched up.
Mingi gripped his cock by the base and slapped it against your pussy, rubbing it between your soft folds before he started to shove it into your entrance.
You gasped at the skin on skin contact and the sheer force he was using, careless and rough, leaving you tense.
“W-Wait, hold on, aren't you going to use a condom?!” you questioned him worriedly, looking at him over your shoulder. He just scoffed.
“Relax, I’m all clean if that’s what’s worrying you. And besides,” he thrust his hips against yours with force, forcing the tip of his cock inside you and drawing a pained moan from your lips. “I’ve had the snip. I wouldn’t give bitches like you the chance to trap me with a pregnancy.”
Your lips thinned into a straight line, annoyed by his arrogance and stupidity, as you looked back toward the headboard.
Your hands gripped the sheets, bunching them into knots as Mingi shoved his hips against you once more, forcing his length into your pussy, drawing moans that wavered between discomfort and pleasure.
The fact that his cock was completely wet and lubricated, thanks to the mess you’d left him in, combined with the spit and your own moisture, allowed his shaft to slide in without much trouble.
However, his size was too much for you. His large cock, swollen and engorged with thick veins running along its length, his girth made it feel like your pussy was being torn apart, as he didn't even give you time to adjust.
Mingi thrust his hips hungrily, and with each stroke, more of his cock entered your pussy until you finally felt the tip hit your cervix, letting out a loud, drawn-out moan.
Just like that, he established an intense rhythm. He moved brutally and roughly, grabbing your ass.
His cock pulsed inside you, feeling your heat and your gummy walls hugging him as your back arched. You whimpered, hating how your body was responding so positively to him, your pussy throbbed, coating him in your stickiness.
He filled you completely, going deep and hard, relishing in your needy moans.
“You’re so hot, baby,” he growled, staring at the way his cock slid in and out of your cunt, messy with the mix of body fluids, forming a ring of cream at the base of his shaft. He reached for your hair with one hand, gripping the strands and pulling back, forcing you to arch your back even further. “Look at you, taking it from your boss for money. You’re a real whore, Y/n!”
He mocked you as he drove deep into your pussy, watching your ass move, grinding against your hips, the curve of your waist contrasting with the swell of your backside, his gaze occasionally flickering down to your asshole.
Shortly after, he stopped, letting go of your hair only to grab your ankle, making you turn over on the bed until your back was against the mattress.
You felt empty without his cock inside you, already missing his thickness sliding against your walls.
Mingi climbed over you, gripping your face firmly and squeezing your jaw with force, making your lips pout as you looked up at him with glossy eyes.
“Open your mouth,” he said hoarsely, his voice deep and strained.
You opened it instantly. He spat, forming a pool on your tongue, you widened your eyes and used every ounce of strength in your body to suppress a gag, feeling nauseated by the gesture.
He squeezed your jaw again, forcing your mouth shut.
“Swallow.” You shook your head, squirming under him, and with your mouth forced shut, you couldn't stop your reflexes anymore, you heaved, gagging on his spit as disgust washed over you. “Swallow!”
Mingi held your jaw tight, locking it in place and forcing his hand against your mouth, preventing you from opening it.
You writhed and almost threw up, but you finally gave in and swallowed, letting out a muffled whimper against his hand and a high pitched grunt.
“Just like that, good girl.” He cupped your cheek, caressing it with his thumb.
Moving over you, he lined his tip up with your entrance and shoved his cock back inside, making you groan loudly and instinctively grab his back.
Mingi grabbed one of your legs behind the knee, hiking it up to his shoulder and pinning it against your chest. You moaned and sobbed, feeling his cock go even deeper, kissing your cervix. You could almost feel him hitting your uterus directly.
You felt your voice failing, moaning incessantly, feeling numb as his cock frictioned against your walls after they had settled around him again.
The sheer girth of his cock caused a slight ache, but he filled you so well, providing an intoxicating pleasure that made your pussy throb and get so wet with excitement, your hole was slippery, and the sound of your bodies clashing together produced vulgar noises.
You moaned with a needy edge, digging your nails into his back, letting the pleasure he was giving you flow through your touch. You looked at him with deer eyes while he fucked you hard and balls deep, his gaze wrapping around you like a cloud, as if nothing else existed in the world but him.
Mingi grinned wickedly, satisfied with his effect on you.
“Does it feel good, baby?” he asked, his voice low and husky as he brushed his nose against yours. “It does, doesn't it? Let me hear those beautiful sounds coming out of your mouth.” Mingi slid a hand between your bodies, reaching for your pussy and caressing your clit.
He toyed with his fingers along your slit, feeling his cock slide in slippery and loud, before stopping to pull you by the waist and lying back on the bed.
Mingi pulled you up to mount him, he rested his head on the soft, plush pillow while watching you settle onto his lap and grip his wet shaft, lining it up with your hole before slowly sliding down, letting his cock be buried completely inside you.
He was sensitive, feeling like he was on fire with the pleasure you were causing him, his groin throbbed hot, wanting to release his seed, thick and warm.
You began to move slowly, watching Mingi knit his brows together and release the air from his lungs in a deep groan, showing just how sensitive his cock was, and you took the hint to move even slower.
You leaned back a bit, resting your hands on his thighs, grinding your hips slowly and giving him a perfect view of your pussy deliciously swallowing his cock. He stared at your folds being parted by his length sinking into your hole, the creamy ring around his base sticking to your skin and forming thin viscous white strings every time you bottomed out and rose back up.
Mingi felt like he wouldn't be able to hold out much longer and brought one of his hands to your intimacy again, rubbing your clit rhythmically with his thumb, with a light pressure.
You increased the speed at which you bounced on his cock, moaning louder since you were also sensitive and more stimulated by his touch.
“Oh, yes, please...” you whimpered, feeling him leading you to the edge, your body began to tremble over his.
“Come for me, baby. Let me see you fall apart on my cock,” Mingi said, enjoying the sight of you raving in pleasure on top of him, grinding hard and making a mess of his pubic area with your wetness.
“Please, don’t stop, please, please, please...” you begged repeatedly till you hardly knew what you were asking for anymore, as he kept your clit perfectly stimulated. Your eyes were clouded, your vision blurry.
Not long after, you shuddered, your legs tensed over him while you writhed on top of him, and he watched you come on his cock, your walls contracting repeatedly and squeezing him, driving him insane.
He didn’t give you a moment to breathe, feeling like he was about to come, Mingi pulled you back, this time moving you to the middle of the bed as he kept you on your knees with your ass arched, shoving himself inside you in one single thrust.
He was being very vocal, shamelessly letting out deep noises and strained groans, until after a few more thrusts he came. He felt his cock pulse powerfully, releasing all the cum trapped inside that had been fighting to be let loose in you, filling your hole and painting your walls white as he let out a guttural roar, shooting inside you.
Mingi was breathing raggedly. He pulled out of you slowly, holding you firmly in place by your hips, and leaned down so his face was level with your core.
He pressed his palms against your ass, spreading the cheeks wide, once again fully exposing your holes to him. He watched your hole, filled with his cum, pulsing sensitively and leaking.
He watched intently as your pussy spilled his cream, dripping down your folds. Mingi brought his fingers to your cunt, rubbing them through your slit and spreading his cum even more all over your pussy, making a gooey mess between your legs.
Mingi pulled back, keeping his fingers suspended, and when you turned toward him, he brought them to your face.
“Clean it for me, pretty.” You wrapped your lips around his fingers, sucking and licking the viscosity off until they were clean.
You sat on the edge of the bed, catching your breath while he turned his back to you and started to get dressed.
You stared at the floor, feeling self conscious after all the ecstasy went down, wrapping your arms around your naked body.
Mingi approached you and placed a hand on your shoulder, but you kept your gaze down, staring at his shoes. He caught your chin with his fingers and lifted your head to look at him.
He said nothing, simply staring at you for a few seconds before giving a small, faint smirk, letting his thumb caress your cheek before letting you go.
Reaching for his phone, he began to tap on it, his thumb gliding over the screen as he typed things you had no inkling of. With his actions hidden from view and your own mind in a haze, you couldn't process a single thought.
As he tucked the phone into his pants pocket, he adjusted the wedding band on his finger, ran a hand through his hair, and took out his wallet, still standing in front of you. He pulled out some bills and held them out to you.
You took them hesitantly, looking at him.
“Take a taxi home.” You nodded slowly, feeling limp and drained. You remained silent, not knowing what you could possibly say after everything that had happened.
On the other hand, Mingi seemed completely indifferent, acting natural and unbothered. He didn’t spend a second more than necessary in the room, only checking to make sure he had all his belongings, checking for your panties inside his pocket, which he clearly wasn't going to give back.
“Y/n?” He caught your attention when half his body was already out the door. You turned toward him. “I’ll see you Monday. Don’t be late.”
And with that, he closed the door and was gone.
You spent a few more minutes staring at the money in your hand before getting up and starting to dress, feeling strange. But you felt relieved that you still had your job.
You weren’t sure what to expect after everything you’d done with Mingi — or rather, what Mingi had done to you. You hoped that, just like now, he would remain indifferent and never bring it up. At least you would keep working.
As you picked up your phone, ready to call a taxi, you noticed a notification.
A bank transfer.
Mingi had transferred the money just as he’d promised. But not only that, the amount you received had extra. Perhaps he was feeling extra generous after the sex.
You couldn't say for sure.
The digits in your bank account formed a number you’d never even dreamed of seeing next to your own name. An amount that would’ve taken years of honest work to scrape together, brought a warmth that finally untied the knot on your chest.
Yet, the money you got and your job crashed into the nausea of what you’d had to endure, with every cent seemed to throb with the memory of the spit, the sweat, and Mingi’s coldness.
After spotting the vehicle approaching from the small balcony, you went downstairs and got into the taxi, staring out the window with a blank face and a lost gaze.
Something inside you was restless, however. As the car neared your house and night covered the sky, you wondered if this was truly over.
A/n: A/n: All of this is a work of fiction and not meant to represent Ateez in any way. Jst smth quick and silly hope u like it <3 It‘s pretty short sorry💔
📼 Chris Travis - bring it back
Hongjoong - dying his hair
Naked, barely. Just came down from a high so intense, but for some reason this felt even more raw. Intimate. Your fingers were stained with the dark red color. Hongjoong stayed seated inside the bathtub with his back leaned up against the cold surface of it while you kneeled behind him. It wasn‘t unusual for a creative genius to see a vision in the most out of context moments, but of course you‘d help him. Get it done no matter what. Regardless of you being just in your underwear that you hardly had on or that your boyfriend didn‘t even bother to put on anything. The idea was there and it had to be done before it left his mind. Regardless of him pounding into you at a pace and force almost deadly, making you see stars and moaning eachothers names like animals only a few moments ago. Your bodys collapsed into another, the lights lit dim and fullfillment hit you just right when drowsiness was starting to take over you. The aftermath was comfortable and thoughts that just suddenly bubbled up would be in the center of attention. Now we‘d feel vulnerable enough to share them.
„Your hair looks washed out“ you murmured and ran your nails through Hongjoong‘s hair which lead you to where you are now. Silently, not unsettling, dying his hair. You massaged the chemicals into his scalp. You‘ve done this before, not enough to call yourself his personal stylist, but enough to be a caring girlfriend. With your fingers and his hair smudged in color he tilted his head back. He gave you a lazy, tired, expression, altough deep within it spoke nothing but love. You smiled and leaned forward to give him a quick peck on the lips.
„Tired?“
Seonghwa - playing nintendo
Your back pressed into Seonghwas chest, your naked- and slightly sticky bodies holding eachother for comfort. Seonghwas hot breath was fanning your neck and you simply hugged his arms. Right now you never wanted to let go.
Altough, for whatever reason you had trouble falling asleep. You weren‘t unease, not at all. Sex with him never felt like perfomance or making use of the other. It felt warm. Close. Everything was all about deepening your love and caring for your partner. It wasn‘t boring, but neither was it overwhelming.
Yet, still, right now you could not rest and you were sure enough that your boyfriend felt the same. You stole a quick glance at him over your shoulder. His eyes were barely open, he stared at your neck that he had covered in bites and love marks just a while ago while his fingers rubbed circles into your skin. No he wasn‘t sleeping either. When he caught your eyes, you didn‘t have to exchange words before your lips collectively curved up. No you wouldn‘t be sleeping either.
Within the next moments you were curled up on his side, your head falling to his shoulder while you both stared at the small TV glowing dim infront of you. A game was turned on that he adored and you always found yourself watching him.
The room still smelled like sex, your clothes were still scattered across the floor, accessories and spare condoms forgotten on your bedsite tables. You couldn‘t bother to care as much of a tidy person you were. The game he had put on was slow, comfortable. Not about perfomance either as you shared your thoughts and he pressed the buttons on his controller.
Yunho - takeout food
The room stung a harsh scent of sweat and sex. Breathless, satisfied, you layed comfortably on Yunho‘s bare chest while your fingers brushed nonsense onto his warm skin. His arms stayed wrapped around you. Possessive yet caring. Yunho rubbed your lower back while the two of you cooled down from the heat of the moment just mere minutes ago. The room was dark, though just enough to see eachother.
„Love you so much“ he whispered into the air, before leaning down and planting a soft kiss on your forehead. Just for assurance.
You smiled, your vision was getting blurrier and your body felt weaker. Any second, you would fall asleep in your boyfriend‘s arm. When all of the sudden, a little grumble right below you allerted your senses. It was quiet, but you knew what it meant. You gazed back up, eyes on a threat of closing and confusion painting your expression, but suddenly joined by a teethy grin. Yunho looked almost embarassed. he giggled akwardly while covering his mouth with his palm.
„Yunho…?“ your tone dripped off tease to which his eyes squinted and laughter followed.
„I‘m sorry“, sheepish, your boyfriend admitted. He let go of your body and you steadied yourself upwards to look down at him. Neck flushed, stomach making little stirring noises again. He ran his fingers through his sex looking hair and exhaled deeply. He was hungry.
It didn‘t take long. Barely minutes when you found yourself at a local food chain that allowed restless and fucked out guests like you past 1 am. You buried yourself deeper into Yunho‘s hoodie, it being the only thing you found on the floor when looking for something cozy enough to throw on quickly. Yunho on the other hand, hair a complete tousled mess, any zipper that didn‘t even make an effort to hide the bite marks as well as hickeys and sweatpants alongside crocks that did their job for now. But he was happy with eyes close to resting and his vision dozed off into the distance. Yunho chewed around his burger, his mouth full of food and reaching for more at the same time. You couldn’t help it, as untidy as you both looked: a moment like this was really touching and intimate in its own way.
He fucked you good, you‘d pay for his late night food.
Yeosang - deeptalking
It was always a little quieter with Yeosang. Obviously you were never ill at ease with him. Talking was fun and Yeosang loved listening, it was only for raw moments like these. You brains completly shut off, limps relaxed and breaths heavy. You stared into his eyes, still recovering from your orgasm. Your thighs were trembling from riding him at such a desperate pace when your body caved into his. You buried your forehead into Yeosang‘s shoulder and he wrapped his strong arms around your waist. You didn‘t even bother to move, with ease Yeosang shifted your body so you could both lay down together. You just wanted to be close right now. Yeosang propped his chin on top of your head, his fingers tracing along your waist whilst his gaze distanced itself.
It was only for a moment like this when the air felt close enough to speak his mind.
„Remember when we were at that bar in 2019 where I spilled my drink all over you?“ you smiled weakly while peeking up at him. He wasn‘t looking at you, his mouth had a mind of its own.
„The restaurant was playing this one song I hated it“ he paused before shaking his head.
„I don‘t hate things, but I know that it really added to my embarassment“ he kept on rambling, a laugh escaped your nose.
„I wonder if the waitress still thinks about it, I really messed up. Yunho was laughing at me“
Yeosang shifted further into the covers. You loved talking, but sometimes even someone as quiet as Yeosang had thoughts running laps in his head.
„He still teases me about it, oh and that time I downed two bottles of soju and could not stop throwing up“ Yeosang chuckled at his own sillyness, before finally sparing you a glance. You were on the verge of passing out, but could not stop yourself from smiling.
„I don‘t even remember it, but the others do“ his palm brushed your cheek, his thumbs caressing your skin when he leaned down to place his lips onto yours. Once he pulled away, he collected his thoughts again. Until.
fucking mingi was all about making a mess, giving him something to clean up when he was done.
sex with him was nasty. vulgar. sloppy.
he had a way of making you feel guilty that you were allowing him to get his hands on you and do what he pleased. guilty that he knew what buttons to press and what knobs to twist in a way that made you feel so good it hurt.
it was wet, dirty, and hot. a shower afterward was a non-negotiable.
it was hard to make your moans sound pretty when they were so pure. guttural and broken, unfiltered with how deep mingi was pounding your puffy cunt. but he liked it more when you sounded like that, when you sounded like one more thrust might kill you.
when you sounded like you were in pain, but in truth, he was just fucking you so good that maintaining a front of “pretty” was not your main concern at the moment. your main concern was not passing out while he was inside you. fucking your pussy like he was trying to commit the feeling to memory.
"god, im so deep thats gotta hurt huh, baby? does it hurt you?”
you cries and groans are muffled in the pillow you’ve shoved your face into, your hands gripping the sheets by your head like they might ground you on earth. mingi is on his knees behind you, strong thighs keeping him upright, while his palms held your hips in place for him as he shoved his cock inside of you.
arched so prettily in front of him, your ass bouncing off his body every time his hips slammed against you, a filling, heavy rhythm that sends vulgar “plap” sounds bouncing off the walls.
you were covered in sweat, skin shiny and wet, your hair sticking to your neck from all the exertion. mingi was just as sweaty as you, surely more. but god he was having so much fun.
all the adrenaline that he channeled on stage when he performed, he funneled it into the bedroom too. acting nasty like he was performing for someone.
he opens his mouth and sticks out his tongue, his eyes lasered in on where his dick slid in and out of your gushy cunt, coated in a white cream that only seemed to build every time he filled you up again.
he laughs lowly as a string of saliva falls from the tip of his tongue and lands directly on the length of his cock in just enough time as he shoves it back inside of you, his fat mushroom tip catching that sensitive ridge along your walls that makes your legs shake.
“she’s creaming on my cock, baby,” he moans as he sucks his bottom lip between his teeth and drags his hands away from your hips and up to the rippling flesh of your ass. he palms the soft skin with his big, heated hands and spreads them slowly so he can get a better look at his cock filling you out.
it bewildered you every single time because mingi liked to embarrass you. he wanted you to hear the sounds that your body made, the filthy, sticky sounds that you couldn’t control.
“shhh, baby. not so loud, listen to yourself.” he reached over your arched body and pressed his hand flat against the back of your head to further muffle you against the pillow. “listen to her talk back to me.”
and hearing it always made you ashamed beyond comprehension. and yet he always felt you get so tight around him when the noises registered.
his spit, your arousal, the stirred-up sounds of your guts being rearranged hit your ears like a truck. mingi’s hungry groans that you could feel all throughout your body with every deep stroke he pounded into your cunt.
he’s big, and thick, and very purposeful with his hips. you’ve seen him on stage, rolling his body with sensual intentions that only allow a glimpse into how he could really put those hips to use.
he watches, his tongue swiping over his bottom lip as your wetness clung to his v-line in a white sticky web. the shine of your ass from the sweat and all the times he’s practically drooled on your body.
he purposely slows his hips so the sounds get deeper, hollow and louder. your moans break into breathless whines that only make mingi wanna abandon any remaining composure and fuck you til you snap.
“yeah, yeah… cunt’s asking for a baby. isn’t she?” he takes his hand off your head and moves both of them to your shoulders, curling them over the bone and pulling your body up, arching you even more.
you whine when you feel him slip his soaked dick out of you, a gross, slick sound as he pulls out. and god, it seems endless when the tip finally pops out of you. you cry at the emptiness, and mingi giggles as he watches you shake your ass side to side to try and coax him to fill you up again.
your head throws back as he pulls your head out of the pillow, and you could hear him spitting into your stretched pussy, the saliva dripping down your puffy folds.
“gotta keep you messy, sweet girl, makes this more fun for both of us.” he digs his nails into your shoulders and groans so low you could feel it in your belly as he glides right back inside of you.
there was really no friction at all, and he's nearly kept slipping out since you started. each stroke of his veiny cock is punctuated with a deep, staccato rumble in his chest.
his lips part in misty pants, watching with enamored adoration as the stickiness of your combined arousal clings to your bodies like this was really some kind of perverted home video.
the wet noises fill your ears again, and now you can’t muffle your moans in the pillow anymore with the way he holds your body up. they come out primal and desperate, helpless as mingi forces your pussy to take his shape.
“mmhm, wish i could see your pretty face.” he mumbles, the loud slaps of his hips against your ass nearly drowning out his voice.
“but i'd rather see this pussy keep sucking me in.” he laughs again and enunciates with a deep, rough thrust that makes your toes curl.
“wanna see her dripping with me once i fill her up. fuck a baby into my pretty girl.” his moans are an encouragement that further tighten that knot in your stomach, your cunt clenching around him like a vice with every nasty word that leaves his mouth.
he presses his palms into your lower shoulders, simultaneously working out a building knot of stress, all the while he fucks you into a worthless puddle in his sheets.
“fill this pussy up all the way to the fucking back.” he leans over your body and presses his lips to the small of your back, his mouth opened in low moans as he eases his hips into a swifter pace, pressing wet kisses against your fluttering skin.
his dick glides in and out of you with painful ease, every full thrust that drags the thickness of him against your gspot pulling you more and more under.
“get you all pretty and swollen with my babies.” he whispers against your back, and you whine so loud you swear it was going to tear up your throat.
if the sloppy mess between your legs wasn’t a cry for just that, you weren’t sure what was.
“p-please-!” you cry out, and you shiver when you feel his lips form into a pout and kiss your back like he was trying to soothe you. “w-want… want you t-to-“
“think it’ll take like this?” he teases, shoving his cock so hard and so deep inside of you he might’ve breached your throat. he stays there, unmoving, forcing you to feel the twitching and the throbbing of his dick against every inch of your gooey pussy.
he hums, and suddenly you’re empty again, and you whine at the loss. but then you’re moving, his hands grab your waist and turn your body over, your back hitting the mattress. “probably not.”
seeing him nearly undoes you, a sweaty, crazed wreck. his hair sticking up everywhere, his chest rising and falling with heavy breaths, his v-line a sticky mess. his hands grab the backs of your thighs and push your legs up so they’re pressed against your shoulders.
you squeal and are hardly given ample time to register what was happening before he slides his cock back inside of you, the new position having him deeper than ever before. mingi’s entire body shivers when he fills you to the hilt, your own body pulling taut at the invasive fullness.
his hands keep your thighs against your shoulders, folded in half underneath him in a mating press. “fuck, that’s better,” he sighs, immediately rolling his hips into you with every deep thrust. his lips spread into a greedy smile, his tongue swiping over his teeth. “hi baby, look so fuckin pretty.”
you cry out and throw your head back against the pillow, your hands reaching around and clawing at his broad shoulders.
“lemme pound this pussy, need you to cum before i breed you mkay? work for me pretty, give me what i need.” mingi chews on his bottom lip, his moans filling your ears, you’re unable to look away from where his cock disappears into your cunt, the wet noises seemingly even louder now.
he slides inside with slippery ease and glides right back out coated in a sheen of white. over and over and over again. maddeningly deep and too fucking fast.
his eyebrows are knitted in such a pretty, concentrated expression, his cheekbones poking through his skin from where his mouth begins to part with every thrust that seems to only drag him further towards his own orgasm.
“cum for me, baby. wanna feel this pussy cum around me, wanna fill you up so bad. wanna give my beautiful girl a baby.”
and as always, you do as he says, shattering like glass while he fucks you through it, determined to drag your orgasm out of you until you've been completely wrung dry.
"atta girl." he growls through his teeth, leaning down and taking your nipple in his warm mouth, suckling and circling his thick tongue around the softness of it. "can't wait till these are full of milk," he moans around them, muffled. "i'm sure the baby wouldn't mind sharing."
it clicks with you then and there that he was completely serious. the man literally wanted you pregnant. he sinks his teeth into your areola, and you cry out when you feel him slow his hips to a punishing, intentional grind into your cunt.
"you're gonna make such a good mommy, baby." he drools around your nipple, stilling his hips and damn near whimpering like a bitch as he holds himself there. you could feel him spilling inside of you, hot ropes of cum that seep to the back of your cunt just right.
mingi purrs and groans while he rides it out, massaging the backs of your thighs, his cock throbbing deep inside of you.
sticky, filled, and spent. he doesn't move yet, holding himself inside of you while you both take a moment to catch your breath. when you shift underneath him, he pressed his palms harder against the backs of your thighs to hold you still.
"uh uh, don't move. tryna keep you plugged, can't have any spilling out right?" he smiles and trails wet kisses up the side of your neck and you sigh and relax under his body.
you hope to god it works, because you're not sure if you'd be able to handle another session of "trying" with him and make it out with your legs intact.
family comes first, and your sweet brother yunho’s not above doing whatever it takes to remind you. he won’t lose his girl again… especially not to his fucking best friend.
pairing: yunho x f!reader x mingi
length: 28.8k
genre: whole lot of drama, fluff, angst, smut, stepcest
warnings under the cut, read them all!!! 18+ MDNI
notes: officially the longest fic to my name, and it’s all because i wanted some evil yunho myself…😩 this is literally my baby, and i hope you all enjoy as much as i did writing <3 as always, feedback is greatly appreciated!
warnings: stepcest, alcohol, jealousy, manipulation, kinda stalking, dubcon, infidelity, light violence, yunho is crazy, mingi isn’t, smut; fat cock subby mingi, long dick dommy yunho, hand/blowjob, nip stim, fingering, pussy eating, overstimulation, some pain, un/protected sex, taking the condom off.
“YOU SERIOUSLY WON’T VISIT?”
you huff in annoyance, kicking through the pile of clothes on his floor in search of your own. your phone vibrates where it’s tucked under your arm, your father making it a point to keep calling without a second to spare in between until you answer. soobin can see this happening from his bed, knows the rush you’re in from your father honking the horn outside, and has still decided to beat the dead horse a little more for good measure. or maybe just to push your buttons, as he so often enjoys to.
“no. i’m done with this shithole for good.” you grumble, tugging your panties up your legs. “wanna ask me one more time before i go?”
your phone settles, then begins to buzz right where it left off. at least all your stuff is already packed for the move — you wouldn’t be surprised if soobin scattered your clothes around his room while you weren’t looking, just to delay you from leaving as long as he could.
he hasn’t quite accepted the fact that leaving this town behind includes him, too. then again, in all the years living here, you haven’t been able to peel him off from your side — not for any longer than a few months before he was begging you to take him back.
soobin’s been a good consistency, as far as things go. you’ve never quite made your bed in this place though. sure, you graduated high school, made what friends you could, tolerated a dead-end job. but you could never quite shake the feeling that it was all just for.. biding time. waiting, for any divine intervention; that someday your life would find its way back to how it was. back to your home.
it’s why you never even bothered with furthering your education here. there’s only one college you’ve ever had intentions of enrolling in, and they’ll be seeing you in the fall once you’re all settled back into the city.
ever since your dad admitted to being back in contact with your stepmother, you knew it was only a matter of time. ‘just as friends’ he’d said, like every ex ever before taking another shot at being together. like soobin when you tell him you’re not emotionally available at the moment.
he’s a good guy, soobin. just not your forever guy. you only kept him around so long because his presence reminds you of home.. for whatever reason. you never quite figured that one out.
fully dressed and texting your father a passive aggressive ‘On my way!’, you finally glance at the boy fidgeting on the bed. at your attention, soobin stands and engulfs you in a hug.
you think you catch a sniffle into your shoulder, and you pat his broad back. it’s the last time he’ll ever be comforted by you.
“miss you already.” he murmurs into your neck, placing a timid kiss on the skin before you pull him away by the scruff of his hair. so much for breaking up with him a whole month in advance before the move…
you regard him with a bittersweet look. “i can’t promise that i’ll stay in touch.”
he already knows this, as he knows that you never really fell for him the way he did you. you left your heart in your hometown.
soobin squeezes you again, while he still can. “nothing i’m not used to.”
that gets you to laugh. your phone vibrates restlessly once more, and you pull away, knowing you’ve overstayed far too long. you give soobin one last, fond glance before shutting the door on your way out — meeting your father parked out front with the window down, scolding you.
you just roll your eyes. you don’t want to stay in this town for any longer than he does.
you doze off in the passenger seat as you watch the scenery go by — town buildings blending into country hills. the trees change in colour, the breeze shifts in smell. there’s a smile carved onto your face, knowing that the worst is finally over.
──
your stepmother pounces on your father as the front door opens. for a brief second there, you were worried that this was all a ruse so she could beat his ass (he’d deserve it). it’s just a very rough hug though, into an even rougher kiss that has you groaning as you turn away.
“seriously..” you grumble, legs aching too much from the cramped car trip for you to deal with this right now.
you stepmother coos, turning her affections to you as she brings you in for a firm hug. “it’s good to see you again too, baby.”
you squirm over the nickname, feeling even more like a kid as she smacks her lips on your cheek and fusses over you — your hair, your clothes, how your body’s grown into a real lady. even after years apart, a good chunk of that without contact, you’re still her baby.
she turns back to your father, asking something or rather about the drive, and there’s this strange twist in your chest. it’s startling, seeing them interact casually like this again. the last time you were here she was throwing a box of his belongings on the front porch, screaming that she never wanted to see him again.
forgiveness is a virtue — a generous one considering what he did, then dragging his daughter into small town purgatory with him. what matters now is that he’s been forgiven. you can only hope he doesn’t forget what for and fuck the whole family up for a second time. once is enough, you think, and twice is a girl group.
what sounds like a stampede coming from inside the house has your head snapping up — and in an instant you lock eyes with your stepbrother as he flies down the stairs. you nearly fall backwards as yunho leaps to reach you, his long arms catching you as they swallow you into a hug.
he cries out your name, holding you to his chest with a big, helpless smile.
“yunho.” you sigh in relief, breathing him in and hugging him back even tighter.
you squeal as your feet are lifted from the porch, yunho picking you up and spinning you around. “baby’s home!”
you both keel over with laughter as he puts you back down, feeling like a weight is physically being lifted off your shoulders now that you’re reunited. life just hasn’t felt right since you had to leave him in this city.
yunho squeezes you a few more times for good measure. lithe fingers cradle your face as he pulls away, height looming over you even as he bends to be closer to face level — and there’s a silent moment where he just smiles at you, pupils dilated with pure bliss. you can’t help but smile back. he’s grown so much, and yet hasn’t changed at all. still the handsome yet nerdy boy that was glued to your side throughout your youth.
“i missed you.” he sighs, thumb brushing the apple of your cheek — dusted a faint pink from how breathless you are after being lifted and spun in circles.
you giggle, feeling like a giddy kid just being in his presence again. his happiness has always been contagious. “you too.”
your stepmother swoons over seeing you both still acting so close, like nothing ever pulled you apart. yunho takes the bag from your shoulder, then gives your father a side hug before asking for the car keys, insisting he’d carry your stuff to your room. as you race each other down the front steps, you just overhear your stepmother mutter something to your father — something about yunho changing.
you don’t dwell on it as the boy in question runs around you like a dog with the zoomies, teasing you all the way into the house, laughter on your tails as you ascend the stairs.
while your father’s belongings had been uprooted from the house until there was no trace of him left, your bedroom was mostly kept intact. it felt wrong, yunho said, when you had nothing to do with the whole debacle. you cringe, knowing your early teen years are preserved there. a small part of you feels a pang of guilt — there was always a place for you here, if you ever came back.
it’s such a massive comfort, how easily you and yunho fall back into rhythm. when your father first broke the news that you’d be moving back in with them at the city, you felt scared. you’d have to confront the fact that after all these years, you hadn’t reached out to your own brother. god if you hadn’t considered it, tiring yourself out thinking of every possible way it could go wrong.
you did your best to make peace with the fact that you really had no right. it was your father who ruined everything, and you let him take you with him when he left. making that first contact was just beyond you.
you can already feel yourself healing, years worth of rumination and doubt lifting from your shoulders as yunho helps you unpack your boxes. his phone in the corner playing soft music as a backdrop to your chatter and banter. you almost feel jittery with the excitement of actually being home, of having your family back — and you can tell yunho’s even worse off than you are.
he doesn’t despise you for the years of silence. in fact, yunho even admitted that he too was reluctant to reach out. unsure if you wanted nothing to do with him, if you’d rather not face those painful memories. you’re just two people with a lot of love for each other, afraid to risk hurting one another.
now, your face hurts from smiling, stomach hurts from laughing — right until it cuts through your voices with a grumble. you don’t even get to protest before yunho’s tugging you out of the room, swinging his car keys around a finger as he insists that lunch is on him.
“so, do i get to know where you’re kidnapping me to?” you ask once you’re buckled into the passenger seat, yunho turning the keys in the ignition.
he chuckles, reaching an arm around the back of your seat. you sort of freeze, and his lip quirks at you before he’s looking over his shoulder, reversing out of the driveway.
“cafe fossoway,” he replies, hand lingering over the backrest before he retracts it, resting it on his thigh. you gulp, getting a hold of yourself. “they’ve got this apple pie that i think you’d like.”
you roll your eyes at the corniest callback ever. as a kid, your blushy, full cheeks would often get compared to two lady pink apples. there’s also the fact that you’d absolutely demolish an apple pie when your stepmother would make it at home with her very own recipe.
yunho’s smile deepens when he notices the clash of confusion and annoyance in your face. you can’t help but smile too, passing over the urge to make fun of him for holding onto such an old memory. for years, those memories were all he had to keep you close.
“i’ve been meaning to ask,” you start, and he hums to show he’s listening. “are you still friends with mingi?”
“yes.” he says. succinct.
before you can even think further on the topic — about how curt his reply was about his own childhood best friend — yunho’s quick to change it. and without realising it, the conversation steers back into being solely all about you.
“you keeping in touch with any of them?” yunho asks, after you admitted that you kept uneventful friendships back at the town. kept being too strong of a word, really. you never made an effort to put yourself out there. you didn’t care to when you felt more like a squatter instead of a permanent resident.
“nope. before i left, i made it clear that i wanted to cut ties with the place for good.” you frown. “there’s nothing there for me. never was.”
yunho hums.
“what about soobin?”
your neck cracks as you whip it to him, eyes blown wide from the shock.
“what?” is all you can say, wondering how the hell he even knows that name.
yunho’s face drops a fraction, as does his composure. it feels like you’ve just caught him slip up and you both know it. it’s not lost on you, how he grips the wheel tighter.
“eomma would show me your father’s facebook posts.” he says, then gives you such a calm glance that you question if you overreacted. “he’s your boyfriend, right?”
you sigh. where to start?.. then, you shrug. not worth it.
“it doesn’t matter anymore.” you mumble. eager to talk about literally anything else, you narrow your eyes at him. “what about you?”
he huffs, playing along. “what about me?”
“no girlfriends?” you smirk, “boyfriends?”
yunho just laughs it off. “no, no. my studies have been the top priority.”
you nod, taking note of how he skirted around actually denying it — and how your stomach drops a little over the thought of him dating but not telling you. you reason that he might still feel awkward, you’re only hanging out after years of no contact after all. a small (large) part of you just hopes that he’d be honest with you, regardless of how ‘close’ you currently feel.
silence falls between you, for the first time since you got back into the city hours ago. your eyes catch on yunho’s fingers, drumming on the wheel to the beat of the song playing through his car — and it’s when you notice that the music he put on is all nostalgic, released back in the years that you were still living with him.
you almost snort over the realisation. he’s being so sappy.
the car comes to a halt at a red light. yunho pulls the hand break up, taking the chance to glance at you. the moment lingers — his eyes raking over your body, really taking you in. your curious gaze meets his heavy one, and his expression softens with a smile.
“you look different.”
you raise a brow. “bad different?”
“no,” he says in a low, husky drawl that sends an odd shiver up your back. “you look good, baby.”
you squirm in your seat, trying to rid yourself of the unwelcome feeling under your skin. “i’ve grown out of being called that.”
yunho makes an amused hum, missing the light change to green as he looks at you instead. “says who?”
says me, you think. you hate how the nickname makes you feel — but only when it’s coming from him. your stepmother didn’t get this reaction out of you earlier. it’s just… it’s weird. it wasn’t always, but after all this time, it is.
you don’t want to burst his bubble though, not when he’s grinning so brightly, chuckling to himself at your small pout. maybe it’s on you.
maybe it’s because you’ve forgotten how to receive genuine love, not duck and weave or just stomp it out before it can spread. maybe it’s because you’ve spent years hopping from one guy to the next, that you can no longer comprehend an existence of emotional intimacy removed from the presence of desire.
you’ve missed yunho more than you thought.
you’re so deep in your own head that you hadn’t even realised the car had come to a complete stop — not until yunho’s reaching over your body, clicking to free your seatbelt. his own still buckled.
“come on,” he grins. “i heard your stomach rumbling during california girls.”
“shut up.” you roll your eyes, opening the passenger door — only for yunho to practically jump out of his own seat and step outside first, sprint round the front of the car, then shut your door.
just to make a show of opening it for you, other arm stretched as he beckons you out. it works when he gets you to laugh, shoving at his shoulder as you get out.
you enter the cafe first, yunho behind since he held that door open too. the employee looks at you for only a split second before her eyes flit over your shoulder — face lighting up as she spots yunho. must recognise him, you assume.
that same face crumples as you both reach the counter, yunho looming at your back, and she realises that you came together.
the employee — karina, her name tag reads — acknowledges you with a half-smile before turning her full attention back to yunho.
“the usual?” she coos at your brother, and you so wish that your stomach would rumble on command so you could rudely interrupt her.
“yeah. dine-in.” he replies absentmindedly, not even sparing her a glance as he leans his head over your shoulder, pointing to the menu. “tell her what you want, baby.”
karina’s mouth twitches into a scowl, and there’s a surge of pride in your chest. you try not to sneer as you tell her your order, intentionally asking for the apple pie yunho recommended, knowing he’d give an excited reaction and pull the employee’s scowl even deeper.
“alright. are you paying for your girlfriend too?” she drones, with a little bite in the word.
you can only laugh, taken aback — but yunho’s voice never comes to correct her. you shoot him a confused glance, and yunho’s just.. staring at you. face scarily still, eyes burning with something you can’t recognise.
“…uh, he’s my—”
“yeah.” yunho cuts off, pulling his phone from his pocket. “i’m paying.”
you stay glaring at him as he taps the card machine, completely unbothered like that wasn’t awkward as fuck.
karina disappears into the kitchen afterwards, leaving you both to find a table yourselves — and that’s when you slap yunho’s arm.
“what the hell was that??”
that same, satisfied grin finds its way to yunho’s face. the face of a man who regrets nothing. he just shrugs, and you’ve got half a mind to chew him out in this public place. it wouldn’t be half as embarrassing at whatever just happened with karina.
yunho’s quick to distract you, taking your hand as he leads you to a corner booth. instead of sitting in the seat across the table, yunho chooses to slide in right next to you, shoulders bumping.
the moment manages to pass by, no thanks to yunho, and you both fall back into your endless stream of conversation. it’s easy — comfortable.
the girlfriend thing does creep back in and you cringe each time, but you try not to let it sour the mood. you reason that it must’ve just been a shitty attempt at teasing you on his part. you’re bound to butt heads like this when you spent the latter half of your formative years separated.
people change. you tell yourself to loosen the fuck up and just enjoy this precious time with your brother.
──
are you really settled in if you’re not getting shitfaced at a housewarming party?
granted, this party was not thrown with the purpose to housewarm, nor is it even yours — but yunho had dragged you along all the same. said his classmate was throwing it, that it could help you feel welcomed back home.
after some quick greetings and dapping up between dudes at the front door, yunho had led you through the house — arms wrapped around you from the back, his chest gently nudging you through the crowd of tipsy bodies.
you’re interrupted a few times on your journey to the kitchen, girls and guys alike calling out to yunho to catch up with him. he’s quite popular, your brother — and yet, not a single one of his friends knew he had a sister.
you’ve been the one to properly introduce yourself; you didn’t want to risk another karina situation. the guys’ eyes had widened in shock, while the girls’ frowns had lifted in relief. you know it must look confusing, with how he’s been protectively hugging you from behind. especially if yunho hadn’t so much as mentioned your existence to any of them over all those years — which, you’ve come to realise is the case.
you’re sober and bored, just standing here and spacing out while these strangers chat up your brother like old chums. in all your thoughts about his friends, your mind finds it way back to mingi — where he must be, what he’s up to. he might be the only one who knew of yunho’s sister, considering the fact you three did grow up together.
which makes it all the more odd that yunho hasn’t even so much as said mingi’s name since you’ve been back.
you make a mental note to pry the information out of him when you’re both tipsy.
however, once you both finally reach the kitchen and yunho hands you a drink — you’ve gotten so impatient that you just chuck it back, wincing as the liquor burns your throat. yunho’s quick to fill it to the brim again, eyes sparkling at you. satisfied.
yunho finds you both a nice, cozy spot in a chiller corner of the house; away from the weed smoking in the garage and the drunk dancing in the living room. you’re sat on a couch as you watch some others play beer pong — giggling with each word yunho murmurs into your ear, your cup consistently full.
you’re drunk enough that you’re leaning into him, seeking out the warmth of his body. you feel at home with his arms wrapped around you, fingers drawing shapes on the bare skin of your back.
“do you know what a lick, sip, suck is?” yunho asks, lips pressed to your hair. you don’t even realise.
you purr, playful. “in what context?”
“yeah, don’t tell me that.” he warns, pissed off you’d even suggest that to him, but your mind’s too hazy to catch it. yunho gives you a slice of lime (when did he get that?), holding a tequila bottle up in his other hand. “we’re doing shots.”
you squeal, clapping excitedly as you sit up, pulling yourself off his body. you miss the way yunho readjusts the front of his pants, before he reaches for the stack of plastic shot cups on the coffee table.
you chew on the lime absentmindedly as yunho pours two shots — one halfway, one to the top. he hands you the full one but you don’t mention it, just eager to feel the burn of tequila and more of the floaty bliss that follows.
“hold your hand out,” he tells you, and you follow. you giggle in surprise when his tongue darts out, licking a stripe on your palm. he then goes over it with a salt shaker, the grains sticking to your skin.
“yuyu’s turn.” you tease, grabbing his hand yourself and running your tongue over it. you laugh at the shock on his face — far too drunk to recognise the way his eyes burn into you, the way his pupils swallow all the light.
his adam’s apple bobs in a harsh gulp. “ready?”
you nod, interlinking arms with him. yunho shifts closer — or maybe he pulled you — his heavy breath tickling your lips. you don’t even think twice about the proximity, happy to just tilt your head back and pour the shot down your throat. you take it like a champ, smiling through the liquor’s sting while yunho winces. he turns away, reaching for his drink on the coffee table to chase this shitty tequila.
while he’s wondering how drunk you must be to not even flinch, you can’t help but frown at how he left. you liked how close he was sitting, how you could count every freckle on his face. it made you feel comfortable and giddy and that’s all you want right now. you miss the warmth of his arms hugging you, pulling you in tighter whenever a guy would look at you too long.
you want yunho back, so you grab him. he makes a surprised noise as you kind of fall forward into his chest, nuzzling your face into his shoulder. you like how good he smells, the way the cologne hits your brain with the alcohol and leaves it swimming.
“you’re so cute.” he coos, pinching your cheek. you make a small whine and he rubs at your back, his touch leaving a trail of fire in its wake. “aw, baby. i’m here.”
your body really likes it when he calls you that.
“yuyu,” you giggle, cheek pressed to his chest as you tilt your head up at him. even in your bleary state, the intensity he’s sending you with just the look on his face hits you square in the stomach. it churns and you know it’s not from the alcohol. (or, well, it wouldn’t help.)
“i need to go find a bathroom.” he tells you softly, and you pout at him.
“just pee your pants.”
he strokes your hair with a chuckle, so entirely endeared with you right now and how you’re clinging to him. yunho doesn’t care if he has the alcohol to thank. it’s like a dream come true.
“i’ll try not to be long. stay here for me, yeah?” you nod, but that’s not good enough. his smile drops a fraction, tone serious. “don’t go anywhere without me.”
“okay..” you mope, and yunho basically pries you off his body. your fingers stay holding his shirt as he stands, and he pulls it off with a snicker, leaving a sweet peck on your hair. “be quick!!”
you watch yunho as he leaves the room, how people’s heads turn to stare and how they shift like they want to approach him. you know — he’s tall, he’s hot. you felt that same shock when you saw him run down the stairs this morning. but, you can’t help how your chest twists with.. something like jealousy. this sudden desire to make a point that he’s yours. what do they know about him? he’s your brother, he only wants to hug you and hang out with you alone.
you slap your cheek a little when you start getting too ahead of yourself. you’re so gone that you didn’t even register the contact, so you give yourself a few more slaps for good measure.
you just barely catch someone saying your name. you blink, the room spinning around you, until your vision comes into focus on a pair of the most beautiful women you’ve ever seen.
“long time no see.” the blonde one chuckles, bringing your sloshed ass in for a tight hug. you kind of just ragdoll in her arms, recognition slowly dawning as your train of thought lags severely behind from the present.
“yuuuqi?” you slur out, face splitting into a grin so wide it hurts, whipping your head at the other. “minnie!”
“you wasted bitch.” minnie pulls you in for a hug too, your heart swelling at seeing them both again.
briefly, you wish you were sober so you could appreciate this reunion properly, but you probably need the liquid courage right now. even if you’re acting a mess, at least you’re not conscious enough to remind yourself of how you thought your friendship died out from the distance and convinced yourself that they were better off if you ghosted them, or whatever bullshit…
“wanna go dance?” yuqi wiggles her brows at you, and you nod frantically. yunho nothing but a distant memory as you let them whisk you away from the couch and lead you through the hallways, thumping music growing louder. giggling and gaggling, swearing you need to catch up some time, asking where the hell you’ve been. you’re really happy and you don’t feel as alone as you did on that couch.
you reach a room that’s not quite the dance central (living room), but it’s packed enough that you’ve all had to stop and step to the side for all the crossfaded people stumbling out from the garage, the scent of weed fuzzy in your senses.
you catch the eye of one guy in particular — tall, dark-haired, and you’re instantly drawn in. his red eyes meet your dazed ones as he jumps to the music and tries to hype you up. he grabs your arm, attempting to pull you to him. you giggle, swaying your hips along, before yuqi pulls you back and chews the high asshole out.
you don’t understand all the ruckus as surrounding people start turning their heads and hollering, wondering what the hell is happening. you just want to dance, and you want to drink some more. why have yuqi and minnie stopped here?
someone’s saying your name again — only this time it’s deep. you sober up just a tiny bit from being startled, and then you sober up a bit more as that someone steps in front of you. towers over you.
mingi.
you’re so shocked that you can’t even react. it’s been an entire lifetime since you last saw mingi. you missed him so, so, so bad.
“we found her really drunk downstairs,” minnie says from your right.
yuqi rubs at your arm, which you can’t even feel. “we can stick around, y’know. help.”
“it’s alright,” mingi replies, brows drawn in concern as he looks at you with the prettiest boba eyes, saying your name gently. “you feel okay?”
“mingi..” you mumble out, your eyes suddenly welling up from how fucking overwhelming this feels.
he shifts in panic as you’re one blink away from sobbing. you know he won’t reach for you out of reluctance, so you do it yourself as you fall onto him, weakly bringing your arms up in an attempt to hug.
“i got you,” he whispers, carefully placing his hands on your shoulders. he can’t bring himself to hold you fully, not while you’re so.. gone. he mumbles something to yuqi and minnie, and by the time you bring your head back up, you don’t even realise that the girls left. in fact you forgot they brought you here in the first place. all you can think right now is mingi, mingi, mingi.
“do you wanna go somewhere quiet?” he asks you, so gently that you want to cry all over again. he’s so sweet. you missed him.
you nod, sobering up each second that mingi’s hands hold you. suddenly your throat feels too dry, your head aching.
he gives you a soft smile, noticing your discomfort. “let’s get you some water, too.”
“water would be fucking amazing.”
mingi huffs a laugh, keeping an arm slung over your shoulder in case you start to stumble, leading you through the bodies cramping the room. “it’s good to see you again,” he calls you by your name, but you find yourself expecting ‘baby’ instead. the yunho effect, you guess..
where is yunho anyway?
that train of thought hightails as mingi carefully sits you down against a wall, his big hands swallowing your waist. you sink into the carpet, dazedly observing your surroundings as mingi walks off to find water, making an effort not to stray too far. there’s a few boys playing pool on the table in front of you, a couple surprisingly not making out where they’re sitting on bean bags in the corner. you briefly wonder how fucking big this house must be for all these different rooms.
“here.” mingi gives you a bottle of water — which you only realise is a big and heavy 2 litre bottle when you nearly drop it from your hands. it looked normal sized when he was holding it.. “eomma told me that if you don’t want a hangover, you need to drink the same amount of water as you did alcohol.”
“i might piss myself.” you grumble, twisting the cap.
mingi chuckles, a low gravelly sound that you really fucking like. “if you do, i’ll give you this to cover up.” he says, tugging at his hoodie.
you don’t say anything in return as you sip from the bottle, conscious that you’d only be able to let out a pathetic sob. you’ve forgotten how it feels to receive this much effortless kindness from a person — from someone as dear to you as mingi.
he apologises for the seating situation, mentioning that he wasn’t expecting the bean bags to be taken as he sits down right next to you: ass on the carpet, back to the wall. a polite amount of distance between your shoulders. it’s not as comfortable as the couch, but you do find comfort in the fact that mingi gave you space. not just smothering you with touches because you’re drunk and he can.
safe to say, the fog’s starting to clear from your head.
mingi doesn’t push or pry. he’d be well within his rights to, considering you basically dropped off the face of the earth. for a few solid minutes, you both sat there in silence as you sipped from the bottle, his eyes flicking over every so often to check on your progress. it’s you who speaks up first, and his whole face lights up at the sound of your voice — at how he can tell you’re there again. only somewhat, since you’re still drunk, but you’ve reached a good level of awareness now that you’re not chugging a consistently full cup of liquor.
“did you ask the girls to find me?” you ask tentatively, trying to make it sound playful. you’re sure it’d be stupid and probably rude to ask how he’s doing and what he’s been up to. if you were a better friend, you would’ve made that effort to keep up with him while you were gone.
mingi shakes his head. “honestly, no. i uh, already saw you when you came in.”
your chest twists a little in guilt. how could you not have seen him? he’s not exactly easy to miss..
mingi notices how your face drops, and he goes on: “i wasn’t gonna come tonight, but,” he glances away, coy. “i found out you moved back.. was hoping i’d run into you.”
mingi doesn’t mention that your brother hid that fact from him. that when he noticed mingi actually ended up coming to the party, he intentionally shielded your line of sight with his body; then whisked you away downstairs so mingi wouldn’t know where to find you. when he saw you with the girls and not your brother, he knew he had to take possibly the only chance he was gonna get.
thank god your father has a habit of oversharing on facebook. he can’t believe that’s how he found out you’re back — not through his own fucking best friend. it’s hardly surprising though. mingi can’t even feel disappointed anymore. he’s too used to this shit.
all the anger leaves through his nostrils in a sigh as he looks to you — noticing your soft, almost shy smile over the bottle. your cheeks faintly dusted a baby pink, which mingi assumes is from the alcohol. it’s not.
“can i ask how the town was?” he asks, very gently, and you know it’s because he doesn’t want to accidentally upset you.
even if you’re mentally present enough to be thinking clearly, the amount of alcohol still warm in your system loosens your tongue — and you start to speak without a second thought.
“honest answer? not great.” you swish the water around in the bottle. try to focus on that instead of your immense sadness. “i’ve never felt so alone in my life. i.. lost myself for a bit. doing what i could to cope.” doing who you could, really.
mingi’s heart tears in half hearing that. wishing he could’ve just gone with you, left behind this city to stay by your side. it pumps a beat harder with anger too, just thinking of what the fuck your father was up to if he wasn’t the one being there for you. he’s quick to reel himself back in though — not his family, not his business. what would he know about how a father should act?
the boy next to you is silent, but it’s not in a judgemental way. rather: understanding. it’s why it all just comes tumbling out.
“i fucked around a bit, to be honest. there was this one guy actually, soobin,” you hiccup, throat tight with a near sob just mentioning him. “we were on and off for ages. well, it was all me. i’d always leave him and he’d always wait for me to come back. we didn’t even have that much in common or get along well, he just..” he reminded me of someone. he looks so much like— “..made me really happy.”
“i’m glad you had someone, at least.” mingi replies, ignoring the pain in his chest at how he wished it was him. “how’s it been with yunho?” he asks, but he really doesn’t need to know. mingi’s certain that his asshole of a best friend is over the moon that you’re back in his death grip. you love your brother though, so; and he just wants to distract you from the pain you’re remembering.
you nod quickly, hoping the tears in your lashes will dry up. “good. it’s been really good. i enrolled in his college so we’ll be going together in fall. he’s been helping me unpack, took me out for lunch at cafe fossil gay or whatever.”
there’s that pain in mingi’s chest again — jealousy — but he distracts his own body with a smile at your silliness.
“funny story actually,” you say humourlessly, “the girl working there thought i was his girlfriend, and he didn’t even say anything! just let embarrass myself and then laughed it off after.”
“yeah.. well, i’m not surprised.”
“what do you mean?”
something shifts in mingi’s expression. he looks like he’s picking his words carefully. “yunho didn’t tell you?”
“huh? oh so clearly he’s told me nothing. what is it?”
mingi sighs — you don’t know the half of it. his eyes trail off, staring at a stain on the carpet. his lips press into a firm line like he’s willing them to stay shut. he almost looks.. afraid to say the wrong thing. like he’ll get in trouble.
you laugh, confused. “why do you look genuinely scared? c’mon, spill. did my brother get up to some crazy shit?”
after your admission that you were sleeping around as a means of coping, mingi can’t help but think that yunho was doing something similar. it was a really dark time for both of them..
he doesn’t want to drop such a bombshell on you though; doesn’t want to be selfish and damage a relationship that’s so dear to you. not his family. so mingi does what he does best and shoves it down. down, down, all the way down so it won’t resurface until he’s lying in bed, unable to sleep.
“look, i’ll say this: he’s not that same nerd you knew. he still is, in a way, but.. he’s well known with the girls. straight after you moved away actually, some of your friends were having a go at him.”
“what?! not yuqi and minnie..?” mingi nods, and you gasp so loud that a few heads turn. “those bitches!! they never said anything about that. oh my god, i said i would have brunch with them on the weekend..”
“and you’re not mad at yunho?” mingi asks, though he’s not one to talk. he’s been mad at yunho for years but still hasn’t found the strength to just.. cut him off.
“i don’t want to hear that shit from my brother.” you laugh it off — confused at the twist in your chest over the thought of yunho sleeping around while you were gone. you’re surprised he basically hid it but, then again, he only really seemed interested in talking about all things you.
“don’t get me wrong: yunho never stopped talking about you. he really missed you.” mingi clarifies, leaving out the parts where yunho blamed him for the fact that you were gone. took his anger out on him with words he couldn’t forget if he tried.
you can sense this, how he’s picking and choosing from what he really wishes to say. “but..?”
mingi exhales. he must be drunker than he thought, or maybe it just feels good to let it all out, because he answers honestly.
“but i’m worried. that he’ll change. he took losing you really badly.. i don’t know if it’s for better or for worse that he has you again.” he turns his body to face you fully, and you shift closer. listening, encouraging. “i think he’s so crazy protective because—” mingi stops himself with a gulp. he almost told you something that you really should never have to know. “—he only ever had his mother growing up. then he gets a sister.. he’d do whatever it takes to protect that, y’know?”
“that makes sense.” you say, feeling an odd pang in your heart for yunho. you know he loves you, but it’s confronting hearing it from an outside perspective. however, staring at mingi — noting how withdrawn his energy became since you started talking about this — that feeling slides into concern. “aren’t you still best friends? why do you sound so.. scared of him?”
“things are different now.” mingi says with a faraway look in his eyes. “he’s different, when you’re around.”
you both leave it at that. you don’t know if your heart can take any more revelations, and mingi doesn’t know if he can keep withholding the ones that matter from you.
“you should crawl through my window one of these nights.” you suggest, and the smile mingi gives you has your face burning up all over again.
it’s kind of ironic: mingi used to do that when you were kids, since yunho would insert himself into every hangout and sulk that he was being ‘left out’. now, you’re saying it as a comfort — that your friendship with mingi can exist again, just as it did before.
“i could take you someplace far away?” mingi adds with a chuckle. yet another callback, to how you’d often sneak out as teens and explore the city together — much to the disapproval of your father (and much to the utter rage of your brother).
“i’d like that.” you smile, before digressing: “anyways, that’s enough about me. did you get busy at all?”
you wiggle your eyebrows at him suggestively, and mingi gives a shy laugh, glancing down. “ah, no.. nothing worth telling. i know a few girls’ favourite colours and that’s about it.”
there’s a reason mingi could never quite fully commit himself to relationships — they all paled in comparison to what he really longed for. and, well, that reason is sitting right next to him, laughing her ass off and calling him bitchless.
“did they all break it off after you told them yours is ‘cement’?” you snort, patting his arm.
“something like that.”
he can’t even find it in himself to feel embarrassed, so caught up in how your whole demeanour brightened and he barely even had to try. you’re like helium to him — his heart soaring in your presence. too much and he won’t be able to come back down.
“oh, i haven’t laughed that hard in a bit.” you rest your head on his shoulder, sentimental. “i’m so happy i have you back.”
mingi gulps, the simple gesture lighting a flame in his chest.
“me too.” he replies. though you don’t even understand how deep it runs.
your head perks up, recognising a familiar and very beloved beat thumping through the walls. it’s one of your favourite songs — and suddenly, your urge to dance is very much back.
you look to mingi, and he’s already looking at you, grinning helplessly. he doesn’t hold himself back now that you’ve had almost the entire bottle of water, and so he offers you his hand. you take it, leaping up and practically skipping as mingi leads you out of the room.
you finally end up in dance central, the living room: the crowd of bodies stumbling and shoving now that it’s almost the early hours of the morning, everyone well having drunk their weight in alcohol.
mingi sort of just stands in front of you as you dance to your heart’s content. he sways with you, but makes no move to get any closer than this. not if it’s what you want. and you do.
so, you grab his wrists, lead his hands to sit on either side of your waist. mingi’s lips part a little in surprise, and you just pull him in, resting your own hands on his shoulders. he looks a bit like a lost puppy. you can tell he’s fighting the instinct to let go, which makes you smile that much harder when he doesn’t.
you feel good. you’ve reached a chill, fuzzy stage of drunk. you and your best friend are reunited, you’re dancing together, and his body’s warm where it presses against yours. you hadn’t realised before, but mingi’s definitely started taking up the gym — evident with how solid and big his frame is in comparison to yours. in fact, you hadn’t even realised how close your bodies had gotten, but the last thing you want is to move away. you feel so at home.
mingi keeps himself almost hunched so his face is at level with yours. you notice how flushed his cheeks are, how uneven his breathing is and how sweat beads at his hairline. how he keeps gripping your waist tighter to angle you away — until you shift your hips too much while dancing and find out why. he’s hard. you felt it prod your thigh, and how he sighed out when you brushed against it.
you try not to get carried away in your own head. mingi’s your best friend — you know he’s probably just really excited to see you again, plus the adrenaline from dancing and all that. at the end of the day he’s just a man. the fact he doesn’t make a move should speak for itself, right? you’re only dancing. it doesn’t have to mean anything.
but, all the energy mingi’s sending you with just his eyes, all the heat radiating off of his body and sinking under your skin. you.. kind of wish it does mean something.
the sound of glass breaking rings through the air. you flinch, head whipping to the source — and your eyes lock onto yunho immediately. he’s looking directly at the space where your body presses against mingi’s, a half-broken bottle in his hand, rage aflame in his face.
panicking, you turn back to mingi, and before you realise it he’s shoving you. you stumble back with a gasp as another shatter cuts through the music, louder. glass erupts at mingi’s feet, and you realise he was moving you away from it.
“get the fuck off my girl!”
yunho’s shout is the only warning before he’s shoving through the crowd and getting in mingi’s face, roughly grabbing him by the shirt collar, his bloodied hand staining the fabric red. your stomach sinks at the sight of your brother yelling in your best friend’s face, looking like he’s two seconds from colliding his fist with mingi’s jaw.
it all happens so quick, and it’s broken apart just as quickly — the two men being pulled in opposite directions. it takes a few more to get yunho to let the shirt go, continuing to cuss mingi out as he’s forcefully held back.
once he’s let go, mingi doesn’t even think before he’s walking to you, making sure none of the glass hit you.
you risk a glance at your brother as he’s being walked out of the room, and the look on his face makes you sick to your guts. he looks betrayed.
you’re on the verge of tears as mingi ushers you out, wanting to cry from the embarrassment and the guilt. he manages to find you both a quiet space in the cramped laundry room, and you all but crumple onto the ground once he shuts the door.
at this level, you inspect his legs — if he’s hurt. it looks like the glass only scraped the leg of his jeans, thank god.
“what even happened?” you ask him in such a timid voice, teary eyes staring at yunho’s blood on his collar.
“he, uh.. he threw a bottle at me.” after he saw us together. mingi doesn’t say it, and you don’t either, but you both know it. “i’m sorry i shoved you. are you hurt?”
mingi takes a weary step closer, and you frantically nod your head in hopes that he’ll back off. mingi’s proximity burns like acid right now — knowing your brother’s out there hurting because you didn’t go with him instead.
you swallow down a painfully large knot in your throat. your entire face stings from holding back tears. yunho’s always hated being left out, but you thought he would’ve grown out of it by now. you try not to think about how he called you his girl and not, you know, his sister. in fact, you shove it so far down in your brain that you know for certain you won’t remember it once you’re sober.
mingi stays standing, lingering like a kicked puppy. he keeps gulping as if there’s more he wants to tell you. but he doesn’t.
you flinch at the sudden knock on the door. mingi gives you a sad glance, wishing he could just hug you or make any of this feel better, before sighing and opening the door.
a much shorter man with bright orange hair steps in, tipping his head at you in greeting.
“i didn’t have anything to drink so, i’ll be driving yunho home.” he says to mingi, then turns to you. “uh, hey. i’m hongjoong, by the way.”
you greet him back and give him your name, and his eyes widen a fraction. “oh, you’re—” he cuts himself off, mingi’s eyes burning into the side of his head. “yunho’s sister. right?”
“yeah...sorry about all that.”
“eh, it’s not my house.” hongjoong shrugs. “hey, since i’m taking yunho anyways, did you want to come with?”
“—i don’t know if that’s a good idea right now,” mingi interrupts. he checks for your reaction, in case he overstepped, but you agree with him.
“damn… you’re really leaving me to deal with an angry yunho all by myself.” hongjoong heaves a sigh. he daps mingi up, then looks between you both. “i’ll see you later. get home safe, alright?”
once hongjoong steps out, you speak up: “i should probably head home.”
there’s no use now that you’ve sobered up and the mood is sour. mingi nods, having expected it.
“i’ll buy you an uber.”
all eyes are on you as mingi leads you out of the house. you curl into him from the shame, and he does what he can to shield you with his arm.
mingi waits with you outside on the curb. neither of you fill the heavy silence between you. when the uber pulls up, he’s already saying his goodbyes when you impulsively pull him into a hug.
“let’s see each other again soon?” you mutter into his chest.
you want mingi to know that this night with him still meant the world to you. that you’ll hold tight on to the memories you’ve made, hoping you can remember in the morning.
mingi doesn’t let go until you do. for a fleeting second, you consider leaving with him, asking the driver to redirect to his place.
but after your eyes catch on his bloodied collar — you don’t. instead, you spend the entire uber drive home holding back tears, thinking only of yunho.
──
you slip into the house quietly, toeing your shoes off by the door. the lower floor’s cloaked entirely in darkness, save for the light pouring in from the kitchen.
you follow the pull that leads you there, and in turn you find yunho: shoulders hunched as he stands by the kitchen island, accompanied by a bottle of whiskey in his hand — bandaged.
“is that a good idea?” you ask, deliberately keeping yourself separated on the other side of the island.
yunho hums lowly, finger circling the rim of the bottle. “don’t have a lot of those lately.”
“is there something bothering you?”
he’s dead silent, unashamed in how he looks at you with such force in his eyes. you almost feel compelled to step forward, or maybe for your knees to buckle from the pressure.
“yes.”
ignoring the flutter in your chest, you press on. “do you want to talk about it?”
there’s an intentional pause, charged with static. you feel the way the tension curls under your skin, spreading goosebumps across the surface. the sound of yunho taking another swig of the bottle is loud in the heavy silence before he puts it back down and rounds the island. you resist the urge to nervously fidget as he approaches, stopping to stand right in front of you.
yunho’s mouth twitches, almost as if he’s holding back a grimace, before he speaks.
“i know you don’t want to hear this, and i know you don’t want to believe it — but you should listen to me. the last thing i want is for you to get hurt.” he sighs, running a hand down his face like you’re stressing him out. “you need to stay away from mingi.”
“what?” is all you can say. this entire night has flipped everything you knew about these two on its head — they’re best friends. they were before you ever came along. what the hell happened while you were gone? “yunho, where is this coming from?”
“please, trust me.” yunho grabs your hands, the gauze coarse on your skin. “he’s not who you think he is, baby. i’m trying to look out for you. i won’t stand to see you hurt by him.”
you’re wedged between a rock and a hard place right now. your system’s just started coming down from the alcohol, leaving your head swimming with periodical throbs, and yunho’s just… sprung this on you, like this doesn’t confuse you even more after the whole broken bottle incident.
you still have vivid memories of yunho being a possessive little teenaged shit. he always used the family first excuse, rubbed it in mingi’s face whenever he could. a reminder that you’re his sister before you’re anything to anyone else.
you’ve always thought he was just a sensitive young man, feeling weird about sharing his baby sister with his best friend — another equally hormonally confused boy.
clearly, he never grew out of it.
you can’t take a word of it seriously. mingi’s never once pushed your boundaries or made you uncomfortable, and after all these years you’d think yunho would have accepted this fact. mingi’s just not like that. yunho though… he’s got it in him.
really, you don’t know where his limit is anymore — seeing as he so readily threw a glass bottle at his own best friend, and over a harmless dance!
“why didn’t you tell me you’d fucked my friends?” you fire back, leaving no time for him to recover. “you could’ve, in the car when i asked. but you didn’t. why?”
yunho’s fingers twitch around yours, knuckles tightening until you wince. the way his eyes darken nearly scares you.
“who told you?”
“...they did.” you lie. “they’re my friends.”
“no, they didn’t.” he says, the certainty in his tone making you shrink in on yourself.
yunho knows for a fact that they’d never tell on themselves — not out of fear of you, but of him. because they promised him they wouldn’t tell you. and they know better than to break that.
“it was mingi, wasn’t it?” he tilts his head, and you miss the way he inches closer. he smirks at your answer in silence. “this is what i’m saying. he’s trying to get between us.”
“but why hide it? why’d you do it in the first place, yunho??”
you can’t even pretend to not feel upset about it. he’s your brother, it’s none of your business who he slept with; especially if it’s your friends you barely kept in touch with. but it hurts you and you can’t think too hard about why, because you’re not ready to face that just yet.
yunho lets out a heavy sigh, and it’s then that you notice he’s gotten right in your face, his breath fanning your lips. his face is serious, as it has been all night — but now, his eyes are full of.. sadness.
“because i missed you.”
the admission has a shiver rolling down your spine. the lack of shame in his voice, the intensity burning in his eyes. the idea that your brother fucked your friends, because that was all he had left of you.
you don’t know what you’re supposed to do with that.
“they were mistakes, okay?” yunho cradles your face. so softly, and your anger dissipates. “you’re back now and i don’t want to lose you again. not to anyone, not him. you got that?” he waits for you to nod. “i love you, baby.”
you don’t have the strength to say it back. not with your stomach in knots.
yunho leans in, close enough that he can taste the way your breath hitches. he lingers, the tip of his nose just grazing yours, and your heart skips a beat. or perhaps it stopped for one.
you’re worried. you’re worried that he’ll kiss you, and you’re worried that you don’t know what you’d do if he did.
perhaps the taste of your panic was too sour, since yunho does not kiss you. on the lips, anyways. but he gets very close. on your cheek, dangerously close to your mouth; he leaves a kiss with his lips pressed to the skin for far too long. it’s tender, too intimate, and confusing — the way your body reacts to it.
yunho takes his leave for bed, ascending up the stairs; gaze never leaving you, you’d imagine. you weren’t game enough to look back.
you don’t breathe until you hear his door shut. and when you do, you’re immediately hyperventilating. breath coming out in panicked spurts that take over your whole body.
you consider going to yunho. now that he’s back in your life you have someone to comfort you, and you have a choice to not cry alone. but the mostly sober brain of yours knows that's a dangerous mistake waiting to be made. you know you shouldn’t, and you don’t linger on the why.
you even think about crawling into your stepmother’s bed, let her hug you like she did when you were a kid. her baby. but your father’s in there and you don’t want to disturb them.
in the end, you just take a swig of the bottle yunho left out. it tastes horrible. almost as bad as the bile when you inevitably vomit all this back up in the morning.
then, you crawl into bed, and you cry with no one but yourself to hold you. just like you did every night for the first year of moving away, wishing for your family to be back together.
just like now, despite getting exactly what you wished for.
──
true to your word, you and mingi have started to see each other more often, and yunho doesn’t even pretend to be okay with it.
you didn’t take a word he said to heart. it’s as if nothing ever even happened that night, save for all your fond memories with mingi instead.
you hadn’t realised how much you’d missed him until you got him back — slipping in to fill the void that was perfectly shaped for him.
mingi’s been driving you all over town, revisiting each spot you frequented as teens. your favourite restaurant that went bankrupt, the local arcade that’s long since been renovated, the flea market that’s somehow still kicking. midnight runs for greasy fast food, stargazing in playgrounds, hotboxing his car in parking lots. doing everything together, even when you’re doing nothing at all.
“would you still love me if i was a chicken?” you asked him once, a joint burning between your fingers into the cool night air. you passed it to mingi, who took a puff while deep in thought.
“of course. i’d build you a luxury coop, and make gourmet omelettes with your eggs.”
“...what the fuck?”
“damn guess i’ll just go die.”
you can’t remember the last time you felt this free, where each day came this easily. just thinking of being in mingi’s presence is enough to bring a helpless smile to your face — knowing that there’s so much love in your heart, and that he’ll return every little bit of it. no pressure, no uncertainty. no lies.
who would’ve thought that having a genuine friend is enough to restore your sparkle.
yunho, spiteful, talked your stepmother into getting a family plan on life360. “baby goes out so often now,” he’d said, barely hiding his sneer. “i’m not always there to keep her out of trouble.”
and so, now your parents have your location on demand, putting your daily hangouts with mingi on halt. you’d be in a world of trouble if they saw how often you’re out and about, how late you come back, all while your loving brother is left alone at home. or worse, yunho would show up to the function and break down the door then break mingi’s legs.
they still think you’re attached at the hip, see. they’ve got no idea that you’ve been avoiding yunho like the plague after he smashed a bottle that cut his own hand in jealousy. jealousy, what a funny fucking concept when you’re siblings. what’s funnier is that your parents wouldn’t even blink, if anything they might defend him. because that’s just always how he’s been when it comes to you — or rather, you with mingi.
of course, you just bypass this by bringing the girls along, yuqi and minnie. they post you on their socials often but leave out mingi (because they’re single and don’t want other men getting the wrong idea) and you know yunho’s falling for it, considering mingi is still unscathed and you continue to see him. every single day.
that doesn’t mean yunho won’t punish you for ever breathing in mingi’s vicinity. he’ll kick your ankle under the dinner table when you’re on your phone, knowing you’re texting him. he’ll barge into your room without apologising, hoping to catch you with mingi and have an excuse to finish what he started at the party. he’ll follow you around the house like a clingy dog and basically corner you into spending time with him, in hopes that you’ll feel too bad to leave him for mingi. but, you still do. you have been. and it’s driving yunho up the fucking wall.
he’s continued his agenda to get in your head, but to no avail. you’re not buying a second of his shit. you’ve even started arguing often like true siblings, cat and dog fights. of course, it’s never about mingi, but it really always is. you’re not actually all that upset at him for leaving the toilet seat up, or him at you for not doing the dishes when it’s your turn. you’re both mad, and the sole reason is the fact that he’s not your person anymore. that you can get your happiness just fine from people who aren’t him.
your stubbornness has reached a point where he’s started lowly sneering reminders at you around the house. “do you have no self respect?”, “don’t come crying to me when you see i was right.”, “i can smell him on you, baby. it’s disgusting.”
you just smirk in the face of each one of his insults, unbothered with a full heart and content soul. yunho’s losing it each day you come home after midnight, quietly creeping to the bathroom like you can wash off the evidence of your betrayal. walking around the house during the day as if you’re not just biding the time for when you can go throw yourself at his best friend again.
you, on the other hand, are not too worried. blood runs thicker than water or whatever, you’ll be in this family shit for life. you know you’re not going to lose yunho — he wouldn’t let that happen. so you’re sure as fuck going to fight tooth and nail to not lose mingi either.
what an extremely stressful first few days back it’s been.
[you] let’s be chickens together
[minki] gobble gobble
[you] that’s a turkey?
[minki] omw in 5
that’s how you found yourself sat passenger in his car, parked in front of some playground that you both had a 2am mcdonalds dinner on, just word-vomiting as you rant about your brother’s behaviour these last few days. mingi nods along, quietly listening.
“i just wish he’d suck it up! we’re grown ass adults now! my only friend can’t be my brother. can you imagine how he’d be if i got a boyfriend?” you scoff, head falling back into the seat.
mingi chews on his bottom lip. nervous. “family will always come first though.”
you look at him wildly. “uh?— nuh uh. i’m stuck with him for life. the friends that i chose are more important to me.”
he’d smile at that, if only his guts weren’t twisting inside out at this conversation.
“i don’t want to get in between you and your family.” mingi murmurs, solemn. eyes cast to his shoes since he’d crack open if he dared look at you instead.
it’s confusing you, the fact that he’s slightly siding with yunho; especially because you can tell that he doesn’t really believe that. it’s not even that he thinks it’s what you want to hear either — because you so obviously don’t — so, what gives?
it just makes you think. wonder, if yunho’s got dirt on mingi that he holds over his head. if there’s any truth to what yunho’s saying.
you wonder at times, yes. but you don’t believe any of it.
──
it was good. it was really, really good and it was great. it kept getting greater. then it just got… fucked. so fucked. you can’t help but wonder where it all went wrong.
your eyes are red raw as you stare at your phone, willing his name to pop up in a notification with each blink you suppress. you’re curled up in your bedsheets and your own tears that won’t quite come. you don’t know if you’ve been here for hours, or perhaps it’s been days. time has blended together in a dull slog ever since you realised that mingi’s been ghosting you.
it began with slower replies, cancelling plans and sad excuses that you never believed but accepted anyways. then, you went a day or two without hearing from him — mingi answering your string of worried messages with a single, dry response before finally going awol on you.
you don’t understand. you were so unbelievably blindsided. you’ve been having so much harmless fun together. did he feel pressured by you? did you scare him away by getting too attached, too fast? did he worry that this was steering into something he didn’t want with you?
oh god. oh god. you got so comfortable with having mingi back, you’ve completely forgotten how it feels to lose him again. loneliness hurts twice as hard as it ever did, since you were convinced you’d never have to live a day of that feeling being familiar again. you don’t know how you ever got through this — constantly wrapped up in loneliness like a blanket, only peeling it back during brief encounters with meaningless men. mingi’s presence had the same effect, yet you never had to give and he never wanted to take. he just.. loved you.
or so you thought. stupid. so fucking stupid.
you’re so deep in your own rumination that you don’t hear your door creak open, yunho quietly slipping in and trying not to skip in joy as he crosses the room to your bed.
“oh, baby,” he coos at you, sitting on the edge of the mattress where you’re curled up by your phone. he grabs the device — slyly tapping it to check that mingi hasn’t texted — before putting it on your bedside table, away from reach. “what’s the matter?”
you sniffle, pulling the blankets up over your pyjama top that leaves little to the imagination. “period.”
yunho tuts, stroking your hair from your face, fingers caressing your cheek. “did you want me to get you anything?”
get the fuck out, you want to say. but the gentle touches he’s giving you, the comfort of his presence.. it’s enough to stop your wallowing if just for a moment. despite yourself, you feel at ease. you’d almost ask him to hold you, but you don’t want to stroke his ego anymore than this.
yunho, however, already knew well what was going on. the truth of it.
you’ve been on your period for days at this point; he saw the wrappers in the bathroom bin, and even caught you putting your heat pack in the microwave, rolling your eyes at him as he passed by. it explains why you’ve done a complete 180 on him this past week — but also why you haven’t fucked mingi just yet.
see, yunho went through your room. he thoroughly rummaged through it after you moved out, making sure no corner or crevice was unfamiliar to him. he still does so, and often since you’re never home; checking for any sign that you’re fucking men who aren’t him. he found condoms in your bedside drawer and nearly threw up on the spot before realising that it’s an unopened box.
your friends owed him big time after they didn’t hide their.. relations well enough, resulting in mingi finding out and you in turn. to earn his forgiveness, they pried out the details of your spicy sex life over cocktails at a girls night — and upon learning everything (or everyone) you did back at the old town, it occurred to him that you’ve been using sex like a salve. like a drug even.
it’s good news, knowing that any intimacy between you is like giving a cigarette to a smoker in withdrawal. it’s also bad news, because if he’s not quick enough, you’ll jump into the arms of the next man you can think of.
the box of condoms in your drawer, combined with your ongoing period, is like a ticking bomb. if it’s just a matter of waiting, then yunho knew he was close to running out of time before losing you forever.
so, the only way to go about it was to confront mingi.
to put it simply, yunho told his best friend to fuck off. he’s failed in all his efforts to get you to cut him off, but when in doubt, he can always bet on threatening mingi.
“i finally have my family back,” yunho had guilt-tripped. “when will you stop trying to tear us apart?” he even brought out the big guns: “she’s recovering from a sex addiction, you know. stop taking advantage of that.”
yunho saw the way mingi was looking at you on the dance floor that night. he knows what he wants. he saw it in the men who checked you out at that party. he sees it everyday when he looks in the mirror.
he made it clear that this would be the last straw. mingi’s got to back off, or yunho is telling you everything. and just the threat of that, looming over his head, was enough to send mingi running with his tail between his legs. now, you’re all yunho’s, to have and to hold.
he’s not a fool — yunho’s only gone to this extent because he knows he’s got an actual shot. you can pretend the opposite all you like, but he’s seen the boys that you give yourself to.
he’s been silently following your socials for years, studying every guy you’d soft-launch and post proudly before scrubbing their faces from history. rinse, repeat. that is, until you found soobin.
yunho laughed out loud the first time he saw soobin’s face on your profile. he damn nearly thought it was himself there. tall frame, dark hair, soft features. if you squint, it really looks like you’re kissing your own brother. and what’s more: you kept this one around for quite a while. on and off, if your sporadic cleansing and dumping of couple photos was anything to go by — but what matters is the fact that you clearly favoured this one much more than any of the others. you may have even loved him.
and he just so happens to look like yunho, of course. what more confirmation does a guy need?
it’s all the reason he needs to splay his fingers across your jaw, tilting your head up to look at him. all the tension taut inside him channelled into the way he’s gazing down at you, thumb softly swiping over your bottom lip.
“anything i can do to make you feel better?” he whispers, so soft you could miss it.
previously forgotten memories from that night at the party flash like a siren through your head: yunho staring at you like he is now, his arms wrapped around you, face inches from yours. the shot of tequila, the tongue on—
“no.” you almost gasp, pulling back from his grasp like it burned you.
yunho’s still for a moment — internally in shock that you just rejected him — before he smiles. composes himself. “okay.”
yunho dusts off nonexistent lint from his shirt, needing to occupy his hands while they’re buzzing with the thought of just reaching out and grabbing you.
“another friend of mine is hosting a party tomorrow night.” he digresses, hoping to wipe your memory of whatever the fuck just happened. “san, it’s his birthday.”
you nod, following along, and yunho lets out the breath that he’d been holding — beyond relieved that you’re not chewing him out for being a disgusting pervert.
his smile shifts from forced to hopeful. “if you’re feeling any better, did you want to come? we had so much fun at the last one.”
he neglects to mention the dramatic ending with mingi, the dubious tension after getting you drunk, the way his hands wouldn’t come off your body for more than two seconds at a time.
but whatever, right? all’s good and well again, considering mingi fucking ghosted you like none of it ever mattered.
that night, how you were acting with yunho was weird, but you’re not recoiling. rather…confused? you know that you didn’t hate it. in fact, across your scattered memories, you can tell that you were having so much fun.
who knows, maybe you might run into mingi there. give him a piece of your mind.
“we could go.”
yunho wishes he could hug you. he would’ve, if this past week’s events hadn’t happened. but the way he just beams at you holds the same sentiment.
maybe you didn’t choose him today. but, that just means he has to put in the work, so that the next time he offers — he knows you won’t turn him down.
──
well, how funny is that. not only did mingi show, but it seems like yunho was fully aware he would. the moment you entered to greet the birthday boy, your eyes had found mingi before you could even register it.
if he wasn’t already at the forefront of your mind, you might have missed him entirely — with the way yunho had subtly stepped into your line of sight, then pointed at something else to distract you. you realise then, it’s what he must’ve done at the first party. you were just too wrapped up in him to notice.
mingi had cast you one sad, lingering look when you first walked in, and that was it. he’s ignoring you. even cutting his conversations short and walking off each time you happen to stumble into the same room. yunho’s indifferent to his best friend’s suffering; if anything, you might think he’s enjoying it. you haven’t seen him smile and laugh so hard like this in quite some time. you’d think it was his own birthday.
subsequently, yunho hasn’t left your side once. he won’t repeat that mistake. he deliberately waited for you to get dressed first, just so he could coordinate his outfit to match yours. he’s been showing you off to all his friends, unashamedly calling you baby in front of them, keeping a hand on your back or arm around your shoulder at all times. it’d be suffocating, if only you weren’t so hollow.
you’re fresh out of fucks to give. they can think what they want to — in fact, you hope they assume you’re dating, just so it can reach mingi. what would he care anyways right? family first and all that stupid shit he cares so much about.
….you might be drunk.
yunho hasn’t been outright shoving drinks in your hands like last time, but he has been pouring you one each time you ask. which, you don’t know how many it’s been at this point. you can only hope he’s been keeping track.
on that thought — you shift where you’re sitting in his lap, tilting your body to face him.
“yuyu,” you drawl, patting his arm so he releases the hold he has around your waist. “i think i need to pee.”
“you think?” he laughs, poking his cheek with his tongue. he knows you need to, because he’s been counting your drinks.
yunho leans back on the couch, eyes raking over your body for a split second — how it’s angled on top of him like this — before his arms fall away. he pats your back and helps you stand up, hand falling dangerously low.
“lucky i know where the bathroom is this time.” he whispers lowly, leading you there.
if he didn’t still think you were on your period, you’re convinced yunho might have tried to sit in there with you — say some excuse like you need help to not fall over, you can’t hold your own hair back if you vomit. he’s really.. pushy with boundaries like that. you don’t know if it’s just because he’s close with his mother, or he wants to be that close with you. he’s always been a physically affectionate person, but you’re too old for it to not raise eyebrows now.
you all but push yunho down the hallway so he doesn’t stand right outside the fucking door — where he conveniently gets swept up by san and his boyfriend wooyoung, drunkenly professing their love to your brother before attempting to hump him 0.2 seconds after. you narrowly escape from the chaos and duck into the bathroom, then nearly fucking scream from the jumpscare of someone already standing in there.
and with your luck, it’s mingi.
without a second thought, you’re kicking the door shut and flipping the lock, taking up space until he’s walking back into the counter. practically cornered.
“what the fuck is your deal?!” you whisper-shout, aware that yunho’s still down the hall and will tear the door off its hinges if he gets a whiff of mingi in your vicinity.
mingi raises a hand, trying to stop you from walking too close, but you just press yourself right against it. he visibly melts at touching you before pulling it back, brows furrowed. “you can’t be here..”
“oh, so you can talk?” you snap, while he just looks at you like a kicked puppy. “you better have a damn good reason..”
“there is no reason.” his voice cracks, as if his body can’t even pretend to lie. “i just think it’s better off for both of us if we stop—”
“you don’t believe that.” you cut in. he doesn’t even protest. “say what you mean, mingi. what happened?”
he shakes his head once. then again, firmer, like he’s trying to tell himself no. “i won’t get in between your family anymore.”
there’s that stupid excuse again. you roll your eyes, heaving a tired sigh. “why do you suddenly care about that so much?”
as if on queue, there’s a knock at the door — yours and mingi’s stomachs dropping in unison at the sound of your brother’s voice.
“you okay in there, baby?”
you take immediate note of mingi’s face: horror. he’s fucking horrified. big, glossy eyes silently pleading with you. that’s when the understanding dawns.
“yeah,” you call out. “be done in a sec.”
there’s a moment of silence before he responds. you’re listening closely, waiting for the sound of receding footsteps, and you realise he must be listening in on you too.
“alright.”
at last, yunho backs off — and with a newfound certainty, you hone in on mingi. his pale-stricken face floods with blush as he leans further back onto the counter, you standing nearly between his legs.
“it was him, wasn’t it?” you whisper. “did he… say something to you?”
mingi almost goes to shake his head again, before something inside him visibly crumbles. he shuts his eyes with a shaky breath, and nods.
that makes you frown. your heart hurts for mingi, despite how upset he’s made you these past few days. you really should have seen this coming. yunho’s never taken kindly to sharing.
tentatively, your hands find mingi’s, and he lets you — your fingers curling around his broad palms. he sighs in relief, allowing himself to softly hold your hand back.
“it won’t work, mingi. i’m not going anywhere. not again.”
his lip twitches, face burning from guilt and something a little more. he tried to stick to his resolve, really tried. mingi was barely strong enough to ghost you in the first place — but now you’re here in front of him, telling him everything he’s wanted to hear… god help him, it’s all going to come tumbling out.
“it killed me to push you away.” he croaks out, throat almost choked up with a sob.
your affection for mingi wells up inside, sharp and hot, compelling you to reach out and cup his face.
“then stop doing it, dummy.” you urge him. “i want my best friend back.”
mingi nuzzles into your hand, his dazed eyes falling to your lips before he shuts them, face screwed up as if he’s in pain.
“this is dangerous.”
he shudders when your thumb strokes his cheek, just brushing the edge of his lip. your body weight leaning against his thigh, faces not even a breath apart.
“what do you want?” you ask him, his cheeks burning under your palms.
mingi’s eyes flutter open, looking at you like a deer in headlights. the prettiest brown eyes confessing what his mouth is too shy to. he reaches for your top, pinching the fabric while he works up the courage. his mind is blanking, too overwhelmed with the disbelief that this is really happening.
after years worth of bottling up all his feelings for you, gritting his teeth while yunho dangled you in front of his face, knowing he’d never be able to get between that. at least, not until he danced with you at that party. the fact you left with him and not your own brother showed mingi, for the very first time, that he could compete with yunho. it’s why he had the courage to ignore the looming shadow of his best friend’s fury each time he’d hang out with you. it’s why he even bothered showing up tonight, knowing that yunho would bring you along to show off in front of mingi. it’s why he lingered inside this bathroom after hearing your voice outside, hoping you’d find and confront him.
and here you are.
he can’t find the right words to express any of this — so he just pushes himself to lean forward until his lips find yours.
it’s a ghost of a kiss, a barely-there press of his lips before he’s pulling back, his inner conflict evident in his longing eyes.
“you,” he whines out, “all i’ve wanted is this, you.”
your heart cracks wide open, and everything you’ve told yourself not to feel for your best friend comes spilling out. mingi really loves you, you can tell by the way it pours through his gaze. the way your reflection in his eyes is twice as beautiful as how you see yourself.
you don’t hesitate before kissing him back, leaning your whole body into him. you swear you felt his heart jump in his ribcage, just so it could match the beat of yours.
mingi whimpers into the kiss, his hands softly holding your waist while yours sit atop his fluttering pulse. it’s not even that heated, but you’ve never felt so fucked up from a kiss before — a deep, intimate kiss. your mouths moving together slowly, flushed bodies pressed close together. you’re like tequila: mingi can only bear little sips, too much and he’ll be a goner.
your tongue swipes at his bottom lip, testing the waters, and mingi encourages you with a soft hum. you lick into his mouth, and a whine resounds from his throat.
he’s working you up so quickly with nothing but slow kisses. you reel yourself back in with each urge to rush this, wanting to savour the moment. revelling in all the adoration mingi’s pouring into each soft swipe of his tongue against yours.
despite your best efforts, you can’t help yourself to rolling your hips, desperate to be as close as possible — mingi letting out a deep groan as you rub against his boner. after a moment to collect himself, he’s gently pulling you back by the waist, since the last thing he wants is for you to feel pressured.
what you do want though, is him.
“mingi,” you say, running a hand down his chest. he lets out a sort of stifled whimper as a reply. “let’s leave.”
he nearly gasps as your fingers creep down to his stomach, leaving a trail of fire in its wake, before stopping at the waistband of his pants. his length throbs under the fabric, silently begging for your touch.
“but, you can’t..” he pouts, staring directly at your hand, how it sits just above where he wants it most. your response is a kiss, and he’s nothing but putty in your palm.
“i don’t care about anything else.” you tell him, channelling all your certainty into your eyes so he can see it. “i want you, mingi.”
that does it. he already knew he was done for when you cornered him in here — hell, the day that you moved back — but there’s no more fighting it now. what yunho doesn’t know can’t hurt him, right?
mingi nods, giving himself over to you, and your sweet smile at him makes it all worth it. you kiss him again, just for good measure.
“did you drive?”
“yeah.”
“then let’s get out of here.”
you barely open the bathroom door as you squeeze your way out, yunho running up to you the second you stepped a toe outside. you’re not even putting on an act when he notices how flushed and out of breath you are.
“did you fall in?” yunho chuckles, his smile dropping a fraction as he glances at the crack in the door.
thankfully, he’s easy to distract as you hug him, whining about ‘how sick you suddenly feel’. his attention is yours again as he fusses over you, and you take the chance to close the door — shielding mingi on the other side.
yunho whisks you away, saying that it was about time for the cake. you dare a glance over your shoulder, locking eyes with mingi as he quietly nudges the door open. he smiles softly at you, a cute contrast to how he’s readjusting the front of his pants. you smile back just before rounding the corner.
you stand with yunho’s arms wrapped around you amongst the circle of friends surrounding san, drunken tears in his eyes as he scream-sings along to happy birthday. the party cheers for him as he blows out his candles, pulling wooyoung into a sloppy make-out right in front of the cake.
yunho bends down to kiss your cheek, gently rubbing your tummy as he asks, “will you have cake, baby?”
in your peripheral, you just catch mingi’s broad frame shouldering his way out of the room, pretending like he’s pissed after overhearing that. yunho’s lip curls into a smirk, and you know it was on purpose.
“actually, um,” you worm your way out of his grasp, acting like you’re nervously fidgeting. “i’m sorry, i was too embarrassed to say anything before.. i had, um, an accident.” you wait for yunho to prompt you to go on, his hand rubbing at your arm to comfort. it burns like acid. “i need period stuff. i couldn’t find anything in the bathroom.”
your stomach twists with how genuine his concern is, sighing and rubbing at his forehead like it genuinely stresses him to see you suffering.
“did you want me to drive to the corner shop? get you something?”
you shake your head, portraying yourself as not wanting to be an inconvenience. “it’s okay. yuqi’s around, i just wanted to ask her if she has anything.”
yunho’s eyes go slightly dim at how you turned down his offer, favouring the help of someone else — a disloyal friend, at that. but he reels himself back in, softening the bubbling anger as he strokes your hair.
“okay. don’t go too far.”
“i’ll try not to,” you reassure him, not forgetting the cherry on top: “thanks, yuyu.”
the lie tastes like bile as you leave him there, walking through the crowd and pretending to scan the house for yuqi until you slip out of yunho’s line of sight — and then out of the room.
you take the back door, stepping out into the night as you round the side of the house and veer off to the cars parked in a row across the street; meeting mingi where he leans against the hood of his.
you practically run to him, letting him scoop you up in his arms and press his lips to yours like he misses you already. one kiss turns to two, and two into standing there for a minute, panting as your mouths move together. mingi has to pry you off of him before he just lets you take him on the asphalt, blushing as you giggle over the pitch in his pants, back like it never left.
as you slide into the passenger side, you decide to turn off your location on your phone, then set it to do no disturb. you’re not going to let anyone get in the way of this.
──
“so, your mother isn’t home?” you ask, quietly slipping into the bedroom.
mingi enters behind you and flicks the light on, shaking his head shyly. you take the chance to scan around his room, recognising what he’s kept the same and noticing what he’s added: new posters on the wall of anime he’s watched over time, trinkets collected from various museum visits, stray dumbbells in the corner from whenever he began working out.
relatively tidy for a man’s space (and one with his attention span), which you can only assume is because he avoids run-ins with bugs at any cost. it makes you giggle: remembering all the times you’ve found a cockroach right in this room, while mingi screamed and begged you to catch it for him.
oh, you love him. you love this scaredy cat, who has snuck you away from your crazy guard dog of a brother for a second time now, just because you asked.
your brother…
you try to push it out of your brain. you can’t be thinking of that right now, not while mingi’s standing here, wanting you just as badly as you want him. he’s anxiously fiddling with his shirt, looking so unsure of himself now when his tongue was in your mouth not even half an hour ago. cute. he’s so damn cute.
you step to him, smiling at how his breath audibly hitches when you cup his face. you’ve got no intentions of holding back now: pressing your front flush against him, feeling how his body tenses under the contact. static coursing under the barriers of clothing. as if you’re waiting for permission, he nods in tiny, and it makes you giggle.
“sorry,” he murmurs. “i’m nervous.”
“don’t be.” you reassure him, and he sighs as your thumb traces his lower lip.
“how can i not? you’re so pretty.”
you shush him with a gentle peck. “then show me.”
at that, he leans down to kiss you for real, inhaling through his nose like you’re the air he breathes. you understand why he’s been so shy as his length pokes your thigh, already half-hard. he must be so excited, and it has your heart fluttering — then soaring as he whimpers softly into your mouth, his tongue tentatively sliding against yours.
your phone thuds when you let it drop to the carpet, giving mingi your full attention as both of your hands roam the expanse of his back. you want to feel the hard work he’s spent at the gym yourself, so you hike your hands under his shirt, palms sliding along the ridges of muscles. mingi’s breath quickens, goosebumps racing across his skin. his body’s always been sensitive, and with how desperately he’s wanted you, it’s dialled up to the absolute worst. he wouldn’t want it any other way.
you keep kissing, almost innocently, for a while. deep, slow, deeper. it’s reverent as his tongue explores your mouth, while he ignores his length quickly growing in his pants. now that you’ve let him kiss you once, mingi just doesn’t want to stop giving them to you, entirely addicted to your tequila lips. you ignore every urge to just shove him to the wall, to rip his clothes off and go to town on him. this isn’t like any other sex you’ve had — mingi isn’t like any other guy you’ve known. he’s your best friend in the whole wide world. you love him, and the kisses taste even sweeter knowing that he loves you back just as much.
mingi’s being very polite, letting you grope at his back and hips while his own hands refuse to flinch from your waist. you can tell how much each of your touches affect him — the evidence quite literally throbbing into your thigh — but you know he won’t make a move without you outright telling him you want it. so, you do it for him.
you guide mingi to the bed with a gentle push, following as he sits on the edge and then planting yourself down in his lap. when you connect your lips again, the kiss is undoubtedly more heated — your ass pressed to his boner, your hands threading through his hair. worked up, you tug at the strands, earning a deep sexy grunt from mingi.
he’s very vocal as he just takes the hurried kisses you’re giving him, his head craning back from the force of your lips and the grip of your fingers. it’s turning you on like crazy, especially with how you can tell his length’s grown noticeably yet he makes no move to pay it any mind. a guy of his size, letting you lead this and for him to follow.
“god, i want to ruin you,” you mutter, and mingi just whimpers, his eyes going wide as saucers when you give an experimental roll of your hips.
he’s big, you can tell. a dick that size, this hard? it’s all the more impressive that he restrains from bucking up into you or holding you in place to grind against — rather melting as you rut yourself against his lap. pushing his head up into your hand, prompting you to tug it again, and mingi just moans over the light sting combined with the heavy pressure against his cock. he’s so perfect, you can’t believe it.
the friction burns with the fabric but it burns good, your pussy practically buzzing with the impatience to feel him inside you. you think you even catch him twitch in his pants, his mouth struggling to keep up with your kisses as he lets all his pretty moans spill without shame.
mingi suddenly pauses your ministrations as his hands still you by the hips — only, he’s not strong enough to stop you, as you just continue slowly. it feels even better too, the slow drags allowing you to really feel the shape of him under the fabric. mingi stammers, focus torn between his own words and how pretty you look on top of him like this.
“what do you want to do?” he feels the need to ask, gauging how far you want to go. you can’t help but adore how cute he looks with his lips puffy from all the kissing.
you smile, twirling a strand of his hair. “you.”
mingi eyes flutter shut, still in disbelief that any of this is actually happening. you really want him the same as he’s wanted you for as long as he can even remember.
wanting to speed things up a bit, you slide yourself back on his lap, sitting on his knees and exposing the beautiful impression against his pants. for a second, you almost just beg him to stick it in now and fuck you into the mattress, but you know mingi wouldn’t let that happen. he probably wants to take his time, make sure you feel even better than him.
you pull your dress over your head, and mingi’s starstruck as he admires your body in the simple lace underwear set, blush flooding his face. then, it’s his turn, and he almost rushes to help you tug his shirt off.
yep, he definitely works out. in awe, you trace his toned chest and stomach, nails scraping just by his nipples — and his abs flex from the sensitivity.
he huffs, coy. “i’m ticklish..”
so he says… curious, you kiss at his neck, keeping your eyes on the way his tummy tenses, his pelvis doing tiny rolls into the air like it’s missing your heat. wanting to grant him the relief he deserves, your fingers curl around his waistband, and he takes the hint to lift his hips. in one motion you drag down both layers of his pants and boxers, exposing him down to his thighs where you’re sitting.
mingi groans in relief as his cock bobs free: flushed red, weeping, and painfully hard. you blink, examining the size in comparison to your body, wondering how it’s all going to fit. he’s big, and thick too. maybe the girthiest you’ve been with. definitely the prettiest. you don’t know how to tell him that he has a pretty dick without sounding like a bad porno, so you’ll have to just show him.
you reach a hand out to him, your fingers not even meeting your thumb as it wraps around the base. mingi studies your hand around him, looking astonished at the sight. you’ve got no idea how many times he’s imagined this exact picture before him. his body trembles as you spit directly on his cock, your hand chasing it as you tug up to the tip, precum dribbling over your knuckles.
you give a few strokes to coat his whole length in the slick, mingi heaving above you as he watches. your fingers tighten, and he throws his head back with a deep grunt as your wrist twists, stimulating the entirety of his length as you pull at him.
your mouth waters just looking at him, how fucked up he is over nothing but your fingers. a size like this is a waste if you’re not sticking it anywhere.
so, you stand from his lap and drop your knees to the carpet, prying his legs open to accommodate you. mingi looks like there’s not a thought left in his brain: mouth falling open at the sight of you kneeling, cock barely fitting in your hand, breasts spilling from your bra.
he braces himself as you pull his pants and boxers the rest of the way down, planting his hands behind him on the mattress. he already knows he’ll need something to hold on to.
“you’re big, mingi,” you beam at him, licking your lips.
he blushes at your words. “if it’s too much, you don’t have to take all of it..”
“i want to.”
mingi lets out something like a pained groan, his length twitching in your palm. “you’re gonna kill me.”
“i did say i want to ruin you.” you remind him, rubbing his frenulum with your thumb. it’s just too easy to want. he’s so vocal, and sensitive, and pretty all over. briefly, you wonder how much experience he has, considering he admitted to having no luck with dating. you don’t want to ask though — your heart just breaks at the thought of anyone else having your best friend like this.
you want to claim him so thoroughly, he won’t be able to remember there being anyone else.
you leave a kiss on his tip, pre smearing your lips like a gloss. mingi covers his face, whining.
“i’ve thought about this a lot...”
“really?” you ask him, intrigued. “how often?”
“it’s so embarrassing.”
“it’s not.” you intertwine a hand with one of his, coaxing him into revealing his face, now beet red.
“i had to stop myself from kissing you each time we’d hang out.” mingi admits. “i wanted to make a move so, so bad. i was just scared.”
“don’t hold back now,” you blink up at him, lining your mouth up. “okay?”
mingi’s not sure if he got out a nod, since he’s immediately throwing his head back as your lips wrap around the head of his cock without warning. you take him down inch by inch, his cock pulsing in the heat of your mouth, causing him to shudder each time your teeth scrape the soft skin.
you’re determined to fit him all in, holding your breath as you focus on opening up your throat. mingi’s leaking so much pre that you almost mistake it for cum. your cheeks already ache from the effort of stretching around his thick size, but it’s not enough to deter you — not with mingi whining so prettily above you, his knuckles white as they fist his bedsheets.
your lips finally reach the base, nose buried in his groin as your mouth envelops his entire length. you pause to let him breathe for only a moment, before you’re hollowing your cheeks and sucking. you draw out a long, pained moan from him as your throat constricts around him.
you start to bob your head, forgetting to inhale any air as you focus on sucking him into your mouth as tight as possible. the noises are filthy, wet squelching filling the room with all the drool and precum running down his length. you must’ve sounded worrying down there, since mingi’s pulling you off of him, his cock popping from your mouth.
“breathe.” he tells you, looking no better himself. he’s completely flushed down to his chest, covered in a thin sheen of sweat. “i can’t feel good if you’re not breathing.”
you pout at him. out of spite, you stretch your lips around him again, but stopping at the tip. mingi’s adam’s apple bobs as he watches you, and you want to suck a hickey onto it after.
you gently suck, like a lollipop. opening your lips to run your tongue over the tip, switching to quick kitten licks as you stare directly into his eyes. you make it a point to audibly inhale and exhale for him to prove that you’re breathing.
“can i deepthroat you again yet?”
he gulps. “...yeah.”
without hesitation, you’re plunging back down, eagerly filling your mouth with his cock until you nearly gag on it. you pick your pace back up from where you left off, his tip fucking the back of your throat with each bob. you alternate between running your tongue over the underside and swirling it at the tip, and mingi is gone. he died and went to heaven sometime during your question. you really know how to make a guy fall in love. he almost doesn’t want you to stop, but otherwise—
“oh, fuck!” mingi moans, trying to push your face away while his hips pull back at the same time. you stare at him, confused; understanding what happened (or what almost happened) as his flushed cock jerks violently right in front of your face.
“i’m sorry,” he breathes out. “i’m sorry, i was gonna cum,”
you just smile at him, unphased. you run your fingers gently over his length, tracing a vein on the underside, and he lets out the most gorgeously wrecked whimper.
“w-wait, i’ll seriously cum if you do that,”
you stop only because of how panicked he sounds. a shame — you really wanted him to cum in your mouth.
mingi notices your slight frown and pulls you up, sitting you back on his lap like a doll. “come here.”
he kisses you, licking into your mouth that still tastes like him. you give him a messy kiss before pulling back, aiming straight for the jugular as your lips latch to the skin. still sensitive, mingi shudders as you suck a patch of bruises onto his neck. you run your tongue over his adam’s apple, and the way it bobs in a moan has your head fucking spinning.
you can feel how wet you are. he could probably slip right in. it’d sting, no doubt, but it’d be worth it. mingi must be able to read your mind, since he places a gentle hand on your inner thigh, giving you puppy eyes.
“can i?”
as much as you want to jump straight into sex, you nod. because each way he touches you is full of so much love, you're willing to wait. and you know he might even get more out of this than you will.
mingi’s fingers trail down to your panties, his eyes going wide as he feels the wet patch that’s formed. like he can’t believe he’s affecting you just as much as you’re affecting him.
he lifts you and lays you down on the bed, crawling over your body. he looks to your face for permission as his fingers tap your bra, and you give him another nod, helping him unclip it from behind. you discard it somewhere on the floor.
mingi’s entranced with your bare chest. he gently cups a breast with his hand, giving a tentative squeeze, looking to you. again, you nod, cracking a smile at how nervous he still is, even after you put his whole dick in your mouth.
“i want you to touch me, mingi.” you say outright for him, and he drops his head to your chest, chuckling.
when it rises again, the look of love so potent in his eyes nearly knocks the wind out of you.
“you are so fucking pretty.”
taken aback by the cuss, you gasp as he kisses your nipple, cupping your other breast with his free hand.
he licks and sucks at the bud, keeping the other occupied as he rolls it between his fingers. he then switches between the two, showing equal love to each breast, and it has your pussy twitching. you could probably cum like this. you’d let him do it, too.
you almost protest as he moves off, trailing kisses down your stomach, all the way until his chin nudges your groin. mingi rises from the bed, and he gets down on his knees, exactly like you did for him.
he pulls your panties down your legs, eyes honed in on your glistening pussy between them. chucking the garment wherever your bra landed, you spread your legs for mingi to sit between, propping your thighs on his shoulders.
he looks amazed at how wet you are, and you can understand how he nearly came so quick with you down in the same position. he’s so goddamn pretty.
mingi raises his hand to you, and prods only a single finger at your entrance. his thumb finds your clit, and he presses it so perfectly as his finger slides in, you could cry thinking about where he learned this from. he cusses under his breath as your wet warmth envelops his finger, and he pulls out to immediately add a second. you’re tight, he’s going to have to work to make himself fit.
you, on the other hand, have been so turned on that you feel like you could cum at any second. your hips squirm, wanting so badly to entice mingi into just fingerfucking you silly. he lets out a hoarse laugh, satisfying the demand as his thumb circles your clit, his two fingers crooking up into your sweet spot.
he watches your pussy sucking him in, and mingi just crumbles. “shit—”
he moves his thumb only to replace it with his mouth, and you damn near scream as his lips close around your clit. a third finger joins the others as he starts to fuck them into you, mingi flattening his tongue and lapping at your buzzing clit like a dog.
it’s so much all at once, and it’s more than enough to have you toppling off the edge, your legs locking around his head as your orgasm washes over you. mingi sucks your clit through it, curling his fingers up so hard and fast that you see stars.
he pulls back for a quick breath, sounding ragged as if he was on the verge of passing out, before groaning a “fuck” and diving right back in. not even listening to his own advice about breathing. your body thrashes above him as the waves of pleasure just keep on coming.
you don’t know how long it is before you go limp, completely spent. but not done. not yet.
mingi leaves one last kiss on your sensitive clit before he’s pulling his fingers out and climbing back up. “beautiful, so fucking beautiful.” he grunts, running his tongue over your breasts.
you’re so sensitive, your hands pulling at his hair, causing a groan to rumble on your nipple. his bare cock slides against your inner thigh, precum smearing the skin. you reach down to guide him to your pussy, and you both moan in tandem as his cock slides through your folds.
you roll your hips, and he follows, desperately grinding your wet heat together; his cock bumping your clit so perfectly with each thrust.
“i want you,” you pant.
“i want you too.” mingi sobs, wanting to feel this heat wrapped around him more than anything, but knowing he can’t fucking have it.
“fuck me, mingi,” you plead him.
“i c-can’t,” he whines. “i don’t have a, ah— a condom.”
“i don’t care, i want you.”
mingi lets out a broken groan into your shoulder. “fuck, you’ll really let me?”
“yes, mingi, please.”
“okay,” he huffs, catching his breath, comprehending that this is happening for real. “okay.”
mingi kisses your face as he works up the courage, lining his cock up. his tip nudges your hole, and he whimpers at the raw sensation.
“okay. if you want me to stop—”
“—i won’t.” you smile at him, and he just shakes his head, laughing to himself.
“what’d i do to deserve you?” he says, intertwining his hand with yours.
you keep eye contact as mingi pushes in, your face crumpling as his thick head splits you open. he pauses, worried he’s hurting you, but you nod frantically for him to keep going. just like you thought, it’s a good fucking sting. he did well with his fingers, since you’re able to focus on breathing as he sinks his entire length inside.
you feel almost unbearably full as mingi bottoms out, softly whimpering above you. his hand holding yours tight. your pussy flutters around him as it adjusts to the size, and he almost doesn’t even want to move.
you encourage him further with a soft kiss. mingi drags his hips until only the tip’s left, before pushing all the way back in. you both break off into a moan as he splits you open again, the glide smoother this time with your arousal gushing around him.
another reassuring kiss from you is all mingi needs to snap his hips again, and again and again. every thrust being so deep, shuffling you up the bed just from the force.
his other hand props himself up by a fist on the mattress, determined to fuck you as best he can. each movement has his length rubbing at your g-spot so beautifully. you don’t even realise that you’re holding your voice back, forgetting to do anything other than just take him.
“breathe, please.” he tells you again, thumb stroking your hand as a comfort. “i want to know how you’re feeling.”
“it feels so, so fucking good.” you cry out for him.
mingi dives down to kiss you, and you can feel his smile as it slots against your lips. he’s proud of himself for being able to please you. he breaks off with a high-pitched whine as your pussy grips him like a vice, and it might be the sexiest sound you’ve ever heard.
“cum in me,” you whisper to him, holding his face. “i want it.”
his only response is another of those sexy whines, his face scrunching up in pain from how hard he’s trying not to instantly bust over your words.
“god, you’re so good to me.” he pants out, fisting the sheets as he puts all his energy into ramming his hips as fast as they’ll go. his thighs ache from the gruelling pace, but it’s all worth it with your cries of bliss filling his ears.
your pussy clamps down on him, and you shout as another orgasm sneaks up on you.
“fu—ah, mingi!”
he cusses as he realises what’s happening, and he’s helpless to how his own release follows immediately after, his hips stuttering as he spills out inside you — your name on his tongue.
mingi’s chest falls on yours, rapidly rising for air, and he still pulls you in for another kiss. breathless as his hips kick weakly inside you, his tongue fervently licking against yours. he’s kissing you so desperately, you almost can’t keep up.
“i wanna be yours,” he pants out in between kisses, cradling your face so sweetly in his hands.
you smile, whispering back, “i wanna be yours too.”
“so be mine.” he pulls back just to beg. “please?”
you can’t say no to an adorable face like that. you tip your head in a nod, and mingi dives back in, your sweaty bodies falling into a pile of love.
you don’t say it outright — but the implication is there. you’re not just best friends anymore. as if you could be, after that. and as mingi sucks at your neck, his cock growing hard again where it’s still buried inside you, you couldn’t be happier.
──
you jolt awake, a deep pit sinking in your stomach as your blurry eyes spin at the ceiling. warm arms draped around your bare body being all to keep you grounded. you nearly recoil at the weight pressing down, last night’s memories flooding back in a tidal wave, headed by a thick slew of guilt. pure fucking guilt.
mingi stirs beside you, sleepily squeezing your side as if he’s checking you’re still there. a dopey grin spreads across his cheeks as he squints at you, still half-asleep. “thought i was dreaming.”
he goes to kiss your temple, and you pull back without thinking. hurt flashes across his face, but it slides into understanding as the fog clears from his head. the spell couldn’t last forever.
“is this okay?” mingi asks in such a small, unsure voice that breaks your heart, his hands hovering off of you.
you nod, curling back into his touch. you should make the most of it while it lasts. you sure as hell got a greedy fill last night. your thighs ache as your body shifts, a reminder of how long you were spread out last night. mingi massages your back, comforting you in silence.
“i have to go home.” you say finally. he already knows.
“i can take you.” he offers, nose nudging your hair as he breathes in your scent. he’s going to miss it.
you accept, since that’s the least you could do for him right now — but make a mental note to ask him to drop you off around the corner. all hell would break loose if mingi’s car pulled up in the driveway after you’ve been missing for an entire night.
mingi retreats to the bathroom to grant you some space — evidently resisting the urge to invite you in by the pout on his face. if you really meant what you said last night, you’re his now. all he has left is to call you his girlfriend. the last thing he wants is to put distance between you. but, he knows you need it right now, and that’s enough reason for him to.
you let out a genuine whine when you find your phone on the floor: the battery in the single digits, the lockscreen flooded with frantic texts and missed calls. you scroll through it, ignoring each and any text with yunho’s name attached. you don’t have the strength to confront those just yet. you feel a pang of shame seeing your stepmother’s contact strewed in there too — no doubt yunho had ran and cried wolf.
further down, your eye catches on a batch of missed calls from an unknown number, a single voicemail attached. curious, you press to listen.
“hey, it’s hongjoong.…sorry we keep speaking like this. i’m with yunho right now. i got your number from his phone, which i confiscated, since he was going to smash it. he’s very drunk and freaking out over you. i don’t know what happened between you two but… uh, look, i saw you leaving with mingi. i haven’t said anything because they’re both my friends, so.. just, please call yunho back, when you can? let him know you’re okay. don’t know if i’ll be able to get this massive guy to bed any other way. cheers.”
shame clogs up your throat, leaving you coughing until your lashes dot with tears. why did it have to come to this? why did a choice made out of tender, sweet love become something so fucking gutwrenching?
feeling broken enough, you scroll back through the texts to skim over yunho’s, each word hurting more than the last. you stop at a certain notification — one that you initially missed among the others, one that has your heart dropping immediately.
a single missed call from your father.
you don’t hesitate to call him back. he never calls you. he never feels the need to. you’re not close like that.
each ring that you wait through is like another stab to your ribs until finally, he picks up, voice groggy as he says your name. you must’ve woken him up.
“i’m sorry, dad.” you bumble out. “you called?”
he hums, mildly annoyed. the simple noise twists the knife. “where were you last night? your mother was worried sick.”
“i’m really sorry, i..” you gulp, making a split second choice on a lie. “my friend yuqi took me to her house. i lost track of time and fell asleep. i didn’t want anyone to worry over me, i’m sorry.”
“i’m fine.” he replies, unphased. another twist. “you should be apologising to your brother. he came home in tears, sobbing over you. you were with mingi, weren’t you?” you can’t even bring yourself to reply, your ribcage cracking open. your father sighs. “yunho’s concerned about you, baby. he says mingi’s bad news, that he’s trying to isolate you, but you won’t listen.”
that pisses you off enough to interject. “that’s bullshit. he—”
“—your brother matters more!” he silences you, frustration evident in his tone. “family comes first, baby. you should be taking care of yunho. he really cares about you. you shouldn’t be ruining that. not for some boy.”
you bite your lip until you taste blood. you fucking hate the way he says it. even when you were only innocent kids, not understanding why boys and girls couldn’t be friends, your father hammered it down that he’d never approve of you with mingi. he grew to tolerate the friendship over time, but that disapproval never faded, and you have no idea why.
“he’s not just some boy.”
you father heaves a sigh, and it’s so heavily disappointed that you nearly cry on the spot.
“i don’t want you to make the same mistakes i did, baby. those.. habits you had back at the town, i only ever let it happen because you were struggling. you have got to grow out of it now. we’re a family again.” he gives a bitter chuckle. “i know that you must get it from me.”
it’s so quiet on your end, you’re sure he must’ve heard the way your heart shattered before you abruptly hung up.
hearing all of that from him, his genuine disappointment in you, as if he’s not the one who cheated and split up the family in the first place. acting like what you’ve done is comparable.
you’ve never spoken much about emotions with your father. you’ve never spoken much about anything with him. it’s part of the reason why you depended on yunho so much while growing up, why you let him leech onto you.
the door creaks, and you profusely wipe at your face. mingi slowly pokes his head through, water still dripping from his hair. he looks upset, and you realise he must’ve been standing outside, not wanting to interrupt but hearing everything.
he fiddles nervously with the door handle. “do you want me to..”
you choke on a sudden sob, covering your face with your hands before tears can fall. mingi’s crossing the room within a second, sliding onto the bed next to you and enveloping you in his arms. you fall forward into his chest, swallowing down each sob threatening to claw its way up. you refuse to cry over your father.
“i have to go home,” you say, mostly to tell it to yourself. there’s another part to the sentence, one that you don’t say out loud, but you can both hear it. you have to see yunho.
you expect mingi’s hold to loosen, for him to be mad that you’re leaving, but he only nods — kissing your hair.
“i understand.”
there isn’t any more words as he cradles you like that for however long, letting you stain his clean shirt with sniffled tears. the warmth radiating from his body seeps under your skin, and you feel a little more okay with every second his arms hold you. you feel loved, knowing he wouldn’t let anything outside of these walls harm you.
eventually, you force yourself to go into the bathroom to freshen up, tidying yourself up so you don’t look like you’ve just cried after a night of sex. you return to the bedroom to see mingi taking the sheets off the bed, and it breaks your heart with how he’s basically cleaning up the evidence.
you should do your part, too.
“could we stop by a pharmacy first, please?”
he nods. “anything you need.”
on the way out, you shoot yuqi a text asking if she can cover for you — forward planning, since it seems like you’re going through with hiding this.
you can’t stop that sinking pit in your chest, that sharp twisting in your ribs. just last night, you felt like you were being dipped in gold each time mingi touched you, and now the memory sears your skin like acid. choosing to love mingi feels like a betrayal, like you’ve just cheated. and you can’t understand why.
──
you wince as the front door creaks open a bit too loudly for your liking, hoping your family aren’t prepared to greet you together as if ‘walk of shame’ is written across your forehead.
to your luck, only your stepmother appears — letting out a noise of relief as she rounds the corner from the kitchen. out of anyone, you’d rather run into her anyways.
“oh baby,” she tuts, bringing you in for a hug. she scrunches her nose as she pulls back, likely getting a big whiff of the sample pharmacy perfume you doused yourself in. “do you not like my life360 family plan that much?”
“er, no, it’s not that. i’m sorry, last night i didn’t know what—”
“oh, it’s alright.” she cuts the excuse off, placing a hand on your shoulder as her expression falls to a stern one. “just don’t do that to your brother again.”
you gulp through a dry throat, nodding.
as if on queue, yunho’s flying down the stairs, barely giving you time to react before he’s scooping you into his arms. wrapping his whole body around you with a grip so tight it hurts. your stepmother takes her leave, giving you both the space to have it out.
“i was so worried.” he mutters, face pressed to your shoulder. he breathes in, and you only hope he can’t smell the traces of mingi on you underneath the perfume. “why did you leave me?”
he pulls back in anticipation of your response — your excuse, your lie if he can catch it. you know he’s not dumb. mingi disappeared and so did you not long after. you know how it looks. but he’s never going to be able to prove it if he didn’t see it. in fact, he can even ask your alibi yuqi, who promised she’d back up whatever story you tell despite not knowing what for.
yunho’s eyes are almost entirely devoid of his usual warmth. which, if the dark circles under his eyes are any indicator, he may not have even slept. his hair’s mussed too, like he’s only just rolled out of bed upon hearing the door. or maybe it’s because he’s been tugging at it.
“i’m sorry,” you say wobbily, your body trembling under his hands — with guilt, but also with the adrenaline of lying. “i’m really sorry, i didn’t think it would get like this.”
yunho’s scarily still as he waits for you to elaborate. you take deliberate pauses to breathe, like you need to find the words. like you didn’t already plan what you’re going to say during the car ride over.
“i just felt so sick and i wanted to leave, so yuqi took me back to her place, and..” you cover your face with your hands, acting cringed. “we got stoned.”
lying 101: include an embarrassing detail. after all, why would you intentionally make yourself look bad?
yunho pulls your hands back, his eyes searching your face wildly. “why didn’t you come to me instead?? you turned your location off, you wouldn’t answer your phone for anyone — do you understand how that looks?”
“i know, i’m really sorry,” you whine, like the ‘truth’ makes you uncomfortable. “i just didn’t want to have to tell anyone… i was worried you’d be mad.”
“of course i don’t want you to smoke, but i would’ve liked to know that.” he cradles your face in his hands, tone softening. “i was so fucking worried about you, baby. why would you leave without saying anything?”
“i didn’t want to be a burden.. it was your friend’s birthday, and i had yuqi there for me—”
“i could have been there for you.” yunho hugs you to his chest again, leaving a kiss on your hair. “please come to me from now on.”
you nod profusely — internally stunned with yourself that you actually managed to convince him. “are you going to tell our parents?”
“what, that you ditched me to get high?” he chuckles at how you cringe, fondly tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. “no, i won’t.” then his smile drops. “as long as you never do that again.”
you nod, but that’s not good enough. his grip tightens like a warning, until you reply: “i won’t.”
successfully fooled but now freshly possessive, yunho follows you all the way up the stairs and into your room. even after you tell him you want to change, he lingers as if he’s waiting for you to just start stripping in front of him. he doesn’t even lock the door on his way out, and gives you only a minute of privacy before he’s barging back in — catching you in the middle of pulling a top over your bare tummy.
you know you fucked up. not because what happened with mingi was a mistake — but because breaking yunho’s trust was. he’ll never let you out of his sight now, not until he’s convinced you won’t get snatched up and sullied by his best friend if he so much as blinks. from yunho’s perspective, you and mingi haven’t been in contact since he ‘cut you off’. as long as mingi plays his part well enough, then your brother will never know what really happened last night.
yunho doesn’t speak, doesn’t even scroll on his phone as he lays on your bed, just watching you move about your room. like he’s trying to peel the truth off of you with his eyes, making you cave from the pressure and admit the worst of his suspicions.
you try to just ignore him, tidying up your room as a distraction. it’s also so he won’t question it when you empty out your bin. however, your plan is cut short when sudden sharp cramps attack your stomach. dizzy, you collapse into bed, and yunho jumps at the chance to cuddle you.
“hungover?” he coos, rubbing your sore belly from behind. you nod. “i’ll get you some ibuprofen.”
you curl into yourself, stomach rolling with pain; not paying any mind to yunho as he walks over to your desk, already knowing you keep medicine in the drawer. he tips out the last ibuprofen in the bottle, and walks over to the bin — where he freezes.
you’re too distracted by the slew of cramps to notice what yunho’s seen. his hand trembles as he crushes the plastic in his hands, staring directly at the box of plan b sitting at the top of your bin, an empty pill packet right next to it.
that wasn’t there before. he knows, because he anxiously paced your room all night, waiting for you to come home.
he knew it. he fucking knew it.
yunho tosses the empty bottle in the bin, running his hands through his hair. he tugs his scalp a few times, trying to ground himself with the sting. to stop the thoughts racing through his head that all scream bloody murder.
it’s okay. he can forgive you for this. mistakes are human nature, after all. you just need to make it up to him.
the bed dips when yunho sits down, and your eyes snap open when he says your name. not ‘baby’, your name. his face is solemn, hair mussed again, and panic bolts up your spine as you wonder what the hell happened in the last few seconds.
yunho reaches for your hand, holding it softly as his gaze falters. he can’t even look you in the eye right now, and it rattles you.
“there’s something that you deserve to know.” he starts, barely above a whisper. “something that i’ve been too scared to say, for a long time.”
you don’t even want to hear it. you feel like you’re one big breath away from passing out, the cramps mercilessly churning your guts. one wrong look from yunho and you could probably burst into tears. you know it’s only because the pill has kicked in: the pain being a constant reminder of last night, and with yunho right next to you. even still, you don’t regret going all the way with mingi, not for a second.
yunho goes on, determined. “your father.. when he cheated on eomma, did he ever tell you who it was with?”
yunho knows for certain that he never did. it’s why you still bother giving his bitch of a best friend the time of day. albeit reluctant, you shake your head, prompting him to continue. yunho takes a deep breath, acting like it hurts him to say this. acting like he’s not over the moon right now, knowing he’ll never have to share you again.
“mingi’s mother came onto your father” yunho says while he holds your hand. “mingi knew about the affair, but did nothing.”
“....what?”
“he let it happen for years. he could’ve stopped it, he could’ve told someone. but he didn’t. i was the one who told eomma, and that’s when they got divor—”
“what the fuck are you saying??” you yell, trying to rip your hand away but he holds it tighter. “what is this? why are you telling me this right now??”
“it’s the truth, baby. you’ve been so happy since you moved back, i didn’t want to tell you and ruin it for you, but i can’t stand to watch mingi lie to you anymore.” he holds your face, forcing you to look at him as your eyes well up with tears. “he’s the reason our family was torn apart. he’s trying to get close to you again, acting like he’s not the cause for all your suffering.”
“it was my father who cheated,” you interrupt in a brief moment of clarity. “mingi has nothing to do with that—”
“but he helped his mother hide it. for years. do you think he feels guilty, if he’s hanging out with you like nothing happened? if he’s taking advantage of you like his mother did to your father?”
“stop.” you sob, instinctively trying to cover your face but yunho’s quicker — wiping your tears away, stroking your cheeks to console you. “i don’t understand..”
“do you see now, why i didn’t want you around him?” yunho says gently, as if spelling it out for a child. “i was trying to look out for you, baby.”
in a surge of defiance, you rip your face away from his hands, and he looks at you like you’ve just slapped him.
“i don’t believe you.”
yunho, having expected this, just sighs and pulls his phone out from his pocket. “call him and ask yourself.”
he readily offers you his phone, and you almost don’t take it, put off by how assured he is. his screen is open on their chat, and your chest twists as you read the string of texts, dated from this morning. in the mere minutes after mingi dropped you off around the corner from home.
[yunho] I’ve had enough of this bullshit.
[yunho] You can go fuck yourself, I’m telling her what you and your mother did to us
[mingi] yunho
[mingi] please don’t
[mingi] i want nothing to do with her, i promise you
[mingi] please don’t say anything
the phone slips from your hands, joining your heart as it plummets to the floor. it’s there in writing. yunho really was protecting you. and mingi was…
… you can’t bring yourself to admit it. you’re in enough pain from the pill’s side effects, which you’re only bearing because you let him fuck you raw out of love. and he did it, he went through with it, knowing he was already fucking you over this entire time.
“why?” you croak out, boneless in yunho’s arms as he hugs you. “why would he do that??”
“i don’t know, baby. that’s just the type of person he is.”
“but why?!” you let the waterworks fall freely, your entire heart unravelling into a million tiny pieces. yunho’s there to catch it, kissing each tear from your cheeks. you’d feel comforted by it, if only there was anything left in your heart to be felt.
yunho kisses dangerously close to the corner of your mouth, and you pull back, suddenly realising how weird this proximity is.
“i need to see mingi.” you demand.
yunho clicks his tongue, and it almost feels demeaning. “i saw the plan b in your bin.”
“wh—”
“you want to see him, when he left you to deal with the side effects like this? when he lied the entire time just so he could use you for sex?” he spits out each word like they taste foul, and they all sting you more than the last.
you want to shake your head, but all the fight has left your body in the tears streaming down to your chin. you just can’t find it in you to refuse yunho anymore.
“i’ve been there for you, even when you didn’t want me.” he hushes your soft sobs, guiding you back on the pillows and laying down beside you. “i’ve never lied. only tried my best to take care of you.”
he drapes an arm over your waist, his hand enveloping yours where it holds your cramping belly. yunho massages the area softly, trailing kisses along your hair, the side of your face. you’re broken enough that it’s all working, and you just melt into the comfort that he’s giving you.
his mouth travels south, kissing along your jaw before reaching your neck. you shiver, sensitive — and you pull back to look at him. he’s looking back, with eyes almost entirely black, cheeks dusted a faint pink.
you know it before you feel it: he’s turned on. his boner very obviously prods into your back, and the shift in mood is written all over his face. you know he feels this energy between you and is trying to dip his toes into the waters, entice you over to the deep end. you’re so gone that you don’t even care anymore. you let him shift behind you, his length just slightly rubbing into your body and gracing him with the barest friction — enough to have him sighing and leaving another kiss on your neck.
against your will, old habits stir deep in your core. sex as a coping mechanism was your favourite vice back at the old town. whenever you missed your family too much, whenever you felt too lonely to bear it, you’d let some man inside you long enough to make you forget. sex is the only salve for heartbreak that you’ve ever known.
softly, you ask him, “why?”
yunho smiles. he can’t help but think you’ve never looked more beautiful than you do now, only because your heart’s broken and he’s all you’ve got to comfort you.
“because i love you.”
he studies your face, and you make the mistake of letting your eyes drop to his lips. how they’re slightly swollen from all the kisses he’s given you. how he runs his tongue over them under your gaze. your eyes flit back up to his, but it’s too late. you know you’re a goner.
yunho leans in slowly, very slowly, giving you the time to back up or tell him to stop. it’s as if he’s trying to prove a point, because you never do; and his lips curl into a smirk just before he presses them to yours. gently.
after a brief moment of shock, you pull away, eyes wide. what felt like a kiss that lasted way too long for you, was nothing but a blip to him. yunho knows he’s a goner too, because he has no hesitation before cupping your face and kissing you harder.
you squirm at the feeling of unfamiliar lips moving against yours, yunho eagerly parting your mouth with his own and swiping his tongue across your lower lip. you can feel his smirk into the kiss over how your body’s submitting to him. he trails a hand back down, lithe fingers skimming between your breasts, stopping at your tummy — before they crawl under your shirt.
“let me make it feel better,” he whispers. “please?”
you give him back nothing. he’s sucking your tongue into his mouth, huffing as he coats his lips in your spit, while you’re barely putting in the effort to kiss him back. you want to feel good, you want to feel anything other than this pain — but you refuse to inflate his ego just as much.
yunho, however, is unbothered. he’ll happily put in all the work. he’s your big brother, it’s his duty to take care of you after all.
he gently squeezes your waist, softly groaning onto your lips over finally touching your bare skin like this. he inches higher until his fingers tap the underside of your breast. yunho pulls back, looking into your eyes for a reaction, and he chuckles at the scowl you give him. because he knows that means you’re letting him.
yunho’s hand closes around your breast, and he gives an experimental grope, his insufferable smile growing wider at how your eyes flutter shut. you don’t want to face him that badly? yunho dives back in to kiss you, keeping his tongue buried in your mouth as his fingers expertly work at your breast: swiping, rolling, and pinching the nipple until you’re so lost in the pleasure that you kiss him back.
he starts to trail kisses south again; pausing before latching his mouth to your neck, and you wonder if he was checking for any hickeys. yunho leaves hot stamps down your jugular as his hands hike your shirt up until the air’s hitting your bare chest. he knows you never wear a bra at home. grinning, yunho continues to pamper your body with kisses, and you hate the goosebumps that arise as his lips graze your nipple.
everything’s so much more sensitive with your eyes shut. you open them, locking eyes with yunho as he’s already staring directly at you, lolling his tongue out of his mouth. he swirls his tongue around the bud, giving torturously slow licks before closing his lips and sucking. you hold your breath, muffling any noises out of spite. his free hand comes to circle at your other nipple, and your pelvis jolts a little, the stimulation sending shocks straight down to your clit. yunho caught that.
“breathe, baby.” he tells you, and you almost feel sick, remembering mingi’s voice saying that exact same thing. “no need to be shy.”
the mocking tone, combined with the way his tongue quickly flicks over your nipple, causes you to sharply intake breath and accidentally let out a whimper. yunho gives a pleased hum, switching to the other breast and sloppily kissing the sensitive bud. you let yourself loose — it does feel really fucking good, and it’s easier to just succumb than fight your own body. you moan freely for him, burying your hands in his hair and tugging hard enough to hurt. yunho only moans right back at you. of course he doesn’t mind pain.
now that you’re being responsive, yunho’s self-control is rapidly chipping away. without warning he aims for your pants, tugging the garment down your thighs to expose your panties. you don’t even react; you feel as if you’re half detached from your body, your mind tuned in solely to the sensations of pleasure that yunho’s giving you. perhaps so you don’t have to confront the absurdity of the circumstances.
yunho cups over your crotch, his eyes glinting at the soaked fabric under his fingers. even if you try to claim you’re not enjoying this — your body’s telling a different story entirely. he presses his hand in, and you whine at the pressure. your panties are thin where they’re stuck to the skin, and his palm offers delicious friction as he grinds it against your clit.
yunho’s so entirely enamoured with you right now. he’s indecisive as he goes between kissing your lips and then ravaging your neck, his teeth nipping and his tongue soothing. you spur him on as you let all your whimpers spill into his ears, your hips chasing the drag of his palm against your clit.
you take notice of his boner pressed into your leg, and you’re a little stunned as you realise the size — as well as the fact that he’s keeping still. choosing to please you and ignoring his own arousal as if he has all the time in the world.
you gasp as his fingers run over your pussy, coating the tips in your slick. you must be really out of it, since you hadn’t even realised he pulled your panties to the side. he dips his pointer to the first knuckle into your pussy, just to feel inside, and you clench around him before he pulls back with a hiss.
“god i want you.” he chuckles, two fingers swiping up and coming to draw digit eights on your clit. “you’re so beautiful, baby.”
you grimace through the whimper that slips out. his sweetness sits bitter on your tongue, just at the thought of how everything nice he’s done for you may have just been building to this.
“you want me?” you ask him, defiance crawling back up into your tone. “when did that start?”
yunho simply smiles. you’re so cute, trying to act like he’s not actively getting you off. “does it matter?” he retorts, bringing his other hand down to slip two digits into your hole. you choke on a moan as they curl up and instantly find your g-spot, his other fingers still circling your clit.
you’re still sore from last night, your pussy burning with the pleasure as yunho fucks his fingers directly into the spot that has your stomach in knots. yunho’s in awe of how wrecked you are under him right now: your breasts rapidly rising and falling, your thighs feebly trying to shut his hands out, the slope of your neck wet with blooming hickeys. he can’t help but want to mark every inch of your body, to smother any traces of that fucker he should’ve never called a best friend.
you cry out as yunho latches his mouth to a nipple again — feverishly trying to suck a bruise right on the bud. it’s all too overwhelming, and his hands are working at you so expertly, attentive to your most sensitive spots and the movements that have you trembling. it’s almost methodical as his rhythm switches between teasingly slow and ruthlessly quick. his long fingers curl deep into your g-spot, the others circling your clit the way you do to yourself.
so much for the quiet nerd you grew up with — it’s obvious that he’s had his hands on enough girls to know his way around a pussy. he knows exactly what to do, and he does it really well, it’s no wonder that heat coils in your lower belly dangerously quick. you almost don’t want to cum, out of spite as your chest aches with jealousy. you can’t help it though: it hurts to hold your orgasm back, teetering on oversensitivity as both his hands keep working your pussy.
yunho adds a third finger, pushing the digits in until the tip of his middle finger grazes your cervix, and your orgasm comes gushing around his hand. he watches with wonder as your pussy flutters around his knuckles, fingering you as deep as he can reach while rubbing your clit through it. he draws it out as long as he can, only stopping his movements when your knees close around his arms, pussy long past sensitive.
yunho tuts as he reluctantly pulls his hand back, slowly dragging each knuckle against your walls to have you whimpering before his fingers release with a wet squelch. you think you can finally catch your breath, before yunho’s prying your legs apart and slotting himself in the space between them, dragging your panties the rest of the way down.
“just want a taste.” he murmurs, and you squirm as his hot breath hits your clit. “i haven’t waited this long to not taste you.”
you want to frown over what he’s just suggested, though you’re overtaken with a full body jolt as his tongue runs through your folds. a moan rumbles on your clit as your slick floods his mouth, and you can only whimper at how raw you still feel from your release. it feels so good that it hurts, yunho pushing you into overstimulation as his lips close around your pussy. you try to rip him up by the scruff of his hair, to suffocate him as your thighs clamp around the sides of his neck, but he just groans through it — licking you harder as you hurt him.
he forces your legs back open, holding them down to the bed as you attempt to kick at him. tears fill your lashes, overstimulated and helpless as yunho eats you out like a rabid dog, right until you’re crying out into yet another orgasm.
your hips barely raise from the bed as he keeps you pinned down, your vision whiting out from the unbearable pleasure, yunho refusing to slow down for even a second. by the time you come back down, you’re all but smacking his head to get him off.
yunho chuckles, looking like the proudest man alive as he props himself up on his knees, chin completely smeared in your arousal. you rub at your stomach with shaky fingers. it aches again, you hadn’t realised how hard you were tensing it. you also hadn’t realised the pain ever subsided in the first place.
yunho coos at you, his large hand enveloping yours. “does it still hurt, baby?”
you glance down, eyes falling on the large stain of precum where his cock tents his sweats. you gulp — he really is long everywhere. as much as it fucking kills the last shred of your dignity to admit.. you want it. so god help you, you do.
you tip your head almost imperceptibly in a nod. yunho catches it, because of course he does, and his face splits into the brightest grin you’ve ever seen him sport. you’d almost find it cute, if only you weren’t about to go through with the most fucked up choice in your life.
you shove that train of thought into the deepest pits of your brain. it can crawl out in time for regrets later. all you want right now is to fill this emptiness inside with pleasure, and yunho has delivered on that more than enough. he’s almost got you greedy for more, chasing that brief moment again in which your mind goes blank and nothing but bliss flows through your body.
the bed squeaks as yunho stands up. he tugs his shirt off and drops his sweats to the floor, walking over to your bedside table in nothing but his boxers. wordlessly, he squats to pull out the bottom drawer, and rips open the box of condoms in there. you don’t even bother asking how he knows you have them. he really is a fucking weirdo.
yunho tears the packet with his teeth as he walks back over to bed, and you almost frown at how your pussy throbbed at the sight. yunho stands by the edge, reaching out to knead your ass. condom between his fingers, yunho can’t help himself to gripping his cock through the fabric, sighing out as his eyes feast on your naked body.
“roll over for me?” he asks, gently nudging your thigh. his eyes flick up to yours, and you fold at how enlarged his pupils are. it makes you remember just how much yunho adores you.
he’s never hidden how much he loves his sister, his baby, always being affectionate and loud about it. you can only wonder where that pure feeling twisted into.. this. maybe it was never pure to begin with. maybe, yunho can’t tell the difference.
you roll over for him, laying flat on your tummy and turning your head to the side to watch him strip from his boxers. your eyes widen at the brief sight of his dick as it slaps against his stomach before he’s straddling you within the next second; his knees bracketing your thighs, a hand eagerly groping your ass as the other slips the condom on.
yunho wanted you from behind not just because it’s his favourite, but because he knows mingi wouldn't have taken you like this. he seems like the hand-holding, sappy missionary type. yunho could easily be that for you, too, if that’s how you like your boys. but not right now — right now, he wants to be a little selfish. to see you in a position mingi didn’t. to fuck you in a different and better way.
yunho sighs in relief as his tip prods your entrance, wasting no time in inching his hips forward. yunho’s slimmer than mingi, so you take him with ease, encouraging him with soft hums as he buries his cock into you. however — his length pushes past further than you were prepared for, and you muffle a gasp into the bed as he bottoms out, his tip pressed against your cervix. just longer than mingi.
even if he’s not splitting you open, yunho’s spearing you right where it’s most sensitive. it’s almost an uncomfortable fit, and you deliberately clench down to entice him to move out. yunho pushes you further into the bed with a hand on your back, anchoring himself before he starts to grind his hips forward. the head of his cock rolls into your cervix as he pushes in as far as he can, and you cry out his name as a plea. he pulls out swiftly at that, his hand rubbing your hips to soothe you. you can’t see it, but he’s grinning like a maniac.
“did i hurt you? baby, i didn’t mean to..”
you can feel how his cock pulses against your ass. the motherfucker enjoyed it. he didn’t even bother saying sorry because he’s not.
patience running thin, you tilt your head to snap at him: “just hurry up and get it over with.”
most people would probably have second thoughts hearing that, but most people would also rather kill themselves than imagine being in yunho’s position — burying his cock into his stepsister. all he hears is that you’re just as excited as he is to be having sex at long last.
yunho pushes back in, breath breaking off into groan as your pussy flutters around him. it’s as if you’re trying to make him cum quickly. fortunately for the both of you, he’s got excellent stamina.
he angles his pelvis just right before snapping his hips, and you moan out at how he hits your g-spot directly — setting a fast pace as he fucks you right there over and over. it’s just like when you’re drunk, the way your head spins and floats away from your body. nothing but pure ecstasy coursing through your veins. it’s all you ever wish to feel all the time.
“shit, i knew it, you’re perfect.” yunho huffs out above you. “do you feel good, baby?”
you’re conscious enough to not want to answer him out of spite. you want to focus solely on your own pleasure, to simply take what you’re given as yunho relentlessly rams into your g-spot. he’s so cocky — he’s made you cum twice, it doesn’t take a fucking genius to figure out that yes, he’s good at sex.
he can tell you’re defying him, so he makes it a point to angle a thrust into your cervix, shuffling you up the bed from the force in it. you bite down on your lip, not wanting to give him the grace of hearing you.
“shy again, hm?” he teases, giving your ass a light slap. “i just want you to tell me, please.” he wedges a hand under your stomach, reaching until his fingers tap your clit. he rubs once, and you moan out in shock, your eyes rolling back into your head from the oversensitivity.
“yes! it’s good,” you half-sob, half-whine, trying to wriggle away from his touch. you think you might pass out if you cum again.
luckily, yunho relents, chuckling lowly as he retracts his hand. he puts all his energy back into fucking you to the best of his abilities, because what good was any of his prior meaningless encounters if not practice for the only one that matters, you?
your eyes well up again, the sensations being so overwhelming but exactly what you wanted. you can’t feel anything past your hips with all the hot pleasure blooming from your gut, yunho fucking into places your own fingers can’t even reach. distantly, you wonder how long it’ll take him to cum, before his cock twitches violently.
yunho collapses on top of you, sitting his chin on your shoulder. he snakes a hand around your neck and cranes your head to stare back into his wild eyes.
“say my name.” he demands, pushing his length all the way in until a stabbing pang lights up your cervix.
“yunho.” you squeak out, struggling to keep your eyes open as he grinds up into your damn guts.
“not that one, shit—” there’s another twitch, and you wince with how deep he’s pressed. “the other one.” he urges you. “say— ah, shit!”
he slips his cock out instantly, sucking in a sharp breath to stave off his orgasm, but it doesn’t matter as you understand and whimper out:
“yuyu.”
“fuck, baby—”
you gasp as he roughly fucks into you like a man possessed, chasing his release with frantic thrusts. the pain pulses right along with pleasure, but you just moan with him through it as he fills you to the hilt.
yunho pulls out at the very last second, ripping the condom off before he’s shooting out his release, warm ropes of cum coating your ass. that very gesture is what immediately snaps you out of the lust-filled haze. if he was planning to cum on you, that means he only wore protection so that he doesn’t.. catch something.
upset, you prop yourself up by the elbows and twist your upper body to snap at him: “you’re a fucking asshole.”
yunho chuckles, too high off that once in a lifetime orgasm to care. “seems like you don’t mind this asshole, hm?” as if to prove a point, he dips a finger into your pussy, and you clench around him. he laughs as you kick him away.
you curl up into a ball on your bed, the post-sex clarity sinking like nails hammered into your bones. you wish the sheets would just open up and swallow you whole. meanwhile, yunho doesn’t bother tying the condom up before dropping it directly onto the plan b box in the bin, smirking as his cum leaks onto it.
yunho retrieves the wet wipes you keep in your room, pulling his boxers back on before walking over to sit by your huddled form. you don’t even move as he presses the wipe to your skin and cleans up after himself — letting him turn you this way and that like a ragdoll as you space out at the wall.
afterwards, yunho snuggles up right next to you, pulling the blanket up both of your bodies. briefly, you feel glad that he didn’t just leave you. his long arms wrap around you from behind, and he presses a sweet kiss to your head. a million dollar smile carved onto his face.
“i love you, baby.”
you don’t say it back, pretending to already be asleep as he plays with your hair.
──
for the first time in an entire day, yunho’s detached himself from your side. he left you with a kiss on the forehead, explaining that hongjoong was having some type of emergency. you could tell that he wanted to drag you along, hard-launch you as his girl in whatever yunho type of way he was thinking…but, you’re in no shape to be around other people right now. you’ve been a mess, and you only let yunho around you because he’s more than happy to clean it up.
you’ve returned to the point of wearing loneliness like a second skin, and you miss yunho as soon as he’s gone. perhaps not him specifically, but in the way that you’ll take any company to not be left alone with your thoughts — your regrets.
while doomscrolling in bed, a sudden knock at your window startles you. you sit up in bed at the sight before you, blinking furiously to prove that you’re not imagining things. but nope, that’s really mingi, looking like he’s struggling to balance as he shyly waves at you through the glass.
before you can think it you’re crossing the room over, lifting the window up in its frame. mingi collapses forward, his arms grasping onto the sill.
“what the fuck are you doing?!”
“‘scuse me,” he wheezes, out of breath. “i, uh, climbed.”
you crane your neck out of the window and, sure enough, he’s fucking balancing on the side of your house. the garbage bin’s positioned below him, and he must’ve jumped on it to hoist himself up, just like when he would when you were kids.
when he didn’t want yunho to know he was seeing you.
you grab his arm, helping to pull him inside. you’re not about to just let him fall after coming all this way. you’re relieved to see mingi, warmth swelling in your chest as he finds his footing in your room, before the memory of yesterday dawns on you. anger boils higher, rising to your face where it burns your nostrils before tears dot your lashes. you’re still angry with mingi, but also with yourself for how you retaliated. resistance is long gone from your body, yunho made sure of that; so, you hear mingi out.
you slump down onto your bed, waiting for his next move, and mingi gulps at how empty your eyes are. the last time he saw you, they were overflowing with love. it clenches his heart to consider what you’ve been going through while he hasn’t been here to comfort you.
mingi sincerely drops to his knees, hand pressed to his heart. “i am so, so sorry. yunho’s been sending me these texts, and— god, i was so worried about you.” he runs a hand through his hair, getting your full attention as he says your name. “you don’t have to hear me out if you don’t want to. i’ll leave if you tell me to. but i need you to know that i’m sorry, and i’m willing to explain everything.”
your stomach twists at how broken he looks. you so badly want to get on the floor with him, hug him and tell him he could never do wrong.
“go on.”
mingi lets out the breath he was holding, nodding and quietly thanking you. he wouldn’t blame you if you just kicked him to the street.
“yunho told you all of it?” he asks, barely above a whisper. you nod, and his eyes shut like you’ve just slapped him. “...there’s no excuse. you have every right to hate me for it. i was a coward. i shouldn’t have just.. blindly followed him.”
you blink. “what?”
“yunho. i should’ve come to you instead, but i was terrified of hurting you, and—”
“what do you mean?” you cut in. “he said that you hid it from us for years. that you were…helping your mother.”
mingi blanches in complete disbelief. “yunho told me to hide it. i went to him as soon as i found out something was going on, and he just.. said that it’s not my family, not my business.” he grabs at his hair, shell-shocked. “he said that to you?.. i was so scared, and i didn’t want to lose any of the people i love…god, what was i supposed to do?”
your heart breaks at his utter confusion, his panic. this isn’t the shame of a man who harboured malicious intent. all you see kneeling on your floor right now is a young boy, finding out something that would destroy the life of the girl he loves, and without knowing better he listens when his best friend tells him to hide it.
where there was once rage directed towards mingi, floods with nothing but sympathy. you were only kids — he had no say in his grown mother choosing to homewreck, nor did he for your father choosing to cheat. none of what occurred between your families was mingi’s fault. if you were in his position, you don’t know what you’d do either.
you almost don’t want to say it, because then you’ll have to confront the gravity of yesterday’s choices, the fact that you wronged the boy you love so deeply. but you need him to know, so, you just push yourself to say:
“it wasn’t your fault, mingi.” your lip trembles, and you catch the way he shifts. “it’s not right to put the blame on you. you have nothing to apologise for.”
mingi gets up, this distance between you killing him alive, and he quickly closes it. standing in front you. hands twitching at his sides, desperately wishing to hold you again. “i’ll never stop feeling sorry for what happened to you.” he murmurs your name brokenly. “i only want you to be happy.. even if it’s not with me.”
your head drops, biting your lip to distract your body from the tears threatening to spill. mingi’s helpless to how his fingers find your cheek, trying to comfort you in any way you’ll let him. he feels your pain bloom in his own chest.
“it’s too late, mingi.” bile rising in your throat, you force yourself to say: “yunho fucked me. and i wanted it.”
the very day after letting mingi call you ‘mine’. after leading him to believe that you’d be his girlfriend. essentially cheating on him — like father, like daughter.
“what?” you brace yourself for him to be disgusted, to insult you. you’d deserve it. you want it even. but he just grabs your face with both hands, searching your eyes. “are you okay??”
“no, i’m—” you try to writhe from his grip, “i’m gross, mingi.”
“you’re not.” he’s quick to refute. his fingers stroke your cheeks so gently, and you just cave. “i don’t care about that. i’m here because i was worried about you.”
you shake your head. a feeble effort to push him away. “why? i didn’t even hear you out first before going behind your back. i wronged you.”
“yunho took advantage of this situation in the only way he could.” he scowls. “i can’t believe he really stooped this low… god, i should’ve cut him off years ago.”
mingi sets his own heartache aside, knowing that it must be nothing compared to what you’ve been feeling. he’s already suspected yunho for years now — his best friend really was a freak who wanted his own sister.
you’re still knee-deep in denial, too scared to face the truth yet. the fact that you still wanted yunho despite it all.
“maybe he just told me how it was from his perspective,” you defend. “he only wanted to protect me.. and then make it feel better.”
mingi’s frown deepens. it fucking guts him, seeing how deep yunho sunk his claws into you. he’s already wronged you enough times with his own cowardice, holding back on telling the ugly truth just so he doesn’t have to be the one delivering your pain. deciding to put an end to this, mingi exhales your name, and tilts your chin to stare him directly in the eyes.
“yunho hid the fact that you moved back from me. he called you his girl and not his sister at that party when he threw the bottle at me. he’s so touchy that people think you’re dating, and he lets them. he couldn’t stand the fact that you didn’t reciprocate his feelings, so he broke your heart and used it to finally get what he wanted.”
you don’t even realise you’re crying until mingi’s leaving soft pecks on your face, kissing away each tear.
“i’m not mad at you.” he gently reassures you. “none of this was your fault.”
“it’s okay.” he smiles. “i deserved this, anyways.”
“no. it’s not fair for you to feel so guilty because of something you had no control over.”
“funny, i could tell you the same.”
it catches you off-guard, so much so that you breathe out a laugh, lip curling into a smile.
despite the vines of shame and grief knotted tight in your gut, you can just feel the faint flap of butterflies at the sight of mingi smiling right back. he’s proud of himself, getting you to smile after tears.
your fingers curl around his hand on your face, and he closes his palm to hold it. something flickers across mingi’s eyes before he gulps.
“i’m sorry i don’t want to pressure you, but i can only think of kissing you right now.”
you giggle before pulling him in, your heart skipping into beat with his as his lips melt against yours. he holds you like you’re fragile, kissing you gently like you still might disappear into thin air, nothing but a dream.
he parts with you, sighing. “i don’t want this to end, but.. i’m on a time limit.” he clears his throat. “i, uh, asked hongjoong to do me a favour so that i could come see you.”
that makes you laugh, falling forward into his chest. mingi wraps his arms around you, and immediately you feel like you’re back home safe. as if you never left.
“want me to take you somewhere far away?” he offers, just like old times. you agree, tugging him in for another sweet kiss.
──
yunho’s knuckles tighten around the controller as the game lights up with a red death screen. huffing in annoyance, he passes the controller to mingi, who respawns and plays his turn. ever since yunho loaded up his console, there hadn’t been any words. not after the disrespect that was mingi’s arrival.
he’d showed up on their doorstep after school unannounced, sparing yunho — his best friend — only a brief greeting before going straight for you.
you’d let his hopes down, saying that you were already on your way out, your father about to drive you to the cinema to meet up with minnie. mingi gave you sad puppy eyes, and didn’t even pretend to not be bummed as he settled for hanging out with yunho instead. hence the current lack of conversation.
“do you have a crush on my sister?” yunho asks outright, breaking the silence.
mingi stammers like he’s been caught with his hand down his pants. “w-what? why do— what, uh— no i don’t?”
yunho stifles a roll of his eyes. his best friend is a bad liar. he’s only thirteen, but he knows what’s in the look that mingi gives his sister. it’s the same look his mother gives his stepfather — the same look his stepfather has been giving mingi’s mother as of late.
“you can give up trying. it’s never going to happen.” yunho deadpans.
your father already dislikes how close you are with mingi — it wouldn’t work out between you. maybe even less than it could work between you and yunho, some day.
mingi pouts, his character dying ingame as he stares at yunho instead.
“why?”
yunho smirks and rips the controller from his hands.
“because she’s mine.”
yunho can’t stop smiling to himself as he sits in the middle of your bed, pulling the blankets to his nose and smelling the traces of all the love that happened yesterday.
he can’t even find it in himself to be upset that you left him for mingi again. he’s at the very top of cloud nine right now, still riding the high of finally getting the one thing he’s wished for since he was a kid — after being introduced to his sweet stepsister for the first time.
mingi’s always been an annoyingly persistent competition. he’s the only other person who figured out the way yunho wanted you, as more than just family. no one would believe him anyways.
yunho falls back into the pillows, love on his mind and in his heart as he daydreams about you. all the things he still wants to do, that he intends to do when he gets his baby back. because he will.
it won’t be tomorrow, or any day soon, but you’ll give up on avoiding him with time. family is for life, after all.
notes: what a wild ride amirite.. if you’ve read this far, consider reblogging or leaving a comment/ask! i’d love to hear your thoughts hehe
family comes first, and your sweet brother yunho’s not above doing whatever it takes to remind you. he won’t lose his girl again… especially not to his fucking best friend.
pairing: yunho x f!reader x mingi
length: 28.8k
genre: whole lot of drama, fluff, angst, smut, stepcest
warnings under the cut, read them all!!! 18+ MDNI
notes: officially the longest fic to my name, and it’s all because i wanted some evil yunho myself…😩 this is literally my baby, and i hope you all enjoy as much as i did writing <3 as always, feedback is greatly appreciated!
warnings: stepcest, alcohol, jealousy, manipulation, kinda stalking, dubcon, infidelity, light violence, yunho is crazy, mingi isn’t, smut; fat cock subby mingi, long dick dommy yunho, hand/blowjob, nip stim, fingering, pussy eating, overstimulation, some pain, un/protected sex, taking the condom off.
“YOU SERIOUSLY WON’T VISIT?”
you huff in annoyance, kicking through the pile of clothes on his floor in search of your own. your phone vibrates where it’s tucked under your arm, your father making it a point to keep calling without a second to spare in between until you answer. soobin can see this happening from his bed, knows the rush you’re in from your father honking the horn outside, and has still decided to beat the dead horse a little more for good measure. or maybe just to push your buttons, as he so often enjoys to.
“no. i’m done with this shithole for good.” you grumble, tugging your panties up your legs. “wanna ask me one more time before i go?”
your phone settles, then begins to buzz right where it left off. at least all your stuff is already packed for the move — you wouldn’t be surprised if soobin scattered your clothes around his room while you weren’t looking, just to delay you from leaving as long as he could.
he hasn’t quite accepted the fact that leaving this town behind includes him, too. then again, in all the years living here, you haven’t been able to peel him off from your side — not for any longer than a few months before he was begging you to take him back.
soobin’s been a good consistency, as far as things go. you’ve never quite made your bed in this place though. sure, you graduated high school, made what friends you could, tolerated a dead-end job. but you could never quite shake the feeling that it was all just for.. biding time. waiting, for any divine intervention; that someday your life would find its way back to how it was. back to your home.
it’s why you never even bothered with furthering your education here. there’s only one college you’ve ever had intentions of enrolling in, and they’ll be seeing you in the fall once you’re all settled back into the city.
ever since your dad admitted to being back in contact with your stepmother, you knew it was only a matter of time. ‘just as friends’ he’d said, like every ex ever before taking another shot at being together. like soobin when you tell him you’re not emotionally available at the moment.
he’s a good guy, soobin. just not your forever guy. you only kept him around so long because his presence reminds you of home.. for whatever reason. you never quite figured that one out.
fully dressed and texting your father a passive aggressive ‘On my way!’, you finally glance at the boy fidgeting on the bed. at your attention, soobin stands and engulfs you in a hug.
you think you catch a sniffle into your shoulder, and you pat his broad back. it’s the last time he’ll ever be comforted by you.
“miss you already.” he murmurs into your neck, placing a timid kiss on the skin before you pull him away by the scruff of his hair. so much for breaking up with him a whole month in advance before the move…
you regard him with a bittersweet look. “i can’t promise that i’ll stay in touch.”
he already knows this, as he knows that you never really fell for him the way he did you. you left your heart in your hometown.
soobin squeezes you again, while he still can. “nothing i’m not used to.”
that gets you to laugh. your phone vibrates restlessly once more, and you pull away, knowing you’ve overstayed far too long. you give soobin one last, fond glance before shutting the door on your way out — meeting your father parked out front with the window down, scolding you.
you just roll your eyes. you don’t want to stay in this town for any longer than he does.
you doze off in the passenger seat as you watch the scenery go by — town buildings blending into country hills. the trees change in colour, the breeze shifts in smell. there’s a smile carved onto your face, knowing that the worst is finally over.
──
your stepmother pounces on your father as the front door opens. for a brief second there, you were worried that this was all a ruse so she could beat his ass (he’d deserve it). it’s just a very rough hug though, into an even rougher kiss that has you groaning as you turn away.
“seriously..” you grumble, legs aching too much from the cramped car trip for you to deal with this right now.
you stepmother coos, turning her affections to you as she brings you in for a firm hug. “it’s good to see you again too, baby.”
you squirm over the nickname, feeling even more like a kid as she smacks her lips on your cheek and fusses over you — your hair, your clothes, how your body’s grown into a real lady. even after years apart, a good chunk of that without contact, you’re still her baby.
she turns back to your father, asking something or rather about the drive, and there’s this strange twist in your chest. it’s startling, seeing them interact casually like this again. the last time you were here she was throwing a box of his belongings on the front porch, screaming that she never wanted to see him again.
forgiveness is a virtue — a generous one considering what he did, then dragging his daughter into small town purgatory with him. what matters now is that he’s been forgiven. you can only hope he doesn’t forget what for and fuck the whole family up for a second time. once is enough, you think, and twice is a girl group.
what sounds like a stampede coming from inside the house has your head snapping up — and in an instant you lock eyes with your stepbrother as he flies down the stairs. you nearly fall backwards as yunho leaps to reach you, his long arms catching you as they swallow you into a hug.
he cries out your name, holding you to his chest with a big, helpless smile.
“yunho.” you sigh in relief, breathing him in and hugging him back even tighter.
you squeal as your feet are lifted from the porch, yunho picking you up and spinning you around. “baby’s home!”
you both keel over with laughter as he puts you back down, feeling like a weight is physically being lifted off your shoulders now that you’re reunited. life just hasn’t felt right since you had to leave him in this city.
yunho squeezes you a few more times for good measure. lithe fingers cradle your face as he pulls away, height looming over you even as he bends to be closer to face level — and there’s a silent moment where he just smiles at you, pupils dilated with pure bliss. you can’t help but smile back. he’s grown so much, and yet hasn’t changed at all. still the handsome yet nerdy boy that was glued to your side throughout your youth.
“i missed you.” he sighs, thumb brushing the apple of your cheek — dusted a faint pink from how breathless you are after being lifted and spun in circles.
you giggle, feeling like a giddy kid just being in his presence again. his happiness has always been contagious. “you too.”
your stepmother swoons over seeing you both still acting so close, like nothing ever pulled you apart. yunho takes the bag from your shoulder, then gives your father a side hug before asking for the car keys, insisting he’d carry your stuff to your room. as you race each other down the front steps, you just overhear your stepmother mutter something to your father — something about yunho changing.
you don’t dwell on it as the boy in question runs around you like a dog with the zoomies, teasing you all the way into the house, laughter on your tails as you ascend the stairs.
while your father’s belongings had been uprooted from the house until there was no trace of him left, your bedroom was mostly kept intact. it felt wrong, yunho said, when you had nothing to do with the whole debacle. you cringe, knowing your early teen years are preserved there. a small part of you feels a pang of guilt — there was always a place for you here, if you ever came back.
it’s such a massive comfort, how easily you and yunho fall back into rhythm. when your father first broke the news that you’d be moving back in with them at the city, you felt scared. you’d have to confront the fact that after all these years, you hadn’t reached out to your own brother. god if you hadn’t considered it, tiring yourself out thinking of every possible way it could go wrong.
you did your best to make peace with the fact that you really had no right. it was your father who ruined everything, and you let him take you with him when he left. making that first contact was just beyond you.
you can already feel yourself healing, years worth of rumination and doubt lifting from your shoulders as yunho helps you unpack your boxes. his phone in the corner playing soft music as a backdrop to your chatter and banter. you almost feel jittery with the excitement of actually being home, of having your family back — and you can tell yunho’s even worse off than you are.
he doesn’t despise you for the years of silence. in fact, yunho even admitted that he too was reluctant to reach out. unsure if you wanted nothing to do with him, if you’d rather not face those painful memories. you’re just two people with a lot of love for each other, afraid to risk hurting one another.
now, your face hurts from smiling, stomach hurts from laughing — right until it cuts through your voices with a grumble. you don’t even get to protest before yunho’s tugging you out of the room, swinging his car keys around a finger as he insists that lunch is on him.
“so, do i get to know where you’re kidnapping me to?” you ask once you’re buckled into the passenger seat, yunho turning the keys in the ignition.
he chuckles, reaching an arm around the back of your seat. you sort of freeze, and his lip quirks at you before he’s looking over his shoulder, reversing out of the driveway.
“cafe fossoway,” he replies, hand lingering over the backrest before he retracts it, resting it on his thigh. you gulp, getting a hold of yourself. “they’ve got this apple pie that i think you’d like.”
you roll your eyes at the corniest callback ever. as a kid, your blushy, full cheeks would often get compared to two lady pink apples. there’s also the fact that you’d absolutely demolish an apple pie when your stepmother would make it at home with her very own recipe.
yunho’s smile deepens when he notices the clash of confusion and annoyance in your face. you can’t help but smile too, passing over the urge to make fun of him for holding onto such an old memory. for years, those memories were all he had to keep you close.
“i’ve been meaning to ask,” you start, and he hums to show he’s listening. “are you still friends with mingi?”
“yes.” he says. succinct.
before you can even think further on the topic — about how curt his reply was about his own childhood best friend — yunho’s quick to change it. and without realising it, the conversation steers back into being solely all about you.
“you keeping in touch with any of them?” yunho asks, after you admitted that you kept uneventful friendships back at the town. kept being too strong of a word, really. you never made an effort to put yourself out there. you didn’t care to when you felt more like a squatter instead of a permanent resident.
“nope. before i left, i made it clear that i wanted to cut ties with the place for good.” you frown. “there’s nothing there for me. never was.”
yunho hums.
“what about soobin?”
your neck cracks as you whip it to him, eyes blown wide from the shock.
“what?” is all you can say, wondering how the hell he even knows that name.
yunho’s face drops a fraction, as does his composure. it feels like you’ve just caught him slip up and you both know it. it’s not lost on you, how he grips the wheel tighter.
“eomma would show me your father’s facebook posts.” he says, then gives you such a calm glance that you question if you overreacted. “he’s your boyfriend, right?”
you sigh. where to start?.. then, you shrug. not worth it.
“it doesn’t matter anymore.” you mumble. eager to talk about literally anything else, you narrow your eyes at him. “what about you?”
he huffs, playing along. “what about me?”
“no girlfriends?” you smirk, “boyfriends?”
yunho just laughs it off. “no, no. my studies have been the top priority.”
you nod, taking note of how he skirted around actually denying it — and how your stomach drops a little over the thought of him dating but not telling you. you reason that he might still feel awkward, you’re only hanging out after years of no contact after all. a small (large) part of you just hopes that he’d be honest with you, regardless of how ‘close’ you currently feel.
silence falls between you, for the first time since you got back into the city hours ago. your eyes catch on yunho’s fingers, drumming on the wheel to the beat of the song playing through his car — and it’s when you notice that the music he put on is all nostalgic, released back in the years that you were still living with him.
you almost snort over the realisation. he’s being so sappy.
the car comes to a halt at a red light. yunho pulls the hand break up, taking the chance to glance at you. the moment lingers — his eyes raking over your body, really taking you in. your curious gaze meets his heavy one, and his expression softens with a smile.
“you look different.”
you raise a brow. “bad different?”
“no,” he says in a low, husky drawl that sends an odd shiver up your back. “you look good, baby.”
you squirm in your seat, trying to rid yourself of the unwelcome feeling under your skin. “i’ve grown out of being called that.”
yunho makes an amused hum, missing the light change to green as he looks at you instead. “says who?”
says me, you think. you hate how the nickname makes you feel — but only when it’s coming from him. your stepmother didn’t get this reaction out of you earlier. it’s just… it’s weird. it wasn’t always, but after all this time, it is.
you don’t want to burst his bubble though, not when he’s grinning so brightly, chuckling to himself at your small pout. maybe it’s on you.
maybe it’s because you’ve forgotten how to receive genuine love, not duck and weave or just stomp it out before it can spread. maybe it’s because you’ve spent years hopping from one guy to the next, that you can no longer comprehend an existence of emotional intimacy removed from the presence of desire.
you’ve missed yunho more than you thought.
you’re so deep in your own head that you hadn’t even realised the car had come to a complete stop — not until yunho’s reaching over your body, clicking to free your seatbelt. his own still buckled.
“come on,” he grins. “i heard your stomach rumbling during california girls.”
“shut up.” you roll your eyes, opening the passenger door — only for yunho to practically jump out of his own seat and step outside first, sprint round the front of the car, then shut your door.
just to make a show of opening it for you, other arm stretched as he beckons you out. it works when he gets you to laugh, shoving at his shoulder as you get out.
you enter the cafe first, yunho behind since he held that door open too. the employee looks at you for only a split second before her eyes flit over your shoulder — face lighting up as she spots yunho. must recognise him, you assume.
that same face crumples as you both reach the counter, yunho looming at your back, and she realises that you came together.
the employee — karina, her name tag reads — acknowledges you with a half-smile before turning her full attention back to yunho.
“the usual?” she coos at your brother, and you so wish that your stomach would rumble on command so you could rudely interrupt her.
“yeah. dine-in.” he replies absentmindedly, not even sparing her a glance as he leans his head over your shoulder, pointing to the menu. “tell her what you want, baby.”
karina’s mouth twitches into a scowl, and there’s a surge of pride in your chest. you try not to sneer as you tell her your order, intentionally asking for the apple pie yunho recommended, knowing he’d give an excited reaction and pull the employee’s scowl even deeper.
“alright. are you paying for your girlfriend too?” she drones, with a little bite in the word.
you can only laugh, taken aback — but yunho’s voice never comes to correct her. you shoot him a confused glance, and yunho’s just.. staring at you. face scarily still, eyes burning with something you can’t recognise.
“…uh, he’s my—”
“yeah.” yunho cuts off, pulling his phone from his pocket. “i’m paying.”
you stay glaring at him as he taps the card machine, completely unbothered like that wasn’t awkward as fuck.
karina disappears into the kitchen afterwards, leaving you both to find a table yourselves — and that’s when you slap yunho’s arm.
“what the hell was that??”
that same, satisfied grin finds its way to yunho’s face. the face of a man who regrets nothing. he just shrugs, and you’ve got half a mind to chew him out in this public place. it wouldn’t be half as embarrassing at whatever just happened with karina.
yunho’s quick to distract you, taking your hand as he leads you to a corner booth. instead of sitting in the seat across the table, yunho chooses to slide in right next to you, shoulders bumping.
the moment manages to pass by, no thanks to yunho, and you both fall back into your endless stream of conversation. it’s easy — comfortable.
the girlfriend thing does creep back in and you cringe each time, but you try not to let it sour the mood. you reason that it must’ve just been a shitty attempt at teasing you on his part. you’re bound to butt heads like this when you spent the latter half of your formative years separated.
people change. you tell yourself to loosen the fuck up and just enjoy this precious time with your brother.
──
are you really settled in if you’re not getting shitfaced at a housewarming party?
granted, this party was not thrown with the purpose to housewarm, nor is it even yours — but yunho had dragged you along all the same. said his classmate was throwing it, that it could help you feel welcomed back home.
after some quick greetings and dapping up between dudes at the front door, yunho had led you through the house — arms wrapped around you from the back, his chest gently nudging you through the crowd of tipsy bodies.
you’re interrupted a few times on your journey to the kitchen, girls and guys alike calling out to yunho to catch up with him. he’s quite popular, your brother — and yet, not a single one of his friends knew he had a sister.
you’ve been the one to properly introduce yourself; you didn’t want to risk another karina situation. the guys’ eyes had widened in shock, while the girls’ frowns had lifted in relief. you know it must look confusing, with how he’s been protectively hugging you from behind. especially if yunho hadn’t so much as mentioned your existence to any of them over all those years — which, you’ve come to realise is the case.
you’re sober and bored, just standing here and spacing out while these strangers chat up your brother like old chums. in all your thoughts about his friends, your mind finds it way back to mingi — where he must be, what he’s up to. he might be the only one who knew of yunho’s sister, considering the fact you three did grow up together.
which makes it all the more odd that yunho hasn’t even so much as said mingi’s name since you’ve been back.
you make a mental note to pry the information out of him when you’re both tipsy.
however, once you both finally reach the kitchen and yunho hands you a drink — you’ve gotten so impatient that you just chuck it back, wincing as the liquor burns your throat. yunho’s quick to fill it to the brim again, eyes sparkling at you. satisfied.
yunho finds you both a nice, cozy spot in a chiller corner of the house; away from the weed smoking in the garage and the drunk dancing in the living room. you’re sat on a couch as you watch some others play beer pong — giggling with each word yunho murmurs into your ear, your cup consistently full.
you’re drunk enough that you’re leaning into him, seeking out the warmth of his body. you feel at home with his arms wrapped around you, fingers drawing shapes on the bare skin of your back.
“do you know what a lick, sip, suck is?” yunho asks, lips pressed to your hair. you don’t even realise.
you purr, playful. “in what context?”
“yeah, don’t tell me that.” he warns, pissed off you’d even suggest that to him, but your mind’s too hazy to catch it. yunho gives you a slice of lime (when did he get that?), holding a tequila bottle up in his other hand. “we’re doing shots.”
you squeal, clapping excitedly as you sit up, pulling yourself off his body. you miss the way yunho readjusts the front of his pants, before he reaches for the stack of plastic shot cups on the coffee table.
you chew on the lime absentmindedly as yunho pours two shots — one halfway, one to the top. he hands you the full one but you don’t mention it, just eager to feel the burn of tequila and more of the floaty bliss that follows.
“hold your hand out,” he tells you, and you follow. you giggle in surprise when his tongue darts out, licking a stripe on your palm. he then goes over it with a salt shaker, the grains sticking to your skin.
“yuyu’s turn.” you tease, grabbing his hand yourself and running your tongue over it. you laugh at the shock on his face — far too drunk to recognise the way his eyes burn into you, the way his pupils swallow all the light.
his adam’s apple bobs in a harsh gulp. “ready?”
you nod, interlinking arms with him. yunho shifts closer — or maybe he pulled you — his heavy breath tickling your lips. you don’t even think twice about the proximity, happy to just tilt your head back and pour the shot down your throat. you take it like a champ, smiling through the liquor’s sting while yunho winces. he turns away, reaching for his drink on the coffee table to chase this shitty tequila.
while he’s wondering how drunk you must be to not even flinch, you can’t help but frown at how he left. you liked how close he was sitting, how you could count every freckle on his face. it made you feel comfortable and giddy and that’s all you want right now. you miss the warmth of his arms hugging you, pulling you in tighter whenever a guy would look at you too long.
you want yunho back, so you grab him. he makes a surprised noise as you kind of fall forward into his chest, nuzzling your face into his shoulder. you like how good he smells, the way the cologne hits your brain with the alcohol and leaves it swimming.
“you’re so cute.” he coos, pinching your cheek. you make a small whine and he rubs at your back, his touch leaving a trail of fire in its wake. “aw, baby. i’m here.”
your body really likes it when he calls you that.
“yuyu,” you giggle, cheek pressed to his chest as you tilt your head up at him. even in your bleary state, the intensity he’s sending you with just the look on his face hits you square in the stomach. it churns and you know it’s not from the alcohol. (or, well, it wouldn’t help.)
“i need to go find a bathroom.” he tells you softly, and you pout at him.
“just pee your pants.”
he strokes your hair with a chuckle, so entirely endeared with you right now and how you’re clinging to him. yunho doesn’t care if he has the alcohol to thank. it’s like a dream come true.
“i’ll try not to be long. stay here for me, yeah?” you nod, but that’s not good enough. his smile drops a fraction, tone serious. “don’t go anywhere without me.”
“okay..” you mope, and yunho basically pries you off his body. your fingers stay holding his shirt as he stands, and he pulls it off with a snicker, leaving a sweet peck on your hair. “be quick!!”
you watch yunho as he leaves the room, how people’s heads turn to stare and how they shift like they want to approach him. you know — he’s tall, he’s hot. you felt that same shock when you saw him run down the stairs this morning. but, you can’t help how your chest twists with.. something like jealousy. this sudden desire to make a point that he’s yours. what do they know about him? he’s your brother, he only wants to hug you and hang out with you alone.
you slap your cheek a little when you start getting too ahead of yourself. you’re so gone that you didn’t even register the contact, so you give yourself a few more slaps for good measure.
you just barely catch someone saying your name. you blink, the room spinning around you, until your vision comes into focus on a pair of the most beautiful women you’ve ever seen.
“long time no see.” the blonde one chuckles, bringing your sloshed ass in for a tight hug. you kind of just ragdoll in her arms, recognition slowly dawning as your train of thought lags severely behind from the present.
“yuuuqi?” you slur out, face splitting into a grin so wide it hurts, whipping your head at the other. “minnie!”
“you wasted bitch.” minnie pulls you in for a hug too, your heart swelling at seeing them both again.
briefly, you wish you were sober so you could appreciate this reunion properly, but you probably need the liquid courage right now. even if you’re acting a mess, at least you’re not conscious enough to remind yourself of how you thought your friendship died out from the distance and convinced yourself that they were better off if you ghosted them, or whatever bullshit…
“wanna go dance?” yuqi wiggles her brows at you, and you nod frantically. yunho nothing but a distant memory as you let them whisk you away from the couch and lead you through the hallways, thumping music growing louder. giggling and gaggling, swearing you need to catch up some time, asking where the hell you’ve been. you’re really happy and you don’t feel as alone as you did on that couch.
you reach a room that’s not quite the dance central (living room), but it’s packed enough that you’ve all had to stop and step to the side for all the crossfaded people stumbling out from the garage, the scent of weed fuzzy in your senses.
you catch the eye of one guy in particular — tall, dark-haired, and you’re instantly drawn in. his red eyes meet your dazed ones as he jumps to the music and tries to hype you up. he grabs your arm, attempting to pull you to him. you giggle, swaying your hips along, before yuqi pulls you back and chews the high asshole out.
you don’t understand all the ruckus as surrounding people start turning their heads and hollering, wondering what the hell is happening. you just want to dance, and you want to drink some more. why have yuqi and minnie stopped here?
someone’s saying your name again — only this time it’s deep. you sober up just a tiny bit from being startled, and then you sober up a bit more as that someone steps in front of you. towers over you.
mingi.
you’re so shocked that you can’t even react. it’s been an entire lifetime since you last saw mingi. you missed him so, so, so bad.
“we found her really drunk downstairs,” minnie says from your right.
yuqi rubs at your arm, which you can’t even feel. “we can stick around, y’know. help.”
“it’s alright,” mingi replies, brows drawn in concern as he looks at you with the prettiest boba eyes, saying your name gently. “you feel okay?”
“mingi..” you mumble out, your eyes suddenly welling up from how fucking overwhelming this feels.
he shifts in panic as you’re one blink away from sobbing. you know he won’t reach for you out of reluctance, so you do it yourself as you fall onto him, weakly bringing your arms up in an attempt to hug.
“i got you,” he whispers, carefully placing his hands on your shoulders. he can’t bring himself to hold you fully, not while you’re so.. gone. he mumbles something to yuqi and minnie, and by the time you bring your head back up, you don’t even realise that the girls left. in fact you forgot they brought you here in the first place. all you can think right now is mingi, mingi, mingi.
“do you wanna go somewhere quiet?” he asks you, so gently that you want to cry all over again. he’s so sweet. you missed him.
you nod, sobering up each second that mingi’s hands hold you. suddenly your throat feels too dry, your head aching.
he gives you a soft smile, noticing your discomfort. “let’s get you some water, too.”
“water would be fucking amazing.”
mingi huffs a laugh, keeping an arm slung over your shoulder in case you start to stumble, leading you through the bodies cramping the room. “it’s good to see you again,” he calls you by your name, but you find yourself expecting ‘baby’ instead. the yunho effect, you guess..
where is yunho anyway?
that train of thought hightails as mingi carefully sits you down against a wall, his big hands swallowing your waist. you sink into the carpet, dazedly observing your surroundings as mingi walks off to find water, making an effort not to stray too far. there’s a few boys playing pool on the table in front of you, a couple surprisingly not making out where they’re sitting on bean bags in the corner. you briefly wonder how fucking big this house must be for all these different rooms.
“here.” mingi gives you a bottle of water — which you only realise is a big and heavy 2 litre bottle when you nearly drop it from your hands. it looked normal sized when he was holding it.. “eomma told me that if you don’t want a hangover, you need to drink the same amount of water as you did alcohol.”
“i might piss myself.” you grumble, twisting the cap.
mingi chuckles, a low gravelly sound that you really fucking like. “if you do, i’ll give you this to cover up.” he says, tugging at his hoodie.
you don’t say anything in return as you sip from the bottle, conscious that you’d only be able to let out a pathetic sob. you’ve forgotten how it feels to receive this much effortless kindness from a person — from someone as dear to you as mingi.
he apologises for the seating situation, mentioning that he wasn’t expecting the bean bags to be taken as he sits down right next to you: ass on the carpet, back to the wall. a polite amount of distance between your shoulders. it’s not as comfortable as the couch, but you do find comfort in the fact that mingi gave you space. not just smothering you with touches because you’re drunk and he can.
safe to say, the fog’s starting to clear from your head.
mingi doesn’t push or pry. he’d be well within his rights to, considering you basically dropped off the face of the earth. for a few solid minutes, you both sat there in silence as you sipped from the bottle, his eyes flicking over every so often to check on your progress. it’s you who speaks up first, and his whole face lights up at the sound of your voice — at how he can tell you’re there again. only somewhat, since you’re still drunk, but you’ve reached a good level of awareness now that you’re not chugging a consistently full cup of liquor.
“did you ask the girls to find me?” you ask tentatively, trying to make it sound playful. you’re sure it’d be stupid and probably rude to ask how he’s doing and what he’s been up to. if you were a better friend, you would’ve made that effort to keep up with him while you were gone.
mingi shakes his head. “honestly, no. i uh, already saw you when you came in.”
your chest twists a little in guilt. how could you not have seen him? he’s not exactly easy to miss..
mingi notices how your face drops, and he goes on: “i wasn’t gonna come tonight, but,” he glances away, coy. “i found out you moved back.. was hoping i’d run into you.”
mingi doesn’t mention that your brother hid that fact from him. that when he noticed mingi actually ended up coming to the party, he intentionally shielded your line of sight with his body; then whisked you away downstairs so mingi wouldn’t know where to find you. when he saw you with the girls and not your brother, he knew he had to take possibly the only chance he was gonna get.
thank god your father has a habit of oversharing on facebook. he can’t believe that’s how he found out you’re back — not through his own fucking best friend. it’s hardly surprising though. mingi can’t even feel disappointed anymore. he’s too used to this shit.
all the anger leaves through his nostrils in a sigh as he looks to you — noticing your soft, almost shy smile over the bottle. your cheeks faintly dusted a baby pink, which mingi assumes is from the alcohol. it’s not.
“can i ask how the town was?” he asks, very gently, and you know it’s because he doesn’t want to accidentally upset you.
even if you’re mentally present enough to be thinking clearly, the amount of alcohol still warm in your system loosens your tongue — and you start to speak without a second thought.
“honest answer? not great.” you swish the water around in the bottle. try to focus on that instead of your immense sadness. “i’ve never felt so alone in my life. i.. lost myself for a bit. doing what i could to cope.” doing who you could, really.
mingi’s heart tears in half hearing that. wishing he could’ve just gone with you, left behind this city to stay by your side. it pumps a beat harder with anger too, just thinking of what the fuck your father was up to if he wasn’t the one being there for you. he’s quick to reel himself back in though — not his family, not his business. what would he know about how a father should act?
the boy next to you is silent, but it’s not in a judgemental way. rather: understanding. it’s why it all just comes tumbling out.
“i fucked around a bit, to be honest. there was this one guy actually, soobin,” you hiccup, throat tight with a near sob just mentioning him. “we were on and off for ages. well, it was all me. i’d always leave him and he’d always wait for me to come back. we didn’t even have that much in common or get along well, he just..” he reminded me of someone. he looks so much like— “..made me really happy.”
“i’m glad you had someone, at least.” mingi replies, ignoring the pain in his chest at how he wished it was him. “how’s it been with yunho?” he asks, but he really doesn’t need to know. mingi’s certain that his asshole of a best friend is over the moon that you’re back in his death grip. you love your brother though, so; and he just wants to distract you from the pain you’re remembering.
you nod quickly, hoping the tears in your lashes will dry up. “good. it’s been really good. i enrolled in his college so we’ll be going together in fall. he’s been helping me unpack, took me out for lunch at cafe fossil gay or whatever.”
there’s that pain in mingi’s chest again — jealousy — but he distracts his own body with a smile at your silliness.
“funny story actually,” you say humourlessly, “the girl working there thought i was his girlfriend, and he didn’t even say anything! just let embarrass myself and then laughed it off after.”
“yeah.. well, i’m not surprised.”
“what do you mean?”
something shifts in mingi’s expression. he looks like he’s picking his words carefully. “yunho didn’t tell you?”
“huh? oh so clearly he’s told me nothing. what is it?”
mingi sighs — you don’t know the half of it. his eyes trail off, staring at a stain on the carpet. his lips press into a firm line like he’s willing them to stay shut. he almost looks.. afraid to say the wrong thing. like he’ll get in trouble.
you laugh, confused. “why do you look genuinely scared? c’mon, spill. did my brother get up to some crazy shit?”
after your admission that you were sleeping around as a means of coping, mingi can’t help but think that yunho was doing something similar. it was a really dark time for both of them..
he doesn’t want to drop such a bombshell on you though; doesn’t want to be selfish and damage a relationship that’s so dear to you. not his family. so mingi does what he does best and shoves it down. down, down, all the way down so it won’t resurface until he’s lying in bed, unable to sleep.
“look, i’ll say this: he’s not that same nerd you knew. he still is, in a way, but.. he’s well known with the girls. straight after you moved away actually, some of your friends were having a go at him.”
“what?! not yuqi and minnie..?” mingi nods, and you gasp so loud that a few heads turn. “those bitches!! they never said anything about that. oh my god, i said i would have brunch with them on the weekend..”
“and you’re not mad at yunho?” mingi asks, though he’s not one to talk. he’s been mad at yunho for years but still hasn’t found the strength to just.. cut him off.
“i don’t want to hear that shit from my brother.” you laugh it off — confused at the twist in your chest over the thought of yunho sleeping around while you were gone. you’re surprised he basically hid it but, then again, he only really seemed interested in talking about all things you.
“don’t get me wrong: yunho never stopped talking about you. he really missed you.” mingi clarifies, leaving out the parts where yunho blamed him for the fact that you were gone. took his anger out on him with words he couldn’t forget if he tried.
you can sense this, how he’s picking and choosing from what he really wishes to say. “but..?”
mingi exhales. he must be drunker than he thought, or maybe it just feels good to let it all out, because he answers honestly.
“but i’m worried. that he’ll change. he took losing you really badly.. i don’t know if it’s for better or for worse that he has you again.” he turns his body to face you fully, and you shift closer. listening, encouraging. “i think he’s so crazy protective because—” mingi stops himself with a gulp. he almost told you something that you really should never have to know. “—he only ever had his mother growing up. then he gets a sister.. he’d do whatever it takes to protect that, y’know?”
“that makes sense.” you say, feeling an odd pang in your heart for yunho. you know he loves you, but it’s confronting hearing it from an outside perspective. however, staring at mingi — noting how withdrawn his energy became since you started talking about this — that feeling slides into concern. “aren’t you still best friends? why do you sound so.. scared of him?”
“things are different now.” mingi says with a faraway look in his eyes. “he’s different, when you’re around.”
you both leave it at that. you don’t know if your heart can take any more revelations, and mingi doesn’t know if he can keep withholding the ones that matter from you.
“you should crawl through my window one of these nights.” you suggest, and the smile mingi gives you has your face burning up all over again.
it’s kind of ironic: mingi used to do that when you were kids, since yunho would insert himself into every hangout and sulk that he was being ‘left out’. now, you’re saying it as a comfort — that your friendship with mingi can exist again, just as it did before.
“i could take you someplace far away?” mingi adds with a chuckle. yet another callback, to how you’d often sneak out as teens and explore the city together — much to the disapproval of your father (and much to the utter rage of your brother).
“i’d like that.” you smile, before digressing: “anyways, that’s enough about me. did you get busy at all?”
you wiggle your eyebrows at him suggestively, and mingi gives a shy laugh, glancing down. “ah, no.. nothing worth telling. i know a few girls’ favourite colours and that’s about it.”
there’s a reason mingi could never quite fully commit himself to relationships — they all paled in comparison to what he really longed for. and, well, that reason is sitting right next to him, laughing her ass off and calling him bitchless.
“did they all break it off after you told them yours is ‘cement’?” you snort, patting his arm.
“something like that.”
he can’t even find it in himself to feel embarrassed, so caught up in how your whole demeanour brightened and he barely even had to try. you’re like helium to him — his heart soaring in your presence. too much and he won’t be able to come back down.
“oh, i haven’t laughed that hard in a bit.” you rest your head on his shoulder, sentimental. “i’m so happy i have you back.”
mingi gulps, the simple gesture lighting a flame in his chest.
“me too.” he replies. though you don’t even understand how deep it runs.
your head perks up, recognising a familiar and very beloved beat thumping through the walls. it’s one of your favourite songs — and suddenly, your urge to dance is very much back.
you look to mingi, and he’s already looking at you, grinning helplessly. he doesn’t hold himself back now that you’ve had almost the entire bottle of water, and so he offers you his hand. you take it, leaping up and practically skipping as mingi leads you out of the room.
you finally end up in dance central, the living room: the crowd of bodies stumbling and shoving now that it’s almost the early hours of the morning, everyone well having drunk their weight in alcohol.
mingi sort of just stands in front of you as you dance to your heart’s content. he sways with you, but makes no move to get any closer than this. not if it’s what you want. and you do.
so, you grab his wrists, lead his hands to sit on either side of your waist. mingi’s lips part a little in surprise, and you just pull him in, resting your own hands on his shoulders. he looks a bit like a lost puppy. you can tell he’s fighting the instinct to let go, which makes you smile that much harder when he doesn’t.
you feel good. you’ve reached a chill, fuzzy stage of drunk. you and your best friend are reunited, you’re dancing together, and his body’s warm where it presses against yours. you hadn’t realised before, but mingi’s definitely started taking up the gym — evident with how solid and big his frame is in comparison to yours. in fact, you hadn’t even realised how close your bodies had gotten, but the last thing you want is to move away. you feel so at home.
mingi keeps himself almost hunched so his face is at level with yours. you notice how flushed his cheeks are, how uneven his breathing is and how sweat beads at his hairline. how he keeps gripping your waist tighter to angle you away — until you shift your hips too much while dancing and find out why. he’s hard. you felt it prod your thigh, and how he sighed out when you brushed against it.
you try not to get carried away in your own head. mingi’s your best friend — you know he’s probably just really excited to see you again, plus the adrenaline from dancing and all that. at the end of the day he’s just a man. the fact he doesn’t make a move should speak for itself, right? you’re only dancing. it doesn’t have to mean anything.
but, all the energy mingi’s sending you with just his eyes, all the heat radiating off of his body and sinking under your skin. you.. kind of wish it does mean something.
the sound of glass breaking rings through the air. you flinch, head whipping to the source — and your eyes lock onto yunho immediately. he’s looking directly at the space where your body presses against mingi’s, a half-broken bottle in his hand, rage aflame in his face.
panicking, you turn back to mingi, and before you realise it he’s shoving you. you stumble back with a gasp as another shatter cuts through the music, louder. glass erupts at mingi’s feet, and you realise he was moving you away from it.
“get the fuck off my girl!”
yunho’s shout is the only warning before he’s shoving through the crowd and getting in mingi’s face, roughly grabbing him by the shirt collar, his bloodied hand staining the fabric red. your stomach sinks at the sight of your brother yelling in your best friend’s face, looking like he’s two seconds from colliding his fist with mingi’s jaw.
it all happens so quick, and it’s broken apart just as quickly — the two men being pulled in opposite directions. it takes a few more to get yunho to let the shirt go, continuing to cuss mingi out as he’s forcefully held back.
once he’s let go, mingi doesn’t even think before he’s walking to you, making sure none of the glass hit you.
you risk a glance at your brother as he’s being walked out of the room, and the look on his face makes you sick to your guts. he looks betrayed.
you’re on the verge of tears as mingi ushers you out, wanting to cry from the embarrassment and the guilt. he manages to find you both a quiet space in the cramped laundry room, and you all but crumple onto the ground once he shuts the door.
at this level, you inspect his legs — if he’s hurt. it looks like the glass only scraped the leg of his jeans, thank god.
“what even happened?” you ask him in such a timid voice, teary eyes staring at yunho’s blood on his collar.
“he, uh.. he threw a bottle at me.” after he saw us together. mingi doesn’t say it, and you don’t either, but you both know it. “i’m sorry i shoved you. are you hurt?”
mingi takes a weary step closer, and you frantically nod your head in hopes that he’ll back off. mingi’s proximity burns like acid right now — knowing your brother’s out there hurting because you didn’t go with him instead.
you swallow down a painfully large knot in your throat. your entire face stings from holding back tears. yunho’s always hated being left out, but you thought he would’ve grown out of it by now. you try not to think about how he called you his girl and not, you know, his sister. in fact, you shove it so far down in your brain that you know for certain you won’t remember it once you’re sober.
mingi stays standing, lingering like a kicked puppy. he keeps gulping as if there’s more he wants to tell you. but he doesn’t.
you flinch at the sudden knock on the door. mingi gives you a sad glance, wishing he could just hug you or make any of this feel better, before sighing and opening the door.
a much shorter man with bright orange hair steps in, tipping his head at you in greeting.
“i didn’t have anything to drink so, i’ll be driving yunho home.” he says to mingi, then turns to you. “uh, hey. i’m hongjoong, by the way.”
you greet him back and give him your name, and his eyes widen a fraction. “oh, you’re—” he cuts himself off, mingi’s eyes burning into the side of his head. “yunho’s sister. right?”
“yeah...sorry about all that.”
“eh, it’s not my house.” hongjoong shrugs. “hey, since i’m taking yunho anyways, did you want to come with?”
“—i don’t know if that’s a good idea right now,” mingi interrupts. he checks for your reaction, in case he overstepped, but you agree with him.
“damn… you’re really leaving me to deal with an angry yunho all by myself.” hongjoong heaves a sigh. he daps mingi up, then looks between you both. “i’ll see you later. get home safe, alright?”
once hongjoong steps out, you speak up: “i should probably head home.”
there’s no use now that you’ve sobered up and the mood is sour. mingi nods, having expected it.
“i’ll buy you an uber.”
all eyes are on you as mingi leads you out of the house. you curl into him from the shame, and he does what he can to shield you with his arm.
mingi waits with you outside on the curb. neither of you fill the heavy silence between you. when the uber pulls up, he’s already saying his goodbyes when you impulsively pull him into a hug.
“let’s see each other again soon?” you mutter into his chest.
you want mingi to know that this night with him still meant the world to you. that you’ll hold tight on to the memories you’ve made, hoping you can remember in the morning.
mingi doesn’t let go until you do. for a fleeting second, you consider leaving with him, asking the driver to redirect to his place.
but after your eyes catch on his bloodied collar — you don’t. instead, you spend the entire uber drive home holding back tears, thinking only of yunho.
──
you slip into the house quietly, toeing your shoes off by the door. the lower floor’s cloaked entirely in darkness, save for the light pouring in from the kitchen.
you follow the pull that leads you there, and in turn you find yunho: shoulders hunched as he stands by the kitchen island, accompanied by a bottle of whiskey in his hand — bandaged.
“is that a good idea?” you ask, deliberately keeping yourself separated on the other side of the island.
yunho hums lowly, finger circling the rim of the bottle. “don’t have a lot of those lately.”
“is there something bothering you?”
he’s dead silent, unashamed in how he looks at you with such force in his eyes. you almost feel compelled to step forward, or maybe for your knees to buckle from the pressure.
“yes.”
ignoring the flutter in your chest, you press on. “do you want to talk about it?”
there’s an intentional pause, charged with static. you feel the way the tension curls under your skin, spreading goosebumps across the surface. the sound of yunho taking another swig of the bottle is loud in the heavy silence before he puts it back down and rounds the island. you resist the urge to nervously fidget as he approaches, stopping to stand right in front of you.
yunho’s mouth twitches, almost as if he’s holding back a grimace, before he speaks.
“i know you don’t want to hear this, and i know you don’t want to believe it — but you should listen to me. the last thing i want is for you to get hurt.” he sighs, running a hand down his face like you’re stressing him out. “you need to stay away from mingi.”
“what?” is all you can say. this entire night has flipped everything you knew about these two on its head — they’re best friends. they were before you ever came along. what the hell happened while you were gone? “yunho, where is this coming from?”
“please, trust me.” yunho grabs your hands, the gauze coarse on your skin. “he’s not who you think he is, baby. i’m trying to look out for you. i won’t stand to see you hurt by him.”
you’re wedged between a rock and a hard place right now. your system’s just started coming down from the alcohol, leaving your head swimming with periodical throbs, and yunho’s just… sprung this on you, like this doesn’t confuse you even more after the whole broken bottle incident.
you still have vivid memories of yunho being a possessive little teenaged shit. he always used the family first excuse, rubbed it in mingi’s face whenever he could. a reminder that you’re his sister before you’re anything to anyone else.
you’ve always thought he was just a sensitive young man, feeling weird about sharing his baby sister with his best friend — another equally hormonally confused boy.
clearly, he never grew out of it.
you can’t take a word of it seriously. mingi’s never once pushed your boundaries or made you uncomfortable, and after all these years you’d think yunho would have accepted this fact. mingi’s just not like that. yunho though… he’s got it in him.
really, you don’t know where his limit is anymore — seeing as he so readily threw a glass bottle at his own best friend, and over a harmless dance!
“why didn’t you tell me you’d fucked my friends?” you fire back, leaving no time for him to recover. “you could’ve, in the car when i asked. but you didn’t. why?”
yunho’s fingers twitch around yours, knuckles tightening until you wince. the way his eyes darken nearly scares you.
“who told you?”
“...they did.” you lie. “they’re my friends.”
“no, they didn’t.” he says, the certainty in his tone making you shrink in on yourself.
yunho knows for a fact that they’d never tell on themselves — not out of fear of you, but of him. because they promised him they wouldn’t tell you. and they know better than to break that.
“it was mingi, wasn’t it?” he tilts his head, and you miss the way he inches closer. he smirks at your answer in silence. “this is what i’m saying. he’s trying to get between us.”
“but why hide it? why’d you do it in the first place, yunho??”
you can’t even pretend to not feel upset about it. he’s your brother, it’s none of your business who he slept with; especially if it’s your friends you barely kept in touch with. but it hurts you and you can’t think too hard about why, because you’re not ready to face that just yet.
yunho lets out a heavy sigh, and it’s then that you notice he’s gotten right in your face, his breath fanning your lips. his face is serious, as it has been all night — but now, his eyes are full of.. sadness.
“because i missed you.”
the admission has a shiver rolling down your spine. the lack of shame in his voice, the intensity burning in his eyes. the idea that your brother fucked your friends, because that was all he had left of you.
you don’t know what you’re supposed to do with that.
“they were mistakes, okay?” yunho cradles your face. so softly, and your anger dissipates. “you’re back now and i don’t want to lose you again. not to anyone, not him. you got that?” he waits for you to nod. “i love you, baby.”
you don’t have the strength to say it back. not with your stomach in knots.
yunho leans in, close enough that he can taste the way your breath hitches. he lingers, the tip of his nose just grazing yours, and your heart skips a beat. or perhaps it stopped for one.
you’re worried. you’re worried that he’ll kiss you, and you’re worried that you don’t know what you’d do if he did.
perhaps the taste of your panic was too sour, since yunho does not kiss you. on the lips, anyways. but he gets very close. on your cheek, dangerously close to your mouth; he leaves a kiss with his lips pressed to the skin for far too long. it’s tender, too intimate, and confusing — the way your body reacts to it.
yunho takes his leave for bed, ascending up the stairs; gaze never leaving you, you’d imagine. you weren’t game enough to look back.
you don’t breathe until you hear his door shut. and when you do, you’re immediately hyperventilating. breath coming out in panicked spurts that take over your whole body.
you consider going to yunho. now that he’s back in your life you have someone to comfort you, and you have a choice to not cry alone. but the mostly sober brain of yours knows that's a dangerous mistake waiting to be made. you know you shouldn’t, and you don’t linger on the why.
you even think about crawling into your stepmother’s bed, let her hug you like she did when you were a kid. her baby. but your father’s in there and you don’t want to disturb them.
in the end, you just take a swig of the bottle yunho left out. it tastes horrible. almost as bad as the bile when you inevitably vomit all this back up in the morning.
then, you crawl into bed, and you cry with no one but yourself to hold you. just like you did every night for the first year of moving away, wishing for your family to be back together.
just like now, despite getting exactly what you wished for.
──
true to your word, you and mingi have started to see each other more often, and yunho doesn’t even pretend to be okay with it.
you didn’t take a word he said to heart. it’s as if nothing ever even happened that night, save for all your fond memories with mingi instead.
you hadn’t realised how much you’d missed him until you got him back — slipping in to fill the void that was perfectly shaped for him.
mingi’s been driving you all over town, revisiting each spot you frequented as teens. your favourite restaurant that went bankrupt, the local arcade that’s long since been renovated, the flea market that’s somehow still kicking. midnight runs for greasy fast food, stargazing in playgrounds, hotboxing his car in parking lots. doing everything together, even when you’re doing nothing at all.
“would you still love me if i was a chicken?” you asked him once, a joint burning between your fingers into the cool night air. you passed it to mingi, who took a puff while deep in thought.
“of course. i’d build you a luxury coop, and make gourmet omelettes with your eggs.”
“...what the fuck?”
“damn guess i’ll just go die.”
you can’t remember the last time you felt this free, where each day came this easily. just thinking of being in mingi’s presence is enough to bring a helpless smile to your face — knowing that there’s so much love in your heart, and that he’ll return every little bit of it. no pressure, no uncertainty. no lies.
who would’ve thought that having a genuine friend is enough to restore your sparkle.
yunho, spiteful, talked your stepmother into getting a family plan on life360. “baby goes out so often now,” he’d said, barely hiding his sneer. “i’m not always there to keep her out of trouble.”
and so, now your parents have your location on demand, putting your daily hangouts with mingi on halt. you’d be in a world of trouble if they saw how often you’re out and about, how late you come back, all while your loving brother is left alone at home. or worse, yunho would show up to the function and break down the door then break mingi’s legs.
they still think you’re attached at the hip, see. they’ve got no idea that you’ve been avoiding yunho like the plague after he smashed a bottle that cut his own hand in jealousy. jealousy, what a funny fucking concept when you’re siblings. what’s funnier is that your parents wouldn’t even blink, if anything they might defend him. because that’s just always how he’s been when it comes to you — or rather, you with mingi.
of course, you just bypass this by bringing the girls along, yuqi and minnie. they post you on their socials often but leave out mingi (because they’re single and don’t want other men getting the wrong idea) and you know yunho’s falling for it, considering mingi is still unscathed and you continue to see him. every single day.
that doesn’t mean yunho won’t punish you for ever breathing in mingi’s vicinity. he’ll kick your ankle under the dinner table when you’re on your phone, knowing you’re texting him. he’ll barge into your room without apologising, hoping to catch you with mingi and have an excuse to finish what he started at the party. he’ll follow you around the house like a clingy dog and basically corner you into spending time with him, in hopes that you’ll feel too bad to leave him for mingi. but, you still do. you have been. and it’s driving yunho up the fucking wall.
he’s continued his agenda to get in your head, but to no avail. you’re not buying a second of his shit. you’ve even started arguing often like true siblings, cat and dog fights. of course, it’s never about mingi, but it really always is. you’re not actually all that upset at him for leaving the toilet seat up, or him at you for not doing the dishes when it’s your turn. you’re both mad, and the sole reason is the fact that he’s not your person anymore. that you can get your happiness just fine from people who aren’t him.
your stubbornness has reached a point where he’s started lowly sneering reminders at you around the house. “do you have no self respect?”, “don’t come crying to me when you see i was right.”, “i can smell him on you, baby. it’s disgusting.”
you just smirk in the face of each one of his insults, unbothered with a full heart and content soul. yunho’s losing it each day you come home after midnight, quietly creeping to the bathroom like you can wash off the evidence of your betrayal. walking around the house during the day as if you’re not just biding the time for when you can go throw yourself at his best friend again.
you, on the other hand, are not too worried. blood runs thicker than water or whatever, you’ll be in this family shit for life. you know you’re not going to lose yunho — he wouldn’t let that happen. so you’re sure as fuck going to fight tooth and nail to not lose mingi either.
what an extremely stressful first few days back it’s been.
[you] let’s be chickens together
[minki] gobble gobble
[you] that’s a turkey?
[minki] omw in 5
that’s how you found yourself sat passenger in his car, parked in front of some playground that you both had a 2am mcdonalds dinner on, just word-vomiting as you rant about your brother’s behaviour these last few days. mingi nods along, quietly listening.
“i just wish he’d suck it up! we’re grown ass adults now! my only friend can’t be my brother. can you imagine how he’d be if i got a boyfriend?” you scoff, head falling back into the seat.
mingi chews on his bottom lip. nervous. “family will always come first though.”
you look at him wildly. “uh?— nuh uh. i’m stuck with him for life. the friends that i chose are more important to me.”
he’d smile at that, if only his guts weren’t twisting inside out at this conversation.
“i don’t want to get in between you and your family.” mingi murmurs, solemn. eyes cast to his shoes since he’d crack open if he dared look at you instead.
it’s confusing you, the fact that he’s slightly siding with yunho; especially because you can tell that he doesn’t really believe that. it’s not even that he thinks it’s what you want to hear either — because you so obviously don’t — so, what gives?
it just makes you think. wonder, if yunho’s got dirt on mingi that he holds over his head. if there’s any truth to what yunho’s saying.
you wonder at times, yes. but you don’t believe any of it.
──
it was good. it was really, really good and it was great. it kept getting greater. then it just got… fucked. so fucked. you can’t help but wonder where it all went wrong.
your eyes are red raw as you stare at your phone, willing his name to pop up in a notification with each blink you suppress. you’re curled up in your bedsheets and your own tears that won’t quite come. you don’t know if you’ve been here for hours, or perhaps it’s been days. time has blended together in a dull slog ever since you realised that mingi’s been ghosting you.
it began with slower replies, cancelling plans and sad excuses that you never believed but accepted anyways. then, you went a day or two without hearing from him — mingi answering your string of worried messages with a single, dry response before finally going awol on you.
you don’t understand. you were so unbelievably blindsided. you’ve been having so much harmless fun together. did he feel pressured by you? did you scare him away by getting too attached, too fast? did he worry that this was steering into something he didn’t want with you?
oh god. oh god. you got so comfortable with having mingi back, you’ve completely forgotten how it feels to lose him again. loneliness hurts twice as hard as it ever did, since you were convinced you’d never have to live a day of that feeling being familiar again. you don’t know how you ever got through this — constantly wrapped up in loneliness like a blanket, only peeling it back during brief encounters with meaningless men. mingi’s presence had the same effect, yet you never had to give and he never wanted to take. he just.. loved you.
or so you thought. stupid. so fucking stupid.
you’re so deep in your own rumination that you don’t hear your door creak open, yunho quietly slipping in and trying not to skip in joy as he crosses the room to your bed.
“oh, baby,” he coos at you, sitting on the edge of the mattress where you’re curled up by your phone. he grabs the device — slyly tapping it to check that mingi hasn’t texted — before putting it on your bedside table, away from reach. “what’s the matter?”
you sniffle, pulling the blankets up over your pyjama top that leaves little to the imagination. “period.”
yunho tuts, stroking your hair from your face, fingers caressing your cheek. “did you want me to get you anything?”
get the fuck out, you want to say. but the gentle touches he’s giving you, the comfort of his presence.. it’s enough to stop your wallowing if just for a moment. despite yourself, you feel at ease. you’d almost ask him to hold you, but you don’t want to stroke his ego anymore than this.
yunho, however, already knew well what was going on. the truth of it.
you’ve been on your period for days at this point; he saw the wrappers in the bathroom bin, and even caught you putting your heat pack in the microwave, rolling your eyes at him as he passed by. it explains why you’ve done a complete 180 on him this past week — but also why you haven’t fucked mingi just yet.
see, yunho went through your room. he thoroughly rummaged through it after you moved out, making sure no corner or crevice was unfamiliar to him. he still does so, and often since you’re never home; checking for any sign that you’re fucking men who aren’t him. he found condoms in your bedside drawer and nearly threw up on the spot before realising that it’s an unopened box.
your friends owed him big time after they didn’t hide their.. relations well enough, resulting in mingi finding out and you in turn. to earn his forgiveness, they pried out the details of your spicy sex life over cocktails at a girls night — and upon learning everything (or everyone) you did back at the old town, it occurred to him that you’ve been using sex like a salve. like a drug even.
it’s good news, knowing that any intimacy between you is like giving a cigarette to a smoker in withdrawal. it’s also bad news, because if he’s not quick enough, you’ll jump into the arms of the next man you can think of.
the box of condoms in your drawer, combined with your ongoing period, is like a ticking bomb. if it’s just a matter of waiting, then yunho knew he was close to running out of time before losing you forever.
so, the only way to go about it was to confront mingi.
to put it simply, yunho told his best friend to fuck off. he’s failed in all his efforts to get you to cut him off, but when in doubt, he can always bet on threatening mingi.
“i finally have my family back,” yunho had guilt-tripped. “when will you stop trying to tear us apart?” he even brought out the big guns: “she’s recovering from a sex addiction, you know. stop taking advantage of that.”
yunho saw the way mingi was looking at you on the dance floor that night. he knows what he wants. he saw it in the men who checked you out at that party. he sees it everyday when he looks in the mirror.
he made it clear that this would be the last straw. mingi’s got to back off, or yunho is telling you everything. and just the threat of that, looming over his head, was enough to send mingi running with his tail between his legs. now, you’re all yunho’s, to have and to hold.
he’s not a fool — yunho’s only gone to this extent because he knows he’s got an actual shot. you can pretend the opposite all you like, but he’s seen the boys that you give yourself to.
he’s been silently following your socials for years, studying every guy you’d soft-launch and post proudly before scrubbing their faces from history. rinse, repeat. that is, until you found soobin.
yunho laughed out loud the first time he saw soobin’s face on your profile. he damn nearly thought it was himself there. tall frame, dark hair, soft features. if you squint, it really looks like you’re kissing your own brother. and what’s more: you kept this one around for quite a while. on and off, if your sporadic cleansing and dumping of couple photos was anything to go by — but what matters is the fact that you clearly favoured this one much more than any of the others. you may have even loved him.
and he just so happens to look like yunho, of course. what more confirmation does a guy need?
it’s all the reason he needs to splay his fingers across your jaw, tilting your head up to look at him. all the tension taut inside him channelled into the way he’s gazing down at you, thumb softly swiping over your bottom lip.
“anything i can do to make you feel better?” he whispers, so soft you could miss it.
previously forgotten memories from that night at the party flash like a siren through your head: yunho staring at you like he is now, his arms wrapped around you, face inches from yours. the shot of tequila, the tongue on—
“no.” you almost gasp, pulling back from his grasp like it burned you.
yunho’s still for a moment — internally in shock that you just rejected him — before he smiles. composes himself. “okay.”
yunho dusts off nonexistent lint from his shirt, needing to occupy his hands while they’re buzzing with the thought of just reaching out and grabbing you.
“another friend of mine is hosting a party tomorrow night.” he digresses, hoping to wipe your memory of whatever the fuck just happened. “san, it’s his birthday.”
you nod, following along, and yunho lets out the breath that he’d been holding — beyond relieved that you’re not chewing him out for being a disgusting pervert.
his smile shifts from forced to hopeful. “if you’re feeling any better, did you want to come? we had so much fun at the last one.”
he neglects to mention the dramatic ending with mingi, the dubious tension after getting you drunk, the way his hands wouldn’t come off your body for more than two seconds at a time.
but whatever, right? all’s good and well again, considering mingi fucking ghosted you like none of it ever mattered.
that night, how you were acting with yunho was weird, but you’re not recoiling. rather…confused? you know that you didn’t hate it. in fact, across your scattered memories, you can tell that you were having so much fun.
who knows, maybe you might run into mingi there. give him a piece of your mind.
“we could go.”
yunho wishes he could hug you. he would’ve, if this past week’s events hadn’t happened. but the way he just beams at you holds the same sentiment.
maybe you didn’t choose him today. but, that just means he has to put in the work, so that the next time he offers — he knows you won’t turn him down.
──
well, how funny is that. not only did mingi show, but it seems like yunho was fully aware he would. the moment you entered to greet the birthday boy, your eyes had found mingi before you could even register it.
if he wasn’t already at the forefront of your mind, you might have missed him entirely — with the way yunho had subtly stepped into your line of sight, then pointed at something else to distract you. you realise then, it’s what he must’ve done at the first party. you were just too wrapped up in him to notice.
mingi had cast you one sad, lingering look when you first walked in, and that was it. he’s ignoring you. even cutting his conversations short and walking off each time you happen to stumble into the same room. yunho’s indifferent to his best friend’s suffering; if anything, you might think he’s enjoying it. you haven’t seen him smile and laugh so hard like this in quite some time. you’d think it was his own birthday.
subsequently, yunho hasn’t left your side once. he won’t repeat that mistake. he deliberately waited for you to get dressed first, just so he could coordinate his outfit to match yours. he’s been showing you off to all his friends, unashamedly calling you baby in front of them, keeping a hand on your back or arm around your shoulder at all times. it’d be suffocating, if only you weren’t so hollow.
you’re fresh out of fucks to give. they can think what they want to — in fact, you hope they assume you’re dating, just so it can reach mingi. what would he care anyways right? family first and all that stupid shit he cares so much about.
….you might be drunk.
yunho hasn’t been outright shoving drinks in your hands like last time, but he has been pouring you one each time you ask. which, you don’t know how many it’s been at this point. you can only hope he’s been keeping track.
on that thought — you shift where you’re sitting in his lap, tilting your body to face him.
“yuyu,” you drawl, patting his arm so he releases the hold he has around your waist. “i think i need to pee.”
“you think?” he laughs, poking his cheek with his tongue. he knows you need to, because he’s been counting your drinks.
yunho leans back on the couch, eyes raking over your body for a split second — how it’s angled on top of him like this — before his arms fall away. he pats your back and helps you stand up, hand falling dangerously low.
“lucky i know where the bathroom is this time.” he whispers lowly, leading you there.
if he didn’t still think you were on your period, you’re convinced yunho might have tried to sit in there with you — say some excuse like you need help to not fall over, you can’t hold your own hair back if you vomit. he’s really.. pushy with boundaries like that. you don’t know if it’s just because he’s close with his mother, or he wants to be that close with you. he’s always been a physically affectionate person, but you’re too old for it to not raise eyebrows now.
you all but push yunho down the hallway so he doesn’t stand right outside the fucking door — where he conveniently gets swept up by san and his boyfriend wooyoung, drunkenly professing their love to your brother before attempting to hump him 0.2 seconds after. you narrowly escape from the chaos and duck into the bathroom, then nearly fucking scream from the jumpscare of someone already standing in there.
and with your luck, it’s mingi.
without a second thought, you’re kicking the door shut and flipping the lock, taking up space until he’s walking back into the counter. practically cornered.
“what the fuck is your deal?!” you whisper-shout, aware that yunho’s still down the hall and will tear the door off its hinges if he gets a whiff of mingi in your vicinity.
mingi raises a hand, trying to stop you from walking too close, but you just press yourself right against it. he visibly melts at touching you before pulling it back, brows furrowed. “you can’t be here..”
“oh, so you can talk?” you snap, while he just looks at you like a kicked puppy. “you better have a damn good reason..”
“there is no reason.” his voice cracks, as if his body can’t even pretend to lie. “i just think it’s better off for both of us if we stop—”
“you don’t believe that.” you cut in. he doesn’t even protest. “say what you mean, mingi. what happened?”
he shakes his head once. then again, firmer, like he’s trying to tell himself no. “i won’t get in between your family anymore.”
there’s that stupid excuse again. you roll your eyes, heaving a tired sigh. “why do you suddenly care about that so much?”
as if on queue, there’s a knock at the door — yours and mingi’s stomachs dropping in unison at the sound of your brother’s voice.
“you okay in there, baby?”
you take immediate note of mingi’s face: horror. he’s fucking horrified. big, glossy eyes silently pleading with you. that’s when the understanding dawns.
“yeah,” you call out. “be done in a sec.”
there’s a moment of silence before he responds. you’re listening closely, waiting for the sound of receding footsteps, and you realise he must be listening in on you too.
“alright.”
at last, yunho backs off — and with a newfound certainty, you hone in on mingi. his pale-stricken face floods with blush as he leans further back onto the counter, you standing nearly between his legs.
“it was him, wasn’t it?” you whisper. “did he… say something to you?”
mingi almost goes to shake his head again, before something inside him visibly crumbles. he shuts his eyes with a shaky breath, and nods.
that makes you frown. your heart hurts for mingi, despite how upset he’s made you these past few days. you really should have seen this coming. yunho’s never taken kindly to sharing.
tentatively, your hands find mingi’s, and he lets you — your fingers curling around his broad palms. he sighs in relief, allowing himself to softly hold your hand back.
“it won’t work, mingi. i’m not going anywhere. not again.”
his lip twitches, face burning from guilt and something a little more. he tried to stick to his resolve, really tried. mingi was barely strong enough to ghost you in the first place — but now you’re here in front of him, telling him everything he’s wanted to hear… god help him, it’s all going to come tumbling out.
“it killed me to push you away.” he croaks out, throat almost choked up with a sob.
your affection for mingi wells up inside, sharp and hot, compelling you to reach out and cup his face.
“then stop doing it, dummy.” you urge him. “i want my best friend back.”
mingi nuzzles into your hand, his dazed eyes falling to your lips before he shuts them, face screwed up as if he’s in pain.
“this is dangerous.”
he shudders when your thumb strokes his cheek, just brushing the edge of his lip. your body weight leaning against his thigh, faces not even a breath apart.
“what do you want?” you ask him, his cheeks burning under your palms.
mingi’s eyes flutter open, looking at you like a deer in headlights. the prettiest brown eyes confessing what his mouth is too shy to. he reaches for your top, pinching the fabric while he works up the courage. his mind is blanking, too overwhelmed with the disbelief that this is really happening.
after years worth of bottling up all his feelings for you, gritting his teeth while yunho dangled you in front of his face, knowing he’d never be able to get between that. at least, not until he danced with you at that party. the fact you left with him and not your own brother showed mingi, for the very first time, that he could compete with yunho. it’s why he had the courage to ignore the looming shadow of his best friend’s fury each time he’d hang out with you. it’s why he even bothered showing up tonight, knowing that yunho would bring you along to show off in front of mingi. it’s why he lingered inside this bathroom after hearing your voice outside, hoping you’d find and confront him.
and here you are.
he can’t find the right words to express any of this — so he just pushes himself to lean forward until his lips find yours.
it’s a ghost of a kiss, a barely-there press of his lips before he’s pulling back, his inner conflict evident in his longing eyes.
“you,” he whines out, “all i’ve wanted is this, you.”
your heart cracks wide open, and everything you’ve told yourself not to feel for your best friend comes spilling out. mingi really loves you, you can tell by the way it pours through his gaze. the way your reflection in his eyes is twice as beautiful as how you see yourself.
you don’t hesitate before kissing him back, leaning your whole body into him. you swear you felt his heart jump in his ribcage, just so it could match the beat of yours.
mingi whimpers into the kiss, his hands softly holding your waist while yours sit atop his fluttering pulse. it’s not even that heated, but you’ve never felt so fucked up from a kiss before — a deep, intimate kiss. your mouths moving together slowly, flushed bodies pressed close together. you’re like tequila: mingi can only bear little sips, too much and he’ll be a goner.
your tongue swipes at his bottom lip, testing the waters, and mingi encourages you with a soft hum. you lick into his mouth, and a whine resounds from his throat.
he’s working you up so quickly with nothing but slow kisses. you reel yourself back in with each urge to rush this, wanting to savour the moment. revelling in all the adoration mingi’s pouring into each soft swipe of his tongue against yours.
despite your best efforts, you can’t help yourself to rolling your hips, desperate to be as close as possible — mingi letting out a deep groan as you rub against his boner. after a moment to collect himself, he’s gently pulling you back by the waist, since the last thing he wants is for you to feel pressured.
what you do want though, is him.
“mingi,” you say, running a hand down his chest. he lets out a sort of stifled whimper as a reply. “let’s leave.”
he nearly gasps as your fingers creep down to his stomach, leaving a trail of fire in its wake, before stopping at the waistband of his pants. his length throbs under the fabric, silently begging for your touch.
“but, you can’t..” he pouts, staring directly at your hand, how it sits just above where he wants it most. your response is a kiss, and he’s nothing but putty in your palm.
“i don’t care about anything else.” you tell him, channelling all your certainty into your eyes so he can see it. “i want you, mingi.”
that does it. he already knew he was done for when you cornered him in here — hell, the day that you moved back — but there’s no more fighting it now. what yunho doesn’t know can’t hurt him, right?
mingi nods, giving himself over to you, and your sweet smile at him makes it all worth it. you kiss him again, just for good measure.
“did you drive?”
“yeah.”
“then let’s get out of here.”
you barely open the bathroom door as you squeeze your way out, yunho running up to you the second you stepped a toe outside. you’re not even putting on an act when he notices how flushed and out of breath you are.
“did you fall in?” yunho chuckles, his smile dropping a fraction as he glances at the crack in the door.
thankfully, he’s easy to distract as you hug him, whining about ‘how sick you suddenly feel’. his attention is yours again as he fusses over you, and you take the chance to close the door — shielding mingi on the other side.
yunho whisks you away, saying that it was about time for the cake. you dare a glance over your shoulder, locking eyes with mingi as he quietly nudges the door open. he smiles softly at you, a cute contrast to how he’s readjusting the front of his pants. you smile back just before rounding the corner.
you stand with yunho’s arms wrapped around you amongst the circle of friends surrounding san, drunken tears in his eyes as he scream-sings along to happy birthday. the party cheers for him as he blows out his candles, pulling wooyoung into a sloppy make-out right in front of the cake.
yunho bends down to kiss your cheek, gently rubbing your tummy as he asks, “will you have cake, baby?”
in your peripheral, you just catch mingi’s broad frame shouldering his way out of the room, pretending like he’s pissed after overhearing that. yunho’s lip curls into a smirk, and you know it was on purpose.
“actually, um,” you worm your way out of his grasp, acting like you’re nervously fidgeting. “i’m sorry, i was too embarrassed to say anything before.. i had, um, an accident.” you wait for yunho to prompt you to go on, his hand rubbing at your arm to comfort. it burns like acid. “i need period stuff. i couldn’t find anything in the bathroom.”
your stomach twists with how genuine his concern is, sighing and rubbing at his forehead like it genuinely stresses him to see you suffering.
“did you want me to drive to the corner shop? get you something?”
you shake your head, portraying yourself as not wanting to be an inconvenience. “it’s okay. yuqi’s around, i just wanted to ask her if she has anything.”
yunho’s eyes go slightly dim at how you turned down his offer, favouring the help of someone else — a disloyal friend, at that. but he reels himself back in, softening the bubbling anger as he strokes your hair.
“okay. don’t go too far.”
“i’ll try not to,” you reassure him, not forgetting the cherry on top: “thanks, yuyu.”
the lie tastes like bile as you leave him there, walking through the crowd and pretending to scan the house for yuqi until you slip out of yunho’s line of sight — and then out of the room.
you take the back door, stepping out into the night as you round the side of the house and veer off to the cars parked in a row across the street; meeting mingi where he leans against the hood of his.
you practically run to him, letting him scoop you up in his arms and press his lips to yours like he misses you already. one kiss turns to two, and two into standing there for a minute, panting as your mouths move together. mingi has to pry you off of him before he just lets you take him on the asphalt, blushing as you giggle over the pitch in his pants, back like it never left.
as you slide into the passenger side, you decide to turn off your location on your phone, then set it to do no disturb. you’re not going to let anyone get in the way of this.
──
“so, your mother isn’t home?” you ask, quietly slipping into the bedroom.
mingi enters behind you and flicks the light on, shaking his head shyly. you take the chance to scan around his room, recognising what he’s kept the same and noticing what he’s added: new posters on the wall of anime he’s watched over time, trinkets collected from various museum visits, stray dumbbells in the corner from whenever he began working out.
relatively tidy for a man’s space (and one with his attention span), which you can only assume is because he avoids run-ins with bugs at any cost. it makes you giggle: remembering all the times you’ve found a cockroach right in this room, while mingi screamed and begged you to catch it for him.
oh, you love him. you love this scaredy cat, who has snuck you away from your crazy guard dog of a brother for a second time now, just because you asked.
your brother…
you try to push it out of your brain. you can’t be thinking of that right now, not while mingi’s standing here, wanting you just as badly as you want him. he’s anxiously fiddling with his shirt, looking so unsure of himself now when his tongue was in your mouth not even half an hour ago. cute. he’s so damn cute.
you step to him, smiling at how his breath audibly hitches when you cup his face. you’ve got no intentions of holding back now: pressing your front flush against him, feeling how his body tenses under the contact. static coursing under the barriers of clothing. as if you’re waiting for permission, he nods in tiny, and it makes you giggle.
“sorry,” he murmurs. “i’m nervous.”
“don’t be.” you reassure him, and he sighs as your thumb traces his lower lip.
“how can i not? you’re so pretty.”
you shush him with a gentle peck. “then show me.”
at that, he leans down to kiss you for real, inhaling through his nose like you’re the air he breathes. you understand why he’s been so shy as his length pokes your thigh, already half-hard. he must be so excited, and it has your heart fluttering — then soaring as he whimpers softly into your mouth, his tongue tentatively sliding against yours.
your phone thuds when you let it drop to the carpet, giving mingi your full attention as both of your hands roam the expanse of his back. you want to feel the hard work he’s spent at the gym yourself, so you hike your hands under his shirt, palms sliding along the ridges of muscles. mingi’s breath quickens, goosebumps racing across his skin. his body’s always been sensitive, and with how desperately he’s wanted you, it’s dialled up to the absolute worst. he wouldn’t want it any other way.
you keep kissing, almost innocently, for a while. deep, slow, deeper. it’s reverent as his tongue explores your mouth, while he ignores his length quickly growing in his pants. now that you’ve let him kiss you once, mingi just doesn’t want to stop giving them to you, entirely addicted to your tequila lips. you ignore every urge to just shove him to the wall, to rip his clothes off and go to town on him. this isn’t like any other sex you’ve had — mingi isn’t like any other guy you’ve known. he’s your best friend in the whole wide world. you love him, and the kisses taste even sweeter knowing that he loves you back just as much.
mingi’s being very polite, letting you grope at his back and hips while his own hands refuse to flinch from your waist. you can tell how much each of your touches affect him — the evidence quite literally throbbing into your thigh — but you know he won’t make a move without you outright telling him you want it. so, you do it for him.
you guide mingi to the bed with a gentle push, following as he sits on the edge and then planting yourself down in his lap. when you connect your lips again, the kiss is undoubtedly more heated — your ass pressed to his boner, your hands threading through his hair. worked up, you tug at the strands, earning a deep sexy grunt from mingi.
he’s very vocal as he just takes the hurried kisses you’re giving him, his head craning back from the force of your lips and the grip of your fingers. it’s turning you on like crazy, especially with how you can tell his length’s grown noticeably yet he makes no move to pay it any mind. a guy of his size, letting you lead this and for him to follow.
“god, i want to ruin you,” you mutter, and mingi just whimpers, his eyes going wide as saucers when you give an experimental roll of your hips.
he’s big, you can tell. a dick that size, this hard? it’s all the more impressive that he restrains from bucking up into you or holding you in place to grind against — rather melting as you rut yourself against his lap. pushing his head up into your hand, prompting you to tug it again, and mingi just moans over the light sting combined with the heavy pressure against his cock. he’s so perfect, you can’t believe it.
the friction burns with the fabric but it burns good, your pussy practically buzzing with the impatience to feel him inside you. you think you even catch him twitch in his pants, his mouth struggling to keep up with your kisses as he lets all his pretty moans spill without shame.
mingi suddenly pauses your ministrations as his hands still you by the hips — only, he’s not strong enough to stop you, as you just continue slowly. it feels even better too, the slow drags allowing you to really feel the shape of him under the fabric. mingi stammers, focus torn between his own words and how pretty you look on top of him like this.
“what do you want to do?” he feels the need to ask, gauging how far you want to go. you can’t help but adore how cute he looks with his lips puffy from all the kissing.
you smile, twirling a strand of his hair. “you.”
mingi eyes flutter shut, still in disbelief that any of this is actually happening. you really want him the same as he’s wanted you for as long as he can even remember.
wanting to speed things up a bit, you slide yourself back on his lap, sitting on his knees and exposing the beautiful impression against his pants. for a second, you almost just beg him to stick it in now and fuck you into the mattress, but you know mingi wouldn’t let that happen. he probably wants to take his time, make sure you feel even better than him.
you pull your dress over your head, and mingi’s starstruck as he admires your body in the simple lace underwear set, blush flooding his face. then, it’s his turn, and he almost rushes to help you tug his shirt off.
yep, he definitely works out. in awe, you trace his toned chest and stomach, nails scraping just by his nipples — and his abs flex from the sensitivity.
he huffs, coy. “i’m ticklish..”
so he says… curious, you kiss at his neck, keeping your eyes on the way his tummy tenses, his pelvis doing tiny rolls into the air like it’s missing your heat. wanting to grant him the relief he deserves, your fingers curl around his waistband, and he takes the hint to lift his hips. in one motion you drag down both layers of his pants and boxers, exposing him down to his thighs where you’re sitting.
mingi groans in relief as his cock bobs free: flushed red, weeping, and painfully hard. you blink, examining the size in comparison to your body, wondering how it’s all going to fit. he’s big, and thick too. maybe the girthiest you’ve been with. definitely the prettiest. you don’t know how to tell him that he has a pretty dick without sounding like a bad porno, so you’ll have to just show him.
you reach a hand out to him, your fingers not even meeting your thumb as it wraps around the base. mingi studies your hand around him, looking astonished at the sight. you’ve got no idea how many times he’s imagined this exact picture before him. his body trembles as you spit directly on his cock, your hand chasing it as you tug up to the tip, precum dribbling over your knuckles.
you give a few strokes to coat his whole length in the slick, mingi heaving above you as he watches. your fingers tighten, and he throws his head back with a deep grunt as your wrist twists, stimulating the entirety of his length as you pull at him.
your mouth waters just looking at him, how fucked up he is over nothing but your fingers. a size like this is a waste if you’re not sticking it anywhere.
so, you stand from his lap and drop your knees to the carpet, prying his legs open to accommodate you. mingi looks like there’s not a thought left in his brain: mouth falling open at the sight of you kneeling, cock barely fitting in your hand, breasts spilling from your bra.
he braces himself as you pull his pants and boxers the rest of the way down, planting his hands behind him on the mattress. he already knows he’ll need something to hold on to.
“you’re big, mingi,” you beam at him, licking your lips.
he blushes at your words. “if it’s too much, you don’t have to take all of it..”
“i want to.”
mingi lets out something like a pained groan, his length twitching in your palm. “you’re gonna kill me.”
“i did say i want to ruin you.” you remind him, rubbing his frenulum with your thumb. it’s just too easy to want. he’s so vocal, and sensitive, and pretty all over. briefly, you wonder how much experience he has, considering he admitted to having no luck with dating. you don’t want to ask though — your heart just breaks at the thought of anyone else having your best friend like this.
you want to claim him so thoroughly, he won’t be able to remember there being anyone else.
you leave a kiss on his tip, pre smearing your lips like a gloss. mingi covers his face, whining.
“i’ve thought about this a lot...”
“really?” you ask him, intrigued. “how often?”
“it’s so embarrassing.”
“it’s not.” you intertwine a hand with one of his, coaxing him into revealing his face, now beet red.
“i had to stop myself from kissing you each time we’d hang out.” mingi admits. “i wanted to make a move so, so bad. i was just scared.”
“don’t hold back now,” you blink up at him, lining your mouth up. “okay?”
mingi’s not sure if he got out a nod, since he’s immediately throwing his head back as your lips wrap around the head of his cock without warning. you take him down inch by inch, his cock pulsing in the heat of your mouth, causing him to shudder each time your teeth scrape the soft skin.
you’re determined to fit him all in, holding your breath as you focus on opening up your throat. mingi’s leaking so much pre that you almost mistake it for cum. your cheeks already ache from the effort of stretching around his thick size, but it’s not enough to deter you — not with mingi whining so prettily above you, his knuckles white as they fist his bedsheets.
your lips finally reach the base, nose buried in his groin as your mouth envelops his entire length. you pause to let him breathe for only a moment, before you’re hollowing your cheeks and sucking. you draw out a long, pained moan from him as your throat constricts around him.
you start to bob your head, forgetting to inhale any air as you focus on sucking him into your mouth as tight as possible. the noises are filthy, wet squelching filling the room with all the drool and precum running down his length. you must’ve sounded worrying down there, since mingi’s pulling you off of him, his cock popping from your mouth.
“breathe.” he tells you, looking no better himself. he’s completely flushed down to his chest, covered in a thin sheen of sweat. “i can’t feel good if you’re not breathing.”
you pout at him. out of spite, you stretch your lips around him again, but stopping at the tip. mingi’s adam’s apple bobs as he watches you, and you want to suck a hickey onto it after.
you gently suck, like a lollipop. opening your lips to run your tongue over the tip, switching to quick kitten licks as you stare directly into his eyes. you make it a point to audibly inhale and exhale for him to prove that you’re breathing.
“can i deepthroat you again yet?”
he gulps. “...yeah.”
without hesitation, you’re plunging back down, eagerly filling your mouth with his cock until you nearly gag on it. you pick your pace back up from where you left off, his tip fucking the back of your throat with each bob. you alternate between running your tongue over the underside and swirling it at the tip, and mingi is gone. he died and went to heaven sometime during your question. you really know how to make a guy fall in love. he almost doesn’t want you to stop, but otherwise—
“oh, fuck!” mingi moans, trying to push your face away while his hips pull back at the same time. you stare at him, confused; understanding what happened (or what almost happened) as his flushed cock jerks violently right in front of your face.
“i’m sorry,” he breathes out. “i’m sorry, i was gonna cum,”
you just smile at him, unphased. you run your fingers gently over his length, tracing a vein on the underside, and he lets out the most gorgeously wrecked whimper.
“w-wait, i’ll seriously cum if you do that,”
you stop only because of how panicked he sounds. a shame — you really wanted him to cum in your mouth.
mingi notices your slight frown and pulls you up, sitting you back on his lap like a doll. “come here.”
he kisses you, licking into your mouth that still tastes like him. you give him a messy kiss before pulling back, aiming straight for the jugular as your lips latch to the skin. still sensitive, mingi shudders as you suck a patch of bruises onto his neck. you run your tongue over his adam’s apple, and the way it bobs in a moan has your head fucking spinning.
you can feel how wet you are. he could probably slip right in. it’d sting, no doubt, but it’d be worth it. mingi must be able to read your mind, since he places a gentle hand on your inner thigh, giving you puppy eyes.
“can i?”
as much as you want to jump straight into sex, you nod. because each way he touches you is full of so much love, you're willing to wait. and you know he might even get more out of this than you will.
mingi’s fingers trail down to your panties, his eyes going wide as he feels the wet patch that’s formed. like he can’t believe he’s affecting you just as much as you’re affecting him.
he lifts you and lays you down on the bed, crawling over your body. he looks to your face for permission as his fingers tap your bra, and you give him another nod, helping him unclip it from behind. you discard it somewhere on the floor.
mingi’s entranced with your bare chest. he gently cups a breast with his hand, giving a tentative squeeze, looking to you. again, you nod, cracking a smile at how nervous he still is, even after you put his whole dick in your mouth.
“i want you to touch me, mingi.” you say outright for him, and he drops his head to your chest, chuckling.
when it rises again, the look of love so potent in his eyes nearly knocks the wind out of you.
“you are so fucking pretty.”
taken aback by the cuss, you gasp as he kisses your nipple, cupping your other breast with his free hand.
he licks and sucks at the bud, keeping the other occupied as he rolls it between his fingers. he then switches between the two, showing equal love to each breast, and it has your pussy twitching. you could probably cum like this. you’d let him do it, too.
you almost protest as he moves off, trailing kisses down your stomach, all the way until his chin nudges your groin. mingi rises from the bed, and he gets down on his knees, exactly like you did for him.
he pulls your panties down your legs, eyes honed in on your glistening pussy between them. chucking the garment wherever your bra landed, you spread your legs for mingi to sit between, propping your thighs on his shoulders.
he looks amazed at how wet you are, and you can understand how he nearly came so quick with you down in the same position. he’s so goddamn pretty.
mingi raises his hand to you, and prods only a single finger at your entrance. his thumb finds your clit, and he presses it so perfectly as his finger slides in, you could cry thinking about where he learned this from. he cusses under his breath as your wet warmth envelops his finger, and he pulls out to immediately add a second. you’re tight, he’s going to have to work to make himself fit.
you, on the other hand, have been so turned on that you feel like you could cum at any second. your hips squirm, wanting so badly to entice mingi into just fingerfucking you silly. he lets out a hoarse laugh, satisfying the demand as his thumb circles your clit, his two fingers crooking up into your sweet spot.
he watches your pussy sucking him in, and mingi just crumbles. “shit—”
he moves his thumb only to replace it with his mouth, and you damn near scream as his lips close around your clit. a third finger joins the others as he starts to fuck them into you, mingi flattening his tongue and lapping at your buzzing clit like a dog.
it’s so much all at once, and it’s more than enough to have you toppling off the edge, your legs locking around his head as your orgasm washes over you. mingi sucks your clit through it, curling his fingers up so hard and fast that you see stars.
he pulls back for a quick breath, sounding ragged as if he was on the verge of passing out, before groaning a “fuck” and diving right back in. not even listening to his own advice about breathing. your body thrashes above him as the waves of pleasure just keep on coming.
you don’t know how long it is before you go limp, completely spent. but not done. not yet.
mingi leaves one last kiss on your sensitive clit before he’s pulling his fingers out and climbing back up. “beautiful, so fucking beautiful.” he grunts, running his tongue over your breasts.
you’re so sensitive, your hands pulling at his hair, causing a groan to rumble on your nipple. his bare cock slides against your inner thigh, precum smearing the skin. you reach down to guide him to your pussy, and you both moan in tandem as his cock slides through your folds.
you roll your hips, and he follows, desperately grinding your wet heat together; his cock bumping your clit so perfectly with each thrust.
“i want you,” you pant.
“i want you too.” mingi sobs, wanting to feel this heat wrapped around him more than anything, but knowing he can’t fucking have it.
“fuck me, mingi,” you plead him.
“i c-can’t,” he whines. “i don’t have a, ah— a condom.”
“i don’t care, i want you.”
mingi lets out a broken groan into your shoulder. “fuck, you’ll really let me?”
“yes, mingi, please.”
“okay,” he huffs, catching his breath, comprehending that this is happening for real. “okay.”
mingi kisses your face as he works up the courage, lining his cock up. his tip nudges your hole, and he whimpers at the raw sensation.
“okay. if you want me to stop—”
“—i won’t.” you smile at him, and he just shakes his head, laughing to himself.
“what’d i do to deserve you?” he says, intertwining his hand with yours.
you keep eye contact as mingi pushes in, your face crumpling as his thick head splits you open. he pauses, worried he’s hurting you, but you nod frantically for him to keep going. just like you thought, it’s a good fucking sting. he did well with his fingers, since you’re able to focus on breathing as he sinks his entire length inside.
you feel almost unbearably full as mingi bottoms out, softly whimpering above you. his hand holding yours tight. your pussy flutters around him as it adjusts to the size, and he almost doesn’t even want to move.
you encourage him further with a soft kiss. mingi drags his hips until only the tip’s left, before pushing all the way back in. you both break off into a moan as he splits you open again, the glide smoother this time with your arousal gushing around him.
another reassuring kiss from you is all mingi needs to snap his hips again, and again and again. every thrust being so deep, shuffling you up the bed just from the force.
his other hand props himself up by a fist on the mattress, determined to fuck you as best he can. each movement has his length rubbing at your g-spot so beautifully. you don’t even realise that you’re holding your voice back, forgetting to do anything other than just take him.
“breathe, please.” he tells you again, thumb stroking your hand as a comfort. “i want to know how you’re feeling.”
“it feels so, so fucking good.” you cry out for him.
mingi dives down to kiss you, and you can feel his smile as it slots against your lips. he’s proud of himself for being able to please you. he breaks off with a high-pitched whine as your pussy grips him like a vice, and it might be the sexiest sound you’ve ever heard.
“cum in me,” you whisper to him, holding his face. “i want it.”
his only response is another of those sexy whines, his face scrunching up in pain from how hard he’s trying not to instantly bust over your words.
“god, you’re so good to me.” he pants out, fisting the sheets as he puts all his energy into ramming his hips as fast as they’ll go. his thighs ache from the gruelling pace, but it’s all worth it with your cries of bliss filling his ears.
your pussy clamps down on him, and you shout as another orgasm sneaks up on you.
“fu—ah, mingi!”
he cusses as he realises what’s happening, and he’s helpless to how his own release follows immediately after, his hips stuttering as he spills out inside you — your name on his tongue.
mingi’s chest falls on yours, rapidly rising for air, and he still pulls you in for another kiss. breathless as his hips kick weakly inside you, his tongue fervently licking against yours. he’s kissing you so desperately, you almost can’t keep up.
“i wanna be yours,” he pants out in between kisses, cradling your face so sweetly in his hands.
you smile, whispering back, “i wanna be yours too.”
“so be mine.” he pulls back just to beg. “please?”
you can’t say no to an adorable face like that. you tip your head in a nod, and mingi dives back in, your sweaty bodies falling into a pile of love.
you don’t say it outright — but the implication is there. you’re not just best friends anymore. as if you could be, after that. and as mingi sucks at your neck, his cock growing hard again where it’s still buried inside you, you couldn’t be happier.
──
you jolt awake, a deep pit sinking in your stomach as your blurry eyes spin at the ceiling. warm arms draped around your bare body being all to keep you grounded. you nearly recoil at the weight pressing down, last night’s memories flooding back in a tidal wave, headed by a thick slew of guilt. pure fucking guilt.
mingi stirs beside you, sleepily squeezing your side as if he’s checking you’re still there. a dopey grin spreads across his cheeks as he squints at you, still half-asleep. “thought i was dreaming.”
he goes to kiss your temple, and you pull back without thinking. hurt flashes across his face, but it slides into understanding as the fog clears from his head. the spell couldn’t last forever.
“is this okay?” mingi asks in such a small, unsure voice that breaks your heart, his hands hovering off of you.
you nod, curling back into his touch. you should make the most of it while it lasts. you sure as hell got a greedy fill last night. your thighs ache as your body shifts, a reminder of how long you were spread out last night. mingi massages your back, comforting you in silence.
“i have to go home.” you say finally. he already knows.
“i can take you.” he offers, nose nudging your hair as he breathes in your scent. he’s going to miss it.
you accept, since that’s the least you could do for him right now — but make a mental note to ask him to drop you off around the corner. all hell would break loose if mingi’s car pulled up in the driveway after you’ve been missing for an entire night.
mingi retreats to the bathroom to grant you some space — evidently resisting the urge to invite you in by the pout on his face. if you really meant what you said last night, you’re his now. all he has left is to call you his girlfriend. the last thing he wants is to put distance between you. but, he knows you need it right now, and that’s enough reason for him to.
you let out a genuine whine when you find your phone on the floor: the battery in the single digits, the lockscreen flooded with frantic texts and missed calls. you scroll through it, ignoring each and any text with yunho’s name attached. you don’t have the strength to confront those just yet. you feel a pang of shame seeing your stepmother’s contact strewed in there too — no doubt yunho had ran and cried wolf.
further down, your eye catches on a batch of missed calls from an unknown number, a single voicemail attached. curious, you press to listen.
“hey, it’s hongjoong.…sorry we keep speaking like this. i’m with yunho right now. i got your number from his phone, which i confiscated, since he was going to smash it. he’s very drunk and freaking out over you. i don’t know what happened between you two but… uh, look, i saw you leaving with mingi. i haven’t said anything because they’re both my friends, so.. just, please call yunho back, when you can? let him know you’re okay. don’t know if i’ll be able to get this massive guy to bed any other way. cheers.”
shame clogs up your throat, leaving you coughing until your lashes dot with tears. why did it have to come to this? why did a choice made out of tender, sweet love become something so fucking gutwrenching?
feeling broken enough, you scroll back through the texts to skim over yunho’s, each word hurting more than the last. you stop at a certain notification — one that you initially missed among the others, one that has your heart dropping immediately.
a single missed call from your father.
you don’t hesitate to call him back. he never calls you. he never feels the need to. you’re not close like that.
each ring that you wait through is like another stab to your ribs until finally, he picks up, voice groggy as he says your name. you must’ve woken him up.
“i’m sorry, dad.” you bumble out. “you called?”
he hums, mildly annoyed. the simple noise twists the knife. “where were you last night? your mother was worried sick.”
“i’m really sorry, i..” you gulp, making a split second choice on a lie. “my friend yuqi took me to her house. i lost track of time and fell asleep. i didn’t want anyone to worry over me, i’m sorry.”
“i’m fine.” he replies, unphased. another twist. “you should be apologising to your brother. he came home in tears, sobbing over you. you were with mingi, weren’t you?” you can’t even bring yourself to reply, your ribcage cracking open. your father sighs. “yunho’s concerned about you, baby. he says mingi’s bad news, that he’s trying to isolate you, but you won’t listen.”
that pisses you off enough to interject. “that’s bullshit. he—”
“—your brother matters more!” he silences you, frustration evident in his tone. “family comes first, baby. you should be taking care of yunho. he really cares about you. you shouldn’t be ruining that. not for some boy.”
you bite your lip until you taste blood. you fucking hate the way he says it. even when you were only innocent kids, not understanding why boys and girls couldn’t be friends, your father hammered it down that he’d never approve of you with mingi. he grew to tolerate the friendship over time, but that disapproval never faded, and you have no idea why.
“he’s not just some boy.”
you father heaves a sigh, and it’s so heavily disappointed that you nearly cry on the spot.
“i don’t want you to make the same mistakes i did, baby. those.. habits you had back at the town, i only ever let it happen because you were struggling. you have got to grow out of it now. we’re a family again.” he gives a bitter chuckle. “i know that you must get it from me.”
it’s so quiet on your end, you’re sure he must’ve heard the way your heart shattered before you abruptly hung up.
hearing all of that from him, his genuine disappointment in you, as if he’s not the one who cheated and split up the family in the first place. acting like what you’ve done is comparable.
you’ve never spoken much about emotions with your father. you’ve never spoken much about anything with him. it’s part of the reason why you depended on yunho so much while growing up, why you let him leech onto you.
the door creaks, and you profusely wipe at your face. mingi slowly pokes his head through, water still dripping from his hair. he looks upset, and you realise he must’ve been standing outside, not wanting to interrupt but hearing everything.
he fiddles nervously with the door handle. “do you want me to..”
you choke on a sudden sob, covering your face with your hands before tears can fall. mingi’s crossing the room within a second, sliding onto the bed next to you and enveloping you in his arms. you fall forward into his chest, swallowing down each sob threatening to claw its way up. you refuse to cry over your father.
“i have to go home,” you say, mostly to tell it to yourself. there’s another part to the sentence, one that you don’t say out loud, but you can both hear it. you have to see yunho.
you expect mingi’s hold to loosen, for him to be mad that you’re leaving, but he only nods — kissing your hair.
“i understand.”
there isn’t any more words as he cradles you like that for however long, letting you stain his clean shirt with sniffled tears. the warmth radiating from his body seeps under your skin, and you feel a little more okay with every second his arms hold you. you feel loved, knowing he wouldn’t let anything outside of these walls harm you.
eventually, you force yourself to go into the bathroom to freshen up, tidying yourself up so you don’t look like you’ve just cried after a night of sex. you return to the bedroom to see mingi taking the sheets off the bed, and it breaks your heart with how he’s basically cleaning up the evidence.
you should do your part, too.
“could we stop by a pharmacy first, please?”
he nods. “anything you need.”
on the way out, you shoot yuqi a text asking if she can cover for you — forward planning, since it seems like you’re going through with hiding this.
you can’t stop that sinking pit in your chest, that sharp twisting in your ribs. just last night, you felt like you were being dipped in gold each time mingi touched you, and now the memory sears your skin like acid. choosing to love mingi feels like a betrayal, like you’ve just cheated. and you can’t understand why.
──
you wince as the front door creaks open a bit too loudly for your liking, hoping your family aren’t prepared to greet you together as if ‘walk of shame’ is written across your forehead.
to your luck, only your stepmother appears — letting out a noise of relief as she rounds the corner from the kitchen. out of anyone, you’d rather run into her anyways.
“oh baby,” she tuts, bringing you in for a hug. she scrunches her nose as she pulls back, likely getting a big whiff of the sample pharmacy perfume you doused yourself in. “do you not like my life360 family plan that much?”
“er, no, it’s not that. i’m sorry, last night i didn’t know what—”
“oh, it’s alright.” she cuts the excuse off, placing a hand on your shoulder as her expression falls to a stern one. “just don’t do that to your brother again.”
you gulp through a dry throat, nodding.
as if on queue, yunho’s flying down the stairs, barely giving you time to react before he’s scooping you into his arms. wrapping his whole body around you with a grip so tight it hurts. your stepmother takes her leave, giving you both the space to have it out.
“i was so worried.” he mutters, face pressed to your shoulder. he breathes in, and you only hope he can’t smell the traces of mingi on you underneath the perfume. “why did you leave me?”
he pulls back in anticipation of your response — your excuse, your lie if he can catch it. you know he’s not dumb. mingi disappeared and so did you not long after. you know how it looks. but he’s never going to be able to prove it if he didn’t see it. in fact, he can even ask your alibi yuqi, who promised she’d back up whatever story you tell despite not knowing what for.
yunho’s eyes are almost entirely devoid of his usual warmth. which, if the dark circles under his eyes are any indicator, he may not have even slept. his hair’s mussed too, like he’s only just rolled out of bed upon hearing the door. or maybe it’s because he’s been tugging at it.
“i’m sorry,” you say wobbily, your body trembling under his hands — with guilt, but also with the adrenaline of lying. “i’m really sorry, i didn’t think it would get like this.”
yunho’s scarily still as he waits for you to elaborate. you take deliberate pauses to breathe, like you need to find the words. like you didn’t already plan what you’re going to say during the car ride over.
“i just felt so sick and i wanted to leave, so yuqi took me back to her place, and..” you cover your face with your hands, acting cringed. “we got stoned.”
lying 101: include an embarrassing detail. after all, why would you intentionally make yourself look bad?
yunho pulls your hands back, his eyes searching your face wildly. “why didn’t you come to me instead?? you turned your location off, you wouldn’t answer your phone for anyone — do you understand how that looks?”
“i know, i’m really sorry,” you whine, like the ‘truth’ makes you uncomfortable. “i just didn’t want to have to tell anyone… i was worried you’d be mad.”
“of course i don’t want you to smoke, but i would’ve liked to know that.” he cradles your face in his hands, tone softening. “i was so fucking worried about you, baby. why would you leave without saying anything?”
“i didn’t want to be a burden.. it was your friend’s birthday, and i had yuqi there for me—”
“i could have been there for you.” yunho hugs you to his chest again, leaving a kiss on your hair. “please come to me from now on.”
you nod profusely — internally stunned with yourself that you actually managed to convince him. “are you going to tell our parents?”
“what, that you ditched me to get high?” he chuckles at how you cringe, fondly tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. “no, i won’t.” then his smile drops. “as long as you never do that again.”
you nod, but that’s not good enough. his grip tightens like a warning, until you reply: “i won’t.”
successfully fooled but now freshly possessive, yunho follows you all the way up the stairs and into your room. even after you tell him you want to change, he lingers as if he’s waiting for you to just start stripping in front of him. he doesn’t even lock the door on his way out, and gives you only a minute of privacy before he’s barging back in — catching you in the middle of pulling a top over your bare tummy.
you know you fucked up. not because what happened with mingi was a mistake — but because breaking yunho’s trust was. he’ll never let you out of his sight now, not until he’s convinced you won’t get snatched up and sullied by his best friend if he so much as blinks. from yunho’s perspective, you and mingi haven’t been in contact since he ‘cut you off’. as long as mingi plays his part well enough, then your brother will never know what really happened last night.
yunho doesn’t speak, doesn’t even scroll on his phone as he lays on your bed, just watching you move about your room. like he’s trying to peel the truth off of you with his eyes, making you cave from the pressure and admit the worst of his suspicions.
you try to just ignore him, tidying up your room as a distraction. it’s also so he won’t question it when you empty out your bin. however, your plan is cut short when sudden sharp cramps attack your stomach. dizzy, you collapse into bed, and yunho jumps at the chance to cuddle you.
“hungover?” he coos, rubbing your sore belly from behind. you nod. “i’ll get you some ibuprofen.”
you curl into yourself, stomach rolling with pain; not paying any mind to yunho as he walks over to your desk, already knowing you keep medicine in the drawer. he tips out the last ibuprofen in the bottle, and walks over to the bin — where he freezes.
you’re too distracted by the slew of cramps to notice what yunho’s seen. his hand trembles as he crushes the plastic in his hands, staring directly at the box of plan b sitting at the top of your bin, an empty pill packet right next to it.
that wasn’t there before. he knows, because he anxiously paced your room all night, waiting for you to come home.
he knew it. he fucking knew it.
yunho tosses the empty bottle in the bin, running his hands through his hair. he tugs his scalp a few times, trying to ground himself with the sting. to stop the thoughts racing through his head that all scream bloody murder.
it’s okay. he can forgive you for this. mistakes are human nature, after all. you just need to make it up to him.
the bed dips when yunho sits down, and your eyes snap open when he says your name. not ‘baby’, your name. his face is solemn, hair mussed again, and panic bolts up your spine as you wonder what the hell happened in the last few seconds.
yunho reaches for your hand, holding it softly as his gaze falters. he can’t even look you in the eye right now, and it rattles you.
“there’s something that you deserve to know.” he starts, barely above a whisper. “something that i’ve been too scared to say, for a long time.”
you don’t even want to hear it. you feel like you’re one big breath away from passing out, the cramps mercilessly churning your guts. one wrong look from yunho and you could probably burst into tears. you know it’s only because the pill has kicked in: the pain being a constant reminder of last night, and with yunho right next to you. even still, you don’t regret going all the way with mingi, not for a second.
yunho goes on, determined. “your father.. when he cheated on eomma, did he ever tell you who it was with?”
yunho knows for certain that he never did. it’s why you still bother giving his bitch of a best friend the time of day. albeit reluctant, you shake your head, prompting him to continue. yunho takes a deep breath, acting like it hurts him to say this. acting like he’s not over the moon right now, knowing he’ll never have to share you again.
“mingi’s mother came onto your father” yunho says while he holds your hand. “mingi knew about the affair, but did nothing.”
“....what?”
“he let it happen for years. he could’ve stopped it, he could’ve told someone. but he didn’t. i was the one who told eomma, and that’s when they got divor—”
“what the fuck are you saying??” you yell, trying to rip your hand away but he holds it tighter. “what is this? why are you telling me this right now??”
“it’s the truth, baby. you’ve been so happy since you moved back, i didn’t want to tell you and ruin it for you, but i can’t stand to watch mingi lie to you anymore.” he holds your face, forcing you to look at him as your eyes well up with tears. “he’s the reason our family was torn apart. he’s trying to get close to you again, acting like he’s not the cause for all your suffering.”
“it was my father who cheated,” you interrupt in a brief moment of clarity. “mingi has nothing to do with that—”
“but he helped his mother hide it. for years. do you think he feels guilty, if he’s hanging out with you like nothing happened? if he’s taking advantage of you like his mother did to your father?”
“stop.” you sob, instinctively trying to cover your face but yunho’s quicker — wiping your tears away, stroking your cheeks to console you. “i don’t understand..”
“do you see now, why i didn’t want you around him?” yunho says gently, as if spelling it out for a child. “i was trying to look out for you, baby.”
in a surge of defiance, you rip your face away from his hands, and he looks at you like you’ve just slapped him.
“i don’t believe you.”
yunho, having expected this, just sighs and pulls his phone out from his pocket. “call him and ask yourself.”
he readily offers you his phone, and you almost don’t take it, put off by how assured he is. his screen is open on their chat, and your chest twists as you read the string of texts, dated from this morning. in the mere minutes after mingi dropped you off around the corner from home.
[yunho] I’ve had enough of this bullshit.
[yunho] You can go fuck yourself, I’m telling her what you and your mother did to us
[mingi] yunho
[mingi] please don’t
[mingi] i want nothing to do with her, i promise you
[mingi] please don’t say anything
the phone slips from your hands, joining your heart as it plummets to the floor. it’s there in writing. yunho really was protecting you. and mingi was…
… you can’t bring yourself to admit it. you’re in enough pain from the pill’s side effects, which you’re only bearing because you let him fuck you raw out of love. and he did it, he went through with it, knowing he was already fucking you over this entire time.
“why?” you croak out, boneless in yunho’s arms as he hugs you. “why would he do that??”
“i don’t know, baby. that’s just the type of person he is.”
“but why?!” you let the waterworks fall freely, your entire heart unravelling into a million tiny pieces. yunho’s there to catch it, kissing each tear from your cheeks. you’d feel comforted by it, if only there was anything left in your heart to be felt.
yunho kisses dangerously close to the corner of your mouth, and you pull back, suddenly realising how weird this proximity is.
“i need to see mingi.” you demand.
yunho clicks his tongue, and it almost feels demeaning. “i saw the plan b in your bin.”
“wh—”
“you want to see him, when he left you to deal with the side effects like this? when he lied the entire time just so he could use you for sex?” he spits out each word like they taste foul, and they all sting you more than the last.
you want to shake your head, but all the fight has left your body in the tears streaming down to your chin. you just can’t find it in you to refuse yunho anymore.
“i’ve been there for you, even when you didn’t want me.” he hushes your soft sobs, guiding you back on the pillows and laying down beside you. “i’ve never lied. only tried my best to take care of you.”
he drapes an arm over your waist, his hand enveloping yours where it holds your cramping belly. yunho massages the area softly, trailing kisses along your hair, the side of your face. you’re broken enough that it’s all working, and you just melt into the comfort that he’s giving you.
his mouth travels south, kissing along your jaw before reaching your neck. you shiver, sensitive — and you pull back to look at him. he’s looking back, with eyes almost entirely black, cheeks dusted a faint pink.
you know it before you feel it: he’s turned on. his boner very obviously prods into your back, and the shift in mood is written all over his face. you know he feels this energy between you and is trying to dip his toes into the waters, entice you over to the deep end. you’re so gone that you don’t even care anymore. you let him shift behind you, his length just slightly rubbing into your body and gracing him with the barest friction — enough to have him sighing and leaving another kiss on your neck.
against your will, old habits stir deep in your core. sex as a coping mechanism was your favourite vice back at the old town. whenever you missed your family too much, whenever you felt too lonely to bear it, you’d let some man inside you long enough to make you forget. sex is the only salve for heartbreak that you’ve ever known.
softly, you ask him, “why?”
yunho smiles. he can’t help but think you’ve never looked more beautiful than you do now, only because your heart’s broken and he’s all you’ve got to comfort you.
“because i love you.”
he studies your face, and you make the mistake of letting your eyes drop to his lips. how they’re slightly swollen from all the kisses he’s given you. how he runs his tongue over them under your gaze. your eyes flit back up to his, but it’s too late. you know you’re a goner.
yunho leans in slowly, very slowly, giving you the time to back up or tell him to stop. it’s as if he’s trying to prove a point, because you never do; and his lips curl into a smirk just before he presses them to yours. gently.
after a brief moment of shock, you pull away, eyes wide. what felt like a kiss that lasted way too long for you, was nothing but a blip to him. yunho knows he’s a goner too, because he has no hesitation before cupping your face and kissing you harder.
you squirm at the feeling of unfamiliar lips moving against yours, yunho eagerly parting your mouth with his own and swiping his tongue across your lower lip. you can feel his smirk into the kiss over how your body’s submitting to him. he trails a hand back down, lithe fingers skimming between your breasts, stopping at your tummy — before they crawl under your shirt.
“let me make it feel better,” he whispers. “please?”
you give him back nothing. he’s sucking your tongue into his mouth, huffing as he coats his lips in your spit, while you’re barely putting in the effort to kiss him back. you want to feel good, you want to feel anything other than this pain — but you refuse to inflate his ego just as much.
yunho, however, is unbothered. he’ll happily put in all the work. he’s your big brother, it’s his duty to take care of you after all.
he gently squeezes your waist, softly groaning onto your lips over finally touching your bare skin like this. he inches higher until his fingers tap the underside of your breast. yunho pulls back, looking into your eyes for a reaction, and he chuckles at the scowl you give him. because he knows that means you’re letting him.
yunho’s hand closes around your breast, and he gives an experimental grope, his insufferable smile growing wider at how your eyes flutter shut. you don’t want to face him that badly? yunho dives back in to kiss you, keeping his tongue buried in your mouth as his fingers expertly work at your breast: swiping, rolling, and pinching the nipple until you’re so lost in the pleasure that you kiss him back.
he starts to trail kisses south again; pausing before latching his mouth to your neck, and you wonder if he was checking for any hickeys. yunho leaves hot stamps down your jugular as his hands hike your shirt up until the air’s hitting your bare chest. he knows you never wear a bra at home. grinning, yunho continues to pamper your body with kisses, and you hate the goosebumps that arise as his lips graze your nipple.
everything’s so much more sensitive with your eyes shut. you open them, locking eyes with yunho as he’s already staring directly at you, lolling his tongue out of his mouth. he swirls his tongue around the bud, giving torturously slow licks before closing his lips and sucking. you hold your breath, muffling any noises out of spite. his free hand comes to circle at your other nipple, and your pelvis jolts a little, the stimulation sending shocks straight down to your clit. yunho caught that.
“breathe, baby.” he tells you, and you almost feel sick, remembering mingi’s voice saying that exact same thing. “no need to be shy.”
the mocking tone, combined with the way his tongue quickly flicks over your nipple, causes you to sharply intake breath and accidentally let out a whimper. yunho gives a pleased hum, switching to the other breast and sloppily kissing the sensitive bud. you let yourself loose — it does feel really fucking good, and it’s easier to just succumb than fight your own body. you moan freely for him, burying your hands in his hair and tugging hard enough to hurt. yunho only moans right back at you. of course he doesn’t mind pain.
now that you’re being responsive, yunho’s self-control is rapidly chipping away. without warning he aims for your pants, tugging the garment down your thighs to expose your panties. you don’t even react; you feel as if you’re half detached from your body, your mind tuned in solely to the sensations of pleasure that yunho’s giving you. perhaps so you don’t have to confront the absurdity of the circumstances.
yunho cups over your crotch, his eyes glinting at the soaked fabric under his fingers. even if you try to claim you’re not enjoying this — your body’s telling a different story entirely. he presses his hand in, and you whine at the pressure. your panties are thin where they’re stuck to the skin, and his palm offers delicious friction as he grinds it against your clit.
yunho’s so entirely enamoured with you right now. he’s indecisive as he goes between kissing your lips and then ravaging your neck, his teeth nipping and his tongue soothing. you spur him on as you let all your whimpers spill into his ears, your hips chasing the drag of his palm against your clit.
you take notice of his boner pressed into your leg, and you’re a little stunned as you realise the size — as well as the fact that he’s keeping still. choosing to please you and ignoring his own arousal as if he has all the time in the world.
you gasp as his fingers run over your pussy, coating the tips in your slick. you must be really out of it, since you hadn’t even realised he pulled your panties to the side. he dips his pointer to the first knuckle into your pussy, just to feel inside, and you clench around him before he pulls back with a hiss.
“god i want you.” he chuckles, two fingers swiping up and coming to draw digit eights on your clit. “you’re so beautiful, baby.”
you grimace through the whimper that slips out. his sweetness sits bitter on your tongue, just at the thought of how everything nice he’s done for you may have just been building to this.
“you want me?” you ask him, defiance crawling back up into your tone. “when did that start?”
yunho simply smiles. you’re so cute, trying to act like he’s not actively getting you off. “does it matter?” he retorts, bringing his other hand down to slip two digits into your hole. you choke on a moan as they curl up and instantly find your g-spot, his other fingers still circling your clit.
you’re still sore from last night, your pussy burning with the pleasure as yunho fucks his fingers directly into the spot that has your stomach in knots. yunho’s in awe of how wrecked you are under him right now: your breasts rapidly rising and falling, your thighs feebly trying to shut his hands out, the slope of your neck wet with blooming hickeys. he can’t help but want to mark every inch of your body, to smother any traces of that fucker he should’ve never called a best friend.
you cry out as yunho latches his mouth to a nipple again — feverishly trying to suck a bruise right on the bud. it’s all too overwhelming, and his hands are working at you so expertly, attentive to your most sensitive spots and the movements that have you trembling. it’s almost methodical as his rhythm switches between teasingly slow and ruthlessly quick. his long fingers curl deep into your g-spot, the others circling your clit the way you do to yourself.
so much for the quiet nerd you grew up with — it’s obvious that he’s had his hands on enough girls to know his way around a pussy. he knows exactly what to do, and he does it really well, it’s no wonder that heat coils in your lower belly dangerously quick. you almost don’t want to cum, out of spite as your chest aches with jealousy. you can’t help it though: it hurts to hold your orgasm back, teetering on oversensitivity as both his hands keep working your pussy.
yunho adds a third finger, pushing the digits in until the tip of his middle finger grazes your cervix, and your orgasm comes gushing around his hand. he watches with wonder as your pussy flutters around his knuckles, fingering you as deep as he can reach while rubbing your clit through it. he draws it out as long as he can, only stopping his movements when your knees close around his arms, pussy long past sensitive.
yunho tuts as he reluctantly pulls his hand back, slowly dragging each knuckle against your walls to have you whimpering before his fingers release with a wet squelch. you think you can finally catch your breath, before yunho’s prying your legs apart and slotting himself in the space between them, dragging your panties the rest of the way down.
“just want a taste.” he murmurs, and you squirm as his hot breath hits your clit. “i haven’t waited this long to not taste you.”
you want to frown over what he’s just suggested, though you’re overtaken with a full body jolt as his tongue runs through your folds. a moan rumbles on your clit as your slick floods his mouth, and you can only whimper at how raw you still feel from your release. it feels so good that it hurts, yunho pushing you into overstimulation as his lips close around your pussy. you try to rip him up by the scruff of his hair, to suffocate him as your thighs clamp around the sides of his neck, but he just groans through it — licking you harder as you hurt him.
he forces your legs back open, holding them down to the bed as you attempt to kick at him. tears fill your lashes, overstimulated and helpless as yunho eats you out like a rabid dog, right until you’re crying out into yet another orgasm.
your hips barely raise from the bed as he keeps you pinned down, your vision whiting out from the unbearable pleasure, yunho refusing to slow down for even a second. by the time you come back down, you’re all but smacking his head to get him off.
yunho chuckles, looking like the proudest man alive as he props himself up on his knees, chin completely smeared in your arousal. you rub at your stomach with shaky fingers. it aches again, you hadn’t realised how hard you were tensing it. you also hadn’t realised the pain ever subsided in the first place.
yunho coos at you, his large hand enveloping yours. “does it still hurt, baby?”
you glance down, eyes falling on the large stain of precum where his cock tents his sweats. you gulp — he really is long everywhere. as much as it fucking kills the last shred of your dignity to admit.. you want it. so god help you, you do.
you tip your head almost imperceptibly in a nod. yunho catches it, because of course he does, and his face splits into the brightest grin you’ve ever seen him sport. you’d almost find it cute, if only you weren’t about to go through with the most fucked up choice in your life.
you shove that train of thought into the deepest pits of your brain. it can crawl out in time for regrets later. all you want right now is to fill this emptiness inside with pleasure, and yunho has delivered on that more than enough. he’s almost got you greedy for more, chasing that brief moment again in which your mind goes blank and nothing but bliss flows through your body.
the bed squeaks as yunho stands up. he tugs his shirt off and drops his sweats to the floor, walking over to your bedside table in nothing but his boxers. wordlessly, he squats to pull out the bottom drawer, and rips open the box of condoms in there. you don’t even bother asking how he knows you have them. he really is a fucking weirdo.
yunho tears the packet with his teeth as he walks back over to bed, and you almost frown at how your pussy throbbed at the sight. yunho stands by the edge, reaching out to knead your ass. condom between his fingers, yunho can’t help himself to gripping his cock through the fabric, sighing out as his eyes feast on your naked body.
“roll over for me?” he asks, gently nudging your thigh. his eyes flick up to yours, and you fold at how enlarged his pupils are. it makes you remember just how much yunho adores you.
he’s never hidden how much he loves his sister, his baby, always being affectionate and loud about it. you can only wonder where that pure feeling twisted into.. this. maybe it was never pure to begin with. maybe, yunho can’t tell the difference.
you roll over for him, laying flat on your tummy and turning your head to the side to watch him strip from his boxers. your eyes widen at the brief sight of his dick as it slaps against his stomach before he’s straddling you within the next second; his knees bracketing your thighs, a hand eagerly groping your ass as the other slips the condom on.
yunho wanted you from behind not just because it’s his favourite, but because he knows mingi wouldn't have taken you like this. he seems like the hand-holding, sappy missionary type. yunho could easily be that for you, too, if that’s how you like your boys. but not right now — right now, he wants to be a little selfish. to see you in a position mingi didn’t. to fuck you in a different and better way.
yunho sighs in relief as his tip prods your entrance, wasting no time in inching his hips forward. yunho’s slimmer than mingi, so you take him with ease, encouraging him with soft hums as he buries his cock into you. however — his length pushes past further than you were prepared for, and you muffle a gasp into the bed as he bottoms out, his tip pressed against your cervix. just longer than mingi.
even if he’s not splitting you open, yunho’s spearing you right where it’s most sensitive. it’s almost an uncomfortable fit, and you deliberately clench down to entice him to move out. yunho pushes you further into the bed with a hand on your back, anchoring himself before he starts to grind his hips forward. the head of his cock rolls into your cervix as he pushes in as far as he can, and you cry out his name as a plea. he pulls out swiftly at that, his hand rubbing your hips to soothe you. you can’t see it, but he’s grinning like a maniac.
“did i hurt you? baby, i didn’t mean to..”
you can feel how his cock pulses against your ass. the motherfucker enjoyed it. he didn’t even bother saying sorry because he’s not.
patience running thin, you tilt your head to snap at him: “just hurry up and get it over with.”
most people would probably have second thoughts hearing that, but most people would also rather kill themselves than imagine being in yunho’s position — burying his cock into his stepsister. all he hears is that you’re just as excited as he is to be having sex at long last.
yunho pushes back in, breath breaking off into groan as your pussy flutters around him. it’s as if you’re trying to make him cum quickly. fortunately for the both of you, he’s got excellent stamina.
he angles his pelvis just right before snapping his hips, and you moan out at how he hits your g-spot directly — setting a fast pace as he fucks you right there over and over. it’s just like when you’re drunk, the way your head spins and floats away from your body. nothing but pure ecstasy coursing through your veins. it’s all you ever wish to feel all the time.
“shit, i knew it, you’re perfect.” yunho huffs out above you. “do you feel good, baby?”
you’re conscious enough to not want to answer him out of spite. you want to focus solely on your own pleasure, to simply take what you’re given as yunho relentlessly rams into your g-spot. he’s so cocky — he’s made you cum twice, it doesn’t take a fucking genius to figure out that yes, he’s good at sex.
he can tell you’re defying him, so he makes it a point to angle a thrust into your cervix, shuffling you up the bed from the force in it. you bite down on your lip, not wanting to give him the grace of hearing you.
“shy again, hm?” he teases, giving your ass a light slap. “i just want you to tell me, please.” he wedges a hand under your stomach, reaching until his fingers tap your clit. he rubs once, and you moan out in shock, your eyes rolling back into your head from the oversensitivity.
“yes! it’s good,” you half-sob, half-whine, trying to wriggle away from his touch. you think you might pass out if you cum again.
luckily, yunho relents, chuckling lowly as he retracts his hand. he puts all his energy back into fucking you to the best of his abilities, because what good was any of his prior meaningless encounters if not practice for the only one that matters, you?
your eyes well up again, the sensations being so overwhelming but exactly what you wanted. you can’t feel anything past your hips with all the hot pleasure blooming from your gut, yunho fucking into places your own fingers can’t even reach. distantly, you wonder how long it’ll take him to cum, before his cock twitches violently.
yunho collapses on top of you, sitting his chin on your shoulder. he snakes a hand around your neck and cranes your head to stare back into his wild eyes.
“say my name.” he demands, pushing his length all the way in until a stabbing pang lights up your cervix.
“yunho.” you squeak out, struggling to keep your eyes open as he grinds up into your damn guts.
“not that one, shit—” there’s another twitch, and you wince with how deep he’s pressed. “the other one.” he urges you. “say— ah, shit!”
he slips his cock out instantly, sucking in a sharp breath to stave off his orgasm, but it doesn’t matter as you understand and whimper out:
“yuyu.”
“fuck, baby—”
you gasp as he roughly fucks into you like a man possessed, chasing his release with frantic thrusts. the pain pulses right along with pleasure, but you just moan with him through it as he fills you to the hilt.
yunho pulls out at the very last second, ripping the condom off before he’s shooting out his release, warm ropes of cum coating your ass. that very gesture is what immediately snaps you out of the lust-filled haze. if he was planning to cum on you, that means he only wore protection so that he doesn’t.. catch something.
upset, you prop yourself up by the elbows and twist your upper body to snap at him: “you’re a fucking asshole.”
yunho chuckles, too high off that once in a lifetime orgasm to care. “seems like you don’t mind this asshole, hm?” as if to prove a point, he dips a finger into your pussy, and you clench around him. he laughs as you kick him away.
you curl up into a ball on your bed, the post-sex clarity sinking like nails hammered into your bones. you wish the sheets would just open up and swallow you whole. meanwhile, yunho doesn’t bother tying the condom up before dropping it directly onto the plan b box in the bin, smirking as his cum leaks onto it.
yunho retrieves the wet wipes you keep in your room, pulling his boxers back on before walking over to sit by your huddled form. you don’t even move as he presses the wipe to your skin and cleans up after himself — letting him turn you this way and that like a ragdoll as you space out at the wall.
afterwards, yunho snuggles up right next to you, pulling the blanket up both of your bodies. briefly, you feel glad that he didn’t just leave you. his long arms wrap around you from behind, and he presses a sweet kiss to your head. a million dollar smile carved onto his face.
“i love you, baby.”
you don’t say it back, pretending to already be asleep as he plays with your hair.
──
for the first time in an entire day, yunho’s detached himself from your side. he left you with a kiss on the forehead, explaining that hongjoong was having some type of emergency. you could tell that he wanted to drag you along, hard-launch you as his girl in whatever yunho type of way he was thinking…but, you’re in no shape to be around other people right now. you’ve been a mess, and you only let yunho around you because he’s more than happy to clean it up.
you’ve returned to the point of wearing loneliness like a second skin, and you miss yunho as soon as he’s gone. perhaps not him specifically, but in the way that you’ll take any company to not be left alone with your thoughts — your regrets.
while doomscrolling in bed, a sudden knock at your window startles you. you sit up in bed at the sight before you, blinking furiously to prove that you’re not imagining things. but nope, that’s really mingi, looking like he’s struggling to balance as he shyly waves at you through the glass.
before you can think it you’re crossing the room over, lifting the window up in its frame. mingi collapses forward, his arms grasping onto the sill.
“what the fuck are you doing?!”
“‘scuse me,” he wheezes, out of breath. “i, uh, climbed.”
you crane your neck out of the window and, sure enough, he’s fucking balancing on the side of your house. the garbage bin’s positioned below him, and he must’ve jumped on it to hoist himself up, just like when he would when you were kids.
when he didn’t want yunho to know he was seeing you.
you grab his arm, helping to pull him inside. you’re not about to just let him fall after coming all this way. you’re relieved to see mingi, warmth swelling in your chest as he finds his footing in your room, before the memory of yesterday dawns on you. anger boils higher, rising to your face where it burns your nostrils before tears dot your lashes. you’re still angry with mingi, but also with yourself for how you retaliated. resistance is long gone from your body, yunho made sure of that; so, you hear mingi out.
you slump down onto your bed, waiting for his next move, and mingi gulps at how empty your eyes are. the last time he saw you, they were overflowing with love. it clenches his heart to consider what you’ve been going through while he hasn’t been here to comfort you.
mingi sincerely drops to his knees, hand pressed to his heart. “i am so, so sorry. yunho’s been sending me these texts, and— god, i was so worried about you.” he runs a hand through his hair, getting your full attention as he says your name. “you don’t have to hear me out if you don’t want to. i’ll leave if you tell me to. but i need you to know that i’m sorry, and i’m willing to explain everything.”
your stomach twists at how broken he looks. you so badly want to get on the floor with him, hug him and tell him he could never do wrong.
“go on.”
mingi lets out the breath he was holding, nodding and quietly thanking you. he wouldn’t blame you if you just kicked him to the street.
“yunho told you all of it?” he asks, barely above a whisper. you nod, and his eyes shut like you’ve just slapped him. “...there’s no excuse. you have every right to hate me for it. i was a coward. i shouldn’t have just.. blindly followed him.”
you blink. “what?”
“yunho. i should’ve come to you instead, but i was terrified of hurting you, and—”
“what do you mean?” you cut in. “he said that you hid it from us for years. that you were…helping your mother.”
mingi blanches in complete disbelief. “yunho told me to hide it. i went to him as soon as i found out something was going on, and he just.. said that it’s not my family, not my business.” he grabs at his hair, shell-shocked. “he said that to you?.. i was so scared, and i didn’t want to lose any of the people i love…god, what was i supposed to do?”
your heart breaks at his utter confusion, his panic. this isn’t the shame of a man who harboured malicious intent. all you see kneeling on your floor right now is a young boy, finding out something that would destroy the life of the girl he loves, and without knowing better he listens when his best friend tells him to hide it.
where there was once rage directed towards mingi, floods with nothing but sympathy. you were only kids — he had no say in his grown mother choosing to homewreck, nor did he for your father choosing to cheat. none of what occurred between your families was mingi’s fault. if you were in his position, you don’t know what you’d do either.
you almost don’t want to say it, because then you’ll have to confront the gravity of yesterday’s choices, the fact that you wronged the boy you love so deeply. but you need him to know, so, you just push yourself to say:
“it wasn’t your fault, mingi.” your lip trembles, and you catch the way he shifts. “it’s not right to put the blame on you. you have nothing to apologise for.”
mingi gets up, this distance between you killing him alive, and he quickly closes it. standing in front you. hands twitching at his sides, desperately wishing to hold you again. “i’ll never stop feeling sorry for what happened to you.” he murmurs your name brokenly. “i only want you to be happy.. even if it’s not with me.”
your head drops, biting your lip to distract your body from the tears threatening to spill. mingi’s helpless to how his fingers find your cheek, trying to comfort you in any way you’ll let him. he feels your pain bloom in his own chest.
“it’s too late, mingi.” bile rising in your throat, you force yourself to say: “yunho fucked me. and i wanted it.”
the very day after letting mingi call you ‘mine’. after leading him to believe that you’d be his girlfriend. essentially cheating on him — like father, like daughter.
“what?” you brace yourself for him to be disgusted, to insult you. you’d deserve it. you want it even. but he just grabs your face with both hands, searching your eyes. “are you okay??”
“no, i’m—” you try to writhe from his grip, “i’m gross, mingi.”
“you’re not.” he’s quick to refute. his fingers stroke your cheeks so gently, and you just cave. “i don’t care about that. i’m here because i was worried about you.”
you shake your head. a feeble effort to push him away. “why? i didn’t even hear you out first before going behind your back. i wronged you.”
“yunho took advantage of this situation in the only way he could.” he scowls. “i can’t believe he really stooped this low… god, i should’ve cut him off years ago.”
mingi sets his own heartache aside, knowing that it must be nothing compared to what you’ve been feeling. he’s already suspected yunho for years now — his best friend really was a freak who wanted his own sister.
you’re still knee-deep in denial, too scared to face the truth yet. the fact that you still wanted yunho despite it all.
“maybe he just told me how it was from his perspective,” you defend. “he only wanted to protect me.. and then make it feel better.”
mingi’s frown deepens. it fucking guts him, seeing how deep yunho sunk his claws into you. he’s already wronged you enough times with his own cowardice, holding back on telling the ugly truth just so he doesn’t have to be the one delivering your pain. deciding to put an end to this, mingi exhales your name, and tilts your chin to stare him directly in the eyes.
“yunho hid the fact that you moved back from me. he called you his girl and not his sister at that party when he threw the bottle at me. he’s so touchy that people think you’re dating, and he lets them. he couldn’t stand the fact that you didn’t reciprocate his feelings, so he broke your heart and used it to finally get what he wanted.”
you don’t even realise you’re crying until mingi’s leaving soft pecks on your face, kissing away each tear.
“i’m not mad at you.” he gently reassures you. “none of this was your fault.”
“it’s okay.” he smiles. “i deserved this, anyways.”
“no. it’s not fair for you to feel so guilty because of something you had no control over.”
“funny, i could tell you the same.”
it catches you off-guard, so much so that you breathe out a laugh, lip curling into a smile.
despite the vines of shame and grief knotted tight in your gut, you can just feel the faint flap of butterflies at the sight of mingi smiling right back. he’s proud of himself, getting you to smile after tears.
your fingers curl around his hand on your face, and he closes his palm to hold it. something flickers across mingi’s eyes before he gulps.
“i’m sorry i don’t want to pressure you, but i can only think of kissing you right now.”
you giggle before pulling him in, your heart skipping into beat with his as his lips melt against yours. he holds you like you’re fragile, kissing you gently like you still might disappear into thin air, nothing but a dream.
he parts with you, sighing. “i don’t want this to end, but.. i’m on a time limit.” he clears his throat. “i, uh, asked hongjoong to do me a favour so that i could come see you.”
that makes you laugh, falling forward into his chest. mingi wraps his arms around you, and immediately you feel like you’re back home safe. as if you never left.
“want me to take you somewhere far away?” he offers, just like old times. you agree, tugging him in for another sweet kiss.
──
yunho’s knuckles tighten around the controller as the game lights up with a red death screen. huffing in annoyance, he passes the controller to mingi, who respawns and plays his turn. ever since yunho loaded up his console, there hadn’t been any words. not after the disrespect that was mingi’s arrival.
he’d showed up on their doorstep after school unannounced, sparing yunho — his best friend — only a brief greeting before going straight for you.
you’d let his hopes down, saying that you were already on your way out, your father about to drive you to the cinema to meet up with minnie. mingi gave you sad puppy eyes, and didn’t even pretend to not be bummed as he settled for hanging out with yunho instead. hence the current lack of conversation.
“do you have a crush on my sister?” yunho asks outright, breaking the silence.
mingi stammers like he’s been caught with his hand down his pants. “w-what? why do— what, uh— no i don’t?”
yunho stifles a roll of his eyes. his best friend is a bad liar. he’s only thirteen, but he knows what’s in the look that mingi gives his sister. it’s the same look his mother gives his stepfather — the same look his stepfather has been giving mingi’s mother as of late.
“you can give up trying. it’s never going to happen.” yunho deadpans.
your father already dislikes how close you are with mingi — it wouldn’t work out between you. maybe even less than it could work between you and yunho, some day.
mingi pouts, his character dying ingame as he stares at yunho instead.
“why?”
yunho smirks and rips the controller from his hands.
“because she’s mine.”
yunho can’t stop smiling to himself as he sits in the middle of your bed, pulling the blankets to his nose and smelling the traces of all the love that happened yesterday.
he can’t even find it in himself to be upset that you left him for mingi again. he’s at the very top of cloud nine right now, still riding the high of finally getting the one thing he’s wished for since he was a kid — after being introduced to his sweet stepsister for the first time.
mingi’s always been an annoyingly persistent competition. he’s the only other person who figured out the way yunho wanted you, as more than just family. no one would believe him anyways.
yunho falls back into the pillows, love on his mind and in his heart as he daydreams about you. all the things he still wants to do, that he intends to do when he gets his baby back. because he will.
it won’t be tomorrow, or any day soon, but you’ll give up on avoiding him with time. family is for life, after all.
notes: what a wild ride amirite.. if you’ve read this far, consider reblogging or leaving a comment/ask! i’d love to hear your thoughts hehe
⭑ bf!mingi x gf!reader x bestie!yunho
⭑ warnings in each part smut minors dni / word count 89.2k
ONE — planning to buy a house, get married and start a family within the next few years, you and mingi are the blueprint for the perfect relationship— until one of yunho’s infamous stories about his intriguing sex life gets stuck in your head for a little too long, and has you curious about spicing up your own sex life. 21.4k
TWO — it finally happened... and then it happened again... and again... until lines are blurred and everything feels a little heavier than it was supposed to. 31.3k
THREE — four days away at the beach, hiding your feelings from all of your friends while you’re all under the same roof, a week after yunho broke up with you and mingi. easy enough, right? 36.5k
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