A girl who loves Mingi just a bit too much

Mel~ 27 Idk I just write whatever comes to mind

[mingisprincxss]

Masterlist~

The runaway princess chapter 1- General Mingi x princess reader

The runaway princess chapter 2 -General Mingi x reader

At the same time- San x Seonghwa x reader

Sticky notes- San x reader

Stumbling-Mingi short fic

Don't believe everything you hear- Husband Mingi x wife reader

Hate you- Seonghwa x reader

Cold air- Gamer Mingi x needy reader

Dangerous man- fuckboyMingi x reader

[yungistiny]

actually losing my damn mind about him right now

[03jyh23]

“It’s Not the First Time I Call You Baby” — s.m.g

── friends to lovers, non idol!mingi x fem!reader

“Tell me again. Tell me you want another man’s hands on you after what we did.” Three months ago, you and your best friend called it a mistake and buried it under silence. Tonight, one stranger gets too close and Mingi finally says the part you’ve both been choking on. Now the only question is whether you can survive the version of Mingi that’s done waiting.

Genre: smut with plot, angst-ish(?) Trigger Warnings: (spoilers ahead) alcohol use, arguments, anger, manipulation, guilt-tripping, explicit language, jealousy and possessiveness, physical violence, sexual explicit content (mdni) , rough/nasty sex, hard/mean dom! mingi, degradation, humiliation, name-calling (slut), breath play, hand on throat (not fully choking), biting, marking, hair pulling, semi-public sex/risk of being caught (car, taxi, elevator), unsafe sex, manhandling, big dick mingi, p in v, oral sex (m! receiving), throat fucking, a lot of cum (everywhere), cream pie, cum eating, multiple orgasms, dacryphilia, face slapping, spanking, breasts play, breeding kink-ish, masturbation, squirting WC: 19.6k

Mon’s Note: for my darling @minkieater!! thank you for trusting me with this request and for pushing me to write mingi in a way i don’t usually do. i must say it was a challenge but nonetheless i enjoyed it a lot! hopefully it turned out the way you imagined, sweetheart 🫶🏻 have fun with it!!

‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎The bass rattled through your molars, a rhythmic thud that drowned out the pulse in your own neck. The air in the middle of the floor was a soup of expensive cologne, salt-slicked skin, and the heavy scent of smoke. Behind you, the guy you’d been grinding against for the last three songs shifted his weight, his palms damp where they gripped the curve of your waist. He was a good dancer but the friction was starting to feel less like a release and more like a chore. You peeled his hands away with a practiced, apologetic tilt of your head, the neon blue light catching the sweat on your collarbone. He said something, but the words were swallowed by a remix of a track you didn’t recognise. You just pointed toward the booths, offering a non-committal wave before weaving through the thicket of bodies.

Mingi was exactly where you’d left him, though the rest of the group had long since scattered into the chaos. He was leaning against the high mahogany table. The new blonde of his hair was tucked haphazardly behind his ears, the strands glowing every time the strobe swept past. He wasn’t looking at the crowd. He wasn’t looking at his phone.

He was looking at you.

His chocolate eyes were dark, the pupils blown wide enough to swallow the iris, tracking your progress across the floor with a heavy, unblinking focus. He didn’t look like he was having fun. He looked like he was vibrating at a frequency that might shatter the glass in his hand.

“You look like you’re at a funeral,” you hiked your voice to reach him, sliding into the narrow gap between his body and the table. The heat radiating off him was different from the dance floor—dryer, more concentrated. Mingi didn’t move back to give you space. He stayed still, his height forcing you to crane your neck, his shadow swallowing you whole.

“Do I?” His voice was a low rumble that you felt in your chest more than you heard in your ears. He didn’t smile. He just watched the way your chest rose and fell with your heavy breathing.

“Yeah. Serious. Grumpy.” You reached out, your fingers brushing against the cold, condensation-slicked glass of the beer bottle he was white-knuckling. “You’re bringing the vibe down, Min. You need to get laid or get drunk. Preferably both.” You didn’t wait for an invitation. You wrapped your hand over his—your skin stinging at the contact of his frozen knuckles—and tilted the beer bottle toward your mouth. You took a long, stinging swallow, the bitter amber liquid cutting through the coat of sugar on your tongue from the cocktails earlier. When you pulled away, a stray drop of foam lingered on your lower lip. You didn’t miss the way Mingi’s gaze dropped to it, his jaw muscle jumping as he ground his teeth together.

“That’s mine,” he muttered.

“Everything of yours is mine,” you countered, leaning your hip into his thigh to steady yourself as a group of drunks stumbled past. “Since when do we care about germs? We’ve shared everything.”

Mingi let out a sharp, jagged breath through his nose. He took the bottle back, but he didn’t drink. He just held it, his thumb stroking the neck of the glass in a rhythmic motion. “The guy,” Mingi said, his voice dropping an octave, rasping against the music. “He had his hands all over you.”

“That’s usually how dancing works,” you teased, reaching up to flick a stray blonde hair away from his forehead. Your fingers lingered for a second too long against his skin—he was burning up, a stark contrast to the ice-cold beer. “He was fine. Boring, but fine.”

Mingi leaned down, his face inches from yours. The smell of him suddenly outweighed the scent of the club. His eyes searched yours, intense and frantic. “You’re sweat-soaked,” he noted, his free hand came up, not to touch you, but to hover just an inch from your waist, the heat of his palm seeping through your clothes. “You should sit down. Get some air.”

“I don’t want air,” you said, feeling a strange, tight coil of tension pull in your gut. You reached out, grabbing the material of his shirt to pull him a fraction closer. “I want you to stop acting like a bodyguard and start acting like my best friend. Drink. Dance. Find a girl. I’ll even vet her for you.”

Mingi’s hand finally closed the distance, his fingers splaying wide over the small of your back, pulling you flush against him. The movement was sudden, knocking the breath right out of your lungs. “I don’t want a girl,” he rasped, his breath hot against your ear as he lowered his head.

You leaned back just enough to catch the dark, honeyed shift of his eyes, the sticky heat of the club rushing into the inch of space between your chests. You let out a huff of a laugh, your hand still at his shoulder for balance while the floor tilted slightly under your shoes. “You better change your mind then,” you teased, your voice bright and irreverent over the thumping music. You didn’t lower your volume; the crudeness felt natural between you, a byproduct of years of shared secrets and unfiltered bullshit. “Your dick needs a good sucking, Min. You’re wound so tight I can practically hear your gears grinding from here. Go find a victim.” You flashed him a grin—the one that usually got him to stop brooding—and reached for the beer again, taking another long, unhurried swallow. The cold liquid slid down your throat, a sharp contrast to the humid air pressing against your skin.

Mingi didn’t laugh. He didn’t even crack a self-deprecating smirk. Instead, his fingers, still splayed across the small of your back, twitched. The fabric of your dress bunched under his palm as his grip tightened, drawing you a fraction closer until your thighs brushed his. He was tracking the way your throat moved as you swallowed, his jaw locked in a hard, protruding line. “Is that what you think?”

“I know it is,” you patted his chest, the muscle beneath his shirt felt like carved stone. “I’ve seen you when you’re stressed. You’re a menace. Go. I’ll be fine. I might even go find that guy again—he had a nice rhythm.”

Mingi’s jaw tightened so hard you heard the faint click of his teeth over the sub-bass. For a heartbeat, he didn’t move. He just stared at you, then, without a word, he tilted his head back. You watched the column of his throat work as he downed the rest of the beer in several heavy, aggressive gulps. The glass rattled against his teeth. When he pulled the bottle away, a single trail of amber liquid escaped the corner of his mouth, glistening in the strobe light before he wiped it away with the back of a shaking hand.

“Okay,” he said. The word was clipped, stripped of any warmth. It wasn’t the voice of the best friend; it was the voice of a man who had reached a very specific, very dangerous limit. He set the empty bottle on the table with a sharp clack and turned away. He didn’t look back. Not once. He didn’t check to see if you were following, didn’t offer a “see you later,” didn’t even spare you a final glance. He simply melted into the shifting sea of limbs on the dance floor, his blonde head bobbing through the neon haze like a signal fire being swallowed by the dark.

You blinked, the sudden absence of his heat leaving a strange, chilly vacuum against your front. “Well,” you muttered to yourself, the word lost to a sudden surge in the music’s volume. “Ask and you shall receive, I guess.” You shifted your weight, the floor sticky beneath your boots. You’d gotten what you wanted—Mingi was finally out there, hopefully looking for someone to help him sweat out that foul mood—but the air felt thinner without him hovering over you. You shook the feeling off, rolling your shoulders to loosen the tension that had settled there.

Time to find Mr. Rhythm.

You scanned the crowd, squinting against the blinding flashes of violet and white. The club was a kaleidoscope of blurred faces and grinding hips. You spotted the VIP section, where a group was spraying champagne, the fine mist catching the light like diamonds. You looked toward the bar, then back toward the floor where you’d been earlier. There. About twenty feet away, near the speakers, you caught the back of a familiar head—the guy from before. He was already back at it, his hands on the hips of a girl in a red dress, moving with that same fluid, easy confidence.

You felt a sharp, unexpected prick of annoyance in your chest. That was fast.

You turned your head, searching for Mingi instead. You found him almost instantly. He wasn’t hard to miss. He was standing near the edge of the floor, and he wasn’t alone. A girl with long, dark hair had already gravitated toward him, her hand resting brazenly on his bicep as she shouted something into his ear. Mingi was leaning down, his ear inches from her lips, his expression unreadable. From this distance, he looked like a different person.

You stood there for a moment, glued to the edge of the mahogany table, your fingers tracing the ring of condensation Mingi had left behind.

You couldn’t take your eyes off him. His hair was catching every flicker of the neon lights. The girl with the dark hair was closer now, her fingers hooked into the belt loop of his jeans, pulling herself into the narrow orbit of his space. Mingi didn’t push her away. He didn’t lean in, either. He just stood there, tall and terrifyingly still, his head tilted back as he looked down at her with an expression that was cold, and entirely unrecognisable. It felt like watching a stranger wear your best friend’s skin. The knot in your stomach tightened, a dull ache that had nothing to do with the alcohol you had.

“You look like you’re waiting for a crash.” The voice was slick, cutting through the electronic roar of the track. You turned your head, blinking against a sudden burst of violet light. A man was standing beside you, leaning one elbow on the table. He was older than the guy you’d been dancing with, wearing a crisp black button-down and a heavy silver signet ring on his pinky. He held two glasses—crystal tumblers filled with an amber liquid and a single, oversized cube of ice.

“I’m just watching the show,” you said, your voice raspy from the smoke and the shouting.

“That tall, blonde guy?” The stranger followed your gaze, a small, knowing smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. He didn’t wait for an answer before sliding one of the tumblers across the wood toward you. “He looks like he’s trying to set the room on fire. You look like you’re wondering if you should call the fire department.”

You looked at the drink. “I don’t take drinks from people I don’t know,” you said, though your hand moved toward the glass of its own accord. Your throat felt like it had been rubbed with sandpaper.

“I’m Seongmin,” he said, his voice a smooth baritone that didn’t need to strain against the music. He took a sip of his own drink, his eyes never leaving yours. “Now you know me. Drink it. It’s better than that bottom-shelf lager the blonde guy was chugging.”

You reached out, your fingers brushing his as you took the glass. The condensation was biting, a shock of cold against your palm. You took a sip—it was a peaty, expensive Scotch that burned all the way down, lighting a small fire in your belly.

“Better?” he asked, stepping a fraction closer. He smelled of peppermint gum and expensive leather.

“Stronger,” you countered.

Seongmin leaned in, “Strong is what you look like you need,” he reached out, his movements fluid and deliberate, and tucked a damp lock of hair behind your ear. His fingertips were warm—dry and steady—lingering against the sensitive skin of your temple. “Relax.”

“I am relaxed,” you lied.

“Your shoulders are up to your ears.” He let his hand slide down, his thumb tracing the line of your jaw before his palm settled heavily on the nape of your neck. It was a grounding weight, firm enough to make you still. “There. Better.”

Across the room, the violet strobe cut through the dark, illuminating Mingi. He wasn’t paying attention to the girl grinding on him anymore. He was looking straight at you. Even from twenty feet away, the intensity of his stare felt like a physical shove.

Seongmin noticed. He didn’t turn around to look, but his eyes narrowed as they tracked yours. A slow, predatory smile pulled at his mouth. “He’s very protective, isn’t he? Your... friend.”

“He’s just moody,” you snapped, turning your back on the dance floor to face Seongmin fully. The movement brought you deep into his space, the scent of leather and peppermint thickening. “He needs to mind his own business.”

“I agree.” Seongmin’s hand shifted from your neck to your waist, pulling you an inch closer. “You’re much too vibrant to be watched over like a child.” He took the glass from your hand, setting it behind him without breaking eye contact. Then, he took your wrist. He didn’t ask. He simply guided your hand up until your palm was flat against his chest, right over the slow, rhythmic thud of his heart. The silk of his black shirt was cool, but the body beneath it was searing. “Dance with me.” It wasn’t a question, your legs were already moving as he backed away, leading you by the wrist toward a darker corner of the floor, away from the main crush but directly into Mingi’s line of sight.

The music shifted—the aggressive EDM fading into a R&B track with a bass line that felt like velvet. Seongmin didn’t waste time with distance. He stepped into you, his thighs slotting between yours, his hands sliding down to rest low on your hips. He moved with a slow, grinding confidence that made the previous guy look like an amateur. He surged forward, forcing you to take a half-step back until your spine hit the padded velvet of a pillar. He followed, pinning you there with the weight of his body. His hands didn’t stay still; they wandered, one sliding up to bunch the fabric at your waist, the other reaching up to cup your face, his thumb pressing firmly into your lower lip.

“You have a very loud mouth,” he said, his voice a dark, amused rumble. “I wonder if it tastes as sharp as it sounds.”

You felt the heat of him everywhere. You reached up, your fingers tangling in the collar of his black shirt, intending to pull him closer. He tilted his head, his lips grazing the corner of yours—a dry, searing contact that sent a jolt of static electricity straight to your toes. You felt the heavy silver of his ring press into the soft skin behind your ear, a cold touch as he began to claim the space you’d so carelessly offered. His tongue flicked out, a ghost of a touch against the seam of your lips, tasting the salt and the lingering amber of the drink he’d given you.

Seongmin’s thumb didn’t just rest on your lip; it hooked into the corner of your mouth, dragging the sensitive skin downward to expose the damp gleam of your teeth. The bass of the R&B track vibrated through the velvet-padded pillar behind you, rattling your ribcage and syncing with the heavy, insistent thud of his heart against your palm.

He shifted his weight, his thigh high and hard between yours, pressing upward with a slow, agonizing deliberation. The friction of his suit trousers against your thinner fabric was a dry heat that made your breath hitch, hitching again when he swallowed, his Adam’s apple bobbing against your knuckles.

“Not so loud now,” he murmured. He leaned in, his forehead dropping to rest against yours. He didn't close the distance to your lips. Instead, he tilted his head, his nose grazing yours, trailing down to the sensitive dip of your cupid’s bow. He inhaled sharply, a ragged sound that vibrated in his chest.

“Your friend is burning a hole in the back of your head,” Seongmin whispered, his breath ghosting over your damp lips, tasting of the same amber liquor. “Do you care? Or are you too busy feeling me?”

His hand at your waist tightened, fingers digging into the soft flesh above your hip bone, pulling you flush against the rigid line of his belt. He began to move—a slow, rhythmic grind that was less about the music and more about the friction. Each roll of his hips was a calculated invasion, forcing you to arch your back against the pillar, your fingers twitching where they were trapped between your chests.

You tried to pull him closer by the collar, the silk bunching in your fist, but he resisted, holding his head just an inch back. He wanted you reaching. He wanted you strained. His tongue flicked out again, tracing the very edge of your upper lip, a teasing, wet velvet that left you shivering.

“Answer me,” he commanded, the ‘s’ lingering into a hiss. He punctuated the demand with a sudden, sharper surge of his hips.

The air in the corner was thick, stripped of oxygen and replaced by the scent of him and the heat of the crowd a few feet away. You could hear the muffled clink of glasses and the roar of the party, but here, pinned under his shadow, the only thing that mattered was the way his thumb was now sliding inside your mouth, pressing down on your tongue, claiming the silence you’d finally fallen into.

He watched your eyes blow wide, his own dark and heavy-lidded, tracking the way your throat worked as you swallowed around him.

Then, a shadow fell over both of you.

“Get your fucking hands off her,” Mingi looked feral, his blonde hair damp and sticking to his temples, his chest heaving as if he’d just run a marathon. “She’s done.”

Seongmin didn’t let go. He didn’t even flinch. He just tilted his head, his thumb still depressing your bottom lip, exposing the pink dampness of the inside. “She looks like she’s just starting, actually. Maybe you should take the hint, kid. You’re the only one here who’s uncomfortable.”

Mingi stepped forward, his hand lashing out to grip Seongmin’s wrist. He didn’t just pull it away; he twisted, a low growl vibrating in his throat that was purely animal. “I said,” Mingi rasped, his face inches from Seongmin’s, his knuckles white where he held the older man’s wrist, “she’s done”. He didn’t look at you—he couldn’t. If he looked at you, he’d see the flush on your neck and the way your mouth was still parted from Seongmin’s touch, and he knew he’d lose the last thread of his sanity.

“I’m not finished,” you managed to get out, your voice sounding thin and breathy even to your own ears. The adrenaline was pulsing in your blood, caught between the slick, practiced heat of Seongmin and the raw, bleeding energy radiating off Mingi.

Mingi’s other hand found your waist, his fingers digging into your hip with a bruising force that made you gasp. He yanked you toward him, stumbling you out from between Seongmin and the pillar, tucking you firmly under the line of his shoulder. He was shaking—hard enough that you could feel the tremors through his clothes.

“Mingi, stop,” you hissed, grabbing his forearm. “You’re making a scene.”

“We’re leaving,” Mingi stated. “Now.”

Seongmin stepped forward again, ignoring Mingi’s posturing. He reached out, his fingers skimming down the line of your arm, just inches away from where Mingi was holding you. “If you want to finish,” he said, his eyes locking onto yours, ignoring the blonde man entirely, “I’ll be at the bar. Don’t let the noise hold you back.” He winked and turned on his heel, disappearing into the neon haze with a grace that made the rest of the club look clumsy.

The silence between you and Mingi was a living thing, more deafening than the music screaming from the rafters. He didn’t let go of you. He started walking, his pace aggressive, dragging you through the thicket of bodies. He didn’t care if he bumped into people; his shoulders were set in a hard, uncompromising line.

Mingi’s hand didn’t just stay on your wrist; he hiked it up, forcing your arm between your chests as he crowded you back against the mahogany bar. The wood bit into the small of your back. Around you, the club blurred into a frantic smear of neon, but Mingi was the only thing in high-definition—the sweat beading on his upper lip, the raw, dilated heat of his pupils.

“What the hell is wrong with you?” he snapped, his voice jagged and loud enough to pierce the music. “Folding for some suit who looks like he’s scouting for a second wife? Are you actually that dense?”

You didn’t shrink away. You stepped into the suffocating radius of his space, poking a finger hard into his chest, right over his thundering heart. “I was just having fun until you decided to play the caveman!”

Mingi let out a harsh, mocking bark of a laugh that had no humour in it. He leaned down, his face so close you could see the frantic, rhythmic pulse in his temple. “Oh, I’m the caveman? You’re the one standing here wagging your tail for any guy with a silver ring and a line of bullshit.” He sneered, his eyes raking over you with a disdain that stung worse than any insult. “You’ve got a lot of nerve, you know that? You told me to go get laid, telling me I’m ‘wound too tight’—but look at you.” He reached out, his hand moving too fast to track, his fingers hooking into the hair at the nape of your neck and tugging, just enough to force your chin up. His touch was electric and furious. “Look at you,” he repeated, his voice dropping to a low, dangerous vibration that bypassed your ears and settled deep in your gut. “You’re practically begging for it. You’re flushed, you’re panting, and you’ve got his damn thumb-prints all over your face. Is that what you wanted? To see how long it would take for me to lose it?”

“I don’t have to explain myself to you,” you hissed, your breath hitching as his thumb swiped across your lower lip—hard, as if he were trying to scrub Seongmin’s touch right off your skin. “You don’t get to act like this.”

“I get to act however the fuck I want when I’m watching you throw yourself at a predator,” he growled. He stepped even closer, his thigh forcing its way between yours, pinning you firmly against the table. The friction of his denim against your skin was a shock. “You think he wanted to talk? You think he wanted to hear your ‘witty banter’? He wanted to see how easy it would be to get you into a car. And you were making it real damn easy for him.”

“He was a better dancer than you’ve been all night,” you taunted, the words slipping out before you could filter them, fuelled by the sting of his grip.

Mingi’s expression shifted—the anger didn’t fade, but it sharpened into something dark and concentrated. He didn’t yell this time. He leaned in until his lips were brushing the shell of your ear, his chest heaving against yours. “A better dancer? Is that what this is? You want to be handled? You want someone to stop being ‘nice’ and just take what they want?”

His hand slid from your neck down to your waist, his fingers digging into the soft skin there, pulling you so flush against him. He wasn’t acting like a bodyguard anymore. He was acting like a man who had finally stopped pretending he didn’t want to break you.

“Tell me,” he rasped, his teeth grazing your earlobe. “Do you want me to be like him? Do you want me to stop being your ‘best friend’ and start being the guy who puts his hands wherever he wants? Because I can be that guy, Y/N.” The neon light overhead flickered, casting a sickly violet strobing across Mingi’s face, turning his features into a series of jagged, angry shadows. He looked like he was vibrating, the sheer force of his irritation radiating off his skin in waves of dry heat.

“You don’t get to talk to me like that! You don’t own me!” you snarled, the words tasting like the peat and fire of cocktails and Scotch. Your pulse was a frantic hammer against your ribs. “You’ve been acting like this all night—like you have some kind of divine right to be pissed off just because I’m breathing the same air as other men.”

“I have every right!” Mingi barked, the sound cutting through the synth-heavy beat of the music. He didn’t flinch as a group of clubbers squeezed past, his world narrowed down to the few inches of charged air between your faces. His blonde hair was a ruined mess, damp strands clinging to his forehead, and his eyes were wild—blown wide and dark, searching yours for a shred of the loyalty he thought he possessed.

“Based on what?” you challenged, stepping into him until your chest heaved against the solid, unyielding plane of his. “Based on a decade of friendship? Friends don’t act like this! Friends don’t suffocate each other! They don’t play the jealous watchdog every time someone looks my way!”

Mingi’s laugh was a jagged, ugly sound that started deep in his throat and ended in a sneer. He let go of you, but any hope of space vanished as he slammed both palms onto the mahogany table behind you. The wood groaned under the impact. He leaned in, his large frame creating a cage of heat and muscle, effectively pinning you against the bar.

“Friends?” the word dripped with a bitter, metallic irony that made your stomach flip. “Is that what we’re sticking with? Is that what we were three months ago?” He lowered his head, his nose brushing against yours, his breath hot and smelling of the beer he’d used to try and drown his temper. His eyes dropped to your mouth, tracking the frantic movement of your breathing with a terrifying, singular focus. “Was I just a ‘friend’ when you spent three hours screaming my name in my apartment because you couldn’t get enough of me? When you had your nails buried in my back, begging me not to stop?”

The air left your lungs in a silent rush. The memory hit you—the smell of rain on his skin that night, the way the floorboards had groaned under the weight of the two of you, the desperate, fumbling heat of a “mistake” you’d both agreed to bury under a mountain of “it was just the drinks” and “we’re fine.”

“Oh, you’re going to bring that up now?” you breathed, your hands coming up to his chest to push him back, but your fingers only curled into the damp fabric of his shirt. “We agreed, Mingi! We sat on your living room floor and promised it was a mistake! We shook on it! You don’t get to keep that in your back pocket like a fucking weapon just because you’re having a bad night! So shut the fuck up!”

“I won’t,” he growled, his hand moving from the table to catch your jaw, his thumb pressing firmly into the hinge of your bone. It wasn’t a gentle touch. “You don’t get to go back to ‘friends’ because it’s convenient! You think I can just watch that suit touch you and not want to rip his hands off?” His grip on your jaw tightened just a fraction, his eyes dark with a desperate, starving hunger.

“We said that didn’t count! We agreed. It was a one-time thing. It was a slip-up!”

“You call the way you clutched at my back a ‘slip-up’? The way you begged me not to stop? That’s a hell of a lot of effort for a ‘slip-up,’ baby.”

“Don’t call me that!” You hissed, your vision blurring with a mix of heat and pure, unadulterated rage. “You’re just pissed because you can’t control me. You’re acting like I’m some prize you won three months ago and now you’re mad someone else is looking at the trophy.”

Mingi’s hand slammed against the table next to your hip, the wood groaning under the impact. The sound was a gunshot in the dark. “I don’t want a fucking trophy! It’s not the first time I call you ‘baby’, and you damn well know it wasn’t just a ‘slip-up’ for me.” Mingi roared, his composure finally snapping. “It’s been three months of me watching you pretend it never happened! Three months of me watching you smile at other guys while I can still feel the way your skin felt under my hands.” He was shaking now, his hands white-knuckled against the mahogany. The subtext was gone; the ugly, beautiful truth was laid bare between you, more neon and loud than anything in the club.

“You want me to go get laid?” he barked, his voice a jagged, ugly thing. “Fine. Give me a name, Y/N. Who should I go fuck tonight to make you feel better about being a coward? Should I find some random bitch at the bar who doesn’t mind being seen in public with me? Someone who isn’t busy playing ‘best friend’ while she’s still got the ghost of my hand on her thigh?”

He leaned down, his face inches from yours, his eyes bloodshot and burning with a terrifying, charcoal-dark intensity.

“Because that’s what this is, right? A game?” He let out a harsh, mocking bark of a laugh. “You have the fucking audacity to tell me to go find another girl. Like I can just turn it off. Like I haven’t spent every goddamn night remembering exactly how you taste.”

“Mingi, stop—”

“Stop what? Telling the truth?” He slammed his hand against the table next to your hip, the wood groaning. “You’re pathetic. You’re so scared of what we are that you’d rather see me balls-deep in some stranger than admit you belong to me. Is that it? Does it make you feel ‘safe’ to think of me with someone else?”

He grabbed the edge of the bar, pinning you in, his breath hot and smelling of bitter resentment.

“Maybe I’ll do it. Maybe I’ll go back down there, find the loudest girl in the club, and fuck the memory of you right out of my head. I’ll tell her to scream your name so I don’t forget who I’m trying to replace. Would you like that? Should I give you a play-by-play tomorrow morning while we’re having our ‘friendly’ coffee? Should I tell you if she’s tighter than you were?”

The words were a physical assault, a cruel, calculated attempt to draw blood. He was weaponising the intimacy you’d shared, dragging it through the dirt just to see you flinch.

“You’re a fucking liar,” he hissed, his voice dropping to a low, venomous crawl. “You’re a liar and a coward, and you’re so desperate to keep this ‘friendship’ alive that you’re willing to watch me bleed out right in front of you.”

The slap wasn’t a choice; it was an explosion.

Your palm connected with his cheek with a violent, stinging crack that seemed to suck the air out of the room. The force of it snapped his head to the side, his blonde hair falling over his eyes as he went deathly still.

Silence stretched between you, a taut, vibrating wire.

Slowly, Mingi turned his face back to you. The imprint of your fingers was blooming a dark, angry red against his pale skin. He didn’t look hurt. He looked unhinged. A dark, terrifying smirk pulled at one corner of his mouth—the look of a man who had finally stopped trying to be the “good friend.”

“I was wondering when you’d stop pretending to be ‘fine’.”

The air in the club was suddenly too thick to breathe, a humid soup of Mingi’s possessiveness and the ghost of a memory you’d both tried to bury under layers of “best friends” bullshit.

“Now, tell me again. Tell me to go find someone else. Look me in the eye and tell me you want another man’s hands on you after what we did.”

You shoved at his chest—hard—and this time he let you, his hands sliding off the mahogany with a jagged scrape. You didn’t say a word. You turned and bolted for the exit, the heavy bass chasing you like a heartbeat until the steel doors hissed shut behind you.

The parking lot was lit by the buzzing, sickly orange glow of lamps. The air was bitingly cold, snapping at the sweat on your skin, but it wasn’t enough to cool the furnace in your blood. You were halfway to the taxi zone when the heavy thud of the club doors swinging open again echoed off the asphalt.

“Don’t you fucking walk away from me!” Mingi’s voice cracked the silence of the night.

You spun around, your heels clicking sharply against the oil-stained ground. “Or what, Mingi? What the fuck are you going to do? Pin me against another table? Remind me again how I sounded three months ago?” Your voice rose, trembling with a mix of fury and the terrifying realisation that the walls you’d built were crumbling. “You don’t get to use that! That was—that was a mistake! We said it was a mistake!”

Mingi didn’t stop. He ate up the distance between you with rushed strides. He reached you in seconds, his hand lashing out to catch your upper arm, spinning you around so hard you stumbled into the side of a parked SUV. The metal was freezing against your shoulder blades.

“A mistake?” He threw the word back at you like a slur. He slammed his hand against the car next to your head, the thump of palm on metal loud enough to make you flinch. “Is that what you call it when I haven’t been able to stop thinking about you? Is it a ‘mistake’ that I can’t look at another woman without wishing she had your eyes?”

“Stop,” you breathed, but your hands weren’t pushing him away anymore.

“No,” he rasped, his face dropping until his nose was buried in the crook of your neck, his breath a searing brand against your skin. “You want me to act like I don’t give a shit who touches you? I can’t do it. I’m fucking done pretending.” He pulled back just enough to look at you, his eyes were no longer chocolate; they were charcoal, burning with a hunger that made Seongmin’s interest look like a polite suggestion. “Tell me it was a mistake again,” he challenged, “Tell me you didn’t feel the way my hands were on you. Tell me you want that suit back here instead of me.” His grip on your waist tightened, his fingers digging into the soft flesh of your hips. He didn’t wait for your answer. He leaned in, his mouth hovering a fraction of an inch from yours, the tension so thick it felt like it would shatter the glass in the windows around you. “Say it,” he whispered against your lips. “Lie to me.”

“You have no right to be this angry! You agreed to the silence! You looked me in the eye over coffee the next morning and said, ‘Let’s just be us again’ It’s you who lied!”

“I didn’t lie! I tried! I tried to be ‘us’ again. I tried to watch movies with you and not think about the way we kissed. I tried to listen to you talk about work and not remember the way you moaned when I was inside you!” He let out a harsh, guttural breath, his eyes wild and shimmering with a frustrated heat. “But then you walk into a club looking like that. You spend the whole night grinding against some strangers, looking back at me like you’re daring me to say something. And then you have the fucking nerve to tell me I need to get laid? Like I haven’t been starving for three months because I’m stuck in ‘best friend’ purgatory?”

“I didn’t ask you to wait!” your voice trembled with a mix of fury and a terrifying, rising ache in your chest. “If you wanted me, you should have said something! You should have stopped me from leaving that morning! But you just fucking sat there and let me walk out!”

“Because I was terrified! I was terrified that if I reached for you, I’d lose the only person who actually knows me. I thought I could handle being your friend. I thought I could watch you date and smile and be happy. But tonight? Seeing his hands on you?” He leaned down, his forehead thumping against yours with a dull, desperate thud. His breath was hot, smelling of malt and obsession. “It felt like someone was ripping my ribs out of my chest,” he whispered, the anger turning into something far more dangerous—honesty. “I’m done, baby. I’m done pretending. I’m a fucking wreck. Are you happy now? Is this the ‘fun’ you wanted me to have?”

You felt the heat of him radiating through your clothes, the violent rhythm of his heart drumming against your own ribs. Your hands, which had been balled into fists against his chest, slowly unfurled, your fingers clutching at the damp fabric of his shirt.

The silence of the parking lot was heavy, broken only by the distant, rhythmic hum of the club and the ragged hitch of Mingi’s breath against your mouth. The cold air nipped at your damp skin, but where your bodies pressed together, the heat was suffocating.

“I’m not happy,” you whispered, your voice cracking as the last of your defensive anger dissolved into a jagged, aching vulnerability. “I'm exhausted, Mingi. I’ve been waiting for you to say something. Anything.”

Mingi’s hands, which had been bruising your hips, suddenly shifted. One slid up the curve of your spine, his palm flat and searing, while the other tangled deep into the hair at the base of your skull, tilting your head back until you were forced to meet the raw, unmasked hunger in his eyes. He didn’t look like your best friend anymore.

“You want me to say it?” he rasped, his lips brushing yours with every word, a torture of near-contact. “I want you. I’ve wanted you since the second I woke up that morning and saw you curled by my side. I wanted to pull you closer and never let the sun come up.” He leaned in, his nose sliding against yours, his grip tightening until you were fused to the cold metal of the SUV. “I don’t want to be your ‘friend’ tonight, I don’t want to be the guy who vets your dates or buys you a beer while you dance with someone else. I want to be the reason you can’t walk tomorrow. I want to be the only name you can remember.”

He paused, his thumb tracing the line of your jaw, his touch heavy and possessive. “Tell me to stop. Right now. Tell me you want the ‘best friend’ back, and I’ll walk away. I’ll go find that girl. I’ll do exactly what you told me to do.”

You looked at him—at the damp platinum hair, the red mark of your palm still burning on his cheek, the intensity of his stare—and felt the last of your resolve shatter. You couldn’t tell him to stop. Instead, you arched your back, pulling his hips flush against yours, your fingers digging into the muscles of his shoulders. “Don’t go.”

Mingi didn’t give you a chance to change your mind. He crashed his mouth against yours, the contact violent and desperate, a collision of three months of starved silence. It wasn’t a gentle kiss; it was a reclamation. His tongue demanding entry as he groaned deep in his throat—a sound of pure relief. His hands were everywhere—clutching your waist, hiking up the hem of your dress, his skin a brand against yours. He backed you harder into the car, the suspension creaking under the weight of his aggression. He kissed you like he was trying to breathe you in, like he was trying to erase the ghost of every other hand that had touched you. It was messy, teeth clashing, the salt of your sweat mixing as he tilted your head back at a sharp angle to get deeper, hungrier. You didn’t fight him. You were kissing him back with the same pent-up rage. Your hands flew to his hair, your fingers tangling in those blonde, sweat-damp strands, pulling him closer until there wasn’t a molecule of air left between your bodies.

“Min—” you whimpered into his mouth, the name broken and small.

His large hand slid down from your face, his fingers pug your dress higher, knuckles grazing the sensitive skin of your tight. He broke the kiss to bury his face in the crook of your neck, his breath scalding your skin. He bit—not a nip, but a sharp, possessive mark, making you arch your back and cry out into the empty parking lot. His hands were everywhere now, frantic and heavy, mapping the curves he’d spent days trying to forget.

“Mine,” he muttered against your skin, his voice a dark, fractured thing. “You’re mine.”

The metal of the SUV groaned as Mingi surged forward, his body crushing you into the side of the car. He didn’t just hold your leg; he hiked it higher, his forearm hooking under the crook of your knee to pull you flush against the hard, frantic line of his hips. The friction of his denim against your bare inner thigh was a jolt of pure electricity, a rough, grounding contrast to the slick, desperate heat of his mouth. Mingi’s grip on your thighs tightened until his knuckles went white, his fingers sinking into your skin with a bruising, territorial force that made you let out a sharp, jagged gasp. He didn’t care about the bruises he was leaving; he wanted you to feel every ounce of hunger he’d been choking back.

“Say it,” he growled, his voice vibrating against the sensitive cord of your neck. He didn’t wait for you to speak, his teeth grazing the skin he’d just bitten, soothing and then stinging again. “Tell me you’re mine before I lose my fucking mind.” His free hand, the one not holding your leg, didn’t stay still. It slid upward, the tips of his fingers dragging over the silk of your dress, bunching the fabric until he found the damp, heated skin of your waist. He didn’t stop there. He pushed the material higher, his palm sliding over your ribs with a possessive, heavy pressure that made your breath hitch in a series of broken stammers. He moved his hand from your waist, his fingers fumbling with the button of his own jeans with a frantic, clumsy desperation. He broke away from your neck, his face flushed, his eyes dark and blown out with a hunger that was terrifyingly beautiful.

“Say it,” he growled again, his voice dropping into a guttural, terrifying register as he ground his hips into yours. You felt the hard, insistent length of his cock through his clothes. The friction was a white-hot spark against your core, the heavy, rigid length of him pressing through the thin silk of your dress with an uncompromising demand. “I want to hear you admit what a fucking liar you’ve been. Tell me you’re mine before I fuck the memory of that other prick out of your head right here on the street.”

Your head thrashed back against the cold glass of the car window, a low, desperate whine vibrating in your throat. “Min… Please… It’s you. I promise it’s you.”

“That’s not what I asked,” he hissed, his mouth crashing onto the sensitive junction of your neck and shoulder. He pulled back just enough to look you in the eye, his pupils so dilated they swallowed the gold of his irises. “I don’t want ‘it’s you.’ I want you to say the words. Tell me you’re my slut. Tell me you’ve been sitting across from me for months dreaming about me pinning you down like this.”

He didn’t wait for your answer. He let go of one of your legs, his hand diving between your bodies to finish what he’d started with his jeans. You heard the harsh, metallic zip of his fly—a sound that felt like a death knell for your dignity. He didn’t think about a condom; he didn’t even slow down. He grabbed his own length, his other hand bluntly and impatiently pulling the lace of your panties to the side.

Mingi guided himself to the soaking, frantic heat of your entrance. The feel of him—thick, hot, and uncompromisingly hard—pressing against your opening made your vision spark. He wasn’t entering you yet, but he was right there, the blunt head of him sliding through the slickness you’d made for him, teasing the very edge of the abyss.

“Look at you,” he taunted, his breath hitching as he felt how ready you were. “Leaking like a fucking sink for me while you were telling yourself we were ‘just friends’ ten minutes ago. You’re so desperate for me you don’t even care who sees.” He hiked your leg higher, his forearm pressing into the glass behind your head to steady himself. He leaned in until his nose was brushing yours. “I’m going to stretch you out so wide you won’t be able to walk back into that club,” he promised, his hips twitching in a slow, shallow thrust that tested your limits. “I’m going to fill you with so much of me that you’ll smell like me for a week. Now, tell me who you belong to before I take it.”

“Min, someone... someone might—”

“Let them fucking look,” he rasped, his voice a jagged edge. He didn’t care about the yellow wash of the street lamps or the muffled, rhythmic thump of the club doors.

“Min… stop,” you gasped, your fingers trembling as you shoved against the hard wall of his chest, trying to find a single inch of air. “Not here. Take me… take me home. Please.”

He didn’t let go. If anything, he pressed closer. “Take you home?” he leaned in until his lips were grazing yours, his teeth bared in a jagged sneer. “What, you worried that suit might walk out and see you getting exactly what you’ve been begging for? You want to be a lady now?”

"No, I just— Not here,” you gasped, “Mingi, please... not on the street. Take me home. Just—get me home.” You were breathless, your voice a ragged thread of sound that broke against his lips. You didn’t pull away; instead, you buried your face in the crook of his neck, inhaling the salt, the expensive cologne, and the raw, terrifying heat of him. You bit down on the corded tendon of his shoulder, a sharp, desperate nip that was less about pain and more a wordless, frantic plea.

Mingi let out a sound that was half-groan, half-growl, his forehead thumping against the car window with a dull thud as he fought the urge to just sink into you right there. He stayed pinned against you for a heartbeat, his chest heaving in sync with yours.

The silence of the alleyway seemed to roar in his ears. Slowly, the haze in his eyes cleared just enough for him to see the way you were shaking in his arms—not just from the cold, but from the sheer, overwhelming weight of him. With a sharp, frustrated exhale, he snapped. He pulled back abruptly, his hands leaving your skin so suddenly you nearly stumbled. “Home,” he nodded slowly, the word sounding like a vow.

He didn’t drop you gently. He slid you down the side of the car, his hands never leaving your waist, his thumbs digging into your hip bones to keep you steady as your heels hit the pavement. His eyes were dark, almost black in the orange glow of the streetlamp, tracking the way your chest rose and fell. He reached out, his fingers trembling as he jerked your dress back down, smoothing the fabric over your thighs with a possessive, territorial rough-handedness.

“Don’t move,” he stepped back just far enough to fumble with his zipper, his movements jagged and impatient. He didn’t look toward the club; he looked toward the street, his arm shooting up the second he spotted the yellow glow of a taxi rounding the corner two blocks away.

He didn’t wait for it to reach you. He started walking toward the edge of the curb, his hand locked around your wrist, pulling you behind him with a singular, focused gravity. He was a different person—harder, faster, his shoulders set in a line that warned the world to stay the hell away. The taxi screeched to a halt, the driver barely having time to put it in park before Mingi yanked the back door open. He practically folded you into the seat, his body following yours so closely that you were pinned against the far door before he’d even slammed the car shut.

“Where to?” the driver asked, glancing in the rearview mirror.

Mingi gave his address, his voice dropping an octave, his hand already finding your thigh under the cover of the shadows. He didn’t care about the driver. He didn’t care about the neon lights of the city blurring past the window. He leaned over you, his hand sliding up your leg to bunch the fabric of your dress back toward your hips, his eyes fixed on yours with a terrifying, beautiful promise.

The interior of the taxi was a cramped, vinyl-scented capsule, the orange glow of the street lamps strobing across Mingi’s face in rhythmic, violent flashes. The driver hummed some mindless radio tune, oblivious to the fact that the air in the backseat was thick enough to choke on.

Mingi didn’t waste a second. He shifted, pinning you against the far door, his thigh slotting between yours to keep them spread. He looked out the window, his jaw set in a hard, protruding line of feigned indifference for the driver’s benefit, but his hand was doing something entirely different. His fingers hooked into the hem of your dress, the fabric sliding up your skin with a dry, rasping sound. He didn’t stop until his knuckles bumped against the damp lace of your underwear. You let out a soft, broken hitch of a breath, your head falling back against the window as the cool glass met your burning skin.

“Mingi,” you breathed, a warning and a plea rolled into one.

“Shh,” he rasped, finally turning his head to look at you. “You wanted to go home. We’re going. But I’m not stopping.”

He slid his hand beneath the lace, his palm cupping you with a sudden, bruising heat. You buckled against him, your fingers digging into the denim of his thighs. The taxi hit a pothole, jouncing the cabin, and Mingi used the momentum to drive his palm harder against you. He didn’t just slide his fingers in; he paused at the threshold, the tips of his fingers merely fluttering against the soaked silk of your underwear. He began to stroke you—just a feather-light touch at first, a torturous promise—before his fingers dipped lower, finding the slick, aching heat you’d been hiding all night. Your head hit the headrest, a choked-back moan dying in your throat. You could feel the vibration of the car’s engine beneath you, but it was nothing compared to the violent thrumming of Mingi’s heart against your shoulder.

“Look at this,” he whispered, his voice thick with a terrifying sort of triumph. He shifted his hand, bringing his damp fingers up between your faces so you could see the shimmer of yourself on his skin in the passing glow of a streetlamp. “All that talk about being ‘friends’ and ‘slip-ups,’ and you’re leaking for me in the back of a fucking taxi.” He leaned in, his nose brushing yours, his scent—sharp, masculine, and intoxicating—filling your head. He slid one finger in, just past the first knuckle, hooking it upward. You let out a strangled, high-pitched whimper, your hips jerking upward in a desperate search for friction. “You wanted me to put these hands on a stranger? To make her feel like this?” He pulled his finger back out until he was barely there. He did it again. And again. A rhythmic, shallow teasing that was ten times worse than the frantic grinding in the parking lot. He was reclaiming you, inch by agonising inch.

“You like that?” he rasped, his thumb catching your clit and pinning it with a heavy, steady pressure that made your vision go white at the edges. “I bet that suit didn’t even get close enough to know how sensitive you are right here. He didn’t know that if I press just like this, you start shaking, did he?” He began to move in a slow, torturous rhythm—not fast enough to bring you to the edge, but deep enough to keep the ache in your lower belly twisting into a tight knot. Every time you tried to buck against him to speed him up, he’d still his hand, or pull back entirely until you were whimpering for him to continue.

“Please,” you sobbed into his neck, your fingers digging so hard into his shoulders you were sure you’d leave marks.

“Please what, baby? Please stop?” He nipped at the skin of your throat, his fingers stretching you open as he added a second digit, sliding it in alongside the first with a deliberate, slow friction. “Or please don’t stop because you’ve been thinking about this as much as I have? Tell me the truth. While you were dancing with him, were you wondering if he’d touch you like this? Were you wondering if he knew how to make you fall apart?” He increased the pace just a fraction, his knuckles rubbing against your inner thigh, the heavy silver of his rings a cold, hard contrast to the blistering heat of your body. You were melting, your breath coming in shallow, frantic hitches as the pressure built, centring right where his thumb was grinding.

“You aren’t finishing in the back of a Prius. You’re going to wait until we’re home. You’re going to wait until I can hear you moaning my name,” he looked out the window as the taxi pulled up to the curb of his apartment building. He didn’t move his hand until the car came to a full stop. Then, with one final, deep thrust that drew a sob from your throat, he withdrew, the sudden loss of heat and pressure making you feel dizzy. He wiped his fingers on the seat beside him—or perhaps your dress, you couldn’t tell—payed the driver, and leaned over to open the door, his eyes burning with a promise that made the taxi ride feel like a mere appetiser.

“Out,” he ordered, his eyes dark with a promise that made your knees feel like water. “I’m done teasing.”

The lobby was a blur of marble and hushed silence, a stark contrast to the war zone in the back of the taxi. Mingi didn’t let go of your wrist, his stride long and jagged as he hauled you toward the elevators. His knuckles were still damp, the scent of you clinging to his skin, and he didn’t even try to hide the way his gaze devoured the curve of your throat.

The chime of the elevator felt like a starter pistol. The doors slid shut with a heavy, mechanical sigh, sealing the two of you into a mirrored box of brushed steel. Mingi slammed his palm against the button for the 12th floor and then immediately pivoted, his arm lashing out to pin you against the handrail. The elevator jolted upward, the sudden gravity pulling your stomach into your throat, but Mingi’s weight was the only thing keeping you upright.

“Twelve floors,” he rasped, his voice a low, vibrating growl that echoed off the metal walls. “You have exactly twelve floors before I have you behind a locked door.”

His hand slid up from your waist, his palm flat and heavy against your ribs. His fingers splayed wide as he reached the underside of your breast. He squeezed—not a gentle caress, but a firm, possessive claim that made you gasp, your head thumping back against the mirrored wall. He leaned down, his teeth nipping at the sensitive junction where your neck met your shoulder, his tongue licking the sting away a second later.

His other hand dived low, his fingers hooking into the hem of your dress and yanking it up to your hips. He didn’t care about the security camera in the corner. He shoved his knee between your thighs, forcing them apart, his hand sliding over the silk of your underwear to find the heat he’d left behind in the taxi. He began to rub, a slow, heavy friction that made your knees buckle. “Look at yourself,” he commanded, nodding toward the mirrors.

You looked and saw the wreckage of your hair, the flush climbing up your chest, and Mingi—towering over you, his blonde hair a mess, his large hand disappearing between your legs.

“Floor six,” he whispered against your ear, his breath scalding. His thumb find your nipple through the dress and pinched, a sharp bolt of pleasure-pain that made you cry out. He caught the sound in his own mouth, kissing you with a bruising, desperate hunger that tasted of beer and obsession. His hands were a frantic map, sliding from the swell of your breasts down to the soft meat of your thighs, his fingers digging into your skin.

“Floor nine,” he groaned into the hollow of your throat, his hand sliding back down to grip your thigh, hitching it up around his waist so he could grind his dressed hardness against your core. The friction was a slow-motion torture that had you sobbing his name into the quiet hum of the elevator.

The chime for the 12th floor was the loudest sound you’d ever heard. The doors slid open. Mingi didn’t let you down. He kept your leg hooked around his hip, his arm a steel band around your waist as he practically carried you down the hall, his keys already out and jingling with a frantic, metallic rhythm. He fumbled with the keys, his breath coming in short, jagged hitches that rattled in his chest. The lock clicked and he kicked the door open, dragging you inside into the pitch-black entryway. He didn’t turn on the lights and slammed the door shut behind you, the boom echoing through the empty apartment, and in the same motion, he shoved you back against it. The wood was solid and unforgiving against your spine, a cold shock that lasted only a second before Mingi’s heat incinerated it. He dropped his weight into you, his forearms slamming against the door on either side of your head, pinning you in the narrow dark. The only light came from the city skyline bleeding through the floor-to-ceiling windows in the living room, casting his silhouette in a jagged, silver outline. He didn’t give you a chance to breathe. He reached down, his hands catching the hem of your dress and yanking it up past your hips, the fabric bunching around your waist in a frantic, messy pile. His palms were scorching, his skin a brand against your thighs as he hiked your legs up, his strong arms hooking under your knees to lift you off the floor.

You let out a broken gasp, your hands flying to his shoulders, your fingers digging into the material of his shirt for balance. You wrapped your legs around his waist, your heels locking behind his back, pulling him flush against the aching, empty core. He buried his face in the crook of your neck. He didn’t kiss you; he claimed you.

“I’ve spent three months staring at this door, remembering the way you looked when you walked through it the last time. I’m not letting you go until I’ve had every fucking inch of you.”

He shifted his grip, one hand staying under your thigh while the other moved to his jeans, the metallic rasp of his zipper sounding like a gunshot in the quiet apartment. He was shaking—you could feel the tremors in his muscles, the raw, unhinged desperation of a man who had reached his absolute limit. When he adjusted his grip on your thighs and surged forward, the air didn’t just leave your lungs—it was stolen.

His cock was massive. A blunt, heavy intrusion that felt like he was rearranging the very architecture of your body. The initial stretch was a sharp, searing sting, a fire that made your eyes snap wide and your breath hitch into a tight, jagged sob. It was too much; it was the physical manifestation of ninety days of starved silence suddenly demanding entry all at once.

“Mingi—wait,” you wheezed, your fingers digging into the fabric of his shirt, your knuckles white as you tried to find your bearings.

“No,” he growled, the word a dark, guttural vibration against the sensitive cord of your throat. He didn’t pull back. He stayed buried deep to the absolute hilt, his forehead thumping against the door next to your ear as he fought the urge to just cum right then. His muscles were coiling like overwound springs, his skin radiator-hot against yours. “Don’t you dare tell me to wait,” his teeth grazed your earlobe with a threatening pressure. “You’ve made me wait for three fucking months. So now, you’re going to take every bit of this.”

He didn’t ease you into it. He began to move—a shallow, punishing rhythm that forced your head back against the wood. Every strike was a blunt-force, pleasure and pain, the sting began to dull into a heavy, throbbing ache, a fullness that radiated from your core to your toes. You let out a long, shaky moan, your hips tilting instinctively to take more of him. Your hands, frantic and clumsy with adrenaline, fumbled with the buttons of his shirt, your fingernails grazing the damp, hard heat of his chest. You needed him closer. You needed the barrier of the fabric gone. As the shirt fell open, you pressed your palms against his bare skin, feeling the violent gallop of his heart.

“Take it off,” you whimpered into the hollow of his neck, your teeth catching on his skin. “Min, please.”

He let out a sound that was purely animal. He didn’t take the shirt off; he simply ripped it back, the buttons popping and skittering across the hardwood floor like hail. He caught your face in his hand, his thumb digging into your cheek as he kissed you—a messy, desperate collision of tongues and teeth that tasted of salt and obsession.

He hammered into you, his thrusts deep and punishing, pinning you against the door with a force that made the hinges groan. Every impact sent a shockwave through your frame, your head knocking back against the wood in time with his movements. The pain was gone, incinerated by a white-hot friction that made your vision blur into streaks.

Mingi pulled back just an inch, his eyes raking over the silk fabric of your dress. He didn’t reach for a zipper at the side. He didn’t look for a seam. He hooked his large fingers into the delicate neckline and pulled. The sound of the silk shredding was a sharp, violent protest in the quiet hallway. He hauled the fabric down, the material bunching around your waist and then falling to the floor in a ruined, expensive heap. He didn’t stop until you were completely exposed to the cool air of the apartment, your skin pale and shivering under the harsh focus of his gaze. He grabbed your waist again, his thumbs digging into your hip bones as he slammed you back against the door. Without the silk as a barrier, the contact was electric.

“You’re so tight,” he rasped, the words broken and guttural, hissed into the sensitive shell of your ear. “Fucking killing me... how much you want this.” His hand moved to your breast, his palm heavy and possessive, thumb catching your sensitive nipple and rolling it with a bruising pressure that made you cry out. Mingi couldn’t care less about the noise. He didn’t care about the neighbours or the world outside. He was focused entirely on the way you were breaking around him, the way your legs were locked around his waist, your heels drumming against the small of his back.

His pace became frantic, a blurring, heavy friction that pushed you toward a ledge you weren’t ready for. He was growling now, his breath coming in ragged, wet hitches, his mouth against your cheek as he felt the first tremors of your climax begin to ripple through you.

“Look at me.” You opened your eyes, your vision swimming with tears and pleasure. Even in the dark, his eyes were burning, fixed on yours with a terrifying, singular focus. “Tell me,” he gasped, his pace quickening, his chest heaving against yours until you could feel the frantic gallop of his heart. “Tell me who’s inside you. Say the name.”

“Mingi,” you sobbed, the name a shattered, breathless thing as you gripped his hair, pulling his face closer. You couldn’t even think; the sheer, thick volume of him was filling every corner of your consciousness, stretching you until you felt like you might split apart from the pleasure of it. “It’s you.”

He didn’t stop. His pace was a heavy, wet rhythm that echoed through the apartment. Each thrust was a blunt-force, pinning you so hard against the door that the wood vibrated against your shoulder blades. “Say it again,” he growled, his teeth bared, sweat dripping from the tip of his nose onto your cheek. “Tell me whose you are.”

“Yours,” you moaned, your hips buckling, chasing the friction as the pressure behind your navel tightened. “Mingi, I’m yours. Please—I’m close. I’m so close.”

His breath hitched, a jagged, guttural sound as his own control finally disintegrated. He buried his face in the crook of your neck, his muscles corded like steel cables under your palms. He was trembling violently, his thrusts reaching a shallow speed that told you he was right on the precipice. “Where?” he rasped, the word barely a whisper, thick with a desperate urgency. He gripped your hips so hard his fingers left white imprints on your skin. “Where do you want it? Tell me where, baby, before I lose it.”

You wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling him in as if you could pull him into your very soul. “Inside,” you choked out, your voice dropping to a raw, pleading whimper. “Inside me, give it all to me. Fill me up.”

The permission was the final blow. Mingi let out a low, primal roar that vibrated through your entire chest cavity. He surged forward one last time, burying himself to the absolute hilt, and stalled there. His entire body locked up, his head snapping back as he came, the sheer force of it pulsing through him in heavy, rhythmic waves. You felt the blistering heat of him flooding you—a thick, relentless spill that made your own walls contract in a violent, cascading climax. You cried out, your voice dying in your throat as your vision sparked with silver, your body sagging against him as the world tilted and dissolved.

For a long minute, the only sound in the entryway was the ragged, sobbing hitch of your combined breathing. Mingi stayed buried inside you, his forehead resting against the door, his chest heaving as if he’d just survived a wreck. He didn’t move, holding you up as the mess of him began to trickle down your skin.

Slowly, he pulled his head back, his eyes searching yours in the dim silver light. He kissed you, his lips lingering as he let your legs slide down his body until your feet touched the floor.

Your legs were liquid, useless stalks of flax that buckled the moment your heels touched the hardwood. You would have crumpled right there in the entryway, amidst the ruins of your dress, his shirt and the lingering scent of sex. But Mingi didn’t let you fall. He caught you, his large hands clamping under your armpits with a strength that felt more like a crane than a caress.

He didn’t lead you. He hauled you up, his arm hooking under your knees and his other hand bracing your back. You were a dead weight against his bare, sweat-slicked chest, your head lolling against his shoulder as the hallway blurred past.

He reached the threshold of the bedroom and tossed you. You hit the mattress with a heavy whump, the air huffing out of your lungs as you bounced once, twice, before settling into the tangled, dark sheets. The bed smelled faintly of him but it was quickly being overwhelmed by the scent of the two of you, salt and sex.

Mingi didn’t join you immediately. He stood at the foot of the bed, a dark silhouette against the moonlight, his chest heaving as he stared down at you. He looked like a man who had just won a war and didn’t know what to do with the prisoner. He kicked off his boots, the heavy thuds echoing like stones hitting a grave, and then his hands went to his jeans.

“You think that was it?” he stripped the rest of his clothes off with a violent, impatient efficiency, throwing them toward the corner without looking. “You think I’m just going to let you sleep after what you did tonight?”

He reached out, his hand wrapping around your ankle with a grip that felt like an iron shackle. He unbuckled the delicate straps of your heels and tossed them aside like they were trash. Then, he crawled onto the bed, the mattress dipping dangerously under his weight. He didn’t come at you from the side; he moved over you like a shadow, his knees pinning your thighs down, his hands catching your wrists and pinning them above your head.

He was still hard—viciously so—the evidence of his release in the hallway still glistening on his skin. He looked down at you, his blonde hair falling over his eyes, his expression stripped of every ounce of the “best friend” mask.

“I’m going to make you stay awake until you can’t even remember that prick’s name,” he hissed, his face dropping until his nose was an inch from yours. “I'm going to mark every inch of skin he even thought about looking at.” He hooked his fingers into the waistband of your lace panties—the ones that were a soaked from your slick and his cum, a ripped mess from how he pushed them aside in the hallway with too much force. Mingi didn’t slide them down your legs. He buried his knuckles into your hip bones and ripped them. The sound of the lace tearing was a sharp, final punctuation. He shredded the fabric, pulling the scraps away and throwing them into the dark behind him. He dived down, his mouth catching your breast with a hunger that was borderline painful, his tongue swirling around the peak while his other hand slid down, his fingers spreading your folds open with a rough focus. You were still sensitive, still pulsing, and the sudden, heavy contact made you cry out, your hips jerking upward in a frantic, uncoordinated search for release.

“Min, please—”

“I told you,” he growled, his voice vibrating against your skin. “Don’t fucking ‘Min’ me. You wanted this version of me? You wanted the guy who needs to ‘get laid’? You’ve got him. At the club you had a lot of advice for me, didn’t you? You told me I was ‘wound too tight.’ You told me exactly what I needed to fix my mood.”

He let out a low, dark chuckle that didn’t reach his eyes.

“What were the words, baby? ‘Your dick needs a good sucking’?” He threw the phrase back at you like a slur, his thumb tracing the line of your jaw before hooking into your mouth, forcing your lips open. “You were so worried about my stress levels. So eager to find me a ‘victim’ to take care of it,” he hissed. “Well, the victim’s right here, and I’m still wound pretty fucking tight. So, since you’re such an expert on what I need, why don’t you show me? No more talk. Do exactly what you said I needed.”

He didn’t wait for you to move on your own. He grabbed your waist and hauled you off the bed, his movements jerky and impatient. “On your knees, use that fucking mouth for something other than lying to me,” he commanded, “I want to hear you choke on every word you said tonight.”

Mingi didn’t sit back to enjoy the view. He stood over you, his legs braced wide. His hand didn’t just rest on your head; it clamped into your hair, his knuckles scraping against your scalp as he forced your face forward. “Do it,” he hissed, the word a serrated edge in the quiet room. “Show me exactly how you’d take care of a stranger. Show me what you were going to offer that suit.”

When you finally took his cock into your mouth, the sheer, thick volume of him was shocking. Your jaw ached instantly, the muscles straining to accommodate the heavy, pulsing heat of him. You started slow, your tongue swirling around the tip, tasting the salt and the lingering, raw scent of the night, but Mingi wasn’t interested in a slow burn. He groaned—a low, guttural vibration that you felt in your teeth—and his grip in your hair tightened until your eyes watered. You leaned in further, your nose brushing against the coarse hair at the base of him, the scent of his skin—musk, sweat, and adrenaline—filling your lungs until you were lightheaded. You were drooling, the slick moisture running down your chin and dripping, but you didn’t pull away.

“Suck it,” he commanded, his voice dropping into a dark, demeaning rasp. “Like you’ve been starving for it.”

He didn’t wait for you to find a rhythm. He began to move his hips, a slow, rhythmic surge that forced you to swallow him deeper. Every time you tried to pull back for air, his hand at the back of your head became a vice, slamming you back forward. He was fucking your throat, his thrusts reaching a shallow speed that triggered your gag reflex, making your chest heave against his thighs. You were choking, a muffled, wet sound dying in your throat, but Mingi didn’t ease up. He liked the sound. He liked the way your eyes were wide and shimmering with tears, fixed on his as he looked down at you with a cold, predatory triumph.

“That’s it,” he growled, his breath coming in ragged, animalistic hitches. “Choke on it, baby. Let me feel how much you hate that you love this. Tell me again how I’m just your ‘best friend’ while you’re down there on your knees like a fucking dog.” He increased the pace, his hands moving from your hair to your shoulders, pinning you down so you couldn’t move an inch. He was relentless, his cock sliding past the point of comfort, hitting the back of your throat with a blunt, rhythmic force. “You’re so pathetic,” he taunted, his thumb reaching down to rub a drop of moisture from your lip before smearing it on your cheek. “Acting all high and mighty at the bar, and now you’re desperate. You’re shaking.” He wasn’t close to being done. He was using you to vent every ounce of the ninety days of silence, every second of the jealousy that had been eating him alive. He grabbed your chin, forcing you to look up at him as he continued to drive into your mouth. “Is this ‘fun’ enough for you?” he groaned, his voice breaking with the effort of his control. “Is this what you wanted to see? The version of me that doesn’t give a fuck about your feelings?”

Mingi hauled you back up by the roots of your hair, your head snapping back as he forced you to sit on your heels. You were a wreck—makeup smudged into dark halos around your eyes, your lips swollen and slick, a string of saliva trailing down to the curve of your collarbone. You looked exactly how he’d imagined you, and the sight of it seemed to strip the last of the humanity from his expression.

Mingi’s hand was a heavy at the base of your skull, his fingers deep in your hair as he set a rhythm that was purely for his own satisfaction. Every time he drove deep, the world blurred into a haze of white noise and the suffocating scent of him, your throat working desperately around the thick, relentless intrusion of his length. You were drowning in him, your senses overloaded by the friction and the raw, guttural sounds he was making above you. Unable to stay still, your hand drifted downward, your fingers seeking the slick, aching heat between your thighs. The moment you touched yourself, the sensation was a violent electric shock; you were so sensitive, so over-sensitised by the rough treatment and the crushing fullness in your throat, that the slightest pressure felt like an explosion. You were a drenched, pulsing mess, your fingers sliding through the excessive wetness you’d made for him as you began to work yourself in sync with his thrusts.

The sight of it—the way you were frantically helping yourself while he used your mouth—sent Mingi straight to the edge. He watched your eyes roll back, your hips twitching in a desperate, uncoordinated rhythm, and he felt the frantic, wet heat of your throat tightening around him in response.

“Fuck, you’re so close,” he choked out, his voice a fractured wreck. He could feel the pressure building behind his eyes, a searing, white-hot tension that told him he was seconds away from losing control completely. “Three months of acting like you were too good for this. Three months of playing the ‘best friend’ while you were probably dreaming about being exactly where you are right now.” He didn’t want to finish in your mouth; he wanted to see the mess he’d made. Mingi didn’t let go of your hair as he pulled out, the sudden rush of air into your lungs making you let out a broken, wheezing sob. He watched your hand move frantically between your legs. You were too far gone to stop; the friction of his throat-fucking had left you on a razor’s edge, and the sight of him—hard, twitching, and lethal—was the final shove you needed. “Look at me,” he commanded, his voice a jagged, guttural snap. “Don’t you dare close your eyes. Watch what you’re doing to yourself for me.”

You obeyed, your eyes wide and glazed with a terrifying level of pleasure as you worked your fingers against your swollen core. You were drenched, the sound of the wet friction loud in the quiet room. Mingi’s hand moved to his own length, his grip blunt and punishing as he matched your frantic pace. He was snarling now, his teeth bared, his eyes fixed on the way your hips were jerking, the way your inner thighs were trembling.

“That's it,” he rasped, his own rhythm turning into a blur of motion. “Come for me, you slut. Show me how much you want it.”

The world fractured. You hit your peak with a high, shattered scream that echoed off the walls, your body arching off the floor as your muscles convulsed in a violent, rhythmic release. Right as you shattered, Mingi let out a low, animalistic roar, his own body locking up as he finally let go. The first splash of his cum hit your cheek, a searing, thick contrast to the cool air of the room. You gasped, your eyes fluttering shut for a second before you forced them open, watching him as he came. It was a heavy, relentless release, painting your skin—the bridge of your nose, the corner of your mouth, your other cheek. Mingi didn’t stop until he was spent, his breath coming in sobbing, jagged bursts. You were still twitching from your own orgasm, your breath coming in sobbing hitches, when the final, hot spray landed against your forehead.

He looked down at the wreckage of your face with a mix of hunger and a terrifying, dazed possessiveness. “You’re nothing but a little cum slut, aren’t you?” He whispered, his voice a broken thread of sound. “Now you look right. Now you look like you belong to me.”

Slowly, your fingers traced the heavy, warm smear on your cheek, dragging the heat toward the corner of your mouth. When your tongue flicked out, catching the stray, salt-sharp drop from your lip, the sound that left Mingi’s throat wasn’t human. It was a low groan—a guttural vibration that started deep in his chest and broke against his teeth.

“Fuck,” he rasped, leaning closer, his shadow swallowing you as he watched you swallow him.

You tasted the raw, metallic tang of him. You didn’t just take it; you looked him dead in the eye, your tongue tracing the seam of your lips to make sure you didn’t miss a single drop. You were a mess—covered in his cum, your face flushed and ruined—and you were offering it back to him as a final, absolute surrender.

“You like it, don’t you?” his thumb slid into your mouth, dragging across your tongue. He let out another fractured, breathless groan. “You’re sitting here, looking like a fucking angel with my mess on your face, and you’re asking for more.” He grabbed your jaw, his fingers digging into your skin with a territorial, bruising intensity that made your breath hitch. He wasn’t just satisfied; he was re-ignited. The sight of your total lack of shame—the way you were devouring the evidence of his claim—was the final match in the powder keg of his restraint.

You reached up, your fingers trembling as you gripped his wrist, pulling his hand just far enough from your lips so you could speak. You were trembling, your chest heaving with a desperate, frantic need that hadn’t been satisfied yet. “Say it again,” you whimpered, the words sliding out in a high, desperate whine. “Please... Call me that again.”

Mingi froze, his muscles locking up under your touch. “Say what?”

“What you called me,” you sobbed, the desperation finally breaking through. You looked up at him, your eyes blown out and shimmering with tears, the salt of his release still stinging your cheeks. “Call me that again. Call me your slut. I want to hear it while you’re looking at me. I want to know that’s all I am to you tonight.”

A dark, visceral shudder ran through Mingi’s entire frame. He let out a sound that was half-choke, half-growl, his hand sliding to the back of your neck, his fingers tangling deep in your hair to force your head back. He leaned down until his lips were a hair’s breadth from yours, his breath searing. “You want to hear it?” he hissed, his voice dropping into that terrifying, guttural frequency that made your insides turn to liquid. “You want me to remind you how pathetic you are? How you’re sitting here on the floor, covered in my cum?”

“Yes,” you breathed, your hips reflexively hitching toward him. “Please, tell me.”

“You’re a slut,” he didn’t say it with kindness; he said it with the raw, territorial hunger of a man who had finally claimed his prize. “You’re my little slut. My lying, beautiful, desperate slut who’s finally exactly where she belongs.” He watched the way the words made you shatter, the way your eyes rolled back and a high, broken moan tore from your throat. “You’re pathetic,” he rasped, his hand coming down to catch your jaw again. “A mess. Look at you, begging for it.”

“I am,” a small, broken sound. You leaned your face into his palm, your skin stinging where the stubble on his thumb caught. “I want... I want you to make me feel it. Slap me, Min. Do it.”

Mingi’s hand stilled against your jaw, his fingers curling into your hair as he stared at you with an expression that was both horrified and hungry. “What did you say?”

“I want... I want you to make me feel it,” you whispered, your voice a broken, jagged thread of sound. “I want you to make me understand. Slap me. Do it. Show me exactly what you think of me.”

A dark, visceral shudder ran through his frame. He didn’t hesitate. The sound of his palm connecting with your cheek was a sharp, heavy crack that echoed through the empty apartment. Your head snapped to the side, the force of it making your vision spark white for a split second. The sting was immediate—a white-hot, throbbing heat that radiated from your cheek down to your throat, making you moan.

Mingi didn’t let you pull away. He grabbed your jaw, his fingers digging into the bone to force your face back toward his. He was shaking, his chest heaving as if he’d just run a mile, his nostrils flared. “Is that what you want?” he hissed, his voice a jagged edge of pure, unadulterated menace. “You want me to treat you like a toy? You want me to leave marks so everyone knows what you’ve been doing behind closed doors?”

“Yes,” you sobbed, the word breaking against his lips. “Yes, please.”

He hit you again—shorter, sharper this time, the sound punctuated by the desperate, high-pitched whine that tore from your throat. He grabbed the back of your head, forcing you to look up at him. “You want me to treat you like you’re nothing? Like you’re just a place for me to put my dick in?”

He hadn’t even fully come down from the first two rounds before the sight of you, messy and pleading on your knees, had his dick surging back to life. “All fours. Now. I want your ass up and your head down.” His hand moved from your head to your shoulder, pulling you up only to shove you toward the mattress.

You scrambled to obey, your limbs heavy and uncoordinated, your knees dragging against the sheets. You pushed yourself up, your back arching as you lowered your chest to the pillows, leaving your hips elevated and exposed. The cool air hit your damp skin, making you shiver. Behind you, Mingi grabbed your hips, his fingers digging into the soft flesh with a bruising intensity that marked his territory. He positioned himself at your entrance.

“Don’t you dare move,” he commanded, his voice a low, vibrating threat against your spine. He surged forward, a deep, uncompromising thrust that felt like it reached all the way to your ribs. You let out a loud, echoing moan, your forehead thumping into the pillow as the sheer, thick volume of him filled you to the absolute limit, your walls contracting in a desperate welcome.He wasn’t being careful. He immediately started hammering into you, the sound of skin hitting skin a rhythmic, wet slapping that filled the room. He reached forward, his hand finding your hair again and pulling, forcing your head up so you had to see your own reflection in the mirrored closet doors across the room.

“Look at yourself,” he hissed, his breath hot and ragged against your ear. “Look at what a mess you are for me. Tell me you’re my slut. Say it while I’m fucking the life out of you.”

“I’m yours,” you sobbed, your voice breaking as he hit that one spot deep inside, over and over, with a relentless, territorial precision. “I’m your slut, Mingi... please, don’t ever stop.”

He let out a low, primal roar, his thrusts becoming shallow and frantic as he reached the precipice. Mingi’s palm slammed into the soft meat of your ass with a stinging, heavy crack that echoed louder than your own frantic breathing. The impact made your spine whip into a sharp arch, your chest pressing so hard into the pillows that the air was forced out of your lungs in a jagged, high-pitched sob.

He reached forward, his hand sliding under your jaw and clamping around your throat. He didn’t cut off your air, but the weight of his palm was a heavy, suffocating collar that forced your head back at a punishing angle. He leaned over your back, his bare chest a wall of heat against your spine. He didn’t kiss you; he sank his teeth into the sensitive skin of your shoulder, a sharp, jagged bite that drew a muffled, pained cry from your throat. He held it there, his teeth grinding into your skin until you felt the sting turn into a white-hot, throbbing ache that radiated down to your toes.

He let go of your neck only to grab both of your wrists, pinning them into the small of your back with one massive hand while his other hand found your ass again, spanking it with a territorial, bruising intensity. “Is it too much for you? Is the ‘best friend’ being too mean? Tell me to stop, slut.”

“No,” you sobbed, the word a broken, pathetic whine that was lost to the rhythmic, wet slapping of his hips against yours. You were a mess—your skin slick with sweat and the evidence of his earlier release, your vision sparking with every deep, uncompromising strike. “Mingi... please... don’t stop. I’m yours. Only yours.”

“Good,” he growled, the vibration of the word traveling through your body. He increased the pace, his thrusts reaching brutal speed that made the bed frame rattle against the wall. He was hammering into you, his knuckles rubbing against your inner thigh, his thumb finding that one specific spot he remembered and grinding into it with a relentless, heavy pressure.

You were breaking. The walls you’d built over the last three months weren’t just crumbling; they were on fire. You were a moaning, begging, sobbing wreck under him, your hips stuttering in a frantic, uncoordinated dance as you tried to keep up with his aggression. Every time you tried to pull away from the intensity, he’d yank your hair or tighten, forcing you to take every inch of him.

“Look at yourself,” he shoved his fingers into your mouth, tasting the salt of your tears as he forced you to choke on them. “Ninety days I sat across from you and acted like I didn’t want to do exactly this. Ninety days of you pretending you didn’t need this. And now look at you. You’re pathetic. You’re shaking for me.”

He suddenly released your wrists, but before you could even bring your hands forward to brace yourself, he grabbed your waist and hauled your hips upward, his fingers hooking into the front of your hip bones and pulling you back so hard you thought you might snap. He dived deep, his cock hitting the back of you with a blunt-force that made your vision go black for a split second.

“Mine,” he roared, the word a primal, guttural sound that tore from his throat. He was close—you could feel the tremors in his muscles, the way his breath was coming in ragged, wet hitches that rattled in his chest.

“I’m coming,” he hissed, his voice a fractured thread of sound. “And I’m going to fill you so full you won’t be able to think about another man for the rest of your fucking life.”

He surged forward one last time, his entire body locking up as he came. He let out a low groan, his forehead thumping against your back as he flooded you with a thick, relentless heat. Mingi didn’t move, he stayed buried inside you, his heavy weight pinning you into the sheets, his breath hot and ragged against your skin. The silence that followed his release was suffocating, broken only by the ragged, wet sound of Mingi’s lungs fighting for air against your spine. He was a dead weight, his chest heaving, his skin slick and sticking to yours as the heat of him pooled inside you. But for you, the world hadn’t stopped. The friction, the bites, and the deep, territorial hammering had wound you into a tight, screaming knot of nerves that was now vibrating with fire.

You tried to shift, to grind your hips back against him in a desperate search for the friction he’d just stolen away, but he was too heavy. You were pinned, your face buried in the damp pillow, the salt of your tears stinging the raw skin of your cheeks.

“Mingi,” you whimpered, the name coming out as a broken, high-pitched sob. “Mingi, please... I can’t—I need to cum.”

He let out a low, vibrating grunt against your shoulder blade, his fingers still curled loosely into the hair at the base of your skull. The lack of response made the ache in your lower belly sharpen into a physical pain. You began to thrash weakly, your knees scraping against the sheets as you tried to find the ledge he’d just pushed you off.

“Please!” you cried out, your voice cracking, raw and whiny. “It hurts, Min. I’ve been so fucking good... I did everything. I let you... I let you do everything.” The memory of the hallway, the cold door, the floor, and the taste of him flooded back, making your pulse hammer in your throat. You were a mess—covered in him, marked by him, and utterly unraveled. “I need it,” you sobbed into the pillow, your hips bucking in a pathetic, uncoordinated jerk. “Please, don’t leave me like this. I was so good for you. Call me whatever you want, just—please, Mingi, make me cum.”

You felt him shift then. It wasn’t a gentle movement. He let out a dark, weary chuckle that sounded more like a growl, his head lifting from your back. He didn’t pull out; instead, he gripped your waist again, his fingers sinking into the bruises he’d already made.

“You’re still talking?” he rasped, his voice a jagged, exhausted thread. He leaned down, his lips brushing the shell of your ear, his breath searing. “You’re still demanding things?”

“I have to,” you wailed, your hands clawing at the headboard, your knuckles white. “I’m going to die if you don’t... please, Min... I was your slut, wasn’t I? Take care of your slut.”

The word seemed to spark the last of the embers in him. He didn’t rise back up to his feet, but he shifted his weight, reaching one large hand down between your bodies. When he found the slick, swollen clit—drenched in the evidence of his own release—you let out a scream that was muffled by the bedding.

“You were good,” he muttered, his thumb finding that sensitive peak and pinning it with a brutal, heavy pressure. He began to move, a slow, torturous circle that made your vision go white. “So fucking good.” He increased the pressure, his other hand coming around to catch your throat again, holding you still as you began to shatter. The moment his thumb ground into that hyper-sensitive peak, the tension that had been coiling in your gut for didn’t just snap—it exploded. Your back arched so violently your spine felt like it might crack, a sharp, broken scream tearing from your throat as the first wave hit. It wasn’t a quiet release; it was a violent one. You felt the sudden, hot deluge as you squirted, the fluid drenching his hand and splashing against the sheets and his own thighs in a frantic, uncontrollable flood.

“Fuck!” you wailed, your head thrashing against the pillow, your vision blurring into white static.

Mingi let out a dark, guttural sound—half-laugh, half-growl—as he felt the heat of you soaking the bed beneath him. He didn’t pull back. He didn’t give you a second to breathe or let your heart rate settle. Instead, the sight of you finally breaking, drowning in your own pleasure and his mess, seemed to snap the last of his restraint.

“Look at this,” he watched the fluid soak into the dark fabric of the sheets. “Look at what a fucking mess I made of you. You’re soaking my bed, baby. You’re practically drowning in it.”

He didn’t wait for the tremors in your thighs to stop. He gripped your hips again, and surged forward. He was still semi-soft from his release, but the sheer, friction-heavy contact of your contractions squeezing him, combined with the sight of your total undoing, had him hardening inside you again with a terrifying, rapid gravity.

“We’re not done,” he hissed, his teeth grazing the back of your neck. “You wanted to be my slut? You wanted to stay on your knees? Then stay there. I’m going to make sure you’re still twitching when the sun comes up.”

He grabbed your waist, his strength uncompromising as he forced you to shift. He hauled you around until you were flat on your back, your hair fanned out against the cushions. The transition was jarring, the cool air hitting your drenched skin and making your nipples peak instantly.

Mingi loomed over you, his knees bracketing your hips, his chest heaving. From this angle, he looked even more massive, his shadow swallowing you whole. He reached down, grabbing your ankles and shoving your knees back toward your chest, pinning you wide open in a position that left absolutely nothing to the imagination.

The sight of you—flushed, trembling, and still glistening from your own climax—sent a fresh wave of heat through him. He looked down at your face, seeing the red mark on your cheek and the dazed, broken look in your eyes, and his jaw tightened.

“I want to see your face when I do this,” his hand slid down to guide his rigid, pulsing length back to your entrance. He was already heavy and leaking again. “I want to see your eyes roll back when you realise you’re never going to be empty again.”

He leaned forward, his weight crushing you into the bed, and began to sink back in. It was a slow deep stretch, his eyes locked onto yours as he watched the exact moment the air left your lungs. He began to move again, but the rhythm was different now—slower, heavier, and even more punishing. Every thrust was a wet, sliding impact, the sound of skin hitting skin loud and rhythmic in the quiet room. Because of how wet you were, he was sliding deep, hitting your cervix with a blunt force that made you sob, your hands clutching the sheets as you tried to keep your balance.

Mingi watched your face with a predatory stillness, his eyes tracking every flicker of sensation that crossed your features. He didn’t move fast. He didn’t give you the frantic pace. Instead, he began a slow, deep grind, his hips rotating in a way that forced you to feel every single ridge, every throb of his pulse against your internal walls.

“Does that hurt?” he whispered, his voice a low, vibrating hum that seemed to resonate inside your very bones. “Or does it just ache? Tell me how it feels to have me taking up every inch of you while you’re still coming down.”

He pulled back so slowly it was a torture of its own, the slick friction of his withdrawal making your breath hitch in a series of broken, stuttering hitches. Just as you thought he was going to leave you empty, he surged back in, a heavy, deliberate thrust that bottomed out with a wet, visceral thud.

“I can’t... Min, I can’t,” the words dissolved into a series of broken moans. You were a sobbing, twitching, mess under him, your body no longer your own, entirely at his mercy.

Mingi reached down, his hand clamping around your throat—not enough to choke, but enough to hold you still, his thumb pressing firmly into the hinge of your jaw to force your mouth open.

“You’re clenching around me so tight,” he groaned, his forehead thumping against yours. “It’s like your body is trying to trap me inside. Is that what you want? To keep me here until the sun comes up?”

He moved again—a torturous, dragging slide that hit your G-spot with a precision that made your toes curl and your fingers dig into his forearms. Your hips reflexively tried to chase the rhythm he was denying you. Every time you tried to buck upward to meet him, he used his hands to pin you back further, keeping you wide, and exposed.

“Don’t rush me,” he hissed, his teeth grazing your jaw. “You’re going to feel every single second of this.”

He leaned down, his tongue catching a stray tear on your cheek before his mouth hovered over yours.

The slowness was stripping your nerves bare. Every time he dragged himself out, you felt a hollow, frantic grief, and every time he pushed back in with that heavy, unhurried deliberation, your vision swam with a desperate need. You were reaching for a peak that he was moving further away with every torturous rotation of his hips.

“Please... please,” your fingers were clawing at his biceps, trying to pull him down, trying to force a friction that would finally break you. “Not like this. Don’t... don’t be slow. I can’t take it.”

“You want me to stop being gentle?” he gripped your hair, tilting your head back until your throat was exposed and your eyes were locked on his. “You want me to treat you like the slut you are? To drive you into the bed until you can’t remember your own name?”

“Yes!” the word was a shattered, frantic plea.

“Damn right.”

He didn’t ease into it. He surged forward with a sudden, violent velocity that knocked the air out of your lungs in a sharp ungh. He began to drive into you with a rhythmic, bruising ferocity, his hips hitting yours with a sound like a physical assault. He leaned down, his chest crushing yours, his mouth on yours in a kiss that tasted of salt, desperation, and total victory. He grabbed your wrists, pinning them beside your head, his fingers interlacing with yours in a grip that felt like a permanent brand. Every thrust was deeper than the last, his hips slamming against yours with a wet, heavy sound that filled the room. He was watching you—watching the way your lips parted, the way your eyes rolled back, the way you were completely, utterly coming apart under him. He liked the mess. He liked that he was the one who had reduced you to a whimpering, begging slut.

“You’re so fucking perfect like this,” he muttered against your lips, his breathing coming in jagged, animalistic bursts. “Broken. Messy. Mine.” He shifted his grip, one hand leaving your wrist to slide down, his thumb finding your hyper-sensitive clit again, grinding into it even as he hammered into you. The dual assault was too much. You felt the scream building in your throat, your entire body coiling into a tight wire.

“I’m—I’m going to—Fuuuck—”

“Go then,” he roared, his own pace reaching a blurring, frantic speed. “I want to feel every bit of it.”

As you shattered, your walls clamping around him in a violent rhythm, Mingi let out a low moan. He drove into you one last time, his entire body locking as he flooded you again, his forehead thumping against yours.

Mingi collapsed on top of you, his full weight crushing you into the bed, his face buried in the crook of your neck as he sobbed for air. He was shaking—truly shaking—the adrenaline finally leaving his system and leaving him hollowed out and spent.

The room fell into a heavy, ringing silence, broken only by the wet, rhythmic hitch of your combined breathing. Mingi didn’t pull away; he stayed buried deep, his forehead pressed against yours, his skin slick and fused to yours by a layer of salt and heat.

The bedroom felt different now—thicker, charged with the heaviness of the storm that had finally spent itself. The ‘best friend’ facade hadn’t just been cracked; it had been ground into the floorboards along with the buttons of his shirt.

Slowly, Mingi let out a long, shuddering breath that fanned across your neck. He pulled back just an inch, his eyes hooded and dark, searching your face in the dim silver light. He looked at the smear of himself on your face, the bruises blooming on your neck, and the way your lips were swollen and parted as you struggled for air.

He didn’t look sorry. He looked settled.

“Don’t even think about it,” he whispered, his voice still a fractured rasp. His hand moved from the pillow to your hair, his fingers gently—finally gently—tucking a damp strand behind your ear. “Don’t think about the morning. Don’t think about how you’re going to try to take this back tomorrow over coffee. It’s done.”

You let out a small, tired whimper, your fingers curling weakly into the muscles of his forearms. Your body felt like it had been hollowed out, replaced by a warm, heavy liquid. “I can’t take it back, Min. I don’t think I can even walk.”

A ghost of a smirk pulled at one corner of his mouth—the first glimpse of the Mingi you knew. “Good. You’re staying right here.”

As Mingi finally began to withdraw, the sensation was a slow, heavy drag that felt like he was peeling himself away from your very soul. The air in the room hit your raw skin, but the cold didn’t last long. Without the solid plug of him holding it back, the sheer, excessive volume of what he’d left inside you began to yield to gravity.

You felt a thick, warm rush—a heavy, creamy spill that leaked from your core and pooled in the dip of your thighs. It was a visceral, sliding heat, a pearly mess of his release mixed with your own frantic fluid, painting a stark, white map against the dark sheets.

Mingi stayed close, his knees still bracketed around you as he watched the evidence of his reclamation coat your skin. He reached down, his large hand following the path of the spill, his fingers dragging through the cream and smearing it across your hip in a slow circle. He wanted to see it; he wanted to see exactly how much of himself he had forced you to carry.

“I told you,” he rasped, his voice dropping into a dark, satisfied hum as he watched the slow drip hit the mattress. “I told you I was going to fill you up. I told you I’d make sure you felt me for the next days.” He didn’t reach for a tissue. He didn’t try to clean you. Instead, he leaned down and licked a stray drop from your inner thigh, his tongue rough and hot, before looking back up at you with a predatory glint still simmering in his eyes. “That's exactly where it belongs,” he whispered. “Right inside you. Marking you so that every time you take a step tomorrow, you feel me sliding out of you and remember exactly what happened.”

The adrenaline was finally receding, leaving behind a heavy, aching lethargy. Mingi pulled you flush against his side, his skin still damp and radiator-hot against yours.

He shifted, propping himself up on one elbow to look down at you. The harsh, territorial side of him had softened, though his eyes still held a dazed, singular focus. He reached out, his thumb tracing the swollen line of your lower lip before he leaned down for a kiss. It wasn’t like the others. There was no bruising pressure, no desperation—just a slow, deep, and devastatingly passionate press of his mouth against yours. It tasted of salt and total surrender.

When he pulled back, his forehead lingered against yours, his voice a low, gravelly vibration. “I love you,” he whispered.

The words hit you harder than any of the impacts against the door. You froze, your heart skipping a beat before hammering against your ribs. Your eyes were wide, searching the sharp, damp angles of his face for a smirk, a sneer, or the dark, demeaning glint he’d worn all night. You were looking for the punchline—the part where he told you that you were just a convenient place to dump three months of frustration. But his gaze was steady.

“What?” you breathed, your voice a fractured wreck. “What are you talking about? Min… I thought…” You swallowed hard, a sudden, stinging heat rising behind your eyes. “I thought I was just… a good fuck. I thought this was you finally getting me out of your system so you could stop hating me.”

Mingi flinched, his expression crumbling into genuine, hurt surprise. He let out a dry, huffed laugh, his hand sliding from your jaw to tangle deeply in your hair. “A good fuck?” he repeated, his voice thick with disbelief. “You think I’d turn into a fucking animal like that for just anyone? You think I’ve been sitting across from you for three months, dying a little bit, because I wanted a fuck?” He shook his head, his eyes burning with a raw honesty that made your throat tight. “I’ve loved you since we were eighteen, you idiot,” he rasped, his thumb brushing a fresh tear from your cheek. “Every thing I did, every time I stayed over to watch movies, every time I walked you home... it was because I couldn’t stand being away from you. Tonight wasn’t just about sex. It was because I was terrified I was actually losing you.”

The air left your lungs in a long, shaky sob. All the walls you’d kept up, the “friendship” you’d tried to protect while your own heart was breaking, finally shattered for good. You surged upward, wrapping your arms around his neck and burying your face in the crook of his shoulder.

“I love you too,” you choked out, your voice muffled by his skin. “I’ve loved you forever, Min. I just thought... I thought you only saw me as one of the guys. I thought tonight was just... yet another mistake you’d regret in the morning.”

Mingi let out a long, shuddering breath, his arms tightening around you until you were practically a part of him. He rolled onto his back, pulling you on top of him so your heart was beating directly against his. “Never a mistake,” he promised, his voice dipping into that protective, low hum. “And you’re never going back to being ‘just a friend.’ You’re mine now. I’m not letting you go again.” He began to stroke your back, his large hand moving in slow, rhythmic circles that chased away the lingering tremors in your muscles. He leaned up, pressing a lingering, tender kiss to your forehead, then to the tip of your nose, before hovering over your lips. “I love you, you beautiful, stubborn girl. But don’t think for a second that means I’m going to be any less greedy with you.”

Mingi let out a long, heavy sigh—the kind that sounded like a man who had finally laid down a hundred-pound weight he’d been carrying for years. He looked around the room, his eyes landing on the wreckage of your dress near the door and the literal state of his floor, and he let out a dry, breathy chuckle.

“Well,” he rasped, his voice still a bit wrecked. “I’m definitely going to need to hire a professional cleaning crew. And you’re definitely getting a bill for my dignity.”

You let out a weak, tired laugh, burying your face back into the crook of his neck. “Your dignity? You’re the one who turned into a feral animal because I wore a dress with a slit, Song Mingi.”

“A slit that went to your armpit,” he corrected, his hand sliding down to give your hip a playful, much gentler squeeze. “And don't act like you didn’t know exactly what you were doing. You’ve been a brat for years, Y/N. I was just finally fulfilling my civic duty to shut you up.”

“My legs are actually jelly,” you whispered, resting your forehead against his. “I hope you’re prepared to carry me everywhere for the next business week.”

“A business week? Please. With the way you were begging? You’re lucky if I let you walk by next Christmas,” he teased, his eyes sparkling with that familiar, mischievous glint you’d loved since you were teenagers. “And for the record, you were always a terrible ‘just a friend.’ You’re much better as a ‘terrifyingly loud girlfriend.’”

“I wasn’t that loud,” you defended, though your face flushed a deep crimson.

“The neighbours three floors down would disagree, but sure,” he kissed your forehead with a gentleness that felt like a secret, followed by a soft, lingering kiss to your nose. “We need to shower. But if you think I’m washing your hair without making fun of your taste in men—specifically that suit-wearing prick—you’ve got another thing coming.”

You rolled your eyes, “I love you, you idiot.”

The corner of his mouth twitched into a real, soft smile—the one he only ever saved for you. “I love you too, baby. Now let’s get in the shower before I decide I’m not actually as tired as I thought I was.”

[yestodayys]

✮⋆｡°✩ 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

[mingislildevil]

Hims just a big baby 🥹

[mingisprincxss]

Dangerous man S.MG

Paring: Partyfuckboy Mingi! x sweetsoftgirl!reader 

tags/genre: College au, different social classes to lovers (ya’ll get set up)

Content warning: MDNI College party, drinking,smut,unprotected sex (wrap it)  angst kinda, virgin/inexperienced reader, pussy eating, fingering, weed, ‘friend’ breakup, Mingi is kiiiinda an alcoholic, many nicknames from Mingi, praise,

 I don't feel like making chapters so this is gonna be a LOOONG read, sorry!

Word count: 5772

Summary: Can the party animal that is Song Mingi be tamed by the sweet quiet girl after their friends set them up? Is he really that dangerous of a man just because he parties a lot?

__________________________________________________

Everyone knew Mingi as the biggest party animal on campus. Every weekend there's a party. And when big tests and/or graduations are happening, they party even harder. Everyone and anyone on campus goes. It’s a MUST if you want to have some social status or need a good hookup to relieve stress. Except for one person, that is.

You never really cared to party. You were big into reading, going to cafes alone, baking and just….minding your business. Your friends who weren't actually friends always liked going to the parties and have always tried to get you to come but you politely decline every time or said you were busy studying. It wasn’t until one of them tricked you into thinking you were going to a cafe for the evening until you pulled up to the frat house when your stomach sank. “I thought we were going to the cafe..” you said looking down at your outfit then quickly getting out of the uber that was sent for you as Olivia turned to you “Sorry girly. But you need to get out more!” then drags you inside. Quite literally. You stuck out like a sore thumb. All of the girls had cleavage showing, their butts hanging out their shorts or skirts and the men were either shirtless or in a tanktop, while you were wearing your favorite cardigan with a cute white blouse underneath with a not too short pastel pink skirt. The air smelled like alcohol,sex and cigarettes. The music was thudding loudly as well. It made you so uncomfortable and you felt a bit betrayed by them for lying. You were going to sit on the sofa until you saw that it was being occupied by two drunk people almost borderline having sex out in the open as you rolled your eyes trying to weave through the crowd of sweaty people for some space until someone bumped into you dropping their drink right on you causing you to gasp because that was your favorite top and now it's got alcohol all over it. “Woops, my bad pretty lady” the man slurred, sounding like he didn't actually care at all. You were angry now. 

Angry that you were dragged completely out of your element and now your clothes are stained and smelling horrendous with alcohol. That's the last thing you want to smell like in your life. You can feel yourself shaking with adrenaline now, weaving harder between people trying to find your friends that roped you into this mess and demand for an uber back to your place when you bumped into someone’s back. Just as you were about to unravel at them for that your words stopped in the back of your throat as your mouth was open slightly taking in the man in front of you. He had long pieces of hair braided and shortish on top platinum blonde hair, his black tanktop hugged his shoulders and tucked into his jeans,his silver jewelry matched perfectly.

 His face was a bit flushed from the alcohol. “What brings you here, pretty doll?” he asked eyeing you suddenly you felt like a deer in headlights “i’m not supposed to even be here.” you said breaking eye contact and quickly finding your “friends” in a separate not that quiet room of the house and marching over and breaking one of their makeout sessions “I want to leave.” you said sternly “oh come onnn y/n-”Olivia slurred “no! YOU come on.” you say trying to grab her to get her phone to get an uber for the both of you until she smacked your hand away.

 “No you're not leaving!” she laughed you were getting more pissed off “I just had alcohol spilled on my favorite clothes! I thought we were going to a cafe and then dinner! Not some fucking disgusting collage party.” you said pointing at your clothes. “Well maybe if you lived a little and lost your virginity by now, you wouldn’t be this uptight” she spat loudly, causing the people around you to turn around. Suddenly you felt your chest tightening and you felt so small. You were still a virgin because you never really made time for boys since you kept to yourself. You opened up about being scared to date to Olivia only for her to throw it back in your face. “Why would you say that?” tears were stinging your eyes now. “You’re so boring y/n.” she laughed as you quickly left sobbing.

You decided to call your roommate Yuna, who also is your best friend, to come and pick you up. As soon as you got in the car you told her what happened. “Listen, I'm sorry that they did that to you and everything, but I warned you about them.” she said in a stern but loving voice. “Just because these girls are in the same classas you doesn't mean that they're your friends. Did any man touch you?” she asked quickly glancing over to you then back at the road. “Just got a drink spilled on me and bumped into some blonde guy” you said fixated on the road. Yuna slammed on the brakes luckily no one was behind you or you would've gotten rear ended “Why did you-” “what blonde man?!” she interrupted you quickly as you were taken aback “uh.. I don't know his name-” “Stay away from him if his name is Song Mingi. For your own sanity, safety,and well being” You both fell silent as she proceeded to drive back to the dorm.

It was getting late when you two got back but luckily you didnt have class tomorrow, you immediately threw your clothes into the washing machine and took no time to hop in the shower because you realized that the drink also happened to get in your hair. You also were semi zoning out wondering who this ‘Song Mingi’ was. Your thoughts were interrupted by a knock on the door and it opened “Only me, I gotta get ready for bed too you know.” 

Yuna entered abruptly as you were sitting on the shower floor. There was a beat of silence before you decided to speak. “Forgot to mention, Olivia blurted out about me still being a virgin to a room full of people.” you said with a soft laugh of feeling absolutely pathetic in your voice “That bitch sleeps with so many men she should not be talking.” Yuna replied, washing her face. 

Another brief pause you were watching the water run into the drain “So who is this Song Mingi gu-OH MY GOD” you yelled as the shower curtain suddenly ripped open and the cold air hit you while you covered your naked body Yuna was standing over you. You both were friends since high school, practically sisters at this point, there's no boundaries especially when you accidentally walked in on her and her boyfriend Hongjoong having sex. “He’s a dangerous man. Stay away from him. He’s a fuckboy that will ruin your life.” she said, closing the curtain after her ominous statement. You finished showering and put your pajamas on when you went into the living room area to be greeted with Hongjoong suddenly there laying on your couch. “When did he get here?” you asked confused. Yuna popped her head in from the kitchen “I’m just making sure he doesn't choke on his own vomit when he sobers up.” She said coming into the room with a glass of water pulling her boyfriend up as he groaned. “I don't understand the point of drinking.” you shook your head and went into your room flopping on your bed.

The following morning you woke up abruptly to Yuna yelling. You sat up rubbing the sleep away as you stretched. You left your room to go downstairs to tell her to shut up until you froze on your stairs to see the blonde man in your doorway. This time he was in a Calvin Klein hoodie and sweats with glasses perched on his nose and his hair looked different. Guess those long pieces were just extensions.  

“Yuna, I’m fucking hungover and your being so loud.” the man said, rubbing his head. You glanced down and noticed he was holding something and that something was your bag. “How could I’ve forgotten my bag?!” you mentally scolded yourself continuing down the stairs. Yuna caught a glimpse of you still seething with anger that of all people to show up to the dorm, it HAD to be Mingi. 

“I don’t give a shit Mingi! Why are you here?!” she yelled “That's my bag he’s holding.” you said quietly behind her Mingi extended his arm giving it to you “You gotta be more careful sweetheart-” “DO NOT SPEAK TO HER LIKE THAT SONG MINGI!” Yuna was yelling at this point. Mingi winced from his headache as you did too from the yelling. “You act like I have a disease Yuna.” Mingi said tossing your bag on the floor as you picked it up furrowing your brows. “Baby please take it down by like 100” Hongjoong sighed in the kitchen drinking coffee. “You probably are diseased you manwhore. Stay the fuck away from her.” she hissed as Mingi scoffed. Manwhore? You thought to yourself. “Just because I throw parties all the time, doesn’t mean I sleep with all the girls there.” he spat back as she laughed “You do realize I’m one of your boyfriends best friends right?” he added you only stood there awkwardly. “I also wanted to make sure she was okay because she left crying.” Mingi added making eye contact with you as you quickly looked away down at your bag.

 “She’s fine.” Yuna retorted, Mingi nodded and finally left. When the door closed and Yuna turned to you, Hongjoong came out of the kitchen. “He’s right you know, he is my friend. And y/n can speak for herself too.” Yuna crossed her arms annoyed while he kissed her temple. She seemed to have loosened up after that. “I just don’t need Mingi taking advantage of her.” she sat on the couch with her boyfriend as you followed them. “Is he really that bad?” you asked, looking at Hongjoong who sighed. “So…Yuna isn't completely wrong,he has a record of not being able to stay in a relationship for long-” “Which is exactly why I called him a manwhore! He probably just wants sex! I do not understand why you and the others want to set him and y/n up!” Yuna blurted out causing a confused look on your face “What?” you said trying to process everything that just happened. “We wanted to set you guys up because you're both single and complete opposites. Maybe you can get him to tone down the parties.” Hongjoong sheepishly said, rubbing the back of his neck. You were about to say something until Yuna interrupted “So you guys want to have her catch a std?!” Hongjoong sighed “If you let me finish my statement and let her talk for once.” he said, glancing over at you. You were feeling a lot of emotions too early in the morning. “I-I don’t know. He seems to be too much for me, and Yuna's right. I don't want to lose my virginity to someone and risk catching something.” you nervously said fidgeting with your hair.

 “I make him get tested pretty often.” Hongjoong tries to reassure you but all you can think of is how many girls he’s been with. “But..we're just so different socially, Would he actually like me? I don’t want to change myself or have someone change for me..” you added looking down to your hands in fists on your knees. Yuna can read you like a book and can tell you’re getting nervous. “There's no pressure. We just wanted to see if there was some compatibility. We love both of you and want to see if you will get along.” Hongjoong reassured “Of all people..”Yuna said quietly rubbing her face. You thought for a while quietly, you were nervous because you wanted losing your virginity to actually mean something. “Mingi has been saying he wants a meaningful relationship.” Hongjoong admitted as Yuna scoffed, “I’ll believe it when I see it. But its entirely up to you y/n, I have no issue beating him the fuck up.” yuna said, sitting back crossing her arms as her boyfriend pressed his lips together. “He’s bigger than you, honey.” “Yeah and I'm in knee and dick kicking range.” she fired back causing you to laugh. Yuna has been the only person in your life who really has stuck her neck out for you. Probably because she always wanted a little sister but only ever had two older brothers.

“Sooo…. How am I supposed to get to know him if all he does is party?” you broke the silence as Hongjoong and Yuna both thought. “I will speak to him.”Hongjoong sighed getting up and Yuna followed him to the front door. You looked away awkwardly as they were kissing goodbye. She then closed the door and turned to look at you “Sorry I woke you up with my yelling, I just always have had a bad feeling about him since I started dating Joongie.” she sighed sitting next to you on the couch. You have barely anything to go off on besides that quick interaction at the party then when he was here a few minutes ago.

Hongjoong knocked on Mingi’s door, no answer. He probably is sleeping off his hangover until finally the door opens to a pale semi sweaty Mingi. “My bad I was throwing up” he said, letting his friend in. The dorm was dark for the most part except for a few lamps here and there and smelled like weed faintly. “You gotta get rid of this smell and clean up a bit if you want girls over.” Hongjoong said trying not to gag. “That's rich coming from the clothing hoarder. No one has complained” Mingi clapped back". “I'm working on it. Anyway, I have someone who might be a good fit for you.” he said shaking his head Mingi was hardly paying attention looking around his apartment cleaning a bit until he paused “Wait, what did you say?” he asked “You have been whining for months how empty it feels to be hooking up with these girls and have it mean nothing.” “And yet you choose to let your dick think for you…” hongjoong mumbled under his breath then continued “And my lovely girlfriend-” Mingi scoffed “Yeah shes a keeper” rolling his eyes “-has a very sweet friend who has never had a boyfriend before and maybe you guys could get to know each other?" He stated confidently with a smile there was a brief pause before Mingi asked

 “Sooo you're setting me up on a blind date?” He crossed his arms as Hongjoong nodded “Listen, the drinking and partying has been a little too concerning for everyone and we jwant to make sure you don't go down a bad path” Mingi laughed “You’re starting to sound like a mom” Hongjoong kept a straight face as Mingi’s face dropped in realization “Has it really been getting out of hand?” he asked looking at the beer bottles on the table. “Only…a lot. You have a party EVERY weekend.” Hongjoong stated. Mingi rubbed his face. “I guess I could meet her for coffee or something.” Hongjoong's face lit up “I promise you won't regret it. She’s wonderful!” 

“Is she the girl who’s Yuna’s roommate? The one where she basically screamed at me at 9am to “stay the fuck away from” Mingi questioned air quoting. “It is, but you do have a reputation of hooking up with girls at parties. Which by the way, you should get tested if things go well with her-” Mingi raised his hand “Slow your roll, I don't even know the girl's name.” Hongjoong sighed “I’m just trying to help!”

A few days go by, both Yuna and Hongjoong coordinate a double date at one of your favorite cafes. You decided to wear a cute floral dress paired with your favorite pink heels “Is this too much for a first date?” you asked, looking at the mirror as Yuna helped curl your hair. “You look a hell of a lot better than all the girls he’s been around.” she stated finishing up and the both of you left on your way to the cafe. Upon arrival you met the guys who were dressed nice but casual at a booth in the back. You didn’t say much as Mingi caught a glimpse of you every so often feeling a weird feeling in his stomach that he’s never felt before. You on the other hand were trapped in your head thinking only about how many girls Mingi has been with. Now that you are in close proximity, you get it just by his looks alone. You were blankly staring at the menu as Yuna looked over at you then Mingi. “Don’t worry, he won't hurt you when I'm here.” she said out loud snapping you out of it, on purpose trying to rile Mingi up so she can have an excuse to not have you with him. “I wasn’t even planning on hurting her even when you're not here.” he mocked, causing a small smile from you. The afternoon went into the evening as you slowly started to talk to Mingi getting to know him more. When you were leaving the cafe, Mingi stood beside you with his hand barely touching your back guiding you out the door to the parking lot. Hongjoong was able to peel Yuna away from being a mother bear and have her attention for a bit while you stood quietly beside Mingi awkwardly.

 Mingi looked down at you as you made eye contact with him. He has never seen a girl look so pure and innocent and not completely throwing herself on top of him. Not to mention he’s not drunk and it feels good in this moment. “Would you be willing to do a proper one on one date? Just the two of us? I promise it won't be a party or anything crazy.” He asked looking at you. You were nervous because he was such a beautiful man even as the sun was setting and the golden glow was hitting his skin. You thought for a second, This could actually be a real date or another trick to be publicly humiliated. But before you could let your worries take over, he interrupted. “Here. I’ll give you my number and you can decide.” he reached for his phone as you did yours and exchanged numbers. Yuna then called you over so that you both could leave. You turned after saying goodbye until you felt your wrist being grabbed suddenly. 

You slowly turned confused, Mingi pulled you in for a hug as Hongjoong had to quickly cover Yuna's mouth from ruining the moment. He then kissed your forehead and pulled away quickly. “Sorry, I just want you to know that I mean well.” he said quietly as you heard your heart thumping in your ears. You’ve never had a man be this close to you let alone kiss you at all. “It’s okay, this is all new to me.” you said shaking your head smiling slightly. 

Over the next few months you and Mingi started going on more dates and he started to have less parties. Even when he did, he texted you updates the whole night which made you feel somewhat at ease, but you were still trying to trust him, given that you were inexperienced and still had the whole “manwhore” thing in your head even after Hongjoong forced him to get tested at one point. One night, after the end of a date, Mingi finally decided to take initiative to try and kiss you. However, when he did before you left his car you froze. Not knowing what to do. “Whats wrong?” he asked puzzled as you suddenly clammed up like it was the first time seeing him and going out with him. “It’s just-” the words caught in your throat as your head spun. All that was going through your head was fear of him thinking differently of you because you had no experience whatsoever with any of this. As you were spewing in your anxiety Mingi looked at you with furrowed eyebrows and an almost pout-like face as you felt like you were gonna choke.

 “Do you not like me?” he questioned scanning your face as you felt tears stinging your eyes as you were fighting for your life to not have them ruin your makeup “I do, it’s just-” you sighed quickly getting out of the car, embarrassed of everything. Why did you never make time for boys and sex like everyone else? Now you're in college still a virgin with no idea what you're doing. As you close the door you quickly tried to get to your door before you started crying from embarrassment. Mingi was not too far behind you trying to figure out if he did anything “y/n! Wait! I thought everything was going good what's wrong?” he asked almost crashing into you as you stopped to look at him tears running down your face now. “Mingi, I can’t.” you choked out letting your anxiety takeover he looked at you still confused waiting for you to continue. He really was starting to like you and even wanted to make you his girlfriend, but right now he was questioning everything and thinking of what he could’ve done or said wrong. 

You cried as Mingi pulled you in for a tight hug. Still very confused. He turned his car off and without even asking unlocked your door and you both went inside. Thankfully Yuna was at work then meeting with Hongjoong after, Mingi grabbed you a glass of water as he waited for you to calm down. “I’m sorry if I said or did anything wrong, was the kiss too soon?” he asked worried as you shook your head taking a deep breath “It’s not that. It’s just-you’ve been with so many girls and I…” you trailed off trying not to cry “Youuu?” “Ming, I never kissed anyone before…I’m not experienced with this stuff, I’m surprised these dates have been good.” you admitted quietly as if someone else besides you two are in the room. Mingi’s eyes were wide a bit after you said that but quickly shook off the reaction. “It’s okay honey we can-” “I don’t want to trouble you with this, seriously. I’m sorry I’m not like the girls at the parties.” you cut him off looking away. He sighed a little frustrated about his past being used against him. But it’s also understandable. “Okay but these girls are nothing compared to you,it’s been so long now. I would appreciate it if both you and Yuna would stop bringing it up.” He said sternly. Trying his best to not sound too annoyed. There was a moment of silence before he added, “I want you to be my girlfriend, y/n. I want to leave this whole “manwhore” thing in the past, but it's hard when it’s constantly being thrown in my face, like I’m some dangerous man or something. I was lonely and not proud of it.” His words weighed heavy in the room. Before you could say anything Yuna opened the door and stood in shock as you both turned to her seeing Mingi stressed out and your face red and puffy from crying. You can see her instantly getting angry before she could say anything you cut her off “Everything is fine, were just working through me being inexperienced is all. He’s staying the night.” Mingi snapped his head towards you like this was news to him. Because it was. Yuna cocked an eyebrow still not convinced “Listen, I love you but I’ve been spending a lot of time with him, Mingi is harmless.” you added while she huffed annoyed.

“I was just getting my stuff. I’m staying with Joongie tonight.” She said grabbing the bag and before heading out the door, “If I find out you hurt my best friend-” “He won’t.” you said sternly but she ignored you and continued “I’ll skin you alive Song Mingi.” she said pointing at him and left. You sighed turning to him still with a shocked look on his face. “I’m sorry about her. She’s been a bit too over protective lately.” He blinked “I'm staying the night?” he asked confusion written all over his face. You realized what you said and instantly back tracked “You don't have to! I don't know why I said that” you laughed embarrassed. He got up and squatted in front of you as your heart started to race “close your eyes.” he said and you did exactly what he said before he leaned in and placed his lips on yours kissing you. You were stiff but quickly relaxed into the kiss wrapping your arms around him.

He lifted you up without breaking the kiss as he quickly kicked his shoes off and navigated into your bedroom. He moved the door to close with his foot before laying you on the bed and finally breaking the kiss. 

Both of you were out of breath as you touched his arms that were around your head. “We can do it.” you said breaking the silence. Mingi hesitated “Are you sure? I don’t want you to feel press-” You interrupted him by taking your top off as he watched. “It’s been long enough. I want you Mingi.” as soon as those words left your mouth, his pupils blew out and you both quickly discarded the rest of your clothes only leaving underwear on. “We have to take things slow,I don’t want to hurt you.” he said, taking your bra off and kissing all around your chest gently. He stopped at your nipples sucking gently on each earning a moan from you. His fingers glided down your stomach over the band of your underwear before he paused for a brief moment and looked at you. “If I hurt you, please tell me.” he said kissing you again before pulling your underwear swiftly off you leaving you feeling extremely vulnerable. You were nervous but trusted that Mingi would take care of you. Before you could think any further, you jolted as Mingi started rubbing your clit and folds causing your mouth to go slack and moan. You never felt like this before. He then put his finger in his mouth “I’m going to stick one finger in you, okay baby?” he said as his hand went back down. He slowly and carefully stuck his finger in you. You winced a bit as he paused for a brief moment before he continued.

 His pace was agonizingly slow, for your sake. “M-Ming- I- want you to… fuck.” you choked out as he shook his head “Not yet sweetheart, you have to be prepped first before I fuck you.” He said his breathing quickened because the anticipation was killing him too but he needed to hold back for your first time. Not too long after he pulled his finger out just as you were getting close to the edge. You whined confused only for him to move down to your aching core. His head in between your legs as his mouth quickly went to work causing you to gasp and moan louder. His tongue was all over your clit even poking inside of you every so often causing you to grip your sheets and moan louder. 

You didn’t think it could get any better but he hasn’t even properly fucked you yet. After a bit of him eating you out he pulled away whipping his mouth before he took off his boxers his dick was big. Well, you really have nothing to compare to since this is your first time. You were scared but there's no going back now. He stroked himself a bit breathing heavier, and that was the hottest thing you've seen. He came closer to you. “I will go slow, just tell me if you want to stop okay?” he said wrapping your legs around his hips then rubbed his tip on your clit and fold causing you to jolt from overstimulation. You sucked in as he gently pushed himself in you as all you felt was pain. You gripped onto his arms that were on your hips. He stopped. “It’s okay, you're doing so good right now baby I know it hurts i’m sorry, my love.” Your eyes snapped open after what he said your heart swelled up and you almost started to cry but couldn’t tell if it was from the pain or what he said. 

You and Mingi have come so far these past few months, never in your life would you think you would be with someone like Mingi who is the complete opposite of you. But being around him has proved you wrong. Mingi was holding himself back from going absolutely feral. He took his time as he bottomed out inside of you. His chest rising and falling as you clenched around him. He gripped your thighs slowing his breathing trying not to cum inside you so soon. You looked at him with hooded eyes and a flushed face. Your hair was slightly messy but still has its loose curls “Ming, please.” you begged he took a breath and started to move slowly letting you get used to everything until not too long after, his hips started to roll and your soft moans and cries were music to his ears. He kept a good rhythm for a bit. Your tits bounced every thrust skin slapping together and he was hitting the same sweet spot over and over.

 You couldn’t take it much longer. “Ming-I-I-I’m cumming!” you cried as his thumb stroked your clit lazily “Come baby you can do it, you’ve been doing so good.” His deep fucked out voice was the cherry on top. You soon came undone around him as your body convulsed gripping his arms riding out your high as he continued to overstimulate you “Fuck, I’m gonna cum too.” he grunted and groaned as his pace quickened, his eyes rolled back and he spilled ropes of cum inside you. He stopped as you were both breathing heavily and collapsed on top of you as you wrapped your arms around him stroking his hair lazily. He picked his head up and kissed you tenderly and not too long after scooped you up to the bathroom to shower you both clean. After you both flopped on your bed and shared a few more kisses as Mingi repetitively told you how amazing you are until you both drifted off to sleep entangled in each other's arms.

An hour or so later after you both fell asleep, Yuna and Hongjoong snuck in to make sure everything between you two was okay. They peered through the cracked open door looking like proud parents setting their daughter up. Until Mingi’s phone started to vibrate Yuna froze as Hongjoong just watched in fear. Mingi stirred awake trying to not wake you, sitting up and answering his phone. “What’s up?” he answered quietly as Hongjoong sighed “He better not leave her to go to a party.” There was a brief pause before Mingi continued to say “Listen, I’m sorry, I’m with my girl tonight and she doesn’t want me to be drinking so much anymore and I’m choosing to stay that way too.” There was another brief pause as Yuna was trying to listen to the conversation but couldn't. She then accidentally bumped into Hongjoong causing her to gasp as Mingi shifted quickly yet quietly  still on the phone getting up and opening the door more to see his best friend with his girlfriend in the hallway. Before he could say anything they heard a girls voice on the phone begging him to come sneak out. Yuna's eyes darted back to Mingi as he held up his hand quickly glancing back to make sure you were still asleep. “Like I told your friend, I’m with my girl tonight and I don't want to come out.”  he said as he ended the call rolling his eyes. “Why are you guys here?” Mingi asked still trying to not wake you up. “We just wanted to make sure you guys were okay. Given the state of you two before, I’m happy things are good.” Hongjoong stated. “A simple text wasn't enough?” Mingi asked as Yuna interjected “Actually I texted y/n several times but now I know she was very preoccupied.”

 Mingi rubbed his face annoyed before anything else could’ve been said, they all heard a quiet “Mingi?” He looked to make sure you didn't see your friend and her boyfriend snooping, as he shooed them out of the dorm for the night even though Yuna protested quietly about being thrown out. Mingi quickly appeared back into your room and crawled into bed. “Sorry my phone was ringing and I was trying not to wake you.” he said kissing your forehead “Do you need to leave?” you asked as he pulled you close to him. “Go back to sleep, I’m not going anywhere.” he said as you both drifted off to sleep again. 

[atzlover-deactivated20260411]

he’s so cute 😭😭😭😭😭

[pinkprincessminki]

I need a drink

[starcatching]

SEONGHWA & MINGI 😚 260404 IYF Bangkok

[mingisposts]

BARE FACE PINKGI I -

[way2jellyous]

dirty little secret ᯓ Don't you look at me like that, it's just too real

pairing: Choi San x fem!reader

synopsis: 3 am texts might turn into something more if you let it. Will you? - or two idiots saying anything but facing their feelings content: college au, frat!san, drinking, sneaking around, anxious attachment lol, wingman mingi, angst, crack (bc i am funny [don't tell me if i'm not]), hurt n eventual comfort, smut. wc: 12k featuring: '99 liners, all of Aespa, txt: Yeonjun, Soobin, Skz: Bangchan (for like half a second)

for @ikeukiss <3

⭑루안: HI LEXI!! i am your secret admirer!!! i got two inspirational songs for you to listen to (other than the other 15 in the playlist) DLS - by nessa barrett and dls - by artemas, fitting right? fun fact, they were together when they wrote these songs, hihi. i also have way too many songs associated with this fic anyway, I hope you enjoy lex xoxo this is my work for @everyonewooeverywhere 's fic exchange. check them all out - masterlist <33 also big thanks to everyone who helped me with this when times were rough, i gen owe my life to all of you<3

playlist (like were back in the wattpad times): dirty little secret - nessa barrett dirty little secret - artemas i like it - stray kids creep (san) - ateez s.l.u.t. - nessa barrett we can't be friends - ariana grande would've been you - sombr favourite crime - olivia rodrigo how could you love somebody like me - artemas scare myself - nessa barrett given enough - nessa barrett doubt (demo) - twenty one pilots does god cry? - nessa barett we never even dated - sombr escapism (sped up) - raye love looks pretty on you - nessa barrett stolen dance - milky chance i might have a problem with nessa im sorry

Frat parties are always the same. Frustratingly good-looking men living in a frustratingly good house. Privileged wannabe somebodies who put their dicks into every hole it doesn't even belong in, while hardly maintaining a 2.0 GPA.

But still, here you are at the ATZ frat at midnight. Dragged by your best friends, drinking cheap beer, holding eye contact with men whose cologne you can smell from the other side of the room.

You thought maybe they were the frat that would change your mind about the stereotypes, have the party of your life, and get you back into social university life. But you were so wrong - this year's starter party was just like the others.

"I'm gonna get some water," you murmur to Minjeong, who is way too interested in a frat brother's speech, her hands waving to you dismissively.

The kitchen is the same as it was in every house on campus, overflowing with dirty dishes, red cups, and sticky counters.

Where would a frat guy keep water?

The answer is as easy as it may seem: the pantry. Hidden behind the racks of the cheap beer, your friends were happily sipping until inebriation. As you reach to put the beer to the side, another hand comes reaching for the same racket. And with your luck, who would it be other than Choi San?

The campus golden boy, and the frat brother of your best friend's boyfriend. You've seen him around at other parties, across rooms, but never this close.

You always knew his name, just like everyone else on campus - but your story had a little more depth to it. He was in the same social circles you were in, yet you never had the chance to talk before. You weren't his cup of tea based on the stories you heard, and he sure wasn't yours either.

"There is also water in the cooler," he says, grabbing three bottles of beer with one hand. "Unless you’re into warm disappointment."

You blink at him. "…Come again?"

He chuckles before he starts talking again, "Those waters are uncooled, and have been here since god knows when," he gestures with his free hand towards them, "There's a cooler in the living room with water."

"Thanks?" your voice is amused - unfamiliar to you even. You just stood there, neither of you going back to the chaos of the party. Him to his audience of multiple girls, and you to your respective job of third-wheeling Minjeong while Aeri and Yizhuo were lost in the crowd.

But all of the escape routes seemed to disappear from your mind the moment his mouth opened again. "You don't look like you're having fun."

You scoff, "I'm having the time of my life, can't you see?" Your hands open and gesture around, "the sole of my shoe sticking to the linoleum with my every step, warm drinks, half-dressed jocks yelling over the typical frat music - what else could a girl want?"

He laughs a little, the smile staying on his lips. "You can always just… go," he says, eyes glinting in a way he knows that sentence actually challenged you to stay.

The next half an hour was a mess; You remember following him upstairs, but not the part of agreeing to it.

This is reckless, yet your body doesn’t seem to care as his fingers trace the hem of your top, pausing just long enough for you to change your mind. The heat of his hands warm against your soft skin as he freed you from your dress, kissing up in sync with his hands. Where has the girl gone who swore she would be dead before being found in a frat brother's bedroom?

What happened next wasn't gentle, or anything to keep up his soft golden boy façade. Moans, breaths, and hands intertwined. The room was a mess of limbs and discarded clothes, the mirror foggy with heavy breaths, and with everything you wanted from a casual intimacy.

His forehead presses to yours at some point, so familiar and just right. Something is unsettling about how easily he reads you.

His nails are leaving crescent moons on your hips as he holds you on top of him. It's sensual, and there is this slowly growing feeling in the pit of your stomach that's different from your high.

His tip rubbed against the perfect spot with every thrust. Your climax came heavy and unannounced; everything was perfect: his hands supportive on your thighs as you bounced, the look in his eyes, and his sweet little words whispered into the darkness of the room.

You were spent. Spent but content. His arms were sloppily wrapped around you as a soft weight on your waist. The room smelled like sex and sweat, mixing with his laundry detergent - if frats even had any.

Your eyes opened and took in the digital clock that sat on the nightstand next to you, and reading 3 am off of it was enough to sober you up. With eyes wide open now, the zippers of your boots got stuck in the haste you were trying to put them back on.

The shift hits him fast. The confidence and peace of mind he felt quickly became this ugly feeling of insecurity.

The covers tousled around him as he sat up, chest still naked and glossed with sweat, his hair a mess as his hand ran through it. Still trying to make sense of whatever happened in the last few minutes. "Where are you going?"

"Don't take it to your heart, everything was amazing - I just don't stay the nights." Hair tossed from one side to the other as you searched for your other sock. When you were finally presentable for the outside world, your hand was already on the knob. "This was really good, Sannie. We should do it again sometime."

And with that, you were out the door.

He fell back on his bed, staring at the ceiling a second longer than normal. The sound of your fading steps outside the door felt wrong and too quiet in contrast to what it was like before. Your side of the bed still had that little dent and warmth to it, the only reason he knew you actually were there, and it wasn't just a figment of his imagination.

—

"Oh, and then he was like 'I hope you're not joking, Minjeong,' like the fuck I was." Minjeong's mouth was full of cereal as she spoke, more spilling back to her bowl than what actually made it into her mouth.

"Can you actually shut up for a minute?" Yizhuo whispered, fingers pressing on her temples like it would make her raging headache disappear. Across her, Aeri just face planted onto the table, black hood up on her head.

Jimin's eyebrows etched together on her forehead as she scoffed at their banter. The apartment after a night out is never really boring, especially with the stories to tell - right now to Jimin, who was bundled up with her boyfriend all night, instead of tagging along. Her eyes slid to you in a silent question: anything noteworthy? And you just shook your head in response.

She didn't question when you came home at half past three, looking like what you actually were - freshly and well fucked. She just brushed it off. After years of friendship, she knew when not to push.

"So Yeonjun's birthday is this weekend," Jimin said at a reasonable volume for the hangover. Still, they groaned in unison anyway - may it be the volume or a mention of another party on their already unstable stomachs. You and Jimin chuckled at them as she finally joined the table too.

"Another frat party, great," Aeri's muffled voice sounded from where she was folded over the table. "Do I have-"

"Yes, you have to," Jimin interrupted her, a smile now persistent on your face. "He came to yours, too." Her voice was authoritative and held no place for argument.

—

Sunday slipped by with ease, and so did the next week. "Give me that shimmer, please," you said, yelling over the obnoxiously loud pregame music Yizhuo was forcing everyone to listen to. What even was this Pitbull? The party started an hour ago, but there wasn't such a thing as being late in the university party life.

When you arrived another half an hour later, everything was buzzing at ATZ frat, similar to last week's party, but this one was decorated with garlands and birthday signs as if everybody on campus wasn't already aware of it being The Day of Yeonjun's birth.

The house reeked of cheap beer again, but it blended with the undeniable smell of weed also. There was beer pong in one corner, a guy doing a keg stand in the other, some kissing couples, and your favourite - spin the bottle in the middle of the living room.

You sat down between two random girls from your year, smiled at them, and took in the people in the circle. Yunho and Mingi from IT, Chris from business, a few unknown faces,

and… San.

He has a puzzled look on his face, eyebrows slightly furrowed, and you can see his tongue poking his cheeks from the inside. When Mingi noticed you, he hit San's arm with a blinding smile on his face - way to be subtle, dude. "Okay," Mingi clapped his hands together, "Regular seven minutes in heaven for my boy YJ." As if said guy wasn't in a happy relationship.

A few grunts and happy claps sounded from the circle. Yunho and San just shook their heads at Mingi, who looked like he never had a better idea than this in his life before. Good job, Cupid. The bottle spanned in the middle, stopped every once in a while with a dramatic gasp by the crowd and the players.

Everything went fine for you, the bottle hadn't even stopped near you, to the point it was as if a dark spell came upon you. Oh, but did that spell have it out for you.

In the next round, the bottle was spun by Minjeong's hand as she and Jimin screeched that they were doing you a favour, and it stopped on… Mingi. His smile dropped immediately, eyes wide as he stopped every action he was up to before. He observed San's face, who just looked at him, dumbfounded.

The plan backfired.

A random guy spoke up, "Just go." Who was already eager for his next round with another victim to his beer breath.

But Mingi's brain is working overtime for an excuse - don't get him wrong, he doesn't have a problem with you, but he knows something happened between you and San last week because he saw it on San, and most importantly, he heard it. The 3 am conversation with his own girl wrapped in his arms, every word that left your mouth was clear in the room next to San's - and who was he if not his best mate's wing man.

"I'm gonna pass on this one," he says dismissively, his beer pointed at the bottle in the middle like it personally offended him. "I've already been twice tonight." His hand lazily gestures to the circle, and your eyebrows knit together. "I'm gonna let golden boy take on this one."

"What, San?" the guy from earlier interjects with a scoff. "He hasn't even played yet."

Mingi's bottle tilts in his direction, "Exactly." All eyes shifted to a now very stiff San, whose gaze was already on you, searching your face for any reaction.

You stood up, patting your palms off on the front of your jeans, already heading to the designated closet. "Does it matter? It's seven minutes, not a proposal," you scoffed, looking at them over your shoulder, but turning back just before you could have seen which men stood after all.

The closet door closed behind you by that very same hand you saw last week. The music is quieter now, and so are the little cheers by the players outside. You couldn't see the way San's jaw tightened in the dimly lit room, or how his hands flexed as he crossed them across his chest.

"So…" his voice broke the silence.

"So?" your own arms crossed also.

"You left." His voice had that same vulnerable tone it had the last time you heard it. He wasn't accusatorial, just factual, and somewhere deep inside, that tone was exactly why you stepped closer. Arms uncrossing but not reaching out to him.

"I don't do sleepovers, Sannie," you said in a low voice, demanding all his attention to catch it over the muffled, yet loud music behind him.

His chest shook with an amused yet mocking laugh, "I figured." His tongue poked the inside of his cheek as he looked to the side.

"And if you want it to happen more times," your breath caressed his chest under his open shirt, "it stays like that." His head whipped back, nose scrunching slightly. He fell silent, which made a small anxious ball form in your stomach.

"No public scenes, no hand holding, and… no expectations," your voice filled the small place. He was leaning against the door now, gaze scrutinous, dissecting every part of you, "And I think that night was something we're both eager to recreate." the words tasted sweet on your tongue.

His breath hitched, "And if I see you on campus?" That question was enough for you to be sure he is already thinking about it. He felt this, too, and maybe that should've been your clue not to get into all of this.

"You keep walking."

And that's exactly how this awkward limbo started. Acquaintances by day and something far less innocent by night.

—

With the following weeks, you fell into a cycle, one message at 12:35 to confirm if you were going or not, but never before that. You went over to his place - never yours, not risking it with the girls - had mind-blowing sex, and left around 3 am. It wasn't exactly a rule you had, rather a promise.

Other than everything that was happening behind closed doors, no contact actually happened. You passed him on campus on Monday, and he didn't stop, didn't nod, he didn't even glance. Just like you told him to, as if he forgot the taste of your moans on his lips from two nights prior.

That Friday, your phone buzzed exactly at 12:35 am

San you coming today?

A smile overtook your face at every message. Already dressed in his black hoodie and some sweatpants, out the door by 12:40.

He didn't even let you close the door behind you; his hands were already on you, grabbing everything and everywhere all at once. His mouth kisses its way up your neck as he pulls the hoodie over your neck, tossing it on the floor.

He barely lets you inside before his hands and lips are on you. A whimper broke free in your throat as he played with your plush breasts, fingers rolling your nipples between them, making you arch into him.

"I was waiting for you all day," his forehead pressed against yours as he worked on the hemline of his sweatpants. Pushing it down just enough to free himself of it, "to hear those little moans slip out of your mouth, instead of watching you from afar."

Your hand wrapped around his cock, which was already throbbing, tip glistening with precum. His head lolled back with a hiss from the contact "Fuck," you dropped to your knees in front of him, hand pumping him a few times before taking him into your mouth.

The night blurred with gasps, heated eye contact, and some hushed words into your ears, but the clock read 3:12 am again, and San was a second away from falling asleep - that was your cue to leave, but this time it wasn't as easy.

You didn't make the goodbye harder with a kiss on his lips, just gathered your belongings and softly closed the door behind you, hoping the frat was asleep by now. San didn't even think about questioning you leaving, just went headfirst into the shower.

But as soon as the others heard the water turn off, they invaded his room. Mingi dropped dramatically onto his bed next to him. Yunho and Wooyoung just sat on the end of his bed, all of them looking excitedly at the seemingly alarmed San.

"What is this about?" he asked, looking between them, piercing each with a confused glare - it wasn't every day that your friends came into your room at 4 am.

"So sneaking around?" Mingi started, and Yunho quickly slapped the back of his head. The younger one dramatically held the back of his head as Wooyoung tried again.

"You like her," he didn't ask, rather stated. Wooyoung's glasses sat on the top of his nose, giving him a teacheristic look, as if he was giving San a piece of mind. "And… she is using you."

"What is wrong with both of you? Oh my god," Yunho face-palmed between them, "it's four in the morning, don't be like this." At least one of them had a few brain cells. Emphasis on a few.

"Exactly, four in the morning, and she left him here… again." San's nostrils flared at Mingi's sentence.

"She had somewhere to be." Couldn't you think of anything better, San? Oh my god. He internally facepalmed but kept his ice-cold expression to his friends.

But neither of them bought it. Wooyoung's eyebrows lifted. "At three twenty?" and San just continued to dry his hair with a towel in silence, but his moves now were a bit more stressed, urgent, and maybe a little stiff.

"Have you told her you like her, Sannie?" Yunho questioned, worry etched on his face.

"I didn't, because I don't." The bed creaked as he stood up, throwing the towel into the hamper, "It's not that deep," he scoffed, disappearing into the bathroom again.

Wooyoung lies back on his forearms after fixing his glasses with a hand, "It is for you."

Yunho sighs, "Look, man… if this is just hooking up, good for you, but don't pretend you're not waiting for her to sneak in that door every night."

The room echoed with water splashing sounds now, and San muffledly called from the bathroom, "I'm not-"

Mingi cuts him off with a scoff, "Yes, you are." the smile left his face, "You leave parties at two am just to come home and shower before she fucking comes."

San appears again, toothbrush in his mouth, "She was clear about this," he gestures around with his free hand, "She doesn't want a relationship."

Wooyoung scoffs again, "Exactly," he says quietly through gritted teeth.

Mingi softens now, "We just don't want you with someone who won't even look at you outside these four walls."

And that makes San snap. He spits the toothpaste into the sink. "She's not like that." they all know they shouldn't push him more; it is 4 am for him after all, too, and he must know all of this somewhere deep within himself, right?

But Yunho soflty adds the last blow, "Who are you trying to convince? Us or yourself?" he doesn't even respond to it; he knows he's too deep, but is way too afraid to say anything. Terrified that even if he says it to his friends, you will disappear from his grasp.

"It's just casual." He says after a beat, "Now get out, I have class early." he says somewhat angrily, getting into bed and pulling the covers over his shoulders while trying to ignore the presence of his friends.

When they leave, he checks his phone, silently longing for a message from you, even though he knows he won't get anything until tomorrow night.

—

You sat with the girls at the table like usual the next morning. Minjeong was twirling the spoon around in her bowl as she eyed you curiously. "You shower at 3 am a lot lately."

The sandwich in your hand freezes halfway to your mouth before you continue scrolling on your phone and bite into it, "Insomnia," you say dismissively, eyes pointedly ignoring her, buried deep in your phone.

Minjeong hums like she doesn't believe you, "You think you’re the first person to try this ‘no feelings’ thing?" and your back straightens, eyes snapping to hers.

"What do you mean?" your throat feels dry.

She holds your gaze for a second too long, "Forget it," her shoulders shrug, "just… don't be stupid."

The mood in the apartment shifts immediately when you leave for class, and Yizhuo puts her phone down, trying to get the girl's attention. "So…" she says, leaning back against the couch, "Is this one of those where we don't ask questions?"

Jimin folds her arms, exhaling softly, "It's obvious she's seeing someone, but is clearly low-profile," she gives the girls a puzzled look, "We won't get anything out of her."

Minjeong scoffs at the table, "My low profile doesn't mean coming home at four am," her glass clinks against the table with the force she slams it down. "but that might just be me."

"Yeah, that part worries me a bit too," Aeri joins in, her lips pursed, "But knowing her, it was her who set this all up."

Jimin shrugs. While she also knows it's true, she won't say anything. "She'll tell us when she wants to." And with that, they all fall quiet. Questions still simmering in them, but they don't have anyone to get answers from.

The guys stop pushing San after a few weeks, knowing they won't get anything out of him either. You just get ugly glances thrown your way from Wooyoung.

All of this didn't make sense to San. Why would you want something quiet, hidden from everyone else? So you could have someone else behind his back?

At first, your messages came every weekend, then one day you texted him on a Tuesday too, forgetting about the boundaries you set for yourself. The attraction you yet denied, and the feel of his skin on yours, mattered more than some words promised to yourself in a mirror.

And by December, the times you stayed have gotten longer every time. It started with staying until 3:30, just a little longer, cuddled up in his arms. He thought it was a coincidence, but didn't dare to say anything about it.

A few weeks into the new year, you texted him a little bit earlier than 12:30.

You The girls are out Wanna come over?

And he was so shocked he nearly dropped his phone. He quickly grabbed his hoodie off the back of his chair and told the guys he was going for a run. Let's just say San isn't a good liar. Your room feels unfamiliar. He just doesn’t say it, or why it does.

Mouths also got bolder with every week passing. A sweet "I need you" texted here, a "You're mine" whispered in your ear between thrusts, and an "I'm yours" kissed up on his chest - all in the haste and clouded by lust.

Another few weeks went by, some spent at your place, some at his. But after one really hard day after exams, you spoke up while cuddled up in his arms, "Can we shower? I feel sticky everywhere," voice barely above a whisper.

He doesn't even know how to react at first, but he is already standing, searching for a spare towel for you as you giggle at him from where you lie in bed. All of his sweaty, naked glory standing in front of you, with the biggest dimpled smile on his face. "What's so funny, huh?" his hand reaches for your jaw, looking down at your blown pupils.

"You're cute when you're flustered," you say, gently biting at his thumb that brushes over your lower lip. All that seduction makes him forget about that little detail of your lenghtened stay. One step closer to something neither of you wants to name.

The shower is warm, with the water running down your body, and him pressed to your back, hands slowly caressing your hips, you could almost say it's too warm.

You step out together also, towelling off parts the other can't reach. He passes you a shirt as muscle memory, but what shocks him more is the sight of you getting back into his bed. But he gets under the covers too, not daring to question it just pulls you closer to his chest, inhaling your scent. Your leg hooks over his hip, tracing patterns into his skin, muscles tensing in his back as you do.

He knew this was dangerous, getting more tangled in this mess day by day. Not because of what you were doing, but because of how natural it felt.

But at 4:17, you shuffle out of his arms again. Not even trying to untangle from his arms softly, your back is turned to him when he opens his eyes, hands reaching for your jeans, slipping your legs into them.

"You're leaving?" his tone was hopeful. But even he doesn't know what he's hoping for. Maybe for you to hesitate in your movements, begging in his head for you to even consider staying with him, to change something about this, and for you to look at him like you did in the shower.

But you don't. You just scoff at him, not even sparing him a glance over your shoulder, "Yeah. You ask as if I ever stayed," a quiet mocking laugh leaves your lips again.

He turns onto his back, hands tucked under his head, staring at the ceiling. His thoughts are too loud to hear you leave. He thought showering together finally meant something, all these little rules bended could've - no, should've meant something. But you still won't let him have this, have you, in daylight.

The next day after San's classes, everyone is already at the house, Mingi and Yunho are browsing Netflix on the couch, and Wooyoung looks very occupied behind his laptop screen at the dining table.

Mingi looks at San, munching on some popcorn, "Bro, you're glowing," and San just rolls his eyes as a response.

"She stayed," Yunho leans back further into the couch, eyes sparkling as he looks up at San. Yeah, thirty minutes longer than usual.

"She's training you," Wooyoung says, voice as calm as ever, still not looking up from the screen. It makes San's head snap, eyebrows furrow as he looks at him. "To expect more," he continues, "Without ever promising it."

San laughs it off, calls him something between a parent and a psychiatrist, but later that night, when you're on top of him, kissing down his chest, his mind is somewhere else. Thinking way too deeply about Wooyoung's words that are now mixing with his own thoughts from last night.

You can feel it in him, the way his eyes are way too clear, almost glassy. "What's up, Sannie?" you ask, hands travelling lower on his abdomen. Breezes started to pick up outside the house, rain splattering softly against the concrete.

Don't you look at me like that, it's just too real

But this time, he doesn't pull you closer; he has realised you will always be in this weird limbo if he doesn't question anything. "What are we doing?" your hand freezes on his stomach, immediately getting off him like he is burning you.

Your ears are ringing like static. "What do you mean?"

I don't have to be the one.

He sits up slowly, leaning back against the headboard. Muscles tensing in his chest as he looks at you, alarmed, hands flexing by his side. His stare feels cold on your exposed skin. "I told you not to expect anything more from this." your voice gets weaker with every word.

We don't have to be in love

He scoffs, "And what?" his eyes dart to the side before resuming his sentence, "We fuck every day but pretend we don't even know each other until you become bored?"

Your hands are shaky as you reach for your clothes at the end of the bed, getting dressed as quickly as possible. "What part of we keep it discreet did you not understand?" your hair is getting messed up by your hands, panic overwhelming all of your senses just from a few words. "You are so into me for what, San?"

The question hangs in the air for a second; his eyes are wide open as he's looking at you, stunned. "I don't do relationships, and I think I told you that." Hands are running down your face now. "I can't." He is getting up from the bed, moving slowly, not to freak you out even more, but tears are already falling from your eyes.

His hand automatically reaches out to wipe the stray tear from your cheek, but you pull away before he actually touches you, lips trembling, struggling to keep the sobs in now.

"We could be fucking endgame if you didn't let your fears take over you." his words are controlled, but the way his chest is heaving wildly says otherwise. "Don't you feel it?"

He doesn't even finish his last sentence when you scream at him, "I don't want to be endgame!" all of the words are raw with emotions you swore you didn't have. The frat is quiet around you; most of them who were asleep by now must be awake again by your volume.

His eyes dart to the door; he still cares, scared that someone might hear you - but it might be too late for that. He is also pissed, mad at you for making it feel like all of this went off on him, and his feelings. So what, you bending your own rules for him meant nothing to you?

Everything you whispered into his ears was just for the moment? I need you. We were made for each other. I'm yours. All of those for nothing? He shakes his head, trying to get rid of the pounding inside it, "You don't get to act like I imagined this." His own volume raising, voice raspy.

While you are spiralling, your mind is louder than his words are by now, and yet all of your words that leave your mouth are said without putting much thought behind them. "W-why now?" Your hands are moving animatedly with your words, "You've been fine with this for months."

The floorboard creaks under his feet, and the rain outside is falling harder and harder against the window. He is looking at you, the words stuck in his throat at first, until he spills them, "Because I'm not the only one who sees it."

That sentence is enough to make you pale. Your head is buzzing, knees bucking under your weight. Even though you are looking at him, you don't see him; everything is blurry, dark, and raw.

"They hear you leave, see when you come over. They know." he gulps, remorse and guilt already clawing up his spine, but he doesn't stop. "Do you know how stupid it makes me look?" His volume is rising with every word said, hands gesturing wildly.

His words are like a slap, "Oh, so that's what this is all about," you scoff, totally taken aback. "Your fucking pride." It all makes sense now.

"My pride, huh? If this had been about my pride, we wouldn't be here right now." his head tilts, expression hardening, "I am just tired of feeling like I'm the only one caring."

"You weren't supposed to care!" your voice cracks violently, "That was the whole point! to not get feelings involved."

"Oh, with all this, please even start saying that I forced myself into your bed also," he mockingly laughed, and you felt cornered, exposed, as if your soul was torn open and presented in front of him to see. The windows rattle behind him with the force of the downpour. Someone shifts in the hallway outside.

"I never asked you to fall for me," you spit, the words leave a bitter taste in your mouth, and have the same reaction on him too - his face drops all of those ugly emotions sitting openly on his face now.

"I didn’t fall for you alone," he says, quieter now, vulnerable.

"No," You shake your head rapidly, "San, don’t do that. Don’t act as if I promised you something."

"You did," he fires back immediately. "Every time you said you were mine. Every time you said you needed me. You don’t get to pretend those meant nothing to you!"

You grab your shoes with shaking hands. "This is why I said no expectations, I can't be what you want." Sobs break free from your chest with every syllable. "I don't need the pressure of a relationship, the fear of ruining someone."

He stares at you for a long moment. As if he’s about to say something that can’t be taken back. His lips press together, his voice a mere whisper now, "You already have."

That seems to sober you out of whatever trance you were in; now you're actually slipping into your shoes. "Fine," the words are quick as they leave your mouth, "No more sneaking, you don’t have to feel stupid anymore."

He is frozen in place, his world warped around you. "Is that what you want?"

But your hand is already on the doorknob, stepping out the door without answering his question, and this time, you don't take a look around to see if anyone is there, because you know there are. You walk past them in the hallway, walking straight to the front door, hood shading your head.

And the worst part is, San doesn't call after you. The front door slams behind you. San is still standing in his door. Half of the frat is standing in the communal place, and even in the hallway, giving him pitying glances - but the show is over, hope it was entertaining.

—

The front door closed softly behind you, your sneakers fully drenched in water. The girls look up from the couch - a movie still playing in the background - but they’re on their feet immediately. Hands are everywhere. Peeling damp fabric from your skin. Someone disappears and comes back with a towel.

Your hands were shaking through it all, and hoarse sobs escaped your thinly pressed mouth before you could stop them. Jimin was the first to ask you softly what happened, hands sweetly caressing your cheeks, and that was enough to make the raw, deep sobs break free, and you collapsed into her arms. Trying to grab at anything, any part of her, as an anchor, to get back on your footing. But with every caress on the back of your head, it just got worse. Your sobs got more intense, full body shaking with the intensity.

They try to get you to the couch, arms on your lower back, hands guiding you to sit. The couch dips on both of your sides; everything feels blurred and distant. They are all whispering to you, their voices overlapping. Trying to calm your harsh breaths down, but nothing seems to work.

Jimin's voice comes from in front of you, "Did he hurt you?" and you stop the cries just enough to shake your head through it. How could he.

Minjeong's voice comes from your side, and her hand on your shoulder is grounding. "Did you hurt him?"

Every muscle in your body freezes for a moment before violent whimpers escape you harder than before, if it's even possible. Your hands come up to your face, crying harder into them. Your thoughts keep running one by one as if they are running from something. But they are too loud, repeating over and over: reckless, you weren't supposed to care.

You try to stiffle the sobs, biting your lips now, the coppery taste flowing into your mouth, but the pain is nothing compared to what you feel. "He wanted more," you let out between hiccups. You don't elaborate further, and they don't push either. Comforting you until the cries finally stop.

—

Going to classes starting the next day was a struggle. He was everywhere - not him, though, but his friends.

You passed Mingi and Yunho in the hallways between lectures; their faces held pained expressions before quickly averting their gazes. Wooyoung threw you dirty glances across the cafeteria; he didn't bother hiding it. He was sharp and cold, even when the girls were there. They noticed too, how couldn't they? Everyone felt the tension stretching across the room.

Your head hung low between hunched shoulders, as you pushed food around your plate. "I’m gonna head back," you muttered finally, standing before Minjeong or Jimin could ask anything. You already turned your back on them, before they could argue, taking the longer way back to the apartment just to be sure.

Across campus, San hadn't even made it to class. He was still in bed at their frat house, sheets twisted between his legs. switching between tossing, turning, and staring at the ceiling.

When the others came back from class, the silence was deafening. San's door had been closed since yesterday, and none of them really knew how to approach it, how to approach him. It wasn't just the mood hanging in the air, because it was also suffocating, but rather the fact that they heard everything.

They couldn't just waltz in and ask what happened, because San knew they had heard, even though he most likely would love to forget about that part.

But they knew San needed them, even though he wouldn't come outside, talk to them out of pure will - they knew. Wooyoung ended up cooking for him, it was a bit as if it was a we're sorry for listening soup, but also a we're here for you.

Yunho knocked softly on the door, all three of them stepping in after the muffled and tired, "Come in" from the other side. They felt like they didn't really fit in that room.

They pushed the peace offering forward, "We made you soup," Yunho said, scratching his neck. "Well, Woo did, but we helped spiritually." an awkward chuckle left his lips, and San gave him a soft smile. "How are you?"

San shrugged, taking the bowl and dipping the spoon in. "You look like shit," Mingi said automatically, but his voice and face softened when San didn't react. Yunho shot him a look, saying, "So not the time, bro."

All of them took a seat on the bed around him. "Did you sleep at all?" Yunho questioned again, mindful of San's feelings - unlike our jokester over there - San shook his head, eyes fixed on the soup as he took another slow spoonful. "What happened after she left?"

San didn’t answer right away. Instead, he stirred the soup slowly, the spoon clinking softly against the bowl. "What would've?" his voice small, distant. He doesn't explain further, but continues fidgeting. He feels… numb. He knew the probability of this happening when he asked you yesterday, but hoped for another outcome, but hoping only gets you so far.

Why did he need to have labels on something that worked? If something is not broken, you don't have to go out of your way to try to fix it. Why push until it broke? You were just not his, and admitting that to himself, even not out loud, made this crippling, aching feeling tighten in his chest.

"She knew I couldn't do casual," he shrugged off the words as if they didn't matter, "yet she stayed." his voice had this vulnerable edge to it.

"You knew she couldn't do serious either," Wooyoung spoke up; he might've been blunt, but his expression held tenderness and love towards his friend, which none of them had seen before - not this directly, at least.

"She didn't stay for months, because she didn't care." Mingi fidgeted with his sweatpants' string.

In San's eyes, it was too late to wonder about that. He also kept pondering it throughout the night - why did you stay? What was it that made you stay? For such a length of time, nonetheless. Why did it feel like something more when you fought skin and blood about it being just casual?

But all of these questions lost relevance when you shut the door behind you last night. Because whatever it was, it was too much for you, and certainly not enough for him. He could cling to this sadness and pain with all his might, but it wouldn't change a thing.

His grip tightens around the bowl; maybe Wooyoung was right all along. You might've been teaching him to be on his toes all the time, scared that you might leave any moment if something doesn't happen the way you want it.

But if you were such a bad person, why did it all feel so good?

He exhaled loudly, silence settling louder in the room than it was before as he set the empty ceramic on the nightstand. "Doesn't matter now," he mutters, pulling the covers higher up on his body, "she made that part very clear." The guys share a glance on the spot on his bed, not pushing further.

"I'm fine," San speaks up again, noticing their concern. The words seem to be enough, at least enough for them to understand to drop the topic. Even though nothing about him seems fine.

And just like that, it stopped. They didn't nag San anymore. The girls didn't ask for more from you either, and most importantly. No more late-night texts, Mingi doesn't hear your soft footsteps along the dimly lit hallways at four am, and Minjeong doesn't see the soft glow on you anymore either.

Studies were there to distract you both from something that couldn't quite be named. Tears could be easily buried under deadlines, thesis papers, and exhaustion. You avoided the Greek row as if it were the plague, and he did the same with your apartment building - making both of your walks longer with ten minutes minimum.

This all wasn't intentional from either of you. But no matter how many times you told yourself this in the mirror, even you couldn't believe it.

Weeks passed, then months. Routes only got longer, and the tension didn't disappear either; it just settled, deep both in your guts, waiting for the day it would be resolved.

"Guys," the apartment door swings open with more force than necessary. Jimin's voice cuts through the chatter before she even steps into the room. Her bag slips from one shoulder as she wrestles her shoes off. All eyes snap to her instantly.

"What's up?" Aeri asks, already suspicious from Jimin's tone alone.

She grins, a little breathless as she explains with big hand gestures, "Yeonjun is planning a trip out of the city, after the exams."

"A trip?" Yizhuo straightens.

"Yes, exactly. We'll go drive down, party some in the good weather for a few days," Yeonjun explains to the guys across campus.

"Bro-" Mingi's voice echoes through the shared space, as he fist bumps San, who sits there grinning ear to ear.

"Say less," Yunho says, his own smile wide on his face.

"Who's coming?" Mingi leans back into the couch, arms crossed against his broad chest.

"Everyone basically," so helpful, Yeonjun. "Us, Jimin, other girls." The room reacts instantly, voices overlapping in happiness, laughter everywhere.

"A break does sound so fucking good right now," Wooyoung whines, his own happiness sitting out on his features, "The first good idea you had in a while, YJ," he teases the brown-haired guy, who just rolls his eyes in response.

"I helped him come up with it," Jimin explained to you, hands crossed across her chest with delight, back at the apartment.

Minjeong glances at you for a minute before responding, "Yeah, we could use that," and just like that, it's almost as if it was written in stone.

Exams came and went in a blur, with way too many Red Bull cans crashed in distress, all-nighters, and forced focus - everyone too busy to think about anything else, until now.

Windows rolled down in Jimin's car, music loudly flying around the space, mixing with the warm air. Laughter filled the space between sentences, words overlapping in playful arguments, and also, way too many bags filled the boot.

"I swear to God the business prof sets us up for failure every time," Yizhuo groans from beside you in the backseat.

"But you passed, didn't you?" you questioned, smile wide on your face. Jimin's fingers tapped rhythmically against the wheel, her eyes finding yours every now and then in the mirror.

Minjeong turns to you from the passenger seat, "How did you even finish your essay in time?"

"Just tried to make it sound smart," you shrug.

"And she succeeded," Aeri scoffs, her hair whipping around in the wind.

"Fake it 'til you make it," Jimin speaks up, which is followed by some more laughter, turning into more banter, and for the first time in a while, everything feels… easy.

The car rolls up to a smaller street, and it comes to a stop in front of a large, modern house, sunlight reflecting off the windows, like in the movies.

"Okay- this is fucking insane," Aeri breathes out.

"Yeonjun did say he went all out," Jimin grins, already unbuckling herself, and so do the others, "I was honestly scared to let him do the booking alone," she chuckled.

You step out of the car, stretching your hands above your head slightly, eyes scanning the landscape. Trimmed bushes along the driveway, which already had two cars parked, your gaze settling on one of them, something about it feeling familiar, making you frown a bit, but the thought fades as fast as it came.

The moment you step inside, you hear it, laughter, music blasting and water splashing from somewhere deep in the house. "Pool's out back," Jimin explains, and starts heading towards the noise.

The patio doors are open, revealing multiple sunbeds, a pool full of men playing with a comically large ball, and a very familiar tan back. His head falls back with laughter, missing the throw entirely.

But your stomach drops at the domestic sight, all the music static in your ears, freezing in your steps momentarily. At the commotion, the game stops and all faces turn to your group.

His smile drops instantly. Body stills mid-turn, and his eyes meet yours. Everything gone, just the two of you, all the unsaid words, the times you both thought about each other in the time spent apart.

"Babe-" Jimin laughs, running past you straight into Yeonjun's arms, pressing a kiss to his lips. The moment between you breaks, music comes crashing back, greetings yelled over it, with some laughter, and splashing of water. You nod at something Aeri says, but you haven't registered a word she said.

San breaks eye contact, jaw tightening as he looks away first.

Fuck.

You haven't actually realised how hard it would be to see him after all these months. It was the same as before, but now you know the taste of his lips and the way his eyebrows scrunch when he laughs. And fuck, did you miss it.

Minjeong was the first to notice it, a little yelp left your mouth as she pinched you, getting your head back into the conversation, and hopefully clear from San. "Gonna show you guys the bedrooms, alright?" Yeonjun's hands clapped together, as he showed the way.

The furnishing was just as beautiful as the outside. The hallway upstairs had five doors, three on the right and two on the left. "You guys fight for the roomings, actually," he chuckled, "we have 2 for you to split, and Jimin is sleeping with me."

—

You leaned back on the sunbed, shades sliding down your nose, while the girls fussed over cocktails in the kitchen. From the patio, you could see San and the guys tossing a beach ball in the pool, laughing too loudly, too carefree. The bubble of laughter felt almost like a shield, separating you from him. And maybe you liked it that way.

Later, when the music got louder and the sun dipped lower, you found yourself in the kitchen. Glass in hand, you noticed Minjeong and Wooyoung exchanging something small - a look, a smirk, a secret joke - before returning to the group. You couldn’t help the pang of curiosity that flickered in your chest.

That same night, the sand slid around in your sandals. Loud music played everywhere around you, the table was sticky with spilt drinks, and full of laughter.

"-and then he fucking screamed like a little girl," Soobin wiped the tears of happiness from his eyes.

"That's actually not how it was!" Mingi tried to defend himself, but everyone was too deep in laughter to notice his argument.

Tonight, somehow, everyone had too much to drink except you, and the virgin Pina Colada you were nursing won't help your case. San was sitting on the other corner of the table, his head thrown back, adam's apple on full show. He looked easy. As if nothing was weighing on him.

The chatter continued until a loud yawn interrupted Yunho mid-talking. "Sorry to be a party killer, but I am gonna crash," Minjeong stood from the table, her legs wobbling a bit under her weight. Hopefully she didn't mean it in the literal sense.

"Already?" came from Jimin, who was having problems keeping her head up. Talk about alcohol tolerance.

"It's nearly three am," The other girl chuckled and stifled another yawn. The task of waving to everyone at the table and walking to the sliding door seemed too much for her, and she tripped over her own legs.

"I'm gonna help her get to her room," Wooyoung chuckled, but almost had just as much to drink as her, and their steps quietened up on the stairs. Jimin was the next to be escorted to their room by Yeonjun, who saluted as they left.

Eventually, the clicking of glasses and laughter grew quieter, the music also lowered in volume somewhere along the way, and the last three remaining were Soobin, San, and you.

Soobin was still talking about something, hands gesturing wildly, but no words that came out of his mouth reached your ears. San was twirling a straw in his glass. It’s stupid, really, the way your brain fills in details you tried to forget for months - the curve of his mouth, that little wrinkle near his eyes.

Suddenly, his face turns towards you, eyes raking over your face in a soft but subtle way. You look away immediately, embarrassment burning your cheeks "I'm gonna head in," your voice cuts off Soobin, he barely reacts, but San does.

"Yeah," he mutters, standing a second after you, "same."

The house is quiet after the mumbled goodnights, not silent but softened. Some chuckles are coming from upstairs, heated conversations on a TV that has been left on, and your steps on the wood stairs under you, in sync with San's.

The second you step into the room, you are reaching for your bag, desperate to get into more comfortable clothes, but the silence makes you pause. The bed is untouched, Minjeong's side is exactly how you left it in the morning. Your eyebrows knit slightly, but you don't think much of it, just grab your things and head to the bathroom.

The water is hot, hotter than what you're used to, but even this doesn't really help. He is still there. Not even the memory of the nights spent together, but him earlier, sitting across you as if nothing had happened.

You tilt your head back, eyes closed, as the steaming hot water washes down your face. It would've been easier if it were nothing. If you had stopped feeling the guilt eating away your soul every time you look at him.

If only you would've realised the truth in his words while you were in the same room as him.

Your hand presses against the tile; the smooth surface hasn't taken the warmth over yet, and the cold grounds you before you turn the water off.

The hallway is cold when you step out. The salty sea breeze cools the house through the open windows. You take a few steps before you notice someone sitting at the end of the hallway, a blue light illuminating his face.

Not in his room, not sleeping, just slouched in the armchair. "You're not in your bed?" Perfect observation, champ, keep it up.

San's mouth moves into something that isn't quite a smile, "Neither are you." Confusion takes over you a second before it all clicks while looking at the closed door of the room he shares with Wooyoung.

"Oh."

He lets out a quiet breath, leaning further into his chair, with a smile fully taking over his features, "Yeah,"

"So what… you just stay out here all night?"

"That was the plan, yes."

You shake your head before you can think about it, "That's stupid,"

His eyebrows lift slightly, "You got a better idea?"

You hesitate, because you know you shouldn't, but the words come anyway; you lost control over them a long time ago. "You can just take the other side of my bed."

He sits up, back straightening, eyes piercing you, trying to figure out if you are serious. "Your bed?"

You shrug a little too quickly as a response, "We both know Minjeong isn't coming back tonight."

His jaw tightens, as if he is actually considering the offer. Your palms are sweating, heartbeat way too loud in your ears for your liking, "And you?" he questions, eyebrows still furrowed on his forehead.

"I mean," you let out a small breath, "It's not like it matters,"

His eyes flicker, something unreadable passing in them, overtaking his previous sceptical look. "Right."

"Unless you'd rather sit here all night," you say, crossing your arms over your chest, already turning on your heels towards the bedroom.

He grunts behind you as he stands from the chair, mumbling something sounding awfully a lot like "You're unbelievable," yet he is still following you…

And you end up back in the room, but now with a companion. The mattress dips behind you, while you stare out the window, unmovingly, as if staying still enough would make this feel somewhat normal.

"I could've also taken the couch," he mutters, voice muffled over the cover near his mouth.

"And what's stopping you? Oh, wait, I know, Soobin. Who is already sleeping there," you state matter-of-factly, rolling your eyes so hard it almost makes a sound.

"I was fine," he huffs.

"Sure you were."

Silence stretches over the room, but it's thinner this time, tainted with tension, and every unsaid word that is begging to escape both of your lips.

"You always do that," he says suddenly. Looks like he might not hold those words back.

"Do what, exactly?"

"Act like nothing means anything." his words hit you hard, like another hit on your self-esteem, slowly crumbling the walls down you had no idea were already torn. The saliva you try to swallow feels like a thousand needles in your throat.

"W-what do you mean by that?" your throat starts clogging up even more, breaths stagger, and you feel him shift behind you.

You can feel his breath on your back, eyes burning holes into the back of your head, "You disappeared." his voice is uncertain, doubting the words he is giving a voice to.

"I didn't-" hands clenching the soft comforter.

"You did." His voice holds more sternness now, but it's still not loud, which somehow makes it worse "You decided it didn't matter, so I went along with it." the silence crept back into the room, but now it felt thicker, blocking your airways.

You sat up in bed, quickly turning towards him, eyes wide with disbelief, "That's not what happened." the words raggedly left your mouth, as you felt tears pearling at your eyes.

He is already looking at you, "Then what did?" his expression is soft, almost broken. His lips drag out the syllables of your name, "Tell me," his hand reaches out to you, but stops midway, grounding himself from the feeling of your skin on his.

"I thought that’s what you wanted," you admit, barely above a whisper, gaze falling to the comforter that's in your tight, shaking grip - anywhere but on him. "I thought that's what I needed," the words finally leave your mouth, making your chest feel lighter.

"I-I thought having a connection without feelings would make it all easier," your chest heaves with deep breaths, "No expectations, no pressure, just… something I could walk away from when it got too much." said out loud, it sounds harsh, so mean.

"I thought if I didn’t call it anything, it wouldn’t-" a hiccup halts your sentence, because when you were too lost in your words, tears started streaming down your face, but these weren't the hysterical, loud and angry tears they were last time, no. They were soft, delicate and more importantly, real. Something you haven't told anyone before, it didn't hold relevance; the less they knew, the easier it was.

But it was never meant to be easy with San.

"-it wouldn’t hurt when it ended." the room filled with your sobs and shaky breaths that bounced off the wall mockingly, because San didn't say anything. Heat creeps up on your cheeks and ears, burning hot under your skin, making the pounding of your head even worse now. It's loud, louder than the silence he doesn’t fill.

You drag in a shaky breath, realisation hitting you as a cold wind, making you quickly wipe at your cheeks with the back of your hand. "Forget it," you mutter, voice small, already retreating. "I shouldn’t have-" you shake your head, turning away from him, curling in on yourself as if you can take it all back if you don't see him.

The pounding intensifies in your head, but now it's accompanied by loud thoughts that scream at you, of course he doesn’t say anything. Why would he? You never knew when to stop. The silence stretches just long enough to make your chest ache, too.

But then the mattress shifts, not away but closer. Your whole body stills, holding in the sobs that want to shake your chest with the force. His movements are stalled, hovering over you for a second, trying to decide if he is allowed actually to do this, but then it softly settles around your wrist, not pulling or forcing you, just holding.

"Hey," his lips wrap around the syllables of your name again. It sounds so pretty coming from his mouth, it still makes your breath stutter, and hesitate about turning back to him. "Look at me," you shake your head immediately, and it makes his grip tighten slightly, not to the point where it hurts; it's just more assertive now. "Don't do that," he murmurs, and it sounds just like it did all those months ago, but now it's him saying it so softly.

"You don’t get to say all that to disappear on me again," his voice is low, vulnerable just like yours was before closing off.

Your breath stutters again, chest rising unevenly as you try to steady it. "I'm not-" your voice breaks, and you squeeze your eyes shut, shaking your head against the pillow, "I'm not disappearing." but the words do nothing to reassure him, or you, for that matter.

His thumb shifts slightly against your wrist in a soothing way. It's small, almost unnoticeable, as if he were testing the space between you. "Then stop acting like you are," he says quietly.

Your lips press together, but another sob slips through anyway, softer this time; your body is giving up on holding them in. "I don’t know what you want me to do," you admit, the words barely making it out.

You feel it before you see it - his grip tightening just a little more, his body shifting closer behind you.

"Stay," the words sound simple coming from his mouth, he isn't even demanding, but then why does it feel like it? Your chest aches at how easy that sounds.

"It’s not that easy," you whisper.

"I know," his voice is now a mere whisper, "but you’re making this harder than it needs to be." his faintness makes you consider turning back to face him, finally, after all the words spoken, for the first time.

Then, slowly, you turn; his hands don't leave your wrist; if anything, they reassure you in your movement. He is closer than you expect, close enough that you feel his breath on your tear-stained cheeks, close enough that you can see the way his expression softens the second you look at him.

He is still the same guy who called you out on your insecurities and wanted to help you change for you, with you. Maybe feelings aren't as bad as you thought, or you just need someone you know you will be safe with. Because they were always there, maybe not in the form of labels or words, but rather unconsious actions.

And when his arms pulled you closer into his embrace, you didn't think about the time, or the fastest escape route; you just let yourself enjoy it.

—

"Pass me some eggs, YJ," Wooyoung ordered in the kitchen, which quickly became his territory around the Airbnb - after Soobin and Mingi almost burnt it down on day one. There was no fooling around when he was there, just order and discipline.

So when you and San walked in, quietly arguing over the coffee machine - bumping shoulders, nudging each other out of the way between half-suppressed laughs - Wooyoung was already seconds away from snapping. Until he looked at you.

His hands were working on the scrambled eggs in front of him, but his eyes bounced between the two of you, and then quickly clicked with Yunho and Mingi's gazes, whose eyes were just as wide.

"What got you looking like that, Jung?" Yeonjun mumbles through a mouthful of toast.

Jimin immediately smacks the back of his head. "Swallow first. God."

"Ew," Aeri grimaces from across the table.

Wooyoung shook his head in response, all words stuck in his throat as he watched the scene unfold in front of him.

"What are we looking at?" Yeonjun questioned again, but this time in a hushed tone from Jimin, when he realised even she and the other girls were staring at you - but all for different reasons.

Yunho, Mingi, and Wooyoung exchange glances - caught off guard by how… easy San looks next to you. As if what started after the year-opening party never ended, it was just put on hold.

On the other side of the kitchen, Jimin, Aeri, and Yizhuo watch you instead. Not the interaction, but you. The way you didn't hide your emotions, and let your expressions give it away. They only saw the little smiles at your phone or the post-meeting glow on you, never you actually interacting with a man.

Yeonjun's eyes snapped to Soobin with a silent question, but Soobin only shrugged and continued eating his breakfast.

What they didn’t know was that this started hours earlier.

When you first opened your eyes, something weighted your waist down, heavy and warm. You don't turn around immediately, but you don't run to free yourself from the embrace either. That’s new.

"Morning," San's voice comes, rough with sleep, being awoken by your subtle stirring.

You exhale slowly and let yourself get lost in the feeling of his arms - trying to rewrite it in your head as something safe, instead of something suffocating. "Morning,"

He lets himself enjoy the feeling too before he asks, "So… what now?"

Your body reacts before your mind does - muscles tightening instinctively - but this time, your thoughts don’t spiral with it. "I don’t know," you admit, and for once, you don’t hate how that sounds.

He is silent after your words for a few seconds, "Okay."

"Okay?" you repeat.

He shrugs lightly, but there’s something steadier underneath it. "We'll figure it out."

And by the time you walked into the kitchen, it showed.

—

The car door slammed shut behind Yizhuo, who was the last to get in, as Jimin was already reversing out of the driveway. "I barely sat down!" Her voice was loud over the already-screaming music and laughter in the car. The usual banter started - actually resuming the one from breakfast.

When you finally got out of the car, that's only when you noticed how irkedly Jimin and Minjeong eyed you. They had this unreadable expression on their faces, but didn't mention anything about it.

The mall was a bit smaller than the one near the university you usually went to, but it had just as good stuff. "This is so cute!" Yizhuo exclaimed, her pitch jumping up an octave.

"Don't steer away from the topic, Yiz!" Jimin huffed because, for once, the younger girl had someone clearly interested in her - other than Aeri, but we don't talk about that. "He was clearly staring at you!"

"Yunho is not subtle," Minjeong adds with a giggle, her hands threading through some clothes on a hanger. "Well, he is more subtle than someone else,"

"What’s that supposed to mean?" you ask, glancing over from another row, a soft heat flushing your cheeks.

"You know the thing some people did earlier in the kitchen?" Minjeong continued, and the others chuckled, "Well, that wasn't-"

"Okay," you cut her off, your hands coming up in front of your face, hiding your smile.

While back at the house, the others were on the same questioning principle, "So," Mingi starts, dragging the word out as he leans back in the sunbed.

San doesn’t even look up. "Don’t."

"I didn’t even say anything yet."

"You were about to."

"Yeah, because what even was that in the kitchen?" Yeonjun speaks up; he is still clueless after all…

Wooyoung slaps a hand on his back, "And you don’t even know half of it," he says through puckled lips.

"Well, we talked," San finally lets out with a sigh, "When the other day, Wooyoung decided to put me out of our bedroom without prior consultation," his voice gets louder with every word and shoots his best friend a playful glare.

Wooyoung's cheeks heat as the others' eyes bounce between them. "Wait, what?" Yunho questions.

"Nothing, tell me more about what you talked about." Wooyoung quickly averted their attention to the more important matter.

"We’re… figuring it out."

Mingi lets out a low whistle. "That sounds serious."

"You’re blushing." Your head snaps back up at Aeri’s voice, hand still half-covering your face.

"I’m not," you mumble, already turning away, pretending to be very interested in a random rack of clothes.

"You are," Yizhuo sings, stepping closer, eyes narrowing playfully. "This is new." she stretched the last word.

"Are you sure you want to do this again with San?" your smile falters for just a second. Not enough for anyone to fully catch it - but enough for you to feel and think. "…Yeah," you nod, but the silence is immediate and heavy between the five of you.

"Do what again?" Yizhuo is the one to break the quiet first.

"Wait- what?" Aeri's face contorts into further confusion.

But Jimin's features light up, her eyes wandering around as she pieces it together. "San was the guy you hid from us?" Her tone was soft, trying so hard not to sound accusatory, just curious. As the words leave her mouth, it dawns on the other two, their jaws dropping silently.

Your cheeks are burning, muscles tightening, and for the second time today, your mind remains clear, enabling you to answer, "Yes." Your voice is not much louder than the shop's commercial music echoing off the walls.

Your body still doesn't respond well to the stress. Your shoulders stay tense, your stomach twisting slightly, like it’s still bracing for something that never comes. Because instead of the reactions you expect - the disappointment, the questions - they’re just staring at you.

And then they are- squealing? what.

"Oh my god!" Yizhuo forces out, her voice jumping straight to whistle notes as she says your name, "You talked it out?"

"No- wait, wait," Aeri interrupts, hands gesturing in front of her wildly, "How'd- When- What?" she giggles at her own stutters, "Wow, I am actually done for." that makes all of you laugh. The comfortable atmosphere returns as if it never even left.

"Well, we were kinda forced to resolve it," you murmur, eyes pointedly everywhere but at them. letting silence take its place for a second, as you carefully choose your words, but fuck it. "He slept in my room last night."

"What?" they all say in unison, gaye averting to Minjeong, whose turn is to be all flustered now.

"Then where did you sleep?" Jimin points at her, jaw dropping to the point where it seems inconsiderate to other shoppers.

"I think we should grab a coffee and sit down somewhere," came the proposition from the pink-haired girl, whose eyes were still wide and starved for information.

Talking over coffee suddenly seemed easier; words came from you with ease, answering questions each of them had, one by one. While still staying onpoint wth every little detail, and parts they already knew. By the time you finished, all eyes were averted to Minjeong, who thought she would be let off the hook - but boy, every secret came to sunlight today.

"I don't know what to tell you guys," she sighed, eyes glinting in a similar way she always told yours were. "We are together when we can be, And… It’s far more than casual." Four very loud gasps grabbed the attention of everyone in the cafe. "We just don't know if we're ready to tell everyone,"

Understanding nods, and words were directed at Minjeong as she played with the straw of her drink, flustered under all the attention.

"Okay, one thing, guys," Aeri spoke up after a few seconds of comfortable silence, pointing between all of you. "No more hiding stuff like this. I can’t handle another reveal like that." she laughs along with you, "I'm not joking- I might die."

For the first time since everything started - it doesn’t feel like something you have to hide. Not from them. Not anymore.

—

By the time you get back, the house is settled into this soft, casual afternoon. The last rays of the setting sun light up the Airbnb, with everyone retreated into their own quiet corners. You barely settle, step out to the patio when you hear his voice calling out your name.

"You're back."

You glance up at him, smile wide with his dimples, as he forgets about the phone in his hand as if he'd only been half-paying attention to whatever was on it in the first place. "Yeah," you hum, smile mirroring his, "We survived it."

His smile deepens at that, "Barely?"

"Barely." You both think the other went through a similar script while you were apart, but assumptions need to be asserted; we can't have another miscommunication… "I told them."

His expression stills for a second, but not in a panicked way; he is just… Waiting. "All of it?"

You nod, leaning back against the sliding door, "Pretty much,"

"I'm glad," he exhales softly, as if something unclenches in him finally. And his words are enough to make your own chest feel lighter, too.

"They didn't freak out… as much as I thought they would." you chuckle, feeling like you need to fill the silence with him - not because it’s uncomfortable, but because you like talking to him. Because he listens. "They’re probably going to be… annoying about it now," you mutter.

"They already are," he says, a hint of amusement slipping through, making you laugh, stopping just beside him now. Not too close, but close enough that your shoulder brushes his for half a second. Why does this feel harder than when it was just physical? Neither of you moves, settling into each other’s quiet warmth.

And for once, it doesn’t feel like something you have to overthink.

taglist (open): @belongjoong @kisssan @strhwa @thatateezgirl @karlee10261990 @stxrrywoo @minkieater @moooonandroses @redemptions

© 2025 way2jellyous

[thehornygirlchronicles]

roar

disclaimer: 18+ Below the cut. Minors DNI. Smut/NSFW content... Enjoy my lil freaks ;)

word count: 1k

pairing: idol!mingi x pregnant!wife!fem reader

warnings: dry humping, dirty talk, nipple play, breeding kink, unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it my lovelies), creampie, reader calls Mingi Appa, Mingi calls reader Mama

A/N: just a short drabble of your loving husband taking care of his wife's needs. hope you like, been dying to write something for Mingi! he's my ultimate bias.... the things i would let that man do to me... anyway, enjoy!!

Your darling husband just loved to dote on you, even more so now that you're carrying his child. When he's not doting or worrying about your every need, he's worry about his own. Seeing your swollen belly, growing with your child has unlocked the feral side of your husband.

Not that you're much better... These days, just the smell of your husband has you crawling on top of him in an instant.

Which is how you've found yourself, pliant beneath him as he has you folded into a mating press. Fucking into you like he was trying to put another baby in you, if that were even possible.

"Fuck, jagiya, wanna - just wanna stay buried inside you," he chokes out, head buried in the curve of your neck. Moans are falling from both of your lips, creating a chorus of desire.

Your hands are roving up and down his back, leaving angry red marks littered all over. "Min, please," you're begging your husband, whimpers leaving your throat. Legs locking around his shoulders, trying to pull him in a deep as possible.

You're surrounded by the smell and feel of him, but it's never enough lately. Constantly craving more and more of your husband, and he would give it to you. Anything you want and MIngi would give it to you.

"What, baby, use your words," he's encouraging you, as he pulls out and slams back home. A deep groan leaving him as your pussy clenches him tight, trying to hold him there.

"More, please," is all you can manage, hoping your husband can understand you. Your eyes are pleading, lips pouting and brows furrowed.

He's quickly pulling out of you and flipping you over onto your stomach, causing a long whine to flow from your lips. Mingi props you onto your knees before thrusting back in, hitting deeper from this angle. A drawn out moan leaves both you and Mingi in unison.

"This what you want, mama," he teases, slowing his thrusts but still slamming home with the same power.

You're reaching back to hold onto him, fingers lacing together. Mingi leans over you until his chest is pressed against your back. "Just like that, Mingi," your preening when he reaches your sweet spot.

The only sounds in the room are the obscene squelch coming from between your thighs, the smack of his hips meeting yours, and the litany of moans leaving you.

"Fuck, jagiya, gonna keep you just like this. Put another baby in you, over and over to keep you full of me, needy for it," he rambles, groans slipping out, "Feel so good, my perfect little wife, so warm and wet, pretty pussy."

The hand that isn't gripping yours, reaching around to find purchase on your growing bump, and his hips are stuttering. You know he's close, and so are you. You've lost count of how many orgasms there've been between you, and you don't care anymore. Lost in the pleasure that only your husband can give.

"Oh god, Appa, gonna cum, please, need it," your pleading with your husband. He reaches his hand up to pinch and pull at your right nipple, and it tips you over the edge. Pussy clamping down around him, thighs shaking, back arching your ass further into him, as a roar rips from your throat.

"Yes, hmmmm," Mingi is growling as you pull him over the edge with you, hips stuttering before sinking home and resting there. Seated deep inside, he rolls to the side to keep you spooned against him.

"Did so good baby, how do you feel?" he checks in with you, rubbing his hand over your bump in circles. You place your hand atop his, eyes fluttering closed.

"Feel good," you assure him, sleep seeping into your voice.

He buries his face into your neck, placing a kiss there. "Sleep, jagiya, growing our daughter is hard work," he whispers, pulling the covers over your bodies.

A/N: Credit to @ithemes for the adorable banner!!

tags: @breadpuddingboys

[mingisprincxss]

All I can think about is that I can write a better version of my sticky notes fic and imma do that

[wooyos]

[csnrwa]

mingki 🩷

[tinyfixon]

as you left me. ex bf!song mingi

ੈ✩ pairing: song mingi x ex gf!reader

ੈ✩ w/c: 7.7k

ੈ✩ plot: it’s been one year since your almost decade long relationship with mingi ended. when your paths happen to cross at a restaurant bar, you both come to realise that neither of you have been able to move on.

ੈ✩ c/w: explicit smut (minors dni or i’ll tell ur parents), exes to lovers, angst with a happy ending, a healthy breakup, reader smokes cigs, protected p in v, drunk sex, rough sex, semi-public bathroom sex, whipped!mingi, mingi is implied to have a sugar daddy kink >:)

ੈ✩ author’s note: i was sick and bed bound, so what did i do? write mingi public sex hehehe i hope you enjoy reading as much as i enjoyed writing it! (loosely based on normal people) AO3 link!

You started dating Mingi long before his debut.

He first became your boyfriend when he was nothing more than a tall and lanky kid sitting next to you in ninth grade mathematics, recklessly rocking on the back legs of his chair while chewing on the clicker of a ball point pen. He leaned back a little too far and almost fell backwards before he hastily reached out for something to stabilise himself. That something happened to be you.

Mingi thought you were the sweetest of all the popular kids in his grade, a pleasant and friendly person to talk to once a blue moon, and yet entirely out of his reach. It wasn’t love at first sight for that reason alone, since you had seen each other thousands of times throughout the years since kindergarten and ran in different social circles. But as he held onto your arm and as your surprised laughter surrounded him like music to his ears, Song Mingi fell in love. Hard. Maybe the reason why it took him so long to crush on you was because he never let himself look at you for too long. After that day he found it almost impossible to stop.

You quickly became inseparable like a pair of magnets. The thrill of reciprocated feelings made you the happiest duo on Earth. Wherever you were he was never too far behind - usually walking you home while holding your backpack on one shoulder and his on the other, listening to Lil Wayne and 50 Cent with shared wired earbuds. He got butterflies when you were with him and he still got them even when you weren’t. Your friendship groups merged so you could hold hands and share food during lunch, and that’s how he met one of your closest buds, Jeong Yunho. You had study dates with Mingi on your bedroom floor, where you made-out more times than you memorised flash cards. You exchanged the name tags on your school blazers so everyone would know you were an item, and you lost your virginities to one another on graduation night. 

As hormonal teenagers do, you broke up more times than you could count. Silly arguments that led to you blocking him on everything and stubbornly giving him the silent treatment for a few days. You’d always unblock him of course, unleashing a wall of messages telling you how sorry he was. Then he’d climb in through your window and you’d find yourself blissed out underneath him, grabbing fistfuls of bedsheets and stifling your moans so your parents didn’t hear you from downstairs.

You’ve been through it all with Mingi. University, his rise to fame as an idol, nervous breakdowns, and too many pregnancy scares that had him considering a vasectomy. You even bittersweetly moved away to Seoul and into your first apartment together. Ups and downs, you faced them side by side and always had a soft place to land. Away from the public eye, friends and family called you a power couple. But as the cliché goes, all good things eventually have to come to an end or else they begin to rot.

No one saw the break-up coming. Least of all you. You’d always thought of your boyfriend as the only person you could ever need, and you didn’t want to imagine life without him. He was your golden sun, and you believed that you aligned yourself to his centre of gravity in an orbit that would hopefully last forever.

But with your tenth anniversary coming up in only a matter of days, you weren’t as happy as you should’ve been. You couldn’t quite place your finger on why. You were tired and fought the strange lump in your throat while driving yourself home from work. Nausea was too kind of a word to describe the sick feeling that swirled around in your gut. It was almost like your body knew it was the end of you and Mingi before your brain did. Maybe deep down you were also a little disappointed that you’d be celebrating yet another anniversary that would go undocumented on your social media, due to the nature of Mingi’s high profile job. He wouldn’t be home for it, anyway, since he and the band were flying to Los Angeles in under twelve hours.

Before getting out of the car, you sat in a long peaceful silence and had to work up the courage to enter your own apartment. You eventually walked through the threshold, toeing out of your shoes in the entryway and slipping into rubber sandals. “I’m home!” you called out, hearing voices coming from the open-plan living space.

“In here!”

Choi San.

You rounded a corner and found a bare-faced San smiling up at you as he lounged back comfortably on the plush couch, holding a fluffy cushion to his chest. The sight of him instantly made you grin. “San-ah! I didn’t know you’d be here, what a good surprise.”

“I wasn’t supposed to be, but Mingi left all his packing to the last minute,” he replied with a judgemental tut. “He called me for some help.”

You had to laugh. “I can see that. Do you ever stop?”

“Nope,” he pouted, going along with your sarcasm. “It’s exhausting work, your boyfriend is crazy demanding and high maintenance. Will you talk to him for me?”

“Shut up, you,” you told him playfully, ruffling up his floppy hair. “Speaking of that procrastinator, where is—”

Mingi’s booming voice startled you as he emerged from somewhere behind you. “Jagi, have you seen my laptop charger?” You turned around to see him dressed casually. Black glasses were perched on his straight nose and the hood of his hoodie covered his bleached blond hair. He seemed flustered, in a rush to tick each item off his to-do list. Cute.

“Uhh… hi?” you blinked at him, looking at him expectantly. Wasn’t he forgetting something?

“Oh. Hi,” he said mindlessly, pressing a quick peck to your lips that lacked all passion. Neither of you knew that it was the last kiss before the end. He raised his eyebrows, looking at you with anticipation. “My charger?”

Sighing, you jutted your chin out and motioned behind him. “Last time I saw it you had it plugged in near the TV.” You entered the kitchen and found nothing on the stove, so you looked back at Mingi over the sprawling island countertop. “What’s for dinner?” you questioned.

“Don’t know, I didn’t prepare anything,” he said offhandedly. “Why don’t we just order something?” he answered, wrapping his charger into tight circles.

“But we’ve eaten out all week,” you turned up your nose, frowning. “I wanted home cooked food tonight. It’s the last night before you go to America.”

“Told you, Mingi-yaaaa.” San droned with a teasing smirk, head buried in his phone. He went on to quietly whisper something to himself about Mingi not knowing anything at all about women.

Shrugging, Mingi replied to you quite simply, “Then cook something. There’s mackerel thawing in the fridge.” He disappeared down the hall into the direction of the bedrooms.

“There’s mackerel thawing in the fridge.” you mimicked under your breath. You had been working in a busy kitchen all day, tasting sauces for the junior kitchen staff and making sure each plate was flawless. The last thing you wanted to do when you got home was season and grill fillets of fucking mackerel.

“Well,” San chirped, gathering your attention. He shot up from the couch and beamed at you with a blinding smile. “I better get going before it gets too late. It’s always nice to see you.” For a second, all your tension melted. He crossed the room and you exchanged a warm hug and a friendly kiss on the cheek. Usually you wouldn’t show so much affection to friends, but he was practically family.

“You too. Take care of yourself, okay?”

“Always do.” He winked. San waved an unanswered goodbye to your two cats that were starting to rub themselves against your ankles. He put his shoes on and sang out a goodbye to his friend, which was again left unanswered. He walked out the door without giving you another glance.

Looking down at your pets, they immediately started meowing relentlessly under your attention - a tell tale sign that they were hungry. Sure enough, you spotted their automatic kibble feeder and noticed that it was in fact empty. A small red light blinked in warning. Mingi really didn’t think to refill it? You huffed in disappointment but held your tongue and decided to give him the benefit of the doubt. Afterall, he was going on tour and likely had one million things to do.

After getting the cats settled, you washed your hands and begrudgingly got started on your own dinner for two. You were adjusting the buttons on the rice cooker when you felt body heat hovering behind you. Smelling expensive cologne, you flinched and twisted around to find Mingi stretching his bulk over you and reaching for a cabinet above your head. “The fuck, Mingi-ya?” you shrilled and backed yourself up against the counter, thoroughly agitated and overwhelmed. “Get out, I’m in here! I don’t have the patience right now.” What is it about someone invading your personal space in the kitchen that sends your brain into overload?

“Tch, calm down.” He sent you a dirty look. “I’m just making a protein shake.” Retrieving the plastic shaker bottle and canister of powder, he slammed the cabinet shut a little too hard for your liking.

Glowering up at him, you scoffed with animosity. “And you just had to have one right now? Before dinner?”

“Yeah, I just had to have one right now.” he mumbled snidely with a roll of his eyes. He turned away from you and you fought the urge to direct a middle finger at his back. You suddenly felt glad he was leaving early the next morning. At least he won’t be annoying you while you make yourself a matcha latte—

Wait.

Your blood turned cold like you had been plunged into an ice bath. There was once a time when you’d cling to him like a koala on the tarmac, savouring every last moment in his arms before he had to board a private jet across the world. And now…

…You were glad that he was leaving?

You couldn’t hold it in any longer. Your emotions were finally boiling over the edge of the unwatched pot. A broken whimper escaped you and tears began to fall. Mingi snapped his head to you and froze, holding a scoop of protein powder mid-air. “Shit. Hey, hey, hey.” he dropped everything and rushed towards you at that very moment. He held your head to his chest, taking you into a crushing embrace and shushing you gently.

It was too much. You were suffocating under his innate compassion, and also the fact that his knee jerk reaction was to hold you and make it better. You felt like you didn’t deserve any of it. It was almost painful when his hand started to rub up and down over your spine. “Stop it,” you pushed at his hard chest. “I can’t breathe, let me go.” Let me go. Uttering those words and knowing the deeper meaning behind them pushed a loud sob from your chest.

“Okay, okay,” He backed off, hands surrendering in the air to give you space. “You should probably sit down though, come on.” You allowed him to lead you to the couch, where you sat side by side, knees bumping. He murmured for you to take your time, to breathe slowly in through your nose and out through your mouth. His relaxation techniques to stop anxiety attacks did nothing to soothe the storm of anguish inside of you.

You looked at him with blurred vision, crumbling even further than you were already when you saw how concerned for you he was. There was no better time than to rip off the bandaid than other than that moment.

Taking one last deep inhale to ground yourself, you allowed yourself to confess, “I think we need to break up.” The air shifted and you watched as his strong body became stiff. His eyes scanned your face all over, likely trying to find any hint of dishonesty. When he found none, his lips parted but he didn’t say a word. “You’re my best friend. I need you to know that you make me very happy, you always have. It’s our relationship that isn’t making me happy. Not anymore. I don’t want to resent you but I’m starting to feel it happen. And that kills me.” you sniffled wetly.

“Jagi, breaking up with me won’t fix that,” he desperately tried to convince you with a stern shake of his head, holding a steady eye contact with you that possessed uncertainty and fear deep down. You knew him well enough to know when he was only pretending to be strong for your sake. “My parents always used to tell us th-that relationships take effort every single day. I’ll fight for you before giving up on us. Okay?” he tentatively tucked some hair behind your ear, his touch feather-light.

You tilted your head. “Aren’t you tired?” you asked breathlessly and his face immediately fell. “Because I’m exhausted, Mingi. With my new promotion and the way your career is heading, I just… everything is so hard right now and I can’t see this lasting. I think it’s too late. We’re too late.”

He attempted to hide his heartache with a sad smile and couldn’t bring himself to look at you any longer. “Gah, fuck. Fucking hell, I’ve been feeling the same way for a while but I’ve been focusing on work and trying not to think about it,” his deep voice wavered, eyes watering with unshed tears as he tried to blink them away. It pained you to hear him say it aloud but at least you knew you weren’t crazy. He felt it too. “I really don’t want to hurt you.”

Your bottom lip wobbled as you put your hand on the back of his head, cradling the nape of his neck. “I know. I know that, and I don’t ever want to hurt you either. But look at me,” His shiny dark eyes were full of sorrow. He engulfed your wrist in his warm palm like he was afraid you’d vanish into a mist. “I think it’s impossible for this not to hurt. It’s going to break our hearts.”

That released his floodgates and he threw himself around you, face contorting into the saddest expression you’d ever seen as he let himself cry against the side of your neck. Each puff of air that escaped him tickled your skin and sent bad chills down your spine, goosebumps spreading up and down your arms. Your chest felt heavier and heavier by the second. You tucked your chin over his broad shoulder and held on tight, body shaking with silent sobs. Mingi was your rock, and you figured that since he’d already let you cry it out that now it was his turn. Mingi wasn’t much of a crier, so the sounds of his agony stung you bone deep like a spray of acid.

You weren’t sure how much time passed before he lifted his head up and unwrapped himself from around you, his eyes puffy and rimmed with an irritated red. “I’ll never love anyone as much as I love you.” He spoke the words weakly but his declaration was dead-serious. You knew he truly meant it because you felt the same way about him. He wiped at his face then took your hand into his, squeezing tight. “What do we do now?”

Your mind was blank, too frazzled with exposed wires sparking to come up with an answer good enough. But seeing him with wet cheeks, looking so goddamn miserable made you force something out. “We take it one day at a time,” you choked out despite your best effort. “I think it’s best that we do this properly, which means we should probably live separately.” 

His nod was barely there. “I’ll get someone to move my things into storage while I’m gone.” 

“No,” you sniffled. You started to rub your thumb over the back of his hand. “No, this is your place. You bought it. I’ll go.” You’d be leaving him behind. It felt like your heart was being pierced with sharp teeth and jagged nails.

I’ll go, I’ll go, I’ll go.

“Jagi, it’s ours. You put a lot of time into this place, too.” he said slowly, unable to accept your words.

You spoke his name in warning. “Please don’t make this harder than it has to be.” you pleaded, and he seemed satisfied enough with that.

“Fine, but you should take Dolce and Gabbana. They’ve always loved you more than they love me, little brats.”

That made you laugh through your tears, a wet and sad sound. It was true, the two Himalayan littermates did have a habit of ignoring him and weren’t as clingy if you weren’t home. Deep down he knew they loved (tolerated) him, but they were your babies. You picked them out when they were kittens, Mingi was just the one to seal the deal with cash. He couldn’t take them away from you.

The rice cooker beeped in the kitchen and it was a silent agreement that stomaching a meal was entirely out of the question. Appetites well and truly gone, you released your interlocked hands and both went to bed. No matter how hard you tried, neither of you were able to get a peaceful night’s sleep. You remembered how you used to fall asleep together as teens before things became sexual, too nervous and shy to allow your arms to touch. It was the same that night, just for all the wrong reasons.

Now more than one year later, Mingi hasn’t seen you in person since that dreadful night. Your parents helped you move across the city into a sensible one bedroom with a balcony view of a pretty green park and serene koi pond. By the time Mingi returned from tour, he was devastated to find that his apartment barely held the scent of your amber perfume.

He finally sees you again when he needs it most, when his social battery is almost at an all time low and he’s about to make some lame excuse to leave this dinner and drive himself home. He should be enjoying himself, he’s surrounded by his beloved members. Instead, he’d rather be anywhere else. He takes an inconsequential glance towards the upscale bar across the room and he suddenly finds it difficult to breathe. He spots your gorgeous face, mid-laughter with your head thrown back, long styled hair cascading past your shoulders. 

Time seems to slow down like cold dripping honey as he watches you. You’re with a friend and he’s thankful that she seems to know how to tell a joke, because you look free as a bird while full of glee. You’re wearing a black dress with an open back, and he can’t help but capture his bottom lip between his teeth at the sight of your exposed skin.

In the blink of an eye, you’re blocked from view by fingers snapping in front of his face. “Hyung!” Jongho exclaims. Mingi becomes flustered, coming back to reality as he comes to find that the entire table is looking at him. A waiter stands nearby with a notepad in hand. Wooyoung is the most amused of the group and jokingly asks if Mingi saw a ghost or is having a stroke, or both.

“No. Sorry, uhh…” he opens his menu and isn’t able to read words. “I’ll just have whatever you’re having.” he nudges Jongho.

The waiter writes down everyone’s order and promises it shouldn’t be long. When Mingi looks back at you, you’re standing and hugging your friend. He watches as she exits the restaurant, leaving you alone at the bar. The conclusion he comes to is inevitable. You’re right there, his very own forbidden fruit. He knows he shouldn’t. He knows it’s reckless, but he decides to go in for the kill anyway. He shoots back his whisky on the rocks, mumbles to Jongho that he’ll be right back, then follows the magnetic pull that leads to you.

Your voice meets his ears as he approaches from behind. You’ve ordered another glass of Veuve Clicquot and he slides his black card to the bartender. “Put that on me.”

“Not interest- Oh my God, no way!” you giggle in disbelief after setting your eyes on him. Mingi feels warmth bloom inside his chest at your enthusiasm. “She was right, it was you!” You’re beaming like a gold ray of sunlight.

He joins you in laughter without even knowing what’s funny, and lowers himself down to sit on the empty seat beside you. “Who?” he wonders. 

“My new sous chef, Jieun! She had to leave – something about a situationship sending her a ‘you up’ text, I think? She said that she saw you earlier and I didn’t even bother to look. I told her she was crazy because you’ve never liked this restaurant.” you bat your eyelashes behind your bubbling champagne flute as you bring it to your lips.

Jesus, you’re a lot tipsier than he initially thought. Rambling when you’re usually quite reserved in public, and eyes gleaming up at him like he’s made of starlight. Should exes appear this happy to bump into each other? He knows he’s elated to see you, but he’s always been weak when it comes to you. If he’s being honest with himself, the split felt more like a divorce than a regular separation. In his mind, you’re practically his ex-wife. He wonders if you ever thought of him as something like a husband. Mingi sets his spiralling thoughts aside when he realises that it’s taken him too long to answer. He was lost in thought and too busy eyeing your dainty collarbones.

You don’t seem to notice that the silence has dragged on, throwing your glass back and almost taking half of it down in a single gulp. “You’re right, I really do hate this place.” he agrees with a nod. Part of the reason is because as you were putting yourself through culinary school, you’d take him with you to the finest restaurants and pick apart your own cooking by comparing yourself to other chefs. He’s always been biased when it comes to the flavours you come up with and decidedly hated the food you felt inferior to, purely out of loyalty.

“So why are you here, then? Are you stalking me?” you tease.

As always, you’re spot on. You know him too well. You’re the only reason why he agreed to come. In the back of his mind, he was hoping this would happen - seeing you again. He must be the luckiest man on the planet. “You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” he smirks. You don’t look amused and he swallows, throat bobbing thickly. “Nah. Hongjoong insisted we all get together and celebrate the New Year since we were with family on New Year’s Eve. It’s far from my first choice but I wasn’t gonna bail on them.”

You seem to light up and look at him like he’s grown angel wings and sprouted a glowing halo. “No way, they’re all here? Why the fuck are you sitting here with me instead of with them?” you reprimand, swatting his shoulder with a pout.

He tries to act casual and shrugs, testing the waters by leaning a little into your personal space. “I didn’t notice you until I was about to order a drink,” he possessively puts his hand on the back of your stool. “And you look so good that I had to stay.” he flirts, voice low.

You don’t answer right away, but when you do it’s with a dry, “Thanks.”

He can sense your defensive walls gaining height, brick by brick. So he decides to break them down with a sledgehammer made of charm. “Well aren’t you gonna tell me I look good, too?” he drawls.

The gaze you hold on him is scrutinising as you tilt your head, a cheeky smirk on your lips. He knows what’s coming and instead of backing down, he feels his cock twitch in his pants. “You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” you mirror his previous words back to him. Smiling wolfishly, he swipes his tongue across his front teeth. God, how he adores you. He hasn’t been reconnecting with you for a full minute yet, and conversation hasn’t felt this delightful in a very long time.

He doesn’t want things to get awkward, so after ordering himself a glass of champagne, he swiftly keeps your chit-chat moving. “So how are the kids?” His two feline children of divorce, who he said goodbye to the morning he left for tour and hadn’t seen since.

“They’re great. Gabanna finally started using the water fountain.”

He’s visually shocked, eyes the size of flying saucers. “He did? Fuck, I thought he never would,” he raises his glass to you. “Cheers to that.”

“Cheers,” you reply brightly and the glasses clink, then your smile slowly fades. “They’re happy but I can tell that they miss you. It kind of makes me feel like a piece of shit because they don’t understand, you know? I hope they don’t feel abandoned.”

“I could visit sometime.” he blurts without thinking.

You fidget and take a sip of your champagne while looking the other way. Slow down, Mingi, slow down.

“So are you seeing anyone?” He knows that you aren’t. There was a guy a few months back but it didn’t appear to last long nor be very serious. Mingi did a deep dive and stalked him on Instagram. He was a med student, painfully normal compared to the life Mingi leads. Maybe you dated him for the mundane consistency that Mingi could never provide. Whatever, at least you’re single now.

Mingi’s face heats up as you give him a funny look. “Are we really going to talk about my love life?” you question.

“No, I don’t even know why I asked that. I’m going to kill myself,” he barks out a self deprecating laugh that you join in on, cheeks starting to hurt in genuine hilarity. “Quick, change the subject. Please.”

“Alright, um… Oh!” you grab onto his bicep, physical affection towards him coming as natural to you as breathing air into your lungs. It feels nice to be touched by you. He relishes in the fact that anyone looking at the pair of you would assume you’re a couple instead of knowing the depressing reality that keeps him up at night. “I meant to tell you that the Roar music video was amazing. I was gonna send you a text but you must’ve changed your number.”

“Oh. Yeah, I did. Thank you,” he feels his ears start to heat up at the compliment. They’re definitely turning a carnation-pink. It thrills him to his core that while you were apart you still paid attention to what he was up to. “So you liked it?”

“Duh, you looked so se—” Sexy. You stop yourself before the word has a chance to be said, clearing your throat and twisting your diamond earring anxiously. His eyes catch onto the sparkling gemstone and he realises that they’re the pair of studs he gifted you for your twentieth birthday. “You looked good.” you say weakly.

“Thanks.” He smiles a tight lipped smile. It’s difficult to see you push down your feelings. Especially the ones you have for him.

You start to zone out, watching the bubbles rise to the surface of your champagne. “What the hell am I doing?” you whisper to yourself bitterly like you’ve just committed a crime. “I’m supposed to be getting over you, not letting you buy me drinks.”

With a plummeting heart, he leans in and hopes that he misheard you. “What?”

Sighing, you start digging into your sparkly shoulder clutch. “I need a smoke.” you fish out a pink disposable lighter and pack of Vogue Bleues.

“I thought you quit.”

You don’t bother to answer him and lower yourself from the barstool, your height matching his now that you’re standing. Like an abandoned dog, he watches pathetically as you walk away. His eyes follow you perfectly like a fancam, they always have. He’s spent most of his life watching you, waiting for you to move so that he could too. It hurts bone deep that he has no reason to chase after you now.

He tightens his jaw, silently stewing in anger. He has half a mind to follow you out to the street anyway, pluck the cancer stick from your mouth and stomp it out beneath his shoe. But he can’t. Because you’re not his anymore. And even when you were, it never ended well for him when he tried to boss you around.

Quite some time passes with Mingi anxiously checking the revolving doors about one hundred times a minute, then a thought crosses his mind. Maybe you left. Hailed a taxi to avoid him and called it a night. He orders four shots of soju and finishes them one after the other. The warm blur of such strong alcohol takes over, settling the unease in his bones and loosening him up. On instinct and fueled with hope, he looks up at the door.

And there you are, walking back inside.

The sight of you energises him like an electric shock to the senses. He perks up and his shoulders straighten. You’re already looking in the general direction of the bar and your eyes meet Mingi’s once he spots you. Your nose is a little pink from the January chill, hair slightly windblown. Stunning, he thinks to himself. He’s almost convinced that you’ve returned for him, but then you give him the cold shoulder and disappear deeper into the restaurant amongst a group of strangers being led to their table.

He shoots upright, stool scraping on the marbled floor as he scrambles to find a glimpse of you. He knocks into something, hard. Yunho slams his hands onto Mingi’s shoulders, gathering his full attention. “Bro! You will not believe who is here right now.” he says excitedly, tipsy as well.

“I know,” he says dismissively, shrugging him off.

“No, you’re gonna lose your mind-”

“Hyung, I fucking know, okay?” Mingi clarifies by saying your name. Slowly, Yunho’s glazed over eyes start to widen in realisation, finally putting two and two together that you’re the reason he excused himself from the group dinner. “I need to talk to her. Did you see where she went?” He taps his friend’s cheek in urgency. 

Yunho points his thumb behind him to the direction of the restrooms and Mingi doesn’t waste a single second. There’s a short line leading into the women’s and you’re nowhere to be seen. He knows for a fact that there’s no way you would’ve ventured into the men’s and he looks further down the narrow hallway, realising that the handicapped toilet has the lock engaged. He knocks tentatively.

“Sorry, it’s occupied!”

You attempted to pitch your voice higher and made yourself sound nasally, but it’s so clearly you that he has to hold back an amused smile. “Jagi, I know it’s you. Let me in.” he demands gently.

“Mingi, I said it’s fucking occupied!” you snap at him, dropping the guise. “Go away!”

He sucks his teeth impatiently. “No, I’m waiting out here for you.”

“You do that and it’ll only make me stay in here all night.” you threaten, and he knows that isn’t an empty promise because when you decide to dig your heels in you go all the way. His already short temper flares and he’s practically a bull seeing red. Why do you have to be so stubborn all the time? 

He knows it’s childish, and he wouldn’t do anything like this stone cold sober, but he impulsively starts pounding on the door with both fists raised. It sounds like thunder as the door rattles on its hinges, gathering the attention of everyone nearby. He doesn’t stop until he hears the lock click and it swings open to reveal you angrily guarding the small open gap. Mingi shoots an arm inside and bombards you with his towering height, hurrying inside before you can get a biting word in. He’s so close to you that you have no choice but to step backwards to make room for him as he slams the door shut and locks it for good measure. 

He smells the cigarette smoke that clings to your clothes. It’s strong and pungent, you definitely had more than one. “You crazy bastard!” you hiss like a viper, and smack his shoulder blades while his back is still turned. “Didn’t I make it obvious that I want to be left alone?”

“Oh my God, did you guys see that?”

“What a creep!”

“Hey, there was a girl in there!”

The women waiting in line for the restroom have gathered outside the door. Shit. He knows how it must’ve looked to onlookers. “Yeah, uh-!” he calls out, brain swimming for a possible excuse. “My fiancée had too much to drink and she isn’t feeling well! Give us a minute!” he turns to find you already glaring at him.

“Oh, I’m your fiancée, am I?”

He shrugs. “It got them to leave us alone.”

“Why do we need to be alone?” you counter.

“I want to talk to you.”

“We talked enough at the bar, I have nothing else to say to you,” you tell him. “I should fucking scream.”

He scoffs at how theatrical you’re being “Oh, great idea, drama queen! Get me arrested. Don’t pretend you didn’t want me to follow you,” he scoffs with a scowl. After a long beat of silence and an exchange of heated glares, he acquiesces and sighs heavily. “Fine, I’ll go. Is that really what you want?”

Something passes across your face and you look almost pained, conflicted. Shoulders dropping and head hanging low, you let out a defeated sigh. “No.” you whisper, shocking and delighting him to his core. Thank God, because it was going to be like walking across the fires of hell to leave you behind again. “Actually, I want you to kiss me, Min.”

And that’s all he needs to hear. He doesn’t waste any time and quickly leaps into action, hands holding your face and tilting your head up, lips devouring yours. He doesn’t remember the last time he’s moved so fast. You cross your arms at the nape of his neck and reciprocate his wild hunger. He can feel your languished knees start to weaken as you melt into him. He presses his body against you as his hands linger above the bare skin over your spine, walking you backwards as the sheer weight of him cages you in against the sink.

There’s a delicious static energy buzzing between you, limbs and tongues cascading into each other like molten lava. Taking a breath, he pulls a foil packet from his wallet and uses his teeth to tear it open. You and Mingi usually skip verbal consent, you’re able to communicate and read each other’s minds with a single look. You both want this. You take the condom from his hand and drop to your knees, maintaining eye contact through your long eyelashes as you unbuckle his belt and unzip his pants. You place the latex gently between your lips.

“You’re the death of me.” He laughs breathlessly, throwing his head back and running a hand through his overgrown platinum hair. You kiss the tip of his cock through the latex, then sit back and roll it onto the rest of his length.

The second you rise to your feet, he picks you up and seats you on the edge of the sink. His hands are like claws as he starts to tug your opaque tights down from underneath your dress. He’d like to see your tits and the piercings that sit so prettily on your nipples, but his imagination will have to do.

“Just rip them, Min.”

He stops all his movements. “What?” he asks, confused. He definitely misheard you.

“Just– I don’t know, fucking rip them and pull my panties to the side,” you bite your lip impatiently. “Come on, hurry before we get caught. I need you inside me.”

Your words hit his ears like a rogue asteroid, setting his skin ablaze and making him grow even harder in the condom. Just when he thought you couldn’t get any sexier. You’re just as needy and full of urgency as he is. He does exactly what you say, tearing the tights over your crotch to reveal your red lace underwear that he moves aside. His hand makes contact with your bare cunt and your reaction is immediate, sighing blissfully and pressing into his long fingers to add more friction. You lift your legs around his waist and brace yourself by holding onto his shoulders. “So fucking wet.” he muses.

You’re more than ready for him, and he’d love to tip you over the edge with his tongue but now is not the time. He lewdly sucks the taste of you off his fingers and uses what’s left as a lubricant on his cock, pumping himself a few times. It should be old news when he aligns himself and starts to push in, but you’re so tight that it takes his breath away. He groans deep from his throat as your fingernails dig into his leather jacket. You’ve never been this snug. It dawns on him that it could be because you probably didn’t sleep with anyone during the entire year you spent apart. Guilt passes through him because he definitely did. A lot. 

“Fucking shit, oh my God. It’s just like our first time. You alright?” he asks once he’s all the way in, tipping his head back to look at your face.

“Yeah. Feels s’good. You feel so good,” you murmur, breathlessly. “So deep. Ple- Please keep going, pleasepleaseplease.”

He instantly starts moving. If there’s one thing about Mingi, it’s that he has the stamina and hip strength to keep a steady and fast paced rhythm without faltering. Tonight is no exception. And just like that, he’s finally fucking the love of his life after dreaming about it every night for a year.

“Harder. Go harder.” you plead.

His self control snaps and he lets himself go entirely, getting significantly rougher with it and holding onto your thighs with an unforgiving grip. He pulls you onto him with each inward thrust. Mingi loves taking you like this. He secretly lives and breathes for the rare times like these when you give him permission to stop holding back his strength so he can rail you hard enough to bruise. Never too hard to cause real harm, but just enough so the shape of his hands bloom purple and blue on your skin and remind you who claimed you. Who will always claim you. Perhaps it’s twisted, but it thrills him to think that even when you’re naked there’s a part of him still on you.

He knows you like it too because he feels you start to mark him, too. You suck a hickey on the column of his neck. He’ll be overjoyed if he wakes up in the morning to a darkening bruise on his throat in the shape of your mouth. There’s a public appearance coming up in a few days but he can’t bring himself to care, it’s nothing makeup and a turtleneck can’t fix.

“God, I’ve missed this like crazy. You’re the best I’ve ever had. The thought of you - hah, fuck - is the only thing that can get me there.”

“Me too,” you admit with a pathetic whimper. “When I touch myself I think about you. Only you.”

“Fuuuuck.” he growls loudly, his rich voice echoing off the tiled walls. 

You’ve managed to spur him on even more and he pistons into you even harder, eliciting a surprised yelp from you that settles into breathless pants. The noises you two are making definitely aren’t discreet and can without a doubt be heard from outside. Your beautiful moans, his deep voice, and the unmistakable slaps of skin on skin that would alert anyone to exactly what you’re doing. It’s all so hot. He’s managed to get you so wet that he can hear it with each inward thrust.

He feels the familiar build of an orgasm looming and finds his reflection in the mirror. “Shit,” he pulls out gently, making you whimper at the cold loss. “Stand up, jagi, stand up. Turn around for me, you have to see this.” He turns you around and lets you watch in the mirror as he slides your tights and panties down the delicate curve of your ass. 

“You kinky little shit,” you tease with a broken laugh when you feel him enter you, continuing his delicious pace. “This reminds me of those videos we used to make. Remember those?”

“Of course, it broke my heart to get rid of them.”

You snap your head around to look at him from over your shoulder, hair whipping him in the face. “Wait, you actually did?”

“Wha- huh?” he stammers, not exactly hearing you.

“Our sex videos, Mingi,” you say firmly. “You actually deleted them?”

His powerful hips come to a complete stop and his brilliant brown eyes look into yours. “I mean, yeah. You asked me to, so I did,” he answers, panting like a dog. The energy shift causes his head to spin. He’s far too drunk on pussy and alcohol for any serious conversation, lacking the brain capacity to entertain something as complex as what you might be thinking. “You told me to delete them, so I did. That’s not something I’d ever bullshit you about.”

By some miracle, his words of honesty seem to appease you. A lot. A satisfied moan escapes you before you reach for his jaw and kiss him. Hard. He nearly loses his footing when you shove yourself back onto his cock, eager and ravenous for more. He gets the idea quickly, grunting against the sweetness of your mouth and easing back into his purposeful and unrelenting thrusts.

“I’m gonna fucking-” you gasp into his mouth and close your eyelids. “Mingi! Ohmygodohmygod!”

“Yes, that’s it,” he coaxes you through it. “Open your eyes, want you to fucking look at me when you cum.” you do as you’re told, eyes finding his breathtaking reflection as he hunches his bulk over you.

His sultry eyes are heavy lidded and they don’t leave yours in the mirror when he presses a wet kiss to the side of your neck with velvety soft lips. He slips a hand around your waist and his fingers rub incessant circles on your clit. Your orgasm crashes over you like a lightning bolt and you become slack-jawed, shrieking in pure ecstacy. When your eyes flutter closed and you tip your head back to rest on his shoulder, he lets you. Mingi follows shortly after, and just before he spills into the condom, he whines. Actually whines. He cums holding onto the fruit of your flesh, strong body locking up and becoming rigid, chanting your name and telling you he loves you.

“I think I’ve missed you a lot.” you admit after some time, still breathless.

“Oh, really? I couldn’t tell.”

“Shut up.”

“You first.” He shoots back. You both fall into laughter, chests bouncing. At least he can still make you laugh. “So does this mean we’re back together? Or do I have to seal it with a kiss before midnight like I’m a prince and you’re my fairy tale princess?” He speaks the last words in English.

“You’re ridiculous.”

“And still inside you.” he points out with a wink.

You roll your eyes lightheartedly and kick his shin like a provoked horse. “Well, hurry up and pull out already. I need to pee.”

Pouting, he eases himself out of you. “Bossy.” He takes the condom off, tucks himself back into his jeans and passes you a wet hand towel. He acts like he’s about to drop the tied off condom into the toilet and you slap the back of his hand as he laughs like a menace, discarding it in a nearby trash can instead. He stands back so you can take care of yourself.

Mingi isn’t naive. A morose thought forms in his brain. He gets the sense that this is it between the two of you. A one time thing, a drunken hook-up for old times sake, a wordless way of saying your final goodbyes. It hurts to watch you put your clothes back on. It hurts to even look at you. Despite all of that, he can’t tear his eyes away from your beautiful figure. It’s like a twisted form of slow torture. His mouth moves before he can even think. “Hey.”

“Yeah?” you answer, voice soft as a petal. You’re leaning down to adjust the strap on your high heel as you look up at him to make eye contact, big doe eyes blinking with smudged mascara. He isn’t sure why the sight puts a lump in his throat.

“Let me, uh,” he runs a hand through his hair, clearing his throat. “Let me at least pay for your cab. Or an Uber, whatever you want.”

A sweet smile curls your pink lips upwards. He watches as you tilt your head to the side, it’s an adorable habit of yours that he’s missed. “No need. My future fiancé is taking me home.” His eyes dart around the room as his brain short circuits, he then points a finger towards his chest with raised eyebrows. Giggling like a woman in love, you tell him yes. He suddenly sees the girl he fell in love with at fifteen years old and he blushes like he’s still that awkward teenager. You’re offering him an olive branch and he grabs onto it with all his strength, not planning on releasing it anytime soon.

Mingi was the stupidest bastard on the planet for letting you go once before, and he sure as hell isn’t ever going to make that mistake again.

[siracoreee]

When Did You Get Hot?

(Mingi x Reader Oneshot)

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Pairing: Song Mingi x Female Reader

Genre: Second Chances, Friends-to-Lovers, Childhood Friends AU, Reunion AU, Romance, Drama, Angst, Fluff, Slow Burn (except it's not bc it's really fast paced here, but also yes, bc reader and Mingi took 10 years to get with each other?)

Warnings:

Alcohol consumption / intoxication

Mentions of heartbreak & abandonment

Emotional confrontation

Minor swearing (e.g. Fuck, Bitch, Bastard etc.)

Mild suggestive content (kissing, romantic tension)

Heavy emotional themes (forgiveness, unresolved love)

Fluff & reconciliation

Summary: Ten years after graduation, you swore you’d left your high school days—and everyone in them—behind. But when your best friend drags you to your ten-year reunion, the last person you expect to see is him: Song Mingi. Your childhood best friend. The boy who disappeared without a word.

He’s no longer the lanky kid next door; he’s taller, sharper, devastatingly confident— and apparently the CEO of a successful restaurant chain. And while you’ve spent years convincing yourself you don’t care, one look into those familiar dark eyes threatens to unravel everything you’ve built.

Old wounds resurface, secrets come to light, and buried feelings claw their way back to the surface. Between alcohol-fueled confessions, heated arguments, and stolen kisses, you and Mingi are forced to face the truth: maybe the past never really let either of you go.

After all, love doesn’t always fade—it just waits for a second chance.

Word Count: 3k

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“Absolutely the fuck not.”

The shriek on the other end of the line was so piercing I had to pull my phone away from my ear. “What do you mean, ‘no’?! It’s our ten-year high school reunion! It’s going to be epic!”

I flopped back onto my couch, staring at the ceiling. “Yunseo, I can think of a million things I’d rather do than spend an evening with a bunch of people I haven’t spoken to in a decade, all trying to one-up each other. It’s a dick-measuring contest disguised with cheap wine and bad music.”

“It’s at a K-BBQ restaurant, so at least the food will be good,” she countered, her voice wheedling. “Please? I don’t want to go alone. You know how these things are. I need my emotional support bestie.”

I groaned. She knew my weaknesses: Korean barbecue and her puppy-dog-eyes voice. “Fine,” I grumbled. “But you owe me. Big time.”

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A few days later, we were sifting through racks of clothes. Yunseo held up a dress that was far too sparkly for my taste. “Reunions are all about showing everyone how much you’ve glowed up,” she said, tossing the glittery monstrosity aside. “You have to look successful. And hot. It’s the rule.”

“I am successful,” I muttered, pulling out a simple but elegant silk top. “And I’m hot enough.”

“Oh, I know,” she said, a sly grin spreading across her face. “Speaking of hot… guess who’s back in town and confirmed he’s coming?”

I raised an eyebrow, uninterested. “Let me guess, Minjun, the guy who peaked in high school and now sells crypto to his grandma?”

“No,” she said, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “Mingi.”

My hands stilled. Song Mingi. My childhood best friend. The lanky, goofy boy who lived next door, who I’d spent every waking moment with until the summer after graduation when he just… vanished. No call, no text, no goodbye. Just an empty house and a silence that had stretched for ten goddamn years.

“So?” I tried to sound nonchalant, but my voice was tight.

Yunseo wasn’t fooled. She pulled out her phone. “He’s not the boy you remember. Look.” She shoved the screen in my face. The photo was from some business gala. A man stood there, impossibly tall and broad in a tailored suit that probably cost more than my rent. His dark hair was styled perfectly, his jawline sharp enough to cut glass, and he held a champagne flute with an air of casual confidence that was completely foreign. The caption identified him as Song Mingi, CEO of a burgeoning luxury spicy marinated crab restaurant franchise.

CEO. Of course he was.

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For the rest of the week, that picture haunted me. The anger I’d buried for years came roaring back to life. He’d been back in the city. For a while, it seemed. Successful, handsome, and apparently too damn important to reach out to the girl whose heart he’d ripped out and stomped on before disappearing without a trace. The fucking bastard.

The night of the reunion, I was a mess. I redid my makeup three times, my eyeliner wings refusing to cooperate. My hair went from a sleek ponytail to loose waves and back again. I was a bundle of raw nerves, and I hated it. I wasn’t supposed to care. Finally, I settled on the silk top and a pair of perfectly fitting black trousers. It was an outfit that screamed ‘I’m effortlessly chic and don’t give a shit,’ even though I currently gave all the shits.

Yunseo picked me up, chattering excitedly. “You look amazing! See? This is going to be fun.”

“Define fun,” I grumbled, but let her drag me into the bustling restaurant. The air was thick with the smell of grilling pork and the sound of forced laughter. We grabbed drinks, exchanged a few awkward pleasantries with faces I vaguely recognized, and finally sat down at a table with a grill sizzling in the center.

Just as I started to relax, wrapping a piece of grilled pork belly in a lettuce leaf, the door opened again. And he walked in.

It was like the world went into slow motion. He was with a couple of guys, laughing at something one of them said. Our eyes met across the room, and my breath caught in my throat. The photo hadn’t done him justice. Not even close.

Holy. Fucking. Shit. When did he get so hot? No, ‘hot’ wasn’t the right word. Hot was for movie stars and firemen. This was something else entirely. This was… devastating. The lanky, slightly awkward boy I remembered was gone, replaced by this man who seemed to take up all the air in the room. His shoulders were so broad under his expensive-looking jacket, his frame towering over everyone else. He’d grown into his height, into his features. His face was sharper, more defined, but his eyes… his eyes were the same. Dark and intense. And they were locked on me.

A bitter, searing wave of anger washed over the shock. How dare he? How dare he ghost me, leave me with a gaping hole in my life for a decade, and then show up looking like a goddamn Greek statue carved for the sole purpose of making my insides twist? He had time to build a company, to buy suits that fit him like a second skin, to become this… but he didn’t have five fucking minutes to send a text? To explain? The sheer audacity of it made my blood boil.

“Oh my god,” Yunseo whispered, noticing the direction of my stunned gaze. “He looks even better in person.” She grabbed my arm. “Come on, let’s go say hi.”

“No,” I hissed, trying to pull away. “Yun, don’t you dare. I swear to fucking god I will murder you-”

But it was too late. She was already dragging me across the restaurant, a determined smile plastered on her face, my frantic refusals completely ignored.

“Mingi! Look who it is!” Yunseo chirped, shoving me forward.

Mingi’s gaze flickered from me to Yunseo and back again. A slow, easy smile spread across his face, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Hey. It’s been a long time.”

His voice. It was deeper now, a low rumble that vibrated right through me. He was acting so casual, so loose, as if we’d just seen each other last week. As if he hadn’t just vanished off the face of the earth. The casualness pissed me off more than anything.

“Yeah. A decade,” I said, my tone clipped.

The awkward silence was mercifully broken by the clinking of a glass. Sua, the queen bee of our high school class whom I’d always despised for her two-faced phoniness and bitchy attitude— who also was my bane of existence back in high-school when her little clique bullied the living hell out of me. She was calling for everyone’s attention standing on one of the chairs. “If everyone could please find their seats, we’re about to start the ‘Where Are They Now?’ slideshow!”

Saved by the bitch. We retreated to our table, but my relief was short-lived. Yunseo, in her infinite wisdom, waved Mingi and his friends over. “There’s room here!”

He sat down directly across from me. The tension was so thick you could have mistaken it for one of the juicy meat slices on the grill. To make matters worse, a girl at our table, who I vaguely remembered as being a cheerleader and one of Sua's minions, immediately started laying it on thick with Mingi. She giggled at everything he said, constantly leaning over to touch his arm.

“So, a CEO? That’s so impressive, Mingi,” she cooed.

He gave her a polite, deflective smile, but my stomach was churning with a jealousy so intense it felt like acid. I started downing soju shots, the burn in my throat a welcome distraction. One shot. Two. Three.

“Hey,” Mingi’s voice cut through my drunken haze, his brow furrowed with concern. “Maybe slow down a little.”

I shot him a glare and poured another. “I can handle it.”

I couldn’t. I couldn’t handle him sitting there, looking like that, while some girl throws herself all over him. I couldn’t handle the years of unanswered questions swirling in my head. Abruptly, I stood up, my chair scraping loudly against the floor. “Bathroom.”

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I splashed cold water on my face, staring at my reflection. My eyes were glassy, my cheeks flushed. “Get a grip,” I muttered to myself. After a few deep breaths, I pushed the door open and almost collided with a solid wall of a chest.

Mingi was waiting for me, his arms crossed. “Are you okay?”

“Peachy,” I snapped, trying to brush past him.

He caught my wrist, his grip gentle but firm. “What’s wrong? You’ve been acting like this all night.”

That was it. The dam broke. Fueled by alcohol and a decade of hurt, I exploded. “What’s wrong with me?! What the fuck is wrong with you? You waltz back into town, all handsome and successful, and you’ve been here for half a year and didn’t even think to reach out to your supposed best friend? You just left! You left me, you fucking asshole!”

Tears I didn’t know I was holding back started to stream down my face, not from sorrow, but from the sheer amount of emotions swirling through my entire being— too much for my body to handle.

Yet I still continue.

“I put a letter in your locker, you know. The day before you disappeared. A stupid, sappy love letter confessing that I liked you. I thought… I thought you left because of it. I thought you were such a coward you couldn’t even face me.”

Mingi’s face was a mask of genuine shock. The casual demeanor was gone, replaced by something raw and stunned. “A letter? I… I never saw a letter. My mom cleaned out my locker after we… after we left.” He ran a hand through his hair, his expression pained. “We left because my parents were getting a divorce. It was messy, and ugly, and my dad was moving us across the country. I was so ashamed. I didn’t want you to see me like that, to pity me. It was cowardly, I know. But it wasn’t because of you. I’m so, so sorry for how I handled it. For hurting you.”

My anger deflated, replaced by a hollow ache. “I’m sorry,” I whispered. “I didn’t know… but why didn’t you reach out when you came back?”

He looked away, his jaw tight. “I didn’t want to dig it all up. A part of me still felt like that broken kid. I didn’t know how to face you.”

He finally met my eyes again, his gaze soft. “Was it true? The letter?”

I nodded, my throat tight. “Yeah. I liked you. A lot.”

A small, sad smile touched his lips. “Well, what if I told you I liked you back then, too?”

My heart skipped a beat. “Back then?” I challenged, finding a sliver of my earlier fire. “What about now? I know we haven’t seen each other in a long time, and that past… it doesn’t matter anymore. It’s the future that counts.”

He took a step closer, his presence overwhelming in the narrow hallway. “I don’t know, but I never stopped thinking about you,” he admitted honestly. “We just reconnected. But…” He hesitated, his eyes dropping to my lips. “I think I might confirm it with...”

My breath hitched. I felt the same magnetic pull, the same desperate need to close the distance between us. “I-,” I breathed.

He leaned in, and the moment his lips touched mine, ten years of anger and confusion melted away. It was a long, deep kiss, full of questions and apologies and a desperate, unspoken longing. It was hesitant at first, then grew more confident as we rediscovered a rhythm we never knew we had.

When we finally parted, we were both breathless. He placed my hand over his chest, and I could feel his heart hammering against his ribs. “I think I still do,” he murmured, his voice thick. “But I need time. I need to get to know the woman you are now. To see if you’re still that clumsy, funny, gorgeous girl I fell in love with.” He looked at me, his expression deadly serious. “But I’m willing to put in the effort. I promise.”

A real, genuine smile spread across my face for the first time all night. “Okay,” I said. I pulled him in for another quick, sweet kiss before pulling back. “Okay.” We exchanged numbers right there in that hallway, reminiscing about our past, talking about the present, the future and many other things, our fingers brushing multiple times throughout, sending sparks up my arm. When we had realised how much time we'd spent in front of that bathroom we decided to head back, so as to not worry our friends.

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Back at the table, the mood had shifted entirely. We played drinking games, and the earlier tension was replaced by laughter. I might have overdone it. Yunseo and I ended up completely, utterly wasted. The last thing I clearly remember is Mingi shaking his head with a fond smile, taking charge.

He got our addresses, drove Yunseo home first, and then somehow managed to get me to my apartment. I vaguely recall fumbling with my keys and him gently taking them, getting the door open. He helped me to my room, and I collapsed onto my bed. I felt him gently wiping the makeup from my face with a cloth. As he turned to leave, my hand shot out and grabbed his wrist. “Stay,” I slurred.

He did. But he slept on top of the covers, leaving a respectable amount of space between us. A perfect gentleman. My gentleman.

I woke up to a pounding headache and a mouth that felt like the Sahara desert. The memories of the night before came back in fuzzy, embarrassing flashes. Groaning, I stumbled out of bed, changed into a pair of worn-out pajamas, brushed my teeth, and padded toward the kitchen in search of water and a fistful of painkillers.

The smell of coffee and something delicious stopped me in my tracks. Mingi was standing at my stove, his back to me, wearing the same clothes from last night but with his sleeves rolled up to his elbows. He was making scrambled eggs with toast and cream cheese— my favorite comfort breakfast, something he’d known since we were kids.

He turned at the sound of my footsteps. “Morning. I figured you’d need this.” He gestured to the food and a glass of water on the counter. He explained what happened, how he’d brought me home. I groaned, burying my face in my hands.

“Oh god, I’m so sorry. You didn’t have to do all this. I was such an inconvenience.”

“It wasn’t an inconvenience,” he said, his voice soft. “Now sit. Eat.”

As I devoured the eggs, I mumbled, “I called in sick.”

“Good,” he said, leaning against the counter. “I have the day off. I was thinking we could spend it together. You know, like old times.”

I looked up at him, at the sincere hope in his eyes, and my hangover-addled heart did a little flip. “I’d like that.”

After breakfast, I insisted on doing the dishes. As I stood at the sink, rinsing the plates, I felt a sudden warmth. Two strong arms wrapped around my waist from behind, and his chin came to rest on the top of my head. I froze, every muscle in my body tensing in surprise.

He immediately pulled away. “Sorry,” he said quickly. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have—”

“No,” I cut him off, turning my head to look at him. My cheeks were on fire. “It’s okay. You just surprised me.” I took a breath. “It… it didn’t feel bad.” Hesitantly, I took his hands and placed them back around my waist, leaning back into his solid chest.

A low chuckle rumbled through him. “You’re still just as cute when you’re flustered.”

I playfully smacked his arm. “Shut up.”

I finished the last dish and turned around in his embrace. He didn’t let go. Instead, he braced his hands on the counter on either side of me, caging me in gently. The playful mood evaporated, replaced by something thick and charged.

His voice was deep, almost a growl. “I was wondering if we could leave the getting to know each other part for another time? I know we're doing it all in the wrong order, but it’s been terribly hard keeping my hands off of you since you walked into that restaurant, and now that I know you don’t mind me touching you…”

A laugh escaped me, a little breathless. “Mingi, I’m in my pajamas and my hair is a mess.”

“Still gorgeous,” he murmured, his eyes dark with an intensity that made my knees weak.

I let out a sigh of mock resignation, my heart hammering. “Fine…” I muttered, my hands coming up to cup his face as I pulled him down into a kiss.

It was nothing like the kiss in the hallway. This was pure, unadulterated want. It was fire and need, a decade of pent-up everything finally unleashed. His lips were demanding, mine just as eager. His hands slid from the counter to my waist, pulling me flush against him. I gasped into his mouth as he effortlessly lifted me onto the counter, my legs wrapping around his waist without a second thought. The kiss deepened, growing more passionate, more frantic. He broke away for a second, his forehead resting against mine, both of us panting. Then, without a word, he hooked his arms under my legs, lifting me from the counter and into his arms as he started walking toward the bedroom.

The date he promised could wait.

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notes: Heya! Long time no see! Sorry for not updating for almost two weeks now, life's been busy, as always but do not worry I have many works I've been working on ready to post! So Hooray! After this I'll probably post a Seonghwa oneshot and I have other's I need to proof-read before I post them but uhm I was thinking of starting this series where it's based on feelings many have felt but few know the name of? Like for example a Hanker Sore which is when you find a person so attractive it actually kinda pisses you off. Idk y'all my creative juices have started to run low! So if you have any requests or ideas or anything just drop into my asks or reply under this post! Also my taglist is open! If you wanna get tagged for my works. I swear I'll have a google form or that ready by the end of this week! Anyways Sira signing off!

taglist open: @callmeyeri, @itzzhana05, @yunhopelessromhantic

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