Jealousy part. I
genre — suggestive fluff, best friends to lovers, (smut in part II) ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ pairing — female!reader x best friend!Mingyu summary — You, Hoshi, Wonwoo, and Mingyu—inseparable. Their apartment feels like your second home. But one of them makes your heart race in ways you wish it wouldn’t. He treats you like you’re special—attentive, caring, almost like a boyfriend. But he’s not your boyfriend. He’s your best friend. He treats you this way—this is just how Mingyu is, right? word count — 4,3k (part l) 8,7k (part ||)
You can read part 2 here.
Warnings and notes under the line.
WARNINGS: Alcohol consumption, jealousy/insecurity, unrequited/complicated feelings, emotional distress, avoidance/coping mechanisms, mild possessiveness (towards him), possible hangover, waking up next to someone, suggestive elements/mild sexual tension, light kiss [let me know if I forgot something]
notes: san (ateez) cameo (you will better understand in part II) Hoshi, Wonwoo cameo. This is my first published ff ever, I hope you like it. I‘m actually very nervous about it, so feel free to give your opinion. I just wrote this, when I felt down bad for Mingyu again (he‘s so boyfriend istg). The question is, when i am not exactly down bad for Mingyu? He‘s the standard.
"Any plans for the weekend?"
San held the office door open for you, his gentle smile as familiar as ever.
You sighed quietly, relieved that the exhausting workweek was finally over. It had been chaos—half the staff out sick, leaving you drowning in double the workload.
San had been your lifesaver, stepping in every time you thought you might break under the pressure.
"Actually, I'm meeting my friends at a restaurant," you replied, noticing the faint flicker of something wistful in his eyes.
"Why am I not surprised?" he teased, his grin widening as you stepped through the door.
San had a way of always asking about your plans, like he was hoping, just once, your answer might include him. But it never did. Just: „My friends, my friends, my friends.“
It wasn’t a lie, though. You practically lived at their apartment. Gaming nights with Wonwoo, gym sessions with Mingyu, and endless meals with Hoshi—that was your rhythm, your second home.
"Thanks for the coffee, San. Next time, it’s on me," you said, flashing him a grateful smile.
"Anytime," he replied, his gaze lingering for just a moment longer before you parted ways.
You arrived flustered, breathless from rushing. Of course, they were already here.
As you pushed open the door, the warm buzz of conversation and clinking plates enveloped you.
Your eyes scanned the restaurant, locking on them almost immediately: your boys—and a girl. A girl?
She was sitting beside Mingyu, close enough that their arms nearly brushed. Her laugh carried across the table, light and unrestrained, and something about it made your stomach twist. Who was she?
"Finally!" Hoshi greeted you as you approached, his voice brimming with playful exasperation. "We thought you’d ditched us."
You forced a smile, settling into the usual chaos of their teasing welcome.
"This is Hana," Wonwoo explained casually when he caught the question in your eyes.
"And? don’t you think she looks just like me?" Hoshi added, grinning as he gestured dramatically toward her.
You studied her more closely, and the resemblance hit you. It was uncanny—her smile, her energy. She could’ve been his twin.
"I’ve been crashing at their place for a few days," Hana said, extending her hand toward you. "Hoshi insisted."
Your polite smile barely reached your eyes. Why hadn’t anyone told you?
"Nice to meet you," you said, shaking her hand and glancing around. There wasn’t an empty chair for you.
Mingyu noticed immediately. Without hesitation, he stood, grabbing one from a nearby table and setting it beside him.
"Thanks, Gyu," you murmured, your voice softer than you intended.
He nodded and gave you a gentle smile.
Oh, how you’d missed him. His warmth, his silly jokes—the way his laughter could dissolve the stress of your week. You’d been looking forward to this, to catching up with him. But now, it seemed difficult.
As the group settled into conversation, you tried to focus, tried to join in. But your attention kept drifting—to Hana, to how close she sat to Mingyu, to the way she leaned into him when she laughed. Her fingers grazed his arm casually, like she belonged there.
"So, Hana, how do you like the city so far?" Wonwoo asked, drawing her attention.
"It’s great," she said brightly. "Hoshi’s been showing me around—it’s been so much fun."
Her hand lingered on Mingyu’s shoulder as she spoke, and your stomach knotted uncomfortably.
Just then, the waiter arrived, placing drinks on the table. Four sojus. Your eyebrows lifted in surprise—they’d ordered before you arrived. That wasn’t how things worked. You always waited. It was a small tradition, but it mattered. Or, at least, it used to.
"One soju for me too, please," you said quickly, catching the waiter before he walked away.
But the unease didn’t leave. Hana’s touchiness continued—her laugh too loud, her attention on Mingyu too focused. He didn’t seem to mind, even smiled at her a few times. Yet, every so often, his eyes flicked to you, as if checking for something.
You didn’t know why, but every time Hana’s hand brushed against his arm, you reached for your bottle. Every time she giggled a little too sweetly, your glass met your lips. The warm burn sliding down your throat was easier to deal with than the twist in your chest.
"You should see these two at the gym," Hoshi chimed in suddenly, pointing between you and Mingyu. "They’re like workout aliens or something."
The group laughed, and you managed a small smile, but your heart wasn’t in it.
Hana giggled, leaning closer to Mingyu. "Maybe you can show me some moves sometime," she said, her tone playful.
Your fingers tightened around the glass. Without thinking, you poured yourself another shot—your third, or was it the fourth? You weren’t keeping track anymore.
Mingyu let out a small chuckle, and that was it—you tipped your head back and downed the drink in one go.
Your chest tightened. Mingyu was your closest friend. Your partner for everything. The one you laughed with, teased, leaned on. Seeing her in that space, acting like she belonged, made your skin crawl. You probably were just overreacting- and yet, you just kept drinking.
“I need to go to the bathroom,” you lie, the words tumbling out too quickly, barely convincing even to yourself.
You needed space—air that wasn’t thick with your confusion, your frustration. If you stayed another second, your face would betray you, exposing the childish jealousy simmering just beneath the surface.
The cool evening air hit you like a lifeline as you stepped outside, goosebumps forming on your arms from the crisp breeze.
You closed your eyes briefly, letting it kiss your flushed cheeks, but it did little to soothe the ache in your chest. The dull, relentless throb of longing refused to fade.
“This isn’t the bathroom.”
The familiar voice sent a jolt through you, every nerve in your body suddenly on high alert. You didn’t have to turn to know who it was.
You glanced back anyway, already masking your shock with a strained smile. Of course, it’s him. It’s always him.
“I don’t know what you mean,” you said, forcing a lightness you didn’t feel. “This looks like a bathroom to me.”
He chuckled, that low, warm laugh that always did things to your chest, leaving a trail of warmth in its wake. And despite yourself, you smiled too, because how could you not?
God, you were so hopelessly in love with him.
Without a word, he steps closer, draping your jacket over your shoulders. “You’re probably freezing,” he says, his voice gentle, but with a tenderness that makes your stomach tighten.
His hands brush lightly against your skin as he adjusts the jacket, and it sends a shiver through you—not from the cold, but from the barely-there touch.
You look up, your breath catching in your throat as your eyes meet his. His gaze softens, a flicker of concern crossing his face.
The silence that followed stretched taut between you, thick and heavy with unspoken words. Neither of you seemed willing to break it. The faint hum of traffic and the muffled buzz of laughter from the bar filled the empty space.
You shifted uncomfortably, your fingers toying with the hem of your dress. Don’t say it. Don’t bring her up. Just let it go. But the question clawed its way out of you anyway.
“I didn’t know Hana was staying at your place,” you blurted, the words sharper than you intended, laced with something raw and exposed.
He exhaled, running a hand through his hair, his exasperation evident. “Yeah, I didn’t know either. Trust me.”
You raise an eyebrow, still unsure. “Hoshi didn’t mention it?”
“He forgot,” Mingyu mutters, shaking his head. What a Hoshi thing to happen, you thought.
“I walked into my room, and she was already asleep in my bed. I didn’t have the heart to wake her, so I took the couch for the week.”
Your stomach twisted, the weight of his explanation sitting heavy. Of course, he wouldn’t complain. He’s Mingyu—always generous, always selfless. Always giving more of himself than he should.
“Oh,” you managed, your voice too light, too fake. “It’s just funny to think… if I showed up at your place, I’d find her instead of you.” You tried to laugh, but the sound was hollow, even to your ears.
He shrugged, casual and unaffected. “It wasn’t a big deal for me. I worked overtime all week, so I wasn’t home much anyway.”
Of course, it wasn’t a big deal to him. But to you? It was everything. Every single thing.
You felt the sting of tears pricking at the corners of your eyes, but you blinked them away quickly. Not here. Not now.
The night had been shallow and hollow, a void you couldn’t seem to escape. All you’d wanted was a quiet evening with your friends, especially Mingyu. Just sitting beside him, leaning against his shoulder—feeling the solid warmth of him—would’ve been enough.
But instead, you’d spent the evening watching Hana, her laughter, her touches, her presence invading spaces you’d always considered yours. Even if you don't have the right to do so.
The ache in your chest sharpened, spreading through you like wildfire. You couldn’t stay here any longer.
“I’m gonna head home,” you said, your voice flat, eyes fixed on the ground. “I think I need some rest after this week.”
You felt his gaze land on you, heavy and searching, and for a moment, you wavered under its weight.
“I’ll take you home,” he said softly, his voice firm, leaving no room for argument.
“No, it’s okay,” you replied quickly, trying to steady your tone. “I have my car.”
“I know,” he says, stepping closer, his presence almost overwhelming. His eyes scan your face, tracing every inch of you, as if reading you in ways that make your heart race. “But you shouldn’t drive. You drank too much.”
“I’m fine,” you muttered, frustration bubbling up. “I’m not drunk.”
And then, he speaks again, voice softer, more tender.
“Your cheeks,” he murmurs, his thumb gently brushing against your flushed skin. “They’re red. That happens when you drink too much.”
You freeze, his touch lingering. Your heart pounds in your chest, and his proximity feels like a punch to your gut. He looks even more handsome than usual—his messy hair falling over his forehead, the soft fabric of his shirt still loose and unbuttoned just enough to make your breath catch. The way he stands there, effortlessly composed, but so close that you can almost taste the air between you—his scent wrapping around you like a warm, familiar blanket.
God, you feel weak in front of him.
“I can’t let you drive like this,” he adds softly.
You want to protest, but the words catch in your throat. He cares. He always does.
“Unless…” he tilts his head slightly, a mischievous glint in his eyes. “You’ve got other plans?”
A sharp, throbbing pain pulsed through your head as you reached for your phone, your limbs feeling heavy under the weight of sleep.
The sunlight filtering through the curtains was way too bright, making you wince as you blindly swiped to answer the call without checking the caller ID.
“Hello…?” Your voice was hoarse, thick with exhaustion.
“Mingyu, where are you?! I’ve been trying to reach both of you for hours!”
Your brows furrowed, confusion washing over you like a cold wave. Mingyu?
You pulled the phone away from your ear to check the name on the screen. Hoshi Hyung.
Your headache made it hard to process, but one thing was clear—you would never save him like that.
Why the hell was he even calling you about Mingyu?
Just as the pieces of the puzzle refused to click into place, you felt it—a presence beside you.
With a slow, sinking feeling, you turned your head to the right.
And there he was.
Mingyu.
All 187 centimeters of him, sleeping peacefully under your blanket like he belonged there. His hair was tousled, his breathing deep and even, his broad chest rising and falling in a slow rhythm.
Your eyes widened, your grip on the phone tightening. You hung up immedietly.
Fuck.
Before you could spiral too much, Mingyu let out a deep sigh, his arm stretching out lazily—almost like he was reaching for you. His eyes, still hazy with sleep, fluttered open but instantly softening the moment they land on you,— The way you were staring at him, as if he'd just appeared out of nowhere —his lips curled into a knowing smirk.
“Morning,” he murmured, his voice deep and rough with sleep.
“It’s 2 p.m., Mingyu.”
He blinked slowly before lazily glancing around the room. “Shit, really?” His voice was raspy, thick. He let out a slow breath before sinking deeper into the pillows. “I slept so fucking good.” A lazy smile tugged at his lips as he let his eyes fall shut again.
You watched him. His dark hair was a complete mess, strands sticking out in every direction, and yet, somehow, it only made him look softer. His skin looked warm and tan against the white sheets. His lips—full, slightly swollen from sleep—parted just the tiniest bit, and for a moment, you had to fight the urge to reach out, to trace them with your fingertips, just to see if they were as soft as they looked.
You swallowed hard. "I... uh—what happened last night?"
Mingyu let out a soft chuckle, rolling onto his side to face you properly. “You really don’t remember?”
Your silence was answer enough.
“Oh, this is fun,” he mused, resting his cheek against his palm. “You were very affectionate. Like, I knew you liked me, but I didn’t expect you to cling to me like that.”
Your face burned instantly. “Shut up.”
He grinned wider. “You wouldn’t let go. Kept saying I couldn’t leave, that I should sleep next to you.” His voice dropped into something teasing. “Should I start staying over more often?”
The heat in your cheeks deepened, and without thinking, you grabbed the nearest pillow and threw it at him. He laughed, catching it effortlessly before it could hit his face.
“Ohhh, so violent first thing in the morning,” he teased. “Where’s all that love from last night, huh?”
You wanted to escape the awkwardness, so you stepped away from the bed, but as you did, your gaze betrayed you—flicking toward Mingyu. His white shirt hung loosely on his frame, almost completely unbuttoned, exposing a hint of his chest and the silver chain resting just above it. The sight made your breath catch for a moment, your heart skipping.
Mingyu caught your glance. His eyes met yours for a heartbeat, but then they dropped—slowly, unwillingly, lingering on your legs just a moment too long.
You shifted uncomfortably, feeling the fabric of your dress inching up, revealing more of your legs than you'd intended. The air between you both seemed to thicken, heavy with something unspoken.
In an awkward flurry, Mingyu began buttoning his shirt, his movements too quick, too self-conscious, like he was suddenly aware of every inch of space between you.
You cleared your throat, trying to fill the silence, and nervously stammered, “I—I’m making breakfast.”
Mingyu immediately sat up, “I’ll do it.”
You turned to glare at him, a bit sharper than you intended. “I can make it on my own.”
“I know you can,” he said with that same, effortless ease, his tall, towering frame moving toward you without hesitation. “But let me.” His voice was softer this time, the teasing gone.
His eyes flickered over you briefly—the exhaustion, the headache written all over your face, the way your clothes were still crumpled from last night.
“You should take a shower,” he added, voice gentle. “It’ll help with the headache.”
You blinked at him, and looked down on you after.
“Yeah..probably.”
You hesitated for a second before heading towards the bathroom, still feeling like you were stuck in some weird dream.
The moment you stepped in front of the mirror, you almost flinch.
Your makeup was smudged, your hair an absolute mess, strands sticking to your forehead. Your dress from last night was wrinkled and slightly loose on one side.
You looked horrible. Greasy. Disgusting.
Mingyu slept next to this?
You suddenly wanted to cry.
Taking a deep breath, you quickly peeled off your clothes and stepped into the shower, letting the hot water wash away the weird feelings in your chest.
By the time you were done, you felt human again.
There was no way you were putting that dress back on, so you grabbed your bathrobe, tying it tightly around your waist before stepping out.
Your hair was still damp, strands clinging to your skin as you walked barefoot toward the kitchen, following the smell of food.
Mingyu stood at the stove, moving effortlessly like he belonged there, he changed his white shirt. His black t-shirt now clinging just enough to make you notice. The sleeves stretched over his biceps, broad and defined, flexing slightly with each movement.
And then he turned around.
For a moment, it was like time froze.
Mingyu’s breath hitched the second his eyes landed on you.
The damp strands of hair framing your face, the way your robe sat snugly around you, revealing the delicate curve of your collarbone—he was so unprepared for this.
His fingers twitched around the wooden spoon, and for a split second, he forgot what he was even doing. His grip almost faltered.
He was staring.
Hard.
You raised an eyebrow. “You good?”
Mingyu swallowed, snapping out of it. “Y-Yeah. Yeah, I’m—uh, food’s almost done.”
He forced a smile, turning back to the stove way too quickly—like he needed a second to compose himself.
You didn’t question it, shrugging as you took a seat at the table.
Mingyu, on the other hand, inhaled deeply, gripping the spoon like it was the only thing keeping him from completely losing his mind.
Yeah. He was so screwed.
“So.” Mingyu cleared his throat, a little too forcefully. “How’s your headache?”
You barely looked up, scrolling through the endless messages from Hoshi and Wonwoo. “Hm? Oh-It still hurts. But I’m sure I’ll feel better after eating something."
A beat of silence.
Too long. Too heavy.
You, sitting there like that—bare-faced, hair still damp, wrapped up in your robe—he had seen you like this before. And yet, right now, it felt… different. His fingers flexed against the edge of the kitchen counter.
He didn’t want to think about why.
“How’s work been lately?” he asked, voice casual—too casual. “You looked exhausted yesterday. And, well… the number of drinks you had kind of spoke for itself.”
You let out a dry laugh, stretching your legs beneath the table. “Yeah, work… Work has been insane. Feels like half the office is out sick, and I’m the lucky one picking up the slack.”
Mingyu frowned as he turned off the stove, moving with practiced ease. “That’s bullshit.” A pause. “No wonder you were exhausted.”
That wasn’t the reason you drank last night, but he didn’t need to know that.
You shrugged, watching him. The way he knew where everything was. The way he moved through your kitchen like he belonged there. Because he did.
Mingyu set a plate in front of you before settling into the chair across from you. He picked up his fork but didn’t eat right away, just watching you for a beat.
“You really need a break,” he muttered, mostly to himself. Then, his eyes flickered to yours, and something shifted in his expression. A smirk tugged at his lips. “Or maybe just… new clothes.”
You blinked. “What?”
He gestured vaguely toward you. “I mean, I knew you had a couple of my things, but—” He gave you a pointed look. “At this point, half of your closet is mine. I could practically move in here.”
You almost choked on your food.
That little shit.
Mingyu leaned back in his chair, arms crossing over his chest. “You know, I always wondered where my stuff kept disappearing to.” He tilted his head, pretending to think. “For a while, I actually believed I had a hole in my closet.”
You swallowed your bite. “Weird. Sounds like a you problem.”
He scoffed. “Oh, really?”
You nodded, keeping your face blank. “Mhm. No clue what you’re talking about.”
His gaze flickered over you, his smirk deepening. “So, you’re telling me my hoodies just magically disappeared? Along with my t-shirts? And my beanie? And—”
“Okay, okay,” you cut in, groaning. “Maybe your clothes are just… way too comfortable. Not my fault they’re basically begging to be stolen.”
“Begging,” he repeated, like he was tasting the word.
“Yes.” You met his eyes, feigning innocence. “I don’t see the issue.”
Mingyu let out a soft laugh, shaking his head. “You’re impossible.”
You smirked, tilting your head. “And yet, you still let me steal your stuff.”
He exhaled through his nose, picking at his food. “I don’t let you. You just take it.”
“Semantics.”
Mingyu rolled his eyes, but there was something in his expression—something warm, something familiar.
For a moment, it almost felt normal again. Like the weird tension from before had settled into something softer. Something easier.
But then his eyes lingered on you a second too long.
And suddenly, it was back.
That unspoken thing between you.
Neither of you acknowledged it.
You just kept eating.
And Mingyu?
Mingyu was so, so screwed.
Your phone started ringing. Hoshi was calling.
We were screwed.
By the time evening settled in, you had changed into something comfortable—his clothes, to be exact. He was still here, lingering in your space, and for a few fleeting hours, everything felt right. As if this was how it was always meant to be. As if this was your everyday. But deep down, a small voice whispered, warning you not to get used to it.
After dinner, Mingyu is still here.
You’re in the kitchen, washing dishes side by side like it’s nothing, like it’s the most natural thing in the world. His hand brushes against yours when he reaches for a plate, and it’s almost too quick to register. But you don’t pull away. Neither does he.
He leans against the counter, arms crossed loosely, watching you as you load the dishes into the dishwasher. His voice breaks the silence, low and casual, but there’s an edge to it, something like hesitation.
“Do you still have a headache?”
Before you can speak, he’s close. His presence fills the space between you. His left hand gently presses against your forehead.. His right hand moves to your neck, fingers brushing lightly over your skin.
You barely notice it at first, but when you shift slightly, you feel it—your back pressing against the counter. Mingyu is so close, standing in front of you, subtly caging you in You can barely breathe. You don’t know what’s worse: the fact that he’s so close, or the fact that you want him closer.
Your voice falters when you answer. "I’m fine now. It’s... better." You watch as Mingyu’s face softens in an instant at your words.
Neither of you moves, standing close, too close.
Mingyu’s lips quirk into a grin, but there’s a hint of something more in his voice. “My clothes look good on you. I should let you steal them more often.”
You laugh, but it’s breathless. You stretch up, reaching for his face, your fingers brushing his skin. You squint your eyes, making a playful face. “I’d do it anyway. Don’t need your permission.”
Mingyu chuckles, but his gaze shifts, sharpening just enough for you to notice. He steps closer. The warmth radiating off his body, the faint brush of his leg against yours, the way his chest is so close that if you just leaned in the smallest bit, you'd be pressed against him. It’s intoxicating. You don’t even realize you’ve stopped breathing for a second until you force yourself to inhale, only to take in the faint scent of him—clean, familiar, utterly Mingyu.
He watches you with an intensity that makes the room feel smaller, more intimate. His eyes flicker to your lips, and that’s when it happens—the hesitation. Heswallows hard, fighting the urge to close the distance entirely. He’s trying—really trying—to resist, to keep this from crossing a line neither of you can come back from. But it’s impossible when you’re looking at him like that, when your body is so close, when the scent of you wrapped in his clothes makes his head spin.
And then, he inches closer, almost without thinking, and his lips brush against yours—just the lightest touch, so soft that it could almost be a breath. Your body tenses, and for a second, everything stills.
But fuck, it’s enough to send heat coursing through his veins.
His lips are soft, teasing, brushing lightly against yours. The kiss is slow, barely there, but enough to leave you gasping for more.
You inhale sharply, your breath mixing with his. You don’t move away. If anything, you shift closer, your body reacting before your mind can catch up.
His lips linger, hovering, teasing. Testing.
His self-control is hanging by a thread.
He tells himself to stop. You were loosing yourself in it. You-
- Ding Dong
The sound of the doorbell rings, slicing through the tension. You both freeze. The world shifts back into focus. The heat, the closeness, everything evaporates in an instant.
You step back, your breath coming in uneven gasps. Mingyu looks away, running a hand through his hair, trying to regain his composure.
You can read part 2 now, here.
