── ˚₊‧ 💋 ɞ₊‧˚ seonghwa x fem!reader ── mdni 𓆩♡𓆪 smut, established relationship, romance, angst, tension, hurt/comfort, fuckboy!hwa, kissing, oral sex (f receiving), fingering, teasing/edging, vaginal sex (unprotected), doggystyle, overstimulation, dirty talk, multiple orgasms ⸝⸝ᵕ ༯ᵕ⸝⸝ first, we fight, then we fuck and make up <3 ── word count: ³.¹ᵏ 👠 “Your boyfriend was watching himself fuck you—holy airball.”
A/N: wrote this cause I’ve been thirsting over seonghwa (ik big shocker there) but also been having a tougher time these days but doing my best to not be defeated or lose my passion and this just came to mind. sorry if it sucks, I just needed an outlet, so enjoy my cherries ˚₊‧꒰ა ☆ ໒꒱ ‧₊ feedback is always welcomed!
“Ugh! Fuck you, Hwa!”
“I thought we were fighting. Now you wanna fuck?”
The smug grin spreading across his lips filled you with equal parts disgust and dread because you knew it was as easy as breathing for you to fall for his charms.
Not today.
“Keep it up,” you muttered, rolling your eyes as you turned away, “We’ll see who has the last laugh.”
Before you could make it two steps, his fingers wrapped gently around your wrist.
“Okay, okay.” His teasing melted away. “Don’t go. I don’t want to leave things like this.”
His expression softened, those big, warm brown eyes searching yours. Fuck! No! You glanced away before they could pull you in, looking anywhere else but at his face, blinking hard against the sting building behind your eyes.
“I’m tired of you embarrassing me and making me look like—”
Your voice caught.
“Like what?”
“Look like…some crazy bitch who’s desperate, obsessed, and head over heels for you.”
“..so you’re not head over heels for me?” There it was—that stupid grin again. You yanked your wrist from his hand.
“You think this is funny and it’s not.”
His smile faltered.
“Forget it.”
“No, wait.” He stepped forward. “What do you want me to say?”
His jaw tightened.
“She came on to me.”
“You allowed it! You went along with the whole thing—buying her drinks, dancing with her.” Crossing your arms over your chest, you sighed from exhaustion.
“Your friends continue to treat me as a joke because you do.”
“My friends are assholes, I can’t control how they act.”
His brows furrowed, his hand reaching out to touch you again but you stepped back to avoid it.
“Why is that my fault?”
“Because you never shut them down.”
You could barely look at him but you met his eyes, trying to calm down but the situation made you more upset than you’ve ever been before. This wasn’t the first fight, but it was the worst.
“You pick your friends and that says everything about you.”
Seonghwa flinched, the words paining him just as much as they pained you to say, but only half as much as his actions from the other night made you feel.
“I’m an asshole and I’m sorry. What can I do to make this right?”
It took everything out of you not to slap him, but you’d never lay a hand on Seonghwa. You couldn’t—wouldn’t. It wouldn’t solve anything regardless. It would only drive a final nail in the coffin of your relationship.
You were done with the argument.
You said everything there was to say.
“You can sleep on the couch. Goodnight.”
With that, you stormed off toward the bedroom, slamming the door shut behind you before he could say another word, sobbing into your hand.
Half expecting him to knock on the door, you’re pleased when he doesn’t. You fall face first into your pillow and cry to your broken heart’s content.
At some point, you must’ve cried yourself asleep. Your pillowcase, stained with tears and smudged mascara, was proof enough. You rolled over and your hand instinctively reached over to Seonghwa’s side of the bed, fisting the sheets. Why’d he have to be such a jerk?
Why’d you have to miss him? His touch? His warmth?
Even his snores soothed something inside you, and the empty space beside you left you restless. You squeezed your eyes shut, willing yourself back to sleep, but it never came.
Eventually, with sleep refusing to come, you pushed yourself out of bed. The first thing your hand grabbed was one of Seonghwa’s oversized t-shirts. You pulled it over your head, leaving your panties untouched, then quietly slipped out of the room.
The hum of commercials coming from the TV grew louder as you entered the living room, crossing over to the couch on the balls of your feet.
That’s when you saw him—
Hwa lay sprawled across the love seat, breathing softly as he slept on his back. The glow from the television washed over his face, softening every sharp angle. You bit your lower lip. His sweatpants had slipped low on his hips, the waistband of his boxer briefs peeking out beneath the hem of his shirt.
Damn him.
You stood over him and leaned down, tapping on his shoulder. He didn’t stir an inch. Rolling your eyes, you grabbed the remote and clicked the TV off.
Tapping Seonghwa again, harder this time, he finally shifted. His eyes scanned the room as they opened, then he sat up, disgruntled.
“Babe?” He groaned. “Is something wrong? You okay?”
His concern pierced straight through the walls you’d spent the last few hours building around yourself.
Damn him…again.
How did he make staying angry so difficult?
“Define okay.”
Seonghwa nodded, flitting his gaze and stared at the floor. It was obvious he felt guilty.
Good.
If he wanted your forgiveness, he’d have to earn it—and you had a few ideas where to start. You took a deep breath and held out your hand to him. It took him a moment to understand, glancing at your hand then back up to your face, confusion settling in his expression. Then cautiously, he took your hand in his.
You helped him stand to his feet before dragging him to the bedroom. Even half-asleep, he moved with effortless grace—agile bunny. Closing the door behind, you leaned your back against it. Anger and desire churned together inside you until you could no longer tell where one ended and the other began.
“Baby, I really am sorry. Can we talk more in the—”
Suddenly, cutting off his words, you closed the distance between you and lunged at him, pressing your lips to his with hunger and greed. Seonghwa’s hands slipped around your waist, tasting you with similar tension and need. Your hands trailed up the sides of his neck, fisting the hair at the nape of his head.
His tongue brushed against yours before he leaned back, leaving you pouting like a toddler who got their toy taken away.
“Wait, y/n, I want you to hear me,” he pleaded. “I don’t want you to think I’m trying to weasel out of—”
“Stop talking.” You muttered, returning your lips to his.
Your wet lips trailed lower, kissing and licking the corner of his mouth before moving to his jaw and then his throat. Seonghwa let out a hushed moan, gripping the hem of your shirt tightly.
“I just want you to know…I know I was wrong and—”
“I have something better for that mouth to do other than yap.”
Hwa raised an eyebrow, curiosity briefly eclipsing the guilt in his eyes.
“I want you to do that thing…” You both stood in silence for a beat, “…with your tongue. Now.”
That cheeky smile of his made a quick comeback. He made short work of guiding you backward toward the bed until the back of your legs hit the bed frame and your butt plopped down on the mattress. He sank to his knees and hoisted your legs above his shoulders, drawing you back on your forearms.
“Your wish is my command, princess,” he cooed.
His fingers tightened around your thigh as Seonghwa pushed your legs apart and placed slow, tantalizing kisses up your inner thigh until he got to the crease of your hip. His nose grazed along your panty line, lightly kissing the wet splotch of fabric. It drove you crazy.
You caressed his bicep roughly, crescent shapes indenting his skin from your nails.
“Stop teasing, Hwa,” you let out breathlessly.
He lifted his head and sweetly nipped the inside of your thigh.
“But, baby, teasing is the best part…” He rubbed two of his long fingers in circles over the damp cotton, playing delicately with your covered clit.
Your thighs shook slightly in his strong hands. Seonghwa ignored the way you squirmed, heat rushing from your core to your face. Switching his fingers with his lips, he licked a hot stripe up the cloth and sucked at the sensitive bud.
Goddamnit. Your head grew fuzzy, blood pounding in your ears. Seonghwa let out a low laugh as you whimpered, desperate for him to latch his tongue directly to your aching flesh. Your fingernails left angry red marks as they scratched along his arm.
“So wet for me already, I see.” He boasted, nuzzling his face deeper into your soaked panties like a man starved.
“F-fuck you…Hwa…”
“All in good time, y/n.” He tangled his fingers in the strings of your underwear. “Lift your hips for me, sweetheart.”
You did as he instructed before he slipped them down your legs, tossing them to the floor. He studied the juicy center between your hips, practically drooling at the sight. His gaze lifted to meet yours before he lowered his head once more, gliding his tongue up and down your pussy once. Your head tipped back, your entire body igniting like a flame.
“Please…”
“Please what?” He asked coyly. “Use your words, baby.”
“Please…eat me...” you whispered, clawing at his hand.
He buried his head, tongue parting through your folds and circling the bundle of nerves that begged for his attention. Seonghwa continued edging you, his tongue traveling everywhere but where you craved.
He knew exactly how to rile you up.
His mouth resumed the task at hand with renewed eagerness, and your choked gasps filled the room.
“H-hwa..” you moaned, but it was a broken, whiny sound from the back of your throat as your fingers twisted in his golden locks.
Your hips rutted up as his tongue worked you, a mixture of your wetness and his saliva dripping heavily down his chin. Each tug at his hair only spurred him on. He growled against you, sending vibrations through your core. Your toes curled at the overwhelming tension.
“You taste so fucking good, baby,” he rasped drunkenly.
Words abandoned you. All that came out was incoherent, meaningless babbling. His mouth moved to suck at your throbbing clit with endearing focus, the scorching pleasure blinding you.
Then he did it—that thing you loved most. His tongue slid into you, far as it could into your hot, wet core. His hand resting on your gut to hold you in place as you trembled.
“Hwa—” you cried out, gripping his hand frantically, grinding down as his nose hit your clit with each motion, his name tumbling from your lips. “P-please don’t stop.”
He sucked gingerly at your aching bud, swiveling his tongue flat like a brush in a painter's hand along your insides. The coil in your stomach knotted fast, the relentless attention to your clit sending unbearable sensations rippling through your body.
As the fire in your abdomen spread, an uncontrolled instinct to run away from him coursed through you, your hand shoving his forehead in weak effort.
He kept you exactly where you were.
His shoulders pressed your thighs further back as he moaned into you, keeping his mouth latched to you and his view unobstructed. Seonghwa liked to watch you fall apart. His gaze stayed fixed on your face as it lit up with delight.
The orgasm ripped through you as your eyes shut, your mouth falling open in a silent cry. You rode his tongue in a frenzy with the intense waves rushing through you. Silvery strings of spit and arousal broke as he pulled away. As the white haze faded from your vision, you caught the shine of it on his swollen lips.
Seonghwa stood over you, breathing heavily, taking in the aftermath of you coming undone.
“Fuck…” you panted, flicking your foot softly and pressing your toes to his crotch, teasing the bulge.
Seonghwa was rock hard, his cock pulsing to be freed.
“Flip over and get on your stomach,” his voice was delicate yet commanding as he pulled his sweats down by the waist, "I'm not done with you yet.”
You obeyed immediately, folding yourself over the side of the bed until your feet touched the cold wooden floor.
You barely heard him come up behind you.
Not until his cock pushed inside you, thick and unyielding, and stretched you open inch by inch. Your fingers dug into the bedsheets as the pressure built in your stomach with every snap of hips.
“Oh, y/n, you feel so fucking perfect…” his hands squeezed your waist to steady you as he bottomed out inside you.
The slick, heated squelching and your muffled cries as you stuffed your face in the mattress was all you could hear. Your legs threatened to give out under the weight of his thrusts. The burning friction was sharp, delicious, and intoxicating.
Your soaked cunt fluttered helplessly around him as he rolled his hips gradually, setting an intense but frustrating pace. Your breath hitched when you turned your head to the side, purring raggedly as Seonghwa stuffed you to an all too familiar fullness.
“You like that baby? Hmm, does this feel good?”
He knows you can’t answer.
Bastard.
Everything blurred into white as your body was entranced with fiery bliss, the next orgasm knocking on your belly with searing passion, but that’s when you saw it…
The mirror.
The reflection of the two of you staring back.
Your eyes widened at the sight.
(A few weeks ago, Seonghwa came home with the largest and gaudiest mirror you’d ever seen. A chrome silver frame adorned with red roses and thorny vines surrounded the glass, and he propped it against the wall across from the bed.
You hated it.
He loved it.
So, it stayed—but you didn’t understand why…until now.)
Seonghwa stared into the mirror, lustfully pumping in and out of you, a slow smirk creeping across his face as his eyes locked with yours in the reflection. His dark demeanor was animalistic and carnal and…painfully sexy.
Your boyfriend was watching himself fuck you.
Holy airball.
“You’re taking me so good, princess...”
Seonghwa raised your leg, guiding your knee onto the bed. Your eyes rolled back as he pushed deeper into you. One hand gripped the back of your thigh. The other seized the back of your neck, forcing your face into the bedding.
“Fuck…Seonghwa…oh my go—” you whined, feeling your ass bounce against his groin, “I’m c-close…don’t…s-stop…”
Low, wild groans tore from his chest as he quickened his rhythm.
Each thrust felt like an imprint in your pussy—like he was reclaiming you completely as his.
“That’s it, y/n. Cum for me, cum all over my cock,” he grunted.
Those words shoved you right over the edge.
For a second time, a choked sob bursted out of you as your walls clenched around Seonghwa’s length, causing his hips to stutter.
Stars sparkled behind your eyes, and it hit you that this was the most intense orgasm you’d ever had.
(The memory flickered—Seonghwa had you pinned against a fence in the backyard of his family home—mind-blowing, but this surpassed it.)
“S-shit, holy s-shit…” his deep voice broke, your name dribbling wrecked and raw through his lips as you cum around him.
His head tilted back and hips stilled, spilling his seed inside you, slowly pushing back and forth as you milked every last drop from him.
The only sound was the both of you breathing as he stopped and rested against you.
Seonghwa stayed inside you for a second longer before pulling himself out sluggishly. He fell to his knees, gaze dropping on his cum leaking out of your cunt.
Your body, heavy and flooded, collapsed before you carefully crawled along the bed, attempting to shift away and put some distance between you and your sex demon boyfriend.
It was too late.
Hwa was ravenous.
He followed instantly.
“Nu-uh, come back here.” Seonghwa grabbed your waist and pulled you back.
He greeted you with a sizzling, sticky lick up your drenched core and you yelped at the sudden contact.
He didn’t slow down. Standing over you, he closed the distance again and shoved his finger inside you without warning.
“I have to see you cum one more time.”
“Seonghwa…” you mewled, thighs shaking from the overstimulation.
He added a second ring-clad finger for good measure, the cool metal roughly pressing into your flesh. Hwa drove his fingers further inside you, flexing them and hitting your sweet spot.
Your screams of ecstasy fueled him.
His fingers split you with reckless abandon. Your thoughts dissolved as juices trickled from your cunt, coating his hand and puddling onto the floor.
A piercing slap stung your ass cheek before Seonghwa rubbed the sore skin.
“Good girl. You’re doing very well,” he praised, his thumb playing with your clit in tandem with his strokes.
“Oh my god…”
It was too much.
A strangled noise tumbled from your mouth as the knot in your stomach shattered and released your third orgasm fiercely, your pussy spasming around his digits until he pulled them out.
You quivered tensely, swallowing hard before going limp.
Thick spurts of cum, his and yours, seeped between your legs.
The rest of the night, you and Seonghwa lay together in bed, cuddling with his second erection engulfed by your wet heat. Arms wrapped around each other as he moaned lovingly into your ear.
You were kissing and sucking sloppily all over his neck and throat, leaving these reddish purple splotches on his skin.
Marking your territory.
“Baby…fuck…” Every time he moaned, his cock twitched against your spongy walls.
It made you giggle.
“I want to apologize…please…”
Your head lifted as you met his eyes, ready to finally hear him.
“I’m sorry I made you feel like shit. I promise it won’t happen again.” Seonghwa whispered, appearing extremely sincere.
“I know, Hwa…and I forgive you.”
His face lights up, giving you a short kiss on your lips with the utmost satisfaction. You continued biting at his bruised throat, giving kitten licks in between to soothe the stings.
He meant too much to you to let go of.
He just needed to respect you more.
“But you’ll have to prove that it’s earned with your actions.”
“Didn’t I do that like half an hour ago? You came three times?”
“Shut up,” you tried to stifle your laugh but it came out anyway as you punched him playfully in the chest.
“I will, baby. I swear. I love you too much to—”
Seonghwa’s words cut off as his eyes grew wide.
“I mean…fuck. I shouldn’t have said that. I, uhm...”
You took his face with both hands and kissed him tenderly. It was filled with passion, tongues massaging together as your mouths rolled over each other.
.𖥔 ݁ ˖ ✦ ‧₊˚ ⋅ thinking about it - mafia boss!wooyoung and casual intimacy
mafia boss wooyoung who lets you put your hands all over him whenever you want, despite the value he puts into his intimidating appearance.
his fingers drum against the wood of the table, pale and covered in ink.
a few of his men were halfway through a report, a shipping route gone down, another rival captured. its nothing urgent, though it feels as though its been dragging on forever. you were starting to see the twitching in his jaw, despite how deathly still he seemed to sit through these meetings.
you didn't have much reason to be here either. but wooyoung would let you sit in sometimes, something he doesn't try to justify to anyone. he says its good practice for if he ever dies, a joke you have long since told him you don't find funny.
but today you're here, and today its taking far too long.
you can already feel it wearing you down. you pick at your nails for a solid ten minutes, but that isn't enough. at some point, your leg is bouncing unconsciously under the table, a rather terrible combo as you continue to pick at your nails.
you didn't think he'd notice it. infact, he gave no indication that he did, save for the tapping of his finger slowing.
the room is rather silent, and you stop the anxious movements for a moment, lifting to meet wooyoungs gaze. the room is awkward, his men stare at each other for answers, but everyone is smart enough to not say anything.
"are you done yet?"
his voice is flat when he's tired. a little irate, if you didn't know him well. his eyes flicked back and forth between your hand and your leg, a faint exhale leaving through his mouth.
he grabs at your hands, surprisingly warm, closing around the one you'd been picking at.
"can't even sit still for an hour." he grumbles under his breath, signaling for his men to continue. which they do, with the most bizarre looks of confusion and acceptance on their faces.
how awkward it must be for those poor men, you think.
one glances up to gauge the situation, eyes dropping as soon as he meets yours. the other is flipping through his notes as if he hasn't ever seen them before. the rest avoid eye contact, staring at random places when you look their way.
wooyoung is barely interested, running a thumb over your caged hand. he was enjoying it more than he showed.
you stop fidgeting.
instead you weasel out of his grip, grabbing his hand back. you can move your thumb to see the ink better, tracing the ones on his fingers all the way up. you follow it the ink trail to his wrist. he runs his own thumb over your fingers, squeezing to get a reaction.
"thats a better distraction, isn't it?" he mutters, only barely allowing you to catch it.
you do.
mafia boss wooyoung who puts anything he brings onto you immediately, like a dragon hoarding its treasures somewhere safe. somewhere familiar.
wooyoung has a habit of snatching things without realizing, handing off things to you as if expecting you to have any use for them.
it started small, keys, pens, a note, a lighter. he'll come in as he pleases, placing it in your hands to do with as you please. its cute, the kind of junk drawer you have now, full of things he's given you without explanation.
at some point, it stops being the smaller things though.
no, now hes slipping jewelry into your grasp.
you eye his items, and now they're yours to keep for eternity. thats just the way he is.
you eye a chain of his, and suddenly its wrapped around your wrist, wooyoung talking about how you can get it made into a bracelet and how someone owes him a favor, as you and his other men watch him rattle on.
then its one of his lucky cufflinks, claiming he lost the other half as he slips something shiny into his pocket, briefly glinting in the light. you tried to leave it in his night chest but you only find it in your hands the next morning, grip on it so tight you could see the indent of the pattern.
then its a copy of his signet. as much as he would've liked giving you the original signet, his cabinet was rather against it, offering to make, what was in his opinion, a rather subpar copy (something he was not very pleased by).
that too ends up in your hands. you joke he should give you the keys to the city at this point since he's so in love. he seems to consider it seriously for a moment.
you can hear one of his men choke up as he asks you with all the seriousness in the world: "which one?"
mafia boss!wooyoung whos always ready to indulge you in your interests, regardless of whether or not he finds them interesting.
there is not a single word registering in his brain, but he's still watching as you explain something about your favorite cars, pulling up your photos and showing him photos from what felt like years ago.
you're prattling off facts about a supercar you'd seen a couple of weeks ago when he shushes you, dead serious look on your face. for a moment, you think you've done something wrong. but then he grins.
"i remember you telling me about that one car... the valkyrie right?"
you blink.
"i- i think yeah?" by then he's not even listening to you, tapping away on his phone for a brief couple moments. when he's done, he sets it face down, face surprisingly nonchalant as he starts to talk to you.
"say, you wanna go to a car meet again? i know you loved them, and i got an invite from mingi pretty recently, he's having his crew race on the underground street circuits. was thinking of turning it down but if you like it..."
and that isn't even the biggest surprise.
the biggest surprise comes three weeks later, in the form of wooyoung guiding you around his home in a blindfold.
you hit your legs in multiple places, grumbling about bruising but he hushes you, giddiness apparent in his voice. you can almost imagine the look on his face as he leads you into what you know for a fact is the garage, by the sound that reverberates as he closes the door.
"are you ready?" you don't know what to say, so you just nod.
he drops your hand, walking behind you to pull off the blindfold.
in front of you is sitting a aston martin valkyrie. or what you'd assume to be an aston martin valkyrie. you're too shocked to say anything.
"woo, is this-" you choke out, stopping as you turn to him, rubbing your eyes. he's not even looking at the car. he's watching your face, as you've always seen him do.
"the car you kept talking about?" he shrugged, too casually for someone who had a million dollar car right in front of him. you keep blinking, because somewhere in there you think there is a joke being made.
"this doesn't make sense."
"i think it does." he says, getting closer to you.
"no no, listen to me." you turn to him, dead serious. "this isn't the type of car you can just call a dealership up for. they only produced them until 2024. there were only 275." your voice breaks on the number, bewildered.
he's grinning even wider now, almost as if begging you to ask him how he accomplished such a feat.
"wooyoung-" you started, but he held up a hand.
"i just had to call in some favors... well. a lot of favors from people who owed me big time. it wasn't that huge of a deal."
"you can't just do that!"
"i absolutely can."
you look at him.
he looks at the car, then you.
he's dead serious.
"so you just got your hands on the rarest hyper car in the world," you say, turning to him, "because i wouldn't shut up about it?"
he tilts his head head, making a face.
"that sounds a bit excessive?"
"because it is!"
"mhm." he's rolling his eyes at your shock. "you weren't being ungrateful when you saw it."
but you're back to staring down the car when you hear a jingle, turning your head in the direction of the sound.
theres keys dangling from his fingers. his expression is rather soft as he saunters up to you, hand on your lower back as he pushes you towards the car.
"c'mon." he huffs, although you can tell he's anything but annoyed. you stop right in front of the door, and thats when he takes your own hand, pressing the keys into them.
you want to give them back, but you seem to lose your voice when he curls your fingers around them.
"take them. 's not every day you get a car like that, right?" even when you don't respond, he presses a kiss to the side of your forehead, rubbing your shoulder.
"you're overthinking it. go and enjoy your car. someone'll be down in a bit to stay with you or even drive you, if you want that."
mafia boss!wooyoung who never wants to let you be far from him. he would do anything for your attention.
he's always hovering. it's kind of been a thing.
at first it was subtle, showing up to your job with food, flowers being sent, meeting you at your favorite coffee shop.
then you moved in with him.
that's when it got... odd.
if you were moving, he was somehow always near you. he'd follow you around the halls, like a lost puppy. if you were hiding in the library, he'd always find a spot next to you. hell even if you were hiding, he'd find a way to get into the spot, just wanting to be near you.
it was infuriatingly sweet how he'd have everything ready for you, even if it was a bit weird. you let him in for that exact reason.
thats why you notice when its too quiet. he's a creature of habit, and if he's not haunting the hall, then his voice is. but you can't seem to hear that today either.
you're sure you're just imagining it, that he's probably gotten better at hiding. maybe he was at another outing and he just forgot to tell you. you even stopped three or four times, and nothing came of it.
no wooyoung. your stomach tightened at the idea.
you check the places he's usually at out of habit. his library, office, living room are all empty.
the last place you could think of was his bedroom.
you squint when you open the door.
his room is dark, curtains closed, with no light but from what was coming in through the windows in the hall.
"wooyoung? what are you..."
"mmh. headache." his voice sounds exhausted, drained in a way that makes you pause for a moment.
you weren't naive, but you knew from experience headaches could be awful. closing the door behind you, you inched closer to his bedside, confused on what exactly was going on
"since when did it start?" you questioned hesitantly, standing over the side.
"its been here a while." he says after a brief pausing, softly moaning as he uncovered his head to look at you. "the lights were hurting my eyes."
even with the look of pain on his face, you could still see the look in his eyes, as if he was looking for something from you.
"i was looking for you." you mutter in response. "shoulda told me if something was going on."
"were you?" he hummed.
you raised an eyebrow. "i was... is there something i did or..?"
"what? no, never." he replied a little too quickly, earning a huff from you as you got closer to the edge of the bed to pull the blanket off him.
in hindsight, not your smartest idea.
he moves rather fast for a supposedly sick man. his hands grab around your waist, yanking you into bed before you can even say anything.
it's over before you can say anything about it, head settled against your shoulder, arms hugging your waist like he was hugging you. he's comfortable. too comfortable for a man with a headache.
"wooyoung-" you start, and he whines. actually whines like a child being told no. "but my head hurts."
"you said you have a headache."
"well. maybe i did."
"you still do?"
"not anymore."
you blink once. twice. you're still trying to process it when he lets out a happy little sigh, almost as if he's pleased with himself.
"you're quite proud of this, aren't you?" he doesn't say anything, just lazily leaving kisses on your neck. he thought he could distract you.
"you still came back to me. so it worked." his eyes flick to your face for a moment, but its not in a harsh or unforgiving way.
he's being soft about it.
you sigh.
"you're ridiculous."
"i know."
"you also have a meeting with your friends at 6."
"thats gonna get rescheduled anyways."
a/n: first full hc fic thing yipe! keep in mind i do not condone the illegal actions and romanticization of the mafia and any way the ateez memebers are portrayed is not indicative of their true nature!
Summary: What happens when you decide to bother your best friend while he's gaming and you're bored.
Pairing: Gamer!Jeong Yunho x Fem!reader
Warnings/tags: 18+ MDNI, smut, Golden retriever energy Yunho, size kink, rough sex, multiple positions, petnames, gamer Yunho mentioned, seemingly innocent Yunho but is actually a perv, titty fixated Yunho, p in v, sex on his gaming chair, yearner Yunho (if you squint), protected & unprotected sex, squirting, creampie.
A/N: I've been getting bias-wrecked by Yunho lately that it's making my bias list just all of them🧍🏻♀️. Enjoy the filth which is this, and as always, I don't depict the idols like this in real life! This is purely fiction.
Word count: 3.4k
Dividers from @enchanthings & @cursed-carmine
Title from Kama Sutra by Frodo
You and Yunho were hanging out at his apartment; he was playing Valorant while you scrolled through social media.
It wasn't anything special, really, just two friends hanging out.
But you were bored. And needed attention from your best friend.
"Yuyu," you called out softly, which caught his attention for a brief moment before he focused on his game again, but hummed to let you know that he was listening.
"M'bored," you murmured as you tossed your phone somewhere on his bed before getting up to go over to him. Clearly, he was getting the most kills in his team and carrying it.
You moved over to him, getting under his arm to straddle his lap, earning a soft huff from Yunho as he continued to play his game.
"Need my attention that much?" He teased, resting his chin on the top of your head as you nodded. "I'll just finish this round, and you'll have my full attention."
Your relationship was blurry. The two of you were friends, but something had been budding between you for the past few weeks, and you couldn't bring yourself to ask just yet.
"But I want your attention now." You grunted, shifting slightly as you blocked his view from the screen.
Yunho was much taller than you, so he managed to still see a bit of his screen, but you decided to be a brat today.
He grunted out your name, giving you a look that said "stop being a brat". But you weren't listening, making him leave the game mid-round, screwing the fact that his account would get a penalty for it.
"You're acting exceptionally bratty today, aren't you?" He muttered, pinching your side, which caused you to yelp and squirm on his lap. It made Yunho's breath hitch for a millisecond before recovering.
He knew he was in trouble. Yunho has been having difficulty controlling himself lately, especially with you.
"Stop squirming, pretty girl.. or I won't be responsible for what I'm gonna do to you."
You stopped moving around, pausing as your body suddenly felt all tingly and sensitive. Like your senses were now in a hyperaware state.
Then you felt it. The poking sensation against your ass that wasn't there earlier when you sat down on his lap. You swallowed thickly.
"Yuyu.." you murmured hesitantly, a nervous chuckle leaving your lips, "That... That's your phone, right-?"
"Baby, we both know it's not."
The nickname made you shiver and shy away from him, but he kept you steady on his lap, squeezing your sides.
Your best friend was hard, and it was because of you.
"Are you going to continue being a brat, or are you gonna behave for me?" He murmured, though it was clear that you were going to test him. You always did.
You ground your hips down on him, Yunho's head tilting back on his gaming chair as a guttural groan came out of his throat.
"Brat," he muttered, grinding his hips up to match your grinding.
The two of you were dry humping each other, soft mewls and groans filling the small room. Yunho leaned his forehead against yours, his nose grazing yours gently as your breaths mingled.
He licked his lips, eyes darting down to yours before looking back into your half-lidded gaze. His hands roamed and squeezed, itching to touch your soft skin.
"You're so pretty like this, fuck.." Yunho murmured, leaning in closer just to graze your lips, hesitant to kiss you, while still grinding against you.
"Yuyu, kiss me," you blurted out, making him moan softly, muttering a soft "okay" before pressing his lips against yours.
The way Yunho kissed was desperate, especially when you were making such sweet noises against his mouth, his hips continuing to grind up against you, his erection grinding against your clothed ass.
It was an overwhelming feeling—being like this with Yunho. You tried to keep up with him, but it was hard.
"Fuck, I've been wanting to do this for so long," he muttered against your mouth before biting your lower lip gently.
Yunho seemed desperate, because he really was. He'd been holding back on doing things to you when you sat on his lap or were just close enough to him. He'd recite baseball statistics in his head just not to get hard before, but now he didn't have to hold back.
He continued to kiss you with increasing fervour, swiping his tongue to test the waters with you. When you opened your mouth slightly, he thanked the gods above.
Fucking his tongue into your mouth, you moaned, your hands moving and pawing his shoulders as your tongue tangled with his.
You hadn't expected this to happen, but you were definitely not complaining.
Moving your hands from his shoulders, you ran them through his hair, tugging gently, making him growl against your lips and pull away.
"Keep being a brat, and I'll suck your tits until you're crying for me to stop," he threatened, but that only made you want to defy him.
"Do it then... empty threats don't—" you cut yourself off when Yunho pushed your T-shirt up, revealing your breasts.
"No bra? Are you trying to drive me insane?" He clicked his tongue, bringing his large hand towards the soft mound, squeezing and brushing his thumb over your hardening nipple.
Yunho fondled your breasts, enjoying the softness of your warm skin against his palms. He then leaned down and brought a nipple to his mouth, causing you to moan at the wet feeling of his tongue swirling against your sensitive nub.
"Yunho, fuck—" you moaned out his name, making him groan against your mound, sucking and licking harder.
He'd never expected this to happen in a million years. Sucking your pretty tits like this on his gaming chair, and making you moan for him.
Yunho switched between your breasts, making sure the other wasn't neglected. He stopped when you were writhing on his lap, panting and looking fucked out, even when he hadn't even fuck you yet.
"So beautiful," he murmured, still playing with your nipples, overstimulating you.
"Yunho, stop—" you whined, but he tutted softly.
"You started this by being a brat, now take your punishment like a good girl." He looked at you, then back at your breasts, already addicted to them.
"Yuyu, you're being mean..." you pouted, your throat dry when you remembered about his "problem" pressing against you.
As if reading your thoughts, Yunho bit his lip, realisation of the situation washing over him, contemplating something before speaking up. "We don't have to, I can deal with it later—"
"I want it." You cut him off, looking at him, set on your decision. You wanted to fuck your best friend.
"Are you sure-? We really don't have to," he murmured, trailing off, though the truth was that he really wanted to sink his cock inside your heat, feeling how hot your clothed pussy felt against his erection.
When you gave him a nod, he almost came in his pants, having wanted this for so long. He moved you a bit on his lap so he could push his sweats down along with his boxer briefs.
And holy shit, he was big.
You expected Yunho to be big; it was obvious from, well, everything about him. He was tall and lean, and now, you knew he had a big dick.
"Are you gonna keep gawking or are you gonna ride me?" He teased, making you hit his shoulder. He laughed softly before grabbing a condom from his drawer. "Help me put it on, pretty girl?"
You shuddered at the offer, only to nod as Yunho's hands steadily held yours, putting the condom on his dick. It had been leaking with precum and had a shiny pink tip.
He groaned at the feeling of your hands on him, his jaw clenching.
"Fuck. Lift up, I gotta see that pretty cunt of yours," he panted, looking down at your shorts. He would've ripped them off if he could, but he was going to control himself.
Listening to him, you pushed yourself up, moving the gussets of your shorts and panties to the side, revealing your already glistening cunt. You were so wet it was embarrassing.
"All this just because I made out with you and sucked your tits?" He gaped at your folds, moving his fingers to gather some slick before sucking his digits clean. "Fuck.. if it weren't for the fact that I want my cock inside you right now, I'd have you splayed on my bed and eating you out."
That confession made you flush, not expecting your best friend to have such a dirty mouth. He was usually so sweet — teasing and relentless, but sweet, not this dirty talker.
Noticing your expression, Yunho laughed softly, knowing you'd never seen this side of him before. He then tugged you closer to him, hotdogging his cock against your folds, a moan leaving your lips at the feeling.
"Moaning for me again already?" He grinned as he rocked his hips up, grinding against your slit, his tip nudging against your pudgy clit.
"Shut up and fuck me, Yuyu.." you panted, your fingers grasping the material of his hoodie to ground yourself. You knew you were acting like a brat, but you didn't care at that moment. All you wanted was his thick length inside you.
"Always a brat when you don't get what you want, don't you?" He clicked his tongue, positioning himself against your entrance, and started pushing in without a warning, surprising you.
"Y-Yunho-!" You squeaked out, legs trembling as you sank on his dick, burying your face into his shoulder as you tried not to scream.
"Fuck, you're so tight," he grunted, his toes curling against his carpeted floor while leaning further against his gaming chair to watch you twitch and writhe above him.
Once Yunho was fully seated inside you, being full of his cock, you were still trembling. It was a lot. You felt full. Full of his cock—full of everything.
"You gonna move or do I have to do all the work for your bratty ass?" He huffed, his words more playful than degrading, but you had to learn your lesson for making him leave mid-game.
So, Yunho, being Yunho, started moving in shallow, upward thrusts. It made your breasts bounce a bit, as soft moans left your throat, his tip hitting that spongy spot inside you every time.
"You look so perfect... I should've done this earlier, you know? You don't know how many times I had to hold myself back before, those times when you walked around in that fucking skirt, driving me insane and aching. Now, you're gonna feel everything—every time I had to hold back, fuck my hand and think of you."
His thrusts got more intense, putting more effort into them and making you bounce on his dick more, emitting more whimpers from you.
"That's it, moan for your best friend like the pretty slut you are. Fucking hell— your cunt is squeezing me so tightly.. do you like being called a slut by me, pretty girl?"
Your walls squeezed at the pet name, shaking your head.
"Ahhh, it's the nicknames, isn't it? My pretty girl... So pretty, letting me use her like this."
Yunho was teasing, still in control of the situation as he used your hips for support, slamming his length roughly now, a cry leaving your throat.
"You can take it, right? I know you can, you wanted to be punished so bad, you practically begged for it." He groaned, not being able to help himself but talk to you like this.
Never in a thousand years did you expect to hear Yunho say such filthy things to you, but you liked it. You'd be lying to yourself if you said you didn't like this version of Yunho.
The rough, dominant, dirty-talking version of your best friend, whom you only knew by his silly golden retriever-like personality. The duality was going to cause you whiplash.
Every time Yunho thrust up, his chair would squeak, the roughness dizzying you, which reduced you into a wanton mess.
"All whiny now that I'm fucking you stupid, huh?" He muttered, pressing soft kisses on your chest, contrasting the rough pace he had set.
He was so fucking addicted to your tits. Yunho couldn't help but bring one of your nipples into his mouth again, sucking hard as he fucked your sopping pussy harshly.
You could feel the heat building up in your abdomen, the sensations of both his rough fucking and the sucking of your breast bringing you to the brink of your orgasm.
"Yunho, I'm gonna cum—" you moaned, making him move his thumb to your clit, rubbing the nub in circles and focusing on coercing you to your orgasm.
A broken whine came out of you once you went over the edge, your velvet walls spasming around Yunho's cock, causing him to cum in hot spurts into the condom he was wearing.
You were twitching, back arched, and Yunho's face was buried in your breasts, inhaling sharply.
"You good..?" He asked, voice muffled, while looking at your pretty face.
You looked beautiful—hair sticking to your forehead, expression contorted in pleasure. It was going to be engraved in his brain forever.
Recovering after your initial orgasm, you only managed to answer with a soft hum before hugging him.
"That's all you got, Yuyu?" You taunted breathlessly, earning a mix of a groan and a laugh from him.
"You're really testing me, aren't you?" He shook his head before deciding to order you around.
"Get on the bed, ass up, face down. Don't want the neighbours to file a complaint because I'm railing your pretty pussy into my bed."
Pulling out of your heat was groan-inducing, already missing the tightness of your sweet cunt. Yunho watched you discard your shorts onto the floor, getting on his bed just like he asked you to.
And good lord, the sight almost made him cum again.
Your pussy was glistening and puffy, slick running down your inner thighs, while your face was buried into his soft pillows.
"Fuck, you're gonna be the death of me," he muttered to himself, rubbing his face before getting up from his chair and discarding the used condom into his trash can.
He soon went over to you, climbing the bed and positioning himself behind you. When he was about to grab another condom packet from his nightstand drawer, you grabbed onto his forearm and shook your head.
"I wanna feel you.." you mumbled out hoarsely, looking back at him with pleading eyes.
Fuck. Did you really want him raw?
Yunho swallowed thickly, unsure of what to do. But after a minute of thinking it through, he decided to throw caution to the wind, wanting this as much as you did.
"Mmn, okay— but I don't promise I won't be rough.. Though I feel like you like that."
He sank into you more easily this time; the feeling of your unprotected walls was mind-shattering. Yunho had to take a deep breath once he bottomed out inside you again, his cockhead kissing your cervix at this angle.
Slapping your ass, you squealed against the pillows, trying to move forward, but Yunho was faster, bringing your hips back towards him as he clicked his tongue.
"Ah, ah.. don't run away from me, you wanted this," he murmured in mock sweetness, reminding you of how you did want this, and it was your fault in the first place.
You shuddered when he started to move, his pace ruthless as pathetic, muffled moans filling the room, accompanied by Yunho's grunts.
Another swat to your ass, harder this time around, made your pussy clench around him, slick, making your pussy more slippery and squelch.
"Fuck, such a good girl for me, squeezing my cock just right.. you're gonna be good for me, right? Let me cum inside you since you wanted to be fucked raw." He panted against the back of your neck, leaning his chest against your back. "Your pussy is so good to me, princess, so good."
"Yunhoo–" you whined against the pillow, gasping as he abused your hole with his thrusts, his grip on your hips bruising. Your brain couldn't keep up with the pleasure, your back arching as he continued to pound into you like it was the only thing he knew.
"Gonna get addicted to this pussy, baby, you shouldn't have let me do this... fuck." He brought one of his hands to your breasts, squeezing and tweaking your nipple, earning another cry from you.
His thrusts were getting sloppier, your cunt squelching at the pounding you were receiving. It was lewd and animalistic, but you didn't want him to stop. Not when you were so close—
When Yunho suddenly pulled out, you cried out in disapproval, disappointed at the loss of his thick length.
He then flipped you over, now facing him, and saw your pouting expression. It only made the man above you chuckle, cooing softly.
"You can cum later, I'm not done with you yet."
Yunho pulled your hips in closer, hooking your legs over his shoulders as he pinned you into a mating press, his dick feeling overwhelmingly deep.
"Yunho, I can't—" you choked out, but your best friend shook his head and kissed your ankle, soothing you.
It was a silent way of saying that you, in fact, could do it. Your pussy was sucking him in so good, and he was sure he could make you squirt in this position.
"I wanna try something, okay? Don't hold back when you feel like peeing, I want you to squirt."
"But—but the sheets—" you gasped, but it seemed that Yunho didn't care about anything else but hearing you scream his name. The neighbours and noise complaint be damned.
His hips started to move, cock driving into you like a piston as he kept you pinned down in this one position. He looked down at you with a look which was filled with both adoration and something more passionate.
"You're so pretty like this, baby." He complimented you, his hand going over your cheek to caress the soft skin.
His pelvis rubbed against your clit with every meet of his hips with yours, giving you the stimulation you need for the growing heat in your abdomen.
“Y-yunho, I– I need to—” your toes curled as you let him know that you felt like the words he described earlier. His free hand flew towards your mound, circling your clit with his thumb once more, his thrusts getting a lot sloppier and less controlled as if he were chasing his own orgasm.
“Come for me, pretty girl, milk my dick so that I can give you a big fat load of my cum…”
Yunho’s words were your undoing, your pussy clenching around his twitching length, and trying to suck him in deeper, your insides begging for his release. And he soon did, spilling deep inside you, his hips stilling as he came in hot spurts, creaming your cunt like he promised he would.
“Fuuuck..” he groaned as he pressed his whole weight onto you, which made you swat his shoulder.
“You’re heavy, get off,” you complained, but didn’t really mind it all that much, having liked the weight over your naked bodies.
After a bit, Yunho did get off, pulling out of you with a pop, leaving the two of you moaning at the loss. He watched as your hole leaked with both your releases, not being able to take his eyes off your body, before finally clearing his throat and getting up from his bed to grab you a glass of water.
“Sorry if I was too harsh on you.” He handed you the glass, helping you sit up against the headboard and pillows as you covered your body with his sheets. “I should’ve been more gentle, but I got carried away—”
“It was perfect, Yuyu.” You shook your head after drinking the whole glass, still a bit breathless from all the sex. “I just..”
You trailed off, unsure of how to phrase yourself. “You just..?”
“I didn’t expect you—the sweet gamer boy who rage quits once in a while—to have such a rough side. It was, well, surprising, is all.” You shrugged, causing him to shake his head and laugh.
“Out of everything we did, you didn’t expect that I could be rough? That’s cute.”
Yunho ruffled your hair, his eyes softening at the sight of you in his bed, your body covered by his blanket and content. It wasn’t the outcome he expected to happen, but he was definitely not going to let it go now.
✮⋆｡°✩ 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
will you tell me once again (how we're gonna be just friends?)
brothersbestfriend!yunho x reader ⭑
↳ part one of the apartment 1024 series | part two | part three
living across the hall from your annoying older brother and his three roommates was never a part of your plan—especially when one of them is jeong yunho, your long-forgotten childhood crush you haven't seen in years.
tags: fluff, hongjoong is your big brother, financebro!yunho, friends to lovers, roommates, afab!reader, slow burn, slice-of-life, humor
wc: 12.2k
playlist: hang with me - robyn ☆ still here - ateez ☆ apple pie - lizzy mcalpine ☆ wow - fickle friends ☆ the bitch is back - elton john
a/n: this is inspired by new girl (tv show) / the siu siblings / off-campus. i always wanted to write about roommates ateez for my first tumblr fic ! comments and reblogs are appreciated! ｡𖦹°‧
masterlist
I. “ARE YOU EVEN PUSHING?”
You grunt as you shove the other end of the giant cardboard box containing your very unassembled couch through the doorway of your apartment.
“Dude, I am pushing.” Hana complains, holding the other end. “This thing is bigger than both of us combined.”
With one final heave, the box slides across the hardwood floor before coming to a stop in the middle of the still-empty living room.
“One more piece of furniture and I’m never moving again,” You say as you wipe your forehead with the back of your hand.
“You said that after the dining table.”
“I mean it this time.”
Before either of you can catch your breath, loud voices echo down the hallway.
“Incoming!” Hongjoong appears in the doorway carrying two moving boxes stacked to his chin and half his height, San trailing behind him with another three balanced like they weigh absolutely nothing. Mingi brings up the rear, dragging a suitcase that definitely has wheels.
“You know,” Mingi says between exaggerated sighs, “people usually hire movers.”
“Why would we need to pay extra when we have our big brother and his even bigger friends?”
Hongjoong ignores your sister, setting the boxes down before pulling a box cutter out of his pocket.
“Mom and Dad stopped by their friend’s place,” he says, “They’ll come back later to help.”
“I think they’re just excited to be empty nesters.”
“Empty nesters?” you scoff. “They’re free. We’re the ones stuck living across from this gremlin,” you point at Hongjoong who gasps dramatically.
“This,” he says, placing a hand over his heart. “is how you thank your amazing, handsome, hardworking older brother who found you a two-bedroom apartment in Los Angeles that is not only close to your office but also thirty minutes from Hana’s university?”
“You barely did shit, you forced us to live here,” Hana scoffs. She and Hongjoong continue to bicker as they go through your boxes, getting a head start in unpacking.
The plan had been simple: stay in Seoul, climb the corporate ladder at the marketing firm that hired you fresh out of college, and eventually, build a life there.
Except, two years later, you’d burned out spectacularly. You’d say that staying close to Hana while she started university was an excuse to move back home when actually you couldn’t stay at the firm any longer before you started ripping your brains out.
Hongjoong, being Hongjoong, had taken that as a personal challenge to find an apartment for both of you. His standards, unfortunately, were less about amenities and more about distance.
“I can literally see your front door from ours,” he’d proudly announced over FaceTime after sending you the listing.
You couldn’t say no, not when it had been too long since the three of you lived in the same space again. The rent was also within your budget, and it was convenient, despite having to live close to an annoying big brother.
“I deserve compensation,” Mingi sets himself on the floor with a groan as he hands San an Allen wrench for your couch.
“You got breakfast,” Hongjoong replies.
“I deserve financial compensation.”
“You barely did anything.”
“I deserve emotional compensation.”
“You need therapy.”
Hana lets out a snicker beside you. “They’re exactly how you described them, Joong.”
“They’ve somehow gotten worse.”
“Hey! I heard that!”
As the bickering continued, you finally let out of your thoughts and began peeling away the packing tape of the box labeled ‘KITCHEN'.
Maybe moving back hadn’t been such a terrible idea after all.
The apartment was small but cozy. Afternoon sunlight poured through the wide living room windows, warming the hardwood floors. Although you’d have to live directly across the hall from your insufferable older brother, you actually could see yourself living here.
Hongjoong had warned you that you wouldn't just be gaining a neighbor, you’d be inheriting his roommates, too.
San and Mingi were Hongjoong’s closest college friends. You’d met them before, loud voices in the background while you had your weekly siblings FaceTime. San was exactly like the gentle giant that Hongjoong had described while Mingi was exactly as shameless.
The third roommate was nowhere to be seen. Your brother had mentioned that he was out running an errand and would stop by afterward to help finish up the rest of your boxes.
So when Hongjoong said there was a third roommate, in your head, he was just another one of Hongjoong’s friends. You haven’t bothered to ask who it was yet, since you were busy with moving in from Seoul.
“Sorry,” a familiar voice called from the hall. “The line downstairs was ridiculous.”
Another figure stepped into your apartment.
You haven't seen Jeong Yunho in years.
The paper bags in his hands crinkled as he adjusted his grip, his eyes widening ever so slightly in surprise before settling into that same easy smile he always had.
“YN,” he greets you.
Your eyes met. He looked older, yet had the same broad shoulders, same clean haircut, and was still ridiculously tall.
“Yunho-oppa!” Before you could say anything, Hana barreled straight into him.
“Hana! You’re all grown up now!” Yunho barely had time to shift the paper bags to one arm before she threw herself at him, letting out a laugh.
“Yo, where the fuck have you been man?” Mingi asks beside where you stood frozen, watching Yunho and your sister catch up.
“Got coffee, I know how cranky you guys get without it.”
Mingi lets out a sound somewhere between a cheer and a sigh of relief and steals the bag from him.
“I forgive you.” He disappears into your kitchen, already handing out drinks like he owns the place.
It’s Hongjoong’s turn to greet Yunho now, peeling Hana off him so he could stand up properly.
“Alright, alright. Let him breathe.”
Hongjoong moves his gaze over to you, as if only just remembering.
He gestures lazily toward Yunho.
“I totally forgot to tell you he moved back in.”
Your brows knit together. You’d assume he was only around to visit.
“Moved back in?”
“Yeah.” Hongjoong shrugs. “Shit happened, so he took the spare room a few months ago.”
“You know my sister already,” he points to you. “You remember YN, right?”
Yunho’s lips twitch into a small smile.
“Of course I remember. You’re back from Seoul?” His gaze finds yours again.
“Yeah, decided to move back,” you reply.
Yunho nods once.
“Welcome back.”
“Alright,” San calls from the living room carpet, waving his wrench in the air. “You’ve got the rest of the lease to catch up, one of you idiots come help me assemble this couch before I accidentally invent a new piece of furniture. Mingi, what are you doing?”
San’s plea was met with a chorus of groans from your brother and Mingi.
“I’m already doing the bookshelves,” Mingi whines from the kitchen, sticking a straw through his coffee.
“You’ve been looking at the bookshelves,” Hongjoong shot back. “That’s not the same thing.”
“It is if I look hard enough.”
With a dramatic sigh, Yunho sets his bag beside the front door and shrugs off his jacket.
“I’ll help.”
“Finally,” San muttered. “Someone competent.”
You quietly slipped back into the kitchen, pretending the kitchen boxes urgently needed your attention. It was strange seeing Yunho again after all these years. Stranger still was the tiny flutter in your chest. You hadn't thought about your old crush on Yunho in years. Seeing him again, however, seemed determined to remind you.
Yunho and San were kneeling beside the couch, arguing over which piece was labeled “B.”.
“It says B.”
“It says eight.”
“It’s literally a letter.”
“Not from here it isn’t.”
You smiled despite yourself. Hana, who you just noticed has been beside you all this time, catches it immediately, choosing not to say anything but smiles mischievously.
“What now?” you ask, raising an eyebrow at her.
“You have that look.”
“What look?”
“The one you used to have in middle school.”
“I’m smiling because San thinks the alphabet ends at seven,” you defend, tearing your eyes away from your neighbors.
Hana hums, “if you say so.”
Before you could ask her what she meant, Hongjoong calls your name from the living room.
“What?”
“Can you settle something?”
You walked over, grateful for the distraction.
“What now?”
“San says the couch should face the window.”
“Then won’t it be awkward watching TV?”
“That’s what I said!” Hongjoong exclaims.
“Why are you listening to her?” San grumbles.
“I live here,” you replied the same time Hongjoong says, “She’s my sister.”
As Hongjoong and San shuffled your TV across the room, you stepped around scattered boxes, only to bump into someone coming the other way.
"Oh—"
A warm hand steadied your elbow before you could lose your balance.
"Careful."
Yunho.
His hand disappeared almost as quickly as it had landed.
"Sorry," you said at the exact same time.
You paused. Then, somehow, you both laughed. It was the first genuine sound either of you had made to each other all afternoon.
In the chaos of moving boxes and misplaced screws, no one noticed Yunho's eyes follow you as you stepped around the clutter after you had regained your balance. Years hadn't changed one thing, you were still just as clumsy as he remembered. He shook his head with an amused smile before reaching for another box, acting as though he'd been looking at the couch the entire time.
When you looked up, Yunho was looking towards your way. Not intensely. Not long enough for anyone to notice, before he gives you a small smile and goes back to what he was doing.
You’d only been living here for an hour. Maybe moving to Los Angeles wasn’t going to be as simple as you’d hoped.
II. IF THERE WAS ONE THING YOUR BROTHER WAS EXCEPTIONALLY GOOD AT,
it was coming home with extra mouths to feed.
The first time it happened, you were eight.
You sat cross-legged on the living room floor, notebook in hand, as you drew.
You barely looked up when Hongjoong burst through the front door yelling that he was home—until you heard another pair of footsteps behind him.
The boy standing in the doorway was tall for his age, clutching the straps of his backpack like he wasn't sure he was allowed to be there.
"Mom, I brought Yunho."
Your mother welcomed him inside before Hongjoong dragged him upstairs to play, but not before he caught your eye.
"Hi, YN!" he greeted with an easy smile.
You gave a timid wave from behind your notebook.
For reasons your eight-year-old self couldn't explain, you hoped Hongjoong would bring him over again.
He did.
After that, Jeong Yunho somehow became a permanent fixture in your house.
Whenever Hongjoong came home from baseball practice, Yunho was usually right beside him. He stayed for dinner often enough that your mother stopped asking if he'd be joining. Weekend sleepovers turned into blanket forts upstairs, afternoons at the park became bike rides home together, and before long, he'd somehow become part of your family too.
Unlike Hongjoong, who insisted your drawings looked "weird," Yunho always asked to see whatever you'd been working on. He'd sit beside you on the floor flipping through your sketchbook with genuine interest, tell you your art was cool, and remind you to keep drawing whenever you doubted yourself. If Hongjoong stole the last snack your parents left out, Yunho somehow always made sure you still got half.
Looking back, it was probably inevitable.
Your first crush didn't happen because of one grand moment.
It happened quietly, over hundreds of ordinary ones.
Growing up changed things.
By the time you started high school, Hongjoong and Yunho were on the varsity baseball team. Practices ran later, tournaments filled their weekends, and conversations that used to revolve around cartoons and video games slowly shifted toward college applications, baseball, and whichever girl had slipped a note into Yunho's locker that week.
You had your own friends by then. Your own clubs. Your own life.
Without anyone really noticing, the afternoons you spent with them became fewer and farther between.
Somewhere along the way, your childish crush quietly tucked itself away, becoming one of those things you only remembered when someone brought up middle school.
It wasn't anyone's fault. Life simply got busier. You had your own friends now, your own clubs after school, your own homework that seemed to multiply overnight. Some days Yunho would still come over for dinner, other days you'd only catch glimpses of him as he and Hongjoong disappeared upstairs, laughing about something that happened at practice.
Life scattered all three of you in different directions after that.
Hongjoong left for college first.
Then Yunho.
A few years later, you left for Seoul.
By the time you moved back to Los Angeles, Jeong Yunho had become someone you mostly heard about through your brother's stories—a familiar name attached to someone who no longer felt like part of your everyday life.
III. “I KEEP TELLING YOU, STOP EATING OUR FOOD.”
Hana screams at your brother, who was currently rummaging through your cabinets.
It’s been a week since you moved in, and today was your first day at work, while it was Hana’s first day of freshman year.
The dynamic hadn’t always been like this. For the first couple of days, you and Hana mostly stayed at the apartment, trying to feel more at home. Hongjoong would pop in every now and then and made sure you were adjusting well, even cooking dinner for the three of you in your new kitchen. You barely saw his roommates as Hongjoong said they were waiting for you to get accustomed to living at the apartment before they could start hanging out with you.
Naturally, that lasted all of four days.
First, it was San, who wanted to borrow your clothes steamer since his broke. Then, it was Mingi, who only really came over to check out the snacks you had just bought at the grocery that day. Hongjoong had stopped pretending he knocked before entering. Sometimes you’d regret giving him the door code because whenever you came home from running errands he was already lounging at his designated spot on the couch, eating chips with Mingi.
The only one who never seemed to invite himself over was Yunho. You’d catch him in passing every now and then. Sometimes he’d stop by with Hongjoong after work to ask how unpacking was going.Sometimes you’d exchange a few words in the hallway. Like nothing has changed.
“Don’t you boys have food over at yours?” Hana continues her rant, while Hongjoong makes himself a sandwich.
To be fair, he'd shown up with coffee for both of you, reminded Hana three separate times not to forget her student ID, and insisted on checking whether you'd packed lunch. So maybe he was entitled to one sandwich.
You had just finished getting ready, making sure that your clothes were neat and your makeup looked good. You were just about to leave before Hongjoong and Hana started bickering.
Hana’s first class didn’t start until 10, which is why you were leaving an hour earlier than she has to. Hongjoong, on the other hand, had an irregular work schedule which comes with his assistant directing job, which meant he was there early to terrorize you.
Hongjoong looked over at you.
“Shouldn’t you be leaving by now?”
“I’m literally leaving,” you say, slipping your shoes on. “Try not to burn the apartment down.”
“No promises!” you hear as you close your front door, the melodic chiming of the door lock filling the empty hallway.
You round the corner to the elevators and find Yunho already waiting, hands tucked into his pockets.
“Hey,” he greets you. “First day today?”
It suddenly occurred to you that unlike the others, Yunho also worked a regular nine-to-five. Hongjoong had mentioned he was in finance, which meant the two of you would probably be leaving for work around the same time every morning.
You nodded, shifting the strap of your work bag higher on your shoulder.
“Yeah. New office, new team.” You smiled sheepishly. “Trying not to embarrass myself on day one.”
"You won't."
The answer came so quickly that it caught you off guard. Yunho glanced at you before looking back at the elevator doors.
"You're good at what you do."
For a moment, all you could do was stare.
"How do you know that?"
He shrugged, almost as if the answer was obvious.
"Hongjoong talks."
You let out a laugh. "He does?"
"All the time."
The elevator chimed, the doors sliding open. He lets you go in first, before stepping in and standing beside you, facing the doors.
The elevator’s empty, save for the both of you. There’s an awkward pause, the both of you trying to think of ways to fill the space.
“So how was Seoul? We never really got to catch up after we left for college,” he asks, while you watch the numbers on the wall go down. You guess this was how he decided to break the silence, straight into it.
“Um,” you hover. “It was a lot.” you let out a chuckle.
“A lot good?”
“A lot everything.” you reply. “I mean, the job was great, I learned a lot from my seniors and it was great being in a new environment, but it really does take a lot out of you. So when we found out Hana got accepted to college here, I decided to apply for a job in L.A.”
The doors open again, this time a middle-aged woman pushing a stroller steps in, standing in front of both of you. But Yunho decides to keep talking.
“You know, I was surprised when Joong told us you were moving back.”
“You were?”
“I thought you liked it there.”
“I did.”
He looked at you then, eyebrows knitting together. The baby in the stroller lets out a small whine.
“I also liked sleeping.”
That earned a laugh.
“It just felt like time,” you added. He gives you a nod at that.
“I get that.”
The elevators slide open. You both get out then, muttering a polite “excuse me”, as you step around the woman and her baby while the both of you get out to the parking.
“I was also surprised you were Hongjoong’s roommate again. He told me before you moved out like a year ago,” you say, as you walked toward the parking lot.
He rubs the back of his neck, “Ah. Yeah. Things didn’t work out where I was staying so I decided to move back.”
You nod.
You stop in front of your car, unlocking it with your keys.
“This is me. I’ll see you later?”
“Yeah, of course. Good luck today, YN,” Yunho smiles again, and you clutch at your keys a little harder.
“You too.”
He waves you off before walking to his car a few feet down. When you get in, you look at yourself at your rearview mirror and let out a big huff of air you didn’t know you were holding.
Your first day at the Golden Hour Marketing Firm went surprisingly well. You spent the rest of your 20-minute drive to work, practicing introductions so you wouldn’t shit yourself in front of your new team. Your manager had introduced you warmly, filling you in on your role and showing you around.
By lunchtime, you’d already learned the names of most of your immediate team, survived HR orientation, and only gotten lost twice trying to find the pantry. On your break, Hongjoong sends you a text.
joongie 🐲
baby sis has been sent off and on her way
she insisted i do NOT drop her off, unfortunately
mission complete regardless, boss 🫡
yn 🧚♀️
noted, with thanks
don’t tell me you’re still at our apartment
joongie 🐲
mingi thinks you should change your curtains
yn 🧚♀️
i think mingi should get out of my house
joongie 🐲
too late we’re watching yt on ur tv now
have a great day at work byeeee
yn 🧚♀️
me and hana are changing our door code when we get home
Brand marketing has always been your thing. Growing up, you had a creative side. You were crafty, and always looking for inspiration. But somewhere along the way, that creativity evolved into something more strategic. You found yourself fascinated by what caught people's attention, what made a campaign memorable, and why some brands connected with people while others didn't. Over the years, you worked hard trying to build a career for yourself. You were good at your job.
Seoul had taught you that much.
The pace had been relentless, the expectations impossibly high, and more nights than you cared to admit had been spent asleep at your desk rather than in your apartment. But it had also shaped you into the person you were today.
Moving back to Los Angeles didn't feel like starting over.
It felt like finally giving yourself permission to breathe.
The first thing you noticed when you got home, toeing off your heels by the doorway, was the noise. You'd heard laughter and the clatter of pots and pans before you even unlocked the door.
The moment you stepped inside, Yunho looks up from the counter.
"How was—"
“You’re home!” Hana runs over to give you a hug before Yunho could finish his sentence.
Out of the three of you, she’s always been the most affectionate, giving you kisses on the cheek and hugs every now and then. Hongjoong sometimes acts like he doesn’t like it, but when he picked you up with your boxes when you first moved in, he was the first to hug her.
“How’s your first day?” she asks, still clinging on to you.
“It was great,” you slipped off your heels. “I actually made a work friend today. “
"See?"
Hana grinned.
"I told you."
You looked around.
San was stirring something on your stove while Hongjoong tosses vegetables in a bowl. Mingi, as you expected, is sitting on your couch, watching some kind of documentary.
You last notice Yunho standing right by the kitchen, looking like he had just gotten home as well. His tie hangs loosely around his neck, his suit jacket slung over one arm, and his work bag sits abandoned by Mingi's feet.
“Why are these people in our apartment?” you say as Hana lets you go.
“Dinner party!” San announces.
“Hyung and I wanted to cook you guys dinner to celebrate your first day.” He points to Hongjoong.
“We’re celebrating!”
“You, how was your first day? Meet anyone new?” you ask her.
“Eh, it was okay. My classes are cool though. Some guy in my class asked me for my number,” she shrugs.
“What.” Hongjoong freezes, gripping the bowl.
“You didn’t tell me that earlier!” Hongjoong crosses his arms.
Hana huffs in annoyance. “Because I knew you’d act like this.”
“Did you say no?”
“I gave him my Instagram instead.”
“You WHAT?” A couple of decibels higher and San would have to physically hold Hongjoong back.
“My dear big brother, I’m eighteen,” Hana whines, “let me live.”
“You can start living once you're forty-five.”
The argument continued without either of them expecting to win. Yunho shook his head with a quiet laugh as he reached over to take the bowl from Hongjoong before he accidentally crushed the lettuce in his grip.
“She is eighteen, Joong.”
“Don’t encourage her.”
“I’m encouraging you to breathe.”
“Need any help?” you ask, as you walk over to the kitchen.
“We’re good, you can sit over by Mingi and relax. It was your first day,” San says, pointing over to where Mingi was sitting.
“I’d rather not, he’s watching something weird. I think it’s a documentary about Bigfoot.”
The three of you, while your siblings chase each other in the background, talk about your days. You learn that San works from home in a tech company, and Yunho got home around five minutes before you did.
In the middle of your conversation, you felt a gentle hand brush your shoulder. You turned just in time to see Yunho lifting the strap of your work bag off your shoulder before setting it on one of the dining chairs. You hadn’t even realized you still had it on you.
“You’ve been carrying it this whole time,” he said simply before returning to the cutting board.
“Thanks, I didn’t even notice,” you muttered.
“No problem.” He turned back to the cutting board as if it hadn't been worth mentioning.
You reached for one of the bowls in the cabinet, clearing your throat before calling out for Mingi.
“Hey Bigfoot! Come set the table with me.”
Dinner ended up being louder than the cooking. Mostly because Hongjoong refused to let Hana tell the story about the guy from her class without interrupting every five seconds. Your conversations drifted from work to college to Hongjoong’s latest nightmare of a film set. You exchanged laughs every now and then, at one point, Mingi spilling on himself. By the time dinner was over, the sun had disappeared beyond the apartment windows.
You offered to wash the dishes since the boys had cooked. As you carry a stack of plates in your arms, Yunho strides in beside you without a word, carrying the rest of the dishes with his sleeves rolled up.
You settled into a comfortable rhythm—you washed while he rinsed.
“Hana seems like she’s adjusting pretty well,” Yunho breaks the silence.
Across the room, Hana, Hongjoong, San, and Mingi had abandoned the dining table in favor of the coffee table, where an Uno game had quickly turned into a shouting match.
(“THE RULES WHERE I PLAYED IS YOU CAN ONLY PUT DOWN DRAW FOUR ONLY IF THERE’S ALREADY A DRAW FOUR CARD DOWN.”
“I DON’T CARE. DRAW SIX .”
“Both of you shut up. Hongjoong, draw six,” San says.)
You smile to yourself, handing him another plate. “Yeah. I was worried she’d have a hard time moving to a new city. But she’s always been brave. And I think she just really missed her big brother. I mean, he's been away from home longer than I have.”
“She missed you too, you know,” Yunho said after a beat.
“Hmm?” you glanced up.
“When Hongjoong and I came back home to visit, she always talked about you.” Yunho said, setting another plate on the drying rack. “Every summer she’d try to convince Hongjoong to take her to Seoul.”
“She never told me that.”
“Hongjoong probably missed you two the most, though. The first night you guys moved in? I walked into the apartment to look for him and found him sitting on your couch after you guys went to bed.”
“I thought he had already gone back to yours?"
“Nope. I asked him and he said he was standing guard in case someone tried to break in,” he laughed.
“That’s stupid, the only people breaking into this apartment are him and Mingi.”
There’s another comfortable silence.
“Hey, YN?”
"Hmm?"
“We may act like a bunch of old idiots,“ He nods toward the living room, where Hongjoong was accusing San of cheating at Uno.
“But if you ever need anything, you know you can always come over, right? And to me, I've known you for years.”
Something in your chest softened.
"I know. Thanks, Yunho."
For a moment, neither of you spoke.
The water continued running between your hands as another plate passed from you to him.
Somehow, standing here with him felt... easy. Not because the awkwardness had disappeared. It hadn't. But because, for the first time since moving back, you weren't trying so hard to fill every silence between you.
Some silences, it turned out, didn't need filling at all.
IV. EVERY MORNING, AROUND 8:15, YOU LEAVE YOUR APARTMENT.
Every morning, around 8:15, Yunho is somehow already waiting for the elevator.
The first couple of days, you assume it’s a coincidence. By Thursday, you’re not so sure.
Sometimes he’s already waiting. Sometimes he steps out of his apartment just as you lock yours. On Thursday morning, Yunho is waiting with two paper cups of coffee.
“San got a new coffee machine,” he says, handing you one. “He made too much.”
You eye the cup, taking it anyway. “Tell San thanks.”
“I will.”
As the elevator arrives, you miss the tiny smile that pulls at the corner of Yunho’s mouth.
The rest of the weeks go by like this:
You’d find Yunho waiting by the elevator, always with a second cup of coffee for you. The elevator rides became longer conversations, mostly about his roommates’ latest antics and the office romance brewing between two heads of your department.
You’d walk over to your cars side-by-side. On the drive to work, sometimes you’d catch Yunho’s car beside you at a stoplight, letting out two beeps, lifting two fingers from the steering wheel in a lazy salute before the light turned green.
You’d gotten close with your brothers’ other roommates too. As much as you hate to admit.
San had also started treating your apartment like a second home. Sometimes he'd stop by just to water Hana's plants while the two of you were out, claiming, "You'd be surprised how many people accidentally kill succulents."
Mingi, in particular, only ever texted you when he needed rescuing.
The first time it happened, it was barely three weeks after you moved in. Your phone buzzed in the middle of a Saturday morning.
mingi (hongjoong’s roommate) 🐤
yn
yn kim
what do you want
mingi (hongjoong’s roommate) 🐤
sos
yn kim
you’re alive enough to text
mingi (hongjoong’s roommate) 🐤
girl i need ur help
yn kim
???
mingi (hongjoong’s roommate) 🐤
the girl i brought home last night won’t leave
could u come over and pretend ur like my crazy ex or something
yn kim
absolutely not
ask san
mingi (hongjoong’s roommate) 🐤
PLEASE
the boys left to play pickleball
she wants us to have breakfast
yn kim
then get breakfast with her?
mingi jfc it’s 8 in the morning
mingi (hongjoong’s roommate) 🐤
i NEVER have breakfast w my hookups
pls ill buy u boba for a month
yn kim
deal
Ten minutes later, you find yourself standing in front of his apartment, questioning whether this was worth the boba.
The door flew open before you even had a chance to knock.
"I owe you my life."
He stepped aside to let you in before lowering his voice.
"She's in the kitchen."
It happened again.
And then again.
By the fourth time, you no longer asked questions.
You'd simply knock on their apartment, sigh dramatically, and say,
"Where is she?"
Mingi would point toward his room.
"Thank you for your service."
On Friday nights, your group somehow always ended up at the same Korean barbecue place a few blocks away. San and Yunho usually took over the grill while Hongjoong argued that he could cook the meat just as well. Mingi would inevitably declare he was "too full for dessert," only to be the first one ordering boba ten minutes later.
It wasn't long before you met the rest of their circle, too. There was Yeosang and Jongho, San's former coworkers who somehow always ended up as the voice of reason; Wooyoung, whose favorite pastime seemed to be irritating San just to get a reaction; and Seonghwa, an old college friend of your brother's who, much to your amusement, was one of the few people capable of making Hongjoong visibly nervous.
Most nights, it was just the six of you, drifting between your apartment and theirs as if there was no real distinction anymore. Someone would inevitably pull a movie from the ever-growing stack Hongjoong had collected over the years, and before long, all six of you would be crammed onto whichever couch had enough space, arguing over what to watch before inevitably settling on something everyone had already seen at least twice.
It was the little things as well, that showed how you all cared for each other like a real family. San and Hongjoong somehow made it their mission to pack yours and Hana's lunches every morning. Mingi, surprisingly, had become self-appointed host of girls' nights, barging into your apartment with face masks, a tub of ice cream, and the announcement that "the boys are pissing me off again."
And then there was Yunho.
It wasn't anything grand. At least, you didn't think so.
He was simply thoughtful.
If your hands were full, he'd take whatever you were carrying without asking. If everyone went out for coffee, yours somehow always ended up paid for. When movie nights stretched past midnight and one of you started nodding off on the couch, he'd throw a blanket over you. You’d seen him do it to San and Mingi once, patting their heads before he settled back in his seat. Sometimes, he'd even drive Hana to whiever dance studio she booked a class for, arguing that she was officially his little sister too.
You told yourself he was just like that.
So you tried not to think too much about the way you'd occasionally catch him looking at you whenever one of Hongjoong's movies made you cry, or how he always seemed to notice when work had worn you down before you'd even said a word.
Your routine quickly settled into place. Until one Monday, it wasn’t.
You unlocked your car, tossed your bag onto the passenger seat, and turned the key.
Click.
“...No.”
You tried again.
Click.
Your shoulders slumped.
“No, no, no.”
You let your forehead fall against the steering wheel. You were already running late. Instead of your usual 8:15, you came rushing out of your apartment by 8:30, and Yunho, bless his soul, was still waiting by the elevator by the time you arrived.
A car stops by your parking spot, Yunho rolling down his window.
“You okay?”
“My car chose violence this morning.”
He laughed quietly, before sliding out of the driver’s seat and coming to your side. “Can I try?”
You stepped out, handing him the keys.
He slid into the driver’s seat and gave the ignition a try.
Click.
Once.
Twice.
“I think your battery’s dead.”
You groaned. “Great.”
"Could be worse."
"Could it?"
"You could've found out halfway to work."
"Don't say things like that."
A smile tugged at the corner of his mouth.
He reached through the open passenger door of your car, grabbing your work bag before picking up the coffee you'd abandoned in the cup holder.
You blinked.
"What are you doing?"
“Good thing your office is right by my route, and I’m also the best person in the world,” he says.
“Pardon?” you ask.
“You’re riding with me. Get in if you want to make it before work.”
“I can just call an Uber."
"You can."
He started walking toward his car.
"Or..."
He held up your bag.
"...you can save forty bucks and let me drive you. Hongjoong would kill me if I left you here to book an Uber."
You rolled your eyes, unable to hide your smile as you climbed in.
"You're unbelievable."
"So I've been told."
He closed the door before walking around to the driver's side.
As he started the engine, he glanced over.
“We’ll call the mechanic during lunch and have Hongjoong meet him. You gave him the spare key, right?”
“You don’t have to do that.”
“I know.”
He pulled out of the parking garage.
“But I was going to anyway.”
When you were on the main road, neither of you spoke anymore. You shifted in your seat, suddenly aware that you'd never actually been alone with Yunho like this before. Usually there was Hongjoong in the passenger seat, Mingi yelling from the back, or Hana changing the music every thirty seconds.
Sensing the awkwardness in the air, Yunho reached toward the center console.
“You can connect your phone if you want.”
“You sure?”
“As long as you don’t play any Taylor Swift. Mingi likes to sing in the shower.”
You laughed.
“Of course he does.”
You plugged your phone in, scrolling through your playlists before settling on one you’d been listening to on repeat lately.
As the music flows in the car, Yunho taps the steering wheel in time with the music while you look out the window, watching the city blur past.
The rest of the drive slipped by easily.
You talked about work.
About Hana mentioning another guy from one of her classes, nearly giving Hongjoong a heart attack.
About Mingi somehow bringing the same girl over for the third time despite insisting he "wasn't looking for anything serious."
By the time Yunho pulled up outside your office building, you were surprised you’d already arrived.
He shifted the car into park.
“What time do you get off?”
“Six.”
He nodded once.
“I’ll pick you up.”
“You don’t–” he cuts you off.
“Nope, I’m not taking no for an answer.”
“Okay,” you smile.
You clear your throat and reach for the door handle.
“Thanks Yunho. See you later.”
You stepped out of the car, adjusting your bag over your shoulder.
Just as you reached the sidewalk, his window rolled down.
"YN."
You turned.
"I'll see you at six."
By the time six o’clock rolled around, your brain felt like mush.
The first full Monday of campaign planning had consisted of three meetings, two brainstorming sessions, and an alarming amount of coffee.
When Yunho comes to pick you up, you could barely keep your eyes open.
“For YN Kim?” Yunho says as you sit in the passenger seat, in a perfectly practiced customer service voice.
You looked at him.
"...Yes?"
"Destination?"
You deadpanned.
"Home."
He nodded solemnly.
"Excellent choice."
"Driver, I'd also like to request silence."
"Unfortunately, this ride includes complimentary conversation."
You laugh silently as Yunho drives the car back on the road.
“Long day?”
You let out a dramatic sigh.
“You don’t even wanna know. I sat through three meetings that could've been emails.”
He winced sympathetically.
“You can nap for a bit if you want, it’s sushi night at our place. You know how Hana and Joong get when there’s sushi involved.”
“Ugh, I forgot about that. Are you sure it’s okay?”
“Yeah. We’ve got twenty minutes before we get home.” He shrugged. “I’ll wake you up.”
Out of the corner of your eye, you caught him turning the volume down on the console. You said nothing, pretending not to notice.
By the time you got home, Yunho had woken you up with a gentle nudge to your shoulder, and a soft “We’re here.” before you could even adjust to your surroundings.
In the middle of dinner, while you were all having different conversations, San’s suddenly looked up from his sushi.
“Yunho, I have a bone to pick with you,” he says seriously, pointing a chopstick at him. You supposed he was feeling tipsy, if not for the soju bottle he split with Mingi.
“That sounds ominous,” Hana says, stealing a piece of salmon from Hongjoong’s plate.
“What did I do?” Yunho asks.
“You finished my coffee beans.”
“...Again?” Hongjoong sighs.
“Again.”
“Wait,” you interrupted. “I thought you always made too much coffee.”
San frowned, “Those are Guatemalan beans, YN. I don’t just make ‘too much’.”
"Then why has Yunho been bringing me coffee every morning?"
Yunho answered before San could.
"I just make an extra cup while I'm there."
You nodded as though that explained everything.
"That makes sense."
"Does it?" Mingi asked around a mouthful of rice.
Yunho shot him a look.
"What?"
"Nothing." Mingi raised both hands in surrender.
Across the table, San quietly met Yunho's eyes.
Yunho looked away first.
Before the silence could linger, Hongjoong reached across the table and stole the last piece of nigiri from Hana's plate.
After that dinner, you found yourself thinking about the coffee more often than you cared to admit.
Every morning Yunho still handed you a cup without fail, and every morning you caught yourself wondering whether he'd actually been making an extra one... or whether he'd been making one specifically for you all along.
It was a dangerous train of thought.
So you stopped letting yourself think about it.
V. ‘THE BITCH IS BACK’ IS PLAYING IN YOUR EARPHONES WHEN YOU PUT THE LAST ROLLER ON YOUR HAIR.
“I’m a bitch, I’m a bitch, oh, the bitch is back…” You sang quietly under your breath, swaying to the music as you leaned closer to the mirror you'd dragged onto the kitchen island. You were currently getting ready in your kitchen, rollers in your hair, and makeup on the counter.
Your coworker, Johnny, had asked you out for an annual marketing forum that your firm sponsored. He didn’t have to, because you were planning on going anyway, but it was nice to get asked out again after a while.
Your dress was laid over the couch as you sat on one of the kitchen stools in your underwear and a robe hanging off your shoulders, because you couldn’t risk getting powder on it before you could even wear it.
You stood up, grabbing the tube of mascara that had rolled onto the floor, singing the rest of the chorus, and swaying along dramatically.
You were so into it that you didn’t notice your front door beeping.
“It’s the way that I move, the things that I do, oh-oh-oh!”
“Oh shit.”
When you turn around, you didn’t expect to see Yunho standing frozen in the doorway. You let out a surprised gasp, tying the strings on your robe. Yunho just saw you in your underwear, and you were acting like an idiot.
He also hadn’t expected anyone to be home. When Hongjoong told him the door code, he was told you would’ve been gone by now.
His eyes met yours and immediately darted somewhere over your shoulder.
“I, uh, sorry. Hongjoong told me you were gone, I came to pick up his hard drive that he left here.”
“Why didn’t he get it himself?” You say, your face flushed. Yunho’s ears had turned red.
Cute, you thought.
“He’s in the middle of editing,” Yunho said, rubbing the back of his neck. “He asked me to grab it since I was already heading out.”
“I think it’s over there." You gestured vaguely towards your coffee table.
“Right.”
Neither of you moved.
Yunho cleared his throat before keeping his eyes fixed firmly on the table as he crossed the room. He found the hard drive almost immediately.
Silence.
You couldn't remember the last time the apartment had felt this small.
He turned to leave before hesitating.
“Hongjoong said you have a work event today?” he asks, while you go back to your seat.
“Yeah, I was supposed to go alone but my coworker, Johnny, asked me to go with him.”
Yunho gave a slow nod. "Johnny."
"Mm-hmm."
"From work?"
"Creatives."
"Is he nice?"
You let out a small laugh.
"Why are you interviewing me?"
"He's moving kind of fast."
You let out a laugh.
"Excuse me?"
"Nothing."
"No, say it."
Yunho shifted awkwardly, gripping the hard drive a little tighter.
"I'm just saying... asking someone out after a month."
"It's not a date."
"Isn't it?"
You shrugged.
"I don't know. It's a work event."
"Just the two of you?"
"...Yes?"
"So..."
He trailed off.
"That sounds like a date."
“Maybe.”
For the first time since he'd walked in, Yunho genuinely looked stumped. Like he'd asked himself the same question and didn't have an answer.
He looked away.
"Forget I said anything." You raised an eyebrow.
“Um, I should go,” he says after a beat.
You nod.
He turns back around with a hand on the knob, "YN?”
“Yeah?”
“You look beautiful by the way.”
Your smile softened.
"I haven't even put the dress on yet."
A quiet laugh escaped him.
"I know."
Another beat.
"Have fun tonight."
Before you could say anything else, he slipped out the door.
What was that?
When Yunho gets back to his apartment, he makes a beeline for Hongjoong’s door.
He knocks, quite aggressively, three times before letting himself in.
The sight of Hongjoong hunched over his desk and tweaking with the film he’s working on one of his three monitors greets him. Headphones are over his head while he has a hand on his chin.
If he wasn’t working, Yunho might’ve smacked his hard drive on his head.
“Hongjoong.” He shoves his shoulder with the hard drive. Hongjoong flinches before realizing it’s him, and takes his headphones off
“Here,” he grumbles.
“What’s up with you? It took you like five minutes to get back from across the hall.”
Yunho’s supposed to be heading out, but he figures there’s no use anymore, embarrassment clouding his mind and a deep motivation to strangle the man in front of him.
“YN was there, idiot. You told me she’d be gone by now.”
Hongjoong glances at the clock on his desk, “Oops, I think she said she was leaving at six, not five.”
“Well, I walked in and she was home.” He closes his eyes for a second. “And I might have embarrassed both of us.” He sighs.
“Did you catch her singing along to Elton John? She loves to do that when she gets ready,” Hongjoong says, plugging the hard drive on his computer.
Yunho nods. He decides not to tell him that he caught her in just her underwear and a robe, though. He’d seen how Hongjoong gets over his sisters.
“Did you know she was going on a date?” He asks instead.
“Yeah, some work guy named Johnny asked her out.” Hongjoong replies, monotonously.
Hongjoong clicked through his editing timeline before speaking again.
“Is she done getting ready yet? I told her to send me and Hana pictures before she left.” Hongjoong adds. Yunho’s eyebrows quirk up in surprise.
“You’re okay with YN going on a date?” he asks. Just the other day, Hongjoong launched a 5-minute tirade about Hana going to a college party.
“Yeah? Why wouldn’t I be?”
“You practically put Hana under house arrest because some guy asked for her Instagram.”
Hongjoong scoffs, “That’s different. Hana is a baby. She enjoys making my blood pressure spike.”
“How is that different?”
“Listen, I know I’m the eldest, but YN spent years taking care of everyone else and raising Hana. All she does is work alongside being a good sister, the least she deserves is to get pretty, go out with a coworker on a date, and have fun,” Hongjoong says with a fond look on his face.
Hongjoong studied him for a second. Then a slow grin spread across his face.
"...Why do you care so much?"
Yunho's head snapped up.
“I don’t. I was just asking.” Hongjoong smirks.
“I’m serious.”
“You know YN doesn’t date much. So I know Johnny isn’t really her type.” Hongjoong leaned back in his chair. “She'd rather spend years getting to know someone than jump into something because they asked.”
“And you know her type?”
“I’ve been her brother for twenty-six years.”
Yunho doesn’t speak a word after, his eyes to the floor.
The date went well. Johnny was easy to be around. Confident, funny, effortlessly sociable. He made conversation with everyone he met, pulled you into group photos, and by the time your workmates migrated to the after-party, he'd somehow convinced half the room onto the dance floor.
You thought it would be enough to distract you from your thoughts and whatever’s going on at home. But you think all Johnny could ever be to you was a friend.
If anything, he’d been thoughtful and easy to talk to. But he wasn’t the problem. The problem was that somewhere over the last few months, you’d grown used to a different kind of kindness. One that was quiet and consistent.
The sort that remembered how you took your coffee, carried your bag without asking, and turned the television down when you looked tired without another word. The kind that would pay attention if you weren’t feeling well, or knew everything about you.
By the time you get home, you realized you hadn't spent the evening getting to know Johnny.
You spent the entire night wondering what it would’ve been like if Yunho had been there instead.
VI. WHEN MONDAY ROLLED AROUND, YOU NOTICED YUNHO HAD CHANGED.
The Monday after you went on a date, he asked how your weekend was. When you told him, you don't think Johnny and you could be more than friends, he stifles a grin and nods in understanding.
He still waited for you by the elevator and handed you another cup of coffee without a word.
There was still the coffee (When has it ever stopped?), the elevator conversations, and small smiles you’d throw at each other.
But you also noticed, the line between being neighbors and potentially something more started to blur.
It was subtle at first, a hand on your back when you left the elevator, or instead of separating as soon as you got to your car, he would wait until you closed your car door. But then you noticed he kept making excuses to be close to you, to touch you.
Whenever it was movie night, he’d go as far as shoving Mingi to the other end of the couch just so he could sit next to you.
(“You didn’t have to shove the poor guy,” you whisper as he grabs a handful of the popcorn on your lap.
“He’s fine. He was taking up too much space on the couch.”
“Mingi’s pouting.”
“Shh. Just let me sit next to you.”
“Jeong Yunho!” Mingi shouts, throwing a pillow at him.
By the end of the night, your head, however, had somehow found its way onto Yunho's shoulder.)
After dinners together, he'd linger just enough to fall into step beside you while everyone else walked ahead. Whenever you crossed the street, his fingers would wrap loosely around your wrist—or sometimes your hand.
"Cars," he'd explain every single time.
As if that answered everything.
As if he wasn't still holding your hand long after you'd reached the sidewalk.
Even though Hongjoong had gotten your battery replaced, Yunho started insisting you carpool with him to work. He’d made a pretty good argument, that gas prices were crazy high and it would be better for the environment now if you rode to work together.
He’d open the car door for you, be at your office at six on the dot, and always let you choose a playlist. He’d have a different excuse every day like if you were carrying too many things, or if Hongjoong needed both of you to drop by at the store. You would've said yes regardless.
If your friends noticed, they didn’t say a thing. They watched as you and Yunho cooked dinner together, bumping shoulders and sharing looks that definitely meant that there was something there. When you would get home and start complaining about work, Yunho would drop everything and listen to you.
(“I don’t think they realize we’re still here,” Mingi whispers.
“They’re in their own world at this point, I could set myself on fire right now and Yunho would still be making heart eyes at her,” San grumbles, watching you and Yunho laugh by the couch.
“Do you think they know?” Hana says.
“Nah. They’re both idiots. And slow. But I’d let them figure it out.”
“Figure out what?” Hongjoong asks as he steps out from the bathroom.
“Nothing.”)
You know things are changing. And as you hate to admit it, the crush you had on him years ago came back and has evolved into something deeper. Whenever he’s close to you, you’re painfully aware of his presence, your heart beats a little bit faster, and you find yourself looking for him in every room you enter.
Almost six months after you moved in, and a little over a month since you and Yunho have settled into dangerous territory, your brother announces he’s been chosen to direct all on his own. Suddenly, you and your friends (except for Hana who’s not only underage but had a late night dance practice that day) end up at a bar after Hongjoong’s celebratory dinner.
“DIRECTOR BABY!” San screams, after taking a shot, and kissing Hongjoong’s cheek, and laughing when he gets pushed away.
You’ve been sitting in a booth for about an hour, when the next round of shots come in. Wooyoung had dragged Mingi with him to the dance floor by the second round, while Yeosang and Jongho sat across from you, whispering to each other. San and Hongjoong were absolutely gone. San had turned red by the first shot, and Hongjoong downed at least five after you learned that Seonghwa wouldn’t be able to come join you.
It ran in the family though, because you were second to being absolutely gone as well.
“Here,” Yunho came back to your booth with a glass of water and hands it to you.
“Thanks.”
You hadn’t meant to get drunk, but you were celebrating, and then too many shots came and Yunho was so close, you kept thinking of kissing him. So you kept up with the shots and now you feel dizzy, your head spinning. Yunho, being the nicest person ever, stayed completely sober since you arrived.
He put an arm around you when you lean a bit too far to your side. You wish he wasn’t this close because you might actually kiss him this time. You take a sip of the water as you try to focus on your surroundings.
“If you stopped blubbering like an idiot every time Seonghwa talked to you, maybe he would’ve come,” San teases Hongjoong with a matching hiccup.
“He’s so pretty. Did you know he’s so pretty San?” Hongjoong cries, hand reaching out to grab another shot.
“Okay that’s enough,” Yunho says from beside you and dragging the tray of shots away. “All of you are officially cut off.”
You hear groans coming from the two drunk men in front of you but as you turn your head to look at him like this, serious but with an expression of someone who is used to taking care of people and the sharp tick of his jaw, you think fuck, you really like him. And he’s so pretty.
He’s wearing a white button-up shirt with the top three left unbuttoned and dark slacks that highlight his long legs and tiny waist. His hand that’s rubbing along the side of your shoulder is cold from the silver rings on his fingers.
“You’re so pretty,” you murmur before you can stop yourself.
“What?” he laughs.
“You’re so pretty, you’ve always been pretty,” you repeat, feeling more confident after all the alcohol has kicked in.
“You really are Hongjoong’s little sister,” he whispers, his wide grin fading into something smaller, the kind that’s only reserved for you. Little sister. You thought with the way he was looking at you, it wouldn’t hurt. But there’s the familiar pang in your chest when you hear it.
It's not the first time you heard those words. If anything, it's all you can hear whenever you're with Yunho. He'd do something that was overly sweet and more than friendly, then he'd let out the same words again and again right after.
Before you could ask him what he meant, Wooyoung and Mingi come back to your booth.
“What am I looking at here?” Wooyoung raises an eyebrow at you and the two friends in front of you. You stop looking at Yunho then, leaning your head back on the couch while your eyes start drifting slowly.
“They’re drunk off their minds. I think it’s time to go home,” Jongho says, pointing to the three of you, with a tone so clear you wouldn’t think he’s had more to drink than you.
You all clear out the booth then, Yeosang and Jongho with their arms on Hongjoong and San, while Wooyoung and Mingi trailed behind. Yunho helped you get to your feet with an arm around your waist and your bag in his hands.
The air is cold when you step outside, and the sidewalk feels gummy as you struggle to stand up. It was early in the morning, you assumed around 3 a.m. You were so out of it, your mind going back to little sister, while the boys around you figure out what to do with the drunk ones.
“Hyung, stop squirming or I’ll call Seonghwa,” Yeosang says, the only other one who was sober, as he tries to get Hongjoong to stand.
“Do. Not. Call. Him.” Hongjoong says in between hiccups, yet doesn’t make any move to stand up straight.
“Yunho, did you bring your car?” Yeosang asks. Yunho nods.
“Okay, I’ll take these guys with me home, could you–“ Yeosang gets cut off, gesturing towards you.
“I got her.”
“Great, because Hongjoong looks like he’s going to puke any second from now and I'd rather bring these two home before he pukes right on the street.” Yeosang sighs, as he struggles to lift your brother up.
Mingi and Wooyoung stay behind at the club, something about wanting to dance more.
By the time your brother and the rest get settled in Yeosang’s car, you and Yunho end up alone on the sidewalk.
“Come on, YN, let’s go,” he says, steadying you with an arm.
You wanted to say more, or anything really, to ask him why he called you that earlier and all the times before, but your head really hurt and you wanted to get home, so you nod.
“Can you walk?”
“I can.”
You absolutely cannot, and Yunho can tell because he holds you even closer so you don’t fall onto the floor, leading you to his car.
He helps you get into the passenger seat and clicks your seatbelt into place.
As he drives you home, it’s silent. You struggle to keep your eyes open, as you watch Yunho tap on his steering wheel rhythmically. Neither of you speak, had it been a work day, you’d be talking each other's ears off.
When he parks the car in your apartment complex, you wake up when he’s opened your door.
“Hey,” he says softly, “we’re home.”
The elevator ride up is the most daunting thing to ever exist. The alcohol hasn’t worn off, but it pushes you to decide to break the silence anyway.
“Can I ask you something?”
“Yeah?”
You take a deep breath as you hold on to the elevator railing.
“When are you going to stop being so confusing?”
“What are you talking about?”
You sigh, letting the words flow out of you before you could tell your brain to stop.
“You do all these things,” you wave vaguely between the two of you. “You look at me like,” like you’re in love with me. “Then call me Hongjoong’s little sister at the end of the night.”
“YN.”
“I wish you’d stop reminding me whose sister I am.”
He stares at you, speechless.
“Because every time you say it…” Your voice softens. “I feel stupid for thinking maybe you meant something else.”
“I–”
The elevator dings.
Before he can finish, you hurry out, nearly tripping over your own feet as you make your way down the hallway. You bump your shoulder into the wall once, then again, before finally stopping in front of your apartment.
“Where the fuck are my keys?” you mutter, patting every pocket of your dress in growing frustration just as Yunho catches up beside you.
“You don’t have keys, your door uses a code,” he says.
“Oh.”
When he unlocks the door, you stumble into your room, Yunho following close behind.
“I didn’t mean it like that.”
“God, my feet hurt,” you deflect, tearing off your heels and throwing it in random directions.
Yunho closes the bedroom door behind him.
“YN.”
“Don’t.” you sigh.
“Can you just look at me?”
You shake your head.
“If I look at you, you’re going to explain it away.”
He falls silent.
“Explain what away?” You laugh, but it comes out tired.
“Everything.”
He frowns.
“You keep doing things that make me think,” You stop yourself, rubbing at your face. “Nevermind.”
“No. Finish.”
You finally look up at him.
“You look at me like I’m important.”
His expression flickers.
“Then you call me Hongjoong’s little sister.”
Silence.
“Do you know how unfair that is?”
Yunho opens his mouth, then closes it again.
You continue, “I want to believe that the way you look at me is not how you look at everyone else, but you say things like that, and I don’t know anymore.”
There’s a beat.
“I need to lie down,” you say, while Yunho stood frozen.
You shift and lie down on your bed, closing your eyes. Maybe he’d disappear from your room if you closed your eyes hard enough.
As you try to drift to sleep, you hear Yunho come closer to your bed.
Carefully, he kneels in front of the bed and slips your heels farther underneath it so you won’t trip over them in the morning. He reaches for the throw blanket folded at the foot of your bed, unfolding it gently over you.
"I don't do any of that for everyone," he says quietly. "I don't wake up early just to make coffee for everyone. I don't wait by the elevator hoping I get ten extra minutes with someone. I don't come up with excuses to drive people to work or sit next to them whenever I can." His eyes meet yours, steady this time. "I do those things because they're with you. You don’t even notice how much I look at you, do you?”
Your breath hitches, but you don’t open your eyes.
He sighs. He’d say more, explain things clearly, but he’d rather have you sober before you forget everything he said.
“Good night, YN.”
There’s a pause, and you think he might’ve actually left, when you feel a pair of lips on your forehead.
When Yunho quietly closes your bedroom door behind him, he nearly jumps out of his skin.
Hana is sitting on the couch, one leg tucked beneath her, lazily sipping from a glass of water.
She raises an eyebrow.
“Well.”
Yunho presses a hand to his chest.
“Jesus, Hana.”
“I came back from Joongie-oppa’s, they got home a bit earlier than you two.”
“Is he okay?” he asks.
“Yeah, Seonghwa’s coming over to take care of him because he kept whining about him, so I left and came back here to wait for my sister.” There’s a grin on her face. The kind that she’d put on when she was up to no good.
“Imagine my surprise, big brother,” she trails off. “When you two come home, don’t even notice me standing in the kitchen, but disappear into her room in the middle of what appears to be a lover’s quarrel?”
“It wasn’t–“ he pinches the bridge of his nose. “It wasn’t a lover’s quarrel. It’s complicated.”
She studies him.
“Did she finally say something?”
Yunho doesn’t say anything.
He doesn’t have to because Hana could already tell.
“Huh.” she shakes her head. “So she finally noticed.”
Yunho looks up.
“Noticed what?”
Hana just laughs.
“Nothing.”
She walks past him toward your bedroom with a cup of water and painkillers that were on the coffee table.
“Good luck, big brother.”
She pauses at your door without turning around.
“You’ll figure it out.”
VII. WHEN YOU WAKE UP THE NEXT MORNING WITH THE WORST HEADACHE EVER,
you decide that you are never leaving the apartment again.
You remember bits and pieces of last night. You remember taking too many shots, Yunho’s arm around you, Hongjoong calling for Seonghwa, the way Yunho looked at you then called you a little sister. You remember the elevator ride and the forehead kiss he left on you before you drifted away to sleep.
It was a Saturday, so thankfully you didn’t have to see Yunho today. But your mind goes back to everything you said last night and hoped you hadn't scared him off.
You spent the rest of the day on your couch, nursing your hangover with soup you had delivered and reruns playing on your TV.
Hongjoong comes over by the end of your fifth episode, sporting the same headache and squeezes next to you on the couch. Apparently, he’s in the same situation as you.
“Seonghwa,” he says and you immediately understood. You sit in silence as you two watch TV together on the couch.
You’ve been like this for three hours, before Hana comes to intervene.
“What did we learn?” she says, standing in front of the both of you on the couch like a military captain with her arms behind her back.
Your brother, wearing sunglasses indoors, raises a weak hand.
“Never mix beer and tequila.”
“Wrong.”
She looks at you.
“To never drink again.”
“Also wrong.”
“The correct answer,” Hana says, “is that none of you are allowed to make decisions after your third shot.”
“What are you talking about? You weren’t there,” Hongjoong grumbles.
“You drunk-dialed Seonghwa so many times he had to come here to take care of you and when he got here you puked all over his slippers,” Hana says without missing a beat. She turns to you.
“And you. You’re sitting here with your hopeless brother instead of dealing with whatever happened with Yunho last night.”
You almost choke on your ice cream.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Something happened with you and Yunho?” Hongjoong turns to you.
“No,” you answer a little too quickly. “Yes,” Hana says at the exact same time.
“What does Hana know that I don’t?”
“None of your business.”
“I’m serious. What happened?” He’s using his big brother voice, the kind that made you stop lying, and you sigh.
“I… might’ve asked him to stop being so confusing.”
“Confusing how?”
“He—” You hesitate. “He called me your little sister.”
Hongjoong blinks.
“…That’s it?”
“No, that’s the problem.”
“I don’t get it.”
You set your spoon down.
“He spends all this time with me. He drives me to work, insists on carrying my groceries, steals San’s coffee every morning, practically shoves Mingi off the couch so he can sit next to me…” You gesture helplessly. “Then the moment I think maybe I’m not imagining things, he reminds me I’m just Hongjoong’s little sister.”
He sits with what you say for a moment, nodding.
“Can I say something?”
You shrug, gesturing for him to go on.
“I didn’t see it before but he definitely doesn’t treat us like he treats you. I’ve known Yunho my whole life, and I don’t think I’ve ever seen him act the way he acts with you.”
You grip the bowl in your hands.
“He told you that, didn’t he?” he continues. You nod with a sigh.
“What if I just made everything weird?” You ask.
“Did he look uncomfortable?”
“No.”
“Then go talk to him.”
“Joong—”
“No.” He shakes his head. “You’ve been my sister for twenty-six years. I know when you’re overthinking.”
He nudges your knee.
“If Yunho really did something that hurt you, then tell him. Hell, I'd even beat him up for you, if you wanted.”
"Oppa," Hana sighs. "You're three apples tall." Hongjoong ignores her.
A beat.
“And if he didn’t…”
He smiles, small and tired.
“Then stop making each other miserable. I know for a fact he’s feeling as bad as you are. Don't be like me, I probably messed things up with Seonghwa. at this point. But someone's got to be brave in this family, right? And it's you.”
"Why are you so okay with this? Are you not weirded out that I, possibly, like your best friend?"
"Both of you are idiots. If anything, I've been waiting for this for years."
Hongjoong stands to join Hana, and they grabbed each of your hands before dragging you to your room.
“You’re doing this now,” Hongjoong says.
“What?”
“If you don’t do it now, you’ll spend the whole weekend on the couch and eat your feelings in ice cream.”
Three minutes later, after changing into an oversized sweater and convincing yourself at least seventeen times that this was a terrible idea, you stand in front of your apartment door.
“What if he’s mad at me?”
“Yunho?” Hongjoong lets out an incredulous laugh. “That guy couldn’t stay mad at you even if you ran over his foot.”
You take one deep breath and pull the door open before you could think about what to say to him.
To your surprise, Yunho is already standing on the other side, his fist raised mid-knock.
You both freeze.
“Oh.”
“…Hi.”
“Can we talk?” he asks.
“I…” A laugh escapes you, equal parts relieved and disbelieving. “I was actually just about to come over to yours.”
A smile tugs at the corner of his mouth.
You glance back.
Hongjoong and Hana are peeking shamelessly from behind your still-open front door, both giving you enthusiastic thumbs-ups.
You sigh.
“Not here.”
Yunho follows your gaze and immediately understands.
“Yeah,” he says with a laugh. “Definitely not here.”
The two of you walk to the very end of the hallway, where a large window overlooks the city and a couple of chairs make a small sitting area. It’s close, but also out of earshot, so you don’t have to worry about your roommates eavesdropping.
The silence stretches between you until Yunho finally speaks.
“I guess you remember everything?”
You nod. He lets out a slow breath.
“Yunho, I—" You’re about to tell him that you were sorry for messing things up when he interrupts you.
“I owe you the truth.” You say nothing, as he looks at the view from the window before looking at you in the eyes.
“I called you Hongjoong’s little sister because you told me I was pretty. When you said that, I panicked. Hongjoong calls Seonghwa pretty because he’s in love with him but is too scared to admit it,” he says, brushing your hair away from your face. “I guess he and I have that in common.”
“What?”
“It sounds stupid when I say it out loud.”
“Yunho.”
“Every time I got too close to you, every time I caught myself looking at you for a little too long…” He exhales. “I’d remind myself you were Hongjoong’s sister.”
“Because if I didn’t…” His voice catches. “I’d want things I had no right to want.”
Your heart pounds against your ribs.
“Then you moved back.”
A small smile finds his face.
“And suddenly you were everywhere again. Last night made me realize, I’d probably been in love with you longer than I thought. Maybe since the day you moved in.”
Your breath gets caught in your throat. From the window, the sun starts to set, casting a warm glow on Yunho’s face, as he holds your hands into his.
“I’m in love with you,” he finally says.
You understand now, how it feels to have the one thing you’ve ever wanted, show you that it hadn’t been all in your head.
“You’re an idiot.”
His face falls.
Before he could apologize, you grab the front of his sweater and kiss him.
His hands automatically find their place on your waist while he pulls you closer. He tastes like coffee, which you thought tasted better on his lips than in the coffee cup you had every morning. He smiles into your teeth when he realizes you wouldn’t let go, with everything he’d spent months holding in.
You pull away from him for a moment, him looking at you more clearly now, without hesitating, like he’s loved you all his life.
“I’m in love with you too, you know.” You grin. “I thought it was obvious.”
“I was hoping you’d say something dramatic, like you loved me since you were eight,” he jokes.
“I thought you were cute when I was eight.”
“Only cute?”
“I was eight. I just kissed you, Yunho. We’re in love with each other,” you say, rolling your eyes.
“Can I kiss you again?” he asks, quieter this time.
Instead of answering, you rise onto your toes and press your lips to his.
“Ahem.”
The two of you spring apart. Standing a few feet away is Mingi, a trash bag hanging limply from one hand.
He blinks once.
“Am I interrupting?”
Yunho closes his eyes for a brief second.
“Mingi.”
“No, no.” He holds up his free hand. “Please. Continue. I’ve only been waiting…” He checks an imaginary watch. “…roughly six months for this.” He begins to back out of the hallway.
“Mingi, don’t start,” you say, eyes pleading.
Before either of you can stop him, Mingi is already halfway down the hallway.
“SAN!”
“WHAT!”
“We should go before everyone on the floor finds out,” Yunho whispers.
“WHAT DO YOU MEAN THEY’RE KISSING?”
San’s voice echoes through the hallway.
“Too late.”
The next Monday morning, you don’t have to walk to meet Yunho by the elevator anymore, because he’s already at your door the second you open it.
“Good morning,” he smiles.
“Morning.”
He’s holding two cups of coffee. You eye them suspiciously.
“Did you use San’s coffee beans again?”
“No.”
You raise an eyebrow.
“I bought my own,” he puffs his chest, a proud look on his face. “I figured my girlfriend deserves more than stolen Guatemalan beans.”
“Girlfriend?” you laugh, taking one of the cups.
“Yep, girlfriend. I don’t care if your siblings are staring me down now.”
His eyes leave your face and move to look behind your head, to see Hana eating cereal with a furrow in her brows, Hongjoong beside her at the dining table with the same expression.
“You two are gross,” Hana mutters.
Yunho ignores her, casually slipping a hand into yours.
“You know they’re still watching, right?” you whisper.
“I know.”
“They’re judging us.”
“I know.”
“You don’t care?”
He looks at you like the answer should be obvious.
synopsis: At 32, Kim Hongjoong is a devoted single father raising two young daughters while balancing a demanding career. When 22-year-old [Y/N]—, confident, and unexpectedly drawn into his orbit—enters his life, what begins as innocent encounters quickly ignites a forbidden attraction. Hongjoong fights the pull, but the age gap only fuels his deeper, darker desires. As tension builds through stolen glances, teasing touches, and late-night confessions, their slow-burn connection erupts into something raw and intense: a passionate, no-holds-barred affair filled with dominance, surrender, and unspoken need.
warning(s): slow-burn, joong has two daughters, age gap, Dom!joong, rough sex, oral(f receiving), hongjoong is a perv, doggy, begging, name-calling (good girl), creampie, fingering, missionary, teasing, marking, etc.
The late afternoon sun filtered through the tall windows of the small independent bookstore-café hybrid in the quieter part of the city, casting long golden stripes across worn wooden tables and stacks of books. You pushed open the door, the bell above jingling softly, carrying with it the scent of fresh coffee and old paper.
You weren’t here for books, not really. You’d come because the flyer on the community board at your university had promised “Storytime & Crafts for Ages 3-6” every Saturday at 4 PM, run by volunteers. Free childcare-adjacent activity, decent coffee, and a chance to feel slightly less like the world was spinning too fast at twenty-two. Perfect.
But the moment you stepped inside, your eyes caught on him.
Kim Hongjoong stood near the children’s section, crouched low so he was eye-level with two little girls—one clinging to his leg, the other tugging insistently at the sleeve of his dark sweater. He wore wire-rimmed glasses that slipped slightly down his nose as he listened to whatever urgent story the older of the two (maybe five?) was telling him, nodding seriously like it was the most important conversation in the world. His black hair was slightly tousled, sleeves pushed up to reveal forearms corded with quiet strength, and a silver bracelet glinted on his wrist when he reached to tuck a stray braid behind the younger girl’s ear.
He looked… exhausted. But the kind of exhaustion that came wrapped in devotion. The kind that made something low in your stomach twist unexpectedly.
“Daddy, she said my drawing looks like a potato!” the older girl protested, thrusting a crumpled piece of construction paper toward him.
Hongjoong examined it with exaggerated gravity. “Hmm. I see a very avant-garde potato. Michelin-star worthy, actually.” He glanced up then—right at you—because you’d frozen a few steps inside the door, staring.
Your cheeks heated. You quickly averted your eyes, pretending to study a nearby shelf of picture books, but not before you caught the smallest flicker of a smile on his lips. Polite. Knowing. A little tired.
The storytime session started soon after. You lingered near the back, nursing a latte, telling yourself you were just killing time. The kids gathered in a loose semicircle on the rug while Hongjoong read from a brightly illustrated book about a brave fox and a lost moon. His voice was low, steady, the kind that could command a room without ever rising. Every so often one of his daughters—Rina and Sooah, you’d overheard—would interrupt with a question or a demand for him to “do the voices,” and he’d oblige without missing a beat, shifting seamlessly from gentle narrator to dramatic fox growl.
When the session wrapped, the other parents and volunteers began packing up. You should have left too. Instead, you found yourself drifting closer to the craft table where the girls were still glued to markers and glue sticks.
Hongjoong was wiping glitter off Sooah’s cheek with the edge of his thumb when you approached.
“Excuse me,” you said, voice quieter than intended. “I, um—do you need an extra hand? I used to volunteer at a preschool. I’m good with glitter containment.”
He looked up, really looked at you this time. Dark eyes framed by those glasses, assessing but not unkind. A beat passed.
“That would be… appreciated,” he said finally, voice carrying the faintest trace of a smile. “These two are currently in a glitter terrorism phase.”
Rina immediately thrust a glue stick at you like a weapon. “You can help me make a crown. Daddy’s bad at crowns.”
Hongjoong exhaled through his nose, mock-offended. “I am an excellent crown architect. You’re just picky.”
You laughed before you could stop yourself. He glanced at you again—sharper this time, like he’d noticed the sound and wanted to catalog it.
The next hour passed in a blur of sticky fingers, construction paper, and the occasional tiny hand patting your arm like you’d passed some unspoken test. Hongjoong moved around you with careful distance—never quite touching, but close enough that you could smell the faint cedar-and-coffee scent clinging to his sweater. Every time your eyes met over the girls’ heads, something unspoken hummed between you. A question. A dare. A warning.
When the last of the glitter had been swept (mostly) away and the girls were yawning against his legs, he straightened, brushing his hands on his jeans.
“Thank you,” he said, quieter now that the room had emptied. “Seriously. Saturdays are usually… a lot.”
You shrugged, trying for casual. “No problem. They’re sweet. And you’re good with them.”
His gaze lingered a second too long. “They keep me honest.” Then, almost as an afterthought: “I’m Hongjoong, by the way.”
“I know.” You winced internally. “I mean—I heard the girls. I’m [Y/N].”
A small, crooked smile. “Nice to meet you, [Y/N].”
He hesitated, like he was weighing something. The younger girl—Sooah—tugged his hand, whining about being hungry.
“I should get them home,” he said, but he didn’t move right away. Instead he reached into his pocket and pulled out a simple black card—his name and a phone number embossed in silver. “If you’re ever around again on a Saturday… or if you just want coffee that isn’t lukewarm… feel free to text. No pressure.”
Your fingers brushed his when you took it. Electric. Brief. Gone too soon.
“I might,” you said, voice steadier than you felt.
He nodded once, then turned to gather the girls’ things. But as he walked toward the door—Rina on his hip, Sooah holding his free hand—he glanced back over his shoulder.
The look he gave you wasn’t polite anymore.
It was hungry.
And you knew, deep in your bones, that this was only the beginning.
The next Saturday arrived faster than you expected.
You told yourself you were just going back for the free coffee. Maybe to see if the glitter terrorism had escalated. Definitely not because the memory of Hongjoong’s low voice reading bedtime-story cadence still echoed in your ears all week, or because you’d saved his black card to your phone under “HJ (bookstore dad)” like some teenager with a crush.
You arrived ten minutes early. The café was quieter today—no storytime yet, just a handful of people scattered at tables with laptops and novels. Hongjoong was already there, behind the small counter they used for craft supplies, sorting colored paper into neat stacks. He wore a charcoal button-down today, sleeves rolled to the elbows again, top button undone. The silver bracelet caught the light every time he moved.
Rina spotted you first. She was perched on a stool, swinging her legs, a half-finished paper chain dangling from her fingers.
“It’s the crown girl!” she announced, loud enough that Hongjoong’s head snapped up.
His expression softened the second his eyes found you—something warm and unguarded flickering there before he schooled it back into polite surprise.
“You came back,” he said, voice carrying just enough quiet delight to make your stomach flip.
“Couldn’t resist the glitter,” you replied, lifting one shoulder. “Or the company.”
A beat. His gaze dropped to your mouth for half a second—barely long enough to register—then back up.
“Careful,” he murmured, almost under his breath. “That kind of talk might get you recruited permanently.”
You laughed, stepping closer to the counter. “I’m not opposed.”
He handed you a stack of construction paper without breaking eye contact. Your fingers brushed again. This time neither of you pulled away quite so fast.
The morning unfolded slowly, deliberately.
Storytime came and went. The girls insisted you sit with them on the rug this time—Rina on your left, Sooah eventually crawling into your lap when she got sleepy halfway through the book.
Hongjoong read with the same steady gravitas, but you caught him looking over the top of the pages more than once. Not at the kids. At you. At the way your hand absently smoothed Sooah’s hair, at the soft smile you didn’t realize you were wearing.
Afterward, when most of the families had trickled out and the girls were occupied with a new set of markers at the craft table, Hongjoong appeared beside you with two to-go cups.
“Better than lukewarm,” he said, offering you one. “Iced oat latte. Figured that’s safer than guessing hot or cold.”
You took it, fingertips grazing the back of his hand on purpose this time. “You remembered.”
“I pay attention,” he said simply.
The words hung between you, heavier than they should have been.
You both drifted toward the window seats near the back—far enough from the girls that your voices wouldn’t carry, close enough that you could still see them coloring furiously. The afternoon light slanted gold across his face, catching the faint shadow of stubble along his jaw.
“So,” he started, leaning back, one arm draped over the back of the booth. “Twenty-two. University?”
You nodded, taking a sip to buy time. “Art history. Senior year. Trying not to panic about what comes next.”
He huffed a quiet laugh. “I remember that panic. Except mine was followed by diapers and 3 a.m. feedings instead of grad school applications.”
“How old were you when…?” You gestured vaguely toward the girls.
“Twenty-five with Rina. Twenty-seven with Sooah.” His thumb traced the rim of his cup. “Their mom… she wasn’t ready. Left when Sooah was six months. Haven’t heard from her since.”
The admission was quiet, matter-of-fact. No self-pity. Just truth.
“I’m sorry,” you said softly.
“Don’t be.” His eyes met yours again—darker now, steadier. “We’re better for it. They’re better for it.”
A long pause. The café music shifted to something slower, sultrier. You recognized the opening notes of Older by Isabel LaRosa drifting through the speakers. Fitting. Too fitting.
Hongjoong tilted his head slightly, studying you.
“You’re good with them,” he said. Not a question. An observation.
“They’re easy to be good with,” you answered. “They’re yours.”
Something shifted in his expression—something raw and unguarded that made your pulse kick.
He leaned forward, elbows on the table, voice dropping low enough that it felt private. Intimate.
“I should warn you,” he said. “I don’t… do casual. Not anymore. Not with them in the picture. If someone’s going to be around, it has to mean something.”
Your breath caught.
“I’m not looking for casual,” you heard yourself say.
His gaze flicked down to your lips again—longer this time. When he looked back up, the hunger from last week was back, sharper, less polite.
“Good,” he murmured. “Because I’ve spent the last seven days trying to convince myself I shouldn’t text you.”
Your heart slammed against your ribs.
“Why didn’t you?”
“Because you’re twenty-two,” he said, voice rougher now. “Because I’m thirty-two and come with baggage and bedtime stories and a schedule that doesn’t bend. Because the second you walked in here last week I knew exactly what I wanted to do to you, and none of it was appropriate in front of my daughters.”
Heat flooded your face, your chest, lower.
He watched the flush spread like he was memorizing it.
“But you’re here again,” he continued, quieter. “And I’m still thinking about it. So I’m asking—very carefully—if you want me to stop thinking about it.”
You swallowed hard. The song looped back to the chorus.
“No,” you whispered. “Don’t stop.”
For a moment he didn’t move. Then, slowly—deliberately—he reached across the table. His fingers closed around your wrist, thumb pressing gently over your pulse point. Feeling how fast it raced.
“Careful, sweetheart,” he said, voice velvet and warning all at once. “I don’t play fair when I finally let myself want something.”
You shivered. Not from cold.
Across the room, Rina called out, “Daddy! Look! We made you a glitter beard!”
Hongjoong didn’t look away from you.
“Be right there,” he called back, calm as ever.
But his thumb stroked once—slow, deliberate—over the inside of your wrist before he let go.
“Tonight,” he said under his breath. “After they’re asleep. Text me. I’ll send the address.”
You nodded, throat too tight to speak.
He stood, adjusting his glasses with a small, crooked smile that didn’t match the heat still simmering in his eyes.
“And Y/n?" he added, pausing just long enough for you to meet his gaze again.
“Yeah?”
“Wear something you don’t mind getting ruined.”
Then he turned and walked back to his daughters like he hadn’t just set your entire nervous system on fire.
The rest of the day crawled.
You left the bookstore around 5 PM with glitter still clinging to your jeans and Hongjoong’s parting words looping in your head like a dark, velvet promise. Wear something you don’t mind getting ruined.
You spent the evening in a strange, buzzing limbo—showering twice, staring at your closet for far too long, texting your roommate some vague excuse about “meeting a study group late.”
Eventually you settled on a simple black slip dress, thin straps, hem skimming mid-thigh. No bra. Lace panties that felt dangerously close to lingerie. A soft cardigan you could shrug off the second the door closed behind you. Minimal makeup. Hair down. Pulse hammering.
At 9:47 PM your phone lit up.
HJ (bookstore dad):
They’re asleep.
Door’s unlocked.
Top floor, 3B.
Take the stairs—elevator’s loud.
No emojis. No pleasantries. Just coordinates and expectation.
You were out the door in under five minutes.
The building was old, brick, in a quiet residential pocket of the city you’d never wandered into before. Narrow staircase, soft hallway lights. By the time you reached the third floor your thighs were trembling—not from the climb.
The door to 3B was cracked open, warm lamplight spilling into the hall. You pushed it gently.
Hongjoong was waiting.
He stood in the middle of the living room, jacket gone, sleeves rolled higher now, first three buttons of his shirt undone. The space behind him was tidy in that lived-in way—scattered picture books, a low couch, toys corralled into baskets, faint scent of lavender detergent and cedar. A baby monitor glowed green on the side table. Soft jazz drifted from a speaker somewhere.
He didn’t speak at first. Just watched you step inside, close the door, turn the lock with a quiet click.
The sound seemed to snap something.
He crossed the room in three strides.
You barely had time to drop your bag before his hands were on you—one cupping the back of your neck, the other sliding low on your waist, pulling you flush against him. His mouth crashed into yours like he’d been holding his breath for days.
It wasn’t gentle.
It was teeth and tongue and the low, hungry sound he made against your lips when you opened for him immediately. He tasted like mint and the faintest trace of the coffee he’d been drinking earlier. His fingers tightened in your hair, tilting your head exactly how he wanted it, deepening the kiss until you were dizzy.
When he finally pulled back—just enough to speak—his forehead rested against yours, breath ragged.
“Tell me to stop,” he rasped. “Right now. Last chance.”
Your hands were already fisting the front of his shirt.
“Don’t you fucking dare,” you whispered.
A dark, pleased sound rumbled in his chest.
Then he was moving—guiding you backward through the dim hallway, never breaking contact. Your back hit the wall outside what must have been the girls’ bedroom door; he paused long enough to press a finger to your lips in silent warning. You nodded. Quiet.
He kissed you again—slower this time, deeper, like he was savoring. His free hand slid down your side, under the hem of your dress, fingertips grazing bare thigh. Higher. Higher. Until he found the lace and groaned softly against your mouth.
“Fuck,” he breathed. “You listened.”
You smirked against his lips. “You said you don’t play fair.”
His thumb hooked under the edge of the fabric, tugging it aside just enough to brush against slick heat. You gasped—quiet, but sharp. His eyes snapped to yours, pupils blown.
“Bedroom,” he ordered, voice wrecked. “Now.”
He didn’t wait for agreement. Just scooped you up—effortless, one arm under your ass, your legs wrapping around his waist—and carried you the last few steps into the master bedroom at the end of the hall.
Door shut. Locked.
He set you on your feet beside the bed but didn’t let go. Instead he turned you slowly, pressing your front to the edge of the mattress so you had to brace your hands on the duvet.
“Hands stay there,” he murmured against the back of your neck, already dragging the straps of your dress down your shoulders. The fabric pooled at your waist, baring your breasts to cool air. Your nipples tightened instantly.
He stepped back—just far enough to look.
You could feel his gaze like a physical touch. Heavy. Possessive. Hungry.
“Beautiful,” he said, almost to himself. Then louder, rougher: “But I’ve been imagining this for a week. So you’re going to be patient, sweetheart.”
You whimpered.
He pressed against your back again, chest to your spine, hard length unmistakable through his slacks. One hand slid up to collar your throat—not squeezing, just holding. The other dipped between your legs from behind, fingers sliding through your folds, finding you soaked.
“Already?” he teased, voice dark velvet. “I’ve barely touched you.”
“You’ve been touching me with your eyes since day one,” you managed.
A low chuckle. “Fair.”
Two fingers pushed inside you without warning—slow, deliberate, stretching. Your head dropped forward on a choked moan. He curled them immediately, finding that spot that made your thighs shake.
“Good girl,” he praised, lips brushing your ear. “So tight. So wet for a man old enough to know better.”
The age gap comment should have embarrassed you. Instead it made you clench around his fingers.
He felt it. Groaned.
“You like that, don’t you?” He pumped slowly, thumb circling your clit. “Like knowing I shouldn’t want this. Shouldn’t be thinking about filling you up every time I see you smile at my kids.”
“Hongjoong—” His name broke on a whine.
“Shh.” He kissed the side of your neck. “Not yet.”
He worked you open methodically—three fingers now, scissoring, stretching, until you were trembling, hips rocking back against his hand. When you started to tighten, chasing the edge, he pulled out completely.
You nearly sobbed.
He turned you around, kissed you hard, then pushed you gently onto the bed. You landed on your back, dress still tangled around your waist, panties soaked and crooked.
He stood at the foot of the bed, undoing his belt with slow, deliberate movements. The clink of metal made your core pulse.
“Spread your legs,” he said. Quiet command.
You obeyed.
He dropped to his knees between them, hooked your thighs over his shoulders, and pulled your panties aside.
“Look at you,” he murmured, breath hot against your clit. “Dripping for me.”
Then his mouth was on you.
No teasing. No gentle licks. He devoured—tongue flat and broad, then pointed and flicking, sucking your clit between his lips until your back arched off the mattress. One hand pinned your hips down; the other reached up to toy with a nipple, rolling, pinching.
You came embarrassingly fast—shattering against his tongue with a muffled cry you barely managed to stifle against your own arm.
He didn’t stop.
He licked you through it, slower now, until you were twitching, oversensitive.
Only then did he rise, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, eyes feral.
“Turn over,” he said. “Ass up.”
You scrambled to obey—face down, knees spread, back arched.
He shed the rest of his clothes in seconds. You heard the condom wrapper tear—responsible even now—and then he was behind you, one hand smoothing up your spine, the other guiding himself.
He pressed in slow.
Inch by thick inch.
You whimpered at the stretch, the fullness. He was bigger than you expected—hot, heavy, unyielding.
When he bottomed out, hips flush to your ass, he held still. Let you adjust. Let you feel every inch claiming you.
“Fuck,” he hissed. “So perfect. Made for this.”
Then he started to move.
Slow at first—long, deep drags that made your toes curl. Then harder. Faster. The bed creaked softly; he was careful, mindful of the sleeping girls down the hall, but the restraint only made it dirtier.
One hand wrapped around your throat from behind—not choking, just possessive. The other slid under you, fingers finding your clit again.
“Come again,” he growled against your ear. “Come on my cock like a good girl.”
You shattered a second time—harder, quieter, clenching around him until he swore under his breath.
He followed moments later—burying himself deep, hips stuttering, a low, broken groan vibrating against your neck as he spilled into the condom.
For a long minute neither of you moved.
Then he pulled out carefully, disposed of the condom, cleaned you gently with a warm cloth from the bathroom. When he came back he gathered you against his chest, pulling the covers over both of you.
His lips brushed your temple.
“Stay,” he murmured. Not a question.
You curled into him, already half-asleep, heart still racing.
“Yes.”
He exhaled—relieved, satisfied, something softer underneath.
“Tomorrow,” he said quietly, “we talk. Properly. About what this means. About the girls. About everything.”
You nodded against his skin.
“But tonight,” he added, voice dropping to that dangerous velvet again, “you’re mine.”
You smiled into the dark.
“Yours.”
Morning light filtered through half-closed blinds, painting thin gold stripes across the rumpled sheets.
You woke slowly—aware first of warmth, then of the solid weight of an arm draped over your waist, fingers splayed possessively across your bare stomach. Hongjoong’s breath was slow and even against the back of your neck, chest rising and falling in rhythm with yours. His face was tucked into your hair, lips brushing your skin every few breaths.
For a long moment you didn’t move. Just let the reality settle: you were in his bed. Naked. Marked (there was a faint, blooming bruise on the inside of your thigh you vaguely remembered him sucking into existence at 2 a.m. when neither of you could sleep). Smelling like his shampoo and sex and the faint lavender from the girls’ detergent that must have transferred from his laundry.
Then you heard it—small footsteps in the hallway. A whisper.
“Daddy?”
Your eyes snapped open.
Hongjoong stirred instantly, awake in that way parents are: instantly alert, body already shifting to shield you even half-asleep. He pressed a quick, soft kiss to your shoulder, then rolled away, pulling the duvet up to cover you completely before swinging his legs over the side of the bed.
“Coming, baby,” he called, voice rough with sleep but gentle. He tugged on sweatpants that had been discarded on the floor, no shirt, hair a disaster. The sight of his back—broad shoulders, faint red lines from your nails last night—made heat curl low in your belly even as panic fluttered in your chest.
He glanced back at you once, eyes soft but serious.
“Stay here,” he mouthed. Then he slipped out, closing the door with the quietest click.
You heard muffled voices down the hall.
“Daddy, Sooah had a bad dream.” Rina’s voice, small and serious.
“Okay, sweetheart. Let’s go see her.”
Footsteps retreated toward the girls’ room.
You lay there, heart hammering, staring at the ceiling. The baby monitor on his nightstand was on—low volume, but you could hear everything.
Hongjoong’s voice filtered through, calm and warm.
“Bad dream again, Soo?”
A tiny sniffle. “Monster under the bed.”
“No monsters here,” he said, matter-of-fact. “Remember? We checked last night. And even if one tried, I’d fight it. And you know who else would help?”
A pause. Then Rina, proudly: “The fox from the book!”
“That’s right. And maybe… the crown girl.”
Your breath caught.
Sooah’s sleepy voice: “She makes good crowns. And she lets me sit on her lap.”
Hongjoong’s laugh was soft, private. “She does, doesn’t she?”
You pressed your face into the pillow to hide the sudden sting behind your eyes.
A few minutes later the door opened again. He slipped back inside alone, locking it quietly behind him.
“They’re back in bed,” he said, voice low. “Bad dream resolved. Fox victory.”
You sat up slowly, clutching the sheet to your chest. “They mentioned me.”
He crossed to the bed, sat on the edge, reached out to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear. His thumb lingered on your cheek.
“They like you,” he said simply. “A lot.”
“And you?”
His gaze darkened, softened, did both at once.
“I’m trying very hard not to scare you off by saying how much I already want this to be permanent.”
Your heart tripped.
He leaned in, kissed you slow and deep—morning breath and all, like it didn’t matter. When he pulled back his forehead rested against yours.
“I meant what I said last night. We talk. Properly.”
You nodded.
He exhaled, like he’d been holding the breath for hours.
“First thing: I don’t bring people here. Ever. Not since their mom left. You’re the first in four years. That means something to me.”
You swallowed. “It means something to me too.”
“Second,” he continued, voice dropping, “I want you around. Not just in my bed—though fuck, I want that again soon—but around them. Weekends. Storytime. Glitter disasters. All of it. But only if you want that. No pressure. No timeline. We go slow where they’re concerned.”
You reached for his hand, laced your fingers through his.
“I want that,” you said quietly. “I want all of it.”
His eyes searched yours for a long moment. Then he smiled—small, real, a little disbelieving.
“Good,” he murmured. “Because I’m already ruined for anyone else.”
You laughed softly, tugging him down until he was lying beside you again, bodies slotting together like they’d done it a hundred times.
“Third thing,” he said against your lips, hand sliding down to grip your hip. “I’m still going to fuck you like I own you every chance I get. Quietly. When they’re asleep. In the shower before they wake up. In the car after I drop them at daycare. Wherever. Whenever. You good with that?”
Heat flooded you all over again.
“Very good,” you breathed.
He groaned low in his throat, already hardening against your thigh.
“Fuck, sweetheart.” He kissed you harder this time, rolling you beneath him, caging you with his arms. “Five more minutes. Then I have to make breakfast before they stage a mutiny.”
You arched into him, already wet, already needy.
“Five minutes,” you agreed.
It was closer to fifteen.
He took you slow that time—face-to-face, missionary, deep and deliberate, one hand over your mouth to muffle your moans while the other pinned your wrist above your head. He watched every flicker of your expression like he was memorizing it, whispered filthy praise against your ear the whole time.
“Good girl… taking me so well… gonna fill you up again soon, no condom next time if you let me… want to see you dripping with me…”
You came trembling around him, biting his palm to stay quiet. He followed right after, burying his face in your neck, hips stuttering, spilling hot and deep inside you.
When he finally pulled out, he kissed the corner of your mouth, then your forehead.
“Stay for breakfast?” he asked, already reaching for a clean t-shirt from his drawer to hand to you.
You took it, slipping it over your head. It smelled like him—cedar, laundry, faint cologne.
“Yeah,” you said, smiling. “I’d like that.”
He pulled you in for one more kiss—soft this time, lingering.
“Then come meet my monsters properly,” he murmured. “They’re going to lose their minds when they see you in my shirt.”
You laughed against his lips.
“Lead the way, daddy.”
His eyes flashed dark and pleased.
“Careful,” he warned, voice velvet again. “Keep calling me that and breakfast is going to be very delayed.”
You smirked, slipping past him toward the door.
“Promises, promises.”
He caught you around the waist from behind, pressed a hard kiss to the side of your neck.
“Oh, sweetheart,” he growled softly. “You have no idea.”
Then he opened the door, took your hand, and led you down the hall toward the sound of small voices and the smell of coffee already brewing.
𓏵 SYNOPSIS ───── headcanons on office worker yunho, who loves you too much to keep your relationship a secret—even while you're working overtime to hide it.
genre. fluff ‹𝟹 〔 pairing(s). secret bf!yunho x fem!reader 〕 wc. 787 ! 〔 warnings/tags. secret lovers (secret only inside the office, around co-workers), office workers, down bad!yunho, manager!yunho, employee!reader, kisses, full of love, long term relationship (10 years), no smut, SFW, etc !! 〕
⤷ 〔 ✉️ 〕 heyy! this is my first post on here, also my first ever headcanon! i usually write fics (i've been writing for a few years now), but this is my first time trying a headcanon, so i'm exciteddd!! and more secret bf!yunho headcanons are coming, so look forward to that!
● officeworker!yunho who loves you way too much to actually keep your relationship a secret. Spoiler: he sucks at it. Meanwhile, you're working overtime just to keep up appearances.
● officeworker!yunho who leaves sticky notes all over your desk or monitor. Little reminders to eat, hype notes for big presentations, or just sweet love confessions. He sneaks them in during lunch breaks or empty office hours so he doesn't get caught.
● officeworker!yunho who always manages to sit at the adjacent table in the crowded office canteen just to watch you eat. If he catches you skipping meals, his phone instantly slips out to text you under the table: Eat more.
● officeworker!yunho who—when you skip lunch or hate the cafeteria food—drags you to your favorite restaurant for dinner after work. Even if it's impossible to get a table, he somehow secures the reservation.
● officeworker!yunho who has your favorite bouquet delivered to your desk every few days with anonymous notes, knowing it instantly turns your bad days around. Your colleagues ask way too many questions and tease you relentlessly, but honestly? It's worth it.
● officeworker!yunho who uses his team manager status to his absolute advantage. He calls you into his private office for "urgent matters," only to shower you in endless kisses because he physically can't stay away. (Everyone outside just assumes you messed up.)
● officeworker!yunho who knows your schedule better than you do. He knows the exact minute you step away for a bathroom makeup touch-up or a quick coffee run, casually waiting in an empty corridor or break room corner just to steal a few minutes with you.
● officeworker!yunho who can barely focus during big presentations because his eyes and mind are entirely fixed on you sitting across the room.
● officeworker!yunho who gets jealous. A lot. The second another male employee gets too close or makes you laugh in the break room, he's silently fuming. Later, he sulks all night—mostly because he knows it drives you crazy and earns him extra attention and kisses.
● officeworker!yunho who refuses to let you drive to work since you hate it. He drops you off in the morning, waits for you after work at the nearest bus stop, and drives the rest of the way home together.
● officeworker!yunho who looks like the ultimate serious, unapproachable boss at work, but behind closed doors in your shared home, he's a literal golden retriever in human form.
● officeworker!yunho who bans you from working at home because home is for relaxing together. He might quietly extend your project deadlines at the office, but he draws the line at laptops on laps when he wants your full attention.
● officeworker!yunho who desperately wishes he could shout your relationship from the rooftops because he's a loud lover. But he respects your wish to stay under the radar—especially when you're dating the office's most famous, handsome guy that everyone has a secret crush on.
● officeworker!yunho who peeks at you through the gaps of his office blinds while you're laser-focused on your screen. You can always tell when he's staring.
● officeworker!yunho who sometimes gets just a little too obvious, leaving the rest of the employees asking questions.
● officeworker!yunho who, after years of hiding, accidentally slips up during a team dinner and lets it drop that you two went to high school together. If you hadn't kicked his shin under the table, he would have confessed to university, too.
— "I hate having to hide my love for you."
"When this is over, I'm going to be so loud."
"I don't like how he talks to you like you aren't literally mine."
● officeworker!yunho who, after 10 long years of secretly dating (inside the office), finally proposes. And he is the very first one to proudly announce your engagement to the whole office, holding your hand so tight nobody could ever doubt that you're his.
● officeworker!yunho who is entirely too giddy about not hiding anymore. He now delivers the bouquet to your desk himself, still leaving sticky notes—only this time, they're signed with his name.
● officeworker!yunho who now summons you to his office every single day, right out loud. Who walks proudly to the break room with you instead of lingering in corners. Who finally gets to drive, walk, and leave the building by your side.
● officeworker!yunho who can finally, freely broadcast his love for you.
— "I love not having to hide you anymore."
"I waited ten years, I'm never shutting up now."
"Y/n, love, come to my office for a bit?"
"Sit with me for lunch. I'll feed you."
"Come sit on my lap, nobody's looking anymore."
"Everyone is going to hear that you're all mine."
In which, Song Mingi would let his girlfriend do anything to him, including letting her test her lipstick shades on his face. (Short story!)
˖ ᡣ𐭩 ⊹ ࣪ ౨ৎ˚₊ bf!mingi x gf!reader
⋮ ⌗ ┆short story!! fluff. small gestures of love. mentions of kissing and couple things. cute. cute domestic life. shared rituals. soft loving. love sick. soft mingi. absolutely whipped mingi. 𝜗𝜚⋆₊˚
masterlist ౨ৎ˚₊
Song Mingi was down bad.
When his girlfriend, Y/n, asked him to help her test some lipstick shades out, he didn’t know she meant this.
The vanity light glowed warm against Y/n’s skin as she leaned closer to the mirror, testing a new lipstick shade. Tubes of color lay scattered across the table. Dusty roses, deep reds, honeyed nudes, each one marking another quiet moment shared between her and Mingi.
He sat beside her, knees brushing hers, hands resting idle in his lap. His face was already a canvas of affection, lips, cheeks, and even the bridge of his nose stained with soft prints of lipstick kiss marks. He lips curved in a love sick smile as his face tingled, flustered from all the kissing she did.
Y/n uncapped another tube, the faint click breaking the silence. “Alright,” she murmured to herself, voice thoughtful. “Let’s see if this one’s too orange…”
She pressed the lipstick to her lips, tilting her head slightly in concentration. Mingi’s gaze followed every movement, the way her lips parted, the way she dabbed the color with her finger, the little hum she made when deciding if she liked it. His chest tightened.
When she turned to him with that small, playful smile, he already knew what was coming.
“Come here,” she whispered, and he did — instantly, wordlessly.
She leaned in close, her perfume wrapping around him like something warm and dizzying. Then came the kiss — quick, soft, and real enough to leave him blinking slow. She pulled back, inspecting the mark she’d left on his cheek before nodding in quiet satisfaction.
“Perfect,” she said to herself, reaching for the next color. “Do you like it, baby?” She asked innocently, Mingi let out a small hum, nodding. “Looks pretty, doll.”
Mingi answered with a hoarse voice. His throat felt too tight for words anyway. He could only watch her hands move, the way her fingers held the lipstick delicately like it was something sacred. Each time she turned toward him again, his pulse jumped — every kiss another quiet strike of lightning under his skin.
Her laughter filled the room when she saw his reflection, his face covered in layered shades, smudged where her lips had pressed too many times. “You look ridiculous,” she teased lightly.
But Mingi only smiled that soft, faraway kind of smile that reached his eyes. He didn’t care. Not even a little.
All he could think about was how close she was. How the glow of the lamp made her look like something out of a dream. How her lips, painted, moving, laughing — were the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen.
“Almost done, Min.” She cooed, looking at her boyfriend while moving strands of hair away from his eyes. Song Mingi, the rapper of Ateez nodded like a puppy, a charming smile on his lips.
The man was down bad. Each time Y/n messed up just a little bit, a dab of lipstick going off her lips, he instantly reached out and wiped it away with his thumb, making her look at him just to see his big puppy eyes already looking at her. And yet Atiny call him ‘scary’? Yeah right.
“Stop staring,” Y/n said, clearly flustered as he smirked.
“You love it,” he finally said proudly, puffing his chest out while looking ridiculous with his face covered in different shades of kiss marks. Y/n giggled then turned and kissed his jaw again, leaving a coral print just below his ear.
And just like that, he was gone again.
By the end of the night, she was wiping the smudges from her hands, giggling at the mess she’d made, while he sat there — dazed, lovesick, face glowing with proof of her affection.
When she finally looked at him and asked, “You good?” he only nodded, lips curving faintly.
He was more than good.
He was utterly, hopelessly gone for her.
I love song mingi… and change my mind but he’s definitely Sabrina carpenter coded
