✮ Synopsis: Y/n stumbles upon a camboy named Mingi late one night and becomes obsessed. Watching silently, never logging in, never speaking. But Mingi sees her anyway. He knows she’s there.
✮ A/N: Hi! I'm currently reuploading everything that got deleted, so if this seems familiar, that's why! I hope you all enjoy..(again)
Taglist *ೃ༄ @cherrygirlexi @linovvsss (If you would like to be added, send an ask!)
You never really meant to get addicted.
Your curiosity got the best of you one late night. A random link, a friend’s offhanded comment about a site that was “like OnlyFans but better.” You clicked. Browsed. Laughed. Got bored.
But then, you saw him.
His preview was cleaner than the others. Dim lighting, professional setup. A single tattooed hand adjusting a camera, then retreating. And then his face appeared.
Song Mingi.
Tan skin, nice lips, and wide shoulders. His expression unreadable, eyes low-lidded and smug like he already knew you were watching. You clicked “join stream” before thinking twice.
That was six weeks ago though. Now, you were viewer number 7451 and you hadn’t missed a single stream. Mingi didn’t know you. That was part of the thrill. You never tipped. Never commented. Never interacted.
You just watched.
And he was good. Too good. A natural performer, cocky in the way only someone who genuinely knew he was hot could be. The first time he moaned into the camera, chest heaving, lips parted, you’d cum so fast you’d barely remembered your own name.
He looked like sin on screen. Slow, teasing strokes, soft growls when he was edging himself, lazy tongue flicks when he licked his fingers before using them. He had no shame. No rush. No mercy.
You watched him in bed. On the couch. In the shower once. He’d worn a harness in one stream. A collar in another. Once, he’d come untouched just from grinding the sheets, fists clenched in the blankets, hips stuttering. You’d cried that night. Quietly. From how badly you wanted him.
But tonight… something felt different.
The stream started like always. Music low, lights dim, Mingi lounging shirtless in bed. Hair messy. Lips swollen like he’d been biting them. Your heart started pounding. You slipped under the blanket and adjusted your laptop on your thighs, biting your lip as he stared into the lens.
“Alright, chat,” he murmured, voice deep and calm. “I’ve been thinking about one of you.”
Your breath caught.
“I don’t know who you are,” he continued, reaching for a bottle of lube offscreen, “but you’re always here. I see the viewer count. It’s always one higher before I even log in. Every night.”
You froze.
“I can’t see your name, so I’ll just call you… 7451.” He smirked, slicking his fingers and lazily stroking his already half-hard cock. “If you’re watching right now… this one’s for you.”
Your mouth dropped open.
He knew.
Your hands trembled as you reached down between your legs. Your panties were soaked already, your thighs twitching from just the way his voice wrapped around the words. He was slow tonight. Teasing. Breathy moans and heavy eye contact as he leaned into the camera, voice dropping into that deep rasp that made you lose control.
“You like watching me, don’t you?” he whispered, his hand working slowly along his thick shaft. “Always hiding in the corner. Never saying a word. Just… watching.”
You whimpered, helpless. The way he looked directly into the camera felt too intimate, like he was in your room, speaking into your neck.
“You wanna know something, 7451?” Mingi exhaled, chest rising with a shaky breath. “I think about you when I fuck my hand.”
You gasped.
“I don’t even know your name, but I dream about you. Imagining you sitting there, legs spread, watching me ruin myself just for your attention. You don’t even tip. Don’t even talk. But I feel you.”
His voice darkened.
“You make me desperate.”
Your body jerked, fingers moving faster, thighs shaking.
“You gonna come for me tonight, baby?” he growled, voice slurring just a little as his pace increased. “Right there, in the dark, like a good girl?”
You whimpered his name.
“And when you do,” he panted, “I want you to say thank you. Even if I can’t hear it.”
Your orgasm hit so hard your vision blurred. You came with a broken cry, hand clamped over your mouth, shaking violently beneath the blanket. And on screen, Mingi groaned. Loud, rough, and needy cumming hard across his chest, eyes locked to the lens like he felt it.
When it was over, he leaned forward, chest rising and falling, and whispered:
“Good girl.”
The stream ended five seconds later.
You didn’t sleep that night.
Your body was still trembling hours after the stream ended, the image of Mingi panting into the camera for you was burned into your mind. It was like he’d crawled through the screen. Like he knew you. And that terrified you more than it thrilled you. Because now? You weren’t just watching.
You were seen.
The next stream didn’t help.
It was two days later. Your pulse skipped as you refreshed the page. His stream title was different this time. It wasn’t a generic “Live Now” or “Play With Me.”
It said: “7451. Come Back.”
You stared. Blinked. Clicked.
The second the screen loaded, Mingi looked up. Right into the camera. Into you.
“There you are,” he said softly. “I was hoping you didn’t get scared.”
Your stomach twisted.
He was sitting cross-legged on his bed, shirtless again, but softer this time. No teasing smile. Just steady eye contact and something deeper and warmer. Hungrier even.
“I can feel when you’re here,” he whispered, dragging his lip between his teeth. “I don’t know how, but I do.”
Your breath caught.
“Everyone in the chat wants attention. But not you. You just watch. You make me feel like I belong to you.”
His hand moved down again. Slower this time. Almost reverent.
“I honestly think I’d let you do anything to me.”
You didn’t touch yourself. Not yet. You just watched him stroke his cock with slow, aching pressure, hips twitching as he breathed through his nose, desperate to keep eye contact even while falling apart.
“Come back tomorrow night,” he panted. “I wanna try something new.”
The stream ended with his cum on his stomach and a half-smile on his lips.
You didn’t even hesitate.
The next night, the title read: “For Her Eyes Only.”
The chat was disabled.
Your whole body locked up.
He appeared again, hair slicked back this time, eyes heavy-lidded. He was wearing gray sweats, no shirt, no underwear and he was already hard. He didn’t say anything at first. Just stared.
And then said
“Take off your panties.”
You nearly stopped breathing.
“Yeah. You,” he murmured. “7451. You think I don’t know when you’re here? You make my fucking skin tingle.”
He fisted his cock roughly once, groaning as his head fell back.
“You don’t get to hide anymore. I don’t want your tips. I don’t want your name. I want your fucking attention.”
You were soaked in seconds. One hand pulling your panties to the side, the other trembling between your legs.
“You watching me touch myself makes me insane,” he growled, faster now. “I close my eyes and imagine you’re here. Knees pressed to your chest. Whimpering. Begging me to slow down. You’d let me break you, wouldn’t you?”
You moaned loudly. Too loud, covering your mouth instantly.
He smirked.
“Shh. Don’t want anyone to hear what you are for me.”
Your climax slammed into you with dizzying force. You couldn’t even breathe. Just clenched around nothing, twitching, thighs soaked and mouth open in silent shock. On screen, Mingi came at the same time. It was rougher this time. Louder, messier, like he was unraveling just as fast.
He leaned in close after, voice low and possessive.
“I need to see you.”
Click. The stream ended.
Two hours later, you got a notification: You’ve received a private message from: “fixon8_”
You stared at the screen. Heart in your throat.
The message said:
“I’m gonna find you.”
You didn’t respond to his message. But you didn’t stop watching, either. Three days passed. Three streams. All private. All for you. Each time, Mingi got a little darker. He didn’t ask anymore. He spoke like he already owned you.
“I know you’re still here, baby.”
“Your thighs shaking for me yet?”
“Next time you cum, leave your window open.”
And when you didn’t respond, not once, not even a tip, he sent one final message.
“Be home tomorrow night. I’ll knock twice.”
You didn’t tell him where you lived. You didn’t have to. When the knock came, soft and deliberate, just past midnight, your body reacted before your brain did. You opened the door slowly, heart slamming.
And there he was. Real. Broad. Bigger than you expected.
Mingi.
He didn’t speak. Just looked you up and down, eyes moving from your bare legs to the oversized shirt barely covering your thighs.
“You’re real,” he murmured. “Fuck.”
Your breath caught.
“You shouldn’t be here. How'd you even find me?”
He stepped inside anyway.
“I mean I told you I’d find you.”
The silence that followed was thick. Heated. He stared at you like he’d never seen a woman before.
“Take off the shirt.”
You hesitated.
“I said-” he stepped closer, lowering his voice “take it off.”
You obeyed.
The second it hit the floor, his hands were on you. Hot, rough palms sliding over your waist and hips, mouth dragging down your neck, licking, biting, claiming.
“You’ve been making me fucking crazy.”
He shoved you back against the wall, one hand sliding between your legs, fingers immediately coated.
“Of course you’re wet,” he growled. “You’re always wet for me, aren’t you?”
You whimpered, head tipping back.
“You thought you could just watch forever?” His breath was hot against your ear. “You made me cum so hard I blacked out. And you didn’t say a word.”
Two fingers pushed in with no warning. Deep, curling, pumping hard as his teeth grazed your jaw.
“You gonna stay quiet now, baby? Or you gonna let me hear you?”
You moaned loud, filthy, broken.
He smiled.
“There she is.”
He pulled you onto your knees.
“You owe me,” he said, stroking himself slowly as he leaned back on your couch. “Put that pretty mouth to work.”
You didn’t hesitate. You devoured him. Messy and loud. Tongue heavy and eager. He tangled a hand in your hair and hissed, hips jerking with every drag of your lips around his cock.
“Shit- yes. Just like that. You’re even better than I imagined.”
He didn’t last long. He really couldn’t. The second your fingers massaged the base and you moaned around him, he fell apart with a groan so guttural it vibrated in your chest.
“Fuck, baby—look at me. Look at me while I cum down your throat.”
You did. And you swallowed everything.
When it was over, he didn’t leave. He sat on the couch, chest heaving, hand still in your hair.
“I’m not going back to the camera.”
You blinked up at him, lips still swollen.
“What? Why?”
He smiled lazily. Possessively.
“Why would I stream,” he said, “when I’ve got the only viewer I care about right here?”
You didn’t get a chance to respond. Mingi was already crawling off the couch, already dragging you down with him. Your back pressed into the cushions, his weight heavy and warm above you.
“I waited long enough,” he muttered against your skin. “No more shows. No more cameras. No more pretending you don’t want this too.”
His hand gripped your throat, not tight, just enough to hold you there and his eyes locked on yours like he was trying to memorize the shape of your fear. Or lust. Or both.
“You belong to me now, don’t you?”
You nodded, dazed.
“Say it.”
Your voice cracked.
“I- I belong to you.”
His smile was dark. Like he’d won.
“Good girl.”
He fucked you rough deep. No teasing. No warm-up. You were already dripping wet from just the weight of him, from the way he looked at you like you were something he made.
“So fucking tight,” he growled, pushing in slow but heavy. “You’ve been playing with that pussy every night for me, huh? Getting yourself ready without even knowing it.”
You moaned like he owned your throat.
And maybe he did.
His pace built fast—rough, unrelenting, fucking you into the couch like he was making up for every stream you watched in silence. His hands never stopped moving, gripping your hips, your breasts, your face. Every part of you. All his.
“You’re gonna take everything I give you,” he panted. “I know that’s why you let me in. You want me to fill you up, don’t you?”
You whimpered, nails digging into his back.
“Want me to cum in you, baby? Make it stick? Fuck it in so deep your body doesn’t even have a choice?”
Your legs wrapped around his waist automatically. Instinctive. Desperate.
“You’re fucking mine.”
He grabbed your jaw and held it firm, still moving inside you, slow and deep strokes that made your walls flutter around him.
“Say it. Say you want my cum.”
You choked.
“I want it- I want you to fill me, Mingi, please”
His eyes burned.
“Beg for it.”
“Please cum in me. Please make me yours. I want it. I want all of it—”
He slammed back in with a groan, loud and broken, hips snapping hard until your moans turned to gasps. You could feel it—his cock twitching, the heat spilling inside as he pressed his full weight down and held you in place.
“That’s it,” he growled. “Take it. Take my fucking cum like you were made for it.”
Your head tipped back in ecstasy.
“I’m not done.”
You blinked up at him, breathless.
“You think I’m gonna let you walk around leaking my cum without making sure it takes?”
His hips rolled again, slow and filthy. You whimpered.
“I’m gonna fuck you full until your body begs me to stop.”
And he did.
Later, you lay tangled in his arms, your thighs still trembling. His lips pressed to your temple. His voice soft.
“I won’t let you go.”
You didn’t want him to, but this felt a little wrong.
“You’re not just some viewer anymore, baby. You’re mine.”
Mingi stayed the night.
He didn’t ask. Just fell asleep with one arm around your waist and the other slung possessively over your stomach like he was guarding you. And when you woke up the next morning, his face was still buried in your neck, breathing you in.
He didn’t leave for three days.
By the time he did, you had handprints on your thighs and bruises on your hips. Your body was sore, marked, and claimed in every way imaginable. And he wasn’t done.
“No streaming. No pictures. No fucking friends,” he said as he zipped up his bag before leaving. “I see anyone else touch you, I’ll lose it.”
You should’ve felt afraid.
Instead, you said:
“Okay.” with a small giggle.
He smiled like a predator. And he meant it.
He started small. Your phone buzzed with messages every hour.
Fixon8: Where are you? Fixon8: Who are you with? Fixon8: Why didn’t you answer in 7 minutes?
Then he showed up unannounced. Two nights in a row. One time with takeout. One time with handcuffs.
“Don’t make me ask to see you, baby. Just be here.”
And when you tried to tease him, mentioning an old hookup in from a couple of months ago, his entire mood shifted.
“You let someone else touch this pussy?”
You blinked.
“It was months ago, Mingi-”
“Did he fuck you raw?”
You swallowed.
He grabbed your face—tight. Not hard enough to hurt, but enough to stop you from lying.
“You gave my mouth to someone else?”
You whimpered, breath catching as he dragged you down to the floor.
“Guess I’ll just have to remind you what mine feels like.
That night, he didn’t fuck you. He devoured you. Tongue flat and filthy, hands locking your thighs down, holding you open like you belonged under him. Mouth on your clit until you sobbed, until you screamed his name, until your legs gave out and your throat was raw.
And he still didn’t stop.
“No one else gets to hear you like this,” he growled between your thighs. “No one else gets to see how messy you get just from my fucking mouth.”
You came again. And again. And again. By the time he finally slid into you, he didn’t even fuck you hard, just deep, controlled strokes, hands on either side of your face as he whispered:
“I want to cum inside you every day until your body forgets anyone else ever existed.”
You looked up at him through wet lashes and whispered
“You already ruined me.”
He groaned, head tipping forward until your foreheads touched.
“Then let me ruin you completely.”
Afterward, he opened your drawer and slipped one of your panties in his hoodie pocket.
“Mine.”
He pulled your phone from your charger and typed his name into your contact list, with a lock emoji, and nothing else.
“No one else calls you this late.”
And when he finally left, he kissed your cheek and said:
“I’m coming back tomorrow.
It was your fault. You left your laptop open, half-buried under the sheets after a lazy afternoon nap. Mingi had wandered in shirtless and grinning, talking about ordering food, until he saw the glowing screen.
His voice stopped mid-sentence.
You rolled over, hair stuck to your cheek, blinking in confusion.
“Mingi?”
He didn’t answer.
His eyes were locked on the screen. On your bookmarks bar.
Your stomach dropped.
Because there it was, clear as day: -Private Folder — ‘M<3’ -Favorites: Mingi moaning.mp4 -Replay: Tongue & Toy — 57min
You shot up, panicked.
“Wait-wait, don’t-”
But he’d already clicked.
The video opened. His video. From months ago. The one where he came untouched just from grinding against the sheets. The one where he whispered, “I feel like someone’s watching me harder than the rest.” You watched his expression shift in real-time. First confusion, then realization, then something darker.
Something primal.
He closed the laptop slowly. Turned to you.
“You saved them huh.”
You sat frozen.
“I- yeah, I…” you swallowed, trying to smile, “I didn’t think you’d care. That was before we even—”
“You fucking labeled them.”
He stepped closer. You didn’t move.
“You made folders. Organized clips. You watched me cum over and over while pretending you were just some quiet little viewer, but you're just a nasty little slut.”
His tone wasn’t angry. It was low. Careful. Controlled.
“How long?”
Your throat dried up.
“Mingi—”
“How long did you watch me like that?”
You breathed, barely.
“Since the first week. I saw you by accident, and I… I couldn’t stop.”
He stood above you now, staring down at your flushed, guilty face.
“So all that time, you were already mine.”
He sat on the edge of the bed, hands gripping your thighs, forcing them open so he could settle between.
“I used to wonder why I came so hard when I said your name on stream. Now I know.”
You moaned when he dragged your panties down, spreading your legs until your slick thighs trembled.
“You were already touching yourself to me. Like a good little pervert. My perfect fucking girl.”
He buried his face between your legs like he missed it. Tongue flat and messy, groaning like your taste was the cure to something inside him. He licked through you like he was starving, hands gripping your thighs so tight they’d bruise.
“That folder should’ve had a password,” he murmured against your pussy. “But I’m glad it didn’t.”
Your hips bucked. He sucked your clit until your back arched and your legs jerked.
“Say it,” he panted. “Say you were mine even before I touched you.”
You gasped, hands gripping his hair.
“I was yours. I was already yours. I wanted you so bad-”
You came hard against his mouth, crying his name out.
He didn’t stop. Not even when you shook. Not even when your eyes rolled back. When he finally pulled away, your legs were still twitching. He stood over you, cock hard and leaking against his stomach.
“You want the real thing now, baby?”
You nodded helplessly.
He slid into you with one smooth, hard thrust. Deep and full, like he wanted to wipe every fake memory clean and replace it with this. He fucked you like he was memorizing the way you felt. Slow at first. Then deeper. Hips grinding as he filled you again and again, praising you between every thrust.
“You were mine even when you didn’t say a word.”
“You made those clips for me, didn’t you? Touched yourself while you named my files.”
“No one’s ever gonna know you like I do.”
You moaned with every word, helpless beneath him.
And when he came, deep inside you, groaning into your neck, he didn’t pull out.
“Keep it in,” he whispered, kissing your jaw. “Don’t waste a drop.”
You were quiet for a moment, blinking up at the ceiling, full of his cum and full of… something bigger.
Then he reached for the laptop again.
You panicked.
“Wait—!”
But he just opened a blank folder, titled it: ‘Real Life: Mingi + 7451’
“Guess it’s time to start a new one.”
You felt your phone buzz next to you. It was a message from Mingi saying:
Mingi<3: “Set an alarm. 7:45 AM. No panties. Call me after you wake up.”
You stared at it.
A week ago, he’d been fucking you into the mattress while calling you his favorite little pervert. Now he was setting your schedule like he owned your time too.
Which, honestly… he kind of did. You followed every instruction.
No panties. A cropped hoodie and nothing else. Face flushed when your alarm went off and you sat up, already soaked. Already thinking about him.
Your phone rang at 7:46.
“Good girl,” he said. “Let me hear your voice."
By the end of the week, he was managing more than just your mornings.
“Wear that black dress today.
“No touching yourself after 10PM unless I say so.”
“Drink water. Three bottles. I’m serious.”
It kind of scared you at first, but you actually liked it. You liked the sound of his voice cracking through your speakers. You liked that he kept track of your cycle, your work schedule, your moods.
“You’re mine,” he said one night, whispering in your ear as you lay in bed. “So I get to make the rules.”
You broke a rule once. You touched yourself past midnight. Just one night. You were desperate and needy from his teasing, throbbing from his last message.
He found out. You didn’t even know how. But the next time you opened your door, Mingi was already inside, hood up, expression unreadable.
“What did I tell you about breaking rules?.”
You froze.
“Mingi—”
“Don’t speak.”
He grabbed your wrist, pulled you into the bedroom, and stripped you in seconds. Then he tied you down. No ropes. Just his shirt and his hoodie. His hand pressing firm into your belly.
He made you cum five times.
“You wanna cum without permission?” “You’ll cum when I say. Over and over. Until you cry for me.”
He used his mouth, his fingers, a toy you didn’t know he’d brought. He didn’t even let you catch your breath.
“No running, baby. This is what you wanted, right?”
By the end, you were shaking, twitching, tears streaming down your face as you begged him to stop. And he did, but not before licking his fingers and whispering:
“You taste so good.”
Later, wrapped in his arms, your body trembling with aftershocks, you heard the softest thing you’d ever hear him say.
“You don’t need to control anything anymore.”
You blinked up at him, sleepy and ruined.
“Why?”
He kissed your cheek.
“Because I’ve got you.”
He just showed up one afternoon with a duffel bag and threw it on your couch like it had always been his.
You blinked at him, wide-eyed.
“You’re moving in?”
Mingi smirked.
“You really thought I’d let you live alone after everything?”
He kissed you before you could respond. Slow, dirty, final. The kind of kiss that didn’t ask for space or permission. Just took.
The first night he stayed, it was quiet. No toys. No games. No control. Just his arms wrapped around your back as he pulled you onto his lap, your thighs bare, the stretch of him inside you slow and sweet as you cockwarmed in his lap.
“This-,” he whispered against your shoulder, “is all I’ve wanted.”
You shifted slightly, your walls clenched, and he hissed.
“Keep doing that and I’ll fuck a baby into you.”
You froze.
“You’d let me,” he said, trailing a hand down your spine. “You’d take it. You’d be perfect.”
You whimpered, burying your face in his neck.
“Do it, then. I’m yours.”
The shift was quiet, but final. Your fridge had his energy drinks. Your bathroom had his cologne. Your nights ended with his hands under your shirt, your body already open for him, your moans soft and easy like they belonged in the background of his new life.
The final stream on his channel uploaded two days after the move.
A black screen with one sentence:
“Logged out. I found her.”
No comments. No replies. The account vanished hours later.
That night, he fucked you like he was recording with his whole body.
No camera. Just memory.
Slow strokes, heavy breathing, his thumb rubbing soft circles over your clit while he whispered:
“I used to jerk off to the idea of your voice. Now I get to hear you beg for real.”
He came inside you multiple times before the sun came up.
Warnings: SMUT/Sexual Content MDNI, language, mentions of choking, creampie (wrap that thing up), squirting, fingering, oral (female and male receiving), and so on.
About: Sex with Mingi after a concert
SMUT UNDER THE CUT MDNI 18+
Masterlist
⊹₊⟡⋆ ⊹₊⟡⋆ ⊹₊⟡⋆ ⊹₊⟡⋆ ⊹₊⟡⋆ ⊹₊⟡⋆ ⊹₊⟡⋆ ⊹₊⟡⋆ ⊹₊⟡⋆ ⊹₊⟡
bf!Mingi who just looks so damn good up on stage every time he performs.
bf!Mingi who shows off extra when his gf is in the crowd watching him.
bf!Mingi who acts up more than usual because he knows that it'll make you lowkey jealous and you're hot when you're mad.
bf!Mingi who wears his tightest leather pants when performing because he knows exactly where your eyes will fall.
bf!Mingi who makes direct eye contact with you as he thrusts his hips, tongue out.
bf!Mingi who gets Atiny to bark the loudest they ever have while watching you with careful, predatory eyes.
bf!Mingi who growls in to the mic.
bf!Mingi who teaches the boys how to dance sexy on stage which obviously gets the crowd going.
bf!Mingi who looks so sweaty and sexy up on stage, his movements sharp and dangerous.
bf!Mingi who watches to make sure you leave the barrier safe and sound to head backstage to meet him.
bf!Mingi who after the show heads right to you and tugs you behind him straight to his dressing room.
bf!Mingi who locks the door and immediately presses you against it.
bf!Mingi who places two strong hands on your waist and leans his forehead against yours.
bf!Mingi who says the filthiest things in your ear as he kisses your neck and sucks or nips lightly at the sensitive skin there.
bf!Mingi who moans in your ear "God baby, you're such a tease. I watched you all night, I couldn't look away from how sexy my dirty baby looked at me."
bf!Mingi who makes you sqeal as he lifts you up with ease and carries you over to the couch.
bf!Mingi who makes quick work of your clothes and gets you naked for him in no time.
bf!Mingi who finds you completely soaked for him. "My jagiya is so wet for me. D'you like how I performed for you tonight hm? You like how I showed off just for you?"
bf!Mingi who bites his way down your body, his stage makeup sweating off his face as he eats you out messily and without any plan of action.
bf!Mingi who pumps his fingers in and out of you in just the perfect rythm to get you moaning his name so load that he has to shove his fingers in your mouth to muffle the noise.
bf!Mingi who makes sure to finish you at least twice before switching positions and having you open your pretty mouth for him.
bf!Mingi who grabs your jaw at the hinge and makes you open your mouth softly before shoving his thick cock in your mouth.
bf!Mingi who smiles as you choke around him. "That's my good girl, choke on my dick baby. You're doing such a good job for me yeah? I couldn't stop thinking about your mouth on stage. I almost got so hard when I saw you bouncing around earlier, your perfect fucking tits kill me Jagi."
bf!Mingi who pulls out of your mouth long enough for you to look up at him with tears running down your cheeks and spit down your chin as you beg for him. "Please fuck me Mingi. You looked so fucking hot up there tonght. I just need you inside me, I need to feel you."
bf!Mingi who obviously agrees immediately and flips you onto your stomach, pushing into you with ease as you drown out your cries of pleasure by biting your hand.
bf!Mingi who takes your hand and puts it behind your back because he doesn't care who hears your screams at this point.
bf!Mingi who send you over the edge one more time for good measure before pushing you against the couch cushions and attaches his lips to the sensitive part under your ear, whispering how good you are for him. "Such a good girl for me always baby, my god you feel so good. I'm gonna fill you up yeah? My pretty girl. Can I fill you up please Jagiya? I want to make my good little slut all mine."
bf!Mingi who hears your loud moans in response and releases inside of you, triggering your final orgasm as you squirt all over him.
bf!Mingi who breaths heavily against your temple and places soft kisses all over your face, pulling out slowly and wrapping you up in one of his jackets before cleaning you up swiftly and cuddling you back in his safe arms.
bf!Mingi who whispers how much he loves you. "You were amazing jagi. You were so perfect. My pretty baby makes me feel so good. I love you so, so much. Thank you for coming to the show tonight."
bf!Mingi who helps you get dressed and takes you back to his hotel room to order room service before you take a shower together for round two.
ot8 (individually) x fem!reader || headcanons || est. relationships
ateez masterlist
°‧ 𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 ·｡ ˚₊‧꒰ა ☆ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚ °‧ 𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 ·｡
Kim Hongjoong
Angel, Babe, Lovey
"Babe could you pass me my headphones?" Hongjoong's voice drifted into your bedroom. You looked up from your book to the doorway, seeing him poke his head in with that dorky smile.
You nodded, reaching to the other side of the mattress to where he threw his headphones that morning. You stretched as you handed them to him, making a show at how far away he was.
He laughed, coming in further to the room and grabbing them.
"Thank you Angel," before he could pull away you grabbed his wrist, yanking his arm. He yelped, letting himself be pulled until he landed over you. Your laughter filled the air around you both as he huffed and pushed himself up.
"Oh Joongie if you wanted to cuddle you could've just said so," you teased, cupping his cheeks as he looked down at you. He sighed, lowering himself just enough to brush his nose with yours.
"Lovey, you don't know what you've started," he said in a low voice, your eyes widening as his hands grabbed your sides. Your laughter rang out louder this time as he tickled your sides.
You begged him to stop but he just shook his head.
"You started this, grabby hands."
Park Seonghwa
Honey, Sweetheart, Love
"I don't know," you sighed, looking around at yourself in the mirror. You smoothed down the fabric, making a face at the cut.
"What don't you know Love?" he asked, smiling at you as you twirled around again.
"Doesn't the seam look weird? Or is it the color?" you groaned, clicking your tongue and going for the zipper.
You flailed for a second, fighting to even find it behind you.
"You pull everything off Honey," he laughed, getting up from his spot to graze a hand over your back. You felt his hand stop on the small of your back and the other pinch the zipper.
You rolled your eyes at his smile.
"You're bias is showing. I need Park Seonghwa the model, not mushy boyfriend," you whined, hands dropping to let him unzip you.
"Bias or not, I'm being honest," he kissed your cheek, pulling down on the metal. "Try the blue one next," he smiled against you.
"I already put on the blue one," you smiled at him through the mirror. His smile turned cheeky.
"I know," he moved back to grab the dress off the hook. "But you should put it on again."
"You really don't even try to be sly anymore, do you?" you laughed. He winked at you.
"No, no I don't Sweetheart."
Jeong Yunho
Baby, Honey, Sweetpea
"Hi Honey," Yunho whispered, hand sliding over your back as he leaned down to kiss you. You smiled, looking up from the menu to receive it. "Sorry I'm late, practice ran a bit long."
You waved him off.
"It's ok, I haven't been waiting long," you watched as he shrugged off his coat, glancing over the open menu in front of him.
You couldn't tear your attention off him, seemingly mesmerized as he rolled up the sleeves of his sweater and picked up the book. He hummed as he read, only glancing up after he seemed to find something.
"What do you want to --" he stopped when he caught you staring, smiling at how you tried to play it off. "What's on your mind Baby?"
You smiled, Yunho seeing the way your cheeks flushed that shade of pink that he loved.
"You act so casual like you don't look like some k-drama lead," you shook your head.
He laughed.
"Well technically I am Sweetpea," he laughed harder at the glare you shot at him.
"Smartass," you made a face at him, smiling and going back to your menu.
"So you think I'm handsome?" he smiled teasingly, menu forgotten in his hand. He leaned over the table, candlelight defining his face even more.
"I think you're annoying," you rolled your eyes. "I take it back, you're more like the comedic relief than a lead," he put a hand to his chest, acting offended.
"You know I'm still a fan favorite."
Kang Yeosang
Angel, Honey, Darling
"Darling," Yeosang's voice was low and husk as his whispered in your ear. You let out a quiet hum, turning over on your side without opening your eyes.
He pushed you onto your back again, wrapping himself around you and tucking his face into your neck.
"Honey, we need to get up," he slowly kissed up your neck, pecking behind your ear before moving to your cheek.
You groaned, sliding the covers higher up on yourself.
"No~," you whined, arms wrapping around him as he slid on top of you. "You're warm," you sighed as his kisses slowed to a stop at the corner of your mouth.
"We have things to do today," you felt him smile as he lifted up just a bit.
"It's your vacation, we don't have anything to do," you groaned, eyes barely opening to look at him. His hair was a mess, a lazy smile on his face as he stared at you.
Sunlight streamed in through the window, bouncing off his skin with a halo like glow.
You could stay looking at him like this forever and it wouldn't be long enough. You raised a hand, running it through his hair a bit.
He leaned into the contact as you slid down to his cheek.
"Exactly, vacation means I finally have time to take you on that brunch date," he laughed, moving back down to your lips. You smiled against him, pulling him even closer as he gave you quick pecks.
"Come on Angel, let me take you out today."
Choi San
Baby, Honey, Sweet girl
"Come on Honey," San stepped into the bathroom, adjusting his sleeves. "We're gunna be late if we don't leave soo-"He dragged the word out, slowly turning it to a whistle. You looked at him through the mirror, seeing him slowly smile as his eyes ran over you.
"Pulled out all the stops tonight hm?" he dragged his eyes back to yours and you recognized the look in them.
"Don't even think about it, I've been in this bathroom for too long for you to mess it up," you warned, glaring at him through the mirror as you adjusted your dress.
His face fell into a pout.
"I didn't even say anything yet," he whined. You rolled your eyes with a laugh.
"Don't even try playing innocent I know that look," your eyes went back to your reflection, running a hand through your hair before smiling satisfied. "Now, were gunna be late remember?"
"Do you truly think so little of me Baby?" he put on that innocent face again, like he wasn't just looking at you like you were a slice of his favorite cake.
"Is that an honest question?" you shuffled past him, moving to the closet to find your shoes.
"Meanie," he huffed, motioning for you to sit on the bed as he grabbed your favorite heels. You smiled at him as he slid them on, fastening the strap around your ankles like it was muscle memory.
"You do that faster than I can," you commented, rolling your ankle around to try and slow him down. It didn't work, his hands sliding down to still the movement.
"Because Sweetgirl," he stood and took your hands, pulling you up and into his chest. You splayed a hand to it, the other staying in his as he leaned down a ghosted a kiss over your glossed lips. "I haven't let you put them on yourself in months."
"And why is that exactly," you asked, eyes fluttering as he put his forehead to yours.
"Hopefully you'll forget how eventually, so even when I mess up that pretty make up you can't leave me," he joked, laughing as you slapped his chest. You smiled and moved away, grabbing your purse and heading to the door.
"You're insufferable," you complained with no real annoyance behind it, your voice full of amusement. His eyes trailed down you again as you walked away.
"You know, we don't have to go to this award show," he debated.
"Come on Mr. Choi, don't even start."
Song Mingi
Babe, Cutey, Doll
"Why hello there Doll," he pulled you into him by the waist, kissing your cheek with a crooked smile. "And what is someone looking so good doing here hmm?"
Your brows raised at him, looking at him surprised.
"Well, she might be looking for her boyfriend, but it looks like all she found was some guy that looks like him but with worse lines," you gave him a cheeky smile.
He pouted.
"Oh, come on Babe, my lines are great," he huffed.
"No, she's right. They suck," Wooyoung threw over his shoulder as he walked out of the practice room.
"Yeah, that one was pretty bad," Hongjoong laughed, following him out.
"Honestly horrible," Yunho laughed, stopping to pat your shoulder. "Don't know how you put up with him," he whispered with a smile.
Mingi flicked his head, shooing him out the door with the rest of them.
"Was it really that bad?" Mingi looked back down to you. You put your hands to his chest, patting him with a smile.
"Just a little, it was nice though," you laughed, reaching up to ruffle his hair a bit.
"I knew it," he kissed your cheek again, this time moving down to your mouth. You laughed into it, arms wrapping around his neck. "I knew you would love it."
"Love is a strong word," you rolled your eyes.
"Keep that up and I'll make those pretty eyes roll for another reason Cutey."
Jung Wooyoung
Baby, Babe, Sunshine
There was one thing you were sure of.
There was nothing more attractive than a man walking in with a bouquet of flowers that you knew were meant for you.
Wooyoung pushed up his sunglasses, pushing his hair back with them as he looked around the cafe before spotting you. You saw his face brighten when he found you.
"Babe!" he smiled widely as he came up to the table, planting a heavy kiss on your forehead before sitting down across from you. "You'll never guess what San told me about his manager and a reporter," he set the flowers down, sliding them over to you.
You looked down at them with a smile, laughing a little as you picked them up to smell them. They were your favorites, wrapped in newspaper and a little string.
"What's the occasion?" you looked back up to him, ignoring his prompt for gossip. He looked at you confused.
"I just got of work and have a good gossip story?" you rolled your eyes, shaking the flowers a little.
"Not that dummy, these," you looked back down to the flowers to emphasize them. His brows raised as he nodded.
"Nothing, I just saw them on my way over here and knew you'd like them," he smiled as your cheeks flushed pink. "Plus, I hadn't got you any in a while," he shrugged.
"I do like them," you set them back down, smoothing the paper down a bit. "Thank you."
"Anytime Sunshine," his hand found yours over the table, thumb running gently over your skin at the sweet smile you gave him.
"So, San's manager and a reporter?" you asked, resting your chin in your palm. His face perked up.
"Oh my god Baby it's an insane story so--"
Choi Jongho
Sweetheart, Honey, Bunny
"Sweetheart~," Jongho practically sung the nickname through the apartment, followed by the sound of his steps sliding on the hardwood.
You could hear his happy hum as he found you in the kitchen, turning to see a bright smile on his face.
He came home ready to surprise you with that he got a few days off. Both of you had been on completely opposite schedules lately, so this total stroke of luck was the best news he had gotten in months.
But as he stepped into the kitchen you turned around, hair falling out its tie and his shirt covered in what he hoped was just flour, he forgot everything on his brain.
"Hi Bunny," his voice melted as he leaned into the door frame. You smiled, leaving your dough on the counter and coming up to him. You cupped his face, squishing them until his lips puckered for you to kiss.
You giggled as you backed away, leaving flour handprints against his cheeks.
"Sorry," you laughed, wiping at the flour only making it worse. That goofy smile stayed on his lips as he looked at you, head tilting into your hand.
"Cookies?" he tucked a stray piece of hair behind your ear. You nodded, turning back to where the cookie dough waited for you.
"I'm worried they'll be too sweet," you sighed, looking at the damn sugar jar you knocked over right into the dough earlier. "We really need to change this jar set up," you grumbled.
He laughed, wiping his cheeks as he came up behind you. His chin rested on your shoulder.
"Nothing you make can be too sweet Honey."
°‧ 𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 ·｡ ˚₊‧꒰ა ☆ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚ °‧ 𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 ·｡
I was going to add some more cheesy ones, but secondhand embarrassment kicked in lol
Also why is San's so long compared to everyone elses? I don't know how that happened
➣ synopsis: song mingi. everyone knows his name — south korea’s golden boy rapper and producer is always in the headlines; award after award, sold out shows, new #1 albums. recently, it’s been: drinking, fights, drugs, girls. in order to help his image, his agency comes up with a last attempt to help him and it involves becoming your boyfriend, south korea’s sweetheart and the complete opposite of song freaking mingi.
➣ GENERAL WARNINGS FOR SERIES: Mingi is major big asshole for a while but he gets better I promise, negotiations of relationship related issues without recipients consent, vulgar language, violence, blood, arguments, heated situations (and not in a hot way), toxic environments, misogyny, toxic masculinity, Mingi is a HOT MESS, yes that’s a warning, mentions of past relationships and also Mingi having sexual relations with other people, bisexual!mingi, kind of explicit scenes with Mingi having sex with someone other than the reader, excessive drinking and recreational drug use, big dick Mingi bc yes he has a big dick, eventual rough sex, clit/pussy slapping, sex in public, biting, choking, unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it kids), illusions to voyuerism, mg is very angry for a lot of this but I promise things get better, this looks like a dark fic but I promise there are tender moments, you just have to get through all of that ^^
➣ SPECIFIC warnings for chapter: bisexual mingi out in full force at the end, mingi being mean again :(, sorry not sorry for the slow burn, very brief mentions of suicidal ideation but barely
➣ part one. part three.
Hello, this is KQ and AURA Entertainment.
We would like to share a joint announcement regarding two of our artists, Y/N and MINGI. We, along with the artists permission are confirming that they are dating. At this time, both artists wish for privacy and respect as they navigate their relationship with one another. Any ill comments or rumors will be handled legally. Thank you for your understanding.
Thank you.
KQ Entertainment
AURA Entertainment
It’s been a week since the press release has been posted.
A week of your phone blowing up; a week of the girls giving you careful side glances; a week of dealing with this weird pity thing both Wooyoung and San are doing with you.
A week of no longer being true to yourself or to your Rebels.
Your eyes and head spun as your social media pages practically blow up. Netizens are genuinely having a field day with this announcement, calling you desperate for attention; calling you a whore; calling you a fake.
A fake.
You might be a lot of things, but you have always prided yourself as someone who was never fake. Your emotions unfortunately rule you and how you poise yourself as a person, an idol. A poker face is something you have never had — so the fact that you are in this position, with people calling you a fake, feels laughable beyond belief.
On the other hand, you have fans going absolutely wild for this pairing. Fans are making edits on TikTok, some are making analysis tweets and others are just expressing their love for the both of you.
It’s sweet, but you just wish that all of this wasn’t for only Mingi’s benefit. You’ve seen the headlines recently:
KOREAN RAPPER SONG MINGI FINALLY SETTLING DOWN?
RAPPER SONG MINGI AND ROYALS MEMBER L/N Y/N ARE AN UNLIKELY PAIRING, BUT TRUE LOVE FINDS A WAY!
You just want to bash your head in. If you could, you would deactivate everything, but you won’t.
The conference room is stifling as you sit at the table. You fingers are practically raw as you have done nothing for the past week but nervously chew on them, your cheek is unfortunately another victim of a nervous habit and once in a while, you can taste the metallic tang against your tongue that brings you back to reality.
For the next year, your dating life will be picked apart ruthlessly, people giving opinions on something they see and don’t even know.
Well, you guess that’s kind of the point of this whole thing.
Wooyoung has his eyebrows furrowed together, knee bouncing underneath the table in a way that makes your stomach queasy. After years of being an idol, you have realized the last few weeks, that things can still rattle you to your core.
You suppose you’re grateful that you’re not emotionless like some of the sunbaenim’s you know who have turned rock hard under all the criticism and spotlights shone on them.
San has been busy putting out fires left and right since the press release went up. Luckily, his team was ready for it, obviously, but the other day you remember saying goodnight to him as you left the company and saying good morning when you returned the following day for practice. San had not moved from his desk.
San has been issuing legal documents to people who have taken comments way too far, citing them, taking their posts down and doing damage control. It makes your head spin at everything he’s been able to do lately.
You reach up to rub the pads of your fingers against your forehead, trying to push the ache behind your skull away.
Hongjoong and Jongho make their way into the conference room, bowing and saying hello to everyone. You do the same, getting up to bow towards them.
Mingi strolls in, backwards cap on his head, black sunglasses on his face and a lollipop in his mouth.
He looks so good.
Shut up, Y/N.
He takes the seat across from you, sending you a smile and a wink. You roll your eyes, letting out a hard exhale and crossing your arms.
“Good morning everyone,” Wooyoung clears his throat.
“Good morning,” Hongjoong smiles tightly, his dangly earrings catching the light in a way that directs your attention to them.
Mingi slouches down in his seat, raising his arm to reach up and pull the lollipop out of his mouth. The bracelets he’s wearing on his wrists fall to his forearm with the movement and it makes you look back at him.
He and you have not interacted much this week. You’ve sent him a few texts, only garnering very dry, uninterested responses that leave you pulling at the roots of your hair.
“Let’s get into it — we will be covering the schedule regarding Mingi and Y/N for the upcoming few weeks.” Jongho says, wasting no time.
You lick your lips, them having dried out as a response to how nervous you’ve been for this meeting.
“Tomorrow, Y/N and the rest of ROYALS have their movie premiere for their world tour that will be airing on select big screens. Y/N and Mingi will attend that together, they will not take any questions since they haven’t been able to spend much time together to get their stories straight.” San begins, reading off of a list on his tablet that looks to be ten million miles long.
Right, you and Mingi have to come up with a story. That is something that the companies dropped on you when the press release went out. It almost made everything more annoying, knowing that you’ll have to spend additional unwanted time with Mingi to get your act straight.
“On Thursday, ROYALS is beginning their variety show called ROYALS Life in the Dreamhouse which will include Y/N as the first host and Mingi as the first guest.”
That sentence makes your stomach drop.
“I’m sorry, what? Since when is he going to be the first guest?” You look directly at Wooyoung, eyes pleading silently.
“When you all signed on, we did agree that the first episode would be all four of you as an intro episode, but things have changed since then.” Wooyoung says to you in a tone that he uses with you as a warning.
The warning is: do not start anything.
“So he’s just going to come in and hijack literally everything that we have planned?” You ask incredulously.
“He has a name,” Mingi says, startling you.
You send him a glare. “Yeah, it starts with douche and ends with bag.”
Mingi’s eyes darken as he narrows them at you. It makes something hot and fluttery bubble in the very bottom of your stomach. God, you’re so weak.
“Careful angel face,” he says lowly.
You resist the urge to gag at the name. His little pet names have bothered you beyond belief. They aren’t meant for him, they are meant for someone who actually likes you, for someone who is actually in a relationship with you.
Unfortunately, the way he says these names to you make your bones ache in a way you’re not used to. Song Mingi has genuinely messed up everything about you and your life. It’s been two fucking weeks.
“Moving on—” Jongho sends a look to both you and Mingi. Damn, if looks could kill. “On Saturday, you two need to post something on social media about an anniversary. At this point, you guys should be together for about a year.”
You’re joking.
“So we have to write sappy little ‘happy one year anniversary!’ on Instagram to sell it, huh?” You scoff. “Wouldn’t that be a dead giveaway since he’s been seen out fucking every model in Seoul?”
You get a kick to the shin under the table, sending a gasp out of your mouth, eyes wide in disbelief at Wooyoung.
He’s not even looking at you.
You shake your head, twisting the chair back and forth in attempt to distract yourself from the shit show unfolding in front of you.
Mingi hasn’t said anything for the whole meeting, two hours passing slowly as he milks the lollipop in his mouth. You’re even more irritated when he pulls the sucker out, looking you dead in the eyes as he twirls his tongue around it.
Asshole.
As the meeting comes to an end, everyone leaves and Mingi sends you a little salute.
“See you tomorrow, angel.”
You hope the movie premiere gets rained out tomorrow, maybe the theater will have a pipe burst and will have to be postponed. Yes, that would be the move.
San gets up, mumbling something that you don’t understand and leaves the room.
Wooyoung sighs and looks at you. For the first time in a while, you look at him, really look at him.
He has the beginnings of deep purple circles underneath his eyes, skin slightly pallor.
“Are you getting sick?” You ask quietly, concerned for your friend.
“Yeah,” Wooyoung laughs humorlessly, “sick of the bullshit you’re putting me through.” He leans forward, palms flush with the table. “I know this situation is less than ideal, but I cannot have you fight me on every fucking thing, Y/N.”
“It’s not fair!” You yelp weakly, your neck starting to get hot and your throat getting uncomfortably tight.
“No, it’s not, but you’re not making it easier, either. Please, for the love of all things good in this world, just fucking stop.” His voice cracks and you finally see the wear and tear you are putting on the man in front of you.
“I’m sorry.”
He smiles melancholy-like, gathering his things and getting up, leaving you in the conference room with you and your thoughts.
You shut your eyes, welcoming the burn that comes with that action, distracting you from everything going on right now.
“We can’t have been together for a year, it doesn’t make sense. He’s been seen with other women.” You try and say.
Wooyoung exhales harshly, “it’s easy to say something like Mingi was trying to wait until you were ready for your relationship to go public before he changed his behavior so abruptly.”
Well, that doesn’t make any fucking sense. You open your mouth to say something else but Wooyoung gives you a look and you shut it, words getting lost at the tip of your tongue.
Before you had debuted, a staff member at AURA had taken you, Jihyo, Harin, and Heejin up to a coastal town pretty far north. You helped this ahjussi and ahjumma fish off the dock, picked cabbage for their kimchi, walked around the markets eating various street foods, etc.
You remember very vividly how you and the girls had been brought out to the tiny pier they had in town and watched the sun set as fishing boats came in to the harbor. You were told to relish and be in this moment right now, to remember how peaceful this moment and this experience was when things get overwhelming at your time of debut.
It has been such a long time since you thought of that day, but right now, you needed that moment more than ever. You needed to inject the serene feeling you experienced that day, back into your veins to keep you going.
This arrangement isn’t forever. You are gonna get through this, even if it hurts like hell.
Harin’s gum chewing is driving you insane. Her vivid pink hair is slicked back in cute 1920’s-esque waves and her dress is a short, satin black, suit-like mini dress. She looks radiant, and her gum chewing is driving you insane. Pop, pop, pop, goes her bubbles.
Yeosang is running some kind of styling gel through your hair, scrunching sections of it. It’s hard for you to even focus on what kind of look he’s going for on you. Jihyo’s dress is a black corset situation, black lacey gloves adorning her hands as she pulls up her knee high boots. Heejin is wearing a pinstripe suit mini dress with a thick black bra popping out of the middle.
Everyone looks incredible and they’re so incredibly excited. You can see the emotions in their face, Jihyo and Heejin posing for selfies together since they’re both fully ready.
You’ve had nothing but nerves running through your veins, keeping you irritated and on your toes all day. Clearing your throat, you close your eyes, trying to focus on what matters.
This is huge for your group, having a documentary/concert movie shown on the big screen in select theaters, allowing your fans to get a glimpse of what your tour was like and what it was like behind the scenes, too.
And all you can think about is Song Mingi and his stupid, perfect, smug, handsome face.
Yeosang touches your shoulder, bringing you back to the chair you’re sitting in.
He smiles slightly, “you’re ready to get dressed now.”
You nod, looking at yourself in the mirror. You look stunning — Yeosang always makes sure of it, it’s just the last thing on your mind.
You can do this, Y/N, you’re strong and you’re going to get through this.
You’re shoved into this very shiny, very sparkly silver mini dress with a deep plunge neckline and some strappy black heels, finished off with some long black gloves. Honestly, you feel good, you feel sexy, even.
And then Song Mingi walks into the dressing room, ruining everything.
“What the hell are you wearing?”
Mingi looks up at you through the split strands of black hair over his eyes and a signature smile makes its way onto his face.
“Come on, doll, you don’t like?”
Your blood boils, skin heating up at the question.
“Where are your clothes?” You shriek, gesturing wildly.
Mingi is wearing a black denim jacket, black denim baggy jeans with chains wrapped around his waist, and no shirt. Yep, no shirt. A thick red band peeks out of the top of his jeans, accentuating the slight v-lines you can barely make out under his jacket.
Your eyes drink up his bare skin, toned stomach and chest on full display. This is going to make everything even more difficult for you.
Again, you’re not blind — Mingi is one of the most attractive men you’ve laid your eyes on. His attitude and actions most definitely bring that rating down slightly, though.
Mingi reaches up and grabs either side of his jacket, pulling it away from his torso so you can see even more of his naked, creamy skin.
A shriek comes from behind you and you turn, eyes wide as Harin is covering her eyes in surprise.
“No warning, Mingi! None! You’re just in here, naked!” You turn back around frantically, trying to shoo him out.
“I am not naked,” he boredly replies. “Angel face, come on, people came for a show. I just made sure they got one.”
“Oh, real classy, Mingi. South Korea’s golden boy everyone!”
“Sorry we’re not all glitz and glam, sweetheart.”
His tone is not sorry. Mingi is not sorry about any of this and honestly, he’s probably doing this to torture you. He probably requested to not wear a shirt, just to watch you squawk like a bird, speechless.
Jongho stands behind Mingi, eyes dark and looking actually classy in a tight fitting suit. There’s a slight red hue to his hair under the harsher lights and for the first time, you’re thinking about how handsome Choi Jongho is as well.
Mingi makes that keheum sound in the back of his throat, drawing your eyes back to him.
Mingi is being shameless, you realize. You watch his eyes fully drink in your appearance, dangerously flicking up and down, lingering on a specific part of your body that makes you feel like a piece of meat.
That’s all Song Mingi is: a carnivore, waiting to devour his next prey.
You will not fall victim and be his next meal, even though it would be incredibly easy. That feeling settles deep in your gut, heavy at the idea.
Wooyoung had left the room about twenty minutes ago, tending to a fire before the premiere started and San is nowhere to be found.
Jihyo, Heejin, and Harin all come up behind you, heat radiating off of their bodies.
“You must be Mingi,” Jihyo says, unreadable expression on her face.
“Guilty.”
“Hmm, charming.” Jihyo sarcastically lets out a smile, before turning around and walking towards the table that’s holding all kinds of snacks and drinks.
Mingi’s face softens slightly, a hint of confusion painting it.
“Oh good, Mingi, you’re here,” you hear San say.
He looks slightly frazzled, but somehow still incredibly put together. His tight expression is pinned on you and Mingi, “time for you guys to head out onto the carpet.”
“Wait, he’s going out like this?” You ask someone else, hoping for a different answer than the one you know you’re going to get.
San takes a deep breath and looks at Mingi. “He was told to keep it clean, it could be worse and Jongho-ssi knows the limits as well.”
You want to scream. You feel like an entitled brat and you have no idea where any of this is coming from. Why is he able to get under your skin so easily? What is it about him that irks you so badly? Why are you feeling like a child who cannot regulate their emotions?
Mingi holds his hand out, adorned in rings. “Shall we?”
You glare at him, turning to face your members. They all turn around fast as if they weren’t observing your interaction with him. Oh, they’re so going to talk to you later at home.
Well, this is it, then.
Declining his hand, you walk past him, down the hallway of the company. You heels clack against the cement flooring until it hits carpet, walking towards the door where your limo is waiting.
San is expectantly waiting by the car door, ushering you in. The second you and Mingi sit down in the limo, the door shuts and you’re on the road. San is next to you, busy typing on his phone and Jongho is next to Mingi, also busy on his own phone.
You adjust yourself in your seat, trying to pull your dress further down your thighs in an attempt to cover yourself up a little. Sure, you’re no stranger to revealing clothes, but when you’re in close quarters with Song Mingi who looks at women like a starved man, you’d rather be safe than sorry.
Mingi’s face is illuminated by his phone, paying little attention to you. The way he smiles slightly to the screen turns something ugly in you, though. Who is he talking to and why isn’t he focusing on the task at hand?
You let your eyes drift down the length of his body. It’s okay to admire, you tell yourself. It’s okay to admire — technically, it’s encouraged since he isn’t wearing a shirt.
The shadows play tricks on his skin, contouring even the smallest dip. His body is well taken care of, he’s muscular and cut and definitely somebody you’d want to be under.
Wait…what?
There is something seriously wrong with you.
His phone vibrates, him accepting the call and raising his phone to his ear.
“Hey dollface,” he responds and you practically fall out of your seat, face burning.
It’s not a surprise or it shouldn’t be, but it still shocks you to know that his nicknames he uses for you are also the ones he uses for the people he has in his bed almost every night.
It makes you feel slightly sick in a weird, twisted way, knowing you’re not special to him.
He’s not special to you, so why would you be special to him?
“Yeah, yeah, I’ll see you later tonight, I’ll pick you up.”
You hear a high pitched, whiny voice at the other end of the call and roll your eyes, looking out the window.
San’s knee lightly bumps yours, him offering a bit of comfort in an awkward moment. It’s times like this when you’re truly aware of how in tune your team is with you and your emotions, the same going for the other girls as well.
Lately, it’s something you’ve taken for granted due to you being highly preoccupied with the unfortunate predicament that you are in with Mingi. Here’s the thing — if Mingi had literally been anyone else and yes, you mean, anyone else, you don’t think this situation would bother you as much as it does.
However, because of the nature of who Mingi is — someone who does not care about his image, someone who doesn’t care about who he’s seen with, what he’s seen with, what he’s seen doing, etc. He really leaves nothing to the imagination and you find that incredibly distasteful and gross.
Yes, he’s hot, we’ve been over that. You can find many other guys who are hot though, you don’t need to stoop to his level.
Mingi ends the call and puts his phone away, whispering something to Jongho. You would think, with how close you are to each other in this limo, you would hear what he’s saying. Unfortunately, that is not the case and you’re left wondering idly about it.
Not that it’s any of your business but…you can’t help but be curious.
Curiosity killed the cat, Y/N.
“Which one of your whores was that?” You ask, not thinking before speaking.
The question surprises you at how abrasive you are, you don’t take to calling other women whores very often, it makes your skin crawl grossly. Deep down, you can’t help but wonder where this feeling akin to jealousy is coming from.
You’re not jealous. You don’t want to touch Mingi with a ten foot pole, but you’re becoming someone you don’t necessarily love in your own eyes when it comes to him.
“You know, I really don’t know why you’re such a fucking bitch about what I’m doing. Maybe, you should take a page out of my book and find someone who is willing to pull that stick up your ass out. Maybe getting laid would cause you to be less insufferable.”
“Hyung!” Jongho snaps sharply, but the damage is done.
Mingi’s words cause you to suck your teeth in order to hide your lips from quivering.
“You two need to behave,” San says lowly. “The red carpet is thirty minutes and then you’ll sit next to each other for the runtime of the movie. After that, feel free to act however you want behind closed doors. Closed doors being the keyword.”
Mingi stares at you, face stony as he practically tries to pry into your soul. You can feel the heat of his anger radiating off of him. You’re thinking the same could be said about you.
Suddenly, everything is too much for you. Your dress is too tight, your shoes pinch your toes, your earrings are heavy, you’re too hot in this limo.
Thankfully, the limo comes to a stop and you can barely make out the flashes from large cameras your way.
“Pretending starts now,” Jongho states, sitting up to open the car door and make his way out.
San follows behind and then Mingi goes, barely looking at you.
You try and exit the limo the best way you can, trying to not flash anyone on your way out and surprisingly, Mingi’s hands are in front of you, being offered for stability.
Pretend. You’re pretending.
You take his hands, his fingers swallowing yours as his rings gouge your skin like teeth, unforgiving.
The shouting begins and the flashes blind you as your feet find their stability on the red carpet.
“Mingi, Mingi, over here!”
“Y/N, what’s it like doing charity work?”
“Y/N! Mingi! Right here!”
His left hand leaves yours as he holds your hand with his right. This is weird. Everything is so weird. You’re supposed to be in love, though, you’re an actress, you can act.
You smile at him gently, him smiling tightly back at you.
San and Jongho guide you to your area on the carpet where you need to stand for pictures, and your ears are ringing at how many people are shouting at you.
Mingi guides you to his left side, arm curving around your waist, pulling you into his body.
Your breath hitches, hopefully going unknown to Mingi. He’s so close to you, his body is so warm, he smells like warm amber and smoky cedar and it’s intoxicating to you. Your arm has brushed against his bare skin and you can’t help but revel in how hot his skin is and how you can feel his muscles.
Mingi leans his head down, nose coming to bump the top of your ear, nuzzling gently. Fuck.
His mouth is next to your eardrum, breath hot and warming your own skin, goosebumps forming on your neck.
“Put your arm around my torso.” He whispers, voice low and husky.
You turn your head, noses bumping lightly and Mingi — thankfully, does not violently jerk back. He makes it look natural, smiling as he pulls away.
Your heart is pounding against your ribs, every thump threatening to crack the bones that keep your internal organs safe. What just happened?
Your mind goes blank, the only thing bouncing in your brain is the instruction to put your arm around Mingi’s torso.
You do so, your own skin meeting his, your fingers finding the dip of his waist and his finding yours. The pads of your fingers sting when they meet his skin.
It feels intimate, even though you’re standing here on the red carpet in front of hundreds of people, photos and videos being taken of your every move.
You move down the carpet, your name being yelled in your face and Mingi’s being yelled in his. Your arms become glued around Mingi’s body, but his own hands have been moving, roaming.
His fingers have danced around your waist, squeezing at your hips and it’s taking everything in you to continue to breathe.
It’s been so long since anyone of the opposite sex has touched you like this, been close to you like this and you feel like you’ve been thrown into a circus and been told to juggle.
You don’t know the first thing about juggling and you never will. You lost your virginity young, right as you got into your trainee period and to be frank — it wasn’t amazing. You two had no idea what you were doing, you didn’t prep long enough, it hurt when you guys started having sex, and you had no desire to relive that.
Maybe that’s where your strange emotions are coming from. Are you jealous that Mingi gets to go out and have sex whenever he wants? Maybe it’s because you’ve barely had any sex and know that if roles were reversed, you would be chastised for “handing it out to everyone.”
“Mingi! Mingi! Have you been cheating on Y/N?”
“Oppa! We love you!”
“Oppa, where’s your shirt?”
“Unnie, you’re stunning!”
“Y/N! How are you dealing with his violent outbursts?”
You sigh, but keep your smile and to play it up a little, tilt your head to the side to let it rest near Mingi’s shoulder.
Bright flashes get even faster and pretty soon, San and Jongho are guiding you guys inside the theater. Mingi gets a minute to rest while you are shooed back out onto the carpet to get group shots with your members and finally, you can breathe.
You can breathe while in the comfort of the girls that you have been with since the beginning. You’ve grown up together at this point and they know you like the back of their hand and vice versa.
Taking a moment, you look to your right, watching your members and something swells inside you at how far you’ve come. Regardless of what you’re having to deal with right now with Mingi, you are forever grateful they continue to walk by your side.
You’ve traveled the world with them, made incredible music and memories. You will always be grateful for your life with them.
When you’re all finished with the pictures, you sign a few autographs, ignoring any questions about Mingi and your relationship, just smiling and telling them “thank you for being here!”
When heading back into the theater, you find Mingi easily, talking with San and Jongho; Hongjoong has appeared from who knows where and Wooyoung is walking towards you and the girls.
“How’d it go? Everything good?” Wooyoung asks, seemingly out of breath as he comes towards you.
He seems to have been running around, making sure everything doesn’t fall apart at the slightest breeze. Wooyoung pauses, eyeing Mingi and what he’s wearing.
“Who allowed you to wear that? You know what — you look great, Mingi-yah.”
Your face drops as you were fully expecting Wooyoung to say something about how inappropriate his look is for an event like this.
The girls stand there, seemingly understanding your frustration and Harin comes up to you, wrapping her arms around your shoulders and leaning her head against you.
She smells sweet like cherries and you hug her back, squeezing your eyes shut. You can practically feel Mingi’s eyes burning into the side of your face, but you ignore it. You genuinely do not have the ability to draw attention to it.
Sitting next to him for the movie is actually the easiest part of the night. You are not supposed to be talking to one another (easy) and you don’t touch each other either, honestly if the whole relationship was like this, you might be okay with the arrangement.
The movie makes you emotional, seeing new clips of your Rebels that were taken at stops of your tour. They all talk about how much you and the girls mean to them, saying you’ve helped them through hard times, you feel real as opposed to some of these other idol groups, and that you feel like friends.
Your fans are amazing and after hearing so many of them talk about what it’s actually like being your fan, you can’t help but choke up, tears brimming the rim of your eyes.
You feel something against the back of your hand and when you look down, Mingi is handing you a tissue.
You briefly look at his face, his eyes focused on the movie, and look back down at the tissue, taking it.
Lightly, you dab at your eyes to not disturb the makeup that Yeosang worked so hard on.
The rest of the movie continues to make you emotional and actually allows you to take a different look at your life. It shows you truly how hard everyone on your team works for you and the girls, how hard you and the girls work for each other too.
As the movie comes to an end, you get up to leave with your team, trying to breathe normally when Mingi places his hand on your lower back, guiding you through the crowds.
This act is proving to be very gentlemanly and it makes you wonder what kind of lengths Mingi would go to for someone he is actually romantically interested in.
Of course, you’re only talking about the simple move of him guiding you through a crowd — but it shouldn’t be looked over.
People are weaving in and out of each other, flashes from cameras are blinding you, people constantly trying to get your attention as the body guards do their best to make sure you all get out of the crowds safely.
Mingi’s hold on you tightens as he places you in front of him, both hands firmly gripping your hips. The feeling of that makes your body ache with something you’ve never felt before.
The front of his body is pressed up tightly against your back, hands on your hips, presence towering over yours. If this were any different situation, it would have you swooning.
“Mingi! Mingi! Is Y/N just another pretty face to fuck, then forget?”
“Y/N plays innocent for the cameras, but we all know a whore in glam is still a whore!”
Mingi freezes.
His fingers dig painfully into your hips and you gasp in surprise at the pressure, turning to face Mingi.
His expression is one you would never want turned on you. It’s dark, menacing, and downright evil. His jaw is set incredibly tight and he breaks from your little bubble, pushing past the security and bystanders.
Your heart drops suddenly, watching the scene unfold in slow motion. Horror is probably written all over your face as you come to the sudden realization of what is about to happen.
Chaos interrupts as Mingi punches the reporter in the face. Over and over and over.
“You wanna fucking say that again? Don’t ever have my girls name in your mouth ever again!” Mingi is practically growling.
Your heart is pounding in your ears, so loud that everything else fades away and that’s all you can hear. Your eyes are so wide that they almost feel like they’re gonna burst out of your sockets.
The reporter lands a few punches to Mingi’s face too, and you’re standing there in complete shock as someone grabs you by the arm.
You’re being pulled away from the scene but you basically dig your heels in, yelling his name.
“Mingi, stop! Stop it!” You scream into your throat is raw, but the last thing you see before getting shoved into a company car is spit flying as Mingi yells at the reporter and goes in for another punch.
Jihyo has been knocking at your door gently for the last thirty minutes. Your phone is blowing up with mentions on various social media sites. Your stomach rolls at the idea of what kinds of things are being said online right now — there were countless phones and cameras in attendance tonight so there is no getting out of this.
San and Wooyoung are in your living room, doing damage control.
It’s only been an hour since the whole thing between Mingi and the reporter transpired, but it feels like it happened so long ago. You’ve been sitting with your dangerous thoughts since being placed in the backseat of a car and haven’t heard anything about Mingi.
You’re worried, of course you are. You have no idea what’s going on right now and your fingers have been chewed raw, the inside of your mouth coated with nothing but a metallic coating.
You threw up immediately upon arriving home, having some time to digest the whole situation. Jihyo sat idly by you and rubbed at your back, whispering things to you in an attempt to calm you down.
You’ve been angry — what Mingi did tonight was selfish. It was special moment for your group and he went and made it about himself because he couldn’t control his emotions. You’ve been upset, you’ve been worried, you’ve been sad.
You feel like you’ve gone through the whole spectrum of emotions in such a short amount of time, you’re incredibly exhausted.
Being an idol, you’re used to almost everything the public has to say about you. You are for the most part, very widely loved, but there will always be those people who have something different to say.
Why did Mingi react that way? Surely, he’s heard worse about himself, and he doesn’t even like the idea of you. So why…just, why?
At the end of the night, you’ve still heard nothing about Mingi.
San and Wooyoung just said to wait for further instruction in the morning, before taking their leave for the night.
Wooyoung had knocked on your door, said “don’t worry about anything, okay?” and disappeared with a soft kiss to your forehead.
After they left, you had gone down into the kitchen to get a glass of water, being met with hushed confessions from your bandmates.
“I just…I’m worried about her and this whole arrangement. I don’t think it’s good for her mentally.” Heejin whispers.
“There’s nothing we can do about it, Jin-ah, it’s not our decision. It’s the company’s.” Jihyo states.
“She’s been so sad and angry, recently,” you hear Harin say. “I don’t like what Mingi-ssi is doing to her.”
You suck in a deep breath and the girls pause, recognizing you.
“Unnie?”
You step out from behind the wall, into the kitchen and take in all of their appearances. They’ve switched from their premiere outfits into comfy pajamas, hair still done and makeup still on.
You look the same, having ripped your dress off the minute you got home because you felt like you were suffocating and beginning to panic.
“I’m so sorry,” your bottom lip wobbles.
“What?”
“Why are you sorry?”
You’re gathered into their arms, them holding you as you cry.
This whole thing tonight is now weighing heavily down on you, making you feel overwhelmed. Maybe you’re not strong enough to deal with this contract, you should talk to Wooyoung about how you could maybe use this incident as something to break off your “relationship.”
They return to their rooms later, all giving you encouraging squeezes and leaving you in the kitchen. The water that you gulp down feels sharp with how cold it is, bringing you slightly out of your funk.
The cute little chime that someone is at your front door is heard throughout the apartment. You exhale harshly as you make your way over to where the panel is that shows who is at the door.
You almost drop your glass when you see who it is, in the flesh. Is he allowed to be here? He didn’t even text you.
You press the buzzer to let him into the building anyway, waiting for the next five minutes as he makes his way up to your floor and to your door.
Taking a minute to answer the door when you hear the ring, you splay your palm along the door, trying to ground yourself.
When pulling it open, your heart stutters in your chest.
Mingi is looking down at his feet, fists tucked into his jacket pockets. He’s dressed differently, actually wearing a shirt, for one — with some sweatpants and sneakers.
His face is practically black and blue. His lip is busted, dried blood caked underneath his nostrils, left eye swelling and purple.
“I know I didn’t text,” his voice is gravelly. Keheum. “Can I come in?”
You bite your lip, nodding gently as you open the door wider and let him pass through the doorway.
“Uh,” Mingi begins, sniffing. “I’m sorry about tonight.”
It seems like those words pain him to say and that almost makes you angry again, you don’t think he’s sorry and you just want to pull at the roots of your hair and scream at him.
But you don’t.
You cross your arms and stay silent.
Looking at his face, it’s obvious that no one chose to clean his face up after the fight, probably choosing to let him marinate in the choices he made tonight.
You tilt your head toward the kitchen in an unspoken way of telling him “follow me.”
He does, silently and when you get into the kitchen, you point to the table, making him sit. Obediently, Mingi pulls a chair out from the table and sits, eyes watching your every move.
The cabinet next to your fridge has a first-aid kit and you reach for it, bringing it down and over to the table.
The bright red of the casing catches Mingi’s feline-like eyes and he looks up at you.
“I didn’t come here for you to nurse me.”
“Just,” you snap. “Shut up. You ruined an important night for my group. Let me do this.”
He wets his lips, making a displeased face, but doesn’t say anything else.
You turn and pull out a kitchen towel, turning the faucet on to get some warm water. Once the towel is absorbed with warm water, you wring it out and pass it to Mingi.
“Hold it under your nose, I want to loosen the blood there.” You say quietly.
He takes the towel from you, fingers brushing yours and puts it under his nose. Opening the first-aid kit, you pull out the alcohol, some Q-tips, and some cotton pads.
You saturate the pads with alcohol, the scent stinging your nose. Turning to face Mingi, you take a deep breath. Your fingers shake lightly as you tilt Mingi’s face up, the stubble on his chin pricking your skin.
You’re very close to him, legs brushing his knees and you go to clean his split lip. His lips are plush, a perfect shade of pink that most people’s lips turn when being bitten. The thought shocks you and makes you push the alcohol soaked cotton hard into his lip without meaning to.
He hisses the second the pad hits the abused, open wound, probably stinging badly, and he jerks back.
“Stay still,” you say, grabbing the back of his head and pulling him back.
Your fingers are at the nape of his neck, feeling the soft ends of his hair. Everything about this moment feels a bit too intimate.
You dab at his lip again and he does his best to not jerk away from you.
As you finish with his lip, you put some antibiotic ointment on it, then go to pull the kitchen towel away from his nose. Luckily, it softened the blood enough for you to be able to clean it with a few Q-tips.
His hot breath is hitting your knuckles, and suddenly, you feel too close. You two are too quiet, Mingi’s dark eyes watching you intently as you swab at the blood. Up close and personal, you focus in on the freckle directly underneath Mingi’s right eye. It’s actually quite endearing you think.
As you finish up, you look down and notice how swollen and bruised his own knuckles are. You back up, gathering all of the dirty swabs and such, throwing them in the trash before grabbing another kitchen towel and an ice pack.
You wrap the ice pack tightly, but thinly in the cloth and walk back over to the rapper sitting at your kitchen table. Handing it to him, a little quirk pops up in between his eyebrows, seemingly confused.
You just nod towards his hands and he follows the gesture, silently pressing the ice pack to his battered bones.
You have no idea what to say, what does one say? Here in your kitchen is playboy, problematic rapper Song Mingi who threw punches for you tonight over some random comments, and things are just supposed to be the same between you two?
You don’t like Mingi. You will never like Mingi, but it is possible that this moment has shifted things into unknown territory. How do you move past this?
“What happened tonight?” You ask quietly, not wanting to break the vulnerable atmosphere you two had just entered.
“Honestly?”
“No, I want you to lie to me.”
Mingi rolls his eyes at the tone of your voice. “He crossed a line. That’s it. Don’t read into it.”
You purse your lips, turning around to pull out your own chair and sit. Even when you’re both sitting on the same level, Mingi still towers over you, but instead of it being intimidating, you try to welcome it.
“A line that’s only okay for you to cross? You’ve said horrible things to me too, Mingi.”
He nods, laughing bitterly. The ice pack gets discarded on the table, a thunk echoing. His head bobs up and down as he leans forward, bracing his elbows on his knees. He starts fiddling with his rings, something you notice is maybe an anxiety thing for him.
“I didn’t want to deal with you getting under my skin and you started to. That doesn’t make what I said okay. I’ve said shit I didn’t mean just to hurt you.”
Mingi looks up and you hope he can’t see how torn internally you are.
This is not a side of Mingi you expected to see. You wanted to be angry, tell him that he’s an idiot and made everything about himself when it was supposed to be important for your group. But, you have a fault here too, and maybe you riled him up a bit more than you should’ve in the limo.
You should’ve shown restraint, shown that you are the bigger person.
“Look, he had no right to talk about you like that. It doesn’t matter that we don’t like each other, what he said…” he trails off. “It wasn’t just some headline, it was disgusting, and it was a false depiction of who you are.”
“So you thought throwing a punch would fix the whole situation?” You ask incredulously.
Mingi’s eyes sharpen, body stiffening. “I didn’t think—”
“Exactly!” You throw your hands up in the air, exasperated. “You didn’t think and that’s your problem.”
“I’ve taken hits for less.”
“Mingi, that’s not the point!” You start yelling, frustration building as you realize he’s not getting it.
Maybe you’re not getting it, either.
Mingi snorts, shaking his head and stands. “You know what? You’re right.”
The heat in his voice is gone, tone flat and you would almost prefer that he yell at you. It’s steady in a scary way.
“I don’t think. Clearly. But, I wasn’t going to stand there and let him say that shit about you. Not when you didn’t do anything to deserve it.” He shrugs, standing from the chair, making it so that you have to look up even further at him.
It almost feels demeaning, even if that’s not his intention. He sucks his teeth, trying to act nonchalant before he looks down at you, a menacing twinkle in his eyes.
“Don’t get it twisted though, I still don’t like you. I still don’t want anything to do with you.”
Those words cut through you like a hot knife through butter, scorching your insides.
“Copy, ditto,” you say, looking away to seem as if you don’t care. Because you don’t. You absolutely do not care about his words.
“Don’t make it more than what it is, got it?”
You raise your eyebrows and then nod, turning around to make sure that the girls aren’t lingering in the hall. When you turn back around, Mingi looks like he’s going for the door.
You don’t want to say what you think you should, but again, even if you don’t want to, you should. You think about Wooyoung and how you haven’t been the most easy person for him to be manager too.
“Mingi?” You call, eyes shutting tightly before you open them back up.
Mingi’s footsteps halt and you can hear him taking his shoes off again, before walking back into the kitchen.
“Do you want to come up with our story?” You ask, hearing how tired your tone is.
Mingi pauses for a minute, crossing his arms over his broad chest and looks at you, tongue coming out to wet his lips.
He sends you a smirk and you realize that you can read him better now, understanding that he’s saying yes.
You take a deep breath, stand up, and guide him to your living room. Let the planning begin.
Your laptop is getting hot on your lap, working hard.
You’ve typed word after word as you and Mingi have come up with your story, trying to memorize it and make it seem as hole-less as possible. The words blur together and you sigh loudly, slightly frustrated as your eyes burn.
You push your fingertips into your eye sockets, trying to relieve the burning pressure behind them. Mingi’s own eyes burn into the side of your face and you want to snap at him. He’s made himself right at home on your couch, all spread out and lounging for the last two hours you’ve been here.
“I can’t look at this anymore, I’m going to go insane,” you finally say, snapping your laptop shut and the whirring comes to a halt.
Mingi’s mouth is slightly open as he looks at you, eyebrows raised in amusement.
“Where did we meet, dollface?” Mingi asks and your skin crawls.
“Don’t call me that.”
“Where did we meet, angel?”
You narrow your eyes at him, trying to seem threatening. You don’t think it’s working.
“Backstage at the MMA’s last year. You had just won an award and I was preparing for a performance.”
That part was easy because it wasn’t a lie. That’s where the both of you met in person for the first time. Mingi had paid very little attention to you as you had placed your in-ears around your neck.
You had seen him backstage, looking attractive in the dim lighting, but your attraction fell short when he pulled out a dime bag, dipping his finger into it and then sticking his finger into his mouth.
His tongue had moved around inside his mouth, pushing against his cheeks to maximize the effect.
You had rolled your eyes in disgust and turned away as he boasted about being undefeated in the K-Hip Hop section the last four years in a row. His arrogance was not sexy to you.
“And then?” Mingi pushed.
“Not sure, you tell me,” you challenge, pushing your foot into the side of his thigh.
“I thought you looked beautiful as you got ready to go onstage and I walked up and asked for your number.”
“I was so shocked and pressed for time, you never got my number, so you stayed backstage until my performance was over and continued to bother me for it.”
“Finally, you caved with cherry-red cheeks and the rest is history.”
“Well,” you tilt your head, “not sure about the cherry-red cheeks and the rest is definitely not history according to the four pages of notes I’ve just written down.”
Mingi gives you a dull expression before looking around, grabbing the pink fuzzy throw pillow next to him and pelting you with it.
“Hey!” You screech, unamused.
“Why do you have to be so literal? We’re good.” His voice has grown even heavier and you wonder if he’s gotten tired.
You can imagine that after the day he’s had with a physical assault, he would be tired. The silence around you has begun to cushion the air and you’re settled into something comfortable. So comfortable, you almost feel like you could let your guard down and just fall asleep — the idea tempting you dangerously.
Never in a million years, did you think that one day, you would be comfortable enough to fall asleep around Song Mingi, but after today, you’ve lost the ability to give a fuck.
For a second, you do think you’ve dozed off, but Mingi has moved your foot in an attempt to get your attention. You hum in answer, head still thrown back against the couch and eyes closed.
“What’s your favorite color?”
The question catches you so off guard, you almost think you didn’t hear him correctly.
“What?”
“Your favorite color,” he shrugs nonchalantly, picking at some lint that is on his sweatpants.
“Why?”
You can feel him roll his eyes, even if you can’t see them.
“I’m your boyfriend.”
“You are—” your eyes fly open and you sit up abruptly. “You are not my boyfriend.”
“Do I really have to say fake boyfriend? You get it, right?”
“You’re still not my boyfriend.”
Mingi laughs, reaching up to run his bruised fingers through his black hair. “Trust me, I don’t want to be your boyfriend, jagiya.”
He looks at you, expecting an answer and you don’t want to give him one. You understand what he’s trying to do, but actually getting to know him makes everything very real. You would be getting into emotions and not just the flat, 2D version you two have been giving each other.
“Purple,” you say quietly, fixing your eyes on the hall where you see a light flick on underneath the door of Harin’s room.
“Cute,” Mingi says snarkily. “Mine’s blue.”
“Blue? Basic,” you scoff.
Mingi blinks, “it’s not basic. It’s not just any blue, it’s a deep, dark blue.”
“Yeah…basic. Don’t tell me your other favorite color is a cement gray.” You laugh.
Mingi doesn’t say anything, just pointedly looks away and you gawk goofily at him, chuckling.
“Oh my god, it so is!” You sit up, pulling your legs underneath you, getting more into the conversation.
“So what if it is? There’s nothing wrong with that color either!” Mingi argues with you, sticking his tongue out at you like a five-year-old.
“Nice, very mature.”
Mingi shakes his head, crossing his arms and tilting his head backwards until it rests along the back of the couch. “There’s nothing wrong with either of those colors. And I didn’t even say anything about your favorite color being purple. You wanna talk about basic favorite colors? Purple is as basic as it gets.”
“No, my favorite color is a lavender purple,” you correct him.
“Does that really change what I just said?”
“Okay, fine, we both have basic favorite colors. Whatever.”
“My colors are not basic, I will die on that hill,” Mingi points out.
“Great,” you exclaim. “Then go on, die.”
“Too late for that, sweetheart.”
The air shifts, curdling heavy and your blood runs cold. What? What does he mean by that? Is he joking or did he just slip up and let out something he probably had no intention of telling you? You swallow a million questions down, red flashing warnings popping up in your vision.
You can tell that Mingi didn’t mean to say anything because his whole body stiffens. Noticing that detail, you choose not to say anything about it. It’s none of your business anyway. His words hang heavily in the air though, sitting like smoke that you aren’t able to fan away.
His body language is telling you not to push. Don’t push. Too soon.
But for some reason, you want to know and then you quickly decide that you are too nosy. When you don’t say anything, the tension seems to bleed out of Mingi’s body slowly, so you take that as a good sign that it was the smart decision not to bring attention to it.
The silence stretches for a bit longer than it seems either one of you would like and your heart is starting to beat faster against your chest, pushing you to ease the mood.
“Well, mister dark and mysterious, let’s get back to the important stuff before you fall asleep on my couch.” You clap your hands together, trying to dissipate the stale vibes.
Mingi raises his head, blinking at you sluggishly, a sparkle of relief flickering across his face for a second before he masks it with a lazy smirk.
“Important stuff?” He echoes.
You pull the pillow that he threw at you into your lap, hugging it to the front of your body. You’re trying to distract yourself from the thought that this is the longest you’ve had a conversation with Mingi without arguing. It feels weird, not in a bad way, but definitely weird.
“Yeah, like my coffee order. Because the whole internet knows my coffee order so if you get that wrong, we’re screwed real bad.”
“Is it the same drink you ordered on our ‘first date’?” He uses air quotation marks around first date.
You nod, “do you even remember?”
Mingi clears his throat and thinks for a second. “I don’t remember exactly but it was probably some fucking complicated drink that the poor barista who’s sixteen shits their pants at. Sugar free-syrup, half decaf, hot but with ice, almond-milk—” He teases in a high-pitched voice that you’re assuming is supposed to be you.
You laugh at how ridiculous he’s being, but not because you think it’s funny. “Wrong.” You glare at him, “it was an iced vanilla latte, easy, you asshole. One might even say simple.”
“Simple? You? Give me a fucking break.”
You take the pillow that’s in your lap like a shield and bring it up, leaning forward to smack Mingi in the head with it. He laughs menacingly, the sound rough and low in his chest. He grabs the pillow from you with a force that almost makes you blush, then tosses it back into your lap.
“Okay, miss simple, what’s my order then?”
You think back to your date and a smirk comes over your own face as you reply. “Iced Americano.”
Mingi lets out a dramatic gasp, hand coming up to his chest. “That’s crazy that my own girlfriend doesn’t even know me.”
You frown because he is the one who is wrong and he’s just trying to mess with you.
“That’s literally what you got on our date!” You call him out.
He shrugs. “I like iced Americanos, but that’s not my go-to coffee order.”
You roll your eyes, lips twitching in annoyance because you don’t even know if you should trust him on this.
“Enlighten me then, our golden boy.”
“Caramel macchiato, hot, extra shot. Sometimes iced if I am feeling particularly dangerous.”
You laugh, genuinely this time because Song Mingi is the most ridiculously annoying person you have ever met.
“Dangerous?” You repeat. “You think ordering a drink iced makes you dangerous?”
“No,” he says seriously. “That’s not what makes me feel dangerous.”
That weird feeling comes back, settling amongst you and you think that’s enough for tonight. Your skin is starting to itch at the idea of spending any more time with Mingi because right now, you don’t hate it and it’s starting to make you confused.
Glancing at the clock, you are surprised to see how late it is and you stifle a yawn. Today has been very draining and honestly, the fight that happened between Mingi and the reporter feels like weeks ago.
“I better get going,” Mingi suddenly says, rocking forward and up off the couch.
You nod, licking your lips and get up to follow him to the door. As he puts his shoes on, your fingers twitch, a quiet voice whispering in the back of your mind.
You bite your lip, unsure of what you should do about the voice, but ultimately, you follow it. You walk forward, catching Mingi by surprise when you swing your arms up around him, hugging him.
He smells clean, fresh, like linens and vanilla.
His body is stiff underneath your hug and you try to not let it affect you in any way. He never hugs you back, which is okay, but something inside you comes together at this gesture.
“Thank you for defending me,” you whisper and let go of him immediately after.
Mingi has no emotion on his face that you can see, remaining stoic and stony. It leaves you feeling a little empty.
Keheum comes from the back of throat and he sniffs, reaching up to itch the side of face.
“See you later, angel,” he says softly and then the door closes with a schnick behind him.
Later, in bed, you finally muster up the courage to look at social media.
Comments range from what the FUCK is wrong with him??? to he was protecting his girlfriend y’all need to shut the fuck up.
You stumble across videos after videos on TikTok about the actual fight that occurred; your stomach turns and you rapidly try and skip over every single one. There’s one video that makes you stop though, pausing to watch it.
It’s a video of just before the fight happened, someone had slightly edited the clips, putting trendy music over it. It’s interesting for you to see it as an outsider, watching the way Mingi protects you through the crowd, guiding you through in a way that feels real.
You know that everything is fake, but from this angle, the way he’s holding you, that looks incredibly real. You suppose that’s the goal, but still, it’s kind of astonishing to you.
The comments are nothing but supportive in that video, saying how cute you two are, Mingi is so protective over you, etc., etc.
You sigh, your eyes drooping and you finally call it quits. You turn off your phone, turning over onto your left side and pull the covers up around your shoulders to hopefully get some much needed rest.
A week.
It’s been a week since everything has transpired and you haven’t heard anything from Mingi, which you guess is a good thing.
Wooyoung has checked in on you multiple times, saying that you and the girls are pretty much on a break after your world tour, allowing you to actually have down time, for now.
You know that you’re supposed to be on a break, but you’ve been writing songs. When inspiration hits, it doesn’t matter what you’re doing. The song you’re currently writing is different than other things you’ve put out. This song is entirely in English, speaking about the way you’ve almost been play with like a doll.
You don’t know if it’ll ever meet the light of day, but maybe one day, you could find an appropriate time to record and release it.
You’ve written three other songs today, one of them in collaboration with your other members, coming up with a song that fits your friendship well. The song is called “RIGHT HAND GIRL” and hopefully, that’s the one you can add to an upcoming album — maybe a recording session is in your near future for this album you haven’t written, but want to stick this song onto.
You’re chewing on the end of a pen, over the ear headphones on, volume up as the beat you just made for this specific song bounces through your ear drums. The plastic bends underneath the weight of your teeth and you replace a synth sound with another, dragging things around on your software.
Feeling a hand touch your left shoulder, you let out a yelp, heart pounding as you turn around.
Jihyo’s face is sheepish, holding up her hands in defense.
“Sorry! Sorry! You were really in the zone, I had no idea how to get your attention.”
You place a hand against your chest, trying to ease your rapid heartbeat.
“It’s fine,” you say, pulling off your headphones and turning your attention to your bandmate.
She has a certain look on her face, one she usually has when something has happened — something not positive.
“Is everything okay?” You ask, voice quiet.
She pulls her lips together in a tight expression and she reaches into her hoodie pocket to pull her phone out. Jihyo’s phone lights up when her screen turns on and she takes a deep breath before she hands her phone to you.
“Exclusive: Mingi’s Ex Speaks Out – ‘Our Love Wasn’t Real, and Neither Is This One.’”
Your eyes pop out of your head, reading the headline. Reading the first paragraph basically has the room spinning for you.
What the fuck? You want to scream.
“There were times when his temper scared me. He was never violent towards me, but he would slam doors and yell. The way his eyes would change was scary…it made me feel like I was walking on eggshells. People see this charming, hot, talented rapper on stage. I saw the late night version of him — the one who abuses substances, the mood swings, and cruel words….I don’t know Y/N personally, but I know how convincing he is. Mingi is such a magnetic person, the kind of man that makes you feel like you’re the only girl in the entire world. But, I often felt manipulated, like my feelings were just a game to him. When I saw all the headlines about his new girl and seeing it was our very own sweetheart, made me wonder if she’s another pawn in his game. Looking at the timing of this relationship, and with the saint of a person he’s now with, right after all these scandals…it makes you wonder if it’s love or just an attempt to salvage his career.”
“Oh my fucking GOD!” You cry. No way this is happening. But, of course this would fucking happen.
Nothing has been easy the second you walked into this contract and it’s honestly making you feel like you’re insane. Everything you’ve worked for, the reputation you’ve built while being truthful to yourself and to your fans, feels like it’s crumbling down around you.
This is your Pompeii, essentially.
The comments make you crazy.
+ 3,987 -1,901
honestly…this makes so much sense, the timing was way too convenient
+2,781 -456
imagine dating south korea’s sweetheart just to cover up your own scandals!!! gross and y/n deserves better
+ 1,876 - 657
y/n deserves better than to be used as a shield for his reputation ㅠㅠ
+ 5,002 – 523
exes always pop up when idols are thriving, i don’t think that’s a coincidence
+ 4,126 – 237
mingi doesn’t owe us any details about his personal life, leave him the fuck alone you guys are so gross
+ 235 - 87
she’s just better he moved on
+ 2,005 – 432
i bet y/n is in on this, more publicity for her upcoming movie
Nope, no, no, this is not happening. Mingi wants to fuck things up for you? He wants to use your image? Then he better fix what he’s ruining in real time.
You thrust Jihyo’s phone back into her hands, frantically searching around your room for your purse and car keys.
“Where are you going, Y/N?” Jihyo asks, voice trembling.
“I am going to shove my fist up Mingi’s ass and make him regret the day he was fucking born. Don’t wait up for me.”
You rush down the hall, shoving some slippers onto your feet and exiting the apartment in a frenzy.
Your phone is blowing up, message after message from Wooyoung, San, your group chat with the girls, mentions on social media.
royalty forever
rinrin: unnie don’t do anything rash please ㅠㅠ love you
heejinie: let us know if you need backup, we will gladly come to your aid
zyozyo: love you.
manager youngie: I am trying to fix things, don’t do anything. I am so serious Y/N, don’t test me on this.
Too late, you think.
You get into your car and start the engine, typing out a message to someone you didn’t think you would ever have to message.
you: give me mingi’s address
Choi Jongho(KQ PR): 88 Apgujeong-ro 79-gil, Gangnam District, Penthouse. Gate code is 9871.
Choi Jongho(KQ PR): Please don’t kill him, he’s very talented and makes us lots of money. I guess he’s a friend too, but please spare his life.
You ignore the message and plug the address into your navigation system, driving down the street to an unknown situation. The whole drive is silent there, giving you an inkling of how absolutely livid you are about this whole thing.
Pulling up to the building, you get out of your car, and head to the front entrance, putting in the code.
It buzzes open, the cool metal stinging the palm of your hand as you open the inner door. The lobby is minimalist, clean, rich. The elevator is large and almost sterile-like as you step in, clicking the penthouse button and inputting the same code as the front gate to get the elevator to move.
It takes a full three minutes to reach Mingi’s apartment and the second you exit the elevator, you go straight to the door.
The headline is burned into the back of your retinas as you furiously pound on the heavy door of the penthouse. You don’t know how long you sit there and hammer your fist against the wood, but your hand tingles as you assault it against the surface.
The door finally swings open and you have so many curse words at the tip of your tongue, readied in your arsenal. You shut your mouth though, the second you see that it’s not Mingi who answered the door.
It’s another man, probably around the same age as you and Mingi. He’s shirtless, black hair messy and ruffled as if he has just rolled out of bed or someone has been running their fingers tightly through his hair. Maybe both.
You’re frozen in place, almost feeling humiliated. Did Jongho send you the wrong address? There is only one penthouse, right? Nervously, your fingers twitch and your hands come up to grip the strap of your purse.
“Um—”
“Oh, you must be the girlfriend.” The man’s voice is low, gravelly, giving you a lazy smile.
Your blood runs cold. Who is this guy? “Excuse me?”
Before the guy in front of you can answer, you see Mingi’s presence appear behind the mystery man, pulling a hoodie on over his own shirtless chest. His expression shifts from confusion to anger the second he lays eyes on you.
Mingi comes up behind the man, nuzzling gently into the side of his neck, leaving a wet kiss at the curve of his shoulder.
You almost look away, feeling as if this is something you should not be watching/seeing.
“Why the fuck are you here?” Mingi asks, whispering something to the man before he continues. “I told you to text before you came over. That wasn’t a negotiation.”
“Why the fuck am I here? Why the fuck is he here?” You demand, your voice sharp and cutting through whatever residual sexual air is between the two of them. “Do you have any idea what’s blowing up right now and I find you here, screwing some guys’ brains out while you’re simultaneously screwing me over!”
“Careful angel,” Mingi warns.
“Don’t call me that! Let me in.” You argue, arms flailing.
Mingi steps aside, bringing the man with him to allow you in.
“You know what’s so rich, Mingi?” You scoff, laughing in a way that makes you sound mentally insane. “From where I’m standing, I am fucking tanking my career for a fake relationship while you’re busy proving the world right about you.”
The silence sticks in the air heavy after those words. Mingi narrows his eyes meanly, sucking his teeth as he crosses his arms over his chest. Tilting his head, he seems almost like he’s contemplating something. The man that’s here shifts uncomfortably and looks at Mingi.
“Yunho-yah, can you give us a minute please?” Mingi asks softly to the man — Yunho — and Yunho nods, disappearing up the stairs. “Why are you here?”
“Why am I here? Your ex is fucking trashing us in the press, trying to make us look like fake fools. Now, thousands of people are doubting our entire relationship, so I came here to make you deal with it, because you need to fix this and I find you messing everything up and with your little fuck buddy?”
You take in Mingi’s appearance; his own hair is ruffled too, skin slightly pale, nose red, eyes dark — they’re so much darker than normal, his pupils are blown completely wide to the edges and his gaze is unfocused.
Suddenly, Mingi lets out a humorless laugh and it brings a chill down your spine. You didn’t like that one bit.
“You really are the nation’s sweetheart. Always so perfect. Always trying to fix everyone else. Always so worried about what everyone else thinks.”
“I am not trying to fix everyone else! I am trying to fix you because your fucking company gave me a contract that I wasn’t allowed to say no to. I was dragged into your stupid fucking mess of a life and a career and you can’t even keep it together long enough to not make me look like an idiot!”
“I didn’t ask you to save me,” Mingi’s voice is sharp, so sharp it could cut through glass. It certainly feels like he’s slicing through your skin.
You are bleeding through the cuts that Mingi has made verbally on your skin, stinging you.
“You’re un-fucking-believable. You’re humiliating me. I am being seen as another possible pawn in your game, Song Mingi, and as someone who doesn’t know her boyfriend is screwing other people when everyone else knows it.”
“Nobody knows shit, you didn’t even know he was here—” Mingi starts, but then throws his hands up in exasperation. “What does it matter to you who I fuck when the cameras aren’t around? It’s not like you’re going to suck my dick for me, huh? You’re too busy polishing that perfect image of yours to get dirty. Wouldn't want your halo to get dented, right?"
Mingi has been holding a verbal sword this entire conversation, waving it around to show you that he can use it better than you can and with each strike, you’ve grown weaker and weaker. This last comment was the final blow, spearing you open, allowing your guts to slide out of your body, onto the floor beneath you.
Your eyes narrow as you hold back a few choked tears, noticing the glassiness in his eyes, mixed with his blown pupils and unfocused gaze. Suddenly, it clicks in your brain, the pieces coming together.
“You’re fucking high,” you whisper, those words chilling you to the bone. “Of course you’re high right now.”
His face twists a cruel smile onto his lips. “What? Are you gonna add that to your list of reasons you’re better than me?”
“No, Mingi,” you puff out. “I’m adding it to the list of reasons of why you’re going to pull me down into the crater I’m trying to get you out of.”
Those words seem to hit him in a jagged way, so he stays silent for a while. Between the both of you, you could probably hear a pin drop and your blood is whooshing loudly in your ears, making you flush hotly.
Mingi sucks his bottom lip in, stepping towards you. You swallow thickly as he comes into your space, engulfing you in musky coconut scent. You’re beginning to think that’s his signature scent and it genuinely feels intoxicating to you.
A look flashes across his face.
“You know what? If people are doubting us right now, then let’s give them something not to doubt.”
Before you can ask what the hell he meant, he steps even further into your space, clogging your lungs with his scent and in a split second, his mouth was on yours — rough, rushed, but long enough for you to feel how soft and plush his lips are.
The click of the camera on his phone is louder than the gasp you let out, your fingers fisting into the front of Mingi’s sweatshirt.
His tongue gently licks at the bottom of your lip and you grip even tighter, so in shock.
He tastes like vanilla and eucalyptus.
When he pulls away, you’re left dazed, your lips basically chasing his until you shake your head to clear your mind.
Mingi has his phone in his hand, fingers running across the screen before they stop and he looks up.
“There, posted, and now no one will question us. At least for a little while—”
You stumble backwards, lips wet with Mingi’s saliva as a large wave of nausea curls in the bottom of your stomach.
“Are you insane?”
“No, I’m a genius from where I’m standing. Isn’t this what you signed up for, dollface? Play my girlfriend and make it look real? Well, I’m making it real and you’re throwing a fit.”
What Mingi doesn’t seem to understand, especially when he’s high out of his mind, is that this isn’t a game. It might be to him — but for you, this is your career, your reputation, your image that your crafted to be the best parts of you.
For Mingi, right now, this was him high and reckless, using your mouth, your face, your status in order to save his own skin.
“This is going to end up in flames, Mingi, and it’s going to be your fault.” You point your finger accusingly at him before you turn around, leaving his apartment and getting into the elevator.
You pull at the roots of your hair, trying to stimulate something other than the mental torture you’re currently going through. You’re angry, you’re upset, you’re delirious, you’re frustrated; you’re thinking about how Mingi tastes and what it would be like to taste him again.
You’re thinking about how that vanilla and eucalyptus would feel all over your body, lips dragging across your skin.
Oh fuck, you are so screwed.
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hope you all enjoyed! pt 3 soon <3
also if you saw typos no you didn't lol I have gone crosseyed trying to edit this document
warnings: baddie mingi, baddie fem!reader, mingi calls reader pinky/baby, playful bullying, suggestive, NSFW, implied sex (😱), minors do not interact!!
Y/N lives her life in carefully measured routines: long hours in the lab, part-time work, helping at her parents’ restaurant, and trying not to take up too much space in a world that already feels overwhelming.Mingi lives in noise: stages, crowds, attention, and a reputation that follows him wherever he goes. When their paths cross through coincidence, family, and a series of late nights that feel anything but accidental, something quiet begins to grow between them. Not rushed. Not loud. Just present.
Pairing: Song Mingi × Reader (Y/N)
Genre: Soft romance, slice of life, rom-com, slow burn
Y/N had learned early that life was easier when it followed a pattern.
Not an exciting one. Not a particularly inspiring one. Just something steady enough to hold onto when everything else felt like it might slip. Her days were built from repetition, from small habits stacked carefully on top of one another until they resembled something stable.
She woke up before her alarm most mornings.
It was not intentional. Her body simply did it, as if some internal clock had decided that rest beyond a certain point was unnecessary. She would lie there for a moment, eyes fixed on the ceiling, listening to the building breathe around her. Pipes humming softly. A door closing somewhere down the hall. Her mother moving around the kitchen below.
Eventually, she would give up on the idea of falling back asleep.
Her room was small but orderly. A desk pressed against the wall beneath the window, ist surface cluttered with papers she pretended were organized. Color-coded sticky notes lined the edge of her laptop. A corkboard above it held deadlines, reminders, half-formed to-do lists. One date was circled twice in red.
Master thesis submission.
The words still felt strange, even after months of living with them.
She swung her legs out of bed, pulled a sweater over her head, and tied her hair back in a loose ponytail. Her glasses waited on the desk where she had left them the night before. She slid them on and sat down, opening her laptop before she could talk herself out of it.
Chemistry greeted her like an old friend.
Equations. Diagrams. Carefully worded explanations that demanded precision. She liked that about it. There was no room for vagueness, no tolerance for assumptions. If something did not work, it was because something was wrong. Not because it felt like it. Not because someone misunderstood you.
Her fingers hovered over the keyboard.
She reread the same paragraph twice, then a third time, before realizing she had absorbed nothing. Her thoughts felt thick, like they were moving through syrup. A familiar pressure settled behind her eyes, not painful but persistent.
She exhaled slowly and leaned back in her chair.
This was the part she hated. The quiet moments where her brain refused to cooperate. Where doubt crept in uninvited. Where every unfinished sentence felt like a personal failure instead of a work in progress.
She counted her breaths, grounding herself the way she had learned to do over the years. In through the nose. Out through the mouth. Slow and deliberate.
When she finally closed her laptop, the sun had risen enough to cast pale light across the floor. She rubbed at her face, then stood, stretching until her back protested.
Enough for now.
Downstairs, the restaurant was already alive.
It sat on the corner of a quiet street, ist windows fogged slightly from the warmth inside. The smell of spices and oil and something faintly sweet wrapped around her the moment she stepped in. It was a smell that meant home, even on days when everything else felt overwhelming.
Her parents moved around the space with practiced ease. Her mother glanced up and smiled when she saw her.
“You don’t have to help this morning,” she said gently.
“I know,” Y/N replied. “I want to.”
That had always been true. Helping felt easier than resting. Being useful quieted her thoughts in a way nothing else quite managed.
She changed into her work clothes and slipped behind the counter, greeting regulars with small nods and soft smiles. She liked customers who did not expect conversation. People who ordered, ate, and left without asking questions about her life.
By late morning, she felt lighter.
Her part-time job took her away from the restaurant in the early afternoon. It was quiet work, mostly administrative and lab-related tasks, which suited her just fine. She liked being surrounded by equipment and data, by things that did not require small talk.
During her break, her phone buzzed.
Kyungsoo.
Kyungsoo:
How’s thesis life treating you
She smiled faintly and typed back.
Y/N:
Like something that refuses to reach equilibrium
Kyungsoo:
That sounds bad
Y/N:
It’s manageable
Kyungsoo:
Proud of you
She paused before replying.
Y/N:
Thanks
Kyungsoo was like that. Always checking in, even when he was busy. They were close in the quiet way. The kind of closeness that did not need constant reassurance. He teased her often, called her boring affectionately, complained that she worked too much. She told him he was dramatic and irresponsible.
They balanced each other.
She knew his job sounded impressive to most people. Working with K-pop idols. Traveling. Award shows and schedules and chaos. He talked about it sometimes, usually when something particularly ridiculous happened.
She listened. She smiled. It did not stir much interest in her beyond that.
It was his world, not hers.
By the time she returned to the restaurant in the evening, exhaustion had settled deep in her bones. The dinner rush came and went in waves. She moved between tables on autopilot, clearing plates, refilling glasses, offering polite smiles.
As the crowd thinned, her shoulders relaxed.
This was her favorite part of the day.
The lights dimmed slightly. Conversations softened. The last customers lingered, unhurried, as if they were in no rush to return to their own lives. Her parents disappeared into the back to handle paperwork, leaving her to manage the floor like they trusted her to do.
She did.
When the doors finally closed and the lock clicked into place, the restaurant fell into a comfortable silence.
She stood still for a moment, letting it sink in.
Alone.
She checked her phone again. Another message from Kyungsoo.
Kyungsoo:
Might be late tonight. Don’t wait up.
She sent back a simple thumbs-up and slipped the phone into her pocket.
Cleaning came naturally to her. She stacked chairs, wiped tables, moved methodically through the space. Her thoughts drifted, settling into that gentle, unfocused state she only reached when she was tired enough.
She filled the mop bucket and rolled it across the floor, humming softly under her breath. When the last surface was wiped and the floor gleamed faintly under the dim lights, she straightened and stretched.
Quiet pressed in around her.
She hesitated for a moment before walking over to the stereo.
Then she turned it on.
The music burst into the space, loud and unapologetic, bass vibrating through the floor. The sudden sound made her laugh softly, the tension in her chest loosening all at once.
She picked up a cloth, began wiping the counter again, letting the rhythm guide her movements.
A sway. A step. A spin she pretended was accidental.
She smiled to herself, alone in the empty restaurant, and let the music take over.
By the time they made it backstage, the noise of the crowd felt like it belonged to another world.
Mingi loosened his tie as he walked, shoulders still buzzing from the performance, from the weight of the trophy they had held together just minutes earlier. His ears rang faintly, not unpleasantly. Adrenaline always lingered longer than he expected, like his body refused to accept that it was over.
They had won.
Again.
Wooyoung was already loud, recounting moments from the stage with exaggerated gestures, his voice echoing off the walls. Yunho laughed too easily, the sound bubbling out of him like he had been holding it back all night. San bumped into someone and apologized three times in quick succession, still grinning like he had not quite landed back in reality.
Mingi hung back a step, hands shoved into the pockets of his coat, watching them with a small smile.
This was the part he liked best.
Not the cameras. Not the applause. This. The loose, unguarded moments after, when they were just themselves again. When the world stopped asking things from them.
Kyungsoo walked ahead of them, phone pressed to his ear, nodding as he listened. He looked tired, but satisfied, the kind of tired that came from a job well done. He had been with them long enough that he felt less like a manager and more like an older brother who happened to be in charge of keeping them alive and on schedule.
“Okay,” Kyungsoo said when he finally hung up, turning to face them. “Before any of you disappear, we need to talk about food.”
“Yes,” Yunho said immediately. “Thank you.”
“I haven’t eaten since this morning,” Wooyoung added dramatically. “I’m fading.”
“You had a protein bar,” Jongho said.
“That is not a meal.”
Mingi chuckled under his breath.
Hongjoong checked the time. “Everything decent is probably closed by now.”
Kyungsoo hummed, thoughtful. “Most places, yeah.”
“So we starve,” Wooyoung said. “Got it.”
“Relax,” Kyungsoo replied. “There might be one place still open.”
That got their attention.
Mingi raised an eyebrow. “Might?”
“My parents’ restaurant,” Kyungsoo said. “It’s not fancy. And they’re probably about to close. But it’s food.”
“Why have you never told us your parents own a restaurant,” San asked.
“Because you never asked,” Kyungsoo shot back. “And because every time I mention my family, you all get weird.”
“We do not,” Wooyoung protested.
“You absolutely do,” Kyungsoo said. “But if you want to go home instead—”
“No,” Mingi said before he could stop himself.
Kyungsoo looked at him.
Mingi shrugged, suddenly self-conscious. “I’m hungry.”
Yunho nodded vigorously. “Same.”
Kyungsoo smiled, small and fond. “Alright. But behave.”
Wooyoung grinned. “You know us.”
“That’s exactly why I’m saying this.”
The ride over was loud at first, then slowly mellowed as exhaustion set in. Someone put on music. Someone else leaned against the window. Mingi stared out at the passing city lights, reflection ghosting over his own face in the glass.
He had learned early on how people saw him.
Tall. Loud when he wanted to be. Charming when it suited him. He flirted easily, laughed easily, moved through people without much resistance. It was not something he had planned. It just happened. Somewhere along the way, a reputation in their idol bubble had formed.
Mingi doesn’t do serious.
Mingi doesn’t stay.
Mingi is fun, but doesn't do commitment.
He did not entirely disagree.
It was easier that way. Lighter. No expectations to manage. No promises to keep. He liked people. He liked attention. He liked the uncomplicated warmth of something that did not ask for permanence.
Wooyoung leaned over from the seat behind him. “You’re quiet.”
Mingi glanced back. “I’m always quiet.”
“That’s how we know something’s wrong.”
“I’m just tired.”
Wooyoung squinted at him. “You’re thinking.”
Mingi smiled faintly. “Don’t sound so surprised.”
Kyungsoo glanced at him through the rearview mirror. “Ignore him. He’s just mad no one flirted with him tonight.”
“That’s not true,” Wooyoung said. “Several people flirted with me.”
“Security does not count,” Jongho replied.
Mingi laughed, the sound easing something in his chest.
They pulled up in front of the restaurant a few minutes later. It was smaller than Mingi had expected. Warm light spilled through the windows, the kind that made the place look inviting even from the outside. The sign flickered faintly above the door.
Kyungsoo hesitated with his hand on the handle. “They might already be cleaning.”
“We can leave if it’s a problem,” Hongjoong said immediately.
Kyungsoo nodded. “Let’s just check.”
Mingi followed them inside, the bell above the door chiming softly as it closed behind them.
He did not know yet that this was the night his carefully uncomplicated world was about to get messy.
The first thing Mingi noticed was the noise.
Not voices. Not laughter. Music.
Loud music.
Very Loud Music.
The kind that did not belong in a restaurant that looked like it should already be closed for the night. Bass-heavy, unapologetic, vibrating through the floor the moment they stepped inside. It hit his chest before his brain caught up with it, a low thump that rattled just enough to be felt in his ribs.
Mingi slowed without realizing it. Listening to the Music with a smile. He had just uploaded a dance with this Song.
The restaurant itself was warm and dimly lit, chairs stacked on tables, the air thick with the scent of cleaning supplies layered over lingering food. It looked quiet. Empty.
Except for the girl in the middle of it.
She was dancing like the world had ended and she was the only one left.
Not carefully. Not timidly. Full-body, no-holds-barred dancing, like the music had crawled under her skin and taken over. One hand held a cleaning cloth that she waved dramatically, using it as a prop as she wiped down a table, spun away from it, then slid back again in time with the beat.
Her hair was pulled into a messy bun that was slowly giving up, loose strands clinging to her neck. She wore a simple work uniform, sleeves rolled up, a little too big for her, making her movements look even more exaggerated. Glasses sat on her nose, slipping every time she moved too hard.
And she moved hard.
Mingi watched, frozen just inside the doorway.
She threw her hips into the rhythm, then immediately undercut it with something ridiculous, shoulders bouncing in a way that made it impossible not to laugh. She leaned into a move that was undeniably sexy, rolling her body smoothly, confident in a way that felt almost accidental.
Then she ruined it on purpose.
A dramatic spin. An over-the-top hair flip that knocked her bun loose. A ridiculous little strut that ended in her nearly tripping over a chair leg before catching herself and laughing silently at her own clumsiness.
Wooyoung made a choking sound.
San clapped a hand over his mouth.
Even Jongho and Seonghwa hid a smile.
Mingi felt his lips twitch.
She was good. Not polished. Not trained. But she had rhythm, an instinctive understanding of timing that made even her worst moves land on beat. It was funny, genuinely funny, and at the same time oddly impressive.
She wasn’t performing for anyone.
That was the part that caught him.
She danced like she thought no one could see her.
The bass dropped harder, rattling the windows, and she leaned into it, mouthing the lyrics under her breath, expression focused and completely unguarded. She wiped down the counter with more enthusiasm than necessary, then spun away again, letting herself go loose in a way that felt deeply private.
Mingi forgot to breathe.
Not because she was beautiful.
Because she was so entirely herself.
She turned mid-move.
Everything stopped.
Her eyes widened behind her glasses, shock freezing her in place. One knee bent awkwardly, arm still lifted from the last move, cloth slipping from her fingers as it hit the floor.
The music kept playing.
Loud. Relentless. Cruel.
Mingi watched the realization hit her in stages.
People.
Strangers.
So many of them.
Her gaze landed on Kyungsoo.
His face collapsed into immediate regret.
“Oh no,” she whispered, the words barely audible over the music.
She lunged for the stereo, fingers fumbling as panic took over. It took her three tries to find the right button, hands shaking so badly she nearly missed it again.
The music cut off abruptly.
Silence slammed into the room, thick and suffocating.
Mingi could almost hear the blood rushing in his ears.
“I’m so sorry,” she blurted, bowing instinctively, like muscle memory had taken over where her brain had failed. “We’re closed. I mean we’re not closed but we are. I didn’t know anyone was coming and I thought I was alone and the doors were locked and I—”
She stopped, words tangling into nothing.
Her face was bright red.
Mingi noticed the way she folded in on herself, shoulders curling inward, hands clenching at the hem of her uniform like she wanted to make herself smaller. Like she wanted to disappear into the floor she had just cleaned.
Wooyoung broke first.
“That,” he said, awe dripping from his voice, “was incredible.”
She let out a small, strangled sound.
Kyungsoo dragged a hand down his face. “I said I might come by.”
“You did not say with them,” she hissed back, mortified, voice pitched low but frantic. “Why are there so many people. Why are you here right now. Why didn’t you text me again.”
“It was last minute,” Kyungsoo said. “We were nearby.”
She gestured wildly around the restaurant. “I was dancing.”
“We noticed.”
She groaned, face falling into her hands for half a second before she straightened again, clearly forcing herself to be functional. Her ears were bright red now too.
Mingi stayed quiet, watching the exchange with growing fascination.
This was not some awkward stranger interaction.
Kyungsoo turned back to them. “Guys, this is my sister.”
Eight heads snapped toward him.
“You have a sister,” San said, genuinely stunned.
“You never told us that,” Yunho added.
“That’s because it never came up,” Kyungsoo replied.
Mingi tilted his head slightly.
He could see it now. The resemblance was subtle, but it was there. The same eyes. The same way they both held tension in their shoulders. The same expression of deep, bone-level embarrassment when things went wrong.
She stared very intently at the floor.
“I’ll get appa” she said quickly, voice barely above a whisper. “He can serve you. I’m not… I can’t....”
Kyungsoo opened his mouth, probably to protest.
She did not give him the chance.
She turned and fled toward the stairs at the back of the restaurant, footsteps fast and uneven, like she was running from the moment itself.
Mingi watched her go.
Something warm and unexpected settled in his chest.
Not desire.
Curiosity.
Kyungsoo sighed the way someone did when they already knew they were about to lose control of a situation.
“Okay,” he said, turning to them, voice dropping into something gentler but firm. “Before any of you open your mouths again. That was my sister.”
As if they had not gathered that.
“She helps out here sometimes when she has time,” Kyungsoo continued, rubbing the back of his neck. “She’s the same age as Jongho. And she’s just as painfully awkward with strangers.”
Jongho blinked. “I am not awkward.”
Kyungsoo gave him a look. “You are selectively awkward. She’s… universally awkward.”
Mingi glanced toward the stairs she had disappeared up, then back at Kyungsoo.
“So,” Kyungsoo added, eyes sweeping over them, “be nice to her.”
Wooyoung opened his mouth.
Kyungsoo raised a finger. “I’m serious.”
Wooyoung closed it again, nodding solemnly. “We will be on our best behavior.”
“I don’t believe you,” Kyungsoo said flatly. “Sit down.”
They did.
Mingi slid into one of the chairs, still aware of the faint echo of bass humming somewhere in his chest. The restaurant felt different now. Smaller. Charged. Like the air had shifted after she left.
A door opened from the back.
Then another voice joined the room.
“Kyungi, you didn’t tell us you were bringing people,” a woman said, half amused, half scolding.
Their parents emerged together, her mother wiping her hands on her apron, her father already smiling politely. Between them, unmistakably reluctant, was her.
She had been dragged.
Mingi noticed it immediately. The way her shoulders were tense, the way she walked half a step behind them, like she was hoping she might still slip free. Her cheeks were still flushed, color spreading high over her cheekbones. Her ears stuck out slightly from where loose strands of hair had escaped her bun, and they were bright red.
Very red.
She refused to look directly at them.
Kyungsoo groaned softly. “You don’t have to make her help.”
Her mother ignored him entirely. “You can’t just disappear upstairs when guests arrive,” she said gently but firmly, steering her toward the counter. “Go wash your hands.”
“I already cleaned,” she muttered.
“And now you’ll help,” her father added, amused. “Just a little.”
She let out a small, defeated sigh and nodded.
Mingi watched her move behind the counter, movements smaller now, more careful. Being with her family changed something. The panic receded slightly, replaced by something more manageable. She still looked embarrassed, but she did not look like she might run again.
Her mother smiled at them. “Are you friends of Kyungsoo?”
Before anyone else could answer, Kyungsoo did.
“This is the idol group I work for.”
The words landed heavily.
Mingi saw her flinch.
It was subtle, but unmistakable. Her hands paused for half a second where they rested on the counter. Her shoulders stiffened. She swallowed.
Idols.
Dancers.
Famous people.
Who had just seen her cleaning performance to 50 Cent.
She glanced at them again, eyes wide behind her glasses, then immediately looked away.
Mingi felt something twist in his chest.
Something softer.
Endearment, maybe.
Her ears flushed darker.
Her father looked impressed. “Oh.”
Her mother blinked, surprised. “Really?”
Kyungsoo nodded. “Yes. That’s why we’re late.”
“Well,” her mother said, recovering quickly, “you’re welcome here. Sit comfortably.”
She nodded at her daughter. “Help them with drinks.”
She nodded obediently, reaching for glasses, still not looking directly at them. Up close, Mingi noticed more details.
Her face, now that he could really see it, was different from what he had registered before.
Big eyes. Wide and expressive, even when she tried to keep them downcast. Beauty marks scattered lightly across her cheeks and near her eyes, like someone had dotted constellations there. Soft features, but not fragile. The kind of face that felt honest.
Pretty.
The realization surprised him.
It was not loud or overwhelming. Just… there.
Seonghwa leaned forward slightly, resting his arms on the table, expression gentle. “Do you like idols?”
Her head snapped up in reflex, then immediately dipped again.
“Not really,” she said quietly. “I mean. I don’t keep up with it much.”
Seonghwa nodded, unoffended. “That’s fair.”
She hesitated, then added, “My everyday life is stressful enough.”
It was not said dramatically. Just a simple statement. A fact.
Mingi’s eyebrows lifted slightly.
She finished handing out drinks, murmured a soft “here you go,” and stepped back like she was done being perceived for the night.
“I’m going upstairs,” she said quickly, turning to her parents. “Good night.”
Her mother smiled fondly. “Good night.”
She paused by Kyungsoo, leaning in just enough to whisper something he did not catch. He nodded, expression softening, and reached out to ruffle her hair.
She swatted his hand away weakly and fled upstairs.
The sound of her footsteps faded.
Mingi watched the space she had left behind.
He turned to her parents. “She said her everyday life is stressful.”
Her father chuckled quietly. “That’s an understatement.”
Her mother sighed, not unkindly. “She’s doing her master’s in chemistry.”
That caught his attention.
“And because we don’t have the money for her to only study,” her father added, “she works part-time. And helps here whenever she can.”
Mingi leaned back in his chair slowly.
Chemistry. Work. Restaurant. Cleaning late at night. Dancing alone when she thought no one could see.
He pictured her again. The way she had moved freely, unguarded, before realizing the world had walked in on her.
Something about it stayed with him.
He had met a lot of people. Flirted with a lot of people. People who wanted to be seen. Who wanted to be impressive.
She had not wanted any of that.
And somehow, that made it impossible for him to stop thinking about her.
The van felt smaller on the way back.
Not physically. It was the same vehicle, the same cramped seats and fogged windows, but the energy inside it had shifted. The sharp edge of adrenaline from the award show was gone, replaced by the heavy, satisfied exhaustion that came after good food and a long day.
Mingi slumped back in his seat, legs stretched out as much as the space allowed, coat shrugged open. His stomach was full in the pleasant, almost sleepy way that only real food could manage. The kind that sat warm and steady instead of weighing him down.
Wooyoung sighed dramatically from the seat behind him. “I don’t care what anyone says. That was the best meal we’ve had in weeks.”
“I would like to personally thank Kyungsoo’s parents,” Yunho added. “And also apologize for how much I ate.”
“No apologies,” San said. “I went back for seconds.”
“And thirds,” Jongho muttered.
Kyungsoo, who was driving, shook his head but smiled despite himself. “My mom loves feeding people. You made her very happy.”
“She was adorable,” Wooyoung said. “The way she kept asking if we were full but still bringing out more food.”
“And your dad,” Seonghwa added thoughtfully. “Very handsome.”
Kyungsoo snorted. “Why are you all like this.”
“I see where you get your genes,” Wooyoung continued. “Strong family.”
Mingi listened quietly, staring out the window as the city lights blurred past. He could still picture the restaurant clearly. The warmth of it. The clatter of dishes. The way her shoulders had relaxed just a little once her parents were there, like she had anchored herself to something familiar.
“She’s nice,” Yunho said suddenly, casual. “Your sister.”
Kyungsoo hummed in agreement. “She is.”
Mingi spoke without thinking.
“She’s cute.”
The van jerked violently.
Everyone lurched forward as Kyungsoo slammed on the brakes, the tires screeching just enough to make Wooyoung yelp.
“What the hell,” Wooyoung said. “I almost died.”
Kyungsoo turned around in his seat slowly.
Too slowly.
Mingi straightened instinctively, suddenly very aware of the glare fixed on him.
“No,” Kyungsoo said flatly.
Mingi blinked. “No what.”
“No,” Kyungsoo repeated, pointing at him. “You.”
Wooyoung’s eyes widened with interest. “Oh, this is getting good.”
Kyungsoo’s gaze did not leave Mingi. “You are absolutely not allowed to say that.”
Mingi frowned. “Say what.”
“That my sister is cute,” Kyungsoo snapped. “Or think it. Or breathe in her general direction.”
Mingi lifted his hands slightly. “I didn’t mean anything by it.”
“I know exactly what you mean by things,” Kyungsoo shot back. “And you, of all people, are not allowed.”
“Wow,” San said softly. “That sounded personal.”
Kyungsoo leaned back in his seat, one hand gripping the steering wheel tightly. “My sister is innocent. She is pure. She minds her business, studies, works herself into the ground, and does not need whatever… whatever you have going on.”
Mingi stared at him, caught off guard.
“And you,” Kyungsoo continued, voice rising, “are the complete opposite of that. You flirt. You mess around. You leave. You do not commit. And you are not corrupting her.”
The word hit harder than Mingi expected.
The van was quiet for a beat.
Then Wooyoung burst out laughing.
“Oh my god,” he said. “He said it. He said the thing.”
Jongho crossed his arms. “To be fair,” he said calmly, “his reputation precedes him.”
Mingi turned in his seat. “Excuse me.”
Seonghwa raised an eyebrow. “Does it.”
“I do not corrupt people,” Mingi protested.
“You absolutely do,” Wooyoung said. “You just do it accidentally.”
“That’s worse,” San added.
Yunho leaned forward from the back. “Minki, you do have a pattern.”
Mingi scoffed. “I am charming.”
“You are emotionally unavailable,” Wooyoung corrected. “There’s a difference.”
Mingi hesitated, then said more seriously, “I wasn’t being weird.”
Kyungsoo studied him for a moment, expression sharp but not entirely unkind. “Good. Because she wouldn’t know what to do with weird even if it walked up and introduced itself.”
Mingi thought of her again. The way she had frozen. The way her ears had turned red. The way she had fled upstairs like the floor was on fire.
He swallowed.
“I noticed,” he said quietly, “that she didn’t even look at us.”
Kyungsoo exhaled slowly, some of the tension draining from his shoulders. “She hates being perceived.”
Wooyoung nodded thoughtfully. “Same, honestly.”
“She doesn’t like famous people,” Kyungsoo continued. “They make her nervous. She thinks they judge her.”
Mingi frowned. “Why.”
“Because she judges herself enough already,” Kyungsoo replied. “So don’t add to it.”
The van started moving again.
Mingi leaned back in his seat, staring at the ceiling this time. The teasing continued around him, Wooyoung making exaggerated kissing noises, San joking about protective older brothers, Jongho muttering something about boundaries.
But Mingi barely heard it.
He wasn’t thinking about flirting.
He wasn’t thinking about anything physical at all.
He was thinking about a girl dancing alone in an empty restaurant, singing 50 Cent under her breath, completely unguarded until the world barged in.
By the time Y/N stepped out of the seminar room, her legs felt like they might give out beneath her.
Not from exhaustion exactly. From the delayed aftermath of adrenaline finally letting go.
She stood in the hallway for a moment, hand still wrapped around the strap of her bag, blinking at the white walls like she needed to convince herself they were real. Her reflection stared back at her from the glass door. Hair neatly styled instead of hastily tied up. Light makeup, just enough to look awake. Clothes chosen carefully, intentionally.
Put together.
She barely recognized herself.
The oral report had gone well. Better than well, actually. She had answered questions without freezing, explained her methodology clearly, defended her results when challenged. Her professor had nodded, scribbled notes, even smiled at one point.
She exhaled slowly, shoulders dropping.
One hurdle down. So many more to go.
The ride home was quiet, her thoughts drifting between relief and the dull ache of everything she still needed to do. When she finally stepped inside the apartment, the familiar smell of home wrapped around her, grounding her more effectively than any breathing exercise ever had.
Her mother looked up from the kitchen. “You’re back already.”
Y/N nodded, slipping off her shoes. “It went okay.”
Her mother smiled, eyes warm and proud. “I knew it would.”
Y/N ducked her head, embarrassed by the praise, and headed toward her room.
She had just dropped her bag onto her bed when her mother called out again. “Actually, could you do me a favor.”
Of course.
She returned to the kitchen, where her mother was already packing food into containers. More than one. Enough for several people.
“Kyungsoo texted,” her mother said. “He and the boys are still at the studio. Could you bring this to them.”
Y/N froze.
“…Now?”
Her mother nodded, unfazed. “They probably haven’t eaten properly all day.”
That sounded accurate.
Y/N glanced down at herself. At the effort she had put into looking presentable for once. At the faint remnants of confidence she was afraid might dissolve if she stepped outside again.
“I just got home,” she said quietly.
Her mother softened immediately. “You don’t have to stay long. Just drop it off.”
Y/N hesitated, then sighed.
“Okay.”
The evening air was cool against her face as she rode her bike through the streets, food secured carefully in the basket. She pedaled steadily, trying not to overthink it. She was just delivering food. She had done it before. Plenty of times.
Just not to them.
She parked outside the building and pulled out her phone, staring at the screen for a moment before calling her brother.
He picked up on the second ring. “You’re outside, aren’t you.”
“…Yes.”
“I’ll come get you.”
The door opened a minute later, and Kyungsoo barely gave her time to react before pulling her into a hug.
“You did it,” he said into her hair, squeezing her briefly before ruffling it like she was still sixteen.
“Oppa,” she protested weakly, pushing at him. “I fixed it.”
He laughed. “You always say that.”
He took the food from her and gestured for her to come inside. She hesitated in the doorway.
“I should just go,” she said. “I still have—”
“You can’t,” he interrupted easily. “You can’t just sit in your room or the lab forever.”
She frowned. “I like my room.”
“And your lab,” he added. “I know.”
He steered her down the hallway anyway. “Five minutes. Eat something. Then you can leave.”
The door to the practice room was open.
Music was playing softly, nothing like the night at the restaurant. The guys were scattered around the space, some stretching, some sitting on the floor, all looking exhausted.
They all looked up at once.
Her stomach flipped.
“Oh,” Wooyoung said, lighting up immediately. “It’s you.”
She felt her shoulders draw in instinctively.
“Hi,” she said softly.
They greeted her like she belonged there. Smiles. Waves. Yunho immediately jumping up to help with the food. San thanking her far too enthusiastically.
Mingi smiled too.
It was small. Easy. Not overwhelming.
That helped.
They sat together on the floor, food spread out between them. Kyungsoo handed her a container before taking one himself.
“You’re dressed up,” he said casually.
She shrugged. “I had my report today.”
His eyes widened. “The oral one.”
She nodded.
“How did it go.”
“Okay.”
Kyungsoo grinned. “See. I told you.”
Then his expression shifted, mischievous. “Remember that time you had a presentation in high school.”
Her heart stopped.
“No,” she said immediately.
“You threw up on the teacher.”
“Oppa.”
“I didn’t even hear it from you,” he continued, delighted. “One of my friends was in your class. He called me and said, ‘Your sister just traumatized everyone.’”
She lunged at him.
“Stop,” she hissed, climbing halfway onto him, forgetting entirely that they were not alone. “Why would you tell that story.”
He laughed, trying to fend her off. “Because it’s funny.”
“I hate you.”
“You love me.”
“Oppa,” she whined, louder than she meant to, shoving his shoulder.
The room had gone quiet.
She froze.
Slowly, she became aware of the stares. The raised eyebrows. Wooyoung’s delighted grin.
“Oh,” Wooyoung said softly. “She can be loud.”
Her face burned.
Kyungsoo laughed harder. “This is her. This is the real her.”
She scrambled off him, mortified, smoothing her clothes. “I’m leaving.”
But she was smiling.
She really had planned to leave.
That was the intention, at least. Drop off the food, eat a little so her mother wouldn’t complain later, survive a few minutes of polite conversation, then retreat back into the quiet safety of her room where no one watched her too closely.
But somehow, she was still sitting on the practice room floor.
Her legs were folded beneath her, container balanced carefully in her lap. The familiar hum of exhaustion settled into her bones, but it felt different here. Less sharp. Softer, like the stress had been turned down just enough to be bearable.
The guys were easy in a way that surprised her.
They talked over each other, teased Kyungsoo, argued lightly about choreography she didn’t understand. No one stared at her too long. No one demanded attention. It made it easier to breathe.
Yunho glanced over at her while reaching for another piece of food. “So… you’re Kyungsoo’s little sister.”
She nodded. “Yes.”
“Does that mean you grew up around music,” San asked, genuinely curious.
She shook her head quickly. “Not really. He started later. I was already busy with school.”
“What did you want to do back then,” Jongho asked.
She hesitated, then answered quietly. “Science. Always.”
There was no judgment in their reactions. No boredom. Just interest.
“That makes sense,” Seonghwa said. “You seem like someone who likes structure.”
Her lips curved into a small smile before she could stop it.
Wooyoung leaned back on his hands, studying her openly. “You’re really calm.”
She blinked. “I’m… nervous.”
“That’s wild,” he said. “Because you’re hiding it very well.”
Kyungsoo scoffed. “She’s not. She just doesn’t talk.”
She shot him a look. “Oppa.”
The guys laughed.
Mingi had been quiet, sitting across from her, legs stretched out, container forgotten in his hands. She felt his gaze occasionally, but it wasn’t heavy. More like… observant. Like he was paying attention without trying to pull her into it.
“What do you do when you’re not studying or working,” Yunho asked. “You have to do something fun, right.”
She looked down at her food, fingers tightening slightly around the container.
“I don’t have a lot of time,” she admitted.
“But when you do,” Jongho prompted gently.
She thought about it for a moment, then answered honestly. “I like anime.”
That got their attention.
“Anime,” San repeated, eyes lighting up immediately. “Which ones.”
She shrugged, a little shy. “Mostly sports anime.”
Mingi sat up straighter.
“Like what,” San asked quickly.
“…Haikyuu.”
The reaction was immediate.
“What,” San said, louder than necessary.
Mingi leaned forward at the same time. “Wait. Really.”
She nodded, startled by the sudden intensity. “Yes.”
San scooted closer without thinking. “Who’s your favorite character.”
“And which team,” Mingi added. “Karasuno, Nekoma?”
Her eyes widened slightly.
“I like Nishinoya,” she said, voice still soft but more animated now. “And Bokuto. And I like Karasuno, but Nekoma is interesting too.”
San gasped. “Excellent taste.”
Mingi smiled, real this time. “That’s… actually perfect.”
They started talking at once.
“How far are you.”
“Did you cry.”
“What about the manga.”
“Have you seen the matches animated.”
She laughed.
It slipped out before she could stop it. Light and unguarded, the sound of it surprising even her. She covered her mouth instinctively, but it was too late.
The room went quiet.
She realized it slowly. The way everyone had stopped talking. The way San froze mid-gesture. The way Mingi’s smile softened instead of fading.
Her laugh faded into a nervous little sound.
“I’m sorry,” she said quickly. “I didn’t mean to—”
“No,” Yunho said gently. “Don’t apologize.”
Wooyoung tilted his head, eyes sharp. “You look different when you laugh.”
Her face heated instantly.
Kyungsoo snapped, “Hey.”
Wooyoung grinned, unapologetic. “I mean it in a good way.”
“I don’t care how you mean it,” Kyungsoo shot back. “Stop.”
She sank slightly into herself again, but she was still smiling, heart beating a little faster than before.
Mingi watched her, something warm and unfamiliar settling in his chest.
She wasn’t guarded right now.
She wasn’t shrinking.
She was just… there. Laughing. Talking about something she loved. Beauty marks standing out more when her cheeks lifted. Big eyes bright instead of careful.
Kyungsoo reached over and flicked Wooyoung’s forehead. “Hands and comments to yourself.”
Wooyoung laughed. “Relax. I’m just appreciating.”
“You can appreciate silently.”
She hid her smile behind her container.
For the first time in a long while, she did not feel like she needed to disappear.
And that, more than anything else, scared her just a little.
The dorm settled into its usual nighttime rhythm slowly aftwr they went back to kyungsoos parents restaurant.
Doors opened and closed, the hum of the shower echoed down the hallway, someone arguing softly about whose turn it was to do laundry. It was familiar enough that Mingi barely registered it. He dropped his bag by the couch and sat down, elbows resting on his knees, staring at the floor like it might offer answers if he looked long enough.
Kyungsoo wasn’t there.
That absence lingered more than Mingi expected. Usually, Kyungsoo’s presence meant structure. Curfews. Warnings. Someone telling them to eat properly and sleep more. Without him, the air felt looser. Less supervised. Like they were allowed to think thoughts they normally wouldn’t say out loud.
Wooyoung kicked his shoes off dramatically and collapsed onto the floor. “I’m still thinking about that food.”
Yunho laughed from the kitchen. “Your stomach is louder than your laugh.”
“Incorrect,” Wooyoung replied. “Both are powerful.”
San stretched near the mirror, rolling his shoulders. “Kyungsoo’s mom is terrifying in the best way.”
“She kept watching to see if we finished everything,” Jongho said. “I felt judged.”
“And his dad,” Seonghwa added casually, hanging up his jacket. “That man has a very calm authority.”
“Why are you all reviewing his parents like that,” Wooyoung asked.
Mingi listened, half-present. The conversation washed over him in pieces. His thoughts kept drifting backward instead of forward.
The practice room.
The food spread out on the floor.
Her sitting with her legs tucked beneath her, shoulders slightly hunched, trying not to take up space.
“When we first met her...She looked more relaxed once her parents were there,” Yunho said suddenly, like he’d been thinking the same thing.
Mingi looked up.
San nodded. “Yeah. Before that, she looked like she wanted to disappear.”
“She almost did,” Wooyoung added. “She ran upstairs like the stairs were on fire.”
Mingi exhaled slowly. “She hates being watched.”
The words slipped out before he thought about them.
All eyes turned toward him.
Wooyoung raised an eyebrow. “You sound very sure.”
Mingi shrugged, leaning back against the couch. “It was obvious.”
“How,” Jongho asked, calm as always.
“She moved differently,” Mingi said, searching for the right phrasing. “When she thought no one was there, she was… free. Then the second she realized we were watching, she folded in on herself.”
Seonghwa hummed quietly. “That’s observant.”
Mingi didn’t respond. He hadn’t meant to analyze it out loud.
“She’s interesting,” he said instead, more carefully this time.
The room went quiet, but not sharply. Not teasing yet. Just attentive.
Wooyoung grinned slowly. “Ah. There it is.”
Mingi shot him a look. “Don’t make it weird.”
“I’m not,” Wooyoung said. “I’m appreciating the character development.”
San tilted his head. “Kyungsoo did say very clearly that you were not allowed to corrupt her.”
Mingi winced. “I know.”
“That was… intense,” Yunho added.
“He wasn’t joking,” Jongho said. “At all.”
Mingi rubbed the back of his neck. “I’m not trying to prove him wrong.”
“That’s good,” Seonghwa said gently. “Because she didn’t look like someone who wants to be pulled into anything.”
Mingi nodded. “Exactly.”
He leaned forward again, forearms resting on his thighs. “She’s not in this world. And she doesn’t want to be. That’s clear.”
“She didn’t care who we were,” Yunho said. “At all.”
“She cared,” Mingi corrected quietly. “Just not in a good way.”
That earned him another look.
“She flinched,” he continued. “When Kyungsoo said who we were. Not excited. Just… uncomfortable.”
San frowned. “That’s rare.”
“It is,” Mingi agreed.
Jongho shifted beside him. “Which means she probably wouldn’t be impressed by you.”
Mingi turned his head slowly. “Why is that relevant.”
Wooyoung laughed. “He’s right. She didn’t even look at you twice.”
That shouldn’t have mattered.
It did.
Mingi leaned back, staring at the ceiling again. “I noticed.”
“And,” Jongho added calmly, “she doesn’t seem like the type who would find you attractive.”
The words landed gently, not cruelly. Still, something in Mingi’s chest tightened.
Not offense.
Recognition.
“She wouldn’t,” Mingi said after a moment.
The room waited.
“She wouldn’t like me,” he clarified. “Not the version people think they know.”
San studied him. “And which version is that.”
“The easy one,” Mingi replied. “The one that flirts and leaves.”
Wooyoung whistled softly. “Self-aware.”
Mingi ignored him. “She has too much going on. She’s tired. She’s focused. She doesn’t want distractions.”
“And you’d be one,” Jongho said matter-of-factly.
Mingi closed his eyes briefly.
“Yes,” he admitted.
That was the difference.
Usually, that realization didn’t bother him. Tonight, it lingered.
“So,” Wooyoung said, breaking the tension, “you’re not planning anything.”
“No,” Mingi said. “I’m not.”
“And you’re not trying to get her attention,” San added.
“No.”
“And you’re definitely not thinking about her right now,” Wooyoung pressed.
Mingi opened his eyes and looked at them.
“…I am,” he said honestly.
The room fell quiet again, but this time it felt softer.
Seonghwa smiled faintly. “That doesn’t mean you have to do anything.”
“I know,” Mingi said.
He thought of her laugh. The way it had slipped out when she wasn’t guarding herself. The way her eyes had lit up talking about something she loved.
The next few days passed in a way Mingi couldn’t quite explain.
Nothing happened. Not really. Practice went on as usual. Schedules stayed packed. The dorm stayed loud. He laughed at the right moments, teased Wooyoung back, listened when Hongjoong talked about arrangements. From the outside, everything looked the same.
Inside his head, though, it was… noisy.
He didn’t know when it had started exactly. Maybe on the van ride back. Maybe later, lying in bed with the lights off and the dorm finally quiet. But once the thought of her had slipped in, it refused to leave.
It didn’t come as longing or desire. Not like he was used to.
It came as fragments.
The way she had sat with her legs tucked in, trying not to take up space.
The way she answered questions softly but didn’t deflect them.
The way she lit up talking about something she loved and then immediately tried to shrink back again.
The laugh. God, the laugh.
It annoyed him.
Not her. Himself.
He didn’t know her. Not really. He had no reason to be thinking about her this much, no justification for the way his thoughts kept circling back like they were searching for something unfinished.
By the third night, he gave up on sleep entirely.
He pulled on a hoodie, slipped a cap low over his hair, and left the dorm without telling anyone. The city was quieter at night, especially in the neighborhoods that weren’t built for nightlife. Streetlights cast long shadows over empty sidewalks. The air was cool, sharp enough to clear his head a little.
He walked without a destination.
That usually helped.
Tonight, it didn’t.
His phone buzzed with notifications he ignored. He shoved his hands deeper into his pockets, breathing in slowly, trying to ground himself in the rhythm of his steps. He wanted anonymity. Solitude. Just a few minutes where he wasn’t someone people recognized.
“Wait… is that—”
His stomach dropped.
He heard it before he saw them. Voices behind him, too bright, too excited. The unmistakable pitch of recognition. He picked up his pace instinctively, turning down a side street, then another, hoping they’d lose interest.
They didn’t.
“Mingi, right?”
He cursed under his breath.
He turned a corner too fast and collided with someone solid.
Small.
The impact knocked the air out of him, and the other person stumbled backward. Instinct kicked in before thought. He reached out, hands finding fabric and then arms, steadying her before she could fall.
“I’m sorry,” he said automatically.
Then he looked down.
Big eyes stared back at him, wide with surprise. Familiar eyes.
For a split second, his brain refused to connect the dots.
Then it clicked.
Her.
Hair pulled back more neatly than he’d seen it before. No work uniform. A cardigan hanging off one shoulder. A bag slung across her body that looked heavy enough to pull her forward if she wasn’t careful. She smelled faintly of disinfectant and something clean, sterile.
Lab.
Her mouth opened slightly, like she was about to speak.
“Mingi,” one of the voices behind him said, closer now. “Oh my god.”
His heart slammed against his ribs.
He didn’t think. He just reacted.
“Please,” he said quietly, urgently, lowering his voice as he leaned closer to her. “I need to hide. Just for a second.”
Her eyes flicked past him, toward the street. He saw the moment she understood. The hesitation. The internal debate written plainly across her face.
She startled slightly, then nodded.
“Here,” she whispered, already moving.
She grabbed his wrist without looking at him and pulled him toward the building entrance behind her. Her movements were quick but unsure, like she wasn’t used to acting on impulse. She fumbled with her key card, hands shaking just a little, then yanked the door open and dragged him inside.
The door closed behind them with a soft click.
They stood in the dim stairwell, pressed closer than either of them seemed prepared for, listening.
Footsteps passed outside. Voices slowed, then drifted away, disappointed and confused.
Mingi let out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding.
He looked down at her.
She was still holding his wrist.
“Oh,” she said suddenly, realizing it too. She dropped it immediately, cheeks flushing. “Sorry. I just—”
“No,” he said quickly. “Thank you.”
They stood there awkwardly, the silence stretching. Fluorescent lights hummed above them. The space smelled faintly of concrete and cleaning solution.
She adjusted the strap of her bag, eyes darting everywhere but at him. “You’re… out late.”
“So are you,” he replied gently.
She nodded. “I just finished.”
“Lab,” he guessed.
She blinked, surprised. “Yes.”
He smiled, small and genuine. “I thought so.”
Her shoulders relaxed just a fraction.
Neither of them moved to leave.
Mingi’s head went quiet.
Just a little.
The silence stretched.
Not uncomfortable exactly. Just… unfamiliar.
Mingi leaned back against the stairwell wall, hands slipping into the pockets of his hoodie, eyes drifting down to her again. Up close, she looked even smaller than he’d thought. Tired, but put together. Soft hair framing her face, a few loose strands escaping whatever neat style she’d tried to keep through a long day. The fluorescent light caught the beauty marks on her skin, scattered like they’d been placed without a pattern, and for a second he forgot what he’d been about to say.
He cleared his throat.
“You always work this late,” he said, letting his voice drop just a little, casual, easy. “Or did I just get lucky twice.”
That usually did something.
A smile. A raised eyebrow. At least a flicker of awareness.
She just blinked.
“Oh,” she said. “Um. It depends. If an experiment runs long, I can’t just stop it.”
She shifted her bag higher on her shoulder, clearly treating it as a genuine question instead of what it was.
Mingi paused.
“…Right,” he said slowly.
He tried again.
“That sounds intense,” he added, tilting his head. “Must be hard to balance all that and still look this…pretty....awake.”
Her brows knitted together slightly as she considered that.
“I didn't need to help in the restaurant this morning ,” she said. “So I slept a bit more than usual.”
That was it.
No reaction. No embarrassment. No realization that he’d just complimented her.
Mingi bit the inside of his cheek to keep from smiling.
Interesting.
“Did the lab go well,” he asked, abandoning subtlety.
She nodded. “Yes. I think so.”
“I’m glad,” he said, meaning it more than he expected.
She gave him a small, polite smile. Then she glanced toward the stairwell door, fingers tightening around her bag strap.
“I should go,” she said. “It’s late.”
She stepped past him toward the exit like this was the natural conclusion to the interaction.
Mingi reacted on instinct.
“I can walk you.”
She stopped short and turned back, eyes wide. “Oh. That’s not necessary.”
“It’s dark,” he said easily. “And you look exhausted.”
“I’m fine,” she replied quickly. “I do this all the time.”
“I know,” he said. “That’s why I’m offering.”
She hesitated.
“I live close,” she added, like that solved it.
“And I’m already outside,” he countered. “Walking.”
She looked at him, really looked at him this time, like she was trying to figure out his angle. Her cheeks warmed faintly, color creeping up in a way that was almost imperceptible if you weren’t watching for it.
But he was watching.
“And,” he added gently, before she could refuse again, “you’re Kyungsoo’s sister.”
Her eyes widened a fraction.
“Oh.”
“And,” he continued, softer, “you’re a pretty woman walking alone at night.”
That did it.
Her blush deepened instantly, spreading from her cheeks all the way to the tips of her ears. She ducked her head, clearly flustered now.
“I—” she started, then stopped. “You don’t have to say it like that.”
Mingi smiled, warm and unguarded. “Like what.”
She shook her head. “Never mind.”
She hesitated for another second, then sighed, defeated. “Okay. But just part of the way.”
“I’ll take it,” he said quickly, pushing the door open for her.
Outside, the night had settled fully. Streetlights cast soft halos on the pavement, the city quieter than it had been earlier. They walked side by side, a careful distance between them, matching pace without meaning to.
Mingi realized something unsettling about five steps in.
He was talking.
A lot.
“So,” he said, hands gesturing slightly as he spoke, “what kind of experiments keep you this late.”
She answered. Quietly. Briefly. But she answered.
He asked another question.
She answered again.
Sometimes with just a sentence. Sometimes with a nod and a soft hum of agreement. Sometimes with a little more detail when he asked the right thing.
And every time she did, it felt like a small victory.
It caught him off guard.
He was used to being noticed without effort. Used to attention, reactions, flirtation that came back just as easily as he gave it. He was not used to having to work for someone’s responses. Not used to being the one filling the silence and hoping the other person would meet him halfway.
But she did. In her own way.
When he made a joke, her lips twitched before she caught herself. When he asked about her thesis, she grew more animated without realizing it. When she spoke about the lab, her voice steadied, confidence slipping through the cracks of her shyness.
He liked that.
A lot more than he was prepared for.
They reached a corner where she slowed, glancing down the street.
“I live that way,” she said softly.
He stopped with her, hands sliding back into his pockets. Smilibg faintly" I know.”
She looked up at him, hesitating again, like there was something she wasn’t sure how to say.
“Thank you,” she said finally. “For ....walking with me.”
He smiled, genuine and easy. “Anytime.”
She nodded, cheeks still faintly pink, then turned and walked away, shoulders relaxing as she put distance between them.
Mingi watched her go until she disappeared under the next streetlight.
When he finally turned back toward the dorm, he realized something that made him laugh under his breath.
He had flirted.
She hadn’t noticed at all.
And somehow, that made him want to see her again more than anything else had in a very long time.
The thing Mingi told himself was that he liked walking at night.
That part was true.
The city felt different after midnight. Softer. Less demanding. The air cooled just enough to clear his head, and the streets belonged to people who either had nowhere to be or too much on their minds to go home. He fit in better then. No cameras. No schedules. Just movement and breath and the quiet hum of the world continuing without him.
So when he found himself pulling on a hoodie and a cap again, slipping out of the dorm long after everyone else had gone to bed, he told himself it was for that reason.
He did not tell himself it was because of her.
At first, he didn’t even realize what he was doing.
He walked. Took the long way around. Passed the convenience store, the closed cafés, the familiar corners he’d memorized over the years. And then one night, without quite meaning to, he ended up a street away from the building where her lab was.
He stopped.
Stared at the lit windows.
And laughed quietly at himself.
This is ridiculous, he thought.
Then he went back the next night.
And the one after that.
He never waited directly outside. That would have crossed a line, even in his own head. He walked past. Circled the block. Leaned against a lamppost and checked his phone. Told himself he’d leave in five minutes.
Sometimes, nothing happened.
Sometimes the lights went out and she didn’t appear, and he went home with that familiar hum of disappointment he refused to name.
And sometimes, impossibly, he saw her.
She always looked tired when she came out. Hair pulled back, bag slung over her shoulder, steps slower than the rest of the city around her. And every single time, his heart did something stupid and traitorous in his chest.
He made sure to look surprised.
“Oh,” he’d say, like it hadn’t been the highlight of his night. “You’re still working late.”
She’d blink, startled, then relax when she recognized him. “I could say the same.”
“Coincidence,” he’d reply easily.
She never questioned it.
They walked together sometimes. Not far. Never long. Just enough to talk about nothing important. He talked more than she did, filling the space, throwing out small observations and half-jokes, asking questions he pretended were casual but absolutely weren’t.
And she answered.
Quietly. Carefully. But more than before.
She started looking at him when she spoke. Started smiling without immediately hiding it. Started teasing him back in the smallest ways, like correcting him when he exaggerated something or giving him a look when he pretended not to understand chemistry on purpose.
Each time, it hit him the same way.
Warm. Steady. Unsettling.
He didn’t understand it.
He was used to sparks. Fireworks. Things that burned fast and bright and disappeared just as quickly. This wasn’t that. This was slower. Quieter. Something that crept in and made a home without asking permission.
He also started showing up at the restaurant more.
That part was easier to justify.
The food was good. Kyungsoo’s parents liked him. The others didn’t complain. Sometimes they all went together, loud and hungry and filling the space with noise. Sometimes he went alone under the excuse of picking something up for practice.
She was always there in the evenings.
Not dancing anymore. Focused. Professional. But her eyes still lit up a little when she saw him, and that alone felt like a reward he hadn’t earned.
He never told the others about the late-night walks.
He never told them about the way his chest tightened when she laughed softly at something he said. Or the way he noticed she stood a little closer to him than before. Or how she seemed more confident lately, shoulders less hunched, voice steadier when she spoke to him.
He wondered about it sometimes, late at night, lying awake with his phone face-down on his chest.
What is this.
It didn’t feel like a crush. It didn’t feel like desire in the way he understood it. It felt… careful. Like wanting to protect something fragile.
One evening, Kyungsoo showed up at the dorm unannounced.
That alone made everyone pause.
He didn’t even take his shoes off before speaking. “The company’s having a Christmas party.”
Groans erupted immediately.
“I hate company parties,” Wooyoung said.
“There will be food,” Kyungsoo added.
Silence.
“Okay,” Wooyoung conceded.
Kyungsoo continued, glancing around the room. “They said family can come too. If that’s okay with you.”
Mingi’s heart skipped.
Kyungsoo scratched the back of his neck. “I told my parents. And my sister.”
Mingi kept his face neutral through sheer force of will.
“That’s fine,” Hongjoong said easily. “More the merrier.”
Kyungsoo nodded, relieved. “Good. Just… be normal.”
Wooyoung grinned. “Impossible.”
Kyungsoo left not long after.
The dorm returned to ist usual noise, but Mingi stayed quiet, thoughts already spiraling.
Christmas party.
Her in a different space. In his world. Surrounded by people who watched and judged and noticed.
The idea made something protective tighten in his chest.
And for the first time, the thought wasn’t exciting.
It was terrifying.
The apartment felt unusually quiet as Y/N stood in front of the mirror.
Not silent. Just… expectant.
She smoothed her hands down the fabric of her dress for the third time, even though there were no wrinkles left to fix. It was simple, nothing dramatic. Soft color. Knee-length. Something she had bought a long time ago for a presentation and then never worn again because it felt like too much for everyday life.
Tonight felt like an exception.
Her makeup was light, careful. A little concealer, mascara, a touch of color on her lips. Enough to look awake. Enough to look like she had made an effort. Her hair was down instead of tied back, falling naturally around her shoulders. She barely recognized herself, and that alone made her heart beat faster.
She tilted her head, studying her reflection.
You look fine, she told herself.
Normal. Presentable. Not pretending to be someone else.
And then, without warning, her thoughts drifted.
Mingi.
She frowned slightly, embarrassed even alone.
It had become too easy to think of him.
At first, he had intimidated her. Tall, broad-shouldered, loud in a way that filled rooms without effort. Someone who belonged very obviously to a world she had no interest in. Someone she had assumed would overwhelm her just by existing too close.
Instead, he had been… pleasant.
Quietly so. In his own way.
She thought about the late nights outside the lab. The way he always acted surprised to see her, like it hadn’t been the highlight of his evening. The way he talked too much, filling the silence so she didn’t have to. The way he listened, actually listened, when she answered.
She felt comfortable around him now.
That realization still startled her.
Comfort did not come easily to her. It never had. Most people exhausted her, even when they meant well. Around Mingi, she didn’t feel like she had to perform or explain herself. She could just… exist. Answer when she wanted. Stay quiet when she didn’t.
She swallowed, heat creeping into her cheeks.
And she thought he was attractive.
The thought landed heavily, making her grip the edge of the sink.
Attractive in a way that felt almost inconvenient.
He was tall, impossibly so, and she liked the way she had to tilt her head back to look at him. Liked the way his presence felt solid, grounding. Masculine without being aggressive. Loud when he wanted to be, gentle when he noticed she was shrinking.
And his lips.
She squeezed her eyes shut for a second, mortified.
She almost laughed at herself.
Since when did you notice things like that.
She didn’t. Usually. Attraction had never been something that came naturally to her. It had always felt distant, theoretical. Something other people talked about casually while she nodded along, unbothered.
So why now.
The answer came quietly, without drama.
Because he wasn’t a stranger anymore.
Over the last few weeks, something had shifted. Small conversations. Shared walks. Familiar smiles. Coincidences that felt less accidental with every repetition. He had become someone she knew, not just someone she reacted to.
And knowing him had made space for something else to grow.
The realization made her nervous.
It also made her strangely warm.
A knock sounded at the door.
“Are you ready,” Kyungsoo called.
She took one last look at herself, grabbed her coat, and opened the door.
Kyungsoo stopped short.
He stared at her for a second too long, then let out a low whistle. “Wow.”
Her face heated instantly. “Don’t.”
“I’m serious,” he said, stepping closer and tilting his head. “You look really pretty.”
She ducked her head. “It’s just a dress.”
“No,” he said. “It’s you not hiding behind oversized hoodies and glasses.”
She opened her mouth to protest, then closed it again.
Kyungsoo smiled, soft but unmistakably proud. Then his expression shifted, playful but protective. “I’m going to have to be extra careful tonight.”
She frowned. “Why.”
“Because,” he said lightly, grabbing his coat, “I just remembered who I work with.”
She rolled her eyes. “Oppa.”
“I’m serious,” he added, pointing at her. “If anyone even looks at you wrong—”
“Oppa.”
He laughed, pulling her into a quick side hug. “Relax. Just… stay close, okay.”
She nodded, heart thumping a little faster.
As they headed out the door, one thought lingered in her mind, impossible to ignore.
She was about to step into his world.
The venue was already glowing when they arrived.
Warm lights spilled out through tall windows, music humming beneath the low buzz of voices. People moved in clusters, dressed too nicely for it to feel casual but relaxed enough that it wasn’t stiff. It smelled faintly of perfume, pine, and something sweet she couldn’t quite place. Christmas, distilled into a room.
Y/N slowed instinctively as soon as they stepped inside.
There were too many people. Too much movement. Too many eyes.
Her mother linked her arm through hers immediately, grounding and familiar. “Look at this,” she said, delighted. “All of this because of you, Kyungsoo.”
Kyungsoo groaned. “It’s not because of me.”
Her father laughed, placing a hand on Kyungsoo’s shoulder. “Still. We made beautiful children, didn’t we.”
Y/N nearly tripped.
“Appa,” she hissed under her breath.
Her mother nodded seriously. “Very beautiful. Inside and out.”
“Please stop,” Y/N whispered, face already burning.
Kyungsoo glanced at her, smirking. “You walked into that one.”
They moved further inside, Kyungsoo greeting people easily, slipping back into his professional mode without losing that older-brother warmth she knew so well. He introduced her parents first, then her, hand resting lightly between her shoulder blades like a quiet reminder that she wasn’t alone.
“This is my sister,” he said. “And my parents.”
One of the men Kyungsoo greeted looked between them twice, then frowned dramatically.
“You have a sister,” he said, clearly offended. “And you never mentioned her.”
Kyungsoo sighed. “Here we go.”
The man turned fully toward Y/N, eyes lighting up. “That’s cruel, Kyungsoo. Do you know how unfair it is to keep information like this to yourself. And she is beautiful.”
Before she could react, he took her hand.
She froze.
He bowed slightly and pressed a light kiss to her knuckles.
“Enchanté,” he said with a grin.
Her brain short-circuited.
“Oh,” she squeaked, immediately hating the sound that came out of her mouth. Heat rushed up her neck, into her cheeks, her ears. She tried to pull her hand back and failed because she had forgotten how her fingers worked.
Her mother looked delighted.
Kyungsoo opened his mouth. “Okay, that’s enough—”
“Hey.”
The voice came from her right, close and familiar.
Mingi stepped into her line of sight like he had always been there.
He smiled easily, but there was something attentive in his eyes as they flicked from her flushed face to the man still holding her hand, then back to her again.
“Hi,” he said, gentle. “Your parents too.”
Her hand was suddenly free.
She hadn’t even noticed Mingi moving between them.
Her father’s face lit up immediately. “Ah, you.”
Mingi bowed slightly, polite and warm. “It’s good to see you again.”
Her mother nodded enthusiastically. “You boys look even better dressed up.”
Mingi laughed, rubbing the back of his neck. “Thank you. We dress up sometimes.”
He glanced at Y/N, just for a second.
“You look really nice,” he added, like it was the most natural thing in the world.
Her heart skipped, traitorous and loud.
“Thank you,” she said softly, still trying to recover.
Mingi turned back to her parents. “The others are over there. I think they’d be happy to see you again, if you want to say hi.”
Her parents exchanged a look.
“We would love to,” her mother said immediately.
Kyungsoo narrowed his eyes at Mingi, suspicious. Whispering. “I was handling this.”
Mingi smiled innocently. “Just helping.”
Kyungsoo snorted but didn’t argue.
As they moved away, Y/N glanced back once, still flustered, still overwhelmed. Mingi walked beside her, unhurried, matching her pace without comment.
The noise of the room faded just a little.
And for the first time since arriving, she felt like she could breathe.
He'd start slow, warm breath ghosting over your inner thighs first, dragging his tongue in lazy patterns up towards your center. When he finally gets there, he'd flatten his tongue in one broad, wet stroke from bottom to top, gathering your taste, groaning low in his chest like he's starving for it.
He'd figure out your clit fast, circcling it with the tip of his tongue, testing pressure, watching your hips buck when he hits the right spot. Then he'd settle into a rhythm. Firm and consistent strokes not too fast, building you steady. His hands would grip your thighs, holding you open and exposed while he works.
He seems like the type to be vocal about it too. Humming against you, groaning when you react, making it clear he's enjoying himself as much as you are. Keeps his eyes open, watching your face while his mouth works you over.
When you're wet enough, he'd slide two fingers in. Curling them upward, hitting that spot with precision while his mouth stays locked on your clit, sucking, flicking his tongue against you. You'd feel the vibration of his moans, the way he loses himself in it, grinding his own hips against the mattress because he needs it too.
He'd read your body perfectly. Speeding up when your breath hitches, slowing down when you get too close too fast, edging you until you're gripping his hair, thighs shaking around his head as you grind against his mouth. When he finally lets you cum, he'd keep his mouth pressed to you tight, lapping up your release. Tongue fluttering rapid and relentless, fingers pumping deep, riding out every spasm until you're boneless and twitching beneath him. You'll have to push him away.
Then he'd crawl up, lips swollen and shining, and make you taste yourself on his tongue.
