#THIS MINGI | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

minkieater · 21 days ago

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three’s company — smg & yjh ⭑.ᐟ

⭑ bf!mingi x gf!reader x bestie!yunho ⭑ planning to buy a house, get married and start a family within the next few years, you and mingi are the blueprint for the perfect relationship— until one of yunho’s infamous stories about his intriguing sex life gets stuck in your head for a little too long, and has you curious about spicing up your own sex life. ⭑ smut minors dni, praise, oral/both ways, p in v, degradation, choking, mention of toys, overstim, voyeurism? heavy on dom/sub dynamics, reader is a switch and so is mingi, yunho is a dom, very experimental/educational vibe, mxm ⭑ part one of ? / wc 21.4k ⭑ — this idea came to me late at night and plagued me until i finished writing it. i am obsessed with this trio, this dynamic. i love them so and i hope you do too <3

“You’ve got to be kidding,” Yunho faced the two of you from the twin blue upholstered couch across your living room, his brows slanted, upper lip raised in clear disgust. “Iron Man 2 clears the entire verse, best MCU movie to date.”

You faced your boyfriend with a smile, eyebrows raised, expression saying ‘Are you really gonna take that?’

Lopsided front teeth poked out from his pink, plump lips, a smile that was fighting to keep itself hidden. Mingi shook his head and leaned back, his heavy palm sliding over your knee, “Can’t argue with that, excuse me for wanting to watch Endgame.”

“Psychotic suggestion for movie night,” Yunho says and a disbelieving huff of a laugh falls from his lips right after, “Excuse me for not being in the mood to cry.”

“What if we watch a romcom?” You look between the two who give you wary glances, but don’t respond. “If we’re going to watch a Marvel movie, we’re starting from the beginning and not watching anything else until we finish all of them. Is that something either of you want to commit to?”

They both shrug as if you have all the time in the world, because you do. Every Friday night Yunho came over with snacks and soda in tow, sometimes beer if he had a particularly shitty week, and the three of you sat around your living room shooting the shit until you decided on a movie. It was an unspoken thing, your movie nights, your weekly hangouts, they’d started almost immediately upon moving into your shared apartment with your boyfriend, Mingi, and simply never stopped. Rarely did a week go missed.

You huffed a heavy breath, sinking back into your couch, snuggling up to Mingi. You slid your gaze over to Yunho who held the remote, “What are you waiting for? Everyone knows the first watch is The First Avenger.”

Yunho didn’t respond, but instead pointed the remote toward the TV, his hand completely swallowing the device beneath his palm as he searched the movie and put it on. You tugged the blanket that laid over the back of the couch over yourself and Mingi, laying your head over his shoulder, letting your arms wrap around one of his, letting his warmth seep into you. It’s been years since you’ve seen this movie, since any of you have seen this movie probably, yet your brain wanted to do anything else but pay attention.

With it being days after your period ended you were now nearing dangerous territory, ovulation week, a week your boyfriend adored yet had to physically prepare himself for. You resembled a fucking hormone monster for a long five days, needing your boyfriend at all hours of the day to tame the fire that would not die down inside you. Before Yunho came over Mingi had already taken you six ways to Sunday, you only stopped because Yunho trudged inside your apartment with a six pack and a face contorted with grief.

Another situationship over, he’d said. Not amicably, either.

You didn’t see the big deal, she wasn’t anything special, the girl he was hooking up with six months ago that he ended things with was better for him than this one. But Yunho is Yunho, somehow still a glutton for punishment as if it didn’t completely offset how he was with women, how he fucked. Not that you knew from experience, but from the stories he’s told while five beers deep, lounged out in your living room, complaining to you and your boyfriend, you’ve learned some things.

Things you could not think about right now. Not while your body was begging you to make a baby, not while you were literally laying on your boyfriend, not while Yunho was sitting just across the living room.

Right now was not the time.

But would it ever be the time to think about your boyfriend’s best friend’s sex life?

It’s not that you inherently wanted Yunho. You couldn’t possibly deny a gorgeous man’s beauty, but it wasn’t about wanting Yunho. It was the stories, he never should have opened his fucking mouth– how he naturally slips into dominance with every woman he sleeps with, no, he doesn’t slip, it’s intentional.

Yunho is a Dom. How he instructs, how he expects submission, how he corrects, how he tames.

Your sex life with Mingi was far from dull, Yunho and his stupid stories should be miles from your mind, but you can’t control the thoughts, especially not right now. You untwist your arms from around Mingi’s bicep, letting your palm fall to his thigh, his bare skin feeling like velvet. So soft despite the hair that grew sparsely in that area, you’d give anything to let your tongue lick up the skin, to watch his eyes roll back, to hear his deep groan as you suck a mark into him.

Your thighs tightened at the thought, eyebrows twisting because you know Mingi could feel it, and how he shifted beneath you confirmed it. You tilted your head, peeking up at him with a sheepish look through your lashes, just to be met with a disapproving crinkle between his brows.

You could basically hear his thoughts, Don’t even think about it. You almost pouted. I need you. Now. He shook his head once. Not here. You looked toward the hallway where your bathroom was, that led to your bedroom. We have plenty of options. He glanced at Yunho, then back at you. When he leaves, I’ll take care of you. You held his gaze, I can’t wait that long. He didn’t back down. You can, and you will.

You huffed, shuffling to the side, putting inches of space between yourself and your boyfriend. You caught the sideways glance from Yunho which lasted all of a millisecond before his eyes were back on the screen, watching the movie again. You pouted, arms crossing over your stomach, legs propped up on the coffee table in front of you that was littered with empty bottles of beer and half-filled chip bowls.

Mingi clearly wasn’t going to crack, and you could hold onto your anger until it killed you, so you leaned onto the armrest of the opposite side of the couch, the pillow shoved beneath you not giving a shred of the comfort your boyfriend’s body did. You kept your eyes trained on the screen, brain whirling in frustration and arousal, letting yourself daydream about Yunho’s debauched sex life until your eyes inevitably closed.

You woke to fingers hooking into your waistband, sliding it down your thighs with careful precision, like he didn’t want to wake you. You lifted your hips anyhow, welcoming the head of black hair between your legs, eyes still heavy and low-lidded with sleep. Mingi looked up at you through thick lashes, gaze heavy, his lips slightly parted, as if he’s been waiting for this.

“He just left,” he said like an excuse as your sweatpants hit the floor, black panties folded into the gray fabric, a contrast to your deep hardwood floors. Your back arched on command as he bent down, laying on his stomach, strong arms hooking under your thighs.

“Mm, needed this pussy just as much as she needed me,” he didn’t dare glance back up at you, eyes zeroed in on your center, leaning in just as your legs parted. He started slowly, tongue slipping through your folds, his eyes softly shut, ripping mewls from the back of your throat, low and grumbled, muddled with sleep.

Your hand flew to his hair as your chin tipped back, your neck digging into the uncomfortable armrest, the pillow beneath you doing nothing to soothe the ache. You didn’t care, you barely noticed, not with your boyfriend’s head between your legs, lips wrapped around your clit, sucking just the way you liked. He groaned as you pulled on his roots, tongue flattening against your folds, sliding upward to draw circles into your clit.

You sighed, staring at him through heavy lids, watching as his face contorted in pleasure, how his hips rutted into the cushions at the end of the couch. He pulled a hand from beneath your thigh, ripping his mouth away to spread your folds with his fingers, finally glancing up at you. Noticing your expression, he let out a huff of amusement, lips tilted in a smirk, “Have a good nap?”

Eyebrows knitted in pleasure and anticipation, you nodded, lips parted, fingers that fell to the couch gripping at the fabric. He chuckled as he inserted the tip of his middle finger into your center, earning a gasp from you. With his focus back at your core, he asked, “What had you so worked up?”

You were thankful he kept his eyes down, you couldn’t control the way your eyes widened ever so slightly, couldn’t hide your reaction to the last question you’d expect him to ask. You wished you could avoid the question, you couldn’t answer honestly and say that you were daydreaming about his best friend’s sex life.

You stuttered, “S-Steve Rogers was on the screen.”

He paused, looking back up at you with his eyebrows raised, “Steve Rogers had you ready to fuck me in the bathroom with Yunho, of all people, here?”

You cracked a smile, it was kind of funny, even funnier that it was believable. “Can you blame me?”

“No,” he bid you one more amused glance before he slipped his middle finger inside you, “I can’t.”

You gasped a moan, back arching again, hips bucking up to meet the length of his finger. He pumped it inside of you once, twice before he was curling it, the pad of his finger rubbing up against that spot inside you that made your bones feel like jelly. You were loud now, moans slipping from your lips one after another as he built up a rhythm, his finger curling into you with each thrust, putting pressure where you needed it. When he brought his lips back down to suck on your clit your hands flew to his roots again, holding him there, broken cries leaving your lips, he was so fucking good at this.

He knew how to coax you to orgasm better than you did by now. You supposed after being together for years, he should. You gasped when his teeth grazed your clit, hips bucking into him, curses flying from your lips. “F-fuck,” you hissed, “Yes, Mingi, just like that.”

He grunted in response, feeling your walls tightening around his finger, quickening his pace, the rhythm you needed to push you over the edge. Your legs shook around his head, your breath catching in your throat, shakily inhaling with each wave of pleasure as he brought you to orgasm with ease, movements he’s been perfecting for years now.

“Please tell me you’re planning on fucking me again,” you gave yourself no rest, staring at him through glassy eyes, your body heavy and slightly spent, you didn’t even know what number orgasm you were on today.

“I don’t know if my dick still works,” he sat back on his calves, pulling your body towards him with your hips. One fluid movement, so easy, he was so strong, he could throw you around if he wanted to, god, you wish he wanted to.

You rolled your eyes, arms reaching in front of you to wrap around his biceps, letting your fingers slip beneath the sleeves of his tee shirt as he bent down, bringing his face to yours. “I watched you hump the couch two minutes ago, Mingi.”

“Hey,” he pulled back before you could attach your lips to his, “Don’t make fun of me for that.”

“What?” You smiled, head tilting to the side, “I would never.”

He pouted, bottom lip jutting out, wet and plump and soft, your arms slid up to flatten your hands around his shoulders, pulling him back down. “I think it’s sexy that eating me out makes you desperate.”

He finally kissed you, tongue slipping into your mouth, letting you taste yourself. You hummed, stretching your legs to lay them over his thighs, pulling him into you, where he rutted his hips into yours the second you made contact. You kissed for a while, letting your tongues sloppily lick into each other’s mouths, your hands flying into his hair again, his hands sliding down your torso. You let your mind drift as you kissed, thinking about how he pulled you into him so easily, how much he could rough you up if he wanted to, if he had a dominant bone in his body.

Mingi is a lot of things, but you would never say dominant is one of them. Over six feet tall and so fucking strong, Mingi seemed intimidating until the moment he opened his mouth. Sweet, caring, eager to please, Mingi would do anything for you. He’d fight wars for you, swim across the ocean, you shouldn’t want anything more. You shouldn’t want anything different.

And you don’t. Not really.

Mingi is perfect how he is, you wouldn’t want him any other way. But curious you are, and you couldn’t help but wonder what he’d be like if he treated you like a pet rather than his girlfriend. Would he be anything like how Yunho describes his encounters? Would he be strict, would he control when you came, how you came? Would he choke you, slap you, take you in any way he wanted, instead of what you wanted?

What you wanted was to be fucked, and as Mingi slipped his sweatpants halfway down his flexed thighs and lined himself up with your center, you knew what you wanted would always be his top priority. Song Mingi didn’t know what the word selfish meant.

You didn’t deserve it, you acted like a brat earlier, huffing out of annoyance and putting physical space between you because you didn’t get what you wanted. But instead of punishing you, instead of fucking you only to get himself off, of denying you the pleasure of another orgasm, Mingi woke you up with his face between your legs. Because he knew you, what you wanted, what you needed, and Mingi’s life’s pleasure is making you happy.

You cried out as he sheathed himself inside you, nails painting crescents into his biceps, your eyes flying to the back of your head, flushing out your entire thought process. No, Mingi is perfect, the way he carves himself space inside you as if it’s the first time, every time, is more than you could ever ask for. He leaned back down, barely attaching his lips to yours, only the sounds of your breath and skin slapping against skin to be heard in your living room.

With his hands still wrapped around your hips he tilted them upward, fucking into you harshly, angled to hit that same spot inside you, he wasn’t in the mood to draw this out and you couldn’t blame him. You’ve been insatiable all day, when you woke up, in the car earlier, against the kitchen counter before Yunho came over, you wondered if he had anything left to give you. You slid your hand down between your legs, drawing quick circles over your clit, your jaw falling slack, lips unresponsive against Mingi’s.

“Gonna cum for me already, hmm?” He tried his best to sound like he wasn’t completely losing it, voice strained yet still teasing. His hips stuttering told the truth he tried to hide, he was just as close as you were.

“Yes,” you whispered into his mouth, voice high pitched, on the cusp of orgasm, your hips meeting his thrusts like you couldn’t get him deep enough.

He let his forehead press against yours, both surfaces coated in sweat, mixing together in their meeting, getting a glimpse of his fucked out face was enough to send you over the edge. Your knees tightened around his torso as you came, moans guttural and unabashed, embarrassment might’ve crossed your mind two years ago. But now he’s seen everything, he’s heard everything, he aches for it, if you aren’t cross-eyed and crying into his ear, he knows he isn’t hitting it right.

“Yes, baby, that’s it, so fucking good,” he praises, hands gripping under your thighs, pressing them back, bending you in half. “Gonna fill this pussy up.”

Chest heaving, mouth ajar and unable to close, you could have finished again at the sight of him. Sweat sticking his hair to his forehead, the muscles surrounding his hips peeking out from beneath the hem of his tee, bottom lip tucked between his teeth, Mingi was a vision, a sight to be seen.

“Please,” you begged, voice whiney and desperate, “Wanna feel you cum inside, I need it.”

His thrusts turned erratic, smacking into you harshly, a deep groan leaving his lips as he emptied himself inside you, fingers holding onto your legs tight as he came. Where you wouldn’t usually notice the sharp pain of his grip, your senses were on high alert, the feeling making you moan with him, the pain mixing with the comforting warmth of his cum filling you up. Hypnotizing, addicting, for a moment you thought maybe this wasn’t ovulation brain– maybe this was something you were really curious about.

Maybe something you really wanted to try.

He keeled over, lips finding yours again, palms softly running over where he’d just gripped onto you, soothing the area. Your skin burned under his touch, you wanted him to do it again, harder this time, maybe wrap one of his pretty hands around your throat–

“You’re cut off for the night,” he said into your lips, then pressed a kiss to your cheek. “No more sex.”

“Boo,” you wrapped your arms around his neck, crossing your ankles over his back, “If I keep you here maybe you’ll get hard again.”

He laughed into your cheek, heavy and genuine, “You’re terrifying when you’re ovulating.”

“Says the man who just came inside me,” you pressed a kiss to his hair, then loosened your grip on him. “You want a baby more than I do at this point.”

He shrugs as he sits up, pulling out of you, “Sue me.”

“We have a timeline, Song Mingi.”

Sundresses, swim trunks and margaritas surrounded you, all of your friends bouncing around Seonghwa and Hongjoong’s massive backyard, a ridiculously sized plot of land behind a farm-style rancher that they bought just last year.

Don’t mind the setup, Seonghwa said, We’re still renovating!

Meanwhile an inground pool enclosed by several feet of perfectly laid concrete took over the space just outside the back door, a tiki bar, a patio with a full grill, a table and chairs, couches, a fucking fire pit… We’re still renovating, your ass. It was both perfect and absolutely ridiculous how much they have it together in contrast to yours and Mingi’s one bedroom apartment two towns over.

They wanted to be the house, the place where all your friends and families gathered, the permanent hosts, and damn, did they succeed. They’ve been planning Wooyoung’s going away party ever since he broke the news of his job offer three states away, a bittersweet gathering, both in congratulations for Wooyoung’s raise and sadness that such an important voice in your friend group would be so far away. You hoped it wasn’t permanent, the selfish part of you hoped he hated it and came back to you guys immediately, he was the biggest light amongst you, one of your favorite people to be around, but you were also proud of him for his success, his hard work paying off.

You could hear him laughing now from across the lawn, chatting with his girlfriend, Sana, Jongho and his girlfriend Jihyo, about god knows what, the sound warming your heart while breaking it simultaneously. You’d miss him more than he knew.

“Want another, my love?” Mingi came up behind you where you sat, pressing a swift kiss to your cheek, stealing your glass out of your hand.

You nodded, “Yes, please,” and watched him scurry off toward the tiki bar, Yunho and his date sitting at the teal colored stools lined up on the outside. You watched Yunho’s head turn toward Mingi, how he got off his stool to follow Mingi behind the bar, no doubt to help him make you another margarita.

You turned your head back to the group lounging on the couches, Yeosang and his girlfriend Tzuyu, Hongjoong and Seonghwa, San and his boyfriend Jongin, everyone in the middle of a conversation you had accidentally clocked out of. You crossed your leg over your other one, fixing how your sundress laid over them, trying to ignore the sweaty stick of the summer heat on your skin, the alcohol that warmed your blood doing nothing to cool you down.

Past seven, the sun was still annoyingly bright and agonizing, your hair tied up atop your head, probably matted at this point from the time you spent in the pool earlier.

“...I keep telling you that you need to fire him,” San says to Hongjoong, his top lip bent in irritation, “He’s nothing but a lazy nuisance. If he messes up one more deal, I’m gonna talk to him myself.”

“He just started, San,” Hongjoong shook his head, “Cut the man a break.”

San sips his whiskey instead of responding, his hand laying over Jongin’s knee, and it’s the reminder you needed as to why you initially clocked out of the conversation. You hated when they started talking business– even if that’s how all of them remain close, minus Wooyoung and Jongho, who are old college friends of Mingi and the others. They were all college friends, the group of them in the same fraternity, still close as ever post-grad, even now that so many of them work at the same firm.

You loved when your parties and hangouts stayed free-spirited, light hearted, less talk about work and more stories from their college party days. Those stories you loved, especially the ones that included your boyfriend, the ones that told you exactly who he was before he met you. Not one story was surprising, though, he’s the same lover boy he’s always been, back then just included a lot more keg stands.

You let your eyes drift again, moving back to the tiki bar, where you caught Mingi, Yunho and his date walking towards where you sat around the fire pit. You shot them a tight lipped smile, grateful they were coming to join in on the conversation, hopefully derailing it to something more enjoyable.

“Wooyoung!” Seonghwa called across the lawn, “Why don’t you guys come join us?”

You grabbed your glass from Mingi as he sat down next to you, thanking him before you took a sip. Cold and refreshing, just what you needed to cool you off, tequila and summer was your favorite combination. Yunho sat down beside Mingi, and you watched as his date propped herself on his knee, her hands folded in her lap, crinkling the fabric of her pretty sundress. Yunho sat back, one hand holding his beer, the other haphazardly laid on her thigh as if it was nothing.

You wondered if that’s something he told her to do, or if she chose to sit there herself. There was space next to him, even more space on the couches across from you, surrounding the fire pit. Was that a part of it? Yunho’s game? Maybe it’s not a game, a lifestyle rather than some joke, a clear show of possession so everyone in the circle knew she belonged to Yunho.

Your tongue poked out to swipe over your bottom lip, ripping your eyes away from the pair, shoving the curiosity down. You turned into Mingi, crossing your other leg instead, your entire body leaning into him. You wondered if Mingi would ever ask something like that of you, maybe he would if he ever got jealous enough.

Mingi isn’t the jealous type, though. He never has been. He has full trust in you, and that trust outweighs everything, lingering eyes of others, shameless flirting that you never caught on to. Even that one time where Yeosang’s hand lingered on your forearm for a little too long after too many drinks, telling you how gorgeous you looked in blue, Mingi still didn’t care. He nodded his head with an excited smile and said, I know, right?

You wondered what Yunho would do in that situation. Would he rip your arm away, take you into an unused bedroom, a storage closet even, and remind you who you belonged to? Would he leave marks, trailing from your jaw to your chest, to show who owned you if they stepped too close?

Mingi nudged you with his shoulder, pulling you out of your thoughts, and you looked up to his concerned expression, giving him a small smile. He quietly asked, “You okay? Tired?”

You shrugged, “Was just thinking.”

He leaned over, kissing the top of your head, “Don’t think too hard, I’m starting to see steam coming out of your ears.”

You smiled, a huff of amusement leaving your lips. You don’t even know where you had been staring, if it was at anyone, you needed to control your thoughts, but they were starting to plague you. Especially when you caught Yunho holding up his beer bottle an inch above where it rested on his thigh, how his date immediately caught on, taking the empty glass and standing up to get him another. She was his date, it’s not like she was his girlfriend, someone who knows him well enough to understand his body language without a word being spoken.

The more you saw, the more you understood, the more it made sense. They were playing, even now, in front of everyone. You didn’t like the burning in your gut, the sting of jealousy, the interest it brought you, how a part of you wanted to try being in her situation. If you could be good, if you could pick up on cues so easily, so fast, if you could please. Will she be rewarded for it later? What does that look like?

You ripped your attention away again, blinking, staring down at your margarita held between your fingers. You could be completely wrong, all of this could be innocent, she could be sitting on his lap because she wanted to be there. Maybe she got him another beer because she was being a good date, doting on him. You could be sexualizing it for no reason, which changes the burning in your gut to a burn of shame, embarrassment that you’re sitting with your entire group of friends, once again pondering over Yunho’s sex life.

“What do you say we play beer pong, for old time’s sake?” Wooyoung’s loud voice washed over you like a bucket of cold water, grabbing your attention. Groans and laughter were mixed among the group, and Wooyoung tilted his head, his smile growing larger.

“How old are we?” Jongho smacked his arm, sitting on the side of the chair Jihyo was sitting in, one thigh on either side of the armrest, “Twenty?”

“Come on,” Wooyoung begged, his lips bending to a pout, “When’s the next time you guys are going to see me?”

“Guilt tripping us into playing beer pong,” San shakes his head, a smile on his cheeks, dimples out on display, “Very you– And it worked.”

Wooyoung cheered and Sana turned her gaze your way, meeting your eye, shaking her head with an amused smile on her face. You mirrored her expression, letting your eyes slide to Jihyo and Tzuyu, all four of you mentally preparing to sit on the sidelines while your boyfriends got trashed. All of you would have to deal with their hangovers in the morning.

An hour later, you and the three girls plus Jongin were all seated just off to the side of the beer pong table, where all eight boys were loudly playing, laughing, or taunting the ones currently in the middle of a game. You listened to the commentary just as much as you were watching the game unfold, your ear catching every other sentence, laughing when one of them made a remark that was out of pocket, but the five of you currently in the midst of conversation didn’t have much attention left to give the game behind you.

“...And she said she was not giving him the ring. It’s fucked up,” Sana sat back in her seat, her arms crossed over her bikini top, in the middle of telling a story. “She said she’d rethink it if I stayed with him for over a year after we move away, but I don’t believe her one bit.”

“Maybe she’s telling the truth, she’s probably just watching out for her son,” Tzuyu smiled at Sana, ever so optimistic, always looking at the bright side. Her brown hair laid in long braids down her shoulders, far past her bikini top, the tips just caressing the hem of her denim shorts. You tightened your lips, that was not what Sana wanted to hear right now. Wooyoung’s mom has never liked Sana, and you’re starting to think she never will.

“It’s crazy how she thinks she can control your relationship, I mean, Wooyoung is twenty seven. He’s far past the age of her coddling him,” Jihyo added with her face twisted in disgust, that was what Sana wanted to hear, Jihyo was always good at fulfilling whatever idea Sana came up with. The two of them were a pair, the moon and the sun, where Jihyo appeared harsh and was sweet as candy, Sana was bright and colorful until she bared her teeth.

“I know!” Sana said, a little too loudly, nervously glancing at the table behind you to check that none of the guys heard her, blonde hair moving with her. You’ve always been on Woo’s mom’s side, you always expected him to end up with someone… Nicer. He deserved someone who would treat him like a king, but in a way, you supposed Sana did treat him like one. Anyone else who wasn’t Wooyoung, though? That was a different story.

“I’m sure she’ll give in,” Jongin added, an encouraging smile on his face, he knows Sana just as well as you do by now. A linen button up laid loosely over his shoulders, the white a contrast to his golden, sunkissed skin. Him and San must have spent a lot of time at San’s beach house this summer.

This was always the dynamic between you, the partners. Jihyo genuinely believed what she said to Sana, Tzuyu was supportive, and Jongin tried to keep the peace. You kept quiet, you weren’t much of a liar, and your brain couldn’t be farther from Sana’s impertinence.

Your knee bounced, margarita watered down and loosely held between your fingers, Yunho’s date was glued to his side at the table behind you. She didn’t leave him once, not when Tzuyu invited her to sit with you, not when Yunho was actually playing the game. She respectfully declined with a bashful smile, cheeks rosy and chest gleaming with a sheen of sweat, then she stayed hung off of Yunho’s arm like an accessory.

It was beginning to fucking consume you. Was that one of his rules? Was she not allowed to leave his side, stuck there to be his personal waitress? Was she getting off on it, too?

Was the reward really worth it?

“Hello?” Jihyo tapped your knee, pulling your attention again, her smile amused as if catching you off guard was the funniest thing in the world.

“Sorry,” you tried to smile, tucking your hair behind your ear, “Did I miss something?”

“I asked how Mingi is, how you guys are,” Sana smiled the same way Jihyo did, “What’s got you so out of it today?”

You forced a chuckle, “My bad, I didn’t get good sleep last night, the margaritas are making me sleepy.” A lie so easily told, white lies you could handle. “We’re good, thinking about moving into something bigger soon.”

“Oh?” Tzuyu asked excitedly, “You guys have been in that apartment for years, are you thinking about renting or buying?”

A two-story, white house, with three bedrooms and an open floor plan, yes, you were thinking about buying. You fought to not glance behind you, keeping your eyes trained on Tzuyu, “If we can get a good loan for a mortgage, we’ll own.”

Tzuyu cheered, her grin bright and wide, “I’m so happy for you, me and Yeosang always talk about how perfect you guys are together. Do you think he’s planning on proposing this year?”

You smiled, a shy giggle escaping you as you stared down at your margarita again, “I think so.”

“Your wedding is going to be gorgeous,” Sana adds from across the small table between your chairs, “If it’s anything like how you decorate your apartment– and the bridesmaid dresses, don’t even get me started.”

You waved a hand, ignoring the bridesmaid comment, “I won’t, I’m not jinxing it. Who knows what might happen?”

You catch Jihyo as she rolls her eyes, “I wouldn’t be surprised if he proposed tomorrow, you’ve been together longer than any of us. You’re the OG girlfriend.”

That ripped a laugh from your chest, it’s true, you’ve been with Mingi long before any of the other guys’ partners entered the picture. Jongin interrupted, “I could help you with a mortgage loan, you know, my dad’s a banker.”

“When the time comes,” you nodded toward the brown haired man with kind eyes, then finally let your eyes fall to the table behind you, seeing who was playing now.

Who might still be glued to their date.

Mingi and Yunho were playing Yeosang and Wooyoung, a cocky smile on your boyfriend’s cheeks, a lazy smirk on Yunho’s. They must be winning.

And his date, her dark hair up now, in a claw clip behind her head, two pieces fallen out and framing her face perfectly. She stood just beside Yunho, her drink clasped in her hands, barely a sip drank from the clear glass. You wondered if she was allowed to drink, or if that was one of his rules, too.

Your lips pursed and you stood up, legs bringing you to your boyfriend before you could think about it. You slid in between him and San, the dimpled man throwing an arm over your shoulders, “You come to play?”

You smiled up at him, shaking your head, “Just wanted to watch.”

“Wanna watch me win,” Mingi added, shooting you a wink, then tossed the ball across the table, sinking it into one of the red solo cups filled with water.

You clapped with the rest of the boys, your grin wide as a low whistle left your lips, staring down the table at Yeosang and Wooyoung who wore red cheeks and sour faces. The difference in the amount of cups left standing made it clear who was winning, not that it surprised you, Mingi was always more competitive when he had Yunho by his side.

You watched as Yunho’s date tugged on his wrist, whispering something into his ear, and he nodded down at her. She silently excused herself, dress flowing in the breeze as she walked across the patio, inside the back door.

You watched, and then your legs were moving before you could stop yourself. You followed her in, just as she was draining her glass into the kitchen sink, one of her hands on her hip.

She turned to you as the backdoor snapped shut, surprise on her face, eyebrows raised and lips parted. “Oh! Sorry, I would have left the door open for you.”

Ah, fuck, she’s nice. You smiled, walking across the hardwood floor, your sandals smacking with every step, “No biggie, I don’t think I’ve introduced myself yet, I wanted to say hello.” You introduced yourself, a smile on your cheeks, “Not in the mood to drink?”

She glanced down at the empty glass in her hands, then at the sink, then up to you. She laughed nervously, “I'm a slow drinker, it got watered down, not all that tasty anymore.”

You slowly nodded your head, “Totally get that. Did you need help finding the bathroom?”

She looked around Seonghwa and Hongjoong’s kitchen as if you reminded her why she walked in here, the bathroom nowhere to be found. She smiled again, her cheeks rosy and squishable, face completely bare beside mascara, she’s adorable. A perfect, submissive girl. “Yes, please, that’d be great.”

“Down that hallway and to the right,” you pointed to the dark hallway and she thanked you, setting her glass down in the sink and scurrying off in the direction of the bathroom. When she was out of eyesight, you pouted, you don’t know what you expected from coming in here, but you definitely didn’t learn anything new. You took a sip of your margarita, setting a hand on the kitchen island for purchase, your mind whirling. You wanted to know. You wished you could just ask.

The door opened and closed behind you and you turned to find Jihyo walking in, her own cheeks red from the seltzers she’d been sipping on, the summer heat she’s been basking in all day. She smiled at you, eyebrows popping up in surprise and confusion, “Girl, what are you doing in here? You’ve been acting weird all day.”

Your lips pulled to one side, you wondered if Jihyo had any experience in this area, if she and Jongho ever explored in the way you’re curious about. If anyone in your group has done some experimental shit, it’s Jihyo. “Can I ask you a question?”

Her face turned serious, quickly walking closer to where you stood, gathering her dark hair behind her head to pull up into a bun. “Of course, is everything okay?”

“Yes, yes,” you said, shaking your head, loosing a quick, heavy breath. “Is Jongho ever… Rough with you?”

Jihyo paused in the middle of tying her hair, cocking her head to the side. “What do you mean ‘rough’?”

You scrunch your lips, trying to reword the question properly in your mind. “Have you ever experienced… Like, a dominant guy? That kind of role, in a relationship?”

Jihyo’s lips curved upward, a devious smile on her cheeks, eyebrows wiggling. “You thinking about spicing things up with Mingi?”

Your cheeks warmed, you looked down at the hardwood floor in embarrassment, then back up to her. “Possibly. I’m just curious, I guess.”

“Then yes, Jongho can be rough sometimes, but only when I purposely pissed him off or made him jealous or something. The relationship I was in before I started dating Jongho, though…”

Your entire face lit up, she giggled as she noticed.

“He was a very strict man, but not in a gross way, more so in a… Domineering way, I guess, everything I consented to. He thought it was sexy to control unsexy aspects of my life, what I wore, how I acted, what I did, who I talked to. In bed, he was a fucking freak.”

Your eyes filled with stars, you asked, “In a good way?”

“Oh, absolutely. He’d tie my hands behind my back, attach a spreader bar between my knees, or put a vibrator on me and leave the room until he was satisfied with how long I’d been in there by myself. Then he’d come back in and fuck me like I hadn’t already came a gazillion times.”

You released a shaky breath, toes digging into the soles of your sandals. It sounded so… appetizing.

“He was fun, that whole relationship was fun,” she smiled brightly, you almost felt bad about making her reminisce on something she loved so much, but clearly didn’t have anymore.

You couldn’t stop yourself, asking, “Why’d you break up?”

“He cheated on me,” she rolled her eyes, “Ruined a good thing. Fuck him.”

“Fuck him,” you nodded your agreement, cheeks warm, your whole body warm… You imagined Mingi tying your hands behind your back, attaching something between your legs to keep you from closing them, fully in control of your body and your pleasure. The thought was so hot, you could see it in your mind, you licked your lips as if it was happening now.

“I gotta pee, I’ll be right back,” Jihyo’s eyes flew back to the hallway, in the direction of the bathroom. Just as you started to warn her about Yunho’s date being in there, she bounced back out, apologies on her lips about being in there for so long. She was barely in there for five minutes.

You followed her back into the backyard, not stopping by the table again, but sitting yourself back in your cushioned chair, legs crossed, slowly sipping your margarita. You didn’t want to see her fall back to Yunho’s side like a lost puppy dog.

God, you needed to get a grip. The girl didn’t do anything to you. Jihyo’s story filled your head again, but instead of imagining Jihyo and the mystery man, it was you and Mingi, a vibrator strapped to you while he sat back, watching, analyzing, telling you no when you begged him to cum.

When Jongin pulled you back into the conversation you were barely paying attention to again, your body physically shook off the thoughts, a chill cooling off your very blood.

You really needed to get it together.

“I have something I need to tell you.”

Almost a full week after Wooyoung’s going away party, another movie night with Yunho under your belt, you couldn’t let these feelings fester for any longer, you were losing your fucking mind. Night after night, your boyfriend has rocked into you, sweet words on his tongue, soft caresses to your face. As much as you enjoyed it, you felt guilty for your feelings, for wanting more, something different. Admitting it was a start.

Day after day you’ve done little things, almost unnoticeable things trying to get his attention, trying to spark an ounce of jealousy. You made a comment about how good San looked at Wooyoung’s party, how he looked like he’d been hitting the gym– Mingi had given you puppy eyes, asking, “Should I start going to the gym more?”

You felt so guilty you dropped to your knees then and there, feeding praises into his ears, worshipping his body, vowing to yourself to never make him ask you a question like that ever again, to never make him feel self conscious or worth any less. The whole encounter left you feeling icky.

But maybe another route would work.

Just yesterday you asked him, What would you do if someone hit on me at the bar?

He furrowed his brows and said, Tell them not to do that, I guess?

You were getting nowhere like this, and it was frustrating. Granted, you probably should have just opened up and told him your feelings the moment these thoughts started crossing your mind.

Mingi turned over in your bed to face you, eyes sparkling, staring at you like you were his whole world. You needed to bring this up delicately, propose it in a way that wouldn’t leave him feeling like he wasn’t doing enough, that he wasn’t enough. You didn’t want to pressure him into anything, either. Asking him to slap you around was strangely feeling meticulous, you sucked your bottom lip between your teeth, eyebrows furrowed in focus and fear.

“Is everything okay?” He asked, eyes glossed over with worry, he shuffled a bit closer to you in your shared bed, needing your warmth to soothe his own nerves.

“Yes, baby, everything’s fine,” you smiled weakly, your arm stretching across the sheets to lay your palm over his cheek. “I’m just nervous to say what I need to, or ask my question, I guess. I don’t want you to feel like I’m unhappy, or that you aren’t doing enough, but… I’ve been thinking.”

He mirrored your smile, teasing, “You know what I say about you and thinking.”

A huff of a laugh left your lips, smile growing stronger, “I’m serious, Min.”

“Okay, I’m sorry,” his smile grew too, genuine and light, he’s always been good at diffusing situations, easing your stress. “Hit me.”

“Funny choice of words, actually,” you start, and the crease between his brows shows itself. “Do you ever think about… Being a little rough with me?”

He lifts his head up off the pillow ever so slightly, surprise flashing in his big brown eyes, “Like, when I’m fucking you?”

“Yeah,” you watched his face morph into confusion, “Throwing me around, saying mean stuff, choking me a little, maybe even slapping me–”

“Slapping you?!”

“I don’t know!” You shuffle in your bed, sitting up straight, tucking the baby pink comforter in your lap, hands mindlessly playing with the fabric. Staring down at him, voice coated in shame, you asked, “Do you?”

He blinked a few times, mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water. Finally, he says, “I don’t think I have ever, once in my life, thought about hurting you.”

“Does it freak you out if I say it’s something I might be curious about?” You lay a hand behind your back, using your arm to support your weight. Mingi shifts too, sitting up beside you, still staring at you like you’re a math equation he can’t calculate.

“It doesn’t freak me out, I–” He shakes his head once, as if he’s trying to figure out his own feelings, what to say. “When did you start thinking about… this?”

“The night we watched that Captain America movie with Yunho,” you answer honestly, staring into his eyes, trying to get a read on him. He looks down at his lap, thinking, counting, before he looks back at you.

“Dude, that was like two weeks ago,” he says, horror in his voice, “You’ve been sitting on this for that long?”

“It’s not a big deal if it’s something you aren’t interested in,” you wave a hand in front of you, trying to fake nonchalance, but there was no way to prove to Mingi this isn’t important to you if it took you this long to say something. He knows you far too well.

He glances up at your ceiling, moving his lips, scrunching them to either side of his mouth, thinking. He finally looks at you, a gleam in his eye that you couldn’t place, “You really want me to be mean?”

“I–” Now it was your turn to look like a fish out of water, and then you realized this was the time to admit it, to tell him what you want. With defeat heavy in your voice, you said, “Yes, I do.”

“Okay,” he breathed, nodding slowly, “I can try.”

“Really?” you raised your brows, staring at him in surprise as if you expected him to say no. But this was Mingi after all, always eager to please, the man who would walk through fire for you.

“You’ll have to, like… Tell me what you want in more detail, what to do, I mean.”

Your entire face lit up, eyes wide, grin bright, you jumped over the mattress to swing your arms around his neck and your thighs around his hips. You kissed his entire face, perched in his lap, mumbling thank you thank you thank you and he giggled beneath your assault, wrapping his arms around your back, holding you close.

“Do you wanna do this, like… Now?” He asked when you stopped peppering smooches to the tip of his nose, his voice not quite uneasy, nervously curious.

“We could,” you shrug, arms still hung over his bare shoulders, “We haven’t fucked since last night.”

“God forbid a day goes by where we don’t have sex,” he teases, his hands sliding down to your ass, squeezing lightly.

You gasp, dropping your hips to drag against his barely clothed crotch, smirking when you feel him half-hard beneath you. “There should never be a day that goes by where we don’t have sex.”

“As long as you’re still you, there won’t be,” he says, still teasing as he presses his lips to yours, soft and sweet, normal. You sink into him, letting your hips drag over him in a slow but intentional rhythm, allowing your mind to ease, releasing soft gasps as his hands slide up your body, under your shirt.

No, you didn’t need to do this right now. You didn’t want to. You wanted him, close to you, feeling his warmth and his weight anchoring you, to set the thoughts you’d finally gotten off your chest free. You told him, you’d talk about it, you’d plan, you’d do it. He said yes. God, you love him. You let your hands slide up his biceps, fingers dancing over the sides of his neck, cupping his cheeks to hold your world in your hands.

“Not tonight,” you whisper into his lips, forgoing an explanation he didn’t need, “I changed my mind. Tonight, I just want you.”

He smiles, bared teeth pressing against your lips, soft and comforting, home. “Yeah? You sure?”

“We have time,” you pull him closer, chest to chest, elbows hooked over his shoulders and hips still rocking as if he’d feel the truth laid bare, in your skin, in your breath, in your bones. He didn’t need to change, you didn’t want him to change, if things stayed like this you’d still spend forever by his side. “We have forever.”

He kissed you again, only breaking it to tug your shirt over your head, tossing it somewhere behind you, hands gliding up your skin with precision, feeling every dip and curve of your body. As if to burn it to memory, as if he didn’t know it already, as if he hasn’t worshiped every inch of your skin before. “I love you,” he murmured into your mouth, bodies still too close to be considered separate.

“I love you,” you whispered, barely breaking the kiss, eyes closed and heart aching with how much love for him it contained.

Another Friday, another movie night, another story told by Jeong Yunho.

Except this time, you and Mingi were more versed in his area of expertise, your listening was active, asking questions, looking deeper. Where you once sat nodding, periodically saying mhm and no way, you were now asking him to explain, asking why. And because Yunho is Yunho, he answered every question with honesty, even over-explaining when your brow quirked too high for his liking. When he read the question on your tongue.

For the past several days, you and Mingi have been doing research. Articles from legitimate blogs on the internet, books from the library, romance novels pulled from your bookshelf, Mingi had said, “If I’m going to do this, I’m going to do it right.”

You hadn’t quite explored yet together– meaning he hasn’t necessarily slapped you around just yet. He’s taken it slow, tugged on your roots during a blowjob, extended your orgasm by ripping his fingers away at the last second, he even called you a slut once. Just once, though. And he apologized after.

You didn’t think you could possibly be any more in love with him, but seeing him learn for you, express genuine interest in something you asked for, you couldn’t wait for the wedding Sana was running her mouth about. But that could wait. For now, you were still exploring, experimenting, basking in the relief of getting this off your chest and doing something about it. You never want to withhold information from your boyfriend again, and Mingi might go into cardiac arrest if he finds out you’ve been sitting on your feelings ever again.

Mingi’s been honest with you. He’s told you his doubts, his fears, that he’s petrified of doing something wrong, not knowing his own strength and hurting you, saying something vile that he can’t take back. You’ve taken them all in, easing his worries by offering him solutions, reminding him why you’re taking it slow. To set boundaries, to plan, to play, to find out if this is something he’d even enjoy. If either of you would enjoy it.

Because in theory it sounds wonderful, a wet dream coming from the pits of your ovulation, but to put it into practice… What if either of you hate it? What if your sex life is forever tainted because you’re trying to fix something that isn’t broken?

Clearly, you’re both overthinkers. But luckily, you’re both good at soothing each other, and Mingi has reminded you the two times that you’ve brought this up that nothing could destroy your sex life, the two of you were made for each other. There wasn’t much room for stress after that.

Yunho came over with a smile on his face this week, a telltale sign that things were going well with his newest partner. Walking inside empty-handed and talkative, he cracked a can of beer from your refrigerator, starting his story from the beginning as his long legs brought him to your living room. He was playing with her at Wooyoung’s going away party, a detail he left out when he was over last week, when he was too engrossed in the freshness of dating her to get down to the nitty gritty.

This week he was exploding with things to tell you both, his mouth running a mile a minute, sharing things you nor Mingi asked him to, but didn’t mind hearing. Especially not now.

“The rules I made with her are different than the ones I’ve made with others,” splayed across the couch he always sat on, Yunho’s Spot you and Mingi call it, a leg hung over the armrest with the other stretched in front of him, he sat lazily, relaxed. Yours and Mingi’s apartment was always a comfort to him.

“Like how?” You had your head laying on the godforsaken armrest, pillow beneath your head actually providing solace for once, your legs stretched over Mingi’s lap at the other end of the couch. He studied Yunho as he listened, hands on your bare legs, eyebrows bent only enough to imply focus. You knew it was more than just listening to his words, he was memorizing them, saving them for later. The sight made a soft smile live on your cheeks.

Yunho sucks a breath through his teeth, brows rising as his head tips back in thought, silver hair a contrast to the deep charcoal of the cushion behind him. “She can only wear dresses around me, when we’re in public she has to ask permission to leave my side, she can’t drink unless I allow it, hmm… Oh, I banned bras. And panties.”

You crane your head to see him over the armrest, mouth gaping and teeth poking out in a smile, a giggle leaving your lips. You fought the urge to say I knew it, instead reiterating, “Bras and panties?!”

“What’s the point of it, though?” Mingi asked, and Yunho directed his gaze to his best friend, his eyes smiling just as brightly as his lips. Mingi glances between you and Yunho, “All the rules, they just seem… Inconvenient.”

“Inconvenient for who?” Yunho raises his eyebrows, “Would it be inconvenient for you if your girlfriend walked around without a bra, without panties, in a dress?”

“Not inconvenient for me, inconvenient for her,” Mingi should have just added duh at the end of his sentence. Yunho knew what he meant, but Mingi couldn’t read between the lines of his answer. Your tongue poked your cheek as your eyes danced between the two men.

“Then you know the point of it already,” Yunho’s grin was sly, his head tilting ever so slightly, as if he knew why Mingi was questioning him. He never has before.

Mingi’s lips fell into an O shape, you watched him put the pieces together in real time, another laugh leaving your lips. Mingi glanced at you for a second before his eyebrows knitted again, turning his head to look back at Yunho, “Why couldn’t she drink?”

“Because it’d make her have to pee, and she has a piss kink,” you knew he was answering honestly by the look on his face, the ease of the words leaving his mouth. “It denied her of having the fun of toying with me and saved me the punishment of fucking her in Hongjoong and Seonghwa’s bathroom.”

Your jaw dropped as your head whipped around the armrest, gaping at Yunho, “You’d really do that?”

“If she disobeyed me?” He raised his brows, “In a heartbeat.”

“In their bathroom?” Mingi’s eyes were as wide as yours, the corner of his upper lip bent upward in disbelief.

“I would have done it in front of all of you if I had the consent of everyone in the room.” He said it so casually, too casually, as if this was normal, common. It could be these days, for all you know.

Yours and Mingi’s eyes meet as surprise and intrigue cross his features, as if he was picturing himself doing it. As if he was curating a list of rules for you, too. You assumed you wouldn’t have to wash as many pairs of panties from now on.

Mingi’s eyes trailed back to Yunho, you watched him swallow, the gulp of spit passing down his throat. “And when you say punishment…”

Yunho smiles, daring and wicked, his eyes flaring with amusement. He sits up straighter, white tee pressed against the back of the couch, ankle crossed over his knee, he wouldn’t let your rare curiosity go to waste.

You change spots, too, laying your head on Mingi’s lap instead of your legs, propping them up on the criminally uncomfortable armrest. You made a mental note to start looking for a new couch. Mingi lays a hand in your hair, not moving, just resting, as if he needed to touch you to feel grounded.

“The humiliation,” Yunho released a dragged out breath, as if he loved the word, loved its meaning, the action. “I would have put her over my knee, made her tell everyone watching what she did, why it was wrong.”

Mingi blinked, his lips parted, as if he couldn’t fathom why in the world Yunho would do that. “You’d let everyone see that? See her?”

Yunho shrugs, “If everyone was into it.”

“She obeyed you though, right?” You ask, and he raises his eyebrows in your direction, acknowledging you, “Does she get, like… Rewarded for that?”

Yunho smiled, a proud look sitting on his face, a soft nod of his head. “Of course she does, well, she did.”

You raised a brow, imploring him, and his smile grew as if he could read every thought in your mind. “You two are curious tonight.”

You can feel the embarrassment in your cheeks, and as you look up to Mingi, you see a faint blush spread over his nose. If you could see his ears from where you laid, you’d bet they tipped red, too. Neither of you are being shy with your curiosity, and it was clear.

Yunho didn’t wait for either of you to answer, “I’ll bite. We didn’t even get back to my place, to be honest. She got to finish twice in the car, another three times when we got back for good behavior.”

A huh? ripped from your chest, a disbelieving sound, just as Mingi screeched, “Five?!”

You thought back to when she went to the bathroom at the party, how she tugged on Yunho’s wrist before she went inside, how he nodded toward her in allowance. You wonder if you’d be willing to let it be taken so far, or if you truly just wanted to be slapped around. You supposed you would if five orgasms were waiting for you afterward.

“They weren’t easy, don’t say it like that,” Yunho waved a hand, long fingers bending the air around him, “I was forcing them out of her by the end of it. She likes overstimulation.”

You peeked up at Mingi again, whose lips you think were going to stay permanently parted for the duration of the conversation, with his thick, deep eyebrows touching his hairline. He was shocked— so were you, even if neither of you should be, you’re no strangers to multiple orgasms in a session. But five, for good behavior, a reward like that, it almost made you hand your boyfriend a notepad and a pen and say Yes, I want that.

Yunho’s laugh sends a shiver down your spine, your body involuntarily jerking at the noise, head shifting in your boyfriend’s lap. It sounded borderline condescending, which you weren’t sure if you were making up, or if it was on purpose. Your eyes widened as you felt it, the fucking boner Mingi was sporting beneath your head. He knew you felt it, you could see it all over his face, the blush you thought was from the nature of the conversation, no, he was horny, and Yunho didn’t seem like he was anywhere near done with the conversation.

Realization hits that Mingi must be thinking about doing that to you, and he’s hard. You might have started jumping for joy if you didn’t have to explain to both men why.

“You guys look like you’ve never heard anything like this in your life,” Yunho’s laugh is still showing on his cheeks, the way his head is tilted, his eyebrows slightly raised, smugness oozing off of him. “I’ve told you stories before.”

“Yeah, but…” You cut yourself off, swallowing down the answer you were about to give. He didn’t need to know you were experimenting, or attempting to. No one needed to know. “It’s just crazy.”

“Yeah, you’re crazy,” Mingi adds from above you, the both of you nodding your agreement, hiding why you’re both so god damn affected. His clothed cock pressing against your head, having to pretend like it isn’t there, Yunho so easily talking about how he punishes and rewards his partners, how arrogance seemed to be possessing him, it was all too much.

Yunho raises his brows, his smile still present on closed lips, as if the two of you were transparent. Completely see through, thoughts and feelings laid bare for him to see. If you could peer into Yunho’s mind you might see that he’s enjoying this, that he knows exactly what he's doing, toying with the two of you might be the most fun he’s had in months.

He can see how pathetic the two of you are, you’re wearing it. Too many ideas are brewing in his mind, ones he’s positive he can never verbalize, but if the two of you kept looking at him like that…

“I’ve told you worse, remember when that one girl thought it’d be funny to flirt with that random guy, when we all went out to the club? It was back in February I think,” Yunho’s glancing between you both now, like he doesn’t want to miss a single reaction painted on your faces. “I tied her up and left her alone in the bedroom, in the dark, for an hour?”

You gulped. You remembered this story. Mingi was only growing beneath you, he remembered this story, too.

“She was a crying fucking mess by the time I went back in, so wet, didn’t take any prep at all for me to fuck her. She didn’t cum once that night. Never did that shit again, though.”

Your breath hitched in your throat. You think of a few weeks ago, when Yunho was once again across from the two of you, when you put space between yourself and Mingi, a part of you hoping he’d fuck the brat out of you. You couldn’t even imagine Mingi tying you up and leaving you alone, he’d probably be crying before you would, or he wouldn’t even leave the room. But the thought of it… If he could… You crossed an ankle over the other, trying to create some kind of pressure between your thighs, friction to alleviate your core that was beginning to throb.

Mingi’s grip tightened ever so slightly in your hair and you knew he was showing you the restraint he was quickly losing, that he needed you. Your eyelids fluttered at the feeling.

“How did you get into this? This, uh, lifestyle,” Mingi’s voice was shallow, his mouth drying, he was feeling it just as much as you were. You don’t even know if you heard his question let alone the answer, not when you could feel his cock under you, begging to be touched, probably leaking, the tip red and aching…

Mingi pressed a finger to your cheek and your lips fucking parted. He was only trying to get your attention. “You okay?” Mingi asked, need flashing in his eyes, an unspoken question, a statement. Oh, Yunho has done it now.

I need you. You blinked. Now? A small nod. Now. Get him out.

“Not feeling too good, honestly,” you pouted, letting a hand fall across your forehead, “Do I feel warm to you?”

Mingi’s lips scrunched trying to hide his smile, you were the better liar out of the two of you. His palm hit your forehead, “Hm, you do feel warm.”

“Let me feel,” Yunho crossed the living room in a quick stride, his hand falling to your forehead fast, before you or Mingi could think up a silly excuse. His hand damn near laid from ear to ear, sending a spark of something through your entire body. “Damn, you are warm.”

He needed to get out, now. You give him a weak smile, “Must be coming down with something, I’m sorry to cut the movie night short.”

He shakes his head, then clasps Mingi’s hand, and goes to grab his keys off the coffee table, “Don’t worry about it, there’s always next week, Iron Man can wait. Feel better.”

“Thanks, Yun,” you call after him, tucking your smile away until you hear the front door close—

Mingi pounces. Strong arms tugging you onto his lap, assaulting your lips with his own, rough palms slipping under your shirt, thumbs hooking into your waistband. There was no time to waste.

“Fuck,” he cursed into your mouth as you rolled your hips against him, shorts dragging against his sweatpants, and you smiled at his sensitivity. “Fuck, I need you.”

“Yeah?” You rolled your hips again, harder this time, “That bad?”

His fingers tighten on your hips, digging into your skin, his jaw going slack, mouth unresponsive against yours. You let your hands feel up his chest, his shoulders, his neck, lips ghosting his jawline as he guides your hips against his.

His head tilts back as your lips attack a sensitive part of his neck, right below his ear. His voice comes out deep but breathy as he says, “Wanna make you cum five times, too.”

Excitement shoots up your spine. You sit back, hands resting on his shoulders, a grin on your cheeks, “Do it, then.”

He scoops you off his lap and falls to his knees, a muted thump was heard as cotton covered skin hit the hardwood of your floor, he laid you on your back as if you were fragile, made of glass. Your legs parted after he slipped your shorts off anyway.

You kept your hands in his hair as his tongue worked you open, your first orgasm coming quickly, easily, praises falling off your lips, skull digging into the floor beneath you. Mingi didn’t stop, though, not as his black locks ran taut between your fingers as you pulled in an attempt to get him away, when the pleasure became too much.

It was on purpose, the pleasure was fucking blinding, pleasure and pain, the sting of your orgasm that never fully finished turning into another, a pit in your stomach that ached with every swipe of his tongue. Your hips bucked, trying to chase him away, attempting to overpower strong arms holding you down by the bone.

“Mingi— holy shit,” you cried, eyes wide and staring down at him where he was doing anything but looking up at you. Focused, tongue moving in perfect circles, flicking at your clit with enough precision to tell you he wasn’t letting up. Your movements seized, joints locking up, breath getting caught in your throat as he pulled you under, forcing another orgasm to wash over you.

He ate you through it again before you were keeling, abdomen clenching, body jerking enough to where it was annoying for him to keep holding you down. His lips let go with a pop, sucking in a deep gust of air as your bones went fluid, body sinking into the hardwood floor.

Mingi smacked his teeth with plump, swollen lips. He lifted himself up by his arms, saying with a steady voice, “Turn over.”

You opened your eyes again, staring at hunger incarnate, “On my knees?”

He lifted himself farther, sitting on his calves, wrapping his fingers loosely around your ankles where they sat planted on the floor. Again, he said, “Turn over.”

You blinked, “I can’t if you’re holding my ankles like that.”

In a quick motion, he pulled you toward him, forearm scooping under your back, and your palms were pressed to the hardwood floor in a second’s time, knees stinging as the deep swirls of oak stared back at you. You hissed, “Fuck, that hurt.”

Hands that were already sliding up the backs of your thighs paused, “You okay?”

You smiled, thinking of all the limits you’ve discussed in the past weeks, your safe word, what to do in case you couldn’t say it. “I know what to say if I’m not.”

“Good.”

Your elbows hit the floor as his fingers slipped inside, his other hand holding onto your ass, squeezing your skin. “O-Oh my God, Min,” you cried, letting your forehead drop to your open palms, your back arched up into him as his fingers hooked into you, hitting that spongy spot inside, your toes curling, shins lifting off the floor.

It was overwhelming. Yunho had left barely ten minutes ago and you’d already came twice, Mingi working you up to a third without any reprieve. You could hear the smile on his face as he asked, “You gonna cum again? Gonna be good for me?”

You wailed as his fingers assaulted the spot, slipping in and out of you, curling, massaging, your body jerking at every movement he made. He sucked in a breath before he pulled his hand off your ass, letting it fall back down with a heavy smack, “Answer me.”

Your moan was treacherous, loud, somewhere between a score of pleasure and a cry of pain as you came again. Weaker this time but still as blinding as the first, you shook, he hit you. Not as hard and not as confident as he could be, it was still pain mixing with the pleasure, a cocktail of endurance and emotion, a step forward.

“Baby,” you could barely hear as both hands soothed your ass cheeks, rubbing circles into the skin. “Answer me, my love, need you to say something.”

You weren’t sure if your consciousness was still inside your skin, or if you were floating somewhere beyond.

His hands hooked into the crevice where your hips met your thighs, pulling you backward into his lap, moving and dropping you as if you were light as a feather. He was moving too fast, your brain could barely keep up, overwhelmed and overstimulated. You sunk into him, the smell of him pulling you back down to earth, the heat of his cheek pressed against your head warming you. “I’m okay,” your voice came out weak, lagged, tired. Your knees burned, but the fire he had lit inside your belly blazed.

“You swear?” He took your chin in his hand with care, forcing you to look up at him, concern bubbling wildly in his eyes.

You nodded, “I swear. You can keep going.”

He kept you in his lap, his hands moving slower now, uneasy. Fear bled into you with every touch, under your tee, as he unclipped your bra, even fumbling with the clasp. You could taste his nerves.

But his cock still stayed hard beneath you, pressed up against your back. After he tugged off your shirt and bra you faced him, bare legs wrapping around his hips, your boyfriend fully clothed where you sat naked, but not uncomfortable at the difference. You let your lips crash into his again, picking up speed, trying to show him your hunger when his had gotten foggy, masked with fear and concern.

He let you lead him, tongue dancing with yours, his hands sliding over your skin with more confidence now, more pressure. You smiled into him, “You still owe me two more.”

He matched your smile, “And here I thought we were past your insatiability.”

You let your bare center drag over his clothed length, gasping when it brushed against your clit just right. “I want you inside me.”

“I’m supposed to be telling you what to do,” his hands fell to your hips, grinding you against him harder, grinning when your head fell to his shoulder.

“Then tell me how you want me to ride you,” you mumbled into covered skin, your hands sneaking beneath the hem of his tee, fingers tracing his toned abdomen.

“Why do you get all the power?” He placed his hands under your ass, lifting you to shift onto his knees, you yelped when he stood up, easily holding you steady through the movement. A show of strength, a display of dominance, one that sent all the blood on your body straight to your still pulsing clit.

You clung to him on the walk to the bedroom, your arms hooked around his neck, adrenaline thrumming beneath your skin. All the daydreams you’ve had and research you’ve done was paying off now. This was better than anything you could’ve imagined.

He threw you onto the bed before he tugged his shirt over his head by the collar, pulling his sweats down just enough for his cock to spring out. Standing before you in all his glory, Mingi’s cheeks were pink, eyes glossed over and hazy, hair shooting out in four different directions atop his head thanks to your incessant pulling. God, he was fucking beautiful, you sat up on your knees and crawled towards him, wanting to taste—

He stepped back so you couldn’t reach, his right hand wrapping around the base of his cock, squeezing when it was already red and leaking, just as you imagined. You pouted. He raised his eyebrows. “You want my cock, don’t you?”

You met his eyes to find arrogance, something you’ve only seen on your boyfriend a handful of times. You swallowed down the thrill, nodding your head, “Yes, I want it.”

He pumped the length of his cock, a groan sneaking out of his lips, his head falling to the side, eyes fluttering shut. You gasped at the view, your eyes trying to catch the full length of him, not knowing where to look, not wanting to miss anything. Slowly, he built up a rhythm, and you whimpered from your spot on the baby pink comforter.

“Please, let me,” your eyes stayed glued to the way his hand dragged down the length of his cock, how his tip leaked beads of precum, lubing up his hand. He ignored you. “Mingi, please. I need it.”

He groaned instead, his hand pumping faster, until he finally opened his eyes. In a low, lazy voice, he moaned, “Fuck, feels so fuckin’ good.”

Your mouth hung open at the sight, he really wasn’t going to let you touch him. Was it because you told him to fuck you? He really thought you were taking the power from him?

“Please, Mingi,” you were whining now, fists balling at the comforter beneath you, eyebrows furrowed and bottom lip jutted outward.

He tsked. “Get down here. On your knees.”

You’ve never moved faster in your life. Sitting on your calves before him, knees burning again, hands in your lap, staring up at him with every hope in the world, you waited for instruction. He wasn’t fucking around.

He pumped his cock faster, palm circling the tip, squeezing his hand as stuttered moans poured from his lips. He wasn’t even looking at you, eyes focused on his cock, “Open your mouth.”

With your tongue out you sat up on your knees, eyes glued to his cock, waiting for his cum. Your cunt throbbed between your thighs, three orgasms weren’t enough, you needed more, you needed him, his cock filling you up, to cum around it. His moans grew in pitch as his wrist jerked faster, stuttering, his hips bucking forward into his hand, his eyebrows knitted together. It took everything you had not to slip a hand between your legs. At least you were a quick learner.

He came with a loud groan, ropes of white hitting your tongue, your nose, your cheeks, your eyebrows. You moaned with him as you felt the warmth on your skin, swallowing him down, licking your lips to catch what you could.

“Good girl,” his voice had dropped another octave, as if he was getting comfortable in his rank now, dominance surrounding him like an aura. You smiled up at him, stars in your eyes as he took his thumb to your face, scooping his cum off of your cheeks, nose, eyebrows, then promptly shoved it past your lips.

You gagged at the sudden intrusion, but swallowed him down anyway, lips wrapping around his thumb to suck it clean, tongue sliding against the underside. He patted your head with his other hand, a small smile sitting pretty on his cheeks, “So good for me, baby. Kiss me.”

You stood up on wobbly legs and kissed him, he could probably taste the gratitude on your tongue, how much you fucking loved this, loved him. He moved to sit back on the edge of the bed, never breaking the kiss, hands on your waist, tongue licking into your mouth to taste the leftover remnants of his release. Your knees planted into the mattress as you climbed on top of him again, a hand between your bodies, slipping his cock between your folds, spreading the wetness where it gathered.

“Holy shit,” he gasped out, breaking away from your lips to glance down between you, “You’re so fucking wet.”

“That was so fucking hot,” you said in the same tone he used as he looked back up to meet your eyes, “You’ve never done anything like that before. I’m dying.”

He huffs a laugh into your lips, “Dying is dramatic.”

You kissed him again, “And I meant it.”

You dragged your core along his shaft, sliding over his length, and he hisses into your mouth in overstimulation. You smile, “Now you know how it feels.”

“Sit on it,” he grabs his cock with one hand, your hip in the other, completely ignoring your remark, “Now.”

You cursed under your breath at the tone of his voice, at the desperation and order mixing together, how badly he wanted you, needed to feel you, yet overstimulating himself to do it. His cock was already hard again in his hand as you lined yourself up on top of him, hands bracing yourself on his shoulders as you started to sink down slowly, taking him inch by inch with ease.

The sound was deafening, how pathetic the two of you sounded, the whine-coated moans cracking from your gut. Your nails clawed into his shoulders, eyes screwed shut at the stretch, at how easily he slipped inside. His voice was strained, “Too fucking tight, gotta open up for me, relax.”

You were too excited, your joints locked up from adrenaline and anticipation. You took a deep breath, letting your body relax, unlocking your limbs, forehead falling forward to rest against his. His hands come up to your waist, rubbing circles into your back, “There you go, my love, you feel so fucking good.”

You whimpered at the praise, hips bucking forward involuntarily, “Can I move?”

“Go ahead, baby,” he said, letting go of your waist, leaning back against the mattress on his elbows, “Show me how badly you wanted to ride my cock.”

Your jaw went slack at the words, hips immediately picking up and dropping back down on him, your hands sliding up your stomach to pinch at your nipples. You bounced on him slowly at first, watching his face contort in pleasure, letting the sound of him guide you, encourage you. Eyebrows slanted and lips parted he moaned and moaned, hips jerking into you every few thrusts, silently telling you to pick up the pace.

“Mingi,” you breathed, a hand on his abdomen, using it to balance your pace, “Choke me?”

His eyes widened, “I— I don’t—”

You reached an arm forward, this was one of his unsure areas, where he was scared of his own strength, of hurting you seriously. You wrapped a hand around his throat, fingers pressing into the sides, “Like this.”

The moan he released stopped you completely. It happened in slow motion, the squeeze of your fingers, how his lips parted, his eyes rolling into the back of his head, how you pulsed around his cock at the sight, at the sound.

Now it was your turn to widen your eyes in surprise, “Oh.”

He brought his hand up to wrap around yours, his hips fucking up into you harshly, overwhelming your nervous system, shattering your god damn mind. Oh, he really liked that. You couldn’t fight the smile breaking across your cheeks, your words coming out jagged through his thrusts, “You liked that?”

He whimpered, broken through the pressure of your fingertips, and a small, shy nod of his head. You just wanted to show him how. Encourage him to do it himself. This opened another door completely.

You released him after a moment and he took a deep breath, eyes wild, gasping out, “Holy shit.”

You nodded with a wicked smile, your hips picking up the pace, “You really liked it?”

“Do it again,” he whispered, pushing himself up by his forearms, pressing his chest against yours as you changed your speed, rocking against him, a dirty grind against his cock as your fingertips danced over his throat.

You leaned in, whispering, “Kiss me,” against his lips, and he did, his mouth following your lead, up until you tightened your grip around his throat and pressed into the sides with light pressure.

“Fuck,” he whimpered against your lips, the sound broken and raw, and his jaw went slack again, his eyelids fluttering, his cock throbbing inside you. You could have fun with this.

You dropped your hips against him harshly, making him jolt into you, not a thought behind his fucking eyes as they widened, “So desperate, I told you to kiss me, didn’t I?”

“I can’t,” he cried, eyes closed, chin tipped back, “Feels so fucking good. Harder, please.”

You laughed in disbelief as you picked up your pace, the begging felt good, great even, your body consumed by another pleasure entirely. This was incredible. Maybe you could understand why Yunho does what he does, the sheer pleasure he must feel from breaking his partners down, having them at their wits end beneath him.

Having Mingi like this was unexpected but so fucking hot, even under a spell his cock was still hitting that perfect spot inside you, making you moan in tandem with him, a song of pleasure and worship filling the room, masking the noise of skin slapping against skin.

You let him go to brace your hands on his shoulders and his head fell against your chest, lazily kissing at your skin, his hands coming behind you to graze his fingernails down your back, making you hiss out at the sting. “Shit, Min.”

He whimpered again, making your hips stutter as you tried to ride him harder, faster, clenching around his length, and his fingers clawed at you deeper. Your back arched, “Yes, feels so good inside me, you’re so fucking perfect.”

“Need you to cum,” he said against your chest, a mumble of words, barely comprehensible. He glances up at you through his lashes, eyes sparkling and vulnerable, “Need to feel you cum, need it. Wanna fill you up.”

Your face twisted in pleasure, at the look on his fucking face, “Oh— Oh my God.”

You clenched again and he whined, “Fuck, I’m gonna fucking cum.”

“Wait,” you barked out, rushing a hand between your bodies to rub at your clit, “Hold it.”

His head tipped back, his features scrunching together, hands slipping down to your hips to squeeze, to guide you into fucking him harder. Deeper.

You gasped out a cry as you drew quick circles on your clit, still bouncing on him with the same rhythm, “F-Fuck, I’m so close, fuck, Min.”

“Yes,” he encouraged, “Cum for me, wanna feel it. Wanna feel you cum around me, please baby, give it to me.”

Your hips stuttered as you felt your high hit its peak, Mingi whining at the loss of rhythm, leaning back on his elbows to fuck up into you, his legs pushing against the bed frame surrounding your mattress. Your orgasm crashed over you, sending you forward, body folding in on itself as your vision went white, ears ringing as your body collided into his.

Mingi cried out, hips bucking and jerking into you to get himself off until he filled you up with his second load of the night, a sigh full of pleasure and contentment escaping him as he finished, his joints finally unlocking, laying flat against the bed.

After a moment his arms curled around you, pulling you up, laying your head on his chest from where you landed awkwardly over him. His hand went into your hair, rubbing lazy circles into your scalp, pressing his lips to the top of your head.

“Did I kill you?” He asked, voice teasing, and you grumbled a noise in response. “We can talk about it tomorrow if you want, but we still have to get you all cleaned up. Don’t fall asleep yet.”

You stuck your tongue out, licking the patch of his skin that was just beside your mouth to show him you were awake, making him shuffle in discomfort. He let out a small, disgruntled sound of surprise, “Eugh, don’t lick me.”

“Are you serious?” You picked your head up ever so slightly to see his face, which didn’t look disgusted at all.

A sweet smile sat on his cheeks, one not embarrassed, not shy, not regretful, but happy. You could have sighed in relief if you weren’t absolutely exhausted. He faked a pout, “You look so tired, and I still have one more orgasm to give you.”

He laughed when your face twisted in surprise and fear, you don’t think you even have the strength for a shower.

But because Mingi is perfect and knows you better than you know yourself, he ran the two of you a bath.

And you talked. A little.

But he definitely ripped that fifth one out of you.

You did end up talking about it the next day.

And the day after that, and the day after that, for two weeks. It seemed you and Mingi couldn’t stop talking about it, that night, his words, his assertiveness, how he jerked himself off onto your face, how your hands wrapped around his throat. It quickly snowballed into more, the two of you turning into monsters, it was as if your insatiability had grown a twin and possessed your boyfriend.

“I don’t know what happened,” at your favorite coffee shop in town the next day, the two of you sat cozied up in a booth, laptops out, but the last thing you were doing was working. “Something inside me, like, opened I guess. You put your hand around my neck and I thought I was gonna cum on the spot.”

With your cheek in your palm, you swirled your straw in your coffee cup, the doc you had open on your laptop screen long forgotten. “You really never thought you’d be into anything like that?”

Mingi shrugged, bringing his attention back to his screen, he drew mindless circles on his keypad with his finger. With his eyes on his laptop, big navy frames sitting on his nose, he admitted, “I don’t know, I never really thought about it.”

“Funny how I was trying to show you how to choke me,” you teased, lifting your head from your hand, straightening in the booth. “And here we found out something new about you.”

He rolled his eyes, a shy smile growing on his cheeks, still not looking at you, “Yeah, yeah, I owe you one.”

“No, not at all,” you shake your head, “We should just see what happens. What the vibe is when we’re in it, you know?”

He meets your eyes, cheeks dusted pink, “You’re okay with it? Like… If I asked you to do that to me again, you’re okay with it?”

Your eyes nearly bulged out of your head, was he embarrassed? You leaned forward, keeping your expression serious, “Song Mingi, that was one of the hottest things I have ever seen you do. One of the hottest things I’ve ever seen, actually.”

His eyebrows raised in surprise, as if he wasn’t expecting that answer. You smiled, hoping it came off as reassuring as you needed it to, “You’re not the only person that learned something about themself last night.”

His lips curled up at the edges, lopsided smile crawling across his cheeks, “I still wanna try doing it to you.”

“Good, because so do I,” you leaned back in the booth, still smiling, and you hoped his chest felt lighter, because yours definitely did.

The next morning, he beckoned you awake by peppering kisses to your forehead, your cheeks, your nose, your lips, but his hand sliding between your legs is what had your eyes finally opening.

You hummed in delight, sleepy mind curating nonsense to mumble as you stretched your arms over your head, spreading your knees to welcome to intrusion, the skilled fingers that knew exactly what they were doing.

Silently he worked you open, pressing kisses to your lips, slipping his tongue into your mouth to really get you there— he forced the taste of an orgasm on your tongue before he ripped it away, popping his fingers into his mouth instead.

You almost cursed him out for it, eyes wide, jaw dropped and pissed, but he just smiled.

“Be good for me today and you can have the rest later.”

You wore a scowl the entire day, even if thrill was coursing through your blood, excitement for what awaited you at home. He texted you mid-day while you were hard at work at your desk, asking for a present, a sexy picture in your job’s bathroom mirror.

You swallowed down your embarrassment, ears burning as you sped to the bathroom, eyes darting all around your office to make sure no one noticed, that no one saw you. An absurd fear.

Relief washed over you when the bathroom was empty and you quickly pulled your skirt down to your thighs, your ass laying right over the hem, plump and picturesque. You took a few, sending them all to him immediately, feeling scandalous and prideful that you’d done something so sexual in your job’s bathroom, and didn’t get caught.

He sent back a picture of the print of his cock through his slacks, his hand squeezing the base, his veins popping through his pearly skin, the watch sitting on his wrist making it so much hotter. With a caption just as incriminating as the photo, you salivated, tongue swimming in saliva as your thighs squeezed together beneath your desk, lip caught between your teeth.

Your body burned as you set your phone down, barely able to concentrate on your work as you completed your day, fighting with your mind to keep focus. By the time you got home he was waiting for you, already hard, stripping the skirt off your hips before you’d fully made it through the threshold of your apartment.

Five seemed like a lucky number for you two now, how many times you’d finished on various places of his body, on his fingers, his tongue, his cock, his thigh. The fifth came to you with his palm wrapped around your throat, squeezing harder than you ever thought he would, confidence oozing off of him as he drilled into you with your back against his chest.

The next day you seemed to switch places. You tapped into that side of yourself you just met, making Mingi a mess beneath you, tears and sweat and saliva, you took it all in stride with a smile on your face, eyes blazing with a wickedness Mingi’s never seen on you before. It was experimental and fun, fumbling hands and stuttered words, Mingi submitted to you even if you weren’t fully confident in your dominance.

You’d never degraded anyone before, much less your angelic boyfriend, it was a true fight to come up with nasty things to say, but that’s where your research had come into play. If either of you had an ounce of consciousness inside of the bubble you’d created together, you could probably pick apart where each and every piece of your words, actions, where everything had come from.

You two had become obsessed, every waking moment had turned sexual, doing and talking, talking and doing, you couldn’t get enough of each other. You started to feel silly for thinking your sex life would be ruined when, if anything, it had gotten better, somehow more active, because you both had turned insatiable. Mingi couldn’t make fun of you anymore, not when he was just as fucking horny as you were.

As deep as you were in it, the learning, the experimenting, something tugged at you. Maybe it was how you couldn’t grow fully confident in the weeks you’ve played, how you fumbled your words still, or when your hands didn’t quite know where to go, what to say, when to pull away. You knew learning never truly stopped, especially with something as severe as tapping into BDSM dynamics, but you found yourself stumped more than once, and that was enough to consider researching more.

Especially the night when you and Mingi had fallen into your sheets, a mess of lips and tongues and nails, waiting for the other to take the lead. Fighting for dominance but never winning, leaving room for the other to take charge, to set the tone for how the session would go. Ten minutes of kissing and muttering filthy words in each other’s ears, you knew he was feeling it, too.

Above you, he paused, lips parted and hands planted beside your head, chest heaving with adrenaline and slight confusion. You stared at each other for a moment, reading the feelings in each other’s eyes, before a laugh erupted from Mingi’s chest and had you giggling along with him.

“Shit, are we plateauing?” He flopped down next to you on his back, amusement laced in every word, eyes never leaving you once.

You giggled more, letting your head fall to the side to look at him, tilted smile on his lips and deep, hooded eyes. “I’m not gonna lie, I was kinda hoping you were gonna toss me around tonight.”

“That’s funny, I was kinda hoping you were gonna edge me until I cried,” he responded plainly, as if the words spilling from his lips weren’t completely filthy. You both laughed before you let out verbal breaths, a sound to fill the comfortable silence, then met each other’s eyes again.

“Well?” You asked, raising your brows at him, “What the hell do we do now?”

Neither of you knew, and you didn’t have an outlet to turn to. Instead you fucked slow, back to your roots, praises and kisses and soothing touches that felt incredible but still didn’t scratch the itch. The two of you needed more, something to help when you were both feeling submissive, looking for the same type of pleasure.

It wasn’t something you needed. No, you think it might be… Someone. Another person to help. The thought left you feeling uneasy.

You and Mingi have never once talked about opening up your relationship to anyone. Not once in your years together have you discussed a threesome, it’s been years since you’ve experienced a shred of jealousy, never once an inkling of disloyalty. Yours and Mingi’s relationship was the poster for perfection, and opening the door to someone else, even if it was all purely sexual, for education purposes, felt… Weird. Strange. Unwelcome.

Even if you were to say yes, who the hell would you ask? You only know one Dom, one person with enough experience in this area to help you. You forbade the thought for days to come.

Until it happened again.

The two of you weren’t as rough this time, kisses pressed to skin and hands slipping between legs, but it was still there. Mingi was whimpering into your mouth, a sound you’ve learned came from a very specific mindset, when he needed to be taken care of, when he was feeling needy.

And you had a long fucking day.

Your boss had assigned your team with a project that wasn’t anywhere near your area of expertise, accompanied by a deadline that didn’t seem humanly possible. When you had brought it up to him, he was not nice, stern and angry with you for not ‘doing what you get paid to do’ when this particular assignment was under his job criteria. It wasn’t fair, you had stress bottled up inside you from your head to your toes, you hadn’t even had sex on your mind today let alone coming home to dominate your boyfriend.

Your skin burned with every touch Mingi gave, you so badly wanted him to flip you around, take you with no prep, laying harsh slaps against your skin with a hand wrapped around your throat, you wanted these feelings fucked out of you. If you were going to fuck, you wanted to be fucked. There was so much negativity built up inside you from the day you yearned for your mind to go blank, to fall into that corner of consciousness where you didn’t have to be. Where Mingi made decisions for you, where he decided what was best.

“What’s wrong?” With his eyebrows furrowed in concern he pulled you into his chest, hands cradling your cheeks with soft palms, as if you would break in his grasp.

Fuck. Your throat tightened, your bottom lip jutted outward, your eyes closing to try and force the tears ripping their way through your ducts down. Mingi held you closer, threading a hand through your hair, scratching his nails into your scalp to soothe you, “Baby, what happened? What’s wrong?”

You sobbed into his chest, guilt racking through you with every breath, you didn’t know what to do. So consumed with the stress of your day and now Mingi wanted you to perform for him, you couldn’t do it. You didn’t answer at first, and he didn’t pry, he laid you down with him instead, letting you cry into his chest while rubbing circles into your back, kissing your head every few minutes, holding you close.

“I’m sorry,” you finally choked out, eyes opening only to see his tear-soaked tee before you.

He moved his hands to cup your cheeks again, holding your head up to look at him, thumbs swiping under your eyes to paint your tears onto your skin. “What’s wrong, my love? Did I do something?”

You shook your head in his hold, “No, no, it’s not you. I just had a really long, fucked up day, and I can’t…” Another sob ripped from your chest, “…I can’t do this tonight.”

“Baby,” the word laced with the ache from his own chest, he continued, “You don’t need to, you never need to, we don’t have to do anything.”

You sniffed, you couldn’t imagine what you looked like right now. Mingi’s seen worse, though, he’s seen everything. You pouted, involuntarily sniffing up the last of your cries, voice still broken and uneasy, “That’s the thing. I want to, I just don’t want to think, I want you to take my mind off of it. But I think you want the same from me.”

He blinked at you, concern and thought drinking up every inch of his face, he didn’t know what to say, either. It was a crossroads. He couldn’t just say Okay, I’ll dominate you tonight— it wouldn’t feel right. You wouldn’t want him to, either, you only want it if he wants it. Just like he only wants it if you want it.

He looses a breath, running a hand through your hair again, thumb swiping under your eye with his other hand, “Why don’t I run us a bath, order some takeout, and we can sit and watch a movie? Then tomorrow when we’re clear-headed and you’re feeling better, we can talk about this. What to do when it happens.”

You nodded into his hands, bottom lip quivering, because God, you were so fucking lucky. He washed every inch of your body in the steaming hot water, massaging into your shoulders, your scalp as he washed your hair. He had you smiling and giggling by the time you got dressed, after he ordered takeout, and then the two of you talked about your day. He listened actively, he hated your boss already, now that dislike just ran deeper. You watched a comedy, both laughing and talking through the whole thing, cuddled up next to each other before you fell asleep on the couch with every limb on your bodies intertwined.

“Wait, so you’re both switches?” Yunho faces the two of you in his spot, feet planted on the floor, elbows resting on his thighs with his fingers interlocked. His eyebrows laced together in focus as he listened to your story from the beginning, ready to guide you, to give the advice you asked him for.

You and Mingi knew you weren’t going to get anywhere from websites, informational books or romance novels, this was a problem you needed to speak to someone about. A real life human with knowledge, experience, the one person you both know and trust to help you with your little problem. The decision to ask him didn’t come easy, days were spent talking it out, the pros and the cons of opening up your sex life enough to let someone peer inside. None of your friends knew a single detail about yours and Mingi’s sex life, it wasn’t information you gave away easily.

But this? This felt necessary.

You sat with your legs crossed on your couch in your comfiest clothes, and Mingi sat stretched out beside you in an outfit that nearly matched yours. Yunho had walked inside complaining about his latest conquest, a six pack in his hand, ready to drink and forget all about it, maybe pass out on your couch. He was even dressed for the date he was supposed to go on, slacks and a long linen shirt, the top three buttons unbuttoned. Clearly, coming here was a last resort, or an answer to his own problems.

Until you and Mingi bombarded him with your own.

Yunho seemed excited to dive into your sex life, though. From all the stories he’s told, he’s barely ever gotten a detail out of one of you, one sided experiences shared without ever getting a glimpse inside of what you two do when you’re alone. He set the six pack down on the second shelf of your refrigerator and sat down in his spot across your living room, urging you two to spill.

“I guess so?” You look at Mingi and then back to Yunho, “I don’t know how else I’d describe it. It depends on the night.”

Yunho smiles in disbelief, “I would have never expected that. If I had to guess, I’d say you’re the dom, and Mingi’s your sub.”

“He’d love it that way,” you joked, nudging Mingi with your elbow, the six foot man beside you who wore the gentlest smile. “All of this started because I wanted him to throw me around a bit.”

“Hm,” Yunho sits back on his couch, crossing a leg over the other, his arm stretching across the back. “That’s a lot to discover, you haven’t been doing it for long, then?”

“A month and some change, I believe,” your boyfriend nods in Yunho’s direction. “At this point I think we’re just confused. We’re extremely similar and our feelings line up more often than they don’t, it’s hard to differentiate when one of us wants to be the one in control. Or doesn’t want to be, in our case.”

“Wait, wait,” Yunho raises a hand, “Let me see if I’m getting this right. The issue at hand is that neither of you want to be in control?”

“Sometimes,” you add, “Not all the time. The issue is what to do when that happens.”

Yunho laughs, and it’s a shrill sound that slithers down your spine, ringing in your ears like a wake up call. You think you can read the words in his mind, on his tongue, the easiest solution here, and it terrifies you when he actually says it.

“Why don’t you just call up a third when it happens?”

So simple. So easy. Like you and Mingi haven’t been together for years, like your sex life was some measly thing you could invite others into, as if it meant nothing. That was dangerous territory.

But you suppose you’ve been in dangerous territory for over a month anyhow.

You glance at Mingi who seemed to be thinking the same thing as you. He’s the one who turns to Yunho and says, “I don’t know if that’s something we’d be comfortable with.”

“Including someone else… Opens doors,” you add, fingers fidgeting where they say in your lap, uneasiness oozing off of you.

“Doors that we haven’t even knocked on, let alone opened,” Mingi nods, and the comfort of his thigh pressed to your knee feels necessary.

Yunho tilts his head, “It doesn’t need to be some big thing. You guys are exploring, figuring shit out, it doesn’t hurt to have someone else to guide you. And scratch the itch.”

You pull your lip between your teeth. That wording, how casual he’s treating the sentiment… You and Mingi were planners, since the beginning of starting this adventure, you’ve talked everything out from day one. Yet as you glanced at your boyfriend, the transparency in his eyes, how he seemed to be contemplating it, too.

Something was nagging at you, saying maybe inviting someone else in is the right option. Yunho was the one with experience, he’s guided people before.

He’s guided people before.

“Do you know anyone who would?” Mingi asked as your eyes skimmed over Yunho. Broad chest, long legs, strong thighs, you’ve never really looked at him. You know he’s gorgeous, but you’re too in love with Mingi to notice when someone looks like that. This could work. Your head tilted, the pearly chest peeking out of the white linen shirt lined with a silver chain, eyes dropping to his slacks clung to every muscle in his thighs. This could definitely work.

Yunho smacked his teeth. “Are you kidding me?”

A smile played at your lips as a bubble of excitement erupted in your gut. Every single story he’s ever told comes rushing back to you, every minuscule detail— Is he thinking what you’re thinking?

“You two have zero structure. As much as it doesn’t need to be a big deal, you should still invite someone that you trust.” Yunho meets your eye as he finishes his sentence, and you watch as he realizes, catching a glimpse of the amusement on your features, he knows.

“I trust whoever you trust, Yun,” Mingi says plainly. “I trust you the most.”

You and Yunho stare at each other, lost in some kind of nonverbal contemplation, who was going to tell Mingi what both of you were thinking? He jerks his chin in the direction of your boyfriend, the action so small it was almost unnoticeable, his eyes saying Go ahead.

So you do.

“Min,” you say quietly, turning to look at him, and Mingi meets your gaze with an absentminded look. As if Yunho couldn’t hear, you ask your boyfriend, “Why don’t we ask him?”

Mingi’s face contorts into bewilderment. “He can hear you— I— Are you crazy?”

You look at him, really look at him. We trust him. Mingi’s face doesn’t change. He’s my best friend. You pull your lips together in a line. He’s the only Dom we know. He can help us. Mingi glances at Yunho, then back to you. Are you sure? You smile. I’m sure.

When you both looked back at Yunho, his face had completely morphed into something different. Stronger. Thrill is racing in your blood, excitement and nerves combined encouraging the trickle of sweat beneath your clothes. You didn’t give yourself a moment to think, not about what could go wrong, not even about what would go right. Just sitting across from him had your mind floating, staring at that corner of your consciousness where you were everything and nothing all at once, waiting.

Mingi said something. You weren’t listening.

Yunho sat deeper into the couch, knees spread and outstretched in front of him, a smirk on his lips. “God, I thought you would never ask.”

Amusement still rippling in your eyes, impatience sitting shallow beneath your skin, you blink, “What do you mean?”

“The night you were ‘sick’?” He bends two long fingers on each hand around the word, “Don’t think I didn’t know why you kicked me out. What my words were doing to you both.”

Your body flushes, he even felt your temperature that night, yet he knew the whole time? Smirk still etched into his skin, he says, “You both looked at me like you wanted to eat me alive. Like you needed me to put you in your place.”

The breath that leaves your lungs is staggered and Mingi catches it, he could probably feel the arousal radiating off of you, smell the wetness pooling between your legs. You wanted this more than you realized, you think, and you hoped he did, too.

“Is that what you’d do?” The words stumble out of your mouth before you can think about them, “Put us in our place?”

Yunho meets your eye again and his gaze laid upon your body is all consuming, like being under a microscope, as if he can see the brat that laid dormant between your ribs. Voice swimming with simplicity and clean control, he says, “If you give me a reason to.”

He shifts his focus to your boyfriend and you feel colder without it, “Do you want this, Mingi?” With eyes on him and him alone, still exuding confidence and strength, he asks, “Or is it just your pretty little girlfriend that wants me?”

You and Mingi both gasp. Holy shit. Mingi stared, lips parted, you were sure his mind was going a mile a minute about all the things that could go wrong, how he hadn’t done any research on this.

Hold on, Yunho thinks you’re pretty?

“I’m nervous,” Mingi responds, his voice small, brushing his pinky finger against your thigh, but keeping his eyes trained on Yunho. Ignoring the pretty little girlfriend part doesn’t surprise you at all. With a little more confidence, he says, “We should talk about this.”

“We will talk about it,” Yunho nods, “I wouldn’t do this without talking about it first. I need to know your limits, boundaries, what you’re comfortable with. I need to know if you want it most of all though, Min.”

Mingi turns to you, a fire in his eyes, one that you couldn’t place specifically. Nerves or arousal, stress or excitement, they could burn either way. With an even smaller voice, low and raspy, he asks, “Are you sure about this?”

“I trust him,” you say just above a whisper, “If you don’t want it, we don’t do it. Period.”

“Baby,” he squeezes his eyes shut, dropping his head down, voice smaller than you’ve ever heard it, “I want it so fucking bad.”

You smile, peeking to look at Yunho, giving him a quick nod. You turn back to Mingi, excitement laced in your words, “Then let’s do it.”

“I need to hear you say it, Mingi,” Yunho cuts in, voice slicing through the room, an order. Mingi’s cheeks are bright pink as he stares at his best friend across the room, fingers fidgeting with the strings of his sweatpants, nervous. “Don’t be shy with me, I know everything about you, Min. I’ve seen your worst, and I’m still saying yes to fucking you.”

The huff of air that leaves Mingi slices through the room like a knife. It relayed every thought he was keeping trapped inside, every feeling he wasn’t sure if he should feel, as if he released the last bit of apprehension so the truth could lie bare. He looked at Yunho as if he handed his pride over to his best friend to hold between his long fingers, as if one harsh squeeze would leave Mingi ashamed for the rest of his life, as if he’d lose Yunho if this went all wrong.

Mingi swallowed, “I want this.”

Yunho smiled, “Great.” And as if he could read Mingi’s thoughts, his expression just as well as you could, he added, “You won’t regret it, I promise.”

Mingi nodded, leaving silence to lay over the room like a blanket. You steal a glance at your boyfriend, the both of you seeming to be thinking Well? What now?

Yunho answers your thoughts once more, “Tell me what you’ve done, what works, what doesn’t. Any boundaries, hard limits, things that are an immediate No.”

You purse your lips, trying to rack your mind, because in all seriousness you really haven’t tried all that much besides choking, some light power play and orgasm denial.

When you nor Mingi answer right away, the smile on Yunho’s face only grows, sly and knowing. “You guys are like two virgins sitting across from me. Say something.”

As if the one sentence took the edge off completely, you smile, and the lock on your vocal chords open. “We’ve just played around with choking, denying orgasms and stuff, some degradation. Nothing crazy.”

Yunho nods, “Okay, impact play? Spanking, slapping?”

“I did that once,” Mingi raises a finger, a nod of his head.

“I don’t really know what I’d be into or not into,” you shrug, “Do you have, like, a list?”

“What, like a survey? Check off the box next to each kink if you’re into it?”

That rips a laugh from your lungs, “Fuck you, I don’t know. I don’t even know what there is to say no to.”

Yunho’s smile is somewhere between amused and plotting, eyes thinned and menacing. “Okay, then tell me what is an immediate Yes. What you do want.”

You purse your lips again, but Mingi answers first, the confidence in his voice taking you completely by surprise. “I like being choked, and I like when she’s mean to me, but nothing too mean, more like when she calls me names. I don’t know about being spanked or slapped.”

You nod, “Choking and names, yes. Spanked and slapped also yes.”

“Okay, we’re getting somewhere,” Yunho nods, “When you say names, you mean slut, whore, etcetera…”

You and Mingi nod, saying yes simultaneously.

“And we’re both okay with orgasm denial, how about overstimulation?”

“Yes,” you say in unison with your boyfriend once more.

“Then let’s start there,” Yunho leans forward again, elbows on his knees, legs spread before him. “I won’t be too harsh with you. If you guys are still interested in exploring, then we’ll save it for next time.”

He’s already thinking about next time?!

“Have you figured out a safe word already?”

You and Mingi nod, but Mingi says, “It’s kiwi. We googled safe words and it said fruits are good words to use.”

Yunho tries to ignore his amusement but his smile leaks through the mask, “Kiwi, okay. I can kiss you both, touch you both, there’s no limits when it comes to that, either?”

You and Mingi both shake your head. You add, “We’re yours to do whatever you want.”

“Good,” Yunho says, then turns to you, back to the demeanor exuding strength and power, “For starters, never say fuck you to me again, unless you want to watch me ruin your boyfriend while you sit in the corner, watching.”

Your breath hitches in your throat, your body stilling, heat erupting beneath your skin. The thought of him touching Mingi without you, doing anything without you present, active… a shiver racks down your spine, eyes wide and alert. You nod, then squeak, “Understood.”

“So sweet,” Yunho smiles, “I’m gonna have fun with you. Come here, pretty.”

You glance at Mingi, who looks like a deer caught in fucking headlights, eyes wide and slightly panicked, lips pulled into a line. His face seemed to say, He wants to do this now?!

You hold his stare, Should we?

His eyes fly to Yunho, then land back on you, his jaw tightening as he thinks. You can see the thoughts form, the churning of contemplation in his mind, but you watch as they soften, chocolate eyes melting under the heat of his best friend. His lips perked up at the corners, but his eyes told you he wasn’t completely sure, “Don’t keep him waiting, baby.”

You swallow but still stand on shaky legs, sauntering across the room, around the coffee table, approaching Yunho who shifts as you come closer, body sinking into the couch and spreading his knees. His face is too calm and collected, too casual, as if he’d truly been waiting for this, as if he’d seen this picture in a dream. You stand before him, socked toes wiggling against the hardwood as he looks you up and down, eyes catching on your big tee, staring where it swallows your shorts beneath. You were not dressed for the occasion, but he didn’t seem to care.

“Come on,” long fingers hit the top of his thighs, patting muscles and clothed skin, his slacks bunched where his thighs met his pelvis. “Sit.”

Your heart thumps beneath your chest as you sink a knee on either side of him, your head immediately turning to look back at your boyfriend. Yunho catches your chin with his hand before you catch a glimpse, his voice stern, “Eyes on me.”

You didn’t think you’d be apprehensive– every bone in your body was screaming yes, but the thighs beneath you were so different from Mingi’s, more narrow, just as strong but more slender, a lankier build than your muscle mass of a boyfriend. The difference had your body confused, your muscle memory warped, but your muscles relaxed in his hold, submitting to his grip on you, long fingers hooked on either side of your jaw. You stared into the well of bronze below his brows, lighter than Mingi’s, but hardened with steady control.

“Do you still want this?” His voice was low, almost a whisper on your skin, “Be honest. We can just watch a movie, try again another time, or never talk about it again.”

“I do,” It took a single hammered heartbeat to answer, “I want this.”

He smiles again, sweeter this time, “Then kiss me.”

He guided you toward him with his fingers still wrapped around your jaw, his lips softly melting with yours, and the feeling was… Strange. Smaller than Mingi’s but just as soft, you adjusted, allowing him to take the lead, following his lips as his hand traveled to your cheek, taking up every inch of space from your jawline to your ear. It was dizzying, Yunho kissed like he was already undressing you, inside you, passion and lust and conjoining, you could feel every intention behind it. It didn’t take long for your hips to rut against his.

As good as it was, it was still weird. Being with one person for so long but enjoying another, guilt nibbled at your soul, at every ounce of blood in your body that circulated only for Mingi. His hands dropped to your hips, palms covering bone, fingertips digging into plush skin, moving you against him. Your lips still followed his, body pliant for him, your arms flying to his shoulders to keep you steady.

Yunho pulled away after a moment, back relaxing into the cushions, hands laying softly on your hips, he averted his eyes to your boyfriend who sat across the room.

“Min,” you turned your head as Yunho called his name, eyes widening as you took in the view of your boyfriend. Body stretched out before him, jaw locked, eyes glazed over, still somewhere between horny and hesitant. “Come here,” Yunho’s voice was softer now, control still tangled within his words but he’d mixed in something calmer, soothing.

Mingi loosed a heavy breath as he stood, taking the seat beside Yunho, his limbs locked and rigid. You met his eyes, trying to understand what laid below the surface, and for the first time in years you couldn’t read his mind. Yunho’s head still hung lazily over the couch, his eyes raking over his best friend, his thoughts you couldn’t place either.

Yunho’s hand reached out to touch Mingi’s face, his thumb caressing his smooth, pink cheek, a small smile sitting on Yunho’s face as he touched him. Yunho locked a laugh inside his chest as Mingi shuddered, his voice quieter now, “Wanna kiss me?”

Mingi looked like he saw a ghost. Rapidly blinking, his lips opening and closing, yet leaning into Yunho’s palm resting on his cheek. Mingi nodded once, and that was all Yunho needed to lean in, to attach his lips to Mingi’s.

Your lips parted as theirs met, a rush of adrenaline seeping into your bones as they kissed, softly at first, questioning and experimental. Your eyes widened as their kiss deepened, Mingi’s body turning to face Yunho, a rough palm coming up to cup Yunho’s cheek, the two of them holding each other.

It was… Passionate. You wondered if Mingi was feeling the same things you did, the guilt, unease, the feeling of it all being foreign. It didn’t look like it, but you wondered how you looked kissing Yunho, if it appeared anything like this. The heavier it grew, the higher your temperature raised, a blazing heat consuming you as every nerve ending sparked. Watching Mingi kiss someone else— Yunho of all people— had you even more confused than you were before, horny but jealous, enjoying the show but wishing they were touching you, too.

Yunho’s hand slid down to Mingi’s jaw, grabbing it the same way he grabbed yours, you watched as his fingertips turned white with pressure, his grip tightening to ignite jealousy in your fucking soul. You rolled your hips at the sight before you, unsure if it was to get their attention or if it was because of the bucket of arousal that had been dumped on your head.

A hand left Mingi’s jaw to slide up your thigh, to rest on your hip, urging you to continue. You leaned forward at the attention, your hand reaching under Yunho’s unbuttoned shirt by the collar, fingers caressing his collarbone to his shoulder. Your lips followed, tongue licking up his neck, tasting sweat and Yunho as you kissed his jaw, the two still making out just above your head.

Yunho’s hand slid up to your waist beneath your tee, still keeping the other hand on your boyfriend’s jaw, somehow appeasing both of you simultaneously. You think about what he said– God, I thought you’d never ask– It finally clicks that he’s been waiting for this. He wants it just as much as you two do. The thought makes you smile into his skin, your other hand playing with the buttons of his linen shirt, wanting to feel the skin beneath it, wanting the wall between you gone.

Yunho finally breaks away from Mingi, both hands coming to your hips to still you, and you pull away from his neck. Both you and Mingi stare at him confused, waiting for instructions or compliments or degradation, you weren’t sure.

You would have never expected what actually came out of his mouth.

“That’s enough for tonight,” he leans back into the couch, eyeing the two of you carefully. You glance at Mingi who wore swollen lips and furrowed brows, you were sure you looked the same.

“That’s it?” Your eyebrows knit together, “Just some kissing?”

You were baffled. Yunho smiles, “Just some kissing. Now you’ll know if you really want it, with me.”

“I know,” Mingi counters immediately, “I know. I want it, now. With you.”

You nod your agreement, “I know, too. I want it, Yunho.”

Yunho’s smile just grows, sly and wicked as per usual, “Think on it for a few days.”

You can feel him hard beneath you– You stare at him with wide eyes, eyebrows furrowed, jaw slack. The arousal sliding through your veins was begging to be released, the arousal for him, for what comes next. You sputter, blinking rapidly, “I– We don’t need to think. Are you serious?”

He laughs. Not condescendingly, one genuinely full of amusement, “I’m serious, baby.” His hands grab at your hips, lifting you to place you on Mingi’s lap instead, “Next time.”

You look at Mingi who shares the same expression, confusion and surprise, blue-balled. You look at Yunho who’s getting up from the couch, “You don’t want to?”

He stands before you then glances down at his clearly hard cock pressing against the material of his pants, “I clearly want it, but I know you two. You don’t do anything on a whim, everything is planned out, even sex. Think about it, talk about it, and call me.”

It was as you had jumped into the ocean, freezing water washing over you, waking you up while simultaneously putting you down. You blink at him, he was right, he knows the two of you far too well, but for once you didn’t need to think it through. You knew down to the essence of your being that you wanted this, wanted him, wanted to see what he’d do with you. Wanted to feel it.

“Don’t look at me like that,” He tilted his head, pouting, “I promise I’ll come back and fuck you stupid if you want me to.”

Oh, you burned at his words, you wondered what other filthy things could leave his pretty lips. Mingi spoke up before you got the chance to whine, “You’ll come when we call?”

Yunho nods, “I promise. We have, like, twelve more movies to watch, anyways.”

You groan, you forgot about your Marvel Marathon. “God, this is gonna be endless.”

“You have no idea,” He winks, fucking winks, and you sink into Mingi, fighting another groan.

He turns, grabbing his keys from the coffee table, and starts for your front door. He waves a hand as he approaches the door, calling behind him, “I’ll be waiting for your call!”

You and Mingi look at each other as he slips through the door, a thousand words going through your minds, but you speak first. “We are calling him tomorrow.”

Mingi laughs, head tipping backwards, his whole body falling into the couch. “He’s such an asshole, but he’s right. A correct asshole.”

“A correct asshole,” you huff, laying on top of your boyfriend, sinking into his warmth. “I’m horny.”

“Good thing I got a lil’ jealous seeing you kiss him,” Mingi says, his hands sliding up your waist, under your tee– His tee. “Come here.”

“You? Jealous? I’ve been waiting for this day.”

masterlist

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pinkprincessminki · 23 days ago

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the most precious smile

#mingi #song mingi #ateez #ateez mingi #atzsource #atz #ateez gifs #ateezedit #*gifs

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reveriebae · 3 months ago

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Bunny in His Bed

pairing(s) : Song Mingi x reader

word count : 4922

summary : You're the soft, innocent girl who only ever had one vanilla experience—with no idea what real filth could feel like. That is, until you end up rooming with your best friend’s older brother, Mingi. A pervert with a teasing mouth and no self-restraint when it comes to your cute sleep dresses and breathy little moans. He takes it slow, then ruins you completely—making you beg, cry, squirt, and ride him until you’re too dumb to think. But he still makes you breakfast after, calling you his princess in between filthy whispers.

genre : smut

warning(s) : Slight somnophilia vibes (consensual, implied history), Innocent but perverted reader, Best friend’s older brother, Roommate AU, Pussy slapping / squirting, Spanking (lots of it), Orgasm denial + overstimulation, Crying during sex (pleasure), Dirty talk / praise / teasing, Light dumbification, Reader wears cute sleep dresses, Mutual pining masked as lust, Fluffy aftercare with continued filth

A/N : This might be the last fic I uploaded this month, or maybe I'm gonna take some rest for a while😮‍💨

Minors do not interact, 21+ only!!

🪐smut under the cut🪐

It wasn’t the first night you walked into the shared kitchen in one of your tiny little sleep dresses—but this one had lace trim that swayed with every step and straps thin enough to slip off your shoulder. You weren’t even trying to be sexy. That was the worst part. You were just… comfortable.

And Mingi was already sitting at the counter, hoodie pulled halfway down his arms, curls messy from sleep. His eyes trailed up from your bare legs to the way the fabric clung to your hips. Silent. But you felt him staring.

“Couldn’t sleep?” you asked, padding across the tile barefoot, opening the fridge for a water bottle.

“Not really,” his voice came low. Rough. “You?”

You shrugged, turning around to face him, and leaned back against the fridge—completely unaware of how the thin fabric stretched across your chest. “Kinda warm tonight.”

Mingi didn’t say anything at first. He just kept looking at you, jaw ticking like he was holding something back.

It’d been two months since you moved in. Your best friend’s brother had offered the extra room when you said you needed a place. You trusted him. You knew he was older, a bit… different from the boys you’d dated before, but he never did anything to make you uncomfortable.

Until lately.

Lately, he lingered.

Watched.

“You always wear stuff like that to bed?” he finally asked, voice lower now.

You blinked. “Huh?”

“That little dress.” His eyes dropped to your thighs, where the hem rested dangerously high. “You walk around in that, knowing I’m home?”

You laughed a little. Nervous. “It’s not that short…”

Mingi stood up slowly, towering. The way he walked around the counter felt too quiet, too smooth, until he was right in front of you—so close you had to tilt your chin up just to keep eye contact.

“You’re either real clueless,” he murmured, reaching one hand to tuck a loose strand of hair behind your ear, “or you want me to stare.”

Your breath hitched. “Mingi…”

He smiled—lazy, dark, dangerous. “You ever been fucked right?”

You froze.

Your voice dropped into a whisper. “I’ve… only been with one guy. It wasn’t like that.”

Mingi groaned. “Figures.” He leaned in close, lips brushing your ear. “Bet you’ve never had someone stretch this cute little pussy open, make you cry, huh?”

Your thighs pressed together. You didn’t answer.

“You’d let me ruin you?” he muttered, voice thick. “Make you drool all over this kitchen counter?”

That was it. That was the moment something snapped. You nodded—tiny, trembling—and whispered:

“...Please.”

Mingi didn’t wait for you to say more. The second that quiet please left your lips, his hand was on your waist, dragging you flush against him like he’d been holding back for too long. You gasped when you felt how hard he already was—thick and pressed against your stomach through his sweats.

And then he kissed you.

Hard.

It wasn’t soft or shy or sweet like your ex used to kiss. Mingi kissed like he wanted to eat every breath from your lungs. Tongue in your mouth, lips moving against yours with filthy hunger, like he needed to claim you before you could change your mind.

Your little whimper was swallowed by his mouth.

He gripped your hips, pulling you closer until your thin sleep dress rode higher up your thighs. His hands were so big—touching too much, yet not enough. One slipped down to squeeze your ass through the fabric, and he groaned into your mouth. “Fuck… you’ve been hiding this from me all this time?”

“I didn’t know you looked at me like that,” you mumbled breathlessly between kisses, hands fisting into his hoodie.

He pulled back just enough to stare down at you, pupils blown wide. “I’ve been looking at you every fucking night, bunny. You walking around in these tiny little dresses, all innocent and sweet, acting like you don’t know what the fuck you’re doing to me.”

You whimpered at the pet name—bunny—and it only made him grin darker.

“Not gonna fuck you for the first time in the kitchen,” he muttered, gripping your wrist and tugging you toward the hallway. “Not when I’ve waited this long. My room. Now.”

You followed, dizzy and needy, barely noticing how your thighs brushed together with every step.

His room smelled like him—clean laundry and something warm, masculine. It was bigger than yours by far, and the bed looked like it could swallow you whole. He didn’t even turn on the light—just kicked the door shut and pushed you gently until you fell back onto the mattress.

You sat there, wide-eyed and flushed, legs folded under you.

Mingi’s hoodie was already coming off, revealing bare skin and toned arms as he stepped closer. “Take it off,” he ordered softly, nodding at your sleep dress. “Wanna see all of you.”

Your fingers trembled a little as you reached for the straps, slowly pulling them down one by one. The fabric slid down your chest… then over your waist… pooling around your hips before you pulled it off completely.

You sat there naked, knees pressed together, heart pounding so loud you swore he could hear it.

Mingi’s gaze dragged over you—slow, heavy, drinking in everything. “Fuck, baby… you’re gonna be the death of me.”

He dropped to his knees between your legs and pushed them apart gently, licking his lips.

“You ever been eaten out, sweetheart?”

You shook your head, shy. “No…”

His grin was wicked. “Good. You’ll remember your first.”

“Lie back for me,” Mingi murmured, guiding your shoulders until you were sprawled across his sheets—legs parted, chest rising and falling in uneven little breaths.

He kissed up the inside of your thigh first. Slow. Teasing. You whimpered when his nose brushed close to where you were already wet, and he groaned low in his throat.

“Shit… you’re already dripping.”

Your hands gripped the sheets tightly as his breath ghosted over your folds. And then—his tongue. One long, slow lick up your slit that had your hips jerking off the bed.

“Oh—Mingi—!”

“Yeah, baby?” he mumbled against your pussy, voice already wrecked. “Sensitive little thing, huh? Gonna cry just from my mouth?”

You shook your head, biting your lip, but the way your thighs trembled said otherwise.

Mingi didn’t tease for long. He licked you open and flat-out devoured you—his tongue dragging through every inch of you, dipping into your hole, circling your clit until your back arched off the bed. His grip on your thighs kept you spread, even as you twisted, even when you whimpered, “Mingi, I— I think I’m gonna—!”

He didn’t stop.

He growled into you, “Give it to me, bunny. Wanna taste how cute you cum.”

Your thighs shook. Your stomach tensed. And just as you hit the edge, his tongue flattened against your clit—and then slap—

His palm smacked against your dripping pussy. Just once. Light. Experimental.

You screamed.

Not from pain. From how violently your orgasm hit. It tore through you in messy, uncontrollable waves—and then you felt it. That hot rush, the release, the wet spray that soaked his mouth and chin and dripped down your thighs.

“Oh—oh my God—!”

You were trembling, toes curled, hands gripping the sheets so hard your knuckles turned white.

Mingi pulled back just enough to see the mess—lips wet, eyes blown out with shock and arousal. “Fuck, baby… you just squirted.”

You were still catching your breath, wide-eyed and teary, lips parted. “I—I didn’t mean to—”

He laughed. Dark. Proud. “Don’t apologize.” He leaned up, licking your slick from his fingers. “I’m making you do that again.”

Still trembling from the mess he’d pulled out of you, you tried to close your legs—but Mingi’s grip was firm.

“Ah, ah. Not done yet, sweetheart,” he murmured, voice gravelly and way too calm for someone who just got squirted on. “Still so sensitive... what, already crying?” he cooed as his fingers brushed your soaked clit.

You whimpered, legs kicking at the overwhelming touch. “I-It’s too much, Mingi—!”

But he just grinned, licking his lips. “Mm… I think you can give me one more. You got another one in this pretty pussy, right?”

You were too dazed to answer, and that only made him laugh—low and dark.

Then came his fingers. Two of them, thick and slow, sliding into you while his thumb pressed on your clit. He watched you with hungry eyes as your back arched again, moaning out broken little gasps.

And when you got close—that sweet, tense twist in your belly coming back—he stopped.

Pulled his hand back entirely.

You blinked in confusion, cheeks flushed, lips parted in a soft whine. “W-Why’d you stop…”

Mingi leaned down, nose brushing yours, smirking. “You think I’m gonna let you cum that easy, bunny? After that messy little squirt? Nah. I wanna watch you fall apart first.”

You squirmed under him, legs rubbing together for friction, whining softly as he started teasing again—light flicks over your clit with the very tip of his tongue.

Then fingers. Just pressing at your entrance, not pushing in.

You were twitching, gasping. “Please, Mingi, wanna cum… I wanna—wanna feel it again…”

He let out a low hum, lips brushing your inner thigh. “Such a needy little baby. One good orgasm and now you can’t even speak right?”

“Mingi—please!”

He slapped your pussy again. Sharp. Hot. Not enough to hurt, just enough to make your whole body jolt.

“Say it better, sweetheart. Use your words. What do you want?”

You sniffled, eyes glassy. “Wanna cum… wanna feel your fingers, your tongue, anything— please, Mingi, I’ll be good—”

“Shit.” He sucked a breath through his teeth, finally sliding two fingers in again, pumping hard. “You’re too fucking cute when you beg.”

This time—he let you cum.

And you screamed, all messy and twitching, a moaning little thing with your back off the bed and your thighs trembling around his head. You sobbed through it, babbling nonsense, fingers gripping the sheets as your slick dripped down his wrist.

But Mingi didn’t stop.

He kept going.

Sloppy thrusts. No rhythm. Just filthy, greedy, overstimulating pleasure while you whimpered, “T-Too much—gonna break, Mingi—ah, ah—!”

“Oh, baby…” he groaned, tongue dragging up your soaked folds one more time. “You’re already broken.”

He’d barely given you time to catch your breath before pulling you into his lap—legs trembling, lips parted with a dazed little pout as you straddled his hips.

“C’mere, baby,” Mingi said, voice low and wrecked, “Wanna see you ride this cock. Wanna watch those pretty tits bounce while I ruin that dumb little head of yours.”

Your hands pressed against his chest for balance, thighs already shaky as you lined yourself up—his cock thick and heavy against your folds. He didn’t even help. Just laid back with that smug, perverted smirk on his face like he had all the time in the world.

“You gonna do it all by yourself, sweetheart?” he teased, thumb brushing your lip. “Show me how bad you want it.”

You whimpered, biting down on his thumb, and slowly sank down.

“Oh fuck—”

Your mouth dropped open in a silent cry as he filled you up, inch by inch, stretching you so deep it felt like you couldn’t breathe. Your eyes fluttered shut, the burn so good, the pressure perfect—and when you finally sat flush against his hips, you were already shaking.

Mingi hissed through his teeth, staring up at you with that hungry look. “Shit, baby, look at you—taking all of me like that… Tightest fucking pussy I’ve ever felt.”

You whimpered, hips rolling instinctively. “Mingi… s’too big…”

He grabbed your waist, dragging you up just enough before letting you drop back down. “Nah, baby. You’re made for this. For me. Show me how you fuck.”

So you moved.

Bounced.

Slow at first, thighs burning from the stretch, your tits jiggling with every drop. And Mingi? He looked feral. One hand behind his head, the other lazily cupping your breast, watching it bounce with a low groan.

“Fuck… fuck, look at you,” he growled, thrusting up once to meet you and make you yelp. “Look how cute you are—riding my cock like it’s the only thing that matters.”

You cried out, little sobs slipping past your lips as you bounced harder, sloppier, the sounds of your slick echoing in the room.

“Am I makin’ you dumb, bunny?” he grinned, pulling on your waist to make you slam down harder. “You’re mumblin’ again…”

“I—ahh—feels s’good, Mingi, too good—dizzy—!”

“Yeah? You gonna cum on this cock?” he grunted, thrusting up to meet you again, fast and deep. “Gonna soak me like a filthy little slut?”

You nodded frantically, sobbing now, fingers clawing at his chest. “Please—please, wanna cum, please, please—!”

“Then cum.”

He sat up, mouth sucking one of your nipples into his mouth as you shattered—screaming, spasming around him, thighs locking up as you came so hard your whole body convulsed. Mingi groaned, holding you down on his cock, watching you lose your mind on top of him.

“Shit… You’re my favorite fucking toy now.”

Your thighs were quaking, tears running down your flushed cheeks, but you didn’t stop riding him. Not even when your head dropped back and your voice cracked from all the soft, incoherent sobs spilling out of your lips.

“S-s’too much—Mingi, f-fuck—can’t—!”

“Oh, but you can, baby.” His voice was wrecked with hunger, obsessed with the way you looked losing your mind on his cock. “You’re so cute when you cry like this. Makes me wanna keep you stuffed and full forever.”

He grabbed both of your tits, squeezing them roughly as he thrusted up into you hard enough to make you scream.

You sobbed, nails digging into his chest, your thighs trembling violently as the pleasure got too sharp, too deep, but he wasn’t letting up.

“Mingi—! Gonna cum again—!”

He grinned, lazy and smug. “Yeah? Show me.”

You came with a sob, body locking up as you spasmed around him, drool slipping from the corner of your mouth as you collapsed forward on his chest.

But he wasn’t done.

Not even close.

“Turn around.”

Your hazy, tear-streaked eyes blinked at him. “H-huh?”

Mingi didn’t wait—he flipped you over onto your stomach, pulling your hips up so your ass was in the air, your face buried in the mattress. You were so sensitive, so wrecked, and you felt him line back up without missing a beat.

Then—

SMACK!

You yelped.

“God, this ass is too fucking perfect,” he groaned, giving your cheek another hard slap. “Could stare at it all day.”

“M-Mingi—!”

SMACK!

“Say thank you.”

You whined, face burning. “T-thank you…”

“That’s my girl.” He slammed into you without mercy, burying himself to the hilt in one thrust.

Your scream was muffled by the sheets, fists grabbing at the blankets as he pounded into you from behind—relentless, filthy, insatiable.

He grabbed your hair, yanking your head up. “Let me hear you beg again. C’mon, say you love this cock.”

You hiccupped on a moan, body trembling like crazy. “L-love it—love your cock, Mingi—please, more, please!”

“Fuck yes,” he groaned, thrusting faster, the sound of your skin slapping echoing in the room. “I’m gonna make you squirt again. Gonna spank you while you cry on my dick.”

SMACK!

You screamed.

SMACK!

Tears spilled down again, body burning from both pleasure and pain as you felt yourself losing it all over again.

“I—I’m gonna—!”

“Do it. Squirt for me, baby. Make a mess on my cock.”

You cried out, body convulsing as you exploded, the gush of your release soaking his cock and thighs as you collapsed forward, babbling nothing but broken moans and needy whines.

And Mingi? He kept fucking you through it, whispering filthy things in your ear while he used your soft, fucked-out body like it was his personal toy.

Your legs gave out underneath you, dropping you in a trembling, sticky heap on the bed. Your thighs glistened with slick and spit, your chest rising and falling as soft hiccupy sobs slipped from your lips. Mingi had just pulled out, thick and hard and soaked in everything you’d given him—again.

But he hadn’t finished.

Not yet.

You peeked up at him through heavy lashes, eyes glassy and lips glossy with drool, a faint little whimper catching in your throat. Your body ached, pussy twitching with need, and your brain was too fogged up to think straight—but the emptiness was too much.

“M-Mingi…” Your voice cracked.

He stood at the edge of the bed, stroking himself slowly, watching you fall apart with a low, smug chuckle. “Look at you,” he teased. “Cute little thing, still crying. Didn’t I just make you squirt all over me?”

You shook your head, sniffled, and crawled to the edge of the bed on shaky hands and knees. “I-it’s not enough…” you whimpered, blinking up at him with big watery eyes.

“Oh?” He tilted his head. “You still want more, baby?”

You nodded, sniffling again, reaching out with both hands to grab at his thighs, pressing your cheek against the base of his cock like it was the only thing keeping you grounded. “Please… please cum inside me… I w-want it so bad, Mingi, want you to ruin me…”

He groaned, grip tightening around his shaft.

“Been so good, haven’t I?” you mumbled, voice all cracked and wet and soft. “Let you use me however you wanted… I d-did everything—so please, fill me up…”

Tears ran down your flushed cheeks as your voice dropped even more—sweet and whiny and broken. “Don’t wanna be empty anymore…”

“Fuck—” He hissed through his teeth, eyes dark with lust as he looked down at you, trembling and begging and so fucking perfect.

He grabbed you, hard, lifting you up with ease and laying you on your back again, legs spread wide and shaking. “You wanna be full, baby?” he growled, lining himself up. “I’ll make sure you never feel empty again.”

You gasped when he slammed back inside you, and a sob broke out of your throat.

“Th-thank you—thank you, Mingi—!”

He groaned, wrapping your legs around his waist and pounding into you with feverish need, one hand cradling the back of your head while the other held your hip steady. “Crying while you thank me? Shit, baby, you’re gonna kill me…”

You were blabbering now, voice high and pitchy, clinging to his back as he drove you into the mattress. “Feels so good—so deep—Mingi, I’m gonna break—!”

“You’re already broken, sweetheart.” He kissed your temple, whispering like a lover even as he fucked you like a demon. “And you’re so fucking cute like this. So desperate, so messy, all mine right now…”

And when he finally came—hard, with a deep groan and his face buried in your neck—you cried out again, feeling the heat flood your core, your hands clawing at him as your body twitched through the aftershocks.

Still gasping, still trembling, still mumbling barely-there thank-yous.

And Mingi just held you, sweaty and breathless, as if he was never letting you go.

You didn’t even realize you were still leaking around him until he shifted his hips, still buried deep in your swollen, overstretched walls. Mingi’s hand rubbed soothing circles into your back, his lips brushing over your forehead in soft little kisses. You felt so warm—so full—your breath slowing, your heartbeat steadying under the weight of his body.

But his cock was still inside you.

Still thick, twitching every now and then.

And he was hardening again.

You mumbled something incoherent, more like a dreamy hum than actual words, nuzzling into his neck.

“…You awake, baby?” Mingi whispered, voice hoarse, raspy with exhaustion.

You nodded sleepily, cheeks sticky with dried tears and your thighs aching deliciously. “Mmhm… still inside…”

“Still warm,” he groaned, grinding his hips just enough to feel your pussy clench. “Fuck… you’re hugging me so tight, baby. You gonna let me use you one more time?”

A sleepy whimper slipped out, and your fingers curled into his back. “T-too much…”

“Just one more,” he murmured, voice sweet but filthy. “You’re already so full, might as well keep stuffing you, yeah?”

He rolled his hips again, deeper this time, and you gasped—tired, overstimulated, but already soaking all over again. “Mingi… I can’t—”

“You can,” he whispered, lips brushing against your temple. “You’re doing so good, baby. So pretty, even when you’re crying… my cute little roommate.”

He slowly started thrusting, every movement gentle but deep, dragging out the squelch of his cum between your legs with each slow stroke.

You whimpered, head tilting back, your legs falling open for him like instinct. “Ngh… f-feels good…”

“That’s it,” he groaned. “Just let me fuck you through it, baby. Let me feel your cute little pussy milk me dry.”

You moaned louder this time, slurred words spilling from your lips in breathy little gasps. “So deep—Mingi, y-you’re still so big, why’s it still so big…”

He chuckled softly, eyes dark as he stared down at your fucked-out face. “Because you’re too cute, baby. Can’t help myself…”

He kept going, slow and thick and messy, not even bothering to pull out as his cum dripped down between your cheeks, mixing with your slick and his spit. You blinked up at him, dazed and broken and glowing all at once.

And when he finally came again with a quiet, shuddering groan, you whimpered at the warmth flooding you for the second time.

“…Mingi…” you breathed out, nearly incoherent. “Y-you’re gonna break me…”

“You’re already broken, sweetheart,” he murmured, laying soft kisses along your collarbone as he rutted lazily into you a few more times before stilling.

“But fuck, baby… I’ve never seen anything as pretty as you falling apart.”

The sunlight was barely peeking through the blinds when you stirred, your legs twitching from the dull ache between them. You were wrapped up in warmth—Mingi's chest against your back, his heavy arm draped around your waist, and his cock still lazily nestled against your ass, soft but twitching with every slow breath.

“Mingi…” you whispered sleepily, voice hoarse and sweet.

He groaned low, nuzzling into your neck. “Morning already?”

You giggled softly, your body sore in all the right places. “My thighs hurt…”

He kissed your shoulder. “Good. That means I fucked you right.”

You turned your face toward him, cheeks hot, eyes still puffy from last night’s cute little crying fits. “Pervert.”

“Your pervert.” He smirked, biting playfully at your earlobe. “And you loved it.”

You hummed. “I did…”

There was a beat of silence, and then you sighed. “But I’m sticky. We’re gross.”

“Guess we should clean up, huh?” he whispered, voice already heavy with mischief.

Before you could protest, he rolled you both out of bed and scooped you up bridal-style, your sleep dress barely hanging on your shoulders. You squealed, arms flying around his neck.

“Mingi—!”

“I said we’re showering. Gotta make sure my baby is squeaky clean.”

He kicked the bathroom door open and sat you on the cold counter, standing between your legs with his hands on your bare thighs. He just stared at you for a second—at the messed-up lace, the little bruises, the faint red handprints he’d left behind.

And then, “You gonna let me clean you with my tongue again, baby?”

You blinked at him, lips parting.

“…You’re hopeless.”

But when you opened your legs for him again, you both knew you didn’t mean it.

Mingi turned the shower on, steam curling into the room as the water heated up. While it warmed, he leaned down and kissed you—slow and deep, his tongue lazily exploring your mouth while his big hands slid under your sleep dress, dragging it up and off your body.

“Still so cute even when you’re wrecked,” he murmured, voice low and thick with sleep and lust. “Wanna fuck you all over again.”

Your body twitched at his words, your thighs pressing together instinctively. “I’m still sore…”

“I’ll be gentle,” he said—though the glint in his eyes said otherwise.

He picked you up again and stepped into the shower with you, water cascading over both your bodies, his arms strong and steady around you. You let out a shaky breath as the warmth soothed your aching muscles, but your comfort didn’t last long.

Mingi pinned your back to the slick wall tiles, water running down his broad shoulders as he grabbed your thighs and hoisted them around his waist. His cock was already hard again, flushed and throbbing against your core.

“Y-you said gentle,” you mumbled, flushed and wide-eyed.

“I said I’ll try,” he corrected, smirking. “But you’re too damn addicting, baby. Can’t help it.”

You whined as he rubbed his cockhead along your folds, spreading his cum and your slick from the night before. “Mingi… I—”

“You’re always so wet for me,” he groaned. “Still leaking, baby? God, look at you…”

He pushed in slow—just the tip—and your eyes fluttered shut, your lips parting in a soft moan as your head thunked back against the tile. The heat of the water, the steam, his body against yours—it was all too much and not enough.

“F-fuck, you’re tight,” he growled, gripping your thighs tighter. “Even after everything I did last night…”

You gasped as he slid in deeper, your arms locking around his neck. “M-Mingi… ah—nghh—s-still sore…”

“I know, baby,” he cooed, kissing your cheek. “But you can take it. You always do. My good girl.”

His hips began to move, slowly at first—just enough for you to feel the stretch all over again. You whimpered into his shoulder, legs trembling, but your pussy clenched around him greedily.

“Making those cute noises again…” he muttered, voice almost desperate. “Say something for me, baby.”

“F-feels good,” you managed, your voice slurred, high and breathy. “So big—s-stretching me again…”

“You’re dripping,” he whispered against your ear. “Fucking leaking around me, and I’m not even moving fast yet.”

You let out a sob, your fingers tangling in his wet hair. “Please—Mingi—feels too good—don’t stop—”

And he didn’t.

He began thrusting harder, the sound of wet skin slapping echoing in the shower, water spraying off his back while he fucked you raw against the tile. You whimpered, moaned, your head rolling as he hit that same deep, sweet spot over and over until your body was convulsing in his arms.

“Cum for me,” he grunted. “Wanna feel you fall apart again.”

And you did—your eyes rolled back, your mouth fell open in a silent cry, your whole body shaking as you came hard around him. And right after, with a strangled groan, he buried himself deep and spilled inside you again.

For the fourth time.

You both panted, clinging to each other as the water kept pouring over you. Mingi kissed your temple softly.

“I should get a gold medal for this,” he muttered playfully.

You mumbled into his shoulder, barely coherent. “Mm… just feed me breakfast…”

He grinned. “After I eat you for breakfast again.”

After the shower, your legs barely held you up, so Mingi wrapped you in a towel and carried you straight to the kitchen like you weighed nothing. You were wearing one of his oversized shirts now—still damp and clinging to your soft curves, the hem brushing your thighs with every step you took.

Mingi was shirtless, sweatpants slung low on his hips, his hair still damp and messy. And the way his eyes kept dropping to your bare legs as he cooked? That hungry look never left.

“You know,” he muttered, flipping the pancakes in the pan, “I could bend you over this counter right now. Bet your pussy’s still twitching from the shower.”

You whimpered into your glass of juice, squirming in the stool you sat on. “Mingi…”

“What? I’m just saying,” he smirked, setting the plate down in front of you. “You looked so cute, all dumb and crying on my cock. How am I supposed to not talk about it?”

You pouted, hiding your red face behind your fork. “You’re so dirty…”

“And you love it,” he whispered as he leaned down, lips brushing your ear. “You love when I talk to you like that, don’t you? Gettin’ all shy now, but you were begging me to spank your pussy five minutes ago.”

Your thighs clenched automatically, eyes fluttering. “That was… different…”

He kissed your temple and slid into the stool beside you. “Nah. You’re just my pretty little pillow princess who gets shy after being ruined.”

You shoved his arm playfully, cheeks hot. “Eat your pancake, pervert.”

But your voice was so soft, your smile too wide—because you did love it. Every filthy word, every dirty look he gave you like you were his favorite thing to ruin.

Mingi leaned on his elbow, watching you eat with that same smirk tugging at his lips.

“After this… I’m putting you back in bed,” he murmured lowly. “And you’re gonna sit on my cock nice and slow while I kiss you. Let’s see how many times I can make you cum without moving my hips.”

You choked on your juice.

He patted your back, completely unbothered. “Careful, baby. Can’t have you dying before I ruin you again.”

#ateez #ateez fic #ateez smut #smut #mingi scenarios #mingi x reader #mingi smut #song mingi #ateez mingi #mingi #mingi imagines

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starcatching · 8 months ago

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ATEEZ ICE ON MY TEETH (2024)

#ateez #ateezedit #atzsource #kpopco #kpopccc #ultkpopnetwork #dailybg #malegroupsnet #ateezgif #blogmusicdaily #hongjoong #seonghwa #yunho #yeosang #san #mingi #wooyoung #jongho #myedit

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seonghwaddict · 1 year ago

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save a horse, ride your best friend — song mingi

in which your best friend can’t believe you’ve never ridden a dick before, so he takes it upon himself to teach you.

best friend!song mingi x fem!reader. requested by anon. genre. slight fluff. smut. best friends to friends with benefits. warnings. explicit sexual content mdni, inexperienced!reader, thigh riding, fingering, use of a dildo, big dick!mingi, multiple orgasms, unprotected, creampie, swearing, nicknames (baby, angel, pretty). wc. 4k. rating. mature.

lilo’s notes. this was requested a while ago but i’ve been putting it off because… i’ve never written anything about toys being used so uh, i was worried about the pacing and stuff. i wasn’t sure if you meant for them to be in an established relationship, so i went for the fwb route. IMPORTANT!!!! i lost access to my google account bc of a stupid mistake, if you sent in a request through my google form and would still like me to see it, please send it as an ask <33 i remember a few of them, but do send yours in just in case!!

listening to. need to know, doja cat // if u think i’m pretty, artemas // moonlight, kali uchis

masterlist.

it was a regular saturday evening. you were on a video call with your best friend, mingi, talking about anything that came to mind as you each ate a bowl of ramen as if you were really in the same room. he really only lived a couple buildings away, a two minute walk at most, but actually joining you in your apartment didn’t cross his mind until something interesting was brought up.

you weren’t sure what led to the conversation, but somehow it steered into the direction of something less innocent as you found yourself talking about an embarrassing date you’d gone on a while ago. recounting the story, laughing together, soon turned into a conversation about what each of you like in bed.

“oh, it’s just amazing,” mingi laughed as he gulped down a mouthful of water, momentarily pausing his rambling about how much he loves it when someone rides his dick. he ran a his hand through his short, washed-out pink hair, “honestly, my favourite thing ever since it probably feels just as good for whoever is, y’know, riding.”

based on everything he’s said so far, you came to the conclusion that he was more into giving than receiving, that he got off on seeing all the pleasure he can give his partner. so, it made sense he’d choose to mention the fact that riding him would feel good. not that you would know.

“can i admit something?”

he looked up from his bowl, sharp eyes looking almost hopeful as he nodded.

you looked around your kitchen jokingly, pretending to make sure no one sense was listened as you leaned closer a whispered, your hand cupping the side of your mouth.

“i’ve never done that before.”

his jaw dropped at that, letting out a small laugh. “you’re kidding.”

“no, really,” you insisted, going back to eating casually as if you were having the most normal conversation in the world with your best friend, “i really haven’t done… much, so i can’t confirm or deny your theory.”

“huh.” he leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms as he thought for a moment. his head tilted and it was then that you felt how warm your cheeks felt, how your thighs were pressed together under the counter. of course, he was well aware of the fact that you had much less experience than him, only knowing about two people you had slept with. but damn. he clicked his tongue and shook his head ever so slightly. “that won’t do.”

furrowing your eyebrows, you opened your mouth to ask him what he had meant by that. he beat you to it before you could get a word out.

“i can… teach you, if you want?”

you blinked at your screen, resting your wrist on your countertop and gripping your chopsticks a little too hard. a silence followed his offer, though it wasn’t awkward. in fact, he could see you genuinely considering it as you thought it over. eventually, you gave him a tiny nod.

“i mean,” you shrugged, shifting your eyes away shyly, “sure, i guess. why not?”

he grinned, trying to hide it as he shoved a mouthful of noodles into his mouth and shoved his bowl aside. he chewed, swallowed then got up and made sure to bring his phone with him. you recognised his hallways then bedroom as he walked through his apartment. “i’ll be there in like 15, i need to buy something on the way. just wait there, and where something comfortable and… um, accessible.”

you nodded, despite your confusion, and he hung up. accessible? you looked down at your clothing—or rather, lack thereof. since you were home and not expecting anyone, you’d settled on wearing just a shirt you stole from mingi that was too large for him and much larger for you, and panties. you lifted the hem of the worn shirt, assessing how much of your dignity you’d lose if he saw your pink hello kitty undergarments that you only wore if you were doing laundry.

you could already hear him giggling at the sight.

groaning and cursing under your breath, you dropped the shirt and sped to your bedroom to dig through your closet in hopes of finding something a little more appealing. after making a mess of one of your closet’s drawers, you finally pulled out a pair of less offensive panties. they were made of soft cotton; a muted light blue with thin white lace trim, the cut shaped more like a bikini than what you call your grandma underwear.

deciding they were flattering enough, you slipped off your hello kitty pair—ignoring the embarrassing amount of wetness creating a wet patch right where it was pressed against your core—and replaced it with the new pair. as you untwisted the waistband and adjusted it to fit properly, your doorbell rang and you froze on the spot before pulling yourself together and heading to open the door.

the walk to the door felt abnormally long as you stumbled over on wobbly knees. admittedly, you were a little nervous. sure, there have been times where you wanted to do some more than friendly activities with mingi, but you never actually thought it was happen. yet here you were, opening the door for him so he could come in and show you what being a cowgirl feels like.

“hey,” he greeted you softly, stepping into your home and closing the door behind him. you noticed a small plastic bag in his hand, eying it curiously as you watched him kick off his shoes and hang up his coat. once that was of the way, he took one of your hands in your free one and pulled you to where he knew your bedroom was.

once there, he set the bag down on your bedside table and dragged you to stand between his knees as he took a seat on the edge of your bed. he looked you over, lingering on the familiar t-shirt.

“so you’re the one that took this shirt, huh?” he quirked an eyebrow, glancing up at you as he released your hand and brought both of his to your hips. his thumbs caressed the curve of your waist over the shirt. “it was my favourite.”

you laughed softly, “clearly you didn’t care enough if i was able to keep it for three years without you noticing.”

“you little thief.” his nose scrunched as he glared at you jokingly, giving you a gentle squeeze.

“if you really want it back, you can always take it.”

“nah, it’s fine, keep it. it looks cuter on you anyway.” he took a breath and gave you another once over, humming appreciatively when he moved his hands up higher, dragging the shirt with it until he caught a glimpse of your panties. you tensed, caught off guard by how close he felt. “i need you to relax a little, how about i help you loosen up, yeah?”

you nodded, averting your gaze but returning it to him when you felt him pull you onto his lap. he slotted one of his legs between yours, easing you down to straddle his thigh. his hands ran up and down your sides and few times before resting on your bare thighs, your breath stuttered and he held back a smile.

“are you still okay with this?” he asked quietly, absentmindedly playing with the hem of his your shirt. “if i do anything that makes you uncomfortable, just tell me and i’ll stop immediately and we can just watch a movie or something, okay?” when you only nodded, he continued, “i need you to say it, please.”

“i’m okay with this,” you muttered in return, resting you hands on his biceps, “and i’ll let you know if i need you to stop.”

“good, now…” without waiting any longer, he leaned forward to attach his lips to your neck, his hands slowly beginning to rock you back and forth on his lap.

you sucked in a sharp breath and clung into his arms a little tighter, your stomach fluttering at the feeling of your clothed cunt on his firm thigh, your panties dragging against your clit with ease thanks to how wet you already were. he lifted you slightly as he pulled you towards him, pushing you down as he pushed, the varying pressure making your lips part in a soft whimper. he nearly groaned at the sound, moving his lips right below your ear.

“you know,” he rasped between the licks and kisses, “i can’t deny that i’ve wanted to fuck you for a long, long time now.”

“r-really?”

mingi chuckled as he pulled back to look at your face, half surprised and half needy. he noticed that if he relaxed his hands, you’d continue grinding against his thigh.

“yeah, really. i mean, look at you,” he glanced down, one of his hands lifting the hem of your shirt to watch you ride his thigh slowly, a dark wet patch forming right where your leaking pussy sat. he bit his lip, “you look so perfect… and i bet you’d feel perfect, too.”

you nearly whined at that, fucking yourself on his thigh just a little faster as he sucked a dark mark right above your collarbone before returning to mutter dirty words into your ear.

“i know practically everything about you and your cute little body, you know. better than anyone else,” one of his hands inched it’s way up your thighs, brushing against the edge of your panties, “i’ll make you feel so good, angel, i promise.”

“mingi?” you whimpered, prompting him to lean back a little to look at you with a curious tilt of his head and a raised brow. “if you don’t shut up and kiss me right now, i might lose my mind so… please.”

his beautifully plump lips stretched into a smile as he wasted no time in practically pouncing forward and smashing his lips against yours. it started a little slow as you got acquainted with each other, despite the fact you could feel a nearing orgasm as a knot in your stomach drew tighter with each roll of your hips, but soon the kiss turned hungry.

he groaned into your mouth as you let his tongue explore, making you let out a quiet moan. mingi knew he wouldn’t be able to kiss anyone ever again. you, his best friend of all people, had the most inviting lips he’s ever felt. so inviting, so perfect and so soft. he thought everything about was soft. his hand slipped just under the edge of your panties as his other one made your grinds slow down.

you didn’t mind the slow pace, knowing just a few more rocks of your hips would have you tipping over the edge. but he evidently had other plans as he finally made your hips still completely. you pulled away from his lips with a pout. if you were trying to make him feel bad, it backfired terribly.

all he could think of as he looks at your swollen, red, wet, pouty lips is how much prettier they’d look wrapped around his cock. but he could save that for another time.

“there’s no need to rush, baby,” he chuckled, wiping some saliva away from your bottom lip.

eventually, when he was sure you had calmed down enough, he lifted you off his lap a little and turned to lay you down on your back, pressed against the comfortable mattress as he kneeled on the edge. he gripped your knees and bent them, pushing them closer to your chest with his eyes zeroed in on where your slick was leaking through your panties.

with one hand keeping your knees together and elevated, he ran his other over the fabric, pressing down on where he knew your clot would be and elicit a sweet little moan as you squirmed beneath him. he thought you were so cute like this, you looked so flustered as he gave you nothing but featherlight touches where you needed him most. for now.

“don’t get all shy on me now,” he cooed as he glanced up and noticed you covering your face with your hands, “let me see you, pretty.”

he didn’t continue his touches until you finally removed your hands, giving him a nice view of your abused lips and round eyes, pupils blown wide with lust in a way that had something stirring in his abdomen. and his pants.

he let down your knees for a moment so both of his hands could slip under the waistband of your panties, slowly pulling them down your legs. he actually moaned when he saw the strings of arousal clutching onto the fabric as he dragged it away, snapping when he got too far.

“you’re so pretty, baby,” he murmured, watching your entrance squeeze around nothing, making more slick drip out.

after tossing it aside, he wasted no time in getting your knees back to the previous position and running his fingers through your folds.

“oh, fuck,” he groaned, eyes squeezing shut for a moment as you let out a moan when he tapped against your clit, “you’re soaked.”

he glanced up at you, wanting to see your face as he slowly pushed in too fingers and catching a glimpse of your hard nipples poking through your shirt. your face contorted for s fraction of s second before relaxing, your head tipping back against the mattress as you let out a whine.

he choked back a moan at the tight walls around his middle and ring fingers, the fingers of his other hand digging into your thighs. “sh-shit… you’re so tight. i’m gonna have to stretch you out first, okay?”

you nodded mindlessly, too distracted by his fingers prodding at your sweet spot to care about any words he may have said. but you furrowed your eyebrows and lifted your head when you felt both his hands leave you, finding him reaching for the bag. your curiosity outweighed your disappointment as he pulled something out.

it was a dildo. about as thick and long as the biggest person you had before, and made of what looked to be transparent silicon. your insides tightened at the sight, somehow the thought of him seemingly buying this just for you turning you on even more.

he returned to kneeling at the edge of your bed, leaning down to loop his arm around your waist and lift you up to place a pillow under your hips before letting lay back down.

“couldn’t find one my size, but this should be fine,” he held the dildo and ran the tip through your pussy, collecting wetness as you shuddered, “my cock will just have to stretch you the rest of the way.”

you breath hitched at the implication of his words. so he was bigger than that? your thighs pressed together at the thought of being completely stuffed by him. he chuckled, separating your knees enough for him to have a clear view of your pussy, pulsing and dripping and begging for his attention.

he began slipping the toy into you, filling you up inch by inch and watching your needy hole stretch around it and swallow it up. the sight had him choking back a moan, biting down on his bottom lip.

the stretch had your back arching and pushing yourself against it desperately, feeling like that alone could get you to finish. it only took a few deep strokes for your pussy to get used to the size, squeezing and writhing around it until you couldn’t handle it anymore. your arousal coated it quickly and seeped out with each stroke, squelching sounds filling the room that shot straight to his dick.

when you finally came, your toes curled and your body twitched as you let out a string of and whines and moans, little curses slipping between. he watched with fascination as you came undone right beneath him, not wanting to wait any longer to be inside you. he shoved the toy deep inside you, leaving it there as he leaned back for a moment to discard his clothes, slipping his hoodie and sweatpants off.

when you were brought back to your senses, you found yourself on his lap again, straddling his hips this time as he sat with his back against your headboard. you felt his erectile straining against his boxers and pressing against your core. you couldn’t help but rock your hips against his slowly.

“do you ever ride your pillow?” he asked suddenly, voice dropped what felt like two octaves lower than his regular tone. your eyes widened at the question but you nodded. he nodded too, his hands finding your ass and helping you grind against his clothes length. “this is a lot like that, except you have something in you… and it’s more of an up and down movement… and i’m obviously not a pillow… still, there’s really no right way to do it, just go slow and you’ll figure out what works and what doesn’t. plus, i’m here to guide you.”

he gave your ass a squeeze as if to punctuate his sentence, massaging the soft flesh in his palms. when you felt ready, you dropped your hands from his shoulders to his boxers, palming his length a few times before hooking your fingers into the fabric and dragging it down until his cock sprung out.

he definitely wasn’t lying when he said it would stretch you more than the already-big dildo. he was definitely a lot bigger than anyone else you’ve been with, well over average. you nearly dropped at the sight, wrapping your hand around him and jerking him off, eyes fixated on the angry red tip leaking precum as you passed your thumb over it.

the muscles of his abs rippled and squeezed as your worked your hands on his cock, his head thrown back against the headboard and letting out stuttering moans. all the sounds he made encourage you to sit up on your knees, guiding him through your folds and whimpering as you finally sank down on him carefully.

the two of you moaned at the same time, him at how well you squeezed around him and you at how well he stretched you. you stopped when you reached just halfway, unsure whether or not you’d be able to fit more. his hips jerked slightly as his hands squeezed your hips.

“come on, baby,” he moaned softly, looking up at you with encouraging eyes, “just a little more… we can make it fit, right? just breathe.”

you nodded and as you took a deep breath, he used his hold on your to sink you further down until he finally bottomed out. he cursed silently, the back of his head finding the headboard again as you whined and dropped yours onto his shoulder.

you felt his tip pushing against your cervix, the new feeling making a lump form in your throat as you blinked back tears. this time it took a while to get used to the stretch before you tried grinding back and forth. it was slow, almost painfully so. he was amazed that despite stretching you with two different things, you were still so unbelievably tight, hugging him in a death grip as your raised your hips an inch before dropping down again.

your soft noises were muffled by his shoulder as your hands rested on his biceps, panting and squeezing gently as every inch of him dragged against the sensitive spongy patch in your walls every time you grinded on him. soon enough you were able to lift yourself to his tip and drop all the way down, your wetness letting him slip in and out with ease.

still, you kept the pace torturously slow, savouring each bounce and grind. his hands had left your hips at some point, exploring your body under your shirt, massaging your breasts and tweaking your nipples. he lifted the fabric but kept it on your as he watched your tits bounce temptingly, your puffy pink nipples making his mouth water as he pushed himself forward to take one into his mouth.

your hips stuttered as he sucked and nibbled at your nipples, throwing your head back and arching into his touch as your grinds grew sloppy. he felt your decreasing pace, using the hand that wasn’t teasing your other breast to guide your hips once more. he angled you slightly differently in a way that made your clit press against his pelvis each time he bottomed out, the speed of your grinds picking up quickly as his hips bucked up to meet yours.

his lips detached from your bruised breasts with a popping sound as he leaned up to capture your lips in his once again. it wasn’t much of a kiss, more teeth and tongue and moans and groans than anything else as you swallowed each other’s sounds.

you finished first, pushing yourself down hard and stilling, filling yourself with his throbbing cock and pressing your clit against him. he held you tightly, burying his face in your neck to suck at all the spot he knew would get your to writhe. many tickling fights contributed to his knowledge on all your sensitive spots.

your body twitched as you returned to bouncing on his length, your juices looking at his base. the overstimulation burned a little, making your thighs and knees quiver, but you were determined to get him to finish too. and by the looks of it, it shouldn’t take much longer.

“shit, baby,” he said, halfway between a whimper and a moan, fingertips digging into your hips as he threw his head back in bliss, “‘m so close— fuck, you feel s-so good.”

his chest rose and fell with shallow breaths, bottom lip caught between his teeth. his cheeks and the tip of his ears flushed a deep red, his plush lips a few shades darker and coated in your mixed saliva from your kisses. as you adjusted the angle of your hips, something in him snapped, grabbing your hips tighter and taking over. he took over your movements, thrusting his hips up desperately as you fell forward onto his chest with the sudden change in intensity. his tip pushed itself against your g-spot continually, another knot tightening in your stomach.

the wet sounds of your cunt and your skin slapping against his egged him on until finally he felt like he couldn’t hold back any longer.

“baby, p-please— fuck— please, can i cum i-inside you?” he begged through a groan, “i— please, angel, i-i can’t wait any longer.”

you nodded against his chest with a whine, you were on the pill anyway. not a second later, he released into you, filling you up with stuttering hips. he pulled you down, flush against him and keeping you there as he emptied himself with softly muttered curses, his head dropping to press open-mouthed kisses to your shoulder.

it felt new to you, the warmth making you squirm until you came again without warning. it was much weaker this time but still enough to make you shake in his arms, panting softly after letting out a strangled moan against his skin.

after a few long moments of trying to recover from the shared orgasm, he lifted his head, one of his hands cupping your chin to tilt your head to look at him.

“so,” he started, lips stretched into a smile, “how’d that feel?”

“fucking amazing.” you rolled your eyes at how smug he looked after your confession, not protesting as he leaned forward to kiss you.

this one was much softer than the previous kisses you shared, much more tender. it was a lot shorter too, he pulled away first to rest his forehead against yours.

“yeah?” he whispered, kissing the corner of your lips, “just wait until i hit it from the back.”

networks. @cromernet @wonderlandnet @cultofdionysusnet @pirateeznet

permanent taglist. @ad0rechuu @sankatchu @mlink64 @yeosangsbb @seonghwasbbgirl @likexaxdaydream @dreamingofyeo @yalyallic @yunhoswrldddd @coffee-addict-kitten @thunderous-wolf @chngbnwf

#cromernet #wonderlandnet #cultofdionysusnet #pirateeznet #ateez #ateez x reader #song mingi smut #mingi x reader #mingi reactions #mingi imagines #mingi smut #mingi fluff #mingi angst #ateez imagines #ateez reactions #ateez fluff #ateez smut

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shortyinblue · 9 months ago

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Hey so what the Fuck is in the air lately

The two not pictured better stay not pictured I can't handle ot8 doing this shit

#ateez #atiny #golden hour part 1 #ateez ot8 #hongjoong #seonghwa #yunho #yeosang #san #mingi #wooyoung #jongho #atz #kpop

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arilevenatz · 18 days ago

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Silent vows| K.Y.S

Pairing: Mafia!Yeosang x Reader

Genre: Arranged marriage, slight enemies to lovers, fluff

Word count: 22.4k

Warnings: forced marriage, emotional abuse, stalking, jealousy, implied violence, insecurity, yeosang is THE husband, we all want him

AN: Ok so happy belated birthday to my boy yeosang. The most prettiest, angelic mf I've ever seen. Like how can a man be so pretty and handsome at the same damn time. Also this was kinda like a prompt but I can't for the love of god find the comment. But you know who you are, thank you

Masterlist

“I’m not doing it.”

The words left your mouth before you could stop them, sharp and fast, cutting across the heavy air in the room like a blade. The study smelled like old leather and wood polish, the same way it always did when your father called you in for his lectures. But this wasn’t a lecture. This was something else. He sat behind that heavy desk, wearing the same expression he always wore when he made decisions for other people’s lives— calm, practiced, untouchable.

“This isn’t a request,” he answered, barely sparing you a glance. “It’s a responsibility.”

You could’ve laughed. Honestly, you almost did. Responsibility. That word sounded hilarious coming out of his mouth. What did he know about responsibility? The only thing he was responsible for was dragging this family name around town like it was some royal crest, acting like being respected by neighbors counted for anything real in the world.

“You don’t get to sell me off like I’m a—”

“Enough.”

Just that one word. Quiet. Heavy. And somehow louder than your shouting could ever be. Your mother was standing near the window, arms folded like she was cold even though the room was warm. She didn’t speak. She never did, not in front of him. Just stood there looking outside, twisting her rings like she could disappear into the carpet if she tried hard enough. You hated that you weren’t even surprised.

“This marriage will benefit this family,” your father continued, smoothing his sleeves like this was some business meeting. “We’ve built this name for generations. And you will protect it.”

You clenched your fists tighter, nails biting into your palms. “Your reputation doesn’t mean anything outside this stupid town.”

It slipped before you could stop it, but you didn’t regret it. You meant it. All these formal dinners, these family events, these endless talks about legacy— all of it felt empty. Like a dying empire pretending it was still a kingdom.

“This family has survived longer than you’ve been alive,” your father shot back, finally meeting your gaze with steel in his eyes. “And you’ll do your part to make sure it stays that way.”

You could feel the walls closing in. You could feel your freedom shrinking, curling in on itself, suffocating before you could even scream.

“Kang Yeosang.”

The name hit you like a slap. Sharp. Direct. Cold. You knew that name. Everyone did. Not because he was some loud, reckless criminal—no, worse than that. He was dangerous in a way that didn’t make noise. Dangerous in the way silent oceans are. You don’t notice how deep they are until you’re already halfway sunk.

“Why him?” you asked, throat dry.

Your father barely blinked. “Because his family’s name will keep ours alive.”

Alive. Like this was survival. Like marrying you off to someone you didn’t even know was a favor. Like it was a gift. You hated how calm he was about it. You hated how your mother still hadn’t said a single word. You hated how small you felt in that moment, standing in a house you used to believe was home.

“I’m not going to his house,” you muttered finally, stubbornness flaring even when your heart was hammering in your chest. “You can make me marry him, but I’m not moving in with some— some stranger.”

For a second, you thought maybe—just maybe—that would get a reaction. That something in him would soften, crack, break.

It didn’t.

Instead, he stood. Calm. Slow. Adjusting the cuffs of his shirt with careful precision, like he was bored of the conversation already. “You will,” he said softly. “You’ll go to his house, you’ll be his wife, and you’ll do what’s expected of you.” “And if I don’t?” you pushed, lifting your chin like you weren’t breaking inside.

His gaze sharpened just enough for the threat underneath to show, sharp and cold as glass. “Then I’ll handle it my way.”

You knew what his way meant. Not blood. Not mafia violence. But ruin. Reputation torn apart. Family turned against you. Friends pushed away. He knew how to break you the polite way, the respectable way. Quiet destruction in the form of shame.

You swallowed thick, hot air that didn’t want to go down.

“I hate you,” you breathed.

But your father was already walking away, steps quiet against the polished floor.

“I can live with that.”

Your throat burned with all the things you wanted to scream, but only one thing came out. “What about my studies?”

It sounded small. Weak. But it was the only lifeline you could grab onto in that moment. Something that was yours. The one thing you had left that wasn’t part of their family dinners, or reputation games, or polite handshakes pretending to be alliances.

University was supposed to be your escape. Not glamorous. Not perfect. But it was freedom in its own, small way—early mornings, long commutes, paper deadlines, friends who didn’t care about who your father was.

Your father barely reacted.

“You can continue after the wedding,” he answered flatly, as if you were asking if you could have dessert after dinner.

You stared at him. “After?”

“Yes. You’ll still attend.”

But you knew what that meant. You knew the weight behind those words. After the wedding. After moving into a stranger’s house. After taking his last name. After your life wasn’t yours anymore. Technically, sure—you could go back. Physically, you could sit in the same classrooms, scribble in the same notebooks. But it wouldn’t be the same. Not with whispers curling behind your back. Not with people watching you like you were an exhibit. “That’s her—the girl who married into them.”

It would hang on you like invisible chains. Dragging behind you everywhere you went.

And worst of all—you wouldn’t be able to come home. Not really. Not to this family. Not to your old life. You’d have a new last name, a new house, a new set of rules written by someone else’s hand.

The walls of the study felt like they were closing in.

“I don’t want this,” you said, quieter this time. No yelling. Just raw honesty, like a last ditch effort to claw your way out. “This isn’t my life.”

Your father looked at you the same way he looked at accounts on paper. Math. Numbers. Problems to solve, not feelings to fix.

“It is now.”

Simple. Unforgiving. Final.

You could almost feel the weight of your choices shrinking down to nothing. Every dream you used to picture folded neatly into a little box, pushed aside for family names and legacy dinners with strangers in pressed suits. Your stomach twisted. Hot. Cold. Rage and panic mixing together until you couldn’t tell which was worse.

You wanted to shout, wanted to break something, wanted to drag this perfect little empire down brick by brick just to prove you could—but you stood there frozen, fists clenched, staring at a man who would never, ever see you as anything but his tool first.

Come to the house.”

“Now?”

“Now.”

Yeosang sighed, rubbing his hand over his jaw. “Alright. Be there in twenty.”

It wasn’t unusual—getting called over like this. His father didn’t waste words, didn’t waste visits. If he was calling, it meant something needed handling.

By the time he got to the mansion, the gates were already open like they always were when they expected him. The house was quiet, the same way expensive places are—grand, but not loud about it. Just old money tastefully sitting in every piece of polished wood.

His father was already in the study when Yeosang stepped inside, standing by the window, one hand in his pocket like it was muscle memory by now. Glass of whiskey in the other. Of course.

“You’re early,” his father said without turning around.

“You said now.”

His father finally looked over, gave him that familiar once-over like he was assessing a report. “Fair enough.”

There was a beat of silence. Not tense. Just quiet.

Then—

“There’s going to be a wedding.”

Yeosang blinked once. “Yours?”

His father gave him a flat look, one eyebrow raising the way it always did when Yeosang was being difficult on purpose. “Yours.”

Yeosang huffed a breath, somewhere between a laugh and a sigh, stepping further into the room. “That supposed to be funny?”

His father didn’t smile. “I’m serious.”

Yeosang stood still for a second, tongue pressing against the inside of his cheek. “Is that what you dragged me here for? Could’ve sent a text.”

“This isn’t a text conversation.”

“You’d be surprised what can be said over text these days.”

That earned the smallest twitch at the corner of his father’s mouth. Approval, maybe. Maybe not. Hard to tell with him.

“It’s arranged,” his father said, cutting through Yeosang’s deflection cleanly. “Her family’s name still matters in this town. Not rich, not influential in our way, but solid. Traditional. The kind of people who care about reputation more than their own comfort.”

Yeosang tilted his head slightly. “So… charity work?”

“Strategy,” his father corrected smoothly. “They need stability. We don’t need much from them, but it keeps everything clean.”

“Clean,” Yeosang repeated under his breath. He crossed his arms, leaning his shoulder against the doorframe. “And I’m guessing I don’t get a vote?”

“You get an understanding. That’s enough.”

Yeosang didn’t argue. Not because he agreed, but because he knew there was no point. This was how it worked. Give and take. Favors. Names. Quiet deals behind closed doors.

He exhaled through his nose. “Who is she?”

“Y/L/N’s daughter.”

Yeosang’s brow ticked. “Didn’t know they had one.”

“Not surprising. They keep her out of sight. Books, classes, family dinners. But they need her to secure their name before it fades.”

Yeosang thought about that for a second. Reputation marriages were common enough. Boring, mostly. People shaking hands over other people’s futures like it was stock trading.

“You’ve met her?” he asked.

“Briefly. Enough to know she’s going to fight it.”

“Great.”

His father glanced at him then, sharp. “Not your job to like it. Just your job to make it work.”

“I didn’t say I wouldn’t,” Yeosang muttered, rolling his jaw. “I’m just saying… if she’s gonna be difficult, it’s gonna be annoying.”

His father’s gaze didn’t soften, but there was a certain understanding there. “You’ll handle it.”

Yeosang let out a dry chuckle. “Yeah,” he said, pushing off the doorframe. “Guess I will.”

As he turned to leave, his father added quietly, “This isn’t punishment.”

“I know.”

And he did. This was just how things worked. Fair or not—his life wasn’t completely his own anymore. Yeosang sat behind the wheel, thumb tapping against the steering wheel as he pulled out of the driveway. Headlights cutting clean lines through the dark street, smooth turns, muscle memory driving him home while his mind drifted elsewhere.

Marriage. Arranged.

He scoffed quietly to himself, shaking his head once. What was he supposed to do with someone else’s family name attached to his life?

Some sheltered daughter of a traditional family, probably the kind who spent too much money on handbags and complained when the AC wasn’t cold enough. He could already hear the whining. Could already see the way she’d expect to live in his place, treat it like a hotel, float through his routine like an expensive perfume he didn’t ask to wear.

No, that wasn’t happening.

Maybe he’d buy her an apartment somewhere else. Nothing fancy, but decent enough. They could do the whole photo ops thing, wear the rings, play nice for the public, then go back to separate lives. Paper marriage. Clean. Or worse—she could be one of those girls who latched on for money. Gold digger. Probably already imagining his credit cards with her initials on the back.

He pressed his tongue to his cheek in irritation. God, he hated gold diggers.

Maybe she’d show up to the first meeting with some designer bag acting shy, but batting lashes like she knew exactly how to play the game. All wide eyes and fake humility. Great. Just what he needed—another headache in heels.

And the name—YN.

It felt familiar. Couldn’t place it, but the reputation was old enough to echo through town. Traditional. Reputed. The type of family that prided themselves on manners but ate each other alive behind closed doors.

The kind that smiled with their teeth.

He drummed his fingers once more, sharp taps on the leather, jaw set.

Alright.

If he was going to be stuck with this arrangement, he might as well know what he was dealing with. And he wasn’t about to walk into it blind. He had resources. Skills. Connections that didn’t come from LinkedIn profiles or polite family dinners. If they thought he was going to just sit back and play along without checking her first, they clearly didn’t know him well enough.

Fine. If she was going to be part of his life, even on paper, he’d find out exactly who she was—before she even stepped in the same room as him.

He flicked his blinker, turning toward his penthouse, already thinking about who to call first.

Let’s see what Miss YN was hiding.

By the time Yeosang finished, he knew more about her than her own family probably did.

University—small, local, nothing flashy. Biology major. Not exactly the typical rich family trophy daughter. No branded handbags, no influencer lifestyle. Her socials were barely active. Private, even. Most of her posts were old, nothing more than the occasional picture of a sunset or food she cooked. No thirst traps. No fake aesthetic feeds.

She liked drawing. Had an old art account that hadn’t been touched in months—messy sketches of flowers and animals, all pencil or black ink. Crochet too. Random photos of half-finished scarves stuffed in a drawer. Cooking—simple recipes, home stuff, not the kind of thing you post to show off, just to remember.

Her friends? A few from university. Small group chats. Normal conversations. Mostly about classes, complaining about assignments, nothing interesting. No clubbing pictures. No vacation shots with secret boyfriends tagged under fake accounts.

The further he dug, the more it annoyed him—not because he found anything bad, but because he didn’t. No scandals, no secret plans to social climb, no hidden motives that screamed gold digger or spoiled brat.

She was just… boring.

Boring in the way people are when they’re not trying to be noticed. And for some reason, that irritated him more than if she had been a problem.

Yeosang leaned back in his chair, tossing his phone on the table. Elbow propped on the armrest, hand running through his hair, frustration curling at the edges of his jaw.

Great. Now he was stuck marrying some quiet, awkward, crochet-making biology nerd who probably spent more time reading textbooks than thinking about designer clothes. Not exactly the chaos he was expecting.

But that was fine.

Boring or not, it didn’t change the situation. Didn’t change the fact that she probably didn’t want this marriage any more than he did. Didn’t change the fact that, like it or not, she was about to become his problem.

The small cafe tucked between two old bookstores smelled like cinnamon and burnt espresso, the kind of place you’d miss unless you were looking for it. Y/N liked it that way—quiet, steady, familiar. No loud music, no influencers with tripods. Just people who liked good coffee and minding their own business.

She stepped up to the counter, eyes scanning the pastries before glancing at the girl behind the register. “I love your hair,” she said softly, a small smile pulling at her lips. “That color looks really good on you.” The girl blinked, caught off guard, then smiled wide. “Oh! Thank you—I just dyed it last week.”

Y/N nodded, pleased. Compliments were easy. They made people softer. And the girl was pretty, her pastel blue curls tucked behind her ear like she wasn’t sure yet if she liked them. Little things like that made the world feel less sharp.

She ordered her coffee, tucked herself into the corner seat like she always did, pulling her notebook out of her bag. Pages filled with messy diagrams, doodles in the margins, recipes scrawled sideways between molecular structures.

What she didn’t notice—what no one noticed—was the man sitting at the table near the window, fingers idly circling the rim of his untouched cup, black baseball cap low over his brow.

Yeosang watched all of it with that same steady, unreadable expression he always wore when he was thinking too much. He wasn’t even sure why he was there. Habit, maybe. Curiosity. Boredom. The fact that the more he found out about her, the more it didn’t add up with what he expected. Normal girls didn’t compliment strangers just because. Normal girls—especially daughters of families clawing for reputation—were supposed to be fake polite. Smile, nod, move on. But she meant it. He could tell. You didn’t fake that kind of tone.

He watched the way she curled into herself, scribbling in that notebook like the rest of the world didn’t exist, lips pressed into a soft frown of concentration.

Just a quiet girl who looked like she was holding herself together with coffee and stubbornness.

Yeosang leaned back in his chair, crossing one ankle over his knee, jaw ticking once. This was going to be annoying in a completely different way. Y/N didn’t notice him when she left.

He watched her go, watched the way she shrugged her bag higher onto her shoulder, thumb absentmindedly rubbing at a little ink stain on her wrist from writing earlier. She moved like someone used to being unnoticed, like she liked it that way. The door chimed behind her, soft and forgettable.

Yeosang waited a beat, then stood, shoving his hands into his coat pockets as he stepped out onto the street. He wasn’t planning to follow her. Not really. That wasn’t his thing. He wasn’t the lurking type. But something about the whole thing felt unfinished—like he’d walked into a movie halfway through and now he needed to know how it ended, even if it was boring. Especially because it was boring.

She turned down one of the smaller streets, familiar paths clearly mapped in her head. She didn’t hesitate. Not once. Like she’d walked this way so many times her feet didn’t need permission anymore.

Normal. Predictable….Except for the part where, in a few weeks, her life wouldn’t be.

That was the thing gnawing at the edge of his mind. She didn’t know yet. Not fully. Probably knew about the arrangement, sure, but she didn’t know what marrying into his family meant. What marrying him meant. She looked like she still had hope things would be fine. Like she still thought she could negotiate her way out of it if she used the right tone with her father.

Cute.

He wasn’t cruel. He wasn’t the type to tear down someone just because he could. But he wasn’t about to let someone walk into his life acting like it was optional.

This marriage was happening. She was going to be his. And the sooner she realized that, the easier it was going to be for both of them.

Yeosang sighed, pulling his cap lower as he turned the opposite direction, heading back toward his car. No point in being seen. Not yet. He’d play it properly, like he always did—let the introductions happen the way their fathers arranged, act like this was his first time seeing her. Civil. Normal.

For now, she could keep her quiet cafes and notebooks full of diagrams.

Soon enough, she’d be sitting across from him at a dinner table pretending she wasn’t thinking about escape routes.

And when that time came—

He’d enjoy watching the fight leave her eyes when she realized there weren’t any.

The dining room was too polished. Everything in it felt like it belonged in a magazine—heavy chairs, polished forks, crystal glasses that didn’t belong to people who used them often. It smelled faintly like expensive old wood and control.

Y/N sat straight, shoulders set, jaw locked like she’d been preparing for this her entire life. Polite daughter. Obedient. Chin slightly tilted up—not too much to look rude, just enough to show she wasn’t going to shatter on command.

Across the table, Yeosang sat with his elbow resting lazily on the armrest, fingers tapping slow against the tablecloth. His gaze was on her, not in the obvious way, not wide-eyed or curious—more like someone reading a file they already memorized but going over it again for fun.

“So,” his father started, formal tone sharp around the edges, “this is long overdue.”

Her father chuckled lightly, already halfway sunk into the leather chair like this was a golf meeting. “We’ve been meaning to sit down properly.”

Yeosang barely blinked. “Mm.”

Y/N didn’t look at him at first. Her eyes were trained on her plate, expression soft but unreadable, like she’d pulled politeness over herself like armor. When she finally did glance at him, it wasn’t shy—it was calculated. Brave. Probably spent the last week practicing it in the mirror.

Didn’t matter.

He knew everything already. Biology major. Draws on the side. Probably keeps her yarn stuffed in a drawer somewhere in that tiny bedroom of hers. Ordinary, and for some reason, that irritated him more than anything else could have.

Their parents carried the conversation like businessmen. Deals, family names, subtle remarks about strengthening ties. It wasn’t a dinner—it was a contract, disguised in roast chicken and overpriced wine.

Yeosang’s eyes didn’t leave her.

Y/N shifted her grip on the napkin under the table, folding it tighter in her palm. Eyes stayed low—not on purpose, not because she was scared—but because eye contact always felt like permission for people to ask more questions. And she wasn’t in the mood to explain herself to anyone at that table.

Yeosang sat across from her, speaking with her father like he wasn’t being sized up for marriage. Confident. Comfortable in a room full of expectations. His voice was steady, like someone used to being listened to, used to having the final word in a conversation. The kind of steady that didn’t need raising.

His father said something about ties between families. Her father hummed in agreement. Someone poured more wine. The edge of Yeosang’s gaze cut toward her briefly. He didn’t stare. Just checked. Like someone glancing at a watch to see how much longer they had to stay.

“So,” his voice finally reached her side of the table, low, smooth, without decoration, “biology.”

Her fork hovered, not quite raised, not quite lowered. “Yeah.”

He waited. No explanation followed. No polite rambling about how she got into it, what she wanted to do with it, how hard it was balancing studies with life. Just that quiet confirmation, like she wasn’t going to give him more than that unless dragged.

Something about that pulled a faint curve to the corner of his mouth—not a smile, not even close, just interest. Her fingers folded the napkin tighter.

“You gonna finish that?” he asked, eyes flicking to the untouched half of roasted potatoes on her plate.

Finally, her eyes met his. Not soft, not flirty—flat. Careful. “Do you want it?”

He shrugged once. “Didn’t think you were shy about eating.” “I’m not.”

He raised an eyebrow, mildly amused. “Good.”

Silence again, heavy but not uncomfortable. Just two people used to not needing to fill it. Her father started speaking about how she could continue studying after marriage, casual, like saying we’ll paint the guest room next week. She didn’t bother correcting him, though the heaviness in her chest said she wanted to. No way it would actually work that easily.

She didn’t say anything else for the rest of the meal. Yeosang didn’t, either.

He just watched her, like a lion watching something small—not because he wanted to pounce, but because he was curious if it was going to run. Neither of them moved first.

Yeosang watched the way her fingers kept folding the napkin tighter and tighter, like if she could just make it small enough, she could disappear into it. But her expression didn’t match the tension in her hands. She didn’t look flustered. Didn’t look desperate. Just… controlled. Like someone who’d been living with locked doors their whole life and knew better than to jiggle the handle too loud. Interesting.

“Do you usually not talk,” he murmured, cutting into the silence, “or is that just for me?”

The faintest breath of humor pulled at her nose before she could stop it. “Depends.”

“On?”

She let her gaze flick up—not to his eyes, just above them. “Whether or not the person across from me deserves it.” His tongue pressed to the inside of his cheek, and for a second, he almost laughed. Almost. This wasn’t what he expected. Spoiled daughters didn’t sit at tables folding napkins into perfect squares like they were holding knives in their laps.

And she didn’t look at him properly, not even once. Not because she was scared. Because she didn’t care. But she would.

Not in the way girls cared about him normally. Not wide-eyed or hopeful. No, she was going to care when she realized exactly how much of her life was about to be decided for her whether she folded napkins or full pages of essays. And the funny thing was—he didn’t want to break her. He just wanted to watch how long she could hold that line before she blinked first.

After the dinner dragged itself to its dull, polished conclusion, with the adults shaking hands over dessert like they’d just signed a treaty, Yeosang leaned back in his chair, elbow resting against the polished wood, fingertips brushing his jaw like he was thinking something over. And maybe he was. But the look in his eyes said this was calculated.

“So,” he said casually, but with the kind of weight that immediately drew the attention of both families, “how about next Thursday?”

The words dropped into the space between them with a deliberate softness, like a stone hitting still water. No one moved. His father raised a brow slightly, clearly pleased with the display of initiative. Her father smiled, the kind of smile fathers wear when they think their daughter’s life is finally falling in line. And Y/N—Y/N kept her fingers on the edge of her plate, eyes flickering up to Yeosang, finally, properly, but only for a second.

“Thursday?” she echoed, like she needed to make sure she heard him right, even though she absolutely had.

He nodded once, slow, composed. “Next week. You’ll be free, won’t you?”

It wasn’t a question. Not really. Not with the way every eye at that table turned toward her, expectant, waiting for her to be agreeable. Marriage was already settled like property; a casual dinner date wasn’t going to shake the foundation of that, but somehow, this felt worse.

Her jaw tensed before she could stop it, irritation curling hot under her ribs—not because she didn’t expect him to test her, but because he chose Thursday. Her only weekday off. Her only breathing space. Her only time where nobody expected her to be anything, say anything, do anything. She studied late on Thursdays, sometimes sat in the library doing nothing but scribbling messy notes on scrap paper that didn’t mean anything, just because she could. And now he was looking at her like he knew that. Like he’d planned that.

“I suppose,” she muttered, voice clipped, polite, lined with quiet annoyance that no one but him seemed sharp enough to hear. “Since you’ve already picked the day for me.”

Their fathers chuckled, pleased at the display of future marital bliss like they were in on some great joke. His father gave him that approving glance—the good, take responsibility look that was passed between powerful men in rooms like this. But Yeosang wasn’t watching anyone else. Just her. Measuring. Testing. Curious how far she could fold before snapping.

“You’ll like it,” he said simply. No tease. No apology. No smile.

She didn’t respond. Just folded the napkin in her lap one more time before setting it neatly on the table like she was handling something fragile. She didn’t look at him again, not because she was shy, but because she knew better. If she did, it’d feel like she was giving him something.

And right now, she wasn’t in the mood to give him anything. But she was curious now. Why Thursday?

Yeosang saw everything. He wasn’t sitting there with that calm posture and steady gaze for show—he was trained for this, raised on discipline sharper than any blade, molded under the expectation that one day he would carry the weight of something much heavier than family name. He was observant. Always. And while everyone at that table was busy patting each other’s backs over the success of an arranged marriage neither party asked for, Yeosang was watching her like a map he was learning by memory.

It was the way she folded the napkin—not once, not twice, but over and over. Each time, pressing it smaller, sharper, tucking corners like she wanted it neat but not too neat, controlled but never pristine. People who folded things that many times weren’t trying to fidget—they were trying to manage something they couldn’t put words to. He’d seen it in tense meetings, watched rival leaders smooth the edges of cufflinks or touch their watches repeatedly when they were hiding nerves or holding in words they couldn’t say aloud.

And she didn’t even realize she was doing it.

But that wasn’t the only thing. He caught the tiny shifts in her posture whenever her parents leaned too close, a subtle lean away—not disrespectful, not obvious, just barely enough to create distance like muscle memory. She didn’t flinch. She didn’t recoil. She managed it. As if that small separation was the only thing keeping her breathing steadily through this whole suffocating display of family pride.

Then there was her food. The careful way she pushed it around her plate, not because she was picky or entitled, but because eating under watchful eyes wasn’t the same as eating alone. Separating textures, shapes, colors, almost like categorizing parts of herself she wasn’t ready to share yet. It wasn’t disinterest—it was control. She was being studied, so she gave them nothing. Not even in the way she chewed.

Most people didn’t notice these things. Hell, most people didn’t even know they did them. But Yeosang saw it all like someone reading subtitles under a movie no one else could hear. And with every fold of that napkin, with every subtle lean of her shoulder, with every glance that never quite met anyone else’s fully, he knew one thing for certain—

She was no ordinary girl.

No spoiled daughter. No meek little thing waiting for a husband to save her from some sheltered life. There was something under that careful silence, something sharp, something waiting. Not the loud kind of defiance—but the quiet kind that made revolutions possible if left alone too long.

Yeosang didn’t know what that thing was yet. But he wanted to. Not to break her. Not to tame her. Not even to get under her skin. He just wanted to see what would happen if someone finally pressed back. And he was more than prepared to be that someone.

But he was no saint, either. Sure, Yeosang was observant. Sure, he was sharp, disciplined, raised on a steady diet of politics, violence, and strategy—but he was also his father’s son. And that bloodline came with one very particular curse: the chronic, unrelenting need to poke at things just to see what sound they made when they cracked. It wasn’t malicious. It wasn’t even personal. It was just in his bones.

And she—sitting there with her neat napkin folding and careful glances and that stubborn refusal to give him anything—was basically gift-wrapped for that exact kind of cruelty.

Admit it. He was intrigued by her, sure. But more than that, there was an itch under his skin when he looked at her, this annoying, bratty curiosity that made him want to press buttons just to see what she’d do. Not because he wanted to humiliate her. Not because he wanted to watch her fall apart. No, it was because she didn’t flinch. And that was interesting. Different. Everyone flinched eventually—but she just… adjusted.

And she looked cute annoyed.

Not the whiny, spoiled kind of cute. Not the bratty, helpless kind. The kind of cute that made him want to lean closer, just to see if her voice would crack the same way her napkin did under her fingers.

He shouldn’t care. He shouldn’t even be here, technically, wasting brainpower on reading into a girl he was being forced to marry by family names he didn’t even particularly respect. But here he was, running mental diagnostics on someone’s napkin folding like it was part of a case file, and liking it more than he should.

And if he was going to be dragged into this circus of arranged happiness, he might as well have fun while he was at it.

Testing her? It wasn’t just strategy anymore. It was entertainment. Annoying her? That was just hereditary.

She really didn’t want to go.

Like—borderline, jump-off-the-balcony level of not wanting to go. Not because she thought it would fix anything, not because she was dramatic, but because the sheer dread of giving up the one day that belonged to her made her stomach twist. It was Thursday. Thursday was hers. Her one breath in a week full of held ones. Her one clean, unclaimed square of time where no one asked her to smile, or marry, or fold herself into something palatable.

But she didn’t jump, because that wasn’t how good girls act.

Her mother’s voice echoed in the bathroom as she brushed mascara through her lashes. ‘Be agreeable, Y/N. Don’t embarrass us. You’re not going to be one of those girls with tantrums and police reports. You’re better than that.’

Better. Whatever that meant.

So she got dressed. Pulled on clothes that said I didn’t try but I still look good because if she was going to be dragged into this, she was going to do it on her terms. She tied her shoes like she was tightening a tether around her own ankles. Did her makeup—not too much, not too little, just enough to look alive, to hide the exhaustion that simmered under polite nods and family dinners.

And when she finally looked at herself in the mirror, it wasn’t vanity staring back. It was survival. Thursday. Her Thursday. And now she was about to spend it across from him.

That annoying Yeosang with his sharp eyes and careful words, with his I’m watching you energy and the quiet smugness that didn’t need smiles or stupid flirting to make itself known. She could already hear his voice in her head, perfectly even, perfectly annoying.

And yet—she still tied her hair the way she liked it. Still put on her favorite necklace. Not for him. For herself. Because if she was going to war, she might as well wear armor.

She went down the stairs like muscle memory, footsteps light but steady, not really registering anything around her. Her parents said something—maybe a wish, maybe a warning, maybe one of those sugary “be good” reminders her mother loved so much. But it was all white noise, just the hum of life happening in the background of a mind that was already somewhere else entirely.

She didn’t ignore them on purpose. She was just zoned out. The kind of zoned out where you don’t even realize your keys are already in your hand, or that you locked the door behind you without thinking about it. Automatic. Like when you’re walking to class with music on and suddenly you’re already at the building, but you don’t remember crossing the street.

She didn’t remember leaving the front door. Didn’t remember if she’d even said goodbye, or if her mom had tried to fix the fold of her sleeve one last time like she always did. And she definitely didn’t see him until she stepped out onto the pavement and felt him.

There’s a specific kind of awareness that happens when someone’s eyes are already on you before you’ve noticed them. Like a silent tap on the shoulder. She glanced up—

—and there he was.

Leaning back comfortably in the driver’s seat of a sleek black car, windows down just enough to catch the breeze, one hand draped over the steering wheel like he had all the time in the world. Rap music playing in the background, not quiet but not obnoxiously loud. And that expression—not quite a smile, definitely not a grin, just that irritating curve of satisfaction people wore when they’d predicted something exactly right. Smug wasn’t even the word for it. It was too clean. Too Yeosang. Of course he was already here.

Of course he was watching her like he knew she wouldn’t have noticed him until now. She blinked once, slow, lips pressed in a thin line, and then kept walking. Didn’t acknowledge him, didn’t offer a greeting, just moved like she was late for something even though she wasn’t.

He leaned slightly forward as she approached, tapping his fingers once against the steering wheel, eyes glinting with that silent, irritating amusement.

You walked towards the car, your steps slower than usual, annoyance bubbling up at the sight of him sitting there, looking far too comfortable. You crossed your arms and leaned slightly against the door, giving him a flat look.

“I wasn’t aware you were picking me up,” you said, trying to keep your voice neutral. It came out a little sharper than intended, but you couldn't help it. This whole thing felt off, like you were being dragged into a game that you hadn’t agreed to play.

Yeosang just looked at you with that annoying, cocky expression, the one that always made your blood boil, and shrugged a shoulder. "Well, you should've been. It’s not like you had many options."

You felt a flicker of irritation, but it quickly settled into a calm mask. You weren’t about to give him the satisfaction of showing how much he got under your skin. Moving towards the backdoor, you reached for the handle, ready to slide in and get this over with.

Before you could even touch it, the car locked with a loud click.

You froze.

What the hell?

You looked up at him, surprised. He just sat there, still with that casual air, his eyes gleaming as if he was waiting for a reaction.

“Excuse me?” you said, narrowing your eyes.

Without missing a beat, he simply pointed to the passenger seat with an almost lazy gesture. "Sit there."

You blinked at him. You were about to say something—probably something rude—but you stopped yourself. There was no way you were going to let him mess with you like this. Still, you didn’t argue. You didn't have the energy to fight him over something so trivial. The car door opened with a quick swipe, and you slid in, your gaze still sharp but subdued.

Yeosang didn’t speak again as you buckled your seatbelt, his attention shifting to the road as he put the car in drive. The silence between you felt heavy, but you couldn’t bring yourself to break it. It was better this way. Better not to engage, better to keep things surface-level.

The ride was awkward. Well, for you, at least. Yeosang didn’t seem to feel it. His posture was relaxed, one hand on the wheel, the other resting lazily on the gear, like he was driving down to the beach with friends and not chauffeuring his future wife to some forced date neither of you wanted.

But you sat there, arms crossed, eyes out the window, chewing the inside of your cheek. And then it hit you. Wait. Is that Kendrick Lamar’s Reincarnated playing?

You blinked, eyes flickering toward the dashboard like you could confirm it with just a glance at the stereo. The beat was unmistakable, that heavy bass, sharp snare, and those layered vocals riding smooth over the instrumental. Of all the people to be playing Kendrick Lamar at full volume—it had to be him.

The irritation in your chest shifted slightly, replaced by something… warmer. Familiar. For a second—just a second—you forgot you were on your way to spend your Thursday afternoon with the most annoying man alive. You knew this song. Knew it.

Mentally, you started mouthing the lyrics in your head, matching every bar, every breath, every sharp flip of cadence like muscle memory. Word to word. Clean. Like second skin. It wasn’t loud in your expression, but your mind was in full concert mode, rapping like you’d been waiting for this exact song to save you from the awkwardness.

And for the first time since you sat in that car, you didn’t feel bored.

Without even realizing it, your fingers had started tapping against your thigh, following the beat with this natural kind of ease that only happens when something feels right. The awkwardness melted just slightly—not completely, but enough that you didn’t feel like throwing yourself out of the moving car anymore.

But then—

The song ended, and before you could even mourn the silence—another Kendrick song started playing. Different album. Same vibe. Same unmistakable energy. You frowned slightly, eyes flicking to the stereo now like it had betrayed you. Two Kendrick songs in a row? Coincidence?

You sat there for a second, staring ahead, lips pressing into a thin line as your brain worked overtime. Sure, it could’ve been a coincidence. Everyone liked Kendrick, right? But this felt… deliberate. Like someone had put it on a playlist. Was he doing it on purpose? Is he a fan too?

You glanced at him, cautious, like you didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of catching you interested—but curiosity was starting to override irritation. He was just driving like usual, one hand lazily adjusting the volume like it was background noise to him. But something about how casual he looked felt rehearsed.

It didn’t sit right with you. Could’ve been random. Could’ve been a setup. Or… could’ve been both. But either way, you weren’t about to ask first. Nope. Not happening.

You just leaned back against the seat, eyes steady out the window, tapping your fingers again, this time not just because of the beat—but because you were thinking.

Yeosang was way too pleased with himself.

Not that he showed it outwardly—no smug grin, no teasing comments just yet—but inside? Yeah. He was damn near proud. Everything was going exactly how he wanted. Calculated. Controlled. Planned with the kind of precision that came from years of watching, learning, and frankly—being too damn good at reading people.

He knew everything he needed to know about you. Hell—he probably knew more about you than you did. He knew Thursday was your free day. Knew how you carved it out for yourself like it was holy ground. That’s exactly why he chose today to drag you out. Not because he wanted to ruin it. No—because it would be the one thing you couldn’t say no to. You’d either have to cancel your only peace of the week or face him—and he knew you’d pick facing him. Pride. Predictable.

He knew you didn’t like going out—not with family, not with friends, barely even by yourself. So, he came to you. Made it easy. Familiar car. Private. No excuses to back out last minute because “I didn’t feel like taking a cab” or “the bus was crowded”. Nah. He had you cornered, comfortably.

And the music? That wasn’t a coincidence, either. He’d seen the playlist. Hell, he’d memorized the damn playlist. Kendrick Lamar was your favorite in the rap genre, and it just so happened Kendrick was on his heavy rotation too, so it didn’t even feel forced. Just enough familiarity to make you settle in, just enough to make your fingers tap without realizing, to get you thinking maybe this won’t be as bad as I thought.

He didn’t need to ask you what you liked. He knew what you liked. Yeosang’s father didn’t raise fools—and Yeosang wasn’t about to start disappointing now.

He kept his eyes on the road, face clean of expression, like he didn’t know exactly what you were thinking. Like he hadn’t already played this scene out in his head a dozen times. You were stubborn, yeah—but he was patient. And precise.

He didn’t want to break you. Nah. That was boring. He wanted to watch. Watch how long you could act like you didn’t care. Watch how long you could pretend you weren’t curious. Watch how long it took before you realized—you weren’t the only one with sharp edges.

And yeah, he liked rap too. Lucky you.

The car rolled to a smooth stop, the hum of the engine cutting off and leaving behind the faint echo of Kendrick’s verse lingering in your head. You looked around, blinking slowly. Parking lot.

What kind of parking lot? You didn’t know. Big building, a few cars around, that slightly industrial vibe, but nothing familiar. You didn’t go out enough to tell which part of town this was, and frankly—you didn’t care. You just wanted to get this over with.

With a sigh, you reached for your seatbelt, pressing the button to unclip it…Nothing.

You pressed it again, harder this time, like maybe the extra force would convince it to listen to you. Nothing moved. “Oh, come on—” you muttered under your breath, tugging at the strap now with growing frustration. Typical. Typical. Of course this was happening. On today of all days. And the last thing you wanted to do—the very last—was ask him for help. But pride had limits, and you’d already used up most of yours agreeing to this disaster of a “date.”

You glanced at him reluctantly. “It’s stuck.”

He didn’t even pretend to be surprised. Didn’t flinch, didn’t chuckle—just leaned slightly toward you, unbothered, one hand moving with irritating ease to the buckle. The button clicked effortlessly under his fingers like it had just been waiting for him to do it.

“See?” he murmured, voice low, that smug little undertone threading beneath it. “I knew you’d need me eventually.”

Your jaw clenched, and you shot him a look that could’ve killed a weaker man on the spot. “It was broken.”

“Of course it was,” he replied, tone dripping with mock sympathy, before pushing his door open and stepping out like nothing just happened.

You sat there for a second, heat prickling at the back of your neck, wishing the ground would swallow you whole—but no such luck.

Fine. Whatever. You pushed your door open too, standing straight, brushing down your clothes like you hadn’t just been humiliated by a seatbelt. You wouldn’t let him have the last word. Not yet. Not ever.

You followed him, not knowing where you were going, but very aware of two things:

1. This was going to be a long day.

2. You hated how nice his stupid cologne smelled when he walked ahead of you.

But you had no intention of making this easy for him.

So, as soon as you both started walking, you slowed your pace—not obviously, not dramatically—just… enough. Enough to make it mildly irritating. Enough to make him notice. You weren’t even really doing it on purpose; he was just tall, and apparently, tall people had no concept of walking like normal humans. His strides were three of yours combined, and you refused—refused—to jog after him like some lost puppy.

If he wanted to drag you around, he was going to work for it. But the irritating thing? He didn’t say a word. Didn’t huff, didn’t throw a glance over his shoulder, didn’t tell you to hurry up like you half expected. He just walked, silent, hands in his pockets like this was the most casual thing in the world.

Until suddenly, about ten steps ahead, he stopped. Just stood there.

You narrowed your eyes, fully prepared for some passive-aggressive remark or maybe a sarcastic clap. You were ready for it. Bring it on. But instead—he just turned around and… held out his hand. You stared at it like it was something you didn’t understand.

The hell was that supposed to mean?

Your eyes flicked up to his face, searching for the usual sharp comment or hidden smirk—but nothing. He just stood there, hand out, expression unreadable but steady. “Grab on,” he said, like it was obvious. You blinked, caught between being offended and… genuinely confused. “What?”

“You’re slow,” he said simply, like he was pointing out the weather. “So grab on.”

You stared at his hand, then back at his face. “I’m not slow. You’re just fast.”

“Whatever helps you sleep at night,” he said under his breath. “Now grab on before I make you.”

You didn’t move for a second. Pride screamed no, but practicality… well, it was tired of jogging every five steps to keep up. And something about the way he said it—firm, low, steady—not mocking, not playful, just… expecting—it made that prickling nervousness crawl up your spine again. You hated that tone.

But your hand moved anyway, slipping into his, your fingers curling awkwardly, like you didn’t know what to do with yourself. His grip was steady, firm—but not crushing. Not controlling. Just… leading.

Without another word, he started walking again, pulling you gently but efficiently alongside him, adjusting his pace—not entirely slowing down, but enough that you didn’t have to scramble. You hated how… easy it felt. Hated it more that your hand stayed there.

The deeper you both walked, the clearer it got—it wasn’t just some random building or a casual cafe. It was a restaurant. A fancy one.

Not just white tablecloth fancy, but crystal glasses, piano music playing softly in the background, waiters dressed better than your uncles at weddings kind of fancy. And honestly? It was too much.

Your dad never took you to places like this. Never. Said restaurants were a scam, said home food was better, cheaper, cleaner—but you knew better. You’d seen the unpaid bills, the receipts stuffed into drawers, the phone calls with that low, desperate tone he didn’t think you could hear. Gambling debt didn’t leave room for filet mignon or imported wine. You’d spent your life quietly excusing it, brushing it off, pretending you didn’t want this kind of thing anyway.

But standing here now, in this giant pristine place with soft golden lighting and tables spaced way too far apart, you felt like an imposter. Like you were wearing someone else’s shoes in a room you didn’t belong in. It was overwhelming. Too bright. Too clean. Too silent. Everyone here looked like they belonged. And you—you didn’t even know which fork to use first.

You hadn’t realized it at first, but your body did. Instinctively, without even thinking, you found yourself scooting closer to him. Not dramatically—not enough to look weird—but just enough that the space between you narrowed. Like proximity alone could make you smaller, safer, less obvious. The worst part?

It felt natural.

You hated that. Hated that the man you were mentally arguing with for the past hour was now also the one person here who felt vaguely familiar.

Yeosang noticed, of course he did. The tension of your shoulder brushing barely against his arm, the shift of your body tilting slightly toward his—he clocked it instantly. But he didn’t comment. Didn’t give you that teasing remark you were bracing for. Instead, his fingers adjusted slightly around yours, like he was anchoring you there. Silent. Steady. Just a solid presence beside all the marble floors and velvet chairs.

He didn’t say a word. But you felt it anyway. ‘I got you.’

Some guy—manager, waiter, whatever—showed up then, all polite smiles and expensive cologne, greeting Yeosang like they were long-lost friends or something. Said something about the table being ready, offered some words you didn’t really catch because your brain was too busy buzzing with nerves.

You weren’t listening. Didn’t want to. Everything felt too sharp around the edges. Before you could even process it properly, Yeosang had your hand again, guiding you forward with that same casual grip, not giving you the chance to hesitate. It wasn’t forceful, just… confident. Like he already knew you’d follow.

And you did.

He led you through rows of softly murmuring people until you reached a table—not entirely private, but tucked into a little alcove, partly hidden by frosted glass panels and low plants. Enough separation that you didn’t feel like fish in a tank, but not so hidden that it felt awkward. It was nice. Comfortable in a way you hadn’t expected.

Yeosang didn’t miss a beat. He stepped around you and—of course—pulled out the chair. You hesitated for half a second, eyes flickering up at him. No teasing expression. No sharp remark waiting. Just a simple gesture, like this was routine.

You sat down, the chair gliding smoothly beneath you, and he pushed it in with practiced ease. For a brief second, you hated how nice that felt. Not because of him. But because no one had done that before. Not dates, not family, not anyone.

You adjusted your sleeves awkwardly, trying not to fidget, while he walked around and took his own seat, leaning back with that effortless comfort like this was his living room and not a restaurant with menus you probably couldn’t even afford to read.

He picked up the menu with one hand, flipping through it casually like this wasn’t his first time here—which, judging by how the staff greeted him, you were sure it wasn’t. His eyes scanned the pages, sharp and focused, while the other hand rested lazily on the edge of the table. After a moment, he looked up, right at you. “What do you want?”

It shouldn’t have been a complicated question. Normal people would just… answer. Say pasta, steak, whatever. But for some reason, your throat tightened. It wasn’t nerves—not exactly. Just… indecision.

All your life, someone had chosen for you. Your mom, mostly. Always ordering for you at restaurants—never asking, just assuming. Always brushing off your opinions as “It’s not good for you,” or “You won’t like it.” Somewhere along the line, you stopped bothering to decide. It felt easier that way.

So you did the only thing that felt natural, default almost. “Whatever you’re having.” Yeosang paused.

His jaw ticked slightly, almost like he was holding back a sigh—but not in frustration. More like… patience. “That’s not how this works,” he said, voice lower, steady, like someone reasoning with a kid who was trying to eat candy for breakfast. “You don’t just copy.”

You shrugged, defensive, staring at the polished wood of the table. “I don’t know what’s good.”

“It’s not that deep,” he finished for you, lips twitching slightly—but not in mockery, just amusement. “It’s just food. Pick what you want.”

The thing was… no one had ever given you choices like that. Not explained them patiently. Not acted like your opinion actually mattered, even in something as small as dinner. It made your chest feel weirdly tight. Like you wanted to be mad, but couldn’t quite find the reason.

Yeosang didn’t press further. Just leaned back again, waving over the waiter with a lazy flick of his fingers, like this was the most normal thing in the world. But you sat there with the menu still open in your hands, staring at it…

That’s when it hit you—the slow, creeping embarrassment settling in the pit of your stomach.

You didn’t know how to read menus.

Not like literally not knowing how to read, but… you didn’t know how to understand them. Fancy restaurant menus weren’t in normal language—they were in that rich people language. Words like confit, beurre blanc, something-something reduction—you didn’t even know if you were ordering food or furniture. The more you stared at it, the worse it got. Everything blurred together until it just looked like noise on paper.

Your hand twitched slightly on the edge of the menu, the corners of it curling under your fingertips. You didn’t even know how to begin. Finally, you gave up. Quietly. Awkwardly. You placed the menu down and looked at him—really looked at him—for the first time all evening. Gone was the irritation, the stubborn defiance. Instead, it was something softer. Not defeated, but pleading.

“Can you just… choose?” you asked, voice low, almost hoping he wouldn’t make a scene about it.

For a second, he just stared at you. No teasing, no smug smile—just studying you. Calculating. Then, instead of making a big deal about it, he nodded once, sharp, like this was all perfectly normal. “Alright,” he murmured. “But you’re still gonna have choices.”

And then, like it was muscle memory, he listed things off. Simple. No complicated words, no long-winded chef specials.

“Do you want red sauce or white?”

“Chicken or beef?”

“Want dessert or not?”

Just basic questions, no extra fluff. Like someone breaking down rocket science to math tables. By the time he was done, it actually sounded like a meal, not a puzzle.

And without realizing it, you’d started folding the cloth napkin again. Neatly. Sharply. Fold, unfold, fold, unfold. It was muscle memory at this point—your fingers always needed something to do. Something to control, even when nothing else made sense.

Somewhere along the way, he’d passed you his napkin too. You didn’t even notice it. Just that at some point, your hands had another one to work with. Your mind didn’t register it; your body just accepted it, thankful for the extra fabric to keep you grounded.

It was quiet. Subtle. No words, no glances, no gestures. And while you kept folding and unfolding that napkin like your life depended on it, he just sat there across from you, arms resting lazily on the table, ordering both your meals in that steady voice like this wasn’t even a thing.

He didn’t act like he was helping. And you didn’t notice you were being helped.

While you were busy poking at the carefully cut chicken on your plate—eating but not really tasting—Yeosang sat across from you, trying not to lose his mind.

Cuteness aggression. That was the only way to describe it. Like he wanted to bite something or hit the table—not out of anger, but because you were just too much.

It wasn’t just the way you’d quietly surrendered, letting him order for you like it was nothing. It wasn’t just the way your fingers kept working that napkin like you didn’t even know you were doing it. It was the whole picture—the you of it all. Sitting there, looking like the softest thing in the sharpest world.

And that cardigan you were wearing? Please. He could tell by the stitching it was handmade. Probably by you. The unevenness of the cuffs, the slightly imperfect patterns—no brand could fake that kind of charm. You didn’t even know how much that cardigan was giving you away, how much of you was stitched into every row.

It made something in his chest tighten, like he wanted to tuck you somewhere safe. His pocket. A drawer. Somewhere you couldn’t get overwhelmed by menus and loud places and useless fathers.

But he still played it cool, leaning back a little, eyes glinting as he ran his thumb along the edge of his fork like he wasn’t thinking borderline insane things about a girl he just met. He glanced at the cardigan, then back at you, voice dropping casual but knowing.

“You make that?”

You blinked, pausing mid-bite. “What?”

“That cardigan,” he said, tone light, like they were talking about the weather. “You made it?”

You hesitated. Not because you were embarrassed—more because no one really noticed that kind of thing. Definitely not guys like him. But… you nodded. “Yeah.”

A lazy grin, sharp but not mocking, pulled at the corner of his mouth. “Figured. Looks like you.”

That sentence alone made your stomach flip in ways you didn’t have the energy to process. You didn’t even know what that meant. Looked like you? Quiet? Crocheted? Awkwardly stitched together? You didn’t ask. You just looked back down at your plate, busying yourself with another bite, folding that second napkin again like it was holding the fabric of your nerves together.

Meanwhile, Yeosang sat there, feeling way too satisfied with himself. You were dangerously cute. And he was dangerously aware of it.

He dropped you off, making sure you got to your front door before pulling away. You didn’t say much—a quiet “thanks,” barely audible—but you didn’t run away either. Progress.

But by the time he pulled into his father’s estate, parked the car, and stepped into the over-polished marble entrance, he was losing it. Hand over his mouth. Jaw tight. Muscles flexing like he was holding in a scream or something equally embarrassing. What the hell was that?

That wasn’t supposed to happen. You were supposed to be annoying. Spoiled. Bratty. Some daddy’s princess with acrylic nails and too much perfume. You were supposed to be the type he could dump in a nice apartment and visit once a month with gifts so you’d stay quiet about the whole arrangement.

But you weren’t. You were a mess. An organized, pretty, cardigan-wearing mess.

And worse, you didn’t even know you were cute. You weren’t even trying. You just sat there in that chair at that fancy-ass restaurant, folding napkins like they were some secret escape plan, wearing that handmade sweater like it wasn’t making him feel like an insane person.

And now? Forget that whole buying-another-place plan. That idea was dead the moment he saw how small you looked sitting across from him. No way. You were staying where he could see you. Reach you. Annoy you on purpose if he felt like it. Which he did.

He stood in the foyer of his father’s mansion, hand dragging down his face, pacing a little in his boots.

God. He felt like squealing. Like actually kicking something, or punching the air, or rolling on the expensive carpet like a twelve-year-old with a crush.

“This is insane,” he muttered to himself, like saying it out loud would make it make sense. It didn’t.

You were in his head. Neatly folded like that stupid napkin you kept twisting around your fingers. And for the first time in a long time, Kang Yeosang didn’t know whether he wanted to laugh, scream, or marry you right now.

The moment Yeosang stepped further into the house, hand dragging down his face, muttering like a lunatic, he heard it—the unmistakable voice of his old man echoing from the sitting room. “Why the hell do you look like a teenage girl who just got her first crush?”

Yeosang didn’t even flinch. Didn’t even stop pacing. Just waved his hand dismissively, as if to say don’t start. His father stood there in his usual crisp shirt, whiskey glass in hand like always, giving him that unimpressed look fathers reserve for sons who don’t follow in their exact footsteps.

“I’m serious,” his father huffed, stepping forward. “What the hell’s wrong with you? Why are you here anyway? Thought you liked hiding in that overpriced shoebox you call an apartment.”

Yeosang finally dropped his hand from his face, side-eyeing him, unimpressed. “Renovation,” he grumbled. “It’s getting fixed up. You want me to sleep on the street?” His father scoffed, taking a sip of his drink, shaking his head. “You could’ve stayed at one of the hotels we own.”

“Right. And let everyone think I’m homeless now. Good look for a mafia heir.” The older man narrowed his eyes, recognizing that tone. That annoying tone Yeosang always used when he was about to get smart-mouthed. “So why are you pacing around here like some lovesick idiot?”

Yeosang clicked his tongue, glaring at the floor like it personally offended him. “It’s your fault.”

“My fault?”

“You’re the one that set me up with her.”

His father’s brow lifted. “Did she bite?”

“She didn’t even blink.”

That made his father laugh. Really laugh. Like belly laugh, hand pressed to his chest, deep and loud in that expensive, echoey house.

“God,” Yeosang muttered under his breath. “You’re actually enjoying this.”

“Of course I am,” his father smirked. “Finally met someone who doesn’t fall apart under your pretty-boy nonsense. Good. You needed that.”

Yeosang rolled his jaw, annoyed beyond belief, but honestly? His dad wasn’t wrong. His father waved his glass toward him. “What’s the problem, then? I thought you were going to dump her in a penthouse and get on with life.”

“Yeah, that plan’s dead.”

“Why?”

Yeosang just stood there, defeated. “She’s too—”

“What? Petty? Weird? Mean?”

“…Soft.”

His father blinked, confused. “Soft?”

Yeosang didn’t elaborate. Didn’t have to. Soft in a way that made him want to ruin someone’s life if they made you cry. Soft in a way that made him want to drag you closer by the wrist when you got overwhelmed. Soft in a way that pissed him off because he liked it too much. His father just shook his head, amused, like he knew exactly what kind of hell Yeosang was walking into. “Good luck with that, Romeo.”

“Shut up.”

You did not expect this. A casual text? Fine. Him calling you just to “check in”? Annoying, but tolerable. Even him dragging you out on those stupid dates now and then—you could live with that. But this? Showing up to your university?

What the actual hell was wrong with him?

It wasn’t even subtle. Of course it wasn’t subtle. Not with that stupid black car of his parked right at the entrance, shining like a beacon of unwanted attention. Not with him leaning against the door like he was shooting a damn commercial, sleeves rolled up, sunglasses pushed into his hair, looking like every other man’s nightmare and every other woman’s distraction.

And people noticed. Oh, they noticed. Girls whispering, eyes widening, phones coming out to take sneaky pictures. A group of guys near the library basically breaking their necks trying to get a better look. And you?

You wanted the ground to open up and swallow you whole. He had the audacity to wave at you. Like this was normal. Like this wasn’t blowing up the very careful life of low attention, quiet exits, don’t talk to me I’m just here to graduate you had built for yourself.

You speed-walked. Not even pretending anymore. Walked up to him so fast it looked like you were about to commit a crime. “What the hell are you doing?” you hissed under your breath, shoving at his shoulder, eyes darting around like you were being followed by paparazzi.

“Picking you up,” he said, casual as you liked, like this wasn’t the most embarrassing moment of your life unfolding in real time.

“Get in the car,” you snapped. “Now.”

And, the bastard, he laughed. Laughed like this was a game.

Still, he obeyed, sliding into the driver’s seat like he was doing you a favor. You yanked the passenger door open, practically diving inside, head ducked like you were avoiding a sniper.

The moment the door shut you rounded on him. “Are you insane?”

“I missed you,” he said, like that explained anything.

“You could’ve— texted me or something! I don’t need the whole uni thinking I’m with someone rich”

“You are with someone rich,” he corrected, one hand casually gripping the wheel, the other resting over the gear like this was a Sunday drive.

The car came to a stop in front of this sleek-looking storefront, all black glass and warm lighting, like one of those places you only see rich people walk into on TV shows. And because your life apparently wasn’t embarrassing enough, Yeosang parked like he owned the building.

You looked at the place, then at him. “What is this?”

“Jewelry,” he answered flatly, already stepping out of the car. Jewelry. Jewelry. As if that explained anything.

Before you could argue or even think, he came around, opened your door, and like a villain from a drama, dragged you inside by the wrist—not harsh, but determined. The cold from the street clung to your clothes, your boots crunching against the salted sidewalk, but the moment you stepped inside—it was warm. Not just warm, but that kind of luxury warm, where the air smells faintly of expensive perfume and everything feels soft, even though nothing should be.

And you? You immediately felt your whole body loosen, just a little. It wasn’t even intentional. The cold had been biting, sharp against your ears and the tip of your nose, and this? This was dangerous. Comforting. You could rot here, honestly. Just melt into one of the velvet chairs and stop existing.

Yeosang noticed.

Of course he noticed. He didn’t miss anything about you. The way your shoulders relaxed. The way you almost—almost—let your head drop forward like you could fall asleep standing there.

He wanted to bite you. No, seriously. Bite. His jaw clenched just thinking about it. You looked too cute. With your knitted cardigan, snow-dusted boots, fidgety fingers already tugging at the sleeves. It was criminal. Illegal. Someone should lock you up for being this dangerous in public.

But he was strong. Barely. Barely holding himself back from grabbing you by the face and just—squishing. Maybe even kissing that stupid annoyed expression off of you. Would’ve been worth it. You were too busy shaking the snow from your sleeves to notice him battling for his sanity two feet away.

An employee walked over, all smiles and professional greetings, asking what you both needed today. You blinked at her like a deer caught in headlights.

Yeosang spoke first. “Rings.”

You snapped your head to him. “What?”

“For the engagement,” he said calmly, like duh, obviously. Your mouth opened. Then closed. Then opened again. “You dragged me here for that? You could’ve warned me—”

“And ruin the surprise of watching you panic in real-time? No thanks.” You glared daggers into his skull, wishing you could teleport out of your own skin. “You’re evil.”

“Mm,” he hummed, eyes lazily drifting over the display cases. “Yours?”

You blinked. “What?”

“Ring size.”

“I—I don’t know!”

His lips quirked—not a smirk, you banned those, but just that annoying, knowing twitch that told you he was enjoying this too much. “Figures. Guess we’ll find out together.” You honestly might combust right there on the jewelry shop floor.

Yeosang walked toward the counter with the same energy as someone about to close a business deal. Calm. Focused. Casual power.

You stayed frozen for a beat, still stunned at the whole situation, until your feet moved on their own. Before you realized it, you were right beside him, eyes locking onto the display.

And that’s when it hit you. The rings. They were gorgeous. Not just shiny-for-the-sake-of-shiny—but delicate, beautiful. Rings with elegant stones, simple but detailed bands, not the overdone flashy stuff but the kind that made you think: if I wore that, maybe I wouldn’t feel so small.

You leaned in without realizing, gaze scanning over each one like a kid at a candy store—but also a little sad. You never let yourself want things like that. What was the point? Your parents could never buy you things like this. You grew up being handed the practical, the necessary. Wanting was a waste of time.

But Yeosang saw it. All of it.

The way your fingers twitched at your sides like you wanted to reach out but didn’t. The slight glassiness in your stare—not tears, but that lost look people got when they wanted something badly but were too used to swallowing it down.

To him? Your eyes were sparkling. Bright, full of that light people only showed when they forgot to hide. He couldn’t stop looking at you. The whole room could’ve caught fire, and he wouldn’t have noticed.

He leaned closer, voice lower. “See something you like?”

You snapped out of it, blinking up at him like you’d just been caught stealing. “I—I was just looking,” you muttered, instantly defensive, shoving your hands into the sleeves of your cardigan. “Didn’t say I wanted anything.”

But Yeosang wasn’t even listening to the words coming out of your mouth. He was too busy cataloguing everything you didn’t say. The spark. The hesitation. The soft way your lip pressed against your teeth when you held back from speaking. You weren’t loud, weren’t clingy, weren’t bratty like he thought you might be—you were quiet. Observant. Someone who shrank herself just to survive.

Yeah, no. You weren’t leaving his sight ever again. “Good,” he said, nonchalantly signaling to the employee. “Because we’re not leaving until you try some on.” You shot him a glare. “What is this, Pretty Woman?” “More like Pretty Annoyed Fiancée.” His eyes flicked down to you, sharp and amused. “C’mon. Humor me.”

You stared at the rows and rows of rings like they were mocking you. Every shape, every color, every shine — how the hell were you supposed to pick one? Your fingers hovered over the glass, not touching, just hovering, like maybe the right one would start glowing or something. But nothing did.

It wasn’t that you didn’t like them. It was that you liked all of them, and also none of them, because your brain kept whispering, what if you pick the wrong one? What if you regret it? You didn’t get choices growing up, not real ones. Every decision was always someone else’s to make for you — your clothes, your food, even your damn hair. The few times you got to choose something, it was met with criticism or disappointment. No wonder your chest felt tight standing here.

“I can’t,” you muttered under your breath, frustrated. “They all look… I don’t know.” Yeosang watched, hands tucked in his pockets, silent. But not with judgment. More like studying. He could see it happening—the way you kept retreating into yourself, that familiar shrinking posture like you were bracing for someone to yell at you for being annoying or difficult.

He didn’t like that. Not one bit.

Without warning, he stepped closer, leaning down near your ear, voice lower, firmer. “We’re not doing that here.” You blinked up at him. “What—” “We’re not doing that thing where you act like you’re a burden for existing,” he continued, tone steady but not harsh. “You like something, you say it. You don’t like something, you say it. You don’t have to know what you want right now, but don’t stand here apologizing for breathing.”

Your throat went dry. No one’s ever talked to you like that before. Not mean. Not fake sweet. Just… steady. Like he meant it. Like he wasn’t going to move until you heard him. “I’m not apologizing,” you finally muttered, defensive. He raised an eyebrow. “You’re folding into yourself like someone’s about to slap your wrist.”

Your jaw tightened. “That’s just how I stand.”

“Mhm,” he hummed, not convinced for a second.

You wanted to shove him. You also wanted to crawl under the display case and disappear. But somewhere deep down, embarrassingly deep, you also wanted to grab his sleeve and lean into him like a tired stray cat. But instead, you just shoved your sleeves up higher and looked at the rings again. “Fine. I’ll try some.”

“That’s my girl,” he murmured, barely loud enough to catch, but you caught it. And you hated that you liked how it sounded.

You picked up one of the rings, delicate and shimmering with tiny embedded stones. It wasn’t flashy in the way rich people wear things—it was pretty. Simple. Something you could see yourself wearing every day.

But then it hit you like a slap. The price. What the hell were you doing? Just choosing whatever looked nice like you weren’t broke half your life? Like your mom didn’t yell at you for picking snacks that were ₹20 more expensive than the local brand?

You started searching the display, eyes darting, looking for price tags like a madwoman. But it was one of those places. No prices on anything. Which only meant one thing—if you have to ask, you can’t afford it.

Panic started tightening in your chest. You weren’t stupid. You knew this whole setup was expensive. Expensive coat racks, expensive chairs, expensive air. And here you were like some idiot playing dress-up, picking rings you couldn’t afford in three lifetimes. “Uh… what’s the price on these?” you asked quietly, almost hoping he didn’t hear you.

But of course he did.

Yeosang, standing beside you with his annoying posture of “I own everything I touch,” just glanced down at you, one brow raised. “Why?” You gave him a look. “What do you mean why? They’re probably… crazy expensive. I don’t wanna-” “You think I brought you here to worry about prices?” he interrupted, eyes sharp now.

You blinked. “Well, yeah? This isn’t a grocery store, I can’t just-” “Do I look like the kind of man who’s going to let you think about numbers right now?” His tone wasn’t harsh. But it wasn’t soft, either. It was just… Yeosang. Calm, slightly amused, slightly annoyed, fully in charge.

You hated how warm your ears felt.

“I don’t—”

“I said pick.”

His voice was low this time. Not rude. Not cold. Just that tone that slides down your spine and makes your stomach clench in the weirdest way. Firm. Dominant, even. But not because he was trying to be macho—it was just who he was. You stood there frozen for a second before whispering, “They don’t even have prices on them—”

“They don’t have prices,” he cut you off, leaning closer so only you could hear, “because the people who shop here don’t need to ask.”

You swore your knees nearly gave out.

“And right now,” he added, hand lightly brushing your lower back as if guiding you forward, “you’re with me. So that makes you one of those people. Pick.” You swallowed hard, looked down at the rings, then up at him.

His gaze didn’t waver. “Or,” he added, eyes glinting, “do you want me to choose for you again?”

God help you—you almost said yes.

The wedding was hectic.

Not in the “fun chaos” way you saw in movies—no, this was suffocating. Your cheeks hurt from fake smiling at people you didn’t even know. The scent of flowers was so strong it made you lightheaded. The jewelry was heavy, and the outfit? Beautiful, yeah, but you could barely breathe.

After the ceremony, when the music was loud and people were starting to eat, you sat in a corner. Just existing. You were chewing blandly on some sweet, not even tasting it. The small cushion under you was probably worth someone’s rent, but you sat like you were at some boring family reunion.

Yeosang did ask you last month if you wanted to invite your friends. You had been fixing your cardigan sleeve at the time and barely looked up. “Don’t really… have any.”

It wasn’t sad when you said it. Just a fact. You said it the way someone says, “Yeah, I don’t like tea,” or “I’ve never been to Goa.” Just plain. But you felt it sting more now, seeing his friends—8 of them—laughing on the other side of the venue like this was just some party.

Meanwhile, you sat with your cousin. The only one in your family who didn’t belittle you constantly or make subtle comments about you being “too old to be unmarried” or “too quiet for your own good.” He didn’t say much either. Probably didn’t even care. But you preferred that. Quiet company was better than company with sharp tongues.

Your eyes wandered across the room. Yeosang was standing with his friends, of course. One of them threw his arm around Yeosang’s shoulder, laughing about something. And then Yeosang glanced at you. It was brief—but he looked. And when his gaze met yours, it wasn’t pity, or amusement, or even awkwardness.

It was… knowing.

Like he knew you didn’t want to be there. Like he understood exactly what it felt like to be surrounded by noise and not feel like you belonged in it. And for a moment—just a second—you didn’t feel alone in that room. Of course, the moment passed when your cousin nudged you and asked if you were going to eat your chicken.

You gave it to him without a word, gaze still lingering on the man across the room who, apparently, now belonged to you.

The ride home was torture. Your jewelry felt like chains, the embroidery on your dress scratched at your skin with every small shift, and your hair—oh god, your scalp was screaming. You sat awkwardly, pressed up against the door, knees at an angle because the fabric wouldn’t let you sit properly.

And Yeosang? He just drove like it was a normal day. Relaxed hand on the steering wheel, other resting against his thigh, occasionally glancing your way. He didn’t say anything, but you knew he noticed you shifting every two minutes like you were sitting on needles.

By the time the car pulled up at the apartment complex, you were two seconds away from just tearing the sleeves off like some dramatic soap opera character.

It was late—too late for nosy neighbors or anyone else to be hanging around. The whole building was quiet except for the low hum of the elevators. You followed him silently, heels clicking softly against the polished floor. And when the elevator doors opened to his place—

Yeah. Pinterest board aesthetic.

It wasn’t over-the-top, but it was intentional. Clean lines, warm lighting—not those harsh white bulbs like your home had. The couch looked like it cost someone’s college tuition, blankets folded neatly on the armrest like it was straight out of a home decor photoshoot. Shelves with actual books. Art that wasn’t mass-produced prints. Little ceramic things on the side tables that you didn’t know the use of but looked expensive anyway.

It didn’t smell like dust or old carpet or fried onions like your house did after your mom cooked. It smelled like sandalwood and something slightly musky. Like him.

You just stood there by the entrance like a misplaced sticker on a clean page. He casually dropped his keys in a tray by the door and started undoing the buttons on his sleeves, rolling them up forearms first. “You wanna change?”

Did you wanna change? You were two seconds away from climbing out of your own skin. You nodded silently.

Without a word, he pointed to a hallway. “Third door. Closet’s in there. Pick whatever. Bathroom’s attached.” As if it was nothing to offer someone full access to his wardrobe. As if he hadn’t just brought his brand new wife into his home like someone bringing home takeout. You shuffled off like some fancy-dressed raccoon, already planning which oversized shirt you were gonna steal first.

You padded out of the bathroom, freshly freed from that suffocating dress, now wearing a soft oversized t-shirt that smelled like detergent and someone else’s cologne, paired with pajama pants that pooled a bit at your ankles. Your hair was a mess, makeup slightly smudged from your tired hands rubbing your face. But you couldn’t care less. Comfort first.

Yeosang was already lounging on the couch, changed into a black t-shirt that hugged his shoulders just right and grey sweatpants, one ankle lazily crossed over the other. Casual. Comfortable. Infuriatingly attractive. You stood there, awkward, arms crossed, twisting your fingers like you always did. “Where… where am I supposed to sleep?”

He didn’t even hesitate. Just pointed with two fingers toward the hallway. “Second room on the right.” You nodded and started walking, but something tugged at you. A gut feeling. Something wasn’t right. Second room…

Curiosity dragged you to peek, and when you opened the door, your stomach dropped. Black sheets. Black pillows. Black walls. Not pitch dark, but matte—sleek. Expensive. His room. You didn’t need to ask. That man screamed black-on-black energy. You stormed back into the living room, eyes narrowed. “That’s your room.”

He looked up from his phone slowly, mouth twitching—not into a smirk, just that faint amusement he always wore when he knew he was pushing your buttons. “Yeah. I know.” You stared at him, blinking. “Why did you point me there?” He set his phone down like this was about to be a full conversation. “We’re married now. Married people share a bed.”

You gawked at him. “That’s not a rule.”

“It is now.”

God, you hated that. That casual dominance. Not loud, not aggressive. Just matter of fact. Like he said it, so it’s law now.

“You’re annoying.”

“You married me.”

“We were arranged.”

“Same thing.”

You rolled your eyes so hard they almost got stuck, turning on your heel to storm back to the room. And yet… you didn’t really argue more, did you? Because deep down, under the irritation, you couldn’t help but feel that same stupid warmth creeping up your neck.

If he wanted to be cocky, fine. Two can play that game.

You marched back to his room like you owned the place, plopped yourself dead in the center of the king-sized bed, limbs spread like a starfish, sinking into the expensive sheets like you were born for this. If he wanted drama, you were going to give him cinema. Moments later, the door creaked open, and you heard his footsteps approaching. You didn’t look. You just knew from the way the air shifted, from the scent of his cologne mixing with the faint smell of fabric softener on the bedding.

Silence for a second. Then—“Really?”

You cracked an eye open. He was standing at the edge of the bed, arms crossed, one eyebrow raised, the faintest curve on his lips—not quite a smile, not quite mockery. “You’re gonna starfish in my bed?”

You yawned, stretching even further like a cat on a sunny windowsill. “You said it was our bed,” you said pointedly, throwing his own words back at him with venom-laced sweetness. “I’m just following instructions.”

He looked at you for a beat longer. Then, very slowly, very annoyingly, grinned. “Fine,” he said, voice deep and lazy. “But if you stay like that, I’ll just sleep on top of you.” Your eyes snapped open fully, heart jolting so fast it almost echoed in your ears. “You wouldn’t.”

“Oh, I would.”

It wasn’t even a threat—it was a promise. That calm tone, that glint in his eyes—he meant it.

You groaned and scrambled to your side of the bed, flustered beyond measure, hating him more with every second and somehow hating yourself for feeling heat crawling up your neck. “You’re insane,” you muttered, adjusting the pillow aggressively.

Behind you, you could practically hear his satisfied smirk, even though you weren’t going to turn around to give him the satisfaction of seeing your face.

“Married life, sweetheart,” he murmured, climbing in on his side, making the mattress dip. “Welcome to it.”

You didn’t know what devil possessed you to say it, but the words just slipped out, dripping with faux innocence as you looked straight at him.

“I have weird sleeping habits,” you murmured casually, adjusting the blanket like it was the most normal conversation. “Like… I’ll keep rubbing my leg on yours until you put your leg on top of mine.”

Silence.

You didn’t dare look at him yet, but you could feel the way his posture stiffened beside you, like your words short-circuited something in that annoyingly sharp brain of his. Then—softly, almost too casual—came his voice, deep and quiet, “Is that a threat or a promise?”

You slowly turned your head to him, blinking, pretending to be confused. “What do you mean?” His jaw tensed slightly, like he was holding back a laugh—or something else. “I mean—” he leaned in just a bit, enough for his voice to drop that octave lower that made your stupid heart stutter, “—if you keep talking like that, I’m gonna start wondering if you want me to put my leg over yours.”

You hated that heat crawling up your skin, hated that he was good at this stupid game, hated that he was better at it than you, hated that you wanted to keep going anyway.

So you did.

“Why would I want that?” you shot back, voice steady, gaze sharp but your hands fidgeting with the edge of the blanket. “It’s just a habit.”

“Right,” he said, laying his head on the pillow now, one arm tucked behind his head, looking absolutely unbothered. “Just a habit.”

You laid down too, facing the other way, stubborn. The tension between you two was thick, and you both knew it. Then, after a beat, you felt it—the slow weight of his leg draping lazily over yours. “I’m just helping with your habit,” he murmured, so close you felt the warmth of his breath by your ear.

“I’m serious,” you said, voice flat, not backing down. “It’s true. I can’t sleep unless someone’s leg is over mine. And I always hug something too. It’s like—comfort or whatever. Dunno. Been like that since forever.”

Honestly, you thought that would be the final straw. That he’d roll his eyes, scoff, maybe throw a pillow at you and head to the couch like any sane person would. Maybe you were hoping for that. Maybe you didn’t want to admit how weirdly safe this felt. Either way, you braced yourself for irritation, for that cocky remark, for something.

But nothing came.

Instead—you missed it—the way Yeosang stared at you like he was physically restraining himself. Like some internal monologue was yelling don’t say it, don’t call her cute, don’t ruin it, don’t scare her off. But how could he not? You? Looking like that? Saying stuff like that? In his bed? Wrapped in his blanket, in his shirt? Talking about hugging things like you weren’t already curled up like a goddamn kitten?

He was having a crisis.

“Okay,” he finally said, calm. Too calm. Suspiciously calm. You frowned, glancing back at him. “Okay?” “Yeah.” He adjusted slightly, the mattress dipping with his weight. “Leg’s already over yours. Go ahead. Hug something.”

You glared at him. “I don’t have anything to hug.” His lips quirked slightly at that. Barely. But you caught it.

“You’ve got two arms, don’t you?” You wanted to slap him. Genuinely. But also—not really.

Fine. FINE.

You stubbornly grabbed the pillow, hugging it tight to your chest and trying to sleep. Silent. Annoyed. Flustered. All of it. And Yeosang? He laid there, eyes on the ceiling, teeth sinking into his lip just to physically restrain himself from smiling like an idiot. If only you knew how close he was to dragging you into his chest just to see how flustered you’d get then.

Cute. Way too cute. He was so screwed.

You were out. Completely gone, knocked out like you hadn’t had proper sleep in weeks. Leg tucked neatly under his like you said you would, hugging his pillow like your life depended on it, your face mushed against the fabric, lips slightly parted in a soft pout you didn’t even know you had.

Yeosang was having a spiritual crisis. What was this? What was this feeling? Cuteness aggression? Probably. He felt like he could actually bite you. Not to hurt you—god no—but just to—argh—because how could one human look that cute doing absolutely nothing?

His jaw flexed, teeth grinding softly as he stared at you, eyes darting between the way your fingers curled into the pillow, to the little crease forming on your cheek from the way you were pressed against it.

It wasn’t fair. It shouldn’t be allowed. He felt like punching the wall just to let some of the weird, frustrated fondness out of his system. The urge to squeeze you like some plush toy was nearly overwhelming.

And the worst part?

You didn’t even know.

Didn’t know the way you’d completely tangled yourself around his leg without a second thought. Didn’t know how absolutely tiny you looked curled up in his bed. Didn’t know how soft your breathing sounded in the dim light filtering through the curtains.

Yeosang stared at the ceiling for a good minute, breathing slow, eyes closed, fighting the very cellular urge in his bones to scoop you up and just—keep you. Like, forever. Pocket you. Protect you. Instead, he carefully shifted, tucking the blanket around you a little tighter, letting your leg stay right where it was. He glanced at you one last time before shutting his own eyes.

Completely, utterly ruined by the universe. Absolutely smitten. And you? You just drooled a little on his pillow.

Perfect.

Morning light spilled through the sheer curtains, soft and annoyingly gentle. Your eyes fluttered open, adjusting to the brightness—and then it hit you.

You were holding something warm. Something that breathed. It wasn’t a pillow. It was him.

Your heart stopped for a solid second. Somewhere between falling asleep and now, the pillow had betrayed you—replaced by Yeosang. Your arm was across his torso, fingers curled loosely into the fabric of his shirt. Worse, one of your legs had completely decided that boundaries were optional and had hooked over his, practically hugging him like some oversized teddy bear.

What the actual—

You moved so carefully, like one wrong twitch would make the earth explode. Slowly untangling yourself, your breath hitched when you saw his hand resting lazily over your arm, like he’d pulled you closer in his sleep. That just made it worse.

Finally, finally, you untangled yourself, slipping out of bed like a secret agent on a stealth mission. The floor was cold beneath your feet, but your entire body was flushed with embarrassment anyway. Without sparing him another glance, you practically ran into the bathroom, shutting the door behind you with a soft click.

The second you were alone, you let out a silent scream, face buried in your hands. God. Why. Why you. You turned the shower on, letting the sound of running water drown out your embarrassment. Maybe you could drown in it too while you were at it.

Meanwhile, back in the bedroom, Yeosang cracked one eye open, staring at the ceiling with the smallest ghost of a grin.

“Thought so,” he whispered to himself. That damn pillow never stood a chance.

Yeosang lay there, staring at the ceiling like it had all the answers to life’s greatest mysteries. His hand absentmindedly touched the part of his shirt where your hand had been curled into just moments ago. The warmth was gone, but the imprint of it — of you — stuck like some permanent tattoo on his chest.

What the hell was this feeling? No, seriously, what was this feeling?

He had always thought love was supposed to be a slow thing. Like aging whiskey. Like taking your sweet time to ruin someone in a chess game. But this? This felt like a truck hit him. A small, anxious kitten-shaped truck with pouty lips and messy hair in the morning.

It was stupid. He knew it was stupid. You were barely in his life for what? Few months? And yet here he was, already thinking like some washed-up romantic lead in a drama. It wasn’t even funny anymore.

He dragged a hand across his face and groaned softly, staring at the bathroom door where steam was now rolling from the gap under the frame. The thought of you in there — wearing that sleepy pout, probably muttering under your breath about your parents or about how annoying he was — it made his chest feel tight in the weirdest, most annoying way.

Was this how his dad felt about his mom? Cause that man always did dumb shit just to annoy her, but never went a day without holding her hand.

He was whipped. Fully, entirely, embarrassingly whipped. And he wasn’t even fighting it anymore. Hell, he was enjoying it. “I swear to god,” he muttered to himself, eyes shutting like he was trying to meditate through the emotional breakdown, “if she ever figures this out, I’m finished.” But knowing you? You wouldn’t. You were too busy folding napkins, avoiding eye contact, acting like you weren’t the most precious thing to ever annoy the hell out of him.

And god—he liked having a wife. A wife.

He let that word roll around in his head like a marble, both terrifying and oddly satisfying. If you stayed in that shower any longer, he might just combust. And honestly? He’d die smiling.

You came out of the bathroom with damp hair sticking slightly to the sides of your face, the oversized t-shirt hanging loose on your frame, sleeves falling a little off your shoulders, pajama pants riding up slightly at the ankles. You rubbed your hand against your face, trying to wipe off the last remnants of sleep, but honestly, your head was still foggy. You weren’t even fully functioning yet.

And there he was. Still in bed.

Liar. You could tell he wasn’t sleeping anymore. Before, he was on his back, legs spread out like some rich brat on vacation. Now? He was on his side, perfectly composed like he was acting asleep. And he was good at it. But not good enough for you.

With irritation bubbling up — mostly because you were up, and why should you be the only one awake suffering in awkward new-wife-land — you stomped over to the bed and stood over him with crossed arms. You stared at the messy strands of hair falling into his stupidly handsome face. His lashes were thick, unfairly so. And his lips slightly parted like he wasn’t living rent-free in your nerves already. He looked expensive even while pretending to be unconscious. Ugh.

Annoyed, you bent down and gave his shoulder a shove. “Wake up.”

No response. Another shove. Harder this time. “Wake up.” Finally, his eyes opened. Lazy, slow, like he was waking up from a peaceful dream of girls feeding him grapes or something. His voice was rough from sleep, deep in that way that made your brain short circuit for a second. “What?” he rasped, like you were disturbing his peace.

Your mouth opened, about to say something snarky, but then you paused. Why was he hot like this? Who gave him permission to be hot right after waking up? Hair a mess, voice low, sleep still hanging off his features like a silk sheet draped across expensive furniture. You forgot what you were gonna say for a second. Caught yourself blinking at him like an idiot.

He noticed. Of course he noticed. A smug little grin spread on his lips, lazy and cocky at the same time, like he was the main character in every stupid romance movie. You cleared your throat and stood up straight again, brushing invisible dust off your pants. “What… what do you want for breakfast?”

You hated how quiet you sounded. Like you were suddenly soft just because he was attractive. Which — you were soft, but he didn’t have to know that. He sat up properly now, running a hand through his hair like he was in a commercial. “You’re making breakfast?” he asked, raising a brow.

You shrugged. “What else am I supposed to do? I’m awake.” He leaned back on his arms, eyes not leaving you for a second. “I didn’t marry a housewife, you know.” Your jaw clenched. “I’m not—” you stopped yourself. “I’m just making breakfast because I’m hungry.”

“Yours?” he said suddenly, tilting his head.

You blinked. “What?”

“Breakfast. Yours or mine?”

You frowned. “...What’s the difference?”

He grinned, teeth showing this time. “Yours is probably, like, toast or boiled eggs or something. Mine’s pancakes, bacon, syrup. Fancy shit.”

You deadpanned. “Who the hell eats pancakes on a weekday?”

“I do,” he answered smoothly, without missing a beat. “I’m rich, remember?”

You rolled your eyes so hard you almost saw your own brain. “Fine. Yours. Whatever. Pancakes.”

Yeosang stepped into the bathroom, the door creaking softly behind him as he entered the faint warmth she left behind. The mirror was still fogged at the corners, drops of condensation trailing down lazily like the room itself hadn’t quite woken up yet. The air smelled faintly of her—something floral, something sweet, and something unfamiliar but weirdly comforting.

He exhaled through his nose, steady and controlled, walking up to the sink. His eyes automatically landed on the toothbrush holder. His black toothbrush standing tall, firm, exactly where he always kept it.

And beside it… her pink one.

Smaller, softer looking, like it didn’t belong. But it did. It really did. He stared at them both for a second, lips slightly parted, eyebrows drawn faintly together—not confused, but thoughtful. Something about seeing them together in the same cup twisted something warm in his chest. It wasn’t dramatic. It wasn’t fireworks or explosions or heartbeats racing so fast he couldn’t breathe. It was… steady. Fulfilling. Quiet in the most dangerous way.

He loved it.

Not the pink color or the softness of it. He loved what it meant. Her using his things like they were hers now. The shared space. The toothbrushes leaning like companions. It was stupid—something small, something everyday—but it was theirs. And for someone like him, someone who always knew how to calculate every move, who always knew how to observe and stay steps ahead, this feeling was something he couldn’t predict.

He picked up his own toothbrush, fingers brushing against the handle of hers. He stared at that pink brush for a second longer, a lazy grin curling on his lips before shaking his head at himself. Who the hell gets soft over a toothbrush?

Apparently, him.

He started brushing his teeth, leaning over the sink, letting the familiar minty sting wake him up properly. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he thought—he could get used to this. He wanted to get used to this. Her hair clogging the drain, her random skincare bottles invading his shelves, her leaving the bathroom all steamy and warm like this every morning.

It was stupid. Domestic. And yet… it felt like power in the quietest, most dangerous form. And Yeosang was nothing if not addicted to power. Especially if it looked like her.

He came down wearing a black fitted turtleneck, sleeves pushed up to his forearms, paired with tailored dark slacks that hugged his waist just right. His silver watch gleamed faintly against his wrist, hair slightly messy from towel-drying but falling just perfectly like it was meant to. He didn’t put in effort—but somehow looked like he walked straight out of a photoshoot. Sharp jawline, long legs, expensive cologne that smelled like trouble and money.

And then—that smell hit him.

Pancakes. Sweet, buttery, thick in the air like a hug you didn’t know you needed. Warm vanilla mixed with something fruity. And then, there she was. (Do pancakes even have scents? Idk)

Hair tied up lazily, a few strands falling loose, wearing one of his black aprons that looked like it was made to fit her. Bare feet padding softly on the kitchen floor, navigating his sleek, modern, borderline cold kitchen like she’d been living there her whole life. She didn’t hesitate with the drawers, the utensils, even reaching up to grab plates from his overhead cabinets with a little difficulty like she knew where everything was. Like she belonged.

He leaned against the wall for a second, arms folded, watching her. His kitchen was matte black, sharp edges, minimalist design, way too clean for someone who actually lived here. It was the kind of kitchen that screamed money but not home. Until now.

Until her.

Now it felt warm, felt used. And for some reason, that domestic image made something stir in his chest. Not in a soft, sentimental way—no, Yeosang didn’t do sentimental. It was more like—possession. Admiration. Like—yeah, that’s mine. His quiet, irritating, soft-voiced girl, right there, using his kitchen like she owned it. And she didn’t even realize how good she looked like that. The apron tied at her waist, sleeves rolled up as she worked carefully over the stove, flipping pancakes with precision.

How the fuck did she even know where everything was? He barely cooked. Eating out was his thing. Restaurants. Friends. Loud tables. Fancy places. But this? This made him crave home-cooked meals in a way he didn’t know he could. Made him crave coming home to something like this. And the worst part? He didn’t know whether he wanted the pancakes more or her. Probably her.

Definitely her.

He didn’t even realize she’d caught him staring. Sharp reflexes, top of his class, trained to pick up on the tiniest shit—and yet here he was, caught like some lovesick loser at the doorway of his own damn kitchen. She didn’t make a big deal out of it though. Just glanced over her shoulder, flipping another pancake like it was routine. “Oh, you’re here. Sit down or something.”

He blinked for a second, caught between embarrassment and awe, and then muttered under his breath, “Yes, ma’am.” Low enough that she wouldn’t catch it. Good. His pride was intact. Barely.

When she finished, she casually served two plates—one in front of him, one in front of her. No big presentation, no waiting for him to start first like those rich girls he was used to. Just sat down, scooted her chair in, and started eating like it was another regular morning. Like they’d been doing this for years. God, why did that feel nice?

The pancakes were good. Like, scary good. Slightly crisp on the edges, soft in the middle, syrup on the side, not drowned in it like an amateur. She knew what she was doing. Each bite made him feel weirdly cared for, and he didn’t like that one bit. It felt… vulnerable. Exposed. He wasn’t used to this shit. Halfway through, she lifted her gaze to him. Not fully—just under her lashes, barely holding eye contact before glancing away again.

“I’ve been meaning to ask…” she said softly, cutting into her pancake with that annoying, neat little precision of hers. “What do you actually do? Like… all day?” He chewed slowly, buying time. No one ever asked him that. Not seriously. Everyone just knew who he was. Son of that family. Part of that business. It was understood. Expected. Even his friends didn’t bother asking.

But her? She didn’t care about any of that. She genuinely didn’t know—or maybe she did but wanted his version of it. Wanted to hear it from him, not just whispered behind closed doors or Googled with a headline next to his face. So, he swallowed, set his fork down carefully, leaned back slightly in the chair.

“What do I do?” he repeated, eyes glancing over her face like he was trying to decide how much of himself he wanted to give her. “I manage the boring rich guy stuff, apparently. Assets. Investments. Real estate. Help with family business bullshit.”

She hummed softly, almost dismissively. “Sounds annoying.” That caught him off guard. He huffed a laugh through his nose. “It is annoying.”

They sat in silence for a second, just the quiet sounds of cutlery scraping against plates.

Then she added, still not fully looking at him, “Sounds lonely too.”

That made something sharp twist in his chest. Annoyingly accurate. He stared at her, at the little crease between her brows as she focused on cutting another piece, at the way she subtly folded the napkin next to her hand without thinking about it. Always fidgeting, always folding.

She didn’t even mean it like that. It was supposed to be just a question. A throwaway thought while she was chewing, cutting another bite, syrup glistening against the fork like she was focused on literally anything else except him. Like it didn’t matter. Like it wasn’t going to completely rearrange the wires in his damn brain. “After I graduate… can I see your office or something?”

Just that. Simple. Plain. Like she was asking to borrow a pen.

But Yeosang? Yeosang heard that in HD. Dolby Atmos. Surround sound. Can I see your office echoed through his skull like she’d just proposed marriage again or something. Why was that affecting him so much? Why was his immediate internal response Yes. Yes, of course. Come sit on my lap in the stupid leather chair. Take over the entire desk, I don’t even like working, I’ll retire now, I’ll build you a whole new office, you can have my whole name—

He blinked. Dangerous thoughts. Dangerous. She didn’t even know what she’d done. But he couldn’t just say all that, obviously. He couldn’t wrap her up in a blanket and tell her she was the cutest thing alive for wanting to be in his space, in his world. He couldn’t tell her that no one—no one—had ever even bothered to ask about that part of his life. His office. His work. His real world outside of the titles and money.

So, he kept it cool. Cool and bored. Always the bored one. Mr. Nothing Affects Me.

“Sure,” he said, cutting another piece of pancake, stabbing it with his fork, stuffing it into his mouth like that would hide the feral urge he felt to grab her face and kiss the absolute life out of her. “Really?” she asked, finally glancing at him properly this time, eyes sharp and unreadable. “It’s not like a private office?”

Private office? Private office? Woman, you’re in my home. You cooked in my kitchen. You slept with your entire leg tangled around mine. And you’re asking about privacy?

He swallowed. “It’s my office. I decide what’s private.”

Another bite. Another casual shrug. Another act like he wasn’t two seconds from folding completely. Folding like the damn napkin she kept playing with next to her plate. “Sure,” he said again, this time softer. Almost like a promise. Almost like anything you ask me, ever—I’ll give it to you.

You both didn’t know one thing. You both were falling.

Maybe Yeosang knew it. Kinda. Somewhere in the background of his usually sharp, calculating mind — the same one trained to notice weaknesses in deals and flaws in contracts — there was this soft hum, like static turning into a love song. He knew something was happening. Maybe not fully, maybe not yet in words, but the pull toward you was starting to feel less like curiosity and more like instinct. Breathing. Natural. Familiar in a way nothing else had ever been.

But you? You didn’t know. You didn’t realize what was happening. You didn’t realise that while you sat here with syrup on your fork and pancake crumbs on your fingers, you were starting to heal something that he didn’t break.

Yeosang didn’t grow up with softness. His mother was the only person who offered that to him, that kind of gentle warmth that made a person feel safe, and when she left—so did that warmth. His father tried to raise him with ambition and success, not comfort. Not home. Yeosang had everything: wealth, education, sharp looks, friends who could buy out entire hotels on a dare—but not this. Not this thing he was starting to feel around you.

And you didn’t realize that you were going to get something you never thought possible, either. That here, you were healing too. Because all your life, you were raised in pieces. Your parents clipping parts of you before you could even grow. Told that your interests were silly. That your opinions didn’t matter because you were a girl. Always “too much” or “not enough.” They called it upbringing. Respect. But it wasn’t. It was shrinking. You adjusted. You bent around it like vines climbing a crumbling wall, finding space wherever you could, making a way even when there wasn’t one.

But here?

Here, no one was going to call you too much. Here, no one was going to shrink you down into something manageable. Here, no one was going to make you feel small for having hobbies or dreams or random thoughts that didn’t make sense. Here—you weren’t going to adjust anymore. You were going to thrive.

And you didn’t even know it yet.

Days blended into something that almost resembled normal life. Morning routines settled. Nights had their own rhythm. You handled your stuff—university lectures, deadlines, notes scribbled on the backs of receipts when you couldn’t find proper paper. He handled his—meetings, calls, those frustrating dinners where people tried to get on his good side for favors he never planned to give.

The two of you orbiting each other like satellites, not colliding, not quite distant either. Somewhere between strangers and something else you both refused to name yet.

But then there were nights like this.

Nights where assignments piled higher than your patience. Nights where caffeine felt like medicine, where eye bags were unavoidable, and sitting cross-legged on the living room floor with books spread around you felt like survival mode. The glow of your laptop screen threw harsh shadows across your face, highlighting the slight furrow between your brows, your bottom lip caught lightly between your teeth as you tried to figure out whatever academic nonsense your professor thought was appropriate for midnight.

Yeosang came home late that night. He had texted you. ‘Running late. Don’t wait up.’

He didn’t expect much. Maybe you’d already be in bed, curled up, hair a mess, hugging that ridiculous pillow you’d claimed as yours. Or maybe you’d be curled on the couch, knocked out with some random video playing softly in the background. But no.

He walked in, loosened his tie, and paused.

You were awake. Awake and working. Glasses slipping down your nose. Notebook covered in tiny handwriting, pages curling at the corners. For a split second, irritation sparked in him. Not at you—at himself. Why were you still up? He told you not to wait. And yet—

Then he saw it. The laptop open to some assignment, words scrolling by, academic jargon that even he didn’t have the mental energy to pretend to understand. You weren’t waiting for him. You were fighting a deadline.

Silently, he toed off his shoes, rolled up his sleeves, and went to the kitchen.

The machine hissed softly as the coffee brewed. The comforting, bitter scent filling the sharp black lines of his modern kitchen again. This time, coffee. Warm, grounding, familiar. He made it just the way you liked—two spoons of sugar, a splash of milk. Not too sweet, not too bitter. Balanced. Like you.

He poured one cup for you, one for himself, and padded back across the living room, setting the mug down next to your scattered pens and half-crumpled sticky notes.

You barely noticed at first, mumbling a quiet, “Thank you,” eyes still on the screen.

But Yeosang? He just stood there for a second, hand in his pocket, watching you. Watching how you stubbornly refused to give up, even with dark circles forming under your eyes, even with your knee bouncing from stress, even with your exhaustion creeping in like slow fog.

“Can I help?” His voice was soft, breaking through the quiet hum of the laptop fan and your messy thoughts. You blinked, finally tearing your eyes away from the screen to look at him properly.

Help? You weren’t used to that word being offered like that. Especially not for things like your work. No one really asked if they could help—you were always expected to figure it out yourself, get through it, push harder. Alone. You stared at him for a second, eyebrows furrowed slightly like you were trying to figure out if he was joking or being sarcastic. But he just sat there, leaning forward, coffee resting on his knee, expression neutral but serious. Waiting.

You hesitated. Not because you didn’t want help. Just… it felt weird. Someone wanting to take on something with you instead of at you or despite you. But you were tired. And behind all your stubbornness, you knew you could use it.

“…You can help with a couple things,” you murmured, barely above your breath.

His lips twitched slightly at that—almost a smile, almost—but he didn’t comment. Didn’t tease. Just sat up straighter, pushed his coffee aside, and motioned for you to show him.

It wasn’t even difficult stuff. Mostly organization. Proofreading. Finding references. And Yeosang, for all his cocky behavior and sharp-tongue antics, was ridiculously smart. He picked up on things quickly, helping you untangle confusing parts, correcting small mistakes you didn’t even notice you were making in your sleepy haze.

With him there, the work didn’t feel like a mountain anymore. It felt doable. Manageable. Like he was one more set of steady hands holding up the mess before it could collapse.

You didn’t talk much. Just handed things to him, pointed at the screen when you needed help cross-checking something, let him scroll through research tabs while you typed furiously to finish the parts only you could write. By the time you reached the end, you realized it had gone faster than you expected.

And… it didn’t feel heavy anymore.

As you saved the file and finally let yourself lean back against the cushions, stretching your aching fingers, you glanced at him from the corner of your eye. His sleeves were still rolled up, tie loose, hair falling slightly over his forehead. He looked relaxed. Like this wasn’t a burden. Like he didn’t mind being here at all.

“Thanks,” you said finally, voice quieter than before.

He just hummed, reaching for his now slightly-cold coffee again. “Told you,” he muttered, taking a sip, “I’m not just here to look pretty.”

You rolled your eyes at that, a small breath of laughter escaping despite yourself. And for the first time in a while, the stress didn’t feel suffocating. For the first time, you didn’t feel like you were carrying everything alone.

But now you didn’t want to move. Not even a little. Your body felt like it weighed triple, bones filled with sand, limbs heavy from the hours of grinding through assignments, deadlines, typing until your knuckles hurt. The soft hum of the laptop fan was starting to blend with the background noise of the apartment—the occasional creak of the walls, the soft ticking of the clock. So you just laid down right there on the couch, curling slightly onto your side, pressing your cheek into the cushions like they could swallow you whole.

“You shouldn’t sleep here,” his voice broke through gently. Not nagging. Not demanding. Just a low, careful suggestion. “It’s bad for your back.”

“Yeah…” you mumbled. You knew. Of course you knew. But knowing and moving were two different things. The soft, tired sound of your own voice felt distant to you, like it was coming from somewhere underwater. “M’fine… Just…gimme a minute…”

And then, you felt it. Arms sliding under you, one beneath your knees, the other curling easily around your shoulders. The couch shifted beneath you as he moved, and suddenly, you were moving too. Your eyes snapped open halfway, heavy-lidded with exhaustion but sharp with shock. What the—

He picked you up. Like it was nothing. Like you weighed absolutely nothing. Effortless. Smooth. As if this was something he did on a daily basis, as if you weren’t dead weight with tangled limbs and messy hair and exhaustion practically dripping off your skin.

You knew he worked out. You’d seen his arms, the way his shirts sometimes hugged his shoulders, the way his forearms tensed slightly when he rolled up his sleeves or carried grocery bags with one hand like they were weightless.

But this? This was a whole new experience.

You blinked up at him, groggy but vaguely scandalized, too drained to fight him on it but still indignant enough to grumble, “I can walk, you know…”

“Doesn’t look like it,” he muttered back, voice lazy but steady, gaze fixed ahead as he carefully maneuvered you toward the bedroom. His jaw was set, clean lines of his face shadowed by the low lighting, and that stupid, faint grin on his lips—like he was enjoying this a little too much.

You were too tired to argue more, head lolling lightly against his shoulder, his cologne filling your nose. Clean, sharp, warm.

“Put me down,” you murmured weakly, only half meaning it.

“No.”

That’s all he said. Just no. Simple. Firm. No teasing this time. Just—no. Because you were tired, and because he wanted to carry you. Because whether you liked it or not, this was part of who he was now—your husband. And part of that role, apparently, included picking you up like a princess when you worked yourself to exhaustion doing university assignments at midnight.

You didn’t realize when your eyes slipped closed again, but the warmth of his hold and the soft shift of the apartment around you made it easier.

He set you down gently on the bed, the mattress dipping softly under your weight. The second you hit the covers, your whole body sighed in relief, muscles unraveling like thread, tension slipping out of your shoulders as your eyelids fluttered heavily.

You barely registered him leaving, the soft rustle of fabric as he changed, the faint clink of his watch being set down somewhere on the nightstand. The apartment was quiet except for those soft, everyday sounds—the kind that made a space feel lived in. Real. And then the bed dipped again, the warmth of him close, his scent following like gravity itself. Before you could fully register it, his arm snaked around your waist, firm but not rough, and he pulled you in.

Your eyes opened halfway, brows pinching lightly. “Yeosang…”

“No complaining,” he murmured, voice low, brushing near your ear. “I know you need it.”

That shut you up real quick—not because he was being cocky, but because… he was right. You did need it. And that annoyed you more than anything, how well he was starting to read you without effort. Like this connection was some secret language only he could pick up on while you were still figuring it out. You wanted to argue. Maybe just out of habit. Maybe because that independent part of you hated the idea of needing someone this badly. But… God, it felt good. It felt safe. Not like being trapped, not like obligation—but like comfort. Like warmth. Like someone saying, It’s okay. You don’t have to hold everything up alone tonight.

So you didn’t say anything after that. Just let yourself sink into the pull of his chest against your back, his hand splayed warm over your stomach, his steady breathing brushing against the back of your neck. Everything fit a little too perfectly, like puzzle pieces you didn’t even know belonged to the same set.

And that night… that night, you both slept better than you ever had since this whole marriage thing started. No weird dreams. No uncomfortable tossing and turning. No stress lingering sharp at the edges of your thoughts.

Just… sleep.

You didn’t know how it happened, but somehow, somewhere in the middle of the night, your body betrayed your stubbornness. You woke up curled against him, face pressed gently to his chest, his scent filling your lungs like something you’d been secretly addicted to. His arm—God, his arm—was draped around you, hand cupped protectively over the back of your head like instinct. Like he was shielding you, even in sleep. And it wasn’t awkward. That’s what surprised you most. It felt natural. Not forced, not weird, just… like safety.

You could feel the steady rise and fall of his chest under your cheek, hear the soft, even rhythm of his breathing. And as much as you hated to admit it… he looked pretty like this. No, scratch that—annoyingly pretty. Long lashes resting against sharp cheekbones, lips slightly parted, hair tousled from sleep in that effortless way guys pull off without even trying.

Gross. Beautiful. Disgusting. Infuriating.

You blinked a few times, brain slowly booting up for the day, before carefully untangling yourself like a thief in the night. His arm loosened its grip like he was reluctant even in his sleep, but eventually let you go. You got up, showered, got dressed, doing your whole morning routine as quietly as possible. University wasn’t going to wait for you to bask in your soft domestic crisis. And you definitely weren’t about to stand there and gawk at his stupidly handsome sleeping face for too long. Absolutely not.

By the time you were adjusting the strap of your bag, tying your hair properly, you heard movement from the bedroom. A few minutes later, Yeosang walked out, freshly showered, damp hair pushed back, wearing that clean, crisp button-up with the sleeves rolled just enough to make you want to scream into a pillow. Grey slacks, black watch, rings back on his fingers, that usual lazy confidence laced into his posture.

He looked at you, eyes dropping down briefly to your outfit, then meeting your gaze again like it was nothing.

“I’ll pick you up later,” he said, fixing one of his cuffs. “After uni.”

You blinked. “Why?”

“Date,” he said simply, like it was obvious. “We deserve one.”

You opened your mouth, then closed it, unsure of what reaction you were supposed to give. A part of you wanted to roll your eyes, say something sarcastic—but another part… another part felt weirdly happy about it. Happy in that annoying, fluttery kind of way you weren’t ready to admit yet. So you settled for a quiet, “Okay,” adjusting your bag again, looking at the floor to hide the small smile trying to creep up on your lips.

“Good,” he said, smirking now—but this time it wasn’t cocky. It was something softer, warmer. “I’ll see you later, then.” And as you left the apartment, the weight of the day felt lighter somehow. Like maybe, just maybe, you weren’t dreading things as much anymore.

Yeosang sat in the car, one hand lazily draped over the steering wheel, the other tapping faintly against his thigh. The sun was starting to dip, casting that golden hour glow over the edges of buildings, making everything look softer, warmer, like a scene out of some movie. But Yeosang wasn’t paying attention to the scenery. Not really.He’d had a day. Meetings that dragged. Calls that felt like someone was reading tax documents aloud just to torture him. Endless signatures, fake smiles, the whole act. All he wanted right now was peace. Quiet. A good meal. And you.

A proper date with his cute wife, nothing more, nothing less. Just you sitting across from him in that way you always did—half avoiding eye contact, sleeves of your cardigan slipping past your wrists, probably fidgeting with your napkin again. That was the peace he wanted. Not luxury. Not power. Just that.

But then…

His eyes narrowed. He saw you. And you weren’t alone. There was a guy. Some nobody. Same-age, maybe older, walking beside you, too close for Yeosang’s liking, talking like he knew you well. And you—God—you were smiling. Not the full kind, not the ones Yeosang secretly hoarded like precious stones, but still smiling. Like you were comfortable. Yeosang’s jaw tightened. His fingers, the ones tapping against his thigh, stopped moving. What pissed him off wasn’t just the guy talking. It was the way he was talking to you. That casual, easygoing posture, like he thought he was funny. Like he thought he was charming. Like he thought he deserved to be walking next to you, making you smile like that.

And maybe you didn’t even realize. Maybe you were just being polite. But Yeosang saw it all. The way the guy leaned slightly in when he spoke. The way his hands moved while explaining something, animated like he wanted your full attention on him.

Yeosang didn’t like it. Not one bit.

The expensive black car, polished to perfection, stood out like a punch to the face in front of the university gates. People kept throwing glances, some doing double-takes, whispering. Whose car is that? Who’s that guy? But Yeosang didn’t care. Let them look. Let them talk. His gaze stayed locked on you and that idiot next to you. Calm on the outside. A storm brewing underneath. You didn’t know it yet.

You spotted him the moment he stepped out of the car. Yeosang wasn’t the type to make a show of himself, but somehow—he did. Maybe it was the way he stood, sharp lines of his suit catching the light, hair pushed back neatly, expression unreadable. Maybe it was the car behind him, polished black, practically humming money and influence. Maybe it was just him. Either way, heads were turning, eyes flicking between him and you like something wasn’t adding up.

You swallowed, nerves prickling up your spine. Before you could react, before you could even introduce anyone properly, he was already moving. His hand found yours—firm, warm, possessive without being rough. It startled you. Not because of the touch—you were used to that by now—but because of the timing. Calculated. Precise. Like everything he did. “This your friend?” he said calmly, looking not at you, but directly at the guy.

Before you could speak, Yeosang gave the poor guy a small, polite smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “Nice to meet you,” he said smoothly, tightening his grip on your hand just slightly. “I’m her husband.”

And then, for good measure, he added his name. Kang Yeosang.

You could see the shift instantly. The recognition behind the guy’s eyes. The flicker of panic mixed with surprise. Everyone in this city knew that name—or at least the ones who mattered did. Not just because of the wealth, but because of what that name meant in certain circles. Reputation. Power. Authority. Not just a businessman—something more. Something sharp underneath the polished surface.

“Oh,” was all the guy could manage, awkward, unsure of where to put his hands now, stepping back half a pace instinctively. “Yeah,” Yeosang finished softly, expression pleasant, dangerous in its restraint. “Good talk.”

Without another word, he guided you toward the passenger seat, opened the door like a gentleman, helped you in, and shut it carefully behind you before rounding the car and getting in himself. He didn’t look at you at first. Just started the engine, pulled out of the lot with practiced ease.

What you didn’t see, however, was the slight tilt of his head down as he flicked open his messages. His fingers moved swiftly, effortlessly, typing out the guy’s name, sending it to an unknown number. No emojis. No fluff. Just a clean instruction.

A name and a dot. That’s all it took.

Then the phone slipped back into his pocket like nothing happened.

He glanced at you finally, features softening just slightly now that the irritation had passed, hand casually resting on the gear shift..

"You ready?” he asked, like none of that had just happened. You didn’t answer immediately. Your heart was still somewhere between confused, flustered, and maybe—a little impressed. And Yeosang?

He was perfectly at ease. Because no one touches what’s his.

The date itself was simple, nothing extravagant—just the way you liked it. Dinner somewhere not too loud, warm lighting, food you could pronounce, chairs that didn’t make your back ache. He didn’t drag you to some elite chef’s private villa or a high-rise with twelve spoons and seven forks. Just… normal. Comfortable.

But of course, it wasn’t normal, not with him sitting across from you like that. Rolling up his sleeves just enough to show off the veins in his forearms, leaning forward slightly when you spoke, giving you that attention that made your stomach twist in a way you’d pretend was annoyance—but you knew better now. You were far too aware of his every move, his subtle glances at your lips when you talked, his faint smile whenever you fidgeted with the sleeves of your cardigan or neatly arranged your utensils.

And he was losing it.

Internally.

Watching you talk softly about nothing—ordering dessert, choosing between tea or coffee, or even just adjusting your bracelet—like it was the most adorable thing in the world. You didn’t even have to try. That’s what drove him crazy. You could breathe and he’d be on the verge of melting into his seat like some fool.

But what really started creeping under your skin wasn’t the food or the conversation or even the comfort of the evening.

It was after.

Back in university, you started noticing something odd. The guy—the one from the parking lot—gone. No hellos in the hallway, no passing glances, no awkward waves after that weird encounter with Yeosang. Vanished. Just… gone.

You weren’t naïve. You noticed patterns. You noticed behavior. You might’ve been quiet, but you weren’t stupid.

So, you asked him. One evening, after he’d made both of you coffee, when the room was quiet and warm, you just casually dropped it like spare change on a counter.

“By the way… that guy I was talking to last week? Haven’t seen him around.”

His reaction was instant, which already gave him away. That sharp, barely-there twitch of his lips. His fingers curling ever so slightly around the mug handle.

And then—he laughed.

That annoying, deep, pretty laugh that was all throat and no apologies.

“Don’t know,” he said with a shrug, voice lazy, too smooth to be true. “Weird, isn’t it?”

Liar. Absolute liar.

And that’s what did it. That’s what made you fall.

Not the expensive car. Not the handsome face. Not even the whole husband thing.

It was that. That dumb, cocky, lying laugh paired with the soft way he helped you out of your coat or refilled your water glass without saying anything. The combination of someone who could ruin a man’s whole life in one text but still remember that you liked your toast slightly burnt.

It wasn’t fair.

And maybe, just maybe, you found yourself falling.

Not all at once. Just—a little more.

Dangerous. Warm. Annoying.

Yours.

Taglist: @jujusreader @nkryuki @lover-ofallthingspretty

Dividers from @/cafekitsune

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jyunhology · 12 days ago

Text

oh, honey lady ˖.𖥔 ݁ ˖ smg (m)

summary: when you get stood up and cancelled on one too many times, your friend takes it upon herself to get you to enjoy a night out. but you’re faced immediately with the source of your woes pressed up to another and a bartender who catches on quickly. the latter offers to dance with you; will you say yes?

a/n: have been getting a lot of feels for mingi lately .. i blacked out n wrote this aft watching the recent ateez whodunnit because jesus christ that man looked FINE acting as a bartender.

wc: 6.1k

warnings: MINORS DNI!!!! bartender!mingi, softdom!mingi, sub!reader, reader's (ex) bf is a loser, reader lowkey traumatised from her (ex) bf, mingi is very understanding, consumption of alcohol (however, they’re not drunk during the deed, just a little tipsy), grinding in a public space (a club lol), lots of teasing, oral (f! receiving) / cunnilingus, fingering, praise, use of pet names (baby, honey, doll), bit of fluff in the middle, clit stimulation, unprotected p -> v sex (pls wrap it up irl), creampie, slight aftercare, mingi is so soft and patient with reader .. ❤️

No matter how much you knew this wasn’t your fault, you still can’t help but find fault with yourself — looks, personality, fashion. You passed it off the first time as something akin to a mistake, a miscalculation with the overtime your boyfriend, Hyunjae, had to do because of his recent promotion.

With mumbled apologies into your hair and fairly enjoyable sex, you thought everything between you both was going to be okay. It was just one dinner date, plus, he made it up to you with a fancy trip over the weekend and several, impressive gifts.

But you think you should’ve known better, because it happened a second time not even a month later, and the cycle repeats itself: sin, repent, and fall back into temptation all over again.

The only mistake you were making was thinking too highly of Hyunjae, assuming temptation was reports and hard work for extra cash, and not having a fucking affair with another woman in the printing room.

By the time the third incident came around, your friend was quick to propose a night out the next day despite your protests, but you know it came from a place of love. With the way she comforted you with memes and funny reels and words of advice, you realised it was the first time you’ve laughed since the supposed dinner at seven.

Ignoring the sinking dread settling in your heart the next afternoon, you shoot a simple ill be out late tonight to Hyunjae before dragging your body out of bed. You moved on autopilot, then, choosing not to acknowledge that he didn’t even return last night, preoccupying yourself instead with picking out your outfit.

And it was easy enough with a clear vision in your head; you weren’t afraid to dress up even after getting together with Hyunjae. This time it wasn’t any different — miniskirt, a cute fitted top and boots — that you already felt a bit better upon arriving at a bar for some pregame. The alcohol felt good, the company was better, and the both of you were already giggling and tipsy when you entered the club.

“Isn’t this way better than crying over that dumbass?” Yunjin nudges you gently before offering you a small smile.

You sigh, “I guess. I just don’t want it to be a recurring thing and make you responsible every time.”

“At least you know your limit now,” She loops an arm around you to keep you close as you two walk deeper into the club. “Still, as much as I love you, it was difficult trying to get you out of the club because you’d only be talking in counts of 8.”

Ever the teasing friend, you nudge her back before breaking into laughter together, heading right to the bar for a lighter drink. It’s buzzing with orders left and right with the (possibly) poor newcomer trying his best to work the counter with all its confusing buttons. But he’s saved by another, a taller, more experienced bartender who was definitely carved by gods.

You try not to gawk, though, feeling guilty even when he shoots the two of you a small customer-service smile. “Give us a minute, alright? We’ll get to ya soon.” The moment he’s turned around, Yunjin shakes your arm excitedly.

“What? What?”

“Don’t ‘what?’ me! Tell me you didn’t see the way he was looking at you.”

“Yunjin…” You sigh. “You know Hyunjae and I aren’t broken up—”

“Yet.” She interrupts with that single word and you shoot her a half playful, half serious glare.

“Okay, but, I have no business looking at other people just ’cause I’ve been stood up thrice.” The words leave a bitter taste in your mouth, recognising that it really didn’t sound good out loud.

“Yeah, but don’t you think those are enough times to call things off?” She faces you completely now with both hands on your arms, trying to look you in the eye while you shrink, flustered and a bit embarrassed at how easily you seem to crawl back to Hyunjae.

Because you felt that if you let this go, you’d never feel this way ever again, having someone else walking out your life again like clockwork.

Your fingers tense subconsciously; clenching, unclenching. You settle for taut hands to your friend’s, removing them with the little fight left in you. “Yunjin, can— can we please drop this for now? I came out to forget my boyfriend for a bit, and then I’ll go back home and everything will be f—”

But the universe has other plans for you, conversation cut short from the handsome bartender asking about your orders now.

“Sorry to interrupt, ladies. What will you two be having?” In the midst of wiping his hands on the towel, he leans over the counter just as Yunjin gives her order, but you swear over the booming music, the bass reverberating, the screamed lyrics, you hear familiarity.

It’s funny how habitual you can become with someone; hearing that same laugh in your skin on slow mornings and during reruns of B99 that you can’t help but search the dancefloor frantically.

You weren’t even sure why you did it, but you think you were chasing that familiarity and safety of having someone even though they were shit at showing up.

But along the desperate scans you do with your eyes, you register that you were simply accustomed to having Hyunjae in your life, accustomed to coming back again to an empty house. Yet, you can’t even remember the last time you said I love you to him.

And always trust your gut, because that sinking feeling from earlier comes back tenfold when your eyes lock onto two people on the floor with bodies leaving no space.

Hyunjae has no qualms about getting caught, his hands roaming all over her body and practically grinding from behind that you feel your knees buckle a little.

“Yunjin…” The lights were too blinding, the music now too loud, but you don’t have to say anything to know she’s already helping you onto a bar stool. When she turns to where you were looking, her jaw tightens and wordlessly places a hand on your lower back.

You go through emotions, fast — denial, and then anger and then a hint of sadness. But what you’re mainly feeling is a thirst for revenge knowing he thinks you’re a coward, a girl desperate for love.

Maybe you are, and there’s nothing wrong with mourning what you had. Though, being cancelled on three times within two months and spewing lies about overtime, ignites your resolve easily.

All the while, the bartender watches the interaction carefully, skilled hands still able to fulfill people’s orders, but he’s got you and your boyfriend all figured out. Not that he meant to eavesdrop, though, exchanging a glance with your friend until you raise your head with unshed tears.

“Thought I lost you there for a moment. That your boyfriend?” He nodded in the general direction and had probably used that line countless times, but you give credit where credit’s due; he was attractive and didn’t choose to comment on your glossy eyes.

With semi-long hair, pretty moles and plump lips, you want to enjoy this seat a bit longer, proposing a silly idea as you nod.

“Ex-, now. Do you have any chance to get them both kicked out?” You smile, small and unsure, but he replies with an even sweeter smile laced with sympathy that makes your heart skip just a little.

“No can do. If he’s not causing trouble, our bouncers have no reason to throw him out. Sorry, ladies.” For a moment, he’s back to being professional and tries not to steal glances at you as you blink away tears and attempt to appear unaffected.

He serves the drinks he’s already made, helps the counter boy again with orders until he hears your friend beg again when he comes ’round to your side.

“Oh please, Mr Bartender!” He raises an eyebrow, eyes trained on the both of you while capping his shaker before shaking. You purse your lips teasingly despite your blurred vision and the heat on your cheeks, “She can be pretty persuasive.” God, you didn’t even know what you were feeling at the moment.

He shrugs. “Well, tell you what — I get off my shift in about fifteen, and you’re looking for some retribution. Why don’t we do a little dance of our own?”

With a sigh, you ponder over your cards — Hyunjae might be pleasantly surprised and you’d end up with a hot bartender in your arms to boot. But if this is only going to leave a hole in your heart after everything, what really was the point?

“It’s your call, doll. If you’re still holding this,” He holds up a slim piece of metal that matches the club’s colours with its letters engraved in stark white, “by the time I come back, I’m taking you onto the floor for a dance. Deal?”

It’s dropped into your palm before you flip it over, running a thumb over the debossed name.

“Mingi.”

“You got it.” Mingi gives you a dazzling grin and a wink while you stifle a smile.

You spend the next ten minutes debating your options that you can’t count the amount of times Yunjin had to get your attention back on her. Revenge sounded delicious before.

Now? Now you’re waddling deep in doubt, worried about the aftertaste; all you wanted was to go home and sleep this whole thing off. Even the name tag was weighing heavy in your hand.

But the late nights cooking dinner, sitting alone at restaurants and the sheer indifference Hyunjae’s currently dancing with, did you in.

If you were chickening out only so someone this terrible stays, then you might regret this single night with someone else who already has shown you more respect than Hyunjae ever did.

The music is a bit clearer to you, now, and less suffocating as you call out to the bartender with five minutes left until his shift ends. You play with the pin at the back, unfastening and popping it back into place repeatedly.

“I’ll take a Lemon Drop.” A knowing smile, a swipe of your card, sugar sweet on your lips. It hits great, and with a bit of liquid courage in you, you wait.

Mingi is quick to show up by your side a few minutes later, but he manages to take your breath away all over again with a more casual look.

Jewellery, messy hair and unbuttoned shirt down to his pecs that gives you a glimpse of a pretty little pendant resting nicely on his chest and rings adorning his fingers.

“Care for a dance?” His deep voice up close already has your stomach turning, opening your hand to show how you still had his name tag and he grins. “Keep it for now.”

You barely hear the whisper into your ear, but without any second thought you place your hand in his, the metal of his rings sending shivers right up your arm and down your spine. A faint cheer from Yunjin encourages you on, already feeling the addicting beats of the music playing.

Mingi is considerate above all else, looking back to see if you were still there, clearing a path for the both of you until you’re a few bodies away from Hyunjae. But standing out here now brings another wave of panic and embarrassment.

You were really about to do this, but—

What if he doesn’t like the way you danced? What if he’s a clean freak and would rather not have his hands over your already sweaty sides? What if Hyunjae creates a scene?

The thoughts are never-ending, swirling in your mind until you can feel Mingi’s hand enclose around your other hand, halting you from adjusting your outfit, from scratching at your skin.

It’s hot, too crowded for a dance floor and he knows that you’re nervous again with the increased proximity to your boyfriend.

Without words, Mingi brings your hands to rest on his shoulders. “Is this okay?”

You nod. Bodies beside you cause you to inch closer to him and his hair is so soft. Your tongue tingles from the lemon’s sourness and you want nothing more than to balance it out with his mouth that smells of rum.

“Hey, I realise I haven’t gotten your name just yet.” The smile he has isn’t teasing, cocky, and you manage a small one back. He leans down to get your answer.

“It’s (Y/N).”

“Pretty. Follow my lead.”

And slowly but surely, you get out of your shell as you both lose all formality with the ear-splitting songs. The cocktail makes your hands wander, trailing over his nape, over his broad shoulders. He still hovers.

You don’t know whether it’s Mingi, the dim lighting or the song but you don’t hesitate to force his hands to your sides and he takes it as a sign.

He’s pulling you close until you’re pressed to his front, head immediately going for your exposed neck, and the laugh that escapes feels so different from Hyunjae, so free that you giggle with him.

It turns from wanting to Hyunjae to see you could do so much better to genuinely enjoying your time with the bartender that you don’t register the shock forming on Hyunjae’s face when he spots you just a few people over. Mingi doesn’t miss it, squeezing your waist softly to bring it to your attention.

“B-babe? What’re you doing here?” He acts like he doesn’t even know the girl dancing with him, yanking her off of him as he tries to preserve his dignity. But you knew better — you’ve seen her face at company dinners, on his Instagram story.

“Why are you here?” He sputters out an answer, not expecting you to fight back. Hyunjae’s smaller than ever now.

The bartender resists the urge to scoff at his lack of explanation, about to tell him to piss off when you push at Hyunjae with a finger. “I’ll tell you why I’m here. Witnessing you and the girl you told me not to worry about. Talking crap about overtime just to fuck her in your workplace.”

“W-What? That’s bullshit, where’d you even get that from?!”

Thank God for Mingi’s Lemon Drop, because you shove Hyunjae harder than before, angering the people behind him who push him back towards you.

“Guess you’ll never find out how. Get your shit out of my apartment and leave before tomorrow morning or else I’ll be telling your boss about inappropriate workplace conduct.”

Hyunjae rolls his eyes and waves you off, “You wouldn’t dare.”

“I hope the job market’s ready for someone who promised overtime hours only to soil the printing room. Keep checking your emails babe.” You purposefully drag out the pet name he likes to use on you, which now sounds cheap and tacky. Mingi can’t help a cackle from escaping, tugging you closer as if you’re his.

And you might just be by the end of this night.

Hyunjae doesn’t bother to one-up the bartender one bit, only throwing Mingi a scowl before elbowing himself through the crowd. Unknowingly, your body relaxes, melting into the other’s arms easily and wanting nothing more than to turn off your brain for the night. It makes Mingi smile.

You’re bolder when the night deepens. It starts with running your hands down his chest and grasping softly at his waist. There’s whispered lyrics into your skin, letting him trail kisses down your jawline to your sternum and you feel like you’re on top of the world.

His body’s flush against yours, tensing and breathing hard. The heat’s suffocating and the kisses sweet, hovering over just where you both need each other desperately.

“Heard you’re a dancer,” Mingi mumbles, sneaky hands going past your hips to your ass and kneads. You laugh.

“You heard whatever Yunjin said? It was one time,” You reminisce about the time you went out for her birthday before getting shit-faced drunk and talking to her only in counts, “and she was struggling to understand what I was saying.”

It takes a beat for you to take the leap. “Want me to show you?”

A pretty laugh leaves his lips, “Your dancing or your innate ability to only talk in eights?”

Fuck, he’s handsome and funny.

“Har-har, very funny.” The moment’s playful but charged with underlying tension that only increases once the song changes. With a hand, you lift his head from your neck, taking advantage of his surprise to turn around.

Pushing up against him, you make sure he’s feeling every part of your ass on him, swaying your hips until you get a small groan from him. Tempted, Mingi places his hands along your waist, helping you grind down on him while arousal pools in your panties.

He’s enamoured with how well you fit against him, even more so when you lace your fingers with his, tugging one up to rest on your chest.

He takes the bait with how you turn your head, boasting your pretty lips with eyes closed. But you’re not letting him get what he wants that easily, finger pressed against his lips.

“Did the Lemon Drop do this, hm?” He’s back on your neck like it’s his home, slurring his words in that deep, deep voice of his that you want nothing more than to hear that for the rest of your life (and hopefully in your bed tonight).

“Maybe.” You can’t help but chuckle triumphantly, but it’s cut short when he suddenly yanks you back to his front; shit, you can feel his hard-on — he’s big.

You subconsciously gulp and pull him closer (not without a mildly surprised “oh”), overwhelmed with the feeling of his chest against yours, of his hips moving in tandem with yours, of his breath on your lips.

“I’m full of surprises, too.”

“That was so corny.” Biting your lip, you try to stifle a smile but it bleeds out past your lips, “You’re lucky I still want to fuck you.”

“Aw, only fuck?” He feigns sadness as he bats his eyelashes at you. That question probably would’ve made you think twice, but with Mingi’s little pout, the vodka in your system and Rihanna in the background, you throw all complicated feelings out the window.

“Shut up, Mingi.”

That elicits a low chuckle. “Gladly.”

He collides with you immediately, lips moulding into yours like two parts of a whole that you stumble a bit from the force. But you waste no time in reciprocating with neediness of your own, tugging him down to you with hands tangled in his black hair.

You could care less about your ex, about Yunjin excitedly texting you from the bar, nor the people around you.

Not when Mingi’s slipping his tongue into your mouth and your pussy’s just desperate for relief that you moan softly into his mouth.

“God, you sound pretty,” He pulls away for air, but he’s already hooked onto your taste, leaving pecks on your lips again and again. His hands rest comfortably on your sides, caressing, squeezing. “Need to hear that in my sheets.”

You mutter a soft fuck before licking your lips, “Your place?”

Mingi hums into your lips, “You have my name tag, baby. It’s up to you,” and grins when he sees you jolt. The pet name affects you. He knows.

Fuck it. You need this man now.

With a quick text to Yunjin, everything that happens on the way to Mingi’s doesn’t exist. The ride was both a torment and a blur when his hand trails so closely to where you need him and his hips adjust uncomfortably in the driver’s seat. You’re so horny that you’re sure you’ve sobered up already.

You lunge forward once the front door’s closed, eagerness undermining both your abilities to remove your shoes, too preoccupied with devouring the other.

Mingi tastes like sage and citrus, a flavour you’ll keep locked away forever; he breaks the kiss reluctantly, and that taste travels down your body, taking his time.

Mingi’s anything but composed, though, larger hands wrapped around your middle while he takes in your scent and sweat, nose pressed against your heaving stomach.

Just a mere bartender, a one-night stand acting like a lover when he fully goes onto his knees and zips open your boots. Torturously, agonisingly slow, and removes them even slower.

By the time the second shoe’s off, your hand has already messed up his hair. You push him to you, he pulls back.

“It’s my time to tease, doll. Patience.” You whine softly in disagreement, letting him plant soft kisses along your ankle, up to your shin and knees and finally your inner thighs that threaten to tighten in his hold.

“Mingi…” You don’t mean to sound so desperate off the bat, but your cunt’s pulsing and the AC’s sending goosebumps all over your skin and possibly the hottest man alive is on his knees in front of you.

“Fuck, baby, I can smell you from here.” Like a gentleman, he helps you to shimmy out of your miniskirt and underwear before tossing it somewhere and you’re suddenly self conscious about being all exposed.

But Mingi simply doesn’t care about decorum as he lifts your leg, prompting you to place it on his shoulder. He marvels at your arousal illuminated by the doorway lighting, stifling a moan.

“Look at you.” Sighing, he plays with your folds, trailing a finger up and down and smirking when he feels you shiver under his touch. “So perfect. All this for me?”

“Y-Yeah, just for you,” Your words are muffled from your hand, trying to hold back your sounds but Mingi isn’t having any of that. He thinks your ex-boyfriend may have something to do with it.

“Let me hear you, alright, honey?” Mingi takes your hand and interlocks it together with his, a promise that you’ll be the star tonight. “We’re safe here, there’s no need to hold back.”

You nod just as he blows into your cunt, making you clench around nothing and he smiles. “For now, let me eat my meal.”

And Mingi eats, convincing yourself that you’ve definitely driven a hole through his shoebox cabinet with how hard you were leaning against it. Your hips buck against his face, tongue flicking over your clit as you relish in the pleasure.

“Oh my G-God, Mingi…” You can barely hold eye contact with him as he latches onto your pussy like a vice, addicted to your taste, your sounds and how you drip endlessly all over his tongue.

“That’s it, doll, tell me how good you feel.” Mingi continues to inch closer on his knees, trapping himself under your thighs as his tongue works wonders.

With an experimental finger, he circles your pulsing hole and pushes in ever so slightly, making you almost keel over from the overwhelming feeling.

“Fuck, Mingi, that feels so—!” Your moans fill his house together with the lewd sounds of your pussy, feeling the vibrations of his hums on your sensitive clit. His thumb plays with it as he comes up for air, adding a second finger easily before starting to pump them with determination.

“That feel good?” He’s brutal in his thrusting, but it’s not even a minute when he returns with his merciless tongue again, swearing that you were seeing stars from this alone.

If Mingi was this pussy drunk, who knows how you’d feel when he’s in you? You tremble at the thought, fingers pulling at his hair until it stings.

But Mingi loves it, loves seeing your eyes flutter close and your toes curl in sheer pleasure as the prettiest mewls fall from your lips. You’re full on grinding into his face now, holding onto his hand like a lifeline, while there’s the audible slick sounds of your juices.

It’s hotter than it was on the dance floor, and fully knowing you’d be buckling to the ground if it wasn’t for Mingi’s secure hold on you. Because you can feel yourself getting weaker and weaker the more the coil in your stomach turns, clamping down hard on his fingers.

“I-I’m close, baby—” Your words slip, every part of your body tingles and he pants out a plea.

“Call me that again for me, doll.” He’s ravishing you, ruining you for any other person and you wouldn’t have it any other way. His rings feel so cold on your cunt, while his mouth’s hot and he’s dizzy off of you.

“Gonna cum, baby,” If your friend couldn’t understand you while drunk, Mingi’s chest puffs with pride making you babble nonsensical things while you’re both tipsy with his name being the only coherent thing, “Mingi, Mingi, Mingiiii.”

The name becomes a chant together with needy whines that’s drowned out by your soaking pussy. Mingi lets the force of his palm stimulate your clit instead, and the visual of seeing him on his knees with this tongue out—

“F-fuck…” Your orgasm hits you in sudden waves, sending you jerking against his hold even when his fingers don’t slow down, “Feels s’good, Mingi—”

“There we go, baby, keep cumming… Taste just like honey.” Mingi groans and drives his tongue along your folds for a taste, but now he takes and takes, savouring whatever you have to give. Sweeter than his Lemon Drop, you taste so heavenly that he wants seconds.

But you have other plans, trying your best to regain your balance and simultaneously drag him up by the biceps. Mingi traps you in between the cabinet, and you trap him with a passionate kiss. Moaning into his mouth at your taste while he soothes your aching thighs with his gentle touch.

“Bed. Now.” Your cheeks warm as he laughs against your lips at your request.

“You got it, doll.” With a hand outstretched, you grab hold and let him lead you just like the club. Along the way, you slip on your underwear just so you won’t be butt ass naked and he throws you a small smile. Except this time, you’re not performing for anyone, not for Hyunjae, not for yourself, and hopefully not for Mingi.

Though, if riding Mingi’s tongue had you thrashing left and right, you think you’d be safe, knowing he’ll take care of you.

His room feels strangely familiar — posters and records plastered up everywhere with a portable closet and pretty lights. There’s a few guitars in cases with one displayed proudly while his desk is littered with cute trinkets and a gaming set-up. It’s a lived-in bedroom, worn down from years of tape on walls and accidents from silly dance moves.

“Hard to believe I’m an adult with this room, huh?”

You smile at him, finding it endearing he’s still kept his hobbies and favourite things close to him. “No no, it’s charming. I like it.”

You continued, “I don’t think having a ‘serious’ job like bartending immediately eliminates your other hobbies.”

Mingi shoots you that boyish grin again, “You think my job’s ‘serious’?” and mimics your air quotes.

“Well, you are handling alcohol — it seems pretty serious, don’t you think?” There’s no choice but to giggle when Mingi’s expression turns from all-knowing to pondering. “And— And there’s always the usual brooding persons that come in to vent their problems to you.”

Mingi bursts out laughing at that with an attractive rasp to it, plopping on his Queen size. “You’re not wrong about that. I guess I’m sort of like a therapist too.”

Like a magnet, you feel the pull into his arms just as he whispers a c’mere, finally able to see his face properly when you stand in between his legs.

The glistening juices on the bottom half of his face make you flush just a bit, but up close, Mingi feels so familiar. Not the way Hyunjae was — that was habit disguised as familiarity.

But despite your unconfirmed fate and the possibility of never seeing Mingi again, he enchants like no other. Fuck, you were talking crazy.

The other seems to see your dilemma, reaching for your hands. “We don’t have to do anything, you know?”

His touch is so tender, it makes your heart ache, “I know we only danced to scare off your boyfriend but I genuinely did want to know you. And… I know you feel it too, but I don’t wanna pressure you after seeing such a shitty thing in the club.”

“You’re… not wrong, Mingi. It has been only a few hours and you’ve already made me feel more worth than he ever did but, I’ll need time to process my feelings too.”

Slowly, you remove your hands from his but only to straddle him in the next second, whining softly when he tugs you closer if that was even possible.

“But tonight, I want you to fuck all the feelings out of me. I don’t wanna think, I don’t wanna—” You heave a heavy sigh, swallowing when you think back to Hyunjae and his colleague.

Mingi applies light pressure to your side to ground you. “(Y/N), hey, it’s no problem. Your wish is my command, tonight.”

“And after—”

“We’ll talk about the after later, don’t worry your pretty little head ’bout it.” You don’t even realise he’s flipped you over but he takes his time to remove his pants and boxers, ego stroked just a little when he sees your wide eyes at his size.

“You’re…”

“I know, baby. We’ll take it slow, alright?” Mingi is steady even as he reaches over for a condom, but you stop him.

“Wanna feel all of you.” He swears his heart bursts at your cute pout. “I’m clean and on the pill, that okay?”

“More than okay. I’m clean too. You sure you’re okay?” He asks as he tugs your panties to the side, interrupted briefly from your impatient hum.

“Yes, Mingi. Please just fuck me already.” Your voice is less bratty, more pleading, but it strikes a chord within him. He obeys immediately.

“Okay, okay!” His deep laugh elicits one out of you, too. At least you don’t stop him from taking the lube — he spurts a good amount and strokes himself with a soft grunt, mixing in with his pre-cum. Relief. “It’s gonna hurt. Need you to breathe and relax, okay?”

Mingi’s already much thicker than your ex, and you hiss slightly at the stretch once he inches his cock in. But it’s nothing you can take, eyes trained on how he’s pushing through slowly.

“F-Fuck, baby, you gotta stop clenching. So tight—” You whimper at the sight, but Mingi uses his body to push you down, distracting you with deep kisses that subconsciously relaxes your body. His intoxicating smell and presence does the rest of the job.

“Taking me so well, good girl.” He mumbles into your skin as you become obsessed with the way his body engulfs yours, towering but certain.

His pendant’s movements are messy, colliding with your chin over and over but Mingi is just so deep it doesn’t register in your head. “Just a little more, honey, you got it.”

In the next minute, Mingi’s loud groan fills your ears, bottoming out in your walls that feel so warm that he never wants to pull out.

His furrowed eyebrows with sweat lined along it paired with his beautiful parted lips is enough to make your cunt pulse and heart full — making a pretty man like him lose his mind over you, desperation and profanity spilling over.

“M-Move, baby, please—” With a slow thrust of his hips, he has to drop his head to yours because you just feel too fucking good wrapped around his aching length. Both your shaky breaths mingle as he sets a comfortable pace that allows you both to feel every part of the other.

And his languid movements have never felt slower and more intense, the obscene noises of your soaking pussy stuffed full reverberating off the walls. It surrounds you like a cloud, making the feeling, the sensations rise to an all time high.

It’s worse when Mingi folds your legs to your chest, the image of his shaft disappearing into your pretty little pussy searing itself into his brain.

Mingi keeps his promise to you, taking your one-worded pleas and turning them into repeated “ah’s” with no room for any word or any doubt left in your mind. By now, he’s pistoning in and out of you, your release from earlier merging with the lube until both you and Mingi are filthy and soaking, juices flowing down your thighs and right into his sheets.

“You’re so wet, holy f-fuck—” His eyes are the ones struggling to stay open now, drunk off of everything you that he can’t even move his hips properly, stuttering every now and then.

There’s the delicious squelches every time his skin meets yours, the dizzying pap! pap! pap! that hypnotises you. “Listen to how wet your sweet pussy is, baby.”

You’re past words, only babbling incoherence as Mingi grunts above you, continuing to fill you up with his cock. His thrusts start to turn erratic, so lost in the feeling that the grip on your legs loses its hold. You take the chance to wrap them around his waist, barely catching his pendant and yanking him towards you.

“Kiss me stupid, Mingi.” The long, drawn out moan against your lips sends heat bubbling up from inside you. And the kiss he lands on you leaves fire along your skin, burning indefinitely until a particular thrust has your eyes rolling back.

“Cumming— f-fuck—!” It comes out in broken sobs as you see white, cumming so hard on his pulsating length that your juices spray everywhere and your legs shake uncontrollably. The slight sheen along his cock starts to form a ring of white and he whines at your warmth.

Everything — the craving for you, your tight cunt, how you leak all over him — makes him cum right after. “I-I’m gonna pump you full, baby— shit…”

Your eyes can’t help but roll back again at the sensation of Mingi painting your insides white, cum spurting so deep in you that you can feel it flow out. It’s so warm that you squirm as he holds your hips down, making sure your hole gets every last drop.

Without pulling out, he admires your sweaty top that’s been pushed past your tits, your heaving chest and the remnants of your trembling thighs with a lip bite accompanied by a smile.

Silently, he caresses your outer thighs, slowly bringing your feet down to rest on his soaked sheets. You whimper when you feel him pull out, the salacious sight of cum leaking out from your pussy comes out in blobs; it takes everything in Mingi to compose himself.

Because you were utterly fucked out, eyes constantly blinking with a light-headed expression that tells him he might’ve fucked you dumb. Your little sounds are just adorable that he rubs his cum just one last time over your folds, claiming you.

“Okay okay, baby, I got you.” With a peck to your forehead, Mingi promises to come back with a wet rag and some water and the last thing you remember is sage and citrus wafting through the air as he plants a sweet kiss to your lips. “And then tomorrow, we’ll figure everything out, okay honey?”

You drift off easily, but you’ll find that for now and possibly forever, Mingi always keeps his promises.

A dream — you think, when you wake up, but you recognise that the bedroom is not yours and the ache in your body persists. But to your dismay, Mingi is nowhere to be found. Not until you hear faint humming coming from the kitchen and smell the lovely aroma of pancakes.

“Morning, baby.” Mingi says like you’ve always been in his life, like you’ve lived here for many years, like you’re familiar to him.

“Y-Yeah, good morning, Mingi.” Awkwardly, you take a seat at his island, but as you watch his broad back cooking breakfast for his one-night stand, you relax for a bit.

Mingi piles a few pancakes for you effortlessly, sliding the plate to you, followed by the butter and then holds up maple syrup in his left hand and honey in the other. The question is unsaid, but you nod towards his right with a small smile that’s returned.

“Eat.” With a plate in his hand as well, he plops down beside you as if one-night stands don’t complicate feelings and makes things messy.

But Mingi, the bartender, with a pure heart and even lovelier soul (you have yet to discover this), eats a meal beside you like you’re tied together by fate (maybe).

(You are).

Now, his deep voice sounds small, but sure. “And then we’ll talk feelings after. And we can talk about the ‘after’ after.”

A deep breath for good measure and luck. “And also maybe about the date I’d wanna bring you on.”

by. janus, from me to you ♡ also major thank you to this video which made me lose my mind n inspired this...

#ateez fanfic #ateez mingi #ateez x reader #ateez x you #ateez scenarios #ateez mingi smut #mingi smut #song mingi x reader #song mingi smut #song mingi x you #mingi x reader #mingi hard hours #ateez drabbles #ateez mingi x reader #ateez smut #song mingi fanfic #mingi ateez #mingi x you #song mingi ateez

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velvetvisionsaurora · 2 months ago

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Alpha ATEEZ x Assistant Omega Reader

Warnings: omega reader, alpha ateez, scenting, heats, ruts, slow burn, eventual smut, forced command, more to come!

When Y/n accepts a position as assistant to alpha K-pop group ATEEZ, she's prepared with professional skills and scent blockers to hide her omega status. What she's not prepared for is the immediate, inexplicable connection she feels with all eight members—a resonance that defies her careful boundaries.

As Y/n becomes eerily attuned to their needs, her suppressed omega nature begins to emerge: purring for the first time in years, responding to alpha growls, feeling safe in ways she never has before. When a protective incident reveals the depth of the members' attachment to her, Y/n must confront the possibility that what binds them together is something ancient and profound.

Chapter 1: New Beginnings

Chapter 2: The Decision

Chapter 3: First Day

Chapter 4: Finding Your Place

Chapter 5: Unspoken Connections

Chapter 6: Unexpected Reactions

Chapter 7: Ripple Effect

Chapter 8: Rising Heat

Chapter 9: Breaking Point

Chapter 10: Unveiled

Chapter 11: Walls Fall Down

Chapter 12: Awakening

Chapter 13: Omega Eyes

Chapter 14: Recognition

Chapter 15: Overwhelming Need

Chapter 16: Instinct

Chapter 17: Breaking Point

Bonus: Alpha’s Downfall

Chapter 18: The Wooyoung Effect

Chapter 19: New Boundaries

Chapter 20: Hidden Pages

Chapter 21: Pack Cardio

Comment on this post to be added to the taglist!

Taglist is closed again 😞

💜 Thank you all for the love on this! Please reblog and recommend this fic if you love it! I update every day or every other day!💜

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heartseekerjhin · 2 months ago

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anyone wanna see mingi pin down san to a bed while he whimpers and whines

#HOW is this clip so underground i’ve been here a year and a half AND im a deviant and i haven’t seen it #ateez #mingi #song mingi #choi san

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anylady-fics · 30 days ago

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First | Mingi x F Reader

Cross posted on ao3

Summary: You just wanted to lose your virginity — no drama, no strings attached. What you didn’t expect was for your friend Mingi to make it that good. One wild night, a lot of firsts, and maybe… just maybe, a reason to do it all over again.

WC: 10.5k

⚠️ warnings: smut, first times, virgin!reader, oral sex (f/m), vaginal sex, dry humping, dirty talk, praise kink, voice kink (kinda), big dick Mingi (canon, right?)

An: sorry about the wc, I just really like Mingi 🫠

Ⴡ Masterlist

You got dumped again. Yeah, seriously. At this point, it was getting old. But no matter how frustrating it was, you knew exactly what the problem was, and it wasn’t something you could just fix overnight.

You were… inexperienced.

Going to college after a lifetime of being smothered by overprotective parents meant they had successfully sent you off as a virgin. And for a while, that was fine. It wasn’t a big deal—until people started acting like you were some kind of loser just because you hadn’t fucked anyone yet.

And the guys? Every single one you tried dating was the same. Either they wanted to get into your pants before the first drink was even finished, or they pretended to be patient—like they weren’t just waiting for the moment you’d cave. You might be inexperienced, but you weren’t stupid. And as much as you wanted to get it over with, you couldn’t do it with just anyone.

But after getting dumped for the third time in two months, you decided to do something about it. Something had to change. You wished you’d just handled it back in high school like everyone else, but that ship had sailed.

Your friends told you to just ask one of your guy friends to help you out. Which sounded easy enough… until you actually pictured doing it, and embarrassment nearly killed you on the spot.

Still, if you wanted to lose your virginity, your options were limited. The random guys you’d been trying to date were too impatient, too pushy, and way too stupid.

Which meant your only real option was actually asking a friend. But which one?

You had a few options, but you needed someone who wouldn’t laugh in your face or make things weird. Someone who’d get that this was just a favor, not a relationship.

Okay. That made things a little easier.

Maybe Mingi? You’d been friends for years, you went to the same college now, and he was definitely experienced enough to help. Plus, he already knew you were a virgin, so at least you wouldn’t have to explain that part.

But how were you supposed to ask him?

Like… “Hey, I need someone to fuck me so I can finally lose my virginity and date like a normal person”?

Yeah. That didn’t sound awkward at all. Well, you would have to try. Maybe it would be less awkward if you could text him…

You: Hey! You good? Look… I kinda need to talk to you about something.

Mingi: Hey, pretty. Long time since we talked, wanna hang out at that coffee place you like?

You: Sure, we can meet there after class. Byeee, see ya.

Well, if you couldn’t even type the question, saying it out loud was going to be a nightmare. But you had to try. No backing out now.

After class, you went straight to the coffee shop and ordered your usual before Mingi arrived. The second you saw him walk through the door, your stomach dropped, a cold, nervous, oh-god-what-am-I-doing panic settling in. You took a deep breath, trying to calm yourself down.

“Hey! Still buried in your books, nerd?”

“Yeah, and it’s been causing me some problems.” Mainly the one you were about to dump on him. “What about you? Still hitting up every party?”

“Not as much. Kinda got tired of it.”

That… was a surprise.

“Oh. Right.”

He ordered his drink, then leaned on the table, watching you. “So… what did you wanna talk about?”

Okay. You can do it.

“Uh… so… I don’t even know how to say this, Mingi.” You took a slow sip of your way too large Americano, trying to find the right words. “I mean, it might be a lot to ask, but I’m kinda out of options.”

He tilted his head, waiting.

“I got dumped again yesterday. And look, I know these guys are assholes and not worth my time, but it keeps happening because I’m a virgin. And I feel like… it’s really getting in my way, you know?”

“Uh… I don’t.”

“Of course you don’t.” You groaned, shifting in your seat. “Okay, what I’m asking… it’s just a favor, that’s all. I really want to lose my virginity, and I really don’t want it to be with those idiots I’ve been dating.”

Mingi blinked. Then blinked again.

“You’re asking me… to take your virginity?” His eyebrows shot up, his expression somewhere between shock and did I hear that right? “…Is that what’s happening here?”

“Yeah… I mean…” You trailed off, shifting uncomfortably.

Mingi still looked shocked, but you could tell—this whole situation was doing wonders for his already massive ego.

“I gotta ask… why me?” He leaned back slightly, arms crossed, clearly enjoying this a little too much. “You have a few friends.”

You sighed.

“You already know I’m a virgin. And you also know I’m not an idiot.” You glanced down at your drink, feeling your face heat up. “We’ve been friends for years, and I don’t know… I trust you.”

Mingi didn’t say anything right away, and the silence made your stomach twist.

“But if this is too much,” you added quickly, forcing a laugh, “just forget I ever said anything. And then I’ll dig a hole in the ground and hide from you for the rest of my life.”

“Relax, I was just curious,” Mingi said, holding back a grin. “Of course, I can help you with that. I think any guy in the world would.”

You rolled your eyes. His ego was thriving.

“But,” he continued, tilting his head again, making that cute puppy face at you “I gotta ask… how far have you actually gone?”

You exhaled sharply. Alright. You can do this. You weren’t exactly the type to chat about your sex life — or lack thereof — but considering you’d just asked Mingi to take your virginity, honesty was kinda mandatory at this point.

“Huh… I…”

“Oral? Fingering?” He had zero shame. Which, good for him. Terrible for you.

You cleared your throat.

“No. And… yes.”

“And did you ever… you know, finish from it?”

“Nope. Only by myself.”

That bit of information seemed to stir something in him. His expression flickered between offended and genuinely shocked.

“Damn. So the guys were really that bad, huh?” He shook his head, exhaling like this was personally upsetting. “Yeah, okay. We’re definitely not jumping straight to it, that’d be traumatizing.”

Your eyes narrowed. “What exactly are you suggesting…?”

“That we take it step by step.” He leaned in slightly, voice a little lower, a little slower. “I can’t just… do it. I mean, it’s already a painful experience for most girls, and it’d be a hell of a lot easier for you if we… prepped first.”

You were already blushing because of his lower voice. It got worse.

“Oh…OH…”

“Yeah. Well, that’s my one condition if I’m gonna help you.”

“Okay… I guess.” You swallowed, fingers tightening around your cup. “So, uh… when do we start?”

Mingi shrugged, finishing his coffee.

“You can come over tonight if you want. My roommate’s out.”

He set his cup down and looked at you expectantly. You, on the other hand, were frozen.

That soon?

You did want to get this over with. But you’d kinda imagined having some time to mentally prepare. Then again… maybe not thinking too much about it was the better option. If you gave yourself too much time, you might just chicken out entirely.

“Okay. So…”

“We can go now,” Mingi said, already standing up. “It’s getting dark anyway.” He waited for you to do the same, then tilted his head before asking you. “You’re really sure about this?”

“Yeah, I’m sure. I can ask you to stop anytime, right?”

“Of course.”

You nodded, but your mind was already spinning. You couldn’t stop thinking about what you were about to do — and who you were about to do it with. But the truth was, you had no idea what was actually going to happen. Mingi had been clear, this wasn’t going to be just jumping into it.

So… were you two just going to make out and see where it led?

Jesus. Just thinking about that made your stomach flip.

You hadn’t really considered how weird this could get, but for some reason, you still felt safe about it. Mingi was a lot of things, kind of a fuckboy, sure, but he wasn’t a liar. If something felt off, he’d tell you. You just knew that.

As soon as you got to his place, Mingi gestured for you to sit on the couch before heading to the kitchen. A moment later, he came back with two cans of beer, handing you one. The silence was already killing you.

“Drink,” he said, popping open his can. “Might help you relax. You’re really tense.”

“Yeah, I am… thanks.” You exhaled, cracking yours open. “I was just about to ask for one.”

Mingi smirked before sinking into the couch beside you. “So… tell me more about these guys you dated. They’re really dumping you just because you’re a virgin?”

“Yeah… I mean, they always try to get in my pants, and when I don’t let them, they just… lose interest.” You shrugged, taking a sip. “I don’t even always tell them I’m a virgin. I don’t need that getting around and people making fun of me, you know? So I just let them assume I’m, like, frigid or something.”

“They’re just assholes.” He paused, tilting his head. “But, like… your virginity… it’s not something important to you?”

“Not exactly…” You sighed, swirling the beer in your can. “I just wish I’d gotten over it when I was younger, like all my friends did. But you know my parents.”

Mingi nodded. He definitely knew.

“I just couldn’t do it with some random guy,” you continued. “That would’ve been awful.”

“Yeah,” he murmured, watching you. “I get that.”

“And I know you’re very experienced, so…”

Mingi chuckled, finishing off his beer and setting the empty can on the coffee table.

“I wouldn’t say very… Just… enough.”

Oh. His voice. The way he looked at you.

There it was.

That shift in the air, the kind of tension you could feel settling between you. You took a slow, deep breath, then placed your empty can next to his.

“If you say so…”

“So… whenever you’re ready, pretty.”

Your stomach flipped again.

“Can we… kiss?”

Mingi’s lips curved into a small, knowing smile. “Yeah. That’d be a great start. I told you… I wanna take things slow.”

You were already sitting close, so all it took was him leaning in, a slight tilt of his head, a shift in the air between you. You mirrored him, your breath catching just before your lips met.

Soft. Damn, his lips were soft… and so plump.

So far, nothing too unfamiliar. You let yourself ease into it, testing the feel of him. But then his tongue brushed over your lips before slipping into your mouth, meeting yours in a slow, teasing slide. And that… that sent a rush of heat straight through you.

In just seconds, that shy kiss turned into something messy, wet, hot, needy. Damn it. You could feel the effect between your legs, heat pooling inside your panties. And just when you thought it couldn’t get worse, Mingi chuckled, that deep, lazy sound vibrating against your skin as he trailed kisses down your chin, your neck.

“How you feeling?” he murmured against your throat, his voice low, teasing.

“G-good…”

His lips curved against your skin. “Hm… you’re pressing your thighs together.” Another kiss, right under your jaw. “Already horny?”

God. You swallowed hard. Why were you suddenly so shy?

“Uh… yes.”

Mingi hummed like he expected that answer.

“Ever dry-humped someone before?”

“No… never.”

Another smirk, he was such a tease… and then, two slow taps against his thigh.

“Come here. Sit on my lap.”

You hesitated for half a second before obeying, standing up just to settle yourself over him. His thighs… fuck. Thick. Comfortable. Solid under you. And even through his jeans, you could feel him. He was hard, very.

“Good girl.” Those words hit you in a very specific way…

Your hands rested on his broad shoulders as you kissed him again. Embarrassment still lingered somewhere in the back of your mind, but it was quickly drowned out by the heat pooling deep in your core. You let your body take over, responding to him — the kissing, the touching… the way his big hands gripped your waist, strong and steady.

“Come on, baby. Grind on me.”

Oh, fuck.

You felt those words straight between your legs, a sharp pulse of need making you clench so hard you whimpered against his lips.

Mingi groaned, his hands sliding down to cup your ass, guiding you into motion, urging you to move against him. Against his hard cock pressing through his jeans. Against his thick thighs.

“Just like that…” The delicious friction sent sparks up your spine, and soon enough, you were moving all on your own, chasing more of it. “Don’t stop.”

“Mingi… fuck!”

You ground down harder, a little faster, just enough to push you right over the edge. The orgasm hit you in waves, leaving you shivering and whimpering in his lap as his hands held you steady. He murmured soft praises, his voice thick with something dangerous, something that made your toes curl. Wow, that was really fast.

And all you could think was: Holy shit! You just had the best orgasm of your life. From grinding on your friend. And you didn’t know how you were supposed to feel about that, but you were just fine for now.

“So… was it good?” Mingi chuckled against your neck, his lips trailing soft, teasing kisses back up to your mouth. “You good?”

“Yeah, but… I feel… uh…” You pulled back just enough to catch your breath, to think. “I don’t know. I just came, but I’m still…”

Needy. You didn’t have to say.

His lips curled into a smirk, and you didn’t even know you like that pretty face of him that much.

“We can keep going if you want to.”

“What would be the next step? Since you wanna take things slow.”

“Hm…” He tilted his head, considering. “Maybe I can make you feel good with my fingers. If you’re okay with that.”

Your brain short-circuited for a second. Because fuck. Your panties were soaked, embarrassingly wet just from kissing and grinding against him. But you were still throbbing, still desperate for more.

So you just… nodded.

“Yeah… it’s fine.”

Still perched on his lap, you hesitated before shifting off him, kneeling on the couch beside him. Your legs felt shaky, but not from exhaustion, no. It was pure anticipation.

Mingi followed, sliding down to kneel on the floor in front of you, his eyes dark and hungry as he leaned in.

“You want me to take your shorts off, or you wanna do it yourself?” He murmured the words against your lips, stealing a quick peck before trailing his fingers down to the waistband of your shorts.

“Y-you can do it…”

His touch was slow, deliberate, as he unbuttoned your shorts and slid them down, pushing them aside like they were nothing.

Then, his hands settled on your hips, his thumbs rubbing slow, soothing circles against your skin.

“Wanna keep the panties on?” His voice was low, husky. “I can still make you feel good like this, if you’re not ready to take them off.”

You should’ve been embarrassed. Should’ve felt shy about the way he was staring at you, at your pussy, taking in the obvious wet stain darkening the fabric.

But you weren’t.

Because he looked wrecked just from seeing you like this. And you loved that, really turned you on even more.

“...It’s okay,” you whispered. “You can take them off too. I mean… there’s no point feeling shy now, right?” Your breath hitched. “You’re gonna see my pussy anyway…”

“Hm…” He chuckled at your words, fingers toying with the waistband of your panties. “So… you told me you’ve been fingered before, right? How was it for you?”

You hesitated for a second before exhaling, remembering the times you let that happen.

“It was always rushed. Like… in the backseat of a car, or some dark corner in a club. Sometimes it just felt uncomfortable. Sometimes a little painful…”

Mingi hummed, his fingers slipping lower, tracing light patterns over the fabric.

“So has anyone actually seen this pretty pussy, baby?” His voice had dropped, thick with something you couldn’t quite name. “Am I really the first?”

Your breath hitched as he hooked his fingers under the elastic, dragging your panties down slowly, revealing your mound first, then the rest as you lifted your hips just enough to help him.

“Yes… you are.”

“Fuck.” His exhale was heavy, like he was struggling. His hands smoothed over your bare thighs, slow and teasing, while you instinctively pressed your legs together. You had just told him there was no point in feeling shy, but still… his eyes on you like that made your skin burn. Mingi let out a soft, amused hum, his lower voice killing you. “You don’t have to be embarrassed, baby.” His thumbs brushed gently along the inside of your thighs. “But I need you to talk to me, okay? I don’t want you to feel any pain.”

You nodded, but he wasn’t done.

“Good girl.” He said that again, making you shiver once more at his words. His lips curled into something dangerously soft, dangerously sweet. “Now… spread your legs for me.” His voice was just sinful, God. “Let me see you.”

Even with a lingering trace of shyness, you spread your legs for him. Mingi let out a sound that looked like a moan, his eyes locked onto your glistening pussy like he was savoring the sight. You knew you were dripping, could feel it pooling beneath you, and the thought alone made you squeeze your eyes shut, bracing for his touch.

“Nah-ah.” His voice was pure, silken dominance. A soft kiss landed on your thigh, his warm palm resting against your belly. “Eyes on me, baby. I wanna see every little reaction. So behave, and look at me while I touch you, okay?”

Your breath hitched, but you obeyed, blinking up at him, cheeks burning under the weight of his gaze.

Mingi started slow, his fingers first trailing over your mound, teasing, barely there, making you ache for more. Then, with the lightest pressure, he dipped lower, parting your folds, gathering your slick on his fingertips. You whimpered when he finally brushed over your clit, already swollen, already throbbing for him.

“Fuck, you’re so wet…” His voice was rougher now, and when he pressed down on your clit, moving in slow, deliberate circles, your body reacted instantly. Your thighs threatened to snap shut, but his free hand kept you open.

“Talk to me, baby.” He smirked at you, making your cheeks burn again. “You like it when I touch you here?”

“Y-yes… feels so good, Mingi…” Your voice was barely more than a breathy moan, your chest rising and falling rapidly. God, what was this man doing to you?

“Good…” He kept up the slow, torturous rhythm, circling, sliding, making sure you felt every second of it. And then he smirked again, eyes flickering down between your legs. “I can see you clenching…” His fingers teased lower, brushing over your dripping hole, but never pushing in. “You want a finger inside this pretty pussy, huh?”

“Yes… please.”

You’d never felt like this before. Sure, you’d touched yourself before — your fingers, the desperate grind against your pillow. But this? Craving someone else's touch this badly? That was new.

“Yeah?” Mingi’s voice was warm, teasing, his breath fanning against your skin. “Alright, baby. Gonna put it in now. Tell me if it hurts, I’ll stop right away.”

He played with your clit for a second longer, making you squirm, before twisting his wrist and easing his middle finger inside you. He slid in easily — too easily — because you were already so wet, dripping onto his palm.

“Fuck…” He exhaled, watching the way you clenched around him, his voice thick with something almost reverent. “You’re clenching around my finger so tight, baby. Tell me how it feels.”

“Hm… it’s okay. No pain…” Your words were soft, airy, but your body was already responding to him, hips shifting just the slightest bit, searching for more.

“Yeah?” He started moving, slow thrusts, just the tip at first, then deeper, dragging against your walls in slow, deliberate strokes. “You like it like this? Or maybe…” He let his finger sink all the way in, curling it just right, hitting somewhere entirely new inside you.

A moan ripped from your throat before you could stop it.

Mingi chuckled, clearly pleased. “I think I have my answer… Looks like I just found your G-spot.”

“It’s… embarrassing that I couldn’t find it myself…”

“Mm, it’s fine, baby…” His tone was honeyed sin, smooth and coaxing. “It’s kinda deep, see?” He pushed in again, curling that single finger right against the spot, making your body jolt. “Here… this spongy little place… this is where you’re most sensitive inside.”

Another slow press, another deliberate curl of his finger, sending a shudder down your spine, leaving you gasping.

“Feels… different…”

“A good different? Or do you want me to stop?”

“No… keep going. It’s good… really good…”

“Mm…” He smirked, his free hand sliding down to find your clit, circling it in slow, teasing motions while his finger pressed against that spot inside you over and over again. “Like this, baby? Feels good?”

“Yes…” Your voice was breathy, almost desperate. It felt too good — like nothing you’d ever experienced before. You had no idea your body could respond like this, that just one finger could unravel you so easily. But now you knew. And you needed more. “Don’t stop…”

Mingi hummed in approval, his movements shifting, pressing into your G-spot with more precision, rubbing your clit with just the right amount of pressure. It was overwhelming, the pleasure washing over you in such an intense way it left you breathless. Your hips had a mind of their own now, rolling into his touch, grinding against his hand as you chased the high building inside you.

“That’s it, baby…” His voice was low, dripping with praise. “Keep riding my fingers like that… fuck, you look so pretty like this…”

You felt something building inside you—something different. A weird kind of pressure you’d never felt during an orgasm before. It made you panic a little.

“Mingi… feels weird.” But it still felt good, so you didn’t stop. You kept grinding against his hand, chasing the high.

“Weird how? Talk to me.”

“Like I’m gonna… pee…” you admitted, your voice small, embarrassed.

“Mmh…” He didn’t sound the least bit bothered. “Wanna try letting go, baby? You might squirt if you do. It’ll feel so good…”

But you couldn’t. The sensation was too intense, too unfamiliar. And the idea of actually doing that in front of him made your whole body tense up.

“I can’t… I just wanna cum, please… make me cum…”

He kissed your thigh again, soft and reassuring, his finger still buried deep inside you. But now his focus shifted. His other hand is working your clit in that perfect way. God, he knew exactly what he was doing.

“Come on, baby… cum on my fingers. Keep moving, just like that…”

You did. And it hit you hard. Your orgasm crashed over you, stealing your breath, making your legs tremble uncontrollably. You couldn’t even speak, so you just moaned and whimpered as he worked you through it, drawing it out until you were spent.

Then he slowly pulled his finger out and, without breaking eye contact, brought it to his mouth and licked it clean. The sight alone made your pussy clench again.

“You taste so fucking good…”

You bit your lower lip, trying to hold back a moan, because fuck. He wasn’t even touching you anymore.

“So…” Mingi sat back down beside you, his tone playful. “How was it for you?”

You let out a breathy laugh, still recovering. “That was amazing… thank you. Uh—” your hand moved to his thigh, remembering how you’d been grinding on it minutes ago, “—want me to return the favor?”

“Not today, pretty. Tonight was all about figuring out what you like.”

“Well, mission accomplished.”

“Next time we can try adding another finger… if you’re up for it. Maybe I could eat you out, too.”

“You really wanna do that?”

He looked at you like you were crazy.

“What kind of question is that?” His eyes dropped briefly to your bare skin. “Why wouldn’t I?”

“I don’t know… Some guys just don’t like giving head, I guess.”

“Straight guys? I don’t think I know anyone like that. Shit… were your exes that kind of loser?”

“One of them… maybe two.”

“Yeah, they probably didn’t like girls to begin with.” He laughed, shaking his head. “But me? I love eating pussy. You’re so damn responsive… so sensitive. Probably ‘cause you’re a virgin. Honestly, I had a lot of fun today.”

You smiled, cheeks warm. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

“It is!” He gave you one of his cutest smiles, like he wasn’t just talking about eating you out a minute ago.

“Wanna crash here or want me to take you home?”

“I don’t know… I think I could stay on your couch.”

“Damn, do you think I’m an asshole or something?” He laughed, but it had a bit of a bitter edge to it. “You can use my bed. I mean, if you want, we can share. It’s big, and I don’t mind. But if it makes you uncomfortable, I’ll take the couch.”

“Calm down, Mingi… I just don’t wanna bother.”

“We’re friends, relax. So, bed or couch?”

“We can share the bed, I don’t mind.” You were just a little embarrassed, but it was fine. “Give me one of your shirts or something so I can sleep.”

“Wanna shower?” You did. You were still a mess, sticky and flustered, adjusting your clothes like it would help somehow. “Go ahead, I’ll order some food.”

Mingi was so sweet you couldn’t help but feel safe there, like actually comfortable. That post-makeout awkwardness you usually felt with guys? Nonexistent. Maybe it was because he was your friend, and it really felt like he cared.

You took a long, needed shower, and when you were done, he handed you a pair of boxers, some comfy shorts, and a soft oversized shirt like you’d asked. He’d ordered Chinese, and you ate with him while watching TV like nothing had just happened between you — chatting about college, life, random stuff. At some point, you were barely keeping your eyes open.

“Let’s go to bed. It’s pretty late,” he said, turning off the TV and getting up. “I’m gonna shower. You can go ahead and sleep if you want.”

So you did. You headed to his room, crawled into his bed and immediately sank into the smell of his sheets. That soft, clean scent of his cologne was everywhere. Your brain briefly panicked about what you’d tell your roommate the next day, assuming you’d even tell her anything. But she'd probably annoy you until you did.

You were drifting off when you heard Mingi come in. He had a towel slung low around his hips, and you peeked — just a little — before shutting your eyes again. He changed, then slipped into bed right beside you, and suddenly your heart was racing. He smelled like soap, like shampoo, like everything warm and familiar, and holy shit, all you wanted to do was reach out and touch him. But you didn’t. You forced yourself to stay still, and eventually, you managed to fall asleep.

But nothing — nothing — could’ve prepared you for the morning.

You woke up to a warm weight draped over your waist. At first, you almost ignored it… until you remembered you weren’t in your bed. You weren’t in your room. You were at Mingi’s. And his arm was on your waist.

And then it all came rushing back… the way his finger felt inside you, the things he said, the way you came so hard you couldn’t speak… and now? Now he was pressed right up against you, and very clearly hard. You could feel his cock resting against your lower back, thick and hot even through the fabric, and you really, really didn’t want to freak out.

But fuck.

How?

You shifted your hips, just a little, enough to grind back into him, slow and deliberate, because you wanted to feel him. All of him.

Mingi mumbled something low, half-asleep, and pulled you closer, spooning you tight, his breath warm against your neck. The way it made you shiver? Unfair. You bit back a soft moan, trying to keep it together.

You couldn’t stop wondering… was this just morning wood? Or was he actually turned on?

But the way he was holding you, not moving away, letting your ass press right up against him like that… yeah, it could definitely be both.

“Hey…” His voice was deep and rough, soaked in sleep, and it went straight to your core. “You doing that on purpose?”

“I was just… trying to feel you.”

Your voice came out breathier than you expected. He let out a low groan, somewhere between sleepy and way too sexy for your own good.

“Then why don’t you just touch it?”

“You want me to touch your dick?” You didn’t mean to sound so surprised, but damn.

He chuckled against your neck, his body shaking a little with it.

“You did say you wanted to feel me.” Then he rolled onto his back, arms behind his head, shameless and relaxed. “I’m all yours.”

You could see it. The tent in his shorts, the thick bulge straining against the fabric… and shit, it looked huge.

You swallowed hard, your shaky hands practically begging to touch him.

You sat up on the bed, reached for him, and the second your fingers brushed over his clothed length, you felt it. Hard and heavy, all for you. Fuck.

“Shit, baby… want me to take it out for you?”

His voice was low and wrecked, thick with lust, and god, he wanted this just as badly as you did.

“I can do it.” Your fingers slid under his waistband, tugging down his shorts and boxers in one go until his cock sprang free. Thick, flushed, and already leaking, smacking lightly against his stomach. “So big…”

“Yeah?” He wrapped a hand around himself, giving a slow squeeze that made precum beads at the tip. “You like it?”

“Yes…” God, you did. He was pretty, and that wasn't something you'd ever said about a dick before. But his? Fuck, yes. “Let me touch you.”

You weren’t some handjob expert or anything, you’d done it before, sure, but this felt different. Bigger. More intense. More him. Still, you wanted to do it right. You wanted to make him feel good.

Mingi watched you as you wrapped your fingers around him, slow strokes at first, eyes flicking between your hand and your face. His cock twitched in your grip, and that alone made your thighs clench.

He hummed in approval when you squeezed a bit harder, stroking slowly, getting his tip wetter with precum before you could do it a bit faster.

But you wanted more.

You didn’t even think, just leaned in and spit on his cock to help your hands glide easier.

The slick sound it made when you started stroking him faster had you biting your lip, and then came his whimper… breathy, needy, absolutely filthy.

“Fuck… you’re good at this…”

Hearing that lit something in you. Gave you all the confidence you needed to keep going.

You spit on him again, not giving a damn about being messy, and the way Mingi moaned for you… it was the hottest sound you’d ever heard.

You were using both hands now; he was big, too big for just one. It made your hands feel small, and the thought of having his cock inside you? Kinda terrifying… but mostly it just made your pussy clench and drip even more.

“Baby… I’m gonna cum—” he panted, voice desperate, eyes locked on you like he was begging you not to stop.

And you didn’t. You weren’t stopping until you felt his hot load spill across your fingers.

He let out a deep, wrecked moan as he came, hips twitching, cock pulsing in your hands. His cum painted your fingers, spilled onto his belly, his pelvis, so much of it.

God, it was so hot.

You loved the feeling, knowing you made him come like that. Make him lose it with just your hands.

“So…” Mingi was still catching his breath, chest rising and falling. “Now you’ve felt me.”

You laughed under your breath. Yeah, the whole thing started with you just wanting to feel how hard he was. But this? This was so much better.

“Yeah… I liked that. And…” You still had his cum on your fingers, warm and sticky. And you didn’t fight the urge anymore. You brought them to your mouth, licking them clean right in front of him — just like he did with you. “I like your taste too.”

“Fuck, you’re killing me.”

He sat on the bed and pulled you closer, kissing you like he needed it. That caught you off guard. You thought most guys would be grossed out by kissing you after you had their cum in your mouth.

But not Mingi.

He kissed you deep, tongue and all, messy and hot, just the way you liked it.

“Can I do something? Please?” he asked, breathless against your lips.

“What?” You were already dizzy from the kiss alone.

“I wanna eat your pussy…”

You felt heat rush through your whole body. You wanted that, bad. Even if the sunlight was peeking through the window, making everything feel more exposed. There was no way you could say no.

“…Okay.”

You didn’t know exactly what to do, but Mingi did. He gently switched your positions, laying you on your back and climbing over you.

He tugged your shorts off and tossed them aside without looking, he couldn’t tear his eyes away from your pussy. You were soaked, your arousal shining under the light, and it clearly drove him wild.

You didn’t need to be asked, your legs opened for him on their own, desperate to know how it would feel to have his mouth on you.

He kissed your thighs first, slow and wet, his soft lips making obscene sounds against your flushed skin. You couldn’t stop staring at him, he looked like he was enjoying this as much as you.

Your eyes locked, and in that second, you knew: if you wanted him to stop, he would. You felt safe. Even with your legs spread wide open in front of him.

Then his lips met your mound. A chill shot through your spine and you had to fight the urge to squeeze your thighs together.

But Mingi kept you open for him.

He pressed a kiss to your clit first, then started to lick it, slowly, teasing, just getting a taste of you. Watching your reactions.

Your eyes fluttered shut. It was already one of the best things you’d ever felt — and somehow, it got better. He started sucking your clit, flicking his tongue over it, then dipped just the tip of his tongue inside you. Then he was making out with your pussy, completely lost in it.

You wanted to scream. Your whole body was trembling, your chest tight with how good it felt. You couldn’t keep your hips still, you were grinding against his mouth, moaning uncontrollably, fingers tangled in his hair as you pulled him even closer.

You were so close. You could feel yourself falling apart.

And when your orgasm hit, it wrecked you.

Your legs trembled, your stomach clenched, and your moans were so loud you didn’t even register them until your body started to come down.

It was hands down the best orgasm of your life.

Fuck.

Mingi kissed your thighs while you were still trembling, then crawled up your body to press soft kisses to your neck and lips.

You could taste yourself on his tongue, and fuck, that was easily the hottest thing you’d ever done.

“So… did you like it?”

“Are you kidding?” Your voice was barely audible. “That was insanely good.”

“I’m glad.” He let himself drop beside you with a satisfied sigh, stretching lazily. “Hmm… I think we should get some breakfast. But… my roommate might be home already…”

What?

Fuck.

There was someone there? And Mingi just let you moan like that?

“You didn’t think that was worth mentioning before I screamed loud enough for your neighbors to know your name?”

“Nope,” he said, grinning. “Didn’t want you to hold back. But relax. If he heard anything, he won’t care.”

“Fuck, Mingi. I’m so embarrassed.”

“There’s no need. He won’t say anything, and he won’t even know it was you. I’m not telling anyone.”

“…Okay then. Thanks. I guess.”

You didn’t stay in bed much longer. Not because it wasn’t tempting, but because you were starving. You changed back into your clothes from yesterday, and Mingi took you out to your favorite coffee shop so you could have your much-needed morning caffeine.

What surprised you most was how easy everything felt. There was no awkwardness between you two.

You talked about college, cracked dumb jokes, and laughed about random stuff like nothing had happened. Like he hadn’t just made you come harder than anyone ever had.

But then it hit you: a vivid flashback of Mingi’s mouth between your legs, and your thighs clenched on their own. Your cheeks burned instantly.

“What?” he asked, smirking. “You’re blushing.”

“Yeah, I…” Why couldn’t you breathe properly all of a sudden? “Sorry, I just…”

“You were thinking about the dirty stuff we did, huh?” He leaned closer, teasing. “I think you might be ready to really do it.”

“I was… and you think so?”

“Yeah. I figured you might be a little traumatized from the other guys,” he said gently, “but you’re doing fine. So, whenever you feel ready… we can.”

You were speechless. Truth was, you’d felt ready the second he first kissed you. He had been nothing but respectful, never pushing, never rushing, and that made you want him even more.

“…Okay, so what do you think about tonight?”

Mingi raised his eyebrows, looking a little surprised by what you’d just said. You were surprised, too. You thought it would take longer for you to let go like that. But the truth was… you felt ready. And the best part? Him.

You weren’t going to lose your virginity to some random loser. It was going to be with someone you trusted. Someone who cared about you.

“It’s totally up to you. I’m free tonight,” he said with a soft smile, a sweet one this time. “You sure about this?”

“Yeah… I really want to.”

Mingi smiled wider and, like the absolute prince he was, formally invited you on a date. He said he didn’t want to just take you to his place and jump into bed — he wanted to give you the whole experience. And you kinda liked the idea.

He even walked you home. But the moment you stepped into your apartment, your roommate nearly lost her mind.

“Tell me everything!!! You slept with your hot friend, didn’t you?! I saw you two! Holy shit, he’s gorgeous… you’re so fucking lucky.”

“I didn’t…” you muttered, cheeks burning. “Yet.”

You were way too embarrassed to give her all the details, like how he made you moan louder than you ever had in your life. So you just said one thing led to another… and now you had a date.

That was enough to send her into full panic-mode-on-your-behalf. She practically dragged you out of the house to buy lingerie, insisting that if you were finally going to lose your virginity, you needed something sexy. And you knew that she was right.

You found a few beautiful sets. Lacy bras and panties that made you feel way hotter than you expected. But once you bought them, it really hit you: this was happening. You were finally going to have sex.

Fuck.

You still couldn’t believe it.

Back home, your roommate helped you style your hair and pick out an outfit for the night.

She was genuinely happy for you, and you were getting really nervous. But in the best possible way.

“Listen… it might hurt a little. But it’ll feel good after, okay? Just keep that in mind.”

She wasn’t trying to scare you — she was actually being gentle — but it wasn’t exactly helping. “And he’s experienced, right? That’s a very good thing.”

“I know it’s gonna hurt…” Because Mingi was big. Like, the biggest you’d ever seen. “But I’m not really that scared about the pain. I’m more nervous about… what happens after.”

“Like… things getting weird between you two?”

“I don’t think they will…”

And you meant it. Mingi didn’t make things weird. He made you feel safe.

“Then relax,” she said, placing a hand on your shoulder. “And for the love of God, use a condom.”

That made you laugh, even if you weren’t sure why. Maybe because you were quietly freaking out and laughter was the only thing keeping you from losing it.

And yeah… time was running out. He’d be there any minute, and your nerves weren’t exactly calming down.

You took a deep breath, reminding yourself that it was Mingi. You’d already done things with him, intimate things. This was just the next step. You wanted it. And you trusted him. Everything was going to be fine.

Your roommate helped you finish your makeup, soft and glowy, just the way you liked, and a few minutes later, your phone buzzed.

Mingi was calling. He was already downstairs, waiting for you.

When you came down, he was already in the car, parked right in front of your building. As soon as you got in, the scent of his cologne hit you. Clean, expensive, and so him. He looked really good too, even more so in those clothes.

“Hi…” you said, trying not to fall apart while buckling your seatbelt. “Where are you taking me?”

“Well… I know you like Italian food, so I picked a nice Italian restaurant.”

“You’re making me really nervous, you know? I…” your voice was shaky, your breathing unsteady. “I just feel a little weird doing this, like…”

Like it was something serious. That’s what you meant.

“There’s no need to be nervous, you know that, right?” he said gently. “We’ve gone out to eat a bunch of times. The only difference is that tonight, I’m helping you with something… personal.” He smirked, starting the car. “Could’ve happened before, if you wanted.”

“I just don’t want you to think I’m unsure about this. I want it. I’ve been thinking about it all day, actually… it’s just… I don’t know how to explain it.”

“Maybe you’re just overthinking it,” he said, flashing you that same calm, charming smile. “It’s all good. We don’t need to plan every step. Let’s just eat, talk, and see where the night takes us.”

He was right, you knew that. But still, why was your heart racing like that? Damn.

Either way, you managed to calm down a bit when he let you pick the music.

Dinner was amazing. You ate well, sipped on some very good wine, and Mingi showed you just how much of a gentleman he could be on a date. You’d been out with him before, sure, but it never felt like this. This was different. This was a real date.

A few hours passed in what felt like minutes. Eating, drinking, laughing, talking. When the check came, he grabbed it and paid before you could even peek at the price.

As you were leaving the restaurant, his hand found your lower back — guiding you gently, protectively, until you reached the car. That simple touch made you shiver, even though you were way calmer than earlier.

“So…” he said once you were both buckled in. “Wanna go somewhere else?”

The playful tone in his voice helped a lot. You were still a little nervous, sure, but you knew exactly what you wanted now. You weren’t backing out.

“Maybe your place, handsome,” you replied, matching his tone.

He chuckled, turning the engine on. “Not nervous anymore?”

“Just a little. But I’m good.”

“That’s good.”

You looked over at him while he drove, and damn, he looked so good. So relaxed, so confident. You were on a date with a ridiculously hot guy… and you were going to sleep with him. Silly thoughts, maybe. But you couldn’t stop them.

Not long after you left the restaurant, Mingi was already pulling into the parking lot of his building, and you could feel the thick tension between you as soon as you stepped into the elevator. He was acting all relaxed, but you could tell… he was probably just as nervous as you.

When he opened the door to his apartment, you walked into the living room a little faster than you meant to, maybe driven by all that anticipation building inside you. He locked the door behind you and turned the lights on.

“Do you want something to drink…?”

“Not now, but thanks. I’m kinda nervous…” You bit your lower lip, taking a good look at him. God, he looked so good. So fucking good. “Can we… go to your room?”

“I’m kinda nervous too, to be honest. I’m gonna be your first, and I really don’t want this to be a bad experience for you. I’ll try my best.”

“Mingi, I trust you. I really do. I’m not even worried about that…”

“Good… so, we’re both nervous and in the mood. What are we waiting for?”

You chuckled at his words as he guided you to his bedroom. He had changed the sheets, it smelled really nice in there, clean but still like him. You sat right on the edge of his bed and waited as he closed the door behind you.

When he turned around and looked at you, his gaze was so intense, you could feel he was holding something back. And fuck… you couldn’t wait to find out what he was going to do to you.

Mingi sat right next to you, and after making you squirm under his intense stare, he grabbed the back of your neck and pulled you into a rough, hungry kiss. Fuck… it was really happening now. Kissing him wasn’t new, but this time it felt different. It felt hotter, more desperate, like you both couldn’t wait any longer.

Your body was already burning up, and it was like he knew exactly what you needed. Without saying a word, he unzipped your dress and slid it off you like it was nothing, not even giving you a second to overthink it. You let him, kissing him harder, wanting more.

You couldn’t help but silently thank your friend for making you buy that lingerie set, because the second Mingi saw you sitting there in just your bra and panties, he let out the filthiest fucking groan.

He hooked a finger under the strap of your bra, playing with it, before biting your lip and trailing his mouth down your neck. Then, without hesitation, he reached behind you, unhooked your bra with one quick move, and tossed it aside like he couldn’t get it off fast enough.

He was still fully dressed, it didn’t feel fair at all. So you tugged at his shirt, desperate to feel more of him. You had to break the kiss for just a second to pull it off, and that gave you a chance to really look at him… his flushed face, his lips already swollen from how hard you’d been kissing him. You couldn’t help yourself. You had to bite them, suck on them, make him feel just as desperate as you did.

You pushed him back until he was lying flat on the bed, and as soon as he hit the mattress, you climbed on top of him, straddling his hips. This time, it was you who kissed him like you were starving for it, your tongue in his mouth, your hands all over his chest, raking your nails down his skin.

His hands slid down from your waist to your ass, gripping you so hard it almost hurt, squeezing and groping until you couldn’t help but moan into his mouth. He pulled you closer, pressing you down against the bulge in his pants, making you grind against him as your bare tits brushed over his chest.

But he wanted more. He pulled you enough to bury his face in your breasts, licking and sucking your nipples, teasing them with his hot tongue until they were aching. He devoured you, biting just hard enough to make you gasp, his lips marking you, claiming every inch of your skin. Fuck, it felt so good you couldn’t think.

You shifted to kiss him again, grinding shamelessly against his clothed cock, your hips moving on instinct as dirty flashbacks flooded your mind. You could already feel how soaked your panties were, though they barely counted as panties at all. The thin, see-through thong did nothing to hide how wet and desperate you’d gotten for him.

“Baby… I gotta…” He grabbed your hips, holding you still for a second as his hands moved down to unbuckle his pants. You hadn’t even realized how tight they were on him. “Let me take these off.”

As soon as he shoved them down and kicked them away, you climbed right back on top of him, grinding against his cock again, slow and needy. He left his boxers on, but you could already see the wet spot spreading there.

You really wanted to make him feel good, you felt this urge to try something new, it was pulsing inside you. You rested your hands on his chest, slowly breaking the kiss.

“Mingi… can I…” Your fingers slid down to his waistband, teasing, pulling the elastic just enough to catch a glimpse of the neatly trimmed hair there. “Can I suck you off?”

He blinked at you a few times, like he couldn’t quite believe what you’d just said. Of course, you knew you were offering something no man in the world could resist, and you wanted to get that exact reaction out of him. It worked.

“F… fuck. You really wanna do that?” He licked his lips, almost trembling beneath you. “If you really want to… do it. I know I’m gonna fucking love it.”

“It’s my first time…” you murmured, trailing wet kisses along his jaw, down his neck, then over his chest and hard abs. “Tell me how to make you feel good.”

He just nodded, breath hitching, eyes fixed on you as you slid his boxers down, finally freeing his cock. It sprang up, thick and heavy, slapping against his lower belly. Your mouth watered instantly. Fuck… you’d never thought about sucking a dick before, but you needed it, craved the taste of him.

You wet your lips first, then stroked him slowly a few times, just to watch the precum bead at the tip. You leaned in and cleaned it up with your tongue. It tasted a little salty, but it only made you crave more. You licked along his length, making him groan again, a sound that you felt deep between your legs as you clenched harder than you thought was possible.

Wrapping your hand around the base of his cock, you started sucking on the tip, just like your friends had described before. God, you liked his taste, and you were already making a mess with your spit and his precum.

“Just like that, baby… make it wet. I like messy.”

Fuck, his voice. You couldn’t believe how turned on you were just from sucking him off.

You tried to take more of him into your mouth, and you gagged a little when he hit the back of your throat, but the way he moaned almost made you not care at all.

“You’re so pretty sucking dick, baby… keep going…” He caressed your head, holding your hair to get a better view as you started moving a little faster. “Fuck, yes… use your hand too. Like that… fuck. Such a good girl for me.”

You didn’t care if you were choking on his cock or not. You loved being praised like that. You could already feel how wet you were, ready to drip at any second.

You kept using your hand just like he told you to, listening to every instruction, loving how much he kept telling you how good you were at it. You bobbed your head faster, getting used to taking him while jerking him off at the same time. It was hard at first, but now you were doing it easily.

“I don’t wanna cum in your mouth… let's stop here. Let me eat your pussy now.”

He gently pushed you away, watching as a string of spit kept him connected to your swollen lips.

“God, you’re gonna kill me.” He touched your lower lip, running his thumb across it, as if he couldn’t resist praising you. “Lay down and spread those legs for me, huh?”

You used the back of your hand to wipe your chin and happily laid down for him, letting him slide your ruined panties off in a second.

“Fucking God, you’re so wet…” He ran his fingers between your pussy lips, feeling just how slick you were. “Baby got this wet just from sucking my cock?”

Yes, you did. And you were so horny that any trace of embarrassment had already faded. You nodded, spreading your legs a bit more, silently begging him to lick your pussy because you couldn’t wait another second.

Mingi didn’t make you wait. He dived in, eating you out like you were his favorite fucking meal. His groans and moans vibrated against your pussy, his tongue teasing your entrance before he slipped a finger inside, making your head spin. Fuck. You ground down on his face, unable to stop yourself… your whole body was on fire, and you screamed when he added a second finger, the sudden stretch making you shiver under his touch.

There was nothing but pure pleasure. He finger-fucked you so fast and so deep that the obscene wet sounds echoed through the room, proof of how messy and turned on you were.

“Gonna cum… fuck, don’t stop, please…” You clutched at his hair, grinding your pussy against his face, sloppy and desperate. He loved every second of it. So did you.

You tried to close your legs when your orgasm ripped through you, stealing every breath and almost your soul, but he didn’t let you. You whimpered, tried to push him away, but your legs barely worked. He finally stopped touching you, but kept his eyes fixed, watching the way your pussy kept clenching even after you came.

"That was so hot, baby..." When you finally came down from your high, you saw Mingi ripping open the condom and rolling it down his cock. "Ready?"

"Yes. Fuck. Yes." You didn’t mean to sound so desperate, but your pussy wasn’t exactly letting your brain make decisions anymore. Your legs were already spread, your body completely relaxed, and you couldn’t possibly be any wetter. Everything was ready.

"Okay, I’m gonna put it in… slowly. Tell me if you need me to stop, okay?"

He hovered over you, eyes locked on yours, holding himself up with one arm while guiding his cock to your entrance with the other. You felt the pressure, the stretch as he started pushing in—slow, careful. There was pain, but not in a way that made you want to stop. It was… thick. Full. He was big. You knew that. But feeling it? That was something else. And he was barely halfway in.

"God, you’re so big…" You gripped his biceps, biting down on your lip.

"You can take it." He leaned in and kissed your cheek, his voice deep and steady. "It’s just the tip now, but you can take my cock. You’re my good girl, aren’t you?"

You moaned just from hearing him say that. He already knew how much you loved being praised, and when he felt you clenching around him, he groaned.

"Fuck... can I keep going?"

You nodded, bracing yourself, but the pain never got too sharp. He didn’t bottom out just yet, but even half of him made you feel stretched to your limits. Still, the thought of having him completely inside you made your whole body ache for more. You focused on relaxing, breathing slowly.

"Fuck... I want more. Give it to me. Please."

Mingi waited a few seconds, like he needed to be sure you were okay, and then did exactly what you asked. He was so gentle, so patient—you couldn’t have asked for a better first time. And then it happened. His cock slid all the way in, filling you to the hilt.

The feeling was overwhelming. You felt so full, so hot, so incredibly stretched.

"Tell me when I can move."

You pulled him in for a kiss, wrapping your legs around his waist.

"Move... please..."

Nothing could’ve prepared you for that. Not fingers. Not toys. Nothing. It burned at first, but not enough to stop. You were soaked, and the sounds—wet, obscene, addictive—only made you more delirious. You squeezed your eyes shut, trying to focus on how he moved inside you, how deep he was, how thick he felt.

But you needed to see it. You looked down, desperate to watch the way your pussy was taking him.

Mingi got the hint. He sat back on his knees, shifting your hips slightly so you could see it happen—see his cock disappearing inside you over and over.

"Play with your clit for me." He grabbed your thighs, his eyes fixed on where you were connected. "Fuck, you're taking me so well..."

You licked your fingers and started rubbing your clit. It was swollen, hypersensitive, and the added stimulation made you moan like a mess. You didn’t care. You just needed more.

"Feels good, baby?" He held himself deep inside you. "Think you can cum for me like that?"

"Yes..." You looked again, watching how slick his cock got each time he slid in. You didn’t stop rubbing, and soon your hips started moving too, chasing that feeling. You felt everything—his size, his weight, the way he hit that same spot his fingers found before—and it made you dizzy.

"You're clenching... keep going, baby. Use my cock. Get yourself off. Cum all over it."

You didn’t hold back. You rode him the way you needed, chasing your high, grinding and moaning and letting go. It didn’t take long. Your body locked up as your orgasm hit, your pussy squeezing him in waves while you screamed, head thrown back, completely undone. Mingi groaned with you, like your pleasure alone was driving him insane.

Your legs were useless now, limp from the intensity. You were still coming down when he started moving again—this time harder, faster, with no hesitation. All you could feel was pleasure.

"You're so hard... I can feel you. So deep..."

"Didn’t think you’d take cock this well, baby... Can I fuck you harder?"

"Yes... fuck me. Wanna feel you cum too."

For a second, you hated the condom, but it didn’t matter. Not when he started pounding into you like that. It was rougher, and you loved every second. Your body was sore but it felt too good to care. You heard his moans, his breath getting shakier as he got closer. He kissed you, bit your neck, and moaned against your lips when he finally came, filling the condom as his cock throbbed inside you.

God, that was insanely good.

You were caressing his back while he tried to catch his breath. You had just lost your virginity, and it felt so good you could barely believe it.

“So… good enough for your first time?” He slowly slid out of you, pulling off the condom and tying it up. “I’m really glad you chose me, gotta say.”

“It was amazing. Thank you… really.”

“You don’t have to thank me. I did you a favor, and as you can see…” He lifted the condom, still full. “I had a great time too. Huh… Did I hurt you?”

“Not at all. And… you know… is this a one-time thing? I’m sorry for asking that right now, it’s just…” You hesitated, suddenly aware of how exposed you were—and not just physically. “I… I don’t know. Forget it.”

“It doesn’t have to be. A one-time thing, I mean. If you want more…”

“I was just thinking that maybe next time you could… skip the condom, maybe?” Your voice dropped a little, more nervous now. “I was a virgin until now, and I take the pill. I just… really want to know how that would feel.”

“So… you’re asking me to creampie you?” He raised an eyebrow, smirking like the cocky bastard he was. “You know that feels like going to heaven, right?”

He looked so hot saying that, so confident, his body still glistening slightly from sweat. You couldn’t stop staring.

“I can do that, of course. Your pussy’s gonna look so pretty dripping with my cum…”

Your cheeks burned instantly, and you had to look away.

“Hm… feeling shy now? Bit too late for that.” He chuckled, tossing the condom aside and lying down beside you, his fingers lazily exploring your chest, your collarbone, your neck. “Ask me whatever you want. I’ll do it. I can be your first for a lot more things, you know.”

“That sounded like an invitation… want to keep me around?”

You turned to your side, facing him, still trying to process everything that just happened. Your legs were sore, your body still buzzing, and your brain felt like it had short-circuited somewhere halfway through.

Mingi looked over at you with that same cocky, satisfied smile, resting one arm under his head.

“I think I'll.”

A second later, he slid closer behind you, pressing his bare chest against your back and wrapping an arm lazily around your waist. You didn’t answer him, it wasn’t necessary. You just tangled your fingers with his and fell asleep.

Somehow, the crazy decision that led you to end up naked in his bed turned out to be the best one you’ve ever made.

#smut fanfic #ateez fanfic #mingi smut #mingi x reader #mingi x you #ateez smut #mingi #song mingi

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