Vi

Seonghwa loved lots of things that many would consider childish for his age. Legos, animal crossing, those silly little animal pens from souvenir shops, and so on. Bottom line was that if he found it cute, he had to have it. That’s how he found you. When you first met him, you were fresh out of college and had just moved to the city, and possibly the sweetest thing he’d ever seen. You were introduced to him via San, who happened to be a family friend of yours, and your mothers helped you reconnect once you moved out. You came over to their apartment for dinner one night, and left with a stomach full of takeout and Seonghwa’s number in your phone. He immediately took you under his wing, helping you around the house, showing you his favorite coffee shops, doing just about anything to help you settle into your new life…and into his.

It took him about a year to get you wrapped around his finger, but it wasn’t hard, he just wanted to take his time. He finally asked you out on a proper date, as his girlfriend, and within 3 weeks you were completely smitten. Finally his, another pretty thing to add to his world.

Then came the gifts. He’d buy just about any pretty little thing he saw and reminded him of you. Jewelry, trinkets, anything he deemed sweet enough for you. But by far, his favorite things to get you were plushies. Special edition jelly cats from cities he visited on schedules, his aniteez and mighteez characters, and he loved them so much because they were soft, like you. In fact, once you moved in with him, the plush toys nearly overtook the entire bed, to the point you had to buy a shelf just for them.

—☆ —☆ —☆ —☆ —☆ —☆ —☆ —☆—

Tonight, he bought your favorite takeout and big, stuffed rabbit. You’d had one of those horrible days, where it felt like nothing was going your way. The tears didn’t stop, and of course he was the first person on your mind. You had called him on your way home, and he was more than happy to take care of you, get you a little something to cheer you up.

“(name), what’s wrong my darling?” His voice was the first thing you heard as he watched you walk through the front door. You were already sniffling and mumbling out explanations, but he hushed you quickly, saying “it’s alright, just come lay with me.” You did exactly that. You quickly took your outside clothes off, changed into something more comfortable, and laid you head on his chest.

Seonghwa loved the feeling of caring for you, he just wanted to protect his baby from every bad thing in this world. But deep down, Seonghwa wanted to ruin you. He felt bad, tricking such a sweet little thing into thinking he was always gentle. Yet at the same time it felt way too good, knowing he was the one who’s arms you’d always fall into; the same arms that were now holding you down to your shared bed as he started kissing down your neck.

—☆ —☆ —☆ —☆ —☆ —☆ —☆ —☆—

“aww, you look so fucking pathetic right now, sweet thing…” he laughed at the sight of you sniffling into the stuffed bunny’s fur as he curled his fingers in and out of your pussy. “You do realize I haven’t even fucked you yet, right? And you’re already so messy for me…”

“hwa— s’ too much! Fuck, cumming!” You’d already lost track of how many times he’s made you cum on his fingers, 3? 4? 5? It was always like this, he was so unfair, coaxing you into overstimulation under the guise of “prepping” you. It wasn’t uncalled for, your boyfriend was well endowed to say the least, but did he really have to be so mean about it?

He finally pulled his hand away from your poor cunt, licking his fingers clean. “Gonna fuck you now, okay pretty girl?” You could already feel his head bumping against your entrance, and all you could do was nod dumbly into the plush toy.

“Nuh uh, what did I say…use your voice.” He took the plushy away from you, uncovering your tear streaked face. “Seonghwa, please, I need— fuck!” He smiled cruelly, pushing the rabbit back into your chest as he bottomed out in one, brutal thrust. He didn’t start moving just yet, letting the sting of the stretch subside. But once it did, he set a slow, deep pace that made your head feel all fuzzy.

“Seonghwa, seonghwa, seonghwa— please let me cum!” Your voice had been reduced to a syrupy sweet whimper, as sticky as the mess between your thighs. He was so pretty on top of you, moaning in your ear and mocking your silly little whines, licking your tears as they fell down your cheeks. Whatever it was that ruined your day felt so far away now…

“you look so precious right now, baby, letting me slut you out…moaning like a fucking pornstar” His soft features were now sharp, his dark eyes piercing into you heart. Through the hazy state of your brain, you couldn’t help but wonder: where had your soft, sweet boyfriend gone? But you didn’t have the time, or frankly the mental space, to worry about that. All you could do was beg and scream his name until your throat was raw. “Poor thing, you really wanna cum, huh? You’ll do it when I fucking say so.”

Your whimpers only got louder, and your pussy was clamping down on him like a vice. “You like it when I’m mean, don’t you? Answer me, baby…” he held on to your jaw, not tight enough to hurt you, but enough that your cheeks were squished by his fingers. He wasn’t letting up, grinding into you harder and faster, a hand reaching down to rub circles on your puffy clit, making it difficult for you to form coherent sentences.

“Mhm— Seonghwa, I can’t— Fuck, I’m gonna cum! Fuck!” Your orgasm hit you hard, so hard you feel like you’re going to pass out. Stars danced across your vision as your hands squeezed his shoulders, trying to get a grip back on reality. He was still fucking into you, brows knitted as he focused on reaching his own high.

“Such a filthy mouth for such a sweet girl, huh? Couldn’t even wait for me to say you could.” He cooed, sarcasm dripping from his tone. “But don’t worry…won’t be to hard on you tonight…”His voice was breathless, it was clear his orgasm was rapidly approaching.

“Gonna— Fuck, I’m gonna fill you up, darling” you just nodded, damn near sobbing into the stuffed rabbit from the overstimulation. With a final thrust, he came, pumping your cunt full. He touched his forehead to yours, and caught his breath before speaking again.

“you okay, baby? Was I too rough?” That soft, starry look returned to his eyes as he searched your own for any sign of discontent. You were much too far gone to answer properly, so you just nodded in response. He took the rabbit plushy away from you, and before you could complain, he lifted you in his arms and carried you off to the bathroom. It felt nice to be away from the now ruined sheets, but suddenly you could feel the sweat in every corner of your body, the uncomfortable stickiness in your cunt, eliciting a whine from your lips.

“you’re okay, pretty…I’m gonna get you cleaned up.” He pulled you closer to his chest, a clammy hand smoothing over your hair. He helped you shower, gave you one of his t-shirts to sleep in, and changed out the bedding. You finally ate the takeout he’d bought, and as you settled into the crisp, cool sheets, you reached for the stuffed rabbit. It still smelled like sex but it was so soft beneath your fingertips, soft like your skin beneath Seonghwa’s hands, soft like you, all pretty in his bed.

ddeonggrami 2026, do not publish or share to other platforms without permission.

Your studio hums softly around you. Low music. Warm light. The familiar buzz of the tattoo machine steady in your hand like a second heartbeat.

Outside, the street beyond the front windows is already dark, neon signs reflecting faintly against the glass. Your last appointment of the night stretched later than planned, the rest of the building long since quiet.

The smell of antiseptic and ink clings to the air, clean but intimate in a way most places never are. People let you touch them here. Let you get close enough to hear the change in their breathing, to feel tension beneath their skin before they even notice it themselves.

You’ve always liked that part.

“Breathe out,” you murmur.

Your client obeys immediately.

He’s stretched beneath the lamp, shirt tossed somewhere behind him, skin warm under your hand where you steady him by the waist. The tattoo curves along his ribs in clean black lines, and you lean closer to finish a careful stroke, thumb pressing lightly into his side to keep him still.

He sucks in a sharp breath.

“There,” you say softly. “Relax.”

“You say that every five minutes.”

“And somehow you still trust me.”

He laughs under his breath, eyes dragging down to your mouth for a second too long. “Hard not to.”

You ignore that easily. You’ve heard versions of it a thousand times before. You wipe excess ink from his ribs.

His gaze flicks down to your hands again. “You always this nice to clients?”

“You’re paying me.”

“Could charge extra. I’d still come back.”

The bell above the studio door jingles softly. You don’t look up immediately. You know who walked in anyway. The heavy steps. The careless confidence of someone who’s been here enough times to stop asking permission for anything. The fridge opening.

“Beer tax,” Mingi calls from the back.

Your mouth curves before you can stop it.

“Get your own studio.”

“You’d miss me.”

You don’t answer. Because you would. Terribly.

Instead you lean closer to inspect the tattoo, fingers spreading against your client’s stomach as you stretch the skin carefully beneath the needle.

From behind you, the couch creaks, and you finally glance back at him.

Big hoodie. Work boots still on. Slouched deep into the couch cushions like he lives there. Watching you over the rim of the bottle with that lazy heavy-lidded stare that always does something unfortunate to your nervous system.

He comes here almost every night after work.

At first it had been accidental. Quick stops before heading home. Then takeout between appointments. Then sitting with you while you cleaned your station at midnight. Then coffee appearing beside your machine before you could ask for it.

Somewhere along the way, your studio started feeling wrong without him in it. Somewhere along the way, you started falling in love with him. Quietly. Stupidly. 

Because Mingi is like this with everyone. Warm. Affectionate. Easy with touch. The kind of person who leans into you when he laughs and throws an arm around your shoulders without thinking. The kind of person who makes you feel chosen even when you probably aren’t.

So you buried it under routine and late-night beers and the hoodies he keeps leaving behind in your studio chair. Under the certainty that none of this would ever become more.

Your client shifts slightly beneath your hand. “You know,” he says, “if I met you somewhere else, I’d think you were flirting with me.”

You drag the needle into a clean line. “That sounds like a you problem.”

“I’m serious.” His smile turns crooked. “Soft voice. Hand on my waist. Eye contact. It’s confusing.”

“You came to a tattoo appointment.”

“Yeah, but you’re making it hard to stay professional.”

Mingi sets his beer down a little too hard against the table. Tiny sound. Barely noticeable. Still. You glance back automatically. He’s staring at the floor now, jaw tight for half a second before he notices you looking.

“What?” he says.

“Nothing.”

Your client looks between both of you once, then keeps talking. Unbothered. As if Mingi isn’t watching his every word. 

“No, but seriously,” he says, looking at you again. “You’ve got dangerous energy.”

“Dangerous.”

“Yeah. Like you flirt for fun and ruin lives accidentally.”

You laugh softly through your nose. 

But Mingi doesn’t.

He should. He could. He usually does.

Instead his eyes keep lifting every time your hand settles against the client’s ribs. He goes quiet whenever the client calls you sweet. He keeps trying to insert himself into the conversation and failing to catch your attention the same way the client does.

And underneath all of it, something uncomfortable starts pulling tighter in his chest. Because the client gets your teasing. Your soft voice. Your hands all over him. And Mingi suddenly can’t stop wondering if that’s just who you are with everybody.

The rest of the session passes normally. Mostly. Your client keeps trying.

“You gonna miss me when I’m gone?”

You smooth the wrap carefully against his ribs. “I’ll think about you sometimes.”

“Damn. Sometimes?”

“Don’t get greedy.”

He laughs again, completely charmed by you in the way men always are. 

And every time you touch him, Mingi notices. Not angry. Not even resentful. Just painfully aware. Like hearing your favorite song playing from somebody else’s car.

By the time the tattoo’s paid for, the studio feels strangely dense. Your client grabs his jacket, already backing toward the door.

“Same time next week?”

“We’ll see if you survive this one first.”

“I survived because you were gentle.”

Something shifts in Mingi’s jaw. The client notices immediately. A grin spreads slowly across his face.

“Tell your boyfriend thanks for the emotional support.”

The door closes before either of you can answer. Silence spills into the studio after him. The buzzing needle’s gone now. The music suddenly sounds louder. Slower.

From the corner of your eye, you catch Mingi pushing himself off the couch. He flips the sign on the front door to CLOSED before sliding the lock into place with a quiet click.

Then he walks toward you.

You start cleaning your station, peeling off gloves and reaching for disinfectant.

Usually Mingi waits for you to drift back toward him naturally. Tonight he comes to you instead. You feel him before he speaks. Warmth at your shoulder. Close enough that your body notices immediately.

“So,” you say lightly, wiping down the tattoo bed, “my boyfriend, huh?”

Mingi nearly chokes on his beer. You glance over just in time to catch the way his eyes widen above the bottle.

“He was joking,” he says too fast.

“Mm.”

“He doesn’t know anything.”

“You seem stressed for someone who’s definitely not my boyfriend.”

“I’m not stressed.”

You hum like you totally believe him.

Mingi reaches past you for the paper towels at the exact same moment you turn. His chest brushes your shoulder. Tiny contact. Barely anything. Still, his hand lands automatically at your waist to steady you.

Your stomach flips immediately. 

Neither of you moves. Then his thumb shifts once against your side before he pulls away like he only just realized where his hand is.

“You were very attentive with him,” he says casually.

You glance sideways at him.

“It’s my job.”

“Hm.”

Not convinced.

He leans against the edge of the bed while you keep cleaning, entirely too close for someone pretending to be normal right now. His knee knocks yours once. Doesn’t move away.

“You know,” he says, “I’ve been thinking about getting another tattoo.”

You snort softly. “You complain through every appointment.”

“And yet I keep coming back.”

“For the art?”

His mouth twitches.

“For the experience.”

“The experience.”

“Special treatment. Soft voice. Emotional support.”

“You want me to hold your hand?”

Mingi’s mouth twitches.

“…Maybe.”

The answer slips out so easily you almost miss it. Almost. 

Your mouth curls before you can stop it. That seems to make him realize he said it out loud, because he looks away immediately, rubbing at the back of his neck while you reach for the petroleum jelly beside him. 

His hand catches your wrist first. Lightly. You freeze.

“There,” he murmurs, thumb brushing across the inside of your wrist. “Ink.”

Your breath catches a little stupidly. 

Mingi has always touched you easily. Carelessly. Like affection is something that lives in his hands naturally. This doesn’t feel careless. This feels slow. Aware.

His thumb drags once more before he lets go. Neither of you pulls away right away.

“That guy was flirting with you.”

You tilt your head. “You think?”

Mingi gives you a flat look.

“He literally asked for your number.”

“And?”

“And you flirt back.”

You blink. “I don’t.”

“You absolutely do.”

That lands heavier than it should. Like he’s been holding onto it longer than just tonight. You turn fully toward him, arms folding loosely.

“Oh my god,” you say slowly. “You’re jealous.”

“No.”

Immediate. Too immediate.

“You are.”

“I’m really not.”

“But you don’t like it.”

“I don’t care.”

“You looked ready to bite through drywall because he called me dangerous.”

“That’s because he sounded ridiculous.”

You laugh before you can stop yourself. Mingi’s eyes narrow slightly.

“There,” he says immediately. “That.”

“What?”

“That. You do that with everybody.”

“Do what?”

“That—” He gestures vaguely at you. “That thing.”

You stare at him for two full seconds. Then burst out laughing. Mingi groans instantly, dragging both hands down his face.

“Forget I said anything.”

“No, no,” you say, stepping closer. “I want details. What thing?” 

“I hate you.”

“That’s not very boyfriend of you.”

His head snaps up so fast it almost makes you grin.

“You’re enjoying this way too much.”

Maybe you are. Because suddenly everything from tonight rearranges itself perfectly in your head. The hovering. The watching. The way he kept interrupting. The way his eyes tracked your hands every time you touched the client.

And now this.

Song Mingi, who walks through life like nothing rattles him, suddenly can’t even look at you properly. 

You should let him recover. You don’t. Instead, you step closer. Slow enough that he notices. Close enough that his attention snaps back to you immediately.

Now there’s barely space left between you. 

Your hand lifts automatically toward the silver chain half-hidden beneath the collar of his hoodie, the pendant twisted awkwardly into the fabric. You hook two fingers under it, easing it free, then straighten it against his chest. A small gesture. Almost domestic.

Your knuckles brush warm skin where the chain slips under his shirt.

Mingi freezes. Not dramatically. Just enough for you to feel it.

“You’re touchy today,” he says softly.

“You started it.”

“Did I?”

“Mhm.”

Your fingers trail once along the chain before falling away. He watches every second of it. Like your hands are speaking a language he’s trying desperately to translate before it disappears.

A reluctant smile threatens at the corner of his mouth again, weaker now. Distracted by the fact you’re still standing too close. 

“How many clients leave here thinking you’re into them?”

You blink once. “Excuse me?”

“I’m serious.” His jaw shifts faintly. “You look at people like that and then act surprised when they start falling in love with you.”

The sentence lands hard enough to knock the air slightly out of your lungs. Because he says it like an accusation. But underneath it, there’s something rawer. Softer. Something dangerously close to confession.

Your mouth twitches despite yourself. “It gets me better tips.”

“Right.” He glances away briefly. “Cool.” Then, quieter, “you flirt with me for free.”

Mingi’s eyes widen slightly like he physically felt the words leave his mouth and wants to grab them out of the air. 

You blink once. Then tilt your head.

“…Do I?”

His ears turn red instantly. Actually red. And that’s new enough to make warmth bloom low in your stomach.

“I just mean,” he says quickly, taking half a step back, “you’re naturally like that. With everyone.”

“With everyone?”

“Yeah.”

You follow him when he steps back. Not enough to scare him. Just enough to make him realize you noticed.

“And you hate it?”

“No.” Too fast again. “I mean. Not hate. I just don’t like watching people flirt with you.”

The words slide warm and heavy into the room. Your heartbeat stumbles.

“Oh,” you say softly.

Mingi laughs once, humorless around the edges. “Yeah. Oh.”

Another step back from him. Another forward from you. The rhythm becomes almost absurd. Mingi retreating inch by inch while you slowly invade every space he gives up. Like he’s trying to survive this conversation and you’re trying to see how long until he breaks.

“I just think,” he says carefully, “most people don’t pay attention properly.”

“And you do.”

He hesitates. Then nods once. Small. Honest.

God.

The air suddenly feels too thick in your lungs.

“I know when you’re tired before you admit it,” he says quietly. “I know you pretend to hate sweet drinks but steal mine every time. I know you stop talking when something’s actually wrong.” His voice softens. “I know you hum when you tattoo.”

Your chest tightens painfully.

Mingi keeps talking now like he can’t stop once he’s started.

“I know which clients piss you off before they even sit down. I know you clean your station twice when you’re stressed. I know you act meaner when you’re embarrassed.”

Your lips twitch despite yourself.

“And I know,” he says, finally looking at you again, “that you flirt with people when you want them comfortable. But it doesn’t feel the same when you do it to me.”

The room goes quiet. Not empty. Heavy. Your heart is beating so hard now it almost feels embarrassing.

“Mingi…”

He keeps backing up as he talks. You keep moving forward. Until eventually his back brushes the wall near the hallway leading to the back room. Trapped. His breath catches slightly.

He tries to shift forward again on instinct. He can’t. Because you’re still there. Not crowding. Just close enough that the space he needs is gone. He’s actually stuck. Not metaphorically. Not dramatically. Just physically there, pinned between the wall and you. 

His breath turns shallow.

And suddenly you realize he’s actually nervous. Not teasing nervous. Not playful nervous. Real nervous. Mingi, who flirts with strangers like breathing and walks through every room like he belongs there, is looking at you like one wrong sentence might crack him open completely.

The realization sends warmth blooming painfully through your chest.

“I think about you too much,” he blurts suddenly.

The words hang there between you. Honest. Unpolished. Mingi winces immediately after saying them like he regrets how revealing they sound. But he keeps going anyway.

“Like… an embarrassing amount, actually.” His eyes flick away again. “At work. On my way home. I see things and think you’d laugh at them. Or hate them. Or make fun of them for being ugly.”

Your lips twitch helplessly.

“And then you flirt with random guys in front of me and suddenly I’m sitting on your couch acting like a fucking psycho because some dude called your hands magic.”

The laugh that escapes you is soft. Warm. Fond enough to make his face flush deeper.

“I’m serious,” he mutters weakly.

“I know.”

“No, I don’t think you do.”

That lands differently. The air shifts with it. Mingi swallows hard, debating whether to say the next thought out loud. 

“I…” His voice catches briefly. “I’ve liked you for a long time.”

You stare at him for a second longer than necessary. Like you’re enjoying this more than you should.

“You said that out loud,” you murmur.

Mingi groans again, covering his face briefly. “I know.”

The words leave him too easily. You see the exact moment he realizes that. Mingi drops his hands from his face slowly, looking at you now with this exhausted kind of honesty that almost hurts to look at.

“And the worst part,” he says more quietly, “is that I don’t even think it’s just a crush anymore.”

Something deep in your chest folds in on itself. Because his voice changes in that sentence. Softer. Heavier. Deeper. Like he didn’t mean to admit that part out loud.

“I think…” He exhales shakily, eyes finally lifting fully to yours. “I think somewhere along the way you became the first person I look for everywhere.”

The room goes completely still. No music. No neon outside. No buzzing lights overhead. Just him, and the way he’s looking at you like he’s just handed you something fragile with both hands and doesn’t know what you’re going to do with it.

You should say something. You should probably breathe. Instead, you step closer. Slow enough that he notices immediately.

His eyes widen slightly. A flicker of confusion first. Then something sharper, like he’s just realized the distance is disappearing.

 Your hand catches lightly in the strings of his hoodie, fingers curling there as you guide him back into the wall behind him. Not rough. Just certain.

The soft thud of it stops his breath for half a second. His shoulders hit first. Then stillness.

Mingi blinks up at you, wide-eyed now. Caught off guard in a way that makes him look younger, softer. Like his brain is a beat behind his body catching up to the fact that he’s not moving anymore.

Trapped, but gently so.

The realization flashes across his face in real time: 

Oh.

Your hand stays at his chest, twisting the soft fabric once around your fingers. And for the first time since he walked into your studio tonight, Mingi has absolutely nothing left to hide behind.

No jokes. No easy grin. Just wide dark eyes and a pulse hammering visibly in his throat beneath your touch.

He stares at you like you’ve just pulled the floor out from under him.

“…You have to stop looking at me like that.”

His voice barely survives the sentence. Low. Rough around the edges. Like every nerve in his body is pulled too tight beneath your hands.

You tilt your head slightly, still twisting the drawstring between your fingers.

“Like what?”

Mingi shuts his eyes for one dangerous second. Like he physically can’t withstand this much of you at once. When he opens them again, there’s only helpless honesty bleeding through every crack.

“You know,” he says quietly.

“Explain it to me.”

A shaky breath leaves him.

“It’s just…” His eyes flick helplessly between yours. “You keep looking at me like you already know every stupid thing I’m trying to say before I say it.”

Your pulse stumbles.

“And it’s making me insane because I had this whole speech in my head on the drive here and now you’re standing this close and I can’t remember any of it anymore.”

A laugh threatens at the corner of your mouth.

“Mingi—”

“No, wait.” He shakes his head quickly, words starting to tumble out faster now. “I’m serious. I was gonna do this properly. I had actual thoughts. Like coherent ones.”

“Did you?”

“Yes.” His ears are pink now. “And now all I can think about is your mouth.”

That almost breaks you immediately. Mingi realizes what he just admitted and groans softly, the back of his head nearly knocking against the wall behind him.

“See? This is exactly what I mean.”

“You’re doing great.”

“I’m literally not.”

You smile despite the violent rhythm of your heartbeat. Because this is what you’ve wanted for so long. Not perfection. Not some polished confession. Just him. Big hands flexing uselessly at his sides. Voice falling apart mid-sentence. Looking at you like wanting you has become unbearable to carry alone.

His eyes snap back to yours instantly. And that does it. 

Because Mingi has always looked enormous next to you. Broad shoulders. Height that swallows space when he walks into a room. But right now? Right now he’s melting under your fingertips. And the realization floods through you like heat.

You step even closer. Until his breath catches against your mouth. Until the wall is the only thing keeping him upright.

“I just…” His voice catches again. “I really like you.”

The sentence lands between you soft and devastating. And suddenly kissing him feels less like a decision and more like instinct. So you do. Fast. Sudden. Like finally giving in to gravity after fighting it for months. 

Mingi freezes instantly. A sharp inhale catches hard in his chest the second your lips touch his. For half a heartbeat he doesn’t move at all. Like his brain genuinely stopped working. Then his hands hit your waist. Hard. Not rough. Desperate.

A wrecked sound tears out of him somewhere between a gasp and a whimper as he melts forward into you all at once, like the kiss physically knocked the strength out of his body.

You kiss him harder immediately. Months of swallowed wanting snapping loose at once.

Mingi tries to follow too fast, too overwhelmed already, and his head knocks lightly against the wall behind him with a soft curse breathed straight into your mouth.

“Fuck,” he whispers against your lips.

You laugh softly into the kiss.

“You talk too much.”

“I was trying to…”

Another kiss cuts him off.

“I know.”

Mingi makes that sound again. That helpless little exhale that seems to punch straight through your ribs. 

His hands finally settle at your hips, huge and shaky and warm through your clothes. Not controlling. Just holding on. Like he’s afraid this might disappear if he loosens his grip.

You pull back barely enough to look at him. His lips are flushed already, swollen and wet from your mouth. Eyes blown wide and dazed beneath messy dark hair. 

He looks ruined. By a kiss. 

The realization sends another pulse of heat straight through you.

“Mingi,” you whisper.

He visibly swallows. You brush your thumb against his jaw and he leans into it immediately without thinking. That almost undoes you. 

“You don’t get it,” he says suddenly, breath uneven.

“Then tell me.”

“I can’t when you keep doing that.”

“Doing what?”

“Looking at me like you want to eat me alive.”

You smile slightly. “Maybe I do.”

His entire body reacts. A shiver runs through him so obvious you feel it beneath your palms.

A laugh slips out of you before you can stop it.

Mingi’s forehead drops briefly against yours with a quiet groan, like even hearing you laugh right now is too much for him.

“You make everything worse,” he blurts suddenly.

You blink once. “Excuse me?”

“I mean good worse,” he says quickly. “Jesus Christ.”

His forehead bumps yours again, embarrassed.

“I’ll be fine all day. Totally normal. And then you smile at me once and suddenly I can’t think straight for hours.”

Your expression softens before you can stop it. Mingi notices immediately. You can see the exact second he realizes he said too much. But instead of retreating this time, he exhales shakily and lets his forehead stay pressed to yours.

“It’s not just this,” he says quietly. “It’s never just this with you.”

Your fingers loosen against his hoodie. The teasing drains out of you slowly, replaced by something warmer. Deeper. Aching.

“Then what is it?” you whisper.

Mingi’s eyes close. And for a moment he just breathes against you. Like he’s spent months holding this inside his chest and doesn’t know how to survive finally letting it out. 

Then, barely above a murmur:

“It’s you.” Your heart stumbles violently. “It’s always been you.”

That one nearly steals your breath. You kiss him again before he can recover from saying it. Slower this time. Intentional. And he melts properly. No hesitation left now. 

Mingi makes this quiet, wrecked sound into your mouth like the kiss physically knocks the air out of him. His hands tighten at your waist for a second before one of them slides higher, tentative at first. Like he’s not fully sure he’s allowed.

Your breath catches when his fingertips slip beneath the hem of your shirt at the small of your back. Warm skin against warm skin.

Mingi shudders immediately at the contact. You feel it happen under your hands.

The kiss breaks for half a second on his end, like his brain short-circuits from touching you there, but then he’s kissing you again instantly. Hungrier now. Still soft, still careful, but with this desperate edge underneath it that makes your pulse stumble hard.

His hand spreads slowly against your lower back beneath your shirt. Huge. Shaky. His fingertips drag upward inch by inch along your spine like he’s trying to memorize the shape of you through touch alone.

The sensation sends heat straight through your chest.

“Mingi,” you breathe against his mouth.

That sound almost ruins him. A helpless exhale leaves him as his forehead bumps yours briefly before he kisses you again, deeper this time. Like hearing his name in your voice just dissolved whatever restraint he had left.

He keeps touching you carefully. That’s the dangerous part. Not greedy. Not rough. Just unbearably attentive. His fingertips trace lightly along your spine again and your entire body reacts before you can stop it. You feel him notice immediately in the way his breath stutters into the kiss.

“Oh my god,” he whispers against your lips, sounding dazed. “You felt that.”

You hate how much your stomach flips at the shaky little note of wonder in his voice.

“Keep kissing me,” you murmur.

He obeys instantly. Like reflex. Like he’d do anything you asked right now.

Every sound you make wrecks him further. You can feel it happening in real time.

The little breathless noises he keeps losing into your mouth. The way his hand trembles slightly against your back every time you kiss him deeper. Every time you pull back half an inch, Mingi follows immediately like instinct. Like distance physically hurts now that he’s had you this close.

Your hands slide fully into his hair now, tugging lightly at the roots.

A shaky sound breaks out of him immediately. You feel it against your tongue.

“Fuck,” he whispers again, ruined already.

One of his hands stays spread beneath your shirt, warm against the center of your back. The other slides up suddenly, almost clumsy with urgency, until his fingers bury into the hair at the back of your head.

Then he kisses you deeper. Not confident this time. Needy. Like he can’t get close enough anymore.

Your breath catches softly against his mouth. One of your hands stays tangled in his hair while the other drifts slowly down his arm, fingertips tracing the hard curve of his bicep beneath his hoodie sleeve before sliding higher again. Over his shoulder. Around the back of his neck. Up along his jaw.

Mingi visibly shivers when your thumb brushes beneath his ear. You feel his hand flex hard against your spine beneath your shirt. Like he doesn’t know what to do with how badly he wants to touch you.

You kiss the corner of his mouth. His jaw. The warm skin beneath his ear.

Mingi’s head tips back against the wall automatically, exposing more of his throat with a helpless inhale that nearly destroys your composure entirely.

“There you are,” you murmur softly against his skin.

A wrecked sound leaves him immediately. Not even words anymore.

“You have any idea,” you breathe between kisses, “how hard this has been for me?”

Mingi goes still for half a second.

You pull back just enough to look at him. His lips are parted now. Eyes dark and blown wide beneath messy hair. Completely wrecked.

“I mean it.” Your forehead presses against his again. “You take care of me without even thinking about it. You show up every single time. You make every room feel safer just by walking into it.”

His hands are shaking now. Actually shaking.

“And you have been driving me insane for months,” you confess softly. “So don’t stand here acting shocked because I finally kissed you.”

A wrecked laugh breaks out of him, immediately swallowed by another desperate kiss.

Your mouths keep finding each other between breaths, between half-finished sentences, between tiny overwhelmed sounds neither of you can hide anymore.

Everything feels overheated and too close and slightly off balance.

Then suddenly his kiss falters. Not because he pulls away. Because his body gives out first. A rough breath punches out of him against your mouth as his knees buckle unexpectedly beneath him.

“Mingi—”

Your hands grab for him immediately, trying to steady him, but he’s already sliding down the wall in one overwhelmed motion, dragging you with him instinctively. One hand catches hard at your waist while the other slips from your hair, fumbling clumsily for balance that clearly no longer exists.

“Wait, wait—”

A helpless laugh breaks out of him mid-collapse.

Your knees hit the hardwood on either side of his thighs as he lands heavily against the wall with a stunned exhale. Boots scraping awkwardly against the floorboards. Long limbs everywhere at once. Completely uncoordinated now.

For one messy second, neither of you knows where to put your bodies.

Then stillness.

Mingi’s chest heaves beneath you. Your brows knit immediately. Concern flashes through you first.

“Min?”

He shakes his head once quickly. Not hurt. Just catastrophically overwhelmed.

You can see it everywhere. The violent flush spread down his throat. The dazed look in his eyes. The way his hand is still under your shirt like he forgot it was there entirely.

And something about it feels almost surreal. Song Mingi. All sharp height and broad shoulders and effortless confidence. Reduced to this because you kissed him.

“…Did your legs just give out?”

“No,” he says immediately.

“They literally folded.”

“I’m fine.”

“You’re on the floor.”

“So are you.”

The comeback would land better if he wasn’t staring up at you like he’s moments away from short-circuiting completely. 

And then you feel it. The thick, hard press of him beneath the dark denim where you landed directly on his lap. Heavy and unmistakable, pressing right up between your legs through your clothes. Fuck. He feels as big as he carries himself, maybe bigger.

Your breath catches slightly. Mingi notices instantly. A mortified sound leaves him.

“Don’t start,” he says quickly.

You look back up slowly. “…Start what?”

“That face.”

“What face?”

“The one where you realize things.”

Your mouth twitches immediately. His throat bobs hard.

You feel his fingers flex under your shirt instinctively before his nails drag lightly down your back in one slow scrape that makes your entire body jolt.

Fuck.

Mingi notices that too. His eyes darken immediately.

“I’m trying so hard to be normal right now,” he whispers.

The honesty of it nearly knocks the air out of you. Because he sounds wrecked. Not cocky. Not teasing. Just overwhelmed down to the bone. Still holding onto you like letting go would physically kill him.

Your eyes flick briefly to the way his hands are gripping you now. One spread hot against your spine beneath your shirt. The other tight on your waist. Strong enough to leave bruises. Shaking anyway.

Something hot curls low in your stomach at the sight. You can feel the strength coiled in him, the way he could easily lift you, pin you, take control if he wanted to. But he doesn't. He just looks up at you like he’s dying from how much he wants you. 

When your hips shift experimentally against his, his reaction is immediate. A broken sound tears out of his throat as his head falls back toward the wall.

Your hand catches it before it can hit too hard, fingers tightening at the base of his neck as you cushion the impact instinctively.

Mingi melts instantly beneath your touch. His eyes squeeze shut for one second as your fingers tighten slightly in his hair. His grip spasms hard against your waist.

You bite your lip, suppressing your own sounds at the way he reacts so fast, so visibly, like every nerve in his body is wired directly into your hands.

“Oh my god,” you whisper, almost fascinated now. “I broke you.”

"Shut up," he breathes instantly, voice cracking. 

Your laugh brushes warm against his mouth. Mingi’s eyes open again immediately, locking onto you like he’s afraid to miss a second of this. 

And suddenly your concern dissolves into something hotter. Because he looks huge beneath you. Broad chest rising hard beneath his hoodie. Big hands gripping your body like he can’t stop himself. Thick thighs spread under yours. But none of that changes the fact he’s completely unraveling for you right now.

You tug his hair again, sharper this time. A wrecked sound punches out of him immediately.

“There he is,” you murmur softly. “My good boy.”

“Please don’t say things like that.”

“Why?”

“Because I already can’t think.”

His fingers scratch lightly down your spine again, rougher now, and the sensation shoots heat straight through your stomach. You feel him twitch between your legs, the pressure catching your clit perfectly even through denim, and you have to swallow your own moan down before it escapes.

You grin instead. Then you kiss him again. 

And whatever control he had left finally snaps. His hand fists suddenly in your hair while he tilts your head enough to deepen the kiss properly. Sloppier. Hungrier. He kisses you like he can’t get enough oxygen from anywhere else.

You drag your mouth down his jaw, over his throat, and Mingi immediately tips his head back for you again with a helpless sound, exposing more skin like instinct.

His head knocks toward the wall once more and you catch him again automatically, palm sliding behind his head while your other hand stays around his shoulders.

“There,” you murmur against his throat. “Careful.”

That almost makes him whine.

Your teeth scrape lightly over his pulse. Mingi’s hips jerk up involuntarily beneath you.

“Fuck,” he chokes out, hands tightening hard enough to drag you fully against him. “You’re gonna ruin me.”

He sounds terrified.

Your forehead brushes his gently, breath mingling between you while his entire body trembles underneath yours.

You kiss him again, slower now, while your hips move in tiny experimental rolls against his. Barely anything. Just enough friction to make his breathing fall apart completely.

He’s concentrating so hard you can see it in his face. Jaw clenched. Brows pinched slightly. Trying desperately not to cum on the spot from just this. He tries to slow you once, but he fails instantly when you press closer and another helpless, broken moan slips out of him into your mouth.

Then he’s moving too, dragging desperate open-mouthed kisses down your neck like he doesn’t know where to put all this wanting anymore.

His hands slide lower.

One stays beneath your shirt, fingers tracing your spine again and again like he’s addicted to the feeling of your skin.

The other grips your ass hard, dragging you tighter against him while his mouth presses sloppy kisses against your throat.

“You’re so pretty,” he whispers against your skin, voice wrecked beyond repair. "So fucking pretty, baby, look at you—"

You’ve never seen him like this before. Never seen him stop trying to perform strength. And maybe that’s why this feels so intimate it almost scares you. Because he’s letting you see every vulnerable part without fighting to hide them anymore.

“Mingi,” you murmur softly.

He looks at you immediately.

“You okay?”

A quick nod. Then, quieter, “don’t stop.”

Your thumb smooths gently across his cheek.

“I won’t.”

And that’s what finally breaks him open. You see it happen in real time. The exact second the last bit of distance leaves his face. The exact second he realizes this isn’t temporary. That you’re not going to pull away from him tomorrow and pretend none of this happened.

His forehead drops against your shoulder with a shaky exhale.

Then he kisses you again. Different this time. Slower. Still hungry, but softer around the edges, like he can’t decide whether to devour you or memorize you.

His hands roam more boldly now, your back, your waist, your hips, your ass, gripping like he keeps remembering he’s allowed to touch you like this.

Your knees ache against the hardwood, but you barely notice once he plants his boots against the floor and pulls you flush against him with one helpless pull of his hips.

The breath leaves both of you at once.

Suddenly there’s nowhere your body ends without running into his. Broad chest. Heavy thighs. Strong arms boxing you in, without feeling threatening for even a second.

That’s the thing that gets you. How big he is and how careful he still is with you anyway.

Your hand slides to his throat experimentally, fingers loose against his pulse. Mingi's eyes go dark instantly, pupils blown wide. He swallows against your palm. Breath catching hard enough you feel it against your mouth. 

"Yeah?" you whisper.

He nods, fast and desperate. "Yes. Please."

The smallest increase in pressure tears a wrecked sound out of him, his head falling back against the wall. The sound goes straight between your legs.

After that, everything loses rhythm. Kisses turning sloppy. Breathing uneven. His hands gripping harder whenever you get too close. 

His hips are thrusting up, rolling, seeking more friction, and you feel yourself getting wet just from the desperation in his movements. He's so hard it must hurt, straining against the denim, and when you grind down against him, he cries out, hands gripping your ass to try to make you move faster.

He realizes what he's doing halfway through and stills himself with visible effort, eyes squeezed shut like he’s trying to regain control. 

“Wait,” he breathes roughly. “If you keep doing that, I’m not gonna last.”

The honesty of it sends heat curling low in your stomach.

And you're barely doing anything, but the fact that he's this close from almost nothing makes you want to feel him fall apart because he wants you that much.

You kiss him again, deep and filthy, and keep your movements light. Just small, teasing rolls of your hips.

"So pretty," he whines, "baby, you're so—fuck. Seriously. You're so beautiful, so hot, I can't—I can’t even look at you properly right now."

“You’re so cute,” you breathe against his mouth.

Your fingers slide softly through his hair again, gentler this time, scratching lightly at his scalp while his eyes flutter half-shut. 

“That’s my pretty boy,” you whisper softly. “Trying so hard to hold it together.”

His face flushes deeper immediately.

“You’re doing so good for me, Min.”

That one finally ruins him. 

His hips twitch up again, needy and involuntary, and you feel the damp heat spreading at the front of his jeans where he’s already leaking from almost nothing. The realization barely has time to settle before his whole body jolts beneath you.

A strangled grunt punches out of him.

His grip clamps hard around you so suddenly it knocks your balance backward. You catch yourself instinctively, palm slapping against the wall beside his head before either of you can crack into it.

Mingi goes tense all at once, hips stuttering up into yours before he buries his face instantly into your neck with a sharp gasp, biting down hard enough to muffle the wrecked sound that follows.

And then he’s coming. Fast. Sudden. Hard enough his whole body shudders under you.

For the first time all night, he stops holding himself back. His arms lock tight around you as he pushes himself off the wall just enough to drag you with him, forcing you to tilt back slightly in his grip while he shakes through it. Like he physically needs you closer to survive it.

Your arms loop around his neck automatically to steady both of you, one hand sliding into his hair, fingers spreading against the back of his head to keep him tucked against your throat while he rides it out.

You feel every pulse through the denim between you. The hot spread of wetness. The helpless way his body betrayed him from almost nothing except your mouth, your weight against him, your hand at his throat.

His hips jerk once more before he folds inward completely, trembling against your neck, breathing ragged through clenched teeth while he tries desperately to hide how easily he came.

Then nothing. No movement. No sound except his uneven breathing against your skin.

You blink once, heat rushing straight through you at what just happened. At how little it took. At how desperately his body gave in the second you told him what he wanted to hear.

“Mingi.”

A horrified groan muffles straight into your neck. 

You bite back a laugh instantly. Not mean. Never mean. Just unbearably fond. Because this man. This man who walked in here trying to act normal about being in love with you is now actively attempting to fuse himself into your shoulder to avoid eye contact.

You shift slightly, trying to look at him. He follows immediately, burying himself deeper against your neck.

“Mingi,” you repeat, softer now, fingers slipping into the hair at the nape of his neck. “Hey.”

A helpless smile spreads across your face as you press a kiss against his temple. He shudders under it instantly.

“Don’t look at me.”

That actually makes you laugh. Quiet and warm against his skin.

You coax his face back enough to look at him properly and nearly lose your mind all over again. Pink cheeks. Wet swollen lips. Eyes glassy and unfocused beneath messy hair. Completely wrecked.

And beneath you, you can still feel him, hot and sticky and probably uncomfortable as hell in his jeans, but making no move to fix it because that would mean acknowledging it.

“Shit,” he says immediately, mortified. “I’m sorry.”

That catches you off guard enough your expression softens instantly. Because he sounds embarrassed, yeah, but underneath it there’s sincerity too. Like he’s genuinely worried he ruined something.

“I was trying really hard not to cum,” he blurts, words tumbling out faster now that they’ve started. “I was trying to hold it together and then you kept kissing me and calling me pretty and I just—”

He cuts himself off with another groan, dragging a hand over his burning face.

“Min.” You wait until his eyes finally flick back to yours. “Why are you apologizing?”

His brows pull together slightly.

“…Because I came in my jeans like a teenager?”

You laugh softly. “And?”

“And we were literally just making out.”

You grin despite yourself, pulse still throbbing low and hot between your legs. Because honestly? The more you think about it, the more turned on you get. 

Your hips shift unconsciously against him and Mingi sucks in a sharp breath immediately, eyes squeezing shut.

“Shit, sorry,” you murmur, fascinated. “Still sensitive?”

“Please have mercy on me.”

The shaky way he says it sends another pulse of heat straight through you. You lean in until your noses brush.

“You know this was hot, right?”

“That was hot to you? You’re not making fun of me?” he asks carefully.

Your heart actually aches a little.

“Mingi.” You brush your thumb over his cheekbone. “I’m trying very hard not to climb you again right now.”

“Oh my god.”

You kiss him again before he can get more embarrassed. Just a small one. Quick. Soft.

Mingi exhales into your mouth immediately, shoulders dropping another inch. There’s something dangerously addictive about it. Like the second you kissed him, his body decided hiding anything from you was impossible.

Your gaze drops again before you can stop it. Right between his legs. And right on cue, he shifts under you again and you feel it. Hard again. Twitching faintly beneath the damp denim. Still reacting to every little thing you do. 

You pull back barely enough to look at him. “You’re kidding. You’re hard again?”

Mingi groans immediately. “Don’t say it out loud.”

Your laugh spills warm against his skin. He shivers hard at the sound. His hips shift unconsciously like he’s trying to relieve pressure and instantly regrets it when the denim drags against him.

Mingi must see something change in your face, because his breathing catches again immediately.

“Can you stop looking at me like you’re about to climb inside my ribcage?” he whispers.

You grin. “No.”

Mingi groans. “I hate you.”

“No you don’t.”

“…No. I really don’t.”

You laugh again and finally climb off his lap. Your knees ache faintly when you stand, but the sight in front of you almost takes you back out again.

Mingi looks ruined. Hoodie twisted crooked from your hands. Lips bitten red. Dark stain obvious across his jeans now no matter how he tries to angle himself away from it.

You bite your lip softly and hold your hand out toward him.

“C’mon.”

He blinks up at you. “…Where?”

Your smirk sharpens just slightly.

“You’re a mess,” you say, pointedly glancing at his lap before meeting his eyes again. 

His face goes red all over again.

“Besides…” Your voice softens. “I don’t think I’m done with you yet.”

Mingi goes completely still. Then his fingers tighten around yours hard enough to feel it.

“Cool,” he says faintly. “Awesome. Great. Yeah,” he says quietly, standing now, towering close enough to steal the air from your lungs again. “You have no idea what you just started.” 

Your stomach flips embarrassingly hard at the look on his face now.

“That sounds threatening.”

“It is.”

You open your mouth to answer, but Mingi kisses you first. Slow enough to distract you completely. Which is exactly why you don’t notice him crouching until the floor disappears beneath you.

“Wait, wha—”

A squeak bursts out of you as Mingi hooks an arm behind your legs and lifts you clean over his shoulder in one smooth motion.

“Mingi!”

He laughs against your startled noise as he playfully smacks your thigh before he starts walking toward the bathroom like carrying you around like this is the most natural thing in the world.

“Oh, now you’re shy?” he teases.

Heat rushes straight to your face. “Put me down.”

“No.”

He punctuates it with another slap against your ass that makes you gasp so loudly he nearly folds over laughing himself.

“You were talking real brave five minutes ago.”

You bury your burning face against the back of his hoodie while his laugh rumbles warm through your legs.

“You let me recover. Rookie mistake,” he says, opening the bathroom door. “You’re gonna regret giving me confidence.”

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It would be a lie to tell him you didn’t miss him. On most nights you could ignore the empty pang in your chest when you were laying beside someone else. Someone with the same height as him, someone with a similar laugh, someone that with four drinks and your eyes closed, could pass as him. At least with his head buried between your thighs. No, nothing would come close to the real thing. Not the next morning while sneaking out of their apartments. Not while dodging their calls or them in public. Not while needing to hear his deep voice when you were struggling with your own brain. Not when you felt lost without him.

More moments had passed. Too much time to call it nothing, like that empty pang in your chest wasn’t fading away when he nuzzled into the crook of your neck from behind you. Your hands working faster than your brain to reach for his hair, your fingers raking through his scalp. His hair is too soft to be dyed so many times. Your eyes shutting as you let him hold you there, his lips finding your neck. Soft, pillowy, warm, and pressing into the skin where your neck met with your shoulder. Any chance to back out, to yourself, was gone then. It didn’t help that with little effort he was able to spin you around to face him. Your hands finding their home on his chest, warm and rising beneath your palm as you looked up at him. He didn’t look smug. He didn’t look like he was amused. He just looked sad. It only made the ache in your chest start to feel heavier.

“C’mon.” He rasped, “Tell me. Tell me now so I can stop wondering.” His eyes were soft, big and rounded somehow. He was begging, pleading. You can tell he needs it.

Because of course he couldn’t stop wondering. He hadn’t stopped since the night you last saw each other before this. He hadn’t stopped wondering when he'd try to date other women. Try to get you off his mind. He couldn’t stop wondering while buried in another girl, her moans nothing like yours. He couldn’t stop wondering when a song you liked would come on shuffle and he could picture you and the little dance you’d do when you heard it. The excitement you’d have when it would come on in public. The way you’d let him hold you while you sang it loud in the living room of his apartment, he only knew the lyrics because of you. He couldn’t stop wondering if you missed him on lonely nights while he laid awake in bed for hours, tearing himself apart for letting you leave without fighting harder for it. He wondered because he missed you so bad it hurt.

You shudder, when one of his big hands finds your chin, tilting your eyes up to meet his gaze. You hadn’t even realized your eyes had dropped, head down and away from him. His thumb sweeping over your bottom lip, tugging it down as your breathing hitched audibly. His thumb smoothing down your chin, over your skin up to your cheek. You warm into his palm, your eyes unable to leave him as you struggle to breathe normally. His beautiful eyes are still soft and warm. Not the intense ones you met earlier in the night. His lips pressed into a frown as the moments kept ticking by, waiting for an answer. You could feel how vulnerable he was, how much he needed an answer, you could hear his breath hitch when you pressed yourself up on your tippy toes.

“I miss you.” Your voice is a whisper, more air than substance, but raw and honest, “Fuck, Mingi, I miss you so much.”

A sound leaves him that resembles a sigh. Something soaked in relief. Letting a breath free that he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. “I missed you.”

His free hand wrapping around your lower back, the hand on your cheek sliding up and into your hair, holding the back of your head as he pressed your body against his. Your lips ghosting his lips as his nose nudges at yours, your breath catching again as your eyes flutter shut. His lips finally pressing into yours as your palms smooth over his broad chest over his overlapping chains and up to his shoulders. The kiss is soft, not the usual tongue first kiss you were used to. This one was slow, as if to test the waters, as if he was unsure. It’s not what you’re used to but it still tastes like him, and it’s enough to make you want even more. You kiss him back, no part of you resisting him. Letting him lead.

When he pulls away his eyes slowly trail down your features, as if to see if it’s really you. His forehead presses to yours, both of your eyes closing as his nose nudges yours to tilt your chin back. His lips find yours again, this time it’s more hungry, more sure. His tongue slipping into your mouth moving against yours. It pulls a sound from you that he swallows. Your hands find the cold metal of his chains, moving over them and up to his neck, your wrists resting on his broad shoulders trying to get closer. He has to lean forward to accommodate you, his big hands pressing your body against his as he starts to move forward. You realize where he’s taking you, and before you know it you’re in his room. The back of your legs hitting the bed.

He easily helps you up onto the high mattress, before sinking to his knees in front of you. Your hand immediately raked through his hair, pushing it out of his face. He looks so beautiful in the dim lighting of his room. Skin glowing, eyes bigger than usual, his perfect plush lips slightly ajar as he looks up at you. Even with his pupils blown wide he looks innocent.

“Let me make you feel good.” He breathes, “Please baby, I miss you so much.” You nod, leaning down to kiss his forehead, then his lips again. He reaches for the dress you wore and pushes it up above your hips, his fingers curling into the waistband of your underwear. There’s no teasing or questioning what he’ll do next, like Mingi he is direct. He’s yanking down your underwear, a little impatient, your hips lift to assist him, your hands reaching for your dress to bring it over your head. “God, baby, you’re so beautiful.” His voice is deep, the tone vibrates through your body making your skin scatter with goosebumps. His lips finding one knee, then the other, his eyes staying locked on yours.

Even as he wraps his big hands around your thighs, pulling you forward closer to his waiting mouth, his eyes are looking into yours. His lips press into the skin on your inner thighs not to tease, but to savor. He’s grateful every second he gets to be there. His teeth and tongue add to the sensations he’s making you feel. Your teeth digging into your bottom lip, making you shiver and bite back a whimper with every new spot. He doesn’t stay there too long, his eyes leaving yours to look at your pussy. Already wet and waiting for him, he groans at the sight of you, so ready for him and he pulls you even closer, almost off the edge of the bed just to taste you.

His thick tongue swipes a warm wet stripe up the center of you, a whine leaving his lips as if a taste is not enough. You shudder when he flicks your clit with his tongue, moaning as he laps against your sensitive spot. Your hands grip the edge of the bed, fingers curling into the sheets as your head drops back, a small sound escaping your throat as he laps over your clit with a delighted hum. “You taste so good.” He sounds like he’s talking directly to your pussy, his deep voice vibrating against you, his words making your stomach flip. Then, he dips down lower, pressing his tongue into you with another satisfied groan. The taste of you he missed, it makes him want more. This time you let a moan out your hips involuntarily pulling back into the mattress at the sudden moment of pleasure.

“Don’t run from it.” He coos, pulling you back toward him, his long fingers smooth over your thighs and pull your knees over his shoulders, his arms locking your thighs into place for him. “Let me show you how much I missed you.” He dips low again, burying his tongue inside of you as you whimper, his nose nudging your clit with every thrust of his tongue. One of your hands finds his hair, right at the crown, your fingers grasping him tightly as he growls. His movement doesn’t falter, even as your thighs attempt to close around his head. Your body lit on fire with the way his tongue moves inside of you, the way he’s growling and moaning as he treats you like his last meal. You squirm beneath him but his strength keeps you in place, his long thick fingers digging into your skin with the metal of his rings only add another layer of pleasure. The slight pain of pressure only makes you tremble more. His tongue finds its way up to your clit, and you nearly faint when he rolls his tongue against the sensitive bud before he wraps his plush lips around you.

“Mingi-ah.” You moan, breathy and weak. Back arching as you whine. It only encourages him to work harder. His tongue focuses on your clit, his lips and tongue working in tandem to make your head spin. Then you feel a finger, long and thick, just one and you shudder, a guttural moan pulled out of you as your back arches off the bed. He moans as your walls clench around him, just a finger, and then he adds a second. Your fingers mimic your body, clenching in his hair, pulling at it and Mingi? He doesn't stray from his tempo. His fingers start to slowly pump in and out of you as his mouth stays focused on your clit. You can hear how wet you are, with every slurp and thrust from his fingers. Your body tingles, all over, like your blood is simmering beneath your skin.

Your orgasm builds in your stomach, as you moan and cry beneath him. He moans at the way you feel soaking his fingers and lips, the way you taste, how much you’re creaming for him. He becomes greedy, his eyes opening to find your head tilted back, chest pressed out as you arch, your fingers still curled gripping his hair. Your eyes clenched shut, your mouth hanging open, spilling sounds that he had been hearing in his dreams. He keeps working for you, proud to know you’re unraveling and it’s all because of him. He rolls his eyes back as he moves his head, chasing your high like he’s the one who needs the release.

His fingers curl inside of you, and too easily he finds that spot deep inside. It pulls a gasping moan from your throat as you tremble beneath him. Your mouth falls open as you gasp for air, the way he moves his fingers inside of you only pulls more arousal from your core. He whimpers, like his cock is inside you. He’s so hard it hurts, and he grinds his hips hoping to feel some kind of relief against his pants. He feels how close you are, can feel the way you clench around his fingers the way you’re trembling and unable to speak properly. His lips move from your clit as he looks up at you one more time.

Your eyes are teary now, your grip on his hair is tight, your nails digging into his scalp, and he likes the way it hurts just enough. Your hips start to buck against his finger and face, involuntarily, as your body chases your high before your brain can catch up. Your pussy is louder than your breathy sobs, and he moans again when he watches his two fingers disappear inside of you. When he pulls them out he marvels at the slick and creamy arousal you’re gushing out. “Fuck, baby.” He groans, “Let it out. I can see how much you missed me. Cum for me.” His mouth is back on your clit and he sucks and rolls his tongue against you, the vibration from his moan sending your body over the edge in a quick wash of heat. Your mouth opens and spills with curses and nonsense noises. Your body tensing up one more time before you start to shake. Your knees pull in around his head as he continues thrusting his fingers into you, even when your vision blurs.

You sound more like you’re crying than moaning when he pulls his fingers from you. He brings them into his mouth with a satisfied muffled sigh, as you try to come back to earth and try and catch your breath. You push yourself up and though your breath is still rugged you find and kiss his lips sloppily.

“Let me show you how much I missed you…” You breathe, against his lips with one last peck before you pull him up. He hovers above you, even as you stand. He’s massive and strong yet soft for you. Your hands reach for the waist of his jeans and you work on unbuckling the belt and pulling down the zipper. After you unbutton them, they fall and pool around his ankles.

He climbs back onto the bed, and you follow crawling toward him, your eyes staying on his eyes the whole time. “Don’t look at me like that.” He smirks, “You know what it does to me.” You stop at his thighs as he sits comfortably against the pillows by his headboard.

“Just wanna show you how much I missed you.” You shrug, continuing to look doe-eyed at him, your hands running up his perfect thick thighs, your nails trailing back down them. You move down, to kiss his skin where your fingers trailed down. Then you kiss back up, closer to his erection. He’s hard, precum leaking from him as you climb over him and crawl up to kiss his lips again instead. His breath hitches as your lips trail back down, over his neck, down his chest taking your time, kissing, licking, nipping all the way down to his belly button. You find his eyes on you, his lips parted, his chest rising and falling heavily as you kiss and lick his warm soft skin. You make it down to his pubic bone where you use your tongue to lay flat and swipe across his skin. A sigh leaving your mouth, soaked in satisfaction. He was dying for your mouth, he needed it. You knew it, just by his stomach tightening, a needy whimper leaving his lips as you continued to just tease him with your tongue.

You settle back between his legs, your mouth dipping low to the base of his length, your tongue dropping out to swipe a long warm wet swipe up to the tip of him. He whimpers, watching as you wrap your hand around him, slowly stroking up his thick shaft to his tip, your eyes on his as he reaches a hand out to thread back into your hair. His fingers curling in and tightening his grip. He’s not moving you at all, just holding there, letting you swirl your tongue around the tip of him. “Please.” He breathes, “Stop teasing.” You oblige, wrapping your lips around the tip of him, sucking, before opening your mouth wider. It was always a task with Mingi. He was big. Not just in length but he was thick, everywhere, his dick being no exception. You let your mouth water around him, let your spit drip down his shaft as you pull back up while hallowing your cheeks. Moaning around him as you suck off him with a pop, your hands moving to stroke him, spreading your spit as you look up at him. His free hand is tangled in his own hair as he watches, his bottom lip drawn into his mouth by his teeth. You move to take him into your mouth again. This time, you take even more. The stretch is a lot but you manage, your eyes tearing up as you stare up at him. Your tongue guiding your way down as you moan around him. Now his hand is pressing

you down, and you gag around him when he reaches the back of your throat. He lets out a strangled groan, his head tilting back as his chest starts to rise and fall faster than before. “God, I missed that mouth.”

You make another sound, something between gagging and moaning, but you stay down on him. Even as your mouth produces more saliva that starts dripping past your lips, down his shaft. You suck and hollow your cheeks before bobbing your head on him. His hand guiding you the whole time, his whimpers turning into grunts and groans. His mouth opens as he moans, his eye brows furrowing, his eyes closing. He pulls you off him slowly, and you suck around him as he does, making him tremble. You stroke his cock with both of your hands as you take a breather, his hips bucking into your palms as he lets out a raspy breath. You swallow him back again, easier this time, your nails digging into his thighs as you lower yourself onto him. Your eyes flashing up to see him watching again. “Love the way you do that…” He groans, “You look so pretty like that.” His hands find your hair, like a gentleman he holds it out of the way as you bob on him, moaning as you do. His cock reaches back into your throat until you gag and swallow around him, keeping yourself there until you hear him whimper again. Your eyes sting with tears, you sound filthy, but you don’t stop until he’s shaking beneath you. You know he’s close. So close he might cum right then, but he holds it while you suck off him again. You stroke his cock with both of your hands again, your spit still connected to your lips and his tip as you flash your eyes up at him.

“Let me taste you, again.” You coo, “Cum down my throat, Mingi. I want it. I need it.” His dick twitches in your palm, his body shuddering at your voice and words, a whimper leaving his lips instead of anything he can say.. You take him back into your throat quickly, moaning around him as you take him all the way. You suck and bob and moan around him until he tenses beneath you. His grip in your hair tighter and his moans strangled and higher than before. You feel him twitch and release and pull up just enough to feel his warmth down your throat. His body trembles as you continue to suck on him, one of your hands finding his balls and gently squeezing them as if you can get more out. He reaches for you, then. His hands shake as he pulls you up toward him with little hassle. You open your mouth for him, show him how you swallowed it all. He growls as his lips wrap around your tongue, sucking on it as you brace yourself on his shoulders.

“Love how dirty you are for me.” He groans sucking on your tongue. His hands still tremble as he wraps his arms around you and holds you against him tightly. He groans when you dig your nails into the skin on his neck and run down his shoulders. You kiss him deeply, grinding yourself against his waist. “Turn around for me.” He breathes, “Gonna give you exactly what you’ve been missing.” He helps move you off him, and you immediately know how he wants you. Hands down in front of you, back arched, head to the bead, ass in the air. He bites his lip and groans as he marvels at you again. You shake your hips letting him know you’re waiting for him. You turn your head so you can watch him, holding his already hard dick in his hand. He swallows hard just looking at you, stroking himself before using his tip to just tease your pussy. You already tremble at the feeling and his other hand holds you steady by the waist. He slowly slides just the tip in, already thick you brace for more. When he pushes a bit further your body reacts by jolting forward, and he chuckles using his hands to pull you back toward him, closer than before. “Don’t run from it. It’s yours.” He purrs his voice deeper and lower.

Your body warms as he slowly sinks further into you, both of you gasping at the tight fit. “Mingi-ah…” You whine, and he holds tight where he’s at. Your walls are already clenching around him, you breathe slowly and press yourself back further, letting him sink in more.

“That’s it, baby. Take what you need.” he breathes and you push more, until you take him fully, “Just like that.” You moan as his hands smooth over your ass, spreading you open so he can see himself buried inside of you, completely. He groans, his head falling back at the view. You don’t move, not yet. Your body is still adjusting to the size of him, he doesn’t move either, enjoying you tightening around him. You whimper beneath him, your body reacting in a way you can’t control, already trembling at the intrusion.

Then, he starts to move. Slow, but firm. He rolls his hips into you, watching the way your ass bounces against him as he bites his bottom lip, a muffled sound hidden behind his lips. He loves to watch himself easily sink into you, loves the way your pussy grips around him when he pulls halfway out, before snapping his hips back into you with a soft grunt. He thrusts aggressively, the perfect spot where his cock glides into you. “Relax a little, baby.” He murmured, “Let me in.” He revels in the sound his next stroke pulls from you, something between a moan and a whine. You can feel the imprints of his rings digging into the skin on your hips as he holds you in place. Your hands curl into the sheets of his bed, your back staying arched for him, the way he liked.

“M-Mingi…” You whine into the mattress, and he lets a heavy groan leave his mouth at the way you say his name. “So… good. So deep.” You moan between the sounds of his skin snapping back against yours.

“C’mere.” he growls, pulling you up toward him, still deep inside you, the angle of you on your knees pressed against his chest only makes him feel deeper. You shake as he holds you there, the tip of him so deep it feels like he’s in your stomach. He stops his movement and lets you sit with that feeling, your pussy fluttering around him. He peppers kisses down your cheek, one arm holding you against him across your torso, the other hand dipped between your legs finding your clit.

“Min— Mingi.” You breathe a ragged breath, your body becoming his.

“You feel me up here don’t you?” He growls into your skin, his hand coming up around your throat. “Right here, right?” He muses. You can’t answer him, not with any words. Your brain is drawing a blank for words, just whining, crying as he starts to move. He pounds up and into you from this position and you feel your soul leave your body. His mouth is warm and wet against your ear now. “What’s wrong? Can’t talk?” He teases, his words melting into his grunts. He plays with your clit while he fucks into you, your body shaking your hands holding onto his arm for dear life. You try, really hard, to say something but you babble instead. He growls as he keeps rolling his cock into you, every stroke sending a wave of pleasure over you. Every roll of his fingertips on your clit draws you closer to your climax.

“Love those pretty sounds you're making.” You don’t know if he means from your voice or your pussy that’s gushing around him. You can’t control either and you melt against him as your orgasm starts to wash over you.

“Min… Mingi…” You cry, and he doesn’t stop. Rubbing your clit and fucking into you with full precision. You clench around him, your body trembling once again as he starts to pump faster, his own orgasm coming up quick. His grip around your throat tightens as his entire body tensed up.

“Fuck baby…” He whines, and you feel him grow desperate for it. His thrusts are less languid, your pussy gripping around him trying to pull his orgasm out of him. He starts pounding up into you sloppily, holding your body tighter against him, taking your breath away at his strength. His fingers continue to rub your clit and bring you there. It makes you unravel faster, everything boils over and you choke out sobs as he unloads inside of you. Both of you tense up and shudder with curses. Both of you shake and weep. Both of you stumble forward. Gasping for air, his cock still buried deep inside of you he holds you up from completely crashing onto the bed. His lips trail down your back as his breathing hitches warm against your skin. Then, he pulls himself up and slowly pulls himself out of you. Watching as you leak his cum and your arousal, his dick already growing hard for more of you.

He flips you over onto your back and you look up at him through half lidded tearing eyes, his big hands

moving up your calves, to your thighs and pushing them apart, your pussy still convulsing from your second orgasm. It makes his mouth fall open with a moan. “One more, yeah?” He breathes, “You can give me one more can’t you?” He asks, his palms run up the back of your thighs, his nails gently pushing back in when he brings them down. It’s enough to make you shiver, and you nod. Because right now, you’d give him anything he asked for. “Missed you so much.” He growls, “and she missed me.” He taps his tip against your soaking center, “She’s so loud and needy, like you.” He teases and his words only

make you crave him more. He lets his cock run up between your folds, all of your arousal and his mixing to coat his cock his head falling back for a second in complete ecstasy at the sight.

“More…” You whine, “Need more of you.” You don’t care how desperate and needy you sound. You need him, you need to feel him back inside of you. “Please Mingi.” You breathe.

“I’ll give you everything.” He groans, and you feel him pressing his tip into you. “Let me…” and then he shifts and sinks into you with a breathy whimper. “…in.” You moan at the feeling of being filled to the brim once again. “The way you’re clenching I can tell you don’t wanna let me go.” He purrs. His hands move to yours, his thick long fingers lacing with your fingers as he bites back a moan and angles into you.

“So… So deep, Mmm.” You cry, “Fuuuck, Mingi I can feel you in my throat.” Your words ignite a fire deep in his stomach, as he pulls back and snaps his hips back into you. Pulling another strangled moan from your throat, your eyes clenching shut as his hands clench in yours. He watches your face as he starts to pound into you. He thinks you’re beautiful like this. Your face turning red and sweaty as his cock finds that spot inside of you once again. He loves the way your mouth hangs open when he rolls his body and fucks you slow and deep. He loves how you forget how to use words and how he can get your brain to shut off for him.

“Look at me, please.” He whimpers “Wanna see your pretty eyes when you start to fall apart.” Your eyes flash open to him, and even though they’re heavy lidded and wet with tears, it makes his heart swell. “Yeah, so pretty baby.” He groans. You whine again, your legs wrapping around his waist as he holds your hands down into the mattress.

“M-mingi—“ His name being cried only works him up more, and then his pace becomes erratic and hard. Your body almost jolts away from him as his moans become raspy growling. You don’t pull your eyes away, watching his face contort with pleasure, all because of you.

You relish in the way he starts to whimper and growl like a needy puppy. The way his bottom lip trembles as his breathing grows more ragged and rasped. The way his brows furrow and his eyes start to tear up too. His pretty eyes glassy and dark from his pupils being blown to hell. His skin glowing and red from the exasperation. The duality of the way he’s holding your hands so gently while he completely slams his hips into you. His teeth clench as he pounds you into the mattress, your head already starting to feel light, your orgasm so close your body shakes harder than before.

He doesn’t slow, doesn’t make you wait. He doesn’t stop until your blubbering, your orgasm springing on you like a surprise. Your mind goes completely blank, you sob and clench everywhere. Your pussy around his cock, your hands intertwined with his, your teeth, as if to cage in any sounds or words from your throat. His own high pitched moans and groans escape him in sharp breaths as he pours into you. Your body is vibrating, tremors shooting through you as you shake beneath him. He pants and groans and buries his head into the crook of your neck while keeping his cock buried deep inside of you, his body weight completely pressing down against you.

Now the room is quiet except for the sound of both of you panting, trying to catch your breath and come back down to earth. No more sounds of skin on skin, or the mattress being jolted against the headboard, no more wet sounds from your pussy, no more groans or growls, moans or whimpers. Just breathing heavily.

When he pulls from you you whine from the emptiness that follows, though Mingi pulls you into him letting you nuzzle into his side. The room goes silent, and though it’s comfortable and calm you have a lot of thoughts swirling in your head. Mingi was supposed to be your ex. You were supposed to be getting over him, you thought you were until tonight. A harsh slap from reality slowing any signs of progress.

“What’s wrong?” He asks, quiet and to the point.

“Nothing's wrong.” You sigh, “My brain is just all over the place.”

“Did you mean it?” He asks, quieter than before. You almost don’t hear him.

“Mean what?” You ask for clarification.

“You… you missed me.”

You nod immediately, “Yes.” You prop yourself up on your elbow, your hand finding his face. His eyes are warming back up, and they land on you. “I missed you so much. More than I want to admit.” His own hand finds your cheek and pulls you toward him. He kisses you deeply, his hand wrapping around the back of your neck to press you into him.

“I missed you too.” He breathes before pulling you back into him.

“Pretty pretty pretty please?”

You sigh exaggeratedly, throwing your head back against the car seat.

“Min, I’ve told you three times - no! I’m not gonna lay there for hours. I have my own exams to prepare for, I don’t have time.”

“But-”

“No ‘but’ Min. Go find another girl to do it, I’m sure there’s tons who’ll wanna say yes.” You take a sip of your coffee before an idea pops into your head. “What about that girl in the library who’s always eyeing you like candy? I’m sure she’d say yes in a heartbeat.”

The corner of his lips curls into a scowl. “Nah, she’s not right for my project.”

You shake your head, adamant. “Uh-uh. Not happening Min. Sorry. I really don’t have time.” A little guilt eats at you. “If you want I can ask around?”

He shakes his head. “Don’t worry about it.”

The rest of the drive is quiet, broken only by your occasional quips at each other.

Four years of friendship have made you and Mingi so comfortable with each other that you can easily sit in silence, just as much as you could chat all through the night. Communication isn’t always easy though - he’s stubborn when he wants something, knowing what buttons to push and pawns to play to make you cave.

This time, you can’t though. This is final year exams, and whilst you know his exam is just as important as yours, that’s just it. Your exam matters too. As much as you wish you could help him, you just need to put your foot down on this one - you have your own problems to focus on.

You’ve barely locked the door to the dorm when he blocks your path to the kitchen.

“You haven’t found a client yet, have you?”

“What, for my PT exam? Nah, not yet.”

Whilst Mingi needs a live subject for his art exam, you’re in desperate need of a client for your own. You’re training to become a personal trainer, and your exam requires you to train someone for four weeks. The problem is that everyone you know has their own exams, and you’re too shy to ask strangers.

“What if you train me?”

You look at him like he’s grown a third head. “Why would I train you?” Your eyes roam up and down his body for a moment. “You’re already built like a god, you don’t need it.”

His cheeks flush the slightest shade of pink at your words. You’re not blind. Of course he’s built to perfection. But it’s never affected you the way others would be. The body to you is a collection of muscles, bones and anatomy. It’s functional, and impressive, and full of power. But you’ve never drooled at men for being built like him. You can recognise the hard work, but you don’t really find it sexual. He’s always teased you about it.

“I haven’t been in the gym in weeks. I’m out of practice.”

You scoff, moving past him to drop your things on the couch.

“Come on, think about it.” He says as he follows you until he’s mere inches from you, forcing you to tilt your head up to look at him. “You need someone to train, I need someone to paint. We can help each other out. What matters is that you find someone and get results, isn’t it? It doesn’t actually matter who?”

You take a moment to think about it. He does have a point…

“Two hours each every week, minimum. That’s all we need anyway. It’s enough time for us to do what we need without sacrificing too much.”

You purse your lips, the pros and cons listing themselves in your head. He wiggles a little closer, like he’s forcing you to not think about it too much, and you give in.

“Okay, fine. Let’s do it.”

He starts smiling and doing a celebratory dance but you stop him. “Min, you need to be serious about this though. You need to actually show up to the gym. This is important to me.”

“Hey - that was one time, two years ago, and I really thought she was the one…” He sighs dramatically.

“Mingi!”

“I’m just kidding. I promise you I won’t blow you off. I know this is important to you, and so is my art exam for me. We won’t blow each other off.” He wiggles his eyebrows, leaning down against the back of the couch, caging you in. “Although if you wanna blow me I won’t say no.”

You turn around to grab a pillow, throwing it at him with full force. He doesn’t even try to duck, too busy clutching his stomach laughing to care.

Fast forward to three days later, you laying on the bench, whilst he hovers over you, barely focusing on your explanation of why his elbows need to be 45 degrees out and not 90 degrees.

You put down the weights, sitting up in frustration. “Min, I know her ass looks great but I need you to focus. I can still back out of our deal, you know?”

His eyes whip back to you, and you see them linger an extra second on your chest as a bead of sweat runs between them before they snap back to your face.

“I’m focusing. My elbows need to be at 45 degrees because I’m trying to maximise fiber activation and minimise excessive front delt movement.”

He smirks at the furrow in your brow when you realise that despite being frustrating, he wasn’t ignoring you.

“Fine. Then show me.” You swing your leg over the bench, getting up and motioning for him to take your place. “I’ll get the thirties.”

He starts to protest but you ignore him, bringing the weights one by one.

He does his best to not look at your cleavage when you lean over him to help him hold the weights. You can’t help it, making sure to hover a little longer, a little lower, just to tease him.

You’re not an idiot, you know he looks at you when he thinks you’re not looking. But he’s Mingi. Your roommate, your best friend, and most importantly a bit of an idiot with a constant above average amount of testosterone coursing through his body. He’s perpetually horny, and you look good. It’s just science.

The first couple of sets are clean, you’ll give him that much. He wavers a little at the start of the last set though, and you immediately step in to spot him, like you’ve been training to. You don’t even think about it, it’s just safety, but he drops the weights instead, one of them bouncing off and landing close to your toes.

“Min what the fuck, you almost got my foot!”

He pushes you away, sitting up with heavy breaths. “Your tits were in my face!”

You turn away, hands on your hips, trying so hard to be annoyed, but you just end up laughing to yourself. You try to stifle it, but it grows louder and louder until you’re crouching down, unable to catch your breath.

“I don’t see what’s funny y/n.”

“You… Yo-” The words refuse to come out between your choked breaths, though you try your best to reign it in, long enough to speak. “You’re gonna paint me naked and you can’t deal with my boobs being in front of your face in a sports bra?”

His face drops and you resume your laughing fit, unbothered by the other gym goers giving you sideways glances.

It takes a few minutes to catch your breath, but you remember he’s not just here for the fun of it and you actually have an exam to pass, so you throw him an olive branch.

“Would you like me to wear a tshirt? Would that make you more comfortable?”

“Yes. Yes it would. Please.”

You shake your head but ultimately decide to be the bigger person, reaching in your bag for your favourite band tee.

“Alright big guy. Pick those weights up, I want another full set since you never finished the last one. Let’s go.”

To his merit, he finishes the session perfectly, not making any comments or getting distracted by your body. You get back to the dorm, both a little sweaty, but energetic - him from getting a good workout in, you from realising he can actually be right for your exam.

“I’ll go take a quick shower now and then meet you at the studio. What do you want me to wear?”

Your question is innocent but his cheeks turn crimson immediately as he scratches his neck. “Well, you… You’re kind of supposed to be naked for it.”

The realisation dawns on you and you snicker. “Right, oh my god, sorry. Genuinely forgot about that part. All good, I’ll just wear some lounge clothes?”

He nods, relieved that you’re so comfortable with all of this. “Yeah that’s perfect. Thanks. I’ll see you in twenty at the studio.”

“See you in twenty!”

You watch as he looks around for a moment, trying to remember what he was going to do, before a light goes off in his brain and he goes into his room to shower.

Boy is this gonna be fun.

————

The room is empty, lest for a brown armchair and a cream pillow positioned in front of a blank canvas where Mingi is preparing his brushes and paints.

“Oh, hey. Didn’t hear you come in.”

He stands up awkwardly, not knowing what to do with his hands, deciding to tuck them in his pocket.

“So… this is my studio. Well not mine, but, like, I use it often, and I have it booked for the rest of the day. So… yeah.”

You drop your bag next to the armchair, taking in the small room.

It’s odd, when you think about it. His personality is loud, and certainly eccentric enough to be considered artistic, but you’ve never actually seen him in his environment. You’ve seen him sketch and doodle at the dorm, he’s shown you some of his work - you even went to an exhibition he took part of outside of college. This is different though. This is… intimate. Like you’re seeing a part of him you’ve somehow never seen in your years of friendship. It feels almost uncomfortable - knowing that the man you thought you knew so well has this side of him that’s been completely hidden from you. Well, it’s not like he hid it on purpose. You’ve just never asked.

“It’s your area Min, you tell me what you want from me.”

He chokes slightly but recovers.

“I’m gonna need you on the armchair.” He starts, laying down to demonstrate. “The subject is boredom, so I was thinking you could lay across like that, and be kind of looking towards me but not fully, like when you spas out.” You laugh at his quip. “Here, give it a try and I’ll guide you so you know what it feels like when it comes to the actual thing.”

You do as he says, trying to replicate what he demonstrated. You’d be lying if you said it didn’t feel weird to lie down like that in front of him. The way he looks at you is completely professional though, and you’re mesmerised by this new facet you’re finding out about.

His hands adjust your legs, bending one to rest against the back of the armchair whilst he shifts the other slightly so it can swing off the arm. He grabs your hips and pushes them up on the seat and you try to ignore how it felt to be moved like that, as if you weighed nothing. He continues adjusting your position, moving your arm exactly as he envisioned so it lays in your hair whilst your head hangs off the chair lazily. He hooks a finger under your chin, adjusting the tilt of your face until it’s perfect. You can’t take your eyes off of him and his furrowed brows, noticing the slight shade of pink decorating the apples of his cheeks.

When he’s finished adjusting you, he takes a step back to check it from his seat, and there’s a moment of silence. Your heart is beating just a fraction faster, something you realise has never happened in his presence. Well, maybe at the very beginning of your friendship, but it certainly hasn’t happened in a while.

He clears his throat, rubbing his sweaty hands on his sweats.

“Okay, umm…” He looks around before pointing to the corner of the room behind the easel. “You can leave your stuff there. We don’t exactly specialise in live art so I’m afraid we don’t have changing rooms…”

You shake your head. “Don’t worry about it, I’m fine changing here - or, well, you know, stripping or whatever.” You laugh.

You sit up, already passing your shirt above your head and he whips around, looking at the corner of the ceiling to give you some semblance of privacy. The air is colder than you anticipated and goosebumps decorate your skin as you take off your underwear. Maybe it’s the fact that you know your best friend is about to see you naked, although that idea’s never bothered you before.

So you push the thought aside, making your way back to the couch and laying exactly like he just showed you.

“I’m good Min.”

He takes a deep breath before turning around, slowly, dramatically despite his best intentions. And when his eyes land on you…

That’s when he realises his mistake.

Not because you’re not what he wants for his project, but because you’re exactly what he needs. He doesn’t know what exactly pushed him to beg you to be his subject, because he can’t tear his eyes off of your body, and now he knows that’s all he wants to look at forever. He had his idea of what you looked like - you’ve been friends for years, he’s seen you in bikinis and tight dresses. But this - this is so much better than what he imagined, which in turn makes it so much worse…

Your skin looks so soft, your curves are heaven, and the way your eyes are watching him - he knows you’re studying him and that he’s failing whatever test you’re categorising him in in your mind, but he can’t stop.

“Are you gonna paint, ever?” You tease, and he chuckles, low, though it’s more breathless than he intended.

“Sorry sorry yeah. I just… you look good.”

“Thanks. Make sure that shows in your painting.”

It’s a lame joke given his talent, but the intended effect still lands and the atmosphere lightens in the room. Slightly. You don’t chat, letting him do what he needs to do, but when he looks at you, examining you for his sketch, you can tell he’s still tense. It’s like he’s trying not to look, and it makes you laugh inside.

Of course you understand it - he’s a good looking man, you’re a good looking woman, you’re both young and free to do what you want, explore connections. But… it’s Mingi. Where he sees sexuality in you, you see hard work in him. The body to you is an amalgamation of muscles, tissues, joints and bones, all working in one way or another to keep us alive. If it wasn’t for your sensitivity to blood and gore, you would have loved to go into the medical field - probably surgery. Personal training was the closest thing next to that to you. Understanding how the body works and helping people become a stronger version of themselves is your way of doing good.

So when you look at someone like Mingi, whose muscles are well defined and who obviously takes great care in how he looks, you don’t see the sexual appeal first. You see the work he put into it to get there. You think about which exercises he would have done to get each muscle, if he prefers running or swimming, if he’s an arms or abs guy.

Mingi is the opposite. He sees everything with an art lense. Bodies are a mix of intricate lines, like a giant fingerprint - every one is unique, and he likes to study them. He’s a ladies man but he never got a bad rep for it. He treats every woman with respect, because as fleeting as they are to him, they’re a work of art, and he treats them as such. At least from what you’ve heard from them. Inside the dorm, it doesn’t sound very respectful.

You laugh to yourself, making him look at you with a questioning look.

“What’s so funny?”

You shake your head, attempting to concentrate on the task at hand.

“Nothing. Don’t worry about it.”

“Come on, tell me. I’m painting but I can chat. It helps, actually.”

You sigh, looking at the ceiling but he clicks his tongue. “Don’t move.”

You bite your lip to muffle a smile. “Sorry.”

“So? What made you laugh? Was it me?”

“In a way, yeah.”

His brow lifts, curious.

“I was thinking about how differently we see bodies. How I see it as functional and you see it as art. How you always treat the girls so respectfully, as word on the streets would have it.”

“And that’s funny because…?”

“Because I hear so much screaming and crying and begging when they’re over that I was wondering if you coerced them into spreading these rumours.”

You can’t help it, breaking into a new fit of laughter.

“Are you jealous?”

“Huh, what? No! Of course not. I just thought it was funny!”

“You’re not so quiet yourself miss ‘oh god please please please fuck yes’” He mocks in a high pitched voice, making you laugh even more.

“Is that supposed to be me?”

He nods, smiling to himself at your reaction. “This is, like, your go to phrase.”

“Okay, what else do I say?”

You’re genuinely curious now - you really thought you were quieter, but how loud exactly are you?

“Your second favourite is just crying. You cry a lot - whimpering to be specific. I gotta say, sometimes it gets to me.”

You scoff. “You perv!”

“It’s not my fault you like to let the entire dorm know when you’re about to cum!”

You both laugh at first, but then it settles into silence, his eyes trying not to look at you too closely.

“I’m sorry, I’ll try to keep it down next time.”

He opens his mouth to say something but decides not to. Curiosity points its nose but you push it down - now isn’t the time.

Time stretches, quiet, heavy, and you start to slip into sleep. You try to stay awake as much as you can, but exam season is kicking your ass and you accidentally fall asleep, awakened by your foot slipping off the arm a little.

“You okay?” He asks, genuinely concerned.

You shake yourself, putting your foot back in its original place. “Sorry - yes. I nodded off. Sorry.”

He puts his brush down, pulling his phone out. “Shit, I didn’t realise how long I’d been painting. It’s been three hours.”

“Seriously?”

“Yeah. We can just… let’s stop for today. I’ve done enough and you clearly need rest.”

“No no, come on, keep going I’m fine.”

“Y/n. There’s no point in continuing to paint if you’re gonna jolt every two seconds. I’d rather we pick it up another day.”

You consider arguing with him to continue what he’s doing but he’s right. “Yeah, okay. Can you pass me my clothes?”

“Of course.”

He walks to the armchair with his eyes closed, arm extended holding your clothes and you chuckle once again.

“You’ve just spent three hours looking at me naked but you can’t look anymore. Is that your limit, three hours?”

“Shut up.”

“Come on Min, don’t be ridiculous. How many women have you seen naked before?”

“Many. But you’re different. You’re y/n. Behind my canvas it’s fine. Up close it’s… weird.”

You click your tongue, offended. “Gee, thanks.”

“No, I-”

“Hey, it’s fine, I get it. I’m like one of the guys or whatever. But calling it ‘weird’ isn’t very nice Mingi.” You finish putting your clothes on, standing up and grabbing your bag.

“I’ll see you at the dorm.”

“Y/n don’t take it like that it’s not-”

You don’t hear the end of his sentence as the door slams behind you. 

You don’t know what’s gotten into you.

Usually you would have been able to give it back to him, like your usual back and forth, but this time it struck a nerve. Sure there’s probably hotter than you out there, but you’re proud of your body. You’ve worked hard to get to where you are, and you have curves, but you love these curves. And no one you’ve met or been with has ever had an issue with them - because if they did, you never have let it get anywhere.

Maybe that’s why Mingi’s words stung.

As usual, you decide to deal with stress the best way you know how to - by smashing a workout and a cupcake within the space of two hours. When you return to the dorm, your mood is considerably better, and you opt to follow that trend with another shower. You just didn’t expect to bump into him with just a towel around you.

“Oh, sorry - I, umm…” He doesn’t know where to look, turning around to leave your room, but you’ve had enough.

“Hey!” You shout as you run after him, yanking him by his t-shirt. “What’s your problem?”

“What do you m-”

“Don’t play dumb Mingi. You know exactly what I’m referring to. Why can’t you look at me?”

He scratches his head, unable to look at you still. “Wow, two ‘Mingi’s in one day, huh? Must’ve really struck a nerve…”

You cross your arms in front of you, unamused. “You called me being naked ‘weird’, and just now you couldn’t even look at me. What’s the deal? I need an explanation and I need it now. I’m not leaving until you spill.”

“I don’t want to.”

“You don’t have a choice. Talk. You know how I am when I get angry. You don’t wanna be the reason for it.”

“No, no I don’t.” He winces. “In my defence, you completely took my words out of context at the studio. I never called you weird. Or your body. I meant…” He sighs. “I meant that with the canvas in front of me I could pretend it was just for my exam. Being right in front of you when you were naked was weird be-”

“There it is again!” You scoff.

“It was weird because it didn’t feel like it was for my exam anymore you idiot! And right now, I can’t look at you because you’re all wet from your shower and all I can picture is you naked and wet. You’re my best friend. I’m not supposed to do that!”

You stand there for a moment, taking in his words, before a smile breaks out on your face. “So… you were being extra awkward because you think I’m hot?”

He scoffs, crossing his arms over his chest. “Well yeah, I have eyes!”

“Okay, but, Min, it’s nothing new. You’ve seen me almost naked more times than I can count in the last four years. And same goes for you! Except that one time where I actually caught you naked with that girl but all I saw was the back so I guess it’s dif-”

“Your point being?” He interjects.

“My point being that this shouldn’t be weird. And it is still for your exam, whether the canvas is between us or not. You’re not gonna see me naked outside of that room, and that room is only for your exam, therefore I’m only naked for your exam. That’s it! And remember - you’re the one who begged me to do it.”

“Urgh, don’t remind me…”

“But I will remind you.” You take a step closer, looking up at him under your lashes and letting your towel fall a fraction lower on your chest. “That’s what makes it fun.”

His breath hitches, eyes glued to the water beads decorating your skin, before you turn around, satisfied that the issue is resolved and you can be back to teasing him as usual.

The few days following this go off almost without a hitch. For the most part, the awkwardness is gone, but he does seem a little distant this morning after you both went out clubbing and you brought home a guy. You really tried to be quiet, but maybe you weren’t as quiet as you thought.

“I have some free time this afternoon Min. Maybe we can get a studio session in?”

He barely looks up from his phone, mumbling. “Yeah sure. Just let me know whenever.”

“Damn, was I extra loud last night or did you just wake up being mister cranky pants?”

“Didn’t sleep well from the workout, I’m fine.”

You study his face, knowing there’s more to it, but knowing also that you’re not getting anything out of him when he’s like that, so you just sigh.

“Let’s go now in that case.”

“‘kay.”

You get to the studio only a few minutes later and sit on the armchair whilst he gets everything ready, observing him. You didn’t get a good look last time, but his apron looks good on him - it cinches his waist in a way that reminds you how well proportioned he is. It’s easy to forget it when he mostly wears loose or oversized clothing.

“You’re staring.”

“Your waist is smaller than mine. I’m lowkey jealous dude.”

He looks at you from under his lashes, snorting to himself. “Your waist is perfect as it is.”

“I know.”

You act all confident and cocky, but somehow that compliment made your stomach flip. He often compliments you, but this one stuck.

“I’m all set, so whenever you want.”

“Cool.”

You jump off the chair’s arm, moving to the corner to strip, and you notice that this time he doesn’t turn away like before. He doesn’t look either, but his eyes do wander towards you, making you smile to yourself. He’s not nearly as stealthy and smooth as he wishes he was.

When you get on the armchair, you struggle to find the position again, shifting multiple times, before you huff from exasperation.

“Min, I’m clearly struggling here. A little help would be nice?”

He clears his throat, taking a second before getting up, making his way to you. If you thought seeing him tower over you last week was weird, seeing him do it whilst you’re completely naked is on another level. You’re not quite shy about it, but more… aware. He’s trying not to look, but it’s almost like you want him to? He adjusts your knee, making sure his eyes don’t dip down between your legs and your breath hitches ever so slightly. 

“You need to, umm. Arch… arch your back a little more.”

You do as you’re instructed, keeping your eyes on him and his on yours, and there’s a beat of silence and tension that has your thoughts racing too wildly for comfort.

“G-great. You look perfect like that.”

You nod, licking your dry lips - a movement he catches - before he goes back to sit on his stool.

That was… interesting.

Just like last time, you proceed in silence - him sketching, painting, observing, you laying, breathing, observing.

Your back is starting to grow stiff due to the upper body workout you did this morning - and the ‘workout’ you got last night - and you shift for a moment, groaning as your muscles spasm. He notices instantly, brush stilling in the air.

“What’s wrong?”

“My back.” You mumble. “It kills.”

“Do you want us to stop?”

You shake your head. “No, I think I just need some water and to sit for a minute.”

“Of course. I’ll go grab you some, don’t move.”

He opens the door carefully, slipping out into the empty building, and you take a moment to breathe, sitting up into a relaxed position. It can’t have been more than thirty minutes since you started, and you need to make it at least an hour or he won’t ever finish this.

You decide to sit on the edge of the armchair with your arms closed for focus, hands behind you, stretching. The relief is immediate and you sigh with relief, moving your head side to side to loosen the knots.

The door closing makes you jolt.

“Here’s your water.”

You take it with a smile, humming despite yourself when the cool water flows through your oesophagus. Who knew being the subject for a live nude painting was such hard work.

“Better?” He asks, looking at you weirdly.

“Much. Thanks Min.”

He grimaces. “Don’t call me that when you’re naked. It’s weird.”

You roll your eyes despite yourself. “What is it with you and our relationship suddenly being weird when I’m naked? It’s not like I’m calling you some terms of endearment while we’re having sex!”

The way he’s side-eyeing you hard right now would have you believing otherwise.

“Is that what you’re thinking of when you paint me? Because I gotta tell you,” You start jokingly as you get back into position, “that’s not very professional of you Song Mingi.”

“Okay, that’s even worse.”

You laugh. “If I can’t call you ‘Min’ or ‘Song Mingi’ then what the hell can I call you. ‘Mingi’? No.” You answer for yourself, settling comfortably back into your designated position. “That’s only when I’m mad at you, which I’m not.” A smirk tugs at your lips as the idea forms. “How about ‘Sir’?”

His head whips up so fast his bangs lift a little. “Absolutely not. You’re not calling me ‘Sir’ whilst you’re naked. Or ever. Just - call me ‘Hey’ or ‘You’. That’s good enough.”

You shake your head in disagreement. “No no, I like ‘Sir’. It feels professional, which, after all, you are. Right?”

You’re pushing it a little, completely aware of it, but it’s just too fun to stop. He can give it back as well as he takes it, but you do often have an edge on him. Maybe he just goes easy on you sometimes, but right now, you don’t think that’s what it is. He just looks flustered, out of his depth, outplayed.

Another idea pops into your head, even more devilish than the last. The hand that was resting lazily against the front of the armchair comes up, slowly, caressing the path between your breasts, making its way further down your stomach.

The moment he notices you move, he stops, staring at the movement, breath suddenly growing shallow and pupils dilating. You don’t look away from him, completely absorbed by his reactions.

“Stop that.”

You ignore him, continuing to trace your fingers down to your core. It’s only to annoy and tease him you think, not at all because you’ve been pulsing there for the last almost hour of his eyes roaming over your figure.

It’s weird, because he’s been your friend for the longest time, and objectively you know he’s good looking. But that thought never crossed your mind.

You like sex, and you like men, but you never bothered too much about the physical aspect of them much. You appreciate the human body, and can recognise when someone has put work into it, but if a guy is nice and fun, then yeah, you’ll take him back to yours for the night. Not two of them have looked like each other, and Mingi’s always teased you about how you’re trying them all out.

But right now, having his eyes examining every inch of you with so much intensity, and being forced to look back at him, you notice the way his jaw clenches when he looks at certain parts of you, the way his leg is bouncing up and down with nerves, how he’s gripping his brush extra hard. And in this moment, seeing just how taut his muscles are at the sight of your hand travelling closer and closer to that space between your legs, it makes you want to try him out.

“Y/n stop it. Now. You can’t move while I paint, you’re gonna ruin the lines.”

You let your hand fall back down on the side of the armchair. A chuckle escapes you and he looks away from the way your breasts move.

“Sure Sir, whatever helps you sleep at night.”

“Y/n I swear to god stop calling me ‘Sir’.”

“Or what?”

“You don’t wanna find out.”

“Maybe I do.”

He just stares at you dumbfounded and you hold his gaze. You can’t pretend to not be affected anymore. His presence in the room makes him feel bigger than he already is, and the space feels so small, like oxygen is lacking - like it’s pushing you towards each other.

You get up before you can do something you’ll regret, putting your clothes on in a hurry and leaving without a word. He just watches you walk out, the image of what you almost did burned in his mind.

You stay in your room the rest of the day, desperate to avoid him. It was wrong of you to suggest what you did, wrong of you to feel attracted like that, and so wrong of you to toy with him in that way. You’re best friends, but this was blatantly inappropriate. There’s no excuse for it, and you can’t bear to face him.

But you also can’t get the image of his dilating pupils out of your mind. How his muscles tensed, the veins on his forearm popping out from the effort, his thick lips slightly parted as he panted, watching your hand move further down.

Before you know it, your hand is right where it left off, except that this time, you satisfy the urge you had earlier. Your fingers desperately circle the bundle of nerves that was pulsing before and small cries fall from your lips. You slam your hand on your mouth - he doesn’t need to hear this. It’s wrong to even be doing it.

Except that the images playing in your mind as your finger moves faster feel so right. It’s both a blessing and a curse to have seen him with that girl, because it ruined the image of your best friend, but gosh, imagining yourself instead of her feels so good…

The coil is getting tighter in your stomach as you think about the way he’d fill you up - how you’d be the one he makes cry and scream, how you’d beg him for more and how he’d give it to you. Your orgasm washes over you before you realise it, gushing out of you as your body convulses. You try to stay quiet but a cry or two pass your hand, and you hope for your friendship’s sake that he isn’t home.

You continue to ignore him as much as you can for the next couple of days, only interacting when needed.

Unfortunately, you had a PT session scheduled for this afternoon, and you can’t cancel it yourself as part of your exam - only the client can. And god you wish he would’ve. But he’s loyal and a good man, and you have an agreement, for which he’ll show up to no matter what.

That hour and a half is torture for you. You try not to engage with him unless giving him instructions or explaining things, and he can tell you’re being weird. You can’t look at the way his veins pop from the exertion without thinking back to what you did, or hear his grunts as he pushes through every exercise you give him without thinking that’s how he’d sound burying himself inside of you.

Your body is on fire even though you’re barely doing anything, but you can’t take your top off. You can’t think of the way he’d look at your cleavage the way he usually does like he wants to bury his face in it, because with the state you’re in right now, you might just let him.

As soon as he finishes his workout, you grab your bag and are about to leave when he holds on to the strap, wiping his forehead with a towel at the same time. You try not to look at the beads of sweat running down his face and neck, averting your eyes. Gosh, the irony - it makes you feel worse about teasing him about it the other day.

“Y/n, what’s going on. You’ve been weird since the last studio session, and we’ve got another one in two hours. I need to know if I did something because it’s too late for me to find another subject and I don’t want you to feel uncomfortable and drop out.”

You shake your head, still unable to look at him. “You didn’t do anything. Don’t worry about it - I’ve made a commitment, I’ll be there. I promise.”

You try to offer him your most comforting smile, but it lacks sincerity when you can’t look him in the eye for it.

He lets go of your bag, grabbing onto your wrist instead and you jolt, which he notices.

“You know you can talk to me about anything, right?”

You stare at his hand for a moment, before wiggling yourself free, leaving him behind once again as you mutter under your breath. “Not about this.”

The nerves you feel as the minutes tick by make you wonder if you can do this. You’ve done it twice now. You know how it goes. But this time feels different. Nothing’s changed about the situation. What’s changed is the way you see him. And he can’t know that. He won’t. You promise it to yourself. For the sake of your friendship, of his exam - for your own sake - he can’t know.

You hover in front of the door for a moment, staring at the handle like it was laced with poison, before finally turning it.

He’s sitting by his canvas, shoulders slightly slumped, and you notice instantly that he’s wearing a tank top underneath the apron. Of all the days, it had to be today.

“Would, umm… would it be okay if I kept my underwear on today? Or does that prevent you from painting me right?”

His brows furrow, confused by your question.

“Well, y-yeah, you can. I guess.” He stands up, coming towards you despite your clothes already having been discarded. “What’s wrong?”

His question almost sounds like a statement, like something you know you need to answer him for, but your throat is dry. You feel more exposed in your pale yellow set than when you’re naked, and the feeling of his eyes roaming with deliberate slowness over your body sets your skin on fire.

“I told you. It’s nothing. I’m having one of those days where us women feel a little self conscious.”

He takes a step closer and you back up, the back of your knees hitting the chair. “You’re lying through your teeth. I’m not painting until you tell me.”

“I can’t tell you.”

“Yes, you can. We tell each other everything. So spill. Now.”

“Urgh! You wanna know? Fine. Until last week, you were just Mingi. My best friend who’s always horny and who I tease about it and about a million other things. Then I went and pushed things too far. I made things awkward, and uncomfortable, and now I…”

He’s stepped even closer now, closing the gap between you until you’re forced to tilt your head up impossibly high to look into his eyes.

“Now you what?”

Your voice is small and breathless as it comes out. “Now I want you.”

Time stops.

His eyes stay locked onto yours like he’s absorbing the information, occasionally flickering to your lips. Your chest is heaving, too aware of the importance and irreversibility of what you just said. That’s why his words are unexpected, barely above a whisper.

“Kiss me.”

“W-what?” Maybe you heard him wrong.

“If you want me, I need you to kiss me.”

Your mind is blank, the words repeating on a loop in slow motion inside your head. All you can see are his perfect plush pink lips, the way they’re slightly parted for you, and you know without a doubt you need to taste them.

Carefully, you bring your hands up his arms, slowly shifting them to his neck as his whole body shivers, breath hitching at your touch. Your lips are so close to his now but you hesitate for a second, wondering if you’re doing the right thing.

Except that you don’t care. If this is wrong, then let it be right for a moment.

The moment your lips touch his, you know it’s over for you.

The swarm of butterflies inside your chest erupts without mercy at his taste. His hands wrap around you instantly, the direct contact on your waist feeling like electricity coursing through your bones.

He’s gentle, letting you guide the rhythm, but there’s an edge of desperation in his restraint. Tiny whimpers escape him with every kiss and they have your head spinning - so much so that you feel the need to break away, his lips chasing yours for a second more.

You’re both panting, your forehead leaning on his chest as you try to come to grips with what you just did.

“I’m sorry.” You whisper.

He pulls away, grabbing your chin so you’re looking at him.

“Why?”

You bite your lip. “All of this is so inappropriate… I shouldn’t have done any of it.”

His groan is loud as he throws his head back, before pushing you down to sit on the armchair. He leans down to your level, his hands now moving to your legs, and you shiver.

“I wanna see you finish what you started last week.”

You blink up at him. “What?”

You move to close your legs from the shock but his grip on them is strong, keeping them anchored right where they are.

“I want to see what you would have done if I hadn’t stopped you. What you did that night.”

His voice is breathless but steady, and you suddenly feel hyper aware of everything - his hands on your legs, his eyes on your body, his proximity to your core.

“I wasn’t actually going to… wait, how did you know?”

“I heard you. I heard how you breathed, how you sounded, I knew. And yes, you were going to. I stopped you because… because I know you don’t see the body like everyone else. To you that’d have been nothing. To me it would've been catastrophic.” He swallows thickly. “But now I’m begging you. Please, let me see you finish what you started.”

Your chest is moving fast in shallow breaths and you feel too exposed, but you can’t quite bring yourself to cover up.

“I thought it would ruin the lines?”

There’s no bite to your statement, as badly as you wish there was. Because right now, the only thing you can think of, is how much you wish he’d move his hand higher and do it for you.

“It did. It ruined the line between us.”

You gulp at the realisation of what he means.

“You’re smart. You know the effect you have on me. You know how long I’ve loved you. Four years is a long time y/n.”

Your mouth hangs open in shock. “I - no. I didn’t. I mean… I knew you liked my body, but I just - I figured I just looked good, I… You love me?”

He sighs, sitting back on his heels, practically kneeling at your feet. “I’ve always tried to keep a distance, let you have your fun with other guys - as if I wasn’t dying to be the one making you cry my name at night. But you pushed that line when you did that. And now I need to know - I need to see it.” His pleading eyes look up at you with so much heat. “I need you so much more than you want me.”

Your hand travels closer to your core like it has a mind of its own, goosebumps rising wherever your fingers graze.

“You asked me to be the subject. Practically begged me. You pushed the line...”

He chuckles lightly but there’s no humour there. “And you obliterated it. We’re both guilty.” He bites his lip as your hand stops momentarily. “Please - I can’t stop thinking about it since that day, can’t stop picturing it in my sleep, or when I hear you through the walls... I - I need to know.”

His eyes are glued to your hand, inhaling sharply the moment you slide it beneath your panty line and make contact with your clit, his hand gripping your leg with bruising force.

Your back arches, head thrown back against the furniture, pleasure washing through you. Each pass of your fingers makes your breath hitch, and he devours you with his eyes. None of his fantasies ever came close to what’s in front of him.

“Tell me what you thought about that night.”

You open your eyes, lids heavy from pleasure as you try to form a coherent thought.

“Y-your eyes. How you looked at m-me.”

“What else, baby?”

The pet name has you whimpering. “Your hands. How your veins popped and h-how they’d f-feel inside me.”

His fingers tighten on your leg, making sure to keep them spread.

“I th-thought about the time I caught you and mmh what it’d feel like if that was me inst-tead.”

Your jaw hangs loose now as you look at him, pressure coiling low in your stomach. His own face is flushed from your words and seeing you, and it makes you burn with need.

“P-please Min.”

You don’t need to ask twice - his free hand is already moving to push your underwear aside, rubbing two fingers over your slick before pushing in. He can’t help a moan at the sight of your face. You feel so good, so perfect, and the fact that he’s touching you like this feels like he’s stuck in a dream. There’s no way you’re actually letting him finger you.

And yet, when you grab his wrist, for support, lifting your leg onto the arm of the chair, pinning him into place, he knows this is real. The woman he’s been desperately in love with for the past four years finally sees him for the desperate fool he is, and she wants him back.

“Need to taste you baby. Please?”

His voice is broken and needy, making you even more eager. “Yes, yes fuck need your mouth so bad.”

His smile is almost devilish as he lowers to your core, replacing your fingers with his thick lips and tongue. Your cries increase in pitch at the feeling, your body contorting at the pleasure. No wonder you would hear the girls cry and beg through the walls - and that’s just his mouth and fingers.

“Oh m’god Min - mmh fuck right just like th…”

This is probably the best day of Mingi’s life.

He’s lost in the only pussy he’s ever cared to know, tasting it, lapping it up, coating his fingers with its juices - this is what heaven tastes and feels like. The best part is how he’s only just gotten started and you’re already crying his name.

“Fuck baby so good. Cum on my face, please.”

His long fingers hit that spot inside your walls and you come undone, back arching off the couch in the most beautiful way.

This is art. This is beauty. You and your body. Your natural curves and the ones he creates.

He doesn’t waste a single drop of you, making sure his tongue catches every bit of it, delighting in the slight flush on your chest.

When he’s done, he pulls away, catching your eyes as you follow his every movement, pleased but far from satisfied. Yet one thing keeps replaying in your mind.

“You’ve loved me? All this time?”

He nods, wiping his lips with his thumb and licking it clean.

“Why did you never…”

“You’re my best friend before anything.” He kneads the inside of your thigh absentmindedly. “I’d rather have loved you from afar than risk losing you.”

“B-but…”

What can you even say to that? It must have been torture to love you and be treated as nothing but a friend, seeing you parade all these men around. The girls he brought home probably only a filler for his ache to be with you. You realise he hasn’t properly dated once in those four years. You always thought that was just the player in him, but what if there was more to it?

Guilt gnaws at your insides and you grab his face, pulling him into you. He doesn’t fight the kiss, taking every opportunity he can to have any piece of you while it lasts.

You sigh. “I love you. Not - not in the way that you love me, but I love you. And I’d… I’d like a chance to try seeing if maybe one day I could. It’s a lot to ask, I know, but I-”

“Yes.”

“Wait, Min, just think about it. You don’t have to ans-”

“I don’t care. If this is the one chance I have with you, I’m not taking time to think about it. Four years y/n. That’s a long fucking time to be in love with someone who has no idea. And if it doesn’t work out…” He swallows like he doesn’t want to think about it. “If it doesn’t work out, you’re still my best friend. That won’t change. I’ll still love you, but the same way I do now. Except,” he chuckles to himself, “this time I won’t have to wonder what it’d feel like to show you how much I love you.” He looks at you, pleading. “So try. See where this goes.”

“I don’t want to hurt you if it doesn’t work out.”

“Just try. Don’t think about the consequences. I’m a big guy, I can take it. Let me love you the way I’ve been dying to - the way you deserve.”

“Okay.”

Simple, uncomplicated.

There’s fear of ruining what you already have, but the desire to try is so much stronger. It’s not just about desiring him or his body, it’s about trying to see if your best friend can become even more to you. He’s the one person you trust more than yourself, the one you can count on when you need someone. He’s reliable, and funny, and caring, and so much more than his body - this is what you always look for in a man. Why you never looked at what was right in front of you, you have no idea.

“Show me how much you love me.” You whisper.

It takes a second for it to sink in, and he just looks at you like you’ve spoken binary to him. But when it does… the smile on his face is more heart warming than any you’ve ever seen on him - on anyone. You’ve just given him the one thing he’s always wanted but could never have.

His lips crash into yours, violently, starved. There’s none of the restraint he had earlier. The walls are down, the gates are open. You asked him to show you love, and he has so much to give you.

His hands don’t know where to touch first, exploring every inch of you he can reach. No part of you is safe - not your legs, not your hands, not your back, or waist, or hips, or hair - not even your ears, which he takes great care in sucking on once he finally decides to leave your mouth. Your entire world is spinning on its axis, and right now that very axis is the six foot tall blonde sitting between your legs, trying to make up for the last four years.

You try to hold on to him as best as you can but he moves too fast, and all you can do is let him. You can’t keep up with a man who's been dying to taste you since the day you met, whose only fantasy he can remember is calling you his. It’s a wonder you never realised how down bad he was for you, but that made him love you more, somehow. Because despite the ache of not having you, you always treated him the same. Maybe you would have taken a step back if you had known, even moved out, maybe you wouldn’t have. He counts himself lucky he never had to find out.

He traces his tongue on your collarbones down to your chest and your body responds to him automatically, arching into him. Your hand runs down his chest, and the clothes suddenly feel too much.

“Off. Off, please.”

He doesn’t resist, skilfully untying the apron and passing it over his head along with his black tank.

For the first time since you’ve met, you look at him. Really look at him.

You run your fingers down the ridges of his abs, around the soft skin of his chest, squeezing his shoulders lightly. Taking him in. And for the first time in your life, you see someone as more than just a collection of carefully worked parts held together by muscles and skin - you see the beauty in it. The art. The craft.

He lets you touch him, head thrown back and hands gripping his thighs in undisguised pleasure. Oh the nights he dreamt of this. He’d stay on his knees forever if you kept venerating him like this.

“Mingi.” You start, but he cuts you off, shaking his head at the ceiling.

“No Mingi. Mingi’s for when I did something bad.”

You smile at him as you sit closer on the edge of the chair. “Mingi.”

His eyes snap to yours and he gulps.

“You’re beautiful.”

If he wasn’t thinking of burying himself inside of you right now, he would have cried. But all he wants to do is worship you and the ground you walk on for being so incredibly perfect.

His head dips to your stomach, kissing the soft supple flesh, leisurely making his way up towards your chest. He rubs his thumb over your breasts before looking up at you. How much sweeter can he be to ask for permission when he’s stared at you naked for hours now? You bite your lip as your fingers play with his hair and nod, letting him undo the clasps and slide the garment down your arms and off your body.

His tongue swirls on the painfully hard peaks, sucking and nipping at them in tandem, delighting in being able to touch them after so long spent trying not to look. Your tiny breaths as you tug a little harder on his strands bring him closer and closer to losing control. It’s almost painful now, how hard he is, but it feels wrong to jump the gun when he could take all the time in the world memorising every inch of you.

He reaches between your legs again, wrapping his fingers around the lace, once again stopping to look at you for approval, which you give without restraint. You’re throbbing now, aching to feel him there. He slides the fabric down your legs, rubbing over your core like he did earlier, and a satisfied moan passes your lips.

He continues kissing your skin, sucking on your breasts as his fingers work their way inside you, a slow, maddening rhythm that has you seeing stars.

“You don’t know how badly I wanted to do that last week when you teased me.”

He kisses your neck, angling your face away for better access. At this point you don’t know what feels better between his words and his touch, but you know you need him, in any way he’s willing to give himself to you.

His rhythm grows quicker, hitting that gummy spot in your walls and you start losing your mind, tears welling up in your eyes from pleasure.

“Fuck, Mingi…” You bite your lip to not scream, the shaking in your legs making it difficult.

“Go on baby, scream my name.” He whispers in your ear.

The sound of his low, gravelly voice undoes you and you cry out his name as you cum again, your head thrown back against the chair whilst he continues to finger you through it.

Your first instinct when you regain some clarity is to just grab his face and kiss the shit out of him. Your tongues dance around each other with need, exploring and tasting what you’ve both been missing for so long, whether you knew it or not.

“I need your cock Min.” You moan between sloppy kisses, reaching your hand towards the tent in his sweats. “Need you so bad.”

He pants in your mouth as soon as you palm him, even through the fabric.

“Slow down baby or I won’t last.”

“I don’t care. Fuck me over and over if you need. Whatever you need.”

He grunts, fingers gripping your waist with bruising force. “You can’t say that to me.”

You pass your hand past the waistband and whimper when you feel how hard and big he is. You can’t help looking down at it before looking back at him under your lashes, jaw dropped.

“Please?”

He didn’t realise you’d be the death of him, but that’s exactly what looking at your doe eyes when your small hand is pumping him feels like.

He grabs your hips, sliding you further down the chair and pulling his bottoms down until they pool at his ankles, before lining himself up with you.

Your heart is beating out of your chest with anticipation when he grabs your chin til your eyes meet his. That’s the moment he starts pushing in and your eyes roll to the back of your head. He takes his time - for both of your sakes - knowing his size needs adjusting to.

“Breathe baby, you need to relax - I c-can’t get in otherwise.”

He grunts between gritted teeth. You do your best but your entire body is stiff from the stretch and your hand is clamped down on your mouth to stop the screams threatening to burst out.

He stops moving for a moment, chest heaving, hooking your leg on his arm to open you up more. His thick lips find yours, distracting you from the pain, and he resumes pushing in the last couple of inches until he finally bottoms out.

He caresses your cheek, moving hair out of the way to kiss your neck, showering you with praises at how well you’re doing for him. You can barely hear him, too absorbed by the incredible feeling of fullness.

When he moves, it’s slow, deliberate, rolling his hips with precision. He’s not fucking you, he’s loving you. He could just pound into you until you were nothing but a whimpering, crying mess for him. And he absolutely will do that if you give him the chance. But for your first time together, he needs it to be special. He wants to take care of you, make you feel good before anything. Show you exactly what you’ve been missing all this time, even if you didn’t know it.

“So tight… Y’feel so good, my perfect girl.”

His words make you levitate as much as his veins grating against your walls. You wish you could reply, but the words are lost somewhere in the room.

“How’d you feel baby? Is my cock making you feel good?”

You nod frantically, biting your lip and pulsing involuntarily around him.

“Mmh yeah, you’re squeezing me s-so hard, greedy lil thing.”

“M-more.” You finally manage. “Harder.”

He chuckles breathlessly. “You want more, huh?” His thrusts become a little rougher at your command, the sound of his thighs slapping your ass filling the room. “Think you can take it?”

“Y-yes.” You gasp, high pitched.

He’s losing control, slowly but surely. You’re just perfect. The perfect woman, with the perfect body, taking him so perfectly, asking for more.

He’s hitting even deeper now and you practically feel him in your throat. You try to breathe but only manage shaky, broken gasps. It’s a sound he’s sure to reply over and over in his mind.

“Oh m’god Mingi fuck.” You cry out, a tear falling from your eye.

Your nails are etching red lines in his back, the sting only encourages him to keep going. One hand on the back of the chair and the other gripping the side of your neck, he tries his best to prolong it. But when you wrap your legs around his waist, the angle is just too good.

“I’m not cuming til you do baby.” He states, almost more as a promise to himself than to you.

He lets go of the armchair to reach between your sweat drenched bodies, finding your clit, already sensitive to his touch. You can’t hold back your whimpers as he circles it in synchronicity with his thrusts.

“Yes yes yes don’t stop ah.” You babble between your tears.

Your fingers slide to the nape of his neck, pulling his face down to yours. You’ll be damned if you don’t kiss him when he makes you cum.

Both of your moans and whimpers mix into one in the space of your mouths. Your legs are shaking as his hips start to stutter, and the pressure finally snaps in your stomach with a scream that rips through the room. He can’t hold back anymore, spilling everything inside you. His whines and slowed thrusts carry you through the orgasm a little longer, until he halts, his lips kissing your neck to no end.

So this is the “post-coital bliss” people talk about.

Laying on top of each other, trying to catch your breaths, scratching his back mindlessly whilst he peppers your skin with kisses and looks up at you with sparkling eyes, his sweaty bangs sticking to his forehead…

“Explain to me how exactly I never thought of you like that and missed out on the best sex of my life hands down?”

He laughs, resting his chin on your chest. “Because I never told you, and you’re too good a woman to think of your friends like this and cross the line.” He leans forward to peck you with a smile. “Worth it though.”

You ruffle his hair gently and he all but purrs against you. “I never knew you were such a softie.”

“I wanna paint for a living. How did that not give you a clue?”

---------

"Are you sure?” Mingi murmurs as you climb onto the bed, his lips twisting into a pout when you forego a response and flop onto your back with your head hanging off the bed.

“I don’t want to, like, hurt you,” he says as he pushes hair out of your face.

You huff at him, voice strained when you answer, “I’ll be fine. You act like I’ve never sucked your dick before.”

He grumbles something that you can’t understand, his fingers stroking across your cheek.

“I promise you are not going to tear my throat with it, or something. I’m sure. Now whip it out,” you demand, to which he gives you a scandalized look, but begins unzipping his fly anyway.

He looks down at you and snickers, and you can’t blame him. You’re sure you look ridiculous right now with your head upside down and eyes straining to look at him.

Eventually, his dick is pulled out of his pants, standing leaking right above your face, just out of your reach. He’s doing that on purpose, but you know it’s not to tease. He’s much to impatient to ever tease you, so this clearly comes from a place of nervousness.

“Mingi,” you say, a little softer, but still exasperated, just to try and keep up the playful atmosphere that you know he works better in.

He looks at you and swallows, giving you those sweet, curious eyes.

“I’ll be fine,” you assure more firmly, and it seems to work at least a little, because his shoulders relax and he reaches down to grab a hold of his own dick, guiding it towards your mouth.

He misses the first couple times, smearing precome across your cheek with a quiet apology before doing the same to your chin. Once he finally gets himself aligned with your lips, you open your mouth wider, allowing him to slide in slowly. He doesn’t push past half at first, allowing you a moment to just feel him, to wiggle your tongue along the length and acquaint yourself with it.

Your hand reaching around to grab at the back of his thigh encourages him to push in further, until he hits the back of your throat. Your eyes water, you want to gag. It burns, but feels so good. You can feel him throbbing in your throat. You look up to try and catch a glimpse of him, but your view is mostly obstructed by his body.

You can see the slight scrunch of his face, the restraint he's exercising out of fear of hurting you. Unfortunately for him, you want it to hurt.

You swallow around him, constricting, the pressure causing his hips to jerk. You relax quickly, opening up your throat to avoid choking.

He groans and lowers his hand, resting it on your chin, his rings leaving a cool sensation against your skin.

"Oh, baby…" he murmurs, voice cracking, sounding divine in your ears, "It's so… so warm."

You go to respond, forgetting your mouth is full of him, forcing it to come out as a tense hum. He gasps, fingers slipping to your neck, resting there. He freezes for a moment, eyes blown wide in realization.

"Fuck, I can- Fuck," he stammers, running the tips of his fingers along the bulge in your esophagus, "I can feel it."

His fingers squeeze gently around it, not nearly enough to asphyxiate you, but enough to make his own eyes roll back into his head.

"'M sorry," he whimpers, then his hips start moving. He's thrusting into your mouth like he can't help himself, whining and gasping every time the tip collides with the wall of your throat before slipping in deeper.

His fingers tremble where they rest before sliding down to hold your scruff, pressing into the sides and making you go limp. You can just vaguely see where his free hand slides up the front of his torso, jewelry-clad fingers dipping between the ridges of his abs before moving to grope at his chest.

He's rough with it now, head thrown back as he moans openly with each inward thrust. Your hand, still on the back of his thigh, drifts upward to feel about his ass, squeezing and kneading and bringing him to practically fold in on himself.

The rhythm is lost quickly, he's wailing desperately with each now-shallow push forward. He clutches at the back of your neck as he toys with his own nipple between two fingertips, lost in mindless pleasure.

He fucks into your mouth twice more before shoving in deep, his pelvis flush with your chin, tufts of kempt hair tickling your face. His hand is back on the front of your neck. He squeezes, then begins sliding his fingers up and down the projection in your throat, jerking himself through your skin.

In just some seconds, he's coming down your throat, so deep you couldn't spit it out even if you wanted to. You can feel his cock throb with each spurt of his release. He stays there a moment longer, gasping and panting through his orgasm, before slowly sliding out of your mouth.

He looks at you, eyebrows pinched with worry and guilt. "…I'm sorry," he breathes out, quickly helping you sit up.

"I- Uh- I'll…" he tries, only to whine in frustration before scurrying out of the room, leaving you dazed and lightheaded from the amount of blood that rushed to your head in the time you were stuck on your back.

He returns shortly, a rag and a glass of water in hand. He sits on the edge of the bed beside you, reaching out to take your chin in his hand, holding you steady as he wipes the drying saliva and semen from your mouth and cheeks.

"I didn't hurt you, did I?" he asks nervously as he transfers the glass to your hands.

You take a sip of the room temperature water and shake your head. "No," you answer, and your voice is practically gone. Mingi's lips jut out in a pout at the sound and he pulls you into his chest, strong arms keeping you tightly against him.

"I'm so sorry," he strains, then he's diving in to press featherlight kisses to your throat. You squeal, shoving at his shoulders in a futile attempt to escape the ticklish sensation.

"Mingi!" you yelp, snickering at his antics, "It's fine- I'm fine!"

He pulls away from you reluctantly, still frowning at you. "Are you sure?" he asks, and you groan.

"I'm sure," you assure.

"Like, really sure?" he asks again, to which you give him a deadpan look, "Like, not even a little sore..?"

You huff, roll your eyes, and poke his cheek. "Well obviously I'm a little sore. You weren't all that gentle."

Mingi gasps, then he tackles you into the mattress, rubbing his face all over your neck.

"So I need to kiss it better," he declares, and you know there's no point in arguing.