peep

You were halfway through a yawn when you turned the corner into the narrow hallway and smacked face to chest first into Mingi. “Oof…shit, sorry….” he muttered, stepping back as your breath caught in your throat and your hand shot out to steady yourself against his chest. Bare chest. Warm and solid and way too close. His skin was still damp from a shower, short messy black hair sticking up everywhere, a towel slung over one shoulder, and he was wearing nothing but… boxers. Black Calvin Kleins. Low on his hips. Hugging his thighs like they were painted on. You’d seen him like this before. So many times. Post showers. Late nights. Early mornings. But lately? Lately, it was driving you crazy. His eyes dropped to where your hand still rested against his chest and your fingers twitched as if suddenly aware of the contact making you jerk your hand back like you’d been burned. “I didn’t think you were up yet,” you said quickly, voice still rough with sleep. He grinned, lazy and unbothered. “Didn’t think you were awake either. You usually don’t roll outta bed until after you threaten your alarm like it owes you money.”

“Rude,” you muttered, stepping past him to the bathroom, careful not to brush against him again. But Mingi didn’t move. He just stood there for a second, eyes lingering on your legs, bare beneath the hem of that shirt. That shirt he recognized, because it used to be his. You didn’t look back, but you felt it, his gaze on your thighs, on the way your hips shifted as you moved. You turned on the faucet and closed the bathroom door a little too fast and leaned on the counter, heart thudding in your chest like it knew something your brain was still trying to deny.

By the time you remerged from the bathroom, hair damp and wrapped up in a towel, the apartment had settled into its usual late morning rhythm. The AC hummed through the vents, the coffee machine gurgled in protest as it brewed something criminally bitter, and from the living room, the low buzz of the TV drifted down the hallway as you padded barefoot into the kitchen, now dressed in light blue scrubs that hugged in all the wrong places when you were running late. You grabbed a travel mug from the drying rack and poured what might have been coffee and might have been battery acid. Then you saw Mingi laid out across the couch like sin in sweatpants. Still shirtless. Still glowing from his shower. Still smug as hell. His long legs were stretched out, one ankle hooked over the other. He had a half smoked blunt pinched between his fingers, resting on his stomach like it belonged there. His hair had started to dry in messy. On the TV, some loud anime was playing, subtitles on, volume low as he looked over at you like he always did. Like he didn’t even realize how unfair he was being just by existing. “You look cute in blue,” he said casually, eyes dropping to your chest for a beat too long before dragging back up.

“Shut up,” you muttered, trying to sip your coffee like your face wasn’t burning. “What?” he grinned. “I meant it.” You rolled your eyes and turned back to the counter, pretending to dig through the junk drawer for a pen that wasn’t there. You needed to breathe. You needed to not look at his abs. Or his chest. Or that faint little glimpse of a happy trail disappearing under the…. “I don’t get why you work mornings,” he said through a cloud of smoke. “You’re always dead inside before noon.” You rolled your eyes. “Because not all of us can grind three nights a week and come home with enough cash to pay rent and buy overpriced cereal,” you fired back.

“Jealous?” he teased, voice low and smoky as you glanced over your shoulder…. mistake. He had his arms behind his head now, which only made the cut of his biceps more obvious. The blunt dangled from his lips as he smirked around it and you had to turn back around, muttering, “I hate you.” He laughed, so sure of himself. “No you don’t.” You didn’t answer. Because he was right. And if you stayed any longer, you were going to say something stupid, like how much you liked the way he smelled in the mornings, or how the sound of his voice saying good girl during one of your dreams last week had woken you up in a sweat. So instead, you grabbed your keys. “I’m gonna be late,” you said, tossing him one last look on your way out the door. “Don’t burn the couch.” He waved you off. “No promises,” he called after you, grinning with the blunt still between his teeth.

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The hospital was already buzzing when you arrived, nurses huddled over clipboards at the station, the smell of antiseptic biting at the back of your throat, and call lights flickering like a Christmas display gone rogue. You clocked in, grabbed your patient sheets, and headed to the break room to caffeinate before the chaos could fully begin. Seonghwa was already there, perched on the edge of the worn sofa like he didn’t have a single bone in his body. Dressed in his usual scrubs. black, fitted and unfair, he looked like he belonged on the cover of a medical drama, not elbow deep in bedpans and IV drips like the rest of you. He looked up the moment you walked in, smirk already forming. “Late night?” You sighed. “Hardly,” you grumbled, pouring your second cup of coffee for the day. “I just had to deal with Mingi being shirtless and smug at seven in the goddamn morning.” A knowing look formed in his eyes. “Ah,” Seonghwa said, amused. “So a normal Thursday.” You shot him a look over your shoulder, and he laughed, swinging his stethoscope around one finger. “You know,” he said casually, like he wasn’t about to drop a conversational grenade, “I’ve known Mingi for three years now. Worked with him every Friday night at Velvet Inferno. And I still don’t get how you’ve never seen his show.”

You stiffened. “I’ve been busy,” you said quickly, reaching for the coffee creamer like it would shield you. “For three years?” Seonghwa scoffed. “I work weekends sometimes.” You argued as he tilted his head. “You had last weekend off.” You stirred your coffee too hard, spilling a little. “Maybe I just don’t want to see my best friend grinding on strangers in leather pants.” Seonghwa arched a perfect brow in amusement. “Strangers? Or you?” You froze, fingers tightening around the mug as he leaned forward, voice lower now, teasing but not unkind. “Look, I’m not judging. Honestly? I think it’s kind of sweet. But I’ve seen the way he looks at you when he thinks you’re not watching. And I’ve seen the way you look at him when you think I’m not watching.” You opened your mouth, ready to deny everything…. but nothing came out. Because what could you say? That the idea of seeing Mingi dance…. seeing him like that…. scared the hell out of you? Because if you did, everything might change. Seonghwa smiled, leaning back. “Just come this Saturday. Just once. You don’t even have to tell him. I’ll put you in the back. No pressure. But I think you need to see what everyone else already knows.” You swallowed hard, heart thudding in your chest. And you hated that a tiny voice in your head whispered you wanted to go.

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The sun was dipping low by the time you pulled into your usual spot in the apartment complex lot, the air thick and heavy with the scent of summer rain still lingering from earlier. Your body ached, shoulders tight, feet on fire, and your brain running on its last ounce of caffeine and spite. All you wanted was a hot shower and silence as you dragged yourself up the stairs to your apartment and pushed the key into the lock just as the door opened from the inside. “Whoa… oh hey,” Mingi said, stopping short when he nearly walked right into you. “Timing.” You blinked up at him, a little stunned. He was in his usual off duty gear: oversized black tee hanging loose over baggy sweats, worn Vans on his feet, a crossbody slung over his chest. His hair was damp and tousled like he’d just showered, and he smelled like cedarwood and laundry detergent. Comfort and home to you. “Heading out?” you asked, adjusting your bag on your shoulder as he nodded, stepping aside to let you in. “Yeah, club night. You good?”

“Long day,” you said, toeing off your sneakers, “one guy tried to bite me. That was new.” Mingi let out a breathy laugh, keys jingling in his hand. “Your job’s wild.” You snorted. “Says the guy whose job title might as well be professional panty dropper.” He smirked. “Exotic dancer, thank you.” You rolled your eyes, but your lips tugged up at the corners as he glanced at the clock on his phone. “I gotta run or Hongjoong’ll give my slot to San.” You waved him off. “Go shake your ass for the masses.” He saluted you as he walked out the door. “Always do.” And just like that, he was gone, door closing softly behind him leaving you standing there for a minute, the silence settling around you. Then, as you made your way to the kitchen, you paused, eyes drifting toward the living room where his hoodie hung over the back of the couch.

You’d known Mingi danced. You’d joked about it, teased him about it, supported him in theory. But you’d never actually seen him at work. Never seen what he became when the lights hit him, when the music started, when the shirt came off. You didn’t even know what he wore onstage. Just the vague idea that it was… not much. And now? Now the curiosity had claws as you opened the fridge and muttered to yourself, “What the hell does he wear?” The curiosity stayed with you as you settled in. The movie you picked was already thirty minutes in, something easy and familiar you’d seen a dozen times before. It played low on the TV while you lounged on the couch, fresh out of the shower now and buried in a hoodie that still smelled a little like your favorite fabric softener. Your legs were tucked under a throw blanket, but your mind wasn’t anywhere near the screen. It was with him still as you stared blankly at the movie, but your brain kept chewing on the same question you hadn’t let yourself fully ask until now. Why haven’t you gone to see him perform?

He’d been working there for over three years. Seonghwa did Friday nights. Hell, he’d had even joked once about how you were the only person in Orlando who hadn’t seen Mingi shirtless under a spotlight. So why? Why had you avoided it like it would ruin you? Your fingers tightened slightly around the blanket. Because you knew exactly why. It wasn’t about the fact that he danced. It wasn’t about the teasing, or the way he’d wink when you told him to shut up, or how he’d come home at 3:00 am still buzzing with energy, collapsing on the couch to eat cereal straight from the box. No. It was because you’d already seen it once. Not the stage lights. Not the show. But close. A year ago. You had just gotten home late from your first overnight shift. Quietly unlocked the door, trying not to wake him. But the second you stepped inside…… you heard it first. Low moans. Gasping breaths. The unmistakable rhythm of someone getting absolutely wrecked. You hadn’t meant to look. You really hadn’t. But you turned your head anyway, and there he was….. Mingi, shirtless and flushed, sweat slicked and panting, one hand braced against the back of the couch while the other gripped the thigh of the girl riding him.

You remembered her, she used to come by a lot. A regular at the club, you’d later find out. Gorgeous, confident, the type of girl who knew what she wanted and went after it. And she had Mingi wrapped around her like he was hers. You’d frozen in the entryway. Couldn’t move. Couldn’t breathe. He didn’t even notice you. Too far gone. Eyes dark, jaw slack, letting out a low groan that made your knees buckle. You’d backed out the door like a ghost, quietly closing it behind you. He never found out you saw. And you never told him. But that night had haunted you. Not because he was having sex. But because for the first time in your life, you realized how badly you wanted to be the one underneath him. And ever since then? You’d kept your distance. In all the ways that counted. Because if seeing him like that from across the room nearly broke you… what the hell would happen if you watched him onstage, knowing that, for three nights a week, Mingi wasn’t just your best friend anymore. He was fantasy. And worse? You weren’t just craving the fantasy. You wanted the real thing.

The movie had long since faded into background noise, the credits rolling over a dramatic orchestral swell you didn’t register as you sat curled on the couch, blanket tucked around you, bowl of popcorn untouched in your lap, eyes fixed on nothing in particular. You were thinking about him still. Of course you were. The way he looked earlier, casual, smiling, smelling like shampoo and cologne. You’d bumped into him like it was nothing, like he wasn’t your best friend, like he didn’t get up onstage hours later and become someone else entirely. Someone you’d never seen. Someone the rest of the world paid to see. And you? You kept pretending like you didn’t want to know what he looked like under those lights. But God, you did. You tossed the blanket off your lap and stood, pacing without realizing it. Every logical part of your brain was screaming don’t go. That this was a terrible idea. That seeing Mingi in his element…. seeing him be seductive, powerful, untouchable… wasn’t going to fix anything. Maybe it would even break something. But your heart had already made the call. Fuck it.

Maybe if you saw it for yourself, really saw it, you could finally snap out of this stupid crush. Put it to bed. Get over the fantasy. Even though every part of you knew that was a lie. You grabbed your phone off the charger and opened your messages, thumbing through the chaos of your shift notes until you found the thread with Seonghwa and let him know you wanted to go tomorrow night and then locked your phone and stared at the wall for a long time while in your chest, your heart thudded a little too loud, a little too fast, as you whispered to yourself, “This is probably gonna make it worse.”

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The street outside Velvet Inferno was packed, black ropes, velvet lined doors, sharp dressed people waiting with anticipation and lip gloss, some hoping to get in, others already drunk off the idea of it. But you weren’t waiting in line. Not tonight. Not when you were with Seonghwa, who nodded at the bouncer with a smirk and tugged you gently by the wrist. “Still time to run, you know,” he said as he led you down the side alley toward the back entrance. His tone was teasing, but there was something else in it too, like he wasn’t sure if he should be dragging you in or dragging you away. “I said I was coming,” you murmured, adjusting the off shoulder sleeve of your black corset top. “And I didn’t think you meant it,” he shot back, glancing you up and down. “Not looking like that, anyway.” You ignored the warmth creeping up your neck. Your outfit had taken a solid hour of second guessing. Corset laced, form fitting black top. Wide leg dark jeans studded along the seams. Towering platform shoes that made your legs look unreal and your presence even taller than it already felt.

The hallway behind the club was dimly lit and smelled like fog machine residue and cologne. Seonghwa tapped a few beats on the staff door and the guy working security cracked it open, giving him a nod before letting you both slip inside. The dressing rooms were just ahead. Music pulsed faintly through the walls, heavy bass, muffled cheering, the rush of a crowd already half lost in the show. Mingi was somewhere in there. Completely unaware. Seonghwa led you out from the back and into the main heart of the club, bringing you towards the bar. He just grinned, lounging back as a server dropped off your drinks and you took a slow sip of yours, trying to act cool, trying not to let the rising hum in your chest give you away. Because any second now, Mingi would be on stage. And you had no idea what you were about to see. You’d only ever known him in hoodies and backwards hats, baggy sweats and sleepy eyes. That was your Mingi. But this? This was his world. And for once, you were stepping into it…..

Backstage at Velvet Inferno was a whole world of its own. Dimly lit mirrors flickered with rows of bulbs, costumes and props scattered across hooks and benches. The air was thick with cologne, sweat, body glitter, and ego. Music from the stage thumped through the walls like a second pulse, and somewhere out front, the crowd was already screaming. San was stretching, shirtless and grinning like a menace. His routine was up next. Yeosang sat on the bench nearby, buttoning a tight, sheer black shirt over his bare chest, his movements slow and precise, like every inch of him knew it was being watched even back here. Mingi was in the corner, half dressed, tugging on a pair of tight black jeans, shirt still slung over his shoulder. He wasn’t on for another two sets, but he liked being ready early. And then there was Wooyoung, draped over the bench like a cat in heat, groaning into the crook of his elbow. “God, I’m so horny,” he whined, flopping dramatically. “San and I need a third. I’m tired of rotating amateurs.”

“Maybe stop scaring them off,” Yeosang muttered, sliding on his rings and Wooyoung sat up, eyes gleaming, completely unfazed. “You know what? We should ask her.” Mingi looked up. “Who?” Something was telling him he wasn’t going to like what Wooyoung was about to say. “Your roommate,” Wooyoung said with a grin. “What’s her name again?” Mingi blinked, jaw clenching a little. “Why?” Wooyoung better not fucking say it….. “She’s hot,” Wooyoung said easily. “And if she’s lived with you this long, she’s probably used to the lifestyle. San and I need someone who can keep up. Emotionally, sexually, spiritually…. like, we light candles and everything.” Yeosang answered without looking up. “Y/N.” Wooyoung snapped his fingers. “Yes! Y/N. That’s her name.” Mingi stared at him, jaw tight. “No.” Wooyoung blinked. “No?” Mingi glared now. “No.” Wooyoung tilted his head, smile curling. “Why not?” He was antagonizing him now. “Because,” Mingi said, yanking his shirt on roughly, “she’s not like that.”

“Ohhh…” Wooyoung’s grin spread, slow and sharp. “Ohhh.” Yeosang raised a brow, glancing over. “Here we go.” Wooyoung was like a shark and Mingi’s emotions were like blood to him right now. “You like her,” Wooyoung said, pointing like it was a mic drop. “You like like her.” Mingi rolled his eyes. “Shut the fuck up.” Wooyoung laughed, giggling and clapping his hands together. “That’s why you’ve never invited her here. That’s why you don’t talk about her. That’s why you looked like you were gonna commit a crime when I said she was hot.” Mingi didn’t say anything as Wooyoung leaned in, elbows on his knees, smug as hell. “Dude. You’re in love with her.”

“Wooyoung….”

“You gonna make a move?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

Mingi’s jaw flexed. “Because she’s my best friend.” Wooyoung made a dramatic face. “That’s the best kind of person to ruin your life with!” Yeosang snorted as San popped his head in, fully dressed for his set in leather pants and a harness. “Did Wooyoung start the polyamory evangelism again?” It wouldn’t be the first time. “He tried to recruit Y/N,” Yeosang said and San grinned. “Oh damn. She’s hot.” Mingi threw his towel at the nearest locker with a loud clang and Wooyoung just laughed. “Better hurry up, lover boy. A girl like that doesn’t stay single long.” Mingi didn’t answer. Because deep down, he knew Wooyoung was right. And he also knew something Wooyoung didn’t. Y/N was the one thing he could never afford to fuck up.

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You were adjusting your top when the lights dimmed and a hush rippled through the crowd as Hongjoong’s voice came through the speakers, smooth, sultry, trained like velvet over whiskey. “Put your hands together, ladies and gentlemen… for your favorite little devil…. SAN.” The spotlight hit center stage and the room exploded. You nearly spilled your drink as the crowd screamed, shrill and feral, as San sauntered out under the lights. Shirtless, with a harness of course. Leather pants hugging him like they were scared to let go. A black choker glinting under the lights. Smirk full of sin. “Oh my God… “He’s really……” you whispered. “Yep,” Seonghwa replied, sipping his drink without flinching. “He’s their chaos demon.” On stage, San dropped to one knee and rolled his hips like he was summoning something dark and holy. Women screamed. Someone threw a bra and you couldn’t stop staring. Not because of San. But because Mingi was going to walk out there soon. And you had no idea how you were supposed to breathe when he did.

You sat there frozen, drink half forgotten in your hand, as the man you’d only ever seen as Mingi’s ridiculously sweet coworker turned into something else entirely under the lights. San prowled across the stage like he owned it, like he’d built it himself. His leather pants clung to every curve, every flex of his thighs as he stalked toward the front, bathed in red light like sin incarnate. The bass pounded. The fog machine kicked. A woman in the front row stood up in her seat and screamed like she was being exorcised. Seonghwa leaned toward you, voice close to your ear. “You’re lucky you missed his firefighter set last month. He had a damn hose.” You choked on your drink. San’s body was shimmering under the lights, abs flexing with every roll of his hips. And then… he jumped down off the stage and stalked through the crowd like a panther, grabbing the arm of a woman in a rhinestone dress and guiding her onto a chaise lounge at the edge of the floor. She looked like she might faint but San didn’t give her a second to recover, just climbed up beside her, straddled the seat, and slowly rolled his hips down against hers, one hand braced beside her head, the other dragging up her thigh like he was checking the strength of his own self control.

“Holy shit,” you muttered and Seonghwa just smiled, sipping his drink. “Told you.” San leaned in like he was going to kiss the girl, but stopped just short, lips hovering a breath away. Her hands were everywhere, chest, arms, back, and San let her. Even encouraged it, grinding slow and deep while the crowd screamed and tossed bills. It was chaos. It was art. It was sex with a lighting designer. And you couldn’t stop watching as San got off the lounge and winked as he pulled the woman up to her feet, gave her a playful little slap on the ass that made the whole table behind her screech, and guided her back to her seat like a gentleman. Then he walked back to the center of the stage, arms out, chest gleaming, a grin on his face that said I just wrecked your soul and I’m not even winded and then bowed as the house lights dimmed and the stage went dark. He came strutting offstage, chest gleaming with sweat and bills sticking out of the waistband of his pants. He grabbed a towel off the rack, wiped his face, and tossed it onto the bench like it owed him money.

The dressing room was a blur of movement, Yeosang doing last minute checks in the mirror, Wooyoung adjusting his earrings, Hongjoong’s muffled voice echoing the last of San’s name through the speakers. But San? He had tunnel vision right for Mingi who was sitting on the edge of a bench, elbows on knees, fully dressed in his performance gear now, black jeans tighter than sin, a mesh shirt hanging loose over his chest, and his hair styled spiky. He was scrolling through his phone, earbuds in, probably blasting his pre set playlist to ignore Wooyoung. Until San kicked his boot. “Yo.” Mingi looked up, pulling out one earbud. “How was it?” San just grinned. Too wide. Too smug. Like he’d just won a bet no one else knew about. “Set was great,” he said. “Crowd’s wild tonight. I swear someone tried to lick my abs.” Mingi snorted. “Not surprising,” he muttered, standing to stretch. “You’re a menace.”

“Guilty.” San didn’t move. Just stared still grinning which made Mingi raise a brow. “What?” San grinned wider. “You’re not even curious who’s in the audience tonight?” Mingi grabbed his water bottle. “I don’t need to be. It’s the same as every week. Bachelorettes. Drunk office girls. That one lady with the glitter cane who tips like a goddamn queen.” San licked his lips, still grinning. “You sure?” Mingi paused, staring at him suspiciously now. “What?” San just tilted his head, leaning against the lockers like a man with secrets. “You really don’t know she’s here?” Mingi frowned. “Who?” San laughed then, shaking his head. “Y/N.” Mingi froze as San’s grin widened even more. “Seonghwa’s here too, but I wasn’t exactly looking at him.” Mingi blinked in denial. “Y/N’s not here.”

“Oh, but she is,” San said, stretching his arms up behind his head like he didn’t just casually nuke Mingi’s entire night. “Sitting in the third booth off center. Black corset top, jeans with studs. Platforms. She looks good. Like someone who absolutely should not be watching you do what you’re about to do.” Mingi’s mouth went dry. “You’re messing with me.” San smirked. “Am I?” Go look.” Mingi didn’t move. Just stood there, every muscle in his body coiled like a wire pulled tight. San patted him on the shoulder as he walked past, towel slung around his neck. “Good luck out there, lover boy.” And then he was gone. Leaving Mingi in a storm of adrenaline, nerves, and something dangerously close to hope.

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The lights dropped low again. The bass thudded once, deep and resonant, followed by a rush of fog spilling out across the stage like the start of a storm. Hongjoong’s voice purred over the sound system, dripping with anticipation. “You’ve been waiting for him… and he’s ready to ruin you.” The crowd screamed. “Give it up for the man who makes fantasy look easy…. your headliner tonight… MINGI.” You couldn’t breathe. Not when the spotlight hit the center of the stage and he walked out like he was made for it. Not when the cheers around you turned primal. Not when the bass dropped and the music started. Because there he was. Mingi. But not the one you saw every morning in his hoodie, grumbling about cereal and half asleep on the couch. This version? This version was lethal. Tight black jeans that looked like they’d been sewn onto his body. A cropped mesh shirt unbuttoned all the way down his chest, the fabric clinging to sweat slick skin and teasing every dip and plane of muscle. Thick silver rings flashed on his fingers. He moved with slow confidence, every step perfectly timed to the thump of the beat. Not rushed. Not overdone. Like he already knew he owned the room. And God, he did.

The screams rose as he reached center stage, his hand sliding down his chest as the first switch in the music hit, a slick remix of something dark and sexy, all bass and breathy vocals. You couldn’t move or look away. And Mingi? Mingi was trying so hard not to look for you. He’d known the moment the curtain parted. He felt it like gravity. The shift in his breath. The hum in his chest. The way his heart slammed once, hard, like it recognized you before his eyes even did. But he didn’t turn his head. Not yet. He started slow, hips rolling in time with the music, hands skimming down his own body like he wasn’t teasing the entire room. His movements were smooth but controlled, like he could go harder but was choosing to drive everyone mad instead. And it was working. Women screamed. Money flew. A few already stood at the edge of the stage, reaching as Mingi dropped low into a crouch, legs spread wide, one hand dragging up his thigh to his chest. His lip curled into a smirk as he popped his hips once sharp. Then again slower. But still… he didn’t look.

Your hands were clenched in your lap, knuckles white. Your drink sat untouched. Your pulse? Absolutely fucked. Seonghwa leaned closer, whispering into your ear with a grin, “You breathing?” You didn’t answer. Because just then Mingi stood and turned, his eyes sweeping the crowd. Searching. Trying to pretend he wasn’t. Trying to stay smooth. Sexy. In control. But the moment his gaze landed on you? He stopped. Only for a second. But it was enough. Enough for you to know he saw you. Enough for him to forget the choreography for a half beat before snapping back in with a grin that didn’t reach his eyes. You felt it. That flicker, real Mingi, underneath the performer. And in that moment, the game changed. Because now he wasn’t dancing for the room. He was dancing for you.

He’d always been good on stage. Controlled. Smooth. A slow burn with a fuse he could light and kill at will. He could flirt without touching, seduce without a word, tease until the whole room was ready to explode and then walk off like it was nothing. But tonight? Tonight was not a normal night. He wasn’t sure what came over him. Maybe it was the way you looked, corset laced tight, sitting back like you were trying to disappear, but your eyes were locked on him like they were chained. Maybe it was the memory of all the nights he’d come home from this stage and found you asleep on the couch, unaware of what he became after dark. Or maybe it was just that he’d waited too long to know what it would feel like to really perform for you. So he stopped holding back. He turned away from the crowd, letting the music climb into a filthy, distorted drop, shoulders rolling once, twice, before he grabbed the hem of his mesh shirt and yanked it off in one smooth pull and the screams that followed shook the walls as he tossed the shirt offstage and ran a hand down his chest, slow, like he was savoring it before he turned back around and met the crowd head on. And you.

There was no mistaking it now. He was performing for you. No more playing it safe as Mingi strutted forward, bare chest gleaming and dropped into a low squat near the front of the stage, spread his knees wide, and rolled his hips up, a deep, obscene grind that had a woman near the edge drop her drink and scream and he smiled. Then came the pants. He didn’t rush it. Oh no. He turned, showing off his back, hands sliding low over his waistband. Then…. pop, the button came undone and he dragged the zipper down slowly before he bent forward and rolled his hips. And then stood again in nothing but black briefs stretched dangerously across his thighs, low enough on his hips to make your throat go dry and the room lost its mind. Bills rained down like confetti. San’s name had gotten cheers. Mingi’s got worship. The lights followed him as he walked back down the runway, body pure heat and precision, muscles shifting under skin like he was carved to be stared at. He grabbed one of the poles, spun once, and dropped into the floor with his knees spread and thighs flexed so tight you thought you might pass out. Your nails dug into your thigh as he looked right at you as he did it and held your gaze as he popped his hips again. And again. And again.

You could feel your breath catching in your throat, your body burning under his stare. You didn’t even realize you were leaning forward slightly until Seonghwa whispered beside you, “He’s gonna destroy you.” You didn’t answer. Because right then, Mingi climbed back to his feet, chest rising and falling like a man on fire and he smiled. Smug. Sinful. Targeted. Like he knew exactly what he was doing to you. Like he didn’t care if you were ready. Because you were already his.

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You weren’t sure how much time had passed since Mingi left the stage. Minutes? Hours? Your concept of time had evaporated somewhere around the third hip thrust. And Seonghwa had been absolutely insufferable since. “Drink some water before you pass out,” he said casually, pushing a glass toward you while lounging in the booth like he hadn’t just watched your entire soul leave your body. “I’m fine,” you muttered, eyes still half glazed. “Oh yeah? You haven’t blinked since he took off his shirt. Do I need to check your vitals, Nurse Y/N?” You took the water purely so you wouldn’t dump your drink on him. Wooyoung had performed next, of course, and it was exactly the chaotic firestorm you expected, leather pants, fire visuals, and a lot of tongue. Yeosang followed, graceful and untouchable, a sharp contrast that left the crowd breathless. But you? You barely saw them.

Your mind was still spinning from Mingi. From the way he looked straight at you. The way he moved like he knew what he was doing to you. And worst of all…. the way he smiled right before the lights went out. Smug bastard. And now the Hongjoong’s voice came booming back through the speakers, and the lights shifted, soft pinks, warm reds, the kind of glow that signaled one thing and one thing only. Audience participation. “Alright, alright, alright,” he purred, grinning as he walked across the stage. “You’ve seen them solo, but what if I told you there’s more?” The crowd screamed. “Oh, I know we’ve got some special people in the house tonight… where’s our bride to be?” More screaming as a spotlight snapped toward the left, landing on a girl in white with a tiara and glitter down her arms. She was losing her mind as Hongjoong grinned. “I think she deserves one last sin before the ring, don’t you?” Another round of unhinged cheering. “Ladies and gentlemen, for our bachelorette tonight… the Velvet Inferno All Stars!”

The lights dropped. The bass hit. And the entire team came out. San, Wooyoung, Yeosang, and, of course, Mingi, now in a sleeveless black tank and ripped jeans, hair still wild from earlier. He wasn’t even trying to perform yet. Just walking. And somehow still ruining your life. The crowd was feral as the guys spread out across the stage, moving in sync, just a taste of choreography, enough to tease, before they surrounded the bachelorette’s chair like lions circling a meal. “Now,” Hongjoong grinned, “you get to pick who gives you the lap dance of your dreams.” The bachelorette looked like she was about to ascend as San leaned forward and whispered something in her ear. Then Wooyoung dropped to his knees in front of her with a wink. Yeosang stood back, arms crossed, smug and untouched. And Mingi didn’t even approach her. Not at first. Because he was scanning the crowd again. Looking for you. And when he found you? He smirked. That same dangerous smirk he’d worn earlier. But this time? He winked and your stomach dropped.

Seonghwa leaned in. “You’re not getting out of here without at least five more people knowing you’re in love with your best friend.” You didn’t answer. Because on stage, the bachelorette finally picked her dancer. But Mingi’s eyes never left yours as the crowd erupted. San let out a dramatic, fake gasp. Wooyoung fell to the floor clutching his chest like he’d been robbed. Yeosang clapped, deadpan as Mingi just grinned. Slow. Sharp. Like he’d been expecting it. He strolled forward with that lazy, lethal confidence, towering over her like a fantasy made of smoke and basslines. The bride squealed, half standing before Hongjoong gently pushed her back down into the chair at center stage. “Stay seated, sweetheart,” he smirked. “He’ll do all the work.” Seonghwa sipped his drink beside you, not even pretending to hide his smile. “Oh, this is gonna be fun.” Your soul left your body again as the music kicked in, something filthy, heavy and slow. It wasn’t choreographed like the main sets. This was freestyle. Improvised. Raw. The dancers were encouraged to push the envelope. To read the room. Or in this case…. read you.

Mingi circled the chair once, eyes never leaving the bride. But you could feel it. His awareness of you as he straddled one leg of the chair and bent low, arms braced on either side of her shoulders, mouth brushing her ear as he whispered something that made her slap a hand to her mouth and giggle like a teenager at a sleepover. Then he dropped to his knees and placed his hands on her thighs, spreading them slowly, obscenely, before dragging them back up to her waist. She was losing her mind. Laughing. Squealing. Gripping the sides of the chair like her life depended on it. And then he climbed into her lap and you almost stood up. Instinct. Jealousy. Something primal and embarrassing that you tried to crush before it showed on your face. But of course Seonghwa noticed. “Ohhh no,” he whispered, clearly delighted. “You’re suffering.”

You ignored him as Mingi started grinding down into the bride’s lap, rolling his hips in slow, punishing waves that had women throwing money onstage like it was a religious offering. He leaned back, arms behind his head, chest on full display, eyes closed for a beat…. then he cracked one eye open and looked right at you. Still moving. Still in her lap. But his gaze? Locked. He didn’t smirk. He didn’t wink. He just stared, slow and steady, while he kept rolling his hips. You couldn’t breathe as the bride squealed again when he leaned forward and brushed his mouth along her jaw, not quite kissing, just enough to make her sob laugh and fan herself as the other dancers hyped the crowd. He stood a moment later, still grinning, and backed away as the MC brought down the lights and pulled the bride up for a round of applause. You barely clapped as Seonghwa leaned in close, eyes glittering. “He’s going to be insufferable after this.” You didn’t even wait for the lights to come back up. The second Mingi stepped offstage, you turned to Seonghwa with wide eyes and a tight jaw. “I need a drink.”

Seonghwa didn’t argue. He just grabbed his jacket and his phone, tossed a few bills on the table, and followed you without a word as you slipped past the last wave of screaming fans and out into the thick Florida night air. The sidewalk was quieter out here, but your head was still full of him. Of the way his hips moved. The smug weight of his gaze. The grind in that girl’s lap and how you could still feel it on your skin even though he never touched you. You needed something cold. Strong. Preferably on fire. “There’s a place down the block,” Seonghwa said as he fell into step beside you, not even out of breath. “Divey but not gross. Some of the guys go there after shows.” You didn’t care, you just nodded. “Perfect.” Two blocks later and you were both stepping inside a bar that was comfortably dim, the kind of place that didn’t demand conversation. The music was low, the hum of quiet voices around you almost soothing. Your drink was half empty. Your walls? A little more than that. Seonghwa didn’t push. He never did. He just sat across from you, nursing his whiskey, eyes steady as you stared at the table for a long time before you said it. “He’s my best friend.”

It came out small. Honest. Like you needed to remind yourself. Seonghwa looked at you, but didn’t speak. “I mean… he wasn’t dancing for me. Not really.” You swirled the ice in your glass with a fingertip, watching it spin. “If anything, he was messing with me. Teasing. He knows I’ve never seen him perform. He probably just wanted to make me squirm a little. Mission accomplished.” Seonghwa raised an eyebrow. “You don’t actually believe that.” You kept going like you didn’t hear him. “I mean…” you laughed, short and hollow. “Don’t you think if he actually saw me like that…. saw me the way he sees those girls in the crowd, or the ones he brings home sometimes… he would’ve made a move a long time ago?” Seonghwa’s glass clinked softly as he set it down but you didn’t look at him. You couldn’t. Your throat was too tight. “I’ve been living with him for five years,” you said quietly. “I walk around in his shirts. I do his laundry half the time. I know what cereal he likes and what side he sleeps on and that he cries during sad movies when he thinks I’m not looking. And nothing’s ever happened. Not once.” You looked up finally, forcing a smile that didn’t quite reach. “That means something, right?”

Seonghwa didn’t speak right away. He just watched you before finally, softly, saying, “Yeah. It means he’s an idiot. He’s also your best friend,” Seonghwa added, tone even. “Which means he probably thinks you don’t see him like that. And knowing Mingi? He’d rather suffer in silence than risk losing what you already have.” You didn’t respond. You couldn’t. Because a small, stupid part of you wanted to believe he was right. But the louder part? The part that watched Mingi grind into a stranger like she was the only woman in the world? That part couldn’t help but think…. if he wanted me… wouldn’t he have said something by now….. the bell over the bar door chimed. You barely registered it at first, still caught in the haze of what you’d just said. Still chewing on the weight of your own words, feeling them echo in your chest like you’d carved them into your ribs.

But then Seonghwa’s eyes flicked up and something about the way his posture shifted made your stomach twist. You turned and there he was. Mingi. Laughing. Loud. Glowing. Still flushed from the stage. Black jeans. Flannel shirt that clung to his chest in all the worst ways. Silver chains catching the low bar lights. His hair a mess, like he hadn’t even stopped to cool down. Right behind him, San and Wooyoung pushed through the doorway like they owned the building, talking with their hands, both laughing about something Wooyoung said way too loudly as Yeosang trailed after, calm and unreadable as always, already scanning the room. They were a unit. A storm. A problem. And they saw you immediately. Wooyoung spotted Seonghwa first, and his grin bloomed like trouble. “Ohhh shit, look who finally came out to play!” San followed his gaze and his eyebrows lifted when he saw you. Mingi was still scanning the bar casually, mid laugh, until his eyes landed on your booth and stuck. His smile didn’t drop. Not quite. But it changed. Like a curtain had lifted and he was aware now. That you were still here. That you hadn’t run far enough.

Seonghwa exhaled, drained his drink, and muttered under his breath, “Brace yourself.” Too late. The guys were already heading straight for you. Wooyoung got there first, sliding into the booth beside Seonghwa without asking. “Didn’t know this was a post show party. You guys should’ve told us you were coming here.” Seonghwa rolled his eyes as Yeosang stood at the end of the booth, nodding to you with that unreadable expression. San pulled up a spare chair, flipping it around and straddling it with ease. And Mingi hovered for a second before dropping into the seat right beside you. Close enough that his knee brushed yours. Close enough to smell his cologne. His sweat. The faintest trace of whatever body oil was still on his skin from earlier. “Didn’t expect to see you again tonight. Figured I’d get home and you’d be passed out.” he said, voice low and a little rough. You turned to him, blinking slowly. “We just wanted a drink.” His gaze dipped to your lips. “Yeah?” You nodded, trying to stay calm. “That’s all.”

He hummed. “Did you enjoy the show?” You opened your mouth then closed it. Because how the hell were you supposed to answer that? You looked away as Mingi leaned back in his seat, grin pulling at the corner of his mouth as he turned to Wooyoung like he hadn’t just gutted you in one line. But you could feel it. His knee still brushing yours. His fingers resting just close enough to yours on the table to make your skin buzz…… Wooyoung slammed his hand on the table. “Tequila shots. Extra lime. We’re celebrating.” Seonghwa opened his mouth to object, but the server was already nodding and disappearing as San leaned over the back of your chair, draping his chin on your shoulder with all the innocence of a man who had just dry humped on stage thirty minutes ago. “You stayed for all of us, huh?” You gave him a tight smile. “Regretting it.” He grinned “You loved it.” He backed off just as the server returned with a tray of shots and a grave warning about their strength. No one listened as Wooyoung handed them out like a bartender on his last shift, one for each of you, no hesitation. Then he turned to you, raised his glass, and said with zero warning, “You know, Y/N… I asked Mingi if San and I could get you to be our third and he looked like he wanted to murder me.”

You choked on air. “What?” you asked, eyes going wide as Mingi tensed beside you and San coughed into his hand, failing to hide a grin. Wooyoung? Absolutely shameless. “Our third,” he repeated with a smirk. “Like… in bed. Between us. On top of us. Around us. You get the vibe.” Your mouth opened. Closed. Opened again. “I…. what the hell, Wooyoung?!” Seonghwa was straight up wheezing across the booth. Even Yeosang finally cracked a smile behind his glass as San lifted his shot like it was a toast. “For the record, I supported the idea.” You looked back and forth between him and Wooyoung. “You two are feral,” you snapped, flushing hot. “And yet,” Wooyoung sang, tilting his head at Mingi, “he said no. Real fast. Like he was ready to throw me through a wall.” You turned to Mingi who was staring into his shot like it had betrayed him personally. “Mingi,” you said slowly. “Did you actually threaten Wooyoung?” He didn’t look up. “Not explicitly.”

“He snarled,” Wooyoung added helpfully.

“I did not snarl.”

“He made a noise. It was primal. Hot, if I wasn’t scared for my life.”

You just sat there, blinking. Because what the fuck. What did that even mean? Why would he care? And why did that tiny part of you, the one curled up deep inside, drunk on heat and nerves and years of tension, feel something dangerously close to hope? Wooyoung, never one to let go of chaos, spun his empty shot glass between his fingers with a devil’s grin. “I’m just saying, Mingi told me you weren’t into that kind of thing.” You froze as more shots arrived. Seonghwa snorted under his breath. San went suddenly quiet, eyes flicking from Mingi to you with a little too much interest. Yeosang leaned back, his face unreadable, but you swore his brows ticked up a fraction as your gaze snapped back to Mingi. He wasn’t looking at anyone. Still just sitting there, jaw tight, shoulders hunched, gaze fixed hard on the table now like he could physically will this conversation into the void. And something in you cracked.

You reached out, grabbed your shot glass, clear tequila sloshing near the rim, and turned your stare back to Wooyoung. “He has no idea what I’m into.” The whole table went still. Like someone had yanked the volume knob on reality. Wooyoung’s mouth opened into a perfect O. San actually whistled. Seonghwa pressed his lips together to stop a smile. And Yeosang murmured, just once, “Oof.” But Mingi? He finally looked up. Slowly. Eyes sharp, wide, locked on you like he’d just seen you for the first time. There was something in his expression you couldn’t place. Like your words had knocked the air out of him and he wasn’t sure whether to get angry, get flustered, or get closer. You didn’t break the stare. You just tipped your shot back and slammed the glass down like punctuation. “Cheers,” you said and San immediately grabbed his own, grinning like this was the best night of his life. “To wild revelations and poor self control,” he toasted. You didn’t look at Mingi again. But you could feel him. Watching. Burning. And you knew, without a doubt, that something had shifted for real this time.

The rounds of shots had cracked something open at the table, walls lowered, filters slipping, everything a little too loud, a little too easy. Even Yeosang was smiling now, and that almost never happened without money involved. Everyone had another drink in hand, courtesy of Wooyoung, and the conversation had swerved somewhere between sex, injuries, and unhinged post show stories. Naturally, it was only a matter of time before the chaos god himself struck again. Wooyoung turned to you and Seonghwa, chin in his hand, eyes gleaming. “So… be honest. You two ever get hit on at work? Like, emergency room drama plus sexual tension? Feels like it happens.” You rolled your eyes with a laugh. “You have no idea. Hwa once got hit on while treating a girl’s dislocated shoulder.”

“She asked for my number while crying,” Seonghwa added proudly as he raised his glass. “Okay, but nothing beats the screwdriver guy.” You blinked. “Seonghwa.” San perked up. “Wait…. screwdriver guy?” Mingi tilted his head, brow twitching. “Yeah, what screwdriver guy?” You were gonna kill Seonghwa. “Ohhh yeah,” Seonghwa said, glancing at you with a wicked grin. “This guy walks into the ER with a screwdriver literally embedded in his skull. Just sticking out like a goddamn cartoon. And he still had the audacity to flirt with her.” Wooyoung gasped. “Did you say yes?” You wished the floor would swallow you whole because you could feel Mingi staring at you. “She didn’t say anything,” Seonghwa replied. “But get this…. he comes back a month later for follow up scans, totally healed, and smooth as hell. And she…” He leaned back smugly. “Ends up hooking up with him in the on call room.”

The table exploded. “No fucking way,” San cackled. “I love that for you,” Wooyoung declared, reaching across the table to cheers your glass as Yeosang blinked. “Was this pre or post screwdriver?” You groaned. “Post,” Seonghwa answered for you, already laughing as you hid your face in your hands, groaning. “You were supposed to take that to your grave.” Seonghwa shrugged, grinning. “Too good not to share.” You peeked through your fingers only to lock eyes with Mingi. And he looked… not okay. Not angry. Not sulking. But something had definitely shifted. His jaw was tight. One of his hands flexed slightly against his thigh. And his eyes? Still on you, but narrowed now, more focused. Like he was trying to solve a puzzle that had just gotten a new piece he didn’t like. It was a casual story. But it hit him like a loaded gun. You sat back slowly, pulse picking up as Mingi looked away.

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The front door creaked open, the hinges protesting like they knew what kind of night it had been. Mingi half carried, half guided you inside, one arm wrapped around your waist, the other catching your wrist as you stumbled slightly over the threshold. “Okay, okay, I got you,” he muttered, voice low and warm as he toed the door shut behind him. You giggled into his shoulder, completely drunk and unapologetically soft, letting yourself be steered down the hall like gravity had taken the night off. Your heels were dangling from your other hand, fingers limp around the straps. Your hair was a mess. Your corset had shifted slightly, and your voice had that dreamy slur you only got when you were too far gone to care about appearances. And Mingi was suffering. He had one hand splayed against your bare waist where your corset had ridden up. The heat of your skin against his palm was killing him slowly. You weren’t heavy, but every sway of your hips against his side, every little laugh into his neck, it was all too much. “Did I thank you for not letting me fall in the street?” you mumbled as he helped you into the apartment.

“Twice.”

“You’re strong.”

“You’re wasted.”

“I mean it,” you said, looking up at him with those half lidded, glassy eyes. “You could probably carry me with one arm.” Mingi swallowed hard. “Maybe,” he muttered. “Don’t test me.” You stopped walking suddenly making him turn, confused, until he realized…. you were just staring at him, head tilted, eyes soft. Curious. Honest in the way only drunk people and small children ever were. “Mingi,” you said quietly. “You didn’t like that story.” His breath caught as your fingers brushed his wrist. “You got weird after it. The screwdriver guy thing.” He tried to play it off, forcing a small laugh. “Wasn’t that deep.” But you shook your head. “No. It was.” You reached up, hand clumsy but gentle, fingers brushing the chain at his neck. “He was just some guy,” you whispered. “It didn’t mean anything.” Mingi’s jaw clenched. “I don’t care,” he said quickly. Too quickly. And you blinked at him, swaying slightly. “Liar.” Mingi exhaled through his nose, chest tight. “You’re drunk, Y/N.”

“Not that drunk.” He looked at you then, really looked at you. Your flushed cheeks. Your parted lips. The strap of your top sliding off your shoulder. The way your body leaned into him without even realizing it. And still, he didn’t move. Didn’t touch you. Didn’t say the thing sitting right there on his tongue. Because he didn’t know if you’d remember in the morning. And if you didn’t? It might break him. So instead, he whispered, “Come on. Let’s get you to bed.”

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One week later, you were one minor inconvenience away from snapping. The ER was chaos. Of course it was. Flu season had hit like a freight train, two interns were arguing about IV placement, someone spilled coffee on the med cart, and the vending machine ate your last dollar without giving you your fucking chips. But none of that was the real problem. No, the real problem was lower. Cramping. Aching. Heat blooming in your gut in waves that had nothing to do with illness. You were on your period, bloated and irritable and craving every carb known to man. And horny. Not like regular horny. Dangerously horny. The kind of hormonal spiral that made you want to climb someone like a tree, and unfortunately, that someone was currently folded into your brain like a goddamn highlight reel.

Mingi. Mingi on stage. Mingi shirtless. Mingi grinding in slow motion with his tongue poking out slightly and sweat dripping down his chest. You growled quietly and slammed a clipboard down on the counter. “Everything alright?” Seonghwa asked, suddenly appearing beside you with a chart and a little too much amusement. “No,” you snapped. “Everything is not alright.” He blinked, then gave you one long, knowing look. “Cramping or craving?”

“Both.”

He nodded solemnly. “Mingi again?” You said nothing. But your face said everything. You hadn’t stopped thinking about him. Not since the bar. Not since the lap dance. Not since he half carried you home and stared at you like he was dying to say something and didn’t. He hadn’t brought it up since and neither had you. And that? That was driving you insane. You were stuck in limbo. Frustrated. Sensitive. Needy in ways you couldn’t even explain. And every time your mind drifted, it went right back to him. The way his hands looked on someone else’s thighs. The way his jeans sat on his hips. The way he smelled when he was that close, cologne and sweat and something you swore was designed to break you. You clenched your thighs and Seonghwa noticed. “Y/N.”

“Don’t.”

“You’re literally sweating.”

“I said don’t.” He raised both hands in surrender, but he was laughing now. “Just saying…. maybe you need to… handle it.”

“I can’t.”

“Why?”

You glanced at the clock, hating everything. “Because I have rounds in ten minutes, and also this is a hospital.” He gave you a slow smirk. “So no on call room hookup today?” You turned to him, eyes dead. “You are not funny.” But you were already thinking about it. Already thinking about him. And wondering how much longer you could go before you snapped completely.

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The second you opened the front door to the apartment, the scent hit you first…. your favorite candles. Not one of his woodsy ones. Not one of the weird incense sticks he picked up from that crystal shop San dragged him to once. Yours. The vanilla and lavender one you only lit when cramps were killing you and you wanted to feel human again. Your throat tightened as your bag slipped from your shoulder with a dull thud against the hardwood as you stepped further in. The living room was dimmed, lamps only, no overhead lights, and the coffee table had a neatly arranged setup of your favorite snacks. A giant bottle of water. Chocolate covered pretzels you didn’t even realize he remembered you liked. A heating pad, already plugged in. And your favorite fuzzy blanket, folded on the couch with Grey’s Anatomy already queued up on Netflix.

You stood there frozen. Like an emotional bomb had gone off and you were the only one left standing. “Mingi!” you called out, voice cracking slightly. He emerged from the hallway. Hoodie. Sweatpants. Hair damp from a shower. He looked freshly scrubbed and so soft it made something behind your ribs ache. “Hey,” he said, voice gentle, like he already knew. “Rough day?” You nodded, not trusting your voice and he smiled coming over. “I set it all up. You just missed the rain too, it started like five minutes ago, perfect sad girl weather.” And that’s when you almost lost it. Your eyes burned. Your nose stung. Not because of the cramps. Not because of work. But because how could he care about you like this and not feel it too?

You dropped your eyes to the heating pad, to the snacks, to the blanket you’d once told him was your favorite two years ago, and whispered, “You didn’t have to do all this…” He shrugged, scratching the back of his neck. “I wanted to.” And that was it. The thread snapped. You sat on the couch too quickly, trying to hide your face in the blanket, but your voice cracked again when you said, “You’re gonna make me cry, and it’s so stupid.” Mingi blinked, concerned now, crouching beside you. “What? Hey. No, it’s not stupid.” You shook your head, biting the inside of your cheek. “I’m just hormonal and tired and….” And in love with you. He touched your knee gently. “Y/N.” You looked at him, trying to hold it together as he smiled, quiet and soft. “You don’t have to say anything. Just let me take care of you tonight.”

Two hours later and the soft hum of Grey’s Anatomy played through the apartment, but you weren’t really watching. It was Friday night. Which meant Mingi was working. Which meant somewhere, right now, this very minute, he was onstage. Shirtless. Smirking. Running his hands over someone else. Letting them run theirs over him. Laughing into someone’s ear. Grinding into some stranger’s lap like it didn’t mean anything. Because to him, it probably didn’t. But to you? It felt like a slow stab to the chest. You sat curled on the couch, fuzzy blanket pulled around you like armor, a half eaten bag of chips crumpled beside you and your phone screen lit up every so often from some irrelevant notification. Your heating pad had long gone warm instead of hot. But your thoughts? They were scorching. You hated how vivid your imagination was. How easily your brain conjured it. The way his thighs looked when he moved. The roll of his hips. The way his fingers looked tangled in someone’s hair the night of the bachelorette set. The way he looked at you while grinding on someone else like he wanted you to feel it. And God, did you feel it.

Even now, alone in your apartment, the jealousy crawled up your spine like a fever. You didn’t want to care. You really didn’t. He’d been dancing long before you ever stepped foot in Velvet Inferno. You’d known what he did. Hell, you supported it. Encouraged it. But seeing it? Feeling it? Knowing he was out there right now with hands on him that weren’t yours? It made your chest ache. Made your throat tight. Made your eyes sting. And worst of all, you couldn’t do anything about it. You weren’t his girlfriend. You weren’t his anything. Just his roommate. His best friend. The one he made soup for when you were sick. The one he knew better than anyone. The one he carried home drunk and tucked into bed like she was something precious. But still… Not the one he touched like that. Your jaw clenched as your hands curled in the blanket. You tried to focus on the TV, but the tears were already pressing against your lashes.

And suddenly…. you just missed him. Even though he’d only been gone a few hours. Even though he’d come home eventually. Even though he wasn’t really yours to miss in the first place.

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The music was finally dying down. Velvet Inferno had started to clear out, lingering bachelorette groups giggling out the doors, dollar bills scattered like confetti across the stage, the haze of sweat and body spray still thick in the air. Staff moved in practiced rhythm, cleaning, counting, cashing out. Mingi sat backstage in his usual spot, toweling off the last of the sweat from his neck, his black tank clinging to his chest. The adrenaline had faded, but he was still wired. Not from the show. From thoughts of you. He hadn’t been able to shake you all night. The way you looked curled on the couch before he left. That soft, tired smile. The heat pack in your lap. The blanket around your shoulders. You’d barely said anything when he left, just mumbled “have a good night” without looking up from the TV. But he’d felt the shift. The distance. And now? Now he just wanted to get home.

He was sliding on his jacket when he heard a voice behind him. “Heading out already?” Mingi turned and looked at her. Daphne. Same long legs. Same red lipstick. Same skin tight dress she always wore on Friday nights when she came to watch him work. The same girl who used to be a routine. Who never asked for anything more than what he gave, and who gave exactly what he used to want. Used to. “Yeah,” he said casually, zipping up his jacket. “It’s late.” She smiled, slow and familiar. “Wanna come back to your place?” He blinked. “What?” She smirked at him. “You said you were heading home. I figured…” She stepped closer, resting a hand lightly on his chest. “It’s been a while.” Mingi gently removed her hand. “Nah,” he said, voice quiet. “Can’t tonight.” She tilted her head, a flicker of irritation passing behind her eyes. “Why not?”

“Y/N’s home,” he said simply, not even thinking about it and Daphne’s brows lifted. “Your roommate?” Mingi nodded. “Yeah.” And my best friend. The woman I love. Daphne laughed. “So? You’ve had girls over when she’s home before.” He flinched slightly but didn’t answer. Didn’t explain that he didn’t do that anymore. Daphne took a half step closer. “Okay, fine. Come back to my place then.” He hesitated. Just for a second. But it was enough for her to see it. “Mingi,” she said, a little sharper now, “you and I both know this doesn’t have to mean anything.” Now his patience was growing thin. “I know,” he said quietly. “That’s the problem.” Candace blinked, thrown as Mingi adjusted his bag and nodded toward the exit. “I’ll see you around.” And then he was gone.

Outside, the night air hit him hard. But it wasn’t the cold that made him shiver. It was the image of you, curled on the couch, waiting for him. And the ache in his chest that told him the only place he wanted to be was home with you.

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Two weeks later and the ER was slow that day, the hum of fluorescent lights overhead and Seonghwa’s relentless nagging being the only consistent sounds in the small break room. You were sipping on lukewarm coffee, flipping through a clipboard when Seonghwa burst in with all the dramatics of a Broadway curtain call. “Please, please, please come tonight,” he begged, leaning on the desk like the fate of the world depended on your attendance. “It’s my birthday. I’m literally performing to Pony just for you. And I got you on the guest list. VIP. No excuses.” You rolled your eyes, lips twitching. “You’re trying to bribe me with Ginuwine?” He gasped. “How dare you disrespect a classic.” You laughed, trying not to cave too fast, but truth was, part of you wanted to go. Even if it meant risking seeing Mingi onstage again. Especially after that first time when the sight of him dancing for someone else nearly cracked you in half. But it was Seonghwa’s birthday… and damn it, you did miss that energy. “Fine,” you groaned, “but only because it’s your birthday.“ Seonghwa grinned like he’d won the lottery. “You won’t regret it.”

When you got home, your bare feet padded across the wood floor as you dug through your closet like a woman possessed. You weren’t even sure what you were looking for until your fingers brushed the silky fabric, pulling out that black dress. The one with the daring cutouts, gold clips, and the power to make any man forget how to spell his own name. You hadn’t worn it in ages. You barely remembered buying it. But something in your chest tightened as you held it up to your body in the mirror. Let him look, you thought. Mingi was in the shower, steam rolling under the bathroom door as you shimmied into the dress, adjusting the straps and making sure the clips were perfectly in place. The door creaked open behind you and you didn’t have to look to know it was him. You heard his steps pause. “Where are you going?” came Mingi’s voice, low and casual but with that distinct edge only someone who just walked past your door in a towel and saw you in that dress could have.

You turned slowly, watching him lean on the doorframe, towel slung low on his hips. You met his eyes, cool and effortless. “It’s Seonghwa’s birthday. He begged me to come to the club again. Said he’s dancing tonight.” Mingi blinked once. Then again as you turned back to the mirror like it was nothing. Like your heart wasn’t suddenly doing backflips. “You’re wearing that dress?” His voice was low, unreadable and you shrugged. “Yes.” Mingi didn’t respond. He just kept looking at you like you weren’t real. Like the air had gotten punched out of him. You tilted your head, a little amused. “Why?” His tongue pressed into the inside of his cheek and you saw it hit him. The memory. You saw it in the way his throat bobbed. The way he blinked like he was trying to snap himself out of something. Because you had worn that dress once before, two years ago, at his birthday party. The rooftop one with the string lights and the terrible punch. You’d shown up late and he’d been halfway through a drink when he saw you across the crowd in that exact dress. He hadn’t lasted ten minutes. He’d walked straight out. Claimed he had to take a call and never came back.

His fingers twitched at his sides and his gaze dropped again, slower this time, heavier as you shrugged, smoothing the fabric again as you turned slightly in the mirror, checking the back. “Hwa said dress slutty.” Mingi huffed out a laugh but it wasn’t amused. It was breathless. Frustrated. His hand dragged through his still damp hair, and he muttered something under his breath in a tone you couldn’t quite catch. “Something you wanna say?” you teased lightly, not looking at him. He stepped back, eyes still locked on you like you might disappear if he blinked. “Nah,” he said eventually. “Just… I remember that dress.” You finally met his eyes through the mirror. “So do I.” For a moment, neither of you said a word as the air between you thickened, warm and electric and dangerously unspoken. Then he cleared his throat, eyes darting away. “I’ll, uh… I’ll see you there.” And just like before, Mingi turned and walked away. Except this time, you heard his breath catch the second he rounded the corner.

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The club was already packed by the time you got there. Friday nights were always heavier, more tourists, more regulars, more people celebrating birthdays they’d never remember by tomorrow morning. The line outside wrapped around the block, but you didn’t wait in it. You knew better. You slipped through the side entrance like you’d been there a thousand times before, heels clicking against the hallway tile as the muffled bass grew louder with every step. And then you stepped out into the main room and every set of eyes in the place might as well have turned your way. Especially the women. It was subtle at first, side glances, a few narrowed eyes, a whisper behind a manicured hand. But the closer you got to the front, the more obvious it became. Your dress wasn’t designed for subtlety. Black. Clinging. Cut in ways that defied logic and modesty.

You sank into the velvet chair, legs crossed, ignoring the judgmental looks from the women at the bar. Let them look. Let them whisper. Let them wonder why, for the first time ever, Mingi wasn’t behind the curtain doing shots or smoking a blunt or hyping himself up for his number. Because Mingi wasn’t hyped. Mingi was pacing. Mingi was sweating. Mingi was seconds from walking onstage because he knew you were already here. In that dress. The lights dimmed just as you settled deeper into your seat, the chatter fading into a hush as a smooth, bass heavy track spilled from the speakers and a spotlight flared to life, and there he was. Yeosang. Golden skin, dark eyes, lean muscle dressed in all black and leather. His entrance was smooth and practiced, dripping with that quiet confidence only he had. The crowd responded immediately, cheers, catcalls, a few high pitched moans from the row behind you but you just smiled and sipped your drink as you watched him move with surgical precision, hips rolling, fingers dragging down his chest as he danced for the women at the edge of the stage, grinning when one of them tried to reach for his belt but Yeosang winked and stepped back just out of reach. Your gaze moved to the door behind him, the one leading backstage.….

Mingi was sitting on the edge of the couch backstage, bouncing his knee like it owed him money. Shirtless, sweat already misting his collarbones as he glared at the floor like it had personally offended him. That fucking dress. He couldn’t get it out of his head. Not the current version of you in it, though that was bad enough. No, what was really wrecking him was the memory of it. You, two years ago, walking into his birthday party without a clue what you were doing to him. Hair loose, smile innocent, body hugged tight in that goddamn black fabric. He remembered the exact second he saw you, how the world tilted, how the air left his lungs, how he had to walk out because if he didn’t, he was going to do something that would’ve ruined everything. And now? Now you were wearing it again.

“Bro, if you bounce your knee any harder, the floor’s gonna crack.” Mingi looked up to find Seonghwa zipping up his pants in the dressing mirror, shaking his head with a smirk. “She wore that fucking dress,” Mingi muttered. Seonghwa paused. “What dress?”

“The one ruining my existence.”

Seonghwa let out a low whistle and turned back to the mirror. “Well. Guess I’m not the only one getting a present tonight.” Mingi groaned and ran a hand through his hair. “I’m gonna combust.”

“Don’t. I need you alive. You’re after me.” Across the room, San was pressed against the wall with Wooyoung in his lap, both of them shamelessly making out like they didn’t care it was a shared dressing room. Which, to be fair, they didn’t. Wooyoung’s hands were already halfway up San’s shirt, and neither of them looked like they had plans to stop. “Do they have to do this right now?” Mingi grumbled. “Have you met them?” Seonghwa said without turning around as Hongjoong pushed through the door, headset in place, clipboard in hand, his expression all business until he saw Seonghwa. “Alright, birthday boy. You’re up next, and your set’s been extended. Two full songs instead of one. You good?” Seonghwa blinked. “Wait….. what?” Hongjoong grinned. “It’s your birthday. Consider it a gift. Work the stage, soak it in. And wear the silver chains tonight, make the old women in the back row faint.” He turned and disappeared before Seonghwa could protest, leaving him staring at the mirror in disbelief. “Well,” Seonghwa said, glancing at Mingi. “Guess I’ve got more time to keep her warm for you.” Mingi rolled his eyes, but his stomach twisted.

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The lights changed again, darker now, drenched in purple and silver, bassline deep and sultry as the Hongjoong announced the next set. “Ladies and gentlemen… for the birthday boy himself…” You leaned back with a smile, just as the music kicked in, slow, smooth, something with a wicked little rhythm. And then Seonghwa stepped into the spotlight and the audible gasp from the crowd was immediate. You could hear someone behind you whisper “holy shit,” and you didn’t blame them. Seonghwa looked good. Silver chains draped across his chest, the open black blazer showing just enough skin to make knees buckle, his hair styled back but a few strands rebelliously falling forward. You sipped your drink, half listening to the screaming around you. If only your coworkers at the hospital could see him now. Confident, clean, seductive, the kind of controlled performance that made everyone pay attention.

Seonghwa didn’t beg for the spotlight. He commanded it. He hit every beat with sharp precision, giving attention to each side of the stage, a knowing smirk curling his lips. Until he found you. Your eyes widened a little as he walked toward your side of the stage, fingers tracing his chest before he pointed directly at you, hips grinding to the beat. You groaned and laughed, covering your face for a second before looking back up at him with a smirk, mouthing, “You’re ridiculous.” Seonghwa winked and didn’t break rhythm for a second.

“Someone’s enjoying herself.” Wooyoung was peeking out from the side curtain, chin resting on Mingi’s shoulder, both of them hidden in the shadows just past the curtain near the stage entrance. Mingi didn’t say a word. He was standing like stone, arms crossed, jaw tight, eyes locked on you. You, in that dress. You, laughing and glowing and completely unaware that you were slowly ruining him. Wooyoung whistled low and let out a chuckle. “Goddamn… if you don’t finally make a move tonight, San and I will.” Mingi didn’t blink. Didn’t look away. Didn’t even breathe. And Wooyoung, always a menace, grinned. “You’re on next, lover boy. Better figure it out quick. I don’t think that dress is gonna last the night.” Seonghwa’s performance ended to deafening cheers, the crowd still buzzing as the lights shifted and another playlist took over the speakers for the brief intermission. You clapped and whooped with the rest of them, smiling when Seonghwa blew a kiss toward the audience before disappearing behind the curtain.

You needed a drink. Not just because it was hot in here, not just because Seonghwa had turned the place into a damn sauna, but because the momentary flutter in your chest, the one you really didn’t want to acknowledge, was starting to feel familiar. You weaved your way toward the bar, still getting looks. A few women gave polite smiles. A few didn’t bother hiding the fact they were sizing you up. The bartender handed you your drink, vodka soda, extra lime, and you sipped slowly, watching some of the staff rearrange props on stage for the next set. You’d just started heading toward the back when the line for the restroom came into view, and you groaned. Of course. You took another sip and slipped into the hallway anyway, heels clicking softly against the dark floor. It was quieter back here, the sound of music muffled by the heavy curtain and door. You were mid scroll on your phone, waiting for the next stall, when you saw her. Daphne. She was across the hall, leaning against the wall by the lounge door, laughing at something on her phone. She hadn’t changed much. And even if you hadn’t clocked the flirty body language and the way her lipstick was too perfectly smudged, you’d know that face anywhere. Because it was her. The girl you’d walked in on with Mingi.

You took another slow sip of your drink, shoulders straightening, not meaning to eavesdrop. You were just waiting your turn for the restroom, but then she laughed, a sharp, airy little thing, and it drew your attention before you could help it. She’d been joined by two other women, both dolled up in the kind of designer clubwear that screamed I’m not here for drinks, I’m here for backstage. You couldn’t help the sideways glance as Daphne sighed dramatically. “I swear to god, he gets hotter every time I see him,” she said, tossing her hair back like she was still center stage. One of the other girls giggled. “You mean Mingi?” Daphne rolled her eyes. “Who else? That man could make me forget my own name. I swear, if he so much as glanced at me tonight, I’d be backstage with my legs in the air before he finishes his set.” That earned a chorus of laughs from the others. “He’s got that energy,” another one chimed in. “Like, the moment he touches you, you know. I still think about that one night….. his hands? Unreal.”

“Please, I could still feel him the next morning,” Daphne said, sipping her drink with a smug tilt of her lips. “He knows what he’s doing. Doesn’t rush. Doesn’t talk much, either. Just grabs your throat and owns you.” Your stomach tightened, a strange, cold twist curling low. You took a slow breath, steadying yourself. It didn’t matter. They could talk about the way he fucked them all they wanted. What you had with Mingi was different. It had always been different. Still, you couldn’t help the small flicker of something in your chest, some stubborn, possessive ember sparking in the dark. You made quick haste in using the restroom before sliding back into your seat, smoothing your hands down your thighs, trying to push the unease out of your chest. The voices from the bathroom still lingered, too clear to forget. Daphne’s obnoxious giggle, one of the other girls saying something about how fast he always pulled her into his lap, and someone else laughing, “Mingi’s a slut, but like, in a fun way.” You knew better. You’d known him since you were thirteen. You’d seen every version of him, from the awkward middle schooler who used to trip over his own feet to the man now regularly grinding on stage under heavy lights. But that didn’t make it sting any less.

You crossed your legs, sitting straighter, chin up like you weren’t affected at all, even though your stomach still felt off as the lights dimmed suddenly, shifting the attention back to the stage, and the low thrum of bass pulsed through the club. Hongjoong’s voice came over the mic, smoother than the whiskey he drank. “Alright, alright… try to keep your hands to yourself for this next one. You know who he is.” A moment of silence passed, followed by a mischievous grin. “And judging by how loud some of you get when he so much as breathes…. yeah, I know you know.” The crowd laughed, whistles already rising. You blinked, heart kicking a little harder despite everything. “Put your hands together for the one and only…. MINGI!” The lights exploded in a rush of violet and gold as the music shifted. And there he was. Mingi barely looked at the crowd when he stepped out…. except for the split second his eyes found yours. A quick glance. But it landed like a punch to the chest. No wink. No smirk this time. Just that unreadable look that made it impossible to tell if he was affected by your presence… or trying hard not to be. The music started slow, deep bass with a teasing rhythm, and the screams erupted around you, the kind of shrieking only Mingi’s hips could cause. You swallowed thickly, crossing your legs tighter as he started moving, rolling his shoulders and swaying to the beat with that devastating ease he was known for.

You tried. You really tried not to stare. He was your best friend. He was also wearing pants that looked spray painted on. And you were only human. Your gaze flicked away, anywhere else, anyone else. But of course, it landed on her. Daphne. And her little fan club. Clustered just a few seats down, leaning forward in their chairs like they were watching their favorite scene in a movie. Daphne had one hand resting under her chin, eyes locked on Mingi’s chest like she already had plans for it, while one of her friends whispered something and giggled behind her hand. Jealousy rose in your throat like smoke. Stupid. Stupid. You had no right to be jealous. You weren’t his girlfriend. You’d never even kissed him. But you had seen the way he used to smile at you in high school when no one else got him. You had been the first one to know about his audition. The first to hug him when he got the job. The one who helped him with his first eyeliner wing and teased him for crying during Pixar movies. And now here he was, grinding on stage in front of everyone. Including them.

You blinked hard, forcing your eyes back to the stage as he dropped to his knees and ran one hand up the inside of his thigh, his mouth parted just slightly like he knew exactly what he was doing. No. No, you were not going to fall into the Mingi trap again tonight. Even if you already had. The second verse hit, and the lights dimmed to a smoky red, casting long shadows over Mingi’s body as he stalked down the stage with slow, deliberate steps. His eyes swept over the crowd like a predator picking his target, and you felt your breath catch when, just for a second, they landed on you again but he didn’t do anything. He just kept going. There was something different tonight. His usual energy was there, the raw confidence, the way his body moved like he knew it was a weapon, but he wasn’t pushing it as hard as he usually did. He wasn’t playing up to the crowd, no shirt ripping dramatics, no licking his fingers before dragging them down his chest. It was… restrained. Controlled. Almost like he didn’t want to give it all away. Still, the screams got louder when he rolled his hips in time with the beat, running one hand through his hair and letting his head tip back. His shirt was already long gone, tossed somewhere into the lights during the first chorus, and now his hands moved to the buckle of his belt, slow and showy but still somehow not cocky.

You caught your bottom lip between your teeth as the pants hit the floor. Black underwear. Tight. Low. Dangerous. Your heart pounded in your ears. The club was electric. One of the girls near Daphne squealed, clutching the other’s arm, while Daphne herself sat there smugly, eyes dragging up Mingi’s thighs like she owned them. You had to look away. You had to. But your eyes didn’t listen. Mingi moved to the edge of the stage, kneeling at the end of it, sweat glistening down his chest as the music hit a low, pulsing bridge. His hands slid slowly down the tops of his thighs, just barely skimming over the elastic of his underwear, and he let the tension sit there, soaking into the air like heat. You couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t think. And he hadn’t even touched himself yet. Because he was holding back. He wasn’t here to blow the crowd away tonight. He wasn’t here for the loudest cheers or the biggest tips. He wasn’t performing like a man who wanted the world’s attention. He was performing like a man who already knew exactly whose attention he had. And he was being careful with it.

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Backstage was chaos. Sweat, laughter, leftover glitter, the low buzz of someone’s portable speaker still playing the tail end of the track Mingi had just walked off to. But he didn’t really hear it. His pulse was still racing, muscles tight, lungs catching on a breath that had nothing to do with dancing as he ran a towel down his chest, flinching a little when the fabric passed over the still damp waistband of his underwear. God. He barely remembered stepping off stage. His mind was stuck on the time your eyes locked with his….. “Mingi!” Wooyoung’s voice cut through the noise like a shot. “You good? Or did someone forget it was Seonghwa’s birthday?”

Mingi blinked. “What?” Wooyoung crossed his arms, tilting his head with all the subtlety of a sledgehammer. “That performance? That was, like, 70 percent. Maybe 75 if I’m being generous.”

“I hit every step,” Mingi muttered, still towel drying his hair like it would help him avoid this conversation. “Yeah, yeah, the steps were there. But the filth? The drama? The tongue and hand action?” Wooyoung held up his fingers like a checklist. “Gone. Missing. On vacation.” Mingi threw the towel at his face. “Get out of my business.”

“I would…. if your business wasn’t being all tense because a certain someone’s sitting out there looking like a sin in heels and barely even glancing your way.” Mingi froze. “She glanced.”

“Oh, she glanced,” Wooyoung agreed with a smirk. “But the other girls? They drooled. And you didn’t even give them a good reason to.” Mingi dragged a hand down his face with a frustrated sigh, ignoring the heat curling in his chest. “It’s Seonghwa’s night.” Wooyoung grinned. “Exactly! Which means you should’ve been out there slutting it up in his honor.” He threw a dramatic hand to his chest. “Instead, you came off like a sad stripper who’s in love with his best friend but trying to hide it by pretending he’s not thinking about her in that tiny black dress.” Mingi narrowed his eyes. “That was weirdly specific.” Wooyoung gave him a slow blink. “Am I wrong?” Mingi didn’t answer. He didn’t have to. Because Wooyoung already knew.

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The final song boomed through the club, the kind of bass heavy anthem that had drinks sloshing, phones up, and the floor vibrating with heat and sweat. San and Wooyoung had just finished their performance with the kind of chaos only they could pull off together, shirts missing, glitter somehow everywhere, Wooyoung mouthing something obscene into a camera someone definitely had on him. The rest of the guys had joined them on stage, shirtless, glistening, hyped, all of them catching their breath as Hongjoong stepped forward with a mic and that dangerous glint in his eye again. “Alright, alright!” he yelled, breathless, cheeks flushed from champagne and adrenaline. “It’s that time again….. lap dance giveaway!” The crowd screamed. Phones shot higher. Someone whistled so loud Hongjoong flinched. “So here’s how it works,” he grinned, gesturing behind him. “All our lovely dancers are up here. But you, the audience, get to vote who gives the final lap dance of the night!” The crowd erupted into cheers again, hands shooting up, chants starting. Names were shouted, screamed, begged for, Seonghwa, San, Wooyoung, Yeosang. But then someone yelled Mingi’s name. Then someone else. And another. Until it turned into a wave. “Mingi! Mingi! Mingi!”

“Alright!” Seonghwa suddenly cut in, grabbing the mic from Hongjoong. His voice was full of playful command. “It’s my birthday, which means I get to pick who the lucky recipient is.” That brought fresh noise from the audience, whooping in anticipation as Seonghwa turned in a slow circle, gaze sweeping the room like a spotlight until it landed on you. He didn’t say your name. Didn’t need to. Because every single person in the room watched his eyes land on you. Watched that wicked birthday smirk spread across his face. “I pick…” he said, pausing for dramatic effect, still staring dead at you, “her.” The spotlight followed his gaze, landing on your stunned, wide eyed face as Wooyoung literally turned around on stage, hand clamped over his mouth, his whole body shaking with silent laughter. Because your expression? Stunned. Borderline panicked. And Mingi? He looked like he’d just been told to walk a tightrope over a pit of lava with you on the other end. “Oh, this is so much better than cake,” Wooyoung wheezed under his breath, turning just enough to glance back at the two of you. “Happy fucking birthday, Seonghwa.”

San’s hand was warm as it wrapped around your wrist, pulling you to your feet before your brain could even catch up to what was happening. “Come on,” he grinned, voice low in your ear. “Don’t make me carry you.” Your legs moved on autopilot, your heart slamming behind your ribs as the crowd parted and Yeosang appeared like some smug ass magician with a sleek black chair, placing it center stage with a little bow like tada. Your knees nearly gave out when San guided you to sit. The spotlight was on you, heat prickling down your spine, adrenaline crashing through your bloodstream. Somewhere in the fog of music and shock, you became vaguely aware of more movement behind you. A couple of the club staff were rolling out a cart with a glowing birthday cake lit up in white and gold, sparklers shooting off on either side with Seonghwa’s name scrawled across the top in elegant frosting. You could barely register the cake though. Because your eyes found Mingi. He hadn’t moved. He was standing off to the side, jaw locked, eyes dark, arms loose at his sides like he was trying so hard not to look at you but failing miserably.

And then he did look at you and it was like the whole club disappeared. Every person, every scream, every spotlight. Just his eyes on you as your thighs clenched automatically under his gaze, heat crawling up your neck because fuck, your best friend was about to give you a lap dance. In front of everyone. At Seonghwa’s birthday show. With Daphne still watching. And you still weren’t sure if this was a dream or a fever or both as Mingi finally moved and stepped in front of you, and for a moment… he didn’t move. His hand flexed at his side. His jaw clenched. The song pulsed through the air, but he stayed frozen, just looking at you like you were a loaded gun aimed right at his chest. You tilted your head, a teasing smile trying to save you both from this moment, from whatever this was turning into. But Mingi didn’t smile back. He exhaled through his nose, low and slow, and finally stepped closer and the screams got louder. But you could barely hear them. All you saw was Mingi, hesitant, trying to remember how to perform when his best friend was the one looking up at him in that dress, legs parted now just enough to flash bare thigh under the dim red lighting. He moved to the beat, slow, calculated, his fingers dragging across his chest, down the sculpted lines of his stomach. But it was cautious, more controlled than usual. Like he was holding back. Because he was. This wasn’t just a show anymore. This was you. And Mingi didn’t know how the hell he was supposed to pretend anymore.

Each step was perfectly timed, but you knew him, knew when his movements were real and when he was playing a part. And this? This was him half there, his body moving on autopilot, hips swaying gently as he circled behind you. The crowd didn’t care though, they were eating it up either way, but you felt it. That barely there tension in his hands as they hovered just above your shoulders. The stutter in his breath as he leaned in, but didn’t touch. It was the hesitation of a man trying not to cross a line he’d drawn for himself a long time ago. But then your hand lifted. Just a little as you reached behind you and placed it lightly on his thigh. And that was it. That was all it took. Mingi snapped. The second your hand pressed against his leg, his hands dropped to your shoulders, firm now, grounding himself on you as his body rolled into yours from behind like instinct had taken over, dragging his hips against the back of the chair, down the curve of your spine as the crowd screamed louder, but it sounded distant to you still, muffled beneath the rush of blood in your ears as Mingi’s hands slid down your arms, gripping your wrists gently and placing them on his chest as he stepped around to face you. His eyes locked with yours, full of something raw and deep and buried far too long. You didn’t even know where to put your hands until he guided them, keeping his over yours as he rolled his hips forward, grinding down just slow enough to feel obscene and your legs fell open allowing his knee to push between them. And when the chorus of Happy Birthday to you hit Seonghwa’s name, Mingi dropped it low.

One of his hands braced on your thigh, the other sliding up the back of your neck, fingers threading into your hair as he rocked his body into yours like he wasn’t surrounded by people, like you were the only one in the room. Because to him, you were. And Seonghwa, bless him, just laughed, clapping along, fully aware his birthday performance had officially been hijacked by a man realizing far too late that he he should of said too long ago that he was in love with his best friend. The music pulsed louder now, slower and dirtier, like it knew what was happening. And so did he. Mingi didn’t hesitate anymore. His hands, once careful, once unsure, were everywhere now. Gripping your waist, skimming your hips, dragging up your sides like he had permission now. Like he’d finally allowed himself to stop pretending this didn’t mean something. And you weren’t any better. Your fingers slid up his chest, nails grazing the skin at his waist as your head tipped back, eyes half lidded as you let him move against you. Let him show you exactly how good his body could feel pressed this close, this tight, this intentional. It wasn’t a performance anymore. Not really. It was foreplay. The way he rolled his hips, slow, deep, then faster, grinding into your inner thigh like he needed the friction. The way your nails dug into his back, pulling him down just enough that your lips brushed his jaw. You weren’t even thinking anymore, just feeling. The scent of his cologne, the heat of his skin, the way the room spun a little every time his hand gripped your thigh and squeezed. And the crowd? Still singing. Still cheering. But quieter now. Because something was happening on stage they weren’t meant to see as Mingi leaned in, his mouth grazing your ear as his breath fanned hot across your neck. “You look like a fucking dream in this dress,” he murmured, voice low, hoarse, possessive. “You know that?” Your breath caught as you looked up at him, your best friend. Your Mingi. Except not the same Mingi you knew. This was the one who couldn’t hold back anymore as his hand slid between your thighs, not quite touching, but just hovering, the ghost of contact making your whole body ache and your thighs to press together, chest rising, eyes locked with his right as the final beat hit.

Then the music ended and the lights dimmed. And for just one breathless moment, the two of you stood frozen in the silence. Mingi’s hand still on your thigh caught between the clench of them, heat pulsing between you like the crowd never existed. The spell didn’t break until San whooped and slapped Mingi on the back like he hadn’t just dry humped his best friend in front of the entire club. Laughter exploded around the room, cake was smeared across Seonghwa’s cheek, but Mingi didn’t laugh as he looked at you. And you knew…. he felt it too. That nothing between you would ever be the same after tonight.

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The bar glowed in warm amber light, crowded but cozy, the bass of the music low enough to talk over, the laughter loud enough to ignore the awkward silences. You were still buzzing from the show, from the attention, from Mingi’s hands on you. But now, seated across from him at the long booth table, all that heat had simmered down to a prickling awareness. Every time you looked up, he was already looking at you. Every time he looked away, you wanted to ask why. But neither of you said a word. Wooyoung, of course, had no such filter. “Okay, okay…. but remember when Hongjoong walked in on me and San with that guy backstage?” he grinned, already snorting into his drink before the story even started. “Like pants around ankles, San’s hand halfway to heaven, and Joong just… deadpan. Completely dead inside.” Yeosang choked on his beer as San just threw a napkin at him. “You promised you’d never bring that up again.” Wooyoung sing songed. “Oops,” Seonghwa leaned over, grinning lazily. “Honestly, I’m just mad I missed it.” They all laughed as Wooyoung looked to you and Mingi with a devious look. “What about you two? You ever accidentally walk in on each other?” You felt your heart stop for a second as Mingi shook his head. “No,” he said instantly, like it was a dumb question. “Never.” You hesitated. It was maybe half a second but Mingi noticed. Wooyoung noticed too, but he just raised a brow and took another sip, letting the silence stretch. “Wait,” Mingi said slowly, leaning forward a little. “Why’d you pause?”

You looked at him, really looked at him. And maybe it was the lingering jealousy. Maybe it was the feel of his hands on your thighs still haunting you. Or maybe it was just time. You set your drink down carefully and met his eyes. “A year ago,” you said, voice calm. “I came home…. You were…on the couch.” His brows pinched together for half a second. “Wait…. what?” You took a long sip of your drink, eyes fixed on the amber liquid. “You were on the couch. With Daphne.” The name hit the table like a dropped glass. Yeosang’s chewing stopped. San blinked. Seonghwa looked between you and Mingi like he was watching the opening act to a car crash as Mingi sat back slightly. “You never said anything.” You met his gaze. “What would I have said? Hey, saw you getting rode last night, looked busy?” Wooyoung snorted hard. “Oh my god. You’ve been holding onto that?” You smiled, but it didn’t reach your eyes. “Wasn’t exactly something I wanted to remember.” Mingi’s jaw clenched. “You… how long were you there?” You shrugged not meeting his eyes. “Long enough.” It was quiet for a long moment before Seonghwa raised his glass with a smirk. “Happy birthday to me. Damn.” The table chuckled. But Mingi’s gaze didn’t leave you. You didn’t say anything else. Just slid out of the booth and made your way toward the bar, your dress hugging every curve like it knew Mingi was watching. Because he was. Everyone was. But he looked wrecked, jaw set, brow furrowed, eyes tracking you like you might disappear if he blinked.

“Bro.” Mingi didn’t look away from where you stood now, leaning your elbows on the bar. Wooyoung leaned in, voice louder this time. “Bro.” Mingi blinked, barely glancing at him. “What?” Wooyoung leaned across the table like Mingi was two seconds from being smacked upside the head, “you practically fucked her onstage. I had to turn around.” Mingi ran a hand down his face, groaning. “I didn’t mean for it to go that far.” Yeosang snorted into his drink. “Yes you did. Now you’re just too scared to do anything about it.” Silence settled for another moment before Mingi stood and the rest of the guys just watched him go, heads tilted like they were watching a soap opera in real time as Wooyoung raised his glass. “Godspeed, idiot.” You were mid laugh, fingers lightly curled around the straw of your drink as the bartender leaned just a little closer than necessary. “On the house,” he said smoothly, sliding you another cocktail you hadn’t asked for. “Pretty girls shouldn’t have to pay.” You were about to respond, something between polite and dismissive, when a body moved in behind you, warm and familiar, towering enough that the bartender’s cocky grin faltered.

“Didn’t know we were offering free drinks for anyone,” Mingi said, voice calm but edged. His hand slid along the bar beside yours, not touching you but close enough your breath caught as the bartender gave a chuckle. “Club policy for regulars.” Mingi tilted his head. “She’s not a regular.” You finally turned your head, trying not to look startled by how close he was. “Hey.” He looked at you, not the bartender. “Hey.” The air shifted. Dense. Charged. “I was just…” you started, but the bartender cut in. “She was telling me about a cake. Big party. You guys always go this hard?” Mingi didn’t smile. “Only when it matters.” His eyes dropped to the drink the bartender had slid over to you. “You sure you want that one?” You raised a brow. “It’s just a drink.” Mingi stepped a little closer. His chest almost brushing your back. “Some drinks have strings.” You felt the words low in your stomach as the bartender, sensing the tension, awkwardly wiped his hands on a bar towel. “I’ll, uh… check on the other side.” Mingi nodded. “Good idea,” he said flatly but he didn’t move even after the guy disappeared down the bar. You turned to face him fully, chin lifted “Subtle. You just scared off the bartender.” Mingi shrugged like he didn’t care. “He was flirting with you.” You snorted. “I know.” Mingi stepped closer, crowding into your space like he had every right to be there. “And you were flirting back.” You swallowed hard, your voice a little softer now. “What if I was?” His eyes dropped to your lips. “Then I guess I’m done pretending to be just your best friend.”

You stared at him, heart stuttering in your chest like it couldn’t decide whether to leap or freeze. “What?” The word came out small, not because you didn’t hear him but because it hit you like a damn freight train. Mingi didn’t move, didn’t blink, didn’t try to play it off. There was a pause thick enough to cut, bass from the music thumping through the floor beneath your heels, laughter echoing from the other side of the bar, none of it touching the two of you though as he said it, voice low and rough at the edges, “Best friends don’t look at each other the way we did tonight.” Your breath caught. He wasn’t smiling. There was no teasing in his eyes. Just truth. Hot, heavy, terrifying truth. “You wanna go home?” It was simple. But it wasn’t. Because home didn’t mean your shared apartment anymore. It didn’t mean crashing on the couch with takeout and reruns of shitty reality shows. It didn’t mean what it usually did. Not tonight. Tonight, it meant crossing a line you’d both been toeing for years. You stared at him, pulse thudding in your throat like it was trying to answer for you. “Yeah,” you said softly, throat dry. “Let’s go.” Mingi nodded, sharp, determined, and gently took the drink from your hand to set it on the bar behind you, fingers brushing yours, just barely, but it was enough to ignite sparks that raced up your spine. You didn’t even look back as he led you toward the door.

Seonghwa, still nursing a half melted cocktail, watched with narrowed eyes before smirking around the rim of his glass. He set it down with a little clink and looked at the rest of the guys. “Finally,” he muttered, like he’d just won a long running bet with the universe. Yeosang grinned. Wooyoung practically choked on his drink and leaned into San as the doors opened and in walked Daphne with two friends flanking her like backup singers. She spotted Mingi immediately, a slow smirk curling on her face. “Well, well,” she purred, walking right into his path, tilting her head. “Didn’t expect to see you leaving so early…” Mingi didn’t even break stride. He didn’t even look at her. He just tightened his grip on your hand and led you straight past her like she was nothing but background noise.

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The door clicked shut behind you, the quiet thud echoing through the apartment louder than it should have. Neither of you said a word as you toed off your shoes slowly, one heel, then the other, the soft tap of them hitting the floor sounding way too intimate in the silence. Mingi did the same, shrugging out of his jacket and draping it over the back of the couch, his eyes never once leaving you. The room felt heavier now. Warmer. You stood there, still dressed like temptation, your chest rising and falling just a little faster than usual as Mingi’s jaw twitched, watching you, like he was trying to keep a leash on something, something coiled deep and tense behind his eyes. “Nineteen,” Mingi finally said, voice low, like it physically hurt to get the word out. His eyes didn’t waver. “Nineteen. We were nineteen when I realized I was in love with you.” Your breath stuttered. “Eight years,” he went on, stepping closer, slowly, like he was afraid if he rushed it, you’d disappear. “Eight years pretending I didn’t want you. Eight years burying myself in other people, eyes closed, pretending it was you.” You swallowed hard, heart thudding, knees wobbling slightly from the weight of his confession as Mingi let out a shaky laugh, no humor in it. “This dress,” he murmured, gaze dropping for the briefest second before dragging back to your face. “First time you wore it, I left my own birthday party. Because if I didn’t, I was gonna drag you into the back room and rip it off you.” You stood there stunned, lips parted, head spinning. And Mingi? He just looked like a man who’d finally stopped running.

Your lips parted, breath shaky. “Do it. Mingi blinked, confused. “What?” You stepped forward, slowly, your eyes locked on his. “Rip the dress off me.” For a second, he didn’t move, like he was trying to make sure you really said it, like maybe his mind was playing tricks on him. But then his jaw clenched, nostrils flared, and something in his expression shifted, snapped. “You…” he started, voice cracking. “You can’t say shit like that unless you mean it.” You didn’t hesitate. “I do.” Mingi surged forward, grabbing you and crashing his mouth onto yours like he’d finally lost the battle with himself. His hands cupped your face at first, tender despite the heat between you, lips hungry and frantic as years of tension detonated all at once. You clutched at his shirt, pulling him closer, the kiss turning messy, deeper, desperate. When you gasped into his mouth, his hands dropped, skimming down your body until they gripped your hips tight and he pulled back, just enough to look at you, his breath ragged. “Last chance,” he whispered. “Tell me to stop, and I will.” But you didn’t. Instead, you slid his hand up the side of your dress, resting it right at the seam with your thigh, and whispered, “Rip it.” His fingers curled into the fabric, and with one hard pull, the dress tore with a sharp rrrrip, seams splitting clean down the back. It slid from your shoulders like it had been waiting to fall off you, pooling around your feet as the air hit your bare skin and his eyes darkened, swallowing the sight of you whole as he stood there, chest heaving, his gaze devouring every inch of you like he was seeing you for the first time, not his best friend in a towel, not the girl who’s lived in oversized shirts and underwear on lazy Sundays, not the one he’s caught glimpses of a hundred times in shared spaces and never touched.

This was you. Naked, save for the thin scrap of panties clinging to your hips. Wanting him. And he was completely undone. “Fuck,” he muttered, voice low, reverent, almost in disbelief. “You’re gonna ruin me.” He wrapped his arms around your thighs and lifted you effortlessly, your legs instinctively hooking around his waist as his mouth found your breast the moment you were against him, hot and hungry, tongue dragging over your nipple before he sucked it into his mouth. One hand held you firm while the other palmed up your spine, fingers splaying against your skin like he needed to memorize the shape of you. You gasped, your hand tangling in his short hair as his teeth grazed your nipple. He didn’t stop walking. He carried you down the hallway, dimly lit by the soft glow of the living room behind you. He passed his room and paused in front of your door before kicked it open gently, not even looking, his focus locked entirely on the way your body trembled in his arms, the way your breath hitched every time his mouth moved. He lowered you onto your bed like he was setting something sacred down, carefully, slowly, even though his chest was tight and his pulse wild. His mouth never left your skin, lips still wrapped around your breast, tongue swirling as he sucked and teased. The second your back hit the mattress, he settled between your legs, one arm braced beside you while the other slid down, tracing your side, your hip, dragging goosebumps in his wake.

You arched into him when his hand finally slipped between your thighs and the soft, wrecked sound that escaped him when he felt how wet you were….. “Shit…” he groaned against your chest, breath hot. “You’re soaked.” His fingers teased over the damp fabric, tracing you slowly, reverently, like he was still trying to convince himself this wasn’t a dream. Then he pressed down just enough to make your hips twitch and pulled his mouth from your breast to look up at you. “All that… from me?” he murmured, voice low and dark. “From that dance? From touching you?” A moan escaped you as you met his gaze. “Both,” you whispered, breath hitching and Mingi groaned like it punched the air from his lungs, raw and low in his throat. His fingers curled into your panties, dragging them down just enough, his gaze flicking between your face and where his hand disappeared. “You’re killing me,” he muttered, voice rough, almost pained. And then, finally, his fingers slid through your folds, slow and teasing, gathering your wetness before pushing inside. “Fuck,” he hissed, head dropping to your chest as he curled his fingers and felt you clench around him. “You feel like this for me? All night?” You nodded, your fingers threading through his hair, your thighs parting wider as your hips tilted to chase the pressure as he started moving them, slow at first, deep, curling with every stroke as your body arched under him. “Mingi,” you gasped, and he shuddered, biting down gently on your breast as he pumped his fingers faster. “Say it again,” he growled.

You grabbed his jaw, hard enough that his lips parted, his eyes snapping to yours like you’d just yanked a leash. “Fuck me with your fingers,” you ordered, dragging his face closer, your thighs tightening around his wrist. “Make me come like I’ve wanted you to for years.” Mingi’s eyes darkened, and something unholy snapped behind them. He growled, a sound from deep in his chest and then his mouth was on your neck, teeth scraping skin as his fingers slammed back into you, no more teasing, no more hesitation. He curled them hard, rough, filthy and perfect, pumping into you with the kind of rhythm that made your hips lift and your moans fall apart. “Like this?” he rasped into your throat. “Is this how you want it?” You barely managed a nod before your back arched off the bed, your nails raking down his arm, every nerve ending on fire. And he wasn’t stopping. Not until you screamed for him. Your fingers dove into his hair again, tugging hard enough to make him groan against your skin as you yanked his head back just enough to meet his eyes, eyes that were already glassy with lust, lips slick from the path they’d traced across your chest. “Don’t stop,” you panted, grinding down against his hand, riding his fingers like you owned them. “Fuck…. just like that, Mingi. God, you feel so fucking good… why the hell did we wait so long?” Your voice was wrecked, dripping filth and fire, every word going straight to his already aching dick. He swore under his breath, low and guttural, his jaw clenching as your wetness coated his hand and wrist. “You have no idea,” he growled, fingers curling harder, deeper. “You have no idea what you’re doing to me right now.” You leaned in, lips brushing his as you whispered, “Then shut up and ruin me.”

Mingi’s whole body tensed, he was gone. Absolutely gone. Nothing about this was best friends anymore. Nothing about this was safe. Not with you saying things like that, not with your body soaked and begging for him, not with the way your thighs were trembling around his wrist as your orgasm started to crest. He’d never been more turned on in his life. “Fuck,” He groaned, voice wrecked as he watched you tremble around his fingers. He couldn’t take it, couldn’t take you like this, soaked, panting, eyes glazed over with need and begging for more. He pulled his fingers out slow, slick dripping down his knuckles, and you whined at the sudden emptiness. But before you could even finish the sound, he was already dropping between your thighs. “Spread for me,” he muttered, breath hot against your core as he hooked his hands under your knees and pushed them wide. Then his mouth was on you. Hot, hungry and possessive. His tongue slid through your folds like he’d been starving for you, moaning into you as if he’d just tasted salvation. He sucked your clit into his mouth, slow at first, teasing the way he knew would drive you insane and when you gasped and tried to grind into his face, he growled, locking your hips down with his arms. You could feel how messy it was, his spit, your arousal, his tongue working like he was trying to memorize every part of you. And the worst part? He wasn’t stopping. He wasn’t giving you room to breathe. “Mingi…” you gasped, thighs shaking, hands flying back to his hair. But he still didn’t let up. He just moaned again, eyes dark and locked on yours from between your legs as he devoured you like he was never letting you go.

Your fingers tightened in his hair, both hands gripping as you ground yourself against his mouth, chasing every wicked flick of his tongue. You could feel him moan into you again and again, deep and guttural, the sound vibrating against your clit as your hips rolled harder. “Just like that…. fuck, Mingi, don’t stop…. your mouth feels so fucking good,” you gasped, voice breathy. “Always wondered how that pretty mouth would feel between my thighs…. look at you, baby, making me so goddamn wet.” Mingi let out a desperate sound at that, eyes fluttering shut as his grip on your thighs tightened. You felt him rock forward slightly, and when you glanced down, the sight had you gasping all over again. He was rutting against the bed. Still fully clothed, still eating you out like it was the only thing keeping him alive as his hips grounded down into the mattress, trying to get even the smallest bit of friction as he moaned with every move you made. Your back arched, hands fisting tighter in his hair. “Fuck, you’re gonna make yourself come like that?” you whispered, completely wrecked. “Humping the bed like a needy little thing while your tongue’s buried in my pussy?” His growl vibrated right through you and somehow, impossibly, he started devouring you even harder before he pulled back just long enough to catch his breath, lips slick and swollen, the look in his eyes feral. You were trembling beneath him, but it didn’t stop him, his fingers slipped right back in, two thrusting deep into your soaked heat while his thumb dragged slow, tight circles over your clit. You barely had time to gasp before he added pressure, angling just right…. and then you felt it. A smaller finger, his pinky, teasing your other hole. “Mingi…. fuck…”

“I got you,” he whispered, voice ragged with need, “I got you, baby, just feel me.” It was overwhelming, his fingers stroking deep, his thumb rubbing perfectly, his pinky pushing in so carefully it made your whole body jolt. You couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think, only chase the high he was pulling from you so ruthlessly. You reached for him without thinking, fingers tangling in his hair again, dragging him up to crash your mouth into his. It was messy, all tongue and teeth, but it grounded you just enough right before it hit. Your whole body tensed as you came hard, crying out against his mouth, your thighs clamping around his hand as you squirted, soaking him, the sheets, everything and Mingi moaned into the kiss, swallowing every sound you made as he worked you through it, eyes wide like he couldn’t believe what he just did to you. Like he wanted, needed, more. He barely had time to catch his breath again before you shoved at his chest, pushing him back until he sat at the edge of the bed, hands bracing behind him, chest rising and falling like he’d just run a marathon. “Strip.” Your voice was low, wrecked, but laced with command making him blink once, then grinned, slow and sinful. The kind of grin that always came out on stage when the beat dropped and the lights hit just right. Except now it was for you and only you. “After all,” he murmured, fingers already moving to the hem of his shirt, “it’s my job, isn’t it?” You didn’t answer. You didn’t have to. Because Mingi was already peeling his shirt up over his head, revealing that strong, lean torso you’d seen a thousand times but never like this. Never with that fire in his eyes, never with your slick still glistening on his fingers. His pants followed, slow and deliberate, teasing. And when they hit the floor, and he stood there in nothing but tight black briefs, hard and straining, the outline of him unmistakable, you couldn’t help the way your legs shifted restlessly on the sheets. “Tell me,” he said, voice a little breathless, “do I take these off too, or do you want to do it?”

You slid off the bed, the air thick between you as you sank to your knees in front of him. Mingi stood there, chest rising, lips parted, watching your every move as your fingers hooked into the waistband of his briefs, and he let out a shaky breath, hips twitching forward before he caught himself. You dragged the fabric down slowly, his briefs slipping past his hips, your eyes widening just slightly because he was big. Thick, heavy, already flushed and twitching, curving just a little toward his stomach. The kind of big that made your mouth water and your thighs press together. “Fuck,” you whispered without thinking. Your hand wrapped firmly around the base of him, and when you looked up, your voice was low, teasing and daring. “You’ve thought about this, haven’t you?” Mingi’s breath stuttered. His hands clenched at his sides like he didn’t know what to do with them. His mouth opened but nothing came out at first, just a flush creeping up his neck, dark and undeniable. “Yeah.” His voice was hoarse, nearly a groan. “So many fucking times.” You tilted your head, your grip giving just the slightest squeeze, and his abs tensed. “Show me how much,” you whispered. “Show me everything you’ve been holding back.” Mingi’s hand slid up, fingers curling under your chin as he tilted your face up to meet his gaze. “Open,” he said, voice low and wrecked. And you didn’t hesitate, just smirked, lips parting slowly, eyes locked on his as your tongue teased the air between you. The sound he made was pure sin, one of his hands bracing atop your head as the other guided himself to your mouth, slow and deliberate. He let the tip brush your bottom lip, and your tongue flicked against it, dragging a ragged groan from his chest. “Fuck,” he breathed, as he began to slowly push in, the heat of your mouth making his jaw clench, every muscle in his body drawn tight with restraint. You started slow, the heat of your mouth wrapping around him as your tongue teased lazy circles. Mingi’s hand twitched at his side, fighting the urge to grab your hair, his breath already uneven. “Don’t do that,” he muttered, voice gravel. “Don’t tease…” But you didn’t listen. You sank down just a little more, then pulled back with a filthy pop, smirking up at him like you had all the time in the world. Like you weren’t seconds away from wrecking him. And then you hollowed your cheeks and the groan that ripped out of Mingi’s chest was downright desperate as you took more of him, hands sliding up to grip his thighs for leverage. You let your nails dig in just enough to make him twitch, then started moving, slow, controlled strokes at first, lips gliding, tongue working every inch of him with practiced ease.

“Shit,” he breathed, his hand finally tangling in your hair. “You…. fuck, baby…” But you had control now. And you didn’t let up. You looked up at him with glassy eyes, mouth full of him, and let him see the exact moment you relaxed your throat and pushed deeper, your grip on his thighs tightening as you urged him to move. And he did. Thrust by slow, shaking thrust, Mingi began to fuck into your mouth, his rhythm building as you moaned around him, the sound sending shivers up his spine. His other hand joined the first in your hair, voice broken as he whispered your name like a curse and a prayer all at once as you moaned around him, the vibration making his knees nearly give out. His grip tightened in your hair as he rutted into your mouth, breath ragged, jaw slack. You let him use you, let him fall apart like he had no control left, taking him deep, your moans growing louder, wetter, filthier. He was close. Too close. And then he groaned, a rough, strangled sound, and pulled out, chest heaving, dick glistening as it twitched in the air between you. “Fuck…” he looked down at you like he didn’t know whether to drop to his knees or throw you onto the bed and ruin you. “Not yet.” His voice was thick. “Wanna be inside you when I come.” He reached down and pulled you up with ease, one hand on your hip, the other sliding around your waist like he was ready to take control, like this was going to go the way it always did for him. But he had no idea. You pushed against his chest, hard, catching him off guard and sending him stumbling back onto the bed. “What….” Before he could finish the question, you were crawling up after him, slow and purposeful, your eyes locked on his, a wicked little smirk tugging at your lips as you straddled his hips. “Mingi,” you purred, hands sliding up his chest, nails grazing just enough to make him twitch, “you really thought you’d be the one in charge tonight?” He swallowed hard, pupils dilating, the realization sinking in as you leaned down, lips brushing against his ear as you whispered, “Lie back. Be good. And let me fuck you.” You didn’t give him time to respond. Instead, you lowered yourself slowly, lips brushing his chest, the line of his ribs, the dip of his stomach, every kiss deliberate, a tease and a promise all in one as Mingi’s breathing turned ragged beneath you, his muscles tense under your mouth, but he didn’t move. Didn’t dare.

You reached his hips, sitting up, your nails dragging lightly along his sides as your eyes met his again. His hands gripped the sheets, knuckles white as you finally reached between you, guiding him to your entrance, already soaked and ready. You took your time, just the tip at first, the stretch enough to make you both exhale. Then, with one slow, deliberate roll of your hips, you sank down onto him, inch by thick inch, until he was buried inside you. Mingi’s head fell back with a choked moan, his hands flying to your thighs but stopping short of grabbing, like even now he was waiting to see what you’d let him do. “Fuck,” he breathed. “You feel….. fuck.” You smiled, starting to move, slow and deep, claiming him like you always should have. You rolled your hips in tight circles, feeling every inch of him stretch you open. Then you picked up speed, bouncing harder, riding him faster with each thrust. Your thighs flexed as you slammed down onto him, the wet slap of your bodies filling the room as you reached up, fingers wrapping around his throat, squeezing just enough to make his eyes flutter. “Look at you,” you breathed, voice thick with heat. “Taking my pussy so fucking good.” You pounded down onto him, your ass meeting his thighs with every drop as your grip on his throat tightened and you leaned in close, lips brushing his ear. “You see what you do to me, Mingi?” You pulled him up by the throat so he could watch, his eyes going wide at the sight of you coating his dick, creaming him, strings of it stretching every time you lifted off and slammed back down.

He whimpered, the sound raw and broken, hips twitching up to meet you as you kept fucking him, relentless, your walls gripping him tight. “You gonna come for me, Mingi? You said you pictured me while you were buried in someone else…” your grip on his throat tightened again, pulling yourself all the way up before slamming back down onto him. “now look at me as you come.” A broken “fuck” tore from his throat as his dick jerked inside you as he did, cum flooding your pussy in thick pulses as his body shook under you. But you didn’t stop riding him, milking every drop while your hand stayed locked around his throat. “You’re mine,” you growled, squeezing tighter. Your free hand sliding down between your bodies, fingers rubbing fast circles over your swollen clit and pleasure slammed into you hard making you cry out, pussy clenching and fluttering around him as you came gushing out around him. Before you could lift off, Mingi’s hands locked around your waist and he sat up in one fluid motion, still buried inside you, grabbing your legs, hooking them over his shoulders, holding you up like that, your back arched, his dick angled deeper. “Clench me,” he ordered, voice low and rough. You obeyed instantly, your pussy squeezing around him in rhythmic pulses. He didn’t move at first, just held you suspended, feeling every squeeze. Then he started thrusting, slow, deliberate lifts that dragged his dick almost all the way out before sinking back in. The pace building gradually, each thrust deeper, harder, until he was fucking you with full force and your hands clutched at his shoulders, nails digging in as he took complete control, pounding up into you while you hung onto him.

“Such a good girl,” he praised between thrusts, voice strained. “Taking every inch like you were made for it.” Your orgasm crashed over you again without warning, squirting hard around him, soaking his abs and thighs. Mingi pulled out just enough to watch the mess, holding you up so he could see your pussy pulsing and dripping before he flipped you onto your stomach, spreading your legs wide. His tongue dragged through your soaked folds, licking up the mess you’d made, sucking at your clit before kissing his way up your spine and flipped you again onto your back, wrapping your legs around his waist as he sank back into you with one smooth thrust. He sucked at one of your nipples, tongue swirling over it while he started fucking you slow and deep. One hand grabbed both of your wrists, pinning them above your head as his other braced beside you, hips snapping harder, pace picking up. Sweat slicking your bodies together. “I love you,” he panted against your mouth, forehead pressed to yours. “I love you.” You were too far gone to form words at first, just moaning and gasping as he fucked you relentlessly. “Come for me,” he growled. “Fuck…. you’re mine. Mine. I’m yours.” Your orgasm ripped through you, body shaking as you cried out, “I love you too” and Mingi followed right after, burying himself to the hilt and filling you once more, his dick throbbing as he groaned your name and stayed inside you, rocking gently through the aftershocks, both of you panting and clinging to each other. The room smelled like sex and sweat, your bodies joined, hearts pounding in sync as he kissed you, hands finally releasing your wrists so he could stroke your hair, whispering how perfect you felt around him, how long he’d wanted this, how he never wanted to let you go and you stayed wrapped around him, legs locked at his back, his cum leaking out around his softening dick while you both caught your breath, the intensity of everything you’d just done settling into something warm and possessive between you.

You stroked his back as he buried his face into the crook of your neck. Then you could think. The thought of him now after everything, onstage, not the stripping part, but the touching other women. The lap dances…. the thought made you surge with possessiveness. “No more lap dances.” It took a moment for Mingi to register but when he did, he laughed softly into your neck. “I promise from now on I will only grind on you.” He lifted his head and looked down at you. “No more sex with hot patients who flirt with you.” You laughed this time, fingers tangling into his hair, pulling him back down, your other hand moving to stroke his jaw, thumb brushing his bottom lip. “I promise from now on….” You kissed him. “You’re the only one I will fuck in an on call room.” You both laughed at that. Snuggling into each other.

Still best friends.

And now also so much more.

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When Mingi and I were 13, we made a promise to each other. One that exactly stated that if we were both single by 25, we’d give each other a chance. It was later noted that if it failed, the friendship couldn’t end no matter what. Years had passed since then and not much thought was given into it. Not until it was three weeks until my 25th birthday, and pretty much every date I tried to get, failed. I tried my best to keep any of the dates, either I’d get ghosted or I’d get icked out by the date. Mingi was beginning to find it funny, but i definitely was not laughing.

DATE ONE

I was sitting in a fancy restaurant, wearing a fancy black dress with fancy shoes and fancy hair and makeup. This place was too classy for me, I felt out of place. My date then arrived and I felt relief wash over me, I was ready to get ghosted like the last three dates I tried to go on. The man was slightly older than me, about four years, but he was clearly rich, not that I was complaining. His name was Austin. I sit there, picking at my expensive salad, wondering if I should just order the most expensive steak on the menu since his bill will probably cover it. Austin is talking. Something about real estate. He keeps glancing at his watch. My phone buzzes under the table. Mingi.“Dude stop checking your phone”Wait. “You’re a creep” I text him back “dude, stop following me, go home” I look over my shoulder and glare at my best friend. But I look back at Austin as he continues talking. Austin barely notices the slight distraction. He thinks I’m just checking my phone. Most people do. He's not used to being interrupted. "So yeah, my firm just closed a deal in Chelsea," he says, his tone conversational but a little smug. "The guy really pushed for a lower rate, but I told him..." I begin to zone out but I nod. He takes my nod as genuine interest and leans in, his confidence blooming. "Honestly, I think it's about knowing your worth. You can't let people walk all over you, you know?" He pours me more wine—even though I barely touched the first glass. "Say, what do you do for work?" My phone buzzes again.

I ignore the message. I clear my throat “environmental science.” Austin looks immediately impressed, leaning in slightly. "Environmental science? That is incredibly sophisticated. Smart woman." He smiles, revealing perfect teeth. "That requires serious intellect. Must keep you busy." Under the table, my phone buzzes violently. Not once, not twice, but three times in rapid succession. Mingi is definitely getting annoyed. I thank Austin before glancing at my phone. The messages keep coming.

Mingi: I'm not leaving.

Mingi: This guy is a bore.

Mingi: He's been talking about Chelsea real estate for 20 mins.

Mingi: Also his watch cost more than your car.

Mingi: .-.

Austin notices my glance. I put my phone in my purse so I wouldn’t get distracted from the messages. I go back to talking to Austin. “I actually just got my degree” "Congratulations," Austin says, raising his wine glass in a mock toast, clearly impressed. "Fresh degree. That’s ambitious. I like that." He takes a slow sip, his eyes scanning my face, perhaps calculating if I fit his lifestyle. "So, what's the plan? NGO? Corporate sustainability? Or are you heading into research?" My purse vibrates against my leg. “Conservation” I mumble. It didn’t make much money so I didn’t know what his reaction would be. Austin's expression flickers briefly—just a hint of something that looks like disdain, quickly masked by a practiced smile. "Conservation, huh? That's... noble." He pauses, swirling the wine in his glass. "Must not pay very well, though." “Uh.. yeah, no, it doesn’t but I care more about the impact” I laugh nervously. "Impact," Austin repeats slowly, like the word tastes strange in his mouth. "Cute." He sets down his fork deliberately. "You know what really has impact? Building. Changing a city's skyline. Leaving something permanent." He leans back, gesturing vaguely at the restaurant. "This place? I own part of a company that developed the complex it's in."

“Oh.. that’s” i nod, “nice.” "Nice?" Austin repeats, his tone slightly mocking. "It's more than nice, sweetheart. It's a multi-million dollar investment. I could buy and sell your little conservation projects with the change in my pocket." He smiles, clearly enjoying his own importance. I slowly nod and pull my phone out of my purse to check the messages. Mingi's texts are flooding in:

Mingi: Did he just say 'sweetheart'?

Mingi: Ghost him

Mingi: I'm getting your keys

Mingi: I'll pick you up at like... the back exit?

Mingi: I'm parked close he'll never see us

Austin notices the phone again, his jaw tightening slightly. I huff out air and put my phone away again “so is it like a family business?” "Generational," Austin answers smoothly, clearly loving the question. "Third generation. My grandfather started the firm, my father expanded it, and I've doubled the assets." He taps his expensive watch. "I handle the acquisitions mostly." He leans forward, looking entirely too pleased with himself. "Essentially, I don't work. I manage." My purse vibrates violently again. “So… what do you usually do during your days?” Austin laughs, a condescending little sound. "Golf, mostly. Gym. Lunch meetings with investors. I travel to check on sites—Paris last month, Tokyo next week." He shrugs like it's nothing. "I don't really *do* anything. That's the point of having money." He swirls his wine. "You wouldn't understand." “So you’re getting paid to do nothing?” "Pretty much," he says, utterly unbothered. "And I'd rather that than... whatever it is you do." He glances at his watch dismissively. "Look, it's been fun, but I've got a call from Singapore in twenty." He signals the waiter for the check without asking you. "Let's call it." My phone buzzes again.

“Yeah… I was gonna go anyways” I say simply before petting up and pulling out my phone again. Austin raises an eyebrow at my abrupt departure but doesn't seem offended. He hands over his black card to the waiter without a second glance. I look at the notifications as I walk to the back exit. As I walk out the back door, I see Mingi leaning casually against my car, looking incredibly cute and somewhat annoyed. He holds up my keys dramatically when he sees me. "Took you long enough." He smirks, pushing off the car. "So, how was Prince Charming?" “Never do that shit again” I roll my eyes, referring to the literal stalking he did by following me to the date, and snatch my keys from him. I get in the drivers seat. I’d never admit it but I was a bit thankful for Mingi being there. Mingi slides into the passenger seat, immediately adjusting the air conditioning. "Don't blame me. You're the one setting yourself up for disaster." He glances at me sideways, something unreadable in his expression. "So? Was he as insufferable as he looked?" My phone lights up with a text. Probably Austin, confirming the date was a bust.

“Yes” I begin driving “just some rich prick” "Shocker," Mingi deadpans, drumming his fingers on his knee. "Rich guys are always the worst. It's the 'I don't actually work, I just manage money' syndrome." He leans his head back against the seat, watching the streetlights blur past. "So that's... what? Date number four down the drain?" I groan dramatically as I pull into my driveway. “this is bullshit” Mingi hops out of the car, following me to the front door with his hands in his pockets. "Well, on the bright side, at least you're consistent," he teases lightly. As I unlock the door, he leans against the frame, looking down at me with a small smile. “You can go home now” I shake my head at him. "Yeah, yeah," Mingi says, pushing off the doorframe but not moving away immediately. He watches me for a moment longer than necessary before stepping back. "I'll see you tomorrow?" His tone is casual, but there's something almost hopeful in his eyes. “Maybe” I shoo him away before closing my front door. Mingi stands there for a second after the door closes, a strange expression on his face before he finally turns and walks back to his car. He shakes his head slightly, muttering to himself as he gets in.

DATE TWO

today’s date was one Mingi surely couldn’t crash. It was a nature walk- the beach- perfect for me. The guy was someone new, some hippie sort of guy. Mingi knew I was going on the date and where, he always knew- just in case. But I made him promise not to come. I approach my date once I arrive. The guy, Leo, is exactly what I need. Loose linen shirt, barefoot, messy curls falling into his eyes. He's sitting cross-legged in the sand, absolutely radiating peace and hippie energy. He smiles warmly when I approach, standing up and giving me a soft, non-pretentious hug. “Hey, sunshine." “Hi”I smile as we begin walking. "So I heard you're into conservation," Leo says, his voice mellow and genuine. He kicks at the sand as we walk along the shoreline. "That's really cool. We need more people actually doing something for the planet, you know? Not just talking about it." He glances at me. "What kind of work exactly?" My phone is in your purse. “I’m not sure yet, I actually just graduated, still looking for an opening, y’know.” "Ah, fresh out of the academic world," Leo nods, smiling understandingly. "No pressure then, right? Just exploring options." He pauses, picking up a small seashell and examining it before slipping it into his pocket. "You'll figure it out. Follow your passion, yeah?"

“Yeah”I smile. We walk along the beach, just talking, until the conversation went a different way than I particularly wanted it to. "So... do you believe in soulmates?" Leo asks out of nowhere, looking at me seriously with those big, earnest eyes. "Like, cosmic connections?" I freeze slightly. This is where the date usually goes off the rails - when guys start talking about destiny and the universe like it's a pick-up line. Before I can answer, my phone buzzes in my purse. “Hmm, I dunno, do you?” "Definitely," Leo says with a firm nod, his eyes glittering almost fanatically. "I believe that the universe brings people together for a reason. You know, like how we met - it was fate, right?" He reaches out and gently squeezes my hand. “Yeah…” I laugh a bit nervously at the way he was looking at me. "I'm telling you, I felt it the moment I saw your profile," Leo continues, squeezing my hand again. "Like, instant recognition. My intuition was screaming 'this one.' And now here we are, walking on this beach, at this exact moment in our lives..." My phone buzzes again. Then again. And again. In rapid succession.

I ignore it. But then he mentions Mingi, having seen him on my instagram. "So who's your... close friend I keep seeing in your photos?" Leo asks, his tone not quite hostile but clearly curious. "That's Mingi, right? The one with the really intense stare?" He looks at me. "You two are close, huh? Inseparable or something?" My phone buzzes again. The messages keep coming. “Uh, yeah” i nod. "You two ever mess around?" Leo asks bluntly, not bothering to beat around the bush. "Because you can tell me. I respect honesty." His pace slows as he watches my face carefully, like he's waiting for the right answer. Meanwhile, my phone is positively vibrating itself out of my purse. I can practically hear it screaming for attention. “No…” I fight the urge to check my phone but I fail. I pull my phone out of my purse. Leo watches me pull out my phone, his expression turning mildly annoyed. He opens his mouth to say something else when suddenly, my phone lights up with a barrage of messages. The notifications keep popping up one after another - all from Mingi. I unlock my phone to see the flood of texts.

I see a screenshot of an assault charge Leo had. I try to play it cool, texting Mingi to come pick me up. I don’t let Leo know I know, we continue walking. Leo notices I’m distracted but assumes it's just a normal text conversations. He keeps talking, oblivious to the fact that I’ve just been given a massive red flag about him. Meanwhile, Mingi's text responses keep coming in rapid fire, clearly indicating that he's on his way. "So..." “So?” I say, as chill as I could. "So, I just think we have a real connection here," Leo says, stepping a little closer than before. The casual ocean breeze suddenly feels heavier. "You ever just... know something without words?" His hand reaches for my hip. "Like the universe meant us to-" My phone buzzes. Mingi: "I'm five minutes out. Keep him talking." “Yeah, no, I mean like I agree” I nod. Leo smiles warmly, completely buying my act. "See, that's exactly what I mean. That cosmic alignment." He slips his arm fully around my waist, pulling me against his side. "I really think we're meant to explore this. Deeply. Soul connections aren't casual, sunshine." My phone buzzes again. Mingi: "Two minutes. Do NOT let him isolate you." As soon as I see Mingis truck, I b line and I practically sprint to it. “drive drive” I say to mingi.

Leo blinks in surprise as I suddenly dash towards Mingi's truck, his arm left hanging in the air. Mingi immediately starts the engine and speeds off before Leo can even process what happened. Inside the truck, Mingi gives me a sharp look. "What the fuck was that?" “Oh man”I run my hands down my face. “I’m gonna die alone.” "No, seriously," Mingi says, his usual casual tone replaced by something almost angry. "One minute you're walking with that freak, the next you're sprinting to my truck like your life depends on it. What happened back there?" “Nothing,” I scoff. “he seemed nice, what you sent freaked me the fuck out.” "Good. That was the point," Mingi snaps, tightening his grip on the steering wheel. "That guy has a literal assault charge from two years ago. Not just 'got in a fight at a bar' assault. Restraining order type shit." He glances over at me, his jaw tight. "You ignored every single text warning you until the very end." “Yeah well, you spam me during every date I go on.” I huff and look out the window. "And thank fuck I do," Mingi retorts sharply. "Because clearly you have zero instinct for self-preservation. Every time you go out with some random dude, I'm the one making sure you don't end up in a ditch or worse." He pulls into my driveway and parks roughly.

“Is it me?” I look at him “like dude, I can’t keep a single date.” "Maybe," Mingi mutters, his eyes flickering to the window as he processes the question. His jaw tightens. He doesn't answer immediately. Then, almost offhand, he turns back to the steering wheel. "Yeah. Maybe it's you." He clicks his seatbelt off with a final, harsh snap. "You can't read a room for shit." “You’re such an asshole” I frown. "And you're too damn trusting," Mingi shoots back, his voice echoing slightly in the quiet car. He leans back against the door, his arms crossed. "You'd fall for a puppy-eyed smile and a sweet line, even if the guy was obviously a creep." I go quiet until he speaks again. Mingi notices my sudden silence and rolls his eyes. "Don't give me that look," he says, unbuckling his seatbelt completely. He turns in his seat to face me fully. "Remember our pact?" And then it all flows back. How we told each other we’d give one another a chance if we failed at fearing by 25. But I still had a week left. Mingi taps the center console, perfectly recalling the exact terms. "We made a pact. Explicit deal." He stares at me. "If neither of us found someone serious by twenty-five, we stop dating strangers and give each other a shot." He checks his watch. "You have one week left." He raises an eyebrow. "Seven days." “You really remember that?”

"Of course I remember," Mingi says, his voice softer now. "I don't make promises I don't intend to keep." He pauses, jaw working slightly. "It's not like I'm suggesting we do anything now. You've got a week left to find your soulmate or whatever fucking thing Leo was selling." He nudges my shoulder with his knuckles. “Okay okay” I sigh, the mood lightened a bit. "Good," Mingi says, tone returning to that casual drawl I know. He cracks the window. "Now get out. I got shit to do. And you need to stop looking like a kicked puppy." But he doesn't move to open his door—he waits, making sure I get inside safely. Always does. The pact or not, he's always been that guy.

DATE THREE

It was about three days until my birthday. I had real hope in this guy. He seemed normal, had a normal engineering job, a small normal house, a normal look. He invited me to a normal restaurant. I find the table he’s sat at and we click immediately. He is exactly what I’ve been needing. Normal. Grounded. Stable. He laughs at my jokes, has excellent manners, asks genuine questions about my post-grad life, and doesn't mention cosmic connections or destiny. It's effortless conversation. Over appetizers, he compliments my dress, and over dinner, he talks about his engineering work in a way that's actually interesting, not arrogant. His name was Lucas and I was drawn in immediately. I updated Mingi a few times throughout so he didn’t spam my phone. After dinner, Lucas even walked me to my car. Lucas kisses my cheek at the driver's door, sweet and respectful. "I genuinely had an amazing time," he says, rubbing my arm softly. "We should definitely do this again soon." He's wholesome. Normal. Absolutely perfect boyfriend material. My phone buzzes- not Mingi spamming, but a single text from him. “How was it?"

I open my phone when I get in my car. “I think I did it, like seriously, he asked me out again tomorrow.” My phone lights up with Mingi's response almost immediately. “No shit? Details." He adds a series of questioning emojis- clearly interested but trying to play it cool. I can almost hear his skeptical tone through the text messages. “Is he actually decent this time?" I text him all the details, smiling as I do so. “Sounds too good to be true. Suspicious." His usual response. “Send me a pic." I roll my eyes but oblige, snapping a quick photo of Lucas's profile and sending it. Mingi's response is instant. “Fuck me, he's actually handsome."

DATE FOUR

it was now the day before my birthday and I was on my second date with Lucas. Lucas takes me to a charming little bookstore cafe. He remembers I liked reading and picks out a couple of books he thinks I’ll enjoy. He actually listens when I talk about your favorite genres. No red flags. No cosmic destiny talk. No restraining orders. He's just... “good”. My phone buzzes discretely in your bag- just a check-in from Mingi. We talked in the cafe for a long time. But it seemed too good, seemed like I was getting my hopes up. As the sun starts to set, painting the sky outside the cafe windows in warm oranges and pinks, Lucas reaches across the table to gently squeeze my hand. "Hey, I was thinking... it's your birthday tomorrow, right? We could do something together, if you want." He smiles softly, thumb brushing my knuckles. My heart flutters. I almost say yes but then i remembered I had plans with Mingi both later tonight and tomorrow “i..” Lucas watches my face closely, sensing my internal conflict. "If you already have plans," he says gently, not offended in the slightest. "I completely understand. Family plans? Friends?" My phone buzzes in your pocket.

“Friends” I nod “well, friend.” Lucas nods understandingly, his grip on my hand loosening. "Well, I don't want to steal your friend's thunder," he says with a warm smile. "But maybe we can do something the day after? My treat." My phone buzzes again- Mingi's name flashing on the screen. I look down at my phone. Mingi was impatient as fuck "Well? Did you say yes? Is he still breathing? Also, what the fuck is taking so long, we're gonna be late for res—" The message trails off mid-sentence, clearly cut off mid-rant. I snort softly, shaking my head at Mingi's predictable impatience. I tuck my phone in my pocket. “Okay,”I look at Lucas. Everything seemed to click. All of these dates were stupid. Part of me felt bad for what I was about to tell Lucas, but the other part came to the most important realization. “you’re perfect, y’know,”I tell Lucas, “but you deserve a girl who isn’t caught up with another guy.” i admit “uhm… he’s my bestfriend.” I nod then shrug “since we were kids.” Lucas stares at me for a second, processing that, then the most understanding smile spreads across his face. He doesn't get offended, defensive, or weird. He realizes exactly what I’m saying- I’m not emotionally unavailable, you're emotionally occupied.

"He has your heart," Lucas guesses gently, squeezing my hand. "The childhood best friend pact." He taps my fingers. "Go." “Thank you,” I whisper before I’m already up and walking. Lucas watches me leave, a mix of understanding and something unreadable in his eyes. He knows when he's been outclassed by history and genuine feelings. As I hurry out of the cafe, my phone buzzes incessantly- Mingi's name flashing repeatedly on the screen. I answer Mingis call “I’m coming” Mingi's voice comes through the phone, a mix of relief and annoyance. "Finally! Jesus, I was about to send out a search party. Where the fuck are you?" He pauses, hearing my hurried footsteps. "Wait, did you just... leave him?" His tone shifts to disbelief. “I’ll tell you about it when I get there”. I hang up before Mingi can argue. Ten minutes later, I pull into the restaurant parking lot, spotting his car immediately. Mingi is leaning against the driver's door, arms crossed, tapping his foot impatiently. He spots my car, pushing off the door and looking at me intently as I park, clearly waiting for an explanation. “What?” I notice his look. "What the fuck is going on?" Mingi demands, falling into step with me as you walk toward the restaurant. "You didn't answer any of my texts. That's never you." His eyes are sharp, searching my face. "Did he try something? Because I swear to—" "It was nothing bad," I interrupt, grabbing his arm to make him slow down.

DATE FIVE

“I’ll explain when we sit down, believe me, you’ll want to be sitting down” Mingi slows down at my touch, looking at me with confusion and concern. He nods slowly, letting me pull him inside the restaurant. The hostess greets us both and leads us to a table. Mingi waits until we’re both seated before leaning forward, eyes fixed on me intently. “I left him” I say simply “I mean, I wasn’t gonna ditch you or anything.” Mingi blinks at me, completely taken aback. "You... left him," he repeats slowly, processing this information. A small, confused smile tugs at his lips. "Just like that? No drama, no scene, no 'let me explain' bullshit?" “No, I mean, he was totally cool about it.”I nod, hoping he wouldn’t ask why I left. Mingi's eyes narrow, that familiar, sharp gaze of his scanning my face. "He was cool about it?" He tilts his head, suspicious. "Why exactly?" The question comes out before I can stop it, his tone blunt and unhesitant. "You left a guy who seemed genuinely decent and was completely fine with it." I go quiet. The silence stretches between us, Mingi's suspicious gaze never leaving my face. He leans back in his chair, crossing his arms over his chest. "You're not telling me something," he states flatly. "What happened that made you leave him so abruptly?" His voice is low, demanding an answer. “Uhm…” I laugh nervously.

Mingi's expression shifts- something unreadable flickering in his eyes. He uncrosses his arms, leaning forward again, eyes darkening. "Spit it out," he says quietly, almost dangerously calm. "You're doing that nervous laugh thing you do when you're about to tell me something I'm not gonna like." His fingers drum impatiently against the table. “Yeah, well… no… I think you might like it” I look away. That makes Mingi pause, his drumming fingers going still. His head tilts, that unreadable expression deepening. "The fuck is that supposed to mean?" His voice is lower now, cautious. "Did you...?" He searches my face, some realization dawning on him that he refuses to put into words. "Just fucking say it." “I don’t wanna say it” Mingi's jaw tightens. He reaches across the table abruptly, fingers wrapping around my wrist, not harsh, but firm, holding me in place. "You don't get to start something like that and then backpedal," he says, voice dropping. "I know that look. You've had that look since we were sixteen and it always means the same thing." “Thirteen” I correct, then sigh “okay, okay. I kinda sorta left because I felt bad because I was like focused on you the whole time and I was like ‘wow maybe I shouldn’t date another guy when I’m kinda sorta really in love with my best friend’” I say in a fast mumble, almost incoherent.

Mingi's entire expression goes blank. His hand on my wrist goes slack, but doesn't let go. For a long moment, he just stares at me, processing what I just mumbled out. His brain visibly short-circuits. "...What." It isn't a question. It's a statement of pure disbelief. "Say that again, slower." “Yeah… I don’t think I can” I look away. His jaw tightens. He exhales through his nose, jaw working like he's trying to keep something in check. His thumb brushes against my wrist- hesitant, almost unconscious. "You're shitting me." It's not a question. He's searching my face for the punchline, the joke, the inevitable "just kidding." “Mingi, I’m not joking” His eyes widen. His lips part like he wants to say something, then snap shut again. His thumb stops its hesitant brushing and presses firmly against my pulse point—almost like he's checking if I’m real or a fucking dream. "You're... fuck," he whispers, voice rough. “It wasn’t fair to him” I shrug softly. "No, it wasn't," Mingi agrees immediately, his voice dropping an octave. He's staring at me like he's seeing me for the first time in twenty years. "Because you've apparently been in love with me since we were thirteen and didn't fucking think to mention it?" His hand tightens around my wrist. "You left a perfect guy because you love me."

“Is that… I dunno, a problem? Do you not feel-“ "No," he cuts me off sharply, pulling his hand back from my wrist like he'd been burned. He runs both hands through his hair, gripping the roots painfully tight. "No, asshole, I feel exactly what you feel and you just wrecked the last two years of my life." His voice cracks slightly on the last word. “Yeah, okay, dipshit, that means it goes both ways” I kick him under the table. He was still my bestfriend. Mingi yelps, jerking his leg back and glaring at me, but the outrage is purely theatrical. "Don't kick me, asshole, I'm having an existential crisis." He rubs his shin, leaning forward aggressively. "We have both been in love with each other since we were literal children and we're just realizing this now? This is your fault." “Nuh uh! How’s it my fault?!” "Because you spent two years dating random fucking guys instead of noticing your best friend was obsessed with you!" Mingi argues immediately, throwing his hands up. "I have been suffering. Literally suffering. Watching you go on dates with guys who weren't me. That is emotional terrorism." He kicks me right back under the table. "We literally missed twelve years." I rub my shin, “Uh yeah, how many girls have you went out with? Oh yeah, we’re on the same boat you idiot.”

"Okay, fair point," Mingi snaps, glaring at me. "But my dates meant nothing! They were distractions! You were apparently genuinely trying to find someone else." He leans across the table, pointing an accusing finger in my face. "We are absolute morons. We wasted over a decade being cowards." He drops his forehead onto the table with a loud groan. I crack a smile. “God, you’re an idiot” I lean back in my seat. "Asshole," Mingi mutters, still facedown on the table, but his voice is smiling. Typical best friend banter- only now, it's laced with years of unspoken feelings. He lifts his head, meeting my gaze with a mix of exasperation and affection. We get through the dinner like we would’ve any other day. When he walks me to my car, he stops me before I can get in. Mingi stops me abruptly, his hand briefly resting on my car door to keep it closed. He's standing unusually close, his typical cheerful facade replaced with an intense, serious expression you've never seen from him before. "Wait," he says firmly, his voice lowering. "Back up." He points at me. “Yeah?” "We just spent twenty minutes arguing about who the bigger idiot was," Mingi says, stepping closer, eliminating the remaining space between us. "We established we've been in love since we were thirteen. We wasted years dating other people." He looks down at me, intense and focused. "I'm not letting you get in that car until we define what the fuck we are now." I think for a moment before smiling softly at my own idea. I lean up and press a soft kiss to his lips. “I still have one more night until our pact starts, you can wait.” Mingi's eyes widen briefly, his breath catching at the sudden kiss. His hand that was on the car door moves to my waist, pulling me closer as he parts his lips slightly, deepening the kiss instinctively. When I pull back with that mischievous smile, he blinks rapidly, processing.

The next morning, I was with my mom in her living room, making preparations for my birthday party. It was mainly just going to be family and some close friends- like Mingi. My mom is currently directing decorators, putting floral arrangements on tables and organizing the massive buffet setup. It was my tradition- the birthday bash was always family-oriented, intimate but chaotic. Mingi, obviously, was practically family. He had attended every single one since we were toddlers. My mom glances over her shoulder. "Sweetheart, Mingi is coming over early, right?" “Yeah, probably, why?” "Because that boy has been your shadow since you were five. If he's not here helping you open presents, something's wrong," she says with a laugh, unknowingly hitting the nail on the head. She's always loved Mingi like a second child. Like clockwork, he walks through the front door, way past the knocking stage. Mingi walks right in, his usual casual demeanor in place, but his eyes immediately search for me, locking onto me with that new intensity that's been developing since last night. He's carrying a ridiculously large gift bag, the kind you'd expect from someone who panics when picking presents. "Yo, birthday girl," he calls out, not even glancing at my mom.

“Yes, Mingi?” He strides over to where I’m sitting, dropping the comically large gift bag onto your lap with a heavy thud. "Happy birthday, brat." He leans down, pressing a loud, obnoxious kiss to the top of my head, something he’s done a thousand times before, but his hand lingers on my shoulder a second longer than necessary. I bite my cheek to suppress a smile as he walks past me to help my mom with decorations. He starts helping my mom without being asked, his usual easygoing nature on full display. He laughs at one of her jokes, his deep voice echoing through the room. As he moves around, he steals glances at me, his eyes lingering for a moment too long each time. Eventually, people begin to arrive to the party. The house quickly fills with chatter, laughter, and the overlapping noise of relatives and close friends. It’s chaotic, exactly how my family likes it. Mingi seamlessly switches into his role as honorary family member, greeting my aunts and uncles, accepting cheek-pinches from my grandma, and keeping an eye on me from across the room. Once everyone arrives, Mingi makes his way over to me. He slides into the seat next to me, grabbing a drink from the table and taking a long sip. "So," he murmurs, keeping his voice low so relatives won't hear. "Last night. You kissed me and then dropped the biggest fucking bomb in our history, and now I have to act normal around your grandma?" He rubs his face, struggling to keep his composure. “Yeah, at least until the party’s over” I look at him, “please?”

He lets out a frustrated groan, dragging a hand down his face. "You are evil. Actual evil." He leans closer, keeping his smile plastered on for my approaching aunt. "I am going to explode. We have a literal decade of feelings to unpack and you want me to make small talk about the weather until after cake?" He side-eyes my aunt. "Fine." “Thank you” I nudge him, “I’ll make it worth the wait, I promise” Mingi nearly chokes on his drink at my whispered promise, his eyes widening momentarily before he quickly regains his composure as my aunt reaches the table. He forces a cheerful smile, launching into a conversation about the weather and the latest gossip from their neighborhood, all while stealing glances at me with barely contained intensity. The night goes by quickly, dinner, dessert, presents, spending time with family. Mingi fit right in, and for a moment I couldn’t understand why I took so long to notice him. As the night winds down, my house gradually empties out. My mom retires to her room, leaving Mingi and I alone in the living room- surrounded by scattered gift wrappings and half-eaten dessert plates. Mingi flops onto the couch, running a hand through his messy hair. “Nuh uh, get up, you’re helping me clean up.”

"Excuse me?" He shoots me a look, but there's no real fight in it. He groans dramatically, pushing himself up off the couch. "I helped with the entire party, brought the biggest gift, made nice with your grandma, and now you want more?" He steps closer, lowering his voice. “Boyfriend duties” the moment the words come out of my mouth, he’s already grabbing a trash bag. Mingi freezes for half a second, his eyes locking onto mine with that familiar intensity-only now it's mixed with something new, something like wonder and disbelief. Then he's moving, grabbing a trash bag with a speed that suggests he's been waiting his entire life for those two words. "Boyfriend duties, huh?" he mutters, bending down to collect discarded plates. I just nod simply, watching him clean up with a soft smile. He moves around the room, efficiently gathering wrapping paper, half-empty glasses, and stray plates. He does it without complaining, his usual cheerful banter keeping the mood light. But every few minutes, he catches my gaze- lingering longer now, his eyes tracing my features like he's memorizing something. The "boyfriend" thing still has him visibly buzzing beneath the surface. I watch him as he approaches once finished.

Once he's finished, he drops the full trash bag by the door, turning to face me with his hands on his hips. His chest is rising and falling a bit faster than usual, his cheeks slightly flushed-whether from exertion or something else, I’m not entirely sure. "There," he says, nodding at the tidy room. “Thank you” He offers me a soft, tired smile, walking over to where I’m sitting. He drops down onto the couch beside me, immediately leaning back and stretching his long legs out. "Anytime," he murmurs, glancing around the now-quiet living room. "Party was a success. Your mom's happy, grandma loves me, house is clean." I just look at him with a soft gaze. He turns his head to meet my gaze, his expression softening at the gentle look. For a long moment, he just holds my gaze, something unspoken passing between us. Then, without a word, he reaches out and pulls me into his side, wrapping an arm around your shoulders and tucking me against him. "C'mere," I cuddle contently into his side. He settles into the familiar closeness- but with the new weight of those two words hanging over everything. His thumb traces lazy circles on my shoulder, his chin resting on top of my head. It's domestic. Comfortable. Exactly how it's been for years- but different. "So," he says carefully, staring straight ahead at the empty room.

“So?” He tightens his arm around me, his voice dropping low. "We survived the party. I successfully played the role of 'best friend' all night while internally screaming about being your boyfriend." He turns his head, pressing a kiss against my temple. "So... boyfriend duties officially start now? Or do I get a grace period?" “Well, kisses are definitely a boyfriend thing so… do you want a grace period?” He lets out a low chuckle, the vibration rumbling through my side. "Absolutely not," he says instantly, shaking his head. "I waited years for this. You think I'm taking a grace period on kisses?" He shifts, gently maneuvering me so I’m turned toward him, his hand coming up to cup my cheek. "No grace period. Kisses. Now." “Mmm, you sure?” I tease. He groans, low and impatient, his thumb stroking my jaw. "Please tell me you're teasing. Please, please tell me you're asking me if I'm sure because you're being cute and not because you actually doubt this." He leans in slightly, closing some of the distance. "Baby girl. I have been in love with you since we were thirteen." “Oh man” I snicker “you’re too cute to tease” I press my lips to his. He melts into the kiss instantly, his hand sliding from my cheek to the back of my neck to hold me steady. It’s soft and lingering, completely different from the rushed, panicked kiss last night. There’s no hesitation now- just a decade of finally being allowed to love me pouring into a single moment. When he finally pulls back, his forehead rests against mine. "I hate you," “Yeah?”

"Yeah," he breathes, his nose brushing against mine. "Because you just put me through twelve years of torture, and now you expect me to be a functional human being? Impossible." He kisses me again, quick and sweet. "Also, 'make it worth the wait'? You're already failing that promise." He pulls back with a smirk. “Oh I can keep that promise” He raises an eyebrow, his smirk turning into something far more dangerous. "Is that a threat?" he murmurs, his hand dropping from my neck to rest low on my waist, fingers pressing in firmly. "Because I'm holding you to that. You said 'worth the wait,' birthday girl. That is a high fucking bar considering I waited a decade." “Mm, talk to me, what would make it worth it?” He leans back, getting comfortable, his thumb stroking my hip as he actually thinks about it. "Everything," he says simply. "I want the gross domestic shit. I want falling asleep on the phone every night. I want you stealing my hoodies. I want to be the person you call first when something happens." “Funny, we already do all of that” I tilt my head. He pauses, his voice dropping. "And I want the intimacy." I swallow hard “You do? Now?”"Yes. Now." His hand slides down to squeeze my thigh firmly, absolutely serious. "Ten years of wanting you and being your 'best friend' exclusively. I am done with boundaries." He taps my nose softly. "I want lazy kisses, intimate touches, naked cuddling, sex, everything. I want the entire boyfriend package." He eyes my throat. "Immediately."

“My mom is in the next room” I whisper, not arguing when he pulls me into his lap. "I know," he murmurs back, wrapping his arms around my waist and pulling me close. "But I've waited ten years to touch you like this, and now I can't stop." His hands spread out over my back, fingers pressing into my muscles. "Is this too much?" “No! No- please, I’ve waited too long” He grins against my neck, the relief evident in his tone. "Good. Because I have been dying." He trails kisses along my jaw, teeth grazing my pulse point. "Ten years of pretending I didn't want to bend you over in my bedroom. Ten years of keeping my hands off you when you'd sit so close. Every fucking night I dreamed about this." “You should’ve told me” I whine. "And say what?" he breathes against my skin, his hands sliding under my shirt to touch bare skin. "Oh hey, by the way, I'm in love with you and want to have sex with you regularly? Your dad has a shotgun, birthday girl." He nips at my earlobe. "Plus, you were my best friend." “I still am” I frown. "You are. And that's the best part," he whispers, his hands spreading out on my stomach possessively. "I get to keep my best friend and finally touch her like I've always wanted." He pulls back to capture my mouth in a deep kiss, his hands slowly inching higher under my shirt.

I pull my shirt over my head for him. He instantly groans, dropping his head forward against my chest. "Jesus fucking Christ." His hands immediately map over my bare skin, smoothing up my ribs, thumbs tracing the underside of my breasts. This is no longer best friend territory. This is years of desperate longing finally being allowed to touch. "Your mother is literally one wall away." He massages my breasts anyway. “Then you better keep quiet, hm?” He chuckles darkly, his fingers finding my nipples and pinching them softly. "Deal." He leans in, his mouth closing over one nipple while his other hand slides down to unbutton my jeans. The room is silent except for the quiet sounds of his mouth and my hushed breaths. My hands find their way to tangle into his hair. He moans low against my skin, the vibration sending shivers through me. "Touch me as much as you want," he murmurs, flicking his tongue over my nipple. "Twelve years of imagining these hands in my hair." His fingers work my jeans open, sliding down inside to finally, finally touch me bare where I’m already wet from just being this close to him. “Shit, Mingi” my fingers tighten in his hair. "Shh," he breathes, moving to suck on the other nipple. His fingers trace my inner thigh, sliding higher until he reaches my center. He groans against my chest. "Ten years. I used to walk into your room, sit on the edge of your bed, and have to hold myself back from spreading your legs."

“Shouldn’t have held back” "Tell me that while I'm touching you like this," he murmurs, teasing my entrance with one finger. "You saying you wanted this back then too? When we were eighteen? Twenty? My hand inside your pants in your childhood bedroom?" He pushes one finger inside slowly, groaning at the wet heat. "Would you have let me do this under the desk in calculus class?" I move my forehead to rest against his, trying to focus on not letting any sound out, until I finally say, “we should go to my room.” He holds my gaze, pupils fully blown, his breathing ragged. "Good call." He pulls back, adjusting his clothes, his voice rough. "I need a door that locks, a bed, and some space where your mom can't hear me." He pauses on the way , checking his reflection in the hallway mirror. I look at him and smile softly “c’mon, you look good”He glances at me, his expression softening. "You always say that." He takes my hand, intertwining our fingers as we walk to my room. Once inside, he locks the door behind him and turns to face me. "I'm not just trying to get laid here," he says seriously. “I am” I pull him to the bed with me. "You're ridiculous," he laughs quietly, climbing onto the bed and hovering over me. "I'm saying this is important to me." He kisses me deeply. "So if you're just trying to fuck your friend, tell me now." He kisses down my neck.

I pull away to look at him “Mingi..” I frown. It hurt a bit that he’d even suggest that. He instantly stops, catching the hurt expression on my face. He freezes, his hands hovering over my waist. "No, hey, hey," he whispers, seeing the frown. He drops his forehead against mine immediately. "I didn't mean it like that. I promise." He pulls back to cup my face properly. "I meant that I don't want this to be casual." “Neither do I.” He searches my face, looking for any sign of doubt or uncertainty. Finding none, he smiles softly and kisses me again, slowly. "Good." He starts to kiss down my body again, his hands roaming over my bare skin. "Because I'm in love with you. And I want to do this right." He kisses my stomach. "Slowly." “I dunno if I can handle slowly” I whine. He laughs against my skin, the vibration sending sparks through my stomach. "Impatient little brat," he murmurs affectionately, hooking his fingers into the waistband of my jeans and panties to tug them down my legs together. "You waited twelve years. You can wait five minutes for me to eat you out properly." He tosses my clothes to the floor, spreading my thighs. I stop him.

He freezes instantly, hands immediately pulling back, abandoning my thighs completely. "Hey," he says softly, his expression turning serious immediately. No rushing, no assumptions. "What is it?" He crawls up, hovering over me instead of diving between my legs. "Too much? Wrong timing? Need to stop?" His eyes lock on mine, checking your emotional state. "Talk to me." I smile, “No, Mingi, I just want you naked too” "Oh," he laughs softly, relief and desire washing over his face. "Right. Yeah." He immediately starts unbuttoning his shirt, his eyes never leaving mine. He's careful, deliberate in his movements, enjoying the anticipation building between us both. "You want to touch me?" “Yes please” He smiles, tossing his shirt aside and then quickly removing the rest of his clothes. Naked, he climbs back onto the bed, crawling over me slowly. "Touch me," he whispers, guiding my hands to his chest first, then lower to his stomach, then finally wrapping them around his length. I press my lips to his as I begin moving my hands. He groans into my mouth, a low, vibrating sound that I can feel in my chest. His hips rock instinctively into my hand, his body betraying just how desperate he is after a decade of waiting. "Fuck," he breathes against my lips, his forehead dropping to mine. "Your hands feel better than I ever imagined." He pulls back slightly to watch me stroke him.

I pay attention to his face, noting what movements made him let out the most sound. I quickly learn exactly what drives him crazy. Long, slow strokes up the shaft make his head fall back with a broken groan. A twist of my wrist over the head makes him gasp loudly, his eyes slamming shut. And rubbing my thumb over the sensitive slit makes him literally whine, his hips bucking helplessly. I’m realizing my best friend is incredibly responsive. I’m not in any hurry, but it seems like he is when he steals the dominance. As if on cue, Mingi suddenly grabs my wrist to stop my hand's movements. His eyes snap open, dark with need and a hint of that familiar dominant streak I’ve always known him to have. "Enough," he growls softly, his voice rough with desire. "My turn." I drop my hands to my sides. His eyes darken approvingly. He doesn't waste time- he moves down my body slowly, deliberately, making eye contact the entire way. He knows I’m watching him, tracking his movements. He kisses down my stomach, my inner thighs, pausing just outside my panties. "Twelve years," he murmurs against my skin. "Twelve years of biting my tongue." “Then stop teasing” I tangle my fingers in his hair again. He chuckles low, the vibration against your inner thighs making your legs twitch. "Bossy." He doesn't tease anymore. He hooks his arms under my thighs, yanks my hips forward, and dives in. His mouth presses flush against me, his tongue flattening for a long, slow lick through my folds that steals the air right from my lungs. No build-up. No teasing.

“O-oh, fuck, Mingi” I moan, the thought of being quiet in the back of my head. He doesn't answer- his mouth is too busy. He sucks on my clit, hard, making me jolt. He watches my breasts bounce with the movement. He spreads me wider with his shoulders, licking deeper, finding me wetter than he ever imagined. I force myself to sit up on my elbows to watch him. My eyes on him makes him even more aggressive. He loves that I’m watching- that I’m seeing how much he actually wants this. How good he wants to make me feel. He circles my clit with his tongue, then sucks it back into his mouth, hollowing his cheeks. I fall back onto the bed, my back arching into him. He hums against me, feeling my back arch, pushing me further into his mouth. He loves that I’m responsive, that I’m not quiet about how he's making me feel. He slides one hand under my ass, tilting me up for better access, his tongue diving deeper inside me. “Mingi~ M’gonna..” He doubles down immediately. His mouth clamps tighter around my clit, tongue flicking rapidly as he sucks, not letting up even for a second. He holds my hips down to the mattress when I start to squirm, forcing me to take it. "Let go," he commands, his voice vibrating against me before his tongue returns to work. "Come on. Let me have it." My brain short circuits as I cum against his mouth.

He drinks me down, licking through my orgasm. His name falls from my lips in broken gasps and he commits the sound to memory- another thing he'll replay in his head for the next twelve years. When I finally stop shaking, he kisses his way up my body. My thighs are trembling, my breathing ragged. He's hard as a rock, pressed against my stomach. I wrap my arms around his shoulders, bringing his lips back to mine. He melts instantly into the kiss, letting me taste myself on his tongue. His weight settles comfortably between my legs, dominant but incredibly gentle. He kisses me slowly, deeply, realizing this isn't just sex. This is twelve years of friendship turning into something else. He pulls back enough to nose against my cheek. "I've got you," he whispers. "I've absolutely got you." “Need you” I whisper. He nods, his thumbs stroking my hips. "Then take me." He presses a kiss to my neck, then slides one hand down to his length. He strokes himself slowly, letting me watch. "Twelve years of wanting this." He shifts, positioning himself between my thighs, his hard cock pressing against my entrance. "Tell me you want me too." “I need you, Mingi,” I repeat “please, I can’t- please”.

That shatters his remaining control. "I've got you, I've got you," he murmurs, his voice strained. He lines himself up and pushes inside, agonizingly slow, forcing my body to accommodate the stretch after years of waiting. He drops his forehead to mine, breathing raggedly as he fills me up inch by inch. "Tell me if it's too much." The sound that comes out of my mouth forces him to press his hand over it as I let my head fall back against the pillows. He presses his palm firmly against my mouth, muffling the sounds spilling from me. "Fuck," he breathes, completely buried inside me now, unable to move for a moment. I’m gripping him so tightly it's almost painful. No- actually a little painful. Mostly perfect. "Good girl," he praises, watching my throat work as I try not to scream. My hands creep around his back, my nails digging into his shoulder blades. He hisses softly at the sting, his hips bucking involuntarily deeper inside me. "Shit," he mutters against my neck, my nails leaving little red marks on his back. He starts moving slowly, carefully, testing how deep he can go before I make those perfect noises again. I have to bite my lip hard to hold the noises inside.

He notices what I’m doing- how my jaw clenches, how my teeth dig into my lip, how my body tightens around him trying to stay quiet. "No," he says firmly, pulling back to thumb the bruised skin. "I want to hear you. All of it." He leans down and captures my lower lip, sucking it gently to ease the pain. “But- my mom-“ "Shh," he soothes, releasing my lip and pressing a gentle kiss to it instead. "I'll make sure she doesn't hear. I promise." He starts moving again, rolling his hips slowly and deeply. "But you're going to let me hear every single sound you make, understand?" “Y-yeah” He rolls his hips again, harder this time, testing his claim. He watches my face carefully, his hand still covering my mouth just in case, but his body is telling me he expects me to break. "Good girl." He hits a spot inside me that makes my back arch off the mattress and a muffled whine escapes around his palm. His eyes widen- he found something. As he continues to hit the spot, I let my moans flow through my lips just quiet enough for him to hear.

His eyes darken with satisfaction as he hears my quiet moans. He focuses on that spot relentlessly, his thrusts becoming more deliberate and deeper. Each moan from me encourages him to go harder, faster. His hand moves from my mouth to grip my hip tightly as he hits that sweet spot over and over. I couldn’t think coherently to warn him how close I was. He notices it immediately- the way my inner walls start fluttering around him, my breath hitching in my throat, my body tightening like a bowstring. "I know," he whispers, reading me perfectly without me needing to say a word. "I feel it." He doesn't stop; he grinds his hips against that spot harder, pushing me right to the edge. Tears prick at my eyes and I pull him closer to me, our chests pressed against one another as I cum around him. The moment I cum, he's done for. My orgasm squeezes him so tightly he sees stars, and my tears against his cheek completely destroy him. He buries his face in my neck to muffle his own groan as he follows me over the edge, coming deep inside me. I wrap my arms around him once again as he collapses on top of me. He stays there for a long moment, catching his breath, pressing soft kisses to my neck and shoulder. His weight feels good on top of me, his arms wrapped around me possessively. When he finally pulls back to look at me, his eyes are soft and filled with something new- something beyond friendship.

When Mingi and I were 13, we made a promise to each other. One that exactly stated that if we were both single by 25, we’d give each other a chance. It was later noted that if it failed, the friendship couldn’t end no matter what. Years had passed since then and not much thought was given into it. Not until it was three weeks until my 25th birthday, and pretty much every date I tried to get, failed. I tried my best to keep any of the dates, either I’d get ghosted or I’d get icked out by the date. Mingi was beginning to find it funny, but i definitely was not laughing.

DATE ONE

I was sitting in a fancy restaurant, wearing a fancy black dress with fancy shoes and fancy hair and makeup. This place was too classy for me, I felt out of place. My date then arrived and I felt relief wash over me, I was ready to get ghosted like the last three dates I tried to go on. The man was slightly older than me, about four years, but he was clearly rich, not that I was complaining. His name was Austin. I sit there, picking at my expensive salad, wondering if I should just order the most expensive steak on the menu since his bill will probably cover it. Austin is talking. Something about real estate. He keeps glancing at his watch. My phone buzzes under the table. Mingi.“Dude stop checking your phone”Wait. “You’re a creep” I text him back “dude, stop following me, go home” I look over my shoulder and glare at my best friend. But I look back at Austin as he continues talking. Austin barely notices the slight distraction. He thinks I’m just checking my phone. Most people do. He's not used to being interrupted. "So yeah, my firm just closed a deal in Chelsea," he says, his tone conversational but a little smug. "The guy really pushed for a lower rate, but I told him..." I begin to zone out but I nod. He takes my nod as genuine interest and leans in, his confidence blooming. "Honestly, I think it's about knowing your worth. You can't let people walk all over you, you know?" He pours me more wine—even though I barely touched the first glass. "Say, what do you do for work?" My phone buzzes again.

I ignore the message. I clear my throat “environmental science.” Austin looks immediately impressed, leaning in slightly. "Environmental science? That is incredibly sophisticated. Smart woman." He smiles, revealing perfect teeth. "That requires serious intellect. Must keep you busy." Under the table, my phone buzzes violently. Not once, not twice, but three times in rapid succession. Mingi is definitely getting annoyed. I thank Austin before glancing at my phone. The messages keep coming.

Mingi: I'm not leaving.

Mingi: This guy is a bore.

Mingi: He's been talking about Chelsea real estate for 20 mins.

Mingi: Also his watch cost more than your car.

Mingi: .-.

Austin notices my glance. I put my phone in my purse so I wouldn’t get distracted from the messages. I go back to talking to Austin. “I actually just got my degree” "Congratulations," Austin says, raising his wine glass in a mock toast, clearly impressed. "Fresh degree. That’s ambitious. I like that." He takes a slow sip, his eyes scanning my face, perhaps calculating if I fit his lifestyle. "So, what's the plan? NGO? Corporate sustainability? Or are you heading into research?" My purse vibrates against my leg. “Conservation” I mumble. It didn’t make much money so I didn’t know what his reaction would be. Austin's expression flickers briefly—just a hint of something that looks like disdain, quickly masked by a practiced smile. "Conservation, huh? That's... noble." He pauses, swirling the wine in his glass. "Must not pay very well, though." “Uh.. yeah, no, it doesn’t but I care more about the impact” I laugh nervously. "Impact," Austin repeats slowly, like the word tastes strange in his mouth. "Cute." He sets down his fork deliberately. "You know what really has impact? Building. Changing a city's skyline. Leaving something permanent." He leans back, gesturing vaguely at the restaurant. "This place? I own part of a company that developed the complex it's in."

“Oh.. that’s” i nod, “nice.” "Nice?" Austin repeats, his tone slightly mocking. "It's more than nice, sweetheart. It's a multi-million dollar investment. I could buy and sell your little conservation projects with the change in my pocket." He smiles, clearly enjoying his own importance. I slowly nod and pull my phone out of my purse to check the messages. Mingi's texts are flooding in:

Mingi: Did he just say 'sweetheart'?

Mingi: Ghost him

Mingi: I'm getting your keys

Mingi: I'll pick you up at like... the back exit?

Mingi: I'm parked close he'll never see us

Austin notices the phone again, his jaw tightening slightly. I huff out air and put my phone away again “so is it like a family business?” "Generational," Austin answers smoothly, clearly loving the question. "Third generation. My grandfather started the firm, my father expanded it, and I've doubled the assets." He taps his expensive watch. "I handle the acquisitions mostly." He leans forward, looking entirely too pleased with himself. "Essentially, I don't work. I manage." My purse vibrates violently again. “So… what do you usually do during your days?” Austin laughs, a condescending little sound. "Golf, mostly. Gym. Lunch meetings with investors. I travel to check on sites—Paris last month, Tokyo next week." He shrugs like it's nothing. "I don't really *do* anything. That's the point of having money." He swirls his wine. "You wouldn't understand." “So you’re getting paid to do nothing?” "Pretty much," he says, utterly unbothered. "And I'd rather that than... whatever it is you do." He glances at his watch dismissively. "Look, it's been fun, but I've got a call from Singapore in twenty." He signals the waiter for the check without asking you. "Let's call it." My phone buzzes again.

“Yeah… I was gonna go anyways” I say simply before petting up and pulling out my phone again. Austin raises an eyebrow at my abrupt departure but doesn't seem offended. He hands over his black card to the waiter without a second glance. I look at the notifications as I walk to the back exit. As I walk out the back door, I see Mingi leaning casually against my car, looking incredibly cute and somewhat annoyed. He holds up my keys dramatically when he sees me. "Took you long enough." He smirks, pushing off the car. "So, how was Prince Charming?" “Never do that shit again” I roll my eyes, referring to the literal stalking he did by following me to the date, and snatch my keys from him. I get in the drivers seat. I’d never admit it but I was a bit thankful for Mingi being there. Mingi slides into the passenger seat, immediately adjusting the air conditioning. "Don't blame me. You're the one setting yourself up for disaster." He glances at me sideways, something unreadable in his expression. "So? Was he as insufferable as he looked?" My phone lights up with a text. Probably Austin, confirming the date was a bust.

“Yes” I begin driving “just some rich prick” "Shocker," Mingi deadpans, drumming his fingers on his knee. "Rich guys are always the worst. It's the 'I don't actually work, I just manage money' syndrome." He leans his head back against the seat, watching the streetlights blur past. "So that's... what? Date number four down the drain?" I groan dramatically as I pull into my driveway. “this is bullshit” Mingi hops out of the car, following me to the front door with his hands in his pockets. "Well, on the bright side, at least you're consistent," he teases lightly. As I unlock the door, he leans against the frame, looking down at me with a small smile. “You can go home now” I shake my head at him. "Yeah, yeah," Mingi says, pushing off the doorframe but not moving away immediately. He watches me for a moment longer than necessary before stepping back. "I'll see you tomorrow?" His tone is casual, but there's something almost hopeful in his eyes. “Maybe” I shoo him away before closing my front door. Mingi stands there for a second after the door closes, a strange expression on his face before he finally turns and walks back to his car. He shakes his head slightly, muttering to himself as he gets in.

DATE TWO

today’s date was one Mingi surely couldn’t crash. It was a nature walk- the beach- perfect for me. The guy was someone new, some hippie sort of guy. Mingi knew I was going on the date and where, he always knew- just in case. But I made him promise not to come. I approach my date once I arrive. The guy, Leo, is exactly what I need. Loose linen shirt, barefoot, messy curls falling into his eyes. He's sitting cross-legged in the sand, absolutely radiating peace and hippie energy. He smiles warmly when I approach, standing up and giving me a soft, non-pretentious hug. “Hey, sunshine." “Hi”I smile as we begin walking. "So I heard you're into conservation," Leo says, his voice mellow and genuine. He kicks at the sand as we walk along the shoreline. "That's really cool. We need more people actually doing something for the planet, you know? Not just talking about it." He glances at me. "What kind of work exactly?" My phone is in your purse. “I’m not sure yet, I actually just graduated, still looking for an opening, y’know.” "Ah, fresh out of the academic world," Leo nods, smiling understandingly. "No pressure then, right? Just exploring options." He pauses, picking up a small seashell and examining it before slipping it into his pocket. "You'll figure it out. Follow your passion, yeah?"

“Yeah”I smile. We walk along the beach, just talking, until the conversation went a different way than I particularly wanted it to. "So... do you believe in soulmates?" Leo asks out of nowhere, looking at me seriously with those big, earnest eyes. "Like, cosmic connections?" I freeze slightly. This is where the date usually goes off the rails - when guys start talking about destiny and the universe like it's a pick-up line. Before I can answer, my phone buzzes in my purse. “Hmm, I dunno, do you?” "Definitely," Leo says with a firm nod, his eyes glittering almost fanatically. "I believe that the universe brings people together for a reason. You know, like how we met - it was fate, right?" He reaches out and gently squeezes my hand. “Yeah…” I laugh a bit nervously at the way he was looking at me. "I'm telling you, I felt it the moment I saw your profile," Leo continues, squeezing my hand again. "Like, instant recognition. My intuition was screaming 'this one.' And now here we are, walking on this beach, at this exact moment in our lives..." My phone buzzes again. Then again. And again. In rapid succession.

I ignore it. But then he mentions Mingi, having seen him on my instagram. "So who's your... close friend I keep seeing in your photos?" Leo asks, his tone not quite hostile but clearly curious. "That's Mingi, right? The one with the really intense stare?" He looks at me. "You two are close, huh? Inseparable or something?" My phone buzzes again. The messages keep coming. “Uh, yeah” i nod. "You two ever mess around?" Leo asks bluntly, not bothering to beat around the bush. "Because you can tell me. I respect honesty." His pace slows as he watches my face carefully, like he's waiting for the right answer. Meanwhile, my phone is positively vibrating itself out of my purse. I can practically hear it screaming for attention. “No…” I fight the urge to check my phone but I fail. I pull my phone out of my purse. Leo watches me pull out my phone, his expression turning mildly annoyed. He opens his mouth to say something else when suddenly, my phone lights up with a barrage of messages. The notifications keep popping up one after another - all from Mingi. I unlock my phone to see the flood of texts.

I see a screenshot of an assault charge Leo had. I try to play it cool, texting Mingi to come pick me up. I don’t let Leo know I know, we continue walking. Leo notices I’m distracted but assumes it's just a normal text conversations. He keeps talking, oblivious to the fact that I’ve just been given a massive red flag about him. Meanwhile, Mingi's text responses keep coming in rapid fire, clearly indicating that he's on his way. "So..." “So?” I say, as chill as I could. "So, I just think we have a real connection here," Leo says, stepping a little closer than before. The casual ocean breeze suddenly feels heavier. "You ever just... know something without words?" His hand reaches for my hip. "Like the universe meant us to-" My phone buzzes. Mingi: "I'm five minutes out. Keep him talking." “Yeah, no, I mean like I agree” I nod. Leo smiles warmly, completely buying my act. "See, that's exactly what I mean. That cosmic alignment." He slips his arm fully around my waist, pulling me against his side. "I really think we're meant to explore this. Deeply. Soul connections aren't casual, sunshine." My phone buzzes again. Mingi: "Two minutes. Do NOT let him isolate you." As soon as I see Mingis truck, I b line and I practically sprint to it. “drive drive” I say to mingi.

Leo blinks in surprise as I suddenly dash towards Mingi's truck, his arm left hanging in the air. Mingi immediately starts the engine and speeds off before Leo can even process what happened. Inside the truck, Mingi gives me a sharp look. "What the fuck was that?" “Oh man”I run my hands down my face. “I’m gonna die alone.” "No, seriously," Mingi says, his usual casual tone replaced by something almost angry. "One minute you're walking with that freak, the next you're sprinting to my truck like your life depends on it. What happened back there?" “Nothing,” I scoff. “he seemed nice, what you sent freaked me the fuck out.” "Good. That was the point," Mingi snaps, tightening his grip on the steering wheel. "That guy has a literal assault charge from two years ago. Not just 'got in a fight at a bar' assault. Restraining order type shit." He glances over at me, his jaw tight. "You ignored every single text warning you until the very end." “Yeah well, you spam me during every date I go on.” I huff and look out the window. "And thank fuck I do," Mingi retorts sharply. "Because clearly you have zero instinct for self-preservation. Every time you go out with some random dude, I'm the one making sure you don't end up in a ditch or worse." He pulls into my driveway and parks roughly.

“Is it me?” I look at him “like dude, I can’t keep a single date.” "Maybe," Mingi mutters, his eyes flickering to the window as he processes the question. His jaw tightens. He doesn't answer immediately. Then, almost offhand, he turns back to the steering wheel. "Yeah. Maybe it's you." He clicks his seatbelt off with a final, harsh snap. "You can't read a room for shit." “You’re such an asshole” I frown. "And you're too damn trusting," Mingi shoots back, his voice echoing slightly in the quiet car. He leans back against the door, his arms crossed. "You'd fall for a puppy-eyed smile and a sweet line, even if the guy was obviously a creep." I go quiet until he speaks again. Mingi notices my sudden silence and rolls his eyes. "Don't give me that look," he says, unbuckling his seatbelt completely. He turns in his seat to face me fully. "Remember our pact?" And then it all flows back. How we told each other we’d give one another a chance if we failed at fearing by 25. But I still had a week left. Mingi taps the center console, perfectly recalling the exact terms. "We made a pact. Explicit deal." He stares at me. "If neither of us found someone serious by twenty-five, we stop dating strangers and give each other a shot." He checks his watch. "You have one week left." He raises an eyebrow. "Seven days." “You really remember that?”

"Of course I remember," Mingi says, his voice softer now. "I don't make promises I don't intend to keep." He pauses, jaw working slightly. "It's not like I'm suggesting we do anything now. You've got a week left to find your soulmate or whatever fucking thing Leo was selling." He nudges my shoulder with his knuckles. “Okay okay” I sigh, the mood lightened a bit. "Good," Mingi says, tone returning to that casual drawl I know. He cracks the window. "Now get out. I got shit to do. And you need to stop looking like a kicked puppy." But he doesn't move to open his door—he waits, making sure I get inside safely. Always does. The pact or not, he's always been that guy.

DATE THREE

It was about three days until my birthday. I had real hope in this guy. He seemed normal, had a normal engineering job, a small normal house, a normal look. He invited me to a normal restaurant. I find the table he’s sat at and we click immediately. He is exactly what I’ve been needing. Normal. Grounded. Stable. He laughs at my jokes, has excellent manners, asks genuine questions about my post-grad life, and doesn't mention cosmic connections or destiny. It's effortless conversation. Over appetizers, he compliments my dress, and over dinner, he talks about his engineering work in a way that's actually interesting, not arrogant. His name was Lucas and I was drawn in immediately. I updated Mingi a few times throughout so he didn’t spam my phone. After dinner, Lucas even walked me to my car. Lucas kisses my cheek at the driver's door, sweet and respectful. "I genuinely had an amazing time," he says, rubbing my arm softly. "We should definitely do this again soon." He's wholesome. Normal. Absolutely perfect boyfriend material. My phone buzzes- not Mingi spamming, but a single text from him. “How was it?"

I open my phone when I get in my car. “I think I did it, like seriously, he asked me out again tomorrow.” My phone lights up with Mingi's response almost immediately. “No shit? Details." He adds a series of questioning emojis- clearly interested but trying to play it cool. I can almost hear his skeptical tone through the text messages. “Is he actually decent this time?" I text him all the details, smiling as I do so. “Sounds too good to be true. Suspicious." His usual response. “Send me a pic." I roll my eyes but oblige, snapping a quick photo of Lucas's profile and sending it. Mingi's response is instant. “Fuck me, he's actually handsome."

DATE FOUR

it was now the day before my birthday and I was on my second date with Lucas. Lucas takes me to a charming little bookstore cafe. He remembers I liked reading and picks out a couple of books he thinks I’ll enjoy. He actually listens when I talk about your favorite genres. No red flags. No cosmic destiny talk. No restraining orders. He's just... “good”. My phone buzzes discretely in your bag- just a check-in from Mingi. We talked in the cafe for a long time. But it seemed too good, seemed like I was getting my hopes up. As the sun starts to set, painting the sky outside the cafe windows in warm oranges and pinks, Lucas reaches across the table to gently squeeze my hand. "Hey, I was thinking... it's your birthday tomorrow, right? We could do something together, if you want." He smiles softly, thumb brushing my knuckles. My heart flutters. I almost say yes but then i remembered I had plans with Mingi both later tonight and tomorrow “i..” Lucas watches my face closely, sensing my internal conflict. "If you already have plans," he says gently, not offended in the slightest. "I completely understand. Family plans? Friends?" My phone buzzes in your pocket.

“Friends” I nod “well, friend.” Lucas nods understandingly, his grip on my hand loosening. "Well, I don't want to steal your friend's thunder," he says with a warm smile. "But maybe we can do something the day after? My treat." My phone buzzes again- Mingi's name flashing on the screen. I look down at my phone. Mingi was impatient as fuck "Well? Did you say yes? Is he still breathing? Also, what the fuck is taking so long, we're gonna be late for res—" The message trails off mid-sentence, clearly cut off mid-rant. I snort softly, shaking my head at Mingi's predictable impatience. I tuck my phone in my pocket. “Okay,”I look at Lucas. Everything seemed to click. All of these dates were stupid. Part of me felt bad for what I was about to tell Lucas, but the other part came to the most important realization. “you’re perfect, y’know,”I tell Lucas, “but you deserve a girl who isn’t caught up with another guy.” i admit “uhm… he’s my bestfriend.” I nod then shrug “since we were kids.” Lucas stares at me for a second, processing that, then the most understanding smile spreads across his face. He doesn't get offended, defensive, or weird. He realizes exactly what I’m saying- I’m not emotionally unavailable, you're emotionally occupied.

"He has your heart," Lucas guesses gently, squeezing my hand. "The childhood best friend pact." He taps my fingers. "Go." “Thank you,” I whisper before I’m already up and walking. Lucas watches me leave, a mix of understanding and something unreadable in his eyes. He knows when he's been outclassed by history and genuine feelings. As I hurry out of the cafe, my phone buzzes incessantly- Mingi's name flashing repeatedly on the screen. I answer Mingis call “I’m coming” Mingi's voice comes through the phone, a mix of relief and annoyance. "Finally! Jesus, I was about to send out a search party. Where the fuck are you?" He pauses, hearing my hurried footsteps. "Wait, did you just... leave him?" His tone shifts to disbelief. “I’ll tell you about it when I get there”. I hang up before Mingi can argue. Ten minutes later, I pull into the restaurant parking lot, spotting his car immediately. Mingi is leaning against the driver's door, arms crossed, tapping his foot impatiently. He spots my car, pushing off the door and looking at me intently as I park, clearly waiting for an explanation. “What?” I notice his look. "What the fuck is going on?" Mingi demands, falling into step with me as you walk toward the restaurant. "You didn't answer any of my texts. That's never you." His eyes are sharp, searching my face. "Did he try something? Because I swear to—" "It was nothing bad," I interrupt, grabbing his arm to make him slow down.

DATE FIVE

“I’ll explain when we sit down, believe me, you’ll want to be sitting down” Mingi slows down at my touch, looking at me with confusion and concern. He nods slowly, letting me pull him inside the restaurant. The hostess greets us both and leads us to a table. Mingi waits until we’re both seated before leaning forward, eyes fixed on me intently. “I left him” I say simply “I mean, I wasn’t gonna ditch you or anything.” Mingi blinks at me, completely taken aback. "You... left him," he repeats slowly, processing this information. A small, confused smile tugs at his lips. "Just like that? No drama, no scene, no 'let me explain' bullshit?" “No, I mean, he was totally cool about it.”I nod, hoping he wouldn’t ask why I left. Mingi's eyes narrow, that familiar, sharp gaze of his scanning my face. "He was cool about it?" He tilts his head, suspicious. "Why exactly?" The question comes out before I can stop it, his tone blunt and unhesitant. "You left a guy who seemed genuinely decent and was completely fine with it." I go quiet. The silence stretches between us, Mingi's suspicious gaze never leaving my face. He leans back in his chair, crossing his arms over his chest. "You're not telling me something," he states flatly. "What happened that made you leave him so abruptly?" His voice is low, demanding an answer. “Uhm…” I laugh nervously.

Mingi's expression shifts- something unreadable flickering in his eyes. He uncrosses his arms, leaning forward again, eyes darkening. "Spit it out," he says quietly, almost dangerously calm. "You're doing that nervous laugh thing you do when you're about to tell me something I'm not gonna like." His fingers drum impatiently against the table. “Yeah, well… no… I think you might like it” I look away. That makes Mingi pause, his drumming fingers going still. His head tilts, that unreadable expression deepening. "The fuck is that supposed to mean?" His voice is lower now, cautious. "Did you...?" He searches my face, some realization dawning on him that he refuses to put into words. "Just fucking say it." “I don’t wanna say it” Mingi's jaw tightens. He reaches across the table abruptly, fingers wrapping around my wrist, not harsh, but firm, holding me in place. "You don't get to start something like that and then backpedal," he says, voice dropping. "I know that look. You've had that look since we were sixteen and it always means the same thing." “Thirteen” I correct, then sigh “okay, okay. I kinda sorta left because I felt bad because I was like focused on you the whole time and I was like ‘wow maybe I shouldn’t date another guy when I’m kinda sorta really in love with my best friend’” I say in a fast mumble, almost incoherent.

Mingi's entire expression goes blank. His hand on my wrist goes slack, but doesn't let go. For a long moment, he just stares at me, processing what I just mumbled out. His brain visibly short-circuits. "...What." It isn't a question. It's a statement of pure disbelief. "Say that again, slower." “Yeah… I don’t think I can” I look away. His jaw tightens. He exhales through his nose, jaw working like he's trying to keep something in check. His thumb brushes against my wrist- hesitant, almost unconscious. "You're shitting me." It's not a question. He's searching my face for the punchline, the joke, the inevitable "just kidding." “Mingi, I’m not joking” His eyes widen. His lips part like he wants to say something, then snap shut again. His thumb stops its hesitant brushing and presses firmly against my pulse point—almost like he's checking if I’m real or a fucking dream. "You're... fuck," he whispers, voice rough. “It wasn’t fair to him” I shrug softly. "No, it wasn't," Mingi agrees immediately, his voice dropping an octave. He's staring at me like he's seeing me for the first time in twenty years. "Because you've apparently been in love with me since we were thirteen and didn't fucking think to mention it?" His hand tightens around my wrist. "You left a perfect guy because you love me."

“Is that… I dunno, a problem? Do you not feel-“ "No," he cuts me off sharply, pulling his hand back from my wrist like he'd been burned. He runs both hands through his hair, gripping the roots painfully tight. "No, asshole, I feel exactly what you feel and you just wrecked the last two years of my life." His voice cracks slightly on the last word. “Yeah, okay, dipshit, that means it goes both ways” I kick him under the table. He was still my bestfriend. Mingi yelps, jerking his leg back and glaring at me, but the outrage is purely theatrical. "Don't kick me, asshole, I'm having an existential crisis." He rubs his shin, leaning forward aggressively. "We have both been in love with each other since we were literal children and we're just realizing this now? This is your fault." “Nuh uh! How’s it my fault?!” "Because you spent two years dating random fucking guys instead of noticing your best friend was obsessed with you!" Mingi argues immediately, throwing his hands up. "I have been suffering. Literally suffering. Watching you go on dates with guys who weren't me. That is emotional terrorism." He kicks me right back under the table. "We literally missed twelve years." I rub my shin, “Uh yeah, how many girls have you went out with? Oh yeah, we’re on the same boat you idiot.”

"Okay, fair point," Mingi snaps, glaring at me. "But my dates meant nothing! They were distractions! You were apparently genuinely trying to find someone else." He leans across the table, pointing an accusing finger in my face. "We are absolute morons. We wasted over a decade being cowards." He drops his forehead onto the table with a loud groan. I crack a smile. “God, you’re an idiot” I lean back in my seat. "Asshole," Mingi mutters, still facedown on the table, but his voice is smiling. Typical best friend banter- only now, it's laced with years of unspoken feelings. He lifts his head, meeting my gaze with a mix of exasperation and affection. We get through the dinner like we would’ve any other day. When he walks me to my car, he stops me before I can get in. Mingi stops me abruptly, his hand briefly resting on my car door to keep it closed. He's standing unusually close, his typical cheerful facade replaced with an intense, serious expression you've never seen from him before. "Wait," he says firmly, his voice lowering. "Back up." He points at me. “Yeah?” "We just spent twenty minutes arguing about who the bigger idiot was," Mingi says, stepping closer, eliminating the remaining space between us. "We established we've been in love since we were thirteen. We wasted years dating other people." He looks down at me, intense and focused. "I'm not letting you get in that car until we define what the fuck we are now." I think for a moment before smiling softly at my own idea. I lean up and press a soft kiss to his lips. “I still have one more night until our pact starts, you can wait.” Mingi's eyes widen briefly, his breath catching at the sudden kiss. His hand that was on the car door moves to my waist, pulling me closer as he parts his lips slightly, deepening the kiss instinctively. When I pull back with that mischievous smile, he blinks rapidly, processing.

The next morning, I was with my mom in her living room, making preparations for my birthday party. It was mainly just going to be family and some close friends- like Mingi. My mom is currently directing decorators, putting floral arrangements on tables and organizing the massive buffet setup. It was my tradition- the birthday bash was always family-oriented, intimate but chaotic. Mingi, obviously, was practically family. He had attended every single one since we were toddlers. My mom glances over her shoulder. "Sweetheart, Mingi is coming over early, right?" “Yeah, probably, why?” "Because that boy has been your shadow since you were five. If he's not here helping you open presents, something's wrong," she says with a laugh, unknowingly hitting the nail on the head. She's always loved Mingi like a second child. Like clockwork, he walks through the front door, way past the knocking stage. Mingi walks right in, his usual casual demeanor in place, but his eyes immediately search for me, locking onto me with that new intensity that's been developing since last night. He's carrying a ridiculously large gift bag, the kind you'd expect from someone who panics when picking presents. "Yo, birthday girl," he calls out, not even glancing at my mom.

“Yes, Mingi?” He strides over to where I’m sitting, dropping the comically large gift bag onto your lap with a heavy thud. "Happy birthday, brat." He leans down, pressing a loud, obnoxious kiss to the top of my head, something he’s done a thousand times before, but his hand lingers on my shoulder a second longer than necessary. I bite my cheek to suppress a smile as he walks past me to help my mom with decorations. He starts helping my mom without being asked, his usual easygoing nature on full display. He laughs at one of her jokes, his deep voice echoing through the room. As he moves around, he steals glances at me, his eyes lingering for a moment too long each time. Eventually, people begin to arrive to the party. The house quickly fills with chatter, laughter, and the overlapping noise of relatives and close friends. It’s chaotic, exactly how my family likes it. Mingi seamlessly switches into his role as honorary family member, greeting my aunts and uncles, accepting cheek-pinches from my grandma, and keeping an eye on me from across the room. Once everyone arrives, Mingi makes his way over to me. He slides into the seat next to me, grabbing a drink from the table and taking a long sip. "So," he murmurs, keeping his voice low so relatives won't hear. "Last night. You kissed me and then dropped the biggest fucking bomb in our history, and now I have to act normal around your grandma?" He rubs his face, struggling to keep his composure. “Yeah, at least until the party’s over” I look at him, “please?”

He lets out a frustrated groan, dragging a hand down his face. "You are evil. Actual evil." He leans closer, keeping his smile plastered on for my approaching aunt. "I am going to explode. We have a literal decade of feelings to unpack and you want me to make small talk about the weather until after cake?" He side-eyes my aunt. "Fine." “Thank you” I nudge him, “I’ll make it worth the wait, I promise” Mingi nearly chokes on his drink at my whispered promise, his eyes widening momentarily before he quickly regains his composure as my aunt reaches the table. He forces a cheerful smile, launching into a conversation about the weather and the latest gossip from their neighborhood, all while stealing glances at me with barely contained intensity. The night goes by quickly, dinner, dessert, presents, spending time with family. Mingi fit right in, and for a moment I couldn’t understand why I took so long to notice him. As the night winds down, my house gradually empties out. My mom retires to her room, leaving Mingi and I alone in the living room- surrounded by scattered gift wrappings and half-eaten dessert plates. Mingi flops onto the couch, running a hand through his messy hair. “Nuh uh, get up, you’re helping me clean up.”

"Excuse me?" He shoots me a look, but there's no real fight in it. He groans dramatically, pushing himself up off the couch. "I helped with the entire party, brought the biggest gift, made nice with your grandma, and now you want more?" He steps closer, lowering his voice. “Boyfriend duties” the moment the words come out of my mouth, he’s already grabbing a trash bag. Mingi freezes for half a second, his eyes locking onto mine with that familiar intensity-only now it's mixed with something new, something like wonder and disbelief. Then he's moving, grabbing a trash bag with a speed that suggests he's been waiting his entire life for those two words. "Boyfriend duties, huh?" he mutters, bending down to collect discarded plates. I just nod simply, watching him clean up with a soft smile. He moves around the room, efficiently gathering wrapping paper, half-empty glasses, and stray plates. He does it without complaining, his usual cheerful banter keeping the mood light. But every few minutes, he catches my gaze- lingering longer now, his eyes tracing my features like he's memorizing something. The "boyfriend" thing still has him visibly buzzing beneath the surface. I watch him as he approaches once finished.

Once he's finished, he drops the full trash bag by the door, turning to face me with his hands on his hips. His chest is rising and falling a bit faster than usual, his cheeks slightly flushed-whether from exertion or something else, I’m not entirely sure. "There," he says, nodding at the tidy room. “Thank you” He offers me a soft, tired smile, walking over to where I’m sitting. He drops down onto the couch beside me, immediately leaning back and stretching his long legs out. "Anytime," he murmurs, glancing around the now-quiet living room. "Party was a success. Your mom's happy, grandma loves me, house is clean." I just look at him with a soft gaze. He turns his head to meet my gaze, his expression softening at the gentle look. For a long moment, he just holds my gaze, something unspoken passing between us. Then, without a word, he reaches out and pulls me into his side, wrapping an arm around your shoulders and tucking me against him. "C'mere," I cuddle contently into his side. He settles into the familiar closeness- but with the new weight of those two words hanging over everything. His thumb traces lazy circles on my shoulder, his chin resting on top of my head. It's domestic. Comfortable. Exactly how it's been for years- but different. "So," he says carefully, staring straight ahead at the empty room.

“So?” He tightens his arm around me, his voice dropping low. "We survived the party. I successfully played the role of 'best friend' all night while internally screaming about being your boyfriend." He turns his head, pressing a kiss against my temple. "So... boyfriend duties officially start now? Or do I get a grace period?" “Well, kisses are definitely a boyfriend thing so… do you want a grace period?” He lets out a low chuckle, the vibration rumbling through my side. "Absolutely not," he says instantly, shaking his head. "I waited years for this. You think I'm taking a grace period on kisses?" He shifts, gently maneuvering me so I’m turned toward him, his hand coming up to cup my cheek. "No grace period. Kisses. Now." “Mmm, you sure?” I tease. He groans, low and impatient, his thumb stroking my jaw. "Please tell me you're teasing. Please, please tell me you're asking me if I'm sure because you're being cute and not because you actually doubt this." He leans in slightly, closing some of the distance. "Baby girl. I have been in love with you since we were thirteen." “Oh man” I snicker “you’re too cute to tease” I press my lips to his. He melts into the kiss instantly, his hand sliding from my cheek to the back of my neck to hold me steady. It’s soft and lingering, completely different from the rushed, panicked kiss last night. There’s no hesitation now- just a decade of finally being allowed to love me pouring into a single moment. When he finally pulls back, his forehead rests against mine. "I hate you," “Yeah?”

"Yeah," he breathes, his nose brushing against mine. "Because you just put me through twelve years of torture, and now you expect me to be a functional human being? Impossible." He kisses me again, quick and sweet. "Also, 'make it worth the wait'? You're already failing that promise." He pulls back with a smirk. “Oh I can keep that promise” He raises an eyebrow, his smirk turning into something far more dangerous. "Is that a threat?" he murmurs, his hand dropping from my neck to rest low on my waist, fingers pressing in firmly. "Because I'm holding you to that. You said 'worth the wait,' birthday girl. That is a high fucking bar considering I waited a decade." “Mm, talk to me, what would make it worth it?” He leans back, getting comfortable, his thumb stroking my hip as he actually thinks about it. "Everything," he says simply. "I want the gross domestic shit. I want falling asleep on the phone every night. I want you stealing my hoodies. I want to be the person you call first when something happens." “Funny, we already do all of that” I tilt my head. He pauses, his voice dropping. "And I want the intimacy." I swallow hard “You do? Now?”"Yes. Now." His hand slides down to squeeze my thigh firmly, absolutely serious. "Ten years of wanting you and being your 'best friend' exclusively. I am done with boundaries." He taps my nose softly. "I want lazy kisses, intimate touches, naked cuddling, sex, everything. I want the entire boyfriend package." He eyes my throat. "Immediately."

“My mom is in the next room” I whisper, not arguing when he pulls me into his lap. "I know," he murmurs back, wrapping his arms around my waist and pulling me close. "But I've waited ten years to touch you like this, and now I can't stop." His hands spread out over my back, fingers pressing into my muscles. "Is this too much?" “No! No- please, I’ve waited too long” He grins against my neck, the relief evident in his tone. "Good. Because I have been dying." He trails kisses along my jaw, teeth grazing my pulse point. "Ten years of pretending I didn't want to bend you over in my bedroom. Ten years of keeping my hands off you when you'd sit so close. Every fucking night I dreamed about this." “You should’ve told me” I whine. "And say what?" he breathes against my skin, his hands sliding under my shirt to touch bare skin. "Oh hey, by the way, I'm in love with you and want to have sex with you regularly? Your dad has a shotgun, birthday girl." He nips at my earlobe. "Plus, you were my best friend." “I still am” I frown. "You are. And that's the best part," he whispers, his hands spreading out on my stomach possessively. "I get to keep my best friend and finally touch her like I've always wanted." He pulls back to capture my mouth in a deep kiss, his hands slowly inching higher under my shirt.

I pull my shirt over my head for him. He instantly groans, dropping his head forward against my chest. "Jesus fucking Christ." His hands immediately map over my bare skin, smoothing up my ribs, thumbs tracing the underside of my breasts. This is no longer best friend territory. This is years of desperate longing finally being allowed to touch. "Your mother is literally one wall away." He massages my breasts anyway. “Then you better keep quiet, hm?” He chuckles darkly, his fingers finding my nipples and pinching them softly. "Deal." He leans in, his mouth closing over one nipple while his other hand slides down to unbutton my jeans. The room is silent except for the quiet sounds of his mouth and my hushed breaths. My hands find their way to tangle into his hair. He moans low against my skin, the vibration sending shivers through me. "Touch me as much as you want," he murmurs, flicking his tongue over my nipple. "Twelve years of imagining these hands in my hair." His fingers work my jeans open, sliding down inside to finally, finally touch me bare where I’m already wet from just being this close to him. “Shit, Mingi” my fingers tighten in his hair. "Shh," he breathes, moving to suck on the other nipple. His fingers trace my inner thigh, sliding higher until he reaches my center. He groans against my chest. "Ten years. I used to walk into your room, sit on the edge of your bed, and have to hold myself back from spreading your legs."

“Shouldn’t have held back” "Tell me that while I'm touching you like this," he murmurs, teasing my entrance with one finger. "You saying you wanted this back then too? When we were eighteen? Twenty? My hand inside your pants in your childhood bedroom?" He pushes one finger inside slowly, groaning at the wet heat. "Would you have let me do this under the desk in calculus class?" I move my forehead to rest against his, trying to focus on not letting any sound out, until I finally say, “we should go to my room.” He holds my gaze, pupils fully blown, his breathing ragged. "Good call." He pulls back, adjusting his clothes, his voice rough. "I need a door that locks, a bed, and some space where your mom can't hear me." He pauses on the way , checking his reflection in the hallway mirror. I look at him and smile softly “c’mon, you look good”He glances at me, his expression softening. "You always say that." He takes my hand, intertwining our fingers as we walk to my room. Once inside, he locks the door behind him and turns to face me. "I'm not just trying to get laid here," he says seriously. “I am” I pull him to the bed with me. "You're ridiculous," he laughs quietly, climbing onto the bed and hovering over me. "I'm saying this is important to me." He kisses me deeply. "So if you're just trying to fuck your friend, tell me now." He kisses down my neck.

I pull away to look at him “Mingi..” I frown. It hurt a bit that he’d even suggest that. He instantly stops, catching the hurt expression on my face. He freezes, his hands hovering over my waist. "No, hey, hey," he whispers, seeing the frown. He drops his forehead against mine immediately. "I didn't mean it like that. I promise." He pulls back to cup my face properly. "I meant that I don't want this to be casual." “Neither do I.” He searches my face, looking for any sign of doubt or uncertainty. Finding none, he smiles softly and kisses me again, slowly. "Good." He starts to kiss down my body again, his hands roaming over my bare skin. "Because I'm in love with you. And I want to do this right." He kisses my stomach. "Slowly." “I dunno if I can handle slowly” I whine. He laughs against my skin, the vibration sending sparks through my stomach. "Impatient little brat," he murmurs affectionately, hooking his fingers into the waistband of my jeans and panties to tug them down my legs together. "You waited twelve years. You can wait five minutes for me to eat you out properly." He tosses my clothes to the floor, spreading my thighs. I stop him.

He freezes instantly, hands immediately pulling back, abandoning my thighs completely. "Hey," he says softly, his expression turning serious immediately. No rushing, no assumptions. "What is it?" He crawls up, hovering over me instead of diving between my legs. "Too much? Wrong timing? Need to stop?" His eyes lock on mine, checking your emotional state. "Talk to me." I smile, “No, Mingi, I just want you naked too” "Oh," he laughs softly, relief and desire washing over his face. "Right. Yeah." He immediately starts unbuttoning his shirt, his eyes never leaving mine. He's careful, deliberate in his movements, enjoying the anticipation building between us both. "You want to touch me?" “Yes please” He smiles, tossing his shirt aside and then quickly removing the rest of his clothes. Naked, he climbs back onto the bed, crawling over me slowly. "Touch me," he whispers, guiding my hands to his chest first, then lower to his stomach, then finally wrapping them around his length. I press my lips to his as I begin moving my hands. He groans into my mouth, a low, vibrating sound that I can feel in my chest. His hips rock instinctively into my hand, his body betraying just how desperate he is after a decade of waiting. "Fuck," he breathes against my lips, his forehead dropping to mine. "Your hands feel better than I ever imagined." He pulls back slightly to watch me stroke him.

I pay attention to his face, noting what movements made him let out the most sound. I quickly learn exactly what drives him crazy. Long, slow strokes up the shaft make his head fall back with a broken groan. A twist of my wrist over the head makes him gasp loudly, his eyes slamming shut. And rubbing my thumb over the sensitive slit makes him literally whine, his hips bucking helplessly. I’m realizing my best friend is incredibly responsive. I’m not in any hurry, but it seems like he is when he steals the dominance. As if on cue, Mingi suddenly grabs my wrist to stop my hand's movements. His eyes snap open, dark with need and a hint of that familiar dominant streak I’ve always known him to have. "Enough," he growls softly, his voice rough with desire. "My turn." I drop my hands to my sides. His eyes darken approvingly. He doesn't waste time- he moves down my body slowly, deliberately, making eye contact the entire way. He knows I’m watching him, tracking his movements. He kisses down my stomach, my inner thighs, pausing just outside my panties. "Twelve years," he murmurs against my skin. "Twelve years of biting my tongue." “Then stop teasing” I tangle my fingers in his hair again. He chuckles low, the vibration against your inner thighs making your legs twitch. "Bossy." He doesn't tease anymore. He hooks his arms under my thighs, yanks my hips forward, and dives in. His mouth presses flush against me, his tongue flattening for a long, slow lick through my folds that steals the air right from my lungs. No build-up. No teasing.

“O-oh, fuck, Mingi” I moan, the thought of being quiet in the back of my head. He doesn't answer- his mouth is too busy. He sucks on my clit, hard, making me jolt. He watches my breasts bounce with the movement. He spreads me wider with his shoulders, licking deeper, finding me wetter than he ever imagined. I force myself to sit up on my elbows to watch him. My eyes on him makes him even more aggressive. He loves that I’m watching- that I’m seeing how much he actually wants this. How good he wants to make me feel. He circles my clit with his tongue, then sucks it back into his mouth, hollowing his cheeks. I fall back onto the bed, my back arching into him. He hums against me, feeling my back arch, pushing me further into his mouth. He loves that I’m responsive, that I’m not quiet about how he's making me feel. He slides one hand under my ass, tilting me up for better access, his tongue diving deeper inside me. “Mingi~ M’gonna..” He doubles down immediately. His mouth clamps tighter around my clit, tongue flicking rapidly as he sucks, not letting up even for a second. He holds my hips down to the mattress when I start to squirm, forcing me to take it. "Let go," he commands, his voice vibrating against me before his tongue returns to work. "Come on. Let me have it." My brain short circuits as I cum against his mouth.

He drinks me down, licking through my orgasm. His name falls from my lips in broken gasps and he commits the sound to memory- another thing he'll replay in his head for the next twelve years. When I finally stop shaking, he kisses his way up my body. My thighs are trembling, my breathing ragged. He's hard as a rock, pressed against my stomach. I wrap my arms around his shoulders, bringing his lips back to mine. He melts instantly into the kiss, letting me taste myself on his tongue. His weight settles comfortably between my legs, dominant but incredibly gentle. He kisses me slowly, deeply, realizing this isn't just sex. This is twelve years of friendship turning into something else. He pulls back enough to nose against my cheek. "I've got you," he whispers. "I've absolutely got you." “Need you” I whisper. He nods, his thumbs stroking my hips. "Then take me." He presses a kiss to my neck, then slides one hand down to his length. He strokes himself slowly, letting me watch. "Twelve years of wanting this." He shifts, positioning himself between my thighs, his hard cock pressing against my entrance. "Tell me you want me too." “I need you, Mingi,” I repeat “please, I can’t- please”.

That shatters his remaining control. "I've got you, I've got you," he murmurs, his voice strained. He lines himself up and pushes inside, agonizingly slow, forcing my body to accommodate the stretch after years of waiting. He drops his forehead to mine, breathing raggedly as he fills me up inch by inch. "Tell me if it's too much." The sound that comes out of my mouth forces him to press his hand over it as I let my head fall back against the pillows. He presses his palm firmly against my mouth, muffling the sounds spilling from me. "Fuck," he breathes, completely buried inside me now, unable to move for a moment. I’m gripping him so tightly it's almost painful. No- actually a little painful. Mostly perfect. "Good girl," he praises, watching my throat work as I try not to scream. My hands creep around his back, my nails digging into his shoulder blades. He hisses softly at the sting, his hips bucking involuntarily deeper inside me. "Shit," he mutters against my neck, my nails leaving little red marks on his back. He starts moving slowly, carefully, testing how deep he can go before I make those perfect noises again. I have to bite my lip hard to hold the noises inside.

He notices what I’m doing- how my jaw clenches, how my teeth dig into my lip, how my body tightens around him trying to stay quiet. "No," he says firmly, pulling back to thumb the bruised skin. "I want to hear you. All of it." He leans down and captures my lower lip, sucking it gently to ease the pain. “But- my mom-“ "Shh," he soothes, releasing my lip and pressing a gentle kiss to it instead. "I'll make sure she doesn't hear. I promise." He starts moving again, rolling his hips slowly and deeply. "But you're going to let me hear every single sound you make, understand?" “Y-yeah” He rolls his hips again, harder this time, testing his claim. He watches my face carefully, his hand still covering my mouth just in case, but his body is telling me he expects me to break. "Good girl." He hits a spot inside me that makes my back arch off the mattress and a muffled whine escapes around his palm. His eyes widen- he found something. As he continues to hit the spot, I let my moans flow through my lips just quiet enough for him to hear.

His eyes darken with satisfaction as he hears my quiet moans. He focuses on that spot relentlessly, his thrusts becoming more deliberate and deeper. Each moan from me encourages him to go harder, faster. His hand moves from my mouth to grip my hip tightly as he hits that sweet spot over and over. I couldn’t think coherently to warn him how close I was. He notices it immediately- the way my inner walls start fluttering around him, my breath hitching in my throat, my body tightening like a bowstring. "I know," he whispers, reading me perfectly without me needing to say a word. "I feel it." He doesn't stop; he grinds his hips against that spot harder, pushing me right to the edge. Tears prick at my eyes and I pull him closer to me, our chests pressed against one another as I cum around him. The moment I cum, he's done for. My orgasm squeezes him so tightly he sees stars, and my tears against his cheek completely destroy him. He buries his face in my neck to muffle his own groan as he follows me over the edge, coming deep inside me. I wrap my arms around him once again as he collapses on top of me. He stays there for a long moment, catching his breath, pressing soft kisses to my neck and shoulder. His weight feels good on top of me, his arms wrapped around me possessively. When he finally pulls back to look at me, his eyes are soft and filled with something new- something beyond friendship.

san was absolutely starving when he got home from work. and no, it wasn’t the “babe please cook something up for me” kind of starving. he was hungry for you. this happened very often, especially when work had taken a toll on him. all he wanted to do was be around you and stay close to you as soon as he got home.

and this time, you were the only thing on his menu.

which brought you to the present. you sank perfectly into your soft mattress, and your sheets weren’t the only thing wrapped around you. there you were—passionately making out with san. he threw his shirt across the room as soon as he saw you, now surrounding you with his embrace. his muscular, defined body was fully on display, yours to admire. your hands roamed across his back, so small compared to the massive beauty of his body.

“my princess” he spoke softly, tucking away some of the hair that had gotten in your face behind your ear. "i've been waiting for this all day"

so did you. you hated when san had to work more hours. you hated being away from him for so long, to the point where all that pent-up desire came crashing down the moment he stepped through the door.

you bit on his lip, softly, but enough to let out his sweet noises that were dear to your ears.

"why do you have to work for such a long time, hmm..? always so far from me" you pulled away from his face enough for you to make eye contact with him.

"you know i have no control over that baby" he said as he placed soft kisses around your mouth.

"but now that i'm here with you, i can make it up for you"

oh you loved the sound of that. you knew exactly where this was headed. your body clearly knew as well—you were already wet from the aggressive make-out session. and it almost seemed as if he kept turning the faucet more and more with his words.

"is that so?" you smirked, moving your body a bit away from his, enough for you to start sliding off the sweats you had on.

he stared intently at you. you could have sworn he wasn't even blinking.

"fuck, you're beautiful baby" you felt his hands land on yours, helping you pull down your sweats even faster. he swiftly brought them back up and took your shirt off as well. "mm.. i could stare at you for hours"

san wasted no time in taking off the rest of his clothes. not even a minute later, he was only left with his boxers on. the outline of his hardened cock begging to break free from its confinement made your mouth water.

"san.." you looked into his eyes with absolute need. "i wanna feel you. your touch. i wanna feel you deep inside of me" your hand slid up his body once more, moving from his chest to his pecs. "i thought about it all day, and now you're here"

"i know, i know my love" he said, "patience. i still need to grab a condom real quick"

you made a funny frown face at him, "and what if i want your cum deep inside me too?"

he was already moving towards the drawer on the side of your bed when his eyes widened. he immediately turned around facing you, "don't fucking say things like that. do you want me to go insane !?"

"yeah. i do."

his eyebrows furrowed, and his eyes shot back at the drawer—now relentlessly looking for a condom.

"um.. babe? are you sure we still have any? it feels like i've searched everywhere inside of this thing and i can't find any."

you lifted yourself up a bit, now sitting up and looking at him with a confused expression on your face. "what? there's no way we fuck that much. i could've sworn we just bought a pack"

yeah.. sure.. the hearts on almost every day of the month showing on your flo app says otherwise.

he turned around and pouted at you, "i don't think there is any in here baby. i think we ran out"

"well.. i-"

"you didn't actually think that was going to stop me from making you feel good, right?"

oh oh oh and there he goes. he's back to his favorite spot— being on top of you.

he traced swirls all around your body with his fingertips, leading his hands in between your legs. he spread them open, making room for him to place himself in. the next thing you knew, his clothed erection was sitting directly on your neglected clit. you felt your entire body get hotter by the second, your pussy throbbing around nothing.

"use me baby. grind yourself on me, make yourself feel good. "

his words sent a jolt straight through your body, making your hips buck against him instinctively. the sudden friction you felt against your pussy was delicious torture, and you couldn't help but moan out his name as he pressed his hard clothed length against you.

"there we go, look at you. you're already so wet" san growled, his voice dropping down to that specific tone that could drive you insane. "it won't be too long until i feel you soaking right through these boxers"

he began to move his hips in slow, deliberate circles, grinding against you with just enough pressure to drive you wild without giving you the satisfaction you craved. his cock dragged along your clit with precise movements, sending sparks of pleasure through your body.

"shit," he breathed against your neck, sending shivers down your spine. "i could just slide into you right now baby.. hmm? no condom, no nothing." he said, grinding right on your sweet spot. "just raw, deep inside that pretty pussy of yours."

your eyes widened in shock, arousal coursing through you. you wanted to say something back, but you couldn't even open your mouth without a needy moan coming out. you suddenly arched your back as you felt him pick up his pace slightly.

"i know baby, sucks really," he chuckled, moving down to nip at your earlobe. "but we can't. not without protection. doesn't mean i can't imagine it though." he bit down even harder. "imagining filling you up with my cum until it's dripping out of you..."

"san- more.. please.." you pulled him closer, trying to create a stronger friction between the two of you. the feeling of his hard-on rubbing against your throbbing wet cunt made your eyes shut and roll back. "y-you feel so fucking good right now. i just can't stop thinking about how amazing you'd feel inside of me"

his hip stuttered in the middle of himself grinding when he heard you. if there was one thing about san, it would be how much he loved it when you talked dirty to him. well, if he were to be honest, he'd say that he has a love-hate relationship with it. he loves when you moan out filthy words as he pounds into you, but he hates how quickly they drive him off the edge and make him cum.

"babe if you keep saying- things like t-that.. " his thrusts became quicker, and the friction became hotter in between your legs. "fuck. i could cum in my fucking boxers"

his body pulled itself even closer to you, and of course, you welcomed him straight in. your arms scattered all over his back once more, pulling him in as much as you could. you wanted that release. you were dying for it. even if he couldn't give himself to you entirely at the moment, you wanted everything, anything from him.

your hips bucked upwards, grinding your clothed clit onto his erection. a burning pleasurable sensation started developing in your lower abdomen, indicating that your climax was close.

"san- baby- i want you to fill me up so badly" you begged as your want for pleasure built a peak that you could no longer bear. "fuck condoms. i want to feel your cum dripping out of me for days" you were so close to slipping his boxers off when—

his eyes widened in shock at your words, his hips suddenly stilling. "holy shit-" he groaned, his body tensing above you.

you felt a sudden warmth spreading through the fabric of his boxers as he collapsed against you, burying his face in the side of your neck. "f-fuck. i'm sorry, i- i didn't mean to- not yet. shit," he panted, his body trembling slightly from the aftermath of his climax.

you could feel the wetness soaking through his boxers onto your panties as his cock twitched against you.

but despite having just cum, he didn't pull away. instead, he began grinding against you again, his movements slower but more deliberate this time. his sensitive sticky tip rubbed against your clit, each movement making him hiss with a painful yet pleasurable feeling.

"oh san, you don't have-" you started, but he cut you off with a kiss.

"no baby, i'm not stopping until you cum too."

his determination sent another wave of arousal through your body. the thought of him pushing through his very own sensitivity just for your pleasure was intoxicating. you wrapped your legs around his waist, making his movements focus more on your clit.

"o-oh! right there," you gasped as he hit just the right spot. "don't stop, please don't stop."

his movements grew more desperate as he chased your orgasm, the damp fabric of his boxers slid more smoothly against your panties with every grind. the combination of his dirty words from earlier, the sight of him losing control, and the persistent stimulation of your oversensitive clit finally pushed you over the edge.

"mmm there she is," san brought himself up to look at you one more time before you came, and boy did you look heavenly to his eyes. it was written all over your face; you were so close to your climax.

your back arched off the bed as waves of pleasure crashed over you, your panties growing soaked with your own arousal. san continued to grind against you through your orgasm, prolonging the sensation until you were a trembling mess beneath him.

san hovered over your limp body and moved to your side, breathing heavily as he tried to catch his breath.

It also meant you’d seen Wake Up more times than you could count. Concerts. Dance practices. Now fan meetings. Every single version somehow managed to feel different. Somehow managed to drive you a little crazier every time. You tucked your feet beneath you as the camera swept across the stage, the crowd erupting loud enough that even through the television speakers it filled the apartment. “There he is…” you murmured with an involuntary smile as Yunho walked into frame beneath the lights, freshly dyed light pink hair almost glowing against the darker stage, his white shirt crisp beneath the fitted black pinstriped vest. Even from the couch, you knew exactly how warm he’d be after the performance, how his sleeves would inevitably end up rolled to his forearms backstage because he hated the feeling of damp cuffs.

The music started and your attention snagged on that familiar prop. The black silk rope. Again. “Seriously?” you muttered to absolutely no one. You’d watched this choreography so many times you could probably perform half of it yourself. You remembered the first rehearsal clip Yunho had shown you, grinning as he asked, “Too much?” while practicing with the rope in your living room. You’d rolled your eyes then, insisting he looked ridiculous. He hadn’t believed you. Mostly because your face had turned bright red five seconds later.

Now, the choreography had become second nature to him. The rope slid effortlessly through his hands as if it belonged there, each practiced movement smooth, confident, almost unfairly controlled. He didn’t have to think about it anymore. You, unfortunately… thought about it far too much. You let out a slow breath, leaning back against the couch cushion. “This is getting ridiculous.” Every performance left you with the exact same thought. Yunho was always the one in control. In every playful argument. Every time you had sex. Until that choreography. Until you’d watched him effortlessly loop black rope around his hands for what felt like the millionth time.

And somewhere between the first performance and today… a dangerous little thought had planted itself in the back of your mind. What if, just once…. the roles were reversed? You groaned dramatically, dropping your head back against the couch. “He’d never go for it.” The television, unsurprisingly, offered no sympathy. Onscreen, Yunho finished the routine with the same confident smile that had first stolen your heart, meanwhile, his girlfriend sat frozen on the couch, blanket pooled forgotten around her lap, staring at the television with an expression somewhere between exasperation, inspiration, and hard need.

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By the time Yunho and Yeosang got home, the city had settled into that familiar Sunday night lull. Restaurants still buzzed beneath glowing signs, but most apartment windows were already lit with warm lamps instead of bright ceiling lights. Yunho unlocked the front door with practiced ease. “I’m home,” he called out as the door swung shut behind them. He slipped off his sneakers, lining them neatly beside Yeosang’s. “Baby?” Still no answer as Yeosang wandered straight toward the kitchen, already opening the refrigerator. “She’s probably out.”

Yunho hummed absentmindedly. “Yeah.” It wasn’t unusual. The convenience store at the end of the block had become one of your favorite little routines whenever he was gone for schedules. Sometimes you’d wander down there for ramen at 11:00 at night. Other times you’d come back with ice cream, chips, and whatever new drink had caught your eye. More than once he’d opened the freezer only to discover four different flavors because, in your words, you couldn’t decide. He smiled to himself at the thought as his eyes drifted toward the living room.

The blanket you’d been using earlier was still tossed across the couch, one sleeve of his oversized hoodie hanging over the armrest where you’d clearly abandoned it in a hurry. An empty mug sat on the coffee table beside the television remote, the screen now dark after the livestream had long since ended. “You watched today,” he murmured, more to himself than anyone else as Yeosang appeared in the doorway carrying a bottle of water. “She said she would.”

Yunho reached down, absentmindedly picking up the hoodie. It still held a faint trace of your perfume beneath the familiar scent of his own, enough to make him smile despite how tired he was. “I’m gonna shower,” he said, draping the hoodie over one arm. “She’s probably grabbing snacks or something.” Yeosang nodded. “If she brings back those honey butter chips, they’re mine.”

Yunho made his way down the short hallway, pushing open his bedroom door with the toe of his sock. The room was exactly as he’d left it that morning. His side of the bed was unmade. Your charger still dangled from the outlet beside your pillow. One of your books rested face down on his nightstand where you’d clearly promised yourself you’d only stop reading for five minutes.

He set his bag on the floor with a sigh before shrugging out of his jacket, tossing it neatly across the chair in the corner. The silence didn’t strike him as strange. Not yet.

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Steam curled lazily beneath the bathroom door, the steady rush of the shower muffling the rest of the apartment as Yunho stood beneath the hot water with his head tipped back, letting the day’s exhaustion wash off him along with the last traces of stage makeup and washout pink dye. His shoulders ached pleasantly from three days of performances, fan interactions, and endless rehearsals. It was the kind of tired that only came after giving everything you had to thousands of people.

Outside the bathroom, the apartment remained quiet until the front door clicked open and you stepped inside carrying a small matte black paper bag tucked discreetly under your arm. Or tried to anyways. “Hey,” you called softly, slipping off your shoes. Yeosang leaned around the corner from the kitchen, still holding the bottle of water he’d been nursing. “Finally.” You blinked. “What?” He pointed an accusing finger at you. “Did you get the honey butter chips?”

“No.”

His face immediately fell. “You went out… and didn’t get snacks?”

“I wasn’t really shopping for snacks.”

“Then why’d you go?”

You hesitated for the briefest second before casually lifting the paper bag a little higher against your side. “Just…needed to grab something.” Yeosang eyed the bag suspiciously. “What’d you buy?”

Your grip tightened almost instinctively. “Oh…nothing exciting.”

“Hm.” He narrowed his eyes for a second, then shrugged. “As long as it’s not another mug.”

“I do not have that many mugs.”

“You have twelve.”

“I use them.”

“You rotate through three.”

“They all have different purposes.”

Yeosang stared. “You’ve named your mugs, haven’t you?”

“…Maybe.”

He sighed. “I’ll never understand either of you.”

You laughed, grateful the conversation had veered away from the bag tucked against your side. Because inside wasn’t another mug. Or a candle that Yunho and Yeosang liked to remind you that you had too many already. The small boutique three blocks away from the apartment wasn’t technically the closest shop. It also wasn’t the kind of place you could accidentally wander into. You’d stood outside its tinted windows for nearly ten minutes before working up the courage to go inside, your heart pounding so loudly you were convinced the cashier could hear it.

Even now, your cheeks warmed at the memory. The employee hadn’t batted an eye. They’d simply asked if you needed any help. You’d somehow managed to mumble, “I’m…just looking.” And then five painfully awkward minutes later, you’d walked back out carrying one small purchase nestled inside the discreet black bag now hidden against your side. A length of soft black rope. Nothing flashy. Nothing ornate. Just enough to turn a reckless thought that had been living rent free in your head ever since you saw the choreography for Wake Up for the first time into something undeniably real.

The sound of the shower still echoed faintly from down the hall as you slipped past the kitchen. “I’m gonna put my stuff away,” you said over your shoulder. Yeosang waved absentmindedly. “If Yunho asks, tell him I’m still mourning those chips.”

“I’ll let him know.” You disappeared down the hallway, closing Yunho’s bedroom door behind you with a quiet click. Only then did you finally pull the black rope from the bag. It rested neatly coiled in your hands. Seeing it sitting there in the bedroom somehow made the idea feel much less like an impulsive fantasy… and much more like a conversation you were actually going to have.

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The bathroom mirror had long since disappeared behind a layer of steam as Yunho ran a towel through his damp pink hair one last time. The hot shower had done exactly what he’d hoped. His muscles felt looser, the lingering ache in his back softened to something manageable after another full day of smiling, dancing, and waving beneath bright stage lights. He adjusted the towel secured around his waist before reaching for the doorknob and going down the hall to his bedroom.

You were perched against the headboard in one of his old tshirts, absently scrolling through your phone. His lips curved into a smile. “There you are. I thought you went missing.”

“I was only gone for a little while.”

Yunho wandered farther into the room towards his closet. “I came home and you weren’t here. I even called for you.” He was teasing because you and the guys all loved to call him clingy.

“I heard from Yeosang.”

He chuckled. “Apparently he was more concerned about honey butter chips than where you were.”

“He seemed pretty devastated I didn’t get any.”

“He’ll survive.” You smiled faintly before dragging your eyes down his damp body, gaze lingering at the obvious bulge of his dick behind the fluffy white towel wrapped around his waist.

Yunho noticed but decided to let you continue instead of tease you as he tilted his head. “So…” He stopped beside the bed. “Where’d you go?” Your gaze moved from the small drop of water you had been following as it moved slowly down his stomach to back up to his eyes. “Just out.” You shrugged.

“Out where?”

“The neighborhood.”

He gave you an amused look. “The neighborhood’s kind of big.” You shrugged again with what you hoped looked like casual indifference. “I just needed to grab something.”

“What’d you grab?”

“Nothing important.”

“Hm.” Yunho knew you well enough to recognize when you were being deliberately vague. Normally you would’ve happily told him about every aisle you’d wandered through, every impulse purchase you’d almost made, and whatever cashier had tried flirting with you.

Tonight… you were dodging.

His gaze drifted toward the nightstand as he reached for the charger he’d left plugged into the wall that morning. And that’s when he noticed it. The small matte black paper bag sat neatly beside his phone. It wasn’t large. The top had been folded over twice. No logo faced him, only plain black paper with short rope handles. He frowned slightly. “I don’t recognize that bag. Where’s it from?”

Your heartbeat stumbled. “Oh…” You glanced over far too quickly. “Yeah.” He picked up his phone but kept looking at the bag. “So that’s what you went out for?”

“Mhm.”

“What is it?”

You sat your phone down. “It’s…” You searched for an answer that wasn’t technically a lie. “…something I wanted.” He looked back at you with a suspicious look. “You’re being incredibly mysterious.”

“Am I?”

He stepped closer, leaning one shoulder lightly against the wall as he studied you for another moment. There was something different tonight. Not bad. Just….. Off. You wouldn’t quite meet his eyes for more than a second before looking away again. And every few moments your attention drifted toward the black bag as though checking it was still there and then right back to his dick. Yunho followed your gaze once more and when it drifted back to the bag…. “Can I look?”

Your eyes snapped back to his. “No.” The answer came so quickly that even you blinked and he couldn’t help laughing. “That was suspicious.”

“It’s…a surprise.”

“A surprise? For me?”

“…Eventually.”

He folded his arms, an amused grin slowly spreading across his face. “Now you’ve definitely made me curious.” You offered him your most innocent smile as he narrowed his eyes playfully. You looked away for all of two seconds just long enough to convince yourself he’d drop the subject.

Yunho, on the other hand… he’d absolutely no intention of letting his curiosity die that easily. The moment your attention drifted back toward your phone, he moved.

“Yunho!” Before you could react, he’d leaned across the nightstand, snatched the little black paper bag by its rope handles, and taken two long steps backward with a grin that screamed catch me if you can. “Hey!” You shot off the bed. “Give that back!”

He laughed, holding it just out of reach. “You’ve been acting suspicious since I got out the shower.”

“It is literally none of your business.”

“…My surprise isn’t my business?”

“You weren’t supposed to find out yet!”

“Too late.”

“Jeong Yunho.”

“Y/N.”

You folded your arms. “Don’t.”

“I just want one little peek.” His fingers were already unfolding the neatly creased top of the bag.

“Yunho…”

He glanced up, catching the genuine panic on your face and that only made him more curious. “What on earth could possibly have you this nervous?” Without waiting for an answer, he reached inside and your heart dropped into your stomach. “No, no, no…”

His fingers brushed something soft. Fabric. He slowly drew it out and looked at the neatly coiled length of black rope slipping from the bag into his hand and the room fell completely silent as Yunho just kept staring at it. His brows furrowed together. “What…” His eyes slowly lifted from the rope to you. Then back to the rope. Then back to you again. “What?”

You suddenly found the floor incredibly interesting.

“Baby? Why…” He held the rope up slightly, still looking utterly bewildered. “Why did you buy rope?” You rubbed the back of your neck, cheeks burning so hot you were convinced they could light the room.

“It’s…” you didn’t know how to say it. [[[[ “Baby I really want to tie you up and use you.”

Yunho looked at the rope again, then at the little black bag still dangling from his other hand. Realization didn’t hit all at once. It arrived in pieces. “Wait. Is this because of Wake Up?” It’s not like he was oblivious. He’d noticed the way you would get flustered at the choreo.

“…Maybe.”

Yunho stood frozen for another minute, still holding the neatly coiled rope as the corners of his mouth slowly, helplessly curled upward. He looked at you with an expression somewhere between stunned, amused, and deeply turned on. He gripped the rope and moved to stand in front of you where you still sat on the bed. He used his free hand to reach up and grip your chin gently making you look up at him. “Is that what this is?” His thumb brushed across your bottom lip. “You want me to tie you up, baby?”

You almost said yes without thinking. Almost completely forgetting what you bought the rope in the first place. “It’s…” you darted your tongue out, wetting your lips. “it’s not for me….”

Yunho stared at you, his grip on your chin holding on until the realization hit him and his hand fell. He was quiet for a few minutes before he spoke. “You….” A disbelieving breathless laugh escaped him. “you want to tie me up?”

You narrowed your eyes at him as he laughed. “Yeah…. that’s not gonna happen.” He shook his head and you pushed him back as you stood up. “What?” You felt like you were being rage baited. Him laughing like the idea, the fantasy you had, was ridiculous. Like there was no you would ever tie him up. So….. you pushed him. “Are you a pussy?”

Yunho’s laughter stopped. His eyes darkened almost instantly and his grip on the rope tightened. “Excuse me?”

“You heard me.” You looked down at the rope in his grip then towards his bulge still hidden behind the towel and smirked when you noticed his dick twitch. He liked this. He just refused to admit it. “You can’t do it. Unfortunate.” You moved your hand, all the nerves you had earlier about bringing this fantasy to him, gone. You slid your hand up his chest. “I had so many…..” you let out a little breathless laugh. “ways to use you.”

Use him….. the thought alone made Yunho’s dick twitch again. He could feel himself getting hard. He’s never let anyone in control before. He’s always been a very dominant person in bed. Even in the two years the two of you have been together the closes you ever got to taking control is when you ride him. And that didn’t really count for much.

“Look at you…” your voice was full of false concern as you slid your hand back down his chest and moved it right against his dick. “you’re already hard just thinking about it.”

Yunho’s mind raced the second the words left your mouth. He kept replaying the image of you binding him, taking control, using every inch of him while he lay helpless. The thought should have felt ridiculous, but his dick twitched hard again, betraying how much the idea turned him on. He swallowed, jaw tight, trying to look unaffected even as the tips of his ears turned red.

After a long moment he exhaled through his nose and muttered, “Fine… you can try. But we both know you’ll have me pounding that pussy to come before you can finish.” He pressed the coiled rope into your hand, fingers lingering against yours like he was still deciding whether to snatch it back. You didn’t give him the chance. Your free hand hooked onto the towel around his waist and yanked it off in one swift motion. His dick sprang free, thick and flushed, already leaking at the tip and the sight made your pulse jump because he was harder than he wanted to admit.

Yunho shifted toward the bed, but you snapped the rope across his bare ass with a sharp crack making him jolt and a startled grunt escaping him, but he refused to turn around or let you see the way his dick bobbed at the sting. Instead he climbed onto the mattress without a word, settling on his back against the pillows. “So… like how do you wanna do this?” His voice came out rougher than usual.

You grabbed his wrists, looping the rope around them with quick, confident knots as Yunho watched every movement, eyes darkening as you pulled the bindings tight. Once his hands were secured you shoved him flat, climbing over his hips and dragging his bound arms above his head. The rope stretched taut when you looped it around the headboard. He tested the restraint immediately, biceps flexing, but the knots held firm making a low, involuntary sound leave him when he realized he truly couldn’t get free.

You slid off him slowly, pausing just long enough to drag your tongue over the leaking tip of his dick. Yunho’s hips jerked upward, chasing the wet heat, but you were already moving away, standing beside the bed and peeled your clothes off piece by piece while he watched, chest rising and falling faster with every inch of skin you revealed, dick twitching visibly when you finally stood naked in front of him.

“By now you’d already have me sprawled out,” you said, voice low and teasing, “trying to edge me while burying your tongue in me.” The image hit him hard and his dick jerked again, a fresh bead of precum sliding down the length as you crawled back onto the bed, kissing up his thighs, letting your breath ghost over his balls before dragging your tongue in one long stripe from base to tip. You never took him into your mouth though. Instead you continued upward, nipping at his chest until your teeth closed around one nipple and Yunho hissed, hips bucking as more precum spilled from him.

You straddled him again, his dick trapped hot and hard against your stomach. It throbbed against your skin, the tip brushing the underside of your breasts when you leaned forward to kiss him then sat back up and rocked your hips just enough to let the length slide between your folds, coating him in your wetness while your clit dragging along the ridge of him. Yunho groaned, voice strained. “Fuck, you’re so wet.”

You teased him just like that for a good long minute before reaching down and wrapping your hand around his dick. You stroked him slowly at first, savoring the way his abs tightened, then picked up speed until your fist was flying over him. “Look at you,” you murmured, “already leaking all over my hand. You like being tied up don’t you.” Yunho’s only answer was a broken moan as you brought your index finger to your mouth, sucking it slowly until it glistened.

Yunho’s eyes widened as you reached between his spread thighs, panting and watching your hand disappear lower. The first press of your fingertip against his hole made his entire body tense. You pushed inside carefully, working the digit deeper while your other hand kept stroking his dick. “Holy fuck,” he gasped, the word cracking into a whimper when you started thrusting your finger in time with your strokes. “God, baby…. your finger feels so good… fuck, don’t stop….. please….” His dick pulsed in your grip, balls drawing tight and right as his breathing turned ragged and his thighs started to shake you pulled both hands away.

Yunho blinked up at the ceiling, chest heaving, dick twitching angrily in the sudden absence of touch. “What are you doing?” he demanded, voice hoarse as you crawled up his body until your knees framed his head. “You want my pussy, baby?” His mouth opened, the word, please, already forming, but he bit it back at the last second and you smirked. “Yeah, you do.” You lowered yourself, settling over his face.

Yunho’s tongue met you immediately, plunging deep, groaning into your folds as you rocked against his mouth. His bound hands jerked uselessly at the headboard while you rode his face, using his tongue exactly how you wanted, gripping the headboard, grinding yourself against him, crying out when he sucked your clit and held on until your thighs trembled and you came with a sharp cry, grinding down harder. You couldn’t move for a second, catching your breath before sliding off of him, leaving his chin and lips shiny with your release.

Yunho panted, still tugging at the rope. “Okay… come on… I need…..” You cut him off by straddling his hips again and reaching between your bodies, lining his dick up and sinking down in one slow motion until he bottomed out. Both of you moaned at the stretch, your walls clenching him as you started a slow pace, rolling your hips in deep circles, grinding your clit against his pubic bone with every downward stroke.

Yunho’s breathing grew ragged fast again, he was already overstimulated from everything you’d done to him so far that the orgasm hit without warning. He came with a choked shout, dick pulsing inside you, flooding you. But you didn’t stop. You rode him straight through it, pace increasing until the wet sounds of your bodies filled the room.

You leaned forward, wrapping one hand around his throat and squeezing just enough to make his eyes roll back and make him whimper, the sound high and needy as you kept pounding yourself down onto him, your own pleasure building until you started to squirt around him, splashing between your thighs. Your legs shook but you didn’t let up until the tremors became too much and you had to stop, lifting off him on shaky limbs.

Yunho lay wrecked beneath you, chest heaving, dick still twitching and glistening as you grabbed his legs, folding him in half until his knees nearly touched his shoulders. His eyes went wide, a mix of shock and raw need as you climbed back on, sinking down onto his overstimulated dick once more.

The new angle let you take him even deeper and Yunho moaned brokenly with every thrust, completely lost. “Please… fuck, baby… fuck… take it… please… it’s yours…” The words tumbled out of him in a desperate babble, voice cracking as you rode him hard, the wet slap of skin echoing as you chased your own release. “Yunho…. say it….” You held onto his legs. “say you love it.”

“Fuck….” He jerked against the rope then tightened his grip on it just taking it. “Yes…. Fuck… yes…. Baby use me… fuck me…”

And you did. You kept pounding yourself on him relentlessly, your walls fluttering as you felt him throbbing. Yunho came again with a loud, helpless moan, dick jerking inside you. The feeling pushed you over the edge, crying out, walls clenching harder now as you came, body shaking. You stayed seated until the last aftershocks faded, milking him for everything he had before slowly lifting off of him, both of you panting and spent.

Yunho’s wrists were still bound above his head, chest glistening with sweat, expression dazed and thoroughly fucked out. The rope had done exactly what you hoped, left him completely at your mercy, and he hadn’t been able to hide how much he loved every second of it.

You dragged yourself off the bed, snatching his robe off his closet door, pulling it on and staring at your ruined boyfriend. “I’m gonna take a shower.” You bent down, kissing him, then turned and started walking towards the door.

“Y/N…” Yunho jerked at the rope. “I’m still tied up.” You didn’t even glance at him as you opened the door. “I won’t be long.” He gaped at you as you left him there. “Y/N! Get back here! Baby, please! This isn’t funny.” He slammed his head back against the pillows as Yeosang peeked in the room, took in the sight of him naked and bound….. “Mingi, they’re done.”

“What?” Yunho jerked at the rope as the shower could be heard turning on down the hall. “Yeosang… get me out…”

Yeosang just snorted and left as Mingi rounded the corner. “Dude…” he started laughing. “you get loud, you know that?” He walked inside, “where’s my charger I let you borrow?” Yunho glared at him. “Fuck your charger! Get me loose.” Mingi ignored him, finding his charger on the bedside table. He grabbed then dug his phone out of his pocket.

“What are you doing!” Yunho stared as Mingi angled his phone then it flashed taking a picture. “DELETE IT.” Yunho snapped, he was jerking so hard at the rope now the headboard started banging against the wall. “Damn man….” Mingi grinned at him as he shoved his phone back into his pocket and started walking back out of the room. I didn’t know you had it in you.”

And Yunho could do nothing but lay there.

Used.

Thoroughly fucked.

And completely bound.

═════════ ═════════ ═════════

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And at the very center of it all stood Pandemonium. The royal palace. Its black marble walls stretched for what seemed like miles, carved with stories older than written history itself. Towering columns disappeared into darkness overhead, while crimson banners bearing the royal sigil hung motionless despite the ever present wind that swept through the city beyond. Far inside the palace, beyond countless corridors and heavily guarded halls, sat the throne room and silence ruled there. No servants spoke above a whisper. Even the guards lining the chamber stood unnaturally still, their polished obsidian armor reflecting the crimson glow of the enormous braziers burning around the room.

At the far end, upon a throne carved from a single slab of volcanic stone, sat Lucifer. Time had never claimed him. Not truly. He wore the appearance of a man in his early fifties, the kind of face that had once been devastatingly handsome and somehow remained so despite the centuries. There was maturity in the lines around his eyes, wisdom etched into every expression, but no frailty. His silver hair contrasted sharply with the pair of massive horns rising from either side of his head. They were unlike any other demon’s. Long. Ridged. Sweeping backward in elegant curves. Something in between, a deep black red that seemed to absorb the firelight around them until they resembled cooled lava moments before it split open again.

The ancient depictions humans painted of Satan… had not been entirely inaccurate. One hand rested against the carved arm of his throne as amber eyes studied the soul ledger lying open across his lap and without looking up, he spoke. “Where is my son?” The heavy doors opened behind him as Seonghwa crossed the length of the throne room with measured steps before stopping several feet from the dais and bowed once. “Still topside, your majesty.” Lucifer finally lifted his gaze. “He was handling the bargain you requested.”

“He was.”

“He should be returning shortly.”

Lucifer continued watching him with no impatience in his expression. No anger. Only… thought. And after several long moments, he quietly closed the leather bound ledger resting across his knees. “If he is conducting a bargain…” His voice remained calm. “then tell me…” The temperature in the throne room seemed to drop. “why…” Lucifer slowly rose from the throne and the guards lining the chamber lowered their eyes instinctively. “is my son now bound?”

Seonghwa blinked, froze, because for the first time in centuries… his composure cracked. “Bound?” Lucifer didn’t answer. Instead, he descended the few steps leading away from the throne, stopping before a massive circular table carved from polished black stone. Upon its surface… an intricate map of infernal magic glowed faintly. Thousands upon thousands of tiny lights drifted across it. Souls. Contracts. Oaths. Covenants. And near the center… a new symbol burned brighter than all the rest. A horn interlocked with a feather. The Covenant Brand. Lucifer stared at it without blinking.

“He…” Seonghwa began carefully, “wasn’t the last time I saw him.”

Lucifer’s eyes never left the mark. “I know.”

“I left him in Los Angeles.”

“I know.”

“He was alone.”

“I know.” Lucifer looked at him. Not with fury. Not disappointment. But with something far more unsettling. Concern. “Then somewhere,” he said quietly, “between the bargain… and now…” His gaze drifted back toward the burning symbol. “my son chose someone over Fate.” The words echoed through the chamber and mo one dared breathe. Because everyone in that room understood exactly what the mark meant.

The Crown Prince of Hell… had broken the oldest law ever written.

Lucifer remained silent for several seconds before speaking again, his voice almost lost beneath the crackling braziers. “Prepare the Gate.”

Seonghwa straightened. “Your Majesty?”

Lucifer’s amber eyes never left the glowing horn and feather. “If the Covenant has witnessed… then sooner or later…” His expression hardened with quiet certainty. “my daughter in law will be coming home.”

═════════ ═════════ ═════════

Her apartment felt impossibly small after everything that had happened. The old lock clicked behind them, shutting out the sirens just enough that the silence became almost oppressive. The familiar smell of detergent, old hardwood, and stale coffee lingered in the cramped living room but nothing had changed. And everything had changed.

Y/N dropped her purse beside the couch without thinking, letting it slide onto the worn carpet, spilling her keys across the floor. She didn’t bother picking them up. Instead, she slowly turned around as Yunho stood near the front door, looking strangely out of place inside the tiny apartment. His glamour had returned during the drive. To anyone else he appeared exactly as she remembered him from Saturday night. Silver hair. Black clothes. Unfairly handsome. But she knew better now. She’d seen what existed beneath the illusion. She’d seen the horns.

For nearly half an hour, he’d answered every question she’d managed to ask. Hell. Reapers. Demons. His father. The Covenant. The mark now resting permanently beneath the skin of both their wrists. Every answer had somehow raised three more questions as Y/N simply stared at him. Her expression remained unreadable for several long seconds before she let out a short, breathless laugh that sounded as though even she wasn’t sure where it had come from and shook her head. “You’re insane.”

The corner of Yunho’s mouth lifted despite everything. “I have horns that protrude out of my head,” he said, his voice carrying the dry amusement she’d first heard across a crowded dance floor two nights earlier, “and you find it hard to believe I’m the son of Satan?”

She blinked. “When you say it like that…”

“It feels fairly convincing.”

“No.” She pointed at him as though that somehow organized the impossible. “No, don’t do that.”

“Do what?”

“Make it sound… logical.”

A quiet chuckle escaped him. “I’m trying.”

“You’re failing.”

“I noticed.”

She began pacing without realizing it, crossing the short distance between the couch and the tiny kitchen before turning around again. Every few steps her eyes dropped to the black symbol branded into the inside of her wrist. It looked like a tattoo. Elegant. Permanent. And impossible. She rubbed at it with her thumb but nothing happened. So she rubbed harder. Still nothing. “It won’t come off,” Yunho said gently.

“I figured I’d try optimism first.”

“It’s infernal magic.”

“So… soap’s out?”

“I’m afraid so.”

She laughed again. But this time it sounded dangerously close to tears. “So let me make sure I’ve got this straight.” Yunho waited as she tried to wrap her head around everything. “You’re four hundred years old.”

“Correct.”

“Your father is literally the Devil.”

“Correct.”

“Hell is real.”

“Yes.”

“There are people whose entire job is collecting souls.”

“The Reapers.”

“And…” She looked down at the mark again, swallowing hard. “because you saved me…” She couldn’t quite force herself to finish so Yunho did it for her. “We’re bound.” Silence settled between them as outside, another helicopter thundered overhead and Y/N looked up at him, studying his face as though she might discover he’d been joking all along. Instead she found only exhaustion. The kind carried by someone who’d lived far too long. “You knew,” she said quietly. He frowned. “When you saved me….. you knew what would happen.”

He didn’t answer right away. He didn’t need to because his silence told her everything and a knot formed in her chest. “And… you still did it.” Yunho nodded once. “I did.” She stared at him, unable to reconcile the man she’d spent Saturday night with against the impossible truth standing in her living room now. Then another memory forced its way to the surface. Tiffany and the warmth drained from her face. “I left her.” Her voice was barely audible. “I left Tiffany.”

“You didn’t.”

“I ran.”

“The building was collapsing.”

“I ran.”

“You survived.”

“I wasn’t supposed to survive alone.”

The words broke somewhere near the end and she wrapped both arms around herself, turning away as tears finally spilled onto her cheeks. “I should’ve grabbed her. I should’ve… I don’t know…” She laughed bitterly through the tears. “Done something.” Yunho watched her in silence for a long moment before quietly crossing the room. He stopped beside her, leaving enough space that she could step away if she wanted. “I’ve lived a very long time,” he said softly. “Long enough to know survivors almost always invent impossible versions of the past.” She didn’t look at him. “You imagine one more second.” Her shoulders trembled. “One different decision.” She closed her eyes. “One miracle that would’ve changed everything.” A long silence stretched between them before he finished quietly, “It doesn’t mean those miracles ever existed.”

There was no arrogance in his expression. No royal confidence. Only someone who sounded as though he’d spent centuries carrying ghosts of his own. Her gaze lingered there for a moment before drifting once more to the feather branded on his wrist. “Why me?” It was barely more than a whisper. “Out of everyone in that building…” she asked, “all the centuries…. why did you save me?”

Yunho looked down at the matching mark on his own arm, thumb brushing over the feather absentmindedly. When he finally answered, his voice was almost lost beneath the distant wail of another ambulance. “I’ve been asking myself the same question ever since.” The apartment fell quiet again as the muffled pulse of sirens still filtered through the thin walls and another helicopter passed somewhere overhead, its rotors rattling the old windows just enough to make the glass tremble in its frame. The city was still in the middle of a catastrophe.

Y/N leaned back against the edge of the kitchen counter, her fingers absentmindedly tracing the strange black horn tattooed over her pulse. She still hadn’t accepted that it wasn’t ink. Every few seconds she’d catch herself rubbing at it again, hoping this time it might somehow smear beneath her thumb but it never did. Yunho stood several feet away, his gaze lingering on her longer than he realized. Then…. his entire body went rigid. It wasn’t physical. It wasn’t pain. It was older than that. Something invisible wrapped itself around his soul like an iron chain. A single pull. Gentle. Yet unmistakable.

His father. Lucifer wasn’t speaking. He didn’t need to. The summons traveled through blood itself and Yunho’s expression darkened immediately. “Shit.” Y/N looked up. “What?” He didn’t answer right away as the pull came again. Stronger this time and his jaw tightened. “We have to go.” She frowned, brows furrowing. “Go where?” He looked at her as though the answer couldn’t possibly be anything else. “You know…” He gestured vaguely downward with one finger. “Downstairs.”

She stared at him blankly before her eyes widened. “No.”

“Yes.”

“No.”

“Afraid so.”

Her head shook immediately. “I am not going to Hell with you.”

“You kind of have to.”

“I absolutely do not.”

“The Covenant would disagree.”

“I don’t care what the Covenant thinks!”

“It tends not to care what any of us think.”

She pushed away from the counter. “I’m staying right here.”

“You can’t.”

“Watch me.”

“I’d rather not.”

“You don’t get to just…” She threw both hands into the air. “kidnap me into the underworld!”

“I wasn’t planning to.”

“Oh, well that’s comforting.”

“But…”

The invisible pull slammed into him again and this time there was nothing gentle about it. Yunho staggered half a step, eyes flashing black. “He’s done asking.” Before Y/N could respond…. the force caught her too. Not the summons. The Covenant. The Brand around her wrist ignited like molten iron and she gasped, grabbing at it instinctively. “What is….” Black fire erupted around Yunho’s feet. Not ordinary flames. These burned without heat, curling upward in ribbons of smoke and crimson embers as reality itself began folding inward around them.

The apartment lights flickered violently as every shadow in the room stretched impossibly long and Y/N backed away. “Yunho?” He was already moving. “We don’t really have a choice.”

“What do you mean we don’t have…”

He reached her in two long strides, one arm wrapping firmly around her waist before she could retreat another step and she instinctively grabbed his jacket as the black flames surged and the walls around them blurred. The living room distorted as though someone had dropped a stone into reality itself and Y/N’s stomach lurched. “No, no, no….” The world disappeared. Fire swallowed everything. Not burning. Consuming. The apartment. The windows. The city. Every sound vanished beneath the roar of infernal flames until there was nothing left but darkness streaked with crimson light. And for one impossible heartbeat, there was no up. No down. No air. Only falling. Then… solid ground.

Y/N stumbled forward, nearly losing her balance before Yunho steadied her. The first thing she noticed was the silence. Not peaceful silence but heavy silence. The second… was the smell. Smoke. Stone. Something metallic lingering beneath both and slowly… she opened her eyes and her breath caught. Gone was the cramped apartment with its peeling paint and crooked cabinets. Instead she stood inside a chamber so vast her mind struggled to comprehend its scale. Towering black columns disappeared into darkness hundreds of feet overhead. Braziers the size of small houses burned with crimson fire, casting dancing shadows across polished obsidian floors that reflected everything like black glass.

And at the far end of the room… upon a raised dais… sat a throne carved from a single mountain of volcanic stone. And it was occupied. Around the chamber stood rows of armored demons, motionless as statues, their eyes fixed entirely on the two unexpected arrivals. Every one of them had seen the brand. Every one of them had recognized what it meant. Y/N swallowed as she very slowly let her eyes travel upward. Past the polished black boots. Past the tailored dark suit. Past the powerful frame. Until they met the face of the man seated upon the throne. A face both handsome and impossibly commanding. Much like his sons. And rising from either side of his head…. massive horns like cooled lava carved into a crown. His eyes rested first on Yunho, then… on Y/N.

The faintest hint of amusement flickered across his features before disappearing beneath ancient royal composure. Y/N’s fingers slowly tightened around Yunho’s sleeve and without aking her eyes off the throne, she whispered, “Please tell me that’s not your dad.” Yunho let out the smallest, most resigned sigh. “Afraid it is.”

Lucifer rose from the obsidian throne with unhurried grace and the movement alone seemed to alter the room. The torches lining the towering pillars burned brighter, their crimson flames bowing as though acknowledging their king. Even the demons standing guard along the walls lowered their gazes and Yunho felt himself straighten as his father rarely stood for anyone. Lucifer descended the black stone steps one at a time, the sound of polished boots striking ancient rock echoing through the cavernous hall, eyes never leaving Y/N.

She fought every instinct telling her to step backward. Instead, she held her ground and that seemed to amuse him. When he finally stopped in front of her, he towered over her, his presence impossibly heavy. Up close, he looked less like the monster from religious paintings and more like something infinitely older. Beautiful in a way that made your instincts scream to run. He studied her in silence. Not just her face. Her posture. Her heartbeat. Her soul. And a slow smile tugged at one corner of his mouth. “Four hundred years…” he murmured, almost to himself, voice rolling through the chamber like distant thunder. “My son has never slipped.”

Yunho’s jaw tightened. “Father…” Lucifer ignored him and raised a hand between them. Before Y/N could react, cool fingers settled beneath her chin, tilting her face upward. It wasn’t painful. If anything, the gesture was strangely gentle. Which somehow made it far more unnerving. His eyes searched hers with unsettling intensity. “I see why, though.” Silence stretched between them for a moment. “You don’t cower.” His thumb shifted slightly against her jaw as he continued observing her expression. “You’ve every reason to fear me.” A faint smile touched Y/N’s lips despite the hammering of her heart. “I’m beginning to think fear isn’t very useful down here.”

For a moment… nothing happened. Then, unexpectedly, Lucifer laughed. It was rich and genuine, the sound rolling through the throne room with enough force that several demons visibly winced. “My son certainly chooses interesting company to spend eternity with.” He released her chin and turned his head slightly toward Yunho. “I expected frightened mortal.” His gaze flicked back to Y/N. “Instead…” He smiled knowingly. “You answer the Devil with wit.” Yunho finally exhaled as his father’s eyes settled on him. “For four centuries, you have carried out every command without hesitation. And now…” The faintest hint of amusement returned. “you arrive late because you were busy explaining yourself to a human.” Around the room, a few demons exchanged wary glances as Lucifer’s smile widened. “It seems Hell has finally found something capable of stealing my son’s attention and keeping him home.” The throne room went impossibly still once again. Not one of the armored guards shifted their weight. Not one servant whispered. Even the enormous crimson braziers lining the chamber seemed to burn in respectful silence as Lucifer continued studying the pair. His gaze lingered on the matching brands as his voice carried effortlessly through the cavernous hall. “Seonghwa.”

There was no need to raise it. The command itself seemed to ripple through the palace. A pair of towering obsidian doors groaned open somewhere behind them, and measured footsteps echoed across the polished floor. Seonghwa entered with his usual composed elegance, though the moment his eyes landed on Yunho’s wrist… then Y/N’s… the smallest crack appeared in his otherwise flawless composure. “Your Majesty.” He bowed as Lucifer folded one hand over the carved arm of his throne, looking almost… pleased. “The binding ceremony will be held later.” Yunho’s head snapped up as Lucifer continued as though discussing the evening’s dinner plans. “It’s already being put together.” A muscle jumped in Yunho’s jaw. “Already?”

Lucifer looked at him with mild amusement. “My son.” He spread one hand toward the immense palace surrounding them. “This kingdom has existed….. well…. forever.” Another faint smile crossed his face. “You think this is our first Covenant?” Yunho exhaled sharply through his nose, somewhere between annoyance and reluctant acceptance. “I was hoping bureaucracy had slowed you down.”

“It rarely does.”

Y/N’s head turned back and forth between them like she was watching a tennis match where everyone except her understood the rules. “Hold on.” Nobody stopped talking. “No.” Still nothing so she took one step forward. “No, seriously.” Three pairs of ancient eyes turned toward her. “What do you mean…” She pointed between Yunho and Lucifer. “it’s already being put together?” Lucifer regarded her with surprising patience. “The ceremony.”

“What ceremony?”

“The binding ceremony.”

Her brow furrowed as she looked toward Yunho then Seonghwa. Then back to Lucifer. “Binding ceremony?” She had no idea of course what that was and Lucifer smiled. A sinister yet, almost fatherly kind of smile. “My dear…” He rested his chin lightly against one hand. “your wedding, of course.” Y/N blinked once. Then again. “My… What?”

“Your wedding.”

She stared at him as Lucifer continued calmly, “The Covenant has already acknowledged the union. The ceremony merely formalizes it before Hell.” Y/N slowly turned toward Yunho. “You…” He already looked exhausted. “knew about this to?”

“I knew there would probably be a ceremony.”

“Probably?”

“I was… hoping there wouldn’t be.”

She pointed an accusatory finger at him. “You left out a wedding!”

“I left out several things.”

“Several?”

Seonghwa, wisely, kept his eyes fixed somewhere above both of their heads. Lucifer, meanwhile, appeared thoroughly entertained as Y/N looked back toward the throne. “I am not marrying him.” Lucifer raised an eyebrow. “You already have.”

“No, I haven’t.”

“The Covenant disagrees.”

“I don’t care what the Covenant thinks!”

A few of the guards subtly looked away. Not because she’d spoken out of turn. But because nobody had spoken to Lucifer’s like that in quite some time, the devil himself only looking amused as he turned to Seonghwa. “See that everything is prepared.” Seonghwa inclined his head. “At once, Your Majesty.” He turned to leave before pausing, waiting with the quiet patience of someone who had served the royal family long enough to know Lucifer rarely gave only one instruction and of course, the devil’s eyes shifted past his son, settling instead on the bewildered young woman standing beside him. “Take Y/N to the west wing,” he said, his tone calm, almost conversational. “There are attendants already waiting. She’ll require appropriate attire before the ceremony.”

Y/N looked toward Yunho but he wasn’t looking at her. He was looking at Seonghwa. “You’re taking her alone?” Seonghwa met his gaze evenly. “Unless His Majesty has changed his mind.” Lucifer hadn’t and Yunho’s jaw tightened almost imperceptibly. “She doesn’t know this place.”

“No,” Lucifer replied mildly. “She doesn’t.”

“She doesn’t know anyone.”

“No.”

“She shouldn’t be wandering Hell by herself.”

A slow smile tugged at Lucifer’s mouth. “There it is.” Yunho frowned. “There what is?”

“The concern.”

“There are thousands of demons outside these walls.”

“There are.”

“She has no idea how this world works.”

“She doesn’t.”

“So forgive me for not wanting her walking through it without me.”

Lucifer’s smile widened ever so slightly, enough that Seonghwa wisely lowered his eyes to hide the faint amusement threatening to show. “My son,” Lucifer said, leaning back against the throne with effortless composure, “Pandemonium is the safest place in the kingdom. You know that.”

“For demons.”

“For my future daughter in law as well.”

Yunho didn’t look convinced. “She’ll be fine,” Seonghwa added quietly. “No one within these walls would dare lay a hand on her.” It wasn’t reassurance. It was fact. Yunho held Seonghwa’s gaze for another moment before finally exhaling. “Fine.” Y/N looked between the three of them. “So… I’m just supposed to go with him?” Lucifer answered before Yunho could. “Yes.” She hesitated, then glanced once more toward Yunho. Despite everything she’d learned in the last hour, despite the impossible palace surrounding her, she found herself oddly reassured by the simple nod he gave her. “Go,” he said. “I’ll find you later.”

She studied him for another second before reluctantly stepping toward Seonghwa. “Well…” she muttered under her breath, trying to inject a little humor into a day that had steadily abandoned all reason. “Lead the way, I guess.” Seonghwa inclined his head with the faintest hint of a smile. “This way.” The enormous doors opened once more and within moments, the echo of their footsteps faded into the endless corridors beyond, leaving father and son alone beneath the vaulted ceiling of the throne room. The silence lingered as Lucifer watched the doors close. And only then did he speak. “You’ve bread her.” A long sigh escaped Yunho. “Dad….” Lucifer’s gaze drifted toward him unreadably calm. “I can smell you inside her.”

Yunho closed his eyes for the briefest moment. There were certain disadvantages to demonic senses. This was one of them. Lucifer continued, neither judgmental nor mocking, merely stating what was obvious to him. “That happened before today?”

“Yes.”

“Before the Covenant.”

“Yes.”

Another thoughtful pause settled between them before Lucifer asked, with the same measured curiosity one might use discussing military strategy, “Is that why you saved her?” Yunho looked up sharply. “What?”

“You’ve known countless humans over four centuries.”

“I know.”

“You’ve obeyed the Covenant without exception.”

“I know.”

“And yet…” Lucifer folded his hands behind his back. “Two days after meeting one woman, you chose to break the oldest law in our kingdom.” His eyes remained fixed on his son. “Why?” Yunho’s expression hardened. “I don’t know.”

“No?”

“No.”

Lucifer regarded him for a long moment. Then, with the faintest trace of dry humor touching his voice, he said, “She must have been very good.” Yunho shot him a look that would have silenced almost anyone else in Hell but Lucifer, unsurprisingly, remained unfazed. “I’ve never seen you hesitate over Fate before,” he continued. “So either something extraordinary happened…” He let the thought hang for a beat. “or you got dumb over pussy.” Yunho’s gaze drifted toward the closed doors through which Y/N had disappeared, his father’s degraded words hitting him like a slap to the face. When he finally answered, his voice had lost its irritation. “I didn’t think.”

“No.”

“I heard her scream…” His jaw tightened. “and by the time I realized what I was doing… The Covenant had already witnessed.” Lucifer studied his son in silence. After centuries of watching him carry duty above all else, the answer wasn’t as surprising as it should have been. For the first time in four hundred years Yunho hadn’t acted like the Crown Prince of Hell. He’d acted like a man. Lucifer turned away and once again descended the steps from the throne without hurry, the polished obsidian floor reflecting the crimson firelight beneath his boots. His hands folded neatly behind his back as he wandered toward the towering windows overlooking Hell City, where black trains glided silently between skyscrapers and rivers of molten light carved through the kingdom below. When he finally spoke again, his tone was almost conversational. “So.”

Yunho frowned. “So?”

Lucifer kept his eyes on the city. “Will you kill her now…” The words hit like a blade. “or after the wedding?” Yunho froze with genuine alarm crossing his face as Lucifer slowly looked back over one shoulder. “You know exactly what I’m asking.” Of course he did. The hidden clause. The part of the Covenant every demon learned before they were ever permitted to walk among humans. The Brand bound the soul. But immortality… it only awakened through death. Y/N would continue aging. Every year pulling her farther away from the woman she’d been the moment he’d chosen her over fate. Unless… “No.” The answer came flat and certain.

Lucifer studied his son. “No?”

“I’m not killing her.”

His father regarded him for a long moment before continuing his slow walk through the chamber. “She will be yours for eternity.”

“I know.”

“The Covenant has guaranteed that.”

“I know.”

“Preferably…” Lucifer said, his voice carrying the detached practicality of someone discussing state affairs rather than a human life, “you do it before she grows too old.” Yunho’s jaw clenched so tightly it ached. “She’s twenty four.”

“Exactly.”

“She’s alive.”

“For now.”

Yunho took a step forward. “I’m not discussing this.” Lucifer stopped walking and turned fully to face his son. “You misunderstand me.”

“Do I?”

“I’m not instructing you.”

“No?”

“I’m reminding you.” His eyes settled calmly on Yunho. “The longer you wait… the older she’ll become. And when her mortal life finally ends…” His gaze sharpened just enough to be noticed. “that is the face she’ll wear forever.” The truth of it settled heavily between them. If Y/N died at twenty four… She would awaken in Hell forever twenty four. If she died at eighty six….” she would awaken forever eighty six. The Covenant did not restore youth. Yunho looked away. He hated that part of the law. Always had. Lucifer watched him in silence before the faintest trace of something darker crept into his expression. Not anger. Not amusement. Simply the reminder that, despite everything else… he was still the Devil. “Or…” His voice remained deceptively gentle. “did you not tell her that either?”

The words landed with quiet precision and Yunho’s silence answered for him making Lucifer’s eyebrows lift. “I thought not.”

“I’ve had other things to explain.”

“Understandably.”

“She watched someone die less than a couple hours ago.”

“I am aware.”

“She just learned Hell exists.”

“I am aware.”

“And you wanted me to add…” Yunho laughed once, bitterly. “‘By the way, one day you’ll have to die if you’re ever going to become immortal?’” Lucifer didn’t flinch. “It would have been honest.”

“It would’ve been cruel.”

For the first time in the conversation, Lucifer’s expression hardened. “Cruel?” He repeated the word as though tasting it. “My son…” His gaze drifted toward the enormous doors through which Y/N had disappeared. “She became part of our world the moment you chose her. The truth does not become less true because it is uncomfortable.”

Yunho met his father’s eyes. “No. But she deserves one day,” he said quietly, “where she isn’t terrified.” Lucifer regarded him for several seconds. Then, almost surprisingly, the hardness left his features and he gave the smallest nod. “Very well. I won’t tell her.” The relief was subtle, but it crossed Yunho’s face nonetheless and Lucifer noticed. Of course he did. “I said I won’t.” The corner of his mouth curved into the faintest, devilish smile. “Eventually, however…” His eyes flicked briefly to the feather branded on Yunho’s wrist. “you will.” Because no matter how much Yunho wanted to protect her from that truth… It wasn’t a secret he could keep forever.

One day, Y/N would have to choose how to face the future the Covenant had written for her. And when that day came, the Prince of Hell knew she’d never forgive him if the revelation came from anyone but him.

═════════ ═════════ ═════════

The corridors beyond the throne room felt less like the palace of monsters and more like the capital of an empire as Y/N followed half a step behind Seonghwa, too overwhelmed to ask any more questions. Her mind had simply… stopped trying. Every answer she’d received today had only opened the door to something even more impossible, and now her thoughts drifted somewhere between numbness and disbelief.

Hell was alive. Not in the way she’d imagined. There were no endless screams echoing through fire. No demons dragging chains behind them. Instead, polished obsidian hallways stretched endlessly beneath vaulted ceilings where chandeliers forged from black crystal cast warm crimson light across marble floors. Demons hurried past carrying stacks of parchment, garment bags, trays of flowers darker than midnight, bolts of shimmering fabric, and armfuls of gold decorations. Somewhere farther down the corridor, musicians tuned unfamiliar string instruments while servants argued over seating arrangements with the kind of urgency usually reserved for royal events. Because… she supposed… this was a royal event.

“The Prince is finally marrying.”

“I heard she arrived from up top.”

“They say she’s human.”

“Impossible.”

“No, the Covenant witnessed.”

Their whispers followed her through the palace. Some stared openly. Others bowed as she passed. A few smiled politely. One elderly demoness actually dabbed tears from the corners of her eyes before being gently ushered along by another servant. Y/N slowed. “They’re…” She searched for the right word. “happy?” Seonghwa glanced toward her without breaking stride. “The Prince has remained unmarried for four centuries.”

“And that’s… exciting?”

“For many.” He rounded another corner. “Your arrival has become the only thing anyone is discussing.”

“I’d rather they didn’t.”

“I’m afraid that ship has sailed.”

She let out a weak laugh. “I don’t even know what that means anymore.”

“It means,” Seonghwa replied with the faintest hint of humor, “you’re about three hours too late to avoid becoming front page news.” Y/N groaned. “I hate this place.”

“No, you don’t.”

She blinked. “What?”

“You hate the situation.” He finally stopped before a pair of enormous double doors carved with intricate infernal runes. “The place… you’ll eventually learn.” The doors swung inward and the room beyond stole what little breath she had left. It was enormous. One entire wall consisted of towering mirrors framed in black gold. Another was lined floor to ceiling with wardrobes overflowing with gowns in every imaginable shade of crimson, black, silver and deep emerald. Dozens of attendants moved through the room with practiced efficiency, laying out jewelry, adjusting candles, arranging flowers that shimmered like polished rubies beneath the infernal light.

The moment Y/N entered everything topped. Every eye turned toward her. Then, almost simultaneously, every attendant bowed. “Your Highness.” Y/N looked over both shoulders. “Who?” One of the women smiled warmly. “You.” Y/N pointed to herself. “I work at a nightclub.”

“You are betrothed to the Crown Prince.”

“I was a bartender… like… four hours ago.”

“Things change quickly.”

“No kidding.” Before she could protest further, several attendants disappeared into an adjoining room and when they returned… they carried a garment bag unlike anything she’d ever seen, carefully unzipping it and pulling out the dress inch by inch. Deep wine red satin caught the firelight like liquid garnets, cascading in elegant folds that seemed to ripple with every movement. Delicate gold chains draped across the bodice and traced the open sides, each one threaded with tiny crimson gemstones that sparkled as though they held embers inside them. The skirt swept into a dramatic train, its high slit revealing layers of sheer fabric embroidered with intricate metallic vines. The back was almost entirely open, connected only by graceful strands of jeweled chains that glimmered like constellations against the rich crimson silk. It wasn’t simply beautiful. It looked…. royal. Like something designed for a queen standing beside a throne.

Y/N’s heartbeat slowed as one attendant carefully lifted the dress higher for her to see and another approached carrying matching gold heels adorned with crimson stones as someone else laid out a necklace worthy of a museum. Nobody spoke. Nobody rushed her. They simply waited as Y/N stared. Her reflection in the towering mirror looked impossibly small standing before something so magnificent. Her throat tightened. Just that morning…. she’d oken up late in a tiny apartment. Gone to lunch with Tiffany. Complained about overpriced fries. Wondered if she’d ever see the gorgeous silver haired stranger from Saturday night again.

Now… she stood in the middle of Hell. Surrounded by demons. About to put on a wedding dress. To marry the Devil’s son. The thought finally broke through every wall she’d been unconsciously holding together and her knees weakened. She reached blindly for the back of a nearby chair before sinking into it, one hand covering her mouth as the other found the horn branded onto her wrist and her eyes burned. In a voice barely louder than a whisper, she looked at no one in particular and asked, “How did my life become this in two days?”

═════════ ═════════ ═════════

Yunho’s chambers occupied the highest tower of Pandemonium. The room itself was less a bedroom and more a private residence built into the palace. Towering arched windows overlooked the endless lights of Hell City, where rivers of molten crimson wound between districts of obsidian towers and impossible architecture. A grand fireplace burned with black flames that gave off warmth but no smoke. Shelves filled with centuries of books lined one wall, while another displayed relics collected for over four hundred years walking both Hell and Earth. Normally, the room grounded him. Tonight… it felt like a prison.

The jacket lay perfectly across his shoulders. Deep crimson embroidery climbed over black fabric like vines growing through midnight, every thread catching the firelight as though woven from embers themselves. Beneath it, the tailored black shirt and narrow tie were immaculate, every button fastened by attendants who had dressed him with the same precision reserved for coronations. It was exactly what the Crown Prince of Hell should wear to his wedding. And he hated it.

Yunho stood beside the windows with a crystal tumbler in one hand, amber liquor swirling lazily inside as he stared out over the city without truly seeing it. The glass was nearly empty but he hadn’t tasted a drop as a knock sounded against the chamber doors. “Leave it.” The servant on the other side hesitated before quietly answering, “Your Highness… the musicians have begun rehearsing.”

“I heard you.”

“Very good, Your Highness.” Footsteps retreated and the silence returned as Yunho drained the whiskey anyway. The burn was familiar. Comfortingly so. With a flick of his wrist, the empty glass floated across the room and landed gently on a nearby table before another bottle uncorked itself, dark liquid pouring neatly into a fresh tumbler without anyone touching it and he laughed once under his breath. “I’ve officially become my father.” The joke fell flat as his eyes wandered to the inside of his wrist. The feather rested there in stark black ink. Permanent and unchanging. Bound. His thumb brushed over it absentmindedly as his mind betrayed him.

It wandered back to Saturday night. Rain against old apartment windows. The smell of cheap laundry detergent. Her laugh. Her moans. Then… the words he’d spoken without thinking. “I’m gonna have to have you again… and again… and again…” He shut his eyes. “You’ve got to be kidding me.” At the time it had been reckless. Nothing more. One night. One human. He’d fully expected to disappear before sunrise and never think about her again. Instead… those words had become prophecy. Not because he’d wished for it. But because Fate had laughed.

Again.

And again.

And again.

Not for another night. Not for another month. But for eternity. The realization settled heavier than it had in the throne room. Eternity. He’d thrown the word around carelessly for four hundred years because it had always belonged to him. Now… his eternity elonged to someone else too. Someone who’d woken up this morning worried about paying rent probably. Someone whose biggest concern had been whether Tiffany would ever stop teasing her. Someone who’d watched her friend die. And in the space of a single afternoon… she’d earned Hell existed. She’d been told she was marrying the Devil’s son.

And, though she didn’t know it yet…one day, if the Covenant was to be fulfilled completely, she would die. Yunho’s jaw tightened. His father had spoken about it with the detached practicality of a king discussing succession. “No.” He wasn’t thinking about the Covenant. Or tradition. Or immortality. He was thinking about the woman currently somewhere else in the palace, probably wondering if she’d finally lost her mind. She’d looked terrified. Confused. Completely out of her depth. And somehow… he’d been the only familiar face in Hell. The thought made his chest feel strangely tight as he poured another drink.

He looked at his reflection in the window. Silver hair. The crimson and black ceremonial coat. His glamour shimmered for only a heartbeat before slipping completely away. Glossy black horns curved from either side of his head, framing a face that suddenly looked much older than four hundred years. He barely recognized the man staring back as somewhere beyond his chamber doors, bells began to ring throughout Pandemonium. One by one. Across the city below, lights bloomed in every district. The news had spread and The Crown Prince’s wedding was about to begin.

═════════ ═════════ ═════════

Y/N stood alone before the towering mirror, barely recognizing the woman staring back. The gown clung to her like liquid wine. She looked… beautiful. Like she belonged in a palace. Which somehow made everything worse. Because she didn’t belong here. Her fingers drifted unconsciously to the horn branded inside her wrist again. Still there. Still real. Still impossible. “I’m really in Hell…” The words escaped as little more than a whisper to her own reflection. “I’m really…” She swallowed. “getting married.” The sentence felt absurd spoken aloud as a soft knock sounded against the open doorway.

Y/N didn’t move. She couldn’t as behind her, Seonghwa regarded the finished scene for a long moment before giving a small nod of approval. “The attendants have done well.” She caught his reflection in the mirror. “I look like someone else.”

“You look,” he answered quietly, “exactly as the future Princess of Hell should.” She laughed but it lacked any real humor and Seonghwa offered the smallest, almost apologetic smile. “It is time.” Her chest tightened. Time. The word somehow made everything feel suddenly real. She slowly turned away from the mirror. “Already?”

“I’m afraid so.” Before either of them could say another word the chamber doors opened once more and every attendant immediately lowered their heads. The room became still as Lucifer entered without ceremony. He wore black. Simple compared to the grandeur surrounding him, yet somehow more commanding because of it. His molten horns framed a face that carried centuries of authority with effortless ease, while amber eyes settled first upon Seonghwa… then upon Y/N. For several long moments he simply looked at her. “My son,” he murmured almost to himself, “has always had excellent taste.”

Y/N wasn’t entirely sure how to respond to that. “Thank you?” Lucifer chuckled softly. “It suits you.” She glanced down at the dress. “It feels…”

“Heavy?”

She looked back up. “Yeah.”

“It often does.” He crossed the room with measured steps before stopping beside her. And when he spoke again, his voice had lost the teasing edge it usually carried. “The ceremony is ready.” No one moved as Lucifer extended one arm toward her. “If you would allow me…” His smile returned, gentler this time. “I would be honored to walk my daughter in law down the aisle.” Y/N stared at the offered arm. The Devil. Offering to escort her to her own wedding. Nothing about today would ever stop sounding insane. Seonghwa stepped forward then, carrying something she hadn’t noticed resting on the nearby dressing table. A bouquet of black roses. Their petals were so dark they seemed to drink in the crimson light surrounding them. Tiny crimson blossoms had been woven between the larger flowers, while vines of black ivy curled gracefully around silver stems wrapped in satin ribbon the same deep wine color as her dress.

Seonghwa carefully placed the bouquet into her hands. “They bloom only in Hell.” Y/N looked down at them. They were strangely beautiful. Beautiful in the same unsettling way everything else in this kingdom seemed to be. She took one slow breath. Then another. This couldn’t possibly be happening. And yet… the bouquet felt real in her hands. The dress was real against her skin. The brand rested beneath her wrist. The Devil still patiently held out his arm. Finally… moving lmost entirely on instinct… Y/N slipped her arm through Lucifer’s and his posture adjusted to match her pace, steady and composed, offering the quiet support of someone who had escorted royalty into ceremonies countless times before.

The enormous chamber doors swung open and beyond them, somewhere deep within Pandemonium… the music began.

═════════ ═════════ ═════════

The Great Hall of Pandemonium had been transformed. Where there had once been an austere chamber reserved for royal decrees and state affairs now stood thousands upon thousands of flickering black candles, their flames burning crimson instead of gold. Massive pillars of obsidian disappeared into the darkness overhead, each wrapped in vines that bloomed with roses the color of dried blood. Long banners bearing the royal crest hung between them, while balconies carved into the surrounding walls overflowed with the citizens of Hell. Demons of every rank had gathered. Nobles draped in impossibly tailored black. Ancient generals wearing armor scarred by wars humanity had never recorded. Merchants. Scholars. Servants. Even damned celebrities. Creatures whose names had been forgotten by Earth centuries ago. The entire kingdom had come to witness what many believed they never would. The Crown Prince was marrying.

At the end of the endless aisle stood Yunho. The ceremonial coat fit him like it had been made from shadow itself. Black fabric flowed nearly to the floor, its deep crimson embroidery winding across the shoulders and sleeves like living fire trapped beneath silk. His silver hair had been brushed back just enough to reveal more of his face, though several loose strands still fell naturally across his forehead. His horns caught the crimson candlelight as though carved from polished volcanic glass. Normally… he stood before armies without the slightest tremor. Today… his hands were folded behind his back for one reason. To hide the fact that they wouldn’t stay completely still.

“You look nervous.” The voice came from directly across from him and Yunho lifted his eyes. Standing before the altar was the same Reaper who had stood outside the restaurant in Los Angeles only hours earlier. Her robes remained as dark as the space between stars, untouched by the light surrounding her. The obsidian handle of her scythe rested quietly beside her, its blade reflecting crimson fire as though forged from moonlight itself. Unlike priests… Unlike judges… Every binding born from a stolen fate was witnessed by Death. Every Covenant was sealed by a Reaper. She regarded Yunho with the same unreadable calm she’d worn since the earthquake.

“I’ve faced dragons,” Yunho muttered under his breath.

“I know.”

“I’ve negotiated peace treaties.”

“I know.”

“I once convinced an entire coven of witches not to curse Father’s palace.”

“I remember.”

He exhaled slowly. “I’ve never been married.”

“No. And it shows.”

Yunho shot her a look. “I like you less now.”

“I know.”

Before either could continue, the great doors at the opposite end of the hall groaned open and every conversation ceased as hundreds of heads turned at once. The musicians, hidden somewhere high among the balconies, drew their bows across unfamiliar strings. A low, haunting melody filled the hall as Yunho looked up and the world… simply stopped. Lucifer entered first. Tall. Commanding. Every inch the King of Hell. One arm rested naturally beneath Y/N’s as he guided her into the hall with slow, measured steps.

But Yunho barely registered his father. Because beside him… the deep wine red gown shimmered beneath the candlelight like liquid garnets flowing with every graceful step. Gold chains traced elegant paths over her shoulders and waist, catching the crimson glow until she seemed almost surrounded by tiny stars. The train drifted behind her across the polished black floor, while the bouquet of black roses rested gently in her hands. Her hair had been swept into an elegant style that exposed the curve of her neck, loose strands framing a face that still carried traces of uncertainty despite everything. She looked… Impossible. Not because of the dress. Not because of the palace. Because she was still… her. The same woman who had rolled her eyes at him across a crowded nightclub. The same woman who’d laughed when he’d teased her. The same woman who’d told him to “go to hell” without realizing who she’d been talking to.

He forgot about the crowd. Forgot about the ceremony. Forgot about Hell itself. There was only her as Y/N looked up and their eyes met. And for the briefest moment, the overwhelming hall seemed to disappear around them. She looked terrified. Completely overwhelmed. But the instant she found Yunho standing at the end of the aisle… something in her expression softened. Not much but just enough that he noticed. Enough that, despite everything unraveling around them, she seemed just a little less alone. Lucifer noticed it too and without taking his eyes off the aisle ahead, the Devil smiled to himself. Then, in a voice so quiet only Y/N could hear, he murmured, “There he is. My son…. the moment you appeared…” A faint chuckle escaped him. “he forgot there was anyone else in the room.”

Y/N’s eyes drifted back to Yunho. He hadn’t looked away once. Not for a single step of the walk as the music faded into silence and only the echo of footsteps remained. Lucifer guided Y/N the final few feet until they stood before the ancient altar, a single slab of polished obsidian veined with crimson that pulsed faintly from within as though the stone itself possessed a heartbeat. The candles surrounding it burned without wavering, despite the unseen currents that swept through the enormous hall. For the first time since entering the chamber, Y/N allowed herself to look fully at Yunho. Really look.

He had changed. Not physically other than his horns permanently on display now. She already knew the silver haired man she’d met on Earth wasn’t entirely who he’d appeared to be. It was the way he carried himself. Gone was the relaxed confidence she’d seen in the nightclub, the teasing smile that had lingered after every sarcastic remark she’d thrown his way when he first started flirting with her. Standing before her now was the Crown Prince of Hell. Straight backed. Composed. His black horns framed his face like an ancient crown, while the crimson embroidery across his ceremonial coat caught the infernal light every time he breathed. And yet… the moment their eyes met again… that prince disappeared. There was only Yunho again. Only the man who had laughed with her over overpriced drinks. Only the man who had followed her home through the rain and lost himself with her for a fleeting moment. Only the man who had chosen her over Fate itself.

Lucifer noticed and the faintest smile touched his lips before he turned toward his son and he reached for Y/N’s hand. Her fingers trembled as Lucifer placed her hand into Yunho’s and the instant their skin touched, warmth spread through both of their palms. Yunho’s fingers closed around hers as his father looked from one to the other before speaking quietly. “Protect one another.” It wasn’t a command. It sounded almost… like a father’s blessing. Then he stepped aside as the reaper moved forward and every demon in the hall bowed their heads. Even Lucifer.

The reaper rested both hands atop the obsidian staff she carried, her dark robes pooling around her feet like living shadow. Her voice, when she spoke, filled every corner of the hall without ever rising above a calm, measured cadence. “Hear now the First Covenant.” The air itself seemed to still. “When Fate harvests a mortal soul…” Her ancient eyes settled upon Yunho. “the harvest shall remain untouched.” She looked to Y/N. “The thread shall end where it was woven.” She looked at both of them now. “But should a demon preserve that which Fate has claimed…” A low vibration spread through the altar beneath their feet. “the preserver shall forever bear the burden of the preserved.”

The candles brightened. The obsidian beneath them glowed crimson. “Their souls shall no longer walk separate paths.” The inside of Y/N’s wrist began to burn and she gasped softly as Yunho felt the same heat bloom beneath his own skin. The brand awakened. The black horn upon her wrist shimmered first. Then the feather upon his. Golden light erupted around both symbols as the infernal runes returned, spiraling slowly around each mark exactly as they had after the earthquake. This time… everyone in the hall watched as the reaper continued in a language older than kingdoms. The words rolled through the chamber like living thunder, each syllable resonating somewhere beyond hearing. Y/N couldn’t understand a single sound but Yunho understood every one. Every promise. Every oath. Every sentence binding two souls beyond death itself.

The runes circled faster. Brighter. Until the symbols on both wrists seemed carved from molten gold. The reaper lifted one hand and Lucifer stepped forward once more. In his palm rested a ceremonial blade. Its edge was impossibly thin, forged from black metal streaked with crimson veins that glowed softly beneath the hall’s firelight. He looked first to Yunho. “My son.” Without hesitation, Yunho extended his hand and Lucifer drew the blade carefully across his palm. The cut was clean. Dark crimson blood welled immediately as Lucifer turned toward Y/N. She looked at the blade. Then at Yunho. Then, after only the briefest hesitation… she offered her own hand.

The blade kissed her skin with a sharp sting letting a line of bright red appear across her palm as Lucifer stepped back. “The Covenant recognizes blood willingly shared.” Yunho looked down at her hand as she turned her wounded palm upward and Yunho mirrored the gesture. Their hands met and the instant their blood touched the altar roared. Crimson light exploded upward around them in a great spiral, bathing the entire hall in infernal fire. The glowing runes surrounding their wrists detached from their skin, circling them together like living constellations before dissolving into streams of golden embers. Y/N felt something impossible. Not pain. Not magic exactly. But recognition. As though somewhere deep inside her soul… a door had quietly unlocked.

The light slowly settled and their blood mingled across joined palms before, impossibly, both cuts began to seal themselves shut. Not completely. Just enough to leave behind faint silver scars crossing the centers of their hands. Twin reminders as the reaper’s voice rang out one final time. “The Covenant has accepted.” She looked to Yunho. “Seal the vow.” He hesitated, his eyes searching Y/N’s face, silently asking the question neither of them had expected to answer today. She gave the smallest nod. Barely noticeable. But it was enough. He lifted one hand to her cheek. His touch was gentle. Almost hesitant. Like he hadn’t ruined her for anyone else only a couple of nights ago.

When their foreheads nearly touched, he whispered so quietly only she could hear, “I’m sorry this happened like this.” Before she could answer he closed the remaining distance. The kiss was soft. Not the desperate hunger of two strangers caught in a storm. Not passion. Not obligation. Something quieter. A promise neither of them fully understood yet. Around them, the crimson flames burned higher as the last of the ancient runes dissolved into the air like falling stars. And throughout the Great Hall of Pandemonium, every demon present witnessed the moment the Covenant was completed.

The Prince of Hell… was no longer standing alone.

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The celebration continued long after the ceremony ended. Music filled the Great Hall once more, softer now, accompanied by the low hum of thousands of conversations. Crystal glasses clinked together beneath the glow of infernal chandeliers while servants moved effortlessly through the crowd carrying silver trays overflowing with food and dark wine. Somewhere in the distance, laughter erupted from one of the noble families as musicians began another song. Yunho wanted absolutely no part of it. He endured exactly as much of the reception as protocol demanded.

An elderly duke bowed deeply before congratulating him on “finally settling down.” A general who’d served under Lucifer for nearly a millennium clasped his forearm with genuine happiness. A handful of ministers offered polite congratulations to both him and Y/N, each one careful to address her as “Your Highness,” a title that still made her glance over her shoulder to see if someone else was standing behind her. Every smile Yunho gave was practiced. Every conversation brief. His eyes kept drifting toward Y/N. She was doing remarkably well considering she’d been a bartender in Los Angeles that morning and was now expected to mingle with Hell’s aristocracy. Still… he could see it. The exhaustion. The information overload. The way she unconsciously clutched the bouquet a little tighter every few minutes. Enough.

He excused himself from another conversation with a quiet apology before making his way back to her. “We’re leaving.” She furrowed her brows, a little hopeful. “Can we?”

“I’m the groom.”

“And?”

“I make an excellent excuse.” Before anyone else could stop them, Yunho gently took her hand and guided her toward one of the grand exits. Behind them, Lucifer watched his son disappear through the towering doors as one of the older demons standing nearby chuckled into his glass. “Well…” He smirked. “Someone seems rather eager to consummate the marriage.” Several nobles laughed quietly as Lucifer merely watched the doors for another moment before the faintest smile tugged at one corner of his mouth. “No.” He took a slow sip of wine. “My son has simply never enjoyed crowds.”

The walk back through the palace felt strangely peaceful. The corridors that had bustled with frantic wedding preparations only hours earlier had emptied considerably. Servants offered respectful bows as they passed before continuing on with their evening, while the distant sounds of the celebration slowly faded behind them. Neither of them spoke much. Neither seemed to know what to say. Eventually, Yunho stopped before a pair of enormous black doors adorned with silver infernal runes and they opened without him touching them. He stepped aside first. “You first.” Y/N hesitated only a second before walking inside and her eyes widened all over again.

“This…” She slowly turned in place. “is your room?” Yunho followed her inside, closing the doors behind them with a quiet click. “Our chambers now.”

“They’re bigger than my apartment.”

“They’re older than Los Angeles.”

She let out a tired little laugh. “I hate that you can say things like that.” He didn’t answer. Instead, he crossed the room toward a crystal decanter resting atop a dark wooden cabinet and poured himself a generous glass of amber liquor. The first sip disappeared almost immediately. With his free hand he shrugged out of the embroidered ceremonial coat, draping it carelessly over the back of a nearby chair. A second later… the tie came off. He loosened it with one impatient tug before pulling it free completely and tossing it beside the jacket. Only then did he seem to exhale as Y/N watched him quietly. “Rough day?” She was joking if only to ease both of them.

He looked over the rim of his glass and snorted at her attempt. “You have no idea.” She smiled faintly. “I think I might.” The smile faded almost as quickly as it had appeared though as her gaze drifted around the enormous room again. The books. The fireplace. The furniture. The windows overlooking Hell City. None of it belonged to her. Nothing belonged to her anymore. The realization settled slowly and painfully. “I don’t have anything.” Yunho looked at her. “My apartment…” She swallowed. “My clothes.” A small laugh escaped her, though it sounded heartbreakingly hollow. “My toothbrush.” She looked down at the dress. “This…” She touched the crimson fabric lightly. “is literally all I have.”

The room fell quiet as Yunho stared at her for several long seconds before setting his drink aside. Without saying a word, he crossed to one of the enormous wardrobes lining the far wall and the doors opened. Inside hung clothes spanning centuries of fashion. He reached in without hesitation and pulled out a dark charcoal henley made from impossibly soft fabric. Long sleeves. Comfortable. Large enough to reach halfway down her thighs. He walked back over and held it out to her. “You can sleep in this.” She accepted it carefully. “What about tomorrow?”

He met her eyes. “I’ll have everything you need when you wake up.” There wasn’t the slightest hesitation in his voice. It wasn’t reassurance. It was a promise. Y/N looked down at the shirt in her hands. “Thank you.” Another silence settled between them before he looked back up. “Can you…” She glanced awkwardly over one shoulder toward the intricate fastenings of the gown. “I can’t reach all of these.” A tiny, embarrassed smile appeared which made no sense. They have both seen each other more than naked. “Would you help me?”

Yunho nodded. “Of course.” She turned around and carefully gathered her hair up, exposing the elegant web of gold clasps and jeweled chains securing the back of the dress. For a moment… he simply looked. Not because he’d never seen her before. Two nights ago there had been nothing between them except urgency and attraction. Tonight felt entirely different. Much quieter. Much more careful as his fingers moved to the first clasp. “These are unnecessarily complicated.” A small laugh escaped her. “They weren’t designed to come off quickly.”

“So I’ve noticed.” One by one, he worked through the intricate fastenings with surprising patience until the final clasp slipped free and the tension holding the gown together released. Y/N caught the fabric against her front before it could fall. “Got it?”

“Yeah.”

She reached for the henley and, after gathering the dress securely, slipped the oversized shirt over her head. The soft fabric settled around her shoulders, falling comfortably to mid thigh. Only once she was fully covered did she let the gown slide carefully into her hands. The elaborate royal dress pooled like liquid crimson silk against her arms.

The oversized henley hung loosely from her frame, the sleeves swallowing her hands until she pushed them back to her wrists. Against the grandeur of Yunho’s chambers, the simple charcoal shirt looked almost comically out of place. But so did she. The wedding gown lay folded across the end of the bed now, its crimson satin catching the glow from the black fire burning in the hearth. It looked less like clothing now and more like evidence that the last several hours had actually happened.

Y/N wandered farther into the room, her bare feet disappearing into a thick obsidian colored rug before stopping beside the enormous bed again dominating the center of the chambers. “This,” she finally said, “is the biggest bed I’ve ever seen.” Yunho glanced over from where he stood beside the cabinet, another sip disappearing from the crystal tumbler in his hand. “It is.” She reached out, pinching the edge of one of the sheets between two fingers. Silk. Of course. A quiet snort escaped her. “Silk sheets.”

“They’re comfortable.”

“They’re incredibly pretentious.”

“They’re incredibly comfortable.”

She looked back at him over one shoulder. “I hate that you’re probably right.” The corner of his mouth lifted. It was the first genuine smile either of them had managed since the ceremony. She let the silk slip through her fingers before sitting carefully on the edge of the mattress. It barely dipped beneath her weight. For a little while she simply looked around the room again until her gaze eventually found Yunho again. He’d finished loosening the last of the formal stiffness from his clothes and the prince who had stood before an entire kingdom had disappeared, replaced once more by the man she’d met in Los Angeles. She watched him quietly. Then asked, almost too casually, “Do you regret it yet?”

Yunho frowned slightly. “Regret what?” She looked at him like the answer should’ve been obvious. “Saving my life.” The room became still. The crackling fire seemed suddenly louder as Yunho set the glass down on the cabinet with a soft clink before walking toward her slowly and unhurriedly.He stopped only when he stood directly in front of her. Even seated, she had to tilt her head back to meet his eyes. He towered over her without ever feeling imposing. And for a long moment he simply looked at her. At the exhaustion beneath her eyes. The grief she’d been trying not to show. The woman who’d lost everything in a single afternoon. And when he finally spoke, his voice was quiet.

“I’ve been around for a long time.”

She didn’t interrupt.

“I regret a lot of things.” His eyes drifted briefly toward the feather branded inside his wrist before returning to hers. “There are decisions I’ve made that still keep me awake centuries later. But…” His expression softened. “saving you isn’t one of them.” Y/N searched his face, almost expecting to find hesitation hidden somewhere behind the words. Maybe a lie. But there wasn’t any.

“You say that now.”

“I’d say it a thousand years from now.”

“You’ve known me for…” She gave a tired little laugh. “What? Two days?”

“Three, technically.”

“That doesn’t make it better.”

“No.”

“It makes you sound crazier.”

“Probably.”

She looked down at her hands resting in her lap. “My life is gone.” The words came out so quietly he almost didn’t hear them. “My apartment’s probably full of reporters by now.” She swallowed back the tears that wanted to leave her. “My job… Tiffany is dead.” The silence stretched between them. “I don’t even know if anyone thinks I’m alive.”

Yunho lowered himself until he was kneeling in front of her, bringing himself to her eye level. “No.” She looked at him. “They know you’re alive.”

“How?”

“Because you disappeared.”

Her brow furrowed. “The entire city watched a building collapse.”

His voice remained steady. “No one found your body. They’ll assume you escaped.”

“And when I never go home?”

Yunho didn’t answer right away, instead, he reached out, carefully taking one of her hands between both of his, thumb brushing lightly over the horn branded into her wrist. “We’ll figure that out.”

“We?”

“We.”

Because now, they would never be alone. Now, they were bound. By blood. By soul. Forever the other’s for all eternity.

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