Witchleo21🧿

Fanfiction:

호랑이도 제 말하면 온다 - Speak of the Devil!

Mi corazón es tuyo - My heart is yours

Oneshots:

Drunk Mingi 🔞

Mingi loves your melons 🔞

Fix on forever? 🔞

Yeah, I‘m here for the cake 🔞

Baby, I see you working hard 🔞

Teaching a lesson 🔞

The Baby is coming! 🎀

Mi corazón es tuyo - My heart is yours

Summary: You’re famous, breathtakingly beautiful, and adored by everyone. At a party, Mingi approaches you. At first, you assume he’s just like every other guy who’s only interested in your looks and status. But his cocky yet effortlessly charming personality has you laughing far more often than you’d like to admit. Before you know it, you find yourself agreeing to go on a date with him…

a/n: Guys, I’m excited to present the next Paris chapter! It’s going to be hot, hilarious, and just a little awkward. Are you ready?

warnings: Minors do not interact! 🔞

6. chapter/ capítulo/ kapitel/ 제1장

You wake up slowly. Not all at once—but in pieces. Warmth first. Then the weight of strong arms wrapped tightly around your waist. Bare skin pressed flush against yours beneath tangled sheets. The steady rise and fall of someone breathing softly against the back of your neck. Mingi. Even in his sleep, the man somehow clings to you like you might disappear if he lets go for longer than thirty seconds. One of his legs is tangled lazily between yours, his chest warm against your back, and when you shift slightly, still half asleep yourself, his arms tighten instinctively around you. A sleepy little sound leaves him before he buries his face deeper into your neck. Your heart melts immediately. Outside, Paris is grey and rainy and quiet, soft morning light filtering through the enormous windows. Inside the bedroom, everything feels warm. Safe. Slow. You feel Mingi’s lips brush your shoulder. Then your neck. Small, sleepy kisses scattered against sensitive skin while his large hands drift lazily over your waist like he’s touching you without even thinking about it. “Mmm,” you hum quietly, eyes still closed. “Morning,” he murmurs against your skin, voice rough from sleep. You smile automatically. His hair is a complete mess when you finally tilt your head enough to glance back at him—dark strands sticking out in every direction, eyes still heavy with sleep, lips slightly swollen. He’s unfairly pretty first thing in the morning. Your fingers drift automatically into his hair, gently pushing it back. “Did you sleep at all?” you whisper teasingly. Mingi hums thoughtfully. “Maybe.” You laugh softly under your breath. “You were attached to me the entire night.”

“And?” he replies immediately, not even remotely ashamed. “I like sleeping next to you.” The honesty in his voice makes something warm spread quietly through your chest. You turn a little more in his arms until you’re facing him properly now, legs brushing together beneath the blankets. For a moment, you just look at each other. Messy hair. Sleepy eyes. Barely awake. And somehow it feels more intimate than half the things you did last night. “We should get breakfast,” you murmur eventually. Mingi’s expression changes instantly. Not rejection exactly. More suspicion. “Outside?” he asks carefully. You nod once. His eyebrows lift. “Sweetheart,” he says slowly, “do you realize how recognizable we are?” You grin sleepily. “I know a place.”

“That’s what worries me.” You laugh quietly and slide your hand along his jaw. “Trust me.” Mingi studies your face for a second longer like he’s debating whether trusting you is historically a good decision. Then he sighs dramatically. “You’re supposed to be romantic in Paris,” you remind him. “That’s literally the law.” That finally makes him laugh softly. Then, without warning, he pulls you even closer until there’s practically no space left between your bodies at all. “Mingi—” His mouth finds your neck again before you can finish the sentence. Slow kisses on warm skin. Sleep-heavy affection that slowly turns more dangerous the longer it continues. One of his hands slides lower, settling comfortably against your ass beneath the sheets, squeezing gently. Your breath catches immediately. “Mingi,” you laugh weakly, fingers curling against his shoulder. “Weren’t we supposed to go get breakfast?”

“Hm?” he hums innocently against your throat. “You said we should get up.”

“I changed my mind.”

You snort softly. “That fast?” Mingi lifts his head just enough to look at you, dark eyes still sleepy but already full of mischief. “Y/n,” he murmurs, thumb slowly tracing along your hip beneath the blanket, “this is Paris.” His lips brush yours once. Soft. “City of love.” Another kiss. Longer this time. “Remember?” You’re already smiling against his mouth when he kisses you again, slower now, his hand tightening slightly at your waist as he pulls you fully against him. And honestly? With his messy hair, warm skin, sleepy voice, and the way he’s looking at you like you’re the first good thing he’s touched in weeks— You never really stood a chance. Breakfast ends up delayed quite a bit. Because somewhere between lazy kisses, tangled sheets, soft laughter, and Mingi mumbling sweet nonsense against your skin, the two of you disappear back beneath the blankets for a while.

"Do you like that?" you ask in a huskier voice as your nails dig deeper into his skin. Mingi swallows, trying to stifle a moan. "Fuck, baby..." he sighs in his deep voice, his hands sliding up your thighs. When he opens his eyes, your deep green eyes fix on him. He bites his lower lip as you slide back down onto his hard penis. God, Mingi is so turned on by you. You’re usually so shy and sweet, but in bed you’re absolutely feral. Your fingers roam over his chest, along his throat, over his chin, and down to his full lips. You wait for Mingi to let you in, and when he parts his full lips slightly, you carefully slide two fingers into his mouth. He immediately begins to suck on them greedily, licking and gently nibbling at them. You savor the sight with delight, a faint, sinful smile playing on your lips. As you slowly withdraw your fingers, Mingi whimpers softly—he wants to continue—but instead of granting his wish, you place your now wet index and middle fingers against your clitoris and begin to pleasure yourself. The dual stimulation—Mingi’s thick cock stretching you to the limit inside your pussy while your fingers caress your clitoris—makes your hips jerk more restlessly and violently. You ride Mingi relentlessly, feeling a knot of tension slowly tightening deep in your lower belly. "Yeah, Mingi... ah, so good," you murmur, mostly to yourself, as you fuck him with increasing wildness. Mingi is utterly captivated and turned on by the way you’re riding him; he has to fight to keep from losing control and hammering into you recklessly. Hearing your moans grow louder and your breathing quicken, he realizes you’re on the verge of climaxing. Your pussy pulses and tightens around his cock. Mingi bites his lower lip, his large hands gripping your hips to steady you and press you even deeper onto him. You cry out—"Mingi, fuck, fuck, fuck, oh fuck"—your voice raspy as the orgasm washes over you. Your thighs twitch, and your pussy pulses, clamping down on his large cock. Mingi is on the edge of exploding; he knows you’re still coming, but he can’t hold back any longer. He places a hand between your shoulder blades and presses you down until your breasts are flush against his chest. You moan, still completely swept up in the aftershocks of your orgasm. Mingi spreads his legs wider—forcing yours to part further—and digs his heels into the mattress. Then he presses your hips down and begins thrusting forcefully into you. "Mingi, wait... wait," you plead softly, still reeling from your orgasm, but Mingi can't wait any longer. Relentlessly, he pumps his thick cock into you again, pressing your hips down harder onto him. "Shibal 씨발,“ he gasps in Korean, "Need to fuck you know, please, babe." Your soft lips plant hot kisses on the sensitive skin of his neck while Mingi pounds into you like mad. They gently caress his ear. "Fine, because you’re such a good boy f‘me," you murmur. Your hot breath against his ear, your words of praise, and your wet pussy make Mingi completely lose his mind. His final thrusts are unbridled, hard, and erratic, until he finds release inside you.

His hand slides gently up your back before he kisses you again. Slowly. Like neither of you has anywhere else to be. The kiss deepens almost immediately. His large hand glides over the bare skin of your thigh, gently lifting your leg over his hip. His hand settles on your ass, and you let out a quiet moan into the kiss. Mingi has already fucked you twice this morning, and judging by the desire and stamina he’s showing, he seems more than ready for a third round. Your fingers disappear into the soft hair at the back of his neck while he smiles faintly against your lips, clearly pleased with himself. “I thought we were getting breakfast,” you mumble between kisses.

“We are.”

“When?”

“…Eventually.”

“Mingi.”

“Hm?”

“We’ve been saying ‘eventually’ for an hour.”

“I fail to see the problem.” You laugh into another kiss. He kisses you again, slower this time, lingering just long enough to make you forget every sensible intention you’d had for the morning. His full, soft lips lavish yours with gentle kisses. Your phone begins vibrating somewhere on the bedside table.

Neither of you moves. It stops. A second later— It starts again. Mingi barely reacts at first, still kissing you with infuriating patience, until the bright screen catches the corner of his eye. His gaze flickers sideways.

A grin immediately spreads across his face.

“…I think Florence Pugh is calling you,” he mumbles against your lips. You blink.

“What?” He tilts his head toward the nightstand. “Looks persistent.” You glance over. Sure enough. Florence Calling. Florence knows that your are in Paris… with Mingi. “…Oh no.” A quiet laugh rumbles through his chest. “You know exactly why she’s calling, don’t you?” You let out a long sigh before flopping dramatically onto your back. “I really don’t want to answer.”

“You don’t?”

“No.” He props himself up on one elbow, watching you with unmistakable amusement dancing in his eyes. “Interesting.” You reach for your phone, then hesitate halfway. Maybe if you ignored it— Mingi notices immediately. “Oh, no.” He chuckles. “You’re actually considering pretending you didn’t hear it.”

“I could call her back.”

“You could.”

“Later.” His grin widens. “Or…” He gives a small nod toward the phone. “…you could answer it.” You narrow your eyes suspiciously. “Why are you smiling like that?”

“No reason.”

“Mingi.”

“I just think it’ll be entertaining.”

“For who?”

“For me.” You stare at him. He reaches over, picks up your phone before you can stop him, and places it gently in your hand. “There.”

“So helpful.”

“I know.” You smooth your slightly messy hair with one hand almost instinctively. Then you pull the duvet a little higher over yourself. Mingi watches the entire process with poorly concealed amusement. His smile softens just a little. Then, with exaggerated offense, he places one hand dramatically over his heart. “What is it, sweetheart?” He tilts his head innocently. “Are you… embarrassed of me?” You stare at him for exactly two seconds before laughing.

“Oh my God.”

“What?”

“Don’t.” His expression becomes even more theatrical.

“So that’s it.”

“Mingi.”

“I see how it is.”

“You are unbelievable.”

“I spend the night fucking you—”

He gestures toward himself with mock indignation. “—and now Florence Pugh calls, and suddenly I have to be hidden?”

“I am not hiding you.”

“Aren’t you?”

“No.”

“So answer.” His grin returns. “I want to see your face.” You point accusingly at him. „You‘re evil!“ Shaking your head, still laughing under your breath, you finally swipe across the screen. You lift the phone to your face. “Hi, Florence…”

“Yoooo, Y/N!” Florence’s voice explodes through the speaker before you even have the chance to say hello. You immediately squeeze your eyes shut for a second. “…Morning, Florence.”

“How’s Paris?” she asks loudly, already laughing at something only she seems to know. “Are you and your K-pop Lover having the time of your lives?” She punctuates the sentence with an exaggerated wiggle of her eyebrows before finally looking properly at her own screen. Her smile freezes. For exactly half a second. Your hair is a complete mess, you’re buried beneath the duvet pulled all the way to your chin, and although you’re carefully covered, your bare shoulders are unmistakably visible. Yeah, you look like you’ve spent the whole night and half the morning having lots of sex. Florence’s eyes grow comically wide. “Oh. My. God.” You already know what’s coming. “BABE!” she practically shrieks. “Did I just interrupt you two having sex?!” Your face drops straight into your free hand. “No—”

“I’m SO sorry!” she blurts out, although she’s laughing far too hard to sound remotely apologetic. “I didn’t mean to cockblock international romance!”

“Florence, we—”

“No, no, don’t explain!” she continues, talking right over you. “Honestly, this is entirely my fault. I should’ve texted first!”

“Florence…”

“I’ve interrupted history!” You don’t even bother trying to interrupt anymore. Instead, you slowly turn your head toward Mingi. See? Your expression says it all. I told you this would happen. He’s lying beside you with one arm tucked behind his head, shoulders shaking with quiet laughter. The smug grin he gives you makes it abundantly clear that he’s enjoying every second of this. He mouths silently, “Worth it.” You narrow your eyes. Meanwhile, Florence is still talking at approximately three hundred words a minute. “Oh, come on!” she says dramatically. “Don’t hide! Show yourselves!” You sigh the sigh of someone who has accepted that there is no escaping Florence Pugh once she’s committed to a bit. “I’m an ATINY!” Florence declares proudly, making Mingi bite back a laugh. “Since when?” you ask dryly, but Florence simply waves it off. “Not important! What matters is that you two stop hiding. Come on, Y/N…”

“…Fine.” You carefully turn the phone. The camera lands on Mingi, who’s just as underdressed as you are, hair hopelessly tousled and looking entirely too amused by the situation. He notices himself on the screen. Without missing a beat, he flashes Florence an easy smile and gives the camera a small, polite wave. “Hi.” Florence lets out a high-pitched squeal that nearly blows out your speaker. “OH MY GOD!” You immediately swing the phone back toward yourself. “Happy now?”

“I cannot believe this!” Florence laughs. “This is the best accidental phone call I’ve ever made.”

“We were actually just about to go downstairs,” you mumble, trying—and failing—to sound convincing. “We’ve been trying to leave for an hour.” Florence gasps dramatically. “Ooooh.” Her grin somehow gets even wider. “I understand.”

“No, you don’t.”

“I absolutely do.” She nods with exaggerated seriousness. “You two want to continue… whatever it was I so rudely interrupted.” You open your mouth. She doesn’t let you. “Say no more!”

“Florence—”

“Have fun, you two!”

She points enthusiastically at the screen.

“I expect a full report later!”

“Flor—”

“Bye!” Before you can get another word in, she dissolves into another fit of laughter and ends the call. The screen goes black. Silence settles over the room. You stare at your phone for a long moment before letting your head fall back onto the pillow with a groan. “…I told you.” Beside you, Mingi finally gives up trying to hold it together. His laughter fills the suite. “I have to admit,” he says between chuckles, “she’s exactly how I imagined she’d be.” You turn your head to glare at him. “You enjoyed that far too much.” His grin is completely unrepentant.

“I did.”

“I knew you would.”

“I definitely did.”

You can’t help laughing too.

“…She’s never letting me live this down.”

“Oh,” Mingi says with unmistakable satisfaction, pulling you gently back against his chest.

“I don’t think either of us is.”

Breakfast turns into almost two full hours. Partly because the tiny hidden restaurant really is perfect—warm lights, old wooden tables, soft French music drifting through the room—and partly because the owner absolutely adores you. The second he recognizes you, he pulls you into a dramatic hug while speaking rapid French, completely ignoring the very tall Korean man standing awkwardly beside you in sunglasses and a cap. Mingi just blinks. Then quietly leans toward you and mutters, “Did I just get replaced?” You laugh so hard you nearly choke on your coffee. By the end of breakfast, the owner is personally bringing you extra pastries “for the beautiful couple,” and Mingi—despite pretending to be embarrassed—is clearly thriving under the attention. Now, back in the apartment, the late Paris afternoon spills golden light through the massive windows while you kick your shoes off near the couch with a relieved sigh. Mingi stretches beside you lazily. Then immediately starts pulling his shirt over his head. Your eyes betray you instantly. Because, really, this man should not be allowed to look this good while doing completely normal things. The shirt disappears, exposing warm skin and broad shoulders and the toned lines of his stomach, and before your brain can recover, his fingers already move toward the button of his jeans. “Okay—wow—wait,” you interrupt quickly, holding up both hands. Mingi pauses mid-motion, eyebrows lifting. “Give me like… ten minutes to digest first,” you say, laughing nervously. “You’re stressing me out.” His mouth drops open in mock offense before he bursts into laughter. “Y/n,” he says, shaking his head. “Relax.”

“You say that,” you mutter, pointing accusingly at his chest, “but we already had sex twice this morning.”

“And?” he replies immediately, entirely too smug. You stare at him. Mingi grins wider. Then he waves dismissively. “No, no. Come here.” Before you can even ask what he means, he catches your hand and pulls you after him through the apartment. “Mingi—where are we going?”

“You’ll see.” You’re still laughing by the time he drags you into the enormous marble bathroom. Steam still lightly fogs the mirrors from earlier showers, soft daylight glowing across the luxurious space. Then Mingi stops dramatically beside the massive bathtub and gestures toward it like a man unveiling a priceless invention. “Ta-da.” You stare at him for two seconds. Then immediately start laughing again. The confidence on his face makes it infinitely worse. He genuinely looks like he’s trying to sell you a luxury car. “Look at this craftsmanship,” he says solemnly, running one hand along the edge of the tub. “Premium quality. Spacious interior. Excellent seating.”

“Oh my god.”

“Very exclusive experience.”

“You’re ridiculous.”

“But are you interested?” he asks smoothly. You try to maintain composure for maybe half a second before failing completely.

“…Unfortunately yes.”

“Excellent choice, sweetheart.” Less than ten minutes later, you’re tangled together beneath mountains of bubbles. Your back rests comfortably against Mingi’s chest, his legs intertwined with yours beneath the hot water. One of his arms stretches lazily along the edge of the tub while the other stays wrapped securely around your waist, fingertips absentmindedly tracing soft circles against your stomach under the foam. The warmth makes you melt completely boneless against him. For a while, you simply listen to his breathing and the quiet sound of water shifting around you. Then you tilt your head slightly. “So,” you murmur, playing with his fingers beneath the bubbles, “tell me about the US tour.” That immediately brings him to life. Mingi starts talking with visible excitement almost instantly, his deep voice rumbling warmly against your back while he lists cities, venues, rehearsals, ideas for performances. “New York first,” he says. “Then Chicago, Atlanta, Dallas… and LA near the end.” His hand squeezes your waist lightly as he talks. “And Hongjoong keeps changing things last minute,” he adds dramatically. “We literally rebuilt part of the stage intro three days ago.” You laugh softly. “That sounds exhausting.”

“It is exhausting,” he groans. “But it’s gonna be good.” You listen quietly while he talks, occasionally asking questions, occasionally just enjoying how animated he gets when he’s passionate about something. Then eventually you murmur, “My summer’s actually pretty free.” Mingi hums curiously behind you. “The Kim Possible filming doesn’t start until autumn.” Silence. You physically feel him thinking. “Well,” he says carefully, “theoretically…” You already know that tone. Slowly, you glance back at him over your shoulder. “Theoretically what?” Mingi looks entirely too innocent. “You could join us for part of the tour.” You burst out laughing immediately. “And do what exactly?” you ask. “Watch thousands of women thirst over you every night?”

“That’s called fanservice,” he replies with complete seriousness. “Oh my god,” you groan, sinking back against his chest dramatically. “Your fans would hunt me like a witch and burn me alive if they found out we’re dating.” Mingi laughs quietly, pressing a kiss into your damp hair. “I don’t think so.”

“Mingi, come on.“

“I’m serious,” he says softly now. “ATINY are loyal. At the end of the day, they just want us to be happy.” You hum uncertainly. Still not entirely convinced. His arm tightens around your waist slightly. “And honestly?” he continues. “People love you.”You tilt your head back slightly. “That sounds suspiciously fake.”

“It’s not fake.” He nudges your shoulder gently with his chin. “I saw how people treated you in Korea.” Your expression softens a little. “They liked you,” he says simply. “Your personality. The way you talked to everyone. The staff loved you.” You bite lightly at your lower lip, thoughtful. “And they love your movies,” he adds. A pause. Then his mouth twitches. “Although…” he says carefully, “I don’t know if everyone fully respects your earlier work.” Your eyes narrow instantly. Slowly, very slowly, you turn around in the bath to face him fully now, water sloshing dangerously over the edge in the process. “Mingi,” you say suspiciously. His grin grows. “Mingi.” He looks unbearably pleased with himself. “You watched it,” you accuse. He says absolutely nothing. Which is answer enough. Your jaw drops. “You watched the college series?!” Mingi completely loses it laughing. “Mingi!” you gasp, horrified. Water splashes everywhere when you spin toward him fully, bubbles nearly overflowing onto the marble floor while he laughs so hard he has to lean back against the tub. “Oh sweetheart,” he wheezes, “you in that cheerleader outfit should’ve been illegal.”

You groan loudly and drop your face into your hands. “I told you not to watch that!”

“Which obviously made me curious.”

“You’re unbelievable.” Still laughing quietly, Mingi catches your wrists and gently pulls your hands away from your face. “You look hot,” he says shamelessly. “I was barely twenty,” you complain immediately. “I only took that role because I needed money.”

“Mhm.”

“The director specifically wanted someone who could do flips.”

“You did a backflip in a cheer skirt,” Mingi says weakly, like he still hasn’t emotionally recovered from the experience. You stare at him in betrayal. “When they showed me the costume,” you continue dramatically, “I almost quit on the spot.” Mingi grins like he’s hearing none of your suffering whatsoever. Then, before you can continue ranting, he gently turns you back around between his legs until your back rests against his chest again. One large hand slides slowly over your stomach beneath the bubbles. “I don’t know,” he murmurs thoughtfully near your ear. “Personally…” You already know this man is about to say something evil. “I thought the red lingerie scene was very artistic.” Of course he remembers the scene where you—in red lingerie, your tits squeezed right up under your chin—are riding the football team captain. “Mingi,” you groan instantly, completely scandalized. He clicks his tongue dramatically. “What? I’m appreciating cinema.” Mingi’s chest vibrates with quiet laughter behind you, warm and smug and entirely too satisfied with himself. “You’re evil,” you mutter, sinking lower into the bubbles in embarrassment. “I’m observant,” he corrects immediately. Mingi’s hands wander to your breasts, and he squeezes them together. You let him have his way, though you roll your eyes. "Do you happen to still have that red lingerie or the cheerleader skirt?" he asks, his voice sounding as innocent as a little schoolboy’s. "Mingi," you warn him, tilting your head back until you can see his face—and a spark lights up in his eyes. “Although,” Mingi continues far too casually, his lips brushing your temple, “the vampire one was also kind of insane.” You immediately groan. “Mingiii.” His chest vibrates with laughter behind you. “No, listen,” he insists, entirely too entertained with himself now. “You in that black leather suit?” He lets out a low whistle directly into your ear. “That did something to me.” You sink lower into the bubbles in pure embarrassment. One of your first major films had been a dark fantasy horror movie called Underworld—all neon lights, blood, action scenes, and dramatic slow motion shots. Vin Diesel as a vampire leader, Michael B. Jordan as your vampire brother. You playing a ruthless vampire gang hunting humans through rainy city streets at night. And unfortunately…The costume had been very memorable. Skin-tight black leather. Blue contact lenses. Sharp fake fangs. At the time you’d thought it looked intimidating. Now, hearing Mingi talk about it while shirtless in a bubble bath behind you is somehow infinitely worse. “You’re impossible,” you mumble weakly, covering your face for a second. Mingi only laughs harder. “Sweetheart,” he says, clearly enjoying every second of your suffering, “there’s literally a scene where you jump off a building in leather pants and hiss at people.”

“It was cinema.”

“It was incredibly hot.”

You let out another dramatic groan and lean your head back against his shoulder.

“I’ve also had serious roles, you know.”

“Mhm.”

“I have.”

“Mhm.”

You narrow your eyes immediately at the suspicious amusement in his voice. “I did a historical grammy winning drama with Christoph Waltz,” you remind him firmly. “A very critically acclaimed one.”

“I know.”

“And my last movie with Florence Pugh.” Mingi hums thoughtfully behind you. “The romantic one?” You twist slightly to glare at him over your shoulder, already laughing despite yourself. “It was not just romantic.” His eyebrows lift innocently. “It explored modern relationships,” you continue with exaggerated professionalism now, “and critically analyzed love and dating culture from a female perspective.” Mingi presses his lips together very seriously. Then nods. Slowly. Carefully. Like he’s sitting in an academic lecture trying very hard to behave. “I see,” he says solemnly. You eye him suspiciously. “It was emotionally complex,” you continue.

“Mhm.”

“It dealt with vulnerability and intimacy.”

“Mhm.”

“The societal pressure placed on women—”

“It also had a seven minute kissing scene.”

You gasp in betrayal. “Mingi!” He immediately bursts into laughter again, ducking his head against your shoulder while you splash water at him in offense. “Stop!,” you complain, trying not to laugh yourself now. “But I watched all your serious films too,” he argues between laughs. “I’m supportive.”

“You are absolutely not supportive.”

“I am!” he insists dramatically. “I’m appreciating your art and your tits in red lingerie.“

“Oh my god.” Still grinning, Mingi slides his hand slowly along your waist beneath the bubbles until his fingers settle against your stomach again, absentmindedly tracing soft patterns into your skin. His voice lowers slightly after a moment. “But seriously,” he murmurs near your ear, quieter now, warmer, “you’re really good.” You blink. The teasing fades just enough for sincerity to settle underneath it. “I mean it,” he says softly. “You disappear into roles completely. It’s kind of scary actually.” Your expression softens a little despite yourself. Coming from him, it means something. Because Mingi doesn’t compliment people just to compliment them. Especially not like this. “You watched all of them?” you ask quietly. “Most of them.” Then his mouth curls again against your shoulder. “Some scenes multiple times.” You groan immediately. “Mingi.” You narrow your eyes at him suspiciously for exactly two seconds before a new thought suddenly strikes you. Slowly, very slowly, you turn around in the bath until you’re facing him fully again, knees sliding between his broad thighs beneath the water. Bubbles cling to your skin and shoulders while Mingi looks up at you with lazy amusement, one arm still stretched along the edge of the tub like he owns the entire room. And honestly? Looking at him right now—with damp dark hair falling into his eyes, lips pink from laughing, broad chest disappearing beneath the foam—it’s very difficult to remember your argument. Still. You lift one eyebrow. “For someone who used to have pink hair,” you say calmly, “you’re judging me a lot.” Mingi freezes. Then immediately throws his head back laughing. A full, loud laugh that echoes through the bathroom. “Oh my god,” he wheezes. “Okay—that was good.”

“Thank you.”

“Atiny were obsessed with the pink hair,” he defends himself dramatically, still grinning as he leans back. His hands slide naturally onto your waist, warm and steady beneath the water, guiding you closer until your chest nearly presses against his. Your lips brush softly against his once. First kiss. “Obsessed,” he repeats confidently. You hum thoughtfully against his mouth like you’re considering the evidence. “Mhm. I think blond suited you better.” Second kiss. Mingi’s grin softens instantly. “Blond?” he repeats, amused. You study his face deliberately now, fingertips drifting across his shoulders while warm water ripples around you both. “Coachella Mingi,” you murmur. His laugh this time is quieter. More bashful somehow. “Hmm?” he prompts softly. You let your hands glide slowly over his chest, tracing the firm lines of muscle beneath warm skin. It’s unfair how solid he feels under your palms. Strong and broad and steady. “Yeah,” you whisper thoughtfully. “That was hot.” Third kiss. Mingi actually giggles at that—an honest, boyish sound that makes your chest ache a little. “Hot?” he repeats smugly. “You know exactly what you looked like.”

“I really don’t.”

“You’re a liar.”

Fourth kiss. His hands tighten slightly on your waist, pulling you fully onto his lap now beneath the bubbles until your thighs rest comfortably against his. “And what about now?” he asks softly. The question comes out lighter than it feels. Scheming. Playful. But there’s something quieter beneath it too. His forehead brushes yours gently as he speaks, your faces only centimeters apart now. “Do you like me now?” Fifth kiss. Your breath catches a little embarrassingly. Because yes. God, yes. You like him far more than you probably should already. You glance down briefly at his lips before meeting his eyes again. “Yeah,” you whisper honestly. One of his hands slides slowly up your back. “I like you pretty much exactly like this.” Sixth kiss. The sound he makes against your mouth is soft—almost a sigh—and suddenly the teasing fades for a second. Just enough for something warmer to settle between you. Something quieter. More dangerous than flirting. Mingi’s nose brushes yours lightly before he smiles again, cocky returning like it always does. “Well,” he murmurs, voice low and pleased, “guess I’m lucky the prettiest girl in the world is into me.” You immediately laugh against his lips. “There he is,” you mumble fondly. “I was wondering when your ego would come back.”

“My ego never left, sweetheart.” Seventh kiss. This one lingers. Longer. Slower at first, until neither of you really remembers who leaned in deeper. His hand spreads across the middle of your back, holding you securely against him while your fingers disappear into the damp hair at the nape of his neck. Warm water shifts around your bodies as the kiss deepens naturally, unhurried and addictive. Mingi kisses like he means it. Like he could stay here for hours with you wrapped around him and never get bored. You think maybe you could too. He smiles softly against your mouth at some point—like he can physically feel you melting for him—and your stomach flips in the most humiliatingly obvious way. Completely gone. That’s what you are around Song Mingi. Completely, helplessly gone.

And that’s exactly why he’s already buried his head between your thighs, as heated moans echo softly through the bathroom. "God, Mingi—ah, yes... ah, yes," you pant, one hand tangled in his black hair while the other braces itself against the rim of the bathtub. Mingi pulls away for a moment, lifting his head to run his tongue over your stomach. You let out a short laugh, your body twitching restlessly—you were right on the edge of orgasm. You lock eyes, and without ever looking away from you, Mingi trails his thick tongue across your belly. "Ooh, you’re being a naughty boy today," you coo, tugging harder at his hair—causing him to grimace in pain. His mouth falls open, and his brows knit together. "Come on, be a good boy for me," you purr softly. "Give me what I need, big guy—and you’ll get a reward, too." You raise your eyebrows suggestively and wink at him. Mingi gasps with a laugh and buries his face between your thighs once again. His tongue immediately finds your hot, wet pussy, and he licks over it greedily. You throw your head back and moan loudly. Mingi’s hand wanders up the inside of your thigh—slowly, seductively—aiming to slide right into your hot pussy. His long, thick fingers slide into your pussy and begin to pump in and out at a slow pace. Even his fingers are so long that he slides deep inside you. "Ah, yes, Mingi... such a good boy," you praise him, arching your back and spreading your legs even wider. He sucks on your clit, his fingers pumping faster and deeper inside you. Your orgasm builds steadily; your moans grow louder and louder until you are practically screaming his name. You feel the knot in your stomach on the verge of bursting. "Mingi... ah, God, yes... ah, so good," you moan, your voice already hoarse and rough. Then your orgasm washes over you, sweeping you along with it. The muscles in your legs cramp, your abs contract, and you squeeze your eyes shut. Mingi doesn’t stop until your climax fades, and only when you’ve gone completely still does he lift his head from between your legs, a dirty smile spreading across his lips.

The rain outside the Paris apartment taps softly against the windows, muted by the warm glow of the bedroom lights. Somewhere in the distance, the city is still awake, but neither of you has cared about the outside world for hours. In the meantime, your manager, Lola, calls to tell you about a few potential film roles. You respond with a quiet “mm-hmm” in agreement, distracted by the soft, lingering kisses Mingi is pressing against your neck. Right now, your entire universe is Mingi. His weight presses comfortably against you as he hovers over you on the bed, bare skin warm against yours, lips already stealing your breath away between slow tongue kisses and quiet laughter. One of your hands is tangled in his dark hair while the other rests against his shoulder, feeling the muscles shift every time he moves. Mingi kisses you again—slower this time, deeper—and you swear the man is physically incapable of not being dramatic about affection. He kisses you tenderly; his soft, full lips brush against your cheek. With his left hand, he grasps your thigh, lifting it higher as he caresses your soft, firm skin. You feel his hard cock pressing against your lower belly. You sigh softly, and it begins all over again—you’ve completely lost count of how much sex you’ve had in the last two days. Then suddenly, without breaking the kiss, he reaches one arm toward the nightstand beside the bed. Blindly. Still half kissing you. You barely notice at first, too distracted by the way his mouth curves against yours. But then you feel him pause. His hand fumbles around. Pause again. More aggressive fumbling. The kissing stops. Mingi is still hovering over you, arm stretched awkwardly toward the nightstand, expression slowly turning into disbelief. “…No way.” You blink up at him. “What?” He looks genuinely offended at reality itself. “I don’t have any left.” You stare at him for two full seconds. “…Any what?”

“Condoms,” he mutters. “Oh.” You kiss his chin absentmindedly, until you realize what that really means. You’re not on the pill, which is why the two of you can’t just have sex without a condom. Silence. Mingi looks at you. You look at Mingi. “…Now what?” you ask carefully. For a moment, he says nothing. Then he suddenly drops his head dramatically against your shoulder with a groan. “Fuck, I thought we’d be fucking a lot, but I never imagined we’d be fucking this much.“ You burst out laughing immediately.

“Mingi—”

“No, seriously,” he says, lifting his head again with complete sincerity. “This is devastating. We had plans.”

“Plans?“ He grins shamelessly before leaning down to kiss you again, slower now, his body settling more comfortably against yours. “Well,” he murmurs against your lips, “we’d make beautiful children anyway.” You choke on your own laugh. “Mingi!”

“What?” he says innocently. “My height? Your face? That’s a genetic jackpot right there.” You laugh harder, trying to shove him off you, but the man is basically a warm wall of muscle and refuses to move.

“Be serious!”

“I am serious.”

“You cannot say things like that this casually!” He only laughs, pressing another kiss to your cheek while purposely making himself heavier on top of you just to annoy you. “You’re lucky I’m attached to you,” you grumble. “Mm.” He kisses your jaw. “Very lucky.” But eventually reality settles back in. You sigh dramatically. “Okay, but seriously. What do we do now?” Mingi finally lifts himself slightly, looking down at you with the same expression he probably has before doing something questionable and fully committing to it. “You and I,” he says slowly, “need a plan.” You narrow your eyes immediately. “Why do I feel like I’m about to commit a crime?”

“Because this is a crime,” he says. “Who runs out in Paris, the City of love?“

“You do, apparently.” He ignores that completely. Neither of you can exactly walk into a random convenience store looking like yourselves. You’re both internationally recognizable. And unfortunately, “buying condoms at midnight” would be exactly the kind of headline tabloids would have a field day with. No managers. No bodyguards. No assistants. Just you and Mingi alone in Paris. And apparently incapable of surviving forty-eight hours without being obsessed with each other. “Okay,” you say finally, sitting up a little. “We disguise ourselves.” Mingi gasps softly. “Mission Impossible.” You point at yourself proudly. “I’m literally an actress. This will be easy.”

“And I’m naturally handsome in every disguise.” You snort. “That’s not how disguises work.”

“It helps emotionally.” You laugh despite yourself while climbing out of bed, already scanning the apartment for possible options. “It’s late,” you say confidently. “Nobody in Paris is even awake.” Mingi gives you a look. “You realize we’re saying this in the city famous for nightlife, right?”

“…Don’t ruin this for me.”

Five minutes later, you’re both standing in front of the mirror looking absolutely ridiculous. Mingi is wearing a baseball cap, sunglasses at night, and a scarf pulled up over half his face. “You look like a criminal,” you tell him immediately. “You look like you’re avoiding taxes.” You glance at your oversized coat, glasses, and hastily tied hair. “…Fair.” Mingi turns toward you slowly, eyes sparkling with amusement. “We are never surviving this.” You grin despite yourself. “Shut up and come on, spy boy.”

⸻

The second you and Mingi step outside the apartment building, both of you stop dead in your tracks. Paris is alive. Not “a few people casually walking around” alive. No. The streets are absolutely packed. Music spills from little restaurants and bars onto the sidewalks, people crowd tiny café tables laughing loudly, couples walk arm in arm beneath glowing streetlights, and somewhere nearby, someone is playing an accordion like the city itself is personally trying to romanticize your downfall. Your jaw drops behind your scarf. Mingi slowly lowers his sunglasses just enough to stare around in disbelief. “…It’s ten at night,” he says. “Apparently France doesn’t believe in bedtime.” There are so many people. And unfortunately, among those people could absolutely be someone who recognizes either of you. Or worse— Recognizes both of you together. Instant scandal. So naturally, both of you panic immediately. “Head down,” you whisper urgently. “Right.” The two of you instantly hunch your shoulders and start speed-walking down the sidewalk like the least suspicious people alive. Which unfortunately makes you look extremely suspicious. Especially dressed like this. Mingi in sunglasses at night, cap low over his face, scarf pulled up to his nose. You in an oversized coat, giant sunglasses, and your hood up despite the weather not remotely requiring it. You don’t look mysterious. You look like two celebrities trying desperately not to be recognized. Which, to be fair, is exactly what’s happening. You glance at your phone again. “The pharmacy is only a few more blocks.” “Easy,” Mingi says confidently. Exactly three minutes later, everything goes wrong. A street musician notices you both lingering awkwardly near the corner and smiles brightly. “Bonsoir! Une chanson pour les amoureux?”Both of you freeze. You blink. Mingi blinks. The man gestures toward you both knowingly with his guitar. “A beautiful couple!” You and Mingi react with the subtlety of a car crash. “No!” you blurt immediately. “No no no no,” Mingi adds way too loudly while waving both hands aggressively. The musician startles. You startle because he startled. Mingi instinctively tries to pull away at the same time you step sideways—

—and immediately collide straight into him. “Sorry—” Mingi stumbles backward. Right into another pedestrian. “Oh my god—sorry—” The pedestrian gasps. Mingi bows apologetically approximately six times while still trying to hide his face. You grab his sleeve in panic and accidentally yank him directly into a café sign. The sign rattles loudly. Every nearby person turns to look at you. Silence. You and Mingi stand there frozen in matching sunglasses at ten o’clock at night looking like international criminals. Then Mingi whispers through clenched teeth: “We look insane.”

“You think?!” You immediately grab his arm and drag him away while trying not to die of embarrassment. Behind you, the street musician slowly resumes playing, visibly confused by the entire interaction. By the time you finally reach the pharmacy, both of you are exhausted, overheated, and one minor inconvenience away from losing your minds completely. The little bell above the door jingles softly as you step inside. It’s tiny and mostly empty except for one very young pharmacist standing behind the counter. She looks up politely. Then pauses. Her eyes narrow slightly behind her glasses as she takes in the two extremely suspicious people entering her pharmacy dressed like undercover spies. You immediately step forward before Mingi can somehow make things worse. “Hi,” you say carefully in English. “Um… do you speak English?” The girl blinks.

“…Pardon?”

“…English?”

“…Ah.” She smiles apologetically. “Un petit peu.” Not good. Not good at all. You glance toward one aisle where you can clearly see condom boxes displayed near the shelves. Thank god. Okay. Easy. You point subtly. The pharmacist follows your finger. You panic immediately and stop pointing because suddenly it feels WAY too obvious. What if she knows who you are? Then she also knows now that you're fucking. Mingi, meanwhile, is pretending to examine cough drops like his life depends on it. You clear your throat awkwardly. “Uh…” You gesture vaguely with your hands. “We need… protection?” The pharmacist stares at you blankly. Mingi leans in slightly, trying to help, and says carefully, “No… baby.” The pharmacist’s eyes immediately light up. “Ahhh!” she says happily. Before you can react, she turns around and proudly brings back a pregnancy test. Your eyes widen instantly. Mingi freezes. The pharmacist beams at both of you like she has just solved world peace. “Félicitations! Baby!” she says joyfully, pointing directly at your stomach. You recoil instantly. “No—no!” you say quickly. “No baby!” Mingi immediately steps forward, shaking his head. “No baby,” he confirms firmly. The pharmacist looks confused again, still smiling. „Okay, okay,” you mutter desperately before switching languages. “Uh—Spanish. Maybe Spanish helps.” You turn back toward the pharmacist. “Necesitamos…” you pause, immediately forgetting half your vocabulary under pressure, “…protección? Para… eh… una relación segura?” The pharmacist stares. You exhale sharply. Enough. Fuck it! You need the fucking condoms! You point directly, clearly now, toward the shelf. “Those. We need those.” She follows your finger. Sees the condoms. Her face changes immediately. “Ahhhhh!” she exclaims, understanding finally clicking. Relief floods your body. She walks over, grabs a box, and hands it to you with a proud smile. You reach out— Finally! Done! But Mingi gently stops you for a second, pointing at another section of the shelf with a completely serious expression. “Wait,” he says quietly. You sigh. “What now?” He just tilts his head slightly, indicating a different size option. XXL. The pharmacist freezes. You slowly turn toward him. “Mingi.” He shrugs innocently. “What? I need the big ones.“ She looks between you, Mingi, and the box like she’s suddenly involved in something far above her pay grade. The pharmacist makes a sound of pure exhaustion in French under her breath—something along the lines of her regretting every life choice that led her here. You take the box. You pay immediately. And then you both leave the pharmacy at speed, practically jogging back into the Paris night. The bell rings behind you as the door closes. Outside, you stop for half a second. Then you both break at the same time. “Never,” you say. “Again,” Mingi agrees. And without looking back, you disappear into the streets of Paris like two extremely guilty undercover agents who absolutely cannot be trusted in public ever again.

The second you and Mingi leave the pharmacy, both of you burst into muffled laughter. Not loud—neither of you is trying to attract more attention—but the kind of barely controlled laughing that makes it impossible to breathe properly. “This was your plan,” you whisper accusingly as you hurry down the sidewalk beside him. “My plan worked,” Mingi whispers back proudly, swinging the tiny pharmacy paper bag in one hand. “You traumatized that poor pharmacist.”

“She’ll survive.”

“You asked for XXL condoms in fluent confidence while wearing sunglasses indoors.”

“That’s called self-respect.” You choke on another laugh. Paris is still loud around you, music drifting through the streets while groups of people wander between cafés and bars completely unaware that two international celebrities are currently speed-walking through the city after the most humiliating pharmacy experience of their lives. Mingi, meanwhile, is way too entertained by himself. He keeps swinging the paper bag carelessly while walking beside you, occasionally glancing at it with entirely too much satisfaction. “We probably should’ve bought two packs,” he says thoughtfully. You stare at him. “Oh my god.” “What? We’re here for one more night.”

“Mingi!”

“I’m being realistic.” He grins beneath his scarf, completely unashamed. Then—because the universe hates both of you— the thin pharmacy bag slips from his fingers. Time slows. The bag falls. Hits the sidewalk. RIIIIIP. The bottom tears open instantly. And the XXL condom box slides dramatically out across the pavement. Directly. DIRECTLY. To the polished shoes of an elderly French couple walking toward you. Silence. Complete silence. You stop moving. Mingi stops moving. The old woman blinks down at the box. The old man lowers his newspaper slowly. Then both of them look up at you and Mingi standing there in sunglasses, hats, scarves, and absolute horror. You feel your soul physically leaving your body. Neither of you moves. Neither of you breathes. The elderly man bends down slowly, picks up the box with surprising calmness, and examines it for approximately one devastating second. Then his eyes flick toward Mingi. And suddenly— the man nods at him. Not judgmental. Not confused. No. Respectfully. Like one soldier acknowledging another on the battlefield. You physically almost collapse. Mingi looks equally frozen. The old man gently hands him back the box with the dignity of someone returning an honored family heirloom. “…Merci,” you and Mingi say at the exact same time in tiny embarrassed voices. The old woman smiles knowingly. You want the ground to swallow you whole. Mingi grabs the destroyed paper bag, stuffs the box back inside like it’s evidence from a crime scene, then immediately catches your hand. “Okay,” he mutters quickly. “Safe space. Now.” You don’t argue. The two of you practically flee down the street together, heads lowered, shoulders shaking with suppressed laughter and humiliation while Paris continues glowing around you completely unaware of the psychological damage you both just suffered. And somewhere behind you, the elderly man is probably telling the greatest story of his life.

The last morning in Paris feels unfairly quiet. Like the apartment already knows you’re leaving. Soft grey light spills through the massive windows while suitcases stand half-packed near the bedroom door, the reality of schedules and flights creeping back into the little bubble the two of you built over the past two days. And somehow, that reality hurts more than you expected. You’ve dated before. You’ve cared about people before. But this? This is different. Because you’ve never been like this with anyone. Never this clingy. Never this soft. Never this emotionally reckless. Usually, you’re composed. Reserved. Difficult to fully reach. Even in relationships, there’s always been a small part of yourself carefully tucked away behind locked doors. But Mingi somehow walks straight through every wall without even trying. And the terrifying part? You let him. Right now, you’re standing in the middle of the apartment wrapped tightly in his arms, your cheek pressed against the soft fabric of his hoodie while he holds you close against his chest. Too close. Like neither of you really wants to let go first. His chin rests briefly against the top of your head before he presses a soft kiss into your hairline. Then another. You swallow hard. He’s flying back to Seoul today. You’re heading to Germany first. Then Los Angeles. Different continents again. Different time zones. Different schedules. Your fingers tighten slightly against the back of his hoodie. “I’m really going to miss you,” you mumble quietly into his chest. The second the words leave your mouth, you internally cringe. Why do you sound like a lovesick teenager? What is happening to you? But Mingi only pulls you even closer. One of his large hands slides slowly up and down your back in a soothing motion. “I’m gonna miss you too, sweetheart,” he says softly. His voice sounds different today. Less teasing. More honest. “Thank you for Paris.” You nod quietly against him. You think these might’ve been the happiest two days you’ve had in years. Eventually, Mingi exhales softly and loosens the hug just enough to look at you properly. Your heart immediately squeezes at the sight of him. Messy dark hair. Comfortable hoodie. Sleepy eyes. Pretty lips still slightly pink from all the kissing. God, this man is so hot. Then he suddenly reaches down into his bag. You blink. “Mingi?” He rummages around dramatically for a second before finally pulling something out. A black oversized T-shirt. Your eyebrows lift slightly as he presses it into your hands. “You should keep it,” he says casually. You stare down at it for a second before looking back up at him. “…Why?” Mingi grins immediately. That cocky, shameless grin. “So you have something that smells like me.” You let out a startled laugh. “Mingi—”

“I’m serious,” he says proudly. You shake your head, smiling helplessly despite yourself. But unconsciously, your fingers tighten around the shirt anyway, pulling it a little closer against your chest. Mingi notices instantly. Of course he does. His expression softens for half a second before the smugness returns. “See?” he teases quietly. “Already attached.” You roll your eyes. But neither of you says anything about the fact that he’s right.

Five days later, Los Angeles feels loud. Bright sun. Endless traffic. Cameras. Reality. You spent the last few days in Germany with your mother and sisters, trying very hard to act normal while internally missing Song Mingi at genuinely embarrassing levels. Unfortunately, your family noticed immediately. Especially Ana-Maria. “Oh, it’s serious serious,” your sister had announced dramatically over breakfast while sipping coffee. You nearly choked. “It is not.” “Mhm.” Ana-Maria nodded wisely. “Should I start learning Korean now or after the wedding?” “Ana!“ Then, because she enjoys ruining your life, she’d started humming a wedding march across the kitchen while your mother laughed into her tea. You’d rolled your eyes so hard it physically hurt. And yet…Now, stepping out of the private terminal in Los Angeles wearing Mingi’s oversized black shirt beneath your jacket, you miss him so much your chest actually aches a little. Steve walks beside you immediately, shielding you from the few waiting paparazzi cameras while security clears a path toward the SUV outside. Thankfully there aren’t many photographers today.Still enough for pictures though.Enough that less than twenty minutes later, your phone buzzes.Mingi. You open the message instantly.

Mingi 🖤:

Are you trying to expose us?

Followed by approximately seven laughing emojis. You snort softly while sliding into the backseat of the car.

You:

Nobody is going to recognize your shirt, drama queen.

You:

I just didn’t want to take it off.

Three dots appear almost immediately.

Mingi 🖤:

Aww sweetheart :(

Mingi 🖤:

Next time you’re in Seoul, you can steal more from my closet if you want.

You laugh quietly to yourself. Beside you, Steve glances over suspiciously.

“What?”

“Nothing.”

His eyes narrow immediately.

“…Mingi texted you, didn’t he?” You try and fail to hide your smile. Steve groans dramatically and leans his head back against the seat.

“Of course.”

Your phone buzzes again before you can answer.

Mingi 🖤:

But obviously you’re only allowed in my closet.

A pause. Then another message appears.

Mingi 🖤:

But only in that cheerleader outfit. ;)

You burst out laughing so suddenly that Steve physically jumps.

“Mingi!” you gasp aloud before you can stop yourself. Steve slowly turns his head toward you with the exhausted expression of a man who has witnessed far too much already. You immediately clear your throat and look back down at your phone.

You:

Behave yourself!!!

Mingi 🖤:

No ❤️

Mi corazón es tuyo - My heart is yours

summary: You’re famous, breathtakingly beautiful, and adored by everyone. At a party, Mingi approaches you. At first, you assume he’s just like every other guy who’s only interested in your looks and status. But his cocky yet effortlessly charming personality has you laughing far more often than you’d like to admit. Before you know it, you find yourself agreeing to go on a date with him…

a/n: Alright everyone, here’s the first of two Paris chapters—and what can I say? Voulez vous coucher avec moi?! Things are about to get hot! Thank you all so much for your likes and comments! It truly means a lot to me!

warning: Minors do not interact 🔞 p in v, oral sex!

5. chapter/ capítulo/ kapitel/ 제1장

The familiar sound of soft jazz fills the studio. A coffee cup lands gently on the wooden table. Park Jae-Min scrolls lazily through his tablet while Ryan Walker finishes adjusting his microphone.„Welcome to Late Night Nonsens.“ Ryan sighs dramatically. “I have officially reached my limit.” Jae-Min doesn’t even look up. “Fashion Week again?” “Fashion Week again.” Ryan rubs both hands over his face. “I swear these designers wake up every morning asking themselves…” He lowers his voice. “How can I make rich people look homeless… but artistically?’” Jae-Min snorts. “That’s a little harsh.” Ryan immediately points toward the monitor. “No. Explain this.” A runway photo appears. The model is wrapped in layers of silver fabric that vaguely resemble a crumpled emergency blanket. Jae-Min tilts his head. “…Interesting.”

“Interesting?” Ryan laughs. “She looks like someone wrapped leftovers.” Jae-Min calmly takes another sip of coffee. “The designer probably calls it ‘a commentary on modern isolation.’” Ryan nods. “And my laundry basket is a commentary on capitalism.” Another picture appears. A model walks down the runway wearing what looks suspiciously like dozens of leather belts. Ryan blinks. “…Why?” “I don’t know.” “Who needs forty-seven belts?” “Maybe she’s very committed to keeping her pants up.” Ryan points accusingly. “That woman could survive a tornado.” Jae-Min quietly laughs. The next picture appears. A massive feathered creation that barely resembles clothing. Ryan immediately leans away from the monitor. “Absolutely not.”

“What?”

“If I see a peacock wearing that next week, I owe it an apology.” Jae-Min shakes his head, smiling. “You complain every season.” “Because every season someone gets dressed by an emotionally unstable curtain.” Jae-Min scrolls once more. “…Well.” Ryan sighs. “What now?” “I found the exception.” Ryan looks up. Jae-Min taps the tablet. The monitor changes. Instantly. The studio goes completely quiet. A candid photograph from London Fashion Week fills the screen. You’re walking toward the venue entrance wearing an impeccably tailored cream-colored suit, almost identical to the couture look in the reference image—but without the oversized hat. The structured blazer cinches perfectly at the waist, the wide trousers flowing effortlessly as you walk. Minimal gold jewelry, sleek hair tucked neatly behind one ear, and a calm smile for the photographers. No gimmicks. No chaos. Just elegance. Ryan blinks once. Twice. “…Well.” Jae-Min folds his arms with a satisfied smile. “Told you.” Ryan doesn’t answer. He’s still staring. “…Good Lord.” Jae-Min nods knowingly. “Mhm.” Ryan points slowly toward the screen. “That…” He pauses. “…is how you wear a suit.” “No notes?” Ryan shakes his head. “Absolutely none.” Jae-Min zooms in slightly. “The tailoring is incredible.” Ryan nods absentmindedly. “I wasn’t even looking at the tailoring.” “I know.” “I physically forgot fashion existed.” Jae-Min laughs. Ryan leans closer. “I swear this woman could wear a trash bag…” “Mhm.” “…and somehow I’d assume it costs twelve thousand dollars.” Jae-Min scrolls through a few more pictures from the event. Every angle somehow looks better than the last. Ryan sighs dramatically. “I genuinely think she’s the prettiest woman on Earth.” Jae-Min hums. “That’s a very popular opinion.” “I’m serious.” Ryan gestures toward the screen. “I don’t understand how one human being gets all the good genetics.” Jae-Min begins counting on his fingers.

„Absolutely beautiful.“

„Mhm.“

“Half German.”

“Mhm.”

“Half Spanish.”

“Mhm.”

“Successful actress.”

“Mhm.”

“Critically acclaimed.”

“Mhm.”

“Just finished promoting her new romance film with Florence Pugh.”

“Mhm.”

“And now she’s casually attending London Fashion Week looking like she owns half the city.” Ryan nods. “Exactly.” A thoughtful silence settles over the studio. Then Ryan frowns. “…Can I ask something?” Jae-Min already sounds cautious. “I probably can’t stop you.” Ryan points at the monitor. “Where is her boyfriend?” Jae-Min raises an eyebrow. “What boyfriend?” “Exactly.” Ryan leans back. “Why is she always alone?” Jae-Min shrugs. „She‘s single.” Ryan immediately rejects the idea.

“No.”

“What do you mean, no?”

“No.” He shakes his head confidently.

“I refuse.” Jae-Min laughs. “You refuse?”

“Look at her.” Ryan gestures dramatically. “You’re telling me nobody has tried?”

“Oh, I’m sure plenty of people have.”

“So why is she still single?” Jae-Min shrugs again. “Maybe she’s very picky.” Ryan thinks about it. “…Too complicated?”

“I’ve literally never heard anyone describe her as difficult.” Ryan nods. “Exactly.”

“No scandals.”

“No.”

“No diva stories.”

“No.”

“No public drama.”

“No.” Ryan folds his arms. “That’s what makes me suspicious.” Jae-Min smiles knowingly. “I actually have another theory.” Ryan turns immediately. “Oh?”

“What if…” Jae-Min scrolls casually through another gallery.

“…she isn’t single?” Ryan freezes. “…Excuse me?”

“What if she’s simply keeping someone private?” Ryan stares. “A secret relationship?”

“Maybe.” Ryan narrows his eyes. “…With who?”

“I don’t know.”

“Another actor?”

“Possible.”

“A musician?”

“Possible.” Ryan gasps dramatically. “…A normal person?” Jae-Min shrugs. “Why not?” Ryan looks horrified. “No.”

“What?”

“No.” Jae-Min laughs. “You really hate that possibility.” Ryan points toward the monitor. “Imagine being the anonymous guy dating her.”

“Mhm.”

“You’d wake up every morning terrified she’d realize she’s dating you.” Jae-Min bursts out laughing. Ryan continues. “You’d spend your whole life wondering when Chris Hemsworth shows up.” Jae-Min wipes a tear from laughing. “That’s oddly specific.” “I’d be stressed.” Another photograph appears. You’re standing beside one of your male co-stars after the show, both smiling while talking to reporters. Ryan immediately squints. “…Who’s that?”

“One of her colleagues.” Ryan studies the picture. “…Hmm.” Jae-Min tilts his head thoughtfully. “You know…” Ryan looks over. “I keep telling you…”

“What?”

“I think there’s someone.” Ryan groans dramatically. “You’re doing this again.”

“I’m serious.” Ryan looks back at the photograph.

“…Why?” Jae-Min smiles. “Look.” He zooms in slightly. “She’s comfortable.” Ryan nods slowly. “…Okay.”

“Happy.”

“Mhm.”

“But…” Jae-Min taps the screen thoughtfully. “…there’s still something guarded about her.” Ryan looks again. “…Like she’s protecting part of her life.”

“Exactly.” Ryan leans back. “So you think she’s secretly dating somebody.”

“I do.”

“And she’s just not ready to tell the world.” Jae-Min nods once.

“I think when she does…”

“…everyone will lose their minds.” Ryan laughs. “Fair.” A moment passes. Ryan looks back at your picture one last time. Then places both hands dramatically over his heart. “Y/N…” Jae-Min immediately groans. “Don’t.” Ryan ignores him completely. “If you’re listening…”

“Oh, here we go.” Ryan sits up straighter. “I am six feet tall.”

“Congratulations.”

“I make excellent pancakes.”

“You burn toast.”

“I’ve improved.”

“You have not.” Ryan points proudly at himself. “I am emotionally available.” Jae-Min nearly chokes on his coffee. “No human who hosts this podcast is emotionally available.” Ryan sighs dramatically before looking at your picture again. “Y/N…” He spreads his arms. “…Choose me.” Jae-Min laughs so hard he has to pull away from the microphone. Ryan nods confidently. “I am ready.” “For what?” Ryan grins. “I don’t know.” Jae-Min shakes his head. “At least you’re honest.” Ryan points at the monitor one final time. “Seriously though…” He smiles. “…Whoever she’s secretly dating…” Jae-Min glances over. “…He better appreciate how unbelievably lucky he is.” Jae-Min quietly smiles to himself. “I have a feeling…” Ryan raises an eyebrow. “…he does.” The soft jazz swells again as both men lift their coffee mugs, and the conversation inevitably drifts back to making fun of the next impossible Fashion Week outfit.

A few days before Paris, you’re sitting cross-legged on the hotel bed in London, still half in makeup after a twelve-hour press day, when you finally get a chance to text Mingi back. Your phone has been exploding for hours—interviews, schedule changes, outfit approvals, one deeply confusing voice note from Maya screaming about a red carpet look—but somehow, texting him feels like the first quiet moment you’ve had all day.

You: By the way, I’m taking care of our hotel in Paris.

A few seconds later, your phone buzzes.

Mingi 🖤: I was actually about to tell you I know a really nice place.

You smile.

You: I know.

You: But Europe is my territory.

You: I already booked it.

You: I’ll send you the address.

A minute passes before the typing bubble appears again.

Mingi 🖤: That somehow feels illegal.

Mingi 🖤: But… okay.

Mingi 🖤: I’ll let you spoil me this time.

Mingi 🖤: I’m actually really excited.

Another notification pops up before you can answer.

An image.

You open it immediately. The second the photo fills your screen, you have to swallow. God. He’s standing in front of the Off-White backdrop in Paris, dressed head to toe in black, sunglasses resting low on his nose, one hand casually tucked into his pocket. He looks unfairly handsome, like he walked straight out of a campaign shoot instead of simply attending Fashion Week. Your stomach flips. Four weeks apart have already felt endless. Seeing him like this only makes you want Paris to come faster. Just two more days. Two more fucking days until you finally get to see him again. You force yourself to type something that sounds far calmer than you actually feel.

You : You look ridiculously good.

His reply comes almost immediately.

Mingi 🖤: Yeah?

Mingi🖤: I was hoping you’d say that.

You can’t help smiling.

You: Your confidence is getting out of control.

Mingi 🖤: Maybe.

Mingi 🖤: Or maybe I just wanted your opinion.

Your smile softens. Before you can answer, another message appears.

Mingi 🖤: Oh—and I finally got the MCM collaboration.

You grin immediately.

You: No way.

You: I’m so happy for you!

You: Seriously, that’s amazing.

A second later, you add another message.

You: Now do me a favor and steal me a bag.

You: The little black one from the Spring collection.

Three laughing emojis appear.

Mingi 🖤: “Steal.”

Mingi 🖤: That’s your brilliant plan?

You: Obviously.

You: You’d do anything for me anyway.

The typing bubble appears almost instantly.

Mingi 🖤: Sweetheart…

Mingi 🖤: You know me way too well.

You laugh quietly to yourself, shaking your head as warmth spreads through your chest. With anyone else, the nickname „sweetheart“ would be an instant turn-off. But with Mingi, it’s different. The way he says it, in that deep voice of his, sends goosebumps racing all over your body.

You: I know.

You: That’s exactly why I asked.

Mingi 🖤: The countdown is officially on… two days until Paris.

The conversation keeps drifting after that. Little things. Tiny moments from your days. Nothing dramatic. But after weeks apart and nonstop schedules and different time zones, it feels strangely intimate anyway. Like the two of you are slowly building something in the spaces between airports and deadlines.

By the time your plane lands in Paris, your entire body feels heavy with exhaustion. The last four weeks have been nonstop. Press tours. Interviews. Photoshoots. Red carpets. Early mornings. Late nights. London Fashion Week. You’ve barely had a second to breathe. Which is exactly why Lola, your manager almost says no when you tell her about Paris. Absolutely not at first, actually. You spend nearly an hour convincing her over the phone that this is technically a break, and that no, you are not secretly planning some reckless public scandal in the middle of Paris Fashion Week. “You need sleep,” she says firmly. “I know.”

“You need rest.”

“I know.”

„You‘re going to have a lot of sex with this rapper guy, this is no rest!“ Eventually, after enough convincing, she finally sighs dramatically. “Fine,” she mutters. “You deserve three days off after the month you’ve had. But there absolutely can’t be any photos of the two of you together, understood? K-pop fans are no joke!” Victory. And now, sitting in the backseat of the car driving through Paris, the excitement slowly starts replacing the exhaustion. Only four people know where you actually are. Steve. Maya. Lola and Florence. And of course your mom and your sisters. And Maya, naturally, has already sent you twelve messages about “Paris romance aesthetics.“ The apartment is even more beautiful than you expected. A friend had helped arrange it quietly and privately — a luxurious little rooftop apartment tucked away from the chaos of the city. Warm lights. Dark wood floors. Massive windows overlooking Paris. A sleek kitchen. A bathroom that looks like it belongs in an architectural magazine. And outside, on the private terrace, a whirlpool sits beneath the open evening sky. Everything feels soft and expensive and impossibly calm. And privat. Perfect. You drop your bag near the bedroom and just stand there for a second, letting the silence settle around you. No cameras. No staff. No schedules. Just you. And soon, Mingi. The thought alone makes your stomach flip slightly. You unpack slowly, hanging up a few clothes before deciding you desperately need a shower after traveling. Warm water finally washes the last few weeks off your shoulders, and for the first time in ages, you actually feel yourself relax. But the second you step back into the bedroom wrapped in a towel, you freeze. Because sitting very innocently on top of your folded clothes is black lace. Very little black lace. You stare at it for a full five seconds. Then immediately grab your phone. Three unread messages from Maya. Of course.

Maya 🩷: YOU’RE WELCOME.

Maya 🩷: Before you judge me, just know I’m doing this for women everywhere.

Maya 🩷: Also if Song Mingi fumbles THIS, I will personally fight him.

You drop your face into your hand with a quiet groan. “Unbelievable…” And yet your eyes drift back toward the lingerie almost immediately. Your throat tightens slightly. Because as much as you’ve both avoided saying it out loud… The thought has absolutely crossed your mind too. More than once. You and Mingi have spent weeks dancing around each other through phone calls, late-night texts, stolen moments, and kisses in Seoul that already felt dangerously addictive. And now you’re alone together in Paris for two days. No schedules. No members. No interruptions. Just the two of you. Your pulse quickens a little at the realization. Not because you’re scared exactly. Just nervous. Anticipating. Excited in a way that makes your stomach twist softly. You pick up the lace carefully between your fingers, shaking your head at Maya’s insanity. You’re a little nervous about finally becoming intimate with Mingi. Partly because it’s been a long time since you’ve had sex and you feel like you’re more than ready for it again, and partly because you really like Mingi and hope that being with him will be just as wonderful as everything else you’ve shared so far. By the time the knock finally comes at the door, your heart is already racing. You barely even think before hurrying across the apartment. And the second you open the door, there he is. Mingi stands in the hallway wearing a black hoodie, grey sweatpants, sunglasses, and a cap pulled low over his eyes like he’s trying very hard not to be recognized. He also looks exhausted. The kind of exhausted that settles deep into someone’s shoulders after weeks of flights, rehearsals, cameras, and too little sleep. And somehow he’s still the most handsome man you’ve ever seen. Usually, you’re reserved at first. Careful. A little shy before physical affection. But the second you see him, all of that completely disappears. You throw yourself into his arms without even thinking about it. “Mingi!“ He barely has time to react before you’re hugging him tightly, and then he laughs softly in surprise while immediately catching you. “Awww sweetheart,“ he murmurs. And honestly? This has never happened to you before. You’ve never missed someone enough that your body reacts before your brain catches up. Never felt this relieved just to hold someone again. Mingi’s arms tighten around you instantly before he lifts you effortlessly off the floor, hands sliding beneath your thighs to hold you against him. Like you weigh absolutely nothing. And naturally, because he’s still Mingi, the first thing he says is: “Wow. I forgot how tiny you are.” You immediately groan. “Shut up.” “No seriously,” he says with complete sincerity while adjusting you higher against him, “you’re basically travel-sized.” You laugh despite yourself, arms loosely around his shoulders while he carries you inside the apartment like it’s the most natural thing in the world. The door shuts behind him with his foot. Then he finally looks around properly. And freezes. “…Oh my god.” You grin instantly. Mingi slowly turns his head, staring at the apartment in complete disbelief. The soft lighting. The enormous windows. The elegant kitchen. The rooftop terrace glowing outside. The entire place looks expensive in that quiet, understated way only truly rich places do. “Wait,” he says, looking around again. “This is insane.” You lean back slightly in his arms so you can see his face properly. “I told you I’d take care of it.” He finally pushes his sunglasses up onto his head, and your stomach flips a little at finally seeing his eyes clearly again after weeks apart. Still warm. Still soft whenever he looks at you. Still dangerous for your emotional stability and your pussy. “You seriously got this whole place?” he asks. You shrug innocently. “I have connections too, you know.” Mingi snorts softly.“ Ah. Mysterious actress connections.” “Exactly.”

Still holding you with one arm like it’s effortless, he wanders further into the apartment, looking around in complete fascination. First the kitchen. Then the cozy living room. Then the beautiful bathroom. And when he sees the massive bathtub and the terrace outside, he actually stops walking. “No, this is actually crazy.” You laugh quietly. His hand rests securely beneath your thigh while he looks around, and honestly, the fact that he carries you this easily is doing things to your brain you choose not to examine too closely. Finally, he looks back at you with a grin. “How did you even find this place?” You smile smugly. “Like you said. Connections.” “Hm.” His eyes narrow playfully. “Suspicious.” Eventually, he sets you back down gently onto the floor. The second your feet touch the ground again, the apartment suddenly feels quieter somehow. More intimate. You clear your throat softly and smile. “Come in properly first.” Mingi drops his bag near the couch before stretching slightly, exhaustion immediately visible again now that he’s standing still. Then you brighten suddenly. “Oh — and I have a surprise for you.“ He looks at you curiously. „What?” “I’m cooking tonight.” That makes him blink immediately. “…You can cook?” You cross your arms dramatically. “Yes, actually.” Mingi stares at you suspiciously. „Since when?” “I have many talents you know nothing about.” The second the words leave your mouth, silence drops between you. A very specific kind of silence. Your own eyes widen slightly. Because somehow that sounded way more suggestive than you intended. Mingi’s eyebrows lift slowly. You immediately point toward the bathroom. “Okay! You should shower first.” He starts laughing instantly. “You’re the one who said it!” “I DIDN’T MEAN IT LIKE THAT.” “Mhm.” You can feel your face getting warm now while he leans casually against the kitchen counter, clearly enjoying your embarrassment way too much. “I’m serious,” you insist. “Sure you are.” You groan dramatically and shove lightly at his arm toward the hallway. “Go shower. Let me cook before I lose my dignity completely.” Still laughing under his breath, Mingi finally grabs his bag and starts toward the bathroom. But not before glancing back at you one more time with that stupidly fond smile again. “Many talents, huh?” You immediately throw a kitchen towel at him. And his laughter follows all the way down the hallway.

The kitchen is warm, filled with the rich scent of butter, roasted onions, and spices simmering slowly on the stove. Pots bubble softly while you move between them with practiced ease, quietly humming to yourself as you stir the sauce. This is definitely one of the perks of being rich and famous. You simply hand over a list of the groceries you need, and everything is delivered, put away, and ready for you by the time you arrive.

Paris glows beyond the floor-to-ceiling windows, the city lights flickering beneath the luxury apartment like stars scattered across the earth. You barely hear the bathroom door open. Then you feel him. Mingi strolls into the kitchen with damp hair, fresh from the shower, a single towel hanging low around his hips. Water still trails slowly down the sharp lines of his chest and disappears beneath the fabric, and for one dangerous second your brain completely blanks. Because God. The man is unfairly attractive. Broad shoulders. Thick arms. A massive frame that practically fills the kitchen the moment he steps beside you. You’ve seen him, dressed in expensive outfits, styled perfectly under blinding lights — but this? Bare skin, relaxed confidence, looking entirely too comfortable in your private space? Way worse. You grip the wooden spoon a little tighter and force yourself to focus on the pot in front of you instead of openly staring like an idiot. Thankfully, years of acting make your face almost impossible to read. Almost. Mingi leans over curiously, peeking into one of the pots before wrinkling his nose dramatically. “You’re cooking German food?” he asks, sounding personally betrayed and a little bit disgusted. You glance at him dryly. “I ate fried chicken feet for you in Seoul.” He pauses. “…Fair point.” A quiet laugh leaves him, low and amused. Then you feel it — his eyes lingering on you a little too knowingly. And damn it. He noticed. Your throat tightens slightly as he shifts closer, slow and deliberate, testing you. The warmth from his body brushes against your side now, distracting enough to make your pulse stumble. “Mhm,” he hums, cocky amusement dripping from his voice. “So that’s how you look at me?” You raise an eyebrow without looking at him directly. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.” “Liar.” The word comes out teasing, almost playful. You finally turn your head toward him, calm on the surface despite the fact your heartbeat is becoming genuinely annoying. “You think very highly of yourself.”

“I know you were staring.” His grin widens when you don’t answer immediately. God, he enjoys this way too much. Mingi steps even closer until your back nearly brushes the counter behind you. He smells like expensive soap and steam, clean and warm, and it takes every ounce of self-control not to visibly react. “Am I making you nervous?” he asks smoothly, tilting his head down to meet your eyes. “Not at all,” you answer evenly. Your voice stays calm. Controlled. But Mingi notices the tiny swallow afterward. His eyes darken with satisfaction instantly. “Cute,” he murmurs. You scoff softly and turn back to the stove before he can see too much. “Go sit down before you distract me.” Instead of listening, he rests one arm against the counter beside you, towering over your shoulder with infuriating confidence. “But distracting you is fun.”Mingi eventually backs off with a dramatic sigh after you threaten to ban him from the kitchen entirely if he keeps hovering over your shoulder. “Wow,” he mutters while grabbing plates from the cabinet. “Abuse.” “You’re lucky I’m feeding you.” “I’m very pretty, though. That should count for something.” You snort under your breath as he starts setting the table, still shirtless, still unfairly distracting. Honestly, watching a six-foot-something idol carefully arrange silverware while wearing nothing but a towel feels like a very specific form of psychological warfare. And he knows it. Every few seconds you catch him glancing at you with that smug little grin like he’s waiting for you to crack first. Unfortunately for him, your self-control is excellent. Mostly. Once everything is finally ready, you move toward the fridge. “Wait,” you say casually. “I forgot something.” Mingi looks up curiously while you pull out two cold glass bottles. For a second he just stares. Then his eyes go wide. “No way.” You hold one up with a small smirk. “You talked about German beer for, like, half my time in Seoul.”

“Because everybody says it’s life-changing!”

“You’re being dramatic.”

“I’m always dramatic.”

“That’s true.” The second you hand him the bottle, he lights up like a kid on Christmas morning. He immediately pops it open against the counter with suspicious confidence. You blink. “Okay… why do you know how to do that?”

“I learn survival skills.”

“That’s not a survival skill.”

“It is if the beer is important.” You laugh softly while opening your own. Mingi takes one long sip. And then another. His eyebrows shoot up instantly.

“Oh.” You try not to look too pleased with yourself. “Good?” He slowly lowers the bottle, staring at it like he’s just experienced a religious awakening. “You Germans are insane,” he says seriously. “This is actually the best beer I’ve ever had.” You laugh outright this time, leaning against the counter. “That sounded deeply offensive somehow.”

“No, no,” he says quickly, pointing at you with the bottle. “I respect you people now.”

“Now?”

“You made me eat pickled things earlier. I was struggling.”

“You survived.”

“Barely.” And even though you’re both incredibly attracted to each other… Dinner ends up lasting way longer than expected because Mingi somehow turns every conversation into either teasing or storytelling. Half the time you’re laughing too hard to eat properly while he animatedly reenacts things from tour life, nearly knocking over his beer twice in the process. And annoyingly enough, he loves your cooking. A lot. By the time you both move to the couch, Paris beyond the windows has melted into a blur of gold and midnight blue, the apartment warm and quiet around you. You barely settle into the cushions before Mingi suddenly grabs your wrist. “Hey—” In one smooth motion, he pulls you directly onto his lap. A startled laugh escapes you as your hands instinctively land against his shoulders to steady yourself. “Mingi—” “Shh,” he murmurs immediately, entirely too pleased with himself. His arms slide around your waist easily, holding you there like it’s the most natural thing in the world. Up close like this, he’s overwhelming — warm skin, damp hair falling slightly into his eyes, the faint scent of soap and beer still clinging to him. And the way he’s looking at you. He wants to fuck. “You’ve been acting calm all night,” he says softly, one hand tracing slowly along your side. “But I think you’re actually losing your mind a little. “Am I making the famous actress nervous?”” You narrow your eyes. “Your ego is unbelievable.”

“But am I wrong?”

You open your mouth to answer. Unfortunately, that’s the exact moment his hand slides up the back of your neck. Your brain completely short-circuits. Mingi notices instantly. The smug grin he gives you is unbearable. “Oh,” he murmurs. Before you can recover enough to argue, he leans in and kisses you. And wow, no wonder you missed him so much.

One of your hands tightens instinctively against his shoulder as he kisses you slowly at first, teasing, clearly enjoying the way your composure evaporates almost immediately. Mingi makes a quiet satisfied sound against your lips when you finally kiss him back properly. Your lips touch gently—a slow rhythm, soft skin meeting soft skin. Your hands rest on his chest; his, on your hips. As the kiss intensifies, his hands slide down to your ass, and he greedily grasps the soft flesh. Your tongue glides into his mouth—hot, wet; you want more—you need more of Mingi today. Of course, you’d already noticed during that last kiss in the woods that Mingi had a hard cock, and the bulge between his legs had looked massive. And today, you want to feel his penis inside you; today, you have no intention of holding back. Your tongues dance together; you nibble at Mingi’s lower lip, threads of saliva connecting your full lips as a soft moan escapes you. Mingi looks at you with dark eyes—full of desire, greedy, and dangerous. Your hands wander to the hem of your T-shirt, and you impatiently pull it up over your head; as your full breasts come into view right before his eyes, Mingi briefly loses his composure. His adam’s apple bobs up and down, and he swallows audibly. "Damn it, baby—where have you been hiding those two airbags all this time?" he wheezes, letting out a choked gasp, his gaze remaining fixed squarely on your tits. You let out a short laugh before pulling him back into a heated kiss. Now a little more unbridled, he slides his tongue deep into your throat; his large hand immediately lands on your breast, kneading the soft flesh. "Fuck,” he groans as you arch your back deeper, your breasts pressing forward invitingly. Since he is clad only in a towel, you feel his hard cock pressing against the inside of your thigh. Your pussy throbs—God, you need him now; enough with the waiting! You pull your head back, both of you breathing heavily. "Mingi," you practically gasp. "Please," you whisper, pressing yourself closer to him. Mingi gasps in return—hot, hungry, full of lust. He grabs your thighs and gets to his feet with you wrapped around him. The towel around his hips hangs dangerously low, but neither of you notices — too consumed by the desperate need for one another. You continue kissing, hungrier now—Mingi carries you through the living room into the adjoining bedroom. Keeping you wrapped in his arms, he collapses onto the bed, planting his hands beside your head before his weight can crush you. But you feel his weight upon you—his sheer mass, his broad frame towering over you, completely engulfing you. You keep kissing—messily, uncoordinatedly; everything is damp and wet, your lips already swollen and red. Mingi props himself up on one hand and begins unbuttoning your pants; you help him, pulling them down. When your pussy—still encased in your panties—brushes against his stomach, you let out an involuntary moan; Mingi then slides your panties down your legs as well. He props himself up on his elbow and kisses you as if he needs it to breath; his right hand briefly wanders up to your breast, giving it a firm squeeze, before traveling downward—over your flat stomach, your thighs, and between your legs. When his fingertips gently brushes against your clitoris, your body jolts slightly and a shaky breath escapes your lips. Mingi begins tracing slow, seductive circles over your hot core. "So wet," he whispers, his lips drifting from your mouth to your ear. "So wet—just for me," he murmurs, his hot breath against your ear sending shivers down your spine. The circles he traces over your clitoris make you grow increasingly restless; your hips begin to twitch. "Mingi," you breathe, your nails digging into his back.

"Yes? Sweetheart, you feel so good," he purrs in his deep, husky voice. His fingers trail lower until they find your slick heat, and with a low groan, Mingi slowly pushes his long, thick fingers inside you before drawing them back out again, and again, and again. You moan aloud, arching your back, tilting your head all the way back. “Tell me, baby,” Mingi teases softly, pressing wet kisses beneath your ear, “do you want me?” "Yes, Mingi," you moan hotly as his fingers continue pumping inside you. His lips find yours again, and a soft moan escapes into his open mouth. As his fingers pump in and out of you, he kisses you deeply and sensually. "I had to prepare you a little," he says, withdrawing his fingers from your pussy. You whimper softly. Mingi shifts his weight, bracing himself over you, his massive thighs squeezing between your delicate legs. Mingi leans back onto his knees, giving you your first real look at him. The moment your eyes land on his cock, your breath hitches; he’s thick, painfully long, enough to make you wonder how you’re supposed to take him. „Mingi, condom,” you remind him pointedly. “Yeah, yeah,” he mutters impatiently before rolling one onto his cock. You watch with narrowed eyes, honestly a little doubtful the poor thing will survive the experience. “Ready?” he asks, a hint of nervousness in his voice. You nod, and he moves slowly, guiding himself into you. The sensation makes you gasp immediately. “Mingi… you’re huge,” you manage to say, air catching in your lungs. "I know, hold on a little longer," he murmurs, pushing his cock further inside you. His large cock fills you completely, stretching your inner walls. "Mingi, wait," you reply, squeezing your eyes shut. „Come on, you can do this, I've got you, sweetheart." He places soft kisses on your cheek, one hand cups a breast, pinches it lightly, and when he's finally all the way in, you exhale audibly loudly. He’s buried inside you to the hilt, and alongside the burning sensation, another feeling begins to emerge: the desire to have Mingi fuck you hard. Mingi slowly begins to move and you're already melting away, "God, you're so tight," Mingi moans, "perfect for me," slowly, deliberately and with restraint he thrusts into you, scattering tender kisses on your lips. You savor every touch, every thrust, every kiss—his cock buried deep inside you—yet you need more. You want it harder. "Mingi," you whisper, moaning aloud, biting your lower lip so hard you think it’s about to bleed. "I need more," you manage to gasp out; and before you’ve even finished the sentence, Mingi begins to hammer into you harder and more intensely. Ruthlessly, he buries his cock inside your poor pussy, his heavy balls slapping against your skin. You brace yourself, sensing an orgasm slowly building momentum deep within you. His thick cock is hitting your G-Spot. "Oh God, yes," you moan obscenely, your fingernails digging into his back as Mingi grows more restless, wilder, and more unbridled. „Finally I can fuck you, god, you’re so hot.“ Firmly and hard, he pumps his cock inside you; his elbows are planted beside your head, supporting his weight so he doesn't completely crush you. But then he straightens his arm; his other hand grabs the back of your thigh and presses your knee against your chest, allowing him to thrust even deeper. "Mingi... nghh... so good," you cry out. Your small, innocent fingers touch his broad chest and begin to tug at his nipples; Mingi lets out a hot, pleading moan—but that only spurs him on even more, driving him to fuck you deep into the mattress. Your orgasm is on the verge of breaking through, and as he pushes your leg up a little higher—his fingers digging into your thigh—it washes over you like a tidal wave. You scream Mingi’s name, loud and helpless. „Mingi, Miiingii,..yes, oh god, yes!“

He moves with increasing urgency now, rougher, more desperate, his voice breaking into low groans. Pressed against your neck, he holds you close, his hands firm at your hips as the moment overwhelms him. Your nails dig into his firm ass, making him laugh under his breath. Damn, he has an incredibly cute butt. His hips jerk uncontrollably as he buries himself deep inside your pussy, all the way to the hilt, his face pressed tight against your neck. “Oh God… fuck, fuck, fuck… I’m coming,” Mingi moans loudly as he spills into the condom. Hopefully the poor thing holds up! The only sound in the room is your loud, unsteady breathing mingling with his, both of you still trying to catch your breath. Mingi rolls onto his side beside you, but almost immediately pulls you back against him again. Your breathing is rapid, your heart is pounding in your chest. Wow—you’ve never come this fast before, without any foreplay, in the missionary position.

The bubbles churn softly beneath the surface while Mingi somehow manages to get the whirlpool running, despite the two of you having spent the last ten minutes pressing random buttons and arguing over which one actually turns on the heat. Within minutes, steam curls into the freezing Paris night air. You slip back inside the apartment to grab a few snacks and two glasses of wine, throwing your bikini on as quickly as possible before hurrying back outside. The cold hits you instantly. Mingi is already sitting in the water, damp hair pushed back, shoulders broad above the surface, one arm lazily resting against the edge of the whirlpool. The moment you step outside, he just stares at you. Wordlessly. With the most unimpressed are you serious right now? expression imaginable. “What?” you ask, already laughing at the flat look on his face. “Sweetheart,” he says slowly, eyes dragging over your bikini, “I literally had you naked under me ten minutes ago. You do not need a bikini for my sake.” There’s that mischievous grin again. The one that always makes him look far too pleased with himself. He holds out his hand for you anyway, fingers wiggling impatiently until you take it. His grip is warm despite the cold air as he helps you climb into the whirlpool. The heat immediately melts through your body. You settle beside him with a quiet sigh while Paris glows around you — golden lights stretching endlessly beneath the rooftop, distant traffic humming softly far below. For a while, neither of you says anything. You simply lean your head against his shoulder. And for the first time in weeks — maybe even months — you feel yourself truly relax. “Mingi,” you murmur eventually, lifting your head slightly. “Yeah?” he answers immediately, pulling you closer against his side without even thinking about it. “Do you think I’m funny?” His entire face changes. His mouth opens. Closes. Then opens again. You actually managed to short-circuit him. “Uh… yeah? I mean— yeah,” he stammers, clearing his throat. “Why?” You stare down at the wine glass in your hands for a moment. You really do not want to talk about work tonight, but the thought has been circling your mind all evening, refusing to leave. “I got offered a role in a comedy,” you admit quietly. “Amazing co-stars, great script, everything. But I don’t know…” You hesitate. “I’ve never done something like that before. And I… I don’t think I can pull it off.” Mingi, who somehow still seems massive even while sitting beside you, wraps one arm around your shoulders. “I think you’re funny,” he says immediately. You glance at him skeptically. “No, seriously,” he insists. “I think it’s funny when you get offended because I said something insane again and then you go—” his voice jumps an octave as he imitates you terribly, “‘Mingi!’” You burst out laughing instantly. “And I think it’s funny,” he continues proudly, encouraged now, “when you try really hard to be polite and sweet but it’s super obvious you actually want the ground to swallow you whole.” You smack his chest lightly. “Those are not good arguments, Mingi.” Again, he copies your voice dramatically. “Mingi.” “Oh my god,” you deadpan. “Fine. I’ll reject the role.” That finally makes him laugh properly, loud and warm and completely unrestrained. “Come on,” he sighs, shaking his head. “You’re funny. And smart. And you work harder than anyone I know.” His eyes flick downward on your tits shamelessly before he adds, “and, wow, you look really good in that bikini.” You snort softly, rolling your eyes despite the smile pulling at your lips. “Come here.”

He tilts his head toward himself before tugging gently at your waist until you climb onto his lap. For the second time tonight, you end up sitting across his powerful thighs, his hands immediately settling against your hips like he physically cannot stop touching you for longer than thirty seconds. Not that you mind. Mingi presses a lazy kiss against your shoulder, fingers tracing absent patterns along your skin beneath the water while the Paris skyline glitters around you. He hums thoughtfully against your shoulder like he’s genuinely considering your career options. “You know,” he says after a moment, lips twitching dangerously, “maybe you could start with something classic. Charlie Chaplin parody or something.” You narrow your eyes immediately. “The height is already there.” A slow blink. Then another. You roll your eyes so hard it physically hurts before crossing your arms beneath your chest, pushing your tits up, still comfortably seated on his lap while the water bubbles around the two of you. “Mhm,” you deadpan. “Keep going. I can tell this is leading somewhere intelligent.”

“Oh, wait—” His entire face lights up with fresh inspiration. “Or a live-action Madagascar remake.” You already know. You immediately know. “You could play one of the penguins.” You bite down hard on your lower lip to stop yourself from laughing at the utterly smug expression on his face. “Very funny, Mingi,” you reply dryly. “Really.” He looks unbearably pleased with himself now, broad shoulders shaking slightly with quiet laughter. “Are you done making fun of my height yet?” You shift slightly on his thighs as you say it, lifting your chin in fake offense while his hands remain lazily planted against your ass beneath the water. “Yeah, yeah, alright,” Mingi chuckles. “I’m just joking.” But he keeps grinning. Keeps looking at you like he finds this entire situation deeply entertaining. “It’s just…” He exhales another laugh, eyes crinkling at the corners. “You’re really small.” Okay. That was enough. You let out a soft scoff, already deciding this incredibly attractive, ridiculously large man beneath you needed to be reminded of something very important. Because yes — Mingi is bigger than you. Stronger than you. Broad enough to practically swallow you whole when he wraps his arms around you. But you still have him wrapped completely around your finger. And the worst part? He knows it. “Mingi,” you say calmly. Your fingers slide slowly over his broad chest beneath the water, tracing upward with deliberate softness. His grin falters instantly. Just a little. “Isn’t it funny,” you murmur, “that despite our physical differences…” The second you phrase it like that, his mouth curls again. You continue before he can interrupt. “…all I have to do is snap my fingers and you’d do absolutely anything for me?” Your lips brush softly along his cheek. Barely there. Just enough contact to make him tense beneath you. Mingi’s hands tighten instinctively against your ass. You arch your back slightly, pressing your tits against his pecs— soft heat against hard muscle — and his breathing changes almost immediately. There it is. That tiny loss of composure. That microscopic crack in all his confidence. “Keep making your jokes, big guy,” you whisper sweetly. Your lips drift lower, featherlight kisses brushing along his jawline while your nails drag slowly against his skin beneath the water. Painfully slow. Teasing. You feel the way his muscles tense under your touch. Feel the way he suddenly stops laughing altogether. And when you shift even closer against him, close enough that there’s barely any space left between your bodies, Mingi finally exhales quietly through his nose. You feel his huge cock growing against the inside of your thigh. “…You’re playing dirty now, you already want round two?“ His eyes darken instantly.

„Solo tengo que sonreír y te derrites. Así que suplica, papi.“

You can practically see the exact moment his thoughts derail. The way his hands tighten around your ass, squeezing the flesh. The way his gaze drops to your mouth. The way his chest rises a little deeper beneath your fingertips. Oh, he definitely thinks this is heading somewhere else. And honestly? Watching him unravel this quickly is far too entertaining to stop now. You cradle his face gently between your hands, thumbs brushing over warm skin while steam curls around the two of you. “Beg,” you murmur sweetly. „Be a good boy and beg.“ His eyebrows shoot upward immediately. “I’m a grown man,” he says mockingly, looking down at you like the very idea insults him. “Not a dog. I don’t beg for anything.” You simply shrug, entirely unbothered. “Okay,” you reply lightly. “You bark for your fans all the time, though.” Yet somehow, despite the confidence in his voice, he doesn’t move away even slightly. Doesn’t loosen his grip on you. Doesn’t create distance. Doesn’t stop staring at your lips like he’s already losing this battle. “Okay. Fine,” you reply easily, completely unbothered. And then you start shifting off his lap. “Wait—” The word flies out of Mingi instantly. Almost panicked. You pause. He clears his throat quickly, visibly trying to recover some dignity before repeating, much calmer this time— “…Wait.” You look at him expectantly. Mingi visibly hates this game already. You can see it all over his face. The tension in his jaw. The reluctant frustration in his eyes. The way his fingers flex unconsciously against your waist. “What do I have to do?” he asks quietly. So quiet you almost miss it. Like he desperately hopes the entire city of Paris somehow doesn’t overhear him. A slow, innocent smile spreads across your lips. “Oh, Mingi,” you coo softly. “Come on. Is it really that hard for you?” You brush a damp strand of hair carefully behind his ear, fingers lingering against his skin. “To be a good boy?” The words hit him like a physical blow. Mingi goes completely still beneath you. Then his teeth sink into his lower lip, tension flashing across his face. Because that’s the problem. He hates giving up control. And somehow that only makes this worse for him. Or better. Depending on how you look at it. At the same time, it turns him on incredibly when you call him your ‚good boy.‘ “Fine,” he mutters under his breath. You tilt your head innocently. “What was that?” Mingi scoffs quietly, glaring at you for half a second before his hands slide tighter around your ass again. “I said,” he repeats, slower this time, “fine. I’m your good boy.” Satisfaction blooms warmly in your chest. “There he is,” you murmur, teasing him with his own words. Your fingers stroke gently over his cheek like he’s a dog that just obeyed a command. “Good job, handsome.” Mingi exhales sharply through his nose at that, eyes narrowing slightly while heat flickers dangerously across his expression. “And now,” you whisper, leaning closer until your lips barely brush his—“kiss me, big guy.“

Exactly one hour after Mingi fucked an imprint of you into the mattress, you find yourself on all fours on the large lounge on the terrace, above the rooftops of Paris. Mingi thrusts his cock deep inside you with powerful strokes, his large hands gripping your hips. The slapping sound of skin against skin fills the Parisian evening—luckily, the terrace is perfectly secluded, so no one can see you. You bite your lower lip to stifle your moans. “God, you’re so hot. Having your perfect ass in my hands turns me on, baby.” He’s definitely the king of dirty talk. It feels as Mingi’s thick, massive cock is going to come right out the top of you, so deep is he hammering inside. "Tell me I’m your good boy," Mingi demands breathlessly from behind you, leaning his torso over yours. His chest presses against your back; you turn your head and flash him a dirty grin. "Such a needy boy—oh, my good, good boy," you coo, reaching back to cup his face in one hand and squeeze his cheeks together. He turns his head slightly, and you kiss him tenderly. "Come on, Papì—give it to me. Harder, deeper... can you do that for me?" Mingi nods and begins planting kisses along your shoulder. You moan, letting out a soft, choked gasp. "What a good boy," you purr like a cat, pressing your ass back against his lower belly. “Fuck, sweetheart… you’re driving me crazy.” Mingi repositions himself and begins thrusting vigorously inside you once more. His heavy balls slap against your pussy. The Eiffel Tower sparkles in the distance. Oh, Paris—the City of Love!

The hot water cascades from the massive rainfall shower above you, steam curling through the luxurious marble bathroom and fogging up the floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking Paris. The city lights shimmer somewhere beyond the glass, blurred and distant, but you barely notice them anymore. Your eyes stay closed as the warmth sinks into your skin, exhaustion and satisfaction still heavy in your body after hours tangled together in silk sheets. Then suddenly, two large hands slide around your waist from behind. A soft breath leaves your lips instantly as you melt back against him. Mingi’s chest is warm against your spine, damp skin pressed to yours while his hands roam slowly over your body, unhurried, possessive in the gentlest way possible — like he never wants to let go of you again. His lips brush your shoulder first. One kiss. Then another. Slow, lingering, teasing. You tilt your head slightly, giving him more access, and he chuckles softly against your skin like he knows exactly what he’s doing to you. His large hands move higher, covering your breasts with an almost lazy confidence, squeezing them gently while warm water runs between his fingers. A low, throaty sigh slips from your lips before you can stop it. “God,” Mingi murmurs against your shoulder, voice rough and deep from exhaustion and desire, “you’re so fucking beautiful.” His hands settle over your tits again, warm and heavy, thumbs brushing slowly over sensitive skin while he lets out the softest, most satisfied hum behind you. “There they are,” he murmurs smugly, like he’s greeting old friends. “My favorite view in Paris.” You laugh quietly, shaking your head, but he only tightens his hold with a cocky little grin against your shoulder. “No, seriously,” he continues, voice smooth and teasing, “how am I supposed to behave when you look like this?” His large hands massage them slowly, appreciating rather than rushing, palms moving with lazy confidence while water streams over both of you. Every now and then he gives them a gentle squeeze, clearly unable to resist himself, and the pleased sound he makes afterward sends heat curling low in your stomach. “God, they’re so full,” Mingi whispers huskily against your shoulder, lifting them slightly in his hands as if he still can’t believe they’re real beneath his palms. “You seriously must’ve been God’s favorite.” A soft laugh slips from your lips at that. You love his hands on you, love the shameless admiration in his voice, but maybe it’s finally time to tell him the truth.

“More like Dr. Schmidt’s favorite,” you say casually. The reaction is immediate. Mingi freezes behind you, hands pausing mid-motion against your body. “…Wait.” He blinks. “They’re not real?” You can’t help smiling at the genuine shock in his voice. For once, the cocky rapper is completely speechless. “Hate to disappoint you, big guy,” you tease softly, tilting your head back against his shoulder, “but these two had a little professional help.” For a second, he just stares at you in stunned silence. Then a surprised little “Huh,” leaves him. His grip tightens instinctively, hands sliding over your breasts again like he suddenly needs to reassess the situation personally. You laugh quietly under your breath. “Well?” you ask, teasing now. “Do you still like them?” Mingi looks down at you with the most mischievous grin, dark eyes glinting through the steam. His hands massage them slowly again, completely unbothered by the revelation. “Oh sweetheart,” he says smoothly, voice dripping with amusement, “these two might actually be my favorites. Only your ass really gives them any competition.” You burst out laughing at that, shaking your head while he grins proudly against your skin like he’s just said the smartest thing imaginable. And honestly, the way he holds you afterward — warm, playful, completely obsessed either way — makes your chest ache a little. Because somehow, even his cockiness feels affectionate. His hands trail down your stomach again, fingertips dragging slowly over your soft skin, making your breath hitch. The steam wraps around both of you, thick and dizzying, and all you can focus on is him — his touch, his scent, the warmth of his body surrounding yours. “You’re perfect,” he practically purrs into your ear. A quiet laugh escapes you, sleepy and breathless. “Nobody’s perfect,” you murmur back softly, eyes still closed because you can’t bear to lose even a second of this feeling. Mingi hums behind you, amused. “Y/n,”cocky little grin obvious in his voice, “trust me. You are.” His hands slide back up your body, fingers spreading over your tits again, pressing you closer against him while his lips ghost along your neck. You let him do whatever he wants, too tired to argue, too intoxicated by the way he touches you — like he’s completely obsessed. By the time you finally step out of the shower, the bathroom is thick with steam, the mirrors completely fogged over and your skin still warm from both the water and him. Mingi is the first to grab the ridiculously bathrobes, wrapping one around your shoulders before pulling you closer again without hesitation. He starts drying your arms and hair with a towel afterward, rubbing you down with exaggerated care that makes you laugh softly. You love this side of him. For all his cocky comments and the way he can barely keep his hands off you, there’s also something ridiculously sweet about him. Warm. Attentive. The kind of man who talks big but still makes sure you’re warm afterward. “Hold still,” he murmurs, towel draped over your head while he dries your hair aggressively enough to make you giggle. “Can’t have my girl catching a cold in Paris.”

“My hero,” you tease.

“I know.” You barely even make it fully dry before he’s kissing you again. Slow this time. Deep. Unhurried. Like neither of you can quite stop touching the other for more than a few seconds. His hands slide around your waist beneath the bathrobe, pulling you flush against him while your fingers curl into the damp fabric at his chest. You have to rise onto your tiptoes just to kiss him properly, but Mingi only seems to enjoy that more, smiling faintly against your lips every time you stretch up for him. The world outside feels impossibly far away. No flashing cameras. No schedules. No secret dating. Just him. Just you. Still kissing him, you begin guiding him backward toward the marble bench built beside the massive shower. Mingi stumbles slightly when the backs of his calves hit the stone, breaking the kiss only long enough to glance behind him before sitting down obediently, his hands immediately reaching for your waist again. He tries to pull you onto his lap. You stop him gently. “Let me take care of you for a little bit, big guy,” you murmur softly. Mingi blinks, clearly caught off guard for once. Then you slowly sink to your knees between his legs. For a second, he just stares at you, trying to process what you mean. And then realization hits. A quiet, breathy “…Oh,” leaves him instantly. "Fuck, fuck, fuuuuck... oh... ah... Y/N, what the..." Mingi whimpers; apparently, he can't keep his mouth shut even while getting a blowjob. Your nails trail over the skin of his muscular thighs as you let his cock slide a little deeper toward your throat. Even though you’ve given a couple of blowjobs in your life, Mingi’s is by far the longest, thickest penis you’ve ever had in your mouth. You move your lips up and down his heavy shaft again, your nails digging into his skin. A mixture of saliva and pre-cum drips from the corner of your mouth, and tears swell up in the corners of your eyes. "Ah... sweetheart... Ah, wait, wait!" Mingi whispers, sounding almost panicked; you let his cock slide out of your mouth and look up at him. You raise an eyebrow expectantly. Mingi looks like he’s about to explode. He’s breathing heavily, sweat beads on his forehead, and his penis twitches against his stomach. "I... I," he pants nervously, "I'm about to cum..." he admits breathlessly, looking at you uncertainly. At first, you don't quite grasp the problem, but then it dawns on you. Oh—he’s never come in someone’s mouth before. You lick your damp lips, suppressing an amused smile. God, he’s usually so confident and cocky, but right now he’s just a whimpering, insecure, 6ft1 tall puppy. You clear your throat, your gaze traveling from his rapidly rising chest up to his eyes. "Do you want to cum in my mouth?" you murmur softly. Mingi swallows hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing sharply. "If... you... well... I..." he stammers uncertainly, biting his lower lip. "Oh, you’re so cute, big guy," you purr with amusement; you take his cock between your full lips again, sucking pleasurably, a whiny moan escaped his lips, then grab Mingi’s hand and place it on the back of your head. Then you suck slowly on his cock, his penis sliding deeper into your wet mouth. You gradually pick up the pace, signaling to Mingi—via your hand resting on his—that he should control the rhythm. "Fuck," Mingi groans, letting his head fall back against the tiles; his mouth hangs open, and his hips jerk in time with the movement of your head. His hand presses you down deeper, and less than two minutes later, you feel his hot cum filling your mouth. Mingi’s whole body twitches as he lets out high-pitched whimpers. "Oh my God, Y/N... oh... ah, yes, fuck," he babbles through his moans, and you patiently take it all. When you pull back, look at him, loudly swallow his cum, and grin at him, Mingi looks like he won the lottery. "I told you I have many talents," you say with a wolfish grin, winking at him. Mingi laughs breathlessly and runs his fingers through his hair.

It’s almost midnight, and you’ve stopped counting how many times you’ve fucked and how many times you’ve come. All you can feel now is Mingi’s thick cock hammering into you from behind again. But one thing you’ve definitely realized is that the bad, bad rapper from Ateez loves being praised like a good boy. "Good job, Mingi"—his cock is hard; "Oh Mingi, you’re such a good boy"—his thrusts get harder; "Mingi, you’re my best boy"—he’s on the verge of exploding. Maybe all that barking with his fans has mentally turned him into a dog—who knows? All you know is that the guy can fuck like a god. On top of that, he’s obsessed with your body; whether it’s your tits or your ass, he’s constantly touching them and telling you how good you look. You know you look good naked, but even when Mingi is fucking you from behind like a madman, he’s still groping your ass. "God, baby, your ass is so hot!" You’ve slept with guys who had huge egos and were worshipped by thousands of fans, but Mingi was the first among them who could actually fuck the way his image suggested. Even though you’re sure he doesn’t have all that much experience yet, he makes up for it with stamina, technique, and size. When you show him how you like to be touched while he’s inside you, he doesn’t get defensive. Quite the opposite—he listens patiently, pays close attention, and learns quickly. Very quickly. He’s got arguably the most perfect cock you’ve ever seen—long, thick, with a pink tip—and he knows exactly how to use it. As he thrusts steadily into you from behind, his hand trails from your ass along your hip before slipping between your legs. "Mingi," you laugh, already moaning, "I... I can't take it anymore." Mingi leans over you, his hot breath grazing your ear. "Aw, come on, baby; I want to hear you scream my name one more time," he murmurs in that deep voice of his that almost takes your breath away. "Fuck…Mingi," you sigh as you feel his fingertips tracing slow circles over your clitoris while he rolls his hips forward, driving the tip of his cock right against your G-spot. Again, he’s a fast learner. The dual stimulation—almost overwhelming—drives you to the brink of madness, making your entire body tense up. "Mingi," you gasp; your legs begin to tremble, your back arches, and you whimper his name softly. Your pussy contracts, pulsing around Mingi’s cock, and with a hoarse moan, your orgasm takes hold. You come hard—pulsing and tightening—as your pussy clamps down on Mingi’s cock; he grabs your hips and thrusts into you right through your climax, chasing his own peak. “F… f… fuck…” he chokes out, breathless, as his hips snap against you in desperate, uncontrollable thrusts before he finally releases deep inside you.

The Paris apartment is quiet except for the soft sound of rain against the windows and the slow rhythm of your breathing. You’re exhausted. Completely, wonderfully exhausted. You’ve never had this much sex in your entire life—let alone this much really good sex—and now your body feels warm, heavy, and boneless in the aftermath of it all. Mingi, somehow, seems completely unaffected. The man genuinely has the stamina of a marathon runner. You’re curled against him on your side, your back pressed to his broad chest, his arm tucked beneath your head like a pillow while the other rests lazily over your thigh. The sheets are tangled around your legs, your skin still warm against his. Your eyes are already closed. Half asleep. Mingi presses another soft kiss to your shoulder, then another just beneath it, slow and affectionate, like he can’t stop touching you. His hand drifts up and down your thigh absentmindedly, fingertips brushing over your skin in lazy strokes. For a while, neither of you speaks. Then you feel his hand shift. Slowly, curiously, it slides to the back of your thigh. You barely react at first, too sleepy to care, letting him move you however he wants. But then you feel him carefully lifting your leg higher. And higher. Until your knee is nearly pressed toward your shoulder. Your brows pinch slightly even as your eyes stay closed. “What are you doing…?” you mumble sleepily. Behind you, Mingi laughs quietly against your shoulder. “I just want to see how flexible you are.” Of course he does. You’re too tired to protest properly, only humming softly as he continues with surprising gentleness, his warm hand sliding behind your knee and then lower to your calf. Then he carefully stretches your leg out further. The movement is smooth, effortless for you despite the ridiculous position, your body naturally falling into a side split while still curled partly against him. For a second, Mingi goes completely silent. “The fuck?,” he whispers. You laugh tiredly into his arm, the sound muffled and sleepy. “Why can you do that?” he asks, genuine disbelief in his voice. Even now, he still sounds amazed. You yawn softly before answering. “I did gymnastics for years… and a lot of stunt training.” Mingi stares at you for another second like he’s trying to completely rethink the laws of physics. Your leg is still stretched out effortlessly, your skin catching softly in the warm light spilling through the room, but eventually he notices how heavy your breathing has become, how close you are to falling asleep completely. His expression softens instantly. Carefully, gently, he lowers your leg again, like you’re something precious he doesn’t want to handle too roughly. Then he pulls you even closer against him with embarrassing ease, like you weigh absolutely nothing. His chest presses warm against your back again. You feel his lips against your neck. Then your shoulder. Slow, lingering kisses. You hum quietly in satisfaction, melting further into him as his fingers continue tracing lazy patterns over your skin. “Sleepy?” he murmurs softly. You only make a small sound in response, already drifting. Mingi chuckles under his breath and presses one last tender kiss beneath your ear, holding you tighter against him as the rain continues outside the apartment windows. And wrapped safely in his arms, warm and loved and completely worn out, you slowly fall asleep. You’re asleep. Completely asleep. Curled up right beside Mingi, your body pressed close to his, breathing slow and steady. Every now and then you shift slightly, but you never wake—not even when his fingers gently brush your hair back or when he leans down to press soft, absentminded kisses to your temple. He does it without thinking. Just because he can. Just because he likes it. Mingi rests against the headboard with his phone in one hand, the other loosely draped over your waist like an instinct. His gaze keeps flicking away from the screen to you, like he can’t quite believe you’re really here.

So close. So calm. So his, in a way neither of you has said out loud yet. He never thought he could feel like this about someone. Not like this—this easy, this warm, this natural. His life has always been noise, schedules, pressure, cameras, expectations. But with you, everything slows down. With you, he can just be Song Mingi. And the funny part is—you understand it. Because you live the same life in a different world. Fame, attention, pressure. You get it without him having to explain anything. His phone buzzes.

Yunho:

How’s Paris, Romeo?

Mingi snorts quietly so he doesn’t wake you.

His thumb moves.

Mingi:

She booked a luxury apartment. We’re enjoying some peace. And yes… a lot of sex.

Almost immediately:

Yunho:

I didn’t need that information.

Mingi can’t help the smirk that tugs at the corners of his mouth. God, your first round had lasted maybe five minutes—but considering he’d spent the last four weeks with nothing but his own hand for company, he’d actually lasted a lot longer than he’d expected. The moment he’d seen you naked—your full, perfect breasts—he’d almost lost it right then and there. What turns Mingi on the most is that you’re actually a rather reserved and introverted person, but in bed you’re much wilder and more uninhibited. You like to take the lead and have him wrapped around your little finger.

Mingi:

For someone who’s shy and introverted, she’s absolutely unreal in bed. Gave me one of the best blowjobs I ever had…

Yunho:

…I regret asking.

A flood of laughing emojis follows. Before Mingi can even set his phone down, another message pops up from Yunho’s number.

But the tone is different.

Wooyoung:

HI THIS IS WOOYOUNG NOW!!!

Mingi immediately exhales through his nose, already entertained.

Wooyoung:

Enjoy Paris!!! Bring me back those famous cookies you talked about!! Also say hi to Y/N for me!!!!

Three dots appear.

Typing.

Typing.

Typing.

Then—

Wooyoung:

Actually no wait—tell her I love her.

Another pause.

Then immediately:

Wooyoung:

AND STOP BEING SHY AND JUST TELL HER YOU LOVE HER ALREADY. BYE.

Mingi stares at the screen. Then laughs quietly, shaking his head.

Yunho:

He’s not wrong though.

Mingi’s smile softens a little. He leans his head back, glancing down at you again.

You’re still asleep, completely unaware of the chaos happening in his phone, breathing softly against his chest. He types slowly.

Mingi:

Too early for that.

Mingi:

We’ll see.

Mi corazón es tuyo - My heart is yours

summary: You’re famous, breathtakingly beautiful, and adored by everyone. At a party, Mingi approaches you. At first, you assume he’s just like every other guy who’s only interested in your looks and status. But his cocky yet effortlessly charming personality has you laughing far more often than you’d like to admit. Before you know it, you find yourself agreeing to go on a date with him…

a/n: Guys, we’re continuing… dive into the world of the rich and beautiful! I promise the smut is coming soon—and it’ll have Mommy fed. 😉 Thank you all so much for the likes, comments, and reblogs!

4. chapter/ capítulo/ kapitel/ 제1장

The studio lights are almost painfully bright after three straight hours of interviews. London rain taps softly against the tall windows somewhere behind the cameras, but inside everything feels warm, loud, and slightly chaotic. The giant poster for your new film towers behind you and Florence, all dramatic lighting and seductive taglines about love, sex, heartbreak, and modern dating.

You sit curled slightly into the chair, ankles crossed, fingers loosely wrapped around the paper coffee cup that’s long gone cold. Your hair falls in soft waves over your shoulders, framing the tiredness you’ve gotten very good at hiding lately. Three films last year had sounded exciting at first. Now it mostly just feels exhausting. Beside you, Florence Pugh is the complete opposite of exhaustion. Weirdly you two could be sisters, having similiar facial features. She’s sprawled comfortably across her chair in some outrageously loud outfit only she could pull off — bright colors, chunky rings, dramatic boots — radiating energy like she’s powered by chaos itself. Her cropped platinum hair is tousled from constantly running her hands through it, and every answer she gives somehow becomes louder, funnier, and more unfiltered than the last. And somehow, from the very beginning, the two of you just fit. You’re quieter, more reserved, often choosing your words carefully before speaking. Florence says exactly what she thinks the second it enters her brain. But instead of clashing, it balances perfectly. The next reporter sits down with a grin already threatening to become laughter. “Okay,” she says, glancing between the two of you, “your movie is basically two hours of dating disasters, emotional trauma, sex, and questionable romantic decisions…” Florence immediately points at the poster behind you. “Which is also my dating history.” You snort quietly into your cup while the crew laughs. The reporter shakes her head fondly. “So tell me — what do you actually find attractive in men? Personality-wise.” You already know your answer instantly. Mingi flashes through your mind before you can stop it — the way he listens when you talk, the way he always makes space for your opinions, the softness underneath his confidence. Seoul. Late-night walks. Hidden dates nobody knows about. Paris in a week. Your lips twitch slightly. But you let Florence answer first. “Oh, easy,” Florence says dramatically, throwing one leg over the other. “Humor. Confidence. Someone who can handle me psychologically. Which is difficult. Godspeed to that man.” The room laughs again. “And emotionally available men,” she adds loudly. “Where are they? Missing. Extinct species.” The reporter turns to you expectantly. You straighten slightly in your chair, offering a small smile. “I think…” Your voice comes out soft, calm. “I like men who are gentlemen. Someone respectful. Someone who respects my work and speaks to me like an equal.” “A healthy answer,” Florence says immediately. “Boring. But healthy.” You laugh under your breath while the reporter nods approvingly. “Okay,” she says mischievously, “what about physically?” “Oh, Jesus Christ,” Florence mutters, already losing composure. The reporter points at her first. Florence practically explodes. “Hands,” she blurts out instantly. “Good forearms. Good shoulders. A man that looks like he could survive carrying logs through a forest.” You cover your mouth, laughing quietly. “And veins,” Florence continues shamelessly. “Not in a serial killer way — although maybe a little — but you know when someone rolls their sleeves up and—”

“Florence,” you interrupt through laughter. “What? I’m honest!” The reporter is wheezing now. “And accents,” Florence adds. “A man with an accent could absolutely ruin my life.” Then both women turn toward you. You pause dramatically, pretending to think much harder than you actually are. Because unfortunately, your answer is very specific. Very Song Mingi-shaped. “Recently…” you begin carefully, “I think I’m into thighs.” Florence freezes. “Thighs?” she repeats, staring at you like she’s never heard the word before. You nod once, now fully committed. “Yeah. Like…” You hold your hands apart slightly to demonstrate. “Massive, muscular thighs.” For half a second Florence just blinks. Then she slams a hand onto your arm. “OH MY GOD, YES.” The entire room erupts laughing. “Yes!” she yells. “Like properly meaty thighs!” You’re already blushing now, ducking your head as you laugh. “Exactly,” you mumble. “The kind you can SIT on? Or even better live on?“ Florence asks at full volume. You can barely stop laughing long enough to nod. The reporter has tears in her eyes. “This is the best interview I’ve had all week.” Florence is still spiraling. “Nobody talks enough about thighs! Everyone’s obsessed with abs — abs are useless. THIGHS. Powerful. Supportive. Built for—” “Florence!” you gasp again, laughing harder. “What? We’re speaking truth!” You shake your head, cheeks warm pink now, and glance toward one of the cameras filming the interview. For just a second, you wink. Tiny. Quick. Almost invisible. A secret meant for one person only.

The Wanteez set is louder than usual today. Half-built props are scattered around the studio, staff members weave between cameras, and Wooyoung is currently arguing with a producer about why he should legally be allowed to eat during filming. Mingi barely hears any of it. He’s sitting off to the side in black suite, phone in one hand while makeup staff dab at his face between takes. His hair is slightly messy from rehearsal, rings glinting under the bright studio lights as he scrolls absentmindedly through messages. He’s tired. Not exhausted exactly — just restless. Because you’re in London. And he misses you more than he wants to admit out loud. A shadow falls over him. Seonghwa appears beside the couch without a word, calm and composed as always, one eyebrow slightly raised in amusement. Then he silently holds his phone in front of Mingi’s face. Mingi blinks. On the screen is you. His entire expression changes instantly. The noise of the room fades into the background as he takes the phone automatically, eyes locking onto the interview clip. You sit beside Florence Pugh in a studio chair, soft waves falling over your shoulders, dressed elegantly in dark fabric and jewelry that catches the light every time you move. Even through a grainy video on Seonghwa’s phone, you look unreal. Pretty isn’t even the right word. You look expensive. Ethereal. Untouchable. And tired. Mingi notices it immediately because he knows you now — the slight heaviness beneath your eyes, the quieter smile, the way your fingers curl around your coffee cup like you’re grounding yourself. Still beautiful though. God, unbelievably beautiful. “She’s so pretty,” Seonghwa says casually. Mingi doesn’t answer. Because obviously. Then the interview starts. The reporter laughs. “What do you find attractive in men?” Florence responds first, immediately loud and chaotic. “Humor. Confidence. Someone emotionally available— which apparently doesn’t exist—” Mingi snorts softly despite himself. Then the camera cuts to you. Your voice is gentler. Softer. “I like men who are gentlemen. Someone respectful. Someone who respects my work and speaks to me like an equal.” Something warm settles low in Mingi’s chest. Without realizing it, he smiles. Small. Fond. Seonghwa notices immediately and looks disgustingly entertained. “Oh,” he says. “He’s gone.” “Shut up.” Then the interviewer asks what you find physically attractive. Mingi watches you pause thoughtfully. And suddenly he’s paying full attention. “Recently…” you say carefully, “I think I’m into thighs.” Mingi chokes. Seonghwa nearly drops the phone laughing. “Thighs?” Florence repeats loudly. “Yeah,” you continue, now visibly trying not to laugh. “Like… massive, muscular thighs.” Mingi freezes completely. Because unfortunately for him, his thighs have become a very frequent topic between you lately. Florence loses her mind instantly. “Oh my GOD, yes! Properly meaty thighs!” Mingi buries his face into one hand. At the exact wrong moment, Yunho walks over holding a water bottle. “What’s happening?” Seonghwa simply turns the screen toward him. Yunho watches exactly three seconds before his eyes widen dramatically. “Ohhhhhhhh.” Wooyoung appears out of nowhere like a demon summoned by gossip. “What? What happened? Why does Mingi look like he saw God?” Then he hears your voice from the phone. “…massive, muscular thighs.” Wooyoung gasps so violently he nearly collapses. “NO WAY.” Mingi reaches for the phone immediately. “Give it back.” Too late. Now all three of them are watching. Florence is still passionately discussing “supportive thighs you can sit on,” while you sit there blushing and laughing quietly beside her. And then— You wink at the camera. Tiny. Quick. But Mingi sees it. His ears turn red instantly. Wooyoung SCREAMS. “Oh my GOD, that was for YOU!” “It was not,” Mingi says way too fast. “It absolutely was,” Yunho says, grinning. Wooyoung grabs Mingi by the shoulders dramatically and starts singing in a whisper directly into his ear.

“Mingiiiiii’s gonna have seeeex soon, Paaaaaris—”

“YAH.” Mingi shoves him away while Wooyoung cackles like a maniac. “She likes your thighs!” Yunho cackles. “HYUNG, CONGRATULATIONS ON YOUR THIGHS.” Several staff members turn around immediately. „Shhhht!“ Mingi wants to die. Seonghwa is openly laughing now, shoulders shaking quietly while Yunho tries and fails to stay serious. Meanwhile Mingi stares back down at the frozen image of you on the screen. Your shy smile. The blush on your cheeks. The little glint in your eyes before you winked. And despite the chaos around him, despite Wooyoung still singing “thighs thighs thighs” somewhere in the background— Mingi can’t stop smiling. He waits exactly twelve seconds before grabbing his own phone. Around him, the Wanteez set is still loud and chaotic, Wooyoung somewhere in the distance continuing his stupid “thigh anthem,” but Mingi barely notices anymore. His thumbs move quickly over the screen.

Mingi :

We agreed to keep this absolutely secret.

A second message follows immediately after.

Mingi:

And you go on international press talking about massive thighs?

He stares at the screen, already smiling despite himself. Because honestly? You talking about thighs while blushing beside Florence Pugh might be the cutest thing he’s ever seen. His phone buzzes almost instantly. He opens your reply immediately.

You 🩶:

I was merely being honest 😉

Mingi huffs out a laugh under his breath, lowering his head slightly as warmth creeps into his cheeks again. Of course that’s your response. Calm. Teasing. Just enough to drive him insane. He types again.

Mingi:

Do you realize this is the body part people associate with me the most?

Three typing dots appear immediately. Disappear. Appear again.

You🩶:

No, never noticed.

Mingi actually laughs out loud this time. Yunho glances over from across the set. “He’s smiling at his phone again. It’s serious.” Mingi ignores him completely. Instead, he leans back against the couch, rereading your messages once before typing slower this time.

Mingi:

I can’t wait until Paris.

The words settle heavier than he expects. Because he really can’t. Weeks of schedules. Different countries. Secret calls at ridiculous hours. Half-finished conversations because one of you always has to run somewhere else. He misses you. More than he planned to. Your reply comes softer this time.

You🩶:

I’m counting the days.

Mingi’s smile turns almost unbearably fond. And naturally, that’s the exact moment Wooyoung appears behind him like a horror movie villain. He throws both hands dramatically onto Mingi’s shoulders and squints at the phone screen.

“OHHHHHHH.”

Mingi immediately locks the screen. “Don’t you have somewhere else to be?” “No,” Wooyoung says proudly. Then, in the most obnoxious whisper imaginable, he leans directly into Mingi’s ear.

“Mingiiiiii’s gonna have seeeex soooon, lalalalala—”

“YAH.” Mingi shoves him away while Yunho bursts into laughter nearby. Wooyoung stumbles backward theatrically, clutching his chest. “He’s violent because he’s in love!” “I’m not in love,” Mingi mutters automatically. Wooyoung gasps. Yunho raises an eyebrow knowingly. Seonghwa, still sitting nearby, doesn’t even look up from his phone when he says calmly: “You smiled at her texts for five straight minutes.” Mingi opens his mouth. Closes it again. Meanwhile Wooyoung has resumed singing. “Massive thighs~ Paris romance~ Mingi finally living his best liiiife~” “Please shut up,” Mingi groans, dragging a hand down his face. But even as the others keep teasing him relentlessly, his fingers slip back toward his phone again. Toward your messages. I’m counting the days. And suddenly Paris doesn’t feel nearly far enough away anymore.

By the evening, London feels softer. The rain has stopped, the streets still damp beneath the amber glow of streetlights, and for the first time all day, you’re finally out of heels, out of designer clothes, out of “public mode.” You, Florence, and Maya end up ducking into a tiny restaurant hidden down a narrow side street in central London. The kind of place tourists usually walk right past. Florence insists it’s the best comfort food in the city. “You have to trust me,” she says while dragging you inside dramatically. “I was literally raised here.” The place is warm, crowded, and smells like garlic, wine, and fresh bread. Exactly what you need after an endless day of interviews. All three of you look completely different from earlier. Florence is wearing a ridiculous oversized hoodie with bright orange sweatpants and fuzzy boots, somehow still managing to look effortlessly cool. Maya’s in leggings and a leather jacket, makeup finally wiped off after a fourteen-hour day. And you’re tucked into a dark sweater that practically swallows your hands, hair tied loosely back, exhaustion finally visible now that cameras aren’t pointed at you anymore. The second your ass touches the chair, Florence narrows her eyes. “Okay,” she says immediately. “Who is he?” You blink innocently. “Hm?” “Oh, don’t do that,” Florence says, pointing at you accusingly while grabbing the wine menu. “Do not bullshit me.” “I genuinely don’t know what you’re talking about.” “Sweetheart,” she says loudly, “I work in this industry, too. I know exactly what a woman looks like when she’s secretly seeing someone.” Across the table, Maya immediately lowers her face deeper into her wine glass to hide her smile. Traitor. You stare at her. “Maya.” She lifts one shoulder innocently. “I haven’t said anything.” “She didn’t have to,” Florence says proudly. “Your whole vibe today was suspicious.”

“My vibe?”

“Yes. The mysterious smiling. The blushing. The thigh comments.” You nearly choke on your water. “Oh my God.” Florence leans forward dramatically across the table. “WHO IS HE?” A nearby couple glances over. You bury your face in your hands for a second before sighing deeply. “Okay,” you mumble. “But you cannot tell anyone. Nobody knows!“ Florence immediately places a hand over her heart. “Of course not. Babe, I’m from showbusiness too. I get it.” Then her eyes light up excitedly. “Now show him to me.” Maya is practically vibrating in her seat now. You hesitate for another second before unlocking your phone. Then you slide it across the table. Florence grabs it instantly. The second she sees the photo, her eyebrows shoot upward. “Oh.” Then: “Oh wow.” You already regret this. Florence zooms in shamelessly on the picture of Mingi standing in somewhere Seoul, dressed casually in black, hands in his pockets, dark hair falling into his eyes while he smiles softly at the camera. “Okay first of all,” Florence says, “since WHEN are you into Asian men?” You groan quietly. “Can we not phrase it like that?”

“No, seriously,” she continues, still staring at the photo. “He’s gorgeous.” Maya finally snaps. “HE’S SO FINE.” You close your eyes.

“Maya, please.”

“No, because you don’t understand,” Maya says to Florence, now fully entering fan mode. “That’s Song Mingi. He’s in ATEEZ. He’s like— insanely talented.” Florence looks fascinated immediately.

“Oh my God, tell me everything.”

“Maya—”

“He’s six foot tall,” Maya says instantly.

“Oh my God,” Florence whispers.

“His birthday is August ninth, he’s a Leo, his favorite color is cement—”

“How do you know all this off the top of your head?!” you ask in disbelief. “She’s terrifying,” Florence says, impressed. “I’ve been an ATINY since 2019,” Maya says proudly. Meanwhile you sink lower into your chair, hiding your burning face behind your wine glass. “Can we please talk about literally anything else?” Florence clicks her tongue dramatically while handing your phone back. “No, because he actually looks ridiculously good next to you.” You groan again. “I’m serious,” she says more softly now, smiling. “You’d be a very, very pretty couple.” Your stomach flips a little at that. But you shake your head quickly. “It’s not serious,” you insist. “We’ve only gone on like… three dates.” Florence and Maya exchange a look. The kind of look that immediately irritates you. “Oh no,” Maya says knowingly. “She’s already doomed.”

“I am not doomed.”

“You’re counting days until Paris,” Maya points out calmly. Your silence betrays you instantly. Florence slaps the table triumphantly, because you told Florence that you can‘t wait to go to Paris next week, not mentioning the reason though. “I KNEW IT.” “Keep your voice down!” She’s laughing now, loud and unfiltered enough that several people turn to stare again. “You like him,” she sings. You roll your eyes hard, trying and failing to suppress your smile. And unfortunately for you, both women notice immediately.

By seven o’clock, the suite on the top floor of the hotel is already alive with quiet, practiced chaos. Garment bags hang from every available surface. Steam curls from an iron in the corner. Half-finished coffees clutter the marble kitchen island while someone from the styling team mutters to himself over a box of jewelry. You sit in front of the enormous vanity mirror wrapped in a silk robe, one leg tucked beneath the other on the chair while Maya works behind you with the effortless confidence of someone who’s done your hair hundreds of times. “You look exhausted,” she says matter-of-factly as she separates another section of your hair. “I feel exhausted.” “I know.” Her voice softens. “But we’ll fix the first part.” You smile faintly at your reflection. Maya always says that. Not because she thinks makeup hides exhaustion. Because she knows sometimes feeling beautiful makes carrying the exhaustion a little easier. Soft brushes glide over your skin while she blends foundation into your cheeks. Outside, London is still grey. Rain clings to the windows. Inside, warm lights reflect across rows of expensive cosmetics. “You’ve got breakfast interviews first,” Maya reminds you. “Then the BBC panel, radio, photo call, two magazines…” “I know,” you sigh. “…and then another premiere tonight.” You groan dramatically. “I’m moving into this makeup chair permanently.” “I’ll charge you rent.” A knock sounds at the suite door. One of the stylists wheels in an entire clothing rack overflowing with today’s wardrobe. “Dresses are here.” Maya immediately spins your chair slightly. “Ooooh!“ Normally your eyes drift instinctively toward the black pieces. Elegant. Safe. Classic. There are several gorgeous options waiting. A sleek black dress. A charcoal tailored suit. Something deep burgundy. But today… Your gaze catches on something entirely different. A structured pastel pink outfit. Soft. Elegant. Almost playful. You stand, walking closer. The stylist carefully lifts it from the rack. “I thought this one might be fun,” he says. You run your fingers lightly over the fabric. “I like it,“ you smile at him. Maya blinks. “You… what?” You grin. “I said I like it.” “You voluntarily chose color.”

“I know.”

“I need someone to document this historic event.” You laugh quietly.

“I’ve worn black for four days.”

“You own colors?”

“Barely.” The stylist chuckles while laying the outfit across the sofa. “I’ll steam it one last time.” The moment he disappears into the adjoining room with the steamer, your phone vibrates on the vanity. Without thinking, you reach for it.

Mingi

Good morning sweetheart

Another message follows immediately.

Don’t forget to eat before interviews today. A pink sunrise in Seoul today. Thought you’d appreciate something prettier than London rain.

Attached is a photo taken from the studio window. Soft peach clouds stretch across the skyline. Your entire face changes. The tiredness eases. Your smile appears before you even realize it. Simple. Natural. Completely unconscious. Maya watches the transformation in the mirror. Then she slowly leans sideways. Her eyes flick toward your screen. She doesn’t even try to hide her grin. “Oh.” She wiggles her eyebrows dramatically. “Oh, look at that smile.” You immediately lock your phone. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Mhm.”

“I don’t.”

“Mhm.”

She folds her arms. “You two are disgustingly cute.” You blink. “We’re not a couple, Maya.” She waves one hand dismissively. “Technicality.”

“It is not a technicality.”

“It could be.”

“Maya.”

“I’m just saying.” She begins brushing powder across your cheekbones as casually as if she weren’t currently planning your future. “You know…He’d look very handsome beside you at the Oscars.” You stare at her through the mirror.

“…the what?”

“The Oscars.”

“We’ve been on three dates.”

“So?”

“So there is a very large gap between three dates and the Academy Awards.”

“I disagree.”

“Maya.”

“And imagine the red carpet.” She ignores you completely. “The internet would implode.”

You laugh.

“Maya…”

“No, seriously.”

She points her makeup brush at your reflection.

“You in couture.”

“Hm.”

“Him in some ridiculously expensive black suit.”

You shake your head.

“You’re impossible.”

“I’m realistic.”

“I don’t even know what’s happening between us.”

She smiles knowingly.

“I know enough.”

“You don’t.”

“You smile at his messages before you’ve even had coffee.” Your cheeks warm slightly. “I smile at lots of people.” She gives you a look. “You absolutely do not.” Before you can answer, the stylist reappears carrying the finished outfit. You immediately make a tiny movement with your head toward Maya. Not now. She notices instantly. Her lips twitch. Fine. For now. A few minutes later you’re standing behind the privacy screen changing. The tailored pink trousers fit perfectly. The matching structured jacket waits on a hanger beside you. You pull your sweater off, reaching for the delicate blush-colored bra you’d already changed into earlier. At that exact moment— The hotel room door bursts open. “Gooood morning!“ Florence’s unmistakable voice echoes through the suite before anyone has time to warn you. She marches inside carrying an iced coffee the size of a flower vase, wearing neon green sweatpants, an oversized vintage hoodie and sunglasses despite the fact you’re indoors. She spots you immediately. You’re standing beside the screen in nothing but tailored trousers and your bra. Florence stops walking. “…Bloody hell.” You laugh. “…Morning.” She lowers her sunglasses dramatically. “Good LORD, you’re pretty.” Your face immediately heats up. “Florence…” “No, I’m serious.” She points at you with her coffee. “Who gave you permission to look like that before eight in the morning?” You laugh shyly, instinctively lifting one hand to cover your face. “Thank you.” She continues staring. “And respectfully…” Her eyes widen theatrically. “…your tits are fantastic.” You nearly choke. “Florence!”

“What?” She sounds genuinely confused. “They are!” Maya snorts so loudly she has to turn away. Florence shrugs.

“I’m complimenting a woman.”

“You can’t just announce things like that!”

“I absolutely can.” She sips her coffee. “They’re symmetrical.”

“Oh my God.”

“They suit your proportions beautifully, a little to big, maybe. But everybody likes a good pair of tits.“ You bury your face in both hands now. “Maya, please make her stop.”

“I can’t,” Maya laughs. “I’m enjoying this.”

Florence beams proudly. “Exactly.”

„Has Mr. You-Know-Who seen them yet?“ You stare at Florence with wide eyes while Maya bursts into laughter and nearly trips over the makeup chair.

„No!“

„Why ?“ Florence asks dryly.

“There just hasn’t been a chance yet,” you whisper through gritted teeth, shooting her a pointed look. „Ooooh, alright. But I want every detail, as soon as you know…“

„Florence!“

“Why don’t you send him a picture of the two gorgeous girls? A little teaser!” Florence suggests casually, giving you a playful wink.

Maya immediately chimes in.

“That’s a brilliant idea!”

“No, it isn’t!” you protest. “Carl, can you please help me?” you plead, glancing over at the older stylist. “Don’t drag me into this,” he says dryly. “I’m too old for this kind of thing.” Maya, Florence, and you can’t help but laugh. “Don’t you want to sleep with him?” Florence asks, now that Carl is practically in on the whole thing too. “Of course I want to sleep with him, but isn’t sending him a picture of my breasts a bit too much?” you ask hesitantly. But then you notice Carl looking up at you from his knees as well, his expression practically screaming, “Seriously?”

“He’s a man. Men love breasts,” Florence replies, short and to the point. “I’ll think about it,” you murmur quietly, biting the inside of your cheek. You finally manage to compose yourself enough to reach for your blouse. She flops dramatically onto the enormous cream-colored sofa, stretching out like she owns the place. “You really are gorgeous, though.” Her tone softens just enough to sound sincere. “You know that, right?” You offer a small smile. “Thank you.” She nods once. Then immediately ruins the sentimental moment. “So.” She eyes your figure again as you slip into the tailored pink jacket. “How often do you actually work out?”

“Three… maybe four times a week.”

“But how do you work out on days like this?”

“I was already at the gym at 5 a.m. this morning.” She stare, then huffs. “…Absolutely not.” You laugh. “What?”

“I refuse.” She waves a hand dramatically. “Too much effort.”

“It helps with filming.”

“It helps you look like a bloody magazine cover.” She points at herself. “I, meanwhile, enjoy pasta.”

“You can enjoy pasta and exercise.”

“I reject this propaganda.” Maya bursts into laughter. Florence continues sipping her coffee. “Honestly, next to you I look like an exhausted goblin.” You immediately point at her.

“Florence.”

“What?”

“Don’t say things like that.”

She rolls her eyes dramatically.

“Oh, please.” She hops off the sofa and walks over beside you. Standing together in front of the full-length mirror, the contrast couldn’t be greater. You look soft. Elegant. Entirely feminine in pastel pink and nude heels. Your loose waves frame your face perfectly while delicate gold jewelry catches the morning light. Beside you stands Florence in fluorescent colours, chunky boots, mismatched rings and freshly bleached platinum hair that somehow looks even brighter than yesterday. She studies your reflection. “…We genuinely look like two completely different genres of film.” You laugh. “I was thinking the same thing.” She hooks an arm comfortably around your shoulders. “You know what?”

“What?”

“I love it.”

“So do I.” The room falls quiet for a second. Not awkward. Comfortable. Then Florence squeezes your shoulder. “You ready?” You look at your reflection one last time. Another day of cameras. Questions. Smiles. Interviews. Hours of pretending you aren’t counting the days until Paris. You quietly let out a breath. „…Let’s do it.” Florence immediately throws one fist into the air. “That’s the spirit!” She points dramatically toward the hotel door. “Come on, Pink Barbie with your gorgeous tits!“ You laugh. “And where does that leave you?” She grins without missing a beat. “Chaos Barbie.”

Another studio. Another set of cameras. Another row of impossibly bright lights. By now, you and Florence have slipped into a rhythm that surprises even the production team. Without anyone planning it, you’re almost always seated together. Apparently audiences love the contrast. You in your elegant pastel pink suit, legs neatly crossed, hands folded in your lap. Florence sprawled sideways in a riot of orange, cobalt blue and chunky silver jewelry, somehow making three clashing patterns look intentional. One of the producers jokes before filming starts. “We’re basically interviewing sunshine and midnight.” Florence immediately points at you. “She’s sunshine.” She points dramatically at herself. “I’m whatever happens after two glasses of wine.” The crew bursts into laughter. The interviewer—a warm, cheerful woman from British Ellen—laughs along before adjusting the cards in front of her. “Alright,” she smiles. “We’ve talked about the film, the chemistry between your characters, and all the emotional chaos they put each other through.” Florence nods solemnly.

“Therapy was required.”

“I believe it.”

The interviewer grins. “So let’s move to your real lives.” You exchange a knowing look with Florence. Uh oh. “Have either of you ever been on a truly terrible date?” You both nod at exactly the same time. Then immediately start laughing. “Oh, absolutely,” Florence says. You gesture toward her. “Go on.” She claps once. “Right.” She settles back dramatically. “I once went on a date with this bloke who spent…” She pretends to count. “…I’d say eighty percent of the evening explaining how much I reminded him of his mother.” The interviewer’s eyebrows shoot up. “I’m sorry?” Florence nods. “Oh yes…You laugh just like my mum.’” She changes her voice. “‘You smile like my mum, you even order food like my mum.’” You physically wrinkle your nose. “Oh no…” “I know!” Florence throws both hands into the air. “And somehow…” She leans toward the interviewer. “…he genuinely thought this was flirting.” The crew erupts. The interviewer is already laughing too hard to ask her next question. “I didn’t know whether to leave,” Florence continues, “or ask if his mother wanted dessert.” Even you can’t stop laughing.

“Oh my God…”

“It was horrific.”

“I believe you.” The interviewer wipes a tear from the corner of her eye before turning toward you. „Okay, that’s enough with the worst dates! Have you ever had a really wonderful date?” Florence immediately swivels to look at you. The interviewer smiles. “Especially as famous actresses, I imagine dating isn’t exactly… simple.” You pretend to think. Tilting your head ever so slightly. Buying yourself a few precious seconds. Don’t say too much. Don’t lie either. “I…” you begin slowly. “There was one.” The interviewer perks up immediately. “Oh?” You smile softly. “I once had a really beautiful date at an aquarium.” Florence’s eyebrows rise. The interviewer leans forward. “It was just…” You shrug lightly. “…the two of us.” Your smile grows almost unconsciously. “It felt very peaceful.” For just a second, you’re back there. Blue light dancing across Mingi’s face. The slow drift of enormous rays overhead. His quiet laugh echoing through an almost empty building. The way neither of you kissed. His hands on your bare skin. “It was…” you admit. “…really special.” The interviewer blinks. “I don’t think I’ve ever heard you share a personal story before.” You smile politely. “I suppose today seemed like the right day.” Across from you, Florence watches your expression carefully. She doesn’t know the details. But she notices something. The softness. The little smile you don’t quite manage to hide. The interviewer beams. “Alright! One last challenge.” She points between the two of you. “I want each of you to describe the perfect partner for the other.” Florence gasps dramatically. “Oh, this is dangerous.” “It absolutely is.” She immediately gestures toward you. “You first.” You laugh. “Really?”

“I insist.” You glance at Florence. She grins expectantly. You pretend to study her for a moment before beginning. “First things first…He has to be funny.” Florence immediately clutches her chest. “Aww…”

“Because Florence is genuinely one of the funniest people I’ve ever met.”

“Oh, babe.” Before you can continue, Florence grabs your hand and kisses the back of it dramatically. The crew collectively melts. You laugh, shaking your head. “He also has to be able to laugh at himself.” She nods enthusiastically. “Absolutely.” “And…” You think for a second. “…he needs a really big heart.” Florence smiles. Not joking this time. “And honestly…” You glance sideways at her. “…it might help if he grew up with lots of women.” She bursts into laughter. “Because?”

“Because you talk a lot.”

“I do not—”

“You do.

“I—”

“You really do.” The interviewer is already laughing. “He needs patience.” You wink at Florence. „And someone who enjoys listening.” She points at you dramatically.

“Fair.”

“He should be calm.”

“Mhm.”

“Grounded.”

“Mhm.”

“But still completely willing to be ridiculous.” Florence nods proudly after every sentence. By the end, she’s beaming. Then she turns directly toward one of the cameras. “So…” She folds her hands together. “…gentlemen.” A dramatic pause. “My applications are officially open.” The entire studio explodes. You laugh so hard you have to lean forward. The interviewer claps delightedly. “I think you’ll receive quite a few.” “I certainly hope so.” Florence smooths imaginary wrinkles from her hoodie. Then she turns toward you. “Right.” She narrows her eyes theatrically. “Now.” She points directly at the camera. “Everyone at home.” Another dramatic pause. “Take notes.” You immediately start laughing. “Oh no…”

“Yes.” She points toward you. “Our mysterious German.” You groan into your hands. “Florence…”

“First of all.”

She raises one finger. “He has to be tall.” You look at her. “…Excuse me?”

“Because…”

She points dramatically at the top of your head.

“…she’s tiny.” You give her the most unimpressed look imaginable. “Thank you, Florence, but you are hardly taller than me. “You’re welcome.” The interviewer giggles. “He should also be handsome.” You raise an eyebrow. “Why?” Florence simply gestures toward you with both hands. “I mean…” She looks around the studio. “Look at her.” She spreads her arms dramatically. “The standards are understandably high.” You hide your face, laughing. “Florence!” She continues without missing a beat. “He needs to absolutely adore her.” Your laughter quiets. “He should make her feel safe.” Like Mingi, you think. She looks at you now instead of the cameras. “He should respect her.” Like Mingi. You blink. “And…” Her voice becomes unexpectedly gentle. “…he should put the world at her feet.” The room grows quieter. Because despite all the jokes… Everyone can hear how sincere she is. “She’s one of the kindest people I’ve met.” You don’t even think. You immediately lean over and wrap both arms around her. “Aww…” She hugs you back just as tightly. The interviewer presses both hands to her heart. “Oh, that’s adorable.” For a second the hug lingers. Comfortable. Warm. Then the interviewer grins mischievously. “I have a solution.” You and Florence look over simultaneously. “You should just date each other.” Without hesitation, Florence squishes her cheek dramatically against yours. “Oh, trust me…” She sighs theatrically. “I’m trying.” You immediately burst into laughter. “But she’s a very hard nut to crack.”

“I am not!”

“You absolutely are.”

You shake your head, still laughing.

“I just have standards.”

“Ouch.” Florence clutches her chest dramatically. “You hear that?” She looks directly into another camera. “I’ve been rejected on international television.” The interviewer laughs so hard she nearly drops her cue cards. “You’ll recover.”

“I won’t.”

“You will.”

“I’ll write sad poetry.”

“You don’t write poetry.”

“I’ll learn.” You laugh again, the sound bright and completely genuine. The exhaustion from another endless press day still lingers somewhere behind your eyes. But sitting beside Florence, trading jokes and teasing each other between questions, somehow makes twelve-hour interview days feel a little less endless. And somewhere on the other side of the world, if Mingi eventually watches this interview like he always seems to, you already know exactly which part he’ll smile at most— Not the aquarium. Not the dating questions. Just the way you laugh without holding anything back.

The hotel suite is quieter than it has been all day. Only the low hum of a hairdryer, the rustle of expensive fabric, and Maya moving around the room with the calm efficiency of someone who has done this hundreds of times. You stand in front of the full-length mirror, barely recognizing the woman staring back. The Haute Couture gown hugs every curve before flaring elegantly at the floor, thousands of blush-colored sequins catching the warm light like scattered diamonds. The soft draping across the neckline frames your shoulders beautifully, while the fitted silhouette accentuates your slim waist and hips with effortless elegance. Your long hair is pulled into a sleek high ponytail that swings lightly every time you move. Your makeup is soft but glamorous—rosy tones, shimmering eyes, glossy lips. You slowly turn sideways. “…Wow,” Maya murmurs behind you. You catch her reflection smiling in the mirror. “I know I say this every premiere…” She folds her arms. “…but this might actually be my favorite look.” You smooth a hand carefully over the dress. “I think it’s mine too.” A smile tugs at your lips. “I almost don’t want to take it off later.”

“Don’t.” You laugh. “I mean it.” Before you can answer, your phone lights up on the vanity.

Mingi🖤:

Video Call

Your entire expression changes instantly. Maya notices. “Oh.“ You’d love to call Mingi, but your ride is already waiting for you. She grins. “Go.

“You sure?”

“I’ll keep them busy. Go talk to your lover.‘“ You don’t need to be told twice. Quickly grabbing your phone, you hurry across the suite before quietly slipping into the enormous marble bathroom. The door clicks shut. You lock it. Only then do you swipe to answer. For half a second the screen is black. His face appears. Dark hair slightly messy. Comfortable black hoodie. One earbud in. He looks tired. Really tired. But the second he sees you… His eyes widen. He actually blinks twice. “…Damn.” You can’t help smiling. He slowly leans closer to his phone. “Damn, sweetheart.” His voice is warm, amused, completely genuine. “You look…” He lets out a quiet laugh, shaking his head. “…you look good.” Heat immediately creeps into your cheeks. You bite lightly against your lower lip to stop yourself from smiling too much. “Do I?” He just stares. You step back slightly, angling the camera farther away before slowly turning in a circle so he can see the entire gown. The sequins shimmer beneath the bathroom lights. The fitted silhouette moves elegantly with every step. You finish the turn, looking back at the screen. The dress hugs your curves perfectly. It gently pushes your breasts up and accentuates your beautifully shaped ass. “So?” You tilt your head innocently. “Do you like it?” He laughs. “Do I like it?” He drags one hand slowly down his face. “Sweetheart…” His head falls back dramatically. “You’re asking the wrong question.” You giggle. “The right question is?”

“How am I supposed to survive seeing you look like that?” You laugh quietly. He points at the screen. “You look like a goddess.” Your smile softens. “Oh…”

“I’m serious.” He studies you for another second before muttering almost to himself,

“That’s actually unfair.”

“Mingi…”

“What?”

“I’ve done nothing.”

“Exactly.” He gestures helplessly. “That’s the problem.” You laugh again, cheeks warming another shade. “So dramatic.”

“I am being completely reasonable.” He rests his chin on one hand. “I’d honestly be nervous standing next to you.”

“You?”

“Yes.”

“The man who’s performed in front of eighty thousand people?”

“Different.”

“How?”

“They aren’t you.” You shake your head, smiling. For a moment neither of you says anything. Just looking at each other. The silence feels easy. Comfortable. “So…” You smile gently. “How are you, big guy?” He sighs, running both hands through his hair until it sticks up even more. “Tired.” You nod knowingly. “Exhausted, actually.” “The album?”

“Yes.“

“Dance practice?”

“Yes.”

“Recording?”

“Yes.” You smile sympathetically. “But…” His expression immediately brightens. “…I’m good.” He leans a little closer. “Because Paris is getting closer.” Your heart skips. “I’m looking forward to it too.” His smile becomes softer. Warmer. He looks at you again. Really looks. “…God.” He exhales quietly. “Sweetheart…” You already know what’s coming. “You really are unbelievably beautiful.” Your cheeks immediately flush pink. “Mingi…” You duck your head, hiding part of your face behind your hand. “Stop.”

“I mean it.”

“I know.”

“No.” He smiles. “I don’t think you do.”

You laugh shyly. “You keep saying things like that.”

“Because they’re true.” A voice suddenly echoes faintly from somewhere beyond the bathroom door. “Y/N?” Maya. “We’re leaving in five!” You glance toward the door. “Okay!” You look back at your screen with a tiny sigh. “I have to go.” Your disappointment is obvious. “So do I… I really should sleep.“ He smiles gently. “But…” He points at you. “Just a few more days.” You nod. “Just a few more days.”

“And then Paris.”

“And then Paris.” For a second, neither of you moves to end the call. Neither of you really wants to. Then Mingi suddenly squints past the camera. “Hm.” You blink. “What?”

“I think…” He points somewhere behind you. “…something fell.” You instinctively turn around.

“Really?”

“Mhm.” You glance toward the marble floor behind you. Mingi openly stares at your ass.

“I don’t see—” You bend slightly to look beside the vanity. The fitted gown follows your movement, the shimmering fabric contouring your ass as you search. Mingi lets his gaze linger on your ass, biting his lower lip as he shakes his head in amused disbelief. “Hm…” You look around another second. “I don’t see anything.” On the screen, Mingi goes completely still. His eyes still on your ass. Then he quietly drags one hand over his face. You straighten again. “Nothing’s—” You stop. He is suddenly looking far too innocent.

“…Mingi.”

“Hm?” His expression is almost angelic. “I must’ve been mistaken.” He gives you the smallest shrug imaginable. “My apologies.” You narrow your eyes. “…Song Mingi.”

“What?”

“You are a very bad boy.” You point one accusing finger directly at the screen. He gets hard instantly, though luckily you can’t see it. “I didn’t do anything.” God, he really needs to fuck you, need to grab that ass.

“You absolutely did.”

“I merely thought something had fallen.”

“Mhm.”

“I was trying to help.”

“Right.” He grins—cocky, completely unapologetic. You shake your head, laughing despite yourself. “You’ve become far too confident.”

“Can you blame me?” He tilts his head.

“You answered an interview by telling the entire world you like thighs.” You cover your face with one hand. “I’ve been thriving ever since.” You laugh so hard you have to lean against the bathroom counter.

“Mingi…”

“I’m kidding.”

“…Mostly.” Another knock sounds on the bathroom door. “Y/N?” Maya again. “The car’s waiting!“ You smile reluctantly. “I really have to go now.”

“I know.” His voice softens. “…Good luck tonight. And…” He smiles one last time.

“…try not to make everyone else on that red carpet look too bad.” You roll your eyes fondly. “I’ll do my best.”

“I seriously doubt that’s possible.” You laugh.

“Bye, sweetheart.”

“Bye, big guy.” For another heartbeat, neither of you hangs up. Just smiling. Then Mingi lifts one hand in a small wave. You mirror it. The screen goes dark. For a moment you simply stand there, looking at your own reflection in the now-black display. Your cheeks are still pink. Your smile refuses to disappear. Outside, Maya knocks once more. “Seriously, superstar! We’re going to be late.” You unlock the bathroom door, take one last steadying breath, and step back into the whirlwind of stylists, security, cameras…and the biggest premiere night of the tour.

Two days later in Seoul the afterparty is loud in the way only successful nights can be. Music pulses through the private venue, bass vibrating faintly beneath polished floors while golden light spills across crowded tables and expensive glasses. Industry executives, idols, actors, stylists, influencers—half of Seoul’s entertainment world seems packed into one glittering room, all smiles and cameras and carefully curated charm. ATEEZ’s performance earlier had been electric. And winning two awards afterward has turned an already good night into a triumphant one. The members are in high spirits. Wooyoung is somewhere across the room loudly reenacting part of their performance for a group of laughing idols, San is talking to staff with a drink in hand, and Hongjoong is being cornered by three different producers at once. Mingi should be celebrating. He is, technically. There’s a drink in his hand, a faint smile on his face, and he’s half-listening as Yunho talks beside him—but his mind keeps drifting. Back to you. London. He wonders what you’re doing right now. Probably still working. Another interview. Another red carpet. Another exhausting promotional event where you smile until your cheeks hurt and pretend you aren’t running on three hours of sleep. His thumb brushes absentmindedly against the side of his glass. He misses you. More than he expected. At that very moment, he gets a message from you: Congratulations! Maya told me you just won an important award! “…and then Wooyoung somehow convinced the stylist that neon green eyeliner was a good idea,” Yunho is saying, clearly amused. Mingi huffs out a quiet laugh. “That does sound like him.” Before Yunho can answer, a hand lands lightly on Mingi’s shoulder. Perfectly manicured fingers. Too familiar. “May I interrupt you boys?” The voice is high, sugary, and dripping with practiced charm. Yunho turns first. The second he recognizes her, his expression visibly hardens. He rolls his eyes. Of course. It’s Cha Yerin. Model. Influencer. Socialite. Walking scandal. Beautiful, undeniably. But exhausting. She carries herself like the room belongs to her—like every camera angle, every conversation, every breath should somehow orbit around her. And, as usual, she’s dressed to be noticed. Short black dress. Sharp heels. Glossed lips curved into a flirtatious smile. Her gaze settles entirely on Mingi. Yunho already looks annoyed. Mingi stiffens almost instantly. Every muscle in his shoulders tightens as he carefully removes her hand from him. Then he takes one deliberate step backward, widening the distance between them. Small. Subtle. But intentional. “Yerin,” he says politely, offering a restrained nod. “Hello.” Yunho gives her nothing but a curt nod. No smile. No warmth. Cha Yerin notices. She always notices. About a year ago, Mingi had made a mistake. One drunken afterparty. One stupid kiss. Nothing meaningful. Nothing he ever thought about afterward. Unfortunately, Yerin had decided otherwise. Ever since then, she has used every opportunity to throw herself at him. And Mingi knows exactly the kind of person she is. She thrives on attention. On rumors. On headlines. She’d happily let the entire industry believe they had something if it earned her clicks. Yunho despises her for that. Openly. “If you’ll excuse me,” Yunho says flatly, already stepping away, “I need another drink.” “Oh, it was so lovely seeing you,” Yerin says with exaggerated sweetness. Yunho gives her a painfully fake smile. “Likewise.” It sounds like a threat. Then he’s gone. Leaving Mingi alone with her. Yerin turns back toward him, smile sharpening.

“How have you been?” she asks, her voice dropping into something almost purring. Before Mingi can answer, she reaches up and adjusts his collar. Too familiar. Too intimate. His jaw tightens. He immediately catches both of her wrists and gently but firmly moves her hands away from him. He is acutely aware of the cameras around them. Some obvious. Some hidden. He cannot afford this. Not now. Not ever. Her eyes narrow. “Why so shy tonight?” she asks, tilting her head. Her tone turns teasing. Provocative. Almost taunting. Then her gaze sharpens. “Is there someone else I don’t know about?” Mingi freezes. Only for a second. But she catches it. She takes half a step closer. “Hmm?” Her eyes glitter. “Is there someone?” For the briefest moment, your face flashes through his mind. Your smile. Your laugh. The tiny wink in that interview. His chest tightens. He glances toward the cameras from the corner of his eye. Then he straightens. Shoulders back. Expression calm. Controlled. When he looks at her again, his face wears a polite smile. Warm enough to avoid making a scene. Cold enough to end the conversation. He lifts his glass. Clinks it lightly against hers. “Have a nice evening, Yerin.” That’s it. No explanation. No invitation. No opening. Just finality. Before she can respond, Mingi turns and walks away. He doesn’t look back. Behind him, Yerin stands frozen. Her smile falters. Just slightly. Because that— That has never happened before. Not with him. Across the room, Yunho watches with open satisfaction, drink in hand. Mingi reaches him seconds later. Yunho raises a brow. “That went well.” Mingi exhales through his nose. “I hate these parties.” Yunho snorts. “Because of Yerin?” Mingi stares into his drink for a second. Then shakes his head. “No.” Yunho studies him. He already knows. Still, he asks. “Then why?” Mingi’s voice drops quieter. Softer. Because suddenly all the noise around them feels unbearably far away. “Because I wish she was here.” Yunho’s expression changes instantly. The teasing disappears. He follows Mingi’s gaze across the room—though there’s no one there. Only distance. Miles of it. London. Yunho leans against the bar. “When do you see her again?“ Mingi doesn’t hesitate. “Paris.” A small smile touches his lips. Unconscious. Hopelessly fond. Yunho notices immediately. And grins. “Oh.” He takes a sip. “So we’re counting days now.” Mingi says nothing. Which is answer enough. Yunho laughs quietly.

It’s late afternoon in Seoul when Mingi finally gets a break. The practice studio is quieter now, most of the staff filtering out for dinner while the remaining members collapse somewhere around the building in various states of exhaustion. They’ve been working on the stage production for the upcoming U.S. summer tour all day — rehearsals, transitions, VCR shoots, endless meetings about lighting and setlists. Mingi’s back aches. But the second he sees your name at the top of his messages, he smiles automatically. London is eight hours behind Seoul. So when he calls you, it’s still early morning there. The phone rings twice before you answer Your voice comes out sleepy and soft. “Hi.” And immediately, somehow, the exhaustion in his chest eases a little. Mingi leans back against the couch in the practice room, one arm draped over his eyes. “You sound tired.” You laugh quietly on the other end. “I am tired.” He can practically picture you already — probably curled up somewhere in an oversized sweater, hair messy from sleep, still waking up while London rain taps against the windows. “How are you?” he asks. You groan softly. “So many interviews. So many cameras.” He hears fabric rustling as you move around your hotel room. “I swear, if one more reporter asks me about dating apps, I’m going to lose my mind.” Mingi snorts quietly. “But Florence makes it better,” you continue, voice warming immediately. “She’s ridiculous. Honestly, I don’t know how she still has energy after twelve-hour promo days.”

“She seems loud.”

“She is loud.”

“A little scary.” You gasp dramatically. “Don’t let her hear you say that.” He laughs under his breath, eyes closing for a moment at the sound of your voice. “I’m just glad this tour ends in like… two days,” you mumble. “I think last year burned me out more than I realized.“ Mingi’s expression softens instantly. Because he understands that feeling better than most people. Too many schedules. Too many flights. Constantly performing versions of yourself for strangers. “You should rest after,” he says quietly. “I know.” A brief silence settles between you — comfortable, familiar already. Then you ask softly, “How about you?” Mingi shifts slightly on the couch. “We’re still working on the U.S. tour stages right now,” he says. “Mostly rehearsals today.”

“You excited?”

“Mm. Tired first. Excited later.” You laugh softly again. God, he likes that sound.

“But I finally have a little free time later,” he adds. “So I need a movie recommendation.”

“Oh!” Your voice perks up instantly. “Okay, wait, I watched this really good action movie recently with Keanu Reeves—” Mingi grins immediately. You continue enthusiastically. “The fight choreography was insane and the cinematography was so cool and—” He cuts in, laughing softly.

“No.” You pause. “No?”

“I mean from you.” Silence. Complete silence. Mingi can practically hear your brain short-circuiting through the phone.

“…what?”

“A movie,” he repeats innocently. “Your movie.” Your voice drops immediately into shy panic. “Oh my God, absolutely not.” He starts laughing.

“That would be so weird!”

“Why?”

“Because!” you protest. “I don’t know, you watching me act sounds horrifying.”

“You watch my performances.”

“That’s different.”

“How?”

“It just is.” Mingi laughs again, full and warm this time, and somewhere in London you groan in embarrassment. “You’re mean,” you mutter.

“I’m curious.”

“No.”

“Yes.”

“No.”

“You can’t stop me.”

You fall dramatically quiet again before mumbling: “Please don’t watch my early roles.” Now he’s fully grinning.

“Oh? So there are bad ones?”

“There are deeply unfortunate ones.”

“I need titles immediately.”

“Mingi.”

“Immediately.” Before you can argue further, he suddenly hears muffled voices on your side of the phone. Someone calling your name. Then another voice. Your schedule manager, probably. You sigh softly. “I have to go.” And there it is again — the frustrating reality of this life. Different countries. Different schedules. Never enough time. Mingi’s smile fades just slightly.

“Okay.”

“But text me later?”

“I will.” Another tiny pause. Then your voice softens. “And seriously,” you warn him, “do not go digging through my first roles.” Mingi smirks immediately. “So definitely watch the first movies.”

“You’re awful.”

“You like me.” You make a quiet offended sound.

“…bye, Mingi.”

“Bye, Sweetheart.“

The line clicks dead. For a moment the practice room feels strangely quiet again. Then Mingi lowers the phone slowly, already opening Google with the exact intention of finding your earliest acting roles immediately.

Mingi should absolutely be sleeping. It’s well past midnight in Seoul, his room dark except for the dim glow of his laptop balanced against his knees. The city outside his apartment is quiet now, all distant traffic and soft neon bleeding through the curtains.

And yet here he is. Googling your old filmography like a man making terrible decisions on purpose. At first it’s harmless. Award clips. Interviews. Then he finds one of your very first roles. A ridiculous college comedy series that looks suspiciously like every chaotic American frat show ever made — football players, drinking games, parties, cheerleaders, complete nonsense. Mingi already starts laughing before he even presses play. “Oh no,” he mutters to himself. And then you appear onscreen. He freezes immediately. You look impossibly young. Your hair is in a high ponytail, makeup glossy and over-the-top, dressed in an absurdly tiny cheerleading uniform in your school colors. The skirt is criminally short. The neckline dips so low he almost instinctively glances away for half a second before looking back again. “Oh my God,” he whispers under his breath. Mingi knows you have a killer figure—he noticed it both at the after-party and during your first dates. In particular, your round, perfect butt frequently caught his eye; and when he held it in his hands during that steamy kiss at the little restaurant in the woods, he nearly came right there in his pants. What he hasn‘t realize —at least not until now—is just how large and full your breasts are. They had certainly looked impressive in that dress during your video call, but seeing them like this was something else entirely. Once again, he glances at the paused screen, at your neckline —which practically squeezes your tits right out. At the same time, Mingi feels his penis growing stiff inside his boxers. He immediately hits the play button, but things don't get any easier. The character you’re playing is absolutely nothing like you. She’s loud, dramatic, completely unserious — bouncing onto the screen talking a mile a minute while clinging onto the football captain’s arm. Every line is delivered with exaggerated confidence and that stereotypical cheerleader sweetness. And somehow that makes it worse. This version of you has just completely thrown Mingi off his game. He is, of course, well aware that you have played various roles—various characters—throughout your career, but this particular role is just plain hot. That outfit on you makes Mingi’s cock throb, and right now, all he wants to do is do the dirtiest things imaginable with you—while you’re still wearing it. He will definitely be jerking off to you later, because seeing you in that skimpy cheerleader outfit is like a dream come true. After all, even though he knows you’re just playing a role... it’s still kind of you. You smile onscreen — bright, playful, teasing — and Mingi physically feels it in his chest. He leans back slower against the headboard, one hand dragging across his mouth as he watches another scene. Your character storms into a party wearing the same tiny uniform, everyone in the room staring while you dramatically yell at the protagonist for flirting with another girl. “You were so dramatic,” he murmurs. But then the camera angle shifts. A new scene. And suddenly he understands exactly why you warned him not to watch your early projects. Because Jesus fucking Christ. You can see the captain of the football team laying naked on his back in bed, with you straddling him—riding him, your hair loose and wild, your mouth agape as you moan theatrically, thrusting yourself up and down. Your breasts are encased in red lingerie that barely covers your nipples. With another obscene moan from you, Mingi abruptly slams the laptop shut and has to swallow hard suddenly, throat dry. It’s not even just that you look sexy — although you absolutely do. It’s the fact that he knows you now. The quieter version of you. The sleepy morning voice on the phone. The shy smiles. The way you get embarrassed when people compliment you too much. The way you hide your face when you laugh too hard. And now he’s watching this completely different version of you strut across the screen riding some idiot quarterback. And deep down inside, he wonders if you are just as kinky in bed as the sexy cheerleader you play.

Mingi exhales slowly through his nose. Okay. Yeah. Paris needs to happen immediately. Because the more he watches, the more painfully aware he becomes of how long it’s been since he’s actually seen you in person and that you two still had no sex together. Seen you, touched your hand casually while walking somewhere, watched your expressions without a screen between you. And unfortunately for him, imagining you while looking like this is becoming increasingly dangerous. He needs to fuck you badly. Onscreen, your character laughs loudly before tossing her hair over her shoulder dramatically. Mingi groans softly, dropping his head back against the pillow. His phone sits beside him on the bed. One unread message from you from earlier. And now all he can think about is Paris. Paris hotels. Paris nights.You in red underwear. You riding him. You blushing again when he inevitably tells you he watched the cheerleader show anyway. You moaning in his ear. You touching yourself, while straddling him. You letting him fuck you so hard. His hands on your perfect naked ass. Mingi drags both hands over his face with a quiet, suffering laugh. Yeah. He’s definitely losing his mind a little over you. Another message from you comes through. Mingi grabs his phone and notices that you’ve sent him a view-once picture. The moment he opens it, he nearly chokes on his own spit. In the picture, you’re lying on your stomach. Your elbows are propped up, your hair spread out over your shoulders and back, and you’re wearing nothing but a T-shirt, revealing the curve of your perfect ass.

y/n 🩶:

Mi corazón es tuyo - My heart is yours

summary: You’re famous, breathtakingly beautiful, and adored by everyone. At a party, Mingi approaches you. At first, you assume he’s just like every other guy who’s only interested in your looks and status. But his cocky yet effortlessly charming personality has you laughing far more often than you’d like to admit. Before you know it, you find yourself agreeing to go on a date with him…

a/n: Okay, okay, everyone—here we go with the next chapter! Things are still fluffy and romantic for now, but we’ll see where the story takes us! There are still plenty of chapters to come. Thank you all so much for your likes, reblogs, and comments! They truly mean a lot to me. I know my fics aren’t always the most action-packed or filled with smut, so I’m incredibly grateful that so many of you still enjoy reading them.

3. chapter/ capítulo/ kapitel/ 제1장

Mingi regrets telling ATEEZ about your second date approximately three minutes after he walks into the dorm. Because the second the front door closes behind him, seven pairs of eyes snap toward him like hungry wolves sensing weakness. Hongjoong looks up from the couch first.

“So?”

Mingi freezes mid-step.

“…So what?”

Wooyoung gasps dramatically from the kitchen island. “HE’S SMILING.”

“That’s not a normal smile either,” San adds immediately. “That’s the smile of a man who has plans.”

Mingi sighs tiredly and drops onto the couch, rubbing a hand down his face. And unfortunately, that reaction alone tells them everything. Yunho points at him instantly. “OH MY GOD.” Seonghwa slowly narrows his eyes.

“Mingi.”

“No.”

“You don’t even know what I’m going to ask.”

“I do, actually.”

Wooyoung practically launches himself across the living room and lands beside him with zero dignity.

“You still have two evenings left with her before she flies back to Europe, right?”

Mingi immediately looks suspicious.

“…Why?”

The room explodes.

“BECAUSE WE WANT TO MEET HER.”

“You’ve been gatekeeping her for over a week!”

“You can’t date the world’s most beautiful actress in secret forever,” Jongho says while aggressively typing on his phone.

Mingi squints at him. “What are you doing?”

Jongho doesn’t even look up.

“Research.”

“…Research for what?”

Jongho finally raises his phone with complete seriousness.

“Do you think a signed movie poster from her would sell for more if she writes my name personally or should I keep it generic?” Mingi stares at him in disbelief.

“You’re trying to profit off my love life?”

“I’m trying to secure my future.”

„You are a fucking Idol!“

San appears beside the couch next.

“Ask her about her workout routine for me.”

“She’s not coming here so you can interrogate her protein intake.”

“That woman does her own stunts,” San says defensively. “I have questions.”

“And I,” Yunho announces dramatically, “would like professional acting advice.”

“You were in one drama.”

“And she’s an Grammy-winning actress. This is networking.”

Meanwhile Seonghwa is already standing.

“No, no, wait.” He looks around the apartment in horror. “This place is disgusting.”

“It’s not disgusting,” Wooyoung argues.

Seonghwa points at an abandoned sock on the floor.

“There’s literally a sock next to the fruit bowl.”

“That’s decorative.”

Seonghwa ignores him completely and immediately starts speed-cleaning like a stressed mother preparing for royalty. Mingi watches the chaos unfold with growing regret.

“…I should’ve kept my mouth shut.”

“Too late,” Hongjoong says calmly from the armchair, sipping his drink while watching the disaster with amusement.

Wooyoung suddenly gasps.

“Wait.”

Everyone looks at him. His eyes slowly narrow at Mingi.

“…Why are you being weirdly quiet?”

Mingi straightens immediately. “I’m not.”

“You are,” Yeosang says flatly.

“Suspiciously quiet,” San agrees.

Seonghwa slowly turns around from where he’s aggressively fluffing couch pillows. Then he places one hand dramatically over his chest, looking like a disapointed mom.

“Mingi,” he says softly, deeply wounded, “are we embarrassing to you?”

Mingi groans instantly.

“Oh my god, don’t start.”

“So you ARE ashamed of us,” Seonghwa whispers like a betrayed mother.

“You people scream every five minutes.”

“That’s culture.”

Mingi opens his mouth to argue again—

—but Yunho suddenly freezes. Then his eyes widen in realization.

“Oh.” Silence falls. Yunho points slowly.

“You want to have sex with her.”

Mingi chokes violently. Wooyoung SCREAMS.

“YOU WANT TO GET HER INTO BED?!”

Mingi throws his head back against the couch cushions with a long suffering groan.

“Why did I ever tell you idiots anything?”

The dorm erupts instantly.

“OH HE’S DOWN HORRENDOUS.”

“YOU WERE PLANNING ROMANTIC SEX.”

“Wait wait wait—” San points aggressively. “Was that why the second date looked like a literal K-drama proposal?” Mingi points at him. “It was romantic because I LIKE HER.”

“AND because you wanted to see her naked,” Wooyoung adds helpfully.

“I hate this family.”

Jongho looks up from his phone again. “Do you even have condoms?”

Hongjoong coughs into his drink. Yunho is crying laughing already. Seonghwa gasps dramatically. “Oh my god, he definitely bought condoms.” Mingi drags both hands down his face.

“You’re all sick.”

“Answer the question,” Wooyoung demands.

“No.”

“That means yes.”

“Definitely yes,” Yeosang confirms calmly.

San suddenly looks genuinely emotional.

“You’re choosing sex over us meeting Y/N?”

Mingi sits up immediately.

“That is NOT what’s happening.”

“It literally is,” Jongho says dryly.

“You have two nights left with her,” Yunho adds. “And you’re trying to spend at least one of them naked… with her.” Mingi looks personally attacked.

“Can all of you stop saying it like that?”

“No,” everyone answers together. Wooyoung grabs him by the shoulders dramatically.

“Mingi. Listen to me carefully.”

“…I don’t want to.”

“You cannot date a woman this iconic and then deprive us of the experience of meeting her.”

“She’s shy,” Mingi argues immediately. “You people are loud and terrifying.”

“That’s fair,” Hongjoong admits.

“Thank you.”

“But,” Hongjoong continues calmly, “I also wouldn’t mind meeting the woman who has apparently turned you into a lovesick loser.”

The room erupts again.

“HE ADMITTED IT.”

“CAPTAIN WANTS TO MEET HER TOO.”

Mingi looks around helplessly at seven grown men behaving like caffeinated kindergarteners. Then Hongjoong speaks again. Calm. Diplomatic. Leader mode.

“Guys,” he says firmly. “Relax.”

Miraculously, the room quiets slightly.

“It’s Mingi’s decision,” Hongjoong continues reasonably. “And we’re obviously not going to pressure him into bringing her here if he doesn’t want to.” Mingi visibly relaxes.

“Thank you.”

“But,” Hongjoong adds casually—

—and then gives Mingi a look.

A very specific look. The captain look. The one that somehow bypasses adulthood entirely and turns every member back into a guilty six-year-old immediately. Mingi freezes. Because he knows that look. Everyone knows that look. It says: I’m not angry. I’m just disappointed. And somehow that is infinitely worse. Mingi stares at the ceiling for a long moment. Then exhales deeply through his nose.

“…Fine.”

The room collectively inhales. Mingi points at them accusingly.

“I’ll ask her.”

Absolute chaos detonates instantly.

“YES!”

“WE WON.”

“TEAMWORK!”

“And,” Mingi adds bitterly, “I’ll sacrifice the fourth date.”

Wooyoung gasps emotionally before immediately launching himself at Mingi like an affectionate parasite.

“That’s team spirit!” he cries while wrapping around him aggressively.

“Mmph— GET OFF.”

Wooyoung clings tighter.

“No. I love you Mangi.“

“I can’t believe,” Mingi mutters miserably while trying to pry him loose, “that I’m giving up sex with Y/N for this.”

Wooyoung squeezes him even harder.

“And that,” he says proudly, “is family.”

“I’m going to kill all of you.”

A day later, your phone lights up with a message from Mingi.

Do you want to go on a late-night date with me?

A smile instantly pulls at your lips.

How late are we talking? you type back.

The typing bubble appears almost immediately.

I’ll pick you up around ten.

You stare at the message for a second before laughing softly to yourself. Of course he would plan something mysterious again. Steve, however, is significantly less amused.

“You’re wandering around Seoul at night with him now?” he asks, watching you from the armchair in your hotel suite with deep suspicion. “That’s where we are?”

You grin while adjusting your earrings in the mirror. “You make it sound criminal.”

“It feels criminal.”

You laugh quietly.

Tonight, unlike your previous casual outfits, you actually put effort into your appearance. The dress hugs your figure perfectly — elegant, fitted, short enough to stay classy while still accentuating every curve. Especially your ass. Over it, you throw on an oversized denim jacket to keep the look relaxed enough for a late-night date. Simple. But dangerous. And judging by Steve’s expression, he already knows Mingi is about to suffer.

“You’re absolutely sure you don’t want backup nearby?” he asks again.

You turn toward him with a fond smile. “Steve, if anything happens, I’ll call immediately.”

His expression softens slightly.

“You promise?”

“I promise.”

He sighs dramatically. “Alright. But if this guy makes you cry, I’m keying his Porsche.”

You burst out laughing. “Good to know.”

The underground garage is quieter tonight. Cool air echoes softly through the concrete space as you step out of the elevator. Mingi is already there. Leaning casually against the black Porsche in dark jeans and a white shirt, hands tucked into his pockets. Then he looks up. And freezes. Your steps slow slightly. Because the reaction is immediate. Visible. His eyes drag over you once — the dress, the jacket, your legs — before returning to your face. His throat bobs hard. The movement of his Adam’s apple is impossible to miss. For once, Song Mingi looks genuinely speechless. Your confidence immediately spikes. You lean casually against the passenger door with a small smirk. “Okay, Mingi,” you tease softly. “What did you plan this time?” He blinks once like he’s forcing himself to recover mentally. Then a slow grin spreads across his face.

“You can’t show up looking like that and expect me to think properly.”

Heat immediately rushes into your cheeks.

“You’re avoiding the question.”

“I am,” he says shamelessly.

You laugh under your breath while he opens the passenger door for you. Gentleman. Cocky gentleman. The drive is shorter this time. And once again, Mingi refuses to tell you where you’re going.

“You really enjoy being dramatic, huh?”

“Very much.”

“You’re impossible.”

“And yet,” he says smugly, glancing over at you briefly, “you keep going on dates with me.” Annoyingly true. About twenty minutes later, the Porsche turns into a private underground parking entrance. A security gate opens almost immediately. You blink.

“Mingi…”

He merely smirks and drives inside. A few moments later, he parks near a private elevator and steps out first, casually walking around to open your door again. You take his hand automatically while stepping out. Then you finally glance up at the building. And your jaw nearly hits the floor.

“No way.”

Mingi says nothing. Which immediately tells you everything. You stare at him in disbelief. “You rented out an entire aquarium for us?”

He shrugs far too casually. “Maybe.”

“Mingi!”

He starts laughing at your expression.

“How do you even do this?” you sputter. “Like seriously, what do you say to people? ‘Hi yes, I need an aquarium for romantic purposes?’”

His shoulders shake with laughter while he guides you toward a side entrance.

“I have connections.”

“That is not an answer!”

“It’s the only answer you’re getting.”

The private entrance opens quietly. And suddenly the world changes. Everything becomes dark blue light and shimmering reflections. The aquarium is empty. Completely empty. No visitors. No crowds. No noise. Only you and Mingi. Soft ambient music hums faintly through hidden speakers while enormous tanks glow around you, casting moving reflections of water across the walls and ceilings. Fish drift silently through illuminated blue water overhead. The entire place feels surreal. Like stepping into another universe. Your hand tightens slightly around Mingi’s as the two of you begin wandering slowly through the tunnels.

“You’re insane,” you whisper, still looking around in awe. Mingi glances down at you with a pleased smile. “You like it though.”

“That’s not the point.”

“So you do like it.”

You shake your head, laughing softly. But honestly? You love it. The atmosphere alone is enough to make your heart ache. The low lighting. The glowing water. The privacy. And Mingi beside you, fingers intertwined with yours like it’s the most natural thing in the world. You move slowly from tank to tank, stopping every few minutes to admire different sea creatures drifting through the water. At one point a massive stingray glides overhead through the glass tunnel above you, shadows rippling across your faces. You both stop instinctively.

“Okay,” Mingi murmurs. “That’s terrifying.”

You snort. “You’re scared of a stingray?”

“No! … maybe.“

You laugh harder. And once again conversation comes effortlessly. With Mingi, silence never feels awkward. Talking never feels forced. Everything just… flows. At some point while standing near a massive jellyfish tank glowing deep blue and violet, Mingi suddenly glances down at you thoughtfully.

“Can I ask you something?”

“That depends.” His lips twitch. “Tell me about a movie project nobody knows about yet.” You immediately choke on your own breath.

“Mingi.”

“What?”

“Why?”

“I’m curious.”

You narrow your eyes suspiciously. “I literally sign NDAs for a living.”

“So there is a secret project.”

You hesitate. Because technically… There is. But nobody knows. Absolutely nobody. And if information leaks? Disney will probably hunt you for sport. You stop walking, leaning your back lightly against the wall beside the glowing tank. Blue water reflections dance softly across your skin.

“I don’t know…” you tease slowly. “You’d have to give me something in return.”

Mingi immediately grins. He loves this. These tiny power struggles between you.

“Oh?” he says, stepping closer. “Is that how this works now?”

“You tell me something first,” you say innocently. “Then maybe I’ll tell you something.” He laughs quietly under his breath.

“Okay. Fine.”

You nod once.

“Deal.”

Mingi pretends to think deeply for a moment. Then slowly… very slowly… He steps closer. And closer. Until suddenly your back presses fully against the textured wall beside the aquarium glass. Your breath catches instantly. The lighting from the tanks washes over him in shifting shades of blue and silver, reflections moving across his sharp features while water ripples behind him. One of his hands settles against the wall beside your head. The other rests lightly near your waist. Not touching. Just close enough to make your pulse spike violently. God. He’s so big compared to you. Broad shoulders. Massive frame. Towering over you effortlessly. And somehow he knows exactly what he’s doing.

“I’m listening,” you say, trying to sound impatient. It comes out significantly less stable than intended. Mingi hums thoughtfully. Like he’s genuinely considering his answer.

“You can’t tell anyone,” he says quietly.

You stare up at him expectantly. Then he leans down slightly.

“But…” His eyes flick down briefly toward your lips. “I’m currently dating the most beautiful woman in the world. But don‘t tell anyone.“

You immediately groan.

“Oh my god.”

Mingi grins victoriously.

“That doesn’t count!”

“It absolutely counts.”

“It’s not a real secret!”

“No one knows about it,” he argues smoothly. “Seems valid to me.”

You roll your eyes dramatically, biting your lower lip to stop yourself from smiling too hard. The worst part? The man has so much charisma that somehow even his ridiculous flirting works. Barely.

“Your turn,” he says immediately.

You laugh softly. But Mingi only steps even closer. Close enough now that you catch the scent of his cologne. Warm. Clean. Dangerously addictive.

“Mingi,” you warn weakly. “That was cheating.”

“What?” he says innocently. “I shared classified information.”

You laugh under your breath despite yourself.

“Fine,” you sigh dramatically. “But if you tell anyone—”

“I won’t.”

“Not even Ateez.”

He places a hand over his heart. “I can be trusted.”

“If Disney finds out, they’ll literally kill me.”

“That would be tragic,” Mingi says immediately. “You dying would really ruin my week.” You smack his chest lightly.

“Mingi!”

He barely reacts. Still standing impossibly close. Still looking down at you with that unbearably amused expression while aquarium light dances across his face. The tension between you feels electric now. Charged. Your throat suddenly feels dry.

“I…” You clear your throat softly because somehow speaking has become difficult. “I’m going to play Shego in the live-action Kim Possible remake. Filming starts at the end of the year.“

Silence. Mingi blinks once. Then twice.

“…You’re kidding.” You shake your head slowly. His jaw literally drops. The reaction alone is completely worth risking Disney assassination. Mingi stares at you like you’ve just personally altered the course of his life. “Shego,” he repeats slowly. You bite back a smile. “Please try to act normal.”

“I physically can’t.”

You laugh softly as he drags a hand down his face, visibly trying to process the information.

“You’re telling me,” he says carefully, “that you are playing Shego?”

“Yes.”

“The fucking hot Shego?”

“There’s only one.”

Mingi looks genuinely overwhelmed now.

“That’s the hottest casting decision Disney has ever made.”

“Mingi!”

“What?” he defends immediately. “I’m right.”

You shake your head, laughing under your breath while he continues staring at you with obvious admiration.

“No wonder they made you sign an NDA,” he mutters. “People would lose their minds.”

You bump your shoulder lightly against his arm as the two of you continue wandering deeper into the aquarium. The atmosphere somehow grows quieter the farther inside you go. Darker too. The glowing tanks cast deep blue reflections across the floor while water ripples softly along the walls and ceiling overhead. It feels intimate in a way that almost becomes dangerous. You and Mingi drift slowly from exhibit to exhibit, your fingers brushing occasionally until his hand naturally finds yours again. Conversation comes easy, like always. You ask him about Ateez’s upcoming summer tour in the US, and his face immediately lights up while talking about the concerts.

“The schedule’s brutal,” he admits with a laugh. “But the energy over there is insane.”

“You’re excited though.”

“Obviously.” He grins. “I get to perform.”

At one point you glance up at him softly. “You really love this.”

Mingi looks down at you. Then nods once.

“With everything I have.”

The sincerity in his voice makes your chest ache a little. You smile softly at the genuine excitement in his voice. Then, curiously, you tilt your head toward him. “What about the new album?”

Mingi glances at you suspiciously. “Trying to steal classified information again?”

“You survived my Disney secret. Fair exchange.”

He laughs quietly.

“There are a few songs I’m really proud of,” he says after a moment. “Different vibe this time.”

“And solo projects?” you ask casually. “Ever thought about it?”

Something flickers across his face. Brief. Interesting.

“Maybe,” he says carefully.

Your brows lift immediately. “Oh?”

“I didn’t say anything.”

“But you thought about it.”

Mingi only smirks mysteriously. Which basically confirms everything.

“You’re impossible,” you mutter.

Eventually the two of you wander into a quieter section of the aquarium.

The hallway ahead is darker than the others, illuminated only by deep blue tank lights glowing through massive glass walls. Soft rushing water echoes faintly in the background while shadows ripple across the floor beneath your feet. It feels hidden away from the rest of the world. Private. You slow near one of the tanks, completely distracted by a school of silver fish drifting lazily through the water. Mingi stops just behind you. Close enough that you can feel his warmth. You lean forward slightly to read the small information plaque beside the glass. And accidentally brush your ass lightly against his crotch. The reaction behind you is immediate. A sharp inhale. Your breath catches too. Slowly, you glance back over your shoulder. Mingi is already looking at you. Dark eyes fixed on yours beneath the shifting blue light. The atmosphere changes instantly. The air suddenly feels too warm. Too close. You turn toward him, about to read something from the plaque just to break the tension.

“These fish can actually—”

Mingi kisses you before you finish the sentence. The words disappear against his mouth instantly. The suddenness of it catches you off guard enough that you stumble lightly into his chest, hands instinctively grabbing the front of his shirt for balance. But then he kisses you again. Slow. Deep. Certain. And every coherent thought immediately leaves your brain. This is your third kiss. And somehow that makes it worse. Or better. Because now both of your bodies already know each other a little too well. Know the feeling of pulling closer. Know the warmth. The tension. The growing hunger for more. Your fingers curl tighter into his hoodie while Mingi’s hands settle firmly against your hips, pulling you flush against him. The glass behind you feels cool against your back. Everything else feels unbearably warm. The kiss deepens slowly, naturally, until breathing becomes difficult and your heart pounds so violently you’re convinced he can feel it through your chest. Mingi kisses like he flirts. Confident. Patient. Dangerously good at making you forget literally everything else exists. One of his hands slides slightly along your waist, fingertips pressing gently against the fabric of your dress while he keeps you pinned softly between him and the glowing aquarium glass. Fish drift silently behind you both, blue light washing across his face while water reflections dance over his skin. The entire moment feels unreal. Like a scene from a movie. Your lips part slightly against his and Mingi exhales softly — the sound almost enough to destroy your remaining self-control entirely. And judging by the way his grip tightens briefly against your waist… He’s losing composure too. The kiss turns hungrier after that. Not rushed. Not messy. Just full of restrained tension that’s clearly becoming harder and harder to ignore. Because the truth is painfully obvious now. Neither of you only wants to kiss anymore. And that realization hangs heavily between every breath.

“Fuck,” he murmurs softly against your lips.

Your stomach flips violently. You tug him closer by the shirt without thinking. His thick tongue enters your mouth, immediately meeting yours. Your hands now settle at the nape of Mingi’s neck, and you pull him even tighter against you. His large hands find your ass, kneading your plump cheeks. You let out a soft moan as he presses you even harder against his crotch. You feel the large bulge between his legs. Without breaking the kiss, he maneuvers you toward a large pane of glass, in front of which a wide windowsill has been built. As your back makes contact with the wood, you let out a short gasp, and Mingi kisses you with even greater intensity. He thrusts his tongue deep into your mouth; saliva mingles inside—and upon—your full lips. He bends down briefly, his powerful hands cupping your thighs; your bare skin tingles as you feel his touch, and with effortless ease, he lifts you up onto the windowsill. He makes space for himself between your legs and places his hands down beside your thighs. You arch your back, pressing your breasts against him, and kiss him greedily. God, you want more—more of Mingi. As if he could read your thoughts, he places a hand on your thigh, sliding it slowly upward until he brushes against the fabric of your dress. He pauses briefly, waiting for your reaction, all the while continuing to kiss you intensely. When you don't pull away, he shifts his hand to the inside of your thigh, stroking the soft skin. You feel your panties growing wetter by the second. You’ve never had sex in an aquarium before. His fingers make their way—agonizingly slowly—between your spread legs. Your pussy is already throbbing from his touch. His thick fingertips graze the edge of your black, damp panties, already starting to slide the fabric aside — just a breath away from finally touching you.

And that is exactly the moment fate decides to embarrass both of you for the second time this week. A loud throat clearing suddenly echoes through the hallway. You and Mingi break apart immediately. A middle-aged janitor stands frozen at the end of the corridor holding a mop. Staring directly at both of you. His eyes widen slowly. Then dramatically. The silence that follows is genuinely catastrophic. Because once again—The situation looks incredibly suspicious. You pressed against the aquarium glass. Mingi standing between your legs. His hands still very obviously between your legs! Both of you breathing like you just ran a marathon. The janitor blinks once. Then immediately bows. “Oh! Sorry! Sorry!” You close your eyes briefly in pure humiliation. Not again. Beside you, Mingi physically looks like he’s questioning every life decision that led him here. “I’m so sorry! I apologize! I didn’t mean to interrupt— I didn’t see anything—”You immediately cover your face with one hand in embarrassment. Beside you, Mingi closes his eyes briefly like he’s physically in pain. Because honestly? At this point the universe has to be doing this on purpose. First the waiter. Now the janitor. Every single time things start getting intense, somebody appears out of nowhere like Seoul hired a task force specifically to stop the two of you from making out in peace. And judging by the look on Mingi’s face, he is one interruption away from personally fighting fate itself. “I deeply apologize,” the janitor repeats frantically while bowing again. “Please continue— no! Don’t continue! I mean— I’ll leave!” Mingi drags a hand slowly down his face. Internally, he is absolutely losing his mind. Because five seconds ago you were kissing him like you wanted to ruin his self-control permanently, and now there’s a terrified janitor apologizing for existing. Somewhere in the back of his head, one singular thought repeats itself:

Why does somebody always interrupt us right when we’re getting somewhere? Somewhere meaning sex.

The janitor bows one final time before basically fleeing down the hallway at record speed. Silence settles briefly afterward. Mingi stares after the man in disbelief. Then exhales heavily. You, meanwhile, are already trying not to laugh. His expression is so deeply offended by the interruption that it completely destroys your composure. Finally, still grinning, you reach down and grab his hand. “Come on, big guy,” you say casually, tugging him forward like nothing catastrophic just happened. “Let’s keep going.” Mingi looks down at you with narrowed eyes. You continue walking, fingers intertwined with his while aquarium light ripples across the floor beneath your feet. “Oh,” you add sweetly over your shoulder, “and maybe start getting your wallet ready.” Mingi snorts softly. “For what?” You grin innocently. “We’re gonna need a lot of hush money this time.” That finally breaks him. A laugh escapes his chest while he follows behind you willingly, still shaking his head in disbelief. Because honestly? That had absolutely been his moment. And somehow, despite the interruption, despite the embarrassment, despite nearly traumatizing yet another employee— He’s still completely gone for you.

Mingi keeps one hand on the steering wheel while the other drums restlessly against his thigh. His jaw flexes every few seconds, and he keeps catching his bottom lip between his teeth like he’s trying to stop himself from saying something. You notice the way his fingers tap faster whenever the road goes quiet. Finally, you turn slightly toward him, watching the glow from the dashboard paint soft shadows across his face.

“Hey, big guy,” you say gently. “What’s going on in that head of yours?”

His hands instantly still. “Nothing,” he mumbles automatically. You raise an eyebrow. Mingi sighs through his nose, shoulders tense, before he glances at you for half a second and looks back at the road.

“It’s stupid.”

“It’s probably not.”

Another few seconds pass before he finally speaks again, voice lower this time.

“We only really have… what, one evening left together?” The words settle quietly between you. You watch his grip tighten around the steering wheel.

“And the guys,” he continues awkwardly, “they find out about you.” That immediately makes you smile. “Oh?”

“Yeah, and now they won’t leave me alone.” He lets out a nervous laugh. “They keep asking when they get to meet you.”

You can practically hear the panic underneath his calm tone.

“They want to know if maybe…” He clears his throat. “If maybe you’d want to come over one evening. To the apartment. We usually cook there together when we’re all home.”

He glances at you quickly.

“But if you don’t want to, that’s completely fine,” he adds almost immediately. “Seriously. We can forget I even asked. Or do it another time. They’re a lot sometimes.”

You laugh softly at how fast the words tumble out of him.

“Mingi.”

“No, I’m serious,” he insists, already spiraling. “They’re loud, chaotic, and Wooyoung has absolutely no boundaries—”

You reach over and rest your hand gently on his massive thigh. The reaction is immediate. His entire body stiffens for a second, his breath catching so subtly most people probably wouldn’t even notice it. But you do. His fingers tighten around the steering wheel again, ears turning slightly pink as your thumb brushes once against the fabric of his jeans.

“Hey,” you say softly, smiling at him. “I’d love to meet them.”

Mingi blinks.

“You would?”

“Of course.” Your hand stays comfortably on his thigh while you look at him warmly. “They’re important to you. I want to know the people you care about.”

For a moment, he just stares ahead at the road, like he needs a second to process that answer. Then he lets out a long breath that almost sounds relieved.

“Okay,” he mutters quietly. You smile wider.

“But,” he adds quickly, pointing at you dramatically with one hand for half a second before grabbing the wheel again, “I am warning you right now — they are genuinely a handful.” You laugh.

“I can handle a handful.”

Mingi groans under his breath already, shaking his head.

“You say that now.” A reluctant smile tugs at his mouth. “Give Wooyoung ten minutes and you’ll reconsider everything.”

“That bad?”

“He once starts a nerf gun fight during dinner because San steals his dumpling.”

You stare at him.

“…Honestly, that just makes me more excited.”

That finally pulls a real laugh out of him. Deep, warm, and completely fond.

The next evening passes by far too quickly. Tomorrow, you’re flying back to London to begin the promotion tour for your next film, and somehow that fact hangs over everything now — even while you’re getting ready. Your phone buzzes nonstop on the hotel bed beside you while you pull on a pair of black leggings and an oversized hoodie.

Maya 🩷

YOU ARE MEETING ATEEZ WITHOUT ME????

Another message immediately follows.

I ACTUALLY HATE YOU.

Then:

Tell Wooyoung I would die for him.

You laugh quietly to yourself while typing back.

You are so dramatic.

Three dots instantly appear.

NO I AM CORRECTLY DRAMATIC.

A second later:

Take pictures. Or at least survive. San is beautiful in real life. Prepare yourself emotionally.

You shake your head fondly and toss the phone aside again. Without Maya, your makeup routine consists mostly of “good enough.” A little concealer, brushed hair, lip balm — that’s about it. Maya usually handles the magic part of things. Besides, you’ve known Maya since the beginning of your career, and the two of you have become best friends over the years. She and Steve are your closest confidants. You’re just nervous-excited to finally meet the people Mingi keeps talking about. Another knock sounds at your hotel door. Steve. Of course. The second you open it, his eyes narrow immediately.

“You’re really going?”

You stare at your bodyguard for a moment.

“Steve.”

“What?” he says defensively, crossing his arms. “You’re going into an apartment full of men I don’t know.”

“You know who they are.”

“I know they’re famous. That doesn’t help me.”

You laugh softly and grab your phone and room key.

“They’re nice,” you promise him. “And Mingi’s there.”

“That somehow reassures me the least.”

You snort.

“Steve.”

He sighs heavily, already defeated.

“If anything feels weird, you text me immediately.”

“I know.”

“And I mean immediately.”

You step closer and squeeze his arm affectionately.

“I know.”

He points at you sternly.

“I’m serious.”

“You’re always serious.”

“Because staying alive is important.”

That earns another laugh out of you before you finally head downstairs. Mingi is already waiting outside the hotel in the car. And the second you climb into the passenger seat, you can tell he’s stressed. His fingers tap against the steering wheel almost constantly, and his shoulders are so tense they practically reach his ears. You buckle your seatbelt and glance at him.

“Wow,” you murmur. “You look terrified.”

“I am terrified.”

You grin immediately.

“Mingi.”

“I’m serious.” The drive from your hotel to the apartment is surprisingly short, but somehow he manages to grow even more nervous with every passing minute. You watch him fidget with the sleeves of his hoodie at a red light. Finally, you reach over and poke his arm lightly.

“Hey,” you say gently. “Relax. It’s going to be fine.”

Mingi exhales slowly through his nose.

“Yeah, but…”

He trails off.

“But what?”

His grip tightens on the wheel again before he finally blurts out: “You’re technically the first girl to ever come into the dorm.”

You turn your head so fast you almost hurt your neck.

“…I’m sorry, what?”

Mingi immediately winces.

“Okay, when I say it out loud, it sounds worse.”

“You think?”

He groans quietly.

“There’s kind of an unspoken rule,” he explains awkwardly. “No girlfriends. No dates. Nobody really brings women over.”

You blink at him.

“And yet here I am.”

“Yeah,” he mutters. “Because the guys found out who you are and now they’re losing their minds.” That makes you laugh.

“And they really wanted to meet you,” he adds quickly. “Like… really badly.”

You hum softly, nodding once.

“Okay.”

“But if that makes you uncomfortable,” he says almost immediately, panic creeping back into his voice, “we genuinely do not have to go. Seriously. I can turn the car around right now.” You stare at him for a second before smiling warmly.

“Mingi.” He glances at you nervously.

“It’s okay.”

“Yeah?”

“Yes.” You reach over and squeeze his forearm gently. “Relax. I’m excited to meet all of you.”

For a moment, he just looks at you quietly. Then his shoulders finally loosen a little.

“…You’re handling this way better than I am.”

You grin.

“Well, obviously.”

That finally pulls a laugh out of him as he shakes his head and continues driving toward the apartment. You figured Mingi out on your very first date. Behind all that coolness and self-confidence, he’s actually a very gentle and soft-hearted person.

The second the apartment door opens, absolute chaos erupts. Before you can even properly step inside, Wooyoung appears out of nowhere like he’s been waiting behind the door the entire time.

“There she is!” he yells dramatically, pointing at himself immediately with a giant grin. “Okay, before anyone says anything — I already know I’m your favorite member. You don’t have to feel bad about it.” You blink at him once. Behind you, Mingi groans quietly.

“Wooyoung—”

“No, no,” Wooyoung continues confidently while helping you out of your shoes, “it happens to everybody. It’s a natural human response.”

You laugh despite yourself.

“That confident, huh?”

“Painfully.”

“Unfortunately,” San mutters from somewhere deeper inside the apartment. That immediately earns loud complaints from Wooyoung while you laugh again, and somehow the tension in the room eases almost instantly. Then Seonghwa steps forward. And for one very confusing second, he genuinely looks at you like you’ve descended from heaven itself. His eyes widen slightly before he smiles warmly and bows politely.

“It’s really nice to meet you,” he says softly. “Mingi talks about you a lot.” Your eyes immediately flick toward Mingi. Mingi nearly chokes.

“I do not.”

“You absolutely do,” Wooyoung says loudly from the kitchen.

Mingi looks seconds away from death. You try not to laugh too hard as another member approaches quietly beside Seonghwa. Yeosang. Unlike the others, he doesn’t immediately start talking. He just smiles softly, calm and a little shy, and somehow you instantly understand each other. Same energy. Same social battery.

“Hi,” you say gently.

“Hi,” he replies just as quietly.

And somehow that’s enough. Wooyoung points dramatically between the two of you.

“Oh my god. Introvert telepathy.”

“Leave them alone,” Seonghwa scolds automaticall like a mom. Then another presence enters the room. Hongjoong. The captain. And suddenly you notice the atmosphere shift ever so slightly. The others aren’t obvious about it, but they’re definitely watching his reaction. Especially Mingi. Hongjoong walks over with an easy smile and offers his hand immediately.

“It’s really good to finally meet you,” he says warmly.

You shake his hand with a smile of your own.

“I’m happy to be here.”

“I watched your last film recently,” he continues. “Your work ethic is honestly kind of terrifying.”

You laugh softly.

“I’ll take that as a compliment.”

“It absolutely is.”

And then — naturally, casually — he briefly rests a hand against the middle of your back while guiding you further inside. That’s when you hear it. The collective, invisible exhale from the room. Especially from Mingi. You glance at him just in time to catch the relief on his face before he quickly looks away. “Oh my God… she’s the Chosen One,” Wooyoung murmurs to Mingi in Korean. Then San appears beside you with the brightest smile imaginable.

“Okay,” he says excitedly, already leading you toward the kitchen, “we had an idea.”

“Oh no,” Mingi mutters behind you. San ignores him completely.

“We thought since you don’t know that much about Korean cooking yet, maybe we could all cook together.”

Your entire face lights up immediately.

“Seriously?”

San grins.

“Yes.”

“I would love that.”

And somehow, that answer makes all of them visibly relax even more. You’re naturally quieter around new people, a little shy at first, but easygoing enough that the atmosphere quickly becomes comfortable anyway. The boys bounce around the kitchen loudly while you stay near the counter, listening, smiling, occasionally laughing whenever Wooyoung starts another fake argument with somebody. Then you meet Yunho. Mingi’s best friend. He’s somehow even taller than Mingi, though leaner, and he greets you with an easy confidence that immediately tells you he knows exactly how handsome he is.

“So,” he says casually while helping unpack groceries, “favorite director you’ve worked with?”

That instantly starts a real conversation. You talk films, producers, difficult shoots, actors forgetting lines, horrible audition stories. And Mingi absolutely notices the exact moment Yunhos eyes linger on you one second too long when you bend slightly to grab something from the lower cabinet. Mingi slowly looks up at him with an expression that very clearly says:

Don’t even think about it.

Yunho completely ignores him. Traitor. Then the youngest finally appears. Jongho walks into the kitchen carrying what looks like half the apartment.

Albums.

Photobooks.

Posters.

A hoodie.

A DVD.

A pen already uncapped. You stare at the mountain of merchandise in his arms.

“…Jongho.”

He places everything carefully on the counter. “Please sign here,” he says completely seriously. The entire kitchen bursts into laughter.

“You’re unbelievable,” Wooyoung wheezes.

Meanwhile, you obediently start signing things one by one while Jongho watches with the focus of a man overseeing a business transaction. After the fifth signature, you glance up at him dryly.

“Are you planning to sell all this online for profit?”

Without missing a beat, Jongho clutches one signed album protectively against his chest.

“No,” he says firmly. “These are long-term emotional investments.” Hongjoong snorts loudly. Wooyoung nearly collapses onto the counter laughing. And even Mingi finally laughs hard enough that his shoulders shake, watching you sit in the middle of their kitchen signing merchandise while Jongho guards it like buried treasure. Slowly, the evening starts winding down. The kitchen is still warm and loud and messy from cooking together, empty bottles and dishes scattered everywhere while Wooyoung dramatically argues with Jongho over who made the better food.

“You literally burned the garlic,” Jongho says flatly.

“It was intentional flavor.”

“That’s not a thing.”

“It absolutely is.”

You laugh softly under your breath while pulling your hoodie sleeves over your hands slightly. Eventually, you glance around the apartment and smile shyly.

“Thank you,” you say quietly.

The room slowly settles.

“I really had a lot of fun tonight.” Your fingers play lightly with the edge of your sleeve. “And… thank you for letting me come here.”

You’re still naturally reserved around newer people, but your sincerity fills the room so easily that all of them immediately soften. Seonghwa practically looks emotional again.

“You have to come back,” San says immediately.

“Seriously,” Wooyoung agrees. “Next time bring another celebrity.”

You blink.

“What?”

“Like…” Wooyoung points dramatically while thinking. “Florence Pugh.”

You stare at him.

“Just casually?”

“Yes.”

Hongjoong sighs tiredly from the counter.

“Please stop asking celebrities to bring celebrities in our home.”

“I’m networking.”

“That’s not networking.”

Jongho raises a hand seriously.

“If you know Timothée Chalamet, I also wouldn’t complain.”

“You are all unbelievable,” Mingi mutters.

But he’s smiling. And honestly, so are you. The goodbyes somehow take forever. San hugs you twice. Wooyoung insists again that he’s your favorite. Yeosang quietly tells you to message him if you ever want restaurant recommendations in Seoul. Hongjoong thanks you for coming with such genuine warmth that you understand immediately why all of them trust him so much. And then finally, it’s just you and Mingi again. The apartment door closes behind you. The car ride starts quietly. Not awkward. Just heavy. Because now the conversation neither of you wants to have is waiting there between you.

When do you see each other again?

Your lives barely make sense together on paper. He’s constantly moving between Seoul, tours, stages, interviews, airports. And you’re exactly the same. Different countries. Different schedules. Different time zones. There’s barely room for consistency. And yet neither of you wants this to end here. Mingi drives with one hand loosely resting on the wheel while the city lights blur past outside. The truth is, you’re tempted to take Mingi back to your hotel room and lose yourself in him for the night. But that’s not who you are. And deep down, you know whatever is happening between you and Mingi feels like more than just a fleeting hookup — it could be something real. And if he truly wants you, if his interest goes beyond desire, then he’ll wait… even if it means not seeing you naked just yet.

“You’re in London for four weeks first, right?” he asks quietly.

You nod.

“Promotional tour and more work.“

He hums softly, thinking.

“I’m supposed to be at Paris Fashion Week in about four and a half weeks.”

Your head turns immediately.

“Wait.”

Mingi glances at you briefly.

“What?”

“I’m attending London Fashion Week before that.”

He blinks once.

“And London’s not exactly far from Paris,” you continue slowly, already piecing it together in your head. “I could probably make Paris work the week after.”

For a second, he just stares at the road. Then he looks at you properly.

“…Seriously?”

You nod. And his entire face changes instantly.

“That would actually be insane,” he says, laughing softly in disbelief. “I’m only supposed to stay in Paris for two days right now, but—”

He pauses, already thinking ahead.

“I could try extending it.”

Your eyes widen slightly.

“Mingi—”

“No, seriously.” He’s fully invested now. “I’ll do everything I can to stretch it to four or five days.”

A smile immediately breaks across your face. “That would give us at least two days together.”

“Exactly.”

You can practically see the excitement replacing the earlier sadness in his expression now. Even if it’s still four and a half weeks away.

“That would be really nice,” you admit softly.

Mingi glances at you before grinning slightly.

“And honestly?” He gives you a small wink. “I think you impressed the captain enough tonight that he might allow me to disappear for two extra days.”

You laugh quietly.

“Is that how it works?”

“Hongjoong basically controls the tides and moon phases, so yes.”

That pulls another soft laugh out of you before the silence settles again. Gentler this time. You look out the window for a moment before speaking quietly.

“Thank you.”

Mingi glances over.

“For what?”

“For all of this.” You smile softly at him. “The dates. Tonight. Letting me meet everyone.”

Your voice grows quieter.

“You really surprised me, you know.”

His brows lift slightly.

“I did?”

You nod slowly.

“I didn’t expect Seoul to become this special to me.”

For a moment, Mingi doesn’t say anything. His expression softens so much it almost hurts to look at. The car is parked outside your hotel now, engine still running quietly beneath the silence. And somehow neither of you moves to leave yet. You slowly lean closer first. One hand lightly resting against his arm before your lips meet his.

Soft.

Careful.

Completely different from the kiss in the glowing forest or in the Aquarium. They had been hungry and overwhelming and impossible to stop. This one feels tender. Lingering. Like both of you are trying to memorize it a little. Mingi kisses you back immediately, one hand gently sliding against your jaw while his forehead briefly rests against yours afterward. Neither of you says anything for a few seconds. Because underneath all the warmth and excitement now sits something quieter too. The disappointment of knowing you have to let each other go again for a while. Even if Paris suddenly feels a little closer now.

Mi corazón es tuyo - My heart is yours

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Mi corazón es tuyo - My heart is yours

Summary: You’re famous, breathtakingly beautiful, and adored by everyone. At a party, Mingi approaches you. At first, you assume he’s just like every other guy who’s only interested in your looks and status. But his cocky yet effortlessly charming personality has you laughing far more often than you’d like to admit. Before you know it, you find yourself agreeing to go on a date with him…

a/n: Alright, everyone, here comes the next part of this fluffy fanfic! I know everything has been sweet and romantic so far, but I promise it’ll get even better! Thank you all so much for your likes and reblogs!

2. chapter/ capítulo/ kapitel/ 제1장

By the time Mingi gets back to the dorm, it is well past midnight. And somehow he still feels wide awake. The entire drive home, your laugh keeps replaying in his head. The way you leaned against him on the rooftop. The way you kissed him back without hesitation. The tiny celebration dance in the elevator. God. He is completely gone for you already. The second he unlocks the apartment door, chaos greets him immediately.

“He‘s home!”

Mingi barely gets one foot inside before Wooyoung appears out of nowhere like an overly dramatic detective.

“Everyone wake up,” he announces loudly. “Romeo has returned.”

“I WAS ALREADY AWAKE,” Yunho yells from somewhere deeper in the dorm. “You were eating cereal.”

“That’s irrelevant.”

Mingi sighs tiredly, toeing off his shoes while trying — and failing — to hide the stupid smile still lingering on his face. Unfortunately, Seonghwa notices instantly.

“Oh no,” he says softly, pointing accusingly. “Look at his face.”

At that, heads begin appearing one by one. San peeks around the kitchen corner. Yeosang slowly lifts his head from the couch. Hongjoong walks out holding his laptop. Even Jongho looks up from his phone immediately. Mingi takes exactly three steps into the living room before Wooyoung grabs his shoulders dramatically.

“How did it go?”

Mingi calmly removes his hands.

“It was fine.”

Seven offended voices explode instantly.

“FINE?!” Wooyoung screeches.

“That smile is not ‘fine,’” Hongjoong says immediately. “You look like you just got proposed to,” San adds. Mingi drops onto the couch with a helpless laugh while everyone crowds around him like starving vultures. Yunho points aggressively. “Start talking.”

“There’s nothing to talk about.”

“Mingi.”

“Okay, there’s some things to talk about.”

“THANK YOU.” Wooyoung immediately throws himself onto the couch beside him.

“Did she look as pretty in real life as she does on screen?”

Mingi leans back against the cushions, still smiling to himself. Then he answers without hesitation.

“Prettier.”

The room goes silent for one full second. Then absolute screaming erupts.

“NO WAY.”

“That’s insane.”

“She already looks unreal!”

Seonghwa stares at Mingi with genuine disbelief. “Wait,” he says carefully. “Seriously?”

Mingi nods once, eyes dropping briefly like he’s replaying the memory.

“She’s…” He exhales softly through his nose. “Honestly the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen.”

Wooyoung immediately clutches his chest dramatically.

“Oh he’s DOWN BAD.”

“Disgustingly down bad,” Jongho agrees.

San narrows his eyes suspiciously. “Describe the outfit.”

Mingi groans immediately. “Why are you like this?”

“Describe. The outfit.”

“…Black dress.”

Wooyoung slams the couch cushion beside him. “OH SHE KILLED HIM.”

“She wore heels too,” Mingi adds absentmindedly.

Hongjoong bursts out laughing. “You noticed the heels?”

“She’s tiny without them,” Mingi defends immediately. “She had to.”

“How tiny?” Yunho asks.

Mingi holds his hand vaguely near his chest. The room loses its mind again.

“Nooooo.”

“That’s adorable.”

“You could literally carry her around.”

Mingi points at them threateningly.

“None of you are allowed near her.”

“Too late,” Seonghwa says proudly. “I already love her.”

“You loved her before the date,” Yeosang deadpans.

“Correct.”

Seonghwa sits down beside Mingi, suddenly serious. “Wait.” He pauses. “Tell me honestly.”

Mingi raises an eyebrow.

“Is she actually nice?”

The question quiets the room slightly. Because fame changes people sometimes.

They all know that. Mingi’s expression softens immediately.

“She’s…” He shakes his head once like he still cannot quite process it. “She’s really genuine.” No cameras. No pretending. No Hollywood performance. Just you.

“We talked for hours,” he says quietly. “And it never got awkward even once.” Hongjoong watches him carefully before smiling knowingly. “Oh, you really like her.”

Mingi laughs under his breath. “Yeah.”

San immediately leans forward.

“Did you kiss?” Mingi nearly chokes. The entire room erupts instantly.

“YOU DID.”

“Oh my god.”

“LOOK AT HIS FACE.” Wooyoung physically falls onto the floor laughing. Mingi drags a hand over his face, trying to regain dignity. “It was one kiss.”

“One?” Jongho repeats suspiciously.

Mingi says absolutely nothing. Jongho gasps dramatically.

“IT WAS MULTIPLE KISSES.”

“SONG MINGI!”

“I hate all of you.”

Seonghwa suddenly grabs Mingi’s arm urgently.

“Wait wait wait—”

Mingi already looks exhausted.

“What?“

“Did she smell good?”

The room falls apart. Yunho collapses against the wall laughing. Hongjoong nearly drops his laptop. Wooyoung is making dying whale noises into the couch cushions. Meanwhile Seonghwa looks completely serious.

“It’s an important detail.”

Mingi stares at him in disbelief.

“…Yeah,” he finally admits reluctantly. “She smelled good.”

Seonghwa points triumphantly. “I KNEW IT.”

“You knew NOTHING,” Yeosang says flatly.

Mingi laughs helplessly, leaning his head back against the couch. And despite all the teasing, despite the chaos and yelling and dramatic reactions, warmth settles in his chest. Because this feels weirdly important. Not just a fun date. Not just attraction. Something bigger. Wooyoung suddenly narrows his eyes.

“Wait.”

Everyone looks at him.

“You’re smiling at nothing again.”

Mingi immediately wipes the expression off his face. Too late. Seven men begin screaming simultaneously.

“He’s in love!”

“Mingi’s gone!”

“Somebody save him!”

“He’s writing wedding vows in his head right now!” Mingi throws a pillow directly at Wooyoung’s face.

The message from Mingi arrives two days after your first date — a date that still lingers in your mind like a beautiful dream you can’t quite let go of. You’re sitting by the window of your hotel suite, Seoul glowing beneath the evening sky, when your phone lights up with his name.

I’m planning another date for you. Be ready tomorrow evening.

That’s all he writes. No details. No explanation. And somehow, that only makes you smile wider. You type back almost immediately that you’d love to go. You still have one more week in Seoul before flying back to Europe, and despite the packed premiere schedule and endless interviews, this city already feels strangely special to you now. Maybe because of him.

The next evening, your phone buzzes again.

I’m downstairs.

You glance up from fixing the sleeves of your sweater and grab your bag. Steve is already standing by the hotel room door, arms crossed over his broad chest, giving you the same skeptical look he has worn ever since he found out about Mingi. Maya is out for Shopping, korean skincare her new mantra.

“You sure you don’t want me nearby?” he asks for what feels like the tenth time.

You laugh softly, walking over to him. “Steve, I’ll be fine.”

His expression softens immediately. Protective as always.

“Call me the second something feels off,” he says firmly.

“I will.”

And you know he means it. Steve has been your bodyguard for years, but somewhere along the way he became something closer to family — the closest thing to a father figure in your chaotic celebrity life. If you called him at three in the morning from the other side of the world, he would still come without hesitation. He studies you one last time before sighing dramatically. “Alright. But if this guy breaks your heart, I’m running him over with the car.”

You burst into laughter. “Noted.”

Unlike the glamorous outfits you wear on red carpets, tonight you choose something simple: jeans, an oversized sweater, and comfortable sneakers. No stylist. No diamonds. No movie star image. Just you.

And somehow, that feels right with Mingi.

The private underground garage is dimly lit when you step out of the elevator. A sleek black Porsche waits near the far wall, engine humming softly. The passenger door opens before you even reach it.

Mingi steps out casually, hands tucked into the pockets of his hoodie — and once again, it feels like the two of you coordinated without trying. Jeans. Hoodie. Sneakers.

Simple. Effortlessly handsome. He smiles the moment he sees you, his expression warm and genuine in a way that instantly calms your nerves.

“There you are,” he says softly.

You try not to notice how unfairly attractive he looks under the low garage lights.

Mingi walks around the car and opens the door for you like a true gentleman, one hand resting lightly against the roof so you don’t bump your head getting inside. The gesture is smooth, natural, confident — never forced.

When you sit down, he leans in just enough to press a soft kiss against your cheek.

Your stomach immediately flips.

“Ready for an adventure?” he asks, a teasing smile tugging at his lips. Excitement sparkles through you so quickly that you can only nod. Mingi chuckles quietly before closing the door and slipping back into the driver’s seat. Moments later, the Porsche glides out of the dark underground garage and into the vibrant streets of Seoul.

Neon lights reflect against the windows.

The city is alive — loud, glowing, endless.

And beside you, Mingi looks entirely at ease, one hand resting loosely on the steering wheel while the other taps lightly against the console to the music playing softly in the background. For the first time in a very long time, you don’t feel like an international movie star. You just feel like a normal young woman going on a date with a man who already makes your heart race far too easily. The drive through Seoul feels endless in the best possible way. Neon signs blur past the windows, music hums softly through the car speakers, and every now and then Mingi glances over at you with that infuriatingly charming little smile that makes your stomach tighten. He refuses to tell you where you’re going.

“Patience,” he says when you ask again, one hand lazily draped over the steering wheel. “You’ll ruin the surprise.”

“You’re enjoying this way too much.”

“I am,” he admits shamelessly, grinning. And somehow, instead of annoying you, it only makes you laugh. Eventually the crowded city streets begin to thin out. The towering buildings fade into quieter roads lined with trees and glowing lanterns. Seoul slowly transforms around you, becoming softer, calmer. Then Mingi finally pulls the Porsche into a small parking area near the edge of a forest. The moment you step out of the car, you stop breathing for a second.

“Oh my god…”

In front of you stretches a narrow woodland path glowing beneath hundreds of warm fairy lights woven through the trees. Lanterns hang from branches overhead like floating stars, casting golden reflections across the winding trail. The deeper the forest disappears into the hills, the more magical it looks — almost unreal. It feels less like Seoul and more like walking straight into a fairytale. Soft music drifts through the evening air from somewhere deeper inside the park, mixing with the sound of rustling leaves and quiet laughter from nearby couples wandering the trails. Your eyes widen as you slowly turn in a circle, completely speechless. Mingi leans casually against the car beside you, watching your reaction with obvious satisfaction.

“So…” he says smugly. “Good surprise?”

You look at him in disbelief. “This is insane.”

His grin softens slightly then, something almost shy flickering beneath his confidence. “I thought you’d like it.”

Like it? You can barely process how beautiful it is. But then reality catches up with you. Your eyes dart toward the small groups of people walking nearby. Anyone could recognize the two of you. An internationally famous actress secretly wandering through Seoul with Song Mingi? If one person notices, photos will spread everywhere within minutes. You open your mouth to say something, but Mingi is already moving.

“Relax,” he says smoothly. “I thought about that too.”

Of course he did. He walks to the back of the Porsche and opens the trunk, rummaging around for a moment before pulling out a black baseball cap and glasses. Then he steps directly in front of you. “Come here.” There’s something ridiculously gentle about the way he places the cap onto your head, carefully tucking your hair underneath it before sliding the glasses onto your nose. Afterward he reaches up and pulls the hood of your sweater higher around your face. The entire time, he’s trying not to laugh. You narrow your eyes suspiciously. “Why are you smiling like that?”

“I’m realizing something.”

“What?“

He looks down at you — way down — amusement dancing in his eyes.

“You’re really tiny.”

Your jaw drops.

“I am not really tiny.”

Mingi hums thoughtfully, clearly unconvinced. “Without your heels? Do you even reach five-three?”

You smack his arm immediately. He laughs under his breath, the deep sound warm and unfairly attractive as he rubs the spot dramatically. “Violent too. Cute.”

“Song Mingi—”

“Still tiny.”

You glare at him while he effortlessly puts on his own cap and glasses, somehow still looking annoyingly handsome despite being half-covered. Then, without another word, he holds his hand out toward you. The teasing fades from his expression just slightly, replaced by something softer.

“Come on,” he says quietly. And you take his hand. His fingers close around yours instantly — large, warm, steady. The contrast almost makes your heart stutter. Mingi gently pulls you closer to his side as the two of you step into the glowing forest path together. Even in the early evening there are still plenty of people around. Couples, families, groups of friends wandering beneath the lights. Every now and then someone walks a little too close and both of you instinctively lower your heads, trying to stay unnoticed. You find yourself pressed close against Mingi’s side while weaving through the narrow paths, your shoulder brushing his arm every few seconds. And strangely enough… it feels natural. At one point a small crowd approaches from the opposite direction, forcing you closer together. Mingi immediately shifts in front of you slightly, shielding you from bumping into anyone before casually taking your hand again — this time more deliberately. Like he doesn’t want to let go anymore. Your eyes lift toward him automatically. Under the cap and glasses, you still catch the small smile pulling at his lips when your fingers intertwine with his. You smile back before you can stop yourself. And tonight, for once, you don’t feel like a world-famous actress constantly watched by cameras and strangers. Tonight you’re just a normal girl, walking hand in hand through a fairytale forest with Song Mingi. And despite all the men you’ve dated before — actors, athletes, normal guys — none of them have ever made your heart feel quite like this.

The deeper you and Mingi wander along the glowing forest path, the more surreal the night begins to feel. Fairy lights shimmer above your heads like scattered stars, soft music drifting between the trees while distant laughter echoes through the warm evening air. Every few minutes someone passes a little too close, forcing both of you to subtly turn away or lower your heads beneath your caps. It should feel exhausting. The constant hiding. The careful distance.The awareness that one wrong glance could turn tomorrow’s headlines into complete chaos. And yet somehow… it doesn’t. Because with Mingi, everything feels strangely easy. Simple. Natural. You walk shoulder to shoulder, fingers brushing every now and then until eventually his hand finds yours again automatically, like neither of you even questions it anymore. At one point a group of girls approaches from the opposite direction, laughing loudly, and Mingi immediately guides you gently behind him with a quiet, “Careful.” You can’t help smiling. Even hidden beneath glasses and hoodies, he still somehow carries himself like someone impossible to ignore.

“You know,” you whisper teasingly, “for someone trying not to attract attention, you’re still ridiculously noticeable.”

Mingi glances down at you with a smug grin. “Not my fault I was born handsome.”

You snort softly. “Cocky.”

“And yet you keep looking at me.”

Your mouth opens. Then closes again. Because annoyingly… he’s right. Mingi laughs quietly under his breath at your expression before guiding you farther down the path. Eventually the glowing trail opens toward a cozy traditional-style restaurant tucked against the hillside, warm lantern light spilling from the windows. The place is packed. People crowd near the entrance, couples waiting outside beneath the lights while servers hurry between tables carrying trays filled with food and drinks. You instinctively slow down.

“There’s no way we’re getting inside unnoticed,” you murmur.

But Mingi only smiles like he already expected that reaction.

“Who said we’re using the front entrance?”

Before you can ask what he means, he gently takes your hand and leads you around the side of the building, down a narrow stone path hidden behind climbing ivy and hanging lanterns. At the back door, a young waiter is already waiting. The man immediately bows politely the second he sees Mingi.

“Good evening,” he says warmly before opening the door for both of you.

You blink in surprise. Mingi merely shrugs, looking far too pleased with himself.

“What?” he says innocently. “I planned the date.”

“You planned all of this?”

“Obviously.”

The waiter leads you through a quiet hallway and then outside again onto a small hidden terrace tucked behind the restaurant itself. And suddenly the noise disappears. No crowds. No strangers. No cameras. Just soft lantern light, the sound of leaves rustling in the breeze, and a small private table waiting near the railing overlooking the glowing forest below. Snacks and drinks are already set out neatly. Two chairs. One secluded little corner of the world that feels entirely yours. Your chest tightens slightly as you take it in.

“Mingi…”

He pulls out your chair for you with effortless ease, one hand resting lightly against the backrest while you sit down. The gentleman act should feel rehearsed from someone this attractive. Instead it somehow feels genuine.

“You like it?” he asks, softer this time.

You laugh quietly, almost overwhelmed. “You seriously did all this for me?”

“For our second date,” he corrects smoothly before sitting across from you. “I had to impress you.”

“You were already doing fine.”

“Good,” he says with a satisfied grin. “Because I’m trying very hard.”

The warmth in your cheeks only deepens. And somehow conversation flows almost immediately after that. Easy. Comfortable. Like talking to someone you’ve known far longer than a few days. At first it’s light conversation — favorite foods, horrible jet lag stories, ridiculous fan encounters — but slowly, without really realizing it, you begin opening up more than you normally ever would. Family has always been sacred to you. Private. The one thing fame never fully touched. And yet here, hidden beneath lantern light with Seoul glowing faintly in the distance, it suddenly feels easy to talk to him. You tell him about your sisters first. About the chaos of growing up in a loud multilingual household. About your strict German mother who still criticizes your posture during video calls despite your Grammy nominations. Mingi nearly chokes laughing at that. Then you tell him about your Spanish aunt — dramatic, affectionate, completely unhinged in the best way possible.

“The woman once threw a sandal at a priest during Christmas dinner.”

Mingi stares at you for a full second before bursting into laughter so suddenly that you nearly start laughing too just from hearing it.

“I need to meet your family immediately.”

“No you don’t. They’d adopt you in five minutes.”

“Sounds perfect.”

Your smile softens after that. And then, quieter this time, you mention your father. The words still catch slightly in your throat even after all these years. You tell him briefly about the cancer. About losing him. About how strange grief becomes over time — less sharp, but never truly gone. You stare down at your drink while speaking, fingers lightly tracing the rim of the glass. “It still feels weird talking about him sometimes,” you admit softly. The teasing disappears from Mingi’s face instantly.

“I’m sorry,” he says gently. And somehow those two simple words feel more sincere than most condolences you’ve heard in years. For a moment he stays quiet before leaning back slightly in his chair “My mother passed away from cancer too,” he says after a while. “Twenty years ago.” Your eyes lift toward him immediately.

„I‘m sorry for your loss.“ The air changes. Not awkward. Not heavy. Just honest. There’s a long silence after that, the kind that somehow says more than conversation ever could. Mingi looks out toward the glowing trees for a moment before exhaling quietly.

“She would’ve liked you,” he says absentmindedly.

Your heart stumbles a little at that. Before you can respond, however, his expression suddenly shifts again — lighter now, teasing returning to his eyes like he refuses to let the mood stay sad too long. Then he leans forward slightly.

“Can I ask you something?”

You narrow your eyes suspiciously. “That depends.”

A grin tugs at his lips. “Flirt with me in Spanish.”

You blink.

“What?”

“I wanna hear it. I don‘t understand it, but I wanna hear it.“

You laugh softly in disbelief. “Absolutely not.”

“Why not?”

“Because you wouldn’t survive it.”

Mingi places a hand dramatically over his chest. “Wow. Cruel.”

“But true.”

“I don’t know,” he says smoothly, eyes locked on yours. “Maybe I need to hear it before deciding.”

You shake your head, trying not to smile. Mingi points at himself confidently. “Besides, I’m obviously the one who is better in flirting.“

“Oh really?”

“Obviously.”

The challenge in his voice makes warmth creep into your cheeks. You hesitate for a second before leaning forward slightly yourself. Then quietly, softly, you speak.

“Si sigues mirándome así, voy a empezar a pensar que quieres besarme otra vez.“

Mingi freezes. Actually freezes. His eyes widen just slightly before he swallows hard enough for you to notice. And for the first time all evening, Song Mingi genuinely looks caught off guard. You bite back a smile immediately.

“Oh my god,” you whisper. “Did I break you?”

He drags a hand slowly down his face before leaning back in his chair with a quiet laugh of disbelief.

“That was illegal.”

Your cheeks burn hotter.

“You said only you could flirt.”

“I was wrong,” he mutters. “Very wrong.”

The smug confidence slowly returns to his expression after that, though you can still tell he’s flustered. And honestly? You kind of love it. The conversation drifts on afterward — his father, his older brother, stories about the Ateez members that make you laugh until your stomach hurts. The way he talks about them makes something warm settle in your chest. There’s so much affection there. So much loyalty. And once again, it feels like the two of you could talk forever. At some point during the conversation, you suddenly notice a tiny flickering light near his hairline. You blink. Then laugh softly.

“What?”

“You’ve got something in your hair.”

Mingi immediately reaches up. “What is it?”

“Hold still.”

You stand from your chair and step closer until you’re directly between his knees. The movement alone makes him go quiet. Carefully, you reach up toward his dark hair, fingers brushing softly through the strands until you finally spot it — a tiny glowing firefly tangled near the top.

“Oh my god,” you whisper with a smile. “It’s a firefly.”

Mingi watches you the entire time. Not the insect. You. Your fingers carefully free the tiny creature before it flutters back into the night, disappearing among the lantern lights. And suddenly you realize how close you are. His hands rest loosely against his thighs. Your body stands between his legs. Your fingers still lightly tangled near the edge of his hair. Slowly, your gaze drops toward him. Toward his eyes first. Dark. Steady. Completely fixed on you. Then lower. To his lips. Full. Slightly parted. Mingi notices. You know he notices because his breathing changes instantly. Something shifts between you both all at once — quiet tension pulling tight enough to snap. And apparently, Mingi reaches his limit first. One large hand suddenly grips your waist. The other follows immediately after. Before you can even react properly, he pulls you forward onto his lap in one smooth movement, settling you against his massive thighs. A soft gasp leaves you automatically as your hands grab onto the front of his hoodie for balance. Mingi’s eyes search yours for half a second. Like he’s giving you one last chance to pull away. Instead, your fingers tighten against his hoodie as you lean closer. And then you kiss him. Soft at first. Careful. Tentative only for a second. But the moment Mingi kisses you back, all restraint disappears. The kiss begins softly, tenderly, romantically. Your lips melt together as if they were made for one another. You pull yourself closer to him, your fingers digging deeper into his hoodie; a soft, husky sigh escapes your lips. You feel Mingi’s lips shift into a smile, only for him to kiss you intensely once again. The touch of your lips against his fills the darkness with the soft sounds of kissing. Mingi’s left hand slides up your back, pressing you closer against him; you let out another brief sigh—an opening he seizes to carefully let his warm tongue glide into your moist mouth. The romantic kiss transforms into something hot, intense, and uncontrolled. You shift yourself higher, wrapping your arms around his neck and pressing yourself even closer against him. Your breasts brush against his hard chest. Mingi grows bolder; his right hand wanders up your thigh, his grip tightening as his thumb strokes your skin, until it finally lands gently on your ass—where he gives a firm squeeze. You let out a barely audible moan, and your mouth parts wider. His touch ignites an inner fire within you—one you haven't felt in a very long time. The kiss between you grows wilder, dirtier, and wetter. Your tongues crave one another—teasing, playing, worshipping. Mingi’s hand now rests firmly on your ass, as if it had belonged there all along. But he wants more—more of you; his other hand wanders further, over your hip, beneath your sweater. All you can focus on is him. And apparently that is exactly the moment the universe decides to humble both of you. The terrace door suddenly swings open. A young waiter steps outside carrying a tray full of drinks. He takes exactly two steps. Then freezes. His eyes widen so violently behind his glasses that for one horrifying second you genuinely think the poor man might pass out. Because from his angle? The situation looks incredibly incriminating. You sitting on Mingi’s lap. Mingi’s hand firmly on your ass. Your fingers tangled in his hoodie. The two of you kissing like your lives depend on it. The tray slips from the waiter’s hands immediately.

CRASH.

The sound of breaking glass practically detonates across the quiet terrace. You and Mingi jerk apart so fast it’s almost violent.

“Oh my god—”

“I—”

The waiter bows repeatedly in complete panic while shards scatter everywhere across the floor.

“I’M SORRY— I’M SO SORRY—”

“No, wait—”

You try scrambling off Mingi’s lap in a hurry, but in your panic you completely forget the fact that Song Mingi is approximately the size of a small building. His legs are everywhere. His arms are everywhere. His stupid broad shoulders are somehow also in the way. Your sneaker catches awkwardly against the chair leg.

“Oh my god—”

You nearly fall face-first into the table. Mingi reacts instantly, grabbing your waist to stop you from eating concrete—which unfortunately only makes the situation significantly worse. Because now you’re half bent over awkwardly between his knees while he’s trying to hold you upright and your head is very suddenly dangerously close to his big bulge. Damn he is big downstairs. The waiter makes a strangled noise. You freeze. Mingi freezes. The waiter immediately turns bright red.

“I SAW NOTHING,” he blurts out in sheer survival instinct. Then he bows again at least three times in rapid succession before crouching down and aggressively collecting broken glass like his life depends on it. You press both hands over your face instantly.

“Oh my god, kill me now.”

Across from you, Mingi looks equally traumatized for once in his life. The waiter keeps korean speaking rapidly while cleaning.

“I apologize deeply— please continue— I mean DON’T continue— I mean—”

“Mister, you’re fine,” Mingi says quickly, visibly trying not to laugh. The poor guy nods so hard you worry for his neck. Then he gathers the last few shards, speed-walks back toward the door, stops halfway, turns around once more, bows AGAIN, and disappears inside like he’s fleeing a crime scene. Silence. A beat passes. Then another. You and Mingi slowly look at each other. And completely lose it Laughter bursts out of both of you at the exact same time. The kind of helpless laughter you physically cannot stop. You lean against the table trying to breathe while Mingi bends forward in his chair laughing so hard he has to wipe at his eyes.

“That man,” you gasp between laughs, “is going to need therapy.”

Mingi shakes his head, still laughing quietly. “We almost killed him.”

“We traumatized him.”

“He’s definitely quitting tonight.”

Another round of laughter escapes both of you. Eventually Mingi exhales deeply, still grinning, before reaching into his pocket and pulling out several bills. He places them calmly onto the table beside the abandoned drinks. You glance down at the money. You still don’t fully understand Korean currency yet, but judging by the amount… That is way more than dinner costs. You narrow your eyes at him.

“Mingi.”

“Hm?”

“Is that a tip or hush money?”

His mouth twitches.

“Yes.”

warnings: drug abuse (kind of - don‘t do this kids!)

a/n: As promised, here is the bonus chapter! I had written it, but I wasn’t sure how to incorporate it into the story. Have fun!

Your office is quiet.

Not peaceful—tense.

Stacks of documents cover the desk, highlighters, notes, red markings everywhere. You’re leaning over the papers, jaw tight, eyes scanning every line like your life depends on it.Because, in a way, it does. Mingi sits across from you, equally focused, pen tapping lightly against the table as he reads. No jokes. No teasing. Just concentration.

“This part,” you say, pointing sharply, “we need to be very clear. He knew. There’s no way he didn’t know.”

Mingi nods, serious. “Yeah.”

Silence again. Heavy.

A soft knock. Your secretary peeks in, smiling warmly like she always does. “I thought you two might need something sweet,” she says, carrying a small tray.

You exhale, just a little. “Thank you.”

“Full people are happy people,” she chirps, setting the brownies down on the desk.

You almost smile. Almost.

“Careful,” you mumble to Mingi. “Don’t eat them all.”

He already has one in his hand. “No promises.”

You both grab one, barely even thinking, and go right back to the documents, heads close together, reading, scribbling, correcting.

Bite.

Chew.

Focus.

Another bite.

“These are good,” Mingi mutters.

“Mhm,” you reply, distracted, taking another bite. Everything is normal. Everything is fine.

Ten minutes later- the door bursts open.

Your secretary rushes back in, pale as a ghost, breathing fast like she just ran a marathon.

“Oh dear—oh dear—”

You look up immediately. “What happened?”

“I—I—” she stammers, clutching the doorframe. “I brought the wrong box!”

You blink.

“…What?”

“The brownies!” she gasps. “I packed the wrong ones!” You stare at her.

Slowly.

Very slowly.

“…Wrong how?“

There’s a pause.

A terrible, awful pause.

“They’re… special brownies.” You freeze.

“…Define special.”

She looks like she might faint. “They have… hash in them.”

You don’t even think.

You immediately spit the bite still in your mouth straight across the desk.

“ARE YOU KIDDING ME?!” you shout, coughing slightly.

Across from you Mingi is still chewing. Loudly. Like absolutely nothing is wrong.

You turn to him in horror.

“…How many did you eat?“

He swallows.

“…Five?”

You stare at him.

“FIVE?!”

“They were good!”

Your secretary is apologizing rapidly now. “I’m so, so sorry! My nephew makes them sometimes and I bake as well and I must have mixed up the containers—oh I feel terrible—”

“WHY are there drug brownies in my office?!” you demand, half standing now.

“I didn’t mean to bring them!” she says, wringing her hands. “I thought I packed the normal ones!”

You drag a hand over your face.

This is not happening.

This is not happening.

Your secretary takes a cautious step back. “You… you should probably take the rest of the day off. Just to be safe.”

You freeze.

Mingi freezes.

You both turn your heads slowly toward each other.

“…The twins.”

“Oh no.”

Immediate panic.

You grab your phone like your life depends on it and dial your mom.

She picks up quickly. “Hello, sweetheart—”

“Mom,” you cut in, way too fast, “I need you to pick up the twins from kindergarten.”

A pause.

“…Why?”

You glance at your secretary.

Give her a deadly look.

Then back to the phone.

“We’ve been poisoned.” Your mom gasps. “WHAT?”

“We’re fine,” you add quickly. “But we might not be… fine for a while.”

Another pause.

“Oh! Of course, I’ll get them. Don’t worry, I’ll take care of them. I was meaning to spend more time with my grandbabies anyway.”

Relief floods through you.

“Thank you.”

You hang up.

You stare at him.

“You ate five.”

“They were small!”

“They were not small!”

Across the room, your secretary is quietly inching toward the door, clearly deciding that her presence is no longer required.

“Maybe,” she says softly, “you should… lie down?”

You glare at her. She smiles nervously.

And slips out.

You and Mingi just stand there for a second, staring at the closed door like it might come back and fix everything.

It doesn’t.

“…Okay,” you say slowly, trying to regain control. “Okay. We’re fine.”

Mingi nods. “We’re fine.”

You take a breath.

Another one.

“…We just accidentally ate drug brownies.”

“Yes,” he agrees.

You pause.

“…We’re not fine.”

“We are fine,” he corrects, stepping closer. “Nothing’s happening.”

You both wait.

One second.

Two.

Five.

Nothing.

You blink.

“…Do you feel anything?”

Mingi considers.

“…No?”

You stare at him.

“…No.”

You both look at each other.

“…Wait,” you say slowly. “Maybe they were just… regular brownies.”

Mingi’s posture straightens slightly. “Yeah. Maybe she panicked for nothing.”

“That happens,” you nod quickly. “People panic.”

“Exactly.”

“And we just overreacted.”

“Obviously.”

A pause.

You both look at the tray.

Then back at each other.

“…Okay,” you say, forcing calm back into your voice. “We’re good. We’re completely fine.”

“Completely,” he agrees.

You exhale deeply and drop back into your chair.

Mingi exhales, then makes a decision. “Okay. I’m calling Yunho.”

You immediately look up. “Yes. Yes, call him.”

Because at this point?

Backup is needed.

Emergency backup.

Preferably someone who is not currently full of hash brownies.

Mingi dials. Puts the phone to his ear.

“Hyung?” he says when Yunho picks up. “Can you come to the office?”

A pause.

“…No, we’re fine. We just… need help.”

Another pause.

“…It’s brownies.”

You hear Yunho’s laugh faintly through the speaker.

“Please just come,” Mingi mutters, then hangs up.

Thirty minutes later— The door opens.

Yunho steps in. And immediately regrets every life decision that led him here.

„What the fuck…?!“

Because nothing—absolutely nothing—is normal. First of all Mingi is wearing your blouse. Your very tight, very not-made-for-him blouse. It is hanging on for dear life.

Buttons stretched to their absolute limit, fabric pulled tight across his chest and shoulders like it might explode any second.

Second of all you are wearing Mingi’s oversized t-shirt. Which, on you?

Is basically a dress. A very short dress.

A very dangerously short dress.

Your legs are completely bare.

Perfect. Distractingly so. The edge of your black lace panties keeps appearing. Yunho swallows.

Yunho blinks.

Once.

Twice.

“…I should have taken longer to get here,” he mutters under his breath.

Because it gets worse. So much worse.

You and Mingi are sitting on the floor, surrounded by documents you were definitely supposed to be working on.

Instead you’re both covered in marker.

You’re holding a pen, carefully writing something across your own forehead.

“Stay still,” Mingi says, dead serious, despite the lipstick smeared across his cheek.

“I am still,” you argue, tongue slightly sticking out in concentration.

Yunho squints.

“…What does that say?“

You beam proudly, turning toward him.

“Fix on.”

Yunho stares.

“…You wrote ‘Fix on’ on your forehead.”

“Yeah!” you say happily.

Mingi nods like this is a masterpiece.

You lean forward towards Mingi. Once again, Mingi's t-shirt rides up your thighs, exposing half your butt to Yunho. He really tries to look away, but the whole situation is just too awkward to ignore.

Meanwhile Mingi is covered in lipstick marks. Everywhere. Cheeks. Jaw. Mouth.

Even one dangerously close to his eye.

You grab your lipstick again, leaning forward with absolute determination.

You clumsily smear the lipstick on your lips, briefly roll your lips together, before placing another kiss on Mingi's cheek and leaving a kiss mark.

“Hold still,” you mumble.

“I trust you,” Mingi replies immediately.

Perfect.

“Beautiful!“

Yunho takes a deep breath.

Regroups.

“I’m here to take you both home.”

You both turn toward him at the same time.

Eyes lighting up like children on Christmas.

“YUNHO!” you squeal.

“Oh no,” Yunho says quietly. Too late. You launch yourself at him. Full speed. Zero hesitation. “YUNHOOOOO!” you shout, wrapping yourself around him like an overexcited koala. He stumbles back slightly, arms instinctively catching you.

“Okay—okay—careful—”

Your shirt rides up. Again the hot black panties. Yunho panics immediately, one hand trying to hold you, the other desperately yanking the shirt back down.

“Please—please keep your clothes on—please—”

“I am dressed!” you protest.

“Barely!”

Mingi is still on the floor. Watching this unfold. Like it’s the best show he’s ever seen.

“…Yunho,” he says dreamily, “you came.”

“I regret it already,” Yunho replies.

He carefully sets you down, which is when you immediately grab his face.

“We missed you,” you say dramatically.

"And I missed you guys, but we really have to go now!" Yunho insists, pulling your t-shirt down again. Jesus Christ, what perfect legs you have!

Mingi suddenly stands up.

Bad idea.

Because the blouse creaks.

Loudly. Dangerously.

Yunho freezes.

“…Don’t move.”

Mingi moves. The blouse holds. Barely.

“…Why are you wearing that?“ Yunho asks slowly.

Mingi looks down at himself.

Then back at Yunho.

“…Fashion.”

Yunho closes his eyes for a second.

Reconsiders his life.

“Okay,” Yunho says, regaining control. “We’re leaving.”

“No,” you say immediately.

“Yes.”

“We’re busy.”

“You are not busy.”

Mingi gestures vaguely at the papers on the floor. “We’re working.”

Yunho looks at the documents. Covered in doodles. Hearts. Random circles. A penis.

One of them says “banana” for absolutely no reason.

“…You are not working! Let‘s go! Come on,” Yunho insists, stepping forward.

“I’ll carry you.”

“Good luck,” you say proudly.

Yunho turns to Mingi first. Big mistake.

Because Mingi is not just tall. Not just broad.

But currently dead weight.

“Okay,” Yunho mutters, wrapping an arm around him. “Up you go, big guy—”

He lifts.

Barely.

Very barely.

“Why are you so heavy?!” Yunho groans.

You jump on Yunho again.

“WAIT FOR ME!”

Now Yunho has one giant, half-conscious Mingi slung over his shoulder.

And you.

Clinging to his neck.

Squeaking.

Wiggling.

“Yunhooooo,” you giggle.

“Stop moving,” he pleads.

Your shirt rides up again. The t-shirt has ridden up even further. Your entire ass and part of your lower stomach are now visible. He panics again.

“PLEASE—PLEASE JUST—HOLD STILL—”

“I’m holding still!” you say, while absolutely not holding still.

Mingi suddenly leans forward. Way too close to Yunho’s face.

“We love you,” he says seriously.

“I know,” Yunho grits out.

“You’re our favorite.”

“I’m your only option right now.”

“Same thing.”

You grab Yunho’s cheeks.

“Mwah!” you say, trying to kiss him.

He jerks his head back. “No! No kissing!”

“Why not?”

"Fine," sighs Yunho, "but only one kiss, understand?" You squeal and gently kiss him on the cheek.

He somehow manages to stagger toward the door.

Barely holding everything together.

Literally.

Emotionally.

Physically.

“Okay,” he pants, trying to keep his balance, “new plan—new plan—”

“Plans are fun!” you chirp, still clinging to him like an overexcited child.

“They’re necessary,” he corrects, struggling to adjust his grip on Mingi, who is currently half hanging over his shoulder like an oversized, very affectionate backpack.

He somehow manages to shuffle forward, step by step, like he’s carrying two chaotic toddlers instead of fully grown adults.

“Shoes,” he mutters. “We need shoes. And jackets. And—basic human function—”

“No shoes,” you protest.

“We need shoes!”

“No,” you insist, wrapping your arms tighter around his neck. “Come on, Yuyu!“

Your lips curl into a pout and you press another kiss to his cheek.

„For fuck‘s sake.“

Yunho reaches the coat rack. Victory. Almost. He lets Mingi slide slightly down his side, trying to free one hand to grab your jacket.

“Okay,” he breathes. “Just—just stand still for one second—”

You immediately start bouncing.

“I am still!”

“You are the opposite of still!”

He wrestles your jacket onto you.

One arm in. Second arm, you twist.

Laugh.

Almost slip.

“STOP MOVING,” he groans.

“I can’t!” you giggle.

Meanwhile Mingi is now half leaning against Yunho’s back, arms loosely draped over his shoulders. Completely unhelpful.

“…Yunho,” he says softly.

“What?!“

“You’re strong.”

“I know.”

Finally—

Finally Yunho gets your jacket on.

Success! Triumph!

He exhales.

“…Okay.”

And then - Disaster.

Mingi shifts. Trips. And suddenly—

WHAM.

All three of you crash down onto the floor in a tangled heap. Yunho lands first.

You on top of him. Mingi on top of both of you. A perfect, chaotic human sandwich.

For a second.

Silence.

“Wow,” you whisper. “This is comfy.”

“It is not comfy!” Yunho groans from underneath both of you, completely flattened.

“I feel… connected,” Mingi adds, his cheek squished awkwardly somewhere against Yunho’s shoulder.

“You are crushing my ribs!” Yunho tries to move. Can’t.

Because Mingi weighs approximately the same as a small building.

“…How,” Yunho gasps, “do you dance for two hours without breaking the stage?!”

You shift slightly, which is when your oversized shirt rides up again.

Of course it does.

Of fucking course.

Yunho freezes.

“…No,” he whispers.

You blink down at him. “What?”

“Nothing,” he says quickly, eyes darting anywhere but directly at you while one hand awkwardly tries to tug your shirt back down without actually touching you too much.

“This is my nightmare.”

And yet -

You and Mingi?

Completely unbothered.

"We thought this would be the fulfillment of your dreams! A threesome with the two of us!" Mingi replies, winking at Yunho. His jaw drops, but he's quickly distracted when you rest your breasts on his chest.

You lean down, squishing Yunho’s cheeks slightly.

“We love you,” you declare happily.

“Yes,” Mingi agrees immediately from above. “So much.”

“An unreasonable amount.”

“You’re our favorite.”

„Fuck my life!” Yunho wheezes.

Yunho closes his eyes.

Accepts his fate.

“…I’m never answering my phone again.”

Above him—

You and Mingi just grin.

Completely gone.

Completely happy.

And absolutely zero help.

Still crushed together on the floor, with you wedged between Yunho and Mingi and absolutely no personal space left in existence, Yunho is very aware that this is his rock bottom. Actual rock bottom.

Career choices are flashing before his eyes.

Life decisions. Every single moment that led him to answering that phone.

“I can’t feel my legs,” Yunho mutters weakly from somewhere beneath both of you.

“You don’t need them,” you say cheerfully.

“Yeah,” Mingi adds, voice muffled somewhere near Yunho’s shoulder. “You have us.”

“Great!“

You shift slightly—bad idea. Very bad idea.

Everything presses tighter. As Mingi presses down on you from above, your body is pressed closer and closer to Yunho's. Your crotch is now level with his, while Mingi's crotch presses down on your ass from behind. Yunho closes his eyes briefly and sighs. Yes, he had once wished for a threesome with you and Mingi, but that wish has just been shattered, or rather, crushed.

Yunho wheezes.

“…Please stop moving.”

“I’m not moving,” you insist.

A pause.

Then suddenly -

“Yunho,” you say, very serious.

He tenses.

“What?!“

You and Mingi both lean down—way too close to his face.

“…Will you marry us?”

Silence.

Complete silence.

Yunho blinks.

Once.

Twice.

“…What?”

“We love you,” you explain, like this is the most logical thing in the world.

“So much,” Mingi agrees. “An unreasonable amount.”

“You should marry us,” you continue. “Then we can all stay together forever.”

Yunho stares at both of you like his soul just left his body.

“…You’re not even married to each other,” he says slowly.

There’s a beat.

You and Mingi burst out laughing.

Like it’s the funniest thing you’ve ever heard.

“He’s right!” you gasp.

“Yeah,” Mingi wheezes, “we skipped a step!”

“This is embarrassing!”

“I can’t believe we forgot that!”

„We should get married!“ you suggest.

Yunho is still pinned.

Still suffocating.

Still questioning reality.

“…I’m going to pretend this conversation never happened.”

“No,” you say immediately. “It’s important.”

“Very important,” Mingi nods.

Yunho sighs. Deeply. Resigned.

“Okay,” he mutters, eyes still closed. “Fine. If you both get up right now, I will personally drive you to the nearest church and we can… discuss this later.”

You both go quiet.

Considering.

Processing.

“You will marry us?“

„Like for real?“

„Yes!“

Yunho holds his breath.

Please work.

Suddenly—The weight shifts.

Mingi rolls off slightly.

And just like that—

Gravity kicks in.

You slide sideways.

Yunho gasps as pressure disappears.

Air. Glorious air.

Yunho scrambles up as fast as humanly possible. Which is not very fast.

Because Mingi is still half leaning on him.

“Okay,” Yunho pants, grabbing coats and shoes with one hand. “We’re leaving. We’re going home. No more discussions about marriage.”

“You’d be a great husband,” you tell him.

„Can‘t wait for the honeymoon,“ Mingi joins.

“Please, just stop.”

He shoves a coat onto Mingi. Somehow.

The buttons of the blouse are still under extreme stress.

Then he turns to you.

“Arms,” he orders.

You just stare at him.

“…No.”

“Arms.”

“No.”

“Arms!”

You huff dramatically, crossing your arms like a stubborn child.

“I don’t want to.”

Yunho stares at you.

Deadpan.

“…You want to be carried?”

“Yes.”

“Of course you do.” With a defeated sigh, Yunho lifts Mingi first. Huge mistake. Immediate regret.

“…Why are you so heavy,” he groans. You grab onto Yunho again.

“I want to be carried too!”

“You are walking!”

“No!”

“You are absolutely walking!”

“I refuse!”

You pout. Hard.

Full lower-lip-out, dramatic pout.

Yunho hesitates.

He knows this is a trap.

He knows.

“…Fine,” he mutters.

Big mistake. Now he has—Mingi. In one arm.

Somehow. And you. Clinging to the other side. Entirely unhelpful. Entirely delighted.

“This is impossible,” Yunho pants, somehow dragging all three of you toward the door.

“You’re doing great!” you encourage.

“Amazing,” Mingi adds.

“You’re glowing.”

“I am sweating!“

Somehow miraculously against all laws of physics Yunho gets you both out the door.

Down the hallway. To the car.

He practically throws you both inside.

Slams the door.

Leans against the car.

Breathing like he just ran a marathon.

Inside the car you and Mingi immediately lean toward him again.

“Yunho,” you say softly. He freezes.

“…What now.”

“You’re our favorite.”

Mingi nods. “Best husband candidate.”

Yunho closes his eyes.

“…I want a divorce.“

The door slams shut behind you.

Yunho leans against it, breathing like he just carried an entire tour stage on his back.

“Okay,” he pants. “We’re home. We’re safe. No churches. No weddings. No more—”

“Yunho,” you interrupt softly.

He freezes.

„Yes?“

You look around, eyes wide, completely serious.

“This doesn’t look like a church.”

Mingi tilts his head from the couch. “…It really doesn’t.”

Yunho slowly drags a hand down his face. “Because it’s not a fucking church.”

“Are you sure?” you ask, squinting suspiciously at the room.

“Yes, I’m sure.”

“But you said you’d take us to a church,” Mingi adds, sounding deeply betrayed.

“I said that to get you to stand up!”

A pause.

You and Mingi exchange a look.

“…He lied,” you whisper dramatically.

“I feel manipulated,” Mingi murmurs.

“I regret everything,” Yunho mutters.

You suddenly gasp.

“Oh no.”

Yunho stiffens immediately. “What now?“

“I don’t have a wedding dress.”

Silence.

“…What?“

You look down at yourself, horrified. “I can’t get married like this.”

"Oh honey, I can't wait to marry you in your wedding dress!" Mingi replies charmingly and winks at you. "Wait until you see what I'm wearing underneath, pretty boy,“ you reply seductively. Yunho makes gagging noises.

“You’re not getting married!”

“I need a dress,” you insist, already grabbing the hem of the oversized shirt. “This is unacceptable.”

“NO!” Yunho lunges forward, grabbing your wrists just in time. “We are not undressing further!”

“I need my dress!”

“You do not need anything!”

“I need it!”

You start wiggling. A lot. Too much. Yunho sighs. Fighting you is like fighting a tiny, squirming guinea pig. And even though Yunho is almost two heads taller than you, he's really struggling to keep you from getting naked in front of him. Yeah, his dream of having a threesome with you and Mingi is dead for now!

“Stop moving!” Yunho groans, trying to hold your hands while also keeping the shirt from riding up again.

“I’m trying!” you protest, while very clearly not trying.

Mingi watches all of this from the couch.

Very calm. Very entertained.

“…This is a beautiful ceremony,” he says softly.

“THIS IS NOT A CEREMONY,” Yunho snaps.

You twist suddenly—

Yunho loses his balance—

Everything happens at once.

You trip.

He stumbles.

And—

WHAM.

You both crash directly onto Mingi. The couch dips dangerously under the combined weight. Mingi lets out a surprised oof as you land half on his lap, Yunho bracing himself awkwardly over both of you to prevent an even worse disaster.

And then—

POP.

All three of you freeze.

Slowly—

Very slowly—

Yunho looks down.

Mingi’s blouse has finally given up.

Buttons have surrendered.

Fabric has lost the will to live.

He is now sitting there—

Upper body completely exposed—

Looking vaguely offended by his own outfit.

“…It broke,” Mingi says, like this is the real tragedy.

“It exploded,” Yunho corrects dryly.

You’re still half sprawled across Mingi’s lap, shirt askew, hair a mess, staring up at Yunho like none of this is weird.

“This is fine,” you say.

“This is not fine,” Yunho replies immediately.

“I think it’s romantic,” Mingi adds.

“It is not romantic!”

"So he does want a threesome with us after all," Mingi whispers to you, as if Yunho weren't there. You grin broadly and wiggle your eyebrows. "The fuck…,“ Yunho murmurs.

Yunho tries to push himself up—

But you’re tangled with him.

And Mingi is underneath both of you.

And nothing is cooperating.

“I just need—” Yunho starts, trying to shift his weight.

You grab his sleeve.

„Don’t leave us! Mingi! Grab him!“

“I’m not leaving you, I’m trying to stand up!”

“Stay,” you insist.

Mingi nods. “Stay.”

Mingi grabs Yunho by the sleeve and pulls him closer to you! Once again, he's in his very obscene position with both of you. This clearly isn't how he imagined his threesome with you.

Yunho looks like he might cry.

The door opens.

All three of you freeze.

Wooyoung stands in the doorway.

Blinking.

Once.

Twice.

Taking in—

The destroyed blouse.

Mingi half naked on the couch.

You sprawled across him in an oversized shirt. Also half naked. Panties showing.

Yunho hovering awkwardly over both of you like a very stressed guardian angel.

Silence. Heavy. Uncomfortable. Deadly.

“…I—” Wooyoung starts.

Stops.

Looks again.

“…What?“

You smile brightly.

“Welcome to our wedding.”

Mingi nods solemnly. “You’re late.”

Yunho closes his eyes.

“…I’m moving out.”

Wooyoung just stands there.

Processing.

Reevaluating every friendship he has ever had.

“…I should have knocked.“

Wooyoung stays frozen in the doorway for a few more seconds, blinking at the scene like his brain is actively refusing to process it.

“…Okay,” he finally says. “I need context. Like—urgent context.”

Yunho exhales so deeply it sounds like his soul is leaving his body. “Short version: brownies. Bad decision. They think this is a wedding. Mingi lost his shirt. I lost my will to live.”

Wooyoung stares at him.

“…Got it,” he says immediately. “Say no more. I understand everything and also nothing.”

From the couch, you make a soft, sleepy sound and curl slightly closer to Mingi.

That’s enough for Wooyoung.

He rolls up his sleeves. “Alright. We’re doing emergency cleanup! If Hongjoong finds out about this, we’re so dead.”

Yunho looks at him like he just saw salvation. “Thank you.”

It takes some coordination. A lot of coordination. And a concerning amount of “why is he so heavy??” commentary.

You are the easy part.

Yunho scoops you up effortlessly bridal style, adjusting his grip like it’s nothing.

“You’re… surprisingly light,” he mutters.

You mumble something incoherent, already half asleep against his chest.

Wooyoung squints. “Why does she get carried like a princess and I’m stuck with that?”

He gestures at Mingi.

Mingi, currently swaying slightly where he’s being held up, looks vaguely offended. “I heard that.”

“You were supposed to,” Wooyoung grunts, tightening his grip as Mingi nearly drags him down with sheer mass.

Yunho snorts. “He’s built like a refrigerator with emotions.”

“A very big refrigerator,” Wooyoung agrees, struggling.

“Stop insulting me,” Mingi mumbles.

“You’re not helping your case!”

Between the two of them, they manage to shuffle toward the bedroom.

Yunho gently lowers you onto Mingi’s bed.

You barely stir, just curling instinctively into the pillow.

“…She’s out,” Yunho notes quietly.

“Lucky,” Wooyoung mutters, still wrestling Mingi forward.

“Why is he heavier when he’s sleepy??”

“Because he stops pretending to be helpful,” Yunho replies.

“I heard that,” Mingi says weakly.

“No you didn’t.”

Finally—after one last dramatic struggle and a synchronized “why is this man built like this?”—they manage to get Mingi onto the bed next to you.

The moment he lands—

Silence.

His body relaxes instantly. Like a switch got turned off. Without thinking, Mingi shifts closer. Slow. Natural.

And drapes one arm over you.

Protective.

Comfortable.

Like it’s the most normal thing in the world.

You instinctively curl into him.

And just like that—

Everything goes still.

Peaceful.

Quiet.

No chaos.

No talking.

Just soft breathing in sync.

Wooyoung stands there for a moment, arms crossed, staring at the two of you.

“…Okay,” he whispers finally. “That’s actually kind of adorable.”

Yunho, leaning against the doorframe, looks exhausted beyond human comprehension. “You have no idea.”

Wooyoung smirks. “I mean… if you ignore the destruction, the hallucinations, and the emotional damage… it’s kind of a dream wedding.”

Yunho slowly turns his head toward him.

„Shut up.“

Wooyoung shrugs. “You know. Chaos, commitment, matching outfits—well, sort of—”

“Don’t finish that sentence.”

From the bed, Mingi shifts slightly, pulling you closer in his sleep.

Wooyoung softens a little.

“…Yeah,” he admits more quietly. “Still kind of a dream wedding.”

Yunho closes his eyes.

Pinches the bridge of his nose.

“…I’m never letting either of you near food again.”

Wooyoung grins.

They leave the room.

Leaving behind absolute chaos…

Mi corazón es tuyo - My heart is yours

Summary: You’re famous, breathtakingly beautiful, and adored by everyone. At a party, Mingi approaches you. At first, you assume he’s just like every other guy who’s only interested in your looks and status. But his cocky yet effortlessly charming personality has you laughing far more often than you’d like to admit. Before you know it, you find yourself agreeing to go on a date with him…

a/n: Okay, everyone, here comes my second Mingi fanfic! 🥹 I spent a long time debating whether I should post this because it’s not particularly action-packed or dramatic—it’s really just a bunch of romantic fluff. 😭 But maybe some of you will enjoy it anyway! Thank you all so much for your likes, comments, and reblogs. Your support means the world to me!

1. chapter/ capítulo/ kapitel/ 제1장

The flashing cameras, shouted questions, and endless waves of people should feel overwhelming by now, but somehow they never do. Maybe because you have learned how to disappear while standing in the center of attention. Hollywood calls you an actress now — a very successful one at that. Magazine covers obsess over your striking face, your impossible figure, your elegance on red carpets. Directors praise your screen presence. Fans call you captivating. Everybody loves working with you. The irony is that you never even wanted this.You only wanted to be a stuntwoman. Because your dad wanted you to be one and now he‘s gone. But one opportunity led to another, and suddenly you are starring in blockbuster films instead of jumping off buildings for other actors. Privacy becomes the one thing you protect fiercely. Interviews stay vague, your private life nonexistent to the public. No scandals, no dating rumors, no late-night paparazzi photos Just work Which is exactly why being in Seoul feels strangely freeing. Your newest film — starring Ryan Evans and Korean actor Ahn Hyo-Seop — premieres tonight, and the city is electric because of it. After the official event, the cast attends an upscale afterparty overlooking the Han River, all dim lights, expensive champagne, and soft music humming beneath conversations in English and Korean You are halfway through your second drink when someone beside you says,

“So you’re the actress everyone’s losing their minds over.”

The voice is deep. Smooth. You turn your head slightly. Tall. Broad shoulders. Sharp eyes that carry a dangerous amount of confidence. His dark hair falls messily over his forehead, and despite the designer suit, there is something effortlessly relaxed about him. You recognize him immediately. Song Mingi. Rapper from ATEEZ. The band who wrote the soundtrack for the movie. He leans casually against the bar, one hand in his pocket while the other holds a glass of whiskey.

“And you,” you reply calmly, “are staring a little too confidently for someone I just met.”

A slow grin spreads across his face.

“Ah, so you do bite back.”

You raise an eyebrow. “Only when necessary.”

“That’s even better.”

His eyes linger on you for half a second too long — not disrespectfully, not like the countless people who usually stare at you because they recognize you. It feels more intentional than that. Like he is trying to figure you out.

“You don’t seem like you enjoy this kind of thing,” he says after a moment.

“The party?”

“The attention.”

You let out a quiet laugh through your nose. “Is it that obvious?”

“To me? Yeah.”

There is no arrogance in the statement. Just certainty. He takes a sip of his drink, watching you carefully.

“Most celebrities here are trying very hard to be seen,” he continues. “You look like you’re trying to survive the night unnoticed.”

“Maybe I am.”

“And yet somehow everyone still looks at you anyway.”

The way he says it should sound cheesy. Instead, it lands somewhere warm beneath your ribs. You glance away for a second, hiding a smile behind your glass. “You flirt with strangers often?”

“Only the pretty ones.”

“That definitely means often.”

He laughs — low and genuine this time — and the sound surprises you. Cocky, yes. But not obnoxious. There is something oddly charming about how honest he is.

“And here I thought actresses liked confidence.”

“We do,” you say lightly. “In manageable amounts.”

“Good thing I’m very manageable.”

You look back at him then, fully this time, and unfortunately for your own peace of mind, he is unfairly attractive up close. Tall enough that you have to tilt your head slightly, even with heels on. Sharp jawline Soft eyes that completely contradict the confidence in his voice Dangerous combination Mingi notices your stare immediately, of course he does. A smug smile tugs at his mouth. “See something you like?”

“You’re very aware of yourself, aren’t you?”

“I’m aware you’ve looked at me three times since we started talking.”

Your lips part in disbelief before a reluctant laugh escapes you.

“That’s embarrassing.”

“For you?” He steps a little closer, not enough to invade your space, just enough for the air between you to shift. “I think it’s encouraging.” The music changes somewhere in the background, softer now, slower. You should probably walk away. Instead, you stay exactly where you are Mingi studies you for another quiet second before speaking again, this time more direct.

“Go on a date with me.”

You blink once. “That’s your approach?”

“It worked, didn’t it?”

“You don’t even know me.”

“I know enough.” His gaze flickers over your face briefly before returning to your eyes. “You’re smart, private, prettier than anyone in this room, and pretending you’re not interested in me.”

Your heart stumbles once at the bluntness of it.

“You’re confident.”

“I’m right.”

You shake your head softly, amused despite yourself.

“And if I say no?”

“Then I’ll be respectful about it,” he says easily. “But I still think you’ll say yes.”

There is no pressure behind the words. No ego. Just confidence. Which somehow makes him even more dangerous. You glance down at your drink before meeting his eyes again.

“I’m in Seoul for two weeks.”

Mingi smiles slowly, victorious but gentlemanly enough not to rub it in.

“Sounds like enough time for at least one good date.”

“One?”

He tilts his head. “Let’s not limit ourselves too early.”

Mingi watches you over the rim of his glass, waiting patiently for your answer while the noise of the party fades into something distant and unimportant. You tap your finger once against your drink before speaking.

“I still have five days of work here first,” you tell him. “Interviews, photoshoots, press events. My schedule is awful until then.”

Instead of looking disappointed, Mingi smiles slowly, almost amused.

“So you are saying there is a date.”

You narrow your eyes slightly. “You’re very good at hearing only the parts you like.”

“It’s a talent.”

A quiet laugh escapes you before you can stop it.

“But,” you continue, tilting your head, “I do have one condition.”

That catches his attention immediately. Mingi straightens a little. “Alright. Hit me.”

You study him for a second, thoughtful.

“I want you to show me Seoul.”

“That’s easy.”

“In one evening.”

His eyebrows lift.

“In one night,” you add calmly.

For a second he just stares at you — then he lets out a low laugh, genuinely entertained.

“You’re giving me a challenge?”

“I’m giving you very limited time to impress me.”

“Oh, I like this already.”

He shakes his head with a grin, tongue briefly pressing against the inside of his cheek while he thinks.

“One night,” he repeats slowly. “You want the full Seoul experience in one night.”

“You asked for the date.”

Mingi looks at you like he already enjoys the game between you.

Then he nods once.

“Deal.”

The confidence in his voice sends a warm flutter through your chest. You glance around before reaching toward the counter behind you, grabbing a pen abandoned near a stack of cocktail napkins.

“Give me your hand.”

His expression changes instantly — smug satisfaction mixed with curiosity — but he obeys without hesitation, holding his hand out toward you. His hands are large. Warm. Your fingers lightly wrap around his wrist as you write your number carefully across the back of his skin.For once, Song Mingi is completely quiet. Watching. When you finish, you place the pen back down. Mingi immediately looks at the number like it might disappear if he blinks too long. The corners of your lips lift softly.

“Okay, Song Mingi,” you murmur.

His eyes lift to yours instantly.

“I’m curious about our date.”

For the first time since meeting him, he almost looks caught off guard. Not speechless. Just… affected. You wink at him before stepping back.

“Goodnight.”

And then you leave.

Mingi barely lasts another twenty minutes at the party. By the time he climbs into the van with the rest of ATEEZ, his mind is nowhere near the conversation happening around him. The city lights blur past outside the windows while he sits sprawled in his seat, absently staring down at the number written across his hand for what is probably the fiftieth time. A slow grin keeps threatening to return to his face. Across from him, Yunho notices immediately.

“…Why do you look like that?”

Mingi doesn’t look up. “Like what?”

“Like you won the lottery.”

That gets Wooyoung’s attention instantly.

“Oh, he definitely did something.”

Mingi huffs a laugh under his breath, still staring at his hand. Yunho leans forward slightly, eyes narrowing.

“…Is that a phone number?”

At that, several heads turn. Mingi finally glances up, looking suspiciously unbothered.

“Maybe.”

“WHOSE?” Wooyoung blurts immediately.

San nearly climbs over the seat beside him. “No seriously, whose is it?”

Jongho looks up from his phone with sudden interest. Even Hongjoong pauses mid-conversation. Mingi tries — and fails — to hide the satisfied smile pulling at his mouth. Yunho points accusingly. “That smile is insane. Who gave you their number?”

Mingi hesitates for exactly two seconds before answering carefully.

“…Y/N.”

Silence. Then absolute chaos.

“WHAT?!” Wooyoung practically breaks his neck turning around. San slaps the seat so hard the driver glances nervously in the mirror. Jongho’s jaw drops. “THE actress?”

Seonghwa immediately leans over Yunho’s shoulder. “Let me see the number. Move.”

Yeosang nearly falls into the aisle trying to look. Hongjoong twists around in his seat so fast he almost loses his cap.

“She gave you her number?” Yunho asks, sounding deeply betrayed by reality itself.

Mingi leans back smugly, holding his hand protectively against his chest now.

“She did.”

“No way.”

“She did.”

“YOU asked her out?”

“Yeah.”

“And she said yes?”

Mingi’s grin widens slowly.

“…Yeah.”

The van erupts again. Wooyoung points dramatically. “This is the greatest achievement of your life.”

“Bigger than debut,” San agrees immediately.

“I love her,” Seonghwa says sincerely, still trying to peek at the number. “She was incredible in Shadow District.”

Hongjoong nods enthusiastically. “The prison fight scene? Crazy.”

“That was actually her doing the stunt too,” Jongho adds. Mingi glances at them, surprised. “You guys watch her stuff?”

All of them stare at him.

“Mingi,” Yeosang says flatly, “the entire planet watches her stuff.”

“That woman is unreal,” Wooyoung says. “And she gave you her number? Voluntarily?”

Mingi laughs quietly, rubbing his thumb across the ink on his hand.

He still cannot quite believe it himself.

“I asked her on a date,” he admits. “Honestly… I didn’t think she’d actually say yes.”

The others immediately begin yelling over one another again.

“YOU BETTER NOT FUMBLE THIS.”

“Be cool for once.”

“Take her somewhere expensive.”

“Brush your teeth twice.”

“And if you meet Ryan Evans,” Wooyoung adds seriously, “get me an autograph.”

“Get me one too,” Seonghwa says instantly.

Hongjoong points at Mingi. “Actually no, if this works out, you’re getting all of us autographs.”

Mingi shakes his head, laughing helplessly while the members continue losing their minds around him. But despite the noise, his gaze drops one more time to the number written across his skin. And without realizing it, he smiles again.

Five days pass faster than expected. Interviews. Photoshoots. Press conferences. Smile for the cameras. Answer the same questions. Pretend not to notice the exhaustion sitting behind your eyes. But through all of it, one thing keeps pulling at the corner of your thoughts.

Song Mingi.

The texts between you stay surprisingly simple. No excessive flirting. No games. Just enough to make you smile at your phone like an idiot whenever his name appears. And then suddenly, it is the night of your date Mingi sends you only an address and a time Nothing else. Which somehow makes you even more curious.Only one person knows where you are going — your bodyguard, Steve.You have trusted him for over ten years now, long before Hollywood knew your name. He has seen the ugly side of fame with you. The stalking incidents. The invasive tabloids. The nights where crowds became dangerous. If Steve approves of someone, it means something. Tonight, after checking the address twice, he glances at you through the rearview mirror.

“You nervous?”

You smooth your hands over your dress casually. “No.”

Stev snorts immediately.

“You’ve changed outfits four times.”

“That means nothing.”

“Mhm.”

You roll your eyes, but a smile tugs at your lips anyway. The car eventually stops in front of one of the tallest luxury hotels in Seoul, its glass exterior glowing against the night sky. Steve gets out first, opening the door for you automatically.

“Text me if anything feels off,” he says quietly.

“It won’t.”

“You don’t know that yet.”

You pause for a second before smiling softly.

“Something tells me I’m safe with him.”

Steve studies you carefully.

Then nods once.

“Alright.”

You step out of the car, heels clicking softly against the pavement. Your dress is elegant, hugging your body perfectly without trying too hard. Your makeup stays natural, soft enough to look effortless despite the amount of work it actually took. And yes, you are absolutely wearing heels.

Because standing beside Mingi at your natural 5 ft.2 (1.58 meters) would otherwise make you look twelve years old. The elevator ride to the restaurant feels strangely intimate in the silence. Your pulse quickens slightly when the doors finally slide open. The restaurant is… empty?! No guests. No loud conversations. Just soft lighting, quiet music, and the distant glow of Seoul beyond massive glass windows. You hesitate for half a second, confused. Then you turn the corner. And see him. Mingi stands near the windows with one hand in his pocket, looking unfairly good beneath the dim golden lighting. Simple black shirt. Black tailored trousers. Minimalistic. Elegant. As if the universe decided attractive people should be humbled absolutely never. And somehow — impossibly — your outfits match perfectly. The moment he notices you, his entire expression softens. Your heels echo across the floor as you walk toward him, and Mingi watches you the entire time like he forgets how to breathe for a second.

“Well,” he murmurs when you finally stop in front of him. “You’re making this very difficult for me.”

You tilt your head slightly. “What exactly?”

“Acting normal.”

Heat rises faintly into your cheeks before you can stop it. Mingi smiles knowingly, then leans down slightly. The kiss he presses against your cheek is featherlight. Barely there. And still, a shiver immediately runs down your spine. God. That should not affect you that much.

“You look beautiful,” he says softly.

Not performative. Not exaggerated. Just honest. You glance around the restaurant again, trying to regain composure.

“…Did you seriously reserve the entire place?”

Mingi only smirks.

“It’s easier to eat when nobody’s secretly taking pictures of you.”

The answer catches you off guard for a second. Because he says it so casually. Like your comfort mattered automatically. Before you can respond, he gently places a hand near your lower back, guiding you toward the table by the enormous glass windows overlooking the city. Seoul glows beneath you. Millions of lights stretching endlessly into the night.

“It’s beautiful,” you whisper shy.

Mingi pulls your chair out for you first before sitting across from you.

“Not as beautiful as my date,” he says immediately.

You stare at him.

“…Do lines like that usually work for you?”

“They don’t have to,” he replies smoothly. “I already got the girl.”

You laugh despite yourself, shaking your head while a waiter arrives with wine. The conversation flows almost immediately after that. Easy. Natural. Dangerously easy. When Mingi asks what you want to eat, you glance down at the menu helplessly.

“I have absolutely no idea what any of this is.”

“That’s tragic.”

“I know nothing about Korean food.”

He gasps softly in mock offense. “Nothing?”

“Nothing.”

Mingi leans back in his chair dramatically.

“Wow. So the responsibility of educating you falls entirely on me.”

“You say that like it’s a burden.”

“It’s an honor, actually.”

You smile into your wine glass.

“Then order for me.”

His eyebrow lifts slowly.

“That’s a lot of trust.”

“You reserved an entire restaurant for privacy,” you point out lightly. “You’ve earned a little.”

Something warm flashes across his expression at that. Then Mingi orders half the menu. And somehow every single dish is incredible. At one point, he watches with undisguised amusement while you stare suspiciously at something on your plate.

“What is this?”

“Chicken foot.”

You blink.

“…Excuse me?”

“Fried chicken foot,” he corrects helpfully.

You narrow your eyes. “You’re trying to kill me.”

“I’m expanding your horizons.”

“It has toes, Mingi.”

“You have toes too. Don’t be judgmental.”

You laugh so suddenly you almost choke on your drink. He grins triumphantly.

“Come on,” he says. “Be brave.”

“You first.”

“I eat these all the time.”

“That proves nothing.”

Mingi sighs dramatically before taking one from your plate and eating it directly in front of you.

“There. Your turn.”

You stare at him. Then at the chicken foot. Then back at him.

“…If I die, I’m haunting you.”

“You’d look cute as a ghost too.”

“Oh my god.”

Still laughing quietly, you finally take a bite. Mingi watches you carefully. Your eyebrows slowly lift.

“…Wait.”

His grin widens instantly.

“Mh?”

“That’s actually really good.”

“I know.”

You point at him accusingly. “You looked way too excited for that.”

“Because I just watched a Hollywood actress willingly eat fried chicken feet in a five-star restaurant.”

“And?”

“And I think I’m in love with you a little bit.”

The words are teasing. Mostly. But the way he looks at you afterward makes warmth spread through your chest anyway. Hours pass without either of you noticing. You talk about everything. The loneliness of fame. How exhausting it is when people think they know you because they know your public image. Friends. Career pressure. The things that scare you. The things that keep you going. And somehow, with him, none of it feels difficult to say.You have never spoken this openly with someone you just met. But Mingi listens carefully when you talk, never interrupting, never pretending to understand things he doesn’t. And when he speaks, he is honest too. Funny. Thoughtful. Far softer than people probably expect him to be. At one point you catch him staring at you again. Not subtly. Not even remotely. You set your glass down slowly. “You know, most people try not to stare so obviously.”

“I tried that earlier.”

“And?”

He rests his chin lightly against his hand, eyes fixed on you.

“Didn’t work.”

Your heartbeat stumbles embarrassingly hard.

“You always flirt this much?”

“Only when I mean it.”

And somehow that answer affects you far more than all the others. By the time dinner ends, you are completely full. Not just because of the food. Because of him. The entire evening feels dangerously easy, like slipping into something warm without realizing how cold you were before. You are still laughing softly about one of Wooyoung’s stories Mingi had told you when he suddenly stands from his chair. You blink up at him in surprise. Then he holds his hand out toward you. Your eyes drop to it first. Then slowly back to his face. Mingi only smiles.

“Come with me.”

There is something unfairly attractive about the confidence in his voice. Careful now, you place your much smaller hand into his. His fingers close warmly around yours immediately. Secure. Gentle. And for some reason, your heart reacts to that more than all the flirting tonight. Mingi leads you through the quiet restaurant toward another elevator, then up one final floor. The moment the doors open, cool night air brushes against your skin. Your breath catches slightly. The rooftop terrace is breathtaking. Small candles flicker everywhere in glass lanterns, casting soft golden light across dark stone pathways and elegant lounge seating. The city stretches endlessly around you, Seoul glowing beneath the night sky like it is alive. Mingi guides you all the way toward the railing at the very edge. For a moment, neither of you says anything. You simply stare. The sounds of the city drift upward faintly — distant traffic, music somewhere below, life happening in thousands of tiny pieces all at once.

“It’s beautiful,” you whisper again.

Mingi leans his forearms lightly against the railing beside you. Then he lifts one hand, pointing toward the distance.

“Over there,” he says, “that’s Yeouido. Most of the finance buildings and government offices are there.”

You follow his finger carefully.

“The really tall building is the National Assembly. During election season the entire area becomes chaos.”

You smile softly at the fond annoyance in his voice. Then his hand moves farther across the skyline.

“That district over there is Mapo. I used to pass through there constantly as a trainee.”

“You were young when you started, right?”

“Too young,” he says with a quiet laugh. “I thought surviving on convenience store food and two hours of sleep was normal.”

“That explains a lot, actually.”

He scoffs dramatically beside you.

“You’re rude.”

“You like me anyway.”

Mingi glances sideways at you, grinning.

“…Yeah. Unfortunately.”

Warmth blooms immediately in your chest. Then his expression softens slightly as he points farther away.

“My school was over there.”

You look at him curiously. “Really?”

“Mhm.” He nods. “And a few blocks from there is where I grew up.”

Something about that settles quietly inside you. Because suddenly this doesn’t feel like a celebrity showing off a city. It feels personal. Like he is carefully handing you pieces of himself one by one. You listen while he tells you stories — getting caught skipping class with friends, taking the wrong bus home as a trainee because he was too exhausted to think straight, sneaking out late at night for food after practice. And then suddenly it hits you. Your eyes widen slightly. He notices immediately.

“What?”

A slow smile spreads across your lips.

“You did it.”

“Hm?”

“You showed me Seoul in one night.”

For once, Mingi actually looks pleased with himself.

“I told you I would.”

You bite lightly against your lower lip, looking back out at the city for another second before turning toward him. And immediately realize how close he is standing. Even in heels, you still have to tilt your head up to look at him properly. Your eyes slowly travel across his face. The sharp jawline. The dark hair falling slightly into his eyes. The smug little smile that appears the second he notices you staring. You click your tongue softly and nod in approval.

“I have to admit,” you murmur, “you keep surprising me, Song Mingi.“

“Oh?”

“Seoul in one night?” You shake your head with a quiet laugh. “Wow.”

Mingi’s smile turns softer somehow. Then he winks at you. And somehow — impossibly — even that feels charming coming from him instead of embarrassing. God, this man is dangerous. His hand slides carefully to the small of your back. Warm. Large. He gently pulls you a little closer toward him. The movement catches you slightly off guard in your heels, and you stumble lightly against his chest. Mingi immediately steadies you with both hands.

“Careful, Y/N,” he murmurs teasingly. “Don’t be so clumsy.”

You stare up at him in fake offense.

“Excuse me?”

A laugh escapes you anyway because he looks entirely too pleased with himself.

“There she is,” he says softly. “I was waiting for that look.”

“What look?”

“The one where you’re deciding whether to kiss me or kill me.” You gasp dramatically.

“You’re unbelievable.”

“And yet you’re still standing very close to me.”

Your mouth opens. Then closes again. Because unfortunately… he is right. At some point, without even realizing it, you lean lightly against him while the two of you continue watching the city below. Normally this would make you uncomfortable. Too close. Too intimate. Especially on a first date. But with Mingi, it feels strangely natural. Like your body decided to trust him long before your mind caught up. Time blurs around the two of you. Eventually you glance up at him quietly.

“So,” you ask softly, “did you like our first date?” Mingi hums thoughtfully beside you like he genuinely has to consider it. You narrow your eyes suspiciously.

“That pause was rude.”

“I’m thinking.”

“Really?“.

He laughs under his breath. Then his gaze settles on you again, warm and steady.

“It was almost perfect.”

Almost? Your eyebrow lifts immediately.

“Oh no,” you say carefully. “Please don’t ruin this.” His grin appears instantly.

“You think that little of me?”

“I’m preparing for disappointment.”

“Relax.” His voice lowers slightly. “There’s just one thing missing.”

Your heart suddenly beats a little faster.

“Mingi—”

But before you can finish, his hand slides gently along your waist as he pulls you closer. And then he kisses you. Softly. Carefully. Like he is giving you every chance to pull away. His lips are warm against yours, impossibly gentle for someone who usually carries himself with so much confidence. And because he is annoyingly tall, you have to lift yourself slightly higher just to kiss him properly. Mingi smiles faintly against your lips.

“…How tiny are you actually?”

You immediately place a hand against his chest.

“Shut up.“

He laughs quietly. But you kiss him again before he can tease you further. And this time the kiss lingers. Slower. Warmer. The world around you fades little by little until Seoul itself becomes background noise — the glowing skyline, the candles, the distant sounds of the city disappearing beneath the way his hand rests securely against your waist. Like somehow, impossibly, the two of you have slipped into your own little world above the city. The kiss lingers in your mind long after it ends. Warm lips. Soft laughter. His hand steady against your waist like he belongs there. By the time the two of you finally pull apart, both of you are smiling slightly, and neither of you seems entirely ready for the night to end. But eventually, reality catches up. Mingi walks you back toward the elevator slowly, your fingers brushing together every few seconds like neither of you wants to fully let go yet. The rooftop behind you glows softly with candlelight while Seoul sparkles endlessly below. At the elevator doors, you finally turn toward him again. For a moment, neither of you speaks. And somehow the silence feels just as intimate as the conversation from earlier. Mingi looks at you carefully, eyes softer now than they were at the beginning of the night.

“You know,” he says quietly, “you’re a lot easier to talk to than I expected.”

You narrow your eyes playfully. “That sounds mildly offensive.”

He grins immediately.

“I meant it as a compliment.”

“Sure.”

The elevator dings softly behind you. Neither of you moves immediately. Then Mingi steps just a little closer. His hand briefly brushes against your arm before he leans down and presses another fleeting kiss against your cheek — soft enough to send warmth rushing through you all over again.

“Text me when you get back safely,” he murmurs. You nod once, suddenly very aware of your heartbeat again.

“I will.”

The elevator doors begin sliding shut. Mingi steps back at the last second, one hand in his pocket again, looking unfairly attractive beneath the warm lighting. And right before the doors close completely, he flashes you one last small smile.

God. The second the elevator doors fully shut— You break. A tiny, silent gasp leaves you before you immediately clap both hands over your mouth, your eyes going wide.

“Oh my god—”

You spin once in place in your heels, practically vibrating with excitement. Then comes the tiny victory dance. Completely ungraceful. Completely genuine. A little jump. A fist pump. Another spin. You drag both hands down your face afterward, trying and failing to contain the ridiculous smile stretching across it.

“Get it together,” you whisper to yourself breathlessly. You inhale deeply once. Twice. Then slowly regain your usual composed expression just before the elevator reaches the lobby. By the time you step back outside, you look calm again. Mostly. Steve is already waiting in the car. The moment you slide into the backseat, he glances at you through the mirror. One look at your face and he immediately smiles knowingly. You try to maintain dignity for approximately two seconds. Then you grin helplessly.

Stev chuckles quietly. “That good, huh?”

You lean back against the seat, still warm from the night, from Mingi, from all of it. And for the first time in a very long time, you sound genuinely light when you answer.

“…We like him.”

Steve nods once like that confirms everything.

“Good.”

Meanwhile, upstairs, Mingi somehow manages to function like a normal human being long enough to pay for dinner. Barely. The owner of the restaurant thanks him politely while staff begin quietly cleaning up around them. “You planned this well,” the older man says with an amused smile. Mingi smirks lightly. “I try.” The owner studies him for a second. Then suddenly gestures toward the back hallway.

“Come with me for a moment.”

Mingi blinks in confusion but follows him anyway. They stop inside a small office where several security monitors display footage from different areas of the restaurant and hotel. The owner points toward one particular screen.

“You should see this.”

Mingi looks over casually at first. Then immediately freezes. On the monitor, the elevator doors are closed. And there you are. Standing perfectly still for exactly one second before completely losing your mind. Tiny celebration dance included. Mingi stares. The owner bursts into laughter beside him. Meanwhile, Mingi physically has to press his lips together to stop himself from laughing too loudly. Because you look adorable. So adorable, actually, that it almost kills him instantly. On screen, you spin once before aggressively fixing your expression again like nothing happened. Mingi lowers his head briefly, laughing under his breath now.

“She liked you very much,” the owner says smugly. Mingi watches the screen for another second, something dangerously fond settling into his expression. Then he shakes his head softly.

“…I’m going to marry her.”

The owner immediately laughs louder.

“That serious already?”

Mingi’s eyes stay on the screen where you’re fixing your hair and trying to regain composure. Still smiling helplessly, he answers without hesitation.

호랑이도 제 말하면 온다 - Speak of the Devil!

Summary: Five years ago, Mingi had to make a choice—between you and his career. Back then, he chose his career, which soared rapidly afterward. Famous, beloved, celebrated all over the world. You, on the other hand, were left behind—alone, broken, and hurt. And as fate would have it, you meet again, and things take an unexpected turn…

a/n: Hey guys, I can barely believe it myself, but my first Mingi fic is officially finished! As promised, there’s still one extra chapter coming for you all. Thank you so much for all the likes, reblogs, and comments! And the next story will be coming very soon, I promise!!

Chapter 10

You don’t cry anymore. That’s the worst part. At first, it was tears—ugly, gasping, shaking sobs that made your chest ache and your head pound. Now there’s just… quiet. A hollow kind of silence that settles deep in your bones, like something inside you has finally given up trying to be heard. You function. You wake up, dress the girls, answer emails, take calls. You smile when Sia shows you her drawings, when Nari insists on braiding your hair with clumsy little fingers. You even laugh sometimes. But it never reaches your eyes. And when Mingi stands at your door, after three weeks being on tour, seeing him for the first time, since your breakup or whatever the hell it was, right on time to pick them up, you don’t look at him.

“Hi,” he says, soft. Careful. Like you might shatter if he breathes too loud.

“Their jackets are in the bag,” you reply, just as quiet. Just as careful. But not for him.

For yourself. Because if you look at him—really look—you might remember too much.

The way his hands used to feel. The way his voice used to say your name like it meant something sacred. The way you believed him, again. You hand him Nari’s favorite stuffed rabbit. Your fingers brush his for half a second.

It burns.

“Did they eat?” he asks.

“Yes.”

A pause.

He wants to say something else. You can feel it. It lingers between you like a storm that refuses to break. You don’t give it the chance.

“I have a flight tomorrow,” you say, stepping back already. “Business trip. Three days.”

His head lifts slightly. “Oh.”

“They’ll stay with you.”

“Of course.”

Silence again.

Then, softer—almost breaking, “Can we—”

You close the door.

—

Mingi stands there for a long time after it clicks shut. He doesn’t move.

Sia tugs at his sleeve. “Daddy?”

He blinks, forces a smile that doesn’t quite work. “Yeah, princess?”

“Mommy forgot to kiss you goodbye,” she says, frowning like this is a serious mistake that needs fixing. His throat tightens.

“Yeah,” he murmurs. “She… does that sometimes.”

But not like this. Not like she’s erased him, again.

—

A day later the dorm is louder than usual. Or maybe it just feels that way because Mingi can’t think over the noise in his own head.

“You’re an idiot.”

He doesn’t even look up. “Thanks, Yunho . Very helpful.”

“I’m serious,” Yunho continues, arms crossed. “You had her. Twice. And you messed it up. Twice.”

Wooyoung doesn’t even try to soften it. “Honestly, I’d block you.”

“I didn’t—” Mingi exhales sharply, dragging a hand through his hair. “I didn’t want it like this.”

“Then why is it like this?” Yunho asks quietly.

That one hits harder. Because he doesn’t have a good answer. Because “pressure” sounds pathetic when weighed against the look on your face the last time you saw him. Because “career” doesn’t mean much when he goes home to an empty apartment and two little girls who ask why Mommy doesn’t talk to him anymore. Because none of it—none of it—feels worth it now.

“I thought I could protect everything,” he says finally. “My career. My image. Her. The girls.”

“And instead?” Jongho prompts.

Mingi laughs, but it’s hollow. “I lost her.”

Again.

_____

You hate business trips. You used to love them. New cities, new faces, the quiet independence of being somewhere no one knows you. Now it just feels like running away with extra steps. The restaurant is too bright. Too loud.

Too full of people who look like they have their lives neatly together.

You sit across from him—Mr. Potato Head, as Sia so lovingly named him—and try not to stare at the way his head actually does seem slightly too large for his body.

You’d laugh, under different circumstances.

Right now, you just want wine.

“A beautiful woman like you shouldn’t look so serious,” he says, leaning forward with a smile that tries too hard. There it is.

You force something polite. “Work has been busy.”

“I can imagine,” he replies, eyes lingering just a second too long. “Though I’m sure you make time for… other things.”

You know exactly what he means.

And for a split second—just a split second—you think:

Maybe.

Maybe this is easier.

Maybe someone like him, predictable and uncomplicated, wouldn’t tear your heart out and ask you to keep it a secret afterward.

Maybe you could learn to feel something… manageable. He reaches across the table, fingers brushing yours. You don’t pull away immediately. That’s new. That’s… concerning. Because it doesn’t feel right.

It doesn’t feel wrong enough either.

It just feels empty.

Your phone buzzes. You glance down, expecting work. Instead, it’s a picture.

Sia and Nari, grinning at the camera, ice cream smeared all over their faces. Mingi’s arm is visible at the edge of the frame, like he tried not to include himself but couldn’t quite stay out of their world.

A message follows:

They asked if you ate yet. I told them you probably forgot. Don’t forget.

A pause.

Then another:

…I miss you.

Your chest tightens so suddenly it almost hurts. Across from you, Mr. Potato Head is still talking. Something about dessert. Or wine. Or himself. You don’t hear it.

Because all you can see is that stupid, blurry photo. All you can feel is the echo of a life that almost worked.

And all you can think is—

He broke you.

Twice.

So why does it still feel like he’s the only one who knows how to put you back together?

You lock your phone and look up.

“Sorry,” you say, voice distant. “What were you saying?” He smiles again, confident, oblivious. And somewhere, miles away, Mingi is staring at his phone, waiting for three little dots that never appear.

For the first time in his life, fame feels small.

For the first time, he understands exactly what he’s about to lose.

And for the first time—

he’s ready to fight for you.

Even if it’s already too late.

——

Nari is already half-asleep when she curls into Mingi’s side.

She was always the quieter one—soft in a way that makes the world feel too loud for her sometimes. Even now, she doesn’t look up at him right away. She just presses her cheek against his hoodie, small fingers fisting the fabric like she needs to make sure he’s really there.

“Daddy…?” she whispers.

Mingi hums, brushing a strand of hair from her face. “Yeah, baby?” There’s a pause. A long one. He can feel her thinking, gathering courage the way she always does—slow, careful, like each word has to be chosen just right.

“Can you… bring Mommy back?”

The question lands gently. And still—it knocks the air out of his lungs. He freezes for half a second, his hand stilling in her hair. “What do you mean?”

Nari finally tilts her head up, big eyes searching his face. “I liked it… when you smiled at her,” she says, voice barely louder than a breath. “And when she didn’t look… sad all the time.” Her tiny fingers tighten slightly. “Now it feels… quiet. But not the nice quiet.”

Mingi swallows hard.

Before he can answer, there’s a dramatic sigh from the other side of the couch. Sia plops down next to them, crossing her arms like she’s about to hold a very serious meeting. “Yeah, Daddy. It’s actually a problem.

He blinks. “A problem?”

“Yes.” She nods firmly. “Because now Mommy is in another city with Mr. Potato Head—” she says the name with deep suspicion, “—and I don’t want her to fall in love with him.” Wooyoung chokes somewhere in the background. San turns his face away, already emotional for entirely different reasons.

Mingi can’t help it—he lets out a quiet huff of laughter. “Mr. Potato Head, huh?”

“Yeah the one with the big reeeeeally head,” Sia explains, as if this is a perfectly sufficient character analysis. Then she leans closer, lowering her voice. “And he looks like he says weird things.”

“That’s… concerning,” Mingi murmurs.

“It is,” she agrees seriously. “And also, Mommy should marry you. Not him.”

That does it. The room goes still. The boys—usually loud, chaotic, impossible to silence—don’t say a word. Not even a whisper. They just watch. Mingi’s smile fades into something softer. Something fragile.

“I don’t know if it works like that,” he says quietly. “I… hurt Mommy. Really bad.”

Sia frowns, like she’s trying to understand a rule that doesn’t make sense. “Then you say sorry.”

“I did.”

“Then say it again.”

He huffs a small breath. “It’s not that simple, Sia.” Nari shifts slightly, still tucked against him. Her voice is small, but steady when she speaks again. “Sometimes… you have to say it a lot.”

Mingi looks down at her. She doesn’t look away this time.

“Like… a lot, a lot,” she continues, brows knitting together in concentration. “Until the other person believes you.” A pause. “And then you keep saying it everyday… until their heart doesn’t hurt so much anymore.”

Silence. Thick. Heavy. Unavoidable.

Mingi doesn’t move. He just… stares at her.

Because how—how does something so small hold so much truth?

Across the room, San presses his lips together, eyes glassy. Wooyoung doesn’t even bother pretending—he’s already wiping his face, sniffling loudly into a tissue.

“Kids are brutal,” he mumbles, voice thick. “Why are they so wise?”

No one answers. Because Mingi can’t.

His throat is tight, chest aching in a way that feels too big to contain. He glances up at the others—at Hongjoong, at San, at Wooyoung—and they’re all looking at him like the answer has been sitting right in front of him this whole time. Because it has.

He’s just been too afraid to face it.

He exhales slowly, pulling both girls closer against him, pressing a kiss to the top of Nari’s head, then Sia’s.

“Hey,” he murmurs, voice softer now. “What would you think… if I tried to bring Mommy back?” There’s a beat. Then they explode.

“Yes!!!” Sia cheers, practically launching herself at him. “Finally, Daddy! That’s what we’ve been saying!”

Nari giggles quietly, hugging him tighter, her earlier shyness melting into something warm and hopeful. “I think… that’s a very good idea,” she says. Sia pulls back suddenly, eyes lighting up with determination. “Okay but listen—you need a plan.”

“A plan?” Mingi echoes.

“Yes. Very important.” She leans in, whispering like this is classified information. “You should get her a princess crown.”

Mingi blinks. “A… princess crown?”

“Mhm.” She nods confidently. “Because girls love jewelry. And crowns are like… the best jewelry.”

Wooyoung lets out a wet laugh.

“That’s actually genius,” San mutters, wiping his eyes. Mingi shakes his head, a real laugh breaking through for the first time in what feels like forever. “I don’t know if a crown is going to fix this.”

Sia gasps. “Not just the crown, Daddy. You also have to say sorry. Like Nari said. A lot, a lot.”

“And mean it,” Nari adds softly.

Mingi’s smile turns quiet again.

“I do mean it,” he says.

And for once, there’s no hesitation in his voice. He tightens his arms around them, closing his eyes for a second as he takes a deep breath in—and then out.

When he opens them again, something has shifted. Something certain.

He looks at his daughters first.

Then at his members. And finally—forward.

“Alright,” he says.

Sia grins. “Mission time?”

Mingi nods, a small, determined smile forming. “Mission time.”

Jongho straightens immediately. “Oh my god, are we naming it?”

“We’re naming it,” San confirms, already emotional again for no reason.

Sia raises her hand like she’s leading the entire operation. “I have the name!”

Everyone looks at her.

She beams.

“Mission: Mommy, l‘m sorry and I Love You.”

There’s a second of silence—

and then the room breaks into laughter.

Even Mingi. Especially Mingi.

Because for the first time since losing you…

getting you back doesn’t feel impossible anymore. It feels like something worth fighting for.

And this time, he’s not going to let you go. An hour later the girls do not take it well.

“I wanna stay here!” Sia protests immediately, clinging to Mingi’s leg like her life depends on it. “We can help! I’m very good at plans!”

Nari nods quietly from the couch, hugging her stuffed rabbit. “We can be… emotional support,” she adds softly.

Mingi crouches down in front of them, trying not to smile too much at that. God, they make this harder.

“I know,” he says gently, brushing his thumb over Sia’s cheek. “But this is something I have to do myself, okay?”

“But—”

“No buts,” he interrupts, softer now. “Grandma will take care of you. And when I come back…” He hesitates just a second. “…I’ll bring Mommy with me.”

That shuts them up.

Sia’s eyes go wide. “Promise?”

Mingi exhales, something steady settling in his chest. “Yeah. Promise.”

Your mother doesn’t hesitate.

She picks up on the second ring, and the moment Mingi explains—awkward, rushed, heart halfway in his throat—she lets out a soft, knowing laugh.

“About time,” she says.

He blinks. “You… don’t sound surprised.”

“I’ve been waiting for you to get your head out of your ass,” she replies calmly. “Took you long enough.”

“…That’s fair.”

She gives him your hotel name. The number. Even the city block, just in case.

And when he drops the girls off, she pulls him into a quick hug, firm and warm.

“Go,” she tells him, squeezing his shoulder. “And this time—don’t mess it up.”

Behind him, Sia is already bouncing on her toes. “Don’t forget the crown, Daddy!!”

Mingi laughs despite everything. “I won’t!”

Then he runs.

—

The airport is chaos. Lines, announcements, people everywhere—and Mingi, slightly out of breath, hair a mess, heart pounding like he’s about to go on stage.

“Next flight,” he says at the counter, flashing that signature smile—the one that’s gotten him out of trouble more times than he can count. “Please. Anything.”

The woman eyes him skeptically at first.

Then she recognizes him. And just like that, her expression softens.

“Well… there might be one seat left,” she says. Mingi leans in slightly, charm dialed up just enough. “You’d be saving my life.”

She huffs a small laugh. “You idols are dangerous.”

“Only when we have to be.”

Five minutes later, he has a ticket in his hand.

The flight is too short and too long at the same time.

Too short to prepare. Too long to sit still.

By the time he reaches the hotel, the sky is already dark, the city glowing in soft evening lights.

He barely notices.

“I’m looking for—” he starts at the reception desk, giving your name.

The receptionist hesitates.

“I’m sorry, sir, we can’t just give out—”

“I need to see her,” Mingi cuts in, a little too quickly, a little too desperate.

“I understand, but—”

“I’ll give you two VIP concert tickets.“

That does it.

“Room 814.”

He runs.

Down the hallway, heart hammering, thoughts racing faster than he can keep up with. Everything he should’ve said months ago. Weeks ago. Days ago. He reaches your door.

Knocks.

Once. Twice. Harder.

Nothing.

Silence.

His chest tightens.

No.

No, no, no—

He turns, running a hand through his hair, panic creeping in. He runs in the big hotel lobby again. You could be anywhere. The city is too big, too full—

Then he sees it. Through the glass doors of the hotel restaurant. A familiar shape. A very familiar shape. Mingi narrows his eyes.

“…You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.”

Mr. Potato Head. That stupidly large head finally useful for something. Mingi doesn’t think twice. He sprints.

Nearly crashes into a waiter—muttered apology, barely slowing down—and then he’s there.

At your table.

And you—

You look up.

Your eyes widen instantly, shock washing over your face. “Mingi?” you stammer. “What the hell are you doing here—?”

He doesn’t hear the rest. Doesn’t process it.

Because you’re here. Right in front of him.

And that’s all that matters. He drops to his knees. Right there. In the middle of the restaurant. Gasps ripple around you, people turning, whispering—but Mingi doesn’t care. Not even a little. He takes your hands in his, holding them tightly, like if he lets go, you’ll disappear. They’re so small compared to his. So warm.

“Mingi—!” you gasp again, flustered now, aware of the eyes on you. “People are staring—”

“I’m sorry.”

The words come out rough. Immediate. Real.

“I’m so, so sorry.”

You freeze. And he keeps going, because if he stops now, he might never start again.

“I fell in love with you the first moment I saw you,” he says, voice shaking but steady enough to carry. “And somehow—I still managed to be stupid enough to lose you. Twice.”

Your breath catches.

“I was blinded,” he admits, swallowing hard. “By the fame, the success, all of it. I thought it mattered. I thought I had to protect it.”

His grip on your hands tightens just slightly.

“But it doesn’t,” he says, softer now. “None of it does. Not if I don’t have you.”

Your eyes glisten.

“And Sia. And Nari,” he adds, voice breaking just a little. “You—you’re everything. You make me happy in a way nothing else ever has. And I’m so sorry it took me this long to see what was right in front of me the whole time.”

A tear slips down your cheek.

“I won’t let you go again,” he whispers. “I can’t. I love you. I always have.”

Your lips part, but no sound comes out.

Just his name.

“…Mingi…”

Beside you, there’s an awkward shift.

A throat clearing. Mr. Potato Head, still very much present, looks between the two of you like he’s walked into the wrong movie.

Mingi glances at him. Then slowly rolls his eyes.

“I think,” he says dryly, not even bothering to stand yet, “it’s time for you to leave. This might get uncomfortable.”

Your mouth drops open.

Honestly—unbelievable.

Still the same Mingi.

Mr. Potato Head blinks, stunned. “I—well—I—”

“Thanks,” Mingi adds, already turning his attention back to you. “Door’s that way.”

And just like that—dismissed.

You stare at him, completely caught off guard.

He just looks at you. Nothing arrogant now. Nothing careless.

Just… him. Raw. Open. Terrified. Hopeful.

“What do you say?” he asks quietly.

Another tear slips down your cheek.

But this time—it’s warm.

Different.

You swallow, your voice barely more than a whisper.

“I say…” A small pause. A breath. “…that I love you too. I always have.“

That’s all it takes. You fall into him, arms wrapping tightly around his neck, and he catches you instantly, pulling you close against his chest like he’s been waiting for this moment his entire life.

He exhales shakily, pressing a kiss to your hairline, his hand sliding gently through your hair.

“Let’s go,” he murmurs against your ear.

You nod.

And without another word—

you leave.

You’re still holding his hand when you leave the restaurant. It feels… unreal.

Warm. Safe. Like something you thought you’d lost for good has somehow found its way back to you. Mingi doesn’t let go—not for a second. His fingers are laced with yours, firm, grounding, like he needs the constant reminder that you’re actually here. That you didn’t disappear the moment he blinks.

He keeps glancing at you as you walk through the hotel lobby, a soft, almost disbelieving smile on his lips.

You catch him once.

“What?” you murmur, a little shy now under his gaze. He just shakes his head, squeezing your hand. “Nothing.” A pause. Softer. “Just… you.”

Your heart stumbles. And for a moment, everything feels right again.

Until—

“Excuse me?!”

The voice cuts through the air like a knife.

Sharp. Loud. Furious.

You freeze.

Mingi doesn’t—at least not immediately. But you feel the shift in him, the subtle tension in his shoulders as you both turn.

Mr. Potato Head is storming toward you, his face flushed an alarming shade of red, his already large head somehow looking even bigger with anger.

And yet—

Standing next to Mingi, it almost looks ridiculous.

Because Mingi is taller. Noticeably. Broader too—his shoulders easily twice as wide, his presence filling the space in a way that makes the other man seem… smaller, despite that oversized head. Where Mr. Potato Head is all noise and flustered energy, Mingi is solid. Grounded. Unmovable.

“This is unbelievable!” he snaps, pointing at you. “Absolutely unprofessional!”

Your stomach drops.

“I—I’m sorry,” you start quickly, stepping slightly forward despite Mingi’s grip tightening. “I didn’t mean to—”

“Oh, you didn’t mean to?” he interrupts harshly, voice rising. “You disappear from a business dinner, run off with—” he gestures wildly toward Mingi, “—this, and expect there to be no consequences?”

You flinch slightly.

“I understand how it looks, but—”

“It looks like you have no sense of professionalism!” he spits. “Do you have any idea what this could cost you? I could have you fired for this. Easily.”

Your chest tightens.

Part of you wants to argue.

Another part just feels… tired.

“I’m really sorry,” you repeat, quieter now. “That wasn’t my intention.”

He scoffs, clearly not satisfied. “Intentions don’t matter. Actions do. And this?” He laughs bitterly. “This is embarrassing.”

That’s when Mingi moves.

Slowly.

Deliberately.

He steps slightly in front of you, not breaking your handhold—if anything, he pulls you a little closer behind him, his body shielding yours almost instinctively.

From this close, the difference becomes even clearer—Mingi has to look down at him. Not by much, but enough. Enough to make the power dynamic obvious before a single word is even spoken.

Then he looks at him. Up and down.

Once. Completely unimpressed.

“Are you done?” Mingi asks, voice flat. Almost bored.

Mr. Potato Head blinks, thrown off. “Excuse me?”

“I asked,” Mingi repeats, tilting his head slightly, “if you’re done with your little tantrum.”

The air shifts. You suck in a quiet breath. “Mingi—”

He doesn’t look at you.

His gaze stays locked on the man in front of him—cool, steady, and just a little dangerous now.

Mr. Potato Head scoffs, trying to recover his footing. “Who do you think you are—”

Mingi glances around.

The lobby is empty enough. No immediate audience. No problem.

“Good,” he mutters under his breath.

Before you can react—before anyone can—

He grabs him.

Fist tight in his collar, pulling him forward in one swift, effortless motion.

The size difference hits all at once—Mingi barely strains, his arm steady and controlled, while Mr. Potato Head’s feet almost leave the ground, his body jolting forward like he weighs nothing in comparison.

Mr. Potato Head’s eyes go wide instantly, his words cutting off into a strangled sound as he stumbles, completely at Mingi’s mercy.

“Mingi!” you gasp, your free hand flying to your mouth.

But Mingi?

Mingi doesn’t even look stressed.

If anything—he looks calm.

Too calm.

There’s even a faint smile playing on his lips as he leans in slightly, his voice dropping just enough to make it worse.

“Listen, buddy,” he says lightly, almost amused. “For someone whose head is bigger than this entire hotel, you don’t seem to have much in it.”

Mr. Potato Head freezes.

“You don’t get to talk to her like that,” Mingi continues, tone still eerily relaxed. “You don’t get to threaten her. And you definitely don’t get to insult her.”

His grip tightens just a fraction. Enough to make the point.

“She’s mine,” he adds simply.

Your breath catches.

“And if you ever try something like this again…” Mingi’s smile sharpens, just slightly. “…our third meeting won’t end well for you. Got it?”

For a second, there’s only silence.

Then—

Mingi lets go.

Just like that.

Mr. Potato Head stumbles backward, nearly losing his balance, scrambling to steady himself, looking smaller now—not just physically, but in every way that counts.

“I—I’m a lawyer,” he stammers, trying to regain some dignity, though his voice wavers. “I can ruin you. Your reputation—your career—”

Mingi doesn’t even let him finish.

He just reaches back, takes your hand again—firm, reassuring—and starts walking.

Pulling you with him.

Then, over his shoulder, without even slowing down—

He winks.

“Try it,” he says casually. “I don’t give a damn.”

And just like that—

he’s already gone.

Taking you with him.

The door barely closes behind you before he’s on you.

It’s not gentle.

It’s not careful.

It’s desperate.

Mingi’s hands are suddenly everywhere—your waist, your back, your ass —as if he needs to make sure you’re real, that you didn’t disappear somewhere between the lobby and this room.

And then he kisses you. Hard. All the words he said downstairs? All the ones he couldn’t say? They’re right here now—in the way his lips move against yours, in the way he exhales your name like it’s something he’s been holding in for too long.

You gasp softly, fingers clutching his shirt as you kiss him back just as fiercely.

God—you missed this.

Missed him.

He groans quietly, pulling you closer, and suddenly your feet aren’t even touching the ground anymore.

“Mingi—” you breathe against his lips, half laughing, half overwhelmed.

“I’ve got you,” he murmurs, like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

Your legs wrap around his waist almost instinctively, his hands firm under your thighs as he presses you back against the wall for a second—just a second—before kissing you again, slower this time, deeper.

There’s nothing hesitant about it.

No distance.

No pretending.

Just heat. Want. Love.

“I’m not letting you go again,” he whispers against your mouth.

You feel it in your chest. The truth of it.

And your body reacts before your brain even catches up—pulling him closer, fingers tangling in his hair.

He huffs a quiet laugh, forehead resting against yours for a brief moment—

—and then suddenly pauses.

You blink.

“Mingi…?” you whisper, slightly breathless.

“Wait,” he says.

You stare at him.

“…Wait?”

He carefully sets you down—carefully, like you might break—and steps back, running a hand through his hair.

“Just—give me one second.”

You narrow your eyes. This man did not just interrupt this moment.

“Mingi,” you say slowly, “I swear to God—”

“I’ll be right back!” he insists, already turning toward his bag.

You stand there.

Confused. Suspicious. Slightly offended.

“…I was about to have sex with you,” you call after him flatly.

“Yeah, I know,” he mutters, rummaging through his travel bag like his life depends on it. “Just—hold on.”

Unbelievable. You cross your arms, watching him dig through clothes, mumbling to himself, until finally—

“Aha!”

He straightens.

Turns around. And holds something up.

You blink.

Once.

Twice.

“…Is that—”

“A tiara,” he says, slightly out of breath. “Technically.”

You just stare at him. Then at the tiara. Then back at him. Your mouth opens. Closes. Opens again.

“…Mingi,” you say slowly, “I would really like to have sex with you right now. Not attend my coronation.”

He bursts out laughing. Actually laughing.

“I know, I know,” he says, walking back over to you, still grinning. “But listen—the girls—”

You pause.

“…the girls?”

He nods, holding the tiara carefully. “They told me if I wanted to win you back, I should get you a crown. Because—and I quote—‘girls love tiaras.“

You freeze.

And then—

You melt.

“Oh my God,” you whisper, your expression softening instantly. “They said that?”

“Mhm.”

Your heart does something stupid and warm and completely unfair. You take the tiara from his hands slowly, almost reverently—and then, with a small smile, place it on your head.

“There,” you murmur. “Happy?”

Mingi watches you like you’ve just put the stars in the sky.

“Very.”

You grab his shirt again, pulling him down into another kiss—this one slower, deeper, filled with everything you didn’t say earlier.

He kisses you back instantly, hands sliding to your waist again—

“Careful,” he murmurs suddenly against your lips.

You blink. “Why?”

“That thing cost almost five figures.”

You freeze.

“…what?!“

He smiles. You pull back completely, staring at him like he’s lost his mind.

“Mingi, is that your serious face right now?!” you blurt out, smacking his shoulder. “Are you fucking insane?!”

He barely even reacts, just chuckling under his breath.

“Relax.”

“Relax?!” you repeat, scandalized. “You bought a five-figure tiara because our daughters told you to?!”

“Yes.”

You hit him again. Harder.

He just laughs, catching your wrist before you can do it a third time.

“You’re unbelievable,” you mutter, still staring at him like you don’t know whether to kiss him or fight him.

“Yeah,” he agrees easily.

Then—before you can react—

He takes the tiara from your slightly crooked head, adjusts it properly, and sets it back in place with surprising care.

“There,” he murmurs.

His hands linger. His eyes drop to your lips.

And just like that—

the air shifts again.

“Still want that coronation?” he asks softly.

You narrow your eyes. “Don’t push your luck.”

He grins. Then he lifts you again—effortless, like before—your legs wrapping around him as if they belong there.

“And here I thought you liked being treated like a princess,” he murmurs.

“I like being kissed,” you shoot back.

“Good.”

His voice drops.

호랑이도 제 말하면 온다 - Speak of the Devil!

Summary: Five years ago, Mingi had to make a choice—between you and his career. Back then, he chose his career, which soared rapidly afterward. Famous, beloved, celebrated all over the world. You, on the other hand, were left behind—alone, broken, and hurt. And as fate would have it, you meet again, and things take an unexpected turn…

a/n: Guys, here we go again! Grab your tissues! Things are about to get emotional!

Chapter 9

The clip starts playing before you can even prepare yourself.

Mingi sits there, relaxed, effortlessly charming as always. The interviewer smiles, leans forward slightly, and asks the question that makes your stomach tighten instantly.

“Are you currently seeing someone? Or are you single?.“

Mingi doesn’t even hesitate.

“I’m single,” he says smoothly, flashing that familiar, disarming grin. “My heart belongs to my fans.”

There’s a brief shift in the room. The other members glance at him, confused, almost caught off guard. But Mingi just looks back at them like nothing is wrong—like this is obvious.

Like it means nothing.

The interviewer raises a brow, clearly not satisfied. “But you’ve been spotted quite often with the same woman recently…”

Mingi lets out a light laugh, waving it off casually. “Ah, that? It’s nothing serious. I’m still on the market.”

The video ends. You don’t realize you’ve stopped breathing until your chest tightens painfully. You stare at the screen long after it goes black, trying—desperately—to not let his words sink in. Trying to convince yourself that they don’t matter.

But they do.

God, they do.

Your heart feels like it’s folding in on itself, each beat heavier than the last. Your stomach twists, a dull, nauseating ache spreading through you, and there’s a lump in your throat so thick it makes it hard to swallow. You press your lips together, forcing it down. It’s just PR, you tell yourself.

It has to be. Still… the words echo.

Nothing serious.

Still on the market.

By the time your lunch break rolls around, your thoughts haven’t quieted. They’ve only gotten louder. And like always—like muscle memory—you find yourself standing in front of his door. You don’t even remember the drive. The second the door opens, Mingi is there.

Warm. Solid. Familiar.

“Hey—” he starts, but doesn’t even finish before he’s pulling you in, arms wrapping around you, hands already moving like they know exactly where they belong.

Your body should respond. It always does.

But this time… it doesn’t.

You stay stiff in his arms.

Unmoving.

His hands slow. Then stop.

There’s a pause.

“Hey…” he murmurs again, softer now, pulling back just enough to look at you. His brows knit together slightly. “Is everything okay?”

You take a slow breath. Then another.

Carefully, you place your hands against his chest and push him back just enough to create space between you.

You look at him. Really look at him.

“What is this?” you ask quietly.

He blinks, caught off guard. “What?”

“This,” you repeat, your voice steady but tight. “Us. What is this to you?”

For a split second, he looks confused.

Then that familiar grin creeps back onto his lips, like this is easy. Like it’s nothing.

“It’s whatever you want it to be,” he says lightly, his hand already slipping back to your waist—lower—fingers pressing into your hip, teasing. “You said it yourself, didn’t you?”

You catch his wrist before he can pull you in again. And you push him away.

This time, there’s no softness in it.

“No,” you say, firmer now. “Answer me properly, Mingi.”

The shift in your tone makes him pause. Really pause. The smile fades just a little.

“I just did,” he replies, a hint of uncertainty slipping into his voice. You shake your head.

“Do you mean that?” you ask, your eyes searching his. “Everything you said in that interview… do you actually mean it?”

He exhales sharply, rolling his eyes as he runs a hand through his hair.

“Come on,” he mutters. “You know how this works. It’s just for image. It’s PR—none of that is real.”

But that’s not enough. Not anymore.

You swallow hard, your throat burning as the question you’ve been avoiding for weeks—months—finally forces its way out. You look straight into his eyes.

“Then tell me this,” you say, your voice quieter now, but heavier. “Do you want to have relationship with me and make it public?“

He stills.

Completely.

“Or…” Your breath catches, but you push through it. “Do you just want Sex and we are going to stay a secret forever?”

For the first time since you’ve known him, Mingi looks… lost. His confidence falters. His gaze flickers, searching for something—an answer, an escape, anything.

“I—” he starts, then stops.

You watch him struggle. Watch him hesitate.

And deep down… you already know.

“I can’t,” he finally says, the words coming out uneven, strained. “You know I can’t. I don’t have a choice—it’s my career—”

You look down before he can finish.

Because you feel it. That sharp, familiar crack in your chest. The one you swore you’d never let happen again.

Your eyes burn, tears threatening to spill, but you force them back. You refuse to let them fall. Not here. Not in front of him.

You clear your throat.

“I can’t do this anymore.”

The words come out quieter than you expect—but they hit harder than anything else.

Mingi goes completely still.

“What?” he asks, almost breathless. “What are you talking about? Everything’s been… good. We’re good. I’m happy like this—”

You shake your head.

“No,” you interrupt, your voice breaking despite your effort to keep it steady. “No, Mingi. You’re happy like this.”

You lift your gaze back to him, and this time there’s no hesitation. No softness.

Just truth.

“I’ve been here before,” you say, each word heavy with memory, with pain. “Standing in front of you, asking you the same thing… and watching you choose your career over me.”

His expression shifts—guilt, realization, something deeper flickering across his face.

“I told myself I would never be in this position again,” you continue, your voice trembling now, despite how hard you try to control it. “I promised myself I wouldn’t let you break my heart twice.”

Silence fills the space between you. Thick. Suffocating. You take a small step back.

And then another.

“So now you have to choose,” you say, your voice quieter, but unwavering. “It’s me… or your career.”

Mingi just stares at you. Overwhelmed. Speechless. Like the ground beneath him is shifting and he doesn’t know how to stand anymore. His expression shifts.

You can see it happen in real time—the confidence slipping, the certainty cracking, something restless and uneasy taking its place.

“Come on, y/n…” he says, his voice tighter now, strained in a way you’ve never heard before. “You know it’s not that simple for me. I… I can’t just—” He exhales sharply, running a hand through his hair, pacing a step like he suddenly doesn’t know where to stand. “I can’t choose.”

You nod.

Slowly.

Like you expected nothing else.

You swallow hard, forcing the tears back down, even as your vision blurs. Then you lift your gaze to meet his. He can barely hold it.

“I think…” you begin, your voice barely more than a whisper, fragile—on the verge of breaking entirely. “I think, Mingi… you already have.”

Something in him snaps at that.

He grows more restless, more agitated. His hand drags down his face as he lets out a frustrated breath.

“Come on,” he says again, almost pleading now. “We were—” he stops himself, shaking his head. “No. We are happy. Like this. We’re good like this, I…”

But the words fail him.

For the first time in his life—

Mingi doesn’t know what to say.

All that’s left is a quiet, almost helpless:

“I can’t, y/n.“

The words hit you like déjà vu.

You look away from him. From his eyes. From the hand that reaches for you—hesitant, uncertain—trying to pull you back before you slip too far away.

Just like six years ago.

The same words.

The same moment.

The same choice.

And your heart—

It breaks the same way.

Shattering into pieces so sharp it feels like you can’t even breathe around them.

Because you let yourself fall again.

Because you believed him again.

Believed that this time, it was more than just stolen moments and tangled sheets. That this time, he loved you—really loved you.

Not just your body.

Not just the way you fit into his life when it was convenient.

But you.

And yet—

Here you are again.

And once again—

He chooses his career.

A single tear slips free before you can stop it, tracing slowly down your cheek.

You close your eyes for a brief second, pulling yourself together, holding on to whatever strength you have left.

Then you nod.

Small. Final.

“And I can’t do this,” you say quietly, your voice trembling despite your effort to steady it. “I can’t do this, Mingi.”

The words feel like they’re tearing through you as they leave your lips.

“I love you,” you admit, barely above a whisper now. “God, Mingi, I love you so much—you will always be the love of my life,” you bite your lip to keep yourself from breaking down, “… but I can’t let you break my heart again.”

Your fingers tighten around the straps of your bag, knuckles turning white.

“Not now,” you add, your voice softer—but firmer in its resolve. “Not when Sia and Nari need me.”

At the sound of their names, Mingi flinches.

It’s subtle—but you see it.

His eyes search your face desperately, like he’s waiting—hoping—for something. For you to take it back. For there to be a way out of this.

A “but.”

A hesitation.

Anything.

But there’s nothing.

“I’m ending this,” you whisper. “I’m ending whatever this is. I’m so sorry, Mingi, but I need more from you… and I know you can’t give me that,” you draw in a shaky breath, your eyes brimming with tears, “so this is where I let us go…again.“

The finality of it hangs in the air between you.

Heavy.

Unavoidable.

Mingi doesn’t move.

He just stands there, frozen—his eyes fixed on you, wide, disbelieving, like he can’t fully process what’s happening.

Like this isn’t real.

Like you’re not actually walking away.

But he says nothing.

Just like you knew he wouldn’t.

You take one last breath.

Then you turn. And walk away.

Down the hallway. Each step heavier than the last, your chest tight, your heartbeat loud and uneven.

You don’t look back.

You can’t.

By the time you reach the elevator, your vision is already blurred beyond recognition. The doors slide open with a soft chime, and you step inside on unsteady legs.

Alone.

Just like the first time you walked away from him when you met him at the restaurant months ago. The doors close.

And the second they do—

You break.

The tears come all at once, spilling over, unstoppable, sliding down your cheeks as you press your lips together to keep from sobbing out loud. Your hand comes up to cover your mouth, your shoulders trembling as the pain crashes over you in waves.

You’ve been here before.

You know this pain.

And yet—

It hurts just as much.

Maybe even more.

Because this time, you really believed it would be different.

Because this time, you let yourself hope.

And now—

You can feel it.

Those same fractures in your heart—

Splitting open all over again.

——

The drive to the kindergarten feels longer than usual.

Or maybe it’s just you.

Every red light lasts too long. Every second stretches, heavy and suffocating, your thoughts looping back to him no matter how hard you try to push them away.

I can’t.

You grip the steering wheel tighter.

I’m ending this.

Your chest tightens again, that familiar ache blooming beneath your ribs, threatening to rise, to spill over—but you force it down.

Not here. Not now.

You pull into the parking lot and turn off the engine, but you don’t move right away.

Instead, you sit there. Hands still on the wheel. Breathing. In. Out. Again.

You catch your reflection faintly in the rearview mirror—eyes a little too glassy, a little too tired. You quickly reach up, wiping beneath them, pressing your lips together.

By the time you step out of the car—

Your mask is back in place.

The sound of children fills the air before you even reach the gate. Laughter, little voices calling out, the chaotic, beautiful noise of a normal afternoon. It hits you like a wave.

Grounding you. Breaking you. All at once.

You spot them almost immediately.

Sia and Nari are sitting close together on a small bench, their heads bent toward something in their hands, completely absorbed in their own little world.

For a moment, you just stand there. Watching them. Your heart twisting painfully in your chest.

This is why.

This is why you walked away.

“Mommy!“

Nari sees you first. Her face lights up instantly, her entire body perking up as she jumps to her feet. Sia follows a second later—and then they’re both running toward you.

And just like that—

Everything else fades. You drop your bag and kneel down, opening your arms just in time to catch them as they crash into you, their laughter spilling into your ears, their warmth wrapping around you like something safe. Something real.

“Hey, my babies,” you murmur, your voice softer now, steadier—like your body knows exactly what to do, even if your heart doesn’t.

“Look what we made!” Sia says immediately, pulling back just enough to show you a piece of paper covered in bright colors and uneven shapes.

“And mine too!” Nari adds quickly, already holding hers up. You take them carefully, like they’re something fragile.

“Wow,” you breathe, forcing a smile that almost feels real. “These are beautiful. Are they for me?” They nod eagerly. “For you!”

Your throat tightens. You pull them both into you again, pressing a kiss to the top of each of their heads, holding them just a second longer than usual.

“Thank you,” you whisper.

Their little hands cling to you without question. Without hesitation. Like you’re their whole world.

And God—

You need to be strong enough to deserve that.

“Ready to go home?” you ask, standing up and slipping into routine like second nature.

They nod, already talking over each other as you gather their things, thanking the teacher with a polite smile you don’t feel. Everything is normal. You make it normal. Even as something inside you feels like it’s falling apart. On the way to the car, Nari slips her hand into yours, swinging it lightly.

“Mommy?“

You glance down at her. “Hm?”

She studies your face in that quiet, observant way she has.

“Are you sad?”

The question catches you off guard.

For a split second— You freeze.

Then you shake your head gently, brushing her hair back behind her ear.

“No, sweetheart,” you say softly. “Just a little tired.” She seems to accept that. Kids always do. They trust you. They believe you.

Sia is already climbing into her seat, talking about something that happened earlier, her voice bright and animated. You buckle them both in, your movements automatic.

Familiar. Safe.

You close the car door—

And for a brief moment, your hand lingers on it. Your head drops slightly, your eyes squeezing shut as the weight presses down on you again. It would be so easy to fall apart right now. So easy. But you don’t.

You straighten up. Walk around to the driver’s seat. Get in.

And as you start the engine, their voices fill the car—laughter, stories, life continuing like nothing has changed.

You smile when you’re supposed to. You respond when they talk.

You function. Because you have to. Because they need you.

Even if, beneath it all—

Your heart is still quietly breaking. With every mile that takes you further away from him.

⸻

The days after feel… unreal.

Like you’re moving through someone else’s life.

You wake up, you get dressed, you make breakfast. You pack little lunchboxes, tie shoelaces, brush tiny strands of hair behind small ears.

You smile when you’re supposed to.

You nod. You answer. You function.

But inside—

There’s nothing but a dull, aching emptiness where your heart used to be.

“Mommy?“

Sia’s voice pulls you back.

You blink, forcing yourself to focus on her as she looks up at you from the table, her spoon halfway to her mouth.

“When is Daddy coming again?”

Your entire body tenses. It’s small. Almost unnoticeable. But inside—it’s like something tears open all over again.

Nari looks up too now, curious, expectant.

“Yeah,” she adds softly. “He said he’d come soon…”

Your throat tightens instantly. The air feels too thick, too heavy.

For a second—

You can’t speak.

You feel it rising again. That burning behind your eyes, that familiar pressure in your chest.

Tears.

No.

Not now.

Not in front of them.

You force a small smile, one that feels like it might crack at any second.

“He’s… busy right now,” you manage gently. “He’s on tour, remember?”

They nod slowly.

“Oh yeah,” Sia says. “But after that, he’ll come, right?”

The question lingers. Hangs in the air.

You swallow hard.

“Eat your breakfast, sweetheart,” you say softly instead, brushing it off like it’s nothing.

Like it didn’t just shatter something inside you.

And just like that—

You move on.

Because you have to.

⸻

Mingi is gone for three weeks.

And somehow—

That makes it easier.

And worse.

You don’t have to see him.

Don’t have to hear his voice, don’t have to feel that pull toward him that you’re trying so desperately to kill.

But the silence?

It’s deafening. There are no distractions left.

No moments where you can pretend.

So you do the only thing you can:

You shut down.

For the next few days, you live like a machine. Wake up. Function. Smile. Repeat.

No space for feelings.

No space for him.

The girls don’t notice.

Or maybe they do—and they just don’t understand.

But every night—

When the house finally falls quiet…

When Sia and Nari are asleep, their soft breathing the only sound drifting through the walls…

You break.

Completely.

You curl into yourself in the dark, your hand pressed against your mouth to muffle the sobs that shake your entire body.

It’s messy. Exhausting.

Relentless.

Because this time—

It’s worse.

Because this time, you knew better.

And you still fell.

Your phone lights up at some point.

A message. From him.

We need to talk when I’m back.

You stare at it for a long time.

Your thumb hovers over the screen.

But you don’t reply. You can’t.

You don’t want to. Because what is there left to say?

The first time he broke your heart, at least there was distance. At least there was the possibility that you’d never have to see him again.

But now?

Now he’s part of your life.

Part of their life.

Which means you don’t get to run.

You don’t get to heal in peace. So you do the only thing you know how to do.

You start rebuilding the walls around your heart.

Brick by brick. Cold. Careful. Necessary.

You’ll talk to him—but only when you have to. Only about the girls.

Nothing more.

No eye contact.

No softness.

No space for him to get close enough to hurt you again.

You’ve done it once.

You’ll do it again.

You have to.

⸻

Six days pass like that.

Quiet. Controlled. Hollow.

Until your phone rings.

Mina.

You hesitate.

Then answer.

“I’m fine,” you say before she can even ask.

There’s a pause on the other end.

“…Yeah,” Mina replies slowly. “I’m sure you are.”

You try to brush her off. Make excuses. Keep it short.

But Mina—

She knows you. Too well.

And of course…

She doesn’t let it go. That same afternoon, there’s a knock on your door.

You already know who it is.

When you open it, Mina stands there, her eyes scanning your face—and immediately softening. She sees it.

Of course she does.

You give her a small, almost imperceptible shake of your head. A silent plea.

Not in front of them.

She nods once.

Understands. And steps inside like nothing’s wrong.

It isn’t until hours later— After dinner. After bath time. After stories and sleepy kisses and whispered “good nights”—

That the house finally goes quiet.

You walk back into the living room slowly.

And the second you see Mina sitting there—

Something in you just… gives out.