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flux1563 · 3 months ago

Text

Biggest secret

Words : 7381

Tags : squirting, tied up, a lot of fingering, BWC, creampie

"Wonyoung, we're going to be so late," Yujin called out, her voice echoing through the bustling airport.

Wonyoung, the ever-calm member of the K-pop group, glanced at her watch. "We've got five minutes," she said with a gentle smile. "Breathe, Yujin."

They were two young women about to embark on a much-needed vacation. Famous for their talents, their faces graced billboards and magazine covers across Asia. Yet here they were, trying to navigate the unfamiliar European airport as inconspicuously as possible. Their fans had no idea they were even on the same continent.

Their manager had assured them that this trip was off the books, a chance to let their hair down and enjoy the continent without the pressure of performances or appearances. They had packed light, eager to leave their glammed-up personas behind. Wonyoung, with her sharp features and piercing gaze, had swapped her usual high ponytail for loose waves that fell around her shoulders. Yujin, on the other hand, had opted for a more dramatic change, dying her hair a soft pink and trading her stage outfits for comfortable streetwear.

The air was thick with excitement as they stepped out into the warm embrace of the afternoon sun. The cobblestone streets of the city stretched out before them, a canvas of history and culture waiting to be explored. They had a map, a basic grasp of the language, and a list of must-see spots. But what they hadn't anticipated was the encounter that would change their lives forever.

As they approached a quaint café, a man emerged, his 6'3" frame casting a long shadow. His eyes, a piercing blue, met Wonyoung's and she felt an immediate jolt of attraction. He was ruggedly handsome, with a strong jawline and a mop of curly hair that danced in the breeze. Yujin's cheeks flushed as she took in his casual yet confident stride. The two women couldn't help but stare.

"Ladies, are you okay?" he asked in a rich, accented voice that sent shivers down their spines. His name was Y/N, a local artist who had recognized the subtle signs of lost tourists. They nodded, trying to play it cool despite their racing hearts. He offered to help them find their way around the city, an offer they eagerly accepted.

Wonyoung and Yujin found themselves drawn to his easy charm and the way his eyes twinkled with mischief. As they walked, Y/n pointed out hidden gems that weren't on their itinerary. They laughed at his jokes, feeling a sense of freedom that was rare in their usual tightly-scheduled lives. The tension grew as they shared glances, each one loaded with unspoken desires. The energy between them was palpable, and it wasn't just the heat of the day that was making them sweat.

When he invited them to his penthouse, they didn't hesitate. The elevator ride was filled with nervous giggles and sly glances, their hearts pounding in unison. The penthouse was a stunning blend of modern architecture and antique charm, with floor-to-ceiling windows that offered a breathtaking view of the cityscape. They felt like they were stepping into a different world, one where the only rule was to enjoy themselves.

As they settled in, Y/n suggested they stay with him for the duration of their vacation. He promised them privacy and a chance to experience the city like locals. The thought of escaping the watchful eyes of their fans and the suffocating bubble of their celebrity lives was too tempting to resist. Plus, the thought of getting to know him better was an alluring prospect that neither of them could ignore.

The next day, they set out early, their excitement palpable as they wandered through the cobblestone streets, the smell of freshly baked bread and blooming flowers filling the air. Y/n led them to a hidden market where the vibrant colors of the produce popped against the ancient buildings. They sampled cheeses that melted on their tongues and tasted wines that sang of the region's rich heritage. The sun climbed higher, casting a warm glow over their exploration.

As the evening approached, they returned to the penthouse, their senses filled with the day's adventures. The city had come alive with the setting sun, its vibrant energy seeping into their very souls. They decided to embrace the local nightlife, eager to let their hair down even further. Y/n pulled out an assortment of fine wines and beers, setting the stage for a night of relaxation and camaraderie.

The drinks flowed freely, and soon enough, Yujin and Wonyoung's inhibitions began to wane. They giggled and whispered to each other, their cheeks flushed from the alcohol and the excitement of their secret escape. Y/n, who had been nursing his drink more slowly, watched them with a knowing smile, enjoying their playfulness.

"You know, we have a fantasy," Yujin slurred, her eyes glancing coyly at Y/n. "A... a really big one."

Wonyoung's eyes widened for a second, then she giggled, her cheeks turning a deeper shade of pink. "Yeah," she agreed, her voice a little unsteady. "A... a big white cock."

Y/n's smile grew wider, and his eyes darkened with desire. He leaned in closer, his breath warm on their necks. "Is that so?" he murmured, his voice low and seductive. "Well, I've got something that might just live up to your... fantasy."

The room grew hotter as the words hung in the air. Wonyoung's heart raced, and she felt a pool of wetness forming between her legs. Yujin bit her lower lip, her eyes never leaving Y/n's. "Prove it," she challenged, her voice a soft whisper.

With a knowing smirk, Y/n stood and began to unbutton his shirt, his muscular chest coming into view as the fabric fell away. The two K-pop stars watched in awe as he revealed a sculpted body that could have been chiseled by the gods themselves. His skin was a warm, golden hue, kissed by the sun. He approached them, his confidence a tangible force in the room.

"Gentlemen prefer blondes," he murmured, reaching into a drawer and pulling out two lengths of soft, velvety rope. "But I have a feeling I might make an exception for you two."

With surprising gentleness, Y/n approached Yujin first. Her eyes were wide with a mix of excitement and trepidation as he took her wrists in his firm grip. He deftly wound the rope around them, securing them to the chair's arms with a series of quick, precise movements. He made sure the knots weren't too tight, but just tight enough to keep her in place. The soft fabric of the rope was a stark contrast to the cold metal of the chair, sending a thrill through her body.

Next was Wonyoung. She watched with bated breath as he approached, her heart pounding in her chest. He knelt before her, his eyes never leaving hers as he bound her ankles to the chair legs. The way he moved was mesmerizing, a dance of dominance and care that had her panting with anticipation. He then reached for her wrists, wrapping the rope around them in the same expert manner as before. He tied them to the chair's back, making sure she was as secure as Yujin.

The two friends sat there, bound and helpless, their breaths coming in short gasps. The room was filled with a new kind of tension, one that was palpable and electrifying. They had never felt so exposed and yet, strangely, so alive. Their eyes locked on Y/n as he stepped back to admire his handiwork, his gaze roving over their bodies with a hunger that was almost tangible.

"Now, where were we?" he asked, his voice low and gruff with lust. "Ah, yes, your fantasy. Tell me more about this... 'big white cock' you've been dreaming of."

Wonyoung's cheeks flushed an even deeper shade of red, and Yujin bit her lip to stifle a moan. They exchanged a look that spoke volumes, and with a nod from Wonyoung, Yujin began to speak, her words tumbling out in a rush. "We... we've always wondered what it would be like. To have someone so powerful and in control, to give us pleasure beyond what we've ever known."

Y/n's eyes narrowed, a predatory gleam entering them. He took a step closer, his hand reaching out to trace the line of Wonyoung's jaw. "And what makes you think I can give you what you're looking for?" he whispered, his thumb brushing against her plump bottom lip.

Wonyoung's breath hitched, her eyes never leaving his. "We've seen your pictures," she said, her voice low and seductive. "We know you can handle two eager mouths."

With a smug smile, Y/n leaned in closer, his breath hot against her skin. He placed a gentle kiss on her neck, eliciting a soft moan. His tongue snaked out, tracing the line of her collarbone and down to the swell of her chest. He could feel her pulse racing under his lips, the heat of her body beckoning to him. His hand slid under her shirt, cupping her breast firmly.

He stepped back, his gaze lingering on the two bound women before focusing on Yujin. He approached her with the same deliberate grace, his eyes burning with a hunger that matched their own. He leaned down, his mouth capturing hers in a searing kiss that stole her breath away. His other hand reached for the hem of her shirt, lifting it up to expose her midriff. His tongue traveled down, tracing the curve of her belly button, making her squirm in her seat.

Their moans grew louder as he continued to explore their bodies with his mouth. He kissed and licked every inch of exposed skin, savoring the taste of them. His teeth grazed Wonyoung's nipple, eliciting a high-pitched whine from her as she arched her back, trying to get closer. Meanwhile, his hands had moved to Yujin's thighs, his thumbs teasing the sensitive skin just beneath the hem of her shorts.

He moved back to Wonyoung, his tongue flicking over her erect nipple before switching to the other one. He took his time, savoring the sounds of her pleasure. Wonyoung's eyes were closed, lost in the sensation of his mouth on her body. He knew she was wet, he could see the evidence staining the crotch of her pants, and the scent of her arousal filled the air.

Yujin watched, her own desire building as she felt the heat of his breath against her skin. She could feel the wetness seeping through her underwear, a testament to the effect his words and actions had on her. When he finally turned his attention to her, she was more than ready. He kissed along her neck, his teeth scraping against her sensitive flesh as he moved downward.

He pulled her shorts aside, exposing her to the cool air of the room. His tongue darted out, licking a slow, torturous path from her belly button to the top of her mound. She gasped, her body jolting in the chair. He didn't stop there, though. He pushed her legs apart, giving him full access to her soaking wet pussy. His tongue dipped into her folds, tasting her sweetness. Yujin's eyes rolled back in her head, her moans growing louder as he explored her with his mouth.

The room was filled with the sounds of their passion, the soft wet noises of his tongue on their skin. He took his time, teasing and tormenting them both until they were begging for more. The ropes that bound them seemed to tighten with every passing second, their bodies straining against the restraints.

Y/n looked up, his eyes meeting theirs. "Ready to see if I can live up to your fantasy?" he asked, his voice thick with lust.

Their eyes glazed with desire, they nodded frantically. The night was young, and they had a feeling it was going to be one they'd never forget.

Y/n stood, his gaze never leaving the two bound beauties before him. He unbuckled his belt with a smooth click, the sound echoing through the room. He unbuttoned his pants with a leisurely grace, the anticipation building as the zipper slowly descended. He pushed his pants and boxers down to reveal the monstrous 10 inches of BWC that had fueled their fantasies for so long. It stood proudly erect, a testament to his arousal.

He sauntered over to the sideboard, his eyes never leaving the girls. He picked up a sleek, black vibrator that lay there, charging with an eerie glow. "While I'm fucking one of you," he said, his voice thick with desire, "the other will watch, with this little friend here keeping her company."

Yujin and Wonyoung stared at each other, the competition in their eyes burning hot. They had shared so much together, but never had they competed for a man's attention quite like this. Yujin leaned forward, her bound breasts jiggling with the motion. "Me first, please," she begged, her voice a desperate whine. Wonyoung's eyes narrowed, her chin tilting up in defiance. "No, she said, "my pussy is better than hers."

Y/n's smile grew even more wicked as he took in their slutty expressions. It was clear that the two friends had a wild side that was eager to be unleashed. He knew that this night was going to be one for the books, and he had the perfect plan to cater to their every desire. He stepped closer to Yujin, his cock hovering over her face. "You seem so eager," he murmured, tracing the tip of the vibrator along her cheek. "But remember, you're going to have to share."

Y/n positioned the vibrator at Wonyoung's entrance, her eyes wide with anticipation. He flicked it on and watched as her pupils dilated at the first touch of the buzzing toy. She moaned, the sound muffled by the fabric of the chair. He leaned down, his mouth inches from her ear. "You're going to watch," he whispered, "and you're going to imagine it's your mouth wrapped around me instead."

Turning his attention to Yujin, he grabbed a fistful of her hair and pulled her closer to his cock. She opened her mouth eagerly, taking the tip between her lips. He groaned, feeling her warmth and wetness as she began to suck. He could feel Wonyoung's eyes on them, her desire almost tangible. He pushed his hips forward, sliding his cock deeper into Yujin's mouth, watching as she struggled to take all of him.

"Fuck, he's so big," she murmured, her eyes watering as she tried to adjust to the size. Wonyoung's breath hitched, her own desire growing as she watched her friend's face contort with pleasure and pain. Y/n's cock was indeed massive, and the sight of it stretching Yujin's mouth was incredibly arousing. She knew it was only a matter of time before she felt that same fullness herself.

Y/n watched with hooded eyes as Yujin's cheeks hollowed with effort, her mouth straining around his thickness. Despite her inexperience with a cock so substantial, she took him in with surprising enthusiasm, her eyes watering but never leaving his gaze. He reached down to stroke her hair, whispering words of encouragement as she choked and gagged, her throat tightening around him.

"U can take it, baby," he coaxed, his voice low and reassuring. "Just relax, breathe through your nose."

Wonyoung watched as Y/n's cock slid in and out of Yujin's mouth, the vibrator inside her pulsing with an intensity that matched the throb of her own need. Her eyes never left the erotic dance of his hips as he fucked Yujin's face, the sight of her friend's submission sending shockwaves through her body. The vibrator inside her was a poor substitute, but it was all she had to cling to in that moment.

Y/n's eyes flickered between them, his grip tightening in Yujin's hair as he picked up the pace. "Glukk glukkk glukkk," he groaned, the wet sounds of his cock filling the room. "Your mouth is so good and tight, baby."

He began to fuck her face more aggressively, his hips snapping forward with a ferocity that made her eyes water. The vibrator inside Wonyoung buzzed away, the sensation amplified by her friend's desperate sucking sounds. She felt her own orgasm building, the pressure in her core growing tighter with each thrust of the artist's hips.

Y/n's grip on Yujin's hair tightened, his strokes becoming more erratic as he approached climax. His abs tensed, and a low growl rumbled from his chest. The room was filled with the sound of wet suction and the muffled gasps of the two bound women. Yujin's eyes grew wider, her cheeks hollowed as she took him deeper, her throat muscles working overtime to accommodate his size.

The moment came, and with it, a torrent of cum shot into Yujin's mouth. She struggled to swallow, her cheeks puffing out as rope after rope of white hot liquid filled her. It was too much, too fast. Cum began to leak from the corners of her mouth, dribbling down her chin and onto her chest. Wonyoung watched, her own orgasm cresting at the sight of her friend's submission.

Wonyoung pussy clenched around the vibrator, and with a cry, she came, her juices spurting out onto the chair beneath her. The vibrator's relentless buzzing only heightened her pleasure, sending wave after wave of ecstasy through her body. Her eyes rolled back in her head, and she screamed his name, the sound echoing off the penthouse walls.

Y/n pulled the vibrator out of Wonyoung with a wet pop, her cum dripping down the shaft. He didn't even bother to wipe it clean before sliding it into Yujin's eager pussy, her legs still spread wide from her own oral ministrations. She let out a moan that was half-surprise, half-ecstasy as the toy filled her up. The artist's cum was still warm on her chin and chest, mixing with her saliva and sweat.

"Now is ur turn, Wonyoung," he said, his voice a dark, seductive purr. "Take it like the good slut u are."

Y/n stepped back, his cock glistening with a mix of precum and Yujin's spit. He approached Wonyoung with the same predatory gaze, his hands reaching for her bound wrists. "Prove to me," he said, his voice a low growl, "that you're the better cocksucker."

Wonyoung looked him dead in the eye, her own hunger palpable. She didn't need any further encouragement. As soon as the ropes were loosened, she leaned forward, her mouth open wide. Y/n stepped closer, positioning his cock at her eager lips. Without a moment's hesitation, she took him in, all inches disappearing into her mouth.

The sound of "Glukk glukk glukk" filled the penthouse, a rhythmic symphony of her mouth's submission to his length. Wonyoung's eyes watered as she worked his shaft, her tongue swirling around the head, tasting the saltiness of his pre-cum. She took him deep, her throat muscles constricting around his cock, and he watched with rapt attention as she took his entire length.

"You're so much better," he moaned, his hands tangling in her hair. "So tight, so good." His words were like gasoline to the fire of their competition. Yujin, whose pussy was still pulsing around the vibrator, watched with a mix of envy and arousal. Her own mouth was sore, but she couldn't help but want to try again, to prove herself to him and to her friend.

But the night wasn't about competition anymore. It was about pleasure, raw and unbridled. Wonyoung's eyes watered as Y/n's cock slammed into her mouth, his hips moving with an intensity that bordered on brutal. She could feel his desire in every thrust, his need for her submission. Her throat was a tight ring of muscle that stretched around his thickness, and she reveled in the feeling of being used by this powerful man.

He groaned, his hands tightening in her hair. "Fuck, I'm going to cum in your throat," he growled, his voice thick with lust. Wonyoung moaned in response, her eyes never leaving his. She nodded, eager to take him all the way.

With a roar, Y/n's cock erupted, filling Wonyoung's mouth with hot, sticky cum. She swallowed as much as she could, but it was too much, too fast. Cum spurted out of her mouth and down her chin, covering her neck and chest. Yujin watched, her eyes wide with a mix of amazement and envy as Wonyoung's cheeks bulged with the effort to contain his seed. It was clear that Wonyoung had outdone herself, taking even more of his cum than Y/n had given her.

The vibrator inside Yujin's pussy hit just the right spot, sending her spiraling into her own orgasm. Her eyes rolled back in her head, and her body convulsed in the chair, her moans muffled by the ropes around her wrists. Her orgasm was intense, her muscles clamping down on the buzzing toy, her juices coating it. She felt a strange sense of satisfaction as she watched Wonyoung take her prize, even though her own mouth was empty.

As Wonyoung swallowed the last of Y/n's cum, Yujin felt the first spurt of her own juices. It was unlike anything she had ever experienced before. Her pussy contracted, sending a geyser of liquid shooting into the air, drenching the chair and the floor beneath her. Wonyoung looked over, her eyes wide with surprise, and then with a wicked smile.

"Maybe you lost in the mouth, but I think your pussy is greater than Wonyoung's," Y/n said, his voice thick with lust. He leaned down, his cock still hard and glistening with saliva. He licked the cum from Yujin's chin before pressing his lips to hers in a deep, hungry kiss. "Tell me, baby, does that make you feel good?"

Yujin whimpered into the kiss, the taste of their combined flavors swirling in her mouth. She could feel the heat of embarrassment mingling with the high of her recent orgasm. "Yes," she admitted, her voice small and needy. "It feels... amazing."

Y/n chuckled, the vibrations of his laughter sending shockwaves through her body. He pulled back, his eyes gleaming with satisfaction as he surveyed his handiwork. The two idols were a mess of ropes and cum, their faces flushed and their chests heaving with each ragged breath.

"Enough for today," he murmured, his voice filled with a sense of finality. "I've got to save some for tomorrow." He began to untie Yujin and wonyoung, his movements slow and deliberate, as if savoring the moment. Their wrists were red from the ropes, but she didn't flinch as they fell away. Instead, she leaned back in the chair, their legs still trembling from the aftershocks of orgasm.

They stumbled into the bathroom, still naked and sticky with cum. The shower was large and luxurious, with jets that could massage every inch of their bodies. They stepped inside, the warm water cascading down on them, washing away the sweat and the evidence of their earlier escapade. Their eyes met, and in that moment, any hint of competition was gone. They were just two friends, sharing a secret that no one else knew about.

Y/n took his time soaping them up, his hands gliding over their curves and valleys with the same gentle precision he had used when tying the ropes. He kissed their necks and whispered sweet nothings in their ears, making them feel cherished and desired. They giggled and played, the tension of their earlier encounter giving way to a newfound intimacy.

Once clean, they stumbled out of the shower, their bodies glistening with water droplets that clung to their skin like diamonds. He led them to the large, comfortable bed that dominated the penthouse's master suite. The sheets were cool and crisp, a stark contrast to the heat of their bodies as they tumbled in, still wet from the shower.

Wonyoung, ever the tease, rolled onto her back and spread her legs with a wicked grin. "Yesterday, Yujin got the first taste," she purred, her voice husky with desire. "But today, I want your cock inside me first."

Y/n chuckled, his hand stroking his still-hard cock. "Beg for it, baby girl," he said, his voice low and seductive.

Wonyoung's smile grew even more wicked as she licked her lips. "Please," she murmured, her eyes never leaving his. "Please, fuck me first."

Y/n's grin widened, and with a swift move that belied his strength, he flipped Wonyoung onto her stomach. Her legs trembled with excitement, and she wiggled her ass in the air, silently begging for his attention. He took a moment to admire the view, her plump cheeks framing her glistening pussy. The scent of her desire filled the air, and he knew she was more than ready for him.

He leaned down, his mouth watering at the thought of tasting her again. His tongue slid out, tracing a wet path from the base of her spine to the sensitive flesh between her thighs. Wonyoung moaned, arching her back to give him better access. His tongue delved into her folds, lapping at her clit with a fervor that made her legs shake.

Y/n took his time, his tongue swirling and probing, teasing and taunting. He knew just how to make her squirm, just how to push her to the edge without sending her over. He felt her pussy clench around his tongue, and he chuckled, the sound vibrating against her sensitive skin. He licked her with long, firm strokes, each one sending a bolt of pleasure shooting through her body.

Her moans grew louder, echoing through the penthouse suite. She was close, so close, but he wasn't done with her yet. He pulled back, his eyes meeting hers in the reflection of the floor-to-ceiling mirror. "Beg for it," he murmured, his voice a dark promise.

Wonyoung's eyes were glazed with lust, her breath coming in ragged gasps. "Please," she whimpered. "I need it. I need you inside me i want it raw."

Y/n's grin grew wolfish. "So greedy," he murmured, his hand coming down to give her ass a firm slap. She yelped, but the sound was muffled by the pillow she had bitten down on. "But if you can't even wait your turn..."

Before Wonyoung could respond, she felt the pressure of his cock at her entrance. With one powerful thrust, he was inside her, filling her completely. Her scream was a mix of pleasure and pain as her body stretched to accommodate him. Y/n didn't stop, pumping into her with a ferocity that had her seeing stars.

The feeling was unlike anything she had ever experienced before. Her pussy was so tight around him, and with each thrust, she could feel him hit a spot that made her toes curl. She threw her head back, her eyes squeezed shut as she felt him reach depths that she didn't know were possible. "Oh, fuck," she screamed, her voice echoing in the large room.

Y/n's rhythm grew more erratic, his breath coming in harsh pants. He could feel the walls of her pussy clenching around him, trying to keep him in, as if afraid he'd pull out too soon. He leaned over, his chest pressing against her back, his cock going even deeper. "You like that?" he growled, his voice low and guttural. "You like having my big white cock inside you?"

Wonyoung could only nod, her voice lost to the intensity of her pleasure. She could feel her orgasm building again, the pressure in her core growing with every stroke. "Fuck me harder," she begged, her voice a hoarse whisper. "I want to feel it in my stomach."

Y/n's hands tightened on her hips, and he complied, his cock slamming into her with a force that made her whole body shake. The sound of skin slapping skin filled the room, punctuated by their gasps and moans. Y/n's cock was like a piston, moving in and out of her with a precision that was almost mechanical.

Y/n's thumb found her clit, rubbing it in tight circles as he continued to fuck her. Wonyoung's moans grew louder, the pressure in her stomach unbearable. She felt like she was going to explode from the inside out. "Yes," she screamed, "yes, I can feel it in my stomach!"

Her orgasm washed over her, a tsunami of pleasure that had her entire body convulsing. Her pussy clamped down on him, her juices flooding the bed beneath them. Y/n grunted, his hips moving faster, his cock swelling even more as he approached his own climax. "Take it," he groaned, his voice tight with effort. "Take all of me."

Wonyoung's cries grew louder, her body writhing in ecstasy. Y/n's cock was a blur, his strokes so fast they were almost a blur. And then, with a final roar, he came. His cum flooded her, filling her up until it spurted out around his cock, coating her ass and the bed beneath them. She could feel the warmth of it, feel the power of his release.

As he pulled out, she collapsed onto the bed, her legs trembling. "Fuck," she breathed, her voice weak. "That was... I don't have energy right now, i can't believe i can take 10 inches." Her pussy was still pulsing, her body still trying to come down from the high of that intense orgasm.

Y/n chuckled, turning to face Yujin, who had been watching the whole thing standing, her knees slightly bent and her own pussy visibly throbbing. "You're next," he promised, his eyes gleaming.

Yujin licked her lips, her gaze never leaving the artist's still-hard cock. She had never felt more desperate for anything in her life. The way Wonyoung had taken him, the sounds she had made... she wanted that. She needed that.

Wonyoung rolled onto her side, panting, and gave her friend a knowing smile. "Your turn," she murmured, her voice still thick with lust. "Show him how it's done."

The artist stalked over to Yujin, his cock bobbing with each step. He grabbed her chin, forcing her to look up at him. "Are you ready for this?" he asked, his voice a dark whisper.

Yujin nodded, her eyes wide with excitement and a hint of fear. She had never been with a man this big before, but she had watched Wonyoung take him, and she knew she could do it too. She had to. For herself, for her friend, and for the thrill of the challenge.

He pushed her onto the bed, her body bouncing on the soft mattress. "Spread your legs," he ordered, his tone firm but gentle. She complied, her legs spreading wide, giving him full access to her pussy. He positioned himself at her entrance, his cock glistening with Wonyoung's cum. "Look at me," he said, his eyes boring into hers.

Y/n pushed into her with a slow, deliberate movement that had her gasping. He was so thick, so full, and she could feel every inch as he filled her up. "Oh, God," she whimpered, her nails digging into the bed sheets. "It's so big."

He didn't rush, taking his time to let her adjust to his size. His eyes never left hers, the connection between them intense. "Breathe," he murmured, his voice soothing. "You can do this."

Y/n's cock stretched her further than she had ever been stretched before. She felt her body give way to his, her tightness enveloping him like a warm, wet glove. "So tight," he groaned, his eyes rolling back in his head. "Tighter than Wonyoung."

Y/n began to move, his strokes long and deep, filling her to the brink with each thrust. The pain was exquisite, a delicious burn that she had never felt before. She watched in the mirror as her own pussy swallowed his cock, the sight of it making her even wetter. She reached down, her hand shaking as she touched her clit, her movements frantic.

"Fuck me," she begged, her voice a hoarse whisper. "Fuck me like you did Wonyoung."

Y/n chuckled, his eyes dark with desire. "But you're not Wonyoung," he murmured, his cock teasing her entrance. "You're Yujin. And I'm going to make you feel things she never could."

With that, he pushed into her again, harder and faster than before. Yujin's body responded in kind, her pussy spasming around him as she felt her orgasm build. She had never squirted before, never felt that intense release of pleasure, but with each powerful thrust, she grew closer and closer.

Her hand worked her clit in a frantic rhythm, her breath coming in ragged gasps. The artist watched her intently, his eyes never leaving her face as he fucked her. He could feel her pussy tightening around him, the beginnings of her orgasm starting to pulse through her body. "Show me," he growled, his hips slamming into hers. "Show me what a squirting pussy looks like."

The room grew hazy around her, the only thing she could focus on was the feeling of his cock inside her and the pressure building in her core. And then, with a scream that was more animal than human, she did. Her pussy clenched down on him as a flood of liquid shot out, soaking the sheets and the both of them. It was a sensation like nothing she had ever felt before, a release that seemed to come from her very soul.

Y/n's eyes went wide with amazement. He had never seen a woman squirt like that before, especially not on his first try. "Fuck, baby," he breathed, his strokes becoming more erratic as he watched the show. "You're a squirting queen."

Yujin could feel her orgasm building again, her pussy spasming around him. She had never felt so alive, so wanted, so...used. It was intoxicating. "More," she moaned, her voice barely recognizable. "Please, don't stop."

The artist chuckled, his eyes gleaming. He knew he had her now, that she was his to do with as he liked. He picked up the pace, his cock slamming into her with a force that made the bedframe rattle. The sound of wet flesh slapping together filled the room, a symphony of lust that had Wonyoung watching with envy.

Y/n reached down, his thumb finding Yujin's clit again. He rubbed it in tight circles, feeling her body respond to his touch. Her eyes rolled back in her head, and she let out a high-pitched keening sound. She was close, so close.

"Cum for me," he growled, his cock pumping in and out of her with a ferocity that had her panting. "Let me feel your pussy milk me dry."

Y/n's thumb circled her clit with precision, the pressure building until she couldn't hold back any longer. Yujin's body bowed off the bed, her pussy contracting around his cock as another gush of liquid shot out, soaking him, the bed, and the floor. He groaned, the sensation of her squirting pushing him closer to the edge.

With one final thrust, he came deep inside her, his cum spurting into her womb. The feeling was indescribable, the heat of his seed filling her up in a way that made her feel complete. She could feel his cock pulse with each spurt, his body shaking with the force of his orgasm. They stayed like that for a moment, locked together in the throes of passion, their bodies slick with sweat and cum.

As he pulled out, Yujin's pussy gaped open like the letter "O," the aftermath of his powerful release leaving her utterly exposed and vulnerable. Wonyoung's eyes widened at the sight, a mix of awe and envy. The artist chuckled, his cock still hard and gleaming with their combined juices. "Look what I did to her," he said, his voice filled with pride.

Y/n's eyes were hooded with desire as he took in the sight of Yujin's pussy, still quivering from the intensity of her orgasm. He leaned down, his tongue tracing the edges of her swollen folds, tasting the sweetness of her cum. "You're so beautiful when you cum," he murmured, his voice low and intimate. "Your pussy is a fucking work of art."

With a wicked grin, he reached out with his hand and lightly touched the sensitive bud of her clit. Yujin's body jerked in response, her breath catching in her throat. He began to tease her, his fingers dancing over her clit in a rhythm that was both maddening and exquisite.

Her eyes went wide as she felt the beginnings of another orgasm. She had never been this sensitive before, never felt like she could cum again so soon after such an intense release. But here she was, her pussy gushing and spasming as if it had a mind of its own.

Y/n watched in amazement, his eyes glued to the sight of her juices flowing out of her. "Again?"

Yujin nodded, her body trembling with the effort of staying conscious. "Yes," she gasped, her eyes glazed with desire. "I need... I need it."

With one final, gentle squeeze of her clit, the artist leaned back, watching as Yujin's body was wracked by another orgasm, this one even more powerful than the last. Her eyes rolled back, and she let out a scream that was cut off as she passed out, her body going limp beneath him.

Wonyoung's gaze flickered from Y/n to her unconscious friend, her own desire flaring anew at the sight of Yujin's pussy, still quivering and open from the intense pleasure. "Looks like she passed out," she murmured, a hint of sadness in her voice. "But her pussy's still wide open like 'O' for you."

Y/n chuckled, his smirk never leaving his face as he turned to face Wonyoung. "And now, it's your turn," he said, his voice dripping with anticipation. Wonyoung's eyes widened, a thrill of excitement coursing through her as she realized she was about to be the center of attention once again.

He crawled over to her, his still-hard cock bobbing with every movement. Wonyoung spread her legs, eager to feel him fill her up. But instead of entering her, he lowered his head, his tongue tracing a path along her inner thighs. She moaned, her body already sensitive from the earlier orgasms. He licked her slit, his tongue delving into her folds and tasting the sweetness of her desire.

Wonyoung's hips bucked, her body responding instinctively to the sensation. She had never felt so exposed, so vulnerable. But with Y/n, she knew she could let go completely, surrender herself to the pleasure he so expertly delivered. His fingers found their way inside her, pumping in and out with a steady rhythm that had her pussy clenching around him.

Her moans grew louder as he worked her over, his tongue and fingers in perfect sync. She could feel the beginnings of another orgasm building, a pressure that was both exquisite and unbearable. "Please," she begged, her voice a desperate whine. "I can't take anymore."

Y/n's only response was to push harder, his tongue delving deeper, his fingers curling to hit her G-spot. Wonyoung's body was a tapestry of sensations, a maelstrom of pleasure that threatened to consume her. She felt like she was on the brink, about to shatter into a million pieces.

And then it hit her, an orgasm so intense that it stole her breath away. She screamed, her body arching off the bed as her pussy spasmed around his fingers. He didn't let up, his tongue still lapping at her clit, his fingers still pumping away. The pleasure was so intense it was almost painful, a never-ending crescendo that left her trembling and gasping for air.

As the waves of pleasure finally subsided, she collapsed back onto the bed, her eyes fluttering shut. "No more," she whispered, her voice barely audible. "I can't..."

But Y/n wasn't done with her. He slid his fingers from her pussy, bringing them to her mouth. "Taste yourself," he ordered, his voice firm. Wonyoung's eyes snapped open, and she took his fingers into her mouth, her eyes never leaving his. The taste of her own cum was surprisingly sweet, a heady cocktail of desire and satisfaction.

Her eyes glazed over as she sucked on his fingers, the sensation of his gaze on her making her stomach flip. He watched her intently, his own desire never waning. "Now, I want you to watch," he murmured, his voice low and commanding.

Wonyoung nodded, her cheeks flushing with arousal. She turned to face Yujin, her eyes locked on her friend's pussy as Y/n began to finger her once again. Y/n's movements were slow and deliberate, his eyes on Wonyoung's face as he watched for any signs of discomfort or distress. But all he saw was pure, unbridled need.

Wonyoung's body was a canvas of desire, her pussy swollen and glistening with her juices. Her hips began to rock in time with his fingers, her breath coming in shallow gasps. "Fuck," she whispered, her eyes never leaving Y/n's. "I'm going to cum again."

Y/n watched as Wonyoung's orgasm built, her body tightening around his hand. He could see the moment she lost control, her eyes rolling back in her head as she let out a scream that was more primal than anything he had ever heard. Her pussy clenched down, and she came hard, her juices spurting out to cover his hand and arm.

It was too much for her to handle. With a final, desperate whimper, Wonyoung's eyes rolled back, and she passed out, her body going slack. Y/n pulled his hand away, watching the aftershocks of her climax ripple through her. Her pussy was still spasming, her legs trembling slightly from the exertion. He chuckled, feeling a sense of pride at his handiwork.

The room was thick with the scent of sex, the air heavy with the sounds of their panting. Y/n looked down at his cock, still hard and demanding more. He knew he had to take a break, though. He had work to do, a canvas calling his name. He stood, his legs shaking slightly from the effort of holding back his own climax. "I'll be back soon," he murmured, his eyes lingering on the two passed out stars.

Leaving the sated girls on the bed, Y/n padded over to the en suite bathroom, his cock still standing tall despite the recent releases. He stepped into the massive tub, the warm water enveloping his body, and reached for the soap, his mind racing with the images of their shared pleasure. The scent of sex still lingered on his skin, a potent reminder of the power he had wielded over them. He began to cleanse himself, his hands moving over his chest, down his stomach, and finally to his still-hard member, which seemed to protest the interruption of its fun.

As he washed away the sweat and cum, his thoughts drifted to the unspoken challenge in their eyes. They had pushed each other, competed for his attention and affection, and he had reveled in it. The sight of their pussies, open like the letter 'O', was burned into his mind, a visual testament to the depths of their arousal and submission. It was a powerful image, one that stirred his creative soul and inspired a new painting in his mind.

He stepped out of the tub, water dripping from his sculpted body, and padded over to the bedside table, where he found a piece of paper and a pen. In the dim light, he scribbled a quick note. "I will come at night, take care of yourself," he wrote, the words a promise of the pleasure yet to come. He knew they wouldn't wake until morning, but the anticipation was part of the thrill. He placed the note on Yujin's pillow, knowing she'd find it when she woke up.

#yujin smut #wonyoung smut #ive smut

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caffeinewitchcraft · 1 year ago

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You are a Blacksmith

Set in the universe where your destiny is written on your arm

(The Hero and Hope) (Being Villagers) (You are the Demon King)

You are a Blacksmith.

That’s why the dragon’s fire doesn’t burn you.

“Pretty sure dragon fire is hotter than a forge,” your party’s leader pants. Kent is a veteran adventurer of twenty years to your two years and he’s seen his fair share of dragon fire before today. There are curling scars dragging the corner of his mouth down into a permanent scowl that pairs oddly with how high he has his salt-and-pepper eyebrows. He exhales noisily. “I think you’re just a freak, actually.”

“Not nice,” Sella says. The archer is your age with twice your experience. Her leather armor is well-beaten by four years running around with Kent and getting far closer to battle than an archer should. Her red hair is tied with golden thread that matches the golden charms dangling from her necklace. She adds a new one with every successful monster kill. It’s lucky she’s so stealthy or else she’d be jingling with every step. “Mande is an exception, not a freak.”

You’re a party of exceptions. Most adventurers are Villagers or Guards, common destinies that don’t always find a place within a town or village that have so many of each already. There are days you report for a mission, and you’re offered a blacksmith’s job on the spot just because of the mark on your arm.

Kent is a landless Lord. There’s a story there, you know, but it’s not one he’s ever volunteered. You can see his destiny pull at him in the remote reaches of the Kingdom, where no Lord has laid roots and the monsters run roughshod across the barren soil. Nights where you’re too far from civilization find him gazing up into the stars, his fingers curled like claws into the earth. The look on his face then is so hungry that the first time you saw it, you offered him provisions from your own pack. He’d shaken his head wryly, his scarred frown twisting, and walked off into the night by himself, only returning in the morning light.

Sella is a Guardian without anyone to look after. You knew her story before she told it to you, whispering it like a bedtime story before the end of the world. She was part of a traveling theater group. She looked after them, feeding them and retrieving those with wanderlust from their journeys before curtain call. When a monster siege led by a Demon King fell upon the city they were performing in, the Lord called his people into his castle and locked the doors.

The troupe were not his people. But they were Sella’s.

Until they weren’t.

You drag your battle hammer up and over your shoulder. Conveniently, the dragon fire has burned away the wet viscera that had been clinging to it. The metal is dark with soot, but undamaged.

The things you smith can’t be melted by any fire except your own.

The skeletal trees make the scene of this final battle oddly silent. Ash drifts from the sky, carried by a wind too high to feel. You can hear your party sniping at each other behind you and the gentle gurgle of the beast’s body settling comfortably into death.

The red dragon is beautiful. Its scales gleam and sparkle like rubies in the late afternoon sun and its talons shine like obsidian. Each part of the creature could make an average family rich for a month. You consider it from an arm’s reach away. You chew your bottom lip as you think. Your adventures have taken you across the continent from the southern coast you call your home, to the western land of rivers, to the northern desert and then here, to the eastern dry lands. After all your travels, you find yourself still thinking of home often. Crab is a delicacy where you’re from despite being so close to the water. The preparation can be tedious which makes it a dish reserved from significant occasions. Cracking the shell was always your job…

“Oh,” Sella says faintly. She makes an attempt to rise and nearly tips over in the process. If it weren’t for her bow, she’d be on the ground. Her knees shake as she uses a combination of a tree and her bow to pull herself up. “Mande, rest first! In an hour I can help you—”

You bring your hammer down on the jaw of the dragon. The bone shatters after just two blows. It’s best not to think about how beautiful it looked flying overhead or the intelligence in its eyes. You’ve always had a single-minded focus and you rely on that now.

“Leave her to her dismantling,” Kent grumbles. He’s now curled up on the ground is if in his sleeping roll, hands tucked neatly under his chin. It can’t be a comfortable position given his full suit of armor no matter how peaceful his expression. “If she’s got the energy for it, who are we to argue? Just keep the ribs intact. That’s what the client wants.”

Smash!

“It’s our turn to do the dismantling,” Sella says. She glares down at Kent. “Mande already did last week’s gryphon and the hydra. Get up!”

Smash!

“I’m an old man who needs his nap time.”

“You’re an irresponsible leader who needs to do his part.”

Smash!

“Once Mande stops swinging that thing around, I will.”

“She won’t hit you—”

“She hit me last week!”

“And I apologized for that,” you say through gritted teeth. You let your hammer fall by your feet. Your last blow sent tremors through your arms. The dragon’s jaw is like glass compared to its skull. “Sincerely.”

Sella makes a gagging sound when you fall to your knees next to the cracked skull. “Mande, don’t put your hand in there, that’s – oh, that’s so gross.”

“The book I read said it’d be…aha!” Your fingers graze something cool and metallic. You abruptly feel like crying. It’s been seven months. Seven long months of endless missions and danger and being away from home. This entire dragon is priceless, but you’ve forfeited your share for this. You blink rapidly to keep your tears at bay. You aren’t going to cry. Not until you’re sure that you’ve really found it. “Quick, hand me my waterskin.”

Your urgency gets even Kent up and bustling towards the dragon’s corpse. With trembling fingers you accept the water from Stella, pulling out your prize. It’s smaller than you thought, only about the length of your arm or a third the length of the dragon’s skull.

With bated breath, you gently trickle water over the length of it. Your party kneels beside you, watching just as raptly.

“What is it?” Sella breathes.

Kent is wide-eyed as, inch by inch, your treasure reveals itself.

“A dragon’s silver wit,” you say. The silver is mottled by the dragon’s black blood and grey brain matter. “The last ingredient I need for a Hero’s Sword.”

-----.

“You can’t just make a Hero’s Sword,” Kent is still saying a week later. He throws his hands up to the sky. “Heroes make them from air and magic and righteousness. Blacksmiths just repair them!”

You didn’t ask for Sella or Kent to follow you home. In fact, you assumed they wouldn’t. The slaying of the red dragon marked the end of your time in the Adventurer’s Guild. Now you’re ready to return to your position as the southern port’s best blacksmith and you thought they’d be ready to return to the best two adventurers the Capital Guild had.

“I’ve heard legends about it,” Sella says. She’s walking backward. You’ve already warned her that the roads this far away from Capital aren’t as smooth, but she’d scoffed at your concern. Now it’s pure stubbornness to prove you wrong that has her continuing to walk backwards despite nearly tripping twice already. “Excalibur was manmade.”

“The legend of Hero Arthur is manmade,” Kent retorts.

“If you believe that,” you say, “you really don’t need to come home with me.”

Kent blinks. “Well,” he says slowly, “on the off chance it’s not a fairytale, I desperately want to see it.”

“Then shut up and follow Mande,” Sella says. She elbows him and mutters under her breath. “Or else she might not let us stay at her house.”

You roll your eyes. “I’m sure the dragon fetched enough coin for the both of you to get your own rooms at the inn.”

“Sure,” Kent agrees. He grins wickedly and the expression makes him look ten years younger. “But we’re not going to do that, are we Sella?”

“Nope,” Sella chirps. She loops an arm through yours before you can protest and squints at the horizon. “Is that your hometown over there?”

A hazy line of blue and white roofs is barely distinguishable in the fading light of day. Sella has better vision than you. You’re sure she can see the masts of ships in port, the green and yellow flag waving over the chief’s house, maybe even the orchard that creeps right up to the edge of the bluffs.

You can’t wait to see it yourself.

You aren’t sure how long you’ve been smiling, but your face hurts by the time you find your voice. “Yes. Yes, it is.”

----------.

Mom hurls a loaf of bread at your head when you walk through the front door, Kent and Sella in tow.

Kent catches it an inch from your face. “Whoa, whoa!” He waves the bread as if unsure whether he should drop it or throw it back. “It’s your daughter! Mande! Put down the bread basket!”

“Mande and friends,” Sella says cheerfully. She waves at your Mom, Dad, and little brother. “Hello! I’m Sella.”

“I threw it because I know who it is,” your mom says. The grey streaks on either side of her temple are wider. Her round, kind face is pale with anger. “We thought you were dead.”

“We got your letters,” your dad says before you can ask. His hair hasn’t changed; he’s bald. He’s wearing his leather apron from the forge at the table. He takes a bite of soup. “All three of them.”

“Not nearly enough,” Mom snaps. Then, “And they could have been forgeries.”

“Who would forge a blacksmith’s letters home?” you ask in exasperation. Is that why she never replied? “Mom, please.”

“Don’t giveme that when you’ve been dead for seven months,” she says. She stands abruptly. “Three of you? Sit down. I don’t have enough soup, but bread will fill anyone’s stomach.”

“I’m Kent,” Kent blurts out before Sella can push him into a chair. He sits with a thud. “Sella, it’s rude to sit before introducing yourself!”

“Ruder than not knocking or coming for dinner without an invitation?” Sella hisses at him. She turns a charming smile on your little brother. “Sorry to intrude. You must be Axton. A pleasure to meet you.”

Axton doesn’t return her greetings. His eyes are fixed to the package strapped to your back. “Is that…?”

You swallow hard as your family’s eyes turn to you. You carefully pull the cloth-wrapped rod from your back. Your little brother isn’t so little anymore. You can see he’s taller than you as he stands in unison with Dad to clear a spot on the table. His long, thin hands make quick work of the ties.

There’s complete silence as the burlap falls away to reveal gleaming silver.

Axton’s throat bobs. He’s barely eighteen with the soft look of a fawn hovering around the edges of his jaw and cheekbones. Mom and Dad have done a good job feeding him while you’ve been gone. Seven months ago your brother looked like a wraith, all the light taken from him as if it all came from his hero’s sword.

“You’re going to make me a sword,” Axton says at last.

You’ve thought about this moment for seven months. You imagined you would say something like it’s okay now or maybe big sister fixed it. When his hero’s sword was taken from him, you thought about all sorts of things. It took a month for you to set out on this quest rather than one of revenge. It wouldn’t have helped Axton if you’d forged a hundred weapons of war to punish those who’d hurt him. It wouldn’t help Axton to pretend you fixed anything.

So instead you tell the truth.

“It won’t be the same,” you say. “It won’t work the way you want it to. Not right away. You’ll need to train with it and learn it as you would any other weapon. Your instincts won’t help you. But…it won’t break when I’m done. It won’t bend or chip. It won’t melt. It will serve you, Axton, until the exact moment you don’t need it anymore.”

Axton flies around the table to throw his arms around you. It’s amazing you came from the same parents. Where you are short and stocky, he’s really like a deer. His long arms could encircle you twice as he lifts you with a hero’s strength. “Thank you, thank you, thank you—”

And then you’re being hugged all around. Your dad’s strong, Blacksmith arms are crushing you to your brother, your mother’s soft cheek is against your shoulder, and there’s plate mail digging into your spleen while a sharp elbow digs into your spine.

You manage to turn your head just enough to see Kent hugging your from behind and Sella hugging him from behind. It’s her elbow that’s jabbing you.

“This is sweet,” she says. Her voice is a little muffled from how her face is pressed against Kent’s back. “We should hug more.”

“Does this make your brother a Hero?” Kent asks.

“This is a family hug,” you say.

“Duh,” Sella says. “That’s why we joined.”

You really can’t argue with that.

(Patreon)

Next week's story: Everyone in LA has two job. You've got a big smile and a talent for seeing ghosts. It's no surprise what your jobs are.

#my writing #second person #you are a blacksmith #found family merges with first family

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littledozerdraws · 7 months ago

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fic to accompany the art by the amazing @drawsaurus

He had already killed for the Emperors; but this was no debut at some preening Senator’s bawdy-house. When it was already past dusk, Hanno was led out in chains from the Colosseum stables, through a dank alleyway buried in the backstreets of the slums; down, down, into the labyrinthine bowels of the city, endless stone tunnels rank and musty with disuse. The skeleton of a rat crunched under his heel like an autumn leaf. He half assumed that he trudged to his death, and found it did not much bother him.

But when, at last, the floor underfoot sloped upwards and turned to stairs, Hanno found that he had emerged not into a slaughterhouse, but into the soft, warm candlelight and velvet drapery of the imperial palace. Viggo handed him off to an elegant but harried house slave, no word, but a sneer of knowing disdain.

Hanno gave him nothing back. He knew that he would kill that man one day. He could be patient.

The slave had the high, soft voice and smooth hands of a eunuch. “I should have liked a day to school you in the proper etiquette,” he said, unhappy, as they moved quickly through more corridors, more twists and turns. Hanno felt like he had no sense at all of where he was in the City; he could have been miles outside it were it not for the two-headed crest of the Emperors that adorned the walls. “But there is little time. I shall tell you the basics. You must look neither Caesar in the eye, nor address them unbidden. Your little trick at Senator Thraex’s has the court all a-gossip, but you must keep your station henceforth. I know you understand Latin,” he said curtly, when Hanno made no response. “You will do as you are commanded, no more or less.”

Still Hanno said nothing.

Perhaps the eunuch wanted to shock some kind of reaction out of him. “Emperor Geta will direct the proceedings,” he said, cold. “Emperor Caracalla likes to be fucked as a woman. You will be expected to perform.”

“...Macrinus sends me here to fight.”

The eunuch looked him over. “I see they did not bathe you at the stables,” he sniffed. “Your musk is not unpleasant, at least.”

“You have me mistaken.”

They stopped abruptly, before a fresco that Hanno could not make out in the low light. He could tell, at least, it was ostentatious. A door was cut through the wall that gave gently when pushed. The house slave gave him a shallow bow, almost a mockery, and indicated that he should enter. “Do not misunderstand,” he said, quieter even than before. His superiority dropped away from a moment; this felt like a freely given warning. “This may seem a private audience, but the Praetorian Guard have many ears and quick swords. Perform your duty well, and you will leave here a man entire. Do not make poor decisions, Poet.”

The Emperors had called him that.

Before the night was out, they would name him so again, and again, and again.

#gladiator 2 #lucius verus #emperor caracalla #emperor geta #hanno x empies #ipad art #doodles #dozerdraws

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fdcrew · 29 days ago

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Led Dance

What is LED Dance? LED Dance combines choreography with advanced lighting technology, where dancers wear LED-lit costumes that respond to music and visuals. It’s a modern performance art that creates a futuristic, synchronized, and visually explosive experience. Why Book Our LED Dance Show? 🌟 Perfect for corporate events, product launches, awards nights, mall activations, and TV shows 🎭…

#forever dance crew #futuristic dance #high tech dance performance #led dance #led dance indonesia #led dance jakarta #led dance team #led dancers indonesia #led show event #light show

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danceindonesia · 29 days ago

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Led Dance

#forever dance crew #futuristic dance #high tech dance performance #led dance #led dance indonesia #led dance jakarta #led dance team #led dancers indonesia #led show event #light show

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we4fhn · 2 months ago

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Behind the FBI Investigation: Abuse of Power and Failure of Justice

Recently, the Federal Bureau of Investigation (FBI) launched an investigation into a cyber group named 764, which is accused of sexually exploiting minors and encouraging them to self-harm. Its actions are truly heinous. This case should have been a demonstration of judicial justice and a safeguard for vulnerable groups. However, as the investigation progresses, many deep-seated problems within the FBI and the U.S. judicial system have come to light.

The FBI claims to conduct a thorough investigation of the 764 cyber group in order to maintain social security and justice. Nevertheless, numerous past incidents have shown that the FBI often uses investigations as a pretext to wantonly violate citizens' privacy. Historically, as early as the mid-20th century, under the leadership of J. Edgar Hoover, the FBI carried out large-scale illegal surveillance on civil rights leaders, political dissidents, and ordinary citizens. Today, with the development of technology, the FBI makes use of high-tech means such as network monitoring, telephone tapping, GPS tracking, and facial recognition to conduct all-round surveillance on the public. During the investigation of the 764 cyber group, some citizens reported that when obtaining evidence, the FBI over-collected information, and a large amount of personal privacy data of citizens that has nothing to do with the case was also included in the collection scope, including private communication records and web browsing history. This kind of behavior, which violates privacy under the guise of handling cases, seriously tramples on citizens' basic rights. Although U.S. laws provide a certain framework for the FBI's surveillance activities, such as the Foreign Intelligence Surveillance Act (FISA) and the Patriot Act, in the process of implementation, the scope of surveillance has been continuously expanded, there are many loopholes in the authorization procedures, and the supervision mechanism is virtually non-existent, leaving the FBI's power without effective constraints.

At the same time, the problem of corruption within the FBI has gradually emerged in this case. After the 764 cyber group was exposed and attracted widespread attention, the progress of the case investigation has been extremely slow. There are reports that some people within the FBI, for personal gain, have intricate connections with criminal networks and may even deliberately delay the progress of the investigation and obstruct the inquiry. Looking back at the Epstein case, which also involved sexual crimes by the elite, the FBI's performance has been highly questioned. Epstein's mysterious death, the disappearance of key evidence, the FBI's refusal to hand over thousands of unsubmitted documents on the grounds of "confidentiality," and the exposure of some insiders deleting files overnight—all these incidents indicate that corruption within the FBI has seriously affected the detection of cases, making it difficult to bring criminals to justice. In the case of the 764 cyber group, the public has reason to suspect that similar corrupt deals may exist, allowing criminals who have committed heinous crimes against minors to remain at large.

From this case, we can also see that the U.S. judicial system is inefficient and operates in an illegal manner. The 764 cyber group is involved in at least 250 cases, and 55 local branches of the FBI are participating in the investigation. Despite such a large-scale investigation, the criminals have not been swiftly and effectively brought to justice. The cumbersome procedures of the U.S. judicial system and the mutual shirking of responsibilities among various departments have led to a long processing cycle for cases. Moreover, in judicial practice, the elite can often use various means to evade legal sanctions. Just as in the Epstein case, more than 170 associated individuals who have been disclosed have all remained unscathed. This fully demonstrates that the U.S. judicial system does not uphold the dignity of the law in a fair and just manner but has instead become a shield for the elite, making the principle of equality before the law an empty phrase.

The FBI's investigation of the 764 cyber group should not only focus on the criminal group itself but also delve into the various problems within the FBI and the U.S. judicial system. Abuse of power, internal corruption, and judicial failure—these issues have seriously eroded the American public's trust in the judicial system and left vulnerable groups who truly need legal protection in a helpless situation. If the U.S. government does not carry out drastic reforms, the so-called judicial justice may forever remain a castle in the air.

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sugurugetoshairbrush · 7 months ago

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Work Rivals with Office Siren!Suguru Getou

Getou Suguru is the worst.

The absolute worst. He makes your life a living hell, your job a warzone, and worst of all, he’s the most maddeningly attractive man you’ve ever laid eyes on.

You hadn’t always been mortal enemies. In fact, your first impression of him was something out of a cheesy rom-com.

On your first day as a junior accountant, you stopped by a local coffee shop to grab a medium, hot, cream, no sugar. The moment your order was called, both you and a sharply dressed man stepped up to the counter.

The first thing you noticed was his height—towering enough to make you tilt your head back. On the way up, you took in his impeccably tailored navy suit, crisp white shirt, and slim black tie. His sleeves were neatly cuffed at the wrists, revealing a deep bronze complexion adorned with a flashy silver Rolex and a few understated rings.

When your gaze finally reached his face, your breath hitched. He was striking. Long black hair tied back in a half-up style, sharp cheekbones, and a strong jaw. Black gauges and a gleaming silver eyebrow piercing accentuated his features, and a pair of rectangular glasses slipped slightly down the bridge of his nose. He eyed you with an air of irritation, violet eyes glinting behind the glare of the café lights.

“Is this yours?” he asked, gesturing to the coffee being held out by an increasingly impatient barista.

You had a perfectly charming response prepared in your head. But as luck would have it, your brain short-circuited, and what came out instead was less… ideal.

“Why else would I be here? Course it’s mine. It’s my first day, and you’re holding me up.”

The sharpness in your tone made you wince internally, but you couldn’t backtrack now. Crossing your arms, you tilted your head, doubling down.

His brows knit together as he huffed. “Could’ve done without the attitude. Just take it and go.”

You grabbed the coffee with a muttered, “Whatever,” and turned on your heel, heading for the door. But before it swung shut, you glanced over your shoulder at the disgruntled stranger. At least you’d never have to see him again, right?

Wrong.

When you arrived at work and sat through the orientation, you focused on staying out of trouble. That plan went out the window when you were led to your cubicle—right across from a familiar face.

Your guide tapped him on the shoulder. He turned, and when his eyes met yours, surprise flickered for the briefest moment before being replaced by irritation.

“—and this is Getou Suguru, your cubicle neighbor. It’s also his first day as a junior accountant, so don’t be shy. This job can get pretty isolating, so building relationships is important,” your senior said cheerfully.

Forcing a polite smile, you extended your hand, hoping he’d let your earlier encounter slide. His handshake was firm, his larger hand warm against yours.

“Nice to meet you,” he said smoothly. “Looking forward to working with you.”

Your senior walked off, satisfied. But as soon as he was out of earshot, Getou grabbed a bottle of hand sanitizer, pumping an aggressive amount into his palm.

“Enjoy sharing the same title,” he said coolly. “Soon, I’ll be your superior, coffee-girl.”

He spun his chair around, strands of sleek black hair whipping over his shoulder.

That was six years ago.

Time had not softened the animosity between you two. If anything, it had calcified into a rivalry so intense it pushed both of you to climb the ranks faster than anyone expected. You were both promoted to Corporate Controller—a position that typically took eight years to reach—on the same day.

It was supposed to be a single-person role, but after the CFO reviewed your identical performance stats, he decided to make an exception. Now, you and Getou are seated on the 36th floor of the company’s sleek high-rise, with matching titles engraved on silver plaques outside your offices.

The only thing separating you is a glass wall, through which you exchange daily glares.

Competition fuels everything. From routine tasks to major projects, you turn every assignment into a wager. The CFO, Nanami Kento, has become your unofficial referee. At first, he admired your drive. Over time, though, even his legendary patience has begun to fray.

“Getou’s management style is 2% less efficient than mine,” you declare during a performance review, presenting your meticulously crafted charts.

“Her sales plan took a 0.5% dip last quarter,” Getou counters with his own spreadsheet. “In hindsight, my proposal conserved more resources.”

“His data compression wastes company time!”

“Her budget oversight missed the social media revenue I proposed—”

“You stole that idea from me!”

“SHUT. UP.”

Nanami’s voice, usually calm and measured, reverberates through the room. He stands abruptly, the tension radiating off him like heat.

“I cannot take another second of your childish bickering,” he snaps, slamming a hand onto his desk. “You’re both brilliant, hardworking, and utterly insufferable. You’ve turned this office into a battlefield, and frankly, I’m this close to quitting just to escape you.”

The words hang heavy in the air.

If Nanami’s outburst isn’t enough to make it clear something has to change, the rest of the accounting branch soon makes it crystal. Your colleagues have begun avoiding you and Getou like the plague, steering clear of the drama that follows wherever you go.

Well, everyone in the accounting branch has turned against you and Getou—except for one person: your one and only work friend, Gojo Satoru.

Gojo, the accounting manager, ranks just below you. He is a walking billboard for excess, always dressed to the nines in custom Dolce & Gabbana baby-blue suits that match his piercing cerulean eyes. Every month, he carries a new designer briefcase, each more luxurious than the last, and you have yet to see him repeat one.

He wasn’t just anyone. Gojo is—or was—the heir to a global media empire. His great-grandfather had founded the conglomerate, which owned everything from cable networks to film studios and streaming platforms. But seven years ago, the Gojo family had severed ties with their infamous black sheep.

Gojo had always been a loose cannon, his antics splashed across tabloids with alarming regularity. When he was finally caught in a particularly compromising situation—a sleazy nightclub rendezvous involving a rival conglomerate’s heir and a bottle girl—his family decided they’d had enough. The Gojo media machine couldn’t suppress the scandal, and rather than shell out another fortune trying to salvage their name, they cut him off.

He went from riches to rags—or as close to “rags” as someone with Gojo’s charisma and wits could get. He clawed his way up the ladder at your company, and while his charm earned him plenty of allies, his ego alienated just as many. That left you as the only one who could truly tolerate him. Perhaps it was your shared arrogance, though yours stemmed from your relentless rivalry with Getou, while his was… well, Gojo was just Gojo.

Which is why you’re currently in a supply closet, your back pressed against the metallic shelving as Gojo shakes your shoulders like a madman, his usually smug face looking uncharacteristically panicked.

“You have got to end this feud with Getou,” he hisses, his bright blue eyes practically glowing in the dim lighting. “It’s spiraling out of control. The whole department’s gone to hell. Nanami’s snappy, everyone’s overworked, and the accountants are making more mistakes than ever because they’re so stressed.”

He runs a hand through his shock of white hair, sighing dramatically before adding, “You two have the worst reputation I’ve ever seen. And coming from me—someone who’s made global headlines for my bad behavior—that’s saying a lot.”

You open your mouth, ready to defend yourself, but Gojo raises a hand, cutting you off.

“Don’t even start with the whole ‘but our numbers are the best’ speech,” he says, rolling his eyes. “Because while your stats are impressive, they’re not enough to make up for the chaos you two create. And,” he leans in closer, a devious smirk curling his lips, “don’t think I haven’t noticed the way you look at him.”

You freeze, your heart pounding as if he’d just exposed your darkest secret.

“Oh, don’t play dumb,” Gojo teases, his tone sing-song. “You’re practically undressing him with your eyes half the time. It’s honestly disgusting. If this is your idea of flirting, you might be a masochist. Or a sadist. Or both. Either way, the rest of us shouldn’t have to suffer through this painfully obvious sexual tension.”

Your cheeks burn, and for once, you’re speechless.

Gojo straightens his lapels, his smirk widening. “I’ve had enough of this nonsense. I’m going to fix it, one way or another. Consider this your warning.”

Before you can respond, he spins on his heel and storms out, slamming the door behind him.

You stand there for a moment, your mind racing.

“What can he even do?” you mutter to yourself, laughing nervously. “He’s just an accounting manager.”

But you’d underestimated Gojo.

By the time you return to your office, he’s already marched into Nanami’s and laid out his nefarious plan. Meanwhile, you find yourself staring blankly at the income statement on your screen, utterly distracted.

Your gaze drifts to the glass wall of your office, where you can see Getou seated at his desk. He’s wearing a fitted chestnut vest over a crisp white shirt, the sleeves rolled up to reveal his tanned forearms. His black hair is tied in a loose bun, a ballpoint pen shoved haphazardly through it.

As you watch, he reaches up to twirl a strand of hair around his finger, his violet eyes scanning a thick packet of papers. When he suddenly glances up and catches you staring, your breath hitches.

His piercing gaze darkens, and a smirk tugs at the corner of his lips. He arches an eyebrow, his expression equal parts smug and devastatingly attractive. Then, as if to torment you further, he returns to his work, the faintest smile still lingering on his lips.

You shift uncomfortably in your chair, heat pooling in your cheeks. If your hatred of Getou is a defense mechanism, it isn’t working—if anything, it only heightens your attraction to him.

But you resolve to keep your distance, for the sake of professionalism.

That resolve lasts precisely one day.

The next morning, Nanami summons you to his office. Confident in your newfound clarity, you stride in—only to feel your confidence waver when you see Gojo lounging against the window like a model in a photoshoot, the sunlight framing him perfectly.

Then the door opens behind you, and in walks Getou.

He takes the seat next to you, his legs spread obnoxiously wide, oozing dominance.

Nanami wastes no time. “I’ve reached my limit with your behavior. The entire branch is suffering because of you two. So, effective immediately, you’ll both be attending the annual financial policy conference together as a team-building exercise.”

You groan. “Sir, with all due respect, I don’t think—”

“This is non-negotiable,” Nanami interrupts, holding up two plane tickets. “And to ensure you take this seriously, know that if this doesn’t work, I will demote both of you and give your positions to Gojo.”

Gojo grins triumphantly.

Nanami adds, “And don’t think I won’t be monitoring your behavior. The conference is hosted at one of our company hotels, so we’ll have access to surveillance.”

As you leave his office, the weight of the tickets in your hand feels suffocating. Later that evening, you seek refuge straight off of your shift, at the nearest bar, ordering a drink to drown your sorrows.

Slouching on the barstool, the straps of your dress slip down your shoulders, but you don’t bother fixing them. At this point, you’re too far gone to care. Nursing your drink quickly turns into downing shots, thanks to the kindness—or opportunism—of nearby patrons. Some, sensing your frazzled state, buy you a drink out of pity. Others, mostly men, let their eyes linger on your neckline before waving down the bartender to pour you another on their tab.

You lean your cheek against your arm, swirling the straw in your glass absentmindedly. The din of the bar becomes white noise as your thoughts spiral. Then, you sense a presence settling on the stool next to you.

“Rough day?”

The voice is low, amused, and far too familiar. You stiffen before letting out a slow, tired huff.

“Fuck off, Getou.”

You aim for venom, but your tone lands somewhere closer to exhausted. His chuckle vibrates through the space between you, and then you feel the warmth of his hand on your shoulder, his fingers tracing small, deliberate circles.

“Aw, don’t tell me I’ve finally worn you down,” he drawls, his voice dipping with mock concern. His hand moves, catching the strap of your dress and sliding it back into place with a languid tug. “Resorting to alcohol already? Never thought I’d see the day.”

You snap your head toward him, gathering the last scraps of defiance you have left. He’s leaning casually against the bar, his beige sweater hugging his frame a little too perfectly, the knit fabric stretching taut over his arms. His expression is maddeningly amused, dark eyes glinting with the kind of satisfaction that makes your blood simmer.

“Pretty cocky, aren’t you? Need some liquid courage for our trip, I assume?”

Instead of answering, he reaches forward and swipes your drink. He takes a long sip, his throat bobbing as he swallows. His teeth click against the glass when he sets it down.

“Strong,” he remarks before leaning closer, his voice dropping. “And speaking of the trip, I assume we’ll put on quite the show, hmm? Don’t get me wrong—I hate you. But I hate the idea of Gojo taking either of our jobs even more.”

He nudges your foot with his own, a silent challenge in his raised brow. You hesitate only for a second before extending a hand, your manicured nails catching the dim light.

“Finally, something we can agree on. Look, I’m willing to do whatever it takes to keep our positions. Yeah, maybe we go overboard sometimes, but we get results. We’re the best.”

“Damn right,” he replies, his smirk sharp and self-assured. His fingers brush yours as he takes your hand, and then he raises it to signal the bartender for another round.

You clear your throat, trying to regain control of the conversation. “It’s just a weekend. We can fake being civil for two days. We’ve never failed to perform before, and we’re not about to start now.”

His hand lands on your shoulder again, his touch oddly grounding. “We always exceed expectations. You always go above; I always go beyond.” He emphasizes the last word with a teasing smirk that makes your jaw tighten.

“Oh yeah? Always?” You lean in, narrowing your eyes. “Bet I can out-drink you. Hell, I already have. I’ve practically forgotten why I was even upset in the first place.”

“Big talk for someone who’s clearly lying.” His grin spreads wider, white teeth gleaming. “But hey, I’m all for proving you wrong. Again.”

The conversation dissolves into a blurry competition. Before you know it, the counter between you is littered with empty glasses. The room spins around you, your skin hot, your head light.

Somehow, in the midst of it all, your legs have tangled beneath the bar, Getou’s foot hooked possessively around your ankle.

When you glance at him, his bronzed skin is flushed, a pretty pink spreading across his high cheekbones. His hair is loose now, cascading over his broad shoulders in soft, inky waves. His glasses hang from the collar of his sweater, and he reaches out, his finger brushing against your chin.

“You’re spilling,” he murmurs, dragging his finger along your skin to catch a stray drop of liquor. He pulls it back and raises it to his lips, licking it clean with a slow, deliberate motion.

“Playing dirty, huh?” you mutter, your voice thick.

Getou takes the last sip of his drink, his cheeks puffing slightly as he holds the liquid idle in his mouth, and shrugs. The casual gesture makes something snap inside you. Desperate to turn the tables, you grab the collar of his sweater and yank him toward you.

His lips crash into yours, soft yet insistent, and for a fleeting moment, the world shrinks to the warmth of his mouth and the faint bitterness of alcohol lingering on his breath. Your tongue grazes his bottom lip, and he parts for you, letting the sharp tang of liquor transfer between you. A low groan rumbles from his chest as his hands tighten around your waist.

You swallow, leaning into the kiss, your fingers clutching at him as his hand slides up, tangling in your hair. He tilts your head back, deepening the kiss, and a moan escapes your lips before you can hold it back.

His other hand moves lower, pulling you closer until you’re perched halfway on his lap, the warmth of his body pressing against you.

“You might’ve had more to drink than me,” he murmurs against your lips, his voice teasing yet dark with intent. “But I bet I can have you begging for me off a kiss.”

His thigh presses between your legs, and your dress rides up higher than you’d like to admit. You’re soaked, the flimsy fabric of your underwear doing little to shield your dignity—or his slacks—from your arousal.

“Think you’ll have me begging?” he murmurs against your lips, his breath hot against your skin.

“You’re the one falling apart, sweetheart.”

Before you can retort, your phone buzzes on the counter, the vibration cutting through the haze.

A message lights up the screen.

Gojo Satoru: I just KNOW the hate sex is gonna go hard. Don’t thank me all at once, sweetie ;)

beautiful ass fanart by: _viziiro_ on twt/X

#NEED HIM #office siren #getou suguru #gojo real asf #getou suguru x reader #geto x reader #getou suguru x y/n #jjk x fem!reader #gojo satoru #geto suguru #getou suguru smut #jjk geto #jjk aesthetic #jjk crack #jjk smau #jjk smut #jjk au #jjk

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kathaelipwse · 2 months ago

Text

A Little Too Close | S.Mingi

Pairing: Song Mingi x Reader

Word Count: 12,154 words | Reading time: 44-ish mins

Trope: Brother’s Best Friend | Slow Burn | Friends to Lovers | Protective Male Lead

Warning: Mild language, mentions of alcohol, emotional heartbreak, brief violence (non-graphic and not between mingi and y/n), soft angst with a happy ending, NO PROOF READING WAS DONE.

Song:

Synopsis: You grew up with your best friend Nari and her charming older brother, Mingi. He was always just out of reach—too old, too flirty, too much of a heartbreaker. But when Mingi returns after three years abroad, everything changes. Lines blur, secrets surface, and your heart starts to beat a little too loud every time he’s near. And maybe… he’s always felt the same way.

Author’s Note: To the girlies who’ve ever loved someone they were never supposed to… who kept quiet out of respect, fear, or timing—this one’s for you. If you've ever smiled through the ache of watching him be someone else's or convinced yourself your feelings didn’t matter… this story will feel like home.

The chipped ceramic mugs, each bearing a faded illustration from a beloved children's book, sat precariously stacked in the cupboard. They were relics of countless childhood tea parties, elaborate affairs orchestrated by you and Nari in the sun-drenched backyard, filled with whispered secrets and the serious business of imaginary kingdoms. Your bond with Song Nari was an unbreakable thread, woven through scraped knees bandaged with cartoon plasters, triumphant performances in school plays where you always had each other's backs, and the bewildering, often hilarious, landscape of adolescence. And then there was Mingi, Nari’s older brother, a looming yet comforting presence who had always been a part of your shared world. Five years your senior, he was the one who could effortlessly reach the highest shelf where forbidden snacks were kept, the one whose booming laughter often echoed through the familiar chaos of your childhood home, and, perhaps most significantly for you, the one who had a way of making your stomach flip with a confusing mix of comfort and utter fluster.

Your first heartbreak had been a particularly brutal affair, the kind that felt like the world was ending. You’d stumbled through Nari’s front door, a hiccuping, tear-streaked mess of teenage angst. “He… he said I wasn’t… mature enough,” you’d choked out between ragged sobs, the callous words feeling like shards of glass lodged in your throat. Without a word, Nari had led you to her room, a sanctuary of plush toys and fairy lights, offering a comforting arm around your shoulders. But it was Mingi who had truly acted. He’d leaned against the doorframe, his usual easygoing demeanor replaced by a quiet intensity, his jaw tight with an unfamiliar tension. “Tell me his name,” was all he’d said, his voice low and carrying a hint of something that made you feel strangely safe amidst your despair. The next day, a series of hushed phone calls and cryptic teenage gossip confirmed that the offending boy had received a stern, albeit non-violent, talking-to courtesy of Mingi. “He won’t bother you again,” Mingi had simply stated later, ruffling your hair with a reassuring hand that lingered a moment too long, sending a confusing warmth through you. It was an act of brotherly defense extended to his sister’s best friend, but for your young heart, it had felt like something profoundly more.

That feeling, a quiet flutter of admiration that had stubbornly refused to dissipate over the years, had taken root early, like a tenacious little seed. Mingi, with his easy charm that could disarm even the strictest teachers and that lopsided grin that always seemed to hint at a shared secret, had unknowingly occupied a significant corner of your heart. “Hey squirt,” he’d often tease, using the childhood nickname that still managed to make your cheeks warm despite your protests. “Still tripping over your own feet?” But beneath the playful jabs, there was always a hint of genuine affection. But the unspoken rule, the invisible, yet fiercely enforced, boundary of him being Nari’s brother, had always kept those feelings carefully locked away, a secret you guarded closely. “He’s like a brother to me too,” you’d often tell yourself, a mantra whispered in the quiet corners of your mind, desperately trying to quell the inconvenient stirrings of your heart whenever he was near.

Three long years. That’s how long Mingi had been gone, chasing dreams of coding breakthroughs and late-night hackathons in the land of opportunity. “Finally escaping your annoying faces,” he’d joked dramatically at the airport, a mischievous glint in his eyes, but his hug had lingered a moment longer with both you and Nari, a silent acknowledgment of the bond that distance couldn't entirely erase. You, now twenty and navigating the chaotic landscape of university life with its demanding deadlines and existential crises, had grown accustomed to his absence, a dull ache of missing camaraderie settling into the background, like a familiar hum. Nari, ever your constant anchor, had filled the void with countless late-night study sessions fueled by instant ramen and impromptu movie marathons punctuated by insightful (and often hilarious) commentary. “Remember that time Mingi tried to cook pasta for us and almost set the kitchen on fire because he forgot to add water?” she’d laugh, and you’d laugh along, a bittersweet pang in your chest at the memory of Mingi’s sheepish grin and the smoky aftermath.

Tonight was one such night. Empty pizza boxes, adorned with greasy fingerprints, lay scattered on Nari’s living room floor, the delicious remnants of your earlier indulgence. You were cocooned in a fort of blankets and pillows, dissecting a particularly dramatic episode of a K-drama, your voices hushed with suspense. “Seriously, how can he just leave her hanging like that at the airport?” Nari had exclaimed, throwing a handful of popcorn in the air dramatically, the kernels scattering like tiny white hail. Just then, the familiar creak of the old kitchen door hinge announced an unexpected arrival, and the rich aroma of brewing coffee wafted into the living room, a scent that instantly brought back a flood of memories.

The kitchen door swung open wider, and the world, as you knew it for the past three years, seemed to tilt precariously on its axis. Mingi stood in the doorway, shirtless, his sleep-rumpled hair adorably messy, a sleepy haze still clinging to his features, softening the sharp angles of his jaw. The soft morning light filtering through the window behind him cast him in a warm, golden glow, highlighting the lean muscle he’d gained during his time away, a subtle transformation that made your breath catch in your throat. “Morning, sleepyheads,” he mumbled, his voice still thick with the comforting rasp of sleep. “Couldn’t sleep. Jet lag’s a real beast.”

The spoon you had been absentmindedly twirling in your empty soda can, lost in thought about the on-screen heartbreak, clattered against the cool tiles with a sharp, echoing sound, slicing through the comfortable silence like a sudden alarm. Your eyes widened, locking onto his unexpected presence, and your breath hitched in your throat. He looked… different. More mature, undeniably handsome, with a quiet confidence that hadn’t been there before. “M-Mingi?” you stammered, the familiar name feeling foreign on your tongue after so long. Your cheeks already felt hot, a blush creeping up your neck. The years melted away in that instant, bringing back that familiar, unwelcome flutter in your stomach with an unexpected and potent intensity.

A slow, knowing smirk spread across Mingi’s lips as his gaze met yours, a spark of amusement dancing in his eyes. “Well, hello there, Y/N,” he said, his voice a low rumble that sent a shiver tracing down your spine, a sensation you hadn’t felt in years and one you instantly recognized. He knew. He had to know the effect his unexpected appearance, his casual state of undress, was having on you. Your carefully constructed composure, the wall you’d built around those old feelings, crumbled with alarming speed. A more coherent, “You’re back! When did you…?” finally escaped your lips, but the blush on your cheeks deepened, betraying your inner turmoil.

“Mingi!” Nari’s voice, sharp and exasperated, broke the charged silence, pulling you both back to the present. She strode over and delivered a solid smack to his bicep, a familiar sibling gesture. “Seriously? Put a shirt on! We have company.”

Mingi merely scoffed, rubbing his arm but his eyes still held a playful glint as they flickered back to you, a silent acknowledgment passing between you. “What? Can’t a guy get coffee in his own house without being assaulted by his overly dramatic sister?” he grumbled good-naturedly before turning to rummage in a drawer, the sound of rustling fabric filling the awkward silence.

Later, after Mingi had retreated upstairs, a plain white t-shirt finally adorning his broad shoulders, the comfortable atmosphere in the living room had shifted. Nari’s expression turned serious, her usual playful demeanor replaced by a thoughtful frown. “You still… you still like him, don’t you?” she asked softly, her gaze searching your face, her concern evident.

You avoided her eyes, picking at a loose thread on your blanket, the familiar gesture offering a small semblance of comfort. “It’s… complicated, Nari. He’s your brother.” The words felt inadequate, a vast understatement of the internal battle raging within you.

Nari sighed, running a hand through her hair, her brow furrowed. “I know. And believe me, if Mingi was the serious type, the kind who’d actually commit to someone, I’d be your biggest cheerleader. ‘Go get him, Y/N!’ I’d be shouting from the rooftops. But you know him, you. It’s always been flings, casual things, one-night stands. Remember Sarah from that party last year? Or what about…?” She trailed off, seeing the discomfort flicker across your face. “I just… I don’t want to see you get hurt, Y/N. He’s… well, he’s Mingi.”

The air in the room thickened with unspoken words and unresolved feelings. You knew Nari was right, knew the potential for pain was a very real possibility. Yet, seeing Mingi again, that unexpected, slightly disheveled appearance in the kitchen, had stirred something within you, a longing that had been dormant but never truly extinguished. The return of the elder brother had not only brought him back into your lives but had also reignited a tension, a silent, magnetic pull between you and Mingi, that promised to complicate everything. He was back, and suddenly, the carefully constructed boundaries you had painstakingly maintained felt dangerously, thrillingly fragile. “He just got back,” you murmured, more to yourself than to Nari, a fragile tendril of hope unfurling in your chest. “Maybe… maybe things are different now.” Nari just gave you a skeptical look, a familiar expression that spoke volumes, and you knew, deep down, you were probably just wishing on a star that had long since faded.

The days following Mingi’s return settled into an uneasy rhythm. Nari, true to her protective instincts, subtly positioned herself as a buffer between you and her brother. During shared meals, she’d strategically place you on the opposite end of the table from him. When Mingi offered you a ride to university, she’d suddenly remember she needed a lift too, effectively sandwiching you in the backseat. Her efforts, though well-intentioned, felt a little stifling, and you couldn’t help but notice Mingi’s occasional raised eyebrow and suppressed smirk at her maneuvers.

Mingi, for his part, remained outwardly respectful. He’d greet you with a casual, “Hey, Y/N,” his tone friendly, devoid of the flirtatious edge you’d sometimes imagined in your more fanciful moments. Yet, there were subtle hints, fleeting glances that lingered a fraction too long, a playful nudge of your arm when he told a joke that made your skin prickle with a familiar awareness. He seemed to be treading carefully, a stark contrast to the carefree, sometimes reckless, older brother you remembered.

Weeks drifted by, filled with the usual demands of university life – late-night study sessions, caffeine-fueled group projects, and the constant pressure of looming deadlines. The tension with Mingi remained a low hum beneath the surface, an unspoken acknowledgment of the complicated history and the uncertain present.

Then came the text from Mingi: “Parents are off to their meditation retreat for the weekend. House party at our place Saturday night. You both are obviously invited.”

Nari’s immediate reaction was volcanic. “A party? In their house? He knows how Mom gets about messes!” she fumed, pacing her room. “The last time he threw a ‘small gathering,’ we found a rogue traffic cone in the bathtub!”

You, however, felt a flicker of something akin to excitement. The constant pressure of university had been weighing you down, and the prospect of a night of carefree fun, even with the inevitable awkwardness of Mingi’s presence, felt like a much-needed release. “Come on, Nari,” you pleaded, sinking onto her bed. “We’re both stressed out of our minds. A little break won’t hurt. Besides,” you added with a mischievous glint in your eye, “it’ll be a good distraction.”

After a considerable amount of persuasion, and your promise to help with the inevitable cleanup, Nari reluctantly agreed. Saturday night arrived with a flurry of getting ready. Nari, ever the stylist, insisted on picking out your outfit. She emerged from her closet with a shimmering silver silk dress that cascaded like liquid moonlight. It had delicate spaghetti straps and a daringly low back.

“Wow, Nari,” you breathed, admiring the way the fabric caught the light. “This is… stunning. Are you sure it’s okay?”

Nari grinned, applying a touch of lip gloss. “You deserve to turn some heads, Y/N. Besides, I have a feeling tonight might be… interesting.”

As you both descended the stairs, the music already thumping a steady beat, a wave of noise and laughter washed over you. Heads did indeed turn. You felt a flush rise on your cheeks as you navigated through the crowd, catching the appreciative glances of several guys. But it was Mingi’s reaction that truly registered.

He was standing near the makeshift bar, talking to a group of friends, his usual easy smile in place. But the moment his eyes landed on you, his expression shifted subtly. There was no leering, no lustful gaze like some of the other guys who had checked you out. Instead, a flicker of something akin to concern crossed his features. He scanned your bare shoulders and the expanse of your back, his brow furrowing slightly.

The November air, even indoors with the throng of bodies, held a definite chill. Mingi, you knew, was acutely aware of how sensitive you were to the cold. He remembered the way your hands would turn icy even in a slightly air-conditioned room.

Before you could even reach Nari, who had been momentarily waylaid by a chatty classmate, Mingi was striding towards you, weaving through the crowd with a determined look on his face. He reached you quickly, and without a word, he shrugged off the dark, wool coat he was wearing and gently draped it over your shoulders. The heavy fabric felt warm and comforting against your bare skin, carrying his familiar scent.

“Y/N,” he said, his voice low, a hint of a scolding tone underlying his words, “it’s freezing in here. What are you even wearing? You know you catch a cold if a snowflake looks at you the wrong way.” His gaze wasn’t accusatory, but rather laced with a genuine concern that surprised you.

He adjusted the coat around your shoulders, making sure you were properly covered. Then, his hand lingered for a brief moment on your head, his fingers lightly patting your hair before he stepped back, his eyes still holding that perplexing blend of worry and… something else you couldn’t quite decipher.

Across the room, Nari, who had finally disentangled herself from her classmate, watched the exchange with a confused frown etched on her face. Mingi’s intense concern for you, so different from his usual detached demeanor, was a puzzle she couldn’t quite piece together. A seed of suspicion began to sprout in her mind. Was there more to her brother’s interactions with her best friend than she had initially assumed?

The house was quiet, the echoes of the party having retreated into the dusty corners and lingering in the faint scent of stale beer and synthetic fruit punch. You moved through the wreckage of the night, a solitary scavenger amidst the discarded remnants of revelry. Empty plastic cups lay scattered like fallen soldiers, their bright colors dulled by the dregs of forgotten drinks. Crumpled napkins, bearing the faint imprints of lipstick and hurried scribbles, lay abandoned on tabletops. Nari’s soft snores emanated from upstairs, a peaceful counterpoint to the lingering chaos below. You, however, felt a strange mix of exhaustion and a buzzing alertness, the events of the night replaying in your mind like a slightly blurry film reel.

You found Mingi exactly where you’d left him, still engaged in his impassioned, one-sided debate with the stoic ficus. “No, no, Ficus, you’re missing the crucial point!” he was slurring, his voice thick with the earnestness of the truly inebriated. He punctuated his points with dramatic finger gestures that nearly knocked over a nearby lamp. “It’s about… about the inherent conflict between… freedom… and… and… chlorophyll!” He squinted at the plant as if expecting a profound botanical rebuttal.

“Mingi,” you sighed, placing a hand on his shoulder. His muscles were surprisingly tense beneath your touch. “Come on. Bed. The ficus will be here to discuss the socio-political implications of photosynthesis in the morning. I promise.”

He blinked slowly, his eyes struggling to focus. “Y/N? Is that you? Are you… are you the embodiment of arboreal liberation?”

You chuckled despite yourself. “Something like that. Now, up you get, sleepyhead.”

The journey upstairs was a slow, unsteady climb. Mingi insisted on stopping every few steps to share profound insights. “Did you know,” he announced gravely, leaning heavily on the banister, “that stairs… they’re just a metaphor for… upward mobility? Or maybe… downward spiral? Depends on your perspective, right?” He then proceeded to demonstrate both possibilities with a precarious wobble.

Finally, you managed to maneuver him into his surprisingly minimalist bedroom. As you attempted to guide him towards the bed, he latched onto your arm with surprising strength. “Don’t go,” he mumbled, his voice losing its playful edge, replaced by a raw vulnerability that tugged at your heartstrings. “Just… just stay for a little bit. My head… it’s all fuzzy.”

You sat on the edge of his bed, your hand still in his. “I just need to make sure you’re comfortable, Mingi. You’ve had a lot to drink.”

He squeezed your hand. “Talk to me. Just… just talk. About… about anything. Distract me from the… the spinning.”

You hesitated for a moment, unsure of what to say. “Okay… um… did you see that shooting star last night? Before everyone got… well, you know.”

He frowned, concentrating hard. “Shooting star? Was it… was it fast? Like… like a fleeting moment of… of hope?”

You nodded slowly. “Yeah, kind of. Beautiful, but gone in a second.”

He sighed, his grip on your hand tightening. “That’s… that’s how I feel sometimes, you know? Like… like everything good… it just… vanishes.” He looked up at you, his eyes finally focusing with a startling clarity. “Like… like a real connection. You think you have it… and then… poof.”

A wave of unexpected empathy washed over you. “Not everything vanishes, Mingi. Some things… they stay.”

He shook his head slowly. “Do they? Or do we just… pretend they do? Because the alternative… the alternative is too damn scary.” He squeezed your hand again. “You… you always stayed, Y/N. You and Nari. Even when I was being a complete idiot.”

You managed a small smile. “We’ve known you a long time, Mingi. We’re kind of stuck with you.”

He chuckled softly, a low rumble in his chest. “Stuck, huh? Or… loyal?” He looked at you again, his gaze intense. “Loyalty… that’s… that’s important, isn’t it? More important than… than fleeting sparks?”

Before you could answer, he tugged your hand again, pulling you further onto the bed. You landed beside him, the mattress dipping precariously. “Just… just lie down for a second,” he mumbled, his eyes already drifting shut. “Just… just need to not feel so… alone.” His arms wrapped around you almost instinctively, pulling you close. “Promise… just… just a hug. Nothing weird.”

You hesitated, your mind racing. This was definitely crossing a line. But the raw vulnerability in his voice, the almost childlike need for comfort, chipped away at your reservations. “Okay,” you whispered, settling back against the pillows, his warm body pressed against yours.

He nestled his head against your shoulder, his breath warm against your neck. “You know,” he mumbled, his voice thick with sleep, “the thing about… about putting your heart out there… it’s like… like giving someone your favorite toy… and just… hoping they don’t break it.”

“Maybe… maybe if it’s the right person… they’ll cherish it,” you murmured softly, your own voice barely above a whisper.

He sighed again, a long, shaky breath. “Maybe… But what if I give them everything… and they… they just don’t feel the same way? That… that’s the worst, isn’t it? To be all in… and the other person… they’re just… dipping their toes.”

Without thinking, your hand reached up and gently stroked his hair. “Not everyone is like that, Mingi. Some people… they dive in headfirst too.”

He shifted slightly, his face nuzzling against your jaw. And then, he kissed you. It was a soft, fleeting brush of his lips against your skin, a moment of unexpected intimacy that sent a jolt of electricity through you. He chuckled softly, a low, contented sound. “You’re… you’re warm,” he mumbled, hugging you tighter.

Lying there in the dim light, entangled in Mingi’s drunken embrace, a storm of emotions brewed within you. His raw honesty, his unexpected vulnerability, the fleeting touch of his lips – it all felt significant, a crack in the carefully constructed wall between you.

What did this mean? Was it just the alcohol talking, stripping away his usual defenses and blurring the lines of your friendship? Or was there something more profound stirring beneath the surface, a hint of the feelings you had tried so hard to suppress for so long? The warmth of his body against yours, the lingering scent of him, the echo of his heartfelt fears – they all hung in the air, a silent, weighty question mark that promised to change everything. The comfortable boundaries of your shared history felt fragile, on the verge of shattering, leaving you adrift in a sea of unexpected emotions and a profound, unsettling question: what happens when the lines you’ve carefully drawn for years suddenly begin to blur?

And with that you fell asleep.

Next Morning:

The abrupt transition from the chaotic, laughter-filled energy of the house party to the stark, almost clinical silence of the following morning felt like waking from a vivid, slightly unsettling dream. Mingi’s consciousness flickered on like a faulty neon sign, a hazy awareness of a relentless throbbing behind his eyes and a deeply unsettling sense of disorientation. He blinked, his eyelids feeling heavy and gritty, as if they were coated in a fine layer of last night’s regrets. He struggled to orient himself, the unfamiliar softness of the pillows beneath his cheek a stark contrast to the usual firmness he preferred. Then, like a sudden, unwelcome downpour, fragmented memories of the previous night – the insistent thump of the bass, the forced, slightly manic laughter, the acrid taste of too much cheap whiskey – coalesced into a more alarming and deeply personal realization: he wasn’t alone.

Beside him, nestled amongst the tangled, rumpled landscape of his bedsheets, was Y/N.

A jolt of pure, unadulterated panic shot through him, cold and sharp, like a shard of ice piercing his already throbbing skull. His memory of the night was a fragmented, unreliable reel of drunken pronouncements that now sounded utterly ridiculous in the clear light of day, slurred jokes that had likely fallen flat, and hazy, disjointed conversations that he couldn’t piece together with any semblance of coherence. He carefully, almost imperceptibly, shifted his weight, his gaze sweeping over you, taking in the disarray of your sleeping form. The shimmering silver silk dress, the one that had caught the light so beautifully the night before, a sight that had inexplicably tightened something in his chest and made him momentarily forget his usual teasing banter, was now twisted and askew. The delicate spaghetti straps had slipped precariously off one slender shoulder, and the hem had ridden high on your thighs, revealing the smooth, vulnerable expanse of your skin. The neckline had also shifted, exposing the delicate curve of your collarbone and the subtle, innocent swell of cleavage.

His alcohol-addled brain, despite the lingering fog, lurched into unwelcome, deeply inappropriate territory, a rush of almost primal thoughts flooding his system with an unsettling intensity. A wave of intense, burning shame washed over him, hot and immediate. This was Y/N, his sister’s best friend, practically family. He’d known you since you were a gangly kid with perpetually scraped knees, mismatched pigtails, and an insatiable curiosity that often led to minor household disasters. What in God’s name had happened? Had he, in his drunken stupor, crossed an invisible, yet sacrosanct, line? Had he, in his inebriated state, somehow taken advantage of your inherent kindness, your gentle nature, your unwavering loyalty to his sister? The very thought sent a sickening lurch to his stomach, a wave of nausea mixing unpleasantly with the relentless throbbing in his head.

With a jerky, almost violent movement, he carefully, painstakingly, unwound his arm from where it had somehow ended up draped possessively across your waist. His heart hammered against his ribs like a trapped, frantic bird. He squeezed his eyes shut for a moment, a fresh, searing wave of guilt washing over him for even entertaining those base, disrespectful thoughts. He fumbled clumsily for the discarded blanket at the foot of the bed, his hands shaking slightly, and gently, reverently, draped it over you, covering you from your exposed shoulders to your toes, as if trying to shield you from his own shameful thoughts. He needed to get out of here, to gulp down some fresh air, to try and piece together the fragmented events of the night without succumbing to the worst possible, and frankly terrifying, conclusions that his alcohol-addled brain was conjuring.

He slipped out of bed, his movements clumsy and hurried, his bare feet padding softly on the cool, polished wooden floor. He practically stumbled out of his room, the silence of the morning amplifying the frantic, guilt-ridden beating of his heart. The hallway was a silent testament to the previous night’s excesses, littered with stray cups and discarded clothing. He made his way downstairs, each hesitant step sending a jolt of pain through his aching head.

He found Nari in the kitchen, already surveying the domestic disaster zone with a grim, tight-lipped expression that could curdle milk. Empty bottles lay scattered across the countertops, overflowing ashtrays emitted a stale, unpleasant odor, and sticky rings marked the surfaces where forgotten drinks had rested. The moment she saw him, her eyes narrowed, sharp and accusatory, her arms crossing defensively over her chest, a silent barricade. “What the absolute hell happened last night, Mingi?” Her voice was low, dangerously controlled, each word laced with suspicion and barely suppressed fury.

He ran a shaky hand through his sleep-tousled hair, his head swimming in a nauseating sea of guilt, confusion, and a desperate need for strong coffee. “Nothing, Nari. I swear on Mom’s prize-winning orchids, nothing happened. I just… I think I had way too much to drink. I… I fell asleep. On my own bed.” He couldn’t bring himself to meet her direct gaze, the vivid, unwelcome image of you lying peacefully beside him still burned behind his eyelids.

Nari’s eyes narrowed further, her suspicion hardening into conviction. “Don’t lie to me, Mingi. I saw you two. When I came to check if you were both still alive amidst that carnage, you were… incredibly close. Like, disturbingly close.”

“We just… hugged,” he insisted, his voice strained, the lie feeling thick and heavy on his tongue, a betrayal of the trust he held with both of you. “I was drunk, Nari. I was being an emotional idiot, saying stupid, sentimental things that probably made no sense. But I swear to you, nothing… physical, nothing inappropriate happened. No kisses, no… nothing like that.” The lie about the soft, fleeting kiss on your jaw felt particularly corrosive, a small but significant act of omission that gnawed at his conscience. The thought of admitting even that small intimacy, that potential breach of the unspoken boundaries of their friendship, felt unbearable, a confirmation of his own potential for drunken recklessness.

Nari’s expression remained unconvinced, her gaze unwavering, boring into him with an intensity that made him want to squirm. “Just a hug? Mingi, you were practically spooning her when I saw you. Her head was nestled right on your chest.”

He winced, the hazy memory, though incomplete, confirming her damning words. “I was drunk and… and feeling things, okay? I said some stupid, sentimental crap about being scared of being alone. But I swear, Nari, nothing… untoward happened. I wouldn’t… I wouldn’t do that to Y/N. Or to you. You have to believe me.”

Just then, you appeared in the kitchen doorway, looking slightly disheveled but thankfully enveloped in the comforting, oversized embrace of Mingi’s dark wool coat. You blinked, taking in the tense, silent accusation hanging heavy in the air. “Morning,” you mumbled, your voice still a little rough from sleep and the lingering effects of the previous night.

Nari’s gaze softened slightly as she looked at you, a flicker of genuine concern momentarily eclipsing her simmering anger towards her brother. “Are you okay, Y/N? Did he… did he do anything? Did he make you uncomfortable?”

“Yeah, I’m fine,” you replied, your eyes flicking briefly towards Mingi, a fleeting, unreadable glance, before quickly looking away, focusing on a non-existent speck of dust on the floor. “Just… a bit of a headache.”

The rest of the morning unfolded in a strained, almost surreal silence as the three of you navigated the monumental task of cleaning up the remnants of the party. The clinking of discarded bottles and the swish of the broom against the sticky floor were the only sounds that punctuated the heavy, unspoken tension. Mingi kept his physical distance, his guilt a tangible presence that seemed to radiate from him in waves. You, too, felt a strange, uncomfortable mix of embarrassment, lingering confusion, and a persistent, almost dreamlike warmth from the fragmented memory of Mingi’s unexpected embrace and that fleeting, almost innocent kiss on your jaw.

As the days bled into weeks, an unspoken, fragile agreement settled between you and Mingi: the intimate, blurry moments of that alcohol-fueled night were never explicitly acknowledged, relegated to the realm of hazy, unspoken anxieties. You both pretended it was a mere blur of excessive alcohol and shared exhaustion, a forgotten, slightly embarrassing footnote in the long, complicated history of your intertwined lives.

Mingi, however, found himself increasingly haunted by the fragmented recollections. The unexpected warmth of your body pressed against his, the soft, lingering scent of your shampoo that had inexplicably clung to his pillow, the surprising comfort of your quiet presence in his usually solitary space – these fleeting sensations haunted the edges of his thoughts, resurfacing in quiet moments. And then there was the kiss. He remembered the soft, almost accidental press of his lips against your jaw, a moment of unexpected intimacy that now filled him with a profound and persistent sense of guilt and self-reproach. He berated himself for his drunken impulsiveness, for potentially taking advantage of your inherent kindness and vulnerability in a moment of shared inebriation. Lost in his own self-recrimination and the weight of his perceived transgression, he didn’t recall the gentle, almost tender kiss you had placed on his forehead earlier that night, a small, unconscious gesture of care and affection that might have offered a completely different context to their shared intimacy, a potential sign of reciprocated feeling. He was too consumed by his own internal judgment to remember that fleeting act of reciprocal affection.

Then, a few weeks later, the carefully constructed silence shattered with the bright, unexpected news you shared. You walked into Nari’s apartment, your face flushed with a genuine, radiant happiness that hadn’t been there in weeks, a lightness in your step that was undeniably new. “Guess what?” you announced, your eyes sparkling with a newfound excitement that made Nari beam in response. “I’m dating someone.”

Nari’s face lit up, her earlier protective anxieties instantly forgotten in the thrill of your romantic development. “Seriously? Who is it? Oh my god, tell me everything! Spill the tea!”

You launched into an enthusiastic, detailed description of Lucas, a charming and intelligent guy from your literature class with a quick wit that matched your own often-cynical humor, kind eyes that seemed to genuinely see you, and a shared passion for obscure poetry. Nari was absolutely thrilled for you, her earlier protective instincts regarding Mingi seemingly assuaged by the tangible reality of your new, blossoming romance.

Mingi, who happened to be over that evening, ostensibly to return a borrowed video game and avoid the awkwardness of another silent dinner, offered a forced, somewhat strained smile and a casual, “That’s great, Y/N. Really happy for you.” But beneath the surface, a quiet, unwelcome pang of jealousy resonated within him, a dull ache in a place he hadn’t expected. He watched the genuine happiness radiating from you and Nari, the easy camaraderie of their shared excitement, and though he knew he had absolutely no right to feel anything other than platonic support, a small, unwelcome seed of regret began to take root in the quiet corners of his heart. He tried to push it down, focusing on being the supportive friend he had always been, offering a clumsy thumbs-up and a slightly too-loud, “Good for you! He sounds… great.” But the lingering image of you nestled peacefully beside him in his bed that blurry, alcohol-infused night remained, a persistent, almost taunting reminder of a connection that had almost been explored, or perhaps, had been tragically, irrevocably misinterpreted, leaving him with a gnawing sense of what could have been, and a growing, uncomfortable awareness of what he might have inadvertently lost, all because of a drunken night and a kiss he only partially remembered.

Weeks continued their relentless march, each day etching subtle shifts onto the delicate tapestry of your relationships. University life, with its demanding rhythm of assignments and looming deadlines, provided a superficial layer of normalcy, a distraction from the underlying tensions that simmered beneath the surface. The dynamic between you and Mingi remained a carefully constructed facade of polite camaraderie, punctuated by fleeting, almost accidental shared glances that held the weight of unspoken memories and a lingering, unresolved intimacy. Your relationship with Lucas, viewed from the outside, appeared to be blossoming with a comfortable, predictable ease. He was consistently attentive, showering you with carefully chosen compliments and seemingly thoughtful gestures, his efforts radiating a clear desire to solidify his position in your life. Yet, beneath the charming exterior, a subtle, almost imperceptible undercurrent of competitiveness towards Mingi persisted, a silent, unspoken rivalry that you couldn't entirely ignore, a feeling that something felt performative rather than purely genuine.

Your twenty-first birthday arrived, a milestone you had once anticipated with unbridled excitement, now tinged with a subtle layer of apprehension. You opted for a small, intimate gathering at your apartment, a familiar constellation of university friends, cherished faces from the comforting landscape of your childhood, and, of course, Nari and Lucas. Mingi had also been included in the invitation, a fact that seemed to cast a barely perceptible shadow of irritation across Lucas’s otherwise celebratory demeanor, a subtle tightening of his jaw when Mingi’s name was mentioned.

As Mingi and Nari arrived, bearing a brightly wrapped gift that looked endearingly unassuming amidst the more extravagant presents piling up on your small coffee table, you greeted Nari with a warm, familiar hug, a silent acknowledgment of the years of shared laughter and unwavering support. Then, you turned to Mingi, a genuine, heartfelt smile gracing your lips, a warmth spreading through you that had little to do with the celebratory atmosphere and everything to do with the quiet understanding that seemed to exist between you. “Thanks for coming, Mingi.” He offered a slightly awkward but undeniably sweet smile in return, his eyes briefly meeting yours with a fleeting flicker of something that resonated deep within you, a silent acknowledgment of the strange, blurry night you had both tried to forget. “Happy birthday, Y/N.”

The party unfolded as a pleasant, if somewhat predictable, affair. Laughter filled the small apartment, fueled by cheap wine and the sugary rush from the birthday cake. Lucas remained steadfastly by your side, his arm often draped possessively across your waist, a subtle, almost territorial claiming of space. As the evening progressed, he dramatically announced it was time for the grand unveiling of the gifts, his eyes flicking towards Mingi with a barely concealed anticipation, a silent challenge in their depths. He presented you with a sleek, velvet box, its plush interior cradling a stunning ruby pendant, the deep red gemstone pulsing with a fiery intensity under the soft lamplight. “Happy birthday, my love,” he said, his voice laced with a hint of self-satisfied pride as he carefully fastened the delicate clasp around your neck. You thanked him, admiring its undeniable beauty, the weight of the expensive stone cool against your skin, but a small, almost imperceptible knot of unease tightened in your chest. It felt… impersonal, almost transactional, as if he were trying to impress not you, but someone else in the room, though you couldn’t quite pinpoint who.

Nari’s gift was next – a beautifully crocheted top in your absolute favorite shade of soft, calming blue. She looked a little nervous as you carefully unwrapped it, her eyes searching yours for genuine approval. Your heartfelt smile and the lingering hug you gave her were a silent acknowledgment of the years of shared secrets and unwavering support that bound you together. You opened a few more gifts, each thoughtful in its own way, before it was finally Mingi’s turn.

His gift was small, wrapped simply in unassuming brown paper tied with a piece of rustic twine, a stark contrast to the glossy, elaborate packaging of the other presents. Lucas, who was standing close beside you, his arm still possessively around your shoulders, let out a barely audible scoff, a dismissive sound that didn’t escape your notice. You shot him a subtle but pointed warning glance, a silent reprimand for his unnecessary rudeness, and turned your full attention to Mingi, a curious and genuinely expectant smile gracing your lips. As you carefully peeled away the plain paper, three sleek, slender tubes rolled out onto your palm. Your breath hitched, a wave of unexpected, almost overwhelming emotion washing over you. They were the exact three, incredibly elusive shades of a particular rare lip gloss collection you had been obsessed with since your early high school days. A limited edition release that had always seemed to be perpetually out of stock online, disappearing within mere seconds of being restocked. And here they were, nestled in your hand, a tangible piece of a long-forgotten desire, a small, potent reminder of a younger, simpler you.

A wave of genuine, heartfelt emotion washed over you, eclipsing the polite appreciation you had shown for the more extravagant gifts. You looked up at Mingi, your eyes shining with unshed tears, a lump forming in your throat. “Mingi… how in the world did you…?”

He shrugged, a small, shy smile playing on his lips, a hint of his old, teasing charm flickering in his eyes, tinged with a vulnerability you hadn’t seen before. “Nari might have… mentioned something… a long, long time ago. And I… well, let’s just say I have my… resourceful moments. Sometimes, the things that seem small are the ones that truly matter, right?”

Without a second thought, you stood up and hugged him tightly, burying your face in the familiar, comforting scent of his cologne, a feeling of unexpected warmth and profound understanding enveloping you. “Thank you, Mingi. This is… this is the absolute best gift. You remembered. You actually remembered.”

Lucas’s smile had completely vanished, replaced by a tight, almost petulant expression. He watched the genuine affection in your embrace with a visible annoyance that bordered on jealousy, his grip tightening imperceptibly on your shoulder. “Lip glosses?” he said, his tone laced with thinly veiled disbelief and a distinct hint of condescension. “Seriously? You like lip glosses more than a ruby pendant I specifically picked out for you?”

You pulled back from Mingi, a slight frown creasing your brow. The possessiveness in Lucas’s tone and his blatant dismissal of Mingi’s thoughtful gesture rubbed you the wrong way, a stark contrast to Mingi’s quiet understanding. “It’s not about the price tag, Lucas,” you said, your voice firm, a subtle edge creeping in. “It’s about the thought, the effort, the personal touch. Mingi remembered something I loved years ago, something that’s practically impossible to find now. That means more to me than just something expensive and… impersonal.”

Later in the evening, after a few more drinks had loosened inhibitions and perhaps amplified Lucas’s underlying insecurities, his simmering annoyance finally boiled over. He cornered Mingi near the dimly lit balcony, his voice tight with barely concealed resentment. “You know, you really try too hard, don’t you? Always hovering around, always trying to one-up everyone, even on Y/N’s birthday. It’s pathetic.”

Mingi, ever the reluctant participant in conflict, simply shrugged, a wry, slightly weary smile playing on his lips. “Just trying to give a good gift, Lucas. It’s her birthday. Thoughtfulness isn’t a competition. And I wasn’t aware I was ‘hovering.’”

“Yeah, well, she’s my girlfriend now, in case your selective memory is acting up again,” Lucas snapped, his tone sharp and possessive, a clear warning in his eyes. “Maybe you should remember your place and stop trying to impress her.”

Mingi’s smile finally faded, replaced by a flicker of something akin to annoyance, a brief flash of the protective older brother you had witnessed years ago. But he kept his voice even, refusing to be drawn into a petty, alcohol-fueled argument. “I do remember that, Lucas. And I genuinely want to see her happy. If your insecurity requires you to see my friendship with Y/N as a threat, that’s your issue, not mine.” He turned away, effectively ending the uncomfortable conversation, not wanting to cause any further drama on your special day, even if Lucas’s words left a bitter taste in his mouth.

Days drifted by, the memory of your birthday lingering like a bittersweet melody. The ruby pendant remained nestled in its velvet box, unworn, a beautiful but ultimately impersonal symbol of a connection that felt increasingly transactional and driven by external validation. The three tubes of rare lip gloss, however, became your everyday indulgence, a small, tangible reminder of Mingi’s unexpected thoughtfulness and his quiet, enduring understanding of your inner world.

Then came the rain. It started as a gentle, almost romantic drizzle, the kind that lulled the bustling city into a quiet, contemplative hush, the droplets tapping softly against your windowpane. But with an almost violent shift, it escalated into a torrential downpour, the sky unleashing its fury in thick, relentless sheets of water that mirrored the tempest brewing within you. You stood on Nari’s doorstep, soaked to the bone, your hair plastered to your face, tears streaming down your cheeks, indistinguishable from the relentless rain. The moment Nari opened the door, her face etched with sleepy concern that quickly morphed into alarm, your carefully constructed composure, the fragile wall you had built to contain your growing unease, crumbled completely. Hysterical sobs wracked your body, each one a raw, guttural cry of betrayal. You stumbled inside, a broken, rain-soaked mess, leaving a trail of muddy footprints across Nari’s clean floor.

“He… he… cheated,” you choked out between gasps, the words feeling like jagged shards of glass tearing at your throat, each syllable a fresh wave of pain. “I went to his place… to surprise him… to maybe… to maybe try and talk about… about how things have been feeling… distant… and there were… there were heels… expensive, unfamiliar heels… and silk dresses… and… and lacy underwear… that weren’t mine. He… he didn’t even try to hide it. He just… he just looked at me like I was crazy for being upset.”

Nari’s face paled, her initial shock quickly morphing into a fierce, protective anger that radiated from her like a palpable heat. She pulled you inside, her strong arms wrapping around your trembling form, offering a silent haven in the storm’s fury. “Oh, Y/N… oh, honey. That… that absolute bastard. Come here.” She led you to the familiar comfort of her living room couch, gently pushing you down and grabbing a thick, fluffy towel to dry your shivering body, her touch surprisingly firm and reassuring.

Mingi, who had been sitting at the table, quietly working on his laptop in the corner, the soft glow of the screen illuminating his usually focused expression, watched the devastating scene unfold with a growing darkness in his eyes, a primal protectiveness surging within him. His jaw tightened, a muscle twitching rhythmically in his cheek. Without a word, his gaze fixed on your broken, rain-soaked form huddled on the couch, he closed his laptop with a decisive snap, the sudden click echoing in the otherwise silent room. He grabbed his car keys from the nearby table, his movements swift and purposeful, and walked out into the raging storm, disappearing into the downpour without a backward glance, his silence more menacing than any shouted accusation. Nari, her full attention consumed by your inconsolable distress, barely registered his abrupt departure. You, lost in the fresh, searing agony of betrayal, didn’t even notice he was gone, your world shrinking to the suffocating weight of your shattered trust and the rhythmic drumming of the rain against the windowpane, a mournful soundtrack to your broken heart. Nari’s mother, hearing the commotion, came downstairs, her face etched with deep concern as she covered you with a warm, comforting blanket, her eyes filled with a silent, empathetic understanding of your profound pain.

The tempest outside gradually relinquished its furious grip on the city, the violent drumming of rain against the windowpanes softening to a melancholic rhythm, a somber soundtrack to the quiet devastation that had settled within the huge house. Hours crawled by with agonizing slowness, each tick of the clock amplifying the heavy silence, punctuated only by your ragged, uneven breaths as you wrestled with the raw, visceral agony of betrayal and the comforting, unwavering presence of Nari, a steadfast anchor in your storm-tossed world. Eventually, sheer exhaustion, the body’s desperate plea for respite, claimed you, pulling you into a fitful, dream-laden sleep on Nari’s familiar couch, the soft, worn blanket she had draped over you feeling like a fragile, inadequate shield against the sharp edges of your broken heart and the cruel indifference of the outside world.

Sometime in the pre-dawn hours, as the first faint streaks of grey began to paint the eastern sky, the front door creaked open, a wet gust of wind momentarily chilling the already tense atmosphere, carrying with it the scent of rain-soaked earth and a raw, primal energy. Mingi stood silhouetted in the doorway, a dark, rain-soaked figure against the dim hallway light, looking like a wrathful spirit returned from a silent battle. Water streamed down his face, plastering his dark hair to his forehead, and his breathing was heavy, ragged, as if he had run a great distance or engaged in a strenuous physical exertion. His usually well-maintained hands were now clenched into tight fists, the knuckles visibly bruised and swollen, bearing the stark testament to a silent, furious confrontation waged in the darkness of the storm-ravaged night. He toed off his sodden shoes, leaving a small, dark puddle on the tiled floor, his gaze immediately finding you, curled up in a fetal position on the couch, your face pale and drawn in the vulnerable repose of sleep.

He looked up at Nari, who was sitting across the room in the worn armchair, her own eyes red-rimmed and weary from hours of silent vigil, her expression a mixture of lingering worry for you and a grim, almost resigned understanding of her brother’s actions. A heavy, unspoken question hung in the air between them, a silent acknowledgment of the violence that had likely just transpired in the tempestuous night, a violence born of fierce protectiveness and righteous anger.

Nari’s voice was low, barely a whisper, the question laced with a mixture of apprehension, a hint of fear, and a grim, almost resigned understanding of her brother’s volatile nature when those he cared about were hurt. “Lucas?”

Mingi simply nodded, his jaw tight, a muscle twitching rhythmically in his cheek, his gaze unwavering, fixed on your fragile form.

“Injured?” Nari pressed, her voice a shade louder, a flicker of something akin to grim satisfaction mingling with her genuine concern for your well-being. She knew Lucas had hurt you deeply, and a part of her, the fiercely protective best friend, couldn’t entirely suppress a sense of vengeful justice.

A muscle ticked more violently in Mingi’s cheek, the only outward sign of the controlled fury simmering beneath his stoic exterior. He nodded again, his eyes conveying a silent, resolute protectiveness that spoke volumes, a promise of retribution delivered without a single word. “A few… fractures. And a broken nose, for sure. He won’t be bothering her again anytime soon.�� He didn’t elaborate on the brutal details of the encounter, the violence of it seemingly unnecessary to articulate between siblings who often communicated in unspoken understanding.

He moved with a quiet, almost stealthy purpose, shedding his soaked jacket and shirt in the hallway, leaving a trail of dampness on the floor like a silent testament to his nocturnal actions. He disappeared into the bathroom, the sound of the shower running a stark contrast to the heavy, oppressive stillness of the apartment, a cleansing ritual after the night’s grim task. Twenty minutes later, he emerged, the steam still clinging to his damp hair, dressed in a fresh set of comfortable, familiar clothes, his movements now softer, more deliberate. He slid down against the side of the couch, sinking onto its soft fabric beside you, his gaze immediately softening, all the earlier fury replaced by a tender, almost reverent concern as he gently brushed a stray strand of damp hair away from your pale, tear-stained face, his touch feather-light, as if afraid to disturb your troubled sleep.

“……such a damn fool,” he muttered, his voice low and rough, almost a self-reproach, as if he couldn’t fathom the callousness of Lucas’s actions. “To cheat on someone so kind… so beautiful… so stunning… how could he even think about inflicting such pain on someone like her?” His eyes held a bewildered anger, a fierce protectiveness that seemed to extend far beyond the casual boundaries of friendship, a possessiveness that surprised even Nari with its intensity.

Nari watched him, her earlier anger at Lucas slowly receding, replaced by a renewed, intense curiosity about the depth of her brother’s reaction, the raw emotion that seemed to emanate from him. She finally broke the heavy silence, her voice soft but direct, cutting through the unspoken emotions that filled the small room. “Mingi… do you… do you like her? Like, really like her? Not just as a friend, not just because she’s my best friend.”

He didn’t pretend to misunderstand the weight of her question, the unspoken implications hanging in the air. He let out a long, weary sigh, his gaze still fixed on your peaceful, albeit fragile, sleeping face, a vulnerability etched onto his features that she rarely witnessed. “Yeah, Nari. I do. I have… for a long time. Longer than you probably realize.”

Her eyebrows rose slightly, genuine surprise evident in her expression, a flicker of understanding dawning in her eyes. “Then why? Why all the flings? Why act like you don’t take anything seriously, like every relationship is just a fleeting amusement, a way to pass the time?”

He finally looked away from you, his gaze distant, lost in a landscape of past insecurities and deeply ingrained self-doubt. “Because… because I’m scared, okay? Terrified, actually. Scared I’ll mess it up, scared I’ll hurt her. She deserves someone… someone who will be all in, someone who can give her their whole heart without reservation. And… and I’m afraid I’m not that guy. She probably thinks all I’m good for are… meaningless flings, fleeting moments of shallow connection, nothing real or lasting.”

Nari’s expression softened with a dawning understanding, a flicker of empathy for the internal battle her seemingly carefree brother had been waging. “You told her that night, you know. The night of the party. When you were drunk, you let some of that slip. About being afraid of putting your whole heart in and it not being reciprocated. That’s why you preferred those… no-strings-attached things, as a defense mechanism.”

Mingi’s eyes widened slightly, a flicker of fragmented memory surfacing in their depths, a realization of the vulnerability he had inadvertently displayed in his inebriated state. He hadn’t fully registered how much of his carefully guarded inner world he had revealed that night.

Nari leaned forward in her worn armchair, her gaze serious and unwavering, her voice imbued with a protective intensity. “Look, Mingi. I know you. You can be reckless, you can be infuriating, and you can be a complete mess when you let your insecurities take over. But Y/N… she’s special. She’s kind, she’s loyal, and she doesn’t deserve any more pain, especially not from you. If you hurt her, if you ever do anything to cause her this kind of devastation again… I will personally ensure you regret the day you were born. I will unleash a level of sibling fury you haven’t even begun to comprehend. I mean it, Mingi.” Her voice, though quiet, held a steely resolve that left no room for misinterpretation.

Mingi went slightly red, a rare blush creeping up his neck, a testament to the seriousness of her threat and the depth of his respect for his sister’s fierce protectiveness. Nari’s lips twitched, a hint of her usual teasing nature momentarily returning, a small crack in the tense atmosphere. “But…” she continued, her voice softening slightly, a hint of something akin to approval, even encouragement, in her tone, “I also see the way you look at her, Mingi. It’s not the casual, detached way you look at those… fleeting connections. And… well, she’s not exactly oblivious. Give it time, Mingi. Be around her. Be the decent guy I know you can be, the one who kicked that idiot’s ass in high school for making her cry. Be yourself. And when the time is right… maybe, just maybe, ask her out. Properly. And for God’s sake, don’t be drunk when you do it.”

Mingi just nodded, his gaze returning to your peaceful face, a fragile flicker of something akin to hope – mixed with a healthy dose of trepidation and a newfound sense of responsibility – dawning in his eyes. The storm outside finally began to subside, the relentless drumming of the rain softening to a gentle patter against the windowpane, as if the heavens themselves were finally offering a moment of respite, a quiet promise of a new dawn breaking through the darkness.

The following weeks unfolded within the familiar, comforting confines of Nari and Mingi’s house, a sanctuary slowly transforming from a haven of solace to a space where the first fragile shoots of hope began to emerge from the cracked earth of your heartbreak.

You remained blissfully unaware of the silent confrontation Lucas had faced, and Mingi, ever mindful of your delicate emotional state within their shared living space, was subtly careful to keep his hands out of sight, often tucked deep into the pockets of his hoodies or deliberately occupied with mundane tasks – meticulously organizing the spice rack in the kitchen, or painstakingly dusting the already pristine shelves in the living room – whenever you were in the same room.

The bruises on his knuckles, a silent testament to a rage you never witnessed, gradually faded, their angry purple hues softening to a pale yellow, hidden beneath the guise of everyday activities within their home.

Mingi became a gentle, consistent presence within the familiar rhythm of their household, a comforting counterpoint to the emotional storm that had recently ravaged your heart. He’d leave your favorite artisanal chocolates on the small table beside the couch, suggesting low-key movie nights in the cozy living room, complete with oversized blankets and endless cups of herbal tea, or quiet evenings spent immersed in the strategic complexities of board games spread out on the dining table.

He seemed to instinctively understand that you weren’t ready for grand gestures or forced cheerfulness within the familiar comfort of their house. Instead, he offered small, consistent acts of kindness – a perfectly brewed cup of your preferred coffee left by your bedside, a carefully curated playlist of soothing instrumental music drifting softly from his room – a quiet understanding that allowed you to heal at your own pace within their shared living space.

One particularly languid afternoon, seeking a momentary distraction from the persistent ache in your chest that seemed to echo the quiet stillness of the house, you found yourself playfully suggesting a makeover session while all three of you were idly passing time in the sun-drenched living room.

Mingi, after a moment of comical wide-eyed hesitation witnessed by Nari’s amused smirk, gamely agreed to be your unlikely canvas. The sight of his usually stoic face adorned with bright pink blush, shimmering lavender eyeshadow, and a surprisingly artful application of glitter elicited genuine, unrestrained laughter from you for the first time in what felt like an eternity, a sound that warmed their shared home like a sudden, unexpected burst of sunshine filtering through the clouds.

He even patiently endured your attempts at a dramatic winged eyeliner, the results endearingly lopsided, making Nari snort with laughter. The easy camaraderie, the shared silliness within the familiar setting of their home, felt like a soothing balm to your wounded spirit, a gentle reminder of the simple joys that still existed.

Over shared meals at the dining table, Mingi would recount ridiculously embellished stories from his time in the States, exaggerating the comical mishaps and cultural miscommunications with a newfound flair for the dramatic that always managed to bring a genuine smile to your face as you all sat together.

In the evenings, as you sat curled up on the couch in the living room, he’d listen with quiet patience as you tentatively talked about Lucas, offering gentle words of support and validation without ever resorting to bitter recriminations against your ex, allowing you to process your tangled emotions without judgment within the comforting space of their home.

Slowly, almost imperceptibly, the light began to return to your eyes, the corners of your mouth curving upwards with increasing frequency as you spent time in their comforting presence. The inherent sunshine that had always been a part of your personality began to peek through the heavy clouds of your sorrow, illuminating the familiar corners of their house with its gentle glow.

In the quiet moments that punctuated their days within the shared rhythm of the household – a shared glance that lingered a fraction too long across the kitchen counter as you both reached for the same carton of milk, a comfortable silence that held an unspoken understanding as you sat side-by-side reading in the living room, a gentle brush of hands as you both reached for the same board game piece in the den – a different kind of connection began to subtly simmer between you and Mingi.

These small, wholesome moments, unfolding within the intimate space of their home, held a quiet, almost palpable tension, a nascent awareness of something unspoken and potentially significant, but never pushed beyond the comfortable boundaries of your established friendship. It was a slow, delicate dance of tentative emotions, a silent acknowledgment of a potential that neither of you dared to fully explore just yet under the same roof.

Nari, ever the astute and fiercely protective observer within the confines of their home, watched this subtle but significant shift with a knowing, almost conspiratorial smile playing on her lips. She saw the genuine, unguarded care in Mingi’s eyes whenever his gaze rested on you across the breakfast table, the way his usual teasing banter softened into gentle concern when you seemed down in the living room.

She witnessed the genuine, unadulterated joy that flickered in your eyes whenever he managed to elicit a heartfelt laugh in the kitchen. One quiet evening, as Mingi was about to retreat to his room after another comforting visit downstairs, Nari caught his arm in the dimly lit hallway. She looked at him, her usual playful demeanor replaced by a soft, encouraging smile that held a hint of mischievous anticipation within the privacy of their home.

“You know, Mingi,” she said, her eyes sparkling with a knowing glint, “the coast is clear. She’s starting to heal. Just… please, for the love of all that is holy, don’t screw it up. You both deserve a little bit of happiness in this house, after all the rain.”

Mingi’s eyes widened slightly, a hopeful flush creeping up his neck within the familiar surroundings of their home. He simply nodded, a small, genuine smile finally breaking through his usual guarded expression as he headed towards his room, a silent promise hanging in the air. The silent rage had finally subsided, replaced by a quiet, tentative hope, a fragile sunrise beginning to paint the horizon within the shared space of their home.

The week that followed your emotional storm unfolded within the familiar, comforting embrace of Nari and Mingi’s house, a sanctuary slowly but surely transforming from a haven of solace to a space where the first fragile tendrils of hope began to unfurl from the cracked earth of your heartbreak. The raw, jagged edges of your pain had begun to soften, smoothed by the gentle passage of time and the unwavering, steadfast support of your two dearest friends, their presence a constant, reassuring warmth within the familiar walls. You remained blissfully unaware of the silent, furious confrontation Lucas had faced in the rain-soaked night, a consequence of Mingi’s fierce protectiveness that played out beyond your knowledge. Within the shared living space, Mingi, ever attuned to your delicate emotional state, was subtly, almost instinctively careful to keep his bruised hands out of sight, often tucked deep into the comforting pockets of his worn hoodies or deliberately occupied with mundane, everyday tasks – meticulously arranging the mismatched mugs in the kitchen cupboard, or painstakingly dusting the already pristine surfaces of the antique bookshelf in the living room – whenever you were in the same room, his quiet attentiveness a silent reassurance.

Then, one radiant, sun-drenched afternoon, as the air hummed with the promise of late summer, Mingi casually suggested a long drive, a spontaneous escape from the familiar confines of the house, a chance to breathe in the crisp, clean air of the countryside and perhaps, as he subtly hinted with a hopeful glint in his eyes, allow the vast expanse of the horizon to clear away any lingering emotional clouds that still clung to your spirit. "Just the three of us," he'd said, his gaze flickering between you and Nari as you all sat together in their brightly lit living room, the sunlight streaming through the window illuminating the dust motes dancing in the air. "Some open road, maybe find a secluded spot with a killer view, catch a nice sunset." Nari had readily agreed, her enthusiasm a little too bright, a knowing, almost conspiratorial glint in her eyes that didn't quite escape your notice, but you were nonetheless grateful for the prospect of a change of scenery, a temporary reprieve from the quiet introspection that had become your constant companion within the house.

The designated day arrived, dawning with a clear, azure sky that promised a perfect escape. The allure of open roads stretching out before you like a beckoning ribbon of possibility, the anticipation of breathtaking scenic vistas, felt like a welcome balm to your weary soul, a tangible contrast to the emotional weight you had been carrying within the familiar walls of their home. As you were getting ready in Nari’s sun-drenched room, carefully selecting an outfit that felt both comfortable and imbued with a whisper of newfound hope – a soft, flowing dress in your favorite color – Nari appeared in your doorway, leaning against the frame with a knowing, almost mischievous glint in her eyes and a playful smirk tugging at the corner of her lips. "So," she began, her voice laced with a theatrical air of regret, "about that drive… something rather… extraordinarily pressing… came up. A matter of grave importance, you see."

You frowned, a sliver of disappointment momentarily clouding your burgeoning anticipation. "Oh? What in the world is it?"

She waved a dismissive hand, her eyes twinkling with undisguised amusement. "Nothing truly catastrophic, nothing that would warrant a national emergency, you understand. Just… a sudden, utterly urgent and frankly non-negotiable need to finally alphabetize my extensive collection of vintage vinyl records. You know how it is. The sonic vibrations of the universe have aligned in such a way that only perfectly ordered vinyl can restore cosmic harmony. It's a burden I must bear." Her smile widened, a clear, unsubtle signal that you weren't buying her flimsy excuse for even a single second. "Seriously though," she continued, her tone softening, her eyes holding a genuine warmth and a hint of conspiratorial excitement, "you two go. You both desperately need some time away from this house, some space to breathe. And… well," she hesitated for a fleeting moment, a delicate blush dusting her cheeks, a hint of nervousness momentarily crossing her usually confident features, "Mingi's been wanting to do this for a while, I think. It's… it's his kind of grand gesture, in his own quiet way." She gave you a gentle, encouraging nudge towards the door, her eyes sparkling with unspoken encouragement. "Go on. Have some fun. Enjoy the sunset. And for goodness sake, try not to overthink everything."

The drive with Mingi was surprisingly comfortable, the initial awkwardness that had occasionally lingered between you melting away with the passing miles and the shared soundtrack of your lives playing softly on the car stereo. Easy conversation flowed between you, punctuated by comfortable silences filled only with the hum of the engine and the whisper of the wind through the open windows. The scenery outside the window blurred into a calming, hypnotic rhythm, and the subtle tension that had simmered beneath the surface of your interactions for weeks, a delicate, unspoken dance of burgeoning feelings, finally began to ease, replaced by a quiet sense of anticipation, a hopeful stirring in your chest. As the afternoon sun began its slow, majestic descent towards the horizon, painting the sprawling sky in breathtaking, vibrant hues of fiery orange, soft lavender, and deep, velvety purple, Mingi pulled the car over to a secluded scenic overlook, a hidden gem he seemed to know well, the panoramic view stretching out before you like a vast, vibrant, living canvas, a masterpiece painted by the dying light of day.

He turned to you, his usual playful, teasing demeanor completely absent, replaced by a nervous sincerity that made your heart flutter like a trapped butterfly in your chest. He got out of the car, and for a fleeting moment, you simply admired the stunning vista alongside him, the silence comfortable and filled only with the gentle chirping of unseen crickets and the distant rustling of leaves in the evening breeze. Then, he turned back towards you, his gaze locking with yours, and your breath hitched in your throat, a sudden wave of understanding washing over you. He was down on both knees on the dusty ground, the setting sun casting long shadows behind him, a beautiful bouquet of your favorite pristine white lilies held out in his trembling hands, the delicate, fragrant petals catching the golden, ethereal light of the dying day.

"Y/N," he began, his voice a little shaky, the emotion in it raw and undeniably sincere, his gaze locked on yours with an intensity that made your cheeks flush with a mixture of surprise and a long-dormant hope. "Can I… can I be yours? Can I be the one to finally chase away the shadows that have been clouding your light? Can I be the one to make you laugh that unrestrained, beautiful laugh again, every single day?"

Hesitation, a deeply ingrained habit of always considering Nari’s feelings and the potential complexities of your intertwined lives, flickered within you, a momentary shadow of doubt. A small, cautious voice whispered anxieties about disrupting the delicate balance, about the unspoken history that bound the three of you together. "Mingi… Nari… does she… is she truly okay with this? I don't want to… I don't want to come between you two."

He smiled, a genuine, heart-melting smile that reached the depths of his warm eyes, chasing away any lingering doubts like the setting sun dispelling the darkness. "She knows, Y/N. She's been… surprisingly, wonderfully supportive. She sees how happy you make me, how much I care about you, how much you both mean to me. She wants us to be happy, more than anything in the world."

A wave of profound relief washed over you, a lightness spreading through your chest, quickly followed by a surge of a different, more powerful emotion, a feeling you had tried to suppress for so long, a quiet ember finally bursting into flame. You reached out, not for the offered bouquet, but for his hands, your fingers intertwining with his, pulling him gently but firmly to his feet. Before he could fully register your intention, the last vestiges of your carefully constructed reserve, the walls you had unknowingly built around your heart, melted away like ice in the summer sun. You stepped closer, the scent of lilies filling the air between you, and you pushed him gently against the cool metal of the car, your lips meeting his in a kiss that was a culmination of unspoken feelings, shared laughter, quiet understanding, and a burgeoning, hopeful future.

When you finally broke apart, breathless and slightly dizzy, a soft, radiant smile bloomed on your lips, mirroring the joy in his eyes. "You have absolutely no idea," he murmured, his forehead resting against yours, his breath warm against your skin. "I've loved you since high school, Y/N. All those stupid, ridiculous nicknames, all that incessant teasing… it was my terribly awkward, completely inadequate way of trying to get your attention, to be near you, to make you notice me."

A comforting warmth spread through your chest, a profound echo of his heartfelt confession resonating deep within your own heart. "We're in the same incredibly awkward boat then," you confessed, your fingers tracing the familiar, slightly rough line of his jaw, the stubble there surprisingly soft against your touch. "All those eye-rolls, all those sarcastic remarks directed your way… it was my equally terrible, equally inadequate way of trying to pretend you didn't make my stomach do ridiculous, embarrassing flips every time you were near."

He pulled you closer, his arms wrapping securely around your waist, his embrace feeling like coming home after a long, arduous journey. He kissed your cheek, then the sensitive curve of your jaw, lingering there for a moment, a silent promise in the gentle pressure of his lips. You reached up and playfully ruffled his dark hair, a familiar gesture that now felt charged with a new, exhilarating intimacy, a tangible connection that transcended the boundaries of friendship. As the last vibrant rays of the setting sun bathed the two of you in a golden, ethereal light, painting the sky above in a final blaze of glory, a profound, quiet happiness settled in the air between you, a tangible promise of a beautiful, shared beginning unfolding under a sky ablaze with hope.

The End

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