Lacy Euphoria

His Favorite Girl/Part Two: Becoming Real to Him

Originally published on AO3.

🔞 Adults 18+. MDNI. Fictional fanwork using names fictitiously for entertainment. Not real, endorsed, affiliated, or a claim of real events. All romantic and sexual content is between consenting adults. Please consume fiction with media literacy intact.

Three months later, Wynter had stopped knocking on Mingi’s door.

You noticed it for the first time on a Friday night when she walked into his apartment ahead of you carrying two bottles of soda and a bag of takeout, calling his name before the door had even closed behind her. Somewhere deeper inside the apartment, Mingi yelled that he was in the kitchen and asked whether she’d remembered the dumplings. Wynter kept walking as she yelled back that she wasn’t his delivery service, even though the dumplings were sitting right on top of the bag.

You stayed near the door for a second longer than necessary, smiling as you slipped off your shoes. Three months. That was all it had taken for the impossible to become ordinary.

The first dinner hadn’t magically solved everything. There had been awkward moments afterward, questions none of you knew how to answer, schedules that didn’t line up, and the occasional misunderstanding that required an uncomfortable conversation instead of another edited truth. But there had also been more dinners. Movies. A Sunday afternoon when Wynter helped Mingi rearrange his living room and spent forty minutes telling him his original furniture placement was terrible. A group chat he’d created for practical reasons had somehow become mostly Wynter sending memes at inappropriate hours and Mingi pretending he didn’t find them funny before eventually responding with worse ones.

They had become friends. Not lovers or almost lovers, and certainly not two people waiting for you to leave the room so some inevitable third connection could complete the triangle. They were simply friends, and somehow that made everything easier.

By the time you reached the kitchen, Wynter was already unpacking containers while Mingi stood beside the stove finishing something that smelled suspiciously like the dish he’d nearly destroyed the first night she came over. He looked toward you as soon as you entered, and the expression on his face changed with such immediate softness that Wynter caught it before you reached him. She pointed a chopstick between the two of you and complained, “There it is. Three months and he still does it.”

Mingi glanced toward her as you walked into his waiting arms and asked what exactly he was supposedly doing. Wynter gave him a look that suggested he knew perfectly well. “That face.” He looked down at you, clearly fighting a smile as his arm settled around your waist, and insisted he didn’t know what she was talking about. Wynter called him a liar just as you laughed against his chest and lifted your face for the kiss he’d been waiting to give you.

The kiss was brief because Wynter was standing three feet away complaining loudly about being forced to witness romance before she’d eaten, but Mingi caught your lower lip once before letting you go, just enough to make warmth gather low in your stomach. Wynter noticed that too, of course, and opened another container while declaring that whatever he’d just done had been completely unnecessary. You reached for a dumpling and reminded her that nobody had asked her to watch. “It’s my burden,” she complained, pressing one hand dramatically against her chest.

Mingi caught your wrist before you could steal the dumpling and redirected your hand toward an empty plate, telling you to eat something real first. You stared at him and demanded your dumpling back, but his simple refusal made Wynter stop unpacking long enough to look between the two of you. “Oh, I absolutely understand why you two work now. You’re both annoying.” Mingi finally released your wrist, but the look he gave you promised the argument wasn’t finished. You knew that look now. More importantly, you knew what usually followed it when nobody else was around.

Apparently your face betrayed that knowledge because Wynter groaned and pushed the takeout bag between you. “Whatever filthy little conversation y’all are having with your eyes, could you wait until after dinner?” You burst out laughing while Mingi suddenly became fascinated with whatever was happening on the stove.

The evening unfolded around the three of you without ceremony. Dinner became a movie, the movie became an argument about whether the ending made any sense, and eventually Wynter stretched across one end of the couch with her feet tucked beneath your thigh while Mingi occupied the other side, your legs thrown comfortably across his lap. Nobody had planned the arrangement, and that was what you loved about it. Wynter stole from your drink without asking while Mingi traced absent patterns against your ankle and argued with her about the movie. You disagreed with both of them purely because watching them unite against you had become one of your favorite forms of entertainment.

At some point, Wynter’s phone buzzed against the cushion. She checked the screen and groaned before sitting upright and announcing that her ride was outside. You frowned and asked if she was leaving already, but she turned the screen toward you long enough for you to see the time. “It’s almost midnight.” You hadn’t realized how late it had gotten until then.

Wynter stood and stretched before collecting her bag, and you followed her toward the door while Mingi stayed behind to clean the glasses from the coffee table, giving the two of you privacy without either of you needing to ask for it. At the entryway, Wynter slipped into her shoes before looking up at you. Something changed in her expression when she saw the disappointment on your face, and she reached for your waist, drawing you between her knees while she remained seated on the small bench. “Don’t do that,” she warned.

You asked what you were supposedly doing, and Wynter laughed as she pulled you a little closer. “Looking like I’m being shipped overseas.” You slid your hands over her shoulders and admitted that you’d wanted more time with her, but when she reminded you that she’d had you all evening, you shook your head. “Not the same.”

Her smile changed.

There it was. That private language Mingi had learned not to mistake for something meant for him.

Wynter stood slowly, leaving barely any space between you as her hands settled lower against your hips. She asked if you missed her, and when you nodded, she kissed you before you could say anything else. The playful noise of the apartment seemed to fade beneath the familiarity of her mouth. This wasn’t the frightened intimacy of months ago, when every kiss carried the possibility of another truth waiting behind it. Wynter kissed you like she knew exactly where she stood now, one hand tightening against you while the other slipped beneath the hem of your shirt just enough to find warm skin.

When she drew back, your breathing had changed, and the satisfied curve of her mouth told you she’d noticed. She asked if you still missed her, and you called her irritating even as your hands remained on her. Wynter gave you a knowing little sound that made you catch the front of her shirt and pull her back before she could escape. You kissed her again until she laughed softly against your mouth, her hands moving over you with the familiar confidence of someone who knew exactly which touches could make your knees unreliable.

When Wynter finally told you to come over tomorrow, you asked how early, and her expression made the invitation considerably less innocent than the words. “Very,” she answered, leaning closer until her mouth brushed near your ear. “Early enough that you shouldn’t bother making breakfast plans.” Heat rolled through you before she kissed the corner of your mouth and stepped away looking entirely too satisfied with herself. You called her evil, but Wynter only smiled as she reminded you that you liked her. Your answer of “Unfortunately” earned one last soft kiss before she told you she loved you too.

She had barely opened the door when Mingi appeared from the living room holding her forgotten phone. He called her name and tossed it toward her when she turned, and Wynter caught it before looking from the screen back to him. “See? This is why you’re still on probation.” He stared at her in disbelief and reminded her it had been three months, but she only lifted her eyebrows as if time had nothing to do with it. Mingi shook his head and wished her goodnight, while Wynter stepped into the hallway and warned him not to keep you awake too late.

You stared at her.

Mingi laughed.

Wynter smiled sweetly before disappearing down the hallway.

The lock had barely clicked behind Wynter before Mingi looked at you like he had been waiting all night for the room to finally belong to the two of you. You were still smiling from the goodbye, still carrying the warmth of Wynter’s kiss and the sound of her voice from the hallway when she told him not to keep you awake too late. He had lifted both hands like he understood, but the second the apartment went quiet, his eyes settled on you with a patience that made your stomach tighten. You slipped out of your shoes near the door and reminded him, “You heard her,” and he gave you that slow smile as he stepped closer, telling you, “I heard her. I’m just glad you’re staying.”

That was what made the kiss feel different. There was no jealousy inside it, no need to prove where he belonged. He had watched you kiss Wynter goodbye and understood exactly what that relationship meant. Nothing in him tightened against it. He simply wanted you, and the security of that made his hunger feel even sexier. His hands settled around your waist and drew you into him while his mouth found yours, the kiss deepening with the ease of something familiar. When you pulled back just enough to breathe, you smiled against his lips and told him he had been waiting for that door to close. He did not bother pretending otherwise, his hands sliding lower until they filled with your ass while he admitted, “I’ve been waiting to have you to myself. That’s different.”

You tried to answer, but his mouth found the place beneath your ear that always stole your thoughts. Your fingers caught in his shirt as he pulled you closer, his dick already hard against you. You rolled your hips once, slowly, and felt his breath change against your neck. When you asked if that was what all his patience had been for, his eyes lifted to yours and he told you, “You knew exactly what I was thinking.” The certainty in his voice sent heat between your thighs, and when he kissed you again, neither of you rushed toward the bedroom. You let the moment stretch, trading slow kisses and wandering hands as you moved deeper into the apartment, touching each other like people who had already learned where to linger.

When he caught your wrist and held it gently against his chest, his expression softened just enough for him to ask, “Still yes?” Your smile came easily as you told him yes, and his thumb brushed the inside of your wrist while he answered, “Good.” Then his mouth was on yours again, and whatever restraint he had been carrying all evening finally gave way.

Your shirt disappeared somewhere near the hallway, his not long after. By the time your bra slipped from your shoulders, his mouth had already found your breast, his tongue moving slowly enough to make your knees weaken. You touched the back of his neck, keeping him there while his hand slid beneath your skirt and over the curve of your thigh. The first brush of his fingers over your underwear made him pause. He looked up at you, then stroked over the damp fabric again with deliberate slowness before telling you, “You’re wet.” The way he said it made your stomach tighten, and when he asked if you had really been sitting beside him like that all evening, heat climbed into your face. You held his gaze and gave him a quiet, “Maybe,” which made the corner of his mouth lift before he told you, “I thought so.”

You kissed him before he could say anything else, but his hand stayed between your thighs. He slipped beneath your underwear and dragged two fingers through your wetness, collecting it slowly before circling your clit. Your body reacted immediately, hips shifting toward his hand while his mouth stayed on yours. He smiled into the kiss when your grip tightened around his shoulders and asked if you were already that sensitive. You told him, “You know what you’re doing,” and his answer came against your lips as he reminded you, “I know what you like.”

By the time you reached the bedroom, your underwear was damp enough to make every step remind you of his fingers. He sat at the edge of the bed and pulled you between his knees, his hands resting on your hips while he looked up at you. When he asked if you were really staying tonight, you smiled because you had already told him, but there was something in the way he asked that made you answer anyway. You told him, “I’m staying,” and his thumbs moved over your skin while something in his shoulders relaxed. He said, “Good,” before leaning in to kiss the softness of your stomach.

Then his hand slipped between your thighs again, this time with no fabric between you. Two fingers slid through your wetness, and your breath caught when he pushed one slowly inside you. Your hand landed on his shoulder while his eyes stayed on your face, watching every change in your expression as he curled his finger and found the spot that made your knees soften. When he asked, “There?” you nodded, but he wanted the words and told you to say it. Your voice came quieter when you answered, “Right there.”

He added a second finger, and the stretch made you inhale sharply. His free hand tightened around your hip while he began fingering you in a slow, steady rhythm, his thumb brushing your clit every time his fingers pushed deeper. You had to brace yourself against him when your body started rocking into his hand, and there was something almost unfair about how calm he looked while he made you wetter, watching the way your mouth opened every time his fingers curled inside you. His gaze dropped briefly between your thighs before returning to your face, and he told you, “You’re soaking my hand.”

You looked down and saw the shine on his fingers where they disappeared between your thighs, and the sight nearly finished you by itself. He felt your body tighten around him and smiled before asking, “You like hearing how wet you are?” You answered yes, and his fingers pushed deeper. When he asked how wet, another curl of his fingers stole the words from you. His mouth brushed your stomach as he told you, “That’s what I thought.”

You pushed him back onto the mattress before he could become any more pleased with himself, climbing over him and kissing him with enough hunger to turn the conversation into breath and movement. His dick pressed thick and hard beneath you, and you rolled your hips against him once just to feel the way his body reacted. His hands moved over your thighs, then your waist, then your ass, keeping you close while you kissed him with more hunger than patience.

He let you stay on top just long enough for you to feel how badly he wanted you before rolling you beneath him and kissing down your body. The warning Wynter had given him was probably still somewhere in the back of his mind, but he showed no intention of behaving. When his mouth settled between your thighs, the room went quiet except for your breathing. He held you open with steady hands and licked through your wetness slowly, almost lazily at first, like he wanted to taste how worked up you already were. Your hand slipped into his hair as his tongue moved over your clit, and when you looked down, his eyes were already on you.

That eye contact always made everything more intense, and he knew it. He flattened his tongue against you and watched your face while your hips lifted toward his mouth. Your thighs tightened around him when he sucked your clit gently, then harder, and the orgasm rose quickly after everything his fingers had already started. When it broke, your body arched beneath him, your fingers tightening in his hair while he stayed exactly where he was until the last tremor passed.

He kissed the inside of your thigh before climbing back over you, and you pulled him into a deep kiss, tasting yourself on his mouth while your hand slid between your bodies and wrapped around his dick. He was hard enough that the first slow stroke made his eyes close for half a second. You smiled against his mouth and asked if he had really been walking around like that all night, and his forehead rested against yours while he admitted, “Most of it.” You stroked him again, slower, feeling him twitch in your hand as you asked how he had managed to act normal. He opened his eyes and told you, “I was trying to be respectful,” then smiled when you raised an eyebrow and added, “Mostly.”

You kissed him again while your hand kept moving, your thumb brushing over the head of his dick until his breathing roughened. Then his hand wrapped around your thigh and lifted it higher, his gaze returning to yours as he told you, “Tell me you want me.” You answered without hesitation, “I want you,” and his thumb traced the inside of your thigh before he asked how. You held his eyes and told him, “Deep.”

He moved between your thighs and dragged the head of his dick slowly through your wetness before pushing inside you. Your breath left you as he entered carefully at first, inch by inch, letting your body stretch around him while his mouth stayed close to yours. When he was fully inside, he stopped and watched your face before asking, “Like this?” You nodded, but he stayed still until you gave him the words. You wrapped your legs tighter around him and told him, “Yes. Like that.”

Then he started moving.

The first few strokes were slow and deep, his hips rolling into you with enough control to make you feel every inch of his dick sliding out and pushing back in. You were already so wet from his fingers and mouth that each movement came easily, but the fullness still made your body tighten around him. He noticed immediately, his mouth brushing yours as he asked if you could feel how wet you were for him. You told him yes, and his next thrust went deeper while he admitted, “That’s been driving me crazy all night.”

You pulled him closer, fingers digging into his shoulders while his rhythm began to build. There was something almost unbearably intimate about the way he stayed close, kissing you between breaths, one hand holding your thigh while the other moved down between your bodies. His thumb found your clit while he kept moving inside you, and the combination made your back lift from the mattress. When he asked if it was too much, you shook your head quickly, and his mouth brushed yours as he asked, “Good?” You answered yes, and his thumb kept circling while his dick kept filling you, the pressure building all over again.

There was no rush between you, just heat growing steadily until the bed began to move beneath you and your breathing matched his. He kissed you whenever your mouth opened, catching your sounds before they could fully leave you. When your nails dragged over his back, his rhythm changed, becoming harder without losing the control that made it feel so good. He told you how good you felt and how he had been thinking about this all night, and when you answered that you knew, his expression softened for a moment.

He kept moving, slower now, his hand smoothing over your thigh while he told you, “I liked watching you with Wynter.” You looked at him, and he continued without hesitation, explaining that it was not because he wanted what she had. He just liked knowing you could love her and still be there with him. Something in your chest opened at the same time your body tightened around his dick, and his forehead touched yours as he told you, “You don’t have to choose to make me feel chosen.”

That nearly undid you more than the sex.

You kissed him hard and pulled him deeper, and the tenderness between you immediately turned hot again. He pushed into you with more force, your wetness making each stroke almost obscene in the quiet room. His thumb returned to your clit, rubbing slow circles while his dick kept filling you deep enough to make your thighs shake. He stayed close and told you, “Come for me again. I want to feel it,” and your breathing broke.

That was enough.

The second orgasm hit harder than the first, your body clenching around him while your legs tightened and your hands held onto him. He kept moving through it, slower now, letting you ride the pulses around his dick until his own control began to slip. He followed soon after, burying himself deep and holding you close while his body tightened against yours.

For a long moment, neither of you moved. The room felt warm and quiet, your skin damp, your body still pulsing around him as your breathing slowly returned to normal. Eventually, he lifted his head and glanced toward the clock before looking back at you with the faintest smile, telling you, “Wynter is going to blame me tomorrow.” You smiled, still catching your breath, and told him she probably should. He kissed your forehead and said he would accept it.

You shifted beneath him, already feeling the pleasant ache settling into your thighs, and he finally rolled beside you and pulled you against his chest. His hand moved lazily along your back while you rested your cheek against him. When he asked, “You staying?” you looked up and reminded him that you had already told him. He said he knew, and you caught the quiet vulnerability behind it, so you kissed him once and answered anyway. “I’m staying.”

His arms tightened around you, and for a few peaceful minutes, the room finally went still. Then his hand began drifting slowly down your side. You caught his wrist before he made it very far and reminded him, “She said not to keep me awake.” He told you he remembered, but when you asked what that meant, his mouth curved against your forehead while his fingers slipped beneath the sheet and found the inside of your thigh. He claimed he was only checking something, and you already knew what.

His fingertips brushed between your legs, and his smile deepened when he found you still wet. You looked at him and told him, “That is not checking,” but he only moved his fingers slowly over you again before asking if you were tired yet. You should have said yes.

Instead, your thighs parted beneath the sheet as you admitted, “Not yet.”

His smile deepened before he kissed you again.

Morning found you wrapped in his sheets with sunlight pushing through the curtains and your phone vibrating somewhere on the nightstand. You reached blindly for it and found a message from Wynter asking if you were alive. Smiling, you typed back that you were, and the three dots appeared almost immediately before another message arrived asking whether Mingi had listened to her.

You looked beside you. He was still asleep, one arm heavy across your waist and his face buried partly against the pillow. Your body answered Wynter’s question before you did, and you typed back, Absolutely not. Her response arrived almost instantly, telling you she’d figured as much and ordering you to bring coffee when you came over.

Your laugh was quiet enough that Mingi only shifted beside you, tightening his arm around your waist before opening one eye and asking what was funny. You told him it was Wynter, and he closed his eye again with an unsurprised, “Of course.”

You set the phone back onto the nightstand and settled beneath his arm.

Three months ago, his name appearing on your screen could change the temperature of a room. Now Wynter was texting you from her bed while you lay in his, asking when you were coming home to her.

There were still things the outside world didn’t know. There were still decisions waiting beyond this room, and there would be consequences when privacy eventually collided with visibility because a life like this didn’t become simple simply because the three people living it had finally figured themselves out.

But that belonged to another day.

Another problem.

Another part of the story.

For now, Wynter knew where you were. Mingi knew where you were going. You knew where you belonged.

And nobody you loved had to wonder anymore.