Aeri

♋︎ | ravenclaw | cabin 5 | entp-t

[aerixfixoff]

“Do the best you can until you know better. Then when you know better, do better” - Maya Angelou

Intro : Aeri ︴20!! ︴she/her

TAGLIST : coming very soon!!

Rules : 01. I do not tolerate hate, bullying, or rude comments-toward me, my stories, or the groups I write about. This is a safe space for creativity and comfort, not judgment.

02. If something I write, isn't your ideal just scroll.

03. This blog is mature, 16+ if you at under take this as a warning and don't interact.

04. Don't copy, repost, translate, or edit any of my work.!!

Masterlist : If you are interested of any of my works. Check out my [masterlist] for any current works or upcoming ones ♡.

Currently/Upcoming works : My Cherry Cola (re continued!).

Note : I just wanna say thank you for everyone who has supported me it truly means a lot to me, I will continue write me stories and hopefully you enjoy them.

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© Aerixfixoff 2025 - All rights reserved. Don't copy, edit, repost, or translate my work. Respect goes both ways!

[kokodamofooo]

is this good or should i scrap it ?? 😭

[pillowhoep]

Unstable Elements Pt.7 ݁.ೃ࿔* S. Mingi

NSFW | MDNI 18+ ONLY | SMUT

Summary: You're just trying your best to get through college and stay on track; all of that gets ruined when you meet your new lab partner, Mingi, who has more than a couple skeletons in his closet.

Pairing: fwb!mingi x female!reader

Genre: angst | non-idol au | college au | smut | fluff

Rating: 18+

Word Count: 17.1k

Content Warnings: cursing, nicknames (princess, good girl), pinv, unsafe sex (don't do dat), oral sex f!receiving, fingering, panty sniffing (?), sensitive!mingi, mingi is v vocal and big yapper, mingi whimpering, hairpulling, shower sex, praise (lowkey), degradation (very lowkey), bigdick!mingi, marking, overstim, lmk if i forgot anything

Author's note: As always I'm late asf and I owe someone my unborn children but thank you all for interacting w/ me sm and pushing me to write. Trauma dump time: as some may know, me and bf of 6 years broke up not too long ago so it's kinda hard to write about romance when you're questioning your own experiences with it, yk? That aside, school is sm, mcat is terrible, I hate med school, I hate the us med school application, but on a positive note, i love yall. Keep messaging me, everyone's keeping me sane rn! <3 hope yall like this part, I had sm fun writing it so pls enjoy and forgive me for being late but I'd rather put out something that I think is good as opposed to just anything. Tell me if it sucks tho lol, be so fr. Keep supporting this series and me thank you love you!! <3

Also whoever called me dominican papi is so funny

Tag-List: @nanamingii@painted-hills@jiayingjellies@notyourbunny1324@mzngi@minjoongsgirlie@les4heeseung@chicksmoothie@niyahhh134@baeksobsession@tefihh@ancientsilver@nirali147@minsanhwa@axmeeboshie@goblin-pop@whyismingi@beomie0313@dayho3@cosmic-hwa@aila26@lemonb-oy@cloudysannie@h-llsp-wn@mingipessego@0x11s@choreomvnia@fixbbyong8@nochilljeon@at33z-l0v3r

Recap: After you worked up the courage to confess your feelings, you were rejected by a guy who got on his knees and begged you to hang out with him.

Up to this point in your life, there have only been two romantic relationships, both of which ended with someone telling you they don’t want you. You hate to say it, but it might be time to throw in the towel. After you brazenly told Mingi you wanted to be serious with him, and he flat-out said no, you went down a crazy spiral within the span of one hour. The second you got back to your apartment, you threw the jacket he gave you in the trash and blocked his number, email, and Instagram. The whole time, you were crying. You’re not sure if it was the alcohol or the sheer flood of emotions you were feeling, but you’ve never been so devastated. The internet was right: those 2–3-month-long situationships really do ruin your life. This hurt way more than your relationship breakup. Hysterical, you left without even thinking. Just grabbed your keys and drove home that night after pacing around your apartment for 15 minutes, overthinking every interaction you’ve ever had with him. While driving, you were crying so hard that you could barely see the road. Since you left your apartment without a second thought, all you have left to wear is your high school wardrobe. You do have the option to go back to your apartment since you live so close, but the thought of seeing him makes you wanna die. Not even trying to be dramatic, you have never been rejected like that. Obviously, you’ll recover, but, as with all things, this will take time.

For the first three days of your winter break, you’ve been locked in your room watching your comfort show, doom scrolling, and not showering. You didn’t have the heart to tell your friends what happened, but they eventually found out through the grapevine. They all dropped by one by one the next morning to try and make you feel better, but it was a pity party and left you feeling worse. You assured them that you were fine and this was just a slump that you’d be out of in no time. In actuality, you are so devastated that you cry for 20 minutes whenever someone brings him up. Today, while on your fifth hour of doom scrolling, you notice an Instagram ad for a new matcha café that opened up by your house. While rotting has been decently comfortable, you’re sick of wallowing in your self-pity and grossness. Today’s the day you’ll leave your room, with a matcha as your reward. You sit up in your bed and wipe all the crust off your face. You can’t stay sad and disgusting forever. So, you promptly rush to your bathroom to take an everything-shower and put on a cute outfit, in hopes that “look good, feel good” is real. Sentimentality isn’t your forte, but everything really does remind you of him, even the shower. You shed, maybe, three tears when washing your hair, thinking about that one time he washed your hair. When you’re doing your hair, you see hints and traces of him littered all over your chest and neck. The small hickeys and bruises fading away with every passing moment. 

By the time you’re done with your hair, your body is mostly dry. You take out a pair of jeans and an old sweater, knowing you’re going to bulge at every seam. To your surprise, a pair of your favorite high school jeans still fit, but the sweater is a no-go. You take a second to check yourself out in the mirror. Your ass looks great, but even a fat ass isn’t making you feel better. To find a decent top, you have to rummage through your mom’s closet to find a normal-looking sweater. You settle for a black turtleneck with a hole at the back of the neck. Good enough.

Without texting any of your friends to come with, you leave your house, deciding it’s an alone day. Next semester is your last in college, and with the way you’ve been setting up your class schedule, it’s the lightest load you’ve had these past four years. You smile to yourself as you drive, thinking about all the free time you’ll have to do… something, probably. Well, at least now you’ll have time to actually develop a hobby. That’s something to look forward to.

The café was only an eight-minute drive away from your house. You don’t really have a preference between tea and coffee but you love a sweet drink. The café has a lovely, comfortable ambience with warm lighting, and a few seats, enough for people to study or hang out. There’s a relief in the thought that you’re in your hometown and won’t be seeing anyone from college. Every time you want to avoid Mingi you end up seeing him somewhere in public, so you’ve been very dodgy about going outside. You wait in line behind a group of teenagers as you scan through the menu online. This place is already very popular and they’ve only been open a week or so. All of a sudden, the group in front of you starts laughing and startles you. To give yourself some space you take a step back and step on the foot of the guy standing behind you. “Oh! I’m so sorry–” just as you turn around to apologize, you stumble over the stranger’s feet and suddenly fall backwards into him. Right when you muster up the courage to go outside, you go and embarrass yourself. “It’s fine, y/n.” The universe must be mocking you because while you were praying to avoid Mingi, you should’ve also prayed to avoid his best friend. The same guy who’s smiling because you fell on him. “Nice seeing you again.” You snatch yourself away from him and stand up straight. 

“Hey Yunho…”

“Damn, okay. I didn’t think you’d be that upset to see me “

“Can you blame me?”

“I figured as much, that’s why I wasn’t going to bother you, but guess I got lucky.” The group of kids in front of you finishes ordering and moves out of the way. You turn around and walk up to the kiosk to select a drink. Just when you’re about to hit the checkout button, Yunho hits the “return to menu” button and scrolls through the options. You look over your shoulder to find him towering over you, his frame leaning against yours very comfortably. You’re guessing the kiss made him feel extra acquainted with you given how he’s so comfortable initiating physical contact right now. While a gorgeous guy touching you is definitely a good omen, you are freshly heartbroken.

“What are you doing?”

“Picking a drink.”

“There’s another kiosk.”

“Meh, this one’s fine.”

“Yunho, I don’t know what you’re doing–”

“Then, let me just get a drink.” You try to nudge him away from you, but he doesn’t budge, and you end up hurting your arm instead. He laughs watching you rub your bicep, “You really thought that would work? “

“Shut up.” He picks a drink and returns to the checkout page, you step up with your card, but he stands between you and the machine.

“It’s fine, consider it an exchange.“ You take a second to gawk at him and step maybe a foot away.

“An exchange for what?” He laughs again and quickly pays. 

“Not the kind you’re thinking about. God, you and Mingi really are similar.” Before you can scold him for that comparison, he leads the way over to a free seating area. You take a seat beside him on an open couch, and he settles into his spot, crossing his arms. “Now, what happened with you and Mingi?”

“Ugh, I don’t wanna talk about–wait, he didn’t tell you?”

“He’s been refusing to speak to me, I wonder why.” 

You gasp, “I can’t believe he’s victim-blaming.” You thought you whispered that but he chuckles. It doesn’t make any sense for him to punish Yunho for something you did. 

“It’s fine. I’m not too worried about him. He’s always like that. After you guys fought, he came back and went straight to his room. I tried talking to him but he ignored me and left. I haven’t heard from him since, I was wondering if you knew–”

“I don’t.”

“Oh…” As he registers the news, they call your order number and he stands up to go get the drinks. It’s been four days and he still hasn’t told anyone? That’s really weird. Then again, what would he tell everyone? That he rejected you? Your fight caused a pretty big commotion. You’re sure a bunch of people heard everything you two said. You sigh thinking about how you’re just another crazy Mingi story now–“Well, don’t look too happy.” 

“Oh, thanks.” You grab your drink out of his hands and place it on the coaster on the coffee table in front of you. “What are you doing here anyway? Isn’t your hometown a little bit farther?”

“Okay, stalker.”

“Shut up, Mingi told me.”

“Haha, yeah, makes sense. I just finished grading some papers for a class I TA for, so I’m heading home now. I saw this place as I was driving so I stopped in.”

“Really?”

“No y/n, I saw your car and did a stunt jump off a ramp on the freeway so I could meet you here. On my Spider-Man shit.”

“Aw, all that just to matcha and yap?” You take a sip of your drink, and your mood instantly improves. Yunho watches you light up and giggles to himself.

“Is it that good?” You warmly nod. He sips his drink while ruminating on something, “You seriously haven’t heard from him?”

“Do you think I’m keeping him captive in my basement or something?”

“I mean, it sounds like something he’d be into. “

“Who knows?”

“…you’d know, y/n.” You gently slap his arm.

“Shut up, that’s in the past now. Besides, I don’t think he’s worried about me, he rejected me.” You’re too busy having war flashbacks to notice the familiar look of sympathy on Yunho’s face. One way or another, you’ve somehow ended up complaining to Yunho about another man. He stares at you sipping your drink with a twinge of sadness plastered across your soft features. It makes his heart ache to see you go through one bad situation after another. Still looking away, thinking about that world-shattering rejection, you don’t register that Yunho is sitting closer to you.

“Hey, I’m not sure if this means anything to you, but he was really upset that night. I think he cried…” he places the gentle, consoling hand on your shoulder, but you swat him away.

“I don’t give a fuck! He literally told me he wasn’t ready for a relationship, word-for-word, when I asked him for something serious!” A few people seated around the two of you are now staring in your direction. If they were there, they’d get it. After Mingi made a fool of you and you made a fool of yourself, you poured your bleeding heart out to him just for him to tell you that the entire relationship, that he was so insistent on preserving, was a prank. The crushed hopes is one thing, but the public humiliation? That’s the worst part of this whole situation. You start to tear up thinking about it. These aren’t tears of sadness, but of anger. God, you really feel like a loser right now. It feels like you got used. 

Yunho’s expression immediately drops once he sees you staring at the floor with fat droplets of tears building in your lower lash line. “Hey, I’m sorry. I didn’t know it was–” You sniffle and look to the side, he silently hands you a tissue that you take to rid yourself of the melancholy. 

“I’m fine, don’t worry about it.” You sniffle again in hopes of sucking some tears back into your eyes, but that’s not how that works. “I know you’re worried about your friend, but I really wanna put all of this behind me. It’s already embarrassing enough.” He looks at you with a strained expression. 

“Hey, I’m really sorry. I had no idea he said that…” That’s shocking. You assumed after the argument, he went back inside to tell everyone you were another psycho bitch and it just wasn’t working; or at least that’s the narrative you created in your head. “We all just kinda assumed you dumped him because–you know, you kissed me.” You look at your feet, avoiding his gaze and the shame. You forgot you forcefully kissed Yunho, and you’re sitting here venting to him about his best friend after you may have ruined their friendship. Jeez, you’re really on a terrible person streak. Since you’re already getting everything off your chest, it might be good to tackle that “shame” as well.

“Yunho, I’m really sorry about...kissing–” 

“No, it’s fine. I didn’t–Mingi was actually more distraught than me.” You scoff. 

“Distraught? What does he have to be distraught about? Rejecting me? Piece of shit.” The last few sentences come out as mumbles and grumbles.

He looks at you, all tenderhearted, you know he means well but this is starting to feel like another pity party. You look at him, “What?” 

“Nothing. I don’t believe that he rejected you, y/n.”

“Welp, I don’t know what to tell you–”

“I mean, he really likes you.” 

“So?”

“I don’t know, I’m just shocked.” 

“Ugh, do you wanna talk about something else or you wanna keep going with this Mingi thing?”

“We can talk about something else but this is kinda juicy.”

“Okay, well, I’m done with all this. Thanks for the drink. I’ll see you on campus.” Sliding your keys and phone into the pocket of your beige winter coat, you stand up to leave. Seeing you get up so suddenly has Yunho rushing to block your way, “I’ll walk you to your car. For old time’s sake.” You smile, mildly amused by his strange actions and lead the way outside. As you’re walking, you think about how well-orchestrated this meeting between you and Yunho is. There’s also the fact that he tried to convince you to give Mingi another chance. You might be reaching, but why does this feel like an elaborate ploy? “You sure this is all just a coincidence? You running into me here?”

“No such thing as coincidences when you’re Spider-Man.” The words come out so casually from his mouth that you actually believe him for a second. 

“What? What’re you talking about?” You laugh. 

“Y/n chill, I just fuck with matcha.” You nod and then your acknowledgment turns into laughter.

“You’re so stupid.” You unlock your car, grab the handle, and pause before getting in. Turning around to look at Yunho one more time, you send him a sincere, genuine smile, “Thanks for hearing me out… as always.”

“Yeah, I got you. I love drama.” 

“I’ll see you on campus?” 

“Yeah, hopefully less drama then.” You giggle and enter your car. In addition to being tall and decently hot, you forgot that Yunho was also a good friend. Meeting Mingi has made you so lustful. You watch him walk to his car in the rearview mirror, then turn your car on and make your way home. While you are still sad about the whole Mingi problem, talking it out has definitely helped you see that you’re not missing out on anything. Maybe just a good fuck.

Later at night, you find yourself lying awake in bed, thinking about why you’re so upset when you barely even know the guy. It’s because Mingi brings out a different side of you. It’s a side of yourself you rarely explore, which is why he’s so addicting. He has you doing and saying things you would never even conjure a thought of. Being with him was exciting because you got to discover a new version of you, a very sexual one, but still new. It wasn’t just about the sex either, as much as you would’ve liked it to be. You also genuinely valued the connection you and Mingi had. He made you feel special—sexy, even. All the positive thoughts of Mingi fade when you realize you’re not the only girl who’s felt like this. From everything you’ve heard, he always makes girls feel special until he gets bored with them and moves on to the next one. Just a terrible cycle that only benefits him. When you think of it that way, it really puts into perspective that he’s not the person you thought he was. He’s actually the person he assured you he wasn’t. You’re mostly upset you gave him the benefit of the doubt. You won’t punish yourself for believing in the good of someone else, so while the hurt is still present, you must keep moving forward.

Not bringing any clothes is really the worst idea you’ve had in a while, either nothing fits or everything makes you look ten pounds heavier. Your friends are meeting up for your annual gift exchange, and you have nothing to wear. Your mom offered you some more of her cardigans; at this point, you have no choice. You’re all meeting today to build a gingerbread house so you’re gonna have to settle for your mom’s sweater and a pair of jeans that barely fit. This outfit has become your uniform ever since you came back. 

Now that you don’t have to worry about school as much and there’s nothing to distract you from the shitty aspects of your life, all you can think about is Mingi. That might have been the one interesting thing in your life…jeez you really do need hobbies. You sigh as you walk up the steps to your friend’s porch. Ever since your fight with Mingi, whenever you think about him, you feel a dull heartache resonate through your body. You take a second before going inside to soothe your melancholy. As soon as you walk into your friend’s house, “Hey, I’m here,” it feels like the room goes silent. Everyone stops what they’re doing for a second and stares at you, not just a presence-acknowledging stare, but a lingering one. They already know what went on so why so awkward? “Guys… what’s up?” You awkwardly remove your jacket and scarf, placing them on the rack. They all send you sympathetic smiles and shaky “hi"s. “Oh my god! I know you guys know what happened. You guys are so bad at being subtle.” You slam yourself down on the couch, laughing but exacerbated. One of your friends brings the gingerbread house box to the coffee table and sits next to you. “Pookie, don’t be like that. We wanna make sure you’re okay.”

“I’m fine.” Your tone softens up because you realize that they’re trying to be sensitive to your feelings. She places a hand on your shoulder and you put yours over it, “Seriously, I’m good.” The way everyone is stepping on eggshells around you makes you more aware of the fact that a guy who was into you first rejected you. Another friend brings a tray of drinks to the table and everyone else follows behind her, gathering around you. You lean forward to check what kind of beverage it is, you snatch up a mug when you see hot chocolate. You’ve had enough alcohol during the semester, it’s time to give your liver a break. 

“Girl, we know you’re fine, it’s just shitty of him to do that to you.”

“Yeah…it was really shitty but I’ll be fine, seriously.”

“Listen, you’re allowed to be upset. We’re not judging you.”

“I know you guys aren’t–”

“We’re just worried because we know how you are. Don’t blame yourself for this…” All of a sudden you have no more words to deny their pushing. This whole time you’ve just been thinking about how your friends were right and how you should’ve heeded everyone’s warnings. Even though you know they’d never judge you, it’s hard for you to admit they were right. You can’t help but tear up thinking about it, clenching your jaw. “I didn’t even like him that much. I only said that we should be serious because I thought…” You pause, feeling that heartache. “I-I just thought we had something–more between us, y’know–“Before you can even finish that sentence everyone hugs you. 

“It’s not your fault for thinking that.”

” I know,” you sniffle and swipe away a tear or two, “I guess, it’s just hard to understand why because I didn’t think–things would end like that.” The pauses are necessary for you to maintain your composure and keep tears from spilling. 

“Yeah, we understand.” One of the friends hugging you rubs your shoulder to comfort you. “I’m really not trying to bother you, y/n. I know how upset you are about this but not talking about it and saying ‘you’re fine’ will just make it worse.”

“Yeah, y/n, you’re not alone. We’ve all been through this. How many times have you had to hug us like this?” You look down as a tear runs down your cheek, quickly wiping it away. You nod, and a smile creeps onto your tear-stained face. Your friends take a couple more minutes taking turns to give you words of comfort, advice, and general support; all except one person. Everyone turns to look at the one friend, the one who accompanied you to the party, who’s been silently rubbing your knee this whole time. 

“–Oh. Girl, fuck him and his goofy ass face. Let’s build this house.” Everyone laughs. While that may seem abrupt and insensitive to everyone else, it was what you needed to hear right now. You said this to yourself, Yunho, your friends, and basically anyone who knows about the situation, you’re ready to put all of this behind you. You don’t necessarily mean to elude your feelings; you barely got over your last heartbreak, only to fall into another. You wanna be free from someone else making you feel like shit. You need to find hobbies or some sort of distraction to get through this. Upon being handed a frosting tube, you begin laying down some foundation for the house.

You’re not sure why you forgot that building a gingerbread house sucks, but the second you started, you immediately remembered how much you hate doing it. The house fell apart multiple times until you gave up and started eating whatever frosting was left in your tube. “Y/n, I talked to that promoter I know and we’re leaving at 8 for New Year’s. So put that in your schedule or whatever.” You giggle because of how thoughtful she is. You begged her to finalize the New Year’s plans because you wanted to plan the day before and after.

“8? Isn’t that super early?” 

“We need to pick up our wristbands. Don’t forget the dress, I want to take a picture of all of us with the skyline before it gets too crowded.” You slap your hand against your forehead because this is something you’re also not sure you forgot. The entire friend group decided to wear semi–matching dresses for New Year’s. You guys are going to some rooftop. One of your roommates, the one who knows every bartender, promoter, and bouncer ever, managed to get you guys into a New Year’s eve party. The theme is Y2K, but you all said fuck that and went with the classic sparkly black dresses. Yours is absolutely gorgeous, it’s the only midi dress of the group, but it has a very high slit going right up to the point where your panties would show. 

Sidenote aside, now you have to go back to your apartment because you forgot your entire party outfit. You frown thinking about that stupid fucking mysterious force that constantly has you bumping into Mingi whenever you don’t want to see him. It’s fine, it’ll just be a quick in and out. Plus, you need clothes for your family’s Christmas dinner, since wearing your mom’s clothes is starting to run its course. Your friends have already made fun of you twice. While everyone’s busy snapping photos of the fully decorated gingerbread house, you’re still stuck on the couch, licking the frosting spoon, thinking about how you can avoid Mingi at all costs. There’s no way he’d be in town for any reason but you just have to make sure. You decide to text Yunho to subtly get the scoop on Mingi’s latest whereabouts.

-Heyy

Staring at that awkward text, you realize you should’ve put more thought into how you’d start a conversation with him. When you see him typing, you nearly throw your phone across the room, but manage to control your reaction. 

-hey what’s up??

-matcha yap round two??

You quietly chuckle thinking about him using the word “yap” so casually. 

-Oh lol no

-Maybe but I’m just wondering if you’ve seen Mingi around lately? 

He starts typing, then stops, then starts again. A full minute passes of you, staring at your screen way too intently waiting for him to give you a response.

-yeahh we’re together right now

You’re about to shit your heart and stomach out. You could not have chosen a worse time to text Yunho. Before you can change the topic of the conversation, Yunho sends you a selfie of him and Mingi playing a video game, with Mingi sitting next to him focused on the game. This is the longest you’ve gone without seeing him and God, does he look so good. He’s wearing a plaid button-up with a pair of black glasses. He has so many accessories, mostly different glasses, rings, and necklaces. You have a very distinct memory of Mingi removing his rings before you did it. His hair is a little puffy, swept to the side with a slight wave to it, he might’ve showered not too long ago. His hair naturally dries like that. He likes to leave it sometimes because some days he likes the “natural vibes”, as he describes it. The glasses are nearing the tip of his nose, possibly sliding off due to the angle. He’s sitting with his elbows on his knees, leaning forward, a controller in his hands. The large, ring-clad hands fully engulf the controller, and you remember just how big they are. How they fully wrapped around yours. Shit. You’ve been staring at the photo for too long. You should say something.

-Glad to see that you two made up

-aw is that why you texted???

-Yes I’m very worried about your friendship

-no need to worry

-Thank god

-thought you wanted to move on miss independent??🤨🤨

Is he suddenly funny or are you deathly nervous because you’re laughing at every text he sends? 

-Nooo I was planning on heading back to my apartment and I didn’t want to run into him

-you’re safe miss independent

-Thank you kind sir

Kind sir? You were trying to be funny, but isn’t that kind of cringe? No no you must remain positive, it was hilarious. At least now you know it’s safe to go back to your apartment without having to worry about running into the devil himself. 

“Y/n, join the festivities or we’re kicking you out.” It’s way too cold outside for them to even be threatening something like that. With haste, you hop off the couch and head over to the kitchen island to stand with your friends. At the same time, they continue to vie for whoever captures the most Instagram–worthy picture. You suck at taking photos, so you’re letting them handle this. 

“So… Who were you texting?”

“No one–” 

“Yeah, y/n. You never told us about that guy you kissed. Mr. Physics?” Your eyes widen, and your movements still. You peered over to the friend that accompanied you to the party. She immediately avoids eye contact, you narrow your eyes at her, but she still doesn’t look your way.

“I say you should’ve fucked him.” You gasp as the room fills with laughter. Rolling your eyes, you lean your head on one of your friend’s shoulders, helping her adjust the camera angle to the best of your ability. 

On the drive home, you think about how hanging out with your friends is so healing after your self–imposed isolation. All that wallowing really did a number on your mood, edging you ever so closer into a seasonal depression. After today, you’ve successfully avoided that terrible outcome, even though this is your worst breakup yet, if you can even call it that. Once home and in your bedroom, you fall back on your bed and stare up at the ceiling. This whole time you’ve been feeling like you’re the one who made the mistake but you’re not at fault. He genuinely had no reason to lead you on like that. A couple more days of overthinking Mingi’s behavior has made you realize that he really is the master manipulator everyone makes him out to be. It’s actually kind of impressive because he seems so dumb. When you actually think about it, anyone would fall for it and there’s some comfort in that knowledge. 

Two days before Christmas, you’ve officially run out of clothes to wear; down to your last pair of underwear. You’re out of bras, in the lowest of lows, you even tried your bra from middle school which, of course, didn’t fit. It might be time to go back to your apartment. Truth be told, it’s not even about Mingi anymore, you’re just lazy. Your daily routine of waking up at noon, watching TV shows and movies all day, and then going to bed at 4am has been hitting the spot lately. Since you waited so long to get your clothes, you either have to do two huge loads of laundry or go to the apartment and pack a suitcase. Packing a suitcase seems like a lot less work so you grab your keys and head out of your house after dinner and maybe a movie or two.

The drive takes less than 15 minutes because it’s the middle of the night, hence, no traffic. You pull into the parking lot next to your building and notice how the town is basically empty. It really does feel like a ghost town around the holidays. Upon leaving your car, the cold winter wind rips through your body and you immediately regret not wearing more layers. A hoodie with nothing underneath will not suffice for these freezing temperatures. You rush over to your front door and it begins to snow. You really should’ve checked the Weather app before driving over. As you’re pulling your keys out, your phone starts to vibrate, it’s your downstairs neighbor calling. Sliding your finger across the screen you put the phone in the nook between your ear and shoulder as you bring the key to the lock. “Hey, what’s up!” It’s too dark to see the lock, so you shift your head to let the streetlight illuminate your door.

“Hey y/n, sorry to call so late, but I just saw you pulling in. I have some of your mail. I’m just getting back from a run so I can give it to you. I’m just around the corner. Be there soon.”

“Oh yeah, totally, no problem! Take your time.” You hear footsteps and turn around to him walking towards you from across the street. He’s a lovely older gentleman in his late 30s getting his PhD. You guys don’t really talk much but because his apartment is 1A and yours is 1B, so the mailman often gets mixed up. You grab your phone from your shoulder as you hear him drawing nearer, approaching you from behind. You turn around to say hi. “Hey–” You choke on your words. 

“Y/n?” Your body freezes and you drop your phone. That’s not your neighbor. The figure draws closer into the light of your front steps, you turn back around and jam the key into the door. What the fuck are the odds? You go stiff, your heart sinks, and your stomach turns. As much as you hate to say it again, you’d fucking recognize that deep voice anywhere. You can hear him walking towards you, but don’t turn around. Instead, you opt to make your way into the building as soon as possible if you can get this shit to open. The front door has always had this problem: you have to jiggle the key a bit to get it to unlock. “Y/n.” There it is again, this time a bit closer. Holy fuck. You might just shit yourself right here. The sheer amount of shock you’re feeling right now could actually make you faint. Your breathing becomes erratic. Your head is spinning. You won’t turn around, you can’t, it’s too soon. You just started to heal–for fuck’s sake, why won’t the door open?! You keep jiggling the fucking key but luck is never on your side. “Hey, I just wanna talk. Please, hear me out.” He’s right behind you. You want to sink to the floor and disappear. You’d rather pluck out all of your lashes individually with a tweezer than talk to him right now. Seems like the gods finally heard you because your door opens allowing you to hastily make your way inside and slam the door shut behind you, but you’re not fast enough. Both of you put your full body weight on either side of the door. “Hey! Just listen–” You push even harder placing both hands on the door. You’ve never had to work this hard to open or close a door before. Obviously, you’re not as strong as him so he manages to overpower you and push the door open just enough so he can slip his way inside. As soon as he’s standing in the hallway in front of you, you turn around and make a dash for the stairs before even looking at him. Shout-out to epinephrine because your fight-or-flight is working today. He grabs your hand before you get too far away from him, “Y/n, please just give me a minute and I’ll leave. I promise.” You resist his grasp on you, still refusing to look at him. “Baby–” He attempts to pull you closer to him, but you snatch your hand away, or at least try to. 

“Don’t fucking ‘baby’ me!” You whip your head around, still struggling against him. 

“I know you’re upset–”

“What are you even doing here? I mean–how did you even–are you stalking me!?” After failing to free yourself, you yield, leaving your arm in his grasp. There’s nothing you can do now. I mean, you could scream for help–

“I’ve been waiting outside your building for the past week hoping I’d catch you.”

“What?! That doesn’t even make sense–you don’t even–did Yunho tell you?” Stumbling over your words like a toddler, your frustration knows no bounds right now. There’s a million thoughts running through your mind and your brain is frying trying to pinpoint just one thing to be upset about. You even fucking planned to avoid him. Were you set up? What the actual fuck?

“He didn’t tell me…but I saw your name pop up on his phone and…I kinda went through it when he was in the bathroom.” 

“What is the point of that, you psycho? You rejected me, remember?”

“Baby–y/n, I didn’t reject you—“

“Yeah? Then what does ‘I’m not ready for a relationship’ mean?!”

“Y/n, as soon as you left I came after you but you left your apartment. I waited outside for a while because you blocked me on everything.” 

“That’s not true. You didn’t ‘immediately’ come.” 

“Okay, I took some time to process but I swear I came after you.” His gaze softens as he pleads for your attention, trying to make you face him. “At least look at me.” You feel all your anger starting to fizzle away when he looks at you like that, but you try your best to turn away again

and remember what he’s done to you.

“I don’t want to talk to you.”

“I don’t care if you don’t wanna talk or see me. I’m not letting things end this way–I’m not letting things end at all.”

Once again, he tries to close the distance between you and him, you resist, but this time he overpowers you with his strength. You stand under his gaze, it feels like a spotlight, you don’t have the nerve to actually make eye contact. He nudges your phone towards you and you grab it, slipping it in your pocket. “About what I said that night. I just said I wasn’t ready because that’s what I always do. But when I saw you walking away–I don’t know, something just didn’t feel right.” His hand loosens up on your wrist and both of his hands slither their slimy way onto your hips as he draws you in. A gesture so disgustingly familiar that you forget to be mad and allow his touch to rest on you. “When I went back inside, I felt like shit and–I–I didn’t know why. I tried to call you, but you blocked me. And then, I got really mad and deleted your number, but I realized that was really fucking stupid. So I tried going to your apartment but there’s no numbers on those stupid ass bells so I kept ringing the wrong one. Your neighbor actually yelled at me, saying he was gonna call the cops–”

“Okay! Can you get to the point?”

“Yeah, sorry. What I mean to say is I thought a lot and I really can’t see myself happy without you. I want you to be my girlfriend–”

“No.”

“What?!” You pull your body away from his hands, he’s too shocked to pull you back in. “Why?”

“Genuinely, I don’t think you’re a good person. I don’t think you have it in you to be a good partner. Also, you’re a whore. All you care about is sex. You use every girl you meet and you bait all of them by being this nice, sweet guy, but then dump everyone once you get bored.” He just stares at you, you’re not sure how to decipher his expression. It’s a mix of surprise, anger, shock, fear. There’s some pride in staying strong and rejecting him. He just stands there, with that same expression. Truth is, no one’s ever said any of this to Mingi. He knows it’s partly true, but for some reason, it hurts that this is your perception of him.

“I’m literally in love with you–”

“No, you’re not.” You turn back to the stairs, hoping this is the rejection that sets him straight. You can only take one step before you are tugged back under that terrible spotlight once again. “There’s no way you changed your mind in one week. I know you still have feelings for me.”

“Of course I do, we had a very personal relationship. I’m not gonna be over you in just a couple days but I don’t want to do this anymore. It’s not healthy.”

“And you mean that?”

“Yes, now can you let me go? I have somewhere to be–”

“No. You’re wrong. It was never just about sex with you.”

“That’s your interpretation–”

“Y/n, I genuinely really love you.” That evil glare he always has on his face is suddenly absent, overtaken by this wide-eyed, desirous look. “That’s not just something I say. This is my first time saying it to someone–”

“Okay. Great. Let me go.” You manage to pull your arm away from his grasp and take another step towards the stairs, but he grabs you again.

“Y/n, I’m really not trying to bother you, but we really need to talk this out. We have something.” 

“We’ve talked enough. Let me go or I’ll scream–”

“Scream. I don’t care. You can’t just let go of what we had–”

“I can do whatever I want. I literally asked you to be serious and you said no. Why do you think you can just show up at my apartment and I’ll drop to my knees because you think you love me or something? Now. Let. Me. Go.”

“No, I’m not letting you walk away from this.”

“Mingi–” You can feel the anger bubbling up in your stomach. “Why are you so persistent right now? You had no problem letting me walk away crying that night! You don’t get to do that to me, in public mind you, and walk in here like you own shit.” You shove him away with your other hand, his shoulder moves but his body stays in front of you. “Let go.” 

“Fine, but–” He unhands you and you turn around to finally start walking up the stairs. “Y/n, can we please just talk about this?” You don’t respond and keep walking. When your silence is followed by his, you start to worry that he has given up. Just as a stroke of disappointment settles in your heart, he pulls you off the steps, forcing you to come crashing against him as you lose your balance. “Mingi, for fuck’s sake! I could’ve fallen down the stairs!”

“I’m sorry, y/n. Please, just give me another chance. I don’t wanna be away from you anymore.” He wraps his arms around you tightly, holding his face in the cranny of your neck. “Y/n, I’m sorry. Genuinely, I’m so sorry.” He removes a hand from your waist and grabs your face, your immediate reaction is to pry him off you. 

“Let go–”

“Y/n, please.” His left arm stays around your lower back, pressing you back against the mailboxes. Your one hand claws at his, trying to force him to let go of your face and your other hand is placed against his throat, pushing him back. He attempts to put his lips on yours but your hand forces him away. Your hand remains on his lips, he kisses your palm, his tongue gently lips at the skin. A reddish hue overtakes his expression. Letting go of your face, he tenderly pushes your palm further against his lips and this time he places an open-mouth kiss against it. His tongue carefully licking a circle over the spot he just kissed. You know that move. “Baby…please,” his muffled words come out so desperate that you lower your hand from his face, entranced by him. Your hand fists the collar of his sweatshirt urging him away. Unphased by this, he hovers closer. Moving just slow enough to make sure you’re in agreement with his actions. His nose brushes against yours and his heat encompasses you. You take a deep breath through your nose, turning your face away when you exhale a trembling heave. Mingi doesn’t budge, remaining just as close. He patiently waits for you to move away or say something in retaliation, but nothing happens. The brief pause only makes the alarms going off in your head fifteen times worse. This drunken haze has your head spinning, you can’t think. As a last-minute attempt, you force your hand on his neck. His struggling gasps don’t move you as you keep applying pressure but he doesn’t back away. You lose all the strength in that arm when he looks at you like that, eyelids droopy, lips slightly parted. The hand on his collar even pulls him closer to you. His lips loom over yours, almost as if he’s waiting for your permission. The familiar smell of his cologne rushes into your senses as he wraps around you. Somehow he always knows what you want. Your eyes flutter shut and the hand resting on his chest wraps around his neck, tugging him nearer. You want him. He places his lips on yours causing you to immediately stop resisting him in every way. Letting go of his collar, your other hand slides up to his jaw to draw him in. The second your lips interlock with his, you immediately remember how much you missed this. It’s not desire; you can’t even find the words to describe what you’re feeling. His touch just feels right. The side of his face is dotted with melted snow; his skin is cold to the touch, but you feel like you’re on fire. You’re a little too eager to have both arms wrapped around his neck reaching up on your tippy toes as you slip your tongue into his mouth. When you calmly let your guard down, Mingi takes the opportunity to turn you around, now he has his back to the mailboxes as you stand in front of him, trying your best to reach his lips. His hands slide down your back, onto your ass. His right hand follows the curve of your body, his right hand runs down the side of your left thigh, lifting it up as he dips you back to keep kissing you. He slowly pulls back, biting at your lip, pulling it away with him. A motion so quick you forget to feel pain because of how scintillating the environment has suddenly become. Caught in a cycle of brief kisses and messy makeouts, you don’t even hear someone fiddling with the front door. He stands upright, and you follow his lead, back to the original position where you’re struggling to reach his plump lips. Your hands fall to his chest, tugging at the material. You whine, “You’re too far.” He giggles and his hands maneuver away from your ass to delicately push you off his body. Your eyebrows furrow. Whatever desire was building in your core is now dissipating into that familiar anger you were feeling. Before you can express your discontent, your front door swings open, and your eyes land on your neighbor. Upon spotting you, he waves and starts making his way over. You assume Mingi is just out of his sight behind a pillar as you turn your body towards him. 

“Hey! Sorry, hope I didn’t have you waiting too long–” He makes it far enough to notice Mingi’s presence against the mailboxes and his expression immediately changes. “You! So you do know y/n.” 

“Yeah, like I was telling you…” He sneers. You can hear the attitude in his deep voice and turn around to send a glare his way because his words are a bit harsh. 

“Well, when you see a strange man lingering around a girl’s apartment it’s only right to be suspicious.” Your neighbor shoots back at him and you laugh at his remark. “Anyway, if you would just excuse me–” Mingi is standing against the wall of mailboxes with his arms crossed as your neighbor walks towards him with his key but stops in his tracks when Mingi doesn’t move. He looks around confused, wondering why this man is standing in front of him with a key. “Excuse me.” You grab the sleeve of Mingi’s shirt, pulling him towards you as your neighbor unlocks his compartment and starts rummaging through the stack of mail behind the tiny door. He pulls out two envelopes and hands them to you. “There we go.” He takes a second and looks between the two of you before saying, “Next time you want a girl’s attention, try throwing rocks at her window instead of ringing every bell.” Placing your hands over your lips to stop yourself from laughing at his blatant taunts, you look over at a seething Mingi, who’s clenching his jaw. That glare you sent him earlier was enough to make him grasp the message you were sending. So, instead of retorting, he fakes a smile and nods. After the older gentleman shuffles into his apartment, you turn to Mingi and give him a thumbs-up. 

“I didn’t even hear him coming in.”

“I know.” A smug expression, that you are very acquainted with, creeps on his face. “Let’s talk.” He nudges his head towards the stairs, turning your body with his large hands and pushing you in the same direction. You angrily shove his hands away from you to walk up the stairs, “I’m going, don’t push!” He follows behind, smiling to himself. You really need to regain your composure and not let your needs get the better of you.

The apartment is empty, just like you knew it would be. You sit on the couch instead of walking to your room and Mingi is evidently confused by this change of routine. He’s never been in your living room longer than the two minutes it takes the two of you to say bye to each other. “No one’s home?” Shaking your head no, your hand pats the spot next to you. You mainly did this so you two can properly discuss everything. You also don’t want to be seduced by the thought of him fucking you because lord knows that’s the only thing on your mind since he spawned in front of you. He takes a seat a little too close to you so you scoot away. 

“Seriously?”

“Say what you have to say.”

“Y/n, I love you.” You roll your eyes and let out a displeased sigh. “Don’t do that. You know I do…” You don’t say anything, all you do is cross your arms and turn away from him. “Y/n–” He scooches toward you and you stand up. 

“Mingi, I don’t want this anymore.”

“What is ‘this’?”

“You. I don’t want you anymore.”

“Don’t say that. We just kissed, you’re saying you felt nothing?”

“That’s different. It’s a bodily reaction.”

“Baby, I’m sorry. I really am. I’ll do whatever it takes to make it up, I swear. I seriously didn’t mean to upset you–”

“Well, you did. So, what now? Huh?” He stands up and walks toward you. 

“Now, let me make it up to you.” 

“That’s not how this works.”

“How does it work then? Because I’m here, and I mean it when I say that I will do anything.” Standing maybe four feet away from you, he looks like he’s ready to eat you whole. You don’t know whether to feel scared or overjoyed. Now you have to think about what to make him do. As you rake your mind for embarrassing ideas, he slowly closes the distance between you two until he’s only maybe nine inches away from your face. 

“In public, you have to beg me to take you back. Loud enough for everyone to hear you. Then, maybe, I’ll consider–”

“Done.”

“You haven’t even finished listening to what I’m gonna say.”

“I don’t care as long as you consider letting me interact with you again.” Such corny words really should be more offputting than they are, you turn your face away to hide a spreading smile. 

“Desperate ass.” 

“Fuck yeah.”

He aggressively cups your face to kiss you. You reach up to push him away, but his lips are so soft and you’re too weak-willed to stop yourself. Instead, you wrap your arms around his waist and kiss him back. His lips place peck after peck all over your mouth. Everything feels so perfect. You missed him so much–but that doesn’t erase the last ten days of misery. The constant tug-of-war between your logic and your emotions is draining you. It’s tough for you to not be swayed by his words, especially when he knows exactly what you want to hear. You find some strength to push him away but he won’t let you, overwhelming you with the sheer amount of affection. “Mingi–stop,” you turn your face away, for a second he actually stops.

“Listen, I understand how you feel, but I’m just asking for a chance. Please.” Your eyes search his for any semblance of dishonesty, but you know he’s being sincere. That’s what scares you. The fact that you can choose to invest yourself into this again, and it could very easily rip you to pieces, again. Your face, still in his hands, flips through a series of expressions: confused, scared, anxious, hesitant, even happy. He can tell you’re putting a lot of thought into your following words, he wants to respect that. Instead of occupying your mouth, he turns his attention elsewhere. You moan (and stop thinking) when he bites your neck, “Take your time, princess. No pressure at all.” It’s been so long since you’ve had to put in effort to resist him that you physically can’t do it anymore. He knows every way to get you and your body to bend to his will. “What are you thinking about?” He licks a line to your ear from your neck and nibbles on your ear lobe. He starts walking backwards and sits on the couch, pulling you into his lap. Your plan failed. All you can think about is riding him as he sucks a hickey onto your neck. “Come on, baby, tell me.”

“Mingi, stop–” he immediately retracts himself from you and suddenly you’re freezing. 

“I’m not gonna force you, you say the word and I’ll stop.” Pulling his hands back, away from your body, he waits for you to give him the go or the no; as you sit facing him on his lap. 

“You’re not forcing me–” 

You’re cut off by a moan when you feel his cold fingers under your hoodie, against your bare back. His hands start pulling up your hoodie. The cold air hitting your bare stomach brings you back to reality for a second. You tsk and slide off his lap to sit next to him but still facing him. You can’t make it this easy for him. He leaves his right hand on your left hip.

“What’s wrong?” He asks, breathless. His eyes scan your face, there’s no genuine anger. If anything, you look sad.

“I hope you’re not stupid enough to think you can make it up to me with—.”

“You think I’m that dumb?”

“Yes.” He giggles and tucks a strand a hair behind your ear.

“I am, but not that dumb. I have other plans. I’m just excited to see you again.” 

“We’re not a thing, okay?”

“That’s fine.” He looks so pleased with himself. Ugh. This is all happening too fast. 

“I’m gonna talk to other guys too.” His face drops. You’re not actually going to do that. You just wanna see how far he’s willing to go, which is definitely toxic but you have to be sure. He’s biting his lower lip, thinking, then lets out a sigh.

“That’s fine. I made a mistake. Just know that I wanna be with you. I don’t care about anything else.” While hearing those words has you over the moon, you can’t help but search for any signs of hesitance on his face. To your fortune/misfortune he looks genuinely sure of his words. A wave of relief washes over your body. All the tension and anxiety you were holding onto fades. As difficult as it is to admit, you are a forgiving girl. But he hurt you and you’ll be working hard to remember his crimes against you. 

His thumb swipes across your cheek and you, naturally, turn your face into his palm. “I love you.” Those words finally settle in your mind, allowing you to acknowledge the truth of the situation. You freeze and pull back, feeling a little awkward but he doesn’t waver. Something about this feels way too good to be true. 

“I don’t know, Mingi. I don’t trust you having this sudden realization–”

“It’s not sudden. I’ve been very into you, for like a while now. I send you ‘good morning’ and ‘goodnight’ texts for fuck’s sake. When you blocked me on everything, bro I tweaked out.”

“I mean, can you blame me?”

“No, I get it, baby.” He leans forward and pecks your cheek. “I’m sorry I put you through that, princess. Never again.”

“Ugh, shut up. You’re so confusing.” You push his face back and sit facing forward.

“What’s so confusing?” He chuckles, scooting his body towards you. His arm wraps around your shoulders but you shake him off.

“You don’t seem to realize that you’re asking a lot from me. I don’t trust you.”

“Okay, don’t trust me, don’t do anything. Just let me keep seeing you. I wanna show you how I feel about you. I’m not rushing you into anything.” That doesn’t seem like a bad deal on your end. Plus, how can you say no to him when he speaks so fondly? 

Ugh, is it really that easy for him? Are you just easily manipulated? 

“I don’t know. I have to think.” Trying to keep some mystery to your choices despite your emotions being fully plastered on your face

“Okay, think.”

“Shut up, Mingi.” 

“I fucking love when you say that to me–” He tries to put is arm around you again to kiss your cheek but you stand up and walk towards your room. He snickers and follows you. When he walks into the room, he locks the door behind him. Upon hearing the “click” of the lock, you stop rummaging through your closet and turn around to a smug Mingi posted up on the door. You gesture for him to come over. You’re turned around, going through the drawers of your closet. He bites his lip and slinks over to you. “What’re you looking for?” He stands behind you, placing his hands on your hips and kisses the back of your neck, exposed by your updo. His lips reach around to the side of your neck as he continues placing small kisses. You don’t respond, looking up to the top shelf of your closet. On your tippy toes, you’re reaching for something that’s just out of sight. Mingi feels you struggling and reaches over you to grab the item. It’s your suitcase. “Are we running away together?” Carefully, maneuvering it so he doesn’t hit you, his firm chest presses against your back.

“No.” You grab the suitcase from his hands, push him back to make space for it on the ground, and zip it open. He stands in the same spot, confused about what you’re doing. You stand up again to pull some clothes out of the drawers and off hangers to hand them to him. When you notice he’s not moving, you look at him sternly and say, “Fold the clothes, Mingi.”

“Oh! Yeah, of course.” He sits on the floor in front of the open suitcase, behind you, carefully placing the folded clothes in the compartment. There’s a pile of clothes beside him, which you keep adding to. Once you’re done taking out all your clothes, you take a seat across from him on the other side of the suitcase, and begin folding the clothes from the pile as well. 

“You need this many clothes?”

“Yeah, I didn’t take anything with me when I left.”

“Why? I would’ve assumed you packed a week before leaving.”

“Oh I don’t know, I was very…upset when I left.” 

“Right…sorry.” There’s a brief silence as Mingi looks down, ashamed. You snicker, and he looks up, his expression changing. “Any plans for Christmas?”

“Just having dinner with my family.”

“Can I come see you when you’re done?”

“Maybe.”

“I’ll take that.”

“I didn’t say yes.”

“Okay, then you let me know.”

“What are you even trying to do?”

“Get you back–” You start to get angry. Gripping a shirt you just folded, you throw it at his face. “Hey! The fuck was that for?” You keep finding different articles of clothing to toss in his face. His hands block his face and occasionally catch a pair of pant or a shirt, attempting to shield himself. He reaches over the suitcase to grab your wrist. “Stop!” With one wrist apprehended, you calmly reach behind you and grab anything to toss at him. Unfortunately, it’s a pair of pink lacey underwear; even worse, it’s a pair that he knows very well. When the thin piece of fabric is thrown in his face, he lets go of your wrist to catch it. Embarrassed out of your mind you lunge at him, trying to take it back. He reaches his arm forward to keep you back, “now I’m keeping this.” You’re doing your very best to get it back from him, but you can’t beat his strength. He holds the underwear high up and back while simultaneously managing your flailing arms. You stand up on your knees to give yourself more balance, but he continues to push back on your sternum with his forearm, careful as to not use too much force. He turns to the side and brings the panties close to his face, taking a deep sniff. You scream at his obscene actions, “Ew! Mingi give it back!” He turns back to you with a long face and tosses them in your direction. 

“Ugh, they’re clean. I can’t smell anything.” You shove his arm away. 

“What’s wrong with you? Weirdo–” You start to crawl back to your original spot to continue your packing but Mingi grabs your ankle causing you to trip. Caught off guard, you fall on your side, then turn to your back as he slowly finds himself on top of you. 

“If that’s gross, then you definitely won’t wanna know what I did when you weren’t talking to me.” You squint at him as he smiles down at you, you scoff and roll your eyes. 

“Probably something deprived.” Waiting for a response from him, you turn away, but he stays silent. You face him to urge a response. “So?”

“You wanna know?”

“Ugh,” placing your hand on his shoulder, you push him away and sit up but he keeps you sitting in front of him before you move. He hovers closer but you avoid eye contact because you know he’s about to say something that will fry your brain.

“You know I have a pair of yours. From our first time.” You think back to that night a few months ago. You do recall him taking them but you were too caught up in the moment to question it. You think to yourself, what could he possibly do with that? “It hits the spot when I miss…” he slowly pushes you to your back but instead lying down you hold yourself up on your elbows, confused. He lowers himself until he’s suspended before your center and places a hand on the back of your thigh, pulling your legs apart, “certain parts of you.” He ends the sentence by placing a kiss on your clothed core. You know you should stop him, but… a girl has her needs. That small kiss was enough to get you soaking your underwear despite the guilt. He looks up at you from in between your legs and rests his head on your thigh. “You can tell me to stop.” Without daring to utter a word, you simply look away. Out of sight, off your conscience. He lingers there, waiting for you to say something to him but you’re stuck between a rock and a hard place. You feel like you’re betraying yourself. Is all the anxiety he gives you worth feeling good for an hour?

He whines, gripping your thigh as he bites it. Something tells you this will be worth it. Yolo. You’ve already spent enough time trying to be a responsible, hardworking student. While you got the grades you wanted, a small part of you always regretted sacrificing a social life for it. You’re basically done with college, you’ve earned a few months of young stupidity. With a new mindset, you decide to end this ceaseless war between your mind and body by doing the easy thing: letting him take charge. 

“Show me.”

He snaps his head up to find you staring down at him with a cute little smirk on your face. “Hm? Show you what?” He feigns confusion.

“That you missed me.” His smile widens as he bites his lip and immediately goes to remove your pants. 

“Yes ma’am.” He sits up to make quick work of tossing your sweatpants and underwear aside. The cold air hitting your bare core causes you to snap your legs shut, but he pries you open again. “Stop that, let me see.” You can feel your arousal seeping out as Mingi stares down at you. His eyes are glued to your glistening center until they land on yours. You wish you could say that you shyly looked away, but you stare back at him and gesture towards where you need him with your eyes. He laughs, scrunching his nose. “You’re so needy–”

“And you’re on thin ice.” He bites his lip again, this time to hold in his reaction to your warning. Heeding your words, he drags two fingers through your folds gathering your slick. Your whole body shudders and you keep in a moan. You don’t want him to know just how desperate you are because you’re kinda enjoying this power trip. “Don’t worry baby, I’m workin’.” Those two fingers promptly enter you and you yelp, falling off your elbows. Now on your back, as he gently pumps his fingers in and out of you. A slight burn of desire surges through your nerves but you know this won’t be enough to satiate you. He watches your face as you go through fifteen emotions at once just to settle on dissatisfaction. As his fingers reach deeper and deeper inside you, you grow hungrier. The more his fingers bottom out, the louder the noises. Mingi’s thanking God that your eyes are clamped shut because he is so giddy watching you enjoy yourself. Your quiet gasps turn into whines, “Mingi~more.” He slides his fingers out causing you to convulse, losing the sensation. Your confused face turns to anger as you sit up and see Mingi pulling his hair back. Right as you’re about to question him, he grabs the hair tie on your wrist and ties his hair back. “Your hair has gotten so long.” You brush a couple strands back. He nods and grabs your face to kiss you but you pull away. “No.”

“What? Shut up–” he grabs your face again and tries to kiss you but you reject his advances once more. 

“You gotta earn that.” You’re all smug as you sit in front of him, core fully exposed and Mingi is loving every second of it. This terrible attitude that you have today is so starkly different from your usual compliant behavior; although different, the change is definitely welcomed. 

“I will.” He hooks your legs over his shoulders, causing you to almost fall back on the ground, but you manage to catch yourself with one hand behind you. He lies on his stomach on the floor of your bedroom, lowering himself to eye level with your opening. You don’t move an inch, allowing him to come to you, eyes trained on his figure. When you feel his calm breath over you, your head leans to the side in anticipation, but before making a move, he cranes his neck up and says, “Make sure you watch.” You look at him, shocked, but he just laughs. “I know you like watching.” Still holding your gaze, he latches his lips around your clit and gently sucks. His eyes narrow as they watch your expression. Immediately, your hand goes to fist his hair. One hand in his hair and the other propping you up behind you. Feet suspended in the air, over his shoulders. Toes curling as his lips unlatch and the tip of his tongue flicks over it. You cry out but stop out of habit, then you remember that no one’s home, so you can moan till your heart’s content. This might actually be the first time you and Mingi are alone and not in a car. He tears himself away from your addicting taste, “I fucking love you,” the words come out as rough and hoarse as ever. He kisses your thigh and spits on your cunt before diving back in. His hands wrap around your thighs and grab at your waist under your hoodie, dragging you flush against his face. He drags his tongue from your hole to your clit. Your hand pushes some strands of hair away from his face to get a better look at him. Feeling your eyes burning holes into the top of his head, he turns his face up to catch your gaze. His lips wrap around your sensitive bundle of nerves and smilingly sucks on it, playing with it. “Am I earning that kiss?” His dialogue, muffled by your skin.

You don’t say anything, only releasing a shaky, quiet moan then biting your lip. Your hand tugs at his hair, pushing his face towards your warmth. He laughs with his mouth still against you and groans in pleasure. He brings the expanse of his tongue against your entire core then kisses your clit while gently suckling at it. The continual lapping from his tongue is just about to push you over the edge but what really gets you is when he sinks two fingers deep into you. You cry out as your hips begin swaying back and forth. With every forward movement, his tongue sweeps against your clit while his thick fingers flow deeper into you. If you died in this moment, you’d die a happy, sexually content woman. You buck your hips toward his face while your hand drives him further against you by his hair. He grunts, feeling you fisting his hair. Your feet flex and your back arches as you feel a knot getting ready to unravel yet your hand stays stubbornly in his hair. You’re enjoying the anchorage it gives you. Every motion of yours is so in sync with his, it’s like he has a manual to your body. Your neck cranes to the side as you approach your release. The cold room is now suffocating you with the humidity.

The sounds are ungodly and deafening. Your eyes shut and you clench your jaw, you’re at your peak. Your mouth falls open. Slack jawed, you begin to babble a flurry of words. A mix of curses, his name, even proclamations of love but he can’t hear anything because your legs are shut around his head. You shake, pulling on his hair, you yell, “fuck!” As your release spills out of you, your arm gives out and you fall flat onto your back on the carpet. Your chest heaves up and down, trying to stabilize your heart beat. Mingi sits up on his knees and removes his shirt. Hearing his necklace jingle, you pick your neck up to look at him. Fully expecting to see him beaming at you, proud of his mastery, you’re shocked to see an emotion-less stare. When he starts making his way toward you, you flinch, unable to read his expression. He stops, “Can I?”

“Yeah…” His figure hovers over yours and he reaches down to kiss you. 

“Hold on to me.” In a flash, you’re lifted off the floor and placed on the edge of your mattress. Bracing yourself with your hands, you watch him remove his jeans. Once done with himself, he lifts your hoodie up and off your body, leaving you entirely bare to his eyes. He leans in and you close your eyes, waiting for him to kiss you but his lips make contact with your neck instead. Wrapping your arms around his neck, you curl into him as he bites and kisses at your skin. His hands are placed on either side of your hips, which is definitely ticking you off. You go to express the desire for him to touch you, but instead of authoritative, your words come out more as a plea. Which he, of course, laughs at. You push him away, readying a tantrum to ruin the mood he’s working hard to set up. He recedes with a smile on his face. Thank God, because the face he made earlier was very off-putting. 

“What?” His playful demeanor never ceases to turn you on. 

“Don’t laugh!” He leans in but your face is turned away and your arms are crossed over your breasts. 

“But you sound so cute when you say it like that,” his lips meet your cheek, he then goes to your ear, “‘touch me.’” He mimics your whine, and you gasp, driving him away again, falling back onto the soft surface. 

Your hands covering your face, you yell, “Shut up! You’re so annoying.” Heat builds up in your face. You recognize the irony of the fact that you’re blushing over his words while laying nude in front of him. He gets on the bed and crawls over you to kiss the back of your hand, “What? I love hearing it…I love you.” Every time he says it, the wind gets knocked out of you and you have to take a second to recover. You uncover your face, “Boo, lame.” He laughs loudly and gets off you. Standing at the foot of your bed, he tugs you towards him by your hips. 

“Jeez, so mean. Can’t even express myself.” He pulls his boxers down, letting his length spring out. Your right leg is lifted and placed over his left shoulder. His right hand reaches down to pump the red, throbbing member. 

“I’m sure you can think of better ways to express yourself.” Just the sight of him alone has your eyes sparkling but right as he’s about to enter you, you call out to him. 

“Mingi. Condom.” 

You had a scare not too long ago and decided to finally stop being insane and play it safe. Mingi had no problem following your lead.

“Where?” 

“Drawer.” You almost moan seeing that he’s tall enough to just reach over and grab one from your side table without breaking physical contact. He rips it open and rolls it down his length. 

“I keep mine in my side table too.”

“I know. I learn from the worst.” He snickers, scrunching his nose at you. The sweet moment of you two having a laugh together is suddenly ruined when he forces half his length inside you without warning. “Fuck!” He figured the combination of his spit and your slick would have you wet enough. Still, you definitely are not ready for everything he’s about to give you. It feels like a truck is ramming into your body every time he thrusts into you but you can’t say you dislike the feeling. His movements are drawn-out and intense. Your eyes are closed but Mingi’s are fixed on your face. Every moan and groan just pushes him further and further into you. “You missed this, huh?” Your eyes spring open. 

“Don’t get too cocky–” Another slow thrust steals the words right out of your mouth and leaves you drooling. He presses forward, his lower abdomen makes contact with your sensitive clit and you arch away from his touch. Instead of taking the hint, he looms closer. 

“Don’t run away.” Then, seemingly out of nowhere, his laggard movements turn into a rush. Every time he brings his hip to yours you get pushed away from him. Getting tired of having to hold your body in place, he takes your leg off his shoulder and leans over you. Holding himself up on his forearms, his necklace hangs over your lips. He sees you struggling to focus with the piece of metal constantly hitting your mouth. You hear a giggle and before you know it, you open your eyes to find the necklace in his mouth. He looks so hot. His little crooked tooth is on display as he smiles down at you while simultaneously ripping you open. You wrap your arms around his neck and legs around his waist, using your ankles to urge him to go even deeper. You’re not sure what it is but you need to feel his weight on top of you. Something about being crushed by him will appease a specific part of your mind. So, you pull his face into the nook of your neck.  The majority of his weight is being supported by his left forearm as he drags his right hand down your body, pinching your nipple. Once he elicits a high-pitch whine he’s satisfied with a quick laugh. His hand continues to move down your body, in the dip of your waist, he anchors his hand there to push your body onto him, harder. 

“God–fuck, that’s so good.” For the past hour and a half, you haven’t had a single thought aside from Mingi. You’re sweating, he’s sweating, and with how humid it’s gotten in the room, the walls are probably also sweating. The smell of sex lingers in the air and you love it. Your mind is blank except for one word. “Mingi.” You gasp out. Usually, he would try to draw out your sessions more but you had him really riled up today. He can feel your walls closing in around him so you must be close. He knows you’re enjoying this by the number of times you’ve said his name thus far. He’s really close too, but he feels guilty every time he finishes before you. He attempts to pull away to lessen the sensations on him but you’re wrapped around him and surprisingly strong, so he’s stuck where he is. Not that he’s complaining. He’s aware of how much you’re enjoying this position, so to make it even better for you, he starts moving his body in a wave-like motion. Now, every time he enters you his abdomen touches your clit in an upwards motion, essentially flicking it. Such a dumb man, yet so painfully aware of his actions in bed. You won’t last long with this new implementation; you never do. In a matter of seconds, he feels you coming undone and decides it’s time for him to stop rejecting his own release as well. The wave of ecstasy that washes over you has you doing almost a full sit-up, with Mingi on top of you, while gripping the sheets so hard you rip them off the edge of the bed. Your walls start spasming around him and he lets go. You milk him dry while still asking for more. Both of you tense every muscle in your body then relax. He falls on top of you, and for the first time, you feel his full weight, and it really is suffocating. Even though you said you wanted this you can’t breathe. He hears your labored breathing and immediately gets off of you. 

“Oh shit, sorry babe.” He rolls over to your side, removes the condom, and discards it in the trash can underneath your desk. Then he slips his boxers on and comes back to lie with you.  When he lies down, he places an arm over your belly and kisses the side of your head. “I love when we come together. It’s like the stars aligning.” 

You’re still fighting for your life to catch your breath but once you do, you reply, “so poetic” sarcastically. He laughs at you mocking him. It’s like your body realizes how hard it was working the way you just got so tired out of nowhere. You yawn and turn your face to Mingi who’s already looking at you with a smile on his face, “tired?” 

“Yes.” After losing every last bit of energy you had, you simply decide to give in and fall asleep.

“Can I stay?”

“Yes.” You feel yourself drifting off as Mingi sneaks his other arm under your head then pulls you into an embrace. Instinctively, you turn to your side, against his body and ready yourself for a good night’s sleep.

That is, until you remember that you told your mom you’d be back home almost two hours ago. Your eyes snap open.

“I have to go home.” You sit up despite his protests, out of breath due to the fact that you’re stricken with fatigue and sleepiness. Mingi groans, annoyed with your sudden change of plans.

“We’ll wake up early. Let’s just lay down.” He tries to pull you down into a lying position again, but you scooch out of his grasp and off the bed. 

“Can’t. I told my mom I’d be back, I have to keep my word.”

“Baby, please, I’ll pay you.” You laugh as you walk over to your closet to grab a clean towel, wrapping it around your naked figure.

“How much?”

“50?” You tsk and start walking towards your door. “100?” Just before leaving the room, you turn to him and gesture a finger upwards, telling him to raise the price. “200?” You shake your head and walk towards your bathroom. Right as you’re about to enter the other room, you hear, “Higher!? I'm just a college student! No good dick discount?” You giggle as you turn on the faucet and wait for the water to heat up. You take this time to zone out and allow the steam to enter your system. Your jaw unclenches, and your shoulder muscles relax; the cold really makes you stiff. You extend your hand towards the running water, but quickly retract it, feeling that it’s still cold. After a quick shiver, you lean back against the bathroom sink, still waiting. Just then, you hear the door creak open and in steps your wonderful houseguest with one of your towels wrapped around his waist. 

“My towel!”

“This is the one you said I could use.”

“Fine, then you wash it too.”

“Then I’ll forget it at my place. I’ll give you five–no–ten bucks to wash it for me.”

“Every wash?“

“Yep.”

“I’ll wash it every day.” 

“Okay, let’s set up a direct deposit.”

“And if I decide to wash it multiple times in a day?”

“I’ll make a y/n fund, to keep up with the bills.”

You giggle, “The y/n bills?”

“Yeah. Y/n fund for y/n bills.”

“Good plan.”

“Thank you… is someone else in the shower?”

You both chuckle. “No. We’re waiting for the water to warm up, old building.” 

“Oh–we?” He raises an eyebrow at you with a knowing smirk on his face.

“I assume you’ll be joining me.”

“I will, but do you want me to?” 

“It’d save us both time.” 

“That’s not what I asked–”

“Okay, it’s warm.” You remove your towel and place it on the hook protruding from the bathroom door, but he just stands there, eyeing your body up and down. You step into the tub and pull the shower curtain. When he doesn’t join you in the following ten seconds, you start to get impatient, “Come.” You’re too tired to deal with his games right now. You hear him let out a small laugh, then the shower curtain opens, and the cold air hits you immediately. “Get in, it’s cold!” You pull him towards you by the wrist until he has his chest against your back. You’re kinda just standing there, enjoying the warmth of the water washing over your figure. You and your roommates decided to turn the heat off over winter break. No one will be around, so it makes no sense to pay the useless bill. As a result, your apartment temperature matches the outside conditions. Mingi grabs your washcloth from the rack hanging on your showerhead and lathers a decent amount of body wash on it. You don’t move a muscle, just eyes closed, hot water on your scalp, and holding your hands out to catch some water as well. He grabs your wrist and starts cleaning you with the washcloth. You lean back until your head makes contact with his chest. He runs the soapy cloth up your arm, around your shoulder, and behind your neck, but when he reaches your chest, he uses his hands instead. Placing the soapy fabric on the shelf molded into the wall, he grabs some more of your body wash and squeezes out an ample amount all over his hands. The whole time while he has been washing you, you’ve had your eyes closed. When you feel his hands make contact with your body, you open your eyes and turn your face up to look at him. He kisses the apex of your cheek and begins massaging your chest. “Are you sleeping?” 

“No, I was just resting my eyes.” You look down, watching his hands run over the mounds of flesh. “Enjoying yourself?”

“I dream of this.” He lowers himself to kiss the side of your neck, and you lean your head to the other side, allowing him full access to his canvas. There is only one hickey on your neck, and he knows once you see it, he’s in for a lecture. So, he sticks to just kissing and biting at the skin. His right hand cups your left breast, playing with your nipple. While his left hand brings the soap down your stomach, inching dangerously close to your core. You’re not sure if you can handle another round, but who are you to say no?

The distance between his hand and your center grows smaller; you separate your legs, granting him access. His sudsy hand begins moving in small circles over your clit, and you feel something poking at your lower back. Feeling a little cheeky, you grab the washcloth and squeeze out some soap onto your hands. You bring your left hand back around your hip to grab his hard dick. He lets out a harsh whimper, feeling you wrap your hand around the tip as you slowly pump him. The position is definitely awkward; it’s hard for you to move your hand comfortably. Just as you’re about to turn around, his hand suddenly pushes down harder on your bundle of nerves, causing you to bend over slightly from the sensations. He turns you around and tugs you into him, kissing you with a new ferocity that he hasn’t brought thus far. You place your thumb on the side of his lip, pulling it down so he’ll open his mouth and initiate a messy kiss. With that motion, Mingi catches on that you’re ready, willing, and able to partake in round three. His hands slide down your lower back and roughly grab your ass. A couple of harsh squeezes and slaps later, he trails his way to the back of your thighs and lifts you up in one motion. You guys haven’t tried this position yet. You struggle to hide your excitement. He turns to the side, the water hitting his left shoulder as he continues to devour your lips. You worry that he’ll get tired holding you up like this, but that’s the last thing on his mind. One hand lets go of you and swiftly guides his length towards your entrance. When you feel the head entering your warmth, you go limp. He pins you back against the wall and begins drilling into you without warning; your yelps are drowned out by the high water pressure. Your hands grip onto his shoulders while he moves you up and down on himself. “Fuck–so wet.” Your legs lock into place right above the ridge of his hips, in his V-line. Crying out at the enjoyment of being stuffed and unstuffed so quickly, your right hand winds up in his hair as his mouth hovers over the shell of your ear, whispering vulgarities you’d rather not repeat in this lifetime. You grab a fistful of his hair so you can feel attached to this plane, as his rough movements are making your body go numb. The heat from the shower only adds to the ambiance. All you can feel is the physical connection between your body and his. Engrossed in his zeal for you, and the way his stomach rubs against your clit, you’re nearing your climax. It’s been, maybe, seven minutes since you two started, and goodness, do you feel embarrassed that you’re about to come this fast. He feels your grasp on him tighten, then a familiar palpitating of your walls; he gasps, then laughs in your ear.

“That fast?” Instead of responding with words, you pull on the hair at the base of his skull, causing him to look up as he chuckles at you. “Hasn’t even been ten minutes and you’re already coming.” His words mock your appetite (or lack of), and you hate how much you’re enjoying it. He turns his head to catch a glimpse of your face. He was so absorbed in his ecstasy that he completely forgot to poke fun at you. “Missed me that much, huh, y/n? Tell me how much you missed this.” Nothing, you don’t wanna speak since you’re too busy chasing after your high. His ministrations slowed when he noticed you were close, anticipating his bitch ass behavior, you took it upon yourself to keep riding him until you peaked. Forcing your hips down on his dick, then using your shoulder muscles to pull yourself back up. The physical activity is so pleasing. You continue the same motions, using your abs, shoulders, legs, and arms as you work your body on his. Your body is going to give up soon. Eyes blown out, he watches in amazement. Placing a kiss on your wet cheek, he watches you desperately pursue your release. While he would love to mess with you, he can’t help but join your cause; he finds you working this hard endearing. “You’re close, aren’t you?” You finally look at him and nod, going in for an all-tongue kiss. He obliges and begins moving his hips, but especially focusing on the motions of his lower abdomen. Making sure he grazes your clit with every thrust, he’s on a mission. With his help, you immediately find the light at the end of the tunnel. You yell, “Fuck! Mingi–” Tears form at the edges of your eyes, “Don’t stop–” The buildup is absolutely diabolical, you’re scared you might die with this orgasm. The sensations are just too much, your nerves are being overloaded, and you definitely cannot process the amount of endorphins being released in your body right now. Right as you come, you squeeze your eyes shut, and a couple of tears fall down your cheeks. As the waves of pleasure wash over you, your arms and legs give out, but thankfully, Mingi is still holding you up. He doesn’t stop and keeps going. The effects of your orgasm start to wear off, and you’re left with an overly sensitive bundle of nerves that is being continually stimulated right now. You try to struggle against him to push him away, but you simply do not have the strength for that right now. He keeps going, moving your hips up and down the entire expanse of his dick. You’re wet enough to let him bottom out. Your greedy hole is sucking him right back in the second he slides himself out. The overstimulation starts to subside, and you allow him to use you for his own euphoria. The sounds of your sex are now even louder than the water from the shower head. That one vein that runs through his member starts to pulse inside you. You’re completely unaware of what’s happening; your mind has melted. He fucks into you one last time before retracting himself from your sopping core. Right as he lets you down, your knees buckle. He still has a grip on your lower back and catches you before you fall. Your sleepy eyes struggle to remain open until you feel a viscous, warm fluid sliding down your leg. “Did you–”

“Yeah, sorry, baby.” There really was no plan. He just happened to come, but decided to pull out at the last second. He moves away from your body, allowing the water to hit you; it’s still hot. He spends the next ten minutes washing your body again, then turns off the shower, basically carrying you out of the tub, and wraps a towel around you. With the large towel placed around your shoulders, you find yourself struggling to keep your balance, feeling as though you may collapse any second. “Whoa. You sure you’ll be able to make it home?” He quickly dries his body and wraps a towel around his waist. You shake your head no because there’s no way you’re driving in this current state. Your mother will bombard you with calls, but you'll come up with something. You should’ve guessed that a third round would’ve ruined your chances of going home tonight. “Can you walk?“ 

You can, but you don’t want to, so again, you shake your head no. He exhales in joy, watching you zone out. He takes a second to stare at you, the love of his life, but you’re still spacing out. When he notices that you are starting to shiver, he picks you up, bridal style, and rushes to your bedroom. Placing you down on the bed, he goes to your closet to get you a pair of warm clothes. When he returns with something to wear and socks, you’re already fast asleep under the covers. Even though sleeping with you naked is very tempting, he doesn’t want you to get sick. So, as you sleep, he works diligently to dress you, careful to not wake you. Either you’re really tired, or he could be a super spy with the way he was able to do everything without waking you up. For the next few minutes, he watches you sleep, wondering if he should join you. Instead of making a choice, he opts to admire your features as you sleep. Your lashes gently rest on your cheeks, and your face is a little puffy because you’re so sleepy. He's not sure how, but you somehow feel his presence and open your eyes. “I’m sorry, baby. Did I wake you up?” He brushes your hair back off your face lovingly. Without saying a word, you close your eyes, shuffle to the other side of the bed, and pull the blanket open, allowing him an entrance. “Come lay.” After hearing a giggle, the bed shifts, and you now have your own personal heater next to you. Since it’s so cold in the apartment, the second he gets in bed, you move over until your body is flush against his. Pressing yourself on him, you wrap an arm around him, and he slides his left arm under your head, turning to his side to place an arm in the dip of your waist. “Good night.” The last thing you remember is him placing an endearing pack tier forehead.

In the morning, as you assumed, your mom is blowing up your phone. Both of you wake up around eight in the morning to your phone, dinging with messages and calls from your mom. You sit up with a yawn and reach over Mingi to grab your phone from the side table. Trying your best to stay quiet, but he opens his eyes the second your arm goes over his body. He grabs your wrist and interlaces his hand with yours, “Why are you being so sneaky this early in the morning?”

“I was trying not to wake you up.” You let go of his hand, grab your phone, and start going through the notifications, resting your forearms on Mingi’s stomach. He runs a hand over the back of your head, “Everything okay?” 

“Yeah, she’s just worried about where I am… Okay, let’s get up.” Putting your phone down, you bring the palms of your hand down on Mingi’s stomach, causing a small slap sound. Once off the bed, he walks towards your suitcase, getting it ready for transport. With haste, you make your bed and clear any messes because you would hate to come home to a dirty room. You were so focused that when you turned around, your soul almost left your body, seeing a giant man against the wall, asleep. You pat his shoulder, when he opens his eyes, you nudge your head towards the front door and he follows behind. The two of you slip your shoes on in silence. You unlock the front door to leave, but Mingi grabs your arm. “You’re not wearing a jacket?” 

“Uh, no. It’s fine, though, because my car is literally just outside.”

“That doesn’t matter; it snowed last night, so it’s probably freezing.”

“Ugh, Mingi, don’t be annoying. Let’s go.” While you understand he’s just looking out for you, you are literally the worst person ever in the morning, especially when you don’t get enough sleep. You try to leave again, but he pulls you back into the apartment. “Hang on.” He unzips his puffer jacket and takes it off, handing it to you. “Wear this.” Holding up the material in front of you, you stare at him, a little annoyed. You know it’s not worth complaining over, so you take it from him and put it on.

“Now I have another reason to see you.” He places a peck against your forehead. You open the door once more, gesturing for him to leave before you. With your suitcase in hand, he walks out, dragging it behind him, waiting for you in the hallway. You lock the apartment door and walk down the stairs, out the building door. As you lead the way over to your car, Mingi asks, “Front seat, backseat, or trunk?”

“You can just put it in the trunk. Thank you.” Clicking the button on your keys, your trunk springs open, and he lifts the suitcase into the small space. “Of course, baby.” You stuff your hands in the pockets of his jacket as you watch him close the trunk of your car. He takes a step forward, grabs your face with both hands, and kisses you. “Unblock me.” You laugh because you forgot about that. You take out your phone, unblock his number, and turn it around to show him. “Thank you. I can finally sleep at night. I’ll see you later today, okay?”

“Mm.” You nod, smiling, and get into your car. Mingi waits for you to pull out and disappear from his line of sight before walking over to his car. 

The second he gets in, he feels like he might explode. He’s come a long way from where he started. That night, when everything went down, he was already really upset that you and he had a miscommunication, but when you kissed Yunho, he sorta lost it. The insecurities literally started falling out of his mouth. When you walked away from him after he said “he wasn’t ready”, he ran inside and went through all seven stages of grief. Hands running through his hair out of frustration, eyes tearing up, he remembers taking so many deep breaths to stop himself from crying. As he paced around his room thinking of what he should do, his eyes landed on the figurine you got him. He ended up taking it out of his car because Wooyoung broke it. He couldn’t stop the tears anymore, fuck, he realized he was in love with you. The time and effort he put into his relationship were not worth losing over his petty behavior. He snapped out of his psychosis and ran to your apartment, but when he got there, your car wasn’t in its spot. He started to freak out and tried to call you, but it kept going to voicemail. He tried Instagram, but your account wouldn’t come up. You didn’t even let him follow you; he just memorized your username. After falling to his knees out of despair, he figured someone was bound to come, so he could make his way inside at some point. There was no foresight in any of his plans; it was merely a means to an end. Unfortunately for him, your downstairs neighbor came home first to find him sitting on the steps leading up to the front door. In hindsight, he realizes how suspicious he may have looked at the time, asking to be let into a building he didn't live in. When he failed to contact you that night, he didn't give up completely, but he had to give up for the night, so he decided to go home. When he got back, the party was ending. Yunho noticed how upset he was and tried to talk to him, but Mingi really wasn't in the mood. At the time, he heavily blamed Yunho for the breakup. For a full three days, Mingi built a habit of going to your apartment, ringing the (wrong) bell, and waiting for a response. Eventually, he decided to stop ringing the bell after a heated altercation with your downstairs neighbor, who threatened legal repercussions if Mingi kept returning, but he knew he couldn't give up. He decided to change his approach and went to his family home because his mom kept calling him. Although he had planned to avoid his best friend for a long time, he couldn't do that because as soon as he got home, Yunho was already there. He said something along the lines of, “You can't avoid me forever,” which, unfortunately, was true. Instead of pushing his closest friend away again, he confided in him, talked about how much he regretted everything. Every plan Mingi came up with was immediately shot down by Yunho, calling him insane. Despite other friends telling him not to be a stalker, Mingi still staked out your building in secret. For a whole week, you never showed up. He regrets not asking for your address earlier. He didn't even know any of your friends' names; you wouldn't tell him. He was starting to lose hope until Yunho suddenly admitted he'd seen you at a cafe. Mingi had to fight every atom in his body to not punch him in the face. “Why didn’t you tell me earlier?!” He screamed in Yunho's face, holding his collar very calmly. Yunho just said, “You weren’t talking to me! And your brother said you hadn’t come home, so I just asked her where you were.” 

“You should’ve told her to unblock me!” Yunho had to stifle his laughter at the fact that Mingi got blocked. 

“Did she say anything about me?”

“She said she wants to move on–”

“Of course, she said that to you.”

“I don’t like her. I mean, she’s cute–but that’s it.” They had a little bit more of a back-and-forth that night, but all Mingi got from that conversation was that he should keep trying because he doesn't want you to move on. As the days passed, he grew increasingly hopeless. On one particular day when he and Yunho decided to hang out, both of them were graced by a text from you. Upon receiving the text, Yunho, like the great friend he is, immediately handed him the phone. Both of them huddled around the phone, trying to create a plan for him to “inconspicuously” meet up with you. Thankfully, the plan worked. Truly, he has never worked this hard for a woman, and he's not even upset about that. He would do a lot for you, a lot more than you know. Now he just has to keep up his good streak so he can make you his for real.

[pinkprincessminki]

And this is just the beginning

[aerixfixoff]

Hello lovelies it’s been a while since I’ve made an update about how I’m doing! I’ve been very busy these past two months and didn’t have enough motivation.

Although it’s been long I hope you’re looking forward to more fanfics coming soon! If you have any suggestions I’ll kindly take them!

- Aeri

[aerixfixoff]

Guysssddss I lost motivation to continue the cherry cola series but if you guys have any recommendations for me I’d love to give them a look.

I should probably sleep..

[aerixfixoff]

My Cherry Cola

𖤐・Pairing: Mingi x Reader

𖤐・Genre: Retro Romance · Slow Burn · Flirty Banter · Slice of Life · Coming-of-Age

𖤐・Warnings: Mild language, heatwave thirst, dangerously smooth boys, flirtation with intent

𖤐・Status: Ongoing (Part One)

𖤐・Word Count: ~2.4K ish

𖤐・Summary: 1985 A busted van, a broken payphone, and one cherry cola later you meet Mingi. He’s chaotic in the kind of way you weren’t looking for, but might just follow anyway. From arcade nights to barefoot summers, something’s stirring. Maybe it’s the heat. Maybe it’s him. Or maybe… you’ve got a little more to lose than just a soda quiz.

𖤐・A/N: I’m seeing ateez today guys !!

It’s the summer of 1985, the radio is blasting and your mom’s Dodger Caravan is stuck in the middle of the road on your way to your aunt’s. “Y/n, come help me start this baby up again,” she said as she cleaned sweat off her forehead.

“Just give me a second,” you shouted.

Tried starting it up a couple of times with zero luck.

“No luck, kiddo. See if you can find someone or maybe a payphone around.”

You sighed, blocking the hot sun’s gaze upon you. It was supposed to be at least ninety-something today. You groaned, kicking the gravel beneath your feet. You made your way to the gas station, looking for a phone or someone to help.

“Hey, kiddo, are you lost?” You turned around to the voice coming from behind you. You saw an older man leaning against the doorway of the station, wiping his greasy hands on his oil-stained pants.

You shook your head, squinting against the sun’s blazing rays. “Nah, just stranded. Our van is dead a couple miles down.”

He whistled. “You try a phone?”

You pointed to a cracked payphone on the side of the building. He sighed and walked past you, motioning you to follow him.

“Well, you’re welcome to wait inside. I’ve got a fan and a cooler that works.”

“Where’s the van?” he said. You pointed.

He sighed, grabbing his keys from behind the counter.

“Alright, I’ll go see what I can do. Might be able to jump it or tow it if the engine isn’t fried.”

Before you could respond, he was out the door, disappearing into the heat with a toolbox and a grunt of annoyance. You stepped into the station, letting the screen door creak shut. The air was thick and stale, a faint buzzing of a fan doing little to fight the heat off.

That’s when you saw him.

A guy stood at the far end near the drink cooler, crouched low, examining the cherry cola as if it was telling him the secrets of the universe. At first, he just looked like another bored teenager killing time. Head tilted like he couldn’t decide. His hair was tousled dark brown with wire-rimmed glasses slipping down his nose. He wore a lazy kind of smile that said he didn’t take everything seriously (including you).

A white tee layered over a soft beige hoodie. Both slightly oversized, like comfort mattered more than fashion, though somehow he made it look cool. The hoodie hung open just enough to show a chunky beaded necklace resting against his collarbone. He paired it with straight-leg jeans cuffed at the ankles, matching the scuffed white sneakers that’d survived more than a few late-night arcade runs.

“Are you an Original Coke fan or Cherry one?” he asked, his voice low and casual while standing up, acting like it was the most normal thing to ask a stranger in the heat wave.

You blinked, caught off guard by his sudden comment.

“Excuse me?”

He tilted the cherry-flavored Coke towards you. “It’s a defining question. Choose wisely.”

You raised a brow, not moving. “And if I say root beer?”

He let out a deep but comforting laugh, the one that makes your stomach do flips.

“Then you might be more dangerous than I thought.”

You didn’t smile. Instead, you moved past him, grabbing a soda from the cooler and cracking the opening with a loud but sharp hiss.

“Thanks for the quiz,” you said, taking a sip without looking at him.

He blinked, clearly amused, then chuckled.

“Are you always this friendly to guys offering you cold drinks in a heat wave?”

You turned slightly, leaning against the cooler now.

“You always this smooth with stranded girls sweating through their T-shirts?”

“Only the ones who glare at me like they’re five seconds from kicking my shins.”

That almost got you. Almost.

He reached for a second soda, casually popping the cap.

“So, road trip with a funky engine?”

You shrugged, eyes scanning the dusty racks of the candy near the register.

“Going to my aunt’s. Mom’s van gave up halfway there.”

He nodded like he knew already.

“You looked like someone who didn’t want to be wherever they were headed.”

You glanced at him, finally meeting his eyes.

“And you look like someone who pretends not to notice people but actually watches everything.”

That caught him off guard for a second, then he flashed a boyish grin toward you.

“Touche. Name’s Mingi, by the way.”

You didn’t offer yours. He noticed, but yet decided not to push you on it.

Before you could decide if you liked the way he was looking at you, the screen door creaked open again. The heat came in first, then the mechanic, muttering something about ‘rusted cables’ and ‘duct tape miracles.’

“Alright, kiddo, might be able to jump it. Van’s old, but she’s still got some bite.”

You nodded, tossing the soda bottle in the bin. “Thanks.”

Mingi shifted, stepping back a little, the grin still tugging at the corners of his mouth.

“This your ride-or-die moment?” he asked under his breath.

You looked at him sideways.

“It’s my get-my-mom-off-the-side-of-the-road moment.”

The mechanic didn’t notice the exchange, or he pretended not to.

“You coming?” he asked.

You started towards the door but paused just long enough to say,

“Thanks for the quiz.”

Mingi held your gaze.

“You never answered.”

You gave him the smallest shrug.

“Guess you’ll keep wondering.” Then you were gone, screen door slamming shut. The fan still buzzing, soda still sweating on the counter.

And Mingi watching you like he wasn’t done with you yet.

A couple of days passed in a slow haze of the Southern heat, lazy mornings and pure chaos in your aunt’s household. You hadn’t seen Mingi since that day in the gas station, but somehow he kept popping into your mind. Like a song you’ve heard once but couldn’t stop humming.

It’s late afternoon when your little cousin tugs on your wrist, begging you to take him to the park. You slipped on your sneakers and grabbed a Capri Sun for the walk. You weren’t expecting anything more than a sweaty hour on a splintered bench. You were scanning the benches when you saw him.

Mingi.

He was by the jungle gym, crouched down tying the laces of a little girl’s shoes. His hair was a mess, the kind that looked like it had a permanent breeze running through it. He stood up, looked around, and that’s when his gaze fell in your direction. His face lit up like someone told him Back to the Future was getting a sequel.

For a second, you pretended like you guys didn’t just make groundbreaking eye contact with each other, so you let your cousin tug you towards the swings, pretending like Mingi was just another background character in your summer return.

His sister had run off to the sandbox, and you went to glare at—

But instead met with surprise to see that he was already staring at you, sipping on cherry Coke like it was a direct love letter. When he noticed your gaze on him, he flashed the same grin—half trouble, half invitation. You didn’t return it.

Mingi had started walking over towards you. You could feel it before you even saw it.

“Didn’t think I’d see you again,” he said, voice low and familiar.

You looked up briefly, then back at the swing.

“Small town. Bigger chance than you think.”

He snorted. “You’re tough.”

“And you talk too much,” you said, still not looking at him.

He rocked back and forth on his heels, pretending to be wounded.

“You always mean this to guys who offer you free soda and existential beverage quizzes?”

You finally met his gaze, sunglasses slipping down to the bridge of your nose.

“Only the ones who think that makes them special.”

He stared at you, dumbfounded. That shut him up for a good minute or two.

“So what are you doing later?” he asked casually.

You raised an eyebrow. “Depends.”

“On?”

“If arcades still exist,” you said coolly, letting your cousin’s laughter fill up the big space between you.

Mingi’s smile widened. “Well, good thing they do.”

The arcade looked like it hadn’t been renovated since ‘78, neon lights buzzing overhead. A wall of claw machines that hadn’t let go of a single thing since Nixon left office, and the smell of popcorn and burnt circuitry hanging in the air.

Mingi held the door open with his shoulder, glancing back at you with that same grin.

“Ever played Street Racer?”

“Yeah, once. I crashed in the first ten seconds.”

He chuckled. “So you’re saying I have a chance now?”

You smirked, pushing past him.

“In your dreams, gas station boy.”

Inside, it was chaos—but like in the best way. Kids darted between machines, a group of teens huddled together around the Pac-Man console, and someone’s little brother was dancing like a maniac to Footloose playing from a jukebox that was shoved into the depths of a corner.

Mingi led the way like he was Prince Charming, sliding a handful of tokens into your palm.

“For luck,” he said, his fingers lingering a bit too long in your hand.

You let the coins clink into your jacket pocket.

“You trying to buy my affection?”

“Is it working?”

“No.”

In the first game of air hockey, you beat him twice. Mostly because he spent his time trying to make you laugh (and succeeding) instead of trying to defend his goal.

“You’re cheating,” he said, wiping his sweat off his forehead with his sleeve.

You leaned on the table. “How? With charm?”

“With distraction tactics,” he muttered, watching you twirl the mallet in your hand like a weapon.

One he wanted to get hit with.

Next game was Dance Mania, a two-player rhythm game with lights that blinked out of sync and pads that barely kept up. Two songs in and he was flailing like a dad at prom, nearly tripping over himself during Wake Me Up Before You Go-Go. You doubled over laughing like a maniac—over your stomach and everything.

“You look like you’re being electrocuted.”

He grinned, barely having any more oxygen to spare.

“If I die, at least it’s in the name of love. Or WHAM!”

You pulled him off the machine before he could break his ankle.

At some point, the flirty banter went down just a bit. You both wandered toward the corner booth, sipping on slushies that turned your tongues bright red and blue. A flickering CRT TV overhead played The Breakfast Club on loop with no sound.

“Okay,” he said, his tone serious while tapping his straw against yours like a toast.

“Serious question.”

You arched a brow. “Uh-oh.”

“If you had to be stuck in one video game forever, what would it be?”

You took a long sip.

“Easy. Frogger.”

He blinked again, dumbfounded.

“Frogger…?” he muttered with uncertainty.

“Yeah, constant near-death experiences, dodge everything. Sounds familiar.”

He laughed, leaning in a bit. “Remind me never to cross a street near you.”

You rolled your eyes, but your mouth betrayed you—smiling just enough to make him lean back like he’d just won a round.

You didn’t kiss him that night. But when you walked into the warm night air, he reached for your hand. For the minute he held your hand, you felt warmth explode everywhere around your body.

You let him take your hand.

And just for a minute—

Just long enough to know it wouldn’t be the last time.

© Aerixfixoff 2025 – All rights reserved. Please don’t copy, edit, repost, or translate my work. Respect goes both ways!

[aerixfixoff]

My Cherry Cola

𖤐・Pairing: Mingi x Reader

𖤐・Genre: Retro Romance · Slow Burn · Flirty Banter · Slice of Life · Coming-of-Age

𖤐・Warnings: Mild language, heatwave thirst, dangerously smooth boys, flirtation with intent

𖤐・Status: Re continued

𖤐・Word Count: ~2.4K ish

𖤐・Summary: 1985 A busted van, a broken payphone, and one cherry cola later you meet Mingi. He’s chaotic in the kind of way you weren’t looking for, but might just follow anyway. From arcade nights to barefoot summers, something’s stirring. Maybe it’s the heat. Maybe it’s him. Or maybe… you’ve got a little more to lose than just a soda quiz.

𖤐・A/N: I’m seeing ateez today guys !!

It’s the summer of 1985, the radio is blasting and your mom’s Dodger Caravan is stuck in the middle of the road on your way to your aunt’s. “Y/n, come help me start this baby up again,” she said as she cleaned sweat off her forehead.

“Just give me a second,” you shouted.

Tried starting it up a couple of times with zero luck.

“No luck, kiddo. See if you can find someone or maybe a payphone around.”

You sighed, blocking the hot sun’s gaze upon you. It was supposed to be at least ninety-something today. You groaned, kicking the gravel beneath your feet. You made your way to the gas station, looking for a phone or someone to help.

“Hey, kiddo, are you lost?” You turned around to the voice coming from behind you. You saw an older man leaning against the doorway of the station, wiping his greasy hands on his oil-stained pants.

You shook your head, squinting against the sun’s blazing rays. “Nah, just stranded. Our van is dead a couple miles down.”

He whistled. “You try a phone?”

You pointed to a cracked payphone on the side of the building. He sighed and walked past you, motioning you to follow him.

“Well, you’re welcome to wait inside. I’ve got a fan and a cooler that works.”

“Where’s the van?” he said. You pointed.

He sighed, grabbing his keys from behind the counter.

“Alright, I’ll go see what I can do. Might be able to jump it or tow it if the engine isn’t fried.”

Before you could respond, he was out the door, disappearing into the heat with a toolbox and a grunt of annoyance. You stepped into the station, letting the screen door creak shut. The air was thick and stale, a faint buzzing of a fan doing little to fight the heat off.

That’s when you saw him.

A guy stood at the far end near the drink cooler, crouched low, examining the cherry cola as if it was telling him the secrets of the universe. At first, he just looked like another bored teenager killing time. Head tilted like he couldn’t decide. His hair was tousled dark brown with wire-rimmed glasses slipping down his nose. He wore a lazy kind of smile that said he didn’t take everything seriously (including you).

A white tee layered over a soft beige hoodie. Both slightly oversized, like comfort mattered more than fashion, though somehow he made it look cool. The hoodie hung open just enough to show a chunky beaded necklace resting against his collarbone. He paired it with straight-leg jeans cuffed at the ankles, matching the scuffed white sneakers that’d survived more than a few late-night arcade runs.

“Are you an Original Coke fan or Cherry one?” he asked, his voice low and casual while standing up, acting like it was the most normal thing to ask a stranger in the heat wave.

You blinked, caught off guard by his sudden comment.

“Excuse me?”

He tilted the cherry-flavored Coke towards you. “It’s a defining question. Choose wisely.”

You raised a brow, not moving. “And if I say root beer?”

He let out a deep but comforting laugh, the one that makes your stomach do flips.

“Then you might be more dangerous than I thought.”

You didn’t smile. Instead, you moved past him, grabbing a soda from the cooler and cracking the opening with a loud but sharp hiss.

“Thanks for the quiz,” you said, taking a sip without looking at him.

He blinked, clearly amused, then chuckled.

“Are you always this friendly to guys offering you cold drinks in a heat wave?”

You turned slightly, leaning against the cooler now.

“You always this smooth with stranded girls sweating through their T-shirts?”

“Only the ones who glare at me like they’re five seconds from kicking my shins.”

That almost got you. Almost.

He reached for a second soda, casually popping the cap.

“So, road trip with a funky engine?”

You shrugged, eyes scanning the dusty racks of the candy near the register.

“Going to my aunt’s. Mom’s van gave up halfway there.”

He nodded like he knew already.

“You looked like someone who didn’t want to be wherever they were headed.”

You glanced at him, finally meeting his eyes.

“And you look like someone who pretends not to notice people but actually watches everything.”

That caught him off guard for a second, then he flashed a boyish grin toward you.

“Touche. Name’s Mingi, by the way.”

You didn’t offer yours. He noticed, but yet decided not to push you on it.

Before you could decide if you liked the way he was looking at you, the screen door creaked open again. The heat came in first, then the mechanic, muttering something about ‘rusted cables’ and ‘duct tape miracles.’

“Alright, kiddo, might be able to jump it. Van’s old, but she’s still got some bite.”

You nodded, tossing the soda bottle in the bin. “Thanks.”

Mingi shifted, stepping back a little, the grin still tugging at the corners of his mouth.

“This your ride-or-die moment?” he asked under his breath.

You looked at him sideways.

“It’s my get-my-mom-off-the-side-of-the-road moment.”

The mechanic didn’t notice the exchange, or he pretended not to.

“You coming?” he asked.

You started towards the door but paused just long enough to say,

“Thanks for the quiz.”

Mingi held your gaze.

“You never answered.”

You gave him the smallest shrug.

“Guess you’ll keep wondering.” Then you were gone, screen door slamming shut. The fan still buzzing, soda still sweating on the counter.

And Mingi watching you like he wasn’t done with you yet.

A couple of days passed in a slow haze of the Southern heat, lazy mornings and pure chaos in your aunt’s household. You hadn’t seen Mingi since that day in the gas station, but somehow he kept popping into your mind. Like a song you’ve heard once but couldn’t stop humming.

It’s late afternoon when your little cousin tugs on your wrist, begging you to take him to the park. You slipped on your sneakers and grabbed a Capri Sun for the walk. You weren’t expecting anything more than a sweaty hour on a splintered bench. You were scanning the benches when you saw him.

Mingi.

He was by the jungle gym, crouched down tying the laces of a little girl’s shoes. His hair was a mess, the kind that looked like it had a permanent breeze running through it. He stood up, looked around, and that’s when his gaze fell in your direction. His face lit up like someone told him Back to the Future was getting a sequel.

For a second, you pretended like you guys didn’t just make groundbreaking eye contact with each other, so you let your cousin tug you towards the swings, pretending like Mingi was just another background character in your summer return.

His sister had run off to the sandbox, and you went to glare at—

But instead met with surprise to see that he was already staring at you, sipping on cherry Coke like it was a direct love letter. When he noticed your gaze on him, he flashed the same grin—half trouble, half invitation. You didn’t return it.

Mingi had started walking over towards you. You could feel it before you even saw it.

“Didn’t think I’d see you again,” he said, voice low and familiar.

You looked up briefly, then back at the swing.

“Small town. Bigger chance than you think.”

He snorted. “You’re tough.”

“And you talk too much,” you said, still not looking at him.

He rocked back and forth on his heels, pretending to be wounded.

“You always mean this to guys who offer you free soda and existential beverage quizzes?”

You finally met his gaze, sunglasses slipping down to the bridge of your nose.

“Only the ones who think that makes them special.”

He stared at you, dumbfounded. That shut him up for a good minute or two.

“So what are you doing later?” he asked casually.

You raised an eyebrow. “Depends.”

“On?”

“If arcades still exist,” you said coolly, letting your cousin’s laughter fill up the big space between you.

Mingi’s smile widened. “Well, good thing they do.”

The arcade looked like it hadn’t been renovated since ‘78, neon lights buzzing overhead. A wall of claw machines that hadn’t let go of a single thing since Nixon left office, and the smell of popcorn and burnt circuitry hanging in the air.

Mingi held the door open with his shoulder, glancing back at you with that same grin.

“Ever played Street Racer?”

“Yeah, once. I crashed in the first ten seconds.”

He chuckled. “So you’re saying I have a chance now?”

You smirked, pushing past him.

“In your dreams, gas station boy.”

Inside, it was chaos—but like in the best way. Kids darted between machines, a group of teens huddled together around the Pac-Man console, and someone’s little brother was dancing like a maniac to Footloose playing from a jukebox that was shoved into the depths of a corner.

Mingi led the way like he was Prince Charming, sliding a handful of tokens into your palm.

“For luck,” he said, his fingers lingering a bit too long in your hand.

You let the coins clink into your jacket pocket.

“You trying to buy my affection?”

“Is it working?”

“No.”

In the first game of air hockey, you beat him twice. Mostly because he spent his time trying to make you laugh (and succeeding) instead of trying to defend his goal.

“You’re cheating,” he said, wiping his sweat off his forehead with his sleeve.

You leaned on the table. “How? With charm?”

“With distraction tactics,” he muttered, watching you twirl the mallet in your hand like a weapon.

One he wanted to get hit with.

Next game was Dance Mania, a two-player rhythm game with lights that blinked out of sync and pads that barely kept up. Two songs in and he was flailing like a dad at prom, nearly tripping over himself during Wake Me Up Before You Go-Go. You doubled over laughing like a maniac—over your stomach and everything.

“You look like you’re being electrocuted.”

He grinned, barely having any more oxygen to spare.

“If I die, at least it’s in the name of love. Or WHAM!”

You pulled him off the machine before he could break his ankle.

At some point, the flirty banter went down just a bit. You both wandered toward the corner booth, sipping on slushies that turned your tongues bright red and blue. A flickering CRT TV overhead played The Breakfast Club on loop with no sound.

“Okay,” he said, his tone serious while tapping his straw against yours like a toast.

“Serious question.”

You arched a brow. “Uh-oh.”

“If you had to be stuck in one video game forever, what would it be?”

You took a long sip.

“Easy. Frogger.”

He blinked again, dumbfounded.

“Frogger…?” he muttered with uncertainty.

“Yeah, constant near-death experiences, dodge everything. Sounds familiar.”

He laughed, leaning in a bit. “Remind me never to cross a street near you.”

You rolled your eyes, but your mouth betrayed you smiling just enough to make him lean back like he’d just won a round.

You didn’t kiss him that night. But when you walked into the warm night air, he reached for your hand. For the minute he held your hand, you felt warmth explode everywhere around your body.

You let him take your hand.

And just for a minute

Just long enough to know it wouldn’t be the last time.

© Aerixfixoff 2025 – All rights reserved. Please don’t copy, edit, repost, or translate my work. Respect goes both ways!

[straywrds]

How to spot AI use in fics: an unofficial & friendly guide (July 2025)

Hi everyone~ I don’t think this post will come as a surprise to anybody. It is a joint effort with @cb97percent—a lot of the research you see on here is hers. We spent a considerable amount of time trying to understand ChatGPT in order to recognize its patterns. It doesn’t mean, however, that it helped us understand the people who sit in front of it, feed it a few prompts to generate fics, and then post those fics as theirs on here or onto other online spaces. That, I will never fathom. 

But if you’re like me, like us, and like the few people who have voiced their wish to avoid those AI-assisted or AI-generated fics but have no idea what they might look like, this post might be for you. And… this other post, beautifully and eloquently put together by our very miss @cb97percent, shows a perhaps even darker side of the story. It displays GPT’s “personality”, and how people can spot it. (Because, yes—some of these accounts use it to interact with their audience)

It’s just tumblr, it’s just rpf/fanfic, why do I think it’s so important: because what happens in subculture spaces matters. What the audience chooses to read, to give notes/likes/reblogs/interactions to is a vote of sorts. You can see it as a form of election almost. What gets interactions prevails. So, readers cast their votes every day by scrolling the tags, sampling, reading, and then choosing to leave comments or interactions, or not. So if more and more people use AI to generate fics, post them on here, and if more of the audience gives them interactions, soon enough, it’s all that will remain on fanfic spaces. 

And what happens in subculture spaces usually shifts in culture. We are already seeing it. By allowing it to happen in our online spaces, our ao3, our tumblr, and others, we are saying: let it happen in our novels, too. In our films, our video games, our music, our visual arts. And while I realize it’s pretty much inevitable, I decided I would not be passive about it. 

So—a few tips to help notice AI-generated content in fics (but it got longer than I thought it would)

This is knowledge I gathered by running limited experiments primarily on ChatGPT and a little bit on Gemini. With time, those AIs will learn more and this post will be outdated for the most part. I am also NOT an expert at ALL. This is really just based on those experiments and the things I saw on tumblr or other fic spaces.

↬ Clinical language: Most fics are generated on ChatGPT. It has an unmistakable, clinical voice that mimics human emotion without actually breaching it—look for overly poetic sentences but short paragraphs + a lot of paragraphs breaks. The lyricism won't serve a purpose in the storytelling, it will be hollow. It's a strange feeling once you spot it: that line between clinical and lyric. Uncanny.

If you know me, you know I'm all for imagery and metaphors, but... The prompt here was two friends reunited after a long time + friends to lovers. Oh, and I should probably get this out of the way—GPT adores everything sacred and religious and holy. It might be an easy shortcut when there is yearning to be written—what else are you gonna do when you've never felt it or anything else?

You can see how quick it is to go from one thing to the other, there's no lingering on any emotion or feeling, just clean vocabulary, clinical, short sentences. And holy stuff. So much religious stuff.

↬ Dialogue tags: ask any seasoned author “how can I replace the ‘said’ dialogue tag and they’ll probably just tell you to use said. It's basically invisible and allows for a better flow in both reading and writing because it doesn't catch the eye. I found that ChatGPT sometimes used "said" and other times avoided it at all costs—there was no in-between. However, other times, it didn't really use any, since its sentences are so straightforward.

And then it will just throw any other words at you:

I've seen a lot—“You melt.” “You cling to him.” "He grins." All that stuff.

Also: This isn't something I can provide an example for because it's something you feel with your heart, but humans are awkward! They are uncomfortable in romantic or other situations. They have humor that relates to culture, to past experiences, to real life.

GPT is only creating an illusion of that. True love, but make it under 10k. To me, GPT's generated stuff feels like a collab between Hallmark movies and Booktok. It utilizes shortcuts to make readers think of emotions as opposed to authors who evoke them.

↬ Unusual text formatting: I’m aware that there have been trends on here with certain formatting styles with bold and italics for example. I’ve seen it in the last two-ish years in fics themselves, but in the last few months, with the growing use of AI, it’s exponential. 

How a human author would use italics: to emphasize a word in a sentence, when there is a written letter in a chapter (or even a text message), song lyrics, etc. You get it. 

How AI uses italics: Well, for a first, it uses it a lot. No, I mean, like. A LOT. It won’t just emphasize one word out of the sentence, it will emphasize entire parts of it using italics, which isn’t something that was ever typical in a novel-like genre before. Quick example: 

How a human author would use boldface: maybe to emphasize a word in a paragraph that's already italicized, or I know sometimes people use it to mark the passage of time/time jumps, etc. It's really not something you see a lot in the text itself otherwise, except for occasional stylistic choices with purpose, or in text message format again (or chat, like a social media AU etc), something of the sort.

How AI uses boldface: well. It uses it a lot. I've seen it in all sorts of ways. Randomly on a character's name, or the first time a character is mentioned in a story/chapter. Chatgpt uses boldface on character's names a lot. Or on words of a sentence that the AI considers "dark" or more harsh. Example:

(was that another religious metaphor? what a surprise!) But I think those examples speak for themselves.

What about the em dash? Everyone's talking about the em dash.

Yeah well—I'm a huge fan of the em dash. (the irony...) It's true that AIs use them a lot, but so do many authors including myself.

HOWEVER, I've noticed something, and it's that in many cases, humans use the em dash without spaces between the words—like this. And the AIs often put a space between the dash and the word — like that. Because you see one or the other doesn't necessarily prove anything, I know, but I still thought I'd mention it.

↬ Random indented text: This is also something that a human can do, I'm aware. But ChatGPT, by default, uses indented text a lot (which are 'blockquotes' over there). I think it's because at it's core, it's a research tool and it's more of a visual thing. It'll give you a paragraph and then emphasize something using an indentation, making it look like note-taking almost.

In the case of fiction, of a fic—it'll use that indentation on a dialogue often. To me, it feels like it's doing it for some sort of dramatic effect or something. As such:

(in this example, the prompt was simple: a handsome, mysterious man named Jinu 🤭 meets MC for the first time. I didn't input any other specifics regarding context. It seems GPT made the location some coffee shop, a common booktok trope.)

By the way, you can't make this up. You have it all here: the blockquote/indented text, the italics, the boldface, the vocabulary and succinct sentences...

⇉ Why it's important: When you copy paste directly from the GPT website onto tumblr, those blockquotes adopt the "Indented" text format from the tumblr text editor. By default—so it could be a decent indicator of AI-assisted or generated text that hasn't even been edited to look otherwise.

It looks like this.

↬ Oat milk? : There was no place for these observations in this post but it is almost humorous the way ChatGPT suggested or reused some of the same flavors and scents over and over during this experiment. If GPT was a real person, it would be really into coffees or teas with oat milk (often no ice for cold drinks, or extra hot for warm) and vetiver-centered scents. I don't know what to do with this information, but I cannot unsee it. It really likes eucalyptus too, tonka bean... I'm not sure what it means, but I truly cannot unsee it. #whowantsanoatmilkcappuccino

↬ The rate at which works are posted: It takes a lot of time to write 10k words, and that's before all the revising, formatting, making your post banners (if applicable) etc. To be able to release this much every week is any author's wet dream, which would be desirable by many readers. But there's decent speed, then there's inhuman.

We all want to be this productive—but is it actually realistic? Over extended periods of time? Without periods of quiet, of struggle? Could even Stephen King himself pull it off? Run a blog full-time, answer asks elaborately with all this formatting (btw, it does take time to format on tumblr if you're not just copy/pasting from GPT), upkeep lore posts about our fics (GPT loves lore, by the way. don't know why. it really wants to give you lore and build around its own scenes), have little to no downtime.

This is really just my personal opinion, but this is how I know my author is human. A lack of time. Struggles. A crack in the porcelain. Incomplete WIPs, genuine excitation over them though. Incomplete events—but still trying. Trying different things in different stories. A voice that is theirs. Having a voice in the first place.

Writing out of passion and not as a performative act.

So... A continuous flow of content and posts... would bring in a lot of readers, I'm sure. People want to be entertained. Constantly. They want content and they want it from a reliable source, somewhere they know they won't have to wait for the next chapter. But when things are too good to be true—sometimes, it just means they are not true.

In conclusion—if anybody even made it this far—it can be difficult to spot a GPT in the wild when you've never seen it, or never known that you've seen it. Hopefully, this and miss cb's post would have been any help to those for whom it is the case.

At the very least, I hope it made a few people aware that it is a situation that is happening not just in other places, other fandoms, or just hypothetically. It is very real. And it will have an impact on the culture that you will consume in the future. I would love to say that it's not to late to change things, but I'm not sure it would be true.

But maybe, by making people a little more aware, we can give their voices back to some human authors, those who use their souls as ink—not shortcuts.

If you did make it to here, thank you—thank you for caring about what you read, and for encouraging and supporting the people who write it.

[n1k0laa5]

At some point, you gotta take responsibility.

Yes. You fucking heard me.

Listen, I don’t know why I’m even acting this aggressive but sitting for an hour straight, thinking of what recycled motivational post to make, I stumbled upon something and realized; I. Am. Done.

The Victim Mindset.

Do you.. like struggling more than success? Does it feel safer to wake up here, spend your entire day talking to c.ai bots, affirm 8,000 times, scream at yourself in the mirror for an hour that “tonight is the night” only to roll over and give up??

Do you like that?

Imagine being limitless and choosing to argue with anti’s instead of moving dimensions.

Imagine crying over how you “can’t persist” and “nothing is working” when you’re literally God.

Imagine having a victim mindset and instead of getting your ass up to actually do something about your desires, you cling onto shifting memes and Tumblr motivation.

You can’t be the victim and the God in the same story. You cannot serve two masters, your 3D or old assumptions and your 4D, the real reality. Pick one.

Daydreaming, overplanning, asking 47 bloggers for the best shifting method as if they’re some sort of divine guide for you specifically—you’re stalling. Don’t be pathetic. Don’t ask the same question to different people on here.

No one is gonna shift you. No one’s gonna pull a “Where’s my wife?” — “I shifted her.” move on you.

Many people are addicted to the feeling that they’re doing something because they don’t wanna tackle their internal fear; whether that’s fear of shifting or getting your desires. You’re in a “safe zone” when you feel like you’re doing something to contribute to your journey but simultaneously don’t do anything or maybe don’t even believe and understand your true power.

They have an obsessive dependence on external validation and let other people’s beliefs and experiences dictate their own beliefs.

But remember: You can’t say ‘I want to shift’ and then cling to your old identity like a teddy bear.

It is genuinely not that fucking hard to shift or manifest.

What you “need”:

— Realize you are God. Genuinely. Take that in.

— You decide what works.

— The second you think of it in your mind, you need to completely let go of the 3D. The 3D is a TEMPORARY mirror of your old assumptions.

— Live in your 4D and imagination.

— Persist.

— Persist.

— PERSIST.

— It’s just one decision and persisting in whatever fucking technique you decided works for you.

People, including teens and kids, have manifested and shifted—sometimes on ACCIDENT.

What’s your excuse for overcomplicating it?

[aerixfixoff]

Einen verloren XII

Chapter 12 : From mingi

Pairing: Mafia Boss!Mingi x Fem!Reader

Genre: Angst, Yandere, Horror, Slight Humor, Smut, Fluff

Warnings: Cursing, stalking, obsessive behavior, yandere themes, implied violence, kidnapping, and controlling behavior.

Word Count: 2,050

Author’s Note: And the Einen verloren series comes to an endddd I wanna say thank you to everyone who supported me throughout this journey and series I appreciate it my loves and I hope for you to stick around with the other series or one shots I will make in the future.

—————————————————————————

You and Keeho barely make it outside.

The air is thick with smoke and tension. Gunfire echoes in the distance like thunder. You’re dragging him along, his blood soaking into your jacket sleeve. He feels heavier by the second.

As soon as you step into the open, five pairs of eyes lock onto you. Time seems to freeze. The world feels like it’s holding its breath. Then panic sets in.

“Y/N!” Soul calls, his voice slicing through the stillness. His gaze lands on your bloodied hand, and he tenses without saying a word.

Without hesitation, he rushes you into the nearest vehicle. Keeho collapses into the backseat, breathing shallowly. You follow him, trying to stay calm as your vision blurs.

Soul starts treating your wounds in silence. His movements are quick but careful. His hands remain steady, even as your blood stains his gloves. You wince but don’t pull away.

“Thanks,” you murmur.

He grunts. A way of saying no problem

Keeho’s voice comes from the back, hoarse and barely a whisper. “It’s not safe to go back to base. We go to Enhypen’s. They owe us.”

Intak doesn’t hesitate. He gives a sharp nod, shifts gears, and merges onto the freeway.

You reach over and brush a few strands of hair from Keeho’s forehead. He looks pale and slick with sweat, but he’s alive. That’s what matters.

“Are you okay?” you ask quietly.

His ears redden. It’s subtle, but noticeable even in the dim light.

“Yeah,” he mutters. “Don’t worry about me.”

He turns away, eyes focused on the raindrops tracing paths down the window. You chuckle softly at his awkwardness, a brief flicker of warmth in your chest. For just a moment, the weight of the world feels a bit lighter.

The drive drags on—nearly four hours. Intak takes sharp turns, glancing at the rearview mirror too often. You know why. ATEEZ is chasing you. Even now, the shadows behind you feel like they’re crawling with unseen eyes.

He barely shakes them off.

By the time you reach the gated estate in the countryside, everyone’s nerves are frayed. The rain has made the pavement slick, and soft splashes sound as you step out of the car.

Jungwon is already waiting, surrounded by six figures.

“You came,” he says, his voice smooth but sharp.

He stands tall, hands behind his back, his expression unreadable. His presence doesn’t feel welcoming—more like a test. The six figures behind him are silhouettes in the mist, each of them bearing an unsettling beauty.

There’s a storm in their stillness.

Jungwon doesn’t need to raise his voice. He holds the atmosphere in his palm like it belongs to him.

“Sunghoon. Heeseung. Help the injured.”

Two figures step forward, moving like shadows with purpose. Sunghoon’s hands are cold yet gentle as he helps lift Keeho from your shoulders. Heeseung doesn’t ask questions—he just acts, and his gaze lingers on you longer than it should.

Soul speaks then, his voice cool but firm. “You owe us.”

Jungwon lets out a dry laugh. “So you’re collecting now?”

“We stopped the shipment,” Intak states. “And we need a place to lie low. Y/N’s relocation is the priority.”

Jungwon swirls red wine in a crystal glass, still not looking at any of you. “And why would I—”

“Because you owe Natty,” Keeho interrupts, his voice cracking but edged with determination. “And she’s not here to remind you.”

Jungwon’s hand stills. He finally sets the glass down.

“Fine. Guest rooms are yours. Y/N—three days. I’ll call you. Don’t miss it.”

He doesn’t wait for a reply. He walks away, his tailored coat sweeping behind him like a curtain.

Three Days Later

You feel like you can finally breathe.

Your wounds are healing. Keeho is stable. For the first time in what feels like forever, no one is shooting at you or bleeding out beside you. But unease still lingers. It’s like a ghost that’s settled into your bones.

On the third day, Jake finds you.

“Jungwon’s ready.”

You follow him down a marble hallway. The quiet makes your steps sound too loud. The door opens, and Jungwon sits at a desk—documents, passports, and stacks of cash neatly arranged.

“These are yours,” he says, barely looking up. “New ID. New life. Enough money to disappear.”

You reach out and take the passport. Your new name stares back at you. The person you used to be? Erased.

“I want you to leave,” he says, finally meeting your gaze. “For your safety. For theirs. And don’t ever come back.”

There’s no warmth in his voice—only command. But something about it feels like care hidden behind cruelty.

You bow your head. “Thank you.”

One of Enhypen’s members drives you to the airport in silence. The city lights blur behind you. You don’t say goodbye to the others. Some things are easier left unsaid.

And just like that—you’re gone.

Eight Years Later

You live in New York now.

Your apartment is small but cozy, filled with pieces of a life you built from scratch. Two dogs sleep curled at the foot of your bed. A partner who loves you hums softly in the kitchen most nights. You even laugh again—sometimes. When it rains, it reminds you of Soul cleaning your wound in silence. You try not to dwell on it.

But tonight, something feels… off.

It’s raining. You take the dogs for a walk—habit, routine. A figure stands across the street, watching. The shadows hide their face.

You dismiss it as paranoia. The past always tries to claw at your present.

But when you return, something is on your doorstep.

A box.

Your hands tremble as you bring it inside.

Inside is a dagger. Not just any dagger.

The dagger.

The one you stabbed Mingi with. Dried blood still stains the handle, leaving you to wonder if it’s yours or his.

Panic hits you like a freight train. Your breath shortens. You dig deeper into the box.

There’s a note.

Your fingers shake as you unfold the paper.

To my precious Y/N,

From…

Mingi

??>>

© Aerixfixoff 2025 – All rights reserved. Please don’t copy, edit, repost, or translate my work. Respect goes both ways!

[aerixfixoff]

Einen verloren IX

Chapter 11 : If I bleed, We bleed 

Pairing: Mafia Boss!Mingi x Fem!Reader 

Genre: Angst, Yandere, Horror, Slight Humor, Smut, Fluff

Warnings: Cursing, stalking, obsessive behavior, yandere themes, implied violence, kidnapping, and controlling behavior. 

Word Count: 1,706 

Author’s Note:  Buckle up because these last chapters are not gonna be easy. 

————-————-————-————-—————

“Y/N and Jiung, move now.” Theo’s voice crackles through your earpiece. It sounds steady, but there’s an urgency that makes your skin crawl.

Keeho speaks next, his voice calm but tense. “We have 55 minutes until the shipment lands. ATEEZ is 25 minutes away. That’s not much time.”

You nod even though they can’t see you. Your boots make soft splashes in the putrid, ankle-deep sewage. The tunnel’s cold, damp air wraps around you like a ghost.

This wasn’t meant to be your life. Twenty-six years of survival, reinvention, and sacrifice have led you here—crawling through the underbelly of the city like a rat, with a gun strapped to your thigh and guilt you’ll never shake buried deep in your chest. Jiung is quiet but focused beside you. Neither of you speak. You don’t need to.

At the end of the tunnel, Theo waits. The keypad glows dimly next to a steel hatch. You move forward, your fingers trembling as you enter the code: 1-1-1-7.   

BEEP. Green light.

You exhale shakily, your heart pounding. Jiung and Theo don’t say anything as you each emerge into a vast warehouse. The sudden brightness blinds you. Fluorescent lights buzz overhead. The space is filled with towers of cargo boxes stacked to the ceiling, the faint smell of oil and metal lingering everywhere.

This place has been used before. There’s a residue on the floor that looks like it was quickly scrubbed away. You recognize blood when you see it.

Jiung scans the area quickly, still catching his breath. “We should split up,” he says. “If we find anything—intel, weapons, trackers—we grab it.”  

Theo nods and glances your way. You hesitate, but nod anyway. Splitting up is risky, but you don’t have much choice.

You move north, winding through crates marked in languages you don’t understand. The floors are dark wood, or maybe just black with years of oil and dirt. The walls are concrete gray—clean, yet still grimy. You pass rows of cargo piled high enough to hide behind if it comes to that.

Your earpiece crackles. “Alpha-04, copy?” It’s Jongseob.  

“Alpha-04 reporting. Copy, Alpha-002.”

“Three ATEEZ members just entered the warehouse. One of you needs to go outside and intercept the shipment now.”  

Your stomach drops.

“Alpha-002, copy?” you ask, your breath caught in your throat.  

“Alpha-05, copy. What is it?”  

“Which members are here?”  

“Seonghwa. One’s Wooyoung. Other’s Yeosang. Copy, 05.”

Wooyoung. Panic shoots through your heart. Natty. Is she okay? That thought won’t leave your mind.

“Copy, 002,” you whisper, adrenaline coursing through your veins. You hear movement—closer. Northeast. Voices.

You duck behind a large crate, your heart racing, crouched so low you can hardly breathe. The shadows wrap around you like armor.

“Finally, that bitch is dead.”  

It’s Wooyoung’s voice. Sharp and smug. You peek through a crack in the wood. He pinches the bridge of his nose, looking agitated.  

“She just wanted to fuck her way through the ranks,” Seonghwa mutters, venom dripping from every word.

Yeosang stands silently, but his smirk gives him away. He agrees. He always has.

Your breath catches in your throat. The words hit hard. Cruel. Final. Natty…

You grip your SMG tighter. Tears prick your eyes, but you fight them back. This isn’t the time to cry. You owe Natty your life. You owe her revenge.

“Y/N’s in trouble,” Yeosang says, his tone icy.  

“Probably ran like a coward again,” Seonghwa replies.  

“She’d be smart to,” Wooyoung says. “But who knows? She’s made dumber decisions before.”

You hear the couch creak beneath him as he slouches, casual and arrogant.

Suddenly, chaos erupts.

“ALPHA TO ALL—RETREAT! SHIPMENT INTERCEDED!” Keeho’s voice roars in your ear.  

“FUCK. COPY, COPY. ALPHA-04 IS DOWN. FUCK—GOING IN TO HELP—JO—”  

Silence. Your earpiece dies.

Jiung.

Your stomach sinks. You tighten your grip on the SMG. You peek again—San and Yunho enter the warehouse, guns drawn.

“They intercepted it!” San shouts, his voice raw with anger.  

“Get them all. NOW.”

Mingi’s voice echoes off the walls of the warehouse, filled with pure rage.  

San and Yunho start moving toward you.

You freeze. For a moment, your brain forgets how to breathe.

“Alpha-01 and 02 are safe. This is Alpha-002, copy. Alpha-001 has left. Copy.”  

“Copy, 05.”  

“Copy, 03.”

No Jiung. No Keeho.

Run. Your feet move before your mind catches up. You sprint west, weaving through crates.

“It’s Y/N!” Yunho screams. You spin and fire—two shots. One misses. The other hits.

San goes down hard, crashing into a stack of boxes.  

“SAN IS DOWN!” Yunho cries, grief and rage twisting his face.

You don’t look back. You find Jiung—bound to a steel beam, bruised and unconscious. You drop beside him and cut through the rope with trembling hands.

“Alpha-002. Alpha-04 is safe,” you whisper. “He’s moving from the left wing.”

You start to stand, but a blow sends your gun flying.

You turn and see him.

Wooyoung.

“Fuck,” you breathe.  

His smile is twisted. “And to think you were the smart one.”

He lunges and tackles you. The wind rushes from your lungs as your back hits the floor. He pins you, his knees on your hips, his full weight pressing down.

“You’re gonna pay, bitch,” he sneers, his breath hot against your face.

You grunt and twist your hips, using the momentum to flip him. He grunts, shocked, as you land on top of him. You see his gun and kick it out of reach, then grab your own and bolt toward the south wing.

Then you see him.

Keeho. Bound. Blood. So much blood.

But it’s not just the sight that chills you—it’s the voice.

“You came, sweetheart.”

Mingi steps from the shadows like a ghost. His voice is calm. Too calm. That makes it worse.

His eyes look like shattered glass and fire.

“How could you, Y/N? After everything I gave you?”  

He drops to his knees, sobbing. Broken—but almost convincing.

“You were my sunlight. My reason to stay sane.”  

He rises slowly, towering over you.  

“But now…” he pulls out a knife. “You’ve betrayed me.”

Your body reacts before your mind catches up. He lunges and you both crash to the ground, his dagger glinting in the light.

The blade comes down. You catch it just in time—your palms burn as the steel bites into them. Blood spills down your wrists.

“Give up.”

“No.”  

You lock your eyes on him.  

“FUCK YOU, SONG MINGI.”

With a roar, you twist the blade and shove it away. He stumbles. You seize the moment, grab the knife from his grip, and drive it into his stomach.

His mouth opens, gasping. “Y...Y/N…”

He falls to his knees, his eyes filled with tears, with betrayal.

You look at him—really look. For a brief moment, something stirs within you.

But only for a moment.

You rush to Keeho, cut him free, and throw his arm over your shoulder. His weight drapes heavily across you.

Behind you, Mingi bleeds out in the shadows—his hands tremble, his eyes locked on your back.

You are going to pay.

Chapter 12>

© Aerixfixoff 2025 – All rights reserved. Please don’t copy, edit, repost, or translate my work. Respect goes both ways!

[briiverse]

it’s not CLOCKING to you that i’m standing on BUSINESS with my shifting journey, is it ?

[aerixfixoff]

MASTERLIST

Quick Tag Guide:

Just so things don’t get confusing!

MS = Mini-Series

S = Series

18+ = Mature content (I’ll mark it loud and clear don’t say I didn’t warn you)

F = Fluff

A = Angst

D = drabble

O = One shot

I always drop content warnings at the top of each one-shot, so you’ll know what you’re getting into before diving in.

↓ Kim Hongjoong

Loading.....

↓ Park Seonghwa

Loading.....

↓ Jeong Yunho

Loading.....

↓ Kang Yeosang

Loading......

↓ Choi San

Loading.....

↓ Song Mingi

┌── ♌︎ ──┐

| Einen verloren 18+, F, A, S,

- summary : Song Mingi the most feared mafia boss has been drawn to you since the moment he saw you. Cold, ruthless, and untouchable to everyone else… but not to you. What you don’t know is that he killed your father. And worse? You’re starting to fall for him.

| I hate me A, O

- summary : After a kiss that was supposed to mean something, feeling your heart crack under the weight of unspoken words. When you finally face him, you realize love might not be enough especially when you both struggle with your own minds.

└── ♌︎ ──┘

↓ Jung Wooyoung

Loading......

↓ Jung Wooyoung Loading.......

© Aerixfixoff 2025 – All rights reserved. Please don’t copy, edit, repost, or translate my work. Respect goes both ways!

[aerixfixoff]

Einen Verloren Masterlist

Chatpers

『 Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, 3.5, Chapter 4, Chapter 5, Chapter 6, 6.5, Chapter 7, Chapter 8, Chapter 9, Chapter 10, 10.5 Chapter 11, Chapter 12 』

© Aerixfixoff 2025 – All rights reserved. Please don’t copy, edit, repost, or translate my work. Respect goes both ways!

[aerixfixoff]

I Hate Me

Pairing: Song Mingi x GN!Reader

Genre: Angst, Heavy Angst, Hurt/No Comfort

Warnings: Cursing, emotional breakdowns, unresolved trauma, depressive thoughts, yelling, crying, mention of mental health struggles

Inspired by: Ginny and Marcus (from Ginny & Georgia)

Status: One-shot

Word Count: ~1,237

Summary:

After a kiss that was supposed to mean something, feeling your heart crack under the weight of unspoken words. When you finally face him, you realize love might not be enough especially when you both struggle with your own minds.

Authors Note: Just thought I would put out a little one shot yk, in celebration of my first series being finished! Now I can work on other works.

It’s pouring outside, like the sky is grieving something it can’t express. You and Mingi haven’t spoken since your kiss, since the argument that twisted something sacred into something painful. Words flew like weapons. Feelings were not just hurt they were shattered. The silence is heavier than any shouting could be.

You’re scared. You’ve seen Mingi starting to spiral. He zones out more now, toying with his rings until his fingers turn red. You watch him, but you say nothing. That quiet? It’s always felt easier than facing the truth.

Everyone has a story they keep to themselves. You do too. That’s what brought you together—shared trauma. The kind of wounds that don’t show on the skin but feel just as heavy. It all began with soft glances in the classroom, fingertips brushing like it was an accident, lingering looks that spoke volumes before either of you did.

And then it happened. You became his, and he became yours. Not through titles or promises, but through quiet safety.

The next morning, you enter class and see him in his usual seat. His hair is a mess, glasses slipping down his nose, and his lips still bear that soft shade of heartbreak. You sit beside him like it’s instinct, stealing glances when you think he doesn’t notice. But you know he does. You always do.

Today, you promised yourself: no more hiding. Mingi was the only one who made you feel real and alive. Recently, though, you felt like a ghost in your own skin.

After class, you find him in the courtyard the one that always smells like the wind and something unspoken.

“Do you want to skip?”

Your voice barely cut through the storm. But of course, he heard you. He always does.

“Yeah, let’s go,” he replied, flashing that grin you loved.

You walk in silence back to his garage his so called “Production House.” But for you, it was always more than that. The walls held memories. Photos. Scribbles. The navy blue guitar he refused to clean because your tiny doodle still decorated the back. Even the silence felt like it carried your name.

He loved you.

God, he loved you too much the kind of love that held onto your ribs and bled in your sleep. The kind that terrified him.

You sat down first, your hands shaking like the sky outside. He noticed. He always noticed. He placed his hand over yours—gentle, hesitant, and too late.

“Tell me it meant nothing, Mingi,” you whispered like a prayer you didn’t know if you believed. “Tell me you don’t love me, that the kiss was a mistake,” you pleaded, eyes brimming with tears that tasted of desperation.

He couldn’t meet your gaze. Not because he didn’t care, but because he did. And it was tearing him apart.

“Mingi, look at me,” you said, cupping his cheek. But he flinched and pulled away.

“Don’t t-touch me, Y/n.”

As if your hands burned him. Like they reminded him he was real and so were you.

“Tell me it meant nothing to you, Song Mingi,” your voice cracked like the thunder outside.

“Y/n, I can’t do this.”

“Can’t do what?”

“Us.”

That one word hit harder than silence ever could.

“Why can’t you do us? Were those words just for fun?” He still wouldn’t look at you, and that alone told you everything.

“Look me in the eye, Song Mingi, and tell me it meant nothing.” And then he did. “It meant nothing, Y/n.”

He said it like it pained him. Like it was the only way to protect you from himself. But it shattered you anyway.

You left. What else could you do? The rain wasn’t the only thing falling that day.

A month passed. No calls. No texts. No updates. His sister Alexa your friend said nothing. She didn’t take sides. She just let silence do what it does best, bury everything in darkness. But Mingi couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t sleep. Couldn’t stop listening to that playlist he swore you’d never hear. He kept seeing you in streetlights, in reflections, in the space between lyrics he couldn’t finish.

The world became a haunted place filled with things he never said.

Then came that day.

In the teacher’s lounge, you pulled him in like a storm and locked the door behind you.

You didn’t feel strong. You felt tired. You felt like a version of yourself you no longer recognized. But to Mingi, you looked like the only thing worth surviving for.

“Mingi, do you hate me?”

“No—what? Why would you even ask that?”

“I don’t know, Mingi. Maybe it’s because you look at me like I’m a ghost now. Maybe it’s the way you act like I’m just some chapter you skipped.”

“I don’t mean to—”

“I get it!” you interrupted, voice shaking. “We’re all messed up. But you can’t pretend I didn’t exist! That night, you kissed me. Then you told me to forget it. How am I supposed to live with that?”

His lips parted, but the words didn’t come quickly enough.

“And then you’re laughing with that girl—touching her, looking at her like she’s the whole damn universe—”

“She’s just a friend, Y/n—”

“Oh shut up, Mingi! I’m tired! I’m tired of pretending I’m okay with the crumbs you give me.”

His eyes filled with the kind of tears boys usually hold back.

“You told me you loved me. Then you disappeared. What was that? Just a test? Just some messed-up game?”

“Y/n, no please”

“Don’t touch me, Song,” you snapped, stepping back.

That name his real name felt like a knife.

You locked eyes.

“Do you hate me?”

“I could never, never hate you.”

“Then why?”

“Because I love you too much. And I’m scared. I’m terrified, Y/n. I love you so much that I forget how to breathe when you’re not around.”

He was sobbing now, shaking like the world had turned against him.

“I love you, but I’m not okay. I’m not who you think I am. I’m barely holding on. Every time you lean on me, I break a little more.”

Your laugh was dry and empty.

“You looked me in the eyes and said it meant nothing.”

“I thought it was the only way to protect you.”

Then his voice cracked.

“I can’t be your savior, Y/n. I can’t even save myself. I’m drowning, and loving you is the only thing that kept me afloat but now? I’m scared I’ll pull you down with me.”

And then the final blow came, soft but brutal.

“I’ve always loved you. Since the bathroom stall. Since the day I found you crying with mascara on your hands and silence in your throat. But I can’t be your anchor when I’m the one sinking.”

His voice broke.

“I hate myself for saying this. But I love you too much to destroy you.”

You didn’t respond. You couldn’t. You just turned.

And left.

This time, it wasn’t anger or pride. It was grief.

Grief for something that was once beautiful and maybe still is, but just too broken to name.

Mingi stayed there, crying as if his body forgot how to hold it in.

You cried too.

Somewhere deep inside all that pain…

Hope flickered.

Or maybe it didn’t.

© Aerixfixoff 2025 - All rights reserved. Please don't copy, edit, repost, or translate my work. Respect goes both ways!

[aerixfixoff]

I Hate Me

Pairing: Song Mingi x GN!Reader

Genre: Angst, Heavy Angst, Hurt/No Comfort

Warnings: Cursing, emotional breakdowns, unresolved trauma, depressive thoughts, yelling, crying, mention of mental health struggles

Inspired by: Ginny and Marcus (from Ginny & Georgia)

Status: One-shot

Word Count: ~1,237

Summary:

After a kiss that was supposed to mean something, feeling your heart crack under the weight of unspoken words. When you finally face him, you realize love might not be enough especially when you both struggle with your own minds.

Authors Note: Just thought I would put out a little one shot yk, in celebration of my first series being finished! Now I can work on other works.

It’s pouring outside, like the sky is grieving something it can’t express. You and Mingi haven’t spoken since your kiss, since the argument that twisted something sacred into something painful. Words flew like weapons. Feelings were not just hurt they were shattered. The silence is heavier than any shouting could be.

You’re scared. You’ve seen Mingi starting to spiral. He zones out more now, toying with his rings until his fingers turn red. You watch him, but you say nothing. That quiet? It’s always felt easier than facing the truth.

Everyone has a story they keep to themselves. You do too. That’s what brought you together shared trauma. The kind of wounds that don’t show on the skin but feel just as heavy. It all began with soft glances in the classroom, fingertips brushing like it was an accident, lingering looks that spoke volumes before either of you did.

And then it happened. You became his, and he became yours. Not through titles or promises, but through quiet safety.

The next morning, you enter class and see him in his usual seat. His hair is a mess, glasses slipping down his nose, and his lips still bear that soft shade of heartbreak. You sit beside him like it’s instinct, stealing glances when you think he doesn’t notice. But you know he does. You always do.

Today, you promised yourself: no more hiding. Mingi was the only one who made you feel real and alive. Recently, though, you felt like a ghost in your own skin.

After class, you find him in the courtyard the one that always smells like the wind and something unspoken.

“Do you want to skip?”

Your voice barely cut through the storm. But of course, he heard you. He always does.

“Yeah, let’s go,” he replied, flashing that grin you loved.

You walk in silence back to his garage his so called “Production House.” But for you, it was always more than that. The walls held memories. Photos. Scribbles. The navy blue guitar he refused to clean because your tiny doodle still decorated the back. Even the silence felt like it carried your name.

He loved you.

God, he loved you too much the kind of love that held onto your ribs and bled in your sleep. The kind that terrified him.

You sat down first, your hands shaking like the sky outside. He noticed. He always noticed. He placed his hand over yours—gentle, hesitant, and too late.

“Tell me it meant nothing, Mingi,” you whispered like a prayer you didn’t know if you believed. “Tell me you don’t love me, that the kiss was a mistake,” you pleaded, eyes brimming with tears that tasted of desperation.

He couldn’t meet your gaze. Not because he didn’t care, but because he did. And it was tearing him apart.

“Mingi, look at me,” you said, cupping his cheek. But he flinched and pulled away.

“Don’t t-touch me, Y/n.”

As if your hands burned him. Like they reminded him he was real and so were you.

“Tell me it meant nothing to you, Song Mingi,” your voice cracked like the thunder outside.

“Y/n, I can’t do this.”

“Can’t do what?”

“Us.”

That one word hit harder than silence ever could.

“Why can’t you do us? Were those words just for fun?” He still wouldn’t look at you, and that alone told you everything.

“Look me in the eye, Song Mingi, and tell me it meant nothing.” And then he did. “It meant nothing, Y/n.”

He said it like it pained him. Like it was the only way to protect you from himself. But it shattered you anyway.

You left. What else could you do? The rain wasn’t the only thing falling that day.

A month passed. No calls. No texts. No updates. His sister Alexa your friend said nothing. She didn’t take sides. She just let silence do what it does best, bury everything in darkness. But Mingi couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t sleep. Couldn’t stop listening to that playlist he swore you’d never hear. He kept seeing you in streetlights, in reflections, in the space between lyrics he couldn’t finish.

The world became a haunted place filled with things he never said.

Then came that day.

In the teacher’s lounge, you pulled him in like a storm and locked the door behind you.

You didn’t feel strong. You felt tired. You felt like a version of yourself you no longer recognized. But to Mingi, you looked like the only thing worth surviving for.

“Mingi, do you hate me?”

“No what? Why would you even ask that?”

“I don’t know, Mingi. Maybe it’s because you look at me like I’m a ghost now. Maybe it’s the way you act like I’m just some chapter you skipped.”

“I don’t mean to—”

“I get it!” you interrupted, voice shaking. “We’re all messed up. But you can’t pretend I didn’t exist! That night, you kissed me. Then you told me to forget it. How am I supposed to live with that?”

His lips parted, but the words didn’t come quickly enough.

“And then you’re laughing with that girl touching her, looking at her like she’s the whole damn universe—”

“She’s just a friend, Y/n—”

“Oh shut up, Mingi! I’m tired! I’m tired of pretending I’m okay with the crumbs you give me.”

His eyes filled with the kind of tears boys usually hold back.

“You told me you loved me. Then you disappeared. What was that? Just a test? Just some messed-up game?”

“Y/n, no please”

“Don’t touch me, Song,” you snapped, stepping back.

That name his first name felt like a knife.

You locked eyes.

“Do you hate me?”

“I could never, never hate you.”

“Then why?”

“Because I love you too much. And I’m scared. I’m terrified, Y/n. I love you so much that I forget how to breathe when you’re not around.”

He was sobbing now, shaking like the world had turned against him.

“I love you, but I’m not okay. I’m not who you think I am. I’m barely holding on. Every time you lean on me, I break a little more.”

Your laugh was dry and empty.

“You looked me in the eyes and said it meant nothing.”

“I thought it was the only way to protect you.”

Then his voice cracked.

“I can’t be your savior, Y/n. I can’t even save myself. I’m drowning, and loving you is the only thing that kept me afloat but now? I’m scared I’ll pull you down with me.”

And then the final blow came, soft but brutal.

“I’ve always loved you. Since the bathroom stall. Since the day I found you crying with mascara on your hands and silence in your throat. But I can’t be your anchor when I’m the one sinking.”

His voice broke.

“I hate myself for saying this. But I love you too much to destroy you.”

You didn’t respond. You couldn’t. You just turned.

And left.

This time, it wasn’t anger or pride. It was grief.

Grief for something that was once beautiful and maybe still is, but just too broken to name.

Mingi stayed there, crying as if his body forgot how to hold it in.

You cried too.

Somewhere deep inside all that pain…

Hope flickered.

Or maybe it didn’t.

© Aerixfixoff 2025 - All rights reserved. Please don't copy, edit, repost, or translate my work. Respect goes both ways!