The Safest Place Is Next to Him
pairing: tall college bf!mingi x short chubby!reader
warnings: fluff, university setting, mentions of body insecurity, pushy strangers (brief unwanted attention), intimidation to leave the reader alone, mild language, gentle reassurance, body positivity, mutual pining, acquaintances to lovers, size difference, chubby reader representation (soft body type), “scary guy who’s secretly a sweetheart” trope
small note: as a girlie with a softer body type, we need more representation in these fanfic streets<3
word count: 5.7k
———
The lecture hall is already full when you slip inside.
Rows and rows of seats slope down toward the front of the room, the air buzzing with the sound of a hundred conversations overlapping at once. Backpacks drop onto desks. Chairs scrape against the floor. Someone’s phone rings before being quickly silenced.
First day of college.
You pause halfway down the aisle, scanning for an open seat.
Most of them are taken already. Of course they are.
You shift your bag on your shoulder and step farther down until you spot a single empty chair near the middle of the row.
There’s someone sitting beside it.
Tall.
Very tall.
Even seated, he looks huge, his black hoodie stretching slightly across his back as he leans forward with his elbows on the desk. Dark hair falls over his forehead, and his expression is… neutral.
The kind of neutral that people sometimes mistake for annoyed.
You hesitate for half a second.
Then you remind yourself that this is college and everyone is new and you are not about to stand awkwardly in the aisle forever.
“Sorry,” you mumble softly as you step past a few knees and bags.
He glances up briefly.
Dark eyes. Blank expression. He shifts his backpack off the chair beside him without a word. You smile politely and sit down.
“Thanks.”
He nods once.
That’s it.
No big deal.
You pull out your notebook and pen, trying to settle in before the professor arrives.
For a minute you’re focused on organizing your desk space.
Then you glance sideways and immediately freeze.
Because of his shirt.
It’s mostly hidden beneath the open hoodie, but you can see it clearly now. The album cover printed across the front.
Your brain short-circuits.
No way.
You lean a little closer, just to make sure.
Yep.
Your eyes widen.
You almost slam your hand over your mouth.
There is no way you listen to the same artist on his shirt.
Your heart does a little excited jump.
You hardly ever meet people who listen to them. Every time you mention them to someone they look at you like you’re speaking another language.
And now this random intimidating guy sitting next to you on the first day of college is just… casually wearing their merch.
You stare at the shirt another second.
Then another.
Your brain argues with itself.
Don’t bother him.
But what if he actually listens to them?
You will survive not knowing.
But what if he’s cool?
He is pretty handsome…
You chew lightly on the inside of your cheek.
He’s still looking forward, expression calm, posture relaxed.
He doesn’t look unfriendly.
Just… serious.
Still.
You don’t want to be weird about it but the excitement bubbles up anyway. Before you can overthink it too much, you reach out and tap his arm lightly.
The reaction is immediate.
He startles.
Actually startles.
His head turns toward you so fast you almost feel bad.
His eyes widen slightly.
“Um—sorry,” you say quickly, suddenly feeling shy under his full attention. “I just—”
You point toward his shirt.
“I like your shirt.”
His brain stops working.
Entirely.
Because the cute girl he’s had a crush on since high school just tapped him on the arm.
And complimented him.
He blinks once.
Twice.
“Oh,” he says.
Brilliant response.
Internally, Song Mingi is experiencing a catastrophic system failure.
Why is she talking to me. Did I do something wrong. Wait she said she likes my shirt. She’s smiling. Why is she smiling.
You gesture again toward the design.
“You listen to them, right? You have good taste.”
He stares at you for half a second longer than is probably normal.
Then—
He nods.
“Yeah.”
Amazing. Another masterpiece of communication. You grin, clearly excited.
“I love them.”
He clears his throat slightly.
“They’re good.”
You nod enthusiastically.
“They’re so good.”
Then, because the professor is walking in and everyone is starting to quiet down, you give him a quick friendly smile.
“Sorry for bothering you.”
“You didn’t,” he blurts out immediately.
Too fast. Too intense. You blink and he immediately looks like he regrets existing.
“…It’s fine,” he adds quickly, voice quieter.
You smile again.
Then turn back toward the front of the room as the lecture begins. For the rest of the class, you take notes. You listen. You underline a few important points. You voice record the entire lecture. You stay focused.
Mingi does not.
Because he is having a full internal crisis beside you.
She likes the same music as me. She talked to me. She said I have good taste.
He stares at the front of the room while the professor talks about the syllabus.
He hears none of it.
His thoughts spiral instead.
She’s sitting so close.
Does she think I’m weird.
Why did I only say three words.
I should have said something normal.
He glances sideways.
You’re writing something in your notebook, slightly hunched over your desk. Your hair falls forward a little as you concentrate. You look… comfortable. Relaxed like sitting next to him isn’t a big deal at all.
Which somehow makes it worse.
Because people usually avoid him—not intentionally, maybe. But they do.
He knows how he looks.
Six feet tall. Broad shoulders. Deep voice. Serious face. People tend to assume things. They assume he’s intimidating. Cold. Unapproachable. But you just…
Tapped his arm like it was nothing.
He quickly looks back at the front before you can notice him staring. The lecture continues.
By the time it finally ends, the room erupts into movement. Chairs scrape. Backpacks zip. Students stand and begin filing toward the exits.
Mingi shoves his notebook into his bag quickly, standing up so the people in the row can pass.
You sling your bag over your shoulder too, then glance up at him again. He’s even taller standing. You hadn’t fully realized that before.
You tilt your head up slightly.
“Hey.”
He freezes.
Why is she talking to me again.
“Yes?” he says.
Your brows knit together thoughtfully as you look at his face more closely.
“…Wait.”
Oh no.
His brain immediately assumes the worst.
Did I do something weird. Did I say something wrong. Did I accidentally offend her.
You squint slightly.
“Didn’t we go to school together?”
He blinks.
“…What?”
“Like middle school? Or high school?” you say, studying his face. “You look really familiar.”
His mind goes completely blank.
Because he knows exactly who you are. He recognized you the moment you sat down but just assumed you didn’t remember him.
Why would you?
You were friendly with everyone when they approached, even when they were quiet. Even when they were loud. Even when they were… creepy about the fact you were attractive.
Meanwhile he was the tall quiet kid who kept to himself in the back of class.
You snap your fingers softly.
“Oh my god—wait. Were you in Mrs. Carter’s English class junior year?”
He stares.
“…Yes.”
Your face lights up.
“I knew it!”
You grin at him like this is the most normal discovery in the world.
“You sat by the window, right?”
His heart is doing something very strange.
“…Yeah.”
You shake your head in disbelief.
“That’s so funny. I didn’t recognize you at first.”
He doesn’t know what to say to that. Internally:
Why does she remember where I sat. Why is she still smiling at me. Why is this happening.
You adjust the strap of your bag.
“Well, it’s nice seeing a familiar face on the first day,” you say warmly.
Then you pause.
“And also nice meeting someone with good music taste.”
His cheeks feel warm.
You step slightly closer so the people behind you can pass in the aisle. Up close, the height difference is… noticeable. You’re shorter than him by a decent amount—but you don’t seem bothered by it at all.
“You heading out?” you ask.
“…Yeah.”
“Cool.”
You smile again.
“I’ll probably see you next class then.”
And with that, you turn and start walking up the aisle with the rest of the students, leaving Mingi standing there completely stunned.
His brain slowly reboots.
She remembered me. She talked to me. Willingly.
And worst of all—
He thinks he might still be in love with the same girl he liked in high school.
He exhales quietly and runs a hand through his hair.
“…I should’ve said something cooler.”
——
A week later, you realize something.
Song Mingi is in three of your classes.
At first it feels like coincidence.
Then it starts to feel slightly ridiculous.
The second time it happens is in your Introduction to Literary Analysis lecture. You walk in, scanning the room for a seat, and immediately spot him near the middle row again—long legs tucked awkwardly beneath the desk, hoodie sleeves pulled halfway over his hands while he flips through the reading packet.
You pause.
He hasn’t noticed you yet.
For some reason, the sight of him sitting there makes you smile.
You slide into the empty seat beside him.
“Hey.”
His head lifts immediately.
For half a second his eyes widen in that same startled way they did on the first day.
“Oh—hi.”
You grin.
“Guess we’re doing this again.”
He glances around the room, realizing what you mean.
“…Yeah.”
He sounds mildly confused by the universe. You tap your notebook against the desk.
“That’s two classes now.”
He nods slowly.
Then after a moment he adds quietly, “We also have Professor Kim’s seminar tomorrow.”
Your eyebrows shoot up.
“…You’re kidding.”
He shakes his head.
“Three.”
You laugh.
“That’s insane.”
He doesn’t laugh, exactly. But the corner of his mouth lifts just slightly.
Over the next few days the pattern settles naturally.
You sit together. You exchange quiet comments during lectures. Sometimes you compare notes afterward while everyone packs up.
It’s easy.
Which is why, one afternoon after your seminar ends, you turn to him as you both stand from your seats.
“Hey, random question.”
Mingi freezes slightly.
“…Okay.”
You pick your bag up off of the floor.
“Do you want to study together sometime?”
His brain immediately starts buffering.
“Study?”
“Yeah,” you say casually. “Not like because we need help or anything. Just… study buddies.” You shrug. “It’s kind of nice having someone to sit with.”
He processes this information slowly.
You want to spend more time with him. Intentionally. His internal voice is screaming. Externally he nods.
“…Sure.”
Your smile widens.
“Cool.”
You hesitate for a second.
“Actually—there’s a coffee place near the library. Do you want to meet there tomorrow afternoon?”
For a moment he forgets how words work. Then, summoning approximately two percent confidence, he says:
“Yeah. I can—uh. I can get there early.”
You laugh softly.
“You don’t have to do that.”
He absolutely will.
“Okay,” he says.
——
The next afternoon, Mingi arrives fifteen minutes early.
Naturally.
The coffee shop is busy already—students filling most of the tables with laptops and textbooks but he ends up finding a small table near the window.
Perfect.
Two chairs. Good lighting. Not too crowded.
He orders a drink he barely touches and sits there pretending to read while checking the door every thirty seconds. His brain runs through several different panic scenarios.
What if she changed her mind. What if she forgot. What if I say something weird.
Then the door opens and you walk in.
You’re scanning the room, looking for him. Before he can wave, someone else reaches you first.
Some short guy with bleached teeth and hair gelled within an inch of its life.
Mingi’s posture straightens slightly.
The guy says something he can’t quite hear from across the room. You pause politely and answer him. Mingi watches the interaction carefully.
The guy steps closer. Too close. You shift your weight, clearly a little uncomfortable now. He keeps talking and you laugh awkwardly.
Mingi’s jaw tightens.
The guy gestures toward your phone. Even from across the café, Mingi can guess the question.
Can I get your number.
Your smile has turned into that specific polite expression people use when they’re trying to end a conversation without being rude.
The guy doesn’t take the hint.
Mingi stands up.
By the time you glance back toward the room again, he’s already there. He doesn’t storm over. He just… appears. Expression completely unreadable.
He steps beside you naturally, close enough that your shoulders almost touch. His presence alone shifts the entire interaction.
The guy looks up.
“…Oh,” the guy says.
Mingi’s voice is calm.
“Hey.”
He slides an arm loosely around your shoulders. It’s gentle—not possessive.
Just… familiar.
Like it belongs there.
The gesture is so casual that it almost convinces you.
“Sorry,” Mingi says, looking at you instead of the guy. “I was waiting for you.”
Your brain catches up quickly.
“Oh—yeah,” you say, playing along. “Sorry, I got stopped.”
The guy glances between the two of you. The height difference alone is intimidating. Then there’s Mingi’s expression. Not angry. Just very… blank.
“…Right,” the guy mutters. “Well—uh. Have a good day.”
He disappears toward the door almost immediately. Mingi waits until he’s fully gone before dropping his arm. And then his entire demeanor changes. The serious expression melts instantly into concern.
“Are you okay?”
The shift is so fast it almost gives you whiplash. He’s looking down at you now, brows slightly furrowed.
“Was he bothering you?”
You blink up at him.
“…You just teleported over here.”
“I did not.”
“You absolutely did.”
His ears are faintly pink.
“I just walked.”
You laugh softly.
“No, but seriously—thank you.”
You glance toward the door where the guy left.
“He wouldn’t take the hint.”
Mingi’s jaw tightens slightly again.
“…People should take the hint.”
You smile at him.
“You were very convincing, by the way.”
He immediately looks embarrassed.
“I just thought it would make him leave.”
“It did.”
You nudge his arm lightly.
“My hero.”
He looks like he might combust.
“…You’re welcome.”
You glance around the café.
“Wait—were you already here?”
“…Yeah.”
“For how long?”
“…Not that long.”
You narrow your eyes slightly.
“Mingi.”
“…Fifteen minutes.”
You burst out laughing.
“You came early to secure the table, didn’t you?”
He looks mildly defensive.
“It’s a good table.”
You look at the window. The lighting. The empty chairs. The perfect study setup.
“…Okay, it is a good table.”
He relaxes a little, then gestures toward the seat across from him.
“You want coffee?”
You grin as you drop into the chair.
“Absolutely.”
As you pull out your notebook, you glance up at him again.
“Also?”
“…Yeah?”
“You make a very convincing fake boyfriend.”
His brain shuts down again.
Entirely.
“…Oh.”
You smile innocently and open your book. He sits there for a second, still processing, and realizes two things at once.
One: You’re safe.
Two: He might actually want that role for real someday.
He quickly looks down at his notes before you notice the small smile forming on his face.
——
The coffee shop becomes a routine.
Not an official routine.
Neither of you ever says let’s make this a weekly thing.
It just… happens.
Two or three times a week after class you both end up there, notebooks open, laptops glowing, coffee cups slowly emptying while you talk about readings and assignments.
Sometimes you actually study. Sometimes you spend forty minutes discussing a poem interpretation. Sometimes you just talk.
About music.
About professors.
About the weird freedom of being in college after spending your whole life in structured classrooms. And the more time you spend with Mingi, the more something becomes obvious.
He’s not intimidating.
Not with you.
With you, his voice is quiet. Gentle. The kind of calm tone people use when they’re trying not to startle a stray cat.
“Do you want my notes from Tuesday’s lecture?” he asks one afternoon, sliding his notebook slightly closer to you across the table.
You glance up.
“You took notes?”
He tilts his head slightly.
“…Yes.”
“I thought you were staring into space the entire time.”
“I was thinking.”
“About the lecture?”
“…Not exactly.”
You grin.
“Wow. Inspirational.”
He huffs a quiet laugh under his breath. You’ve learned that’s basically the equivalent of a full laugh from him.
You’re both walking across campus later that week when it happens.
The sidewalks are crowded with students moving between classes, voices overlapping, backpacks bumping shoulders as everyone flows in different directions.
You and Mingi are talking about a short story from your literature seminar.
“Well I just think the narrator is up to something in the background while he’s telling us about the other characters,” you say, gesturing with one hand as you walk. “Like obviously he’s hiding something—”
“Or he doesn’t realize he’s hiding it,” Mingi replies calmly beside you.
His voice is low and steady, the same gentle tone he always uses when it’s just the two of you. You open your mouth to respond—
“Excuse me!”
You both look up.
Three girls step in front of you. They’re wearing matching shirts with Greek letters.
Sorority recruitment.
One of them smiles brightly at you.
“Oh my gosh, hi! We just wanted to say you’re literally so pretty.”
You smile.
“Oh—thank you.”
“We’re recruiting this week,” another girl continues eagerly. “Have you thought about rushing?”
You shift your bag slightly on your shoulder.
“Um, not really.”
“Oh you totally should!” the first girl says. “You’d fit in so well.”
You shake your head politely.
“I appreciate it, but I’m not really interested.”
“Are you sure?” the third girl asks. “We have a bunch of events this week—”
“I’m good,” you say gently.
They exchange quick looks. Then the first girl tries again.
“Even just one meeting—”
“She said she’s not interested.”
The words land flat.
You glance sideways. Mingi hasn’t moved—but something about his presence suddenly feels… larger.
His expression is completely neutral, a quiet finality.
The girls look up at him.
He’s standing slightly behind you, but his height alone makes him impossible to ignore.
“She already answered,” he continues evenly. “That’s it.”
The silence stretches for half a second. Then one of the girls clears her throat.
“…Right. Sorry.”
“Have a nice day!” another adds quickly.
They leave almost immediately.
You watch them disappear into the crowd. Then you turn slowly toward Mingi. He’s already looking down at you again. And just like that—
The serious expression disappears.
His brows knit together slightly.
“Were they bothering you?”
The switch is so fast it makes you blink.
“…You just scared them off.”
“I didn’t scare them.”
“You absolutely did.”
His ears turn faintly pink.
“They were being pushy.”
You shrug.
“They’re just doing their recruitment thing.”
“They should listen when someone says no.”
His voice is softer again now. You look at him curiously.
“You do realize I could’ve handled that, right?”
“I know.”
“Then why did you jump in?”
He hesitates for a moment. Then asks something unexpected.
“Why are you so polite to people who aren’t respecting you?”
You pause.
“…What?”
He gestures slightly behind you where the girls walked away.
“You already told them no.” His tone stays calm. “But you kept smiling like you were apologizing for it.”
You blink at him.
“Well… yeah.”
He frowns slightly.
“You don’t have to do that.”
“Do what?”
“Be polite to people who are ignoring what you said.”
You stare at him for a moment. Then something clicks.
“…Oh.”
He tilts his head in confusion.
“…What?”
You cross your arms, studying him with sudden interest.
“Oh, I see what this is.”
“…What?”
“You’re a big softie.”
His brain stalls.
“…No.”
“Yes.”
“No.”
“You just got all protective and lectured me about respecting my boundaries.”
“That’s normal.”
“And then you immediately checked if I was okay.”
“That’s also normal.”
You grin at him.
“You’re soft.”
He looks mildly offended.
“I am not soft.”
You lean a little closer.
“You’re literally the sweetest person I’ve met here.”
His face heats up.
“That’s not—”
“You’re like a six-foot-tall marshmallow.”
“That’s not a real thing.”
You laugh.
“So why do you care so much then?”
He opens his mouth then closes it. He suddenly answers without thinking.
“…Because I like protecting things I love.”
Silence.
His brain catches up with his mouth.
Did I just say that. Oh no.
He stares straight ahead, immediately very interested in a tree across the path. You’re staring at him.
“…Wow.”
His internal monologue is screaming.
Abort. Abort the conversation. Why would you say that.
“…Sorry,” he mutters quietly. But you’re smiling.
“I think that’s really cute.”
He glances down at you cautiously.
“…It is?”
“Yeah.”
You bump his arm lightly with yours as you start walking again.
“I feel very protected now.”
He exhales slowly, trying to pretend his heart didn’t just sprint a marathon.
After that day, the study sessions change.
You’re still studying.
Technically.
But sometimes you end up sharing a pastry instead of focusing on your notes. Sometimes you walk across campus together after the café closes. Sometimes Mingi starts buying your coffee before you even arrive.
“Is this a study date?” you ask him one evening as he hands you your drink.
“…No.”
“So just a date then?”
He chokes on his own sip of coffee.
Weeks pass. Midterms come and go. The campus trees slowly shift toward autumn colors. And somewhere along the way, the line between study buddy and something else quietly disappears.
By the end of the semester, it’s not even a question anymore.
You’re sitting in the same coffee shop one evening, textbooks pushed aside while you talk about absolutely nothing.
Mingi reaches across the table absentmindedly, brushing his fingers over yours, then freezes.
“…Sorry.”
You turn your hand over and lace your fingers with his.
“You don’t have to apologize,” you reassure him. “This is… nice.”
And this time, Mingi doesn’t hide his smile.
——
The coffee shop is busy that afternoon.
Not loud, exactly, but full enough that the background noise settles into a steady hum—espresso machines steaming, quiet conversations overlapping, chairs scraping against the floor.
You and Mingi have claimed your usual table near the window.
Your books are spread out between you, highlighter caps scattered everywhere like little pieces of neon confetti.
Mingi is focused on his notes, long fingers loosely holding a pen while he reads something from the textbook.
You’re trying to focus.
You really are.
But the window beside your table reflects just enough of the inside of the café that your eyes keep drifting toward it.
At first it’s accidental.
Then it’s not.
Your reflection is faint in the glass, layered over the movement of people walking outside.
You shift slightly in your chair.
Pull your sweater down a little.
Then sit up straighter.
Then adjust again.
Your brain does that annoying thing where it starts picking at details you normally don’t think about.
Your stomach looks weird when you sit like that.
Your thighs look big from this angle.
Maybe you should sit differently.
You tuck one leg under the other.
Then untuck it.
You don’t notice Mingi watching you.
He doesn’t say anything right away.
He just observes quietly for a moment.
The way you keep glancing toward the window.
The small adjustments in your posture.
The way your shoulders tense slightly.
Finally he sets his pen down.
“…Hey.”
You look up.
“Hm?”
He nods slightly toward the window.
“You’ve been fighting with your reflection for five minutes.”
Your face immediately warms.
“I have not.”
“You have.”
You sigh quietly.
“Sorry.”
“For what?”
“I’m probably being distracting.”
“You’re not.”
You glance at the window again automatically. Then quickly look back down at your book.
“It’s stupid.”
Mingi studies you for a second. Then says something simple.
“You look fine the way you are.”
You blink.
“…What?”
His tone is completely casual as if he’s stating a basic fact.
“You keep adjusting your sweater,” he explains.
“Oh.”
You feel a little embarrassed now.
“I didn’t realize I was doing that.”
He shrugs slightly.
“It’s okay.”
You stare at your notebook for a moment, then mumble quietly, “I just didn’t like how I looked sitting like that.”
Mingi’s brows knit together faintly.
“…Why?”
You glance up at him.
“You ever notice how almost everyone looks like a supermodel?”
“…No.”
“Well, they do.”
He considers that. Then shakes his head slightly.
“I think people look like people.”
You huff a quiet laugh.
“That’s a very philosophical answer.”
“I’m serious.” His voice stays calm. “You look fine.”
Your face warms again.
“You’re just saying that.”
“I’m not.”
He gestures toward the table between you.
“You look the same as you did ten minutes ago.”
You stare at him.
“…That’s your argument?”
“Yes.”
You laugh softly, covering your face for a second.
“That’s the least smooth compliment I’ve ever heard.”
“I wasn’t trying to be smooth.”
“I can tell.”
But you stop adjusting your sweater after that. And even though Mingi goes right back to reading his notes like nothing happened—
You notice something.
He quietly shifts his chair a little.
Just enough to block the window’s reflection from your view.
Like he’s removing the problem entirely.
You don’t point it out.
But the small gesture sits warm in your chest for the rest of the afternoon.
——
By the time the semester is halfway over, people start noticing.
Mostly because you and Mingi are almost always together. Walking across campus. Sitting side by side in lectures. Studying in the café by the window.
It isn’t loud or dramatic.
You’re just… there.
Together.
One afternoon you’re standing outside one of the humanities buildings waiting for Mingi to come out of class. Students move around you in loose groups, conversations drifting through the cool air. You’re scrolling through your phone when someone stops beside you.
“Hey.”
You glance up.
It’s a guy from one of your literature classes. You vaguely remember him from a group discussion a few weeks ago.
“Oh—hi.”
He shifts his backpack strap.
“So uh… random question.”
You raise an eyebrow.
“Okay?”
He gestures vaguely across the courtyard.
“I’ve seen you around with that guy a lot.”
You already know who he means.
“Mingi?”
“Yeah.” The guy hesitates. Then lowers his voice. “…Why are you dating him?”
You blink.
“What?”
“I mean—” he rushes to clarify, “not in a bad way! It’s just… he’s kind of scary.”
You stare at him for a second.
“Scary?”
“Yeah. Like he always looks really serious. And he’s huge.”
You can’t help it. You laugh—not rudely—just genuinely amused.
“Not really.”
The guy looks unconvinced.
“You don’t think so?”
“No.”
“He kind of looks like he could beat someone up.”
“He could,” you say casually. The guy’s eyes widen slightly. “But he wouldn’t.”
You glance over his shoulder and smile. Mingi just stepped out of the building.
He spots you immediately, posture relaxing a little as he walks over. The guy beside you notices the shift too.
The difference is subtle, but obvious if you’re paying attention.
Mingi moves toward you with that same calm, serious expression he always wears around other people. But when he gets closer—
It softens.
Like the tension drains out of his shoulders. He’s holding something behind his back.
“Hey,” he says quietly.
“Hey.”
He pulls his hand forward.
A bouquet of flowers. Not small either. A very large bouquet.
You blink.
“Mingi.”
“They were selling them outside the student center,” he explains, suddenly sounding a little unsure. “For some fundraiser.”
You take the flowers carefully.
They’re beautiful. Bright. Completely unexpected.
“You bought the whole thing?”
“…Maybe.”
You laugh softly, hugging the bouquet against your chest.
“They’re gorgeous.”
His ears turn pink.
“I thought you’d like them.”
You stand on your toes and he leans down so you can kiss his cheek.
“Thank you.”
Behind you, the guy from class is still standing there.
Frozen.
Because the intimidating six-foot-tall man he was just talking about has completely transformed. The serious expression melts into something softer. Warmer. His eyes crinkle slightly when you smile at him.
Then Mingi finally notices him.
The warmth disappears instantly.
His face returns to neutral.
“…Hey.”
The guy straightens like he’s been caught doing something wrong.
“Uh—hi.”
Mingi looks between the two of you briefly.
“Everything okay?”
“Yeah,” you say easily. “We were just talking.”
Mingi nods once. Your classmate clears his throat.
“Well—I should probably get going.”
“Have a good one,” you say politely. He walks away quickly. Very quickly. You turn back to Mingi.
“Ready to go?”
“Yeah.”
He reaches down automatically, taking your hand as you start walking across campus together.
The guy glances back once from halfway down the path and does a double take.
Because the moment you and Mingi are a few steps away from everyone else—
He changes again.
His shoulders loosen.
His expression softens completely.
Mingi laughs quietly—truly laughs. When you nudge his arm with yours, he leans down so you can say something in his ear.
And he smiles.
——
It’s late.
The campus is quieter than usual, most students already gone for the evening.
You and Mingi are studying in his dorm room for once instead of the coffee shop. His roommate is out somewhere, leaving the small space unusually peaceful.
Your notes are spread across the desk.
Highlighters.
Two half-empty coffee cups.
A stack of books neither of you has touched in the last twenty minutes.
Mingi is leaning back in his chair, reading something from your laptop screen while you stretch your arms above your head.
“I think my brain is done,” you mumble.
“Probably,” he agrees softly.
You stand, walking a few steps across the room to shake out the stiffness in your legs.
There’s a mirror hanging on the closet door.
You pause in front of it without really meaning to.
Your eyes drift down.
Your sweater fits comfortably, but it still outlines the soft curve of your stomach a little.
Your thighs press together slightly where your shorts end.
You stare for a moment longer than you meant to.
Then you sigh quietly.
You don’t realize Mingi noticed until his chair shifts behind you.
“…Hey.”
You glance over your shoulder. He’s watching you now, head tilted a degree.
“What?”
“You look upset.”
“I’m not upset.”
He doesn’t look convinced. You turn back toward the mirror again.
“It’s nothing.”
He stands up slowly and crosses the small space between you. Mingi stops beside you, tall enough that he has to look slightly down to see your reflection properly.
“…It’s not nothing.”
You hesitate.
Then shrug.
“I just wish my body looked different sometimes.”
The confusion on his face is immediate.
“…Different?”
You gesture vaguely at the mirror.
“I don’t know. Smaller, maybe.”
His brows knit together.
“Why?”
You laugh softly.
“Because that’s what people like.”
He stares at you like you just spoke another language.
“…People?”
“You know what I mean.”
He looks back at the mirror again.
Then at you.
Then back at the mirror.
And the confusion deepens.
“I don’t understand.”
You blink.
“What?”
He gestures toward you like the answer should be obvious.
“You look perfect.”
Your face begins to heat up.
“Mingi—”
“No, I’m serious.”
His voice is calm—like he genuinely doesn’t see the problem you’re describing.
“I love the way you look.”
You look down at your hands.
“Well, yeah. You’re my boyfriend.”
“That’s not why.”
You glance up at him again.
“Then why?”
He pauses as if he’s trying to put something complicated into words. Then finally says quietly:
“Because it’s you.”
Your chest tightens a little. He steps a bit closer, still looking at your reflection.
“You’re warm,” he continues, almost like he’s thinking out loud. “And soft.” His ears turn faintly pink.
“I like that.”
You huff a small laugh.
“You’re biased.”
“Probably.”
Then his expression shifts slightly.
“Did someone say something to you?”
“No,” you answer quickly.
He studies your face for a moment longer. Then nods once.
“…Okay.”
Silence settles between you for a few seconds. Then you say something quieter.
“I wish I could protect you sometimes.”
That startles him.
“…What?”
“You’re always looking out for me.” You shrug lightly. “With the guy at the coffee shop. The sorority girls. Random people being weird.”
You glance at him again.
“You’re always the one protecting me.”
His expression softens.
“And?”
“And I can’t really do that for you.”
“Why not?”
You gesture at the height difference.
“Mingi, you’re literally a human wall.”
“So?”
“So I can’t exactly scare people off for you.”
A small smile tugs at the corner of his mouth.
“I don’t need that.”
“You don’t?”
He shakes his head.
“No.”
Then he says something so simple it almost knocks the air out of your lungs.
“All you have to do is love me.”
You stare at him. He shrugs slightly, like it’s obvious.
“That’s enough.”
Your eyes immediately sting.
“Mingi.”
He notices the change in your expression instantly.
“…Did I say something wrong?”
You shake your head quickly.
“No.” Your voice wobbles just a little. “That was just… really sweet.”
He relaxes slightly. Then reaches out and gently takes your hand. His thumb brushes softly across your knuckles.
“You already protect me,” he says quietly.
“How?”
“By seeing me.”
Your chest squeezes painfully in the best way.
“Most people just see…” he gestures vaguely at himself. “This.”
Tall.
Intimidating.
“But you don’t,” he finishes.
“You never did.”
Your fingers tighten around his hand.
“Well yeah,” you say softly. “I know a softie princess when I see one.”
He groans quietly.
“I’m not a softie.”
“You didn’t deny being a princess.”
“I am neither.”
“You bought me a bouquet the size of a small tree.”
“It was for a fundraiser.”
“You carried my bag for three hours last week.”
“It was heavy.”
“You literally warm my hands when it’s cold outside.”
“…Your hands get cold.”
You smile.
“Softie.”
He sighs dramatically. But he doesn’t let go of your hand. And when you lean forward slightly to rest your forehead against his chest—his arms come around you immediately.
Gentle.
Like they were meant to be there.
——
anyways fam that’s for my fellow chubby girlies out there i realize i very rarely see fics where they write about a chubby reader so i had to write one
taglist: @taekritimin123 @kaitioo @tonddosstar @isamoonie1 @auxiny @yeriiin @mingi-buffering-24-7 @darjeelinglemontea @little-mix-fan-forever @skelejor @somswib @fics-lovebot @blamethemovies23 @wxnderingthoughts @jonghosbrainrot @hellkaisersangel @raicecakes-and-buldak @redemptions @33peach33
