#mingi x reader

[emowooyoung]

hwagi x reader texts - troublemaker performance

pairing: individual hwagi x reader

summary: reader's reaction to the hwagi troublemaker perfomance

authors notes: hey so thats crazy???? what the hell were they thinking?????????

seonghwa:

mingi:

[athenawalkemdown]

“Shhh…be quiet for me, unless you want them to hear how good I’m taking care of their own daughter.”

Mingi x reader

Smut, fingering, making love

It was new year’s even, you went to visit your parents with Mingi, your husband. It was very snowy, and cold, but inside your childhood home was so cozy and warm.

Mingi held your hand as you entered your parents' house. He was dressed in a warm coat, looking slightly nervous but excited to meet your family properly as your husband.

Your mother greeted you both at the door, her eyes lighting up at seeing you together.

"Welcome home, sweetie! And Mingi, it's so nice to finally have you here with us." She hugged you both warmly, you smiled at her, “I missed you guys both.”

Your father appeared behind your mother, smiling broadly. "We missed you too, honey. And Mingi, come in, come in! The food is almost ready." The scent of your mother's cooking filled the house, making it even more welcoming. The clock ticked closer to midnight. The family gathered around the dining table, decorated with festive decorations. Your mother brought out a special dish she knew you loved. Mingi sat close to you, occasionally squeezing your hand under the table. Your father was telling stories about your childhood, making Mingi smile of affection.

It was currently night already almost going to hit 12:00 am in a few minutes, you all went outside to see the fireworks as it hit The New Years. The cold air was crisp as you stepped out onto the porch. Your breath visible in the darkness. The first firework exploded in the sky, painting it with colorful sparks. Mingi wrapped his arm around your waist, holding you close as you watched the show. He kissed you softly as the fireworks continued, his tongue slightly wanting to enter your mouth but he realizes you guys are right infront of your parents, his lips warm against yours in the chilly night. His eyes reflected the colors above as he pulled away.

It was getting late, you lead Mingi upstairs to your used to be room, inside it was plain modern, but cozy. You both brushed your guys teeth, and skin care, you laid on the big bed. Mingi changed into comfortable clothes and joined you, spooning behind you. His body heat warmed your back as he held you close, he dozed off really quick because of your soft scent, and warmth and also the dim cozy lamp, you then fell asleep as the snow falls softly outside.

The night was peaceful, the house quiet except for the occasional creak. Mingi slept soundly, his breathing steady against your neck. You woke up around 2am because you felt something poking you from behind, was mingi awake? He was indeed awake, his hand roaming gently over your stomach. His breath was hot against your ear as he whispered. "Can't sleep." His voice was low and husky. "You're too tempting in this bed."

“How” you responded with a tired whisper, He chuckled quietly, his fingers dipping under your shirt. "You heard me." He nipped your earlobe. "I'm trying to be respectful in your parents' house, but you're making it very difficult," you responded back with a confused expression, “how I’m making it difficult? I’m just sleeping.”

He groaned softly, his hand moving higher.

"The way you're pressed against me. The way you smell." He inhaled deeply. "I can't help but want you again." You felt his large hand go in your pajama pant and in your panties his fingers touching your wet core. “젠장, 너 완전 흠뻑 젖었네” (Fuck, you’re soaking wet) he said in a horsey whisper.

You both made out while his fingers pump inside of you, he swallowed your moans with the kiss, keeping the pace slow and controlled. His own breathing became heavier as he felt you getting wetter. You guys had to be quiet since your parents were asleep across the hall but the fireworks provided a perfect cover for any sounds you might make. Mingi's eyes gleamed with mischief in the dim light. He pulled away from your flushed lips, “that’s it baby…you’re doing a good job keeping quiet huh…mmmmmh” he whispered in your ear with a teasing tone, as his thumb found your clit circling it.

You can feel Mingi’s bulge against your ass since you both were laying on your sides while he was spooning you, he grinded against you subtly, his bulge throbbing. His fingers were still working you skillfully. "Feel that? It will soon be inside of you, right here" His other hand trailed up on your stomach, above your belly button showing you how deep he will be inside of you. He stopped pumping his fingers in your flushed core, and took out his fingers and licked them, tasting your juices.

The next thing you know is that he is already sliding your pajama pants and panties down and lifting up one of your legs gripping your thigh higher. He positioned himself at your entrance, his tip teasing your folds.

"Bite the pillow if you need to." He warned softly, before slowly pushing in, his eyes slightly rolled back at the feeling of being slightly inside of you. He bit his own lip to hold back a groan, the tight warmth almost overwhelming. He paused for a moment, savoring the sensation then beginning to sink inside of you fully, you felt so full, know wonder his fans always say he has two microphones.

He starts to move with shallow thrusts, he maintained his careful pace, each thrust hitting deep but not too hard, you wanted to moan it felt so good. His hand covered your mouth, his other hand gripping your hip. "Shhh…be quiet for me, unless you want them to hear how good I’m taking care of their daughter…..You're taking me so well." He praised in a strained whisper. "Even after all these years, you still fit me perfectly."

He could tell you were enjoying it, your body responding beautifully. He adjusted slightly, changing the angle to hit that sweet spot. You were close to your release, you arched your back against his back, and bit his hand to contain your moan as you squirted and released your juices on his length.

He felt your body arch and your teeth on his hand, and he quickly muffled his own moan. Your squirt triggered his own release making him thrust deeply one last time as he filled you up. "Fuck…you just..." He panted quietly, trying to catch his breath. “I love you so much” He kissed you softly, and massaged your thighs because he knew your legs were going to be soar. He showered you with kisses, his after care was always the best, you both finally fell asleep against each others naked bodies.

The End

[vent-stink]

Crazy (For You)

pairings: mingi x idol!reader genre: fluff, one-shot a/n: I just wanted to post something so this is what I wrote like when I first started the blog, and I thought I'd write more, but I kind of like it the way it is!

You can only stare at Mingi, who's currently air drumming with pencils and engrossed in his own world, and wonder how this happened.

You honestly thought he didn't like you when you first met, and despite his assurances, you are still not convinced that he did. The cold stare he gave you when you'd knocked on the Ateez's dressing room door to give them your group's album had chilled your bones and you almost cried as you introduced your group. Thankfully, Hongjoong had come out to witness the introduction and thankfully accepted our album. (Mingi once begged Hongjoong to give it to him once you'd started dating, but Hongjoong refused).

From that moment you actually kind of feared him. You'd get nervous when he walked by, and if he noticed, he'd look at you weird. You couldn't hate him, not when he was visually exactly your type, but damn if you'd ever be caught in a room alone with him. You hadn't watched any Ateez content aside from the occasional music video or promo playing on a TV in a cafe, so you didn't know his personality outside of the cool and intense person he was when he was performing.

The day that image of him shattered was when you were in the MBC building, having just come out of the bathroom. Ateez was in the room right beside and Mingi was just coming out, the tone his voice high and scratching as he was complaining about Yunho not coming with him to do something. "COME WITH ME!" He screamed (similar to the way he yelled at Yunho for betraying him in that one show where they put flowers in each other's lockers).

He then turned his head, making eye contact with you, the weird idol girl he'd see around. He saw you stifled a laugh and immediately cover your mouth in shock before he went right back inside, slamming the door shut behind him.

When you saw him later, he avoided eye contact to an obvious degree, prompting Yunho to look in the direction he was avoiding, laughing animatedly and smacking his arm repeatedly when he saw you. You had been so embarassed that you avoided Ateez for a long time.

But for some reason, now that you had seen him to one embarassing thing, it seemed to happen all the time. You had literally witnessed him tripping over his feet as he passed you, his weird laugh when Jongho had said something while you were at the table next to him. You even watched him goofily do Hongjoong's hip movement from Crazy Form from the sidelines during showcase prerecordings as your group was up next.

Your personal favorite was when he was in the middle of a gutteral and goofy roar inside of his waiting room, facing the door as Yeosang was going inside. You'd just happened to turn your head in that direction, making eye-contact with through the crack in the door before that roar turned into a screech that was cut off by the door closing behind his fellow member.

The worst part was that every single time these things would happen, he'd somehow accidentally make eye-contact with you and freeze. You'd run away every time. He had to have hated you now that you kept seeing him in embarrassing moments. You figured you'd never talk to him for the foreseeable future.

"You have to take responsibility for me."

You looked at him dumbfounded when he'd approached you after you'd seen him miss the draw six times in a row when attempting to drink from a water bottle. "Huh?"

"Y/n, you've seen me in too many vulnerable positions and my honor is at stake. I don't think I'll ever be at peace knowing that a hot girl has seen me look like a bumbling idiot and she wasn't even my girlfriend."

"WHAT!?" "PLEASE, I'M EMBARRASSING MYSELF ENOUGH IN FRONT OF YOU. PLEASE GO ON A DATE WITH ME."

Mingi got scared as you laughed out loud at the memory.

"What?! What happened?"

"Nothing," you giggled, "I was just thinking about the time you first asked me out."

"Oh my god," he groaned, "Do not even speak to me."

"You know I thought you seriously hated me, babe."

"I did," Mingi admitted bluntly, and your mouth fell open. "Excuse me?!"

"There's a seriously thin line between love and hate, baby. I always thought you were hot and I hate hot people for no reason, they just make me angry. Then you saw me acting stupid with Yunho and I was so mad that this annoyingly beautiful woman saw me at my worst-"

"Your worst-?"

"But then I started paying attention to you and I was trying and failing to look cool in front of you but you never really made fun of me... you were always laughing and it was really cute and asked you out because I panicked."

"There is seriously something wrong with you."

"I know," Mingi sighed, "I am just crazy... for you."

Taglist: ------------------------------ @ad0rechuu @spooo00oky @jaerisdiction @soso59love-blog @potatos-on-clouds @intartaruginha @hwasa28 @stacey-stonem @skersey33 @altxrr-ego @sunnyhokyu @sunnysidesins @that1sadgrl

[atinymusings]

Thinking about Yunho/Reader ft. Toxic Mingi

Mingi spilling a secret to reader about Yunho, planting seeds of doubt and erasing any semblance of trust, driving the two apart…

[dulceazucarmorena97]

Would’ve Been You (3/3)

Pt.2

Summary: After a stint in rehab, your ex-boyfriend finds himself back at the bar you work at, wondering how things could’ve gone differently if only he hadn’t fucked it up.

*General Warnings: Smut. Substance abuse. Self-harm. Mingi is an ex-drug addict and alcoholic. Mentions of miscarriage.

*Chapter Warnings: Smut. Heartbreak.

He’s sitting in his car for a minute after pulling up to the apartment. He stares down at his knuckles as he grips the steering wheel tightly. The car’s not moving, but his head is definitely racing: thoughts of what if. What does it mean? What happens after this? He knows what he wants to happen…but he can’t help the guilt that washes over him for even desiring it.

Who is he to desire anything from you?

Finally, he steps out and looks up at the 4th floor, where the apartment you used to share together, overlooks the city. He always loved that view…especially next to you. After so long, he’d assumed you’d have moved; that’s what you had been working toward when it all fell apart— moving out and finding a new job.

Perhaps somewhere, deep within, you wanted to ensure he’d still be able to come back to you somehow.

He knocks on the door and stands there, clicking his teeth together nervously. From the other side, he hears you moving toward him, “Just a second!” You call out. He swallows, feeling jittery already. When you open the door, you greet him with a nervous smile and then step aside, motioning for him to enter. He does so hesitantly. When he looks around, he sees that it looks so similar to before— and yet different. It’s more feminine now; decor that matches your personality a lot better than how it was before. He admires the plants along the walls and shelves; you’d also gotten new furniture and rugs.

“Wow,” He says, admiring it. You look around too, wondering what it probably looks like to fresh eyes, “Different…huh?” “Better,” He nods, “much better.” You smile at his compliment, “Thanks.” You both stand there a little awkwardly, before you finally motion for him to sit, “I’ll go get your stuff…gimme a second.” He nods and sits on the side of the couch he always used to sit on, though, of course, this new couch has no memory of his body…no memory of the both of you, tangled in one another’s arms.

After about five minutes, you come back out— this time, you’re wearing your favorite hoodie, one you’d had for over six years and always wore at home. You pair it with some sweats; they’re long and far too big. In fact, they look like men’s sweats…they’re probably the boyfriend’s, Mingi figures. You’re also carrying a box; not too big, but still has to be carried with two hands. You come over and set it down on the coffee table, “It’s not a whole lot, but I thought you might want it back…I couldn’t bring myself to throw it away.” Mingi looks down at the box. If he picks it up now, then he’ll have to leave; after all, that’s what he technically came for, right?

“Can I…see inside?” He asks, trying to buy himself more time. You nod, “Go for it.” You sit down on the floor, cross-legged and quiet. He takes the lid off and sets it aside, and when he sees the contents of the box, he instantly breaks into a smile. Memories flood him in an overwhelming rush. “Wow…you kept lots of important stuff.” “Yeah…I feel like I knew you were gonna want them if you ever—” You clear your throat, “ever came back.” He rummages through the different items, the smile never fading— until he gets to the black jewelry box. His heart practically leaps out of his chest; it’s the chain his father had gifted him as a child, right before he passed. “My-my chain,” He says, already feeling a knot in his throat. “Yeah…I tried to get it to your mom and your step-dad but they had stopped answering my calls…I couldn’t get rid of it knowing how special it is to you.”

Finally, tears begin spilling from his eyes; long overdue by years upon years. He stares at the open box, his shoulders beginning to shake. In all the time you’d spent together, you’d only seen Mingi cry maybe twice. Your heart wrenches at the sight. Your legs move as though with a mind of their own, and you crawl over to him and wrap your arms around his neck. His face fits perfectly in the crook of your shoulder, as it always did, and his arms wrap around you with a sort of desperation as he sobs into you. It’s like every tear he hasn’t spilled in this entire process, is now being soaked up by your hoodie. “I’m sorry for everything,” He says. You don’t respond, just hold him tighter.

They say that the body releases oxytocin after about 20 seconds of hugging— but you feel yourself absolutely unraveling within the first five seconds of embracing him. It’s like chugging water after a week in the desert; you just want more and more, consequences to your body be damned. He lets your warmth comfort him, breathing in your sweet vanilla smell— how could he ever have let this go? If he could go back in time to slap some sense into himself, he’d do so in a heartbeat. You stay that way for a little longer, but then you pull back a bit to look at him. Those eyes; those fucking eyes. Damn him. You stay close, bringing your thumbs up to his eyes and wiping his tears. He doesn’t let go of you, just lets you; his lashes flutter at your gentle touch.

For a moment, you’re both frozen, just looking at each other, your hands still on his face. Before you can stop yourself, you’re leaning in. It’s like it happens in slow motion; he can see you coming in close, knowing full well he has ample time to stop you— to tell you he doesn’t deserve your love, to tell you to stay with the guy who treats you well…the guys whose sweats you’re currently wearing. But he doesn’t. Not only does Mingi not stop you, within a heart beat, he’s leaning in too.

They say stolen water is sweet; Mingi can’t help but think of that as his lips form perfectly against yours. He drinks you in without hesitation, tossing in the wind the inhibition that is you already belonging to another. You, too, dive into him without so much as a second thought toward Yunho. Your heart, only recently patched up, has now begun to burst at the seams. At first, you’re just kissing; tasting one another’s mouths for the first time in forever. He holds you with both arms, his finger tips gently caressing the fabric of your sweater. You both were never able to just stop at kissing though, were you? You’re reminded of that when his tongue gently slips into your mouth, and your hands move to wrap around his neck, wanting him closer and closer.

He slowly rises with you in his arms, helping you up to your feet, but in the blink of an eyes, he’s letting go of your lips and squatting a bit to pick you up. Effortlessly, he holds you in his arms again, his hands planted on your bottom as your legs wrap around his waist. His lips lock with yours anew, and he walks toward the wall, to sandwich you between it and himself. “Mingi,” You whisper between kisses. He doesn’t respond; there’s no reason to. He knows you’ll try to pretend like you want to stop, but you won’t stop, and neither will he. Why waste time saying words neither of you means— it’ll just be more precious moments together, lost in time.

You’d forgotten how big he is; his shoulders, his chest— how his presence engulfs you so easily. You tear your lips away only to kiss his neck and his shoulders. You’re not even doing it for him; it’s for you. You want your fill. He breathes heavily, enjoying the weight of you in his arms as your lips work on his sensitive skin. Knowing you’ve wanted him just as much as he’s wanted you…it’s both wonderful and simultaneously heartbreaking. How many times could you have made sober love to one another if things hadn’t ended the way they did? Perhaps right now, he’d not be making love to you, his ex…rather, it’d be you, his wife and mother of his child.

The thought makes him hold you tighter, one hand letting go of your thigh and coming up to lay flat on your back as he kisses your lips again. I love you. I love you. I love you. It plays on a loop in his head, hoping he can communicate it to you through his embrace. “Take me to the bedroom,” You say breathlessly against him. He secures his hold on you and makes his way to the bedroom you’d once shared. He notices a few differences, but his interest in those differences pale in comparison to how interested he is in getting you on that bed. He gently tosses you on the duvet, then shrugs off his zip-up, leaving him in his muscle shirt. His arms are gorgeous.

You breathe heavily as you yank off your hoodie and toss it aside. It’s only then that he realizes you’re in your bra; of course, he’d forgotten how you so often went without an undershirt because you didn’t like to feel bulky. The sight of your beautiful breasts, pushed up by your lacy, black bra— it almost makes him want to cry. He climbs onto the bed, hovering over you. You kiss him hungrily, letting your hands wander under his shirt. His abs are just as heavenly as ever, and you delight in the feeling of the ridges under your fingers. He pulls the shirt off of himself, revealing his beautiful torso. His pecs look so delicious, and you can’t help but reach up to knead at them. “Lay down,” You whisper.

He does as he’s told; something you’ve always loved. As much as he was able to de dominant, you always loved how easily he folded for you. He’s on his back now, watching you as you watch him; you’re practically salivating at the sight of his bare chest— like you’re looking down at a plate of food with so much going on, you hardly know where to start. You swing your leg over to straddle him, then drag your nails down his broad chest. He bites his puffy, bottom lip, delighting in the sting. You watch as the trail made by your nails becomes angry and red against his porcelain skin. His chest is rising and falling quickly with his rapid breathing.

You lean down and drag your tongue upwards through the center of his chest. He’s so hard already, and this sensation makes his cock jump in his jeans. He grips the sheets under him. “You’re so beautiful,” He praises, admiring that face that he so adores. The face he never once stopped thinking about during his time away. You bring your hand up to his mouth, silencing him, “Don’t talk.” You keep your hand there for the time being. If he talks, you’ll just become even more clouded. You want your vision to stay as clear as possible…no matter how impossible you know it is to be unclouded with Mingi.

You reach behind yourself and unclasp your bra, then let it slide down your arms and drop onto his chest. He picks up the bra and shamelessly holds it to his face, inhaling the sweet scent of your perfume. Slide down a bit and undo the button his jeans— it happens so quickly, he doesn’t fully know that’s what you’re doing until you’re sliding his waistbands down to finally get to what you’re after. His cock is just the same as always; how you’ve missed it.

The first time you’d slept with Yunho, it was…fun. A pleasant experience that you’d gladly do again; but it was hard to build up to it. For so long, Mingi was the only man you’d had sex with, and you loved it. You loved him. It was strange to let someone new into your body when your heart was still in Mingi’s back pocket. Having Mingi here now, it feels like returning to normalcy. He watched in awe as you grab the base of his dick and pump it without hesitation. He bites his lip again, this time, hard enough to hurt a little.

To see you in this position again— he doesn’t see himself lasting long. “Y/n, I- I might finish too quickly,” He says sheepishly. You raise a brow at him, “You used to last hours….don’t tell me a few minutes of my mouth will get you there so quickly?” “I— I know, but,” He clears his throat, feeling slightly embarrassed to admit, “I haven’t…you know…” He shifts his eyes away from you, “I haven’t had sex since I left.” You stay stuck for a second, absolutely dumbfounded. “You haven’t…? At all?” “No, I…” He exhales, “I didn’t want anyone else…it’s always been you….”

Your heart hurts— physicaly hurts— hearing how he hasn’t touched a single woman in all this time. Here, you thought for sure he’d be behaving like any single man, bouncing from woman to woman…You don’t wait another second; you’re so filled with a mix of conflicting feelings, but the loudest of all of them, is how much you want to devour him at the thought of him staying completely untouched, meanwhile you’ve been getting fucked every other day by a man who shows you how a real man treats a woman…

You feel so fucked up, but you can’t bring yourself to care enough to stop.

Your mouth wraps around the tip of his cock like a glove; he lets his head drop in the pillow as he groans in pleasure. Your pretty little mouth is just as delicious as he always remembered. You watch as he tenses his muscles, his pecs tight and taut, and his arms flexing to keep himself from reaching down and grabbing a fistful of your hair. “Oh fuck….fuck, I miss you so much,” He breathes as you begin to suction a bit, bringing him deeper and deeper. You’ve always loved how vocal he can be during sex. Your tongue slithers all around his length, getting him so wet with your saliva that it gets all over your face as well.

You slurp him up with reckless abandon, tasting every centimeter of him on the way down and back up. A few times, he hits the back of your throat and you gag a bit, but it only threatens to make him cum if he doesn’t focus all his energy on not doing so. “Y/n, please,” He begins to whine a bit, “I don’t wanna cum yet— I want to feel you…all of you,” His cheeks dust a light pink as he says this, and you realize how shy he’s become. Maybe it’s because he knows he’s at a disadvantage here; no matter how much you’ve wanted and missed him…he wants it so much more.

You let him out of your mouth with a loud smacking sound, and then wipe your face with the back of your hand. He sits up immediately, taking your breast into his mouth while cupping the other, then he switches— he’s ravenous. He’s like a dog that doesn’t know when the next meal is coming. His tongue tugs gently at your pert nipple, making your lashes flutter. You’ve always loved when he does that; your clit pulses at the feeling. He holds you by your hips, just taking a moment to worship your body with his mouth. His fingers travel down a bit to the waistband of your sweats, and immediately, something flares within his chest….

Territoriality.

He pushed you back suddenly so you’re on your back at the foot of the bed, your head hanging a bit off the edge. He kissed your chest, then makes his way down to your stomach, and then finally, he’s tearing the sweats off your body, with a quiet anger that you don’t even notice. He throws the pants against the wall as though they’ve personally offended him— and in a way, they have. By gracing your body more times in the last year than he’s been able to; by belonging to someone who, for the last year, has gotten to touch you, make love to you, wake up to you…it makes him want to set the world ablaze—

But then he wouldn’t be able to have this moment with you.

Your panties are a fucking poor excuse for a garment; they’re a matching set with your bra, so they’re mostly lace, which means he gets an eyeful of your upper pelvic area through the decorative fabric. He opens your legs with ease, bending them upward so he can get a better angle as he bends down kisses your pussy from outside the material. Your heart is pounding in your chest as you remember how good he’s always been at this. “Mingi,” You moan his named. He breathes you in, just as he had with your bra. His cock twitches against the mattress, but he doesn’t dare touch himself. He wants to give you everything he has.

He pushes your panties aside, then marvels at those pretty pussy lips. Fuck, he really did miss you. Even if he had fucked anyone during all this time, he’d only be kidding himself; none of them would’ve felt half as good as you, he’s sure of it. He immediately swipes his tongue down your pretty cunt, eliciting the prettiest moan from you. “Mm…you’ve always tasted so good,” He coos, doing it again. Reach down and run your hand through his hair, “And you’ve always known just how to taste me.” Just as the words are waving your mouth, his tongue catches on your clit in just the right way. He still remembers everything; especially this.

He flattens his tongue against you, moving up and down in sharp movement. The pressure he’s using is just right, and makes you fill the entire apartment with your desperate moans. “Yes, oh God,” You say through gritted teeth. He sucks gently on your clit, his hands clutching at your thighs as he tried to keep you from moving too much. At some point, you lose all strength trying to keep your neck up, and you just let it hang off the bad as it wants— it feels too good to move, and you don’t wanna lose this feeling. “Mingi, I’m close.” “He continued his ministrations, “Come on, baby…cum in my mouth, just how I like it,” He coaches gently. “I- I don’t know if I can anymore, I haven’t- I haven’t been able to—” “Yes you can,” He says, “I know you can. Come on, Princess.”

He always knew just what the fuck to say, didn’t he?

Within seconds, your body is tensing, and you go radio silent as you let it build in your abdomen. He alternates between his tongue and his fingers on your clit, eating your furiously until finally, your pussy is spitting out your climax all over his tongue, “YES!” You scream. You’re sure the neighbors hear you as you burst into a series of moans and curses as you ride out your orgasm on Mingi’s decently sized nose. You always used to joke that that’s the only thing his pointy ass nose was good for.

He slurps you up with pleasure, making sure not a drop of your slick is left behind. He backs up to try to give you a moment to recover, but you reach out for him with two tired arms, “Mingi, please…” You beg. Your non-verbal request makes his heart practically burst out of his chest. He climbs on top of you with deliberate slowness— not enough to torture you, but enough to savor the moment. He kisses up your body again, right up to your mouth, capturing you in another intimate moment. He brings your legs up again, only this time, they can rest against his body as he positions himself between your legs.

You wrap your arms around his neck, beckoning for him to come closer and closer— until finally, he’s sliding inside of you. Your eyes roll back slightly, “F-fuck,” You breathe, digging your nails a bit into his neck. He, too, has to breathe out his own string of curses as he holds himself there for a second. You feel so good, stretched around him like this again. He can hardly keep himself from absolutely railing you; he doesn’t want to rush things, but man, would it be so easy to lose himself. He wraps you into a tight embrace, letting his body lay flush against yourself as he moves his hips in and out of you. It’s slow and deliberate. He kisses you the entire time, and even when you pull away to catch your breath or moan, he brings you back again.

His upper pelvis smacks your clit with every thrust, and soon, you’re being lead back up to another climax, “Tell me you love me,” You breathe, clutching him tightly. His heart wrenches in his chest, “I love you, I love you so much,” He presses his forehead to yours. “Say it again,” You hiss through gritted teeth. “I love you!” He says, though it comes out as more of a beg: a beg for you to believe him. “You shouldn’t fucking left me then,” You suddenly say, wrapping your legs around his waist. Jed caught off guard by your tone, but your body won’t let him go— he deserves all of your anger, he knows it.

He keeps a strong pace, “I’m sorry, I know,” His voice cracks. “Say it again,” You order, tears forming in your eyes as you receive every last ounce of his strength. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry—” He begs for your approval, for your forgiveness, for your love. You kiss him sloppily, “Again,” Your voice becomes more ragged too, and you get a tight grip on his hair. “I’m sorry, baby. I’m— I’m-” he struggles to keep his head on as he feels himself at the edge, “I’m cumming, baby,” He cries into you as his cock shoots his orgasm deep in your pussy, coating you in his love, in his anguish, in his guilt— releasing it all inside of you until all he is is a sobbing, panting mess on top of you.

There’s such a thin line between love and hate, that you’d almost lost sight of which one you were walking. Being here, with him, in the arms you’d known for years, you finally know where your feet need to go. You let him catch his breath, then finally, after what feels like forever, you’re gently tapping on his, non-verbally asking him to get off, which he does so without protest.

You sit at the edge of the bed, staring ahead for a moment, wordless. He looks over at you, feeling it in the air. A finality that makes him quite literally want to die. You don’t say anything— you don’t need to; he’s always been able to read you like a book…enough to know when enough is finally

enough.

A/n: Hope y’all enjoyed this piece. I love when Mingi is a mess. It brings me joy.

[witchleo21]

Mi corazón es tuyo - My heart is yours

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

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

4. chapter/ capítulo/ kapitel/ 제1장

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

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

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

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

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

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

Mingi :

We agreed to keep this absolutely secret.

A second message follows immediately after.

Mingi:

And you go on international press talking about massive thighs?

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

You 🩶:

I was merely being honest 😉

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

Mingi:

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

Three typing dots appear immediately. Disappear. Appear again.

You🩶:

No, never noticed.

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

Mingi:

I can’t wait until Paris.

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

You🩶:

I’m counting the days.

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

“OHHHHHHH.”

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

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

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

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

“My vibe?”

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

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

“Maya, please.”

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

“Oh my God, tell me everything.”

“Maya—”

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

“Oh my God,” Florence whispers.

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

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

“I am not doomed.”

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

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

“I know.”

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

“I’ve worn black for four days.”

“You own colors?”

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

Mingi

Good morning sweetheart

Another message follows immediately.

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

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

“Mhm.”

“I don’t.”

“Mhm.”

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

“It is not a technicality.”

“It could be.”

“Maya.”

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

“…the what?”

“The Oscars.”

“We’ve been on three dates.”

“So?”

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

“I disagree.”

“Maya.”

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

You laugh.

“Maya…”

“No, seriously.”

She points her makeup brush at your reflection.

“You in couture.”

“Hm.”

“Him in some ridiculously expensive black suit.”

You shake your head.

“You’re impossible.”

“I’m realistic.”

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

She smiles knowingly.

“I know enough.”

“You don’t.”

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

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

“I’m complimenting a woman.”

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

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

“Oh my God.”

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

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

Florence beams proudly. “Exactly.”

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

„No!“

„Why ?“ Florence asks dryly.

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

„Florence!“

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

Maya immediately chimes in.

“That’s a brilliant idea!”

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

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

“Three… maybe four times a week.”

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

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

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

“It helps with filming.”

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

“You can enjoy pasta and exercise.”

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

“Florence.”

“What?”

“Don’t say things like that.”

She rolls her eyes dramatically.

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

“What?”

“I love it.”

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

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

“Therapy was required.”

“I believe it.”

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

“Oh my God…”

“It was horrific.”

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

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

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

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

“Because you talk a lot.”

“I do not—”

“You do.

“I—”

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

“Fair.”

“He should be calm.”

“Mhm.”

“Grounded.”

“Mhm.”

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

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

“First of all.”

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

“Because…”

She points dramatically at the top of your head.

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

“I am not!”

“You absolutely are.”

You shake your head, still laughing.

“I just have standards.”

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

“I won’t.”

“You will.”

“I’ll write sad poetry.”

“You don’t write poetry.”

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

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

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

Mingi🖤:

Video Call

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

“You sure?”

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

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

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

“That’s actually unfair.”

“Mingi…”

“What?”

“I’ve done nothing.”

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

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

“You?”

“Yes.”

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

“Different.”

“How?”

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

“Yes.“

“Dance practice?”

“Yes.”

“Recording?”

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

“I mean it.”

“I know.”

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

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

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

“And then Paris.”

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

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

“Really?”

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

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

“…Mingi.”

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

“What?”

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

“You absolutely did.”

“I merely thought something had fallen.”

“Mhm.”

“I was trying to help.”

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

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

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

“Mingi…”

“I’m kidding.”

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

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

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

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

“Bye, sweetheart.”

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

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

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

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

“She seems loud.”

“She is loud.”

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

“You excited?”

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

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

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

“No.” You pause. “No?”

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

“…what?”

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

“That would be so weird!”

“Why?”

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

“You watch my performances.”

“That’s different.”

“How?”

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

“I’m curious.”

“No.”

“Yes.”

“No.”

“You can’t stop me.”

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

“Oh? So there are bad ones?”

“There are deeply unfortunate ones.”

“I need titles immediately.”

“Mingi.”

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

“Okay.”

“But text me later?”

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

“You’re awful.”

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

“…bye, Mingi.”

“Bye, Sweetheart.“

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

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

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

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

y/n 🩶:

Sleep well, big guy. Only one more week until Paris!

[dallyna]

Hi, loves ♡

I'm currently working on a Mafia Boss Mingi × Secret Agent Reader fic and I can't wait to share it with you.

If you'd like to be added to the tag list, let me know ♡

[thelastunicornot8]

Inception

Word Count: 4.8k

Pairing: Mingi x Reader

Genre: Smut, fluff, romance, slow burn, thriller, crime

Warnings: MDNI, Kidnapping, Coarse Language

Previous Chapter

Ch 12

“Mingi,” Seonghwa and San still sat on his bed, watching him pace back and forth around his room. He still held his phone clutched tightly in his hand. “Mingi.”

“What?” he stopped moving and looked over at Seonghwa, exhaustion evident on his face. “You can’t stop me, hyung. I’m going.” He sat down on the edge of the bed, turning to face San and Seonghwa. “Jinwoo said he was going to try to convince the department to send out a search party, but he’s not a miracle worker. Even he has limits to what he can do, right?” Neither of them said anything. “But I’m not part of the police. I can go wherever I want to. No one… nobody can stop me.”

“It’s an active crime scene, Mingi,” San said quietly. “Jinwoo said it wouldn’t be a good idea.”

“What isn’t a good idea is waiting around for someone else to find her!” Mingi slammed his hand down on the bed. “I know where she was taken the night she was kidnapped. I can go look for her myself.”

“You’re putting yourself in a dangerous situation if you go out there alone, Mingi. I thought we already talked about this.” Seonghwa’s voice was stern, but not hard. He knew that he stood no chance of trying to convince Mingi to let the police handle it. If Mingi was nothing else, he was strong willed; trying to stop him would only serve to cause friction between them, and he didn’t want that.

“I don’t care.” Mingi sat unblinking as he looked at his members.

“We all just want what’s best for you,” Seonghwa said.

“What’s best for me is finding my girl and my baby!”

“I… you know that isn’t how I meant it. You’re important to all of us. Not just as a member, but as a brother. As family. I… I don’t really know what to do for you in this situation. It’s stressful and scary for all of us, not just you. We’ve been watching you spiral for a while and I just want you to stop and think for a second.”

“There’s nothing to think about!”

“Yes, there is!” Seonghwa rose up from the bed. “Do you really want to be the person that potentially finds her body, Mingi? I know none of us want to say it, including you, but the reality is that we don’t even know what you’d be looking for out there. She might not be alive at all and you’re so blinded by your desire to look for her that you aren’t stopping to consider what you might find. Could you handle finding her in a state like that? You think you’re mad with despair now, but just imagine the irreparable damage that can come from what you’re trying to do.”

San sat wide eyed on the bed, mouth slightly agape. He and Seonghwa had discussed quietly with the other members their thoughts about what had probably happened to you. Of course, they were all praying that you would be found safe, but none of them were blind to the high chance that you were already dead. They had been quietly preparing themselves in case they had to do damage control once you were found. None of them wanted to see Mingi go into that dark place that he had been in before when he went on hiatus. They knew that this time would be far worse, that this time they might actually lose him.

“It doesn’t matter,” Mingi stated. “I’m going.” Seonghwa looked at him mournfully with what looked like tears in his eyes before he quietly padded out of the room and down the hall. They heard his bedroom door close softly.

“Mingi… I’ll come with you.” San said. “You can’t go alone. Let me come too.”

“You can’t come, San,” Mingi sighed. “I appreciate all the support you guys have been giving me, and I understand how worried everyone is. I can’t allow you to put yourself in danger too on my behalf. This is my problem.”

“We’re supposed to solve our problems together.”

“Not these kinds of problems.”

“Especially these types of problems!”

“San, no. Stay here with hyung, ok?”

“Mingi…”

“San, please. Just… leave me alone for a little while.” Mingi turned away from him, signaling that he was finished with the conversation. San studied his back, trying to imagine what his face must look like. Mingi’s shoulders were slouched, his back hunched. The posture of a man defeated. He realized in that moment that Mingi’s decision wasn’t coming from a place of big headedness. He was desperate. San stood and exited the room without another word. There was nothing more he could say.

Mingi stared at the wall for what felt like hours. It was only when the sound of rain hitting the window brought him back to himself that he realized he had a splitting headache. He lifted himself up from the bed and headed for the bathroom to grab a few aspirin. The stress and restless sleep were catching up to him. He quickly screwed the top off of the medicine bottle and popped a couple pills into his hand before slipping into the kitchen to grab a glass of water. Once he’d swallowed the pills, he went back to his room to look for a good hoodie to wear. The rain was coming down a bit hard, not to mention he wasn’t sure what kind of plant life was growing around that area; he didn’t want to make himself sick wandering through the woods exposed to the elements.

He found a nice thick hoodie and slipped it on, zipping it up as far as it would go and made his way to the front closet where they kept their shoes, sifting around until he found his pair of combat boots. They had thick soles with good tread, ideal for muddier terrain. He set them by the door and made a beeline for the linen closet. They kept miscellaneous things on the bottom shelf; tools, extra batteries and whatnot. He dug around in the back until he found what he was looking for, a flashlight. With the rain, it was shaping out to be a bleak day, and he knew that the canopy of trees would make the woods even darker; the last thing he needed was to get lost in the woods and become another person in need of saving. He shoved the flashlight in one pocket, opened up the toolbox to grab the hammer, and shoved it into his other pocket. He may have been desperate, but he was no fool, he knew that you simply didn’t go into the woods without some sort of protection. Feeling as prepared as he could be, he moved to the front door to shove his boots on.

A gentle knocking came from the other side of the door and Mingi shot up straight and looked through the peep hole before opening the door. “Mingiya.”

“Yunho? What are you doing here?”

“Where are you going? You aren’t usually up this early.”

“I’m going to look for Y/N.”

“It’s raining outside, you know.” Mingi looked Yunho up and down, he had clearly forgotten his umbrella at his dorm.

“You got rained on, you’re fine. I’m going.” He tried to push past Yunho, who threw an arm up to bar him.

“Mingiya.”

“Yunho, don’t do this. Did Seonghwa call you? Was it San? They always think that if they call you that you can change my mind on things. It isn’t going to work this time, Yunho.”

“It doesn’t matter who called me, and I’m not here to stop you, Mingi. I’m coming with you. And I’m not taking no for an answer.” Mingi took a second look at him. He was wearing the same style of boot and had donned a sweatshirt and jeans. If people didn’t know any better, they would have sworn they coordinated outfits.

“You can’t come either, Yunho.”

“You don’t get to tell me where I’m allowed to go. I drove here. I’ll drive wherever else I want to. If it happens to be in the same direction that you’re going, it’ll just be coincidence.” Yunho’s mouth was set, his eyes determined. That was something they had in common, they were both stubborn as rocks. They stared one another down silently, each willing the other to blink. It was one of the ways they settled disagreements and though he would never admit it aloud, Mingi would often blink first on purpose, just to let Yunho have his way. Mingi sighed. It was easier to tell the others no, but he was never really able to deny Yunho. Until he’d met you, Mingi didn’t think there was anyone aside from his parents and Yunho that held that kind of power.

“Fine, Yunho. Fine.”

“Good. I’ll drive.” Mingi rolled his eyes and glanced back into the apartment. He swore he could see San’s head ducking back into the hallway.

Once they were in Yunho’s car and settled in their seats, Mingi pulled out his phone. “Who are you calling?” Yunho asked.

“Jinwoo.”

“Is he going to meet us there?”

“Well, technically he can’t. His boss told him to back off until forensics finishes collecting everything, but…”

“Ah, well then, it’s probably better that you don’t call him. We aren’t exactly doing things by the book here. If you clue him in and he doesn’t stop us, it could get him into trouble.”

“Yeah, you’re probably right.” Mingi put the phone back in his pocket and lay back in the seat as he looked out the window. The rain was falling hard, pelting the windshield with big droplets that the wipers could barely keep up with. Mingi knew that heading out into the woods in that kind of weather was ridiculous, that if the police knew what he was doing he’d likely be arrested for obstruction, but he couldn’t care less about that. The only important thing on his mind was you.

When they pulled up to the scene, the taxi was still in the ditch. Little yellow evidence markers sat all over the place and Mingi wondered to himself how much of the evidence would survive the rainfall. “By the time they get back here all the evidence will be destroyed.”

“Let’s hope not.” Yunho parked the car near the ditch and they hopped out. “Ok, where to?”

“The footprints the other day led in that direction.” Mingi pointed into the woods. “That’s where I’m going.”

“Ok.” Yunho started towards the tree line and Mingi grabbed his shoulder.

“Yunho, you know you really don’t have to do this.” Yunho looked over at him and placed a hand over the one on his shoulder.

“It’s important to you,” he said quietly. “So, it’s important to me too. I won’t let you go through something like this alone. Now, let’s go find my sister.” Mingi smiled weakly and they moved forward, helping one another to hop over the ditch, Mingi almost fell in when the mud under the heel of his foot gave way, but Yunho held his arm tightly. Side by side, they tramped towards the woods. Mingi’s heart was in his stomach. He was scared, he had to admit, but he wasn’t going to let fear keep him from you.

          You’d gone through the routine several times and you felt like you had it down. It was simple enough, a two step plan, but you’d messed up a couple times too. You’d accidentally stepped on the tarp while trying to throw it once and even fell as you were trying to take the steps a few at a time to get to the top quicker. Now you sat on the bed nursing the new injury to your knee. It was a bit swollen, but you were grateful that at least you hadn’t cut it on the stairs. You could feel your eyes getting heavy while you sat there rubbing your knee; all the running back and forth had exhausted you quicker than you thought it would, but you wouldn’t dare lay down to sleep. Any moment could be the one where the monsters came to devour you. You reconciled with yourself that you wouldn’t sleep another wink until you were home. Now was the time for action.

You’d slid another tarp under the bed, just in case you were caught by surprise and were unable to get to the one in the stock room. It made you feel more secure to have a backup. You nervously fingered your tangled hair, pulling out knots and snarls as you went until it was all detangled and you were able to gather it into a braid. You didn’t want it getting in the way while you were trying to escape. You were as prepared as you could be, and you felt as confident as anyone else in a similar situation might feel, but you were still terrified. With all the practicing, there was no telling if the plan would even work. Anything could happen, you knew that, but there wasn’t anything else you could do.

The hatchet lay beside you on the bed; you hadn’t let it out of your sight since you’d found it. There was something reassuring about having it with you, even with knowing how reluctant you were to actually use it. Better to be armed and not need it than to need it and not be armed.

Laying back, you placed a ginger hand onto your belly. The nausea was back. You supposed that it was from the nerves. In the back of your mind though, you wondered how soon morning sickness started for pregnant women. You couldn’t wait to get back to the world, to go to the hospital and get checked out. Not knowing what was going on inside you was really bothering you. All you wanted was a yes or no to whether or not your baby was still growing, if it was still there at all. In due time, you told yourself. In due time.

Your thoughts brought you to Mingi. You still didn’t know if he knew about the pregnancy, but you speculated that if he did, he was probably tearing his hair out about it. You brought your other hand up to cover the one that rested on your belly, pretending that it was his hand atop yours. You missed him terribly, and with freedom within arms reach, the feeling was only getting stronger. It was like whenever you had to pee and it wasn’t urgent, but as soon as you got to the bathroom the urge was overwhelming. You chuckled silently at the analogy. He would have thought it was funny too.

As you lay there quietly, you could hear the rain coming down heavily above you. You had heard what you thought was thunder a little while before, but you hadn’t been positive until the drop had begun pelting the inside of the pipe from the hidden grate above. You struggled to remember the last time you’d heard the rain. The only time that came to mind was that first night that Mingi had walked you home and it had rained all over the two of you. The night that he had finally revealed his true self to you. You had been so grateful for the rain that night.

Your stomach began to growl loudly and you sighed, glancing over at the silver bags of freeze dried food. You were so tired of it and would have given a kidney to get some of your boss’s wife’s freshly made chicken stew or Mingi’s tofu jeyuk bokkeum. He said it was his mother’s recipe and it was one of his favorite comfort foods. You’d tried to replicate it once, only to end up throwing the entire batch away. He had offered to help and you rebuffed him, saying that you could do it yourself. He’d laughed so hard at the way your face contorted in disgust at the first bite and promised that if you wanted, he would ask his mom to teach you how to make it. You remembered the way you had blushed so hard at the thought of meeting his mom. Seeing how bashful it made you gave him cuteness aggression and he’d snatched you up and planted kisses all over your red face. You smiled at the memory, hoping that you’d actually get the chance to meet the woman that had raised such a perfect human.

“Mingiya, slow down!” Yunho called from behind. As soon as they had broken into the trees, Mingi had taken off. Even with his long-legged strides, Yunho was barely able to keep up with Mingi as he tore through the woods.

“It’s this way!” he yelled back to Yunho. It was hard to hear one another over the rain beating against the canopy of trees and the wind whooshing through the branches. He held the flashlight out in front of him, the light bobbed around wildly, mimicking his equally wild footfalls. “She was this way!”

“How do you even know where we’re going?” Yunho slapped a low hanging branch out of his way, wincing when it swung back to thwack him on the back of the head.

“Her location pin was around here! She’s here!” Mingi refused to slow. He couldn’t ignore the pull of whatever it was that was telling him he was on the right path. He was so close. He'd memorized the screenshot he'd taken the night you were kidnapped. Pulling up the map now only confirmed what his instincts were already screaming. There was still a long way to go.

“Be careful!” Yunho couldn’t help but notice the clumsy way that Mingi was traversing the forest, he was paying no mind to the rocks and fallen branches that lay in his path, Yunho feared that he would hurt himself before it was all over. Yunho was preparing to shout at him again when Mingi stopped in his tracks, looking down at something Yunho couldn’t see yet. “What is it?” Yunho asked, coming up behind Mingi and putting a hand on his shoulder. He almost didn’t want to look for fear of what he might see, but when he did, he saw it was just a bit of rope. He felt the tension in his body ease and heaved a sigh.

Mingi didn’t say anything, he stood staring down at the rope, hope and horror fighting for a place in the forefront of his mind. He really was on the right path, but seeing the rope made him uneasy. He was sure it was part of the rope that had been found in the trunk of the taxi. The rope that had almost surely bound you up. He couldn’t think of a reason why your kidnapper would have untied you in the middle of the woods. Unless… no. He wouldn’t let himself think that way. “Mingi?”

“…Let’s keep going!” Mingi shouted over the rain. He glanced back at Yunho, eyes wild. “We have to keep going!” He thought about picking up the piece of rope, but decided against it. It was evidence and he didn’t want to mess up the scene…just in case.

“Maybe we should call the cops, or at least Jinwoo!”

“They’ll only tell us to get out of here!” Mingi shot back. “No cops!”

“But-”

“I said no! If you want to go back to the car then go back!” Mingi shouted, turning around to face Yunho. “Here, I’ll even give you the flashlight. I’m not going back without her.” He thrust the flashlight into Yunho’s hand. “Go on!”

You sat on the steps with the door propped up as much as it could go, gulping in the cool air and reaching your fingers out to feel the rain. You couldn’t tell what time it was; the storm had wiped away any traces of sun and the animals that would normally be skittering around the forest floor had all gone into hiding. It was just you and the timeless expanse that surrounded you. Your foot tapped impatiently on the step beneath you. You had done the practicing. You had tried other methods of escape and found none. All there was left to do was wait, and you didn’t know how much longer you would have to. You bowed your head, confused at your own feelings. You were terrified of the moment when Dae Gwan and Chae Yi would reappear, but you also couldn’t wait. Their return was your opportunity. Your moment to put your plan into action. Come on, you fuckers. What’s taking so long?

Your ears perked up and you froze in place. You thought you could just make out the sound of voices out in the woods somewhere, but it was hard to tell, and you supposed maybe the rain was playing tricks on you. You recalled when you were little and told your mom about the voices that would come out of the water whenever you would turn on a faucet of any sort; you could never quite make out what the voices were saying, but you knew you could hear them. She had been alarmed immediately and took you to a pediatrician, who told her that you in fact did not have any form of child psychosis and that the phenomena you had described actually had a name. Auditory Pareidolia. You remembered being so embarrassed that she had taken you to see a doctor that you didn’t talk to her for almost a full day that week. You really wished you could talk to her now.

You scrunched up your nose, sighing to yourself. The brain really was a strange, complicated hunk of meat. You cursed it for making you think that you could hear people out there when you knew nobody in their right mind would be hiking through the woods in the middle of such a downpour. They’d have to have a death wish. Or a desire to kill… You strained your ears, wanting to be sure that it was actually a trick of the mind and that you weren’t mistaking firing neurons for flesh and blood voices. But there was nothing. Whatever you’d thought you heard had been swallowed by the rainfall. You sighed, squeezing your eyes shut tight against the sting building behind them. You wouldn’t cry.

Shutting the door to the bunker, you made your way back down the stairs to sit cross legged on the bed. You weren’t about to drive yourself crazy with hallucinations. You needed to be clear headed for what was coming next. You wondered when the rain was going to let up. You really didn’t want to be running through a downpour if your kidnappers came back while it was still raining. You didn’t have any shoes on and the pajama dress that Dae Gwan had given you was barely any protection from the elements. But rain or no rain, when the opportunity came to run, you were taking it without a second thought.

You played around with the hatchet in your hands, turning it over and over, trying to get better acquainted with the feel of it in your grasp. You idly wondered how long it had been in the trunk in the supply room, and what it had been used for. Looking at the rusted blade, you remembered hearing that dried blood could cause metal to corrode over time. You’d learned that while watching an episode of Forensic Files in high school and for some reason it stuck with you. You set the hatchet down beside you, suddenly not crazy about keeping it so close. You remembered when Chae Yi had mentioned that she knew about the bunker before bringing you down there and shuddered to think what horrible things she might have gotten into when no one was around. She was clearly a mad woman, and to contend with her, you felt like maybe you’d have to be a little mad yourself. You reached back over and wrapped your hand back around the handle of the hatchet. I’ll do whatever I have to. I’m going home.

Mingi and Yunho stood face to face, rain running into their eyes. Yunho looked down at the flashlight that Mingi had shoved into his hands and sighed. He was being irrational. Giving away the only real source of light and telling Yunho to leave without him. He looked back into Mingi’s eyes. It wasn’t anger or stubbornness staring back at him. It was panic. He glanced down at their feet, shoes covered in mud and leaves; it had been the right choice to go with the combat boots. But even with the right shoes, his socks were still wet. Mingi hadn’t even laced his own boots properly, so Yunho knew that his feet had to be soaked too. They were definitely going to get sick. “Mingi,” he said softly, “you’re not thinking clearly.”

“Yes, I am!” Mingi wiped water from his face. “Y/N is out here. I don’t care if you believe me or not!” He spun away from Yunho and pushed off of a nearby tree to launch himself forward. Yunho could hear twigs snapping underfoot as he bowled through the trees.

“Mingiya! Mingiya!” Yunho shot off after him, keeping the flashlight as steady as he could so that he wouldn’t lose sight of his best friend. He’s going to kill himself.

“Y/N!” Mingi screamed into the rain. “Y/N! Baby, please!” He was barely paying attention to where he was going anymore. All he knew was that he had to keep moving forward. Forward. He thought that if he could just do that, he would find you. He had to. He swatted branches out of his way and leapt over hollowed logs, cursing to himself whenever his boot would get suctioned to the mud and he’d have to fight to get it out.

“Ya!” Yunho shouted, “be careful!” Mingi paid him no mind. He could feel the panic burning in his chest, forcing his heart up into his throat. He had to move faster. He had to keep going. Then he stopped dead. Something was rustling up ahead and for a moment he could swear that he had seen a sliver of something dip into the trees. He narrowed his eyes, determined to discern what it was. “What is it?” Yunho asked breathlessly.

“Something’s up there,” Mingi said.

“Where?” Yunho shined the light in front of them. “I don’t see anything.”

“I saw something.”

“It could be an animal,” Yunho replied. “It could be a boar.”

“I don’t think so…”

“Mingi, look, we’ve been out here a while. Maybe we should just wait-”

“I already told you I’m not leaving without her!” Mingi spat. “What don’t you understand?” The trees rustled again, Mingi and Yunho both snapped their heads in the direction it came from. Whatever it was, it seemed to be moving parallel to them. They looked at one another. Mingi’s eyes said that he wanted to keep going, the furrow in Yunho’s brow begged for them to turn back. Mingi pulled the hammer out of his pants and started forward again. If it was a wild animal and it attacked them, he would take care of it. If it was something else, well, he would take care of that too. Yunho stuck close behind him with the flashlight, keeping it trained on the area where they’d seen the trees moving.

Having an unidentified thing in the same area did nothing to quell Mingi’s determination, or slow his pace. He still tore through the woods like a man on fire. He decided that as long as whatever it was didn’t come after them, he wouldn’t worry about it. Yunho meanwhile, kept his eyes trained on the trees where the rustling had come from. Most animals would be taking shelter in a storm, especially one as bad as the one they were in. He had a hard time convincing himself that the unknown entity wasn’t a threat.

“Baby! Y/N, can you hear me?” Mingi shouted, cupping his hands around his mouth to amplify his voice. He hardly expected you to answer him, but he hoped that you could hear him. That you would know he was coming. The only response to be heard was the rain beating down. “God dammit!” he cried, pushing himself to move ever faster. He was so focused on speed that he neglected agility and by the time he noticed that his foot had caught under a rock he was already hurtling towards the ground. He spun around, grasping wildly for a branch or Yunho’s hand and found neither. His body tensed reflexively, bracing for impact. When it came, it still took him by surprise. He could hear his head crack against a tree and the forest grew darker around him. He saw Yunho running towards him before everything disappeared.

Next Chapter

~Reposts are appreciated ☺️~