THE BOY WHO CHASED DEATH ◊ [Pt.1]
Pairing: Jeong Yunho x Female reader x Song Mingi Genre: dark romance, psychological thriller. Tag(s): DEAD DOVE DO NOT EAT, twisted lovers, established dynamic, dark romance, psychopath au, boy next door!yunho, neighbour!reader, sadist!yunho, hard dom!yunho, sub!reader, hunter!mingi, switch!mingi. Warning(s): murder, hunting, primal play, prey-predator dynamic, smut, hardcore smut, unprotected/protected sex (be like mingi), fingering (anal & vaginal), anal sex (mxm), multiple orgasms/orgasm denial, knife/blood play, humiliation, degradation, punishment/conditioning, squirting, voyeurism, etc. Synopsis: you didn’t think life without Yunho would be so boring and bland. So, you sought to his best friend for the warmth you needed, not knowing Mingi is as unhinged as your boyfriend, maybe more. Yunho didn’t like it, of course. Word count: 23.9k Series Masterlist | Previous Chapter
It arrived weeks after your four-month anniversary with Yunho, a simple unsuspecting package with an unknown sender. The address was correct, yours—even with the proper name for receiver and all the necessary information. Packages from unknown senders are dubious, and the sender using your company’s logistics services made you even more sceptical. You held back from opening the package, determined you’d open it around Yunho in case things decide to go south. However, you don’t think you’d have the chance to. Yunho left Seoul for a seminar a couple of days ago; he kissed your forehead and slipped out of the bed even before the sun had risen.
“I’m leaving, love.” He murmured, and when you groaned in confusion, he continued with a laugh, “my seminar, remember? It’s a week-long thing in Gapyeong. I should be back before Sunday.”
You opened your eyes to slits, sleep lingering in every corner till you felt the warmth of his lips on yours. “It’s too early in the morning,” you groaned yet again.
“My ride gets here in an hour.” He pulled back, straightening up his towering stature. “I’ve made breakfast so don’t try to whip something up last minute. Also made your lunch, not packed yet; reheat it once you’re ready to leave. You can sleep in if you want, work kept you awake last night. It’s better if you do.”
It sure had kept you up most of the night; an unnecessary altercation regarding the performance reviews and Soojin and Jia’s disappearance. Two months had passed yet they were relevant enough to be brought up every day at work. Not that you wanted to take it lightly, but ever since your phone rung at the stroke of midnight ― a call from detective Choi, you just knew you had to distance yourself from the situation.
You hummed, mind absent from reality. “What is this seminar about again?”
“It’s the paediatric society’s annual spring seminar, something on developmental disorders,” he explained, getting dressed in a navy blue tailor-made three-piece suit, “every year there’s a panel to discuss new discoveries and ongoing research on holistic advances in healthcare. Really boring if you ask me.”
“Are you on the panel?” you asked, sitting up in bed, letting the sheets pool around your waist while exposing your naked body.
“Indeed, I am,” he stated with pride, glancing at you as he buttoned up his vest, “I present on the second day.”
You hummed, slipping out of the bed and into his hoodie discarded on the floor last night. Yunho’s apartment was much better than yours—the interior, the equipment, every little thing was a calculated effort, and the decorations were minimal unlike yours. You loved spending your time here.
“Nervous?”
“Never,” Yunho turned to you, completely dressed, “I’ve been talking in these seminars for eight years now. You get the hang of it.”
“Well, I wish you luck.”
“And I wish I could take you with me.” He wrapped his arms around your waist, pulling you in to peck your lips. “My lucky charm.”
You slapped his chest, “I have work too, remember?”
“I do,” he laughed it off, pecking your lips again, “I hate that I have to leave you here. All alone.”
“I won’t be alone.”
“Right. As if the thought of you with Mingi makes it any better.”
“Hmhm, someone’s jealous,” you straightened the knot on his tie and ran your fingers up the sleeves of his coat. “I’ll make it up to you when you’re back.”
“I hope so.”
And the last bits of that conversation still echo in your mind. You heave out a sigh, staring at the package in front of you—a simple black box, tempting you to open it. Resisting every urge to do so, you lean back on the couch and feel your gut wrenching at the sudden thought of finding something you won't be too fond of. You were in Yunho’s apartment, have been since he left for Gapyeong; it feels cliche in some way, or rather in a typical case of separation anxiety to be away from the man you’ve started to fall in love with. Yunho’s apartment felt like home even when he wasn’t around—yet, you needed him with you to make this home a little better. The strong, somewhat sharp scent of Marlboro reds mixed with cedar and jasmine—not the sweet kind—borders on manly and musky—always lurked in every corner of the apartment. It reminds you of him, makes his presence twice more painful when he’s not there.
Anxiety presses on your chest, gaze following the box next to your phone; call log stayed open on the screen as you contemplated calling Yunho, someone from your comfort zone. You have been in a deep state of ponder for a while, just sentimentally trying to draw a conclusion with your dilemma. Calling him would mean breaking down your walls and confessing your suspicions about Soojin and Jia’s disappearance. It seems highly implausible that Yunho could be the culprit of a crime he didn’t commit; you can’t deem him to be the victim unless you gather a strong evidence against him. But knowing Yunho, you know he’s capable of doing much worse than making people disappear. The last time you saw Soojin and Jia, was at the cabin, which gives detective Choi an upper hand at easily accusing the both of you.
In the grand scheme of life, the past keeps burrowing deeper and deeper into your conscience, stroking your mind with unrelenting doubt. You anticipate mishaps every day, maybe a slip up or something quite incriminating found against you and Yunho. Detective Choi hadn’t contacted you after interrogating your entire team about, not one, but three disappearances. Jiwoo, the very first victim, whose body you helped get rid of, was no longer making the headlines in news—the case went cold with her. No leads, no evidences, no suspects. She disappeared right into the shadows for public, but to you, knowing where exactly she was, was one of the too many secrets you were compelled to trap between your teeth. Jiwoo’s apartment was recently sold to a wealthy couple of Itaewon; they paid an hefty amount to own the apartment of a woman who’s missing case had gone cold and whose body was never found.
The other two who went missing were Soojin and Jia, both hardworking coworkers on your team. Jia, a determined junior who looked up to you and Soojin, your only friend in the workplace. Coincidences aren’t predictable; in a way, you could’ve never had the idea why anyone would want to hurt Soojin or Jia. The world is a small place, you never know who you might cross your path with, who you might spend the rest of your life and who’s to know how fated your chance encounters really are. Though after the fiasco of multiple missing cases surrounding you, Jongho considers you a suspect, not a victim. He wasn’t succumbing to what the evidences or alibis indicate. He’s truly following his gut, leaning towards his instincts which show him the way through the dark.
Night drags outside, clouds drifting, full moon coming out of the hiding, and moonlight scattering on the table from the floor to ceiling glass doors of the balcony. Yunho’s apartment, relatively followed the same layout as yours—spacious living room, an equipped kitchen, furnished spaces which screamed his fondness for luxury and comfort, and two grand and lavish bedrooms. The bedrooms were identical to yours, one master bedroom while the other one was smaller. Yunho had converted his second bedroom to a home office. You weren’t fond of that room, neither was Yunho when you’d show up in the same room unannounced; the room reeked of formaldehyde and bleach, and at times, it hid metallic stench deeper beneath the flooring and on the curtains.
You’re still staring at the box, mind dead-set on not opening it till Yunho comes back. But your heart feels otherwise; it knows who the possible sender might be. Taking a deep breath, you shut off your mind for a bit and let your heart to do the thinking. For a meagre second it almost takes the edge off, and you give in, finally succumbing to the urge in the pit of your stomach.
The lid slides off easy, falling on the table with a soft thump, while the contents inside stare back at you as intently as you were staring at them. A handgun. And if the knowledge from your childhood days is correct, then that gun is a Beretta 92FS. Shiny pink metal body instead of the classic matte black, diamonds studded on the slide and a little hello kitty charm hanging from the grip. You hold your breath, a delicious weight easing itself in your chest when you realise it— the gun in your hand, was a gift for your sixteenth birthday from your brother’s best friend. A custom-made handgun, satisfying all your likes and desires.
Before you could think about how someone was able to send you a gun via the mail, a note at the bottom catches your eye. It’s hidden in the velvet lining, ripped just enough for the note to slip out with ease. When you pull at a corner, and pick it up, you find a familiar squiggly writing in deep red—a shade so very similar to you.
You’ve changed, Seongmi. Do you even miss me? Because I do. I keep thinking about you. Every day, every night, every single second of my life. I know you don’t care anymore. But I found this in the closet the other day. Maybe this will remind you of me. That I still exist. That I still long to be your partner. In every sense. I’m coming for you. Soon. So very soon.
- Love, Joong.
Your breath catches reading that name. Old memories flood through your mind and heart, as if someone had opened the doors of a dam. Suddenly, the weight of gun in your hand is too much to bear, you drop it back in the box and try to compose your thoughts to calm your nerves. Kim Hongjoong is after you? After seven years of choosing your freedom over your brother and his torment, he’s still chasing you. Silence grows, deliberate, too intense until the clatter of your phone on the glass top of the coffee table breaks it, rupturing your mind with it too.
You glance at your phone, the screen lighting up with Yunho’s photo and caller ID; he seemed very harmless in the contact photo you had saved of him—the one you had snapped back when you were on your fifth date with him. Just him in a cosy little cat cafe, petting a puppy in his arms while the sun hits his face through the window. The longer you stared at it, the more you admired the man, and his beauty; brown eyes turning hazel with the sun, dark hair catching the golden rays in them, threading them together while he posed for you with a golden retriever pup. Hesitation knocked at your door yet you swiped your thumb across the screen to answer the call, putting it on speakerphone.
“Everything okay, love?”
His voice crackles through the speaker first, almost immediate.
Taking a deep breath, you reply, “yeah, everything’s fine. Was cleaning up in the kitchen after dinner, didn’t hear my phone ring until I came to the living room.” You take a pause, hoping he’d buy your lie; when he silence stretches, you continue, “couldn’t sleep? Is it why you called me?”
“Wouldn’t you keep me company if I couldn’t sleep? And do I really need a reason to call my girlfriend?” he clicks his tongue, followed by the sound of his clothes shuffling, “thought I’d call my darling since she hasn’t been missing me too much.”
A whine bubbles in your chest, “really? Don’t play this game with me, mister. I called you last night and yesterday somewhere in the afternoon too. You didn’t receive any of my calls.”
“A simple sorry won’t satisfy you, right? Is my darling mad at me?” he coos, “I’m sorry, love. Long day yesterday. I couldn’t outdo the clock here, heated arguments and debates at the panel. The moment I came to my hotel room, I dozed off.”
“How did it go?” you lean back on the couch, attention solely on the box.
There’s a pause, soft silence cracking with the sound of belt buckle clinking in the background. Yunho hums, “not bad. The discussions were more interesting than my talk, apparently.”
“I’m sure it wasn’t that bad.” You smile weakly, feeling the dread creeping in your stomach; the note lies right next to the box, red ink daunting and tempting you somehow. Again, momentary silence is broken by the gentle chime of his cufflinks hitting a metal plate. “Had a long day today too, I’m assuming?”
“Yeah, sort of,” his voice starts sounding distant, as if he had his phone on speaker like you, “went out for a couple drinks after today’s panel. A night out with my colleagues was long overdue, anyway. Don’t worry, I didn’t indulge myself too much in it.”
“Are you going to sleep right away? Or do you think you can talk to me for now? Even if it’s for a short while.”
Yunho thinks for a while, the pause sounding more taunting than anything. “I can talk. Not for long. I still need to shower, prepare my clothes for tomorrow, you know the drill.” More sounds of him rummaging through his clothes reverberate through the speaker, “it’s quite late already. I need to wake up early again,” he groans softly, “this routine is killing. I’m so tired. Can’t wait to pack my bags and return home, to you, in your arms. Keep craving your warmth like I crave a cigarette every five minutes.”
You let a small laugh erupt from your chest, attention steering away from the box and onto your phone before you grab it and press it against your ear; rather than having the call on loudspeaker, you decide to make it more intimate and personal.
“I’m not going anywhere; I’ll be here when you return. We can sate whatever desires you’re having right now.”
“I know,” he mumbles, voice dipping a baritone but still soft enough. “How have you been holding up, you know, after the…?”
Your chest tightens. “I’m doing fine.”
“When someone says they’re fine, they’re usually not,” Yunho’s words ring in your ear, as if he’s breathing right against it; perhaps he has his phone pressed to his ear as well, seeking the same intimacy you were trying to get. “I’m starting to grow less fond of your lying, Seongmi. Tell me what’s bothering you, I can’t help unless you do.”
Yunho has a way of coaxing the truth out of you. It starts with a deliberate and calculated assurance, then morphs to manipulation and in the end, you’re acting out in the way he wants you to. Sweet intentions before he bites, sinks his teeth right into your flesh and takes away a part of you. Regardless of his tactics, you always find yourself falling for them, falling for him. He lures you into believing he’s doing what’s best for you, instead it’s always something that’s in his favour. Yunho controls everything you do, everything about your life without making it seem like it’s control. He has a way. He’s doing it now too.
You always take the bait. Always break down when you don’t need to. Relying on him is not the end of the world, however, the fact that your entire world revolves around him, as if he’s the centre of your universe, is quite unnerving. Yunho gets you where he wants you—on your knees, vulnerable, backed up in a corner until he’s the only solution you have. For you, he is a saviour, your salvation and repentance—your appreciation for him should span across the oceans. Regardless of how hard your heart tries to deny it, your mind knows you are devoted to him.
“Babe, I’m really fine,” you try to reassure him, voice dropping to a whisper almost, “what would make you think otherwise?”
You know he’s rolling his eyes at you, seeing through your petty act. He clicks his tongue, “Soojin’s missing case—detective Choi calling you in for interrogations. Do I need to go on?”
“I can handle it myself, love. I don’t want to worry you.”
“But you are mine to worry about,” Yunho snaps, voice heavy with ire, “I’ve chosen to love you, Seongmi. And in some twisted way of my mind, my love is protective, possessive and a little bit obsessive, maybe.”
He pauses, his breathing hard and ragged; the pent-up frustration bubbling under his skin fades to a tremor of concern and despair. “If I don’t keep you safe, who will?”
You let a breath out, screwing your eyes shut before pressing your fingertips in the corners. “I don’t think it should be your duty to, Yunho. Besides, I said I can handle it.”
For a good while, you don’t hear from him. Not even a whisper of his breath, or the click of his tongue. Is he disappointed? Not again. Not this time. You’ve had your fair shares of letting him down. This doesn’t feel like one of those moments. Silence only speaks louder for what you’ve done, it stretches till your mind forces you to break it, however, the dainty crinkle of ice hitting the glass echoes and you sigh in relief. He’s thinking, mulling your words over and over maybe; then comes the sound of something sloshing—you picture him right then, standing over the mini bar in his hotel room, preparing his favourite drink for himself. An old fashioned. He likes it too much. You’ve mastered the art of fixing one for him yourself.
The faint reverberations of his hum hit you; a hum of satisfaction as the drink burns through his throat and warms up his chest.
“I killed her.”
He confesses it casually, as if discussing the weather or bringing up the menu change of his favourite restaurant.
“What do you mean ‘you killed her’?” you mimic his plain tone, “Soojin isn’t dead…is she? What did you do, Yunho?” panic bleeds into your voice, heart stammering and clenching a little too tightly.
“I killed her, Seongmi,” he states one more time, sounding exasperated—perhaps annoyed by the fact that he has to repeat himself to you, “she did something she wasn’t supposed to.”
“Oh what did she do that you had to kill her?” you whisper-yell at him, clutching the phone in your hand till your knuckles went white; you’d hate to admit it, however, you were terrified by the news he has given you.
“Touch me. Disrespect my personal space.”
The world goes still for a fraction of second. Everything fades to nothing. The black box. The gun. The handwritten note. All of it. All of you too. You’re lost in a void where clarity is long gone, suspicions lurking somewhere, but the only real emotion you could decipher in the storm is curiosity. Curious to know more about the man you’ve started to grow so fond, altered your life for, and for the same man who changed every little thing about you. There are parts of him which are veiled beneath the shadows of his past, and the only part where light shines is the tragic reality, controlled by him for you. Knowing every fracture on Yunho’s spine is so very crucial for you, albeit he mostly knows almost close to nothing about you too.
Then maybe it’s for the better that both of you don’t know much about each other. A soft wrinkle on time forces you back to his voice; he’s talking, you realise, in hushed silence—nursing the drink in his glass. Every gulp followed by mere words is a sign, he’s relying on the bitter aftertaste of alcohol to ground himself.
“No one touches me without my permission―no one should even dare breathing too close to me, my personal space isn’t something to be invaded, Seongmi,” he seethes, “I warned her once, twice—” a pause follows, voice fading to a murmur, “—even when she dropped by the clinic, pretending to be someone she’s not. I gave her clear warnings about the things she’s not supposed to commit to, but did she ever consider them?”
You swallow hard, trying to shake off the growing anxiety and dread. “So, you thought it’d be better if she didn’t exist at all?”
Yunho scoffs the moment you exhale the words with a wispy voice, “My tolerance thins out with patience, love. Her constant need to get my attention was very much infuriating. I draw different lines with different people; if you choose to not respect those, then you don’t deserve to exist in my life.”
Frustrated, you run a hand through your hair. Once. Twice. Then tug at the roots as if it would alleviate any remaining irritation you had wailing under your skin. Your head tries to find a coherent response to Yunho’s said sentiments, but the unspoken ones laced to them are quite heavy on your heart. There must be a reason why he is the way he is—why he isn’t fond of letting other women touch him. First, it was Jiwoo. Then, Soojin. Yet, he’s never once complained when it’s you. Are you supposed to feel lucky? Or perhaps honoured to have the privilege to touch him in the way his heart allowed you to.
“If it had been you on the receiving end, I’d have buried that fucker six feet under,” Yunho grunts, breaking your trance, “no one touches what belongs to me.”
“Yunho,” you begin, biting your lower lip, “have you thought about the consequences this might bring us? Soojin is gone—what if—what if the detectives find a lead? What if—what if they know it’s you this time?” you take a breath, “we got lucky with Jiwoo—no one—no witnesses, no incriminating evidence, nothing of the sort. How sure are you we’d get away with Soojin too?”
Yunho chuckles, almost a belittling laugh meant to demean your speculations. “Babe, you know me. I don’t commit to anything that I haven’t thought all the way through before. Trust me, this thing will blow over in a few days. I have my ways.”
You hear the faint click of ice clattering in his glass; he’s finished his drink, noticing how clear he sounds to you now, you know he’s having his phone pressed to his ear. Eventually, the picture of him lounging on the bed cascades through the back of your mind—him, draped in the satin robe he usually carries with him since he despises the ones in the hotel room, messy and sweaty from the long day he’s had. Every ounce of your body is craving him—craving the way his lips would brush your temple in a praising manner while he’s splitting you open on his fingers. Though, all pleasure inducing sins in your mind are pushed back in a dark corner, and the only inklings which plague you are the future consequences of what he’s done.
“Sure, you do,” you sigh, “what am I supposed to do here? I was called in twice for interrogation—and it’s not just Soojin, Yunho—Jia is missing too. Both of whom are on my team. Work has been harsh on me. How do I prove that I’m a victim, not the suspect.”
Yunho hums softly, “Jia…I don’t know anything about her. In fact, it’s my first time even hearing her name.”
“You didn’t do anything to her?”
“No, why would I? I barely even knew her, love.”
“Then who—what happened to her…?” you trail off, trying to find the pieces of puzzle. “Yunho, are you sure you didn’t know her at all?”
“I swear on my love for you, Seongmi.” He grumbles, soft enough to not let you know how annoyed he’s getting, “I don’t know what happened to her. She left early that day due to some family thing, for all I could remember. I believe when Mingi insisted on dropping her off, she protested and said she drove here. So, I don’t think he might know anything about her either.”
“So…you really don’t know anything,” you hum, mind going into overdrive before giving up. “Alright,” you click your tongue, exhaustion creeping in, “fine—I’ll—okay, it’s alright. I’ll think of some lie for Soojin—said she left early too.”
Yunho heaves out a shaky breath, “she did. She left early with Jia—we don’t know what happened after that. Got it?”
“Got it,” you repeat, firm then slowly you murmur, “I miss you.”
Silence ruptures the noise before Yunho mumbles it back, “I miss you too. A lot. But hey, I’m coming back soon. I can’t wait to love you again.”
“Love me?”
“You know what I mean.” He groans, “are you going to make me spell it out for you?”
You bite back on a laugh, “why would I not want to hear my man speak of the ways in which he’d ruin me when he’s back? A girl can dream.”
“Hopefully, you haven't acted on those ‘dreams’ yet,” he laughs, sounding deep and husky, “I’m coming home soon, love. Don’t you worry. I'll take good care of you. We are not leaving the room until we’re both satisfied.”
“I doubt you’d be able to physically keep up with me.” You roll your eyes, and he laughs even harder, “is that a challenge, love? We both know what exactly I’m capable of.”
“You’re starting to sound cocky, mister,” you press your lips together, eyes drifting to the box, then to the wall clock, “it’s getting late, love. You have another long day to tackle tomorrow.”
“I’ll try to keep in touch—texts mostly and if time permits, I’ll give you a call.” Yunho hums, mumbling, “I love you.”
“I love you too.”
You hang up, staring at the screen before it fades to black and your phone locks itself. The box, sitting on the table, taunts you; old memories resurface almost immediately at the thought of holding the gun in your hand again. A gift, you thought, which belies the constant mockery of your heart. It had to go. Away from you. Away from Yunho—if he finds out, your past comes back to you, and he knows every little secret you’ve chosen to hide from him. They’re as bad as his are—maybe it’s the reason why you two have gotten along so far, so well, because your pasts are almost the same. Tragic. Catastrophic. Bending the light which reaches one’s eye.
You pick yourself up from the couch, grabbing the box in your hands as you then drag yourself to Yunho’s master bedroom. The box fits snug in your hands, heart skipping a beat at the immense weight of your past growing heavy on your shoulders. There’s a reason why you don’t want Yunho to find this thing—not because he’d ask you a million questions to appease his curiosity, but because you don’t want Yunho to become a part of your intimate life. Not yet at least. Does he deserve to know though? He probably does. You owe it to him—only because you were past the two-month phase now.
Six months had passed you both in a blink of an eye. Days you spent together, watching the seasons change; summer transitioning to monsoon, and your love finding a new beginning every time it rained with dark clouds and bright sun dried it out. You were filled with new hope. As perpetual as you’d want it to be, love doesn’t last long—you’ve always learnt it the hard way. Regardless, measuring time with Yunho is as useless as counting all the insect species present on earth till date. Where most people were swayed by his charming persona, you were not one bit buying his act. Then came various occasions where he’d proved the point—he wasn’t a boy next door type of guy. He was much worse. Still is. You recount the first two months with him—the glances in corridor, the unrelenting attraction between you and the lines of consent which had been blurred left and right. Forced sexual encounters, impending desires breaking loose and the yearning to give in—you were so sure this man was going to be the death of you.
Has anything changed yet? Yunho’s existence is still a mishap for you. Dread. Fear of being caught. Fear of losing your newfound self to your older, more violent version of yourself in the past. You are scared he’s bringing you out of your shell, breaking down the walls you built with much determination and dedication to become a better person. Better than whatever was left of your family. Indulgence is not a good colour on you. Everyone who knows you, know it better than you.
Night becomes a beautiful segue of your past. Memories rekindled with the parcel—hatchets which were buried deep, now resurfacing as if they never left you. It’s all the same. Blood, gore, threats and being on the run from the cops. Only, you don’t have a stern hand guiding you anymore. Or the soft lips which had once kissed all your wounds and scars to protect you from the cruel world you were born in.
You step into Yunho’s walk-in closet; you’re immediately greeted by a never-ending line of designer suits, custom made, dry cleaned and tailored perfectly for his body. Under the racks of suits, in the cabinet drawers, all his expensive watches, cufflinks, and gifted wallets are neatly stacked. Further in, there are two racks of casual loungewear, followed by a variety of satin sleepwear and robes. A full-length mirror stays propped against the wall at the back—right next to a repurposed bookshelf which accommodates his designer shoes, slippers, loafers etc.
By the state of his closet, you speculate a few things—Yunho is fond of order, likes to luxuriate himself with materialistic things and loves showing off his wealth. Everything, every little piece of clothing and accessory, has a particular place in his world. Why wouldn’t you? The thought of not fitting into his world—into the blueprint he’s etched since the beginning, would be ludicrous. He said it on the call himself, he’s always a step ahead, always thinking far into the future. Yunho’s world is different from yours; it’s more structured, more complex and strained in places you don’t even want to think about. He’s still lax though, about many things—including the murders, the darkness he proudly inhibits in his mind.
You sink to your knees, skin grazing the hardwood floor; kneeling in front of the open space which had his least favourite and lesser worn shirts, you place the box right under the hanging clothes. It’s a smart move. Yunho barely eyes these shirts, from what you’ve noticed, and the box stays perfectly hidden behind the clothes, obstructing any visibility. You’re almost about to pat yourself on the back when the doorbell goes off. The smooth, euphonic sound of a bell chime—ironic, given Yunho’s personality. Your heart leaps from your chest, body flinching before you compose yourself and rise to your feet.
Who could it possibly be at this hour?
Perhaps it’s one of the neighbours? If there’s anything you did adore about Yunho since he moved in, it was the open-door policy—he’d encourage the residents to visit him at any hour in case any unexpected event occurs or if anyone has a medical emergency. Could it really be someone from the building?
You make your way to the front door, attention falling onto the screen panel affixed right next to it. A security camera. He got it installed recently—forced you to get one too. In all fairness, it wasn’t a bad idea to have a door cam installed. On the screen, you catch a glimpse of wispy silver hair and a tall stature towering over the door; Mingi’s shadow seems to be far more intimidating than his bubbly personality. You heave a breath of relief, getting the latches on the door before swinging it open on the outer side.
Mingi watches you with an intense curiosity twinging in his eyes before he steps inside. He drinks you in—your body hiding underneath the pastel pink satin pajama set—a flimsy tank top with lace trims, and shorts riding up high and ending just below your asscheeks. To add modesty, you threw on a matching silk robe, whose knot had now come undone and the edges of it curled away from your body, exposing your chest. Mingi clears his throat, entering the vestibule as you step back and turn around.
“I wasn’t expecting you…” you trail off, dragging yourself to the living room.
Mingi slipped out of his combat boots and stepped into the house slippers, his own since he had been visiting Yunho more frequently than before. “Had some work in the neighbourhood. Couldn’t go back without checking up on you. Yunho would kill me first then you, if he ever found you cheating on him.”
“You’re lucky I’m letting you to joke about this situation. But then, your sense of humour does retire when Yunho’s around. Coward.”
“We both know he’d never hesitate punching my teeth out if I made inappropriate jokes about you.” Mingi laughs out loud.
“No arguments.”
You slump on the couch, watching him trudge into the living room with a Tupperware in his hand; you mustn’t have noticed it before, because it’s hard to overlook now. A plastic container drenched in splatters of crimson and black—you squint your eyes just enough to realise it’s some sort of meat, sliced in perfect ribbons and fermented in gochugaru from the colour. Mingi’s gaze follows yours, down at the container in his hands.
“Just some jeotgal for Yunho,” he says, “he likes it.”
Your heart thumps, eyes drifting to the hallway leading to Yunho’s bedroom—before they’re back on Mingi, who’s shifted to the kitchen adjoining the living room. He opens the refrigerator door and sets the container inside, grabbing two cans of sodas while he does. Leaning back further on the couch, you stretch your back to ease the tension coiling in your muscles—you’re more worried about Mingi catching up on your frazzled mind and suspecting you of hiding something, than questioning why he’s even here. Mingi sits next to you on the couch, cushions dipping to his weight. The proximity between you two is enough, just enough for you to feel his warmth cascade on your skin.
You tilt your head to him, assessing him more closely. He’s dressed in his usual clothes—black tank top layered on with a worn-out flannel shirt, cargo pants and other accessories. Catching the glint of the chains around his neck, you heave a sigh and shift your gaze to his face—you didn’t want to be too upfront with your admiration. Mingi’s hair had gotten longer than the last time you saw him; two months ago, it was much shorter and dyed in pitch black. Now, it’s long enough to touch his shoulders, dyed silver—bordering on blue almost—with much darker shade of blue frosted at the tips. He’s tied his hair up in a half bun, some of the strands left loose on purpose to frame his face and hide the sinister gleam in his eyes.
Mingi meets your eyes, lips curling softly in concern, “anything new with you then?” he hands you the can intended for you, breaking it open with his middle finger, “did the loneliness catch up with you yet? Feels empty without him, doesn’t it?”
You take the can from him, attention focusing on the fizzing soda you could see from the mouth; your shoulders roll out and you sit straighter. “Hmhm, haven’t got used to it. In hindsight, I don’t think living without him is going well so far.”
Mingi chuckles, soft and gentle, warm enough to comfort you. “Yunho has that effect on everyone.” He pops his can open and takes a big swig, wincing when the bubbles fizz in his mouth, “but I understand. I miss that fucker too.”
You raise a brow at him, swallowing the sip of soda, “can I ask you something?”
“Sure,” Mingi shrugs, draping one arm across the back of the couch, his warmth brushing against yours, “something about Yunho? Or someone else?”
“I won’t speak in riddles,” you mumble, staring down at the can in your hand, “but do you know what he did to Soojin?”
Mingi clicks his tongue, “ah, her? The obnoxious woman who followed him around like a lost puppy and tried to—tried to make inappropriate advances toward him?” he glances at you before looking away, “if you’re inquiring about her that means—did he tell you the truth? Did he confess to his crime?”
“He might have,” you cut him off with a lie, “he confessed in tongues, then said some things which—which were concerning from my perspective. But I wonder—I wonder what he meant exactly.”
“You can’t figure him out in one night, you know, sweetheart.” Mingi states, setting his can on the coffee table before shifting himself on it too—he’s careful not to put too much of his weight on the glass centre, rather he perches perfectly on the wooden ledge of the table.
Your eyes meet his, finding him right in front of you, your knees grazing. He rests his hands on your thighs, fingers spacing out and pressing into your exposed flesh. The weight, the warmth, the shape of his fingers denting your skin, takes you off guard. It isn’t that you and Mingi haven’t been intimate before—there have been moments, quite few actually. His lips would linger on your cheek when he’d pull you into a greeting kiss, or the way his arms would tighten around your waist during a casual hug—there has to be something more to this, right? There was, maybe. The current situation only conforms to the long-last doubts you once had.
Mingi lets out a sigh, “he’s like a knitted sweater—one string comes out loose and you’re unravelling the entire thing.” His thumbs rub gentle circles on your inner thighs, voice softening even further, “you need to figure out which string you want to pull first. Not all of them unthread so...so easily. Some cause tangles, some cause knots. Some cut your fingers.”
You take a deep breath in, which convulses in your chest and your heart drops to your gut, “but do you think we’re at a stage where unravelling each other would ever benefit any of us?”
“No, you two are not prepared to share ― to share your delicate lives with each other,” he says it outright, no pause to think about it, “maybe not now, but soon. You two need to be honest with each other. It’s for the best of us, all of us.” He leans closer, breath fanning your cheeks and lips, “I would hate for you to end up like all the other girls—lifeless, cold and buried under the ground.”
You pale, thinking about it. “How many have you…”
Mingi laughs, leaning even closer; his lips ghost onto yours, touching almost too seamlessly on the edge. “Pretty little thing wants to know the number. What is she going to do with it?”
You shake your head, relentless disagreeing to whatever he’s insinuating. “No, I didn’t mean it like that…I—I just—I just want to know…”
“Curiosity is a bitch,” he hums, pulling back, thumbs continuing to rub circles on your inner thighs. “I get it. Anyone would lose their way if they met someone as charismatic and enigmatic as Yunho. He makes you crave clarity more than anything else. Makes you yearn to know him, to solve him like he’s a quandary no one dares to.” He pauses with a dramatic flair to his smile, “but knowing too much about a man who’s no less than a monster, Seongmi, can be quite detrimental. It can crush you, shatter you to millions of pieces—who’s going to put you back together then? Would he still love you when your wings are broken? He won’t. He'll deem you useless; a flightless bird is useless to him.”
All the that he says, rush in your head, course through your blood. Dread comes knocking at your gut, suffocating on each syllable of Mingi’s words. Your lips tremble with your own sound, mind benumbing to the weight of your thoughts. You stare back at Mingi, tightening your grip on the can; you held onto it as much as your strength would allow you too, metal creaking under your grip and bending to the force of your fingers. The cool, deliberate and sharp sting of the can on your skin anchors you to reality.
“What do you mean?”
Mingi shakes his head, letting his hands fall from your thighs. “That, knowing him might test your limits and make you miserable.” He lets another breath pass his lips, “I don’t want to scare you, precious. The last thing I’d want from you is to be terrified of a man who loves you so much.”
Love.
Yunho loves you?
He loves you.
He does.
He really does.
You think back to the days when Yunho had been so overly smitten with you. The same man who taunted, mocked, threatened you emotionally and physically, was celebrating every milestone like it’s the last time he’d ever get to celebrate. He didn’t change all of a sudden—it took him months, and now you’re six months in, six months of love, dedication, commitment and Yunho’s obsession with you. It entails something special right? But it’s the same man who wouldn’t think twice if you go astray, if you deny him satisfaction, if you disobey him, disappoint him in ways you had been in the beginning. That terrifies you to your bones. Every shudder your body goes through, is a cruel reminder of his capability—you truly are a bird trapped in his cage, regardless of how well-maintained the cage is, how well-made it is, you’ll always be his prisoner.
Mingi clears his throat, gently prying the can of soda from your hand and setting it next to his on the coffee table. You snap out of the trance, only for a moment before diving right back in; your chest tightens, heart stammering and stomach twisting in knots. The realisation is settling deep within your bones now—if Yunho’s capable of loving you till his dying breath, then he’s capable of pushing you till you’re on your last breath.
“Okay, enough with that. Don’t want to drive you away from him when he’s finally fixated his heart on you,” Mingi announces, firmly, standing up on his feet, only for his silhouette to pull you into his shadow, “did you have any plans for the night?”
You shake your head, falling back into the reality again. Mingi grins, “oh, now you do.”
· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·
You never know how unpredictable one might be. Especially your boyfriend’s best friend, who’s always had that crazy spark in his eyes. It all happened in a haste. Him dragging you to his truck, strapping you in, and driving down the roads of Seoul. An hour passed after midnight; you were back at the cabin after a long while. Yunho did not take you there, neither did he bring it up after your four-month anniversary fiasco. However, Mingi did not take you inside the cabin—no, he parked his truck in the back of the cabin, in front of a small clearing with trees scattered throughout. There’s a small shed, similar to the one in the backyard of the cabin—realising now, this place is quite different and shares very little to no resemblance with the backyard.
Mingi kills the engine, the vibrating thump in the dashboard dying down. You unbuckle your seatbelt, still dressed in pajamas and robe from before. Staring up ahead, through the clear clean windshield, you notice how dark the night is, and how the only alighted areas are by the headlights of his truck. You hesitated getting in his truck at first—a dark blue Dodge Ram, silver trims—it reeked of stale blood, or something which resembles burnt copper, and slight stench of rust and alcohol. Inside, it got even weirder. A set of animal teeth dangled from the rear-view mirror, black leather on the seats, which creaked under your weight, spotless floor, too clean for someone like him.
You didn’t try opening the glove compartment—but the dear hide spanning across the dashboard gave you a stern warning that you wouldn’t be too delighted after opening it. The gear console between the two seats was empty, except for a small hunting knife with leopard print on its handle. Mingi apologised about the stench, saying he had to transport a roadkill a few days ago—it reeked a lot, and caused for the stench to linger. There’s nothing more assuring than apologies and proud display of animal remnants from his kills, is there?
The bright headlights flicker to low beam lights, dimming down enough to still guarantee visibility. Mingi’s hands fall from the steering wheel, one of which reaches out to rest on your thigh, squeezing it softly. You glance at his hand, then look up at him, brows drawn together.
“What are we doing here?”
He doesn’t respond, rather he unlocks the doors and gets out first, rounding the hood of his truck to open your door. Holding one of his hands out, he leans over and waits till you take it in yours. The night outside is cold, the scent of wet soil is comforting—it rained not too long ago, and the nocturnal creatures awaiting their prey. Hesitation courses down your spine, eyes strained on his hand, and the glint of chunky rings dressing his fingers—your heart pounds in your chest, lungs pumping in and out, following an arrhythmic pattern. When you finally push yourself to give your hand to him, he holds yours tightly and helps you out of the car, closing the door behind you.
The shoes you slipped into haphazardly, sink into the wet ground—spoiling the bright white trims. Mingi guides you away from the car, walking you to the front so you can lean against the hood while he lets go of your hand. Night breeze bruises your skin in a cold and awful reminder—you’re anticipating the worst at this point. Mingi looks at you, shrugging off his flannel before handing it to you. It smelled like him, citrusy, musky with sweat, and a little bit like blood—the metallic undertones were starting to overpower your senses. You cradle it against your chest, watching him step backwards from you—then he turns, his back to you. Mingi’s gait is lax yet stoic—he rolls his shoulders out, muscles rippling under his skin through the tank top.
“Mingi…!” you call out, worried. “What—what are you doing?” the latter comes out as a whisper, confused.
You stood under the moonless sky, daunted by the sounds of the woods, and the creaking of branches which swayed to the wind. Monsoon rains were always so unpredictable, just like Mingi—his shadow grows bleaker with every step he takes away from you. You shift slightly, coming to stand between the two headlights, not wanting to obstruct any light on him. Mingi keeps walking and his receding figure has you squinting your eyes to keep up with him. The only shed of comfort you got, was from his shirt and scent. Because, something told your gut this wasn’t a casual hangout, or anything fun.
Clouds part their way for the moonlight to finally kiss the ground; it shatters through the canopy of trees and one of the beams falls onto Mingi. For time being, you’re taken off guard by his beauty—silver hair glimmering against the moonlight, same nifty rays caressing his high cheekbones, but his eyes stay shrouded in the dark. Your breath catches in your throat when your attention drops to what he’s staring at; on the floor of the forest, you see a figure crouched and slouched. You can’t comprehend who it is, or what it is. But you could see, whoever it was, they were tied to the trunk of the tree—a rope looped around their ankle, while the other end looped around the tree.
Panic strikes you, breathing hard and heavy—your heart forgets the rhythm it beats in, and suddenly your stomach falls to your knees. Every ounce of strength is knocked out of your body, and you slump back against the hood of his truck to support yourself. Mingi crouches down as well, his back to you, hiding the figure on the ground. You don’t know what he’s doing but you could tell he was doing something to the person. Daftly, he rises to his feet and turns around, making his way back to you.
You compose your nerves, steeling yourself to whatever that’s about to come or happen. When Mingi comes to stand in front of you, he offers you a small smile, “let’s play a game, shall we?”
“What—what kind of game?” you peek around him, trying to get a good glimpse of the person on the ground. “Who is that?”
Mingi chuckles, hands coming up to grab you by your shoulders; not tight but threatening, making sure you don’t run away from him. “Oh, you mean her? I thought you’d recognise her right away, Seongmi. No worries,” he steps aside, giving you the full view of the person now; whoever it was, she was now standing on her feet, her back to you, “is it someone you know?”
Your eyes squint against the dim lights, concentrating on the woman. Few things are obvious—lanky body, skinny stature, and thin legs. The lesser obvious details were the shaggy hair, the bare upper body, and dirty worn-out panties, and bloody cuts on her lower back. There’s no way you’d recognise who it is—is it someone you know? That can’t be it.
“I don’t know…” you shake your head and Mingi rolls his eyes, whistling at the woman who slowly turns around to face you two.
Under the low beam lights of the truck, you barely notice anything familiar about her, but when you do, it shakes you up. You know her; the woman leaning against the trunk of the tree is none other than Jia. The missing junior from your team. She looks different. Too different. No weight on her body, no flesh beneath her skin; all bones, some more evident than others. She’s naked, yes—only on the upper body. You wouldn’t have recognised her at all if it wasn’t for the distorted face structure. Jia’s body isn’t healthy anymore—she has her ribs protruding from her skin, her cheeks have hollowed out, and there’s barely any strength in her, you could tell from the way she’s swaying on her feet.
You turn to Mingi, stomach churning with very wrong thoughts about his intentions, but you don’t find him next to you. His silhouette emerges out from the back of the truck, with a hunting rifle propped on his shoulder and supported by one hand.
He flashes you a wide smile, eyes crinkling in the corner before he states, “we’re going to play a game of hide and seek.”
Then, turning to Jia, he screams louder, “we’ve played this before too, right little mouse! You know what to do…”
You notice Jia shaking her head, body shuddering as she starts sobbing. There’s a need in her body language—it’s calling out to you, calling out for help. Regardless of how badly your heart wrenches, you can’t help her, you don’t know if you could. Your head shuffles between Jia and Mingi, conflicted, caught in the worst dilemma of all.
“Mingi, what—what the fuck are you doing?” you feel your voice break, “why is she here? What—what the fuck have you been doing to her?”
Mingi clicks his tongue, grumbling with ire lacing each of his words, “oh you sweet thing. It’s nothing for you to worry about. But if you plan on doing something to ruin my fun—” he lets the rifle drop from his shoulder onto the ground by his foot, “—I won’t hesitate pulling this trigger on you. So, baby please—please don’t ruin my fun, Seongmi-ya.”
You swallow hard, eyeing the rifle before looking back at him. “Mingi…”
“Shush…” he steps closer, pressing his thumb on your lips to shut you up, “don’t. Don’t Seongmi. I’d really hate the man I’d become if you didn’t let me.”
“How is this…” you bite your tongue, looking over at Jia again; she’s frozen in her place, shaking, trembling and crying. You could hear her cries now, silently drifting with the wind. Your heart clenches even tighter, tears welling on the corner of your eyes.
It’s all an act, however. To take Mingi off guard, to throw him off—this is nothing new. Nothing compared to what you grew up with, what you grew up watching your brother and his best friend do. You fill your lungs with air, to their full capacity before turning to Mingi and stepping back; leaning against the heated hood, as a sign of getting out of his way. Mingi smiles, dark and grotesque, enthusiasm shining in his eyes as he grabs his rifle and props it back on his shoulder.
“I’m coming for you, little mouse!” he yells, laughing hard when he looks over at Jia. “I’ll give you a head start this time. Ten seconds!”
He trudges carefully towards the driver’s side of the truck, reaches in through the open window and kills the lights, stranding all of you in the darkness of the forest. Only moonlight guided you, gave you a sense of visibility until clouds drifted and covered it too. You couldn’t see a thing and only clung onto Mingi’s shirt in your arms. While, on the other hand, Mingi marches next to you with his rifle still on his shoulder.
“One!”
“Two!”
“Three!”
He starts the count. Ten seconds. Exactly. Jia runs the moment he stutters at the fifth second—she sprints further into the woods, somehow finding new strength and energy to get away from him. Mingi turns to you, smiling, cheeks squeezing his eyes to slits.
“And the hunt begins…”
You stand frozen to your place, watching Mingi take ten seconds more before he moves on his feet; he’s swift, almost effortless with his rifle balanced on his shoulder. All by yourself, you watch him from the distance—he’s figure melting into the inky lair of forest. He’s gone, just like that. Disappearing into the thin night air, veiling in the twisted twines and twigs of the woods. A sudden gust of wind blows past you, making your body shudder—though you’re not sure if it’s the cold wind that has you shivering or the anticipation of what’s coming your way. So, as time goes by, you stare up at the sky—moonless, pitch-black, never-ending void of nothingness which has swallowed all stars for you to wish on.
Mingi is light on his feet, letting the rain-soaked foliage beneath resound with a brittle crunch—his boots sink in the mud, eyes sharp and alert even in the darkness. He knows his way around, knows these woods like the back of his hand. His favourite hunting ground after all, he’s well versed with the ins and outs. Mingi’s rifle is raised high, one eye squinted, other open wide in search of any movement. There are animals here, but he’s not hunting for one tonight. He’s after something special, someone so special to him that every breath he draws in his lungs, is a baleful stroke of enthusiasm. Of course he’s excited, so very eager to find his little mouse and prey on her.
For a moment, there’s a movement in the shadows—a low lying tree trembles, followed by the sound of leaves crackling under someone’s weight. Mingi knows. He can smell the fear in the air, in the shadows. Swivelling through the maze of trees, solely taking the guidance of shattered moonlight, Mingi approaches the tree. Its trunk is wide enough for a petite woman like Jia to hide; the anticipation coursing through Mingi’s blood is impatiently peaking—he needs to smell blood, he needs to feel the recoil of his rifle, he aches to hear the sound of shots being fired.
In the growing darkness, the thicket of trees, crowds him in. The tree is right in front of him, and behind is his prey. His precious little thing. He’s far away from you and the truck, far from the cabin too—every corner of this forest is etched in his head like a map, and he can’t ever get rid of it. Mingi’s heart hammers in his chest, blood flowing with strong gushes in his veins, drowning him in a dopamine high. With menacing steps, he follows the sound, rifle still aimed high—all senses alert and cautious. With a much calculated calmness, Mingi rounds the trunk of the tree—excitement reaches new heights, forcing his body to shudder and his fingers to tremble as they wrap around the trigger.
He’s so close to it.
So close to pulling it.
He could smell the fear still.
So fresh and so enticing.
His finger curls further around the trigger and bang!
He fires a shot.
You hear it. You feel it in your bones. The shot fired was loud and clear. It’s done. Jia is gone. She’s met with the same fate as Soojin—only this time, Mingi was the one to do it. Mingi’s shirt is pressed against your nose as you inhale his scent to calm yourself down; it is somehow comforting, the stench of blood and citrus, a weird concoction but it reminds you of Yunho. Not entirely. Just pieces of him. The scent of blood with floral or citrusy undertones, is forever Yunho’s signature scent when he’s done patching you up after an extreme night. Mingi’s is no different from what you’ve been used to for months—or the days prior to Yunho leaving Seoul. Hugging Mingi’s shirt gave you a false impression of hugging him instead.
Bang!
Another shot fires in a distance, and your heart leaps, body flinching severely and you drop the shirt on the ground. Trembling like a leaf, you bend over to pick up his shirt, totally unaware of the lurking warmth behind you. It’s sensory almost, feeling a presence grow behind on you before a sudden warmth engulfs you whole. With a squeak you quickly straighten up and look behind. Jia. She stands a few steps away from you, leaning against the truck bed, shuddering still. You slap one hand over your mouth to prevent any sound from escaping; seeing her up close, forces bile to rise in your chest and it creep its way to your mouth.
Mingi’s shirt is still on the ground, collecting the stains of mud and grasses. While you’re too dazed staring at Jia—she’s bare, yes, her upper body has too many cuts and scars; some have scabbed, most are fresh, and there are bruises littering her legs—some turning yellow, some a menacing shade of purple. You notice the way her throat bobs and her lips tremble—is she not capable of speaking? Or did he do something to…?
“Fuck, Jia…!” you gasp, hand sliding down your mouth and falling to your side, “you can’t be here—fuck, if he sees you—okay you need to get out of here…”
Jia shakes her head, tears streaming down her cheeks; this is the worst you’ve seen of her so far. The overly enthusiastic employee is now just a shell of what she was. No hope in her eyes. No will to live. Neither any strength in her to fight.
“Save me…” her voice is barely a whisper, broken and bleak yet still carrying weight.
“I can’t do that, Jia…” you grumble, approaching her carefully. “If he knows—fuck—what did he even do to you?”
She shakes her head again. “Don’t remind me—don’t remind me, please. Seongmi, just help me.”
You take a deep breath, hands curling to tight fists till your knuckles turned white; it wasn’t because of anger, rather you were terrified of Mingi finding you help his prey hide. So, would you rather help him find his prey or help the prey from being hunted? Silence starves both of you, letting the night life speak louder and firmer before either of you would even decide to break it. Jia is still shaking, supporting her frail body against the truck bed while hugging herself tightly. She’s waiting for you to do something. But how could you? You don’t really have the heart to go against Mingi.
You couldn’t make the choice, not when you see him—Mingi—he’s right behind her, traversing like a feline to cover up the distance. He’s quiet on his feet, too quiet for Jia to notice. His rifle is aimed up high, it’s stock resting comfortably on his shoulder; one eye squinted for precise aim, other strained on Jia’s back. When he steps into the moonlight, inch by inch his face lights up; crimson splatters across his arms and biceps become too evident, adding more dread to your gut then it ever did.
“Jia…” you whisper, but it’s barely audible to her and you squeak yourself to complete silence when Mingi glares at you with a slight shake of his head.
Going still in your place, you comply to his wishes. Mingi steps right behind Jia, leaning over her shoulder and muttering close to her ear. “Run, little mouse.” You catch on the movement of his lips.
Jia screams. She pushes herself off the truck and sprints past you. Her weak little body still has some fight left in it, and you’re bemused, bewildered to see her try so hard to live. Does she really think she’s going to survive a monster like him? Has she deluded herself the way you have? Is this what it is?
Mingi grins, eyes shifting from Jia to you; with two strides, he’s right in front of you, leaning close till you feel his warm breath fanning your cheeks. He reeks of blood and gun powder—rifle lowers from his shoulder, going down between you as he holds it by the stock and lets the barrel rest on the ground.
“Keep your eyes open, Seongmi. This is the best part of the hunt.” He kisses your cheek, and you instinctively fight back the urge to step away.
Mingi chuckles, catching up on your reflex before he brings the barrel of his rifle back up to kiss it and prop it back on his shoulder. He moves then, brushing past you with a calm gait—he’s locked on Jia again. You turn on your heels, watching Mingi stand at a few feet’s distance from the car; he’s aiming the barrel precisely over to Jia, who’s doubled over a few meters away from both of you. There’s no tree blocking his right or has she taken shelter behind one. Mingi takes it as a good opportunity to curl his finger around the trigger.
Bang!
The third shot he’s fired tonight. It’s aimed right at Jia’s knee. You feel sick to your stomach when you watch it unfold—the bullet hitting her in the back of her knee before blowing it up in flesh and bones. Blood scatters, and so does her flesh. Jia’s scream this time is animalistic—like a desperate cry of an animal who’s been hunted by its predator quite brutally. She drops to the ground, screaming, yelling in pain, and cursing the shit out of Mingi; all while crawling away from him, enduring the pain of her bleeding leg. Everything happens so fast after that—Mingi laughs out loud, then grunts when he approaches Jia’s spasming body on the ground. He’s too leisure and lax with it, too comfortable about blowing her knee off that you don’t realise when he aims for her head and blows it off too.
Bang!
It sounds different this time. It is followed by the squelch of flesh; and crinkle of bones.
The blood and brain matter paint the nearby leaves.
He shot her point blank in the back of her head.
You feel sick beyond compare, the thought of it biting your stomach as ruthlessly as Mingi’s hobby. But you don’t really feel like throwing up; instead, you pick up Mingi’s shirt from the ground, bunch in your hand and bring it close to your nose, inhaling the scent to calm your overdriven mind. This—this—has brought back a myriad of memories from your childhood and past. However, you weren’t used to something like this—real life hunting.
Mingi drops the rifle down and lets a blood-chilling laugh emit from his chest. You flinch, snapping out of the daze to stare at him. God, is he insane—standing there, laughing as if he didn’t just murder someone. The rifle stays on the ground while he flicks out a small tin box, shining under the moonlight. You narrow your eyes further down on him and realise those are pre-rolled joints when he picks one up from the case. It goes right between his lips and is lit up with a lighter—his personal one, perhaps—the azure glint of the lighter itself catches in your eye and speeds up your heart.
He’s smoking a blunt as casually as one would on a Sunday morning. Does he have no remorse for what he’s done?
Mingi turns to you, smoke curling over his face and into the air. “Are you okay?”
Smoke hides his face, at least most of it; regardless, you catch a glimpse of his lips curling to a concerned smile. You nod slowly, biting down hard on your lower lip to prevent yourself from saying something you’d end up regretting. Mingi’s brow raises up, eyes glinting with a slight hint of mischief before it disappears to darkness in them. He takes a drag of his joint then pulls it out from between his lips, letting the smoke blow out of his mouth. He glances at Jia’s body—life draining away every second while her blood soaks through the ground and stains the earth.
“Maybe I shouldn’t have killed her,” he whispers, “she didn’t deserve it.”
You swallow the bile slowly rising in your chest, your stomach roiling and grumbling at the sight. Yes, Jia’s body spawned right after being shot, and it’s still burning in the back of your mind; her head half destroyed by the impact, a stellate cavity exposing the brain matter and shattered pieces of skull. Blood splatters her neck, chest and collarbones, her face is completely soaked in it as well. You could barely recognise her this time—too much gore and innards out on display like it’s the new normal.
Though, is he really being remorseful now? After doing what he’s done without a reason?
“Then why did you?” you scoff, muffling your words against Mingi’s shirt, “why would you do this, Mingi?”
The shirt, you had been so religiously clinging to for his scent, drops to the ground one more time, freeing your voice. You don’t speak however, just wait for his response. But Mingi smokes his blunt and doesn’t reply to you, at least not in the way you wanted him too. Instead of verbal response, Mingi does it—he picks up his rifle, the muzzle still smoking somehow, and steps closer to you. The joint is back between his lips, cherry red tip glowing in the dark night. Your instincts start screaming at you, forcing you to take a step back for each one he takes towards you.
Mingi’s eyes never leave yours when he aims the rifle at you and keeps pushing himself into your personal bubble. Fear makes you tremble, legs giving out by the end of the truck’s bed as you hold onto the side panel. Cold metal engulfs the palms of your hands, grounding you, anchoring your sanity to a ray of hope until Mingi’s face is alighted by the moonlight; silver beam hits him in his eyes, revealing the deranged ecstasy he’s pretending to hide.
“Mingi…” you whisper, back pressing against the side panel now, trapped as he comes to stand in front of you.
His rifle stays on you, aimed at your chest before he pushes the tip of the barrel against your left breast; you gasp, eyes fluttering close when you think he’s got you. The warm tip caresses and runs in circles around your nipple till it pebbles under it. A satisfying hum reverberates in Mingi’s chest before he growls and brings the barrel right under your jaw. He pushes it further, harder against your throat—forcing you to tilt your head back and let out a whimper of despair. Yet, the fear arouses you, riles you up in the best way possible; it’s a shame your body would react to a near-death attack, or the attempt, in this way. You’re not sure why you would drip in your panties at the thought of getting fucked by him right now—with his gun too, maybe. You clench your thighs, sensing the tension coiling and deliberately pushing at your cunt.
“Mingi, what—stop…”
“I’m not going to hurt you. Never, in fact. I would never hurt you.”
And true to his words, he doesn’t. The moment is anything but exhilarating; it only enticed a dread and terror in every inch of your muscles, body shuddering and trembling till you open your eyes and face him. He takes a hit of his blunt before using one hand to drop it on the ground and crushing it under his foot. It sizzles into the soil—Mingi relaxes unconsciously, tensed shoulders rolling out as the rifle drops from your throat and falls to his side; he then throws it behind you in the truck’s bed, it makes a loud clattering inside before its vibrations die down in the quiet night.
The next few seconds blur your ability to comprehend what happens; Mingi pushes you back into the bed’s side panel, hands on either side of you, trapping you in against his body and the sturdy metal plates. You could feel it give out under your weight, even more so when he presses his chest flush against yours. Your breath catches, arms behind you, slotting in the small of your back. They strain, aching lightly.
Mingi leans in, warmth breath tickling your ear as he mumbles, “shall we play the game too?” he doesn’t wait for your response, “I’ll give you a head start. Twenty seconds. Run or hide, little one. Just don’t make me catch you…” his lips brush against the sweet spot between your ear and your neck, right below your earlobe, “…because if I do, you’re ever going to regret spending this night with me.”
Fuck.
Holy fucking shit.
What did you get yourself into?
Mingi, you’re more deranged and unhinged than Yunho.
Isn’t he? Best friends, after all.
You tremble at the thought, the same thoughts which had been left for you to interpret by him; Mingi’s warmth is troubling, peaking as he pushes his body against yours for one last time before pulling away. The gust of cold air seeping between your bodies is annoying. However, what’s even more ridiculous about this situation is that your mind has perceived your overt excitement of being chased as a pleasant little surprise, subjecting your body to a sudden surge of pleasure and the same causes for wetness to soak your panties.
Stepping further away from you, giving you enough space to breathe, Mingi grins. The chains around his neck catch the moonlight, so do the rings on his fingers when he brings one hand up to give you three counts.
One.
Two.
Three.
You run. You dash into the woods behind the truck. Somewhere in your mind, you thought maybe following the trail would take you to the cabin–somehow—and you wouldn’t have to worry about your life then. However, the lack of light makes it harder for you to pinpoint the direction you came in; you couldn’t follow the path solely based on your goldfish memory, or the inkling which follows you around. Tall trees cut the moonlight, streaking on the ground as you delve deeper into the woods; you don’t look back, you can’t, you don’t have to look back. If you do, you might falter in your determination—determined to get out of here without a scratch on your body. Your legs give in almost when your pace picks up, your chest heaves, lungs fighting for every breath of air; the dread comes later, twisting your gut thinking about the consequences of getting caught.
Run, Seongmi.
Run till you don’t see him.
You need to save yourself.
Time dithers to nothing, passing you by in excruciatingly slow manner. You have no idea how far you’ve come, or if you’ve even shaken him off you. Though, you know one thing, you’re completely lost; the woods aren’t familiar to you anymore, daunting trees, tormenting sounds of creatures you don’t want to encounter, and the crickets which chirp a death song for you. All of it buzzes deep within a corner of your mind before your feet gradually come to a stop; you look around, eyes wide, full of sweat—your tank top sticks close to your skin, and so do your shorts, having ridden up high on your thighs. The space you were forced to stop in, is surrounded by trees and bushes; under your feet, on the undulating plain, is slightly wet soil and dried up foliage, scattered everywhere. Your shoes are coming loose already—the slip-ons never stay on your feet, and given your situation, those were probably the wrong choice to wear.
You get rid of them and let them stay rooted to the ground, straying further and deeper into the labyrinth of trees and shadows; by the sounds of foxes, you could tell they’re lurking around you. There's no sign of Mingi behind you, he’s not chasing you it seems. But the thought of getting caught is still heavy on your mind and it pushes you to trudge further along the guidance of breaking moonbeams. At a certain point, you come to realisation that you are truly lost in this maze; nothing seems to be familiar, every corner is a haunting memory which never really existed. Your perspective takes a flip, now thinking how much you want Mingi to come get you out of here, how you would bear whatever the consequences of getting caught would be. You needed him, and most important, you needed to be safe again.
Wet soil latches onto your soles, dirty feet sinking in the soft mud and decaying leaves; the stench of forest—grotesque and numbing—grows intense. You gander around, eyes squinting in the mere light now, trying to figure out the silhouette of tall trees. Atleast, you’ve conserved your energy by walking and not running; even if the monster is after you, you’re sure he won’t get you now. Relief is momentary when you hear a sudden crunch behind you. Was it a twig? Was it an animal? Was it Mingi? You couldn’t tell until you turned around and when you did, there was nothing which would alarm you. A gust of wind is all you feel, followed by the creaking of branches, and more leaves falling on the ground. Another sigh of relief brushes past your lips and you turn back around to continue moving ahead, navigating to the cabin if you could.
“Gotcha!”
You come face to face with Mingi. Dark eyes, sinister grin, bright white teeth peeking from between his lips. You scream, flinching away from him as your gut punches itself into your stomach. Before you could turn on your heels and dart into the unnerving darkness, one of Mingi’s arms wraps around your waist, other one effortlessly grabbing you by your throat. His fingers curled, pushing into your flesh, while dragging you with him to the nearest tree and slamming you against the trunk; the ragged edges of dried, hardy bark bites into your skin through the thin satin camisole you had draped yourself in, forcing a yelp from your lips. Suffocation blooms in your chest, skin crawling with fright, and your eyes wide and dead set on the man in front of you. Catching faint splatters of blood across Mingi’s cheek and chin, you almost let out a scream, but a slight shake of his head constrained you from doing so.
“Shhhh, little rabbit.” He leans close to your ear, warm breath caressing every inch of your skin, “not a sound—not a fucking sound from you. You don’t want to wake the nightly creatures, do you? When the moon comes out, so do they—to hunt, to feed on their preys. You don’t want to be caught by a ravenous fox, do you?”
You shake your head, frantically.
“That’s what I thought,” he chuckles, taking a deep breath in before whispering, “strike one, little rabbit. Two more and I wonder what this fox might do to you.” he steps back, creating enough distance between the two of you, “run then, rabbit. Hop away...don’t let me catch you again this time.”
Arousal overweighs your sanity, rationality already down the drain; you stare at him, eyes still wide, lips still trembling and chest convulsing like you forgot how to breathe. The slick between your legs grows to the impending tension. You never thought you’d be turned on by this—by this cruel play of prey and predator. Even if you didn’t want to admit it, the look in Mingi’s eyes, gave away how eager and hungry he really is. For a long while, you stay rooted to your place, thin camisole sticking too close to your skin, sweat drenching you from top to bottom; you should run.
Mingi smirks, heaving a breath out before turning his back to you. “I’ll start the count...”
“One.”
“Two.”
“Three.”
“Four.”
You stumble on your feet walking backwards, gaze trained on him for any out-of-character movement. When the adrenaline kicks in, you turn around and run; the flight or fight response is high, anxiety rushing through your blood, and all the consequences replaying themselves in your head. Three strikes. That's what it is, right? After strike three, the night is going to take a dark turn, and only the moon would be the witness to whatever happens. Chest heaving, feet stamping on the half-wet soul, leaving your prints behind—you were tired, exhausted from the strain on your lungs, and on your body, but it wasn’t enough to get away from him. The trees around you start clear out a bit, and it gives you hope—maybe, just maybe, you’d be back to where the car is, grab your phone from the passenger’s seat and make a call.
To whom?
Yunho?
What if he already knows...
You shake your head, ridding it of all the thoughts which clamour and taint your determination for the time being; your feet give in, calves cramping the moment you try to raise your pace. The sharp ache twisting in your muscles deliberately has you stopped and doubled over, out of breath with sweat beading on your forehead while droplets cascade down with ease, wetting your skin with sheer sheen. Trees tower over you, branches hovering too—in a seeming umbrella of foliage which is soon to bloom. The scent of wet soil courses through the frisky night breeze, carrying a hint of metallic tang somewhere with it. You don’t dare look back. What if he’s right behind you? What if he snuck on you the moment you were distracted?
Lethargy is tough to tackle when you know you have a psycho chasing after you. And so, the thought of hiding behind a tree, while you recover, becomes a sweet plague on your mind; you crouch behind a wide tree, letting its trunk engulf you whole. For the time being, you muffle your ragged breaths with the sleeve of your robe, pressing your back into the trunk to shrink as small as you could. In the back of your mind, you wanted to become one with the tree itself. You throw your head behind, the hand slipping away from your mouth as you still try to find a way to control your panicked breaths. The burn in your chest grows to an immense extent, simmering your body in pure burnout.
Moonlight breaks through the clouds again, dispersing light on the ground, letting it thread through the trees and wrapping around every leaf. The dainty light which offered you little visibility, gave you a sense of relief. Until you heard a leaf crunch, then more footsteps followed. You brave yourself and peek out, letting the moon shine on Mingi’s silhouette—he’s there, looking around, lips curled in a smirk, fingers toying with a knife as he held it in his hand, and sweat-drenched body glimmering against the black tank top. Where did he get the knife from? And why does it glint to so unkindly under the light?
You swallow hard. The impending strain of dread forces you back against the trunk again, teeth sinking into your lips to muffle any sounds escaping from your chest. As much as you wanted to scream and thrash, you couldn’t; feeling stuck in this situation weighs further down on your actual determination to get out of it. If you past could vouch for you, scenarios like this one can be easily subdued, however, you’re so out of the habit now.
Mingi’s laugh booms through, scattering your thoughts towards him, “hiding so well from me now, little rabbit.”
You almost let a squeak out; pressing your hand against your mouth, your lips quiver and sounds muffle, but your heart thumps louder than it ever could.
“I told you I’m not going to hurt you,” he continues, “but hiding makes the hunt better, doesn’t it? Goes to show how scared my little rabbit is…”
Crunch!
A twig creaks under his feet, at a distance from you.
Crunch!
Another one.
He’s moving closer to you.
You close your eyes, breathing hard.
Crunch!
One more step.
Dread comes knocking at your door, roiling in your stomach as the bile rises up again.
Thud!
Just as you heave a breath, you see it—a clear swing of sharp glint cutting through air and rupturing all your senses. He flung the knife in his hand at a damned precision, so accurate and so keen, that it punctured the bark of the tree in front of you, scattering the wood chips on the ground.
You gasp, eyes widening and your body shuddering to the impact of it—he’s found you.
Second strike. Is it?
Mingi laughs yet again, voice laced with darker undertones as he creeps closer to the tree you were hiding behind. “Found you.”
He towers in front of you, silhouette wrapping you whole in a tormenting darkness before it shifts; before you could run away, he grabs you by your throat and pulls you up on your feet. Pushing you back into the trunk of the tree, he leans closer till you feel his breath grazing against your lips. Mingi’s eyes have lost their light—the warmth you once believed would keep you safe from Yunho’s demons. Little did you know, Mingi’s demons outweigh Yunho’s, that your lover’s best friend—apparently saviour to you is also another monster hiding in plain sight. You wrap a hand around his wrist, nails digging into his skin and breaking it, blood beads across the crescent marks your they leave behind.
The rough bark bites into your skin through the robe, stinging around the edges of your spine; instincts flared up, forcing you to close your eyes and let a sob slip past your lips. Mingi finds is amusing, too bewildering and something to delight in at the sight of you cowering and crying—he could smell the fear on you, and if he wills, he might even taste it.
“Strike two,” he whispers, his free hand tracing down your navel to the waistband of your shorts, “so close, little rabbit. Hiding from me almost worked in your favour—but did they not tell you how sharp a fox is? It sniffs out its prey.” A pause, fingers hooking into the band before slipping gently inside; they inch closer to your dripping cunt, prodding past the wet folds to gauge how riled up you were.
“Fucking hell,” he curses under his breath, two fingers sliding up and down your slit to collect your slick, “so fucking wet already—you like it, yeah? Being chased? Being a prey to a monster like me?” he chuckles loudly, letting it reverberate in the dense forest, “too bad, little rabbit. I can’t do much—the hunt is still on.”
He rubs his fingers against your slit, letting them dig and spread your folds apart while the tips toy with your throbbing clit every time he pulled them down. Whimpering at his touch, your eyes flutter open and meet his; he’s staring into the deeper, darker, damned, pits of your soul, lower lip caught between his teeth and his breath breezing against your cheeks. The way his fingers thrust between your folds has you leaking more and clenching your thighs harder.
“Mingi…”
He clicks his tongue, withdrawing his fingers from your shorts and bringing them to his mouth; keeping his eyes on you, he lets his tongue dart out and swipe up the length of his first two fingers—licking your wetness off them while deliberately humming in satisfaction.
“I can taste the fear on you,” he mumbles, “but I need more…”
Smirking at your trembling self, he eases up on you and steps back. “Another chance. Last one. If I find you now—no, if I catch you now—you’re going to willingly surrender and let this fox feast on you.”
He grunts, making an effortless attempt at pulling the knife out of the trunk. His back is to you again, while you’re trying to fathom what he meant and what he might do to you without succumbing to the temptation. Had you ever been so wet before? Not really.
“One!”
He sings.
“Two!”
“Three!”
“Four!”
“Five!”
You snap out of it on the tenth count, knees almost buckling to the tension in your head and your heart skipping countless beats. You feel it on your throat, along with the bile that has made its way through from your twisting stomach. The reality starts sinking in bit by bit, his deep voice counting the seconds resonating in every corner of your mind before it raptures you into a sudden flurry of tears. Crying, sniffling, pushing your muscles to strain further into running away from him; you sprint from behind the tree, not sparing a glance at Mingi who’s still counting.
“Twenty five!”
“Twenty six!”
“Twenty seven!”
The numbers run behind you like gunshots, boisterous in a way that pumps more adrenaline through your blood than anything else. Your bare feet pound against the earth, roots and sharp stones slowly cutting into the thick skin of your soles; the pain gets barely registered in your mind, pushing you further into the dense thicket of trees. The thin camisole clings to your sweat-soaked body, your robe flapping uselessly behind you like broken wings—your lungs scream for air, suffocating every thought of survival which sprouts in your head.
“Twenty eight!”
“Twenty nine!”
Mingi’s voice slithers through the night breeze, muffled by the distance now; you take a sharp left, hoping it’d lead you to the car—a half baked idea forming in your mind at the thought of it. Your phone is in the truck, lying soullessly on the passenger’s seat; if you could get to call anyone, it’d be easier for you to escape this lunatic. You veer left one more time, ducking under a low branch, all while your heart hammers so hard against your ribs you think it might break free. The forest becomes a blur of fractured moonlight and deadly shadows creeping in—even the stench of rotting foliage and flesh becomes too evident and strong in the air.
Every rustle of leaves sound like footstep.
Every snap of twig made you believe he was closer to you than he actually is.
Every time your chest heaves, you slow down to catch your breath.
One mistake, and you might not like what you’d get yourself into. Your legs get heavy, thighs trembling with exhaustion but something far more shameful bound your soul to your body—the slick heat that has been building between your legs from the moment he pressed the rifle’s barrel against your jaw. How fucked up was that? You hate yourself for feeling the way you do now. But maybe that’s how your body reacted to terror, to the knowledge that if he caught you, he wouldn’t be gentle. He wouldn’t ask. He would only take. The dynamic very much reminds you of Yunho, the man you had apparently given too much of yourself to—if it were him replacing Mingi, would you have felt the dread at all?
No.
Probably not.
You don’t know if you heard him finish the count, all that really mattered in the moment was to be as far as possible from him. Perhaps you were. Owls didn’t hoot. Crickets didn’t chirp. The forest succumbed to radio silence, save for your ragged breaths which accumulated in your chest. You stop and look around, feet digging into the muddy ground; doubling over, head between you legs, you feel it—a tiny shiver running down your spine.
He’s close.
You push yourself harder after the much needed second to catch your breath—the forest thins out by an inch, tears blurring your vision and a broken sob catching up in your throat. You’ve reached the clearing. Mingi’s truck comes into your view, but so do the black spots from too much exertion. Stumbling regardless, you run up to the passenger side of the truck, open the door and grab your phone. In a haste, you unlock it, navigate to the phone and stare at the keypad.
Dial something!
But who would you call?
Emergency services?
Yunho?
Detective Choi?
Worst case scenario, your own brother?
No, it’s not the time to think about it too much.
You dial Yunho’s number, acting on a reflex that activates the moment you see his number in the dial history. Though, as you hit the little green tab on the screen, an alert pops up—no service.
Fuck.
You’re fucked.
“Fuck, no no no no…” you chant under your breath, scampering on your feet to move around until you get even one bar on the phone, “come on—please–please…!”
Nothing.
No service.
No cell reception.
You could still make emergency calls, but calling the cops would be too risky given you have a dead body rotting in front of you. Weighing all your rational thoughts, you stare at your phone, somehow hoping it would get some reception for you to call or text Yunho. Nothing seems to work in your favour, nothing at all. Tears well in the corner of your eyes, chest rises and falls arrhythmically to the gentle fear crawling under your skin, your heart is a victim of despaired tremors, and your mind is plagued by a sudden urge to surrender.
Snap!
A twig crunches behind you, followed by Mingi’s composed voice, “strike three, little rabbit. I caught you.”
You stiffen, every muscle going tense, rendering you motionless for quite a while, before you slowly turn around. Clutching your phone tightly in your hand, you meet eyes with him. He’s still as calm as he was before, still drenched in sweat, still wearing that stupid grin on his face. Mingi’s tall stature is almost so intimidating in the night, moonlight brushing off his skin and sharp facial features—even his eyes which quite frankly resemble the eyes of a fox.
His lips curl further into his cheek, tongue peeking out to swipe over his lower lip. “Do you still want to run? I can see it you do—still want to fight this fox, still want to get away from him.”
With each word, he takes a step forward, while you stay frozen to your spot. Until you feel his breath warming up your cheeks, you don’t feel the urge and when you do, you stumble backwards. Keep stumbling till your shin collides with something sturdy and you trip—falling on your ass while you use your hands to soften the blow. It works. It’s less impactful on your back and body. However, when your gaze lurks to what tripped you, a soft scream bubbles out of your chest.
Jia’s body.
She’s covered in a veil of crimson. One shot clear on the back of her knee. Other one to her head, spreading it apart like a flower caught mid-bloom. She’s so lifeless now, no light in her eyes, no smile on her lips—only the traces of real and unseen fear on her face. You press your lips together and look at up Mingi, standing tall over you. Hastily, you scamper and squirm, crawling away from him. But he’s quick—he drops to his knees and immediately traps you between his body and the ground. His arms rest on the sides of your waist, face mere inches apart; dark and sinister gaze bores through yours, lips trembling before curving inside his cheek, and breath searing against your cheeks.
“Close. Almost.” He whispers, “but this is where you belong, little rabbit. Under me.”
You still try to fight against him, sliding away from him. Mingi doesn’t let up, he pushes one knee between your legs, while the other one brackets your hip; he straightens up just a bit to give you enough space to breathe, tracing his hands along your sides to your shoulders, then gently grazing his fingers down the length of your arms to take a hold of your hands. Fingers lace together tight, his knuckles turning white; he pulls them up with him, pinning them right above your head while pressing his hips into yours.
“Mingi, why are you doing this?” you question him, composing every last bit of your sanity.
“Why?” he repeats, his tone mocking you, “it’s the rule—set in stone—I told you before, didn’t I?”
You shake your head, fighting back tears, “you’re…you said you wouldn’t hurt me.”
“And I’m true to my words.” He kisses your cheek, “am I hurting you right now?” his whisper brushes against your lips, “speak your truth, little rabbit.”
It breaks out of your chest like a knot coming undone. “You’re scaring me right now. I’m not hurt—hell—I don’t even think I am hurt. I don’t feel safe anymore…” you stare into his eyes, pleading silently, “can we just go home?”
Something shifts in him, a flash of warmth which disperses quite quickly in the black of his eyes; immediately, he’s off you and helping you on your feet. He doesn’t say much, sound from him becomes a punishable almost. Guiding you towards the truck’s bed, he lowers the door and picks you up by your waist to place you on the edge. You squirm, a little uncomfortable against the cold metal surface, yet somehow, you go along with it. Mingi watches you, studying you from head to toe as he stands at a distance, running his hand through his hair; he’s not frustrated, no—unlike Yunho, Mingi doesn’t get mad too easy. For him, rage bubbles under a sheet of tranquility, calmness—but it never erupts, always stays dormant.
He bites his lip, moonlight glinting on his face; his gaze lurks on your face before he looks away and drags his feet to the driver’s side of the truck. He returns with two bottles of water and a rag that’s dirty on one side. Without saying much or making any sound, you watch him unscrew one of the bottles and hand it to you. He then crouches over, brows scrunched and lips parted.
“Drink,” he mumbles, opening the other bottle before gently grabbing one of your feet in his free hand. “I need to inspect—could have a thorn, or something much worse.”
You take a sip of water, slow and savouring the taste, letting it quench your thirst; as much as he’s wordlessly doing his part, you’re too soundless, allowing him to do what he needs to. Mingi’s tender touches are barely even felt as he washes the sole of your foot and dabs it dry with the rag. It’s more intimate than you had ever been with him—seeing his sleek and ragged fingers use their delicate efficiency to inspect and check.
He hums softly, “nothing on this one,” glancing up at you, he offers you a small smile before moving onto the other, repeating the same steps, “I don’t see anything here either.”
You swallow down gulps water in a breath, avoiding meeting his eyes the moment they’re back on you again. Instead, you look away at the distant tree and continue to drink the water until the bottle is empty. Heaving a sigh, Mingi sets the rag and now-empty bottle on the side, next to you. He stands to his full height, towering over you as the moonlight washes off him; unbothered he is, staring up at the moon while you clenched your fingers tighter around the plastic bottle.
“I think you’re all done with it.”
“I know.” You whisper, crushing the bottle in your hand; it crinkles loudly between the two of you, “Is this something you get off of?”
“Sometimes.”
“Hurting people turns you on?”
“In some way,” he scoffs, “look, I know what you’re trying to accomplish here…”
“You don’t.” The sternness in your voice becomes deliberate, “you really don’t.” You pause, getting your thoughts straight, “few hours ago, you were in Yunho’s apartment, asking me how I was. And then this?” shaking your head, you let out a humourless laugh, “what’s the point of it all? To scare me? Have the thrill turn me on? Alright, fine, that’s something I’d understand but why kill her?”
“Seongmi, you don’t—you won’t understand okay.”
“Try me.”
He goes quiet. Tranquillity flows in. Mingi contemplates with his tongue in his cheek, eyes fixed on you. He lets the dilemma lips out on the surface, caught between the should I, and should I not. You’re half hoping he doesn’t, hoping he won’t make you understand why he does what he does. The forest screeches at a distance, trees creaking with the arrhythmic breeze that spurs on the nightly creatures to shriek louder.
“You don’t have to if you don’t want to,” you mutter under your breath, sensing the weight that has slouched his shoulders. “I was just—I was just curious, I guess.”
Mingi hums, taking a step back from you. “I would be too. Curious to know what you’ve been hiding—I’m not a fool, Seongmi. I know.”
“Know what?” your throat closes in, fear suffocating your mind.
“About you. About your family. About your brother,” he states.
You feel your stomach twisting to knots and bile rising to your throat; you could taste it in the back, eagerly pushing till it drips all over your tongue. Swallowing it down, you shake your head slightly, closing your eyes momentarily as if it was a way to forget the reality which exists so cruelly for you.
“I am not sure if Yunho does too. I never spoke a word about it to him. It’s not my place to tell him.”
“How did you…” you blurt out, your voice shaky.
Mingi takes a deep breath and another step back, “I’m not just a hunter, Seongmi. There are different ways of putting my skills to use—point is, when Yunho told me about you—your name, specifically—I thought I had—thought I had heard it somewhere before. Usually, names hold a lot of importance in our world and it—it just...look, your brother isn’t someone no one knows about. He is influential, he’s powerful, he—he’s buried more bodies than I have ever hunted.”
“What I’m trying to say is, it’s your choice whether or not you want to tell him the truth…”
· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·
Twenty-three. Mingi has twenty-three different weapons hung on his bedroom wall like he’s proudly displaying the collection. Guns, daggers, knives, machetes, and some swords you had never seen before; you could discern his personality through them—cold, grotesque, sharp and a beauty that rots. This was your first time in Mingi’s room—a space enclosed by four walls with minimal furniture and no windows, except for a little one which stays open for ventilation. There’s a low platform bed pushed against the wall opposite to his display, a nightstand next to it, and a few cabinets and wardrobes scattered around. Although many trinkets sprawl the surfaces of cabinets―preserved animal bones, different insect species stored in jars of formalin, and bits of his jewellery. Mingi had a strong liking for a beauty that brought in chaos, his room, albeit being spacious enough, translated to how he views the world for himself.
The room reeks of clinical phenyl and moth balls, feeding your assumptions about the things he does in this room. You returned to the cabin shortly after Mingi wrapped Jia’s body in a black tarp and set it in the bed of his truck. He asked you to stay in his room, while briefly mentioning he was going to deal with the body. He had been gone since, and you were left alone in his room. Thinking, wondering, contemplating the stark contrast between Mingi and his best friend; Yunho, on the broad spectrum of neatness, had a place for every little thing in his apartment. On the other hand, Mingi didn’t have such plans for whatever he possessed. Which, in turn, has you questioning if Mingi would be meticulous enough to deal with Jia’s corpse―the way Yunho would.
Vaguely constructing your speculations, you continue to peruse the weapons. Weirdly enough you have your heart set on them, perhaps to understand why he’d need such appalling variations in weapons he uses to kill. Does he crave the unfamiliarity of weapons to perform the tedious and repetitive ritual of hunting?
A particularly heavy and grim-looking rifle stands out on the entire wall; purposed to be lethal, and beautiful at the same time. Regardless of the beauty and terror it’d induce in a prey, the gun had seemed to be unused for a while, or maybe it was a slightly older one than the rest on the wall. Walnut stock which had darkened, blued steel which had long lost its authority, fine and minute scratches along the receiver and a tiny detail carved at the base of the barrel—mystifying craftsmanship which moulded such gun couldn’t be found in this century. You’re too lost admiring the gun, reading deeply into every scratch that adorns its body to not notice Mingi’s silenced arrival in the room.
“Fascinating, isn’t it?” his voice rumbles against your back, followed by the sound of door closing behind him.
You turn just slightly to glance at him over your shoulder; he steps in with a tray in his hand, contents intact on it—what seems to be a sterile and clean muslin cloth, a bowl of salt and a knife, the one you had seen before in his truck.
Turning to face him fully, you roll your shoulders out, “what is all that for?”
“The forest floor crawls with a lot of leeches. Especially after it rains,” he replies, “would be a lot of trouble if you got some on you. Those suckers can be a menace.”
Following his eyes and the subtle flick of his neck, you understand the cue ― he wants you to strip; without thinking twice, you push the robe off your shoulders, pull your tank top over your head and do the same with your shorts. All your clothes lie in a heap on the floor while you settle down by the edge of the bed; clad in only your lingerie, a lace set you were now starting to regret wearing. Setting the tray by your feet, Mingi grabs the knife while his reluctantly scan your skin for the bloodsuckers; you take a deep breath in, heart stomping in your chest and your stomach coiling tightly.
“Here’s one...” he traces the tip of the knife across your sternum before dipping into the cup of your bra on your right, “can I pull this down...?” glancing up at you, his eyes seemingly soften as if to take your permission.
Without hesitation, you nod, holding your breath. Mingi heaves out a sigh before tugging the edge of the bra with his nifty fingers and pulling it down in one swift motion, exposing your breast to him. His eyes linger on you for a second longer before he pries the tip of blade against the leech’s mouth.
“Stay still, these bastards sink their teeth too deep,” he murmurs.
You oblige, tensing up the moment your skin is struck by a sharp agonising sting. “Ouch, that hurts!”
Mingi clicks his tongue, focusing on getting the hooks of the leech off from your skin. “Don’t worry, it won't hurt much in a bit.”
In the next passing minute, the sting subsides to a dull throb; Mingi holds the wiggling little creature by its tail between his fingers. You stare, taken back mostly by how he handles the tiny, grimy-looking thing. Without wasting a second, Mingi drops it into the bowl of salt, where it shrinks and eventually dies. He then proceeds to pick up the muslin cloth from the tray, bunches it up around his fingers of his free hand and lightly dabs against the spot where the leech had been feeding from you. When your eyes shift from the squirming creature in the bowl to Mingi, your heart almost forgets to beat. Dark intentions clearly lurk in the corner of his eyes, lips trembling from the impending tension between the both of you, and maybe from the hunger churning in the bottom of his stomach. He doesn't think twice, leans in, tip of his tongue lolling out and mouth opening wide as he wraps his lips around your breast and sucks it in his mouth. His tongue swirls around your nipple, letting it harden under his touch while you cling onto his shoulders from the sudden warmth of his mouth sending shivers down your spine.
“Mingi...” you breathe out, sliding one hand in his hair at the back, fingers tracing circles on his scalp before tugging just gently to pull him off you.
Reluctant but ravenous, Mingi somehow manages to calm his inner beast and pulls off with a soft smack from his lips and tongue; your breast glistens with his spit, nipple still hard and standing at the attention his tongue offered.
“Right, we have a task at hand...” he straightens his back to maintain distance between you two and resumes to what he had been doing before; he dabs the sterile muslin cloth to cleaning the remnants of blood droplets seeping out, “moving on.”
Setting the cloth back down on the tray, he proceeds to inspect your body more closely now. His sharp eyes trace your skin with a certain kind of heat that forces your body to shudder, and a similar warmth crawl up your neck. He brings his free hand closer to your stomach, fingertips grazing your skin with dainty touches, almost featherlight. He finds one more hiding just beneath the waistband of your panties; this time, however, when his eyes seek permission for him take your panties off, you hesitate and clench your thighs closer and tighter. It hadn’t occurred to you until now, but you were aroused from the simple care he had offered, soaking your panties while your clit throbbed to be touched in ways only Yunho knew how to.
Mingi hooks his fingers under the waistband of your panties and slowly pulls them down with the same hand. His other hand held the knife, grip tight on the handle till his knuckles turned white; it was his way of trying to compose himself while you bare yourself to him. It wasn't his first time, though, you knew, he knew. It was your first time being alone with him and that made this moment even more personal and intimate than it already was. You straightened your legs for him to ease your panties off and set them right next to you on the edge of the bed.
“Don’t move, this one’s wiggling a lot,” he says with a trapped breath while prods the tip of the blade at the point where it was attached to your skin, “you have to be really careful with these. There could be a chance of the blood flowing back into your body from theirs, it leads to infection...”
You realised Mingi was only rambling and blabbering the information to fill up the sudden silence settled in. Howsoever, it didn't matter to you what he said, your mind was focused on the warm wafts of his breath brushing your dripping cunt. Every word he let out, forced air to fan across your sensitive folds which were starting to drench in your arousal. If you could let your heart speak on your behalf, you wouldn’t waste a second blurring the line between you two; however, your rationality is still intact, brooding and heavy on you to make the right decision.
“There’s something about these suckers, you know. You don’t feel a thing when they sink their hooks in you, but the moment they fall off, satisfied with the amount of blood they’ve drunk, it stings like hell.” Mingi chuckles, pushing more of his warm air out to graze your aroused cunt, “very much like someone people, I’d say.”
The sudden loss of his warmth forces you to whine softly under your breath. Mingi doesn’t notice the sound you made in the back of your throat, reaching out for the muslin cloth to wipe off the blood on your skin, while the little critter goes into the bowl of salt. Arousal slipping past the bounds of your heart, you fixate your attention onto the bowl, staring and observing how the worm squirms and thrashes before it shrinks to nothing. Seeing you distracted, Mingi lowers his head and licks up a stripe along an inch below your belly button, tasting blood on his tongue while sliding his hands on either of your thighs.
You flinch and pull away, letting his mouth slip from your skin; a chill scatters on your skin from the air and his spit, forcing you to draw a sharp breath in. With one hand, you rub your fingers against the spot he had ran all his tongue over, and your other hand cups the back of his head, fingers threading with the silver-ish strands of hair. Mingi’s eyes meet yours, brows etched high on his forehead, lips quivering and his tongue licking them up, in a way to savour your taste. Biting his tongue, Mingi straightens up on his knees and shifts behind you. He pulls the tray closer to the edge of the bed than it had before and continues to do what he had been doing for the last twenty minutes. Your body still tingles from his touch, and fingers feel the tremors from being his hair; his warmth sears itself on your back, his own fingers dragging across your shoulder blades and spine. Silence thickens, perpetuating your body and mind.
“What did you mean by that?” you ask, recalling the words he left behind.
Mingi hums under his breath, closely watching the cold steel of his blade prodding at a particular angle against the mouth of a leech he found on your right shoulder blade. “I thought you were smart enough to understand, Seongmi.”
Annoyance peeks through, trudging in your blood and in the way you let a groan out, “is it about my brother?”
“Could be.”
“What do you know about my family, Mingi?”
Silence.
You try again, “I asked you something, Mingi.”
Silence again.
“I swear if you—”
“Do you know why Yunho’s the way he is?” he speaks up finally, picking out the leech from your skin and tossing it into the bowl of salt in the tray, “ever wonder why he likes control so much? Why he’s obsessed with having things go his way?”
You take a deep breath in, annoyance fraying at the edges of your heart—curiosity beams through, however, it’s lost in the impending darkness of your mind. Mingi’s tongue is back on you, licking up the punctured skin, sucking just enough to get the mere droplets of blood off you and into his mouth.
“You’re straying—distracting me again.”
“Am I?”
“You best friends sure know how to play mind games,” you scoff and let a laugh out.
Mingi laughs along with you, pulling back all the way. “I never exclusively stated I was talking about your brother, did I?”
Turning your head, you look at him over your shoulder. “So, what did you want to tell me about Yunho?”
As quiet your voice is, Mingi frowns a bit and rolls his shoulders out. “Stay put, you’ve got one too many on your back.”
You take another deep breath in, holding it in your chest till your lungs allowed you to. Mingi moves with an efficiency similar to that of a surgeon; you barely felt the tip of knife, prodding, jabbing, getting the leeches off. Each one he dropped into the bowl of salt, your heart shrunk with them—that followed light and tender dabs of the muslin cloth to wipe the blood away. Mingi didn’t say much till he got to the last one at the bottom of your spine, really close to the crevice which led to your ass.
“Yunho wasn’t always like the way he is,” he begins, words sounding too gravelly and his voice too deep, “he was composed for the most of it.”
He drops the knife and blood-stained rag onto the tray, hands sliding back to your shoulders , rubbing them down. “He didn’t get a childhood many children do. Growing up without a mother, with a raging alcoholic for a father, and an older brother who didn’t care if he had a brother or not, can’t certainly be normal.”
A breath hitches at the back of your throat, straining on your chest till your lungs give out. “Yunho—Yunho never spoke to me about his family.”
“Yeah, why would he?” he rests his chin on your shoulder, arms around your waist now, “if it’s not perfect to him, it doesn’t belong in his world. It’s never worth mentioning either.”
You turn your head slightly, catching a glimpse of him; Mingi’s lips stretch into a straight line, eyes half-lidded as more words sound from his chest, rumbling against your back. “Your family decides your upbringing, doesn’t it? Yunho was raised by his aunt—the sister his father doted on—though, Yunho didn’t like her. More than resenting her, he abhorred her.” He takes a pause, “she was controlling, she was left with a stubborn five year old who managed to get on her every nerve. As much as she was annoyed with him, there always was a part of her that adored him.”
A beat of silence, then he continues, “not the kind of adoration an aunt should hold for her nephew. It was twisted, taboo, forbidden to even consider.”
You speak in, “do you mean to say…”
“Yeah, innocent touches and thoughts became not-so innocent after he turned thirteen.” Mingi pulls away fully, his warmth still lingering on your back. “It’s sick to even think about it. How wretched do you have to be to…” he trails off, voice breaking, “…it broke him in ways you cannot fathom, Seongmi-ah. Put yourself in his shoes for a bit—withstanding physical and sexual abuse at that age, getting ignored by your father, and an older brother who never really bothered…”
“How did he…” you slightly turn on the bed to face him, “how did he get out of it?”
Mingi smiles weakly, looking away from you, as if he staring far off into the past of his best friend. “His brother helped him. Seven years older to him, the same man who pouted every time his little brother followed him around like a sick puppy, came through for that same puppy after all. He got him into a good medical school, somewhere out of the town he grew up—though, the day he left, was but another nightmare, similar to the ones he had experienced before.”
You let his words sink in, the story weaves through your conscience and you, however vaguely, understand Yunho’s mind and his obsession for perfection and control. For a minute, neither of you says anything; silence eats at the both of you, Mingi stays wrapped around you and you let him be the way he is. Until, it hits you like a brick that you’re butt naked with your boyfriend’s best friend.
“Umm, Mingi…” you whisper, “…I’m—”
“Naked?” his breathes against your ear, fingers denting into your skin as his grip gets tighter. “Are you worried I might touch you where I’m not supposed to?”
You stare at him, eyes boring into his; like a challenge you didn’t want to back down from. And neither did he. It must have been your first time staring so deeply into his eyes. You’ve always known, by the passing glances at times when you’d meet each other, Mingi is intense. The sharp and undeniable hunger he carried in them, eagerly lurking every time he saw you. It wasn’t just in the way he looked at you, but in the way he touched you.
One of his hand traces below your navel, fingers dipping low while his other hand, slides up—tiptoeing his fingers up the valley of your chest. You push back into him, arching a little when his hand starts openly cupping your mound. A low groan emits from your throat, but before you could sound it properly, Mingi’s hand wraps around, thumb pressing down on your windpipe to cut off air—just enough for you to choke.
“Scared I might make you feel better than Yunho?” he chuckles close to your ear, “is that it, Seongmi-ah? Do you think I can fuck you better than he ever did?”
Your croak turns to a whimper halfway when his forefinger slips between your slit, “Mingi …”
“I know. I know…” he coos, breath lingering by your ear, “you don’t have to be scared. You don’t have to feel ashamed for listening to your heart—I know it wants this to happen too. Does it not, Seongmi-ah?”
You shake your head frantically, reaching out to grab both of his wrists to pull his hands away from you; however, reluctance is a bitch, you slowly loosen your grip on his wrists, pushing back further into him. Your chest heaves, rising and falling to the strain your lungs felt. His middle finger joins his forefinger, dipping deeper in your slit, broad pads dragging along your drenched flesh till they press hard on your clit—it knocks out all air from your lungs, forcing you to gasp and throw your head on his shoulder. You stare up at him, eyes welling up with tears of pleasure and unrestrained desire—the same desires you shouldn’t be expecting to have for a man who’s not your boyfriend.
Yet, you couldn’t help but buck your hips and grind on Mingi’s fingers; pace steady and unhurried, your folds bulge and spread apart on his chunky rings, the cold sensation punching another whimper from your chest.
“Mingi…”
“Say the word and I’ll stop,” he whispers, close to your ear, stern enough to cut off all the second thoughts you had. “I know you won’t, Seongmi-ah. I know you’re enjoying this a little too much.”
Your nails dig in the wrist of his hand wrapped around your throat; he tightens it, pushing his entire thumb to crush your windpipe and cut your air out. Squeezing your throat in the palm of his hand is so effortless for him, he’s not even using half of his strength to control you. The pain is blinded by the pleasure, building gradually between your legs; Mingi’s fingers are relentless in what they do, rubbing you down while teasingly nudging into you. Filthy sounds resound soon after he picks up his pace, torturing your clit with tight-wound circles and dragging his fingers through your slit.
Suffocation leads to lightheadedness, you start seeing black spots floating in your vision. Desire heightens your senses, making your body blur the lines between pain and pleasure. The sting of his fingers denting around your throat is merely negligible to the ecstasy of his fingers on your cunt.
“What do you say when you want things you shouldn’t?”
“Please…”
Mingi clicks his tongue, squeezing your throat tighter, “uh-uh-uh, ask nicely, Seongmi.”
Your brain, deprived of oxygen, has no idea how to go on about his request; you’re fuzzy, mind mangled with an eerie satisfaction that you can’t even form words. Or maybe, you had your words ready at the tip of your tongue, but your tongue had gotten too heavy to speak. Regardless, you manage to take a deep breath in through your mouth and whimper what you couldn’t before.
“Please, sir?”
“Yeah, that’s right,” Mingi praises.
The praise is a cruel little thing, a sentiment dripping with satisfaction like venom that makes your stomach roll and your thighs to tremble wider. His hand on your throat stays firm, keeping you right at the edge of unconsciousness, where the colours of the room bleed to nothing but blinding static. You can’t feel your eyes anymore, neither can you perceive the tension coiling in the pit of your stomach, all you can comprehend is the power dynamic stemming from his strength. Mingi pulls your body back into his chest like you’re a mere doll, laughing right by your ear, his hair brushing up your neck and cheek.
“Such a good little rabbit,” he murmurs, his voice low, “knowing your place is so very important when you’re out of your depth.”
A whine ruptures from the back of your throat when his fingers leave your eager cunt soaking and dripping on the edge of his mattress. Mingi eventually, loosens his hand around your throat, making you chase the sweet feeling of trapping air in your chest. You gasp, heave, cough and gradually feel at ease, shoulders rolling out against his chest and head lolling back on his shoulder. Your eyes, teary, vision glassy, try to match his silhouette with the same man who had been so caring and kind the first few days you had engaged with him.
It happens in the blink of an eye—you’re pushed down on the bed, upper half of your body spilling past the edge of the bed and sprawling over the floor while your legs stay propped on the bed, toes curling into the mattress from the anticipation. Mingi doesn’t waste any time in peeling his sweat-drenched tank top from his body; he flexes his arms and shoulders the moment your eyes catch every movement quaking under his skin. He’s a stunning man—map of scars trail from his right shoulder to the span of his chest and finally end on his navel. Silver gashes, glimmering under the dim lights of the room, might hold countless stories he won’t ever get himself to tell you. Or maybe he might.
Mingi’s arms hook under your knees, pulling your body slightly towards him so that only your head hangs off the edge of the bed. Your legs bracket his hips, arms instinctively coming to rest on his chest—unsure if you should push him or pull him closer to you. Desires have started speaking louder than your rationality, coercing spaces for all the lies you’d tell Yunho once he’s back. What would he do if he found you fucking his best friend behind his back? You’re breaking his trust, aren’t you? Though, if it was so much about the trust, then why did he let his best friend watch him fuck his girlfriend?
So could this mean you’re getting back at him? Rebelling against his ideologies?
“Thinking about Yunho, Seongmi?” he takes a deep breath in, bringing one of his hands to holds yours on his chest, “thinking if he finds out about us he’ll absolutely lose it? Or are you thinking you’ll hide this from him forever?” a loud and smug chortle bubbles from his chest, you feel the vibrations beneath your fingers, “nothing goes unnoticed by him, you know. Fucker knows how to—he knows everything.”
And in one breath, your body shudders, mind fogging up with dread and somehow, pleasure as well. Mingi holds your arms by your wrists, bringing them both down to pin them above your head against the floor, forcing them to bend in an awkward angle which caused much pain than anything else. Your back arches beautifully, hips bucking up to seek anything, any kind of friction that could alleviate the tension growing between your legs. Mingi leans over, trapping your body under his; inching closer till his face hovers right above you, he grabs both of your wrist in his hand and uses the other to grab your jaw. He forces you to look at him, a smirk growing till his lips stretch and his intentions come clear.
“You can still stop this, Seongmi. But something tells me you want this more than anything else,” he teases, scowling slightly while pushing his hips against yours—deliberately letting you feel his half-hard bulge through his sweatpants. “You want this, don’t you? Want to know how it’d feel to be my prey?”
For a minute there, you swear you caught a glimpse of the predator you saw back in the woods; the warmth of his care, what he did to help you a couple of moments ago, comes to nil, and fear strains every muscle of your body.
You shudder, squirming to get out from under him, “Mingi…I don’t think—”
He cuts you off by crashing his lips onto yours; the initial touch itself hungry, as if he had been starving himself for ages to get a taste of you. Lips burn, teeth peeking out to bite and bruise, and his tongue occasionally slips out to relieve the sting of his teeth from your lips. One of his hand stays wound around your wrist, pinning your body down to a place while his other hand moves between your bodies; fingers trace along lines, simmering their touch across your sides before dipping down the navel and finding your soaking cunt. Two of his fingers drag down your slit again, while his mouth takes your breath away with every tug and bite.
You don’t understand if you’re willingly kissing him back, or obliging because your body is forcing you to. Fitting together like two pieces of puzzle, cut and twisted perfectly to belong together, you push yourself into his chest and a moan erupts from the back of your throat. Mingi takes it as an opportunity to slither his tongue into your warm mouth, diving and dwelling in corners before tackling your own down. His fingers, still relentless and now slick with your arousal, rub down your slit until the plunge into you. Feeling your taut walls stretch around his fingers and the chunky rings, Mingi groans and bites your lower lip. He tugs it back with him when he pulls away to take a breath in, having suffocated himself with the kiss already.
Thrusting his fingers in and out of you, grunting every time your walls spasm around his fingers, Mingi observes your face—he closely notices the way your face twitches with pleasure. “Enjoying it?”
With a sigh and a belittling smile, he increases his pace; the rhythm of his fingers never falters, now openly fucking you with them. He lets go of your wrists, bracing the same hand by your head as he positions himself in a way to easily glance down where his fingers disappear into you. Every stretch, every squelch, every dragging inch of his fingers on your walls is a testament of how far he is willing to go. You’re out of breath, body numb and limp from the pleasure—you don’t make an attempt to stop him, you don’t think about the consequences, all you want—no, all you need, was him. Yunho’s pushed to the very back of your mind, his presence lingering but never letting its weight stop you from acting on your desires.
You yearned for Mingi, and as you stare at him, the pining comes back to you ten times stronger than it had been the first time you met you him. Whimpering, you close your eyes and let the delicate ecstasy of his fingers sawing you through wash over you, tears trailing down the side of your face as you do.
“Mingi…” you try to moan but it drags out of your chest like a whisper, “fuck—fuck, yeah…I am.”
“I know, precious,” he coos, angling his fingers deeper into you, while his thumb reaches out and grinds down your clit. “My name sounds so good coming from your mouth. Isn’t that right?”
You nod, fluttering your eyes open to watch him; he’s leaning close, sweat beading on his forehead and giving his skin a light sheen. The moment he deliberately curls his fingers inwards, your back arches and you bring your hands to clutch his shoulders for support. Mingi feels you clench around him, grunting and nuzzling into your neck, lips featherlight as he traces kisses and bites along your skin.
“Mingi…” you whimper yet again, throwing your head back and sliding one hand from his shoulder to the back of his head; you cradle him, fingers twisting and tugging at his hair—he doesn’t feel the pain, and even if he did, it’s nothing compared to how you were squeezing his fingers deeper in you.
Mingi hums along with you, “that’s it, little rabbit. Squeeze me. Show me how eager you are to be wrecked by me.”
Your body spasms, something that wasn’t in your control, when his fingers curl snugly around that one spot against your walls—the searing hot flash pleasure melts into every tremor of your muscle, feeling a knot tighten deep within your stomach while your throat dries out from moaning too much.
He lets a small chuckle out, changing the rhythm of his fingers—they now mercilessly hammer into you, still angled to hit your g-spot. The way you start mewling at him, boasts his ego and makes pride twist in his chest; Mingi could tell, from the tight spasms of your walls, that you were close. He doesn’t waste any more time and pulls his fingers out with a loud plop—your arousal coating them in a thin layer, shining under the dimmed lights.
Without hesitation, he brings his fingers to his mouth, lips parting just enough to suck both of his fingers inside. You hear him growl in satisfaction, eyes fluttering close and open to train on you. He never breaks the eye contact, not until he’s licked every inch of his fingers covered in you.
“Fuck, you taste even better than I imagined you would,” he rasps, smiling wide as he pulls his fingers out with a loud pop. A string of spit connects his lips to his fingers, stretching till it breaks in the air.
Your hips twitch with an useless plea, and watching you, Mingi chuckles darkly, the sound vibrates from his chest as he leans down to grip your thighs harder and spreads them wider. His fingers are bruising, holding you open to him and for his hungry gaze to feast on your glistening cunt. Your arms slide off his shoulders and fall to your side, hands fisting into the sheets beneath you. The mattress has a wet patch from your drenched cunt, your arousal leaking consistently.
“Look at you,” he mumbles under his breath, voice dipping down a baritone, “so helpless under me—so willing to—still thinking about him, Seongmi-ah?”
You shake your head and whimper, weakly bringing one of your hands to his wrist, “Mingi…please…”
“Please what, darling?” his vaguely wide smirk dithers to a frown, and he clicks his tongue, as if annoyed, “well, since you’re asking me so nicely…”
He trails off, reaching his other hand out for the knife in the tray by the bed; you squeeze your hand tighter around his wrist of the hand he doesn’t move from your thigh. When the anticipation and intentions clash, you realise what he’s trying to do. Mingi holds the knife under the light, the sharp blade glints once, then twice before he brings to your inner thigh, dangerously close to your throbbing cunt. You squirm, nerves jolting with a reflex that asks you to run instead, however, you’re transfixed by Mingi’s eyes on you. The same dark brown ones which hold predator-like challenge in them, taunting you, unlike the warmth they had back when he was cleaning you up.
Mingi switching between his two personalities was really smooth; one moment you could tell he was trying his best to control his urges, the next he let the same control slip and snap, making him commit to what his desires are. You’ve always wanted to play with the devil—not Mingi—your devil, Yunho. It was a known fact that Yunho wouldn’t tolerate any of what you’re doing with his best friend, but did it concern you? No. Maybe in the slightest. You weren’t moved by it whatsoever. If this was a way of him testing your loyalty to him, then you know by agreeing to Mingi and conforming to your own urges, you’ve already signed your death certificate.
“Fuck…!” you gasp loudly when Mingi’s cold blade drags up a line along your inner thigh, “Mingi—fuck—wait…”
Fear and anxiety causes for your body to shudder, for your eyes to close shut your thighs to clench—but Mingi keeps you open with one hand, and pressing himself between them. He flattens the blade on your clit, pressing as hard as he could, till you saw stars in the back of your eyes and almost caught your breath in your throat. With deliberate care and extra patience, he ground the blade in circles, trapping your throbbing clit under it.
“Wait—wait for what, precious?” he pushes himself closer to you, chest brushing yours, the mere friction sending shivers to your sensitive nipples, “you don’t expect me to wait—I’ve waited long enough.”
Pressing the blade harder against your swollen clit, grinding slow circles, he makes sure the sharp edge is angled in a way to keep from tearing your skin. But the threat is heavy—one wrong word and he might do something he’s not supposed to. Every rotation sends sparks of pleasure and pain shoot up your spine.
“Fuck—fuck—Mingi just—be careful.” You breathe out.
“Don’t worry,” he grumbles, continuing his ministrations, “I’ve done this few times before. I won’t nick you. You’re too precious for that, Seongmi-ah.”
Before you could say anything, the tight, coiling sensation returns to pit of your stomach, weighing you down further on the flattened edge of his blade and you whimper loud enough to spur him on. Concise circles slowly begin to disperse and vanish, Mingi pulls the blade away from you and tosses it aside, letting it clatter against the floor. He replaces the cold haze of the blade with the warmth of his mouth.
“Ah—fuck…!” you immediately slap one hand over your mouth and tangle the other one in his hair. “Hmmmpf—fuck—Mingi…” moans muffled by your hand still reach him and they only encourage him.
His lips are sealed around your swollen and throbbing clit, sucking and grazing it with his teeth as subtly as he could. The soft and tender touches delve into rougher and more aggressive bites and licks; his tongue swipes in circle and then press harder, setting your nerves on fire. Your body shudders and you couldn’t control yourself; your breathing shatters your lungs, heaving your chest and arching your back when the edge of ecstasy slowly dissipates under your skin. Tugging tightly at his hair and pushing head harder between your legs, you groan and chant his name in a series of breaths before crashing down altogether.
The sensation is remarkable, sheer bliss taking over every sense of your body before it reaches a peak and makes you see stars in your head. Mingi continues sucking on your clit, tongue swiping out occasionally to taste your arousal seeping through, while you come undone, breaking down with every single lick of his tongue. Your walls flutter around nothing, clenching so hard it almost blinds you to a certain sting on your soaking folds. The pleasure takes over, hitting you like a bucket of cold water before Mingi’s tongue warms you up again.
Breathless, you let your hand slip away from your mouth to wipe the tears from your cheeks. You didn’t realise how impactful the orgasm was, not until you felt a stream of tears rolling down your cheek. Mingi doesn’t pull away, even as your walls spasm for a few more times and eventually come to a rest—he continues eating you out, letting his tongue lick a stripe up your slit before attaching his lips back on your clit. The pleasant feeling of his suckles overrides your senses and soon it becomes a little too much to bear. Overstimulation was never really your cup of tea, but the way he’s doing it, you might have to reconsider.
Pressing the tip of his tongue one last time on your clit, he licks down your slit and plunges it deep into you. A low grumble of satisfaction and elation vibrates in his chest when he prods at your walls. Your fingers twist and turn in his hair, not bothered if you hurt him by pulling on the nifty strands too much. You were certainly lost in the rapture, your body had never been this eager to have a man’s head between your legs.
“Fuck…Mingi…” that’s all you’ve been murmuring and blabbing for the past hour, only because you’re unsure how else you’d address this between you two. “That’s enough—that’s really enough—ah! You’re killing me…!”
Mingi chuckles against your soaking cunt, the low juddering of his sound sending a jolt of absolute pleasure through your overstimulated body. He thrusts this tongue into your dripping hole, letting your walls squelch and flutter around him while he presses his nose on your clit. Setting a brutal rhythm of his tongue, he fucks you relentlessly and intentionally, with a purpose of getting you off again. The second orgasm isn’t as impactful as the first one, but it’s still something you weren’t expecting at all. Your walls spasm and try to suck his tongue deeper into your cunt, your clit throbbing and pulsating, while you throw your head back and cry his name out.
“Mingi…!”
Your gaze follows an imaginary line on the floor to the wall of weapons; guns, swords, machetes, and various other things have you trembling already. In a wicked way, they remind you of the most grotesque and daunting few hours of being chased by him in the woods. The phantom fear resurfaces and causes your body to twitch without your control. Recounting the moments reels you back to the thrill you felt, and you grow wetter against Mingi’s tongue. Mind fuzzy and aching with overstimulation, you tug your hand in his hair this time to pull him off of you, but he doesn’t budge. Mingi’s tongue continues to fuck into you, nose toying with your clit as his warm breath only tips you further into madness.
Disappointment leaves a void in your chest when he pulls away from you, tongue sliding right out as he does an resting against your throbbing clit. Through your vision, albeit it being blurred around the edges, you catch a red light blinking in the corner of the room, towards the left side of the wall with the weapons on display. For a moment, dreads licks up your spine and a heavy, sentimental doubt comes alive in your mind—was someone keeping an eye on you? And if it was, why was it Yunho? Your chest convulses, body melting into the spasms and sheer terror from the newly gathered piece of information.
Astonishingly, Mingi hauls your body up with little to no strength, arms under you, fingers on your back. You straddle his lap, still comprehending the blurring sight of the weapon wall and the little blinking red light. Mingi’s arms slide up your back, fingers tracing your shoulder blades then running down the length of your arms to bring them around his shoulders. His eyes don’t leave yours, assessing the darkness in your eyes with a newfound curiosity before dies to a bottomless pit of hunger and despair.
“Enough? Precious—you don’t get to decide what’s enough for you.” He laughs, catching the unmissable tattoo on your left tit—the lone heart with Yunho’s initials in it. “Where did you get this done?” he brings his index finger to trace the outline of the heart, “Yunho inked it on you, didn’t he?”
You nod, taking a deep breath to appease the coiling strain under your skin and his finger.
“I’ll carve my initials on you too, the same way he—” he pauses, sliding his fingers down to your abdomen where the fading scars and scabs of the cuts Yunho made litter your skin, “—the same way he carves you out with himself. You like it, right, Seongmi-ah. Like it when his blade splits your skin and makes you bleed, don’t you?”
You barely are able to make a sound when Mingi’s fingers dig into your flesh. It didn’t come off as envy, perhaps an edge of possession marked with tragic affection. Mingi’s arms wrap around your waist, pulling you as close as he could, as much as the space between you two allowed him to; when you were smushed against his chest, he lets out a predatory growl following it with a snicker.
“You’re mine as much as you’re his.”
unhinged yungi… delicious
