synopsis: Girl next door helps her favorite nine-year-old CEO run a lemonade stand. Accidentally seduces the CEO’s hot older brother in the process. There’s glitter, emotional repression, and a very judgmental poodle. warnings: smut (unprotected. don't do this kids). Seonghwa has a little sister with a huge age gap between him and his sister (made up character) and she's a COCK BLOCK!!!! fingering. Oral (m receiving)
genre: fluff, smut pairing: seonghwa X fem reader (referred lightly as a girl, and has female biological organs). wc: 8.5k
a/n: written in < 3 days out of pure horniness and desperation oopsi I WAS LOCKED TF INNN no beta we die like men (when have I ever beta read my fics lmao). Also my first ever formal hwa fic! it should have been reverse Isekai months ago but I abandoned it lmao i should stop writing about hwa only and write for other members but it's hard because I like him so much. Anyway can you believe in order to avoid writing one fic I wrote three drabbles and TWO full fics? Insane. I can't wait for lemon drop. Morse code scene inspired from Taylor Swift but make it Morse code instead of signs and sorry if it's incorrect I used Google and whatever their first reccomended website it. I don't even know where the plot was going lmfao. I should really write for other members, wdyt of an ai san or ai yunho? Like they're human but not quite. Yeah I'll stfu now (might write a spin off with foodplay if anyone's interested...)
Idk what the plot is even but fuck it we ball
i.
Pop quiz time: what do you do when your cute next door neighbour comes to help his adorable little sister sell lemonades during summer break?
a.) offer some help
b.) become a loyal customer (support local businesses)
c.) fuck said cute neighbour (the brother, not the sister Jesus fucking Christ)
Correct answer: all of the above.
It all started when Sora, the next door little angel that sometimes come to visit because her parents left your parents to babysit her when they're busy (terrible idea, heh) decided that for summer, she's going to be making a lemonade stand.
Now you're familiar with Sora— She's an adorable nine year old with rose tinted glasses and probably the human personification of a damn coil the way she bounces every second. Sometimes she comes to visit when you're on break from school, and spending time with her is always fun.
The person you're not familiar with however, is her older brother— Seonghwa. From what you know, he's around your age but went to a university overseas so he isn't home much. You've exchanged a few polite nods with him, nothing much. One thing for sure though, he's damn fine. High cheekbones, high nose bridge, sultry eyes and plump lips. Ever since the Park family moved next door three years ago, you've been interested in him. Alas, your efforts to get to know said fine shit is cut short for obvious reasons (cough him moving overseas cough).
So being the damn angel you are, when walking your dog Sparkles (the damn poodle won't stop barking at nonexistent squirrels and you swear to God she's probably possessed) and spotting a small booth with a cardboard sign, the words “LEMONADE” scribbled with a black marker you decided to saunter over. Sora perks up upon seeing you and she immediately sits up straighter.
“seven dollars for one cup, Sora?” You comment upon seeing the price taped to a jug full of lemonade on the stand. “Recession” she hums “mummy said I won't make much if I sell it for five, but I'll sell it to you for five. Just don't tell anyone” she beams. “Do you want one?”
Before you could even respond, a voice came from behind Sora. You didn't even notice Seonghwa was hauling another jug of lemonade until he grunts. “Oh. Hi.” You greet him and he flashes you a smile “You're the next door girl right? Mom told me all about you and how kind you are to Sora. Thanks for taking care of her” he smiles, plump lips stretching to the side to reveal pearly white teeth. “No problem, Sora is an angel” you smile at Seonghwa as Sora pours you a cup and you lean in to sip it.
You flinched immediately— the damn thing tasted like battery acid. But nevertheless, you held it in and smiled at them both. You'll never say to Sora’s face how her lemonade is less preferable than toilet cleaner.
“Mm! Got a unique taste to it” you gave a commercially fake smile towards Sora who, bless her, believed it. She beamed. You don't exactly believe in lying to kids, but you don't want to be the one to break to her that her lemonade tasted like shit. Seonghwa however, gave you a pitiful smile as you handed Sora a crisp five dollar bill and left (because Sparkles was barking at nothing again and tugging on the leash). You pray that no one suffers food poisoning from this.
It rained that night— More than a rain, actually. It was a storm. Wind was howling like an abandoned lover, as rain poured mercilessly from the sky. You were unbothered, snuggling with Sparkles in bed as you binge watched another season of The Resident.
The aftermath of said thunderstorm however, was no joke. Apparently Sora forgot to put her lemonade stand in yesterday after poisoning five aunties who were talking their dogs on a walk and approximately four other kids with her battery acid, er— lemonade. It was early in the morning, cold dew kissing the air as you tugged gently on the leash to ensure Sparkles isn't doing weird any weird shit when you see what mark the storm left on Sora’s little cardboard box sign.
Glitter was running, soggy cardboard, and smudged letters. You stood there, mouth agape when the front door clicks open and Sora appears. A small gasp left her mouth as she saw what happened last night, her bottom lip quivered as she stormed back inside. Not long after, Seonghwa showed up. A plastic bag in his hand as he shook his head.
“I told her I'd help her haul the entire thing in yesterday. But she refuses, said she'd like to start selling first thing today.” He sighs while picking up the soggy cardboard and placing it inside the plastic bag, “she's really sensitive about the things she works hard on” he grunts as he hauls the bag on his back. “Been talking bout this all week long, refused any help, said that she will raise so much money for the animal shelter down the road.”
You didn't know what to say, so the both of you just stood there for a while. Not saying anything. You don't even remember what happened afterwards until you find yourself taking the leash off of Sparkles inside your house. The old dog just shakes off the feeling of the leash before scurrying towards his water bowl.
ii.
Hours later, you're on your bed. Absentmindedly thinking about Sora and her lemonade project. Your eyes trail to the window— Seonghwa’s room is right in front of yours. Most of the time it's empty, safe for the rare occasions there are guests staying over or he comes home. That's when you got an idea.
You grab a rolled-up sock from your bed and lob it toward the window across from yours.
It thuds against glass with a soft, pathetic thump. Seonghwa’s curtain twitches, then opens. He appears seconds later, shirtless (god bless), confused, blinking into the orange of the sunset like you summoned him from a nap. “Did you just throw something at my window?” You point. “Help me remake the lemonade stand.”
He stares. “You threw a sock at me for this?”
You shrug. “All my rocks are outside.”
There’s a pause. He tilts his head, amused. “Sora doesn’t want help. That’s kinda the problem. If she had let us help earlier, it wouldn’t have fallen apart like it did.”
“I know.” You pull your knees up to your chest, hugging them. “But maybe she needs to learn that asking for help isn’t a failure. That it's okay.” Seonghwa leans on the windowsill. “You really care about her, huh?”
“She’s nine. Of course I do.”
Another pause. He disappears. You think he left. But two minutes later, your doorbell rings. He’s holding a notebook, a pencil behind his ear, and a tape measure. “Okay,” he says, stepping in like it’s his house. “Cart or booth? Wood or cardboard? If we’re doing this, we’re doing it right.” You blink. “You’re just gonna barge in?” as he walks past. “You threw a sock at my head,” he deadpans, settling beside you on the floor. “We’re way past boundaries.”
You end up clearing your floor, dragging a rug aside so you can both sit cross-legged with a pencil and pad between you. Seonghwa sketches while you ramble. “Something with wheels, right? So Sora can push it. Not too heavy. Maybe with a little shelf for cookies.” He hums, focused, nodding slowly. “You think we can repurpose the bike wheels in our garage?” You blink. “You just have bike wheels lying around?” “We’re hoarders,” he says plainly, then glances at you. “But the good kind. Useful hoarders.”
By midnight, you’ve got a design. A narrow wooden cart with two big wheels in the back and a single rotating caster in the front. He says he’ll handle the frame if you take care of painting and decoration. “You’re the aesthetics department.” You point a finger at him. “And you’re the structural engineering team.” He grins. “Damn right.”
The next morning, you’re in his garage, hair tied up, covered in sawdust while he cuts planks of wood with a circular saw. You’re in charge of measuring and marking. Occasionally he looks up and murmurs things like, “Be careful,” or “You’re holding that wrong,” before gently adjusting your grip. Every time his fingers brush yours, your brain shorts out just a little. He doesn’t even notice. Or maybe he does and he’s pretending not to. You can’t tell.
He makes a dumb pun about plywood (??? Why) and you groan so hard your soul leaves your body. “Why am I helping you again?” you mutter, sanding down a wheel bracket. “Because you love Sora,” he says smoothly, reaching for the drill. “And maybe me, a little.” You freeze. He smirks. “Kidding.” You laugh too loud, awkward, trying to play it off while your face burns.
When the frame is finally done, you bring over paints and glitter from your room. You spread a tarp out on the grass and start painting together—light yellow with white trim, sun shapes and lemon doodles on the sides. You go overboard with the glitter. Seonghwa says nothing but quietly paints a lemon with sunglasses on the back panel and names it “CEO Sora.” You nearly die laughing.
At some point, music’s playing from your speaker, a playlist you forgot was queued. It’s soft indie stuff, background noise. Seonghwa’s arm is resting casually near yours. You’re both crouched low, drawing a tiny “Thank you for supporting” sign together. Your knees touch. You think you’re imagining it when he glances at you and says, “You’d make a great older sister.” You snort. “That sounds like a diss.” He shakes his head. “Nah. Just meant… you’re good with kids. Good with her.” You glance at him. He’s watching you again. His gaze is warm. Steady. You look away before your heart does something stupid.
Later, when you’re packing up the supplies, he brushes dust from your cheek. “You’ve got sawdust everywhere,” he says softly. You look up at him, your breath catching. But he pulls back like it’s nothing, like your heart didn’t just lurch. You shove a rag into his chest. “Clean yourself first, CEO Lemonade.” He laughs, low and unbothered, and it makes you want to scream into a pillow.
By evening, the cart is finished. Tomorrow, you’ll surprise Sora. Tonight, you sit on the grass with Seonghwa beside you, lemonade in one hand, cookie in the other, and try not to wonder what it’d be like if he stayed a little longer this time.
(And a selfish part of you wanted him to do so)
iii.
The next morning, you're up early, heart racing like you're about to deliver a TED talk to a room of toddlers. You and Seonghwa had rolled the finished cart into his backyard late last night, parking it beneath the cherry tree where the sunlight makes everything look a little magical. The yellow paint gleams. The glitter sparkles. “CEO Sora” beams from the back panel with his cool lemon shades. It’s stupidly cute (he's also stupidly cute today but you digress).
The hard part, though, isn't the cart. It's getting Sora out of her room. She's been quiet all morning. No bouncing, no knocking on your door, no asking for cookies or drawing requests. Just silence. Seonghwa glances up at her window and sighs. “She hasn't even touched her cereal.”
You nod slowly. “Let me try.”
You knock on her door and gently push it open. She's curled up on her bed, hugging her favorite stuffed raccoon. Her eyes flick toward you, then away again. “Hi, bunny,” you say softly, walking in and sitting at the edge of the bed. “We want to show you something.”
She shakes her head, face half-hidden behind the raccoon. “I don’t want to do lemonade anymore.”
“I know,” you whisper. “But… it’s not about lemonade anymore.”
A pause. Then a tiny, reluctant, “...what is it about then?”
“It’s about not giving up.”
That gets her attention—just a little. Enough for you to hold out your hand and wait. A long moment passes. Then, finally, Sora slides off the bed and takes your hand without a word.
You lead her outside.
The second the cart comes into view, she freezes. Eyes wide. Her hand tightens around yours. She gasps audibly, like you just unveiled a unicorn. “Wh—” she breathes. “Is that…”
Seonghwa steps out from beside the tree, wiping his hands on a rag. “Made it just for you,” he says. “Well, we did. She designed it. I just… didn’t cut off my fingers in the process.”
Sora walks forward slowly, like she’s afraid it’ll disappear. She runs her hand along the edge, traces the lemon doodles, the cookie shelf, the sign that reads “Sora’s Summer Sips 2.0.”
Then she turns to both of you, eyes shining but hesitant. “Why?”
Seonghwa kneels in front of her, soft smile on his face. “Because you worked hard, kiddo. And it sucks when things fall apart. But it’s okay to ask for help when they do. You don’t have to do everything by yourself, alright?”
She bites her lip. Looks at the cart. Then at you. Then back at Seonghwa. “But I messed up. I didn’t want anyone to help. That’s why it got ruined.”
“And now?” you ask gently.
She’s quiet for a second. Then nods.
“I want help,” she says. “Please help me.”
You smile.
Seonghwa messes up her hair with a grin. “Attagirl. CEO mode: reactivated.
And just like that, she beams. Like she’d never cried in the rain at all.
Time for second phase of the plan: Assuring that she distributes lemonade this time and NOT battery acid.
iv.
The next day, Phase Two begins: Operation Make Sure Sora Isn't Accidentally Selling Citrus Poison.
You're in Seonghwa’s kitchen, armed with lemons, mint, strawberries, a bottle of honey, and absolutely zero confidence in your chemistry skills. Sora is seated at the counter, feet swinging, ready to reclaim her throne. She insists on squeezing the lemons herself, proudly declaring, “I have strong arms now.”
Seonghwa’s on cookie duty, tying an apron around his waist like he was born to be somebody’s hot husband. You pretend not to notice. You absolutely fail.
You whip out a notepad. “So. Our baseline is—”
“Battery acid,” Seonghwa cuts in, tossing chocolate chips into a bowl. “We’re working our way up from battery acid.”
You roll your eyes. “We could’ve just let her keep poisoning the community.”
“But then we wouldn’t have this quality time,” he says easily, grinning. You freeze, but he’s already back to mixing dough like he didn’t just say something that made your stomach flip.
You test your first batch with strawberries and honey. Seonghwa sips it and raises a brow. “It’s giving... healthy cafeteria water.”
“Unbelievable,” you mutter. “I am trying.”
“No, no. I taste the effort. It's delicious... adjacent.”
You throw a dish towel at his face.
Sora giggles.
Two more attempts later, you land on something decent: lemon, mint, honey, and a splash of soda water. Seonghwa takes one sip and goes suspiciously quiet. You blink. “What now?”
He lowers the cup and looks at you. “That’s actually good.”
You frown. “Like, actually actually?”
He nods. “Like… I’d buy this. If you smiled at me while handing it to me, I’d buy two.”
You stare.
Then laugh.
Then go right back to scribbling ratios like he didn’t say something wildly flirtatious.
He watches you for a beat. “You’re cute when you ignore compliments, you know.” You glance up, confused. “Was that a compliment?”His smile falters for half a second—just a beat. “Yeah. But never mind.”
You look back down, cheeks warm. You’re terrified of reading into it. Because what if you’re wrong? What if this is just him being nice and you’re projecting because he’s hot and you’ve had a dumb attraction for years? Heck it's not even a crush— you're not close enough with him go call it a crush. You’ve had enough of letting your heart run wild.
So you pretend not to hear him. You hand him the next cup instead. “Tell me if this one tastes like hospital lemonade,” you say.
He takes it silently.
But later, as you’re baking brownies and he helps you clean the mixing bowl with two fingers and a grin, you hear him murmur, “God, you're dangerous.”
You pretend not to hear that, too.
Sora insists on helping with the cookies the second she smells the dough. One moment, Seonghwa’s carefully brushing flour off your cheek with the world’s softest touch—fingertips slow, deliberate, thumb lingering near your jaw like he’s about to say something he’s been holding in since forever—and the next, there’s a loud thud, a stool dragged across the tiles, and a very determined nine-year-old climbing up between you both like Moses parting the Red Sea (hello, junior cockblock).
“I’m head chef,” Sora declares, tying her tiny apron with the solemnity of a master baker. “You two are my assistants.”
You and Seonghwa exchange a look. His mouth twitches, amused. You can tell he was just about to do something—say something, maybe. The kind of thing that makes your breath catch and your brain glitch. But now he’s reaching for the chocolate chips obediently, shoulders slouched in mock submission.
“Yes, chef,” he says.
You stifle a grin and mimic him. “At your service, chef.”
Sora immediately starts throwing ingredients in like she’s summoning a storm. Flour, sugar, half a stick of butter—you lose track. She’s chaos incarnate, narrating her every move like a baking YouTuber while Seonghwa keeps trying (and failing) to get a word in. Every time he turns toward you—eyes soft, voice lower—Sora loudly interrupts.
“do we need baking powder?”
“Seonghwa, can I taste the dough?!”
“Wait! I wanna crack the egg—NOOO you DID IT WITHOUT ME—”
You’re both choking on laughter within minutes. Seonghwa gives up flirting entirely and just bumps your shoulder lightly every now and then when Sora isn’t looking. Once, you catch him just... staring. Not in a weird way. Just this quiet, fond expression while you wipe frosting off Sora’s nose. You glance at him and whisper, “What?” but he only shrugs, smirking.
“I’m thinking about filing for demotion,” he says. “Being a junior assistant. Less chaos.”
“Denied,” you reply. “You’re too tall to escape this mess.”
Later, Sora declares the cookies “scientifically perfect” and insists on making heart shapes with the leftover dough. You’re pressing one flat with your thumbs when Seonghwa leans down beside you, his arm brushing yours. “If I ever ask you out,” he murmurs under his breath, “are you going to pretend you didn’t hear that too?”
You freeze. For a moment, the world quiets. But Sora immediately launches into a rant about how heart-shaped cookies bake faster because “love is lighter,” and Seonghwa just sighs and goes back to rolling dough.
You never answer him.
And he doesn’t push.
But when you hand him a cookie later, heart-shaped, slightly burnt, made with chaos and too much sugar—he takes a bite, smiles softly, and says, “Tastes like a maybe.”
The clock ticks past 11:30 when you tape the last cookie bag shut. The kitchen smells like vanilla, butter, and sweet exhaustion. The table is a warzone of ribbon scraps and sticker sheets, but somehow, between the two of you—it’s organized chaos. Seonghwa leans over the counter, sleeves pushed up, a rogue smear of flour on his cheek that he still hasn’t noticed. Sora’s finally asleep upstairs, curled into a sugar-coma burrito with her raccoon plush. You’d both tried to send her to bed two hours ago. She’d only gone after confirming you’d save her a heart-shaped cookie with extra sprinkles.
You exhale and stretch your back, groaning quietly as the muscles protest. “I haven’t done this much arts and crafts since year eight science fair.” Seonghwa chuckles, dropping another finished bag into the box. “Let me guess. You made a volcano.”
“Please. I was an overachiever. I made a solar system diorama. With rotating planets.”
He raises an impressed brow. “Hot.”
You snort. “I’ll pretend that wasn’t sarcasm.”
“It wasn’t,” he says, quieter. “I think it’s cute you were like that.”
You glance at him, a little off-balance from how sincere that came out. He’s looking at you again. head tilted, eyes darker in the low kitchen light. The soft hum of the fridge fills the silence between you. You suddenly feel too aware of how quiet the house is. How late it is. How close he’s standing now.
He clears his throat, pulling back a bit. “It’s been nice… being home,” he murmurs, picking up the tape again but not really using it. “It’s weird, though. I feel like I never saw you much before.”
You raise a brow, fiddling with a twist tie. “You moved here three years ago and then immediately disappeared overseas. You’re like a part-time ghost.”
He laughs under his breath. “I guess I didn’t time it well.”
“You didn’t. I thought you were imaginary for the first six months.”
There’s a pause. You don’t look up, but you feel it. The shift in his body language. The way he’s facing you more directly now. His voice drops, softer, lower.
“Well, I see you now.”
You glance up, blinking. “Huh?”
His eyes hold yours. “I said, I see you now.”
The air stills.
You blink again, heart thudding. He’s still holding a cookie bag, but his hands aren’t moving. And then, slowly, casually—he steps closer. Just one step. But it’s enough. You’re between him and the counter now, your back to the table. He doesn’t touch you, not yet. Just leans in a little, gaze flickering between your eyes and your lips.
“You keep pretending you don’t notice,” he murmurs, voice brushing against your neck. “But you do.”
“Notice what?” you ask, too fast, too breathless.
He doesn’t answer.
Instead, his hand brushes your waist lightly, barely there. And then you feel it: his lips, warm and feather-light, pressing a kiss to the curve of your neck. Not rushed. Not clumsy. Slow. Intentional. Like he’s been wanting to do it for weeks and only just let himself now.
Your whole body goes still.
Your brain promptly blue-screens.
He pulls back only a little, breath still warm on your skin. “Tell me if I’m wrong,” he whispers.
You don’t say anything.
You can’t.
You are the color red, you are emergency alarms, you are all-caps-texting-your-best-friend-at-2am energy.
And then,a shuffle upstairs.
Tiny feet.
A sleepy voice down the hallway:
“Hwa… I want milk…”
Seonghwa blinks. You both freeze.
He steps back like someone hit a reset button. You whip around, yanking open the fridge like it personally betrayed you, pretending to grab the milk like your heart isn’t punching through your ribs.
From behind you, he chuckles softly, rubbing the back of his neck. “Guess we’re back to reality.”
You don’t look at him.
You’re too busy trying not to pass out.
v.
Moral dilemma time;
You lie in bed, staring at the ceiling like it personally offended you. The fan clicks overhead. The house is quiet again, and Sora’s probably curled up in her tangle of blankets dreaming about lemonade domination. And all you can think about is the way Seonghwa said, “You see me now.”
You did. You do.
You’ve always seen him—even if it was only in flashes. Hauling suitcases out of a car, sleeves rolled, hair damp with sweat. Helping Sora carry an inflatable pool across the lawn with that easy, capable energy that made your stomach flip even then. Sometimes he’d wave. Sometimes he didn’t notice you at all. And that was fine. You were just the girl next door. Babysitter. Friendly face (god. How annoying, his existence that is. Not in a bad way...)
Not… this.
And now you’re spiraling. Because sure, he kissed your neck, but what does that mean? And even if he meant something by it, can you let it mean something? You care about Sora. She's not just some neighbor's sibling, she's your kid on some days. You cut her crusts and helped her rehearse a talent show dance. What happens if this goes somewhere and then doesn’t? Would it be weird? Would she feel weird?
You groan, grabbing your pillow and smashing it over your face. Great. Fantastic. You’re a grown adult, and yet somehow this feels like the most confusing sleepover-level crush you’ve ever had.
You wanted him. You want him still. But now you’re wondering if you’re being selfish for it.
Because what if loving him ruins the thing that matters most?
Not the flirting.
Not the neck kiss.
But Sora’s little world.
And you're not sure you're willing to risk that.
vii.
The lemonade stand opens at 11.
By 11:17, you're almost sold out of brownies.
You hadn't expected the response to be this wild, sure, your little Instagram promo got a few shares, but apparently “CEO Sora’s Summer Sips” hit the local mom group circuit like wildfire. You’ve got toddlers in crocs, dads in visors, middle-aged ladies with lap dogs—everyone is here.
Sora's glowing. Literally glowing. She's got sunglasses on and a little apron with “Boss” embroidered across the front. Every time someone compliments the cart, she says, “My staff made it,” like you and Seonghwa are her unpaid interns. She's thriving.
You're... slightly dying. Not because of the heat. Not because of the stress. But because Seonghwa's been next to you all morning, helping hand out cups and pass cookies, acting like he didn’t kiss your neck twelve hours ago in the same house you’re both now selling snacks from.
He’s calm. Charming. Helping Sora count change, holding a paper cup in that way that makes his fingers look stupidly nice. You, on the other hand, have dropped the same bag of cookies three times and nearly called a customer “mom.”
And then, like a cursed prophecy, a woman in her mid-forties with a giant sunhat and an attitude rolls up. She glances at the menu and scoffs.
“This lemonade’s five dollars? That’s ridiculous. It’s just lemons and water.”
You open your mouth to respond, but Seonghwa gets there first. He doesn’t raise his voice. He doesn’t roll his eyes. He just smiles politely, steps forward slightly, and says, “You're welcome to make your own at home. But this one’s made with care. And mint from our neighbor’s garden. And emotional labor. Lots of emotional labor.”
The Karen glares at him.
He smiles wider.
She mutters something under her breath and walks off with a dramatic huff. You watch her go, stunned, and then look at him.
“Did you just... politely obliterate her?”
He shrugs, handing the next kid a cookie. “She underestimated Sora’s empire. That’s on her.”
You stare at him. He glances at you. You immediately look away, pretending to care deeply about the placement of a napkin.
He’s too smooth. Too tall. Too... aware of what he’s doing.
And you’re spiraling again.
Because the kiss happened. And he hasn’t mentioned it. And neither have you.
And now he’s out here defending overpriced lemonade like a knight with a really nice jawline and a soft voice and the ability to kill a Karen with grace.
It’s fine. Everything is fine. You're not melting into a puddle of conflicted thirst and emotional repression.
“this was fun!” Sora chirps, tugging on your sleeve. “Can we do this again next weekend?”
You force a smile, ignoring the way Seonghwa glances at you out of the corner of his eye.
“Of course,” you say, smiling at her. “Anything for the little CEO.”
vii.
The last day of the stand ended with confetti cake cookies and a lemonade toast.
Sora had counted the earnings herself, nose scrunched in concentration, and walked proudly into the animal shelter with a stuffed envelope of cash in both hands. She’d handed it over like a diplomat making peace with a foreign nation. The workers cried. She beamed. And on the way home, she tugged on your hand and whispered, “Thanks. You helped me make people smile.” Then she gave you a tiny plastic cup of lemonade and hugged you so tightly her glitter stuck to your shirt.
You cried a little in the bathroom during break. You’ll never admit that out loud.
Now that you’re home. Your room’s dark, your legs are star-fished across the sheets, and Sparkles is snoring somewhere under the blanket at your feet like a gremlin. You’re lying there, staring at the ceiling, heart full in the weird way that only happens when something good ends. The kind of full that leaves a little ache.
The flour fight. The cookie assembly line. The stupid amount of glitter you’re still finding under your nails. Seonghwa laughing with cookie dough on his nose. You felt like a kid again. Like someone cracked open time and gave you a soft place to exist for a while.
You roll over with a sigh.
And then you see it.
A flicker.
From across the small patch of grass and fence seperating your house from the Parks.
Your curtains are drawn half open, and from Seonghwa’s window—faint, but consistent—you spot a light. On. Off. Off. On. Flash. Pause. Flash.
You blink. Sit up a little. It’s definitely his phone flashlight. But he’s not waving. You thought he was doing something, raving? At this hour? Alone?
He’s...doing it in patterns.
Your brain jolts. No way. You recognise this (thanks, girl scouts!)
You grab your laptop, fingers flying as you pull up a Morse code translator.
.. / -- .. ... ... / -.-- --- ..-
You type. Translate.
I miss you.
Your breath hitches.
You glance back. He’s standing there in the dimness, hoodie half-zipped, phone in hand, like this is normal.
You type back a message and flash your own phone flashlight from the edge of your curtain.
Because I have literally lost my mind every time you smiled or laughed or voiced my jokes across the fence.
Your hands are trembling slightly. The phone feels hot in your grip.
You bite your lip and flash one word back.
.... --- .-.. -..
Hold.
You slip out of bed barefoot, heart thundering, nerves on fire.
And across the fence, Seonghwa’s light finally goes dark. And yet you refuse to let this fire die like the other times. You crouch by your window again, the phone cold in your hand this time.
You could leave it. Let it die in the quiet. Pretend the moment passed.
But the ache’s too real. The way he looked at you in the kitchen. The neck kiss. His stupid calm voice when he shut that Karen down. His hands, his laugh, the way he always made room for Sora in every conversation—even when his eyes never quite left you.
There were so many fucking times I wanted to get fucking serious. But it’s you. It’s always been you. And I want to kiss you senseless, like lose all right.
You stare. The words blur. You’re clutching the phone too tight.
Tell me you don’t run away from me, because I love her first.
You stare at your phone for a long moment after sending your last message.
Fingers trembling, eyes fixed on the darkened window across from yours. The Morse code's gone quiet. No more flickers. No more signals. Just that open-ended silence, like he dropped a truth and disappeared into it.
You swallow, heart pounding in your ears.
Then you type one more line. Phone flashlight filling the dark like lightning during storm. Just a message. Just a whisper across the quiet street.
“Come over.”
No reply.
Seconds stretch long, sticky with anticipation. You shift on your bed, Sparkles still softly snoring at the foot, totally unaware of your mental breakdown. You start to think you’ve misread everything. Maybe he didn’t mean it. Maybe you just—
click.
You hear it.
Across the street, his balcony door slides open.
You scramble up, already pushing your window up with both hands. The night air rushes in, warm and thick. You lean on the ledge, eyes wide as he steps into view—barefoot, in a hoodie, hair messy like he’s been pacing. No phone. Just him.
He looks up.
You nod once.
And that’s all it takes.
He doesn’t say a word as he scales the ledges between the two houses. You've always thought it was stupid how wide your bedroom window was, but right now? Right now it's made for this. For him. For the second he plants his foot on the inside and climbs in, gaze locked to yours, face unreadable but burning.
The second he’s inside, your heart stutters.
You open your mouth to say something—but you don’t get the chance.
His hands are already cupping your face. His mouth crashes into yours with months of restraint finally snapping, kissing you like he’s starved for it—like he waited too long and he’s done waiting. You gasp, and his fingers tangle into your hair, pulling, angling, devouring. He kisses you like he’s memorizing the shape of your mouth, your jaw, the sound you make when he bites just a little.
It’s fast. Then it’s slow. Then it’s desperate.
You stumble back onto the bed, dragging him with you, and he follows like it’s instinct. His hoodie’s already on the floor, your hands already slipping under his shirt. He mouths at your throat again—same spot he kissed last night—only this time there's no interruption. No Sora. No milk.
Just his breath against your skin.
His voice, low and wrecked.
“I wanted this so fucking bad.”
You arch against him. “Then take it.”
And he does. His hand slides down your waist like it’s been there a hundred times before—possessive, certain—until it curves around your ass and grips. Firm. Deep. He groans against your neck when you jolt in surprise, letting out the softest little sound, somewhere between a gasp and a choked moan.
Then
Smack.
The contact stings just enough to make you arch into him with a breathy, startled, “Hwa—!”
He grins against your skin, wicked and low, as his teeth nip your neck, not gentle, but not cruel either. Just enough to make your skin bloom with heat. “Wanted to do that for a while,” he murmurs, voice dark with hunger, lips dragging slow against the curve of your throat. “Every time you walked away from me. Every time you bent over to grab something and didn’t even notice.”
Your breath catches. “That’s because I wasn’t trying to—”
“I know,” he cuts in, biting again. “That’s what made it worse.”
His hand squeezes again, fingers digging into the flesh like he’s laying claim. You squirm—eyes fluttering, lips parted, and he just hums against you like your reaction feeds him. Like the sound you made is something he’s going to tease you about later, when your body isn’t pressed so tightly against his, begging for more.
“You always make that face when I touch you here?” he whispers, another sharp smack punctuating the question.
You can’t even answer.
Not when his mouth is back on you like he plans to ruin your name from the inside out.
viii.
You’re already breathless when his hand finds the hem of your sleep shorts, fingers toying with the waistband like he’s asking permission—but also like he already knows the answer. He’s still in that stupidly hot basketball tee, sweat sticking to the neckline, his grey sweatpants riding low on his hips. Everything about him is unfair. Everything about this is reckless.
“Wait,” you whisper as he starts to tug down, only because—
“Rrrrgh.”
Both of you freeze.
You whip your head toward the foot of the bed where Sparkles, your tiny mop of a poodle, is slowly rising from his blanket nest with a low, suspicious growl—hackles raised like Seonghwa is an intruder and not, you know, the man actively making out with his owner.
Seonghwa blinks. “...I forgot he was there.”
Sparkles bares tiny teeth.
You groan, slipping off the bed to scoop him up. “Not now, Sparkles. Go patrol the hallway or harass my siblings or something. Please.”
You pad barefoot to the door, open it quietly, and place Sparkles in the hallway like he’s being exiled from the kingdom. “Go. Go be judgemental somewhere else.”
He snorts—but trots away, dignity intact.
You close the door, click the lock.
And immediately yelp when hands grab your hips from behind and yank you back against him.
“Where were we?” Seonghwa murmurs against your ear, already dragging your shorts, and your underwear—with them down your thighs in one smooth pull. He kisses the back of your neck again, teeth grazing that same spot that made you melt before, and his voice drops into something that makes your knees wobble. “Oh, right. Here.”
You can barely think.
His hands slide over your skin like he’s trying to memorize it—thumbs grazing the soft dip of your hips before he spreads you open from behind, slow and deliberate, like he’s savoring the view. He groans, low and wrecked, like he’s seeing something he’s dreamed about and it’s somehow better in real life.
“Fuck,” he breathes. “You’re so sweet. Like—messy jam. Sticky. Dripping. I want to ruin my hands on you.”
You whimper.
And then you feel his fingers brush between your legs.
Firm. Teasing.
Sliding through like he’s checking how ready you are, and humming when he finds his answer.
You press your forehead to the bed, trembling.
And Seonghwa?
He just chuckles darkly behind you, settling between your thighs like he’s planning to stay awhile.
Gone was the sweet older brother to Sora.
Gone were the terrible jokes and the crooked, dimpled smile that used to make you laugh from across the lemonade stand.
This man—this version of Seonghwa—was unrecognizable.
He was on his knees behind you now, his breath ghosting hot across the back of your thighs, hands gripping your hips like he owned them. His eyes were fixed between your legs with a look that sent shivers up your spine. Not playful. Not teasing. Just hungry. Reverent. Like he’d found something sacred and filthy and his.
“Fuck,” he murmured, voice thick and low, thumb spreading you open just a little more. “You really let me in here like this, huh?”
You could barely respond. Your cheek was pressed to the bed, knees parted, hands gripping the sheets like they’d keep you grounded.
He didn’t wait long.
Two fingers slipped inside—smooth, slow, curling just right—and your breath hitched, hips jerking at the sudden stretch.
He groaned behind you.
“God, you’re tight,” he breathed, moving his hand just enough to hear the sound your body made around him, slick and obscene. “You feel like—fuck, like you were made for me.”
You moaned, biting your lip hard enough to hurt, the burn and stretch already drowning you in heat.
He curled his fingers again, this time deliberately, dragging them along a spot that made your spine arch and your legs tremble.
“Ohhh, there she is,” he whispered, lips brushing your lower back. “Thought I lost you for a second.”
His other hand slid up your back, grounding, calming—almost tender—as he leaned over you, voice in your ear.
“Can I keep going?” he asked softly, like a man already past the point of return. “Can I make you forget your name a little?”
And God help you—
You nodded.
His pace shifts without warning—gentle fingers turning rougher, deeper, faster.
You gasp, the sound ripped from your throat as his long, slender fingers drive into you with intent. Every movement is precise but merciless, like he knows exactly what he's doing. Like all that skill—the way he mixed dough, tightened bolts on Sora’s cart, handled everything with quiet perfection—was meant for this. For you.
His free hand presses into your lower back, keeping you arched as he thrusts his fingers harder, knuckles slick as they drag against that spot that makes your legs shake and your voice crack.
“Fuck, Hwa—!” you whimper, barely able to hold yourself up.
He groans behind you, forehead resting between your shoulder blades for a moment as he watches how you fall apart around him.
“You like this?” he mutters, voice ragged. “Of course you do. Look at how fucking wet you are—dripping down my hand like you’ve been waiting for this all summer.”
You sob his name, back arching helplessly when he curls his fingers hard, sharp, relentless. The slick sound of him working you over fills the room—so messy, so obscene, and so impossibly hot.
He leans close again, mouth brushing your ear.
“These fingers built Sora’s damn cart,” he growls, dragging them deeper, faster. “And now they’re gonna make you fall apart.”
And you do.
You writhe, body trembling, thighs shaking as he fucks you on his hand like he’s trying to imprint himself into your skin. You’re dizzy, ruined, whimpering with every thrust—and still he doesn’t slow down.
Only when your walls flutter tight around him—pulsing, soaking his fingers—does he finally ease up.
Just enough to whisper, “That’s it, baby. That’s what I wanted.”
And he still hasn’t even used his mouth yet.
You’re still trembling, breath shallow, body limp across the bed like he wrung every thought out of you with his hand alone. You barely notice when he pulls his fingers out—until you hear it.
A soft, wet sound. Followed by a low hum.
You turn your head just enough to look over your shoulder.
He’s sucking his fingers.
Slowly.
Like he’s savoring every drop of you on his tongue.
He groans low in his throat, almost to himself, eyes fluttering shut like it’s that good. “Mmm,” he murmurs, licking the last of you off with a lazy swipe of his tongue. “Sweeter than the lemonade. Sweeter than the cookies. Think I’m addicted.”
Your stomach flips. Heat floods right back between your legs even though you haven’t recovered from round one.
And then he does it.
He hooks his thumbs into the waistband of his sweatpants and drags them down slowly, letting them fall past his thighs. No boxers. Just thick, flushed length springing free—hard, leaking, aching for you.
You sit up on shaky elbows, staring.
You barely think—your body moves first. You slide off the bed and sink to your knees in front of him, wide-eyed and reverent.
He freezes.
“What are you—”
You glance up, and his breath catches.
You look like sin. Knees on the floor, lips parted, face still flushed and glowing from what he just did to you.
“oh?” he chokes out, completely unraveling. “You’re seriously gonna—? Like that?”
You nod once. Innocent.
And wrap your hand around him.
He nearly buckles.
Never in a million years did you think this would happen.
Not in this room. Not like this.
Not with the boy next door—sweet, polite Seonghwa—climbing in through your window at midnight and now standing in front of you, flushed and panting while you’re on your knees, mouth full of him.
But here you are.
And he tastes like heat and salt and something heady, your tongue swirling as you take him deeper, inch by inch, letting him feel just how much you want this. Your eyes flick up to meet his—and the look on his face nearly undoes you. His hand clutches your bedsheet behind him, jaw clenched like he’s trying not to make a sound.
He’s heavy on your tongue, thick and pulsing, twitching when you suck around him with slw, filthy intent.
“Shit—” he hisses through his teeth, voice low and tight. “Fuck, baby, you can’t just—”
You hollow your cheeks and he groans, head tipping back as his other hand finds your hair, threading through it but not pushing—just holding. Grounding himself.
His thighs twitch.
He’s trying so hard to be quiet. To be good. But every time your lips slide back down, every time you take him a little deeper and hum around him like you’re savoring a lollipop, he chokes on a curse and sways forward slightly.
“Y-You’re gonna kill me,” he whispers, hips bucking the tiniest bit.
And you?
You’re already smiling around him.
Because if he thinks this is the end, he hasn’t seen anything yet.
Your hand strokes the base of him slowly, lazily, while your other cups him beneath—gentle, teasing, deliberate. You feel the way his thighs tense, how his breath hitches above you. Every pass of your tongue, every swirl around the head has him trembling, his abs flexing under his tee, sweat starting to bead at his temples.
You’re relentless.
He looks down at you, jaw slack, eyes dark and dazed, eyebrows drawing together like he’s trying to hold something in—like it’s too much. Every time your lips slide over the tip again, he lets out this soft, strangled moan that sounds like it’s been punched out of him.
“F-fuck,” he breathes, voice cracking. “Baby, I—I’m close—”
You hum around him, slow and smug, and that alone nearly makes his knees give out. You feel him throb against your tongue, feel his hips twitch forward—and that’s when his hand suddenly cups your cheek.
Gentle. Steady. Warm.
“Wait,” he whispers, breath shaking. “Stop—wait, wait.”
You pull off him slowly, lips glossy, confused for a second until you look up. His eyes are half-lidded, dark with want, but soft, full of restraint.
“I wanna be inside you,” he says, almost like an apology. “Not just your mouth. You.”
He leans down, brushing your hair behind your ear as he kisses your forehead with trembling restraint.
“Let me feel you,” he murmurs, barely holding back. “I need to.”
ix.
Seonghwa fucks good.
Seonghwa fucks hard.
Note to self: never, ever assume that the soft-spoken, painfully pretty boy next door is a bottom just because he smiles politely and wears pastels. Because right now?
You are getting plowed.
Your face is buried into your sheets, knuckles white as they clutch your pillow, and Seonghwa is behind you—hips snapping forward with a force that knocks the breath out of you every time. His grip on your waist is bruising, holding you steady as he pounds into you like he’s trying to reshape the memory of him in your mind—like the sweet older brother to Sora was just a decoy and this is who he really is.
The sound of skin slapping echoes soft but filthy through the room, the creak of the bed barely covered by the ragged breath between you.
“F-fuck,” he hisses, voice wrecked, leaning over to press a hand between your shoulder blades, pushing you deeper into the mattress as his pace snaps. “This what you wanted, baby? This what you’ve been thinking about?”
You can’t even answer. Your mouth opens but all that comes out is a moan strangled into your pillow.
His hand slides down your spine, slow, deliberate, only to wrap around your throat gently from behind—not choking, just grounding. Claiming. His hips never falter, driving into you again and again, the stretch still dizzying, the pressure building fast.
“You feel so fucking good,” he pants into your ear. “So tight for me—like this pussy knew I’d be here.”
You whine—helpless, ruined—and he just groans deeper, lips brushing your shoulder, his sweat dripping to your skin. You feel him twitch inside you, feel the heat coil tighter and tighter in your core.
Both of you are trying not to moan too loud.
Both of you are failing.
And neither of you care.
His thrusts grow desperate—sloppier, rougher—his pace no longer steady but driven by instinct, the kind of need that makes him groan low in his throat with every grind of his hips.
“Baby,” he pants, voice breaking as his grip tightens on your waist. “You close? Tell me.”
Your moan is half-buried in the sheets, your head nodding furiously as your body trembles beneath him. “Y-Yes—yes, Hwa, I’m close—”
“Fuck,” he breathes, and his rhythm snaps again—faster, deeper, each thrust hitting that spot that has you seeing white. “That’s it. Come with me, baby. Wanna feel you—wanna feel you squeeze me.”
You cry out when the coil inside you snaps, body clenching around him, thighs shaking uncontrollably. And that’s all it takes.
He groans—deep, guttural, wrecked—as he pushes in to the hilt and stays there, trembling hard. You feel him throb inside you before it hits—hot and thick, his release pulsing deep as he fills you, warmth spreading with every twitch of his hips.
His hands don’t stop holding you. He leans forward, chest pressed to your back, lips dragging across your shoulder as his voice drops into a shaking whisper.
“Fuuuck—fuck, baby, you feel so good. So warm, so full—shit—made for me.”
You both go still, panting into the silence, your legs trembling as you feel him soften inside you, the mess between your thighs sticky and slick and his.
His breath is still ragged when he presses a kiss to your spine and mumbles, “I’m never letting you babysit for free again.”
You don’t remember falling asleep—just the soft shift of his weight, the warmth of his body pressing close, and his arms wrapping around you from behind.
No teasing. No filth. Just his breath against the back of your neck, his fingers gently stroking your hip as he pulled you into him like you were something fragile he needed to keep safe.
His whisper was the last thing you remember before sleep claimed you.
"Get some rest, baby. I’ve got you."
And now—
You wake up to sunlight pooling across the floor.
No arms. No Seonghwa.
Just your sheets a mess and your body sore in all the best and worst ways. You blink slowly, eyes adjusting to the soft glow as you stretch—and immediately regret it.
Every muscle aches. Every one.
Your thighs, your back, your voice, your soul.
You roll over, half hoping he’s still there.
But the other side of the bed is empty.
Your heart sinks a little. Was it a dream?
You sit up slowly, dragging the covers over your chest as your mind spirals in a sleepy haze.
And then—
Scratch. Scratch.
You blink toward the door.
More scratching. More intentional judgment in every claw scrape.
You sigh, shuffle out of bed, and open the door.
Sparkles stands there. Tail curled. Eyes narrowed. Like he knows.
You stare at him.
He stares back.
You sigh again. “Don’t look at me like that. You left the room. This is your fault.”
He snorts and trots in like you’re the disappointment.
You watch him hop onto the foot of your bed, spin in a circle, and settle with the dramatic weight of a dog who knows everything and will be discussing it at length with his therapist.
You collapse beside him.
And try very hard not to smile at the ache between your legs.
It wasn’t a dream.
You flop back onto your bed with a dramatic sigh, Sparkles curled beside you like a silent witness to your crimes. The ache in your thighs is real, and your dignity? Somewhere on the floor next to last night’s sleep shorts. You close your eyes, still half-lost in the memory of Seonghwa’s mouth, his hands, his everything—
Ding dong.
You groan. Now what?
Your phone buzzes. It’s your mom.
[Mom]: Sweetie, there’s a guest for you at the door.
[Mom]: He’s very polite. Cute. Smells like laundry detergent.
You sit up slowly, confused, hobble to the window and peek outside.
And there he is.
Seonghwa.
On your front porch.
Wearing a clean button-up and jeans, hair still damp from a shower, hands tucked into his pockets like a boy about to ask someone to prom. He glances up and sees you at the window—smiles, shy and soft like nothing unholy happened last night.
You open the door, blinking at him in the morning sun.
“Hey,” he says. “Thought I’d, uh, come by and see if you wanted to walk Sparkles with me. You know. Since we’ve been... busy.”
You stare.
Then deadpan, “Ironic, you asking me to walk when you ruined my legs.”
He turns crimson.
But he beams.
“I’ll carry you,” he says without missing a beat.
You snort. Sparkles trots between you both, judging still, but cooperative.
And as the three of you set off down the street, shoulder to shoulder, you realize it’s oddly perfect. Like the universe handed you a paper cup and said: here, try something sweet for once.
Because love?
Sometimes it is lemonade.
And sometimes it’s Lemon-aide.
Sticky, messy, made from sour things and sugar and effort.
You’re his aide. He’s yours.
And somehow, through lemons, you both made something stupidly good.
summary: yunho and mingi will do anything for her. their best friend. the girl they love. even if that means turning their entire college campus into her favorite slasher flick.
warning: mingi and yunho are both killers, strong descriptions of death, blood, gore and violence, alcohol consumption, mentions of use of weed, dom/possessive mingi, switch reader, oral, mouth fucking, creampie
genre: horror, dark romance, smut
pairing: ghostface yunho x afab reader x ghostface mingi
word count: 13.3k
part two
part four coming soon
masterlist
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The Saturday light was soft and golden, filtering through the dorm blinds in lazy, slanted stripes. The city outside buzzed quietly in the distance, but inside the room, everything felt still, suspended as Y/N blinked awake slowly, lashes fluttering against her cheeks as she stretched under the sheets.
Her body was sore in the good way, thoroughly used and well loved. Her thighs ached just enough to remind her of everything that happened last night. The way his mouth had ruined her. The way his fingers had filled her. The way she’d taken all of him, ridden him, begged for him. The way he held her afterward.
She turned her head slightly. Yunho was still there. Fast asleep on his back now, one arm tucked under the pillow, the other resting against the curve of her waist like he hadn’t moved all night. His face was completely relaxed in sleep, lashes casting delicate shadows across his cheeks, mouth parted slightly.
God, he was pretty. Even like this. Especially like this. She lay there watching him for a minute. Just watching. Breathing. Listening to the quiet. He didn’t snore. Of course he didn’t. He was too perfect for that. But the irony of the thought made her huff softly, her mind drifting back to everything that had happened this week.
Her brows furrowed. Was it wrong? To feel… numb? Or worse, indifferent? If they’re not after me, she thought again, does it make me a horrible person not to care who they come for next?
Her gaze trailed back to Yunho’s hand. His big, veined hand resting gently over her. She reached down and laced their fingers together making him shift slightly, but didn’t wake. There was something comforting about his weight beside her. Something grounding. Even if she couldn’t explain why.
Even if the thought of the killers being out there should’ve left her terrified… it didn’t. Not yet. Not with Yunho still here. She reached down to grab her phone off the nightstand but before she could fully slip away, a low groan rumbled from the body behind her.
“Where’re you going?” Yunho’s voice was still thick with sleep, gravelly and warm, his arm wrapping around her waist like a steel band and pulling her flush against him making her let out a soft laugh. “I was just…”
“Nope,” he muttered, burying his face in the crook of her neck. “Too early. Illegal. Stay.” Y/N turned slightly to look at him, brushing his hair from his face. “You’re ridiculous.”
“You’re warm,” he grumbled, squeezing her tighter, eyes still shut. She leaned in, lips just about to press to his…
Knock knock knock.
Y/N paused as Yunho groaned at the sound.
BANG BANG BANG.
The knock turned urgent. Loud. Impatient making her frown, glancing toward the dorm door. “Who the hell…” Yunho blinked one eye open, but said nothing. Just watched her as she climbed out of bed, tugging on a pair of shorts and his discarded shirt, padding barefoot to the door.
The knocking stopped the second she unlocked it. When she opened it, the mood shifted instantly. Detective Kim Hongjoong. Detective Park Seonghwa. Both dressed sharply. Both staring. Their eyes scanned her. The mess of her hair. The faint bruising blooming on her neck. The oversize shirt. The very obvious lack of pants.
Then their gazes shifted over her shoulder. To the tall, shirtless man sprawled in her bed, skin glowing in the afternoon light. Seonghwa’s jaw twitched. Hongjoong raised a brow. “Y/N,” Seonghwa said smoothly, “We need to ask you a few questions.”
She blinked, brows pulling together. “Now?”
“It’s important.”
She swallowed. “Okay…”
They didn’t step inside, just lingered at the door. Watching. Listening. “Where were you last night?” Hongjoong asked, straight to the point. Her stomach dropped just a little. “Why?”
Seonghwa didn’t blink. “Because Kai Lee was found dead. Slit throat. In the middle of the street. Itaewon district. Around 2AM.” Y/N stared at them. Her mouth opened. Then closed. She should’ve felt something. Should’ve gasped. Should’ve cried. But instead… “I was here,” she said finally. “In my dorm.”
“Alone?” Hongjoong asked. She hesitated, then glanced back over her shoulder. “No. I was with Yunho.” Her voice was steady. “All night.” The two detectives exchanged a glance as Yunho, still in bed, leaned up on his elbow, blankets low on his hips, expression unreadable.
Seonghwa’s eyes lingered on him. “Jeong Yunho, right?” Yunho just smiled faintly. “Morning.” Hongjoong didn’t smile back. “Well.” Seonghwa cleared his throat. “If anything else comes to mind… call us.” They handed Y/N a card. And then they left.
She closed the door, turning around and leaned against it for a moment, card still in her hand. The names, the badge numbers, the weight of the news they’d just dropped, Kai was dead. Another one gone.
Yunho was still in bed, blanket low on his hips, tousled hair and sleepy eyes like he’d never left, like he hadn’t vanished from that bed in the dead of night with a knife tucked in his pants. Not that she was aware. Not that she had no idea the one of the people the detectives were looking for was right there in her bed. “You okay?” he asked, voice soft, sleepy. So casual.
Y/N nodded slowly. “Yeah… just weird.” He held his arm out, beckoning her. And like it was the most natural thing in the world, she walked over, crawled back into bed, and curled into him.
Still completely unaware.
Still protected.
Still trusting the man who had blood under his fingernails just hours ago.
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Detectives Hongjoong and Seonghwa walked down the narrow pathway beside the dorm, both quiet at first, until they were out of earshot. “Did you see that?” Hongjoong muttered.
Seonghwa nodded. “Yunho.”
“Yeah. Comfortable. Too comfortable,” Hongjoong said. “That’s not just a one time hook up. He’s been there before.”
“And he’s got no alibi for the time of death unless we believe her word alone,” Seonghwa added. “But that’s not even the part that’s bothering me.”
Hongjoong stopped walking, jaw tight. “You saw the CCTV footage from the convenience store, right?” he asked. “Ghostface was still inside when Kai ran back out. And then his throat gets slit across the street less than a minute later.”
Seonghwa’s eyes narrowed. “There’s definitely two of them.”
Hongjoong nodded once, slow. “And every single person on that case report from Y/N’s incident last year? They’re dropping like flies. That doctor, the professor, Aaron, now Kai. All assholes. All connected to Darren. Her ex.”
“She’s not doing it,” Seonghwa said firmly. “But two people clearly are. And they’ve got motive.” Hongjoong pulled out his phone. “I want everything we have on Jeong Yunho and Song Mingi. Every address. Every incident. Every class. I want them followed from now on.”
“And if it’s not them?”Seonghwa asked. Hongjoong’s smile was humorless. “It’s them.”
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The sun was high, the campus unusually quiet for a weekend. Most students were either hungover or halfway to the next party. Mingi tugged the hood of his sweatshirt over his head, hands shoved deep into his pockets as he walked down the cracked sidewalk. His earbuds were in, but no music was playing. His thoughts were loud enough.
Yunho went back to her.
Back to Y/N. Slipped into her bed like nothing had happened. Like they hadn’t just killed Kai in the middle of itaewon and disappeared into the shadows like nothing ever touched them. Mingi wasn’t jealous. He wasn’t. They agreed, if she wanted both, they’d share. Yunho had always known Mingi was in love with her too. It wasn’t new. Wasn’t surprising.
But still… Mingi sighed, turning the corner toward the small noodle shop they both liked. His stomach growled. He hadn’t eaten since yesterday afternoon, just adrenaline and blood and….
He paused. Brows furrowed. That black sedan? The one parked across the street? It had been behind him when he left the apartment. Still there now. He kept walking, slower now. Didn’t look again. The car didn’t move. Not yet.
Mingi ducked into the alley beside the noodle shop, walking past the back entrance and straight toward the second exit that led onto the next street. And just as he stepped out, casually glancing over his shoulder….
The black sedan had circled the block. Yep. He grinned to himself. “Nice try.”
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The sun was beginning to set, casting long shadows as Yunho’s car climbed the spiral of the campus adjacent mall parking garage. The engine of his jeep hummed low, the air inside warm, quiet, Y/N sat in the passenger seat, chewing on the corner of her thumb.
“I should’ve brought a hoodie,” she muttered. “It’s colder than I thought.” Yunho glanced over, one hand lazily resting on the wheel. “I told you. I always run hot.” She rolled her eyes but smiled as they pulled into a spot on the fifth floor. Sparse up here, only a handful of cars. Quiet. A little too quiet.
Yunho killed the engine, slipping the keys into his pocket. He looked…at ease. Relaxed. Y/N, though, still looked distracted as she reached for the door handle but paused. “Are you gonna tell Mingi?” she asked, not looking at him. “About last night?”
Yunho tilted his head slightly, like he was considering it. “You think I should?”
“I don’t know,” she said, finally looking at him. “I just… I don’t want to come between you guys.”
“You wouldn’t ruin anything,” he repeated the same words he told her last night. And the way he said it made her heart jump a little. She stepped out of the car, the air colder than before, and tugged her sleeves down. Yunho rounded the car to join her, adjusting his jacket.
It was too quiet. The soft tap of Y/N’s boots echoed against the concrete as she followed Yunho toward the elevators, the sun dipping low behind the structure’s edge. That’s when she saw it. “Yunho…” she said, voice caught in her throat.
He turned. And there, at the far end of the garage, stepping out from behind a pillar like he’d been waiting, stood Ghostface. “RUN!” Yunho yelled, grabbing her wrist. They ran, sprinting toward the stairwell, but Ghostface was faster, long legs moved like a shadow with purpose, boots pounding the pavement as he closed in.
“GO!” Yunho shouted, shoving Y/N toward a corner as he turned to face the killer. She stumbled, ducking behind a car, trembling fingers fumbling for her phone to call the police. “There’s a man… Ghostface…. The killer! He’s here, he’s chasing us, please, my…… my friend….. he’s fighting him right now!”
Yunho grunted as Mingi behind the mask tackled him, the two slamming hard against a car hood with a loud bang. Y/N peeked out just in time to see the knife slash across Yunho’s upper arm, a flash of red blooming over his shirt. “NO!” she shrieked.
Yunho fought hard, elbowing Mingi in the side before grabbing his wrist and shoving him off, the blade skittering across the concrete. Mingi didn’t wait as sirens howled in the distance. He turned and sprinted toward the shadows of the lower ramp, disappearing just as flashing lights painted the edge of the garage blue and red.
Y/N ran to Yunho. “Oh my god… fuck…. your arm!”
“I’m okay,” he panted, collapsing against the side of a car. “It’s not deep, I just…. I had to stop him…”
“You fought him…. you could’ve died…” She had no idea why the killer would go after Yunho, brows furrowed in confusion as the police pulled in, guns drawn. Yunho raised his hands weakly, letting them see the blood, the panic, the truth on his skin.
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Detectives Seonghwa and Hongjoong stood side by side, watching the live camera feed replay. Ghostface appearing. Yunho protecting Y/N. Yunho getting cut. Ghostface running when sirens approach. “Yunho’s gonna look like a fucking hero,” Hongjoong muttered.
“Yeah…” Seonghwa said, eyes narrowing. “Little too convenient, don’t you think?”
“Maybe,” Hongjoong replied. “But either he’s the best actor in Korea… or someone else wants him dead too.”
Seonghwa crossed his arms. “Let’s see who benefits the most from the sympathy vote.”
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The fluorescent lights were harsh. Too clean. Too bright as Yunho sat on the edge of a hospital bed, shirt discarded, blood streaking down his left arm. A nurse worked quickly, stitching the gash with clean, practiced hands as Y/N hovered close, pacing. He winced once, just once, and she was at his side immediately. “Are you okay?”
“It’s nothing,” he muttered. “He could’ve aimed for my throat.” She swallowed hard, eyes wide and glossy. “Don’t joke about that.” The ER curtain swung open and in stepped Detectives Kim Hongjoong and Park Seonghwa, and god, even in casualwear, they radiated suspicion like cologne.
“Jeong Yunho?” Seonghwa asked.
“Yeah,” he replied, glancing down at his bandaged arm as the nurse put it in a sling to allow it to rest and heal much better. “Guess this isn’t a social visit.”
“Mind if we ask a few questions?” Hongjoong said, eyes already scanning him head to toe. “You too, Miss L/N.” Y/N blinked. “Wait…. I already told you…”
“It’s standard,” Seonghwa interrupted calmly. “An attempted murder, public place, you’re both witnesses, possibly intended victims. Let’s get everything while it’s fresh.”
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Yunho sat across from the detectives, a bottle of water untouched on the table. “So you’re saying you had no idea the killer would target you,” Hongjoong asked. “Of course not,” Yunho said smoothly. “We were just going to the mall, I’ve never seen him before.”
Seonghwa raised a brow. “And yet, he made a beeline for you.” Yunho leaned back. “He’s attacked people close to Y/N, hasn’t he? Maybe he saw me with her and thought I was next.”
“And you just… fought him?”
“I didn’t exactly have a choice,” Yunho replied, holding up his injured arm. There was a beat of silence. “You ever trained in anything?” Seonghwa asked.
Yunho tilted his head. “Soccer. Gym sometimes. Why?” Hongjoong just hummed, writing something down in his notepad.
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Y/N sat on the edge of a cheap hospital chair, hands clasped tightly in her lap. “We’ve already talked,” she whispered. “Why are you asking me again?”
“Just clearing things up,” Seonghwa said, voice kind. “Timeline, mostly.”
“Okay. We left my dorm to go to the mall. Walked through the garage. That’s when he…. Ghostface, showed up. Yunho told me to run. I did. I called the cops. Then… the rest you saw.”
Hongjoong studied her. “You’re sure it wasn’t someone you’ve seen before?”
“No,” she said. “He came out of nowhere. You can’t even see his face.”
“Anyone have reason to target Yunho? Ex girlfriend? Jealous friend?” Y/N blinked. “No. Yunho’s… good. He’s not involved in anything like that.” The detectives exchanged a glance behind her back.
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“CCTV confirms she called the cops while Yunho was fighting Ghostface,” Seonghwa muttered. “But…”
“But it doesn’t prove he didn’t know it was coming,” Hongjoong finished. “And it doesn’t explain why every person tied to Y/N’s assault last year is turning up dead.”
Seonghwa frowned. “You still think she’s involved?”Hongjoong shook his head. “Not directly. But two people are protecting her. And they’re sending a message.” He pulled out his phone. “I want to keep eyes on both Jeong Yunho and Song Mingi. Don’t lose them this time. Round the clock.”
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The door slammed shut behind him as Yunho got back to his and Mingi’s apartment, he didn’t bother with the lights. He stormed in, ripped the sling off his shoulder like it was offensive, tossing it somewhere near the kitchen counter. The bandage on his arm bled through in spots, but he didn’t care. Not right now.
His eyes landed on the Ghostface outfit, crumpled across the couch, knife belt coiled like a snake. The bathroom door creaked open behind him, steam pouring out as Mingi stepped into the haze, barefoot, a towel slung dangerously low on his hips, water glistening down his chest.
“You’re home early,” he drawled, ruffling his hair with another towel. “What, did our little act scare off the cops?” Yunho turned to him slowly, jaw clenched, chest still heaving from adrenaline. Mingi just smirked. “You got a little blood on the rug, by the way.”
Yunho ignored that. “It worked. At least for now.” Mingi padded into the living room, one hand tugging the towel a bit tighter. “So you really took the hit, huh?” Yunho glared. “Don’t fucking start. You could’ve aimed lower.”
“I did,” Mingi said innocently, dropping onto the arm of the couch beside the mask. “You moved.” Yunho rolled his shoulder, wincing. “Still think you should’ve let me stab you.” Mingi chuckled, low and dark. “Wouldn’t be believable. I’m too pretty to bleed.”
They sat in silence for a beat, Yunho standing in the shadows, Mingi lit like a painting under the hallway lamp. Then Yunho’s eyes flicked to the knife still tucked under the edge of the mask. “She didn’t suspect a thing?” Mingi asked.
“No,” Yunho murmured. “She was terrified. Thought he was after me.” Mingi raised a brow. “Damn. You getting stabbed really turned her into your ride or die, huh?” Yunho looked at him, unreadable. “She gave me an alibi for last night. Without even knowing it.”
Mingi’s smirk faded for just a second. His voice dropped. “Guess you’re really her favorite.” Yunho didn’t answer. Just walked to the couch, picked up the Ghostface mask, and dropped it in the laundry basket like it was just another shirt.
Mingi watched him the whole time. “So… what’s next?”
Yunho looked over his shoulder, dark eyes steady. “We finish what we started.”
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The clink of wine glasses and soft murmur of conversation filled the air. Waiters in tailored black uniforms moved like clockwork between tables lit by flickering candles. Y/N had been on her feet for four hours, smile frozen in place, heels already biting into the backs of her ankles.
But the distraction wasn’t the aching feet. It was everything else. Yunho bleeding. The detectives. Kai. Ghostface. Her bed. Yunho’s voice in her ear, You wouldn’t ruin anything.
“Table twelve is asking for another bottle of the fancy red,’” her coworker muttered, rolling her eyes as she slid a receipt into the till. Y/N barely heard her. She was already grabbing the wine list, stepping into the dining room with the kind of polished grace she’d been trained for.
And then she saw him. Mingi. Leaning against the host stand, black dress shirt open just enough to show the faint silver glint of a chain, sleeves rolled, one hand in his slacks pocket, the other tapping his phone. No reservation. No intention of making one. Just vibes. And chaos.
Her heart jumped in her chest as he looked up, saw her, and grinned slow and dangerous like he meant for her to forget how to breathe. “Mingi?” she hissed, glancing around. He stepped forward, eyes drinking her in. “You wear the hell out of that uniform.”
“You can’t be here…”
“I can, actually. I have a jacket on. Makes me look respectable, no?” he quipped, tugging lightly at the lapels of the black blazer he definitely stole from Yunho. Y/N’s jaw tensed. “You didn’t tell Yunho you were coming here, did you?”
“Yunho’s passed out cold. Those painkillers you made him take? He’s drooling on his pillow like a puppy.” Mingi leaned forward, voice dropping low. “So I figured I’d check on you.” Her brow furrowed. “Check on me?” His gaze didn’t waver. “You looked shook this morning. And I wasn’t there last night.”
Y/N blinked. “You know?”
“He told me,” Mingi said, like it explained everything. Then softer, “He said you needed comfort.” She didn’t know what to say to that. “You mad I came?” he asked, cocking a brow. “Or mad it wasn’t last night?”
Her lips parted. “I’m working.” Mingi’s smirk returned. “Then I’ll sit. Order something stupidly expensive. Maybe dessert. Something sweet to stare at while you walk by.”
“You’re ridiculous,” she muttered, but there was no heat behind it as he took a step back. “Come outside for a smoke when you go on break?”
“I don’t smoke remember?”
“Cool. I’ll do it for both of us.” And with that, he slid into an empty booth by the bar, grabbing a menu he had zero intention of reading. She watched him, heart beating far too fast, knowing full well she should send him away. But a part of her didn’t want to.
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The tempo of the evening had picked up, glasses clinking, waiters weaving between tightly packed tables, laughter rising in waves from table six where some rich guy just proposed and the bride to be couldn’t stop crying. Y/N refilled water at table eleven, trying not to keep looking over her shoulder. Mingi was still there. Two glasses of untouched merlot. One plate of brulée slowly melting as he lounged in the booth like he owned the damn place, eyes fixed only on her.
She was doing her best to act like he wasn’t affecting her every breath. Until the door slammed open. Heads turned. Forks paused midair. A tall, pale, strung out figure in a wrinkled hoodie and torn jeans stormed inside, shoulders tense like he’d walked straight out of a police lineup. Darren.
“Shit,” Y/N whispered, heart lurching into her throat as he saw her instantly. Walked right past the host. Straight across the restaurant like a heat seeking missile. “You,” he spat, voice ragged with something unhinged. “You’re the fucking angel of death.”
Guests were already watching. Mingi sat up straighter. “Darren, what are you doing?” Y/N asked, trying to keep her voice low, professional. She could feel her coworkers freeze nearby. “You think this is funny?” Darren barked, eyes wild. “My uncle is dead. Aaron. Now Kai! What the fuck is wrong with you?”
“Darren, lower your voice…”
“Everyone around me is dying because of you!” he shouted, hands shaking. “Is it them? Is it those freaks? The ones you’re always with?” He was trembling, glaring, his words slurred like he hadn’t slept. “I told you, back when we were together…. they’re not normal, Y/N. They’re dangerous. You’re too fucking blind to see it.” He had no idea. No idea that one of those freaks was already on his feet, sliding out of a booth behind him.
No idea that Mingi was slowly cracking his neck as he approached, cool and quiet and calm in that lethal kind of way. “Hey, man,” Mingi said, voice low and almost casual. “You’re kind of ruining the vibe in here.” Darren froze. Turned around. And his face dropped when he saw who it was as Mingi smiled. All teeth. “You wanna try that again?”
Y/N’s eyes went wide. “Mingi, don’t…”
Mingi ignored her, stepping closer, hands tucked into the pockets of his jacket like he wasn’t thinking about snapping Darren’s jaw clean off. “You should remember. Real clearly. Before you keep talking.”
Darren looked around, eyes bouncing from the stunned customers, to the staff frozen mid shift, to the man who now stood inches from him, radiating something cold and lethal making him take a step back. “I… I just wanted answers,” he muttered. “You’re….. you’re all fucking crazy.”
“No,” Mingi said, tilting his head, “we’re just very, very protective.” And that’s when security finally showed up, flanking Darren on either side. “Sir, you need to leave.”
“You think she’s safe with them?” Darren hissed, struggling as they pulled him away, making himself look crazy. “They’re gonna get her killed!”
Y/N didn’t say a word. Just stood there trembling slightly as every single person in the restaurant stared at her. And Mingi? He looked over at her, eyes softening instantly before he followed behind the two security that dragged Darren out.
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The metal back door slammed shut behind her with a force that echoed off the brick as Y/N stormed outside, fists clenched at her sides, apron wrinkled, hair falling in her face. Her breathing was shallow, rage blooming beneath her skin.
Mingi was already there, waiting the last five minutes waiting on her. Leaning casually against the rusted railing beside the small employee break table, an already half smoked cigarette between his lips, arms crossed like he’d been waiting just for her. “You good?” he asked, voice low, unreadable as smoke inhaled from his nose.
“No,” she snapped, throwing herself into the chair across from him. “God, no. I’m so fucking tired of him.” Mingi just hummed, watching her, tossing the cigarette on the ground and putting it out with his boot. Calm. Controlled. But behind his eyes? Something darker flickered.
Y/N shook her head, rubbing at her temples. “He always finds a way to show up when I’m trying to hold myself together. Like clockwork. Like he knows.”
“He doesn’t,” Mingi said flatly, like a promise. She scoffed bitterly, looking down at her trembling hands. “You know,” she said, laughing with no humor, “he used to accuse me of cheating on him with one of you guys.” Mingi’s head tilted, slow and smooth. “Yeah?”
“Yeah,” she snorted. “Paranoid asshole. Thought it was Yunho at first. Then you. Couldn’t even decide who the imaginary affair was with. Meanwhile, whole time, he was the one cheating. For months.” Her voice cracked on the last word. She blinked fast and forced it down.
“I should’ve known,” she muttered. “I should’ve seen the signs. But I was so caught up in trying to make him feel secure, trying to prove he could trust me. God, I was so fucking dumb.” Mingi’s jaw ticked. “You weren’t dumb. You were just good.”
She looked up at him.
“You’re good,” he said again, softer this time. “And he took advantage of that. That’s on him.” Y/N stared at him, caught off guard by the heat in his voice, anger not at her, but for her. It was like he already catalogued every name, every insult, every bruise, and tucked them away to be answered for.
“You don’t have to deal with him anymore,” he added, voice low. “Not now.” Y/N gave a bitter laugh. “I wish it were that easy.” Mingi’s smile didn’t reach his eyes. “It can be.” Y/N eyes flicked between her hands and the grimy pavement. She didn’t notice the silence that stretched between her and Mingi until it was long enough to feel intentional.
When she finally looked up, he was already watching her. “Did you tell him?” he asked. She blinked. “Tell who what?” The silence stretched once again before the atmosphere seemed to change. “Yunho,” Mingi said, head tilting slightly, that unreadable half smirk on his lips. “Did you tell him how good he made you feel last night?”
Y/N froze. Her blood went cold and hot all at once. Her tongue stuck to the roof of her mouth. She opened it, then shut it. Her heart thudded against her ribs, panic kicking up. “Mingi, I didn’t…. he said it was okay, but I didn’t mean to make things weird or…”
“Stop.” His voice cut through her panic like a hot blade through silk. Not harsh, but sharp enough to command. “You didn’t do anything wrong. You could never ruin what Yunho and I have.” Y/N stared at him, lips parted. “I need you to understand that,” he said, sitting forward now, elbows on his knees, eyes locked on hers. “There’s nothing you could do to come between us. We’ve been through hell together. You think one night with you is gonna break us?”
Her throat went dry. “I just… he said… that I wouldn’t ruin anything…. but I didn’t know if…”
“He wasn’t lying.” Mingi leaned back, the lazy, confident glint returning to his eyes. “If anything,” he murmured, “I’m jealous he got to have you first.” Y/N sucked in a breath. “Mingi…”
“You wanna know what he didn’t tell you?” he asked, voice lower now, almost conspiratorial. “What he should have told you?” She didn’t speak, she couldn’t as he smiled, slow and wicked. “We both want you, Y/N.” Her stomach flipped. “At the same time,” he added, like it was nothing. Like it wasn’t the most earth shattering thing anyone had ever said to her.
“I…. what?” she breathed.
“You heard me,” he said, sitting back again, casually tugging the sleeves of his jacket up. “We’ve wanted this for a while. Talked about it. Agreed on it. If it ever happened, if you ever wanted it too, we wouldn’t make you choose.” Her mouth was dry. Her brain was static. “You’re ours,” he said softly, voice like a velvet rope. “If you want to be.”
The door creaked open behind them. “Break’s over, Y/N!” a voice called. She didn’t move. Couldn’t. She just stared at Mingi like she was seeing him for the first time. “Go,” he said with a smirk. “I’ll walk you home later.” And just like that, he was back to lazy and calm. Like he hadn’t just shattered the world she thought she lived in.
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The sky was that hazy pale blue that only ever seemed to show up in early fall, cool air crisp enough to need a light jacket, but warm enough for the outdoor seating to still be buzzing. The scent of pork belly and kimchi grilled cheese wafted out onto the sidewalk like a homing beacon, drawing locals in.
Y/N sat at her and Jongho’s usual table, far enough in the corner to people watch, close enough to the window to flag down their regular waiter. She stirred her lemonade with her metal straw, eyes flitting to her phone, thumb hesitating over her messages.
Still nothing from Yunho. Still nothing from Mingi. It had been two full days since she’d seen either of them. Since she slept with Yunho, since he was attacked, and unraveled for him. Since Mingi looked her in the eye and told her they both want her like it wasn’t going to completely rewrite her nervous system.
She was still reeling. And yet, they’d vanished. “Hey.” Jongho’s voice broke through her storm cloud of thoughts, and she looked up to find him sliding into the seat across from her with a smile, wind tossed hair and a paper cup of iced americano in hand.
“You okay?” he asked, scanning her face immediately. “You look like you saw a ghost.” She let out a soft snort. “Feels like I did.” His brows lifted and she shook her head. “Don’t ask. I’m trying not to spiral.”
“That bad?”
“It’s complicated.”
“You say that every time you’re about to make the worst decision of your life.”
“Which time though?” she grinned, halfhearted. “Exactly,” he said flatly as they fell into an easy silence as their waiter brought over their food, Jongho’s beloved bulgogi kimchi sandwich and her go to gochujang rice bowl. The table was familiar. Safe. Like all the chaos in her life was held at bay by the cheap aluminum edge between them.
Halfway through chewing, Jongho perked up. “Oh, are you going to the Halloween party next week?” Y/N blinked. “What party?” He tilted his head like she’d just offended him. “The sorority party. It’s the one night the school actually lets us have fun. Everyone’s going. Full costume, free drinks, blackout lighting, prize for best look. They even rent a fog machine.”
Y/N groaned, Cassie’s sorority always hosted that damned party. “I’m too tired to party.”
“No,” he said dramatically, pointing his chopsticks at her. “You’re too tired not to party.” She rolled her eyes, but his grin widened. “You need it. And maybe you’ll see someone there,” he added slyly making her heart stutter, but she masked it behind a long sip of lemonade. “Don’t,” she warned him.
He raised his hands in surrender. “I didn’t say anything. Yet.” But he was watching her too closely now. Jongho wasn’t stupid. He knew something had shifted, and he was just waiting for the moment she broke and told him everything.
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The bell over the door jingled as Y/N stepped into the narrow aisle between racks of glittering wings, plastic swords, and neon wigs. The place smelled like rubber masks and cheap fog juice, already dimly lit with orange string lights and fake cobwebs clinging to the corners.
She adjusted the strap of her bag on her shoulder and glanced around, fingers trailing over a rack of black lace dresses, half of which were either too sexy or too sad. “Okay,” she muttered to herself, eying a ghostface costume. “Not going as a sexy nun.”
Jongho had convinced her to go to the Halloween party next week, which meant she needed something halfway decent to wear. Something fun. Normal. Something to make her forget, if only for a night, that everything around her was quietly crumbling.
She was flipping through a rack of vintage vampire looks when she heard a voice behind her. “Wow. Didn’t think you’d have the time to shop, what with all the death surrounding you.”
Y/N turned slowly, lips already pressing into a flat line as Cassie stepped into view, arms crossed, looking as smug as ever in a designer trench coat far too nice for a college student and dyed bleached blonde hair.
Y/N didn’t even flinch. “Still hanging around campus like you’re relevant?” Cassie’s smirk widened, vicious. “I’m just waiting for the next body to drop. Figured it might be yours. Or maybe the next guy you flirt with. You seem to be a walking death sentence.”
Y/N’s eyes narrowed, pulse ticking harder in her throat as Cassie stepped closer. “How are you doing it, huh? You spread your legs for both of them and whisper who you want gone? I mean…. It is them, right?” She laughed sharply. “Is that how it works, Y/N? You let them take turns while your hit list gets smaller?”
Y/N blinked once. Then let out a soft, humorless laugh. “If I were you, Cassie,” she said, voice razor sharp now, “I’d watch my mouth. Like you said… people who wrong me tend to drop like flies. And don’t you think…. if the killer was someone I knew… they wouldn’t have tried to kill me and Yunho in broad daylight?”
Cassie froze for half a second, eyes darting, but then she scoffed and tilted her head like she wasn’t phased. “Please. That was just for show,” she said, lips curling cruelly. “Everyone knows Yunho and Mingi are freaks when it comes to you. You really think no one notices the way they follow you around like watch dogs? How they always know where you are? I’m sure they were there that night too, weren’t they?”
She leaned in. “I’m sure you cried to them. Just like you always do. That poor little victim act. Works like a charm.” Y/N’s nostrils flared. Her entire body went still, fury simmering under the surface like a match held too close to gasoline. But she didn’t snap again. She just smiled. Slow. Chilling. “Cassie,” she said, voice dipped in venom, false concern. “You better hope you’re not next.”
Y/N ignored Cassie the rest of the time she was there, deciding half interested on an angel costume, buying it quickly and then shoved the door open with a bit more force than necessary, the little bell overhead giving an aggressive jingle jangle as she stepped out onto the sidewalk.
Her fingers were tight around the plastic bag hanging from her wrist. She felt like a powder keg. Like one more wrong word would make her snap clean in half. She exhaled through her nose and turned left. And then froze mid step. Across the street, partially hidden by the flow of foot traffic and the glittering window display of a trendy convenience store… Yunho.
Or at least it looked like Yunho. Tall. Broad. Dark hair styled back. But more importantly, no sling. No bandages. No wincing from pain. He moved fluidly, easily, slipping through the automatic doors like he hadn’t been stabbed just days ago. Like nothing had happened at all.
Y/N stood there, blinking once. Twice, thinking she imagined it. She took a half step forward, eyes glued to the store. But he was already gone, swallowed by the shadows inside. No hesitation. And suddenly, the tight grip of suspicion started curling low in her stomach before she shook it off.
Maybe the wound wasn’t as bad as she thought….
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The campus was quiet in that eerie, pre dusk kind of way, just a few scattered students walking paths lined with orange leaves, the breeze tugging at jacket sleeves and tangled headphones. Y/N’s boots crunched softly as she crossed the quad, arms folded tight around herself, the costume bag swinging against her hip.
But her mind wasn’t on the chill. It wasn’t on the angel costume, or Jongho’s party, or even the bite she barely ate during lunch. It was on him. Yunho. She hadn’t texted him. She didn’t know what to say. But the image of him slipping into that store played on repeat in her head like some twisted loop.
“Looks like you’ve got something on your mind.” She nearly jumped out of her skin. Her heart slammed against her ribs as she turned…. Mingi. Half hidden under the hood of a black jacket, leaning against a tree like he hadn’t just materialized from thin air. His smile was lazy, but his eyes were sharp. “Jesus, Mingi.” She pressed a hand to her chest. “You scared the shit out of me.”
“Not my fault you’re so easy to sneak up on,” he teased, pushing off the tree. “You always zone out when you’re thinking too hard.” Her brows pulled together. “Were you following me?” He shrugged one shoulder. “More like… conveniently lurking.”
She narrowed her eyes, but his grin just widened as they started walking, her pace slower now. “You ever gonna explain how you and Yunho always manage to pop up wherever I am?”
“You say that like it’s not our job,” he replied smoothly, glancing at her out of the corner of his eye. “You don’t like having us around?”
“I didn’t say that,” she muttered. But the way he looked at her then, like he could read every thought she didn’t say, sent goosebumps down her arms. “Something’s bothering you,” he said after a beat. “Is it about what I said the other night?”
“No,” she said too quickly. “Yes. Maybe. I don’t know. It’s not just that…” She stopped walking making Mingi stop too. “It’s Yunho,” she admitted quietly, hugging her arms. “I saw him earlier. Across the street. No sling. Like nothing ever happened.” Mingi’s head tilted, lips pursing in a silent whistle. “Interesting,” he said. “Did he see you?”
“No. I don’t think so.” Her voice dropped lower. “But I thought he was hurt. I saw the cut. I saw the blood. I watched him get patched up…”
Mingi didn’t answer right away. But the silence between them crackled. Then he took a step closer, dropping his voice to a velvet rasp. “Y/N… do you really think Yunho would ever lie to you?” She stared at him as he smiled and gave a weak laugh, trying to shake off the chill curling down her spine. “God,” she muttered, glancing up at the sky like it might help. “I need a drink.”
It was clearly a joke. The kind of thing you say when your brain’s fried and your ex is probably psychotic and your two bodyguard friends are acting like they stepped out of a twisted fairytale. But Mingi? Mingi lit up like she just gave him a mission. “A drink?” he said, eyes gleaming like twin devils under the hood. “Say less.”
Her eyes snapped to his, narrowing. “I was kidding.”
“Well I’m not,” he grinned. “Come on. I know a place. Not far. Good music. Better drinks. Me and Yunho go all the time.”
“Mingi…”
“It’ll take the edge off,” he murmured, stepping into her space again, his voice dipping, silk and smoke. “You’ve had a rough couple weeks. You deserve a little fun, angel.” Her breath caught at that last word, fingers tightening around the plastic handle of her shopping bag. Angel. Like he knew.
She was about to say no. She was. But the way he was looking at her? Like he wasn’t asking. Like he already had the whole night planned out and she was just catching up. “I need to shower,” she said finally, arching a brow. “And drop my stuff off.” Mingi shrugged. “I’ll wait.”
“You’re insane.”
“You already knew that.” He started walking ahead, tossing a lazy smirk over his shoulder. “I’ll wait outside for you. Dont take too long though, I’ll come rush you out the shower myself.”
Y/N rolled her eyes at him as they got to her dorm building, Mingi’s grin lingered until she disappeared inside, her costume bag swinging at her side. The second she was gone, it slipped. His jaw clenched. Eyes sharpening.
He pulled his phone out, thumb sliding over the screen, the buzz in his ear sharp in the quiet. “What?” Yunho answered, voice low. Mingi didn’t waste time. “She saw you.”
“What?”
“No sling. Across the street. You ducked into that fucking store following Darren’s dad like a teenager hiding from their ex.”
“Shit.”
“You might wanna get your story straight before you see her again,” Mingi said coolly, leaning against the nearest railing like he had all the time in the world. “She’s not stupid.”
“She say anything?”
“Nope. Just looked. Real hard.”
“And?”
“And I’m taking her to a bar.”
The longest silence followed before Yunho’s voice, sharp, almost a warning. “Mingi…”
“What?” he drawled, playing innocent. “You had your turn. Now it’s mine.”
“You know she’s…”
“Don’t,” Mingi cut him off, pushing off the railing and starting down the steps. “We made a deal, remember? If she wants us both, she gets us both.” Yunho was quiet again. Mingi could picture it, him pacing the apartment, chewing the inside of his cheek, overthinking the way he always did when it came to her.
Mingi smirked. “Relax,” he added lazily. “I’m not gonna kill anyone. Tonight anyways.”
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The bar was dimly lit, crowded enough to be loud, but not enough to get lost in. Just off campus, it pulsed with music and weekend freedom, filled with students ditching midterms and drinking away memories they’d rather forget.
Y/N stepped through the door, tugging off her jacket as she shook out her hair. She looked lethal in all black, cropped leather jacket hugging her frame, matching mini dress sculpting her curves, legs bare and long above sleek black boots. A dark goddess with sharp nails, glossy lips, and an expression that dared anyone to breathe wrong. She looked like herself. The Y/N before she dated Darren.
Mingi noticed. Oh, he fucking noticed. He didn’t say anything at first, just watched her as she tossed her hair like she didn’t just knock the wind out of him. She looked at him over her shoulder, arching a brow. “You’re staring.”
“I’m allowed to,” he said, stepping up behind her, voice low at her ear. “You came with me.” He placed a warm hand on her lower back as they walked further in, guiding her through the crowd, not that she needed it. But he liked the excuse. Liked the way people looked at her and then noticed him. The way her short dress clung to her with every step. The way other guys stared too long and then flinched away the second he so much as glanced their direction.
He kept close. Close enough that her perfume clouded his head. Close enough that his knuckles brushed her thigh when he leaned past her to grab two drinks at the bar. Close enough that her shoulder pressed against his chest as they waited for a booth to clear.
“You’re clingy tonight,” she teased, sipping her drink without looking at him. Mingi tilted his head, eyes glinting. “That a complaint?” She paused. “No.” His smirk was slow, dangerous. “Didn’t think so.”
The booth they finally got was tucked in the far corner of the bar, half hidden behind a curtain of fake ivy and dimly flickering neon. Private enough to talk. Dangerous enough to forget how close their knees touched under the table. Mingi slid in first, draping one arm lazily across the back of the booth, legs wide like he owned the place. Y/N slid in across from him, dress riding a little higher than it should as she crossed her legs. She didn’t fix it, especially after she caught him looking.
A server passed, and Mingi flagged her down with two fingers and a devilish grin. “Round of shots,” he said smoothly. “Tequila. The good shit.” Y/N laughed, the sound warm and edged with challenge. “Are you trying to get me drunk?” Mingi’s smirk deepened, eyes dark under the warm low lighting. “No,” he said, tilting his head. “I’m trying to get us both drunk.”
She lifted a brow, biting back a smile as she swirled her straw around her half finished cocktail. “So this is a mutual downfall?”
“Only fair,” he said with a shrug. “If I’m gonna make some dumb decisions tonight, I want you right there making them with me.” Y/N grinned, leaning back as the shots arrived, salt and lime included. “God, you’re dangerous.”
“And yet,” he said, lifting his shot glass, “you’re still here.” She clinked her glass against his, tongue peeking out to lick the salt off her hand before downing the tequila in one smooth tilt of her head. Mingi’s gaze never left her mouth. “Another?” he asked, already signaling for more. “Are we pacing ourselves at all?” He grinned. “Do I look like a pacer to you?”
By the second round of tequila, Y/N’s skin was warm, her limbs loose, and her smile had sharpened into something Mingi was definitely not prepared for. He was still watching her mouth like it was saying secrets meant only for him. And maybe it was.
“You know,” Y/N said, fingers curled around her next shot, “it’s kinda funny.” Mingi tilted his head, grinning like a threat. “What is?”
“You. This.” She gestured between them with her lime wedge. “All this flirting. All this charm. When you’ve already told me what you want.” Mingi blinked, lips parting just slightly. She watched it click in his head, that moment from work the other day.
She downed the shot before he could speak, then leaned forward over the table, arms folded, breasts resting on the edge just enough to make his gaze drop without thinking. “I’ve been thinking about that a lot, you know,” she said, licking lime juice off her thumb. “About what you said. What both of you said.”
Mingi cleared his throat, suddenly sitting up straighter, shoulders tensing. “Yeah?”
“Mm.” She tilted her head. “It’s a little freeing, actually. Knowing that no matter what I say or do, I’m not gonna break you two.”
“You’re not,” Mingi said instantly, voice deeper than before. “You couldn’t.” Her smile turned razor sharp. Dangerous. “So I guess I don’t have to behave, huh?” And just like that, Mingi was wrecked. He blinked once, then laughed, hand dragging down his face like it could cool the flush spreading across his cheeks. “Oh my god.”
“What?” she asked, all sweet innocence now, sipping her water like she hadn’t just verbally undressed him.
“You’re trying to kill me.”
“I thought we were doing mutual downfalls?”
“Baby,” he groaned, running a hand through his hair. “I’m already halfway there and we’ve only been here like an hour.” She bit her lip, not even trying to hide how much she was enjoying the way he called her baby. “Want me to slow down?”
“Fuck no,” he said instantly. “Speed up.”
A third round of shots had them leaning in closer, words more whispered than spoken. Mingi’s laugh was looser now, a little rough around the edges. Y/N’s eyes sparkled like she had him right where she wanted him, and she did.
And then, she stood. Didn’t say a word. Just pushed her empty shot glass toward the center of the table and got up, smoothing her hands down the tight black dress hugging her hips like a second skin.
Mingi’s gaze followed the movement like a man starved. Y/N didn’t look at him. Not right away. She simply turned, picked up her half drank martini, and started walking toward the pool tables near the back, hips swaying, head tilted, her thigh high boots clicking softly against the hardwood floor. She didn’t even need to check if he was coming.
Because he was. Mingi was on his feet in a heartbeat, scooping his drink in one hand, tossing a few bills on the table without looking, and trailing after her like a moth to a black flame. “You shoot pool now?” he asked as he caught up, his voice low as he leaned in close beside her, his breath brushing her ear.
“I shoot better when I’m buzzed,” she said, plucking a cue from the rack like she’d done this a hundred times. “Why? You scared?” He laughed. “You trying to hustle me?”
“Wouldn’t have to,” she smirked, leaning over the table with zero mercy, dress riding up just enough to make his brain glitch. “You’d fold the second I bend over.” Mingi choked on his drink. “I hate you,” he coughed, grinning like sin.
“You love it.”
“You have no idea what I’m thinking right now.” She glanced over her shoulder, eyes slow and teasing. “Oh, I have an idea.” Y/N smirked as she sunk the first shot like she meant it, clean, confident, and without breaking eye contact with him. Mingi whistled low under his breath. “Damn.”
“Told you.” She straightened slowly, cue in hand, letting it drag lightly over her shoulder as she sauntered around the table. “That was me being polite.” Mingi chuckled, rolling up his sleeves like that was gonna help him survive this. “Okay, alright, play dirty, then. See what happens.”
“Oh baby,” she purred, “that wasn’t even close to dirty.”The next shot bent her over the table again, back arched just so, legs set apart enough to tease, but not quite scandalize. Mingi’s jaw ticked. He’d been watching her all night, he’d always watched her, if we’re being honest, but now? Now that she knew what she did to him? Now that Yunho had already had his moment with her and Mingi knew she wanted more? She was lethal.
“I think I need to check the rules,” he muttered, stepping up behind her like a shadow, warm breath near her temple. “Pretty sure taunting your opponent is a foul.”
“Who said I was taunting?” she smirked, shifting back slightly, just enough for her ass to brush against the front of his jeans. “Maybe I’m rewarding you.” Mingi went still. Then his hands slid around her waist, slow and sure, pulling her flush against him, letting her feel the way she’d been driving him insane all night. “You keep doing that,” he said, voice a ragged whisper, “and I’m gonna forget we’re in public.”
“Maybe I want you to forget.” Her words hit him harder than any shot she could’ve taken. He growled under his breath, forehead dipping to the back of her shoulder for just a second, trying to pull it together. Failing miserably. “You’re not helping my game,” he muttered.
“I’m not trying to.” She turned in his arms then, cue abandoned, arms sliding up around his neck like the pool table didn’t matter anymore, like the bar around them didn’t exist. “Tell me what you’re thinking,” she whispered.
“I’m thinking,” Mingi murmured, eyes flicking to her mouth, “if we weren’t in this bar right now, you’d already be underneath me.” Y/N breath hitched and Mingi groaned when his phone buzzed, lighting up with Yunho’s name for the third time in five minutes. “Fucking hell,” he muttered, pulling it from his pocket while Y/N raised an amused brow.
“Hot date?” she teased, still breathless from their last exchange. “Something like that,” he sighed. “I’ll be right back.” He ducked out the side exit into the alley behind the bar, pressing the phone to his ear. “What?” he snapped. Yunho didn’t flinch. “Nice to hear your voice too, princess.”
“I’m busy.”
“I can tell.” Yunho’s tone was dry. “You gonna be too busy when we’re getting the cop tomorrow night?” Mingi froze. “Tomorrow?”
“He’s back in the city. Alone. His usual late dinner at the diner, same pattern. We hit him then.” Mingi dragged a hand through his hair, pacing. “Alright. Yeah. I’ll be there.” Yunho paused, messing with him. “You sure you’re not… distracted?”
Mingi let out a humorless laugh. “We’re not talking about this.”
“Didn’t say we were.”
“I said I’ll be there.”
“Good,” Yunho said, a smile in his voice now as the call ended with a click. Mingi lingered for a moment, grounding himself before heading back inside.
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Y/N lined up her next shot, cue in hand, eyes half lidded and mouth pulled in a cocky little smirk. She could feel the buzz, light and airy, alcohol and adrenaline swirling together with every subtle look Mingi had been giving her all night. The air between them practically sizzled. She took the shot. The solid ball sank clean. “Damn,” she muttered, grinning to herself.
“That was hot,” a voice said behind her making her roll her eyes, expecting Mingi. But the voice didn’t match. It was too nasal. Too drunk. “Not interested,” she replied flatly, not turning around.
The guy chuckled like it was funny. “Why not? You’re all alone over here, baby.” He stepped closer. She felt the heat of him before she felt his hand slide around her hip. “You don’t wear a dress like that unless you want attention.” He was practically grinding himself against her.
Y/N’s spine straightened like a struck match. Her fingers tightened around the cue stick. “Get off me before I make this pool cue a permanent fixture up your ass.”
He leaned in closer, voice smug. “You’re really gonna act like you’re not playing hard to get?” The air shifted. The music throbbed in the background. A few heads were starting to turn. But the guy didn’t care. He gripped her hips tighter and Y/N snapped. She spun to shove him away, cue stick raised, not quite to hit, but close. “I said…”
“You got a fucking problem?” Mingi’s voice was suddenly right there. Low. Dangerous. Clipped and Y/N froze. So did the guy. Mingi hadn’t even raised his voice, but he didn’t need to. His body said it all, six feet of barely contained violence in black and chains, jaw locked, eyes flat and cold. He didn’t even look drunk anymore. He looked murderous.
The guy’s hand fell away from Y/N fast, stumbling back. “I… I didn’t know she was with someone.”
“You do now,” Mingi said as the guy swallowed and backed off entirely, disappearing into the crowd. Y/N let out a breath she didn’t realize she’d been holding.
Mingi looked down at her slowly, expression softening just a fraction. “You okay?” She nodded once. Then, trying to brush it off, forced a breathless laugh. “Yeah… you know… I thought you might kill him for a second.” Mingi smirked, stepping in closer now, palm sliding lightly over her waist, where the guy’s hand had been. “I might.”
Y/N laughed like he was joking, leaning back against the pool table, cue in hand, still catching her breath from the tension of that last encounter. Mingi hadn’t let the guy live past a warning, but something about the look in his eyes, sharp and deadly, had her pulse still thumping in her ears.
Then, cool as ever, she leaned back into him with a smile that curled like smoke. “I’m gonna use the restroom.” Mingi tilted his head, letting his gaze drop down the line of her legs and back up, eyes lazy, possessive. “Need me to walk you there?”
She smirked. “Nah. But…” Her voice dropped, her eyes catching his like a hook sinking in. “Then you can take me home.” Mingi’s smile was slow and dark. “Yeah?” Y/N didn’t answer. She just turned and walked off toward the hallway, hips swaying just enough to make his jaw tighten.
He waited five seconds before he slipped out the back door of the bar. The alley behind the bar reeked of beer, piss, and cheap cologne. Neon flickered overhead, buzzing against the brick walls. The guy from earlier stood just beyond the dumpsters, the glow of his cigarette casting brief flashes of orange across his face.
He didn’t even flinch when Mingi stepped around the corner. “Hey…” the guy said, exhaling a lungful of smoke. “Look, dude, I didn’t know she was with anyone, alright? It was just flirting. I mean… come on, that dress was begging for it.”
Mingi stopped about five feet from him, head tilted like he was genuinely considering that. “That so?” His voice was quiet. Almost friendly making the guy nod, shoulders relaxing just a little. “Yeah, man. I mean, she’s hot. I figured she was out with friends or something. Didn’t mean any harm.”
Mingi stepped closer. One slow, calm step. Then another. The guy blinked. “Hey… are we… we good…” There was no time to finish the sentence. Mingi moved in a blur, hands snapping up, one to the guy’s shoulder, the other under his chin, and then, crack! The snap echoed like a gunshot in the narrow alley.
The man’s body went limp instantly, cigarette tumbling to the wet pavement, Mingi catching him before he hit the ground, dragging him toward the dumpster with a grunt. He shoved the body in hard, the lid slamming shut with a hollow thud.
He rolled his shoulders once, casually wiping his hands on his jeans. “Yeah, well…” he muttered under his breath, voice flat. “I don’t like my girl being touched.”
Back inside, the music still throbbed, and the bar was just as loud as before. Mingi slipped through the crowd unnoticed, his expression already reset into that lazy, half smirking calm as he reached the pool table just as Y/N stepped out of the restroom.
She looked flushed from the drinks, lips parted slightly, her eyes finding his instantly like they’d been pulled by a magnet. “Took you long enough.” Mingi grinned and held out his hand. “Come on, baby. Let’s get you home.”
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The night had cooled since they first arrived at the bar. The wind stirred fallen leaves along the sidewalk as Mingi and Y/N walked in silence for a while, the buzz of the drinks still humming in her blood. Campus lights flickered in the distance, their path lit by the soft orange glow of streetlamps. Mingi walked close to her, close enough that their hands brushed once, then twice, until he finally just reached out and took hers.
“You always walk girls home after you get ’em drunk?” she teased, glancing over at him, her fingers tightening around his just slightly. Mingi smirked, a breath of a laugh escaping. “Only the ones I’ve wanted for years.” Her heart stuttered and the silence returned, but heavier this time. She felt it under her ribs, felt it deep, like a question needing air.
“So…” she began, voice softer now, more serious, “if you and Yunho both wanted me… why didn’t either of you ever make a move?” Mingi didn’t answer right away. They reached a quieter stretch of sidewalk, the streetlights casting shadows that swayed with the trees. He shoved his free hand into his pocket, jaw tight as if he was chewing on the truth.
“We were,” he finally said. “Well… I was. Yunho… Yunho was still too nervous to.” She looked at him then, but he didn’t meet her eyes. “Sophomore year,” Mingi went on, voice low, thoughtful. “I had this whole plan. Yunho kept saying, no, wait, let her breathe, we’re her friends first, but I couldn’t wait anymore. Then you got with him.”
He didn’t say Darren’s name. He didn’t have to. The weight of it hung there, ugly and bitter between them. Y/N’s chest tightened. “You were going to ask me out?” Mingi gave a single nod, finally looking over at her.
“Yeah. Was gonna tell you everything. That we both liked you. That we didn’t mind sharing. Hell, we wanted to. But then…” He trailed off again, the words unspoken but understood. Then came the boy who tried to own her instead. Y/N swallowed hard. “I didn’t know.”
“I figured.” Mingi shrugged one shoulder. “Didn’t exactly have time to tell you before he started showing up with his arm around you everywhere.” The sting in his voice was subtle, but it was there. A scar that hadn’t quite faded.
Y/N stopped walking, tugging his hand to make him stop too. “I’m not with him anymore,” she said quietly, eyes searching his. Mingi smiled, slower this time. More genuine. “I noticed.” Their hands were still linked. “So what now?” she asked as he stepped in just a little closer, voice low. “Now… I walk you the rest of the way home. Unless you want me to carry you.”
Y/N raised a brow, trying not to smile. “You trying to flex?” Mingi grinned, cocky and warm. “I don’t try, baby.”
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Her dorm door had barely clicked shut behind them when Y/N shrugged off her jacket. The soft rustle of fabric barely echoed in the small room, but Mingi was already there, close enough that she could feel the heat rolling off of him. He didn’t even give her a second to breathe.
His hands found her hips like they belonged there, fingers tightening just slightly through the fabric of her dress. He pressed in from behind, his chest flush to her back, breath fanning against the shell of her ear causing Y/N to exhale slow.
“You gonna keep teasing me,” he murmured, voice low and velvet rough, “or are you finally gonna let me touch you the way I’ve wanted to?” His hands slid up. Slow. Confident. One skimming the curve of her waist, the other trailing higher, between her breasts, hovering, not groping. Just feeling. Memorizing.
By the time his fingers reached her jaw, tilting her head gently back against his shoulder, her knees had already started to weaken. “Mingi…” He turned his head, lips brushing her temple. “Tell me what you want.” His hand at her throat wasn’t choking, it wasn’t rough, it was grounding. Possessive. Protective. A gentle, thrilling claim that made her melt back into him instinctively.
She swallowed, pulse racing beneath his palm. “You,” she whispered. “I want you.” He smiled against her skin. “You have me,” he said. “You’ve always had me.” His grip tightened just slightly, and his other hand slid low again, palming her hips, guiding her back against the hard line of him.
“Then say it,” he murmured, nose skimming her jaw now. “Say it like you mean it.” Y/N tilted her head, just enough to meet his eyes in the mirror across the room that belonged to her roommate. “I want you, Mingi.”
His pupils darkened, a sound low in his throat, almost a growl, but softer, worshipful. “You’re gonna get me,” he breathed. “every inch.”
His mouth was everywhere, neck, shoulder, collarbone, the place just behind her ear that made her knees buckle. Mingi’s hands were gripping her thighs now, desperate and greedy and shaking, like he’d been holding himself back for far too long.
She kissed him like she meant it. Like she was trying to erase every night he stayed silent, every time he looked at her and bit his tongue. Her fingers were curled in his shirt, lips swollen, dress askew, ruined, almost, just from his hands.
And then she sank to her knees and Mingi’s breath caught hard as Y/N looked up at him, pupils blown, fingers already trailing up his thighs. “You said I’ve always had you,” she whispered, voice hoarse with need. “So let me have you.”
If there was a god, he didn’t believe in one, but if there was, this moment would be the one to prove it. Y/N. On her knees. Looking at him like she wanted to devour him. He pressed the back of his hand to his mouth for a second, just to try and hold himself together. It didn’t work.
He carded a hand through her hair, slow at first. “Fuck,” he muttered, almost laughing from how hard it hit him. “You’re really doing this, huh?” She grinned up at him, fingers already working at his belt. “Don’t act surprised. You and Yunho both said you wanted me.”
“Yeah, but I didn’t think I’d survive seeing it.”
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Yunho just wanted snacks. He was high as hell, two blunts by himself while he was fully aware Mingi was out somewhere with Y/N. One Red Bull. Maybe a bag of those spicy chips he liked. That was it.
But as he turned down the alley shortcut behind the convenience store, he slowed. Someone was yelling. Arguing.He paused, ducking just slightly behind a dumpster. And then he saw him. Chief fucking Carson.
Not supposed to be in the city yet. Not until tomorrow. But there he was, pacing just beside the back door, shouting into his phone. “You promised me it was handled! Darren’s losing it, and now that girl is running her mouth to detectives…. if you don’t fix this, I swear to God, I’ll start naming names. You paid me enough for quiet, not a goddamn mess!”
Yunho’s heart went ice cold, jaw tightened. So much for waiting till tomorrow.
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Her lips wrapped around him and Mingi swore under his breath, hand gripping the edge of her desk behind him to stay upright. His other hand cupped her cheek, thumb stroking slowly, almost tenderly, despite the way he was falling apart.
He knew he should take his time. Draw it out. But Y/N was moaning around him and looking up at him with those goddamn eyes and he was losing his mind. His fingers twisted in her hair, and he couldn’t stop the low, throaty groan that rolled out of him when Y/N hollowed her cheeks and took him deeper. “Shit, baby…. just like that…” His hips bucked, slow at first, but then rougher, testing, hungry, unrestrained. She moaned around him and he nearly lost it.
One hand fisted against the wall above her head, the other tight in her hair as he gently but purposefully fucked into her mouth. His breath was ragged, pupils blown wide as he looked down at her. She was perfect like this. Desperate. Wanting. His. Theirs. “Fuck, you’re gonna make me…” he bit down on a groan, jaw clenched as he quickly pulled out, strands of spit still connecting her lips to the tip of his dick. “Nuh uh. Not yet.”
Y/N gasped for breath, eyes wild and mouth swollen. He hauled her up by her arms, crashing his mouth onto hers, tasting himself on her tongue. Her hands were already pulling his shirt up, his fingers tugging the sleeves of her dress down her arms like he couldn’t get her naked fast enough. “You sure?” he panted against her lips.
Y/N only grinned. “I’ve been sure.”
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Yunho was a shadow. Soundless footsteps. Calculated breath. A calm heartbeat in contrast to the rage coiled like a noose in his chest. Chief Carson was still pacing, still yelling into the phone. “I’m telling you, your kid is spiraling. Your kid’s got bodies on him, and if these two freaks keep poking around…”
Yunho struck fast. The blow to the back of the neck was sharp and deliberate. The man dropped instantly, unconscious before he could even register pain. Yunho crouched and snatched the phone still clutched in the chief’s limp hand. “Hello?” came the sharp, paranoid bark of Mr. Shultz. “Carson? You there? What the hell is going on?”
Yunho stared at the screen for a beat, then slowly lifted the phone to his ear. He let a silence hang between them, charged, dangerous. Then, with a voice much lower, gravelled with mock amusement, Yunho replied, “No Carson here.”
A pause. And then Yunho smiled, voice shifting into something darker. Controlled. Measured. “Your son started all of this, Mr. Shultz. The bodies. The mess. The panic.”
“What the fuck is this… who are you?”
Yunho tilted his head, looking at the unconscious man beside him. “Think of me as karma. You’ll be seeing me. And your son? Tell him to sleep with one eye open.”
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The air was thick with sweat, lust, and that unbearable tension finally snapping loose. Mingi had her bent over the desk, knees shaking, skin flushed. His breath hit her thighs, and when she felt his hands on the back of her legs, spreading her wider, she barely had time to register it. “Oh fuck… Mingi..”
His mouth was on her, tongue slow and deliberate at first, dragging through her folds like he was savoring her. His hands gripped her ass, thumbs pulling her open as he groaned against her, low and hungry. He was feasting.
Every flick of his tongue had her gasping, knuckles gripping against the desk, her thighs trembling as he buried his face deeper, nose pressed right against her as he sucked and licked like a man starved. And god, the sounds, his moans, her whimpers, the wet, obscene mess between them, it was fucking beautiful.
Mingi pulled back just long enough to growl, “So sweet,” before licking a flat stripe up to her clit and sucking it into his mouth. Her knees almost buckled. “Don’t stop,” she gasped, voice wrecked, hips grinding against his face. “Please…” But Mingi didn’t plan on stopping. Not until she was screaming.
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The back of Yunho’s black Jeep was quiet except for the groggy groans of the half conscious police chief. Zip ties dug into his wrists and ankles, duct tape around his mouth. His badge still pinned to his jacket as Yunho parked a block away from the station and killed the engine.
He sat for a beat, breathing slow. Calculated. Then he reached across the dash, opened his glove box and grabbed his mask, smooth, matte black Ghostface. Modified. Sleeker. More terrifying.
He pulled it down over his face, then opened the center console and slid out his knife, long, serrated, custom. He twisted it once in his hand. “This one’s for you, Mr. Shultz,” Yunho muttered under his breath as he got out of the car. No more subtle kills. No quiet deaths. This one would be a fucking message.
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The chief of police awoke with a groan, head pounding, wrists bound behind his back, ankles zip tied to the leg of a rusted rooftop vent. Cold wind whipped against his sweat damp face. He blinked, blinded briefly by the neon buzz of the station’s rooftop security light and then he saw him.
Ghostface. Not the Halloween party kind. Not some kid in a costume. This one was taller. Broader. His head tilted ever so slightly to the side. Knife glinting in one gloved hand. The wind caught his long coat just enough to flare it behind him like a shadow torn from the earth. “Mmmph!” the chief cried through the duct tape, panicked thrashing beginning.
Yunho tilted his head farther. Silent. Watching. Then, slow and calm, he crouched down in front of him, knife tapping once…twice…on the concrete. When he spoke, his voice was altered, mechanical, low, and inhuman. “This is what happens,” he said, “when you take money to protect monsters.”
The chief whimpered. “Mr. Shultz’s son started this…” Yunho leaned closer, blade rising to press just beneath the chief’s chin, “and I’m going to finish it.”
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Y/N let out a soft gasp as Mingi kissed up her spine, one slow inch at a time. Her skin was still tingling from his mouth between her legs, thighs trembling, brain fogged in pleasure. When he reached the back of her neck, he bit gently, not hard, just enough to make her whimper.
“Turn around,” he growled, already helping her, flipping her so her back hit the shared desk, his hands spreading her thighs wide. “Wrap your legs around me.” She obeyed without hesitation, and he gripped her hips, lining himself up. His tip dragged through her folds, both of them groaning at the contact. She was so wet he nearly lost it right then.
And then he pushed in. All the way. The stretch stole the breath from her lungs. She arched, moaning his name, fingers digging into his shoulders as he bottomed out. “Oh my god, Mingi!” He dropped his forehead to hers, his hips rolling deep, slow, controlled. “Fuck… you feel so good…. been wanting this…been wanting you.”
Y/N met each thrust, her voice wrecked and high. “Faster, please… Mingi, please!” And he gave it to her, fucking her right there on the desk her and her roommate studied at like he was claiming it. Claiming her.
═════════ ═════════ ═════════
The chief’s screams were muffled under the duct tape, eyes wide and bulging as Yunho looped the thick rope around his neck, twice for good measure, then knotted it with the practiced ease of someone who had time to learn. The rope disappeared into the shadows behind the rooftop’s stairwell structure, anchored to something the chief couldn’t see.
“Try not to kick too much,” Yunho said casually, brushing dust off his gloved hands. “You’ll make it worse for yourself.” The chief thrashed violently, trying to crawl backward. His cries were garbled, frantic. Useless.
Yunho tilted his head, Ghostface mask catching the moonlight. He was silent as he stepped behind the officer and shoved. One brutal, clean push. The man stumbled, tripped, then pitched over the ledge. The rope snapped taut mid air, a sickening crack echoing into the night. The body swung violently for a few seconds, heels scuffing the stone side of the station before it stilled.
Yunho stood at the ledge, looking down at his message. The chief of police, suspended in his uniform, neck broken, tongue swollen, face turning purple, hung like a grotesque ornament right in front of the main entrance of the building. Where every single officer on shift would see him. Where every reporter in the city would show up.
Yunho whispered behind the mask, low and cruel. “Happy retirement, chief.”
═════════ ═════════ ═════════
Mingi groaned, lifting Y/N off the desk with both hands under her thighs, her legs clinging around him, his jeans half down, his dick still buried inside her. “Not done with you yet,” he muttered, voice strained, forehead damp as he carried her to the bed and dropped her onto it.
Y/N laughed, breathless, flushed, wild, as he shoved her knees apart and climbed between them again. He growled something unintelligible as he slid back inside, and the sound she made, holy hell, it nearly broke him.
Their bodies collided over and over, sweat, slick, sheets twisting beneath them. Y/N’s moans filled the room, her nails scraping down Mingi’s back, his name gasped like a prayer between sobs of pleasure as he bent to her ear, fucking her harder now, deeper. “I used to dream about this…. about you.”
Her answer was another moan, her back arching, head thrown back against the pillow. He was losing it. Completely. And he welcomed it. He barely had time to breathe before Y/N’s legs locked around his waist, her thighs flexing as she rolled them both, fast, practiced, and deliberate.
He landed flat on his back with a grunt, blinking up in dazed awe just in time to watch her push herself up, one knee bent, the other sliding over to straddle his left thigh, already glistening with sweat. “Mmm…. fuck,” Mingi exhaled, head falling back as he watched her from below, eyes devouring the sight.
Y/N shifted her weight, lined herself up with maddening ease, and sank back onto him, slow, deep, a choked moan spilling from her lips as she bottomed out. It wasn’t full reverse cowgirl, no. She wasn’t facing entirely away from him, no, it was better than that. Just enough of a twist so Mingi could still see the slope of her back, the arch of her neck, the way her eyes fluttered half lidded as she began to move.
Her hands braced on his thigh and the edge of the mattress for balance. Her rhythm was slow at first, teasing, hips rolling in tight circles that made Mingi curse under his breath. “Jesus, Y/N,” he rasped, one hand reaching to grip her waist. “You tryna kill me or…” She cut him off with a harsh snap of her hips, grinding down, and Mingi’s voice broke in a strangled groan.
Y/N smirked over her shoulder. “No,” she breathed. “Just trying to shut you up.” And god if it worked. Because the next few minutes blurred. Her pace increased, thighs burning, ass bouncing, Mingi’s thigh flexed beneath her as she used the strength of it to push off, over and over again. Each drag of him inside her hit perfect, every bounce angled until she was gasping for air and he was clutching at the sheets, desperate.
“Y/N… fuck…. I’m not gonna last,” Mingi panted, one hand sliding from her waist to her ass, gripping tight. “You feel so fucking good… just like I imagined….” another broken moan, another flex of his hips, meeting her from below.
The bed rocked with their rhythm now. Her name was a prayer falling from his lips. And she? Y/N rode him like she’d waited her whole damn life to do it. Mingi barely had time to brace himself before her pace shifted, grinding, dragging, rolling her hips with intention now, her thighs shaking as her breath caught in her throat.
He could feel it. The way her walls clenched tighter, her whole body trembling, her rhythm faltering just slightly as that high came rushing up to slam into her. But she didn’t stop. Instead, she pulled him with her. Her hands found his shoulders, and without a word, she forced Mingi to sit up, his abs tightening as he followed her lead, hands instantly locking around her waist, holding her steady as she rode him harder.
Her mouth fell open against his neck, gasping, moaning, her hips grinding down deep with every thrust. And Mingi let her. He let her take him to the fucking edge. His hands gripped her tighter, fingers splayed possessively across her hips and lower back as she cried out against his skin, her orgasm rippling through her. She didn’t stop moving, riding it out, dragging him with her as she trembled in his arms.
“F… fuck, baby, I….” Mingi groaned, one hand flying to the back of her neck as he buried his face in her shoulder. “I’m gonna… shit….” Her hips jerked hard one last time and that did it. He snapped, choking out a moan as he came inside her, hips bucking instinctively, arms locking around her body as if he could fuse her to him, keep her right there.
She panted against his skin, still twitching with the aftershocks. His heart hammered against hers, their skin slick and bodies tangled, heat rolling off them in waves. Neither moved for a long moment.
Y/N sat slumped in his lap, breath shaky, her forehead resting against his cheek. Mingi’s hands were still on her hips. Holding her like she was his.
Roomate!John “Soap” MacTavish, when a sudden heat wave hits your city.
You really didn’t know why you were so shocked when you walked into your living room of your shared home with Johnny, sprawled out across the couch in absolutely nothing but his boxers and a pair of old socks with holes scattered throughout the used to be white fabric.
Well, honestly you aren’t one to talk either, wearing the tiniest tank top and shorts you could possibly find in your closet. The small amounts of fabric clung to your sweat covered body, the heat unbearable in the apartment.
It was just your luck that the a/c broke right before the biggest heat flash in about 10 years hit. Johnny had practically chewed the poor mechanic out during a call, something about there being ‘no openings for repairs for weeks’.
Speaking of Johnny, he was currently groaning out complaints about the heat as he mindlessly flipped through tv channels. His bare chest coating in the sheen liquid from the burning heat, all your windows were open and you made sure to plug every fan you could scrounge together in but nothing seemed to work.
You were about to resort to just covering yourself in ice cubes and laying across the cold kitchen floor which even now felt like hot coals on your bare feet as you pattered your way through the hardwood.
“Where yeh’ off te’ lassie?”
His voice was low as you felt his eyes buring into your back, peeking over your shoulder you looked back at the mohawked man. Eyes crinkling slightly as you let out a huff of a laugh, dry as can be.
“Getting a popsicle…want one?”
You already knew his answer as you bent over to the freezer part of the fridge, unbeknownst to you his eyes were practically glued to your behind. As his low husky voice rung out in the silent apartment besides the soft buzz of the fans.
“Nah tha’s fine…might’ as well save as many as we can… jus’ let me get a bite of yers’.”
You shrugged to yourself knowing that was a reasonable point the scot was making. Grabbing your favorite flavor and cutting open the top with the kitchen scissors.
Making your way towards the couch you sprawled out along with him, legs swinging over his own. Reaching over from across the couch and handing him the sweet frozen treat.
“Here have the first bite.”
“…Just don’t eat it all you dog.”
You grumbled the last part, agonizingly aware of his gluttonous tendencies especially when it came to your food.
“Ah thank ye’ bonnie, y’know me so well.”
He beamed, flashing his teeth in a large grin. Taking out a large portion of your popsicle in one bite.
Earning him a pillow to the face and melted popsicle stuck against his bare chest.
Lieutenant!Simon “Ghost” Riley, who isn’t a fan of his sargeants actions.
“Why th’ hell woul’ you do tha’ Sgt?! ar’ you bloody insane???”
Was all you registered throughout the practical growl coming out of the man barreling towards you. The looks of fear radiating off the Privates that had the bad luck of being present in the same hallway as you and the brute stomping towards you.
Your eyes quickly met with his as you furrowed your brows. You could see the snarl through the thin balaclava if you couldn’t already see he was fuming from the looks of sheer fury in his deep brown irises.
Any and all of the poor Privates left in the tight hallway scurried away upon seeing the angry man. Eyes narrowed and blonde brows knit together, his voice low as he snarled at you.
“wha’? You think you’re fuckin’ invincible or something? Tha’s it?”
He barked at you, mud soaked boots stopped short just inches away from you. Fist balled, knuckles almost white as you felt the building practically shake when it collided with the wall near your head.
What you would see of his face was beet red, sweat mixed with the black paint around his eyes under the mask. Jaw tense, snarling at you each time he spoke.
Barely registering his words you sighed, pinching the bridge of your nose shutting your eyes tiredly. Your voice was dull while you spoke any way you could to ease the anger.
“Lt. orders are orders…I can’t just directly disobey the commands base gives me.”
He shook his head ferociously at your words, pacing around you like a predator about to pounce on its prey.
“Tha’s bullshit an’ you know it.”
He spoke dangerously, the tank of a man stopping his pacing and jabbing a finger into your chest harshly. His massive gloved hands balling your uniform into his fist.
“So wha’? You can jus’ disobey my orders instead? Real fuckin’ peachy Sgt.”
You weren’t sure if you imagined it or not, a flash of grief coming across his features. The anger replaced with something, something you couldn’t name for a half a second before it returned ten fold although now he looked utterly defeated.
He let go of your uniform, shaking his head like he was talking himself out of saying something he didn’t want to admit. Turning his back away from you voice low, the words coming out of his mouth hoarsely.
“Don’ know wha’ I would’ve don’ if you died.”
He muttered before stomping away, his steps harsh against the concrete floor as you stood in place. Mouth slightly agape trying to process what the hell just happened.
personal trainer!soap, who knows exactly how to rile you up.
Somehow each and every time you went to John ‘Soap’ MacTavish as your personal trainer you left not only soaked in sweat but fuming in irritation.
Whether it be agonizing weightlifting or eternal cardio for the day you grew tired of it quickly. Complaining to yourself about how tired you are and how you ‘don’t know why you keep coming back to him’ for workouts.
He always just wore a shit eating grin and laughed at your struggles as he worked out alongside you everytime. He always made sure to workout with you just to tell you how ‘easy’ it was and how ‘he knows you just come back to see him’
Always earning the hulking mohawked man, a sharp glare. You’d stop what you were doing immediately, angrily walking away to your water as you grumbled and griped about how ‘idiotic’ he was for thinking that.
When you know damn well that’s why you always show up in the workout sets that hugged your body best. Or how you wore your hair the same ever since you’d worn that style once and noticed his gaze on you linger longer.
Or when you’d ’start cramping’ and ask him to help you stretch the ‘cramped muscle’. Rolling your eyes at the man as he boomingly laughed at your request saying something about how ‘Now you ask for my help’
You’d never admit how hot and bothered you got by the scottish man, but oh how you did.
Simon had no idea what to do when his sargeant decided to start acting the way she was at the small pub after their last mission. Head shamelessly landed against his shoulder, he clenched his jaw at the feeling…a scowl now on his half covered face as he took a large swig of his beer…but why didn’t he just move you?
•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•
So here they were, almost identical to that night to every night they spent in this familiar setting..
His eyes practically glued to you silently as he watched you and Kyle play billiards from the bar, Johnny loudly cheering you on as you struck the cue ball for a drunken trick shot, failing miserably hitting a scratch. You chugged your pint of beer angrily complaining between sips about how “uneven” the table was as Gaz argued back about you being a sore loser. Price chuckling at the scene from beside Simon leaning against the bar top uncomfortably.
It was like clockwork, every single time you got back from a mission you’d all spend the evening on one of your off days on base at a local pub. Letting loose and enjoying yourselves before the next mission, returning back to the bloodshed and chaos. He wished on those nights he could ignore how your eyes would linger on him, how you’d always somehow end up absolutely wasted drunk.
Everytime getting closer and closer to him, last trip you’d practically been glued to his shoulder towards the end of the night. Half asleep, he acted angry, acted as if he hated the close proximity..When all he did was crave it, oh how wrong it felt to feel like this about his subordinate..The big bad Lieutenant Riley…secretly smitten over his Sargeant, what a joke.
So when the game ends, and you grumble something about how unfair it was, waltzing over to Simon to complain. Throwing your hands around as you expressed the many reasons you were upset. He looked blankly back at you, your eyes now focused on his, brows furrowed slightly as you noticed his expression from his half pulled up balaclava.
“Why are you always like this..” You grimmaced, cheeks flushed from the alcohol as you leaned across from him against the bar top. Price and Kate were far too distracted in their own conversation to even see the drunk woman making a fool of herself to her lieutenant once again. “Y’know…? All brooding and stuff…It scares off all the ladies..!”
You joked, words slurring as you widened your eyes lazily smirking as you decided to tease him further. Not taking the hint to quit at his unimpressed scowl from the exposed portion of his face. “Wait are you single LT…?”
“Hope So!”
Before he even had a chance to respond your words had cut him off. Breaking his blank stare as his eyes widened a smidgen from behind the cloth, going back to normal almost instantly as he scoffed annoyed. “Bloody hell woman, you’re pissed.” He grumbled taking a large gulp of his drink. Glancing at you out of his peripherals, practically side eyeing you.
Trying to keep his standoffish facade best he could , his thoughts running buck wild at your slurred words. ‘What did you mean? What does “Hope not!” even mean? Were you genuinely just that stupid..? Or just incredibly hammered..’
Yeah that was it you had no clue what you were saying. Like everytime they went to the pub, you got hammered and flirted shamelessly and forgot your actions by the next day. He always took you back to your barracks, you woke up alone and hungover stumbling into whatever meeting they had at base, tired and complaining about your agonizing headache.
So when the night ends and as he carried you in his big arms, thrown slumped over his shoulder back to your room at base, like always your eyes glimmered in hope that he’d maybe stay. Brows always furrowed as you, tucked in your bed in unspoken care, pouting at the silent man when darkness consumed you room as he gently shut the door, back turned to you. Only this time he muttered an almost impossible to make out sentence, his voice low and gruff as he looked back at you from behind the mask, eyes uncharacteristically soft.
ellievsbear
romaincrisis
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