#Plight Tree

[tushanfoxspirit]

More Information about the Reincarnation system in FSMM:

According to the latest arc of the Manhua:

When the human souls of the reincarnated people that have undergone the “Pledge Of Love” together with their Yaoguai partner go through the underworld for the process of rebirth; their human souls will be protected by the “Plight Tree” so it will not be scattered nor destroyed by the underworld members.

However, the ordinary people souls that didn't undergo the reincarnation of the Plight Tree, their human souls will be scattered into “Three Souls & Seven Souls” that will be recombined randomly with others “Three Souls & Seven Souls” to form entirely new souls that will be born into the living world as completely new individuals. Thats what they call: “The Process Of Rebirth”

But like always, there is an exception which is the “Dongfang Spirit Clan”

They have their own “Special Reincarnation System” that the souls of the dead Dongfang Clan members will go to the secret place of the Dongfang Clan in the underworld. More information about the Dongfang Clan are still unclear since it is been talked about currently in the current arc of the Manhua.

To summarize:

1. Currently, there are two reincarnation systems in FSMM, “The Plight Tree” & “The Dongfang Spirit Clan”

2. The reincarnation system of the Plight Tree occurs only between lovers with mutual romantic feelings towards each other (Human x Yaoguai) while the reincarnation system of the Dongfang Clan it happens only to its members (which the process of it is still unclear)

3. The human souls that undergo the reincarnation system of the Plight Tree are always protected by it, thus the reincarnated people are still the same souls as their pervious lives with the exception of the multi-souls phenomena of Dongfang Yuechu's Soul

4. The normal process of “Rebirth” occurs to ordinary people souls that didn't undergo the Plight Tree reincarnation system which their souls will be scattered into “Three Souls & Seven Souls” that will recombine randomly with others “Three Souls & Seven Souls” to form entirely new souls that will be born into the living world as completely new individuals

About common misunderstandings about some of the reincarnated individuals:

Dongfang Yuechu Multi-Souls Phenomena:

Dongfang Yuechu's Soul has become beyond common sense of this world in which in every reincarnation of his soul, his own soul will produce a soul copy from his original soul that the newly produced soul will have his own thoughts and individual independence, in other words, his soul will produce an entirely independent soul that has his own thoughts and emotions.

The first reincarnation of Dongfang Yuechu's Soul was Pingque Yuechu that has already become an entirely independent soul that has been completely separated from Dongfang Yuechu's Soul. Thus, Pingque Yuechu has nothing to do with Dongfang Yuechu reincarnations!! So Bai Yuechu has no relationship nor any connection with Pingque Yuechu's Soul!! Pingque Yuechu is not the pervious life of Bai Yuechu nor is Bai Yuechu the reincarnation of Pingque Yuechu!! They are both entirely different souls from each other!! That's why Rongrong didn't count Pingque Yuechu with the other four reincarnations of Dongfang Yuechu when explaining to Bai Yuechu early in the story that he is not the only reincarnation of Dongfang Yuechu that they have found so far and calling him the fifth reincarnation not the sixth!! The only reason why Pingque Yuechu's Soul is inside Bai Yuechu's body is beacuse of San Shaoye that has dragged all the souls copies of Dongfang Yuechu's Soul into Bai Yuechu's body forming the “Multi-Souls Body Phenomena” (Which the process of it is still unclear) in order to completely resurrect Dongfang Yuechu.

So far the factors that affected Dongfang Yuechu's Soul greatly causing his soul to become “Beyond Common Sense Of This World” are:

1. Cooperating with the Aolai Nation (Specifically San Shaoye which is still unclear)

2. The Dongfang Spirit Clan Unique Reincarntion System (Which is still unclear)

3. Feng Xi (Black Fox Empress) interference with YueHong continuation of fate and forcibly sending Dongfang Yuechu's Soul to the secret Dongfang Spirit Clan Space in the underworld which interfered with the normal reincarnation system of the Plight Tree (It is still unclear what exactly she did to his soul)

4. More Unknown Factors

Thus with all of the information above; The Little Taoist that saved Little Honghong life is not the pervious life of Dongfang Yuechu nor is Dongfang Yuechu his reincarnation!! Also the two strands of hair that sticks out of the Little Taoist head where added by the animation team while in the Manhua he didn't have them at all!!

Wangquen Fugui & Wang Fugui:

They are one and the same soul which means they are the same person!! It is just that they have been raised and lived in different environments and both of them has undergone different teachings since childhood thus the different in personality!! But with the current progress of the Manhua, Wang Fugui is becoming more and more like his past self but with his current self still remaining and growing into a more capable responsible person that really loves Qingtong and holds her dearly in his heart!! And Qingtong loves him for who he is!! (She really loves him be it his past self as Wangquen Fugui or his current self as Wang Fugui, she always sees them as one person and loves him the most and she always respects his wishes!! While giving him his freedom of choice and respecting his personal space and his journey to find his true self!!)

Wangquen Wumu is the ancestor of Wangquen Baye & Wangquen Fugui and he is not a reincarnated individual!!

The other reincarnated individuals through the Plight Tree Reincarnation System are the same souls as their pervious lives!!

That's it for now :)

*With more new information coming maybe I will edit this post later and maybe will also add some panels/pages from the Manhua.

[lindseymcdonaldseyelashes]

Leverage 4x8- "The Boiler Room Job"

[seabeck]

One of my American chestnuts sprouted!!!

[projectcatzo]

French contestants on baking shows

[magnoliapromenadegalleria]

I take no issue with monetizing cc. You release good content and have an agreeable release window, I either choose to subscribe, or I wait. Cool. What I do take issue with is this

Perma-paywalls or ridiculous early access release windows. Anything exceeding thirty days is excessive. My opinion.

2. New creators setting up immediate early access. The skillset is just not there yet to put a price on your creations. You barely have a base to sell to. This includes creators who created for other games, then come over to The Sims and try to sell to us. For example, the creator that makes skins and admitted they don't even play the game. Simply here for profit.

3. Creators that do not qc their work, or steal from other creators. Girl.

4. Customer service. Once you start creating for profit, whether it be supplemental or your main source, you have to have a level of customer service and professionalism. You have now started a brand. A very niche brand, but that's what it is. You cannot be short with people for asking valid questions and catching an attitude with them. Like that one lady with the tree coming out in February. If you are one of those rare creators who is lucky enough money to hire someone to handle your social media, I suggest you do that. Or supply a friend with more patience with their favorite coffee or something and let them handle it. Something.

5. Not interacting with the community you are trying to sell to. Connect with people. Repost their edits, lookbooks, builds, leave comments, give a like. The creator mentioned above commented that no one comments on their stuff, at least not here. Fair. This community does not talk like it used to, but to each other like it used to, but you can go to creator pages and see that they are perfectly curated advertisements. Like a showroom. No reblogs of anyone using their content. If you want that for your main page fine, but at least have another side blog where you can do the outlined above.

6. Pushing something out just to push it. I think we have entered a space, both creator and follower/consumer, where everything feels so fast-paced. What's the new thing coming out, what's next, etc. So much so that I think it has made creators push out content just to keep up, especially if they rely on that income. This has resulted in some creators getting into hot water for releasing the same item(s) in different sets and in different colors. Or creators releasing duplicates of the same thing. It can be frustrating, but I question if it is because they're just trying to keep up, or afraid to try something new or different in fear of it not doing well. Some smaller creators who create different content don't get as much love and I question if they would receive more if they followed the wave, or were big enough to start one.

Now to this community

If a creator disrespects you or others or moves in a way that you don't fundamentally agree with, and you complain but still download and or advertise their content, you're moving counterproductive to your plight. Why would anyone reflect on themselves when you prove that you're going to advertise their content anyway?

2. Show love to these creators. Big and small, especially small, monetized or not. Everyone likes to hear or see that what they release is valued. Don't harass or disrespect creators if they take a break, or they don't get something out quickly. Especially the modders.

3. Interact with each other. Even if your aesthetics or different. This is a community. If you see something you like, LIKE IT. Share it, leave a comment.

4. Create the thing simmer. The edit, cc, build, lookbook, whatever. Create the thing and share the thing. Even if it isn't part of a popular trend or aesthetic.

I'm speaking about myself here too because I want to better about this.

I want this to feel fun again. Not just based on what is in at the moment.

This might be read. Might not. Just my two Abes. Anyway I'm about to make some soup from scratch. Toodles!

[xnalux]

I’d love love love pt3 of streamergfvi! You write her so well <3

streamer!vi hcs christmas special

part 1 part 2

warnings: nsfw 18+, fem!reader

pictures are from pinterest and they're not mine

author’s note: I had to rewrite it twice because my shitty computer was acting up so i'm not fully happy about how it turned out but i really hope you like it. merry christmas pretties ♡

streamergfvi: who didn't really care about christmas decorations but found herself following around an hyper excited and bouncy powder,arms full to the brim with boxes, each one threatening to spill over with the glittery treasures it contained

She found herself trying to balance her weight as powder sat on her shoulders in front of the christmas tree hanging the decorations to it.

''pow the tree is gonna fall over if you add another one''

vi groaned wrinkling her nose as she tried to get one of powder's braid out of her face.

''shut up you grinch''

powder just huffed focused on the task of putting the little elf on top of the tree, the younger sibling stretching out trying to reach the highest part of the fir making vi almost lose balance stumbling a little to the side

''stop moving so much!''

''well if you weren't so short...''

''you are shorter than me''

the two bickered as vander stared at them leaning agaist the kitchen's door frame, arms crossed and a fond smile on his face.

streamergfvi: who is incredibly competitive about snowball fights. her and powder have a little feud. their backyard, a canvas of white, is a battleground of strategically placed forts made of snow and colorful winter gear scattered about like the aftermath of a whimsical blizzard.

Their rivalry is legendary, a spectacle that has been the highlight of winter for the past few years. The neighborhood kids gather around the fence, their breaths forming clouds of anticipation as they whisper about the impending clash of the snow titans.

This year, you've decided to join in the fun, throwing your hat into the ring with Powder. You've been watching their snowball battles from the sidelines, sipping on hot cocoa and offering moral support, but the time has come to immerse yourself in the frosty fray.

The moment the fight begins, it's clear that Vi isn't going to go down without a fight. She charges towards you and Powder, her snowball arsenal at the ready. As she hurls the first volley, you both dodge and retaliate, sending your own icy projectiles flying in her direction. The snow crunches under your boots as you run and duck, the cold sting of the snowflakes on your skin only adding to the thrill.

"Hey, pretty''

vi calls out, her voice a mix of teasing and challenge as she aims another perfectly-formed snowball at you.

"You think you can beat me with those little snow pebbles?"

"Oh, this year you are going down, shortie!"

Powder shouts back, her laughter ringing out like a bell in the crisp winter air.

But vi isn't one to be outdone. She takes advantage of your momentary distraction, and before you know it, she's sneaking up on you from behind.

"Gotcha!"

she exclaims as she tackles you to the ground, the impact sending up a cloud of powdery snow that surrounds you both.

You're laughing too hard to protest as she straddles you, her eyes sparkling with joy.

"Surrender, darling,"

she says, her breath warm on your cold cheek as she holds a snowball over your head.

"You know I'm the king of snowfights"

"Never!"

you reply, trying to push her off, your laughter turning into a playful growl. You wiggle and squirm, trying to break free from her firm grip, but she's too strong.

Powder, noticing your plight, hurls a snowball at Vi, which hits her square in the back.

"Cheap shot!" Vi yells, releasing you to retaliate.

This gives you the perfect opportunity to escape her grasp. You jump to your feet, a snowball in hand, and throw it back at her. It hits her right on the forehead, leaving a perfect white imprint.

"Oh, it's on now!"

she says, her eyes lighting up with excitement. She wipes the snow away, her grin unyielding. It ends up with you straddling her lap asking her to ''beg for mercy'' as powder fill her jacket with snow.

streamergfvi who never lose the change to push her hand in the back pocket of your pants even when you are out in public. And when you playfully glare at her she just

"What?" she give your ass a little squeeze feigning innocence.

"It's cold out here!"

"Well, if my pocket is such a warm sanctuary, I might just have to charge rent,"

you tease, giving her a sideways smirk. She rolls her eyes dramatically, but the smile that tugs at the corners of her mouth betrays her feigned annoyance.

"Rent, huh?"

she says, her voice a low purr as she leans closer, her breath ghosting against your cheek.

"What's the going rate for such prime real estate?"

"Oh, I don't know," you muse, playing along.

"Maybe a kiss for every squeeze?"

Her eyes widen for a moment, as if surprised by my boldness, before she laughs heartily, her whole body shaking with the sound.

"Is that a deal, then?"

The crowd bustles around you, a mix of laughter, chatter, and distant car horns.

"Only if you promise to keep your hands to yourself in public,"

you say, though your voice is laden with affection.

Her hand retreats from your pocket, but only to slide around your waist, pulling you closer.

"You drive a hard bargain," she murmurs, her voice dropping to a whisper that only I can hear. "but it's worth it for that ass."

your laughter rings out again, a sound that never fails to make vi smile. She presses her cheek against your shoulder, her arms tightening around me.

"I'll be good," she promises, her breath warm against your neck.

"For now."

streamergfvi: who hates christmas songs but always ends up humming them whenever she gets lost in thoughts. When the two of you are alone, you can't help but laugh at the sight of her mouthing the lyrics. It's like watching a grumpy cat wearing a Santa hat. And when she catches you watching, she'll blush, a little embarrassed.

So, you lean in and whisper,

"You secretly love it,"

and she rolls her eyes

''shut up''

streamergfvi: who never lose the chance whenever the first notes of "All I Want for Christmas is You" waft through the air from some distant holiday playlist and you two are together, to mouths the words "All I want for Christmas is you,", a smug grin on her face as she points at you

streamergfvi: who is addicted to hot chocolate, it gets to the point it's almost concerning, the moment the first snowflake graces the ground, she's in full-on hot cocoa mode. She has collection of mugs that would put Santa's workshop to shame. marshmallows of every shape and size, whipped cream in canisters, and an assortment of chocolate chips that could fill a stocking.

But what she love even more is drinking it with you (she secretly adds more whipped cream to your mug just to make it more difficult for you to drink it without getting some on yourself)

You took a sip, trying to be dainty about it, but the whipped cream was just too tempting. It clung to your upper lip, a sweet little mustache that vi found absolutely adorable. She couldn't help but let out a soft giggle as she set her own mug down and leaned in. Her eyes sparkled with mischief, and her warm breath brushed against your skin as she tenderly licked the whipped cream from your nose. Her smirk widened into a grin, and you felt your cheeks flush.

You decided to play along, you leaned in closer, your sweet breath mingling as you looked at her battling your eyelishes

''thank you baby''

you whispered and you knew you've got her where you wanted by the way her breath hitched and her eyes gazed hungrily at your shiny lips. you let her almost close the gap but as soon as her lips brushed against yours, you pushed your finger, that you previously used to scoop some whipped cream, against her cheek pulling yourself back

"Two can play at this game,"

you whispered, a mischievous glint in your gaze.

gently, you traced the line of the whipped cream from her cheek to the corner of her mouth, painting a sweet path that you couldn't wait to follow. Her eyes still locked on yours, as you slowly briought your finger closer to your own mouth. With an exaggerated show of temptation, you sucked the whipped cream off, savoring the taste as it lingered on your tongue.

"Mmm, you taste so sweet''

her eyes flashed with need and you suddendly found yourself pulled onto her lap as she kissed you passionately

''i'm gonna cover you in whipped cream and lick you clean''

she whispered in your ear

streamergfvi: who let you convince her to wear matching christmas hairband for her christmas stream special.

You were casually lounging on her bed, your fingers dancing across the screen of your phone, searching for some holiday inspiration to sprinkle onto vi's upcoming Christmas stream special when a pop up advertisement caught your eye, a picture of candy cane-themed hairbands.

you looked at vi seated across from you, her back against the bed's headstand while she edited a video for her youtube channel on her lapton perched over her lap, you couldn't help but giggle imagining how she would look wearing it.

vi tore her gaze from the screen of her laptop and arched an eyebrow at you, a small smile curling her lips

''what's so funny?''

she asked as you pulled yourself up to sit on your knees in front of her and held the phone up in front of her. She let her eyes roam over the screen before a smirk formed on her face.

''Yes''

she said without even thinking about it

''yes?'' you asked surprised

''yes you would look incredibly cute in one of this, you want me to buy you one?''

you rolled your eyes

''I want us to wear it, for your christmas stream special''

Vi couldn't help but chuckle at the suggestion, a playful glint in her eyes as she took in the image of the candy cane hairbands.

She leaned forward, setting aside her laptop, and reached for the phone to get a closer look. "You want us to match?" she teased, her voice filled with amusement.

"Come on," you said with a grin

''what about my reputation? the chat is gonna give me hell about it''

you just pouted knowing full well she couldn't resist you ready to hit her with your secret convincing weapon

''please violet? please please please'

you looked at her battling your eyelishes and pushing yourself closer to her

''not fair'' she mumbles trying not to look at you as a blush painted her cheeks.

and that's how she found herself in front of the camera, a pair of candy cane-themed hairbands on her head and a scowl on her face as she read the chat. You giggling seated on her lap.

@/Ekk0: man bat your eyes three times if you are in danger

@/piltiespinerc: vi looks like an evil elf

@/sevikunt: she is also as short as an elf

streamergfvi: who runs as hot as a radiator and streams in a pair of grinch boxer and fuzzy socks set you gifted her and her hoodie. whenever you sleep together during winter it's like a battlefield because she pushes the blankets away in her sleep and you always need to pull them back up.

As the night wears on, the dance of the blankets continues. You, the recipient of her warmth, are engaged in a silent tug-of-war as she unconsciously kicks them off, leaving you exposed to the cold. Your limbs, accustomed to the warm sanctuary provided by the blanket fortress, scurry to pull the covers back up. The fabric whispers and shifts as you both adjust, trying to find a balance between your thermal preferences.

With a sleepy groan that is both endearing and exasperated, she rolls over, her eyes fluttering open just enough to reveal a sliver of hazy awareness. In one swift movement, she abandons the battle of the blankets, opting instead to use her own body as a human comforter. Her form, now a warm, heavy weight, settles over yours like a contented cat. Her head finds its place in the crook of your neck, her breath a gentle warmth against your skin.

Her words, muffled by the pillow and the weight of sleep, are a declaration of warmth and affection.

"Fuck the blankets,"

she murmurs,

"I can warm you up just fine."

And with that, she wraps her limbs around you, effectively trapping your body in a cocoon of love and heat. The battlefield of blankets is forgotten as you both sink into the warm embrace she offers, the chilly winter night outside now just a distant memory. The room feels smaller, but the bed feels infinitely cozier with her sprawled over you, her heartbeat a steady rhythm against your chest.

streamergfvi: who can't keep her hands to herself when you surprise her opening the door of your apartment in a elf costume. Vi mentioned to you once that she thought you would look really fucking cute in an elf costume and today you decided to surprise her. As the door to your apartment swings open vi's eyes widen in surprise and pure, unadulterated lust as she takes in the sight of you. Her gaze lingers on the curve of your hips, the swell of your breasts peeking out from the tight green fabric, and the playful jingle of the bells adorning your hat and shoes.

"Look what Santa left me,"

she murmurs, the corner of her mouth quirking up in a knowing smile.

Before you can even answer, she's already closing the distance between you, her hands finding their way to your hips as she pulls you in for a passionate kiss. Your heart races as you feel her strong arms around you, the warmth of her body pressing against your own. The kiss deepens, her tongue exploring your mouth as if it's a place she's missed dearly. You melt into her embrace, letting out a content sigh.

Breaking the kiss, she looks into your eyes, a playful glint in her own.

"I think someone's been a very naughty elf," she whispers, her voice thick with desire.

Without another word, she scoops you up and carries you into the kitchen, setting you effortlessly onto the cool kitchen counter. The suddenness of it all makes your heart race and your breath hitch in your throat. Your legs instinctively part to allow her closer, and she takes full advantage, stepping between them. Her eyes never leave yours as she leans in, the heat of her breath ghosting over your skin. Her voice is a low, seductive growl,

Her hands are everywhere, tracing the lines of your body with a familiarity that sends shivers down your spine. She runs her thumbs along the hem of your costume, pushing it up slightly to reveal more of your bare thighs. You can't help but whimper at the sensation, your body already responding to her touch.

Her mouth is a searing brand as it trails down your neck, leaving a path of kisses and nips that make you arch into her.

You lean back, supporting yourself on your elbows as she works her way down, her mouth leaving a trail of fire in its wake. You can feel her hot breath against your skin, and it makes you squirm with anticipation.

''fuck violet please''

you moan throwing your head back

Her mouth finds its way to the apex of your thighs, and she kisses you through the thin barrier of your costume, making you squirm with need. The sound of the fabric tearing is music to your ears as she decides she's had enough of the foreplay and dives in, her tongue meeting your skin with a hunger that matches your own.

You grip the counter's edge, your knuckles turning white as she works her magic. The world around you fades away, replaced by the feel of her tongue swirling around your clit, her fingers pressing inside you, and the sweet, sweet friction that builds with each movement.

Your hips buck against her mouth, and she chuckles against your skin, sending vibrations through your core that make you shiver.

You're lost in a haze of pleasure, unable to form coherent thoughts beyond the desperate need for more.

Her rhythm is relentless, each stroke and suck bringing you closer to the edge. You're panting now, your hips rocking against her face as you chase that elusive peak. And when you finally reach it, it's like a starburst of sensation, leaving you trembling and gasping for air. She doesn't stop, though, continuing to kiss and lick until you're a boneless, quivering mess, your legs wrapped around her neck, holding her in place.

she smiles as soon you free her from the hand that had been gripping her hair, your legs relaxing allowing her to push her head back.

''I didn't know we were going for a naughty North Pole theme tonight."

streamergfvi: who asked you to celebrate christmas eve with her, vander and powder knowing you haven't talked to your homophobic family in years and would have probably spent christmas in your apartment alone.

After the icredibly delicious dinner vander cooked, for the first time in your life you felt like you finally belonged as you watched vi and powder wrestle over the remote cotrol of the tv while they bickered about the movie to watch.

''powder we are watching gremlins''

powder tried to reach the remote as vi stretched her arm in the air to prevent her from taking it.

''I'm not watching that stupid movie again''

violet smirked watching powder struggle

''why is that? you think you'll get scared and snuck in my bed in the middle of the night like when you were five''

powder jumped glaring at vi offended

''shut up that was one time''

as you watched them bicker some more you felt the tears fill up the corners of your eyes. ''maybe christmas isn't so bad'' you thought to yourself offering a small content smile to vi when she glanced at you.

streamergfvi: After you watched ''Home Alone'' (yes you teamed up with powder against vi) you and vi went to vi's room to exchange presents.

Her eyes sparkled with excitement as you fumbled in your bag, your hands slightly trembling. You had been carrying around the little blue box for what felt like an eternity, the weight of it feeling heavier than any burden you had ever known. Inside was a set of shiny silver keys, attached to a keychain that had a tiny, delicate heart.

Finally, with a deep breath, you pulled out the box and placed it in her hand.

"Merry Christmas, Violet"

you said, trying to keep my voice steady, your heart thudding in your chest like a drum at a parade. She looked at you, a hint of curiosity playing at the corners of her mouth, her eyes searching myours for a clue of what could possibly be hidden within the wrapping.

Vi gently tore open the paper, her movements deliberate, savoring the moment. The box revealed itself, and she lifted the lid with a soft gasp. Her eyes widened as she took in the sight of the keys, her thumb tracing the heart-shaped charm.

"What's this?"

she whispered, her voice filled with a mix of surprise and hope.

"It's… it's a spare set of my apartment keys,"

You began, the words tumbling out of my mouth faster than you could control.

"I want you to have them because… because I want you to move in with me. I know it's a big step, but I can't imagine my life without you in it, and oh god i had this speech prepared but i don't know i just I love you and i guess a want to wake up to you every morning and fall asleep together every night...''

The room seemed to hold its breath as she looked at the keys, then back at you.

The silence stretched out, feeling like a tightrope walk over a canyon. And then, she broke into the most radiant smile, her eyes brimming with unshed tears.

"Holy shit, really?"

she asked, and you couldn't help but let out a giggle.

"Really,"

you affirmed, taking her hand in yours.

"I want to come home to you every night, to wake up to your messy hair and the smell of burnt toast in the morning. I want to share our lives, our space, and our future."

Vi looked at you, her gaze unwavering, and then she threw her arms around me, the keys dangling from her hand as you hugged tightly.

"fuck yes,"

she murmured into your neck.

"I'd love to move in with you."

you spent the rest of the night cuddling in her bed, hands interlocked as you talked about your future together, a pair of silver matching rings she gifted you glinting in the dim light of her room. And as the snow continued to fall outside, painting the world in a fresh coat of white, you knew that with Vi by my side, this was going to be the best Christmas yet.

[parkersbliss]

Snow Days with the COD Men

pairing: ghost, gaz, price, soap AND KEEGAN! x reader

synopsis: Some cute snow days with your favs!

warnings: sexual innuendo for soap, pregnancy with price

a/n: inspired by the actual snowstorm that's kept me inside for two days now lol

Masterlist | Taglist | Prompt List

requests open for call of duty

—

Ghost:

“Hey,” You said softly, opening the door to your porch. 

Simon doesn’t bat an eye, continuing to sit on your couch and stare at the pine trees in front of you. “Hi, love.”

“What are you doing?” You ask, coming to take a seat next to him. The hot chocolate is warm in your hands, and you take a small sip. Your eyes remain trained on your husband, his cup in hand, as he watches the glittering snowflakes.

“Just watching,” He hums. 

You set your cup on the table, leaning your head on his shoulder as he wraps an arm around you. You’re not sure how long he’s been sitting outside, but it’s impossible to tell because he’s as warm as ever. You can feel the heat on him through your puffer jacket as you turn to watch the snowfall. Already, a few inches have covered the grass and your driveway. The snow comes down in big plumps, twirling in the wind as they make landfall.

His hand squeezes your shoulder, rubbing soothing circles as he sips at his drink. “Think we should get married in the winter.” 

 “Yeah?” You said, glancing at the ring on your finger. You hold up for both of you to admire against the snowy backdrop. 

Simon smiles at it, the diamond glinting in the snow. “Yeah. A couple of pine trees, string lights, and plush snow.” 

 “Sounds cold.” 

 Your fiancee wraps your hand in his, pressing a kiss to the back. “Sounds bloody perfect,” he corrects. “A nice cabin trip for our honeymoon. Far off in the mountains, away from everyone.” 

You can’t deny the temptation of that. Your mind wanders to the idea of you in a white dress, in an even whiter background—bridesmaids in a dark green dress and pinecones as decor. 

“As long as there’s a hot tub,” You said. 

“I’d make one for you.” A piece of snow lands on your nose, and Simon’s hand comes up to brush it away. His touch was gentle as always like you were made of porcelain. He cups your cheek, pressing a tender kiss to your nose. “I love you.” 

The snow falls harder, the wind picking up and blowing it in your direction. But you feel warm inside at his words. “I love you too.” 

Gaz:

Your cheeks sting from the cold, little needles pressing their way into the fragile parts of your face. It doesn’t matter though, your determination keeps you hot. You cup your hands tightly, pressing the snow together as you scan your backyard for your opponent. 

A plight of snow hits you in the back, making you spin around. You chuck your snowball at your boyfriend, who laughs as he ducks. 

Kyle is already scooping up more snow as you huff and waddle through the snow towards him. You scoop up another ball on your way, hiking your feet in and out of the 2 feet of snow. 

“Get back here!” You shout at him, tossing the ball at his arm. It explodes in a flurry of white, and he chucks one back at you. 

You drop to the snow, already forming more artillery. Meanwhile, Kyle is scooping up huge amounts of snow with his hands and making a wall. You keep scooping up more snow, trudging towards him. You can see his blue puffer in the waves of white, slightly peeking over the fortress he’s built for himself. 

Another snowball is hurled at you, leaving flecks of snow in your eyelashes. “Kyle!”

He laughs, hearing the sharp pitching of your voice. “What, babe?” 

 You push yourself faster through the snow, gripping your snowball until you get the perfect angle and nail him in the back of his head. He gasps, rubbing the ice off of him and spinning to face you. 

You give him a friendly wave, holding another snowball in your hand. 

“We can talk about this,” He said, holding up both of his hands. 

“Really? Should’ve thought about that an hour ago.” 

 Kyle tilts his head. “Yeah, probably. But—” 

He rushes at you through the snow, tackling you into it with a soft “poof” as you sink into it. 

You shriek, snow falling into your face as Kyle wraps his hands around your waist. He smiles down at you, lips widening at the scowl on your face. Before you can scorn him again, his lips find yours. They’re ice against yours, but you can’t deny the way you melt into it anyway. 

“I’ll make it up to you, babe,” he said, standing up and offering you a hand. He pulls you into his chest, hands flying to your waist. “How does a warm bath sound?” 

You shake your head. “It sounds like a good start to an apology.” 

Soap: 

You watch your boyfriend dart around the yard, shoveling more snow into his ever-growing dome-shaped monstrosity. Johnny’s cheeks are tinted red from the cold, frost nipping at his nose, but he doesn’t care. He’s smoothing out the edges of his soon-to-be igloo, piling more snow on and pressing in. 

You’re carrying over the pre-made snow bricks like some animal crossing task as he stacks them on one another. As soon as you’d woken up, Johnny was shoving himself into a snowsuit and rushing for the door. You had gotten a good foot of snow, and he was determined to make a creation. 

You suggested a simple snowman, but he denied it. 

He pats them down, using nimble fingers to carve out the caking between each brick. 

“’s gonna be a real beauty,” He said, standing back to admire his work. “Gonna have tea parties in here, aye?”

You tilt your head. “I don’t know about that. Think it’ll freeze.” 

 Johnny’s nods. “You’re right. Well, then we can have… a snow cone party.” 

 You snort, handing him another brick. “What flavor?” 

 Your boyfriend gives you a devilish grin, once you’ve gotten used to that translates to no good. “Yellow, my favorite.”

“You’re gross,” You scoff, coming to stand next to him as he carves more patterns into your backyard igloo. 

Johnny tosses an arm around your shoulder, pulling you closer to let you rest on him. “That’s not what you said last night when I—” 

 “Okay!” You said loudly, glaring at him. “That’s different.”

“I suppose.” He reaches a hand forward to tweak one of the snow bricks. “Think we should live in the Arctic.” 

 “Think you’re fucking crazy,” You quip back. “You’re almost frozen solid, babe.” You place a hand on his cheek, rubbing it to try and warm him up. Despite the snow gloves, you could feel the biting sting of the cold on him. Johnny was invincible, as ever, and didn’t seem to notice. Or care. 

“This igloo won’t build itself.”

 You cup his face, making him face you. “It won’t be built period, if you die of hypothermia.” 

“May I remind you, lassie, I’ve been swimming in the Arctic before?” 

 You roll your eyes. “The igloo will still be here tomorrow. Besides.” You drop your hands to his arms, tracing them up and down. “Got a few ways we could warm up.” 

 Johnny’s eyes light up. Within seconds, he hauls you over his shoulder, trudging back to the house. “Forget the igloo. I like the sounds of that much more.” 

Price:

“Are you sure you don’t want any help?” You ask as your husband clears another line of snow out of your driveway.

John grunts in response, stopping to rest on the handle of his shovel. “Honey, you shouldn’t even be out here in the first place.” 

 You pout. “But I feel horrible leaving out to shovel our whole driveway.”

 John sighs, picking up his shovel and scooping another line. “Don’t. It’s the least I can do after everything you do for me.” 

“But it’s cold,” You continue to protest. “And I can help. Then it would get done faster and—” 

 Your husband gives you a stern look. “No. Call me traditional, but I’d rather you stay warm inside cooking a nice meal than freezing your ass off and the little one.”

 Your hand comes to rest at the bulge of your stomach. “I already have cookies in the oven, and we’re fine.” 

 He gives you that smile with his lips pressed together. “Then I don’t need anything else.” 

The snow begins to pick up again, flurries dancing and twirling in the air in huge fluffs. You watch as they stick to the driveway, and make a home in your husband's beard. Your mind drifts to next winter when you’ll have a little girl wrapped in bundles of jackets, marching through the snow. 

Your heart clenches at the thought of your husband helping her make snow angels rather than shoveling the driveway. The snow begins to pick up, and you step further into the garage, feeling the familiar twinge of frost on your nose.

You frown as your husband continues to shovel. “My love?” You call out to him. 

He stops, turning to face you. Plumes of snowfall in front of your face as you look out to him, lip jutted outward and hand rubbing your growing belly. Well, fuck him. He grabs his shovel, dragging it back to the garage as you smile and press a kiss to his cheek. 

“Thank you.”

 “I’m going back out there in the morning.” John’s hand falls to your back, a warmth you’ve come to know carrying his kid as he leads you inside. 

“And leave me and the bugger all alone in bed?” 

 John huffs a laugh, closing the door behind the two of you. He wraps both his arms around you, resting them on your stomach and placing his chin on your shoulder. He receives a little kick in response and sighs. “The snow can wait, I suppose.”

Keegan:

Keegan tugs on his mask, tilting his head from side to side. He leaves his snow gloves attached to his hip. “Need any help, baby?”

You huff, fumbling to turn and face him. His eyes crinkle at the sight of you all bundled up in layers of warmth. “I can’t get the zipper.” 

He strides forward, tugging the zipper up to its proper place just below your chin. He leans forward to press a chaste kiss through his mask on your lips. He pulls back and grabs your hand, leading you out the door and fastening his gloves on. He yanks the string of your sled, dragging it behind him. A few kids run towards the hill at the edge of your neighborhood, sleds, toboggans, and snowboards with them. They shout excitedly to their friends, waving hands frantically. 

“What if we take out a kid?” You asked, feet crunching in the snow. 

Keegan shrugs. “They should’ve kept an eye out.” 

 You swat him on the arm, but neither of you feels a thing beneath all the layers. 

He just laughs as you approach the hill. “C’mon. You doubt my steering skills?”

 “I doubt your driving skills, in general,” You reply as he secures the sled in place, using a foot to keep it in place. 

“In you go.” He holds out a hand, letting you grab it as you sit down in the sled. You place both your feet outside it to let Keegan slide into the space in front of you. He grabs the string, making a slapping motion like he’s Santa with the reindeer, and you roll your eyes. You slip your arms around his middle, leaning your head on his back as you push off the hill.

He cheers like a little kid as you both go flying down the hill, snow caressing your cheeks and splaying everywhere. 

 “Hold on!” He shouts, suddenly pulling right. 

“What?” You shriek.

You jerk to the right suddenly, and the sled topples over, and you both land in the plush snow. The cold envelops you for a second, nudging part of your epidermis and deep into your veins before you push yourself into a sitting position. 

Keegan is sitting in front of you, brushing snow off his jacket, and you can see the faint outline of a cheeky grin under his mask. “Whoops. You okay?” 

 “I’m fine,” you assure him as he helps you up and grabs the sled. He turns to face you, raising his gloved thumb to brush some snow from your face. 

“Wanna go again?”

 You sigh, lips quirking upward, unable to deny your boyfriend. “Always.” 

– END –

Read more, HERE. Never wanna miss a fic? Join HERE.

🏷 COD taglist: @looking1016 @Bitchyzombietaco @lilwinchester67 @crypticlxrsh @echo9821 @trxpslxt @the-kakawshi-bird @gaz-oline

[tushanfoxspirit]

The Chinese Drama (Fake) Version DOES NOT EQUAL The Manhua & The Donghua (Original) Version !!!!

This is Fox Spirit Matchmaker !!!!

This is The Plight Tree !!!!

This is YueHong (Tushan Honghong x Dongfang Yuechu) !!!!

This is SanYa (Tushan Yaya x San Shaoye) !!!!

This is Tushan Rongrong !!!!

[blackknight-kai]

Nobody asked for this one but it came to me so I’m gonna share. It’ll be my last post for the day since I’ve kinda bombarded you guys all day LOL! Sorry not sorry….

You lose a bet with Bajie and have to kiss Wukong/DO on the mouth. The pig man KNOWS of your feelings for the monkey, while Wukong/DO is oblivious to it.

And so, you stalk over to the handsome monkey, your cheeks absolutely on fire. He’s distracted so he doesnt know what’s coming to him. As you approach though and call out to him he innocently turns his face towards you and that’s when you act, wanting to get this embarrassing thing over with.

Quickly before he has a chance to do anything about it you put your hand on his cheek, noting in the back of your mind how soft and warm his fur and skin is. Your heart is so damn loud in your ears as it tries to hammer its way out of your chest. With every ounce of courage you have you squeeze your eyes shut and press your lips against his for just a blissful moment before tearing yourself away and very, very speedily make your exit.

Bajie bellows out a loud thoroughly amused cackle at your plight and you rudely flip him off as you stomp away and out of sight through the trees making your way to a nearby stream, hoping that splashing your scalding face with cold water will help calm you down. You feel like you could just DIE. On one hand, you’d gotten to kiss HIM. On the other, now you’ll have to try to explain WHY that happened when he inevitably asks and try not to spill your guts regarding your apparently not so well hidden feelings.

Destined One:

- [ ] Does not understand what the hell just happened

- [ ] He is frozen solid in place, his usual determined frown going slightly slack as his mouth hangs open just a little.

- [ ] His heart starts stuttering and he takes a sudden shocked breath not realizing that he’d literally stopped breathing

- [ ] Slowly, still staring at the trees you had disappeared behind, he raises a claw tipped hand and brushes his fingers against his lips. It tingles strangely and he feels weirdly twitchy

- [ ] His brown furrows deeply as the sounds of the forest and Bajie’s deep laughs start to register to him

- [ ] With flaring nostrils he finally moves, stalking with purpose after you, not knowing exactly WHY but that he NEEDS to. the pigs laughter echoing loudly starts to fade as he uses his heightened senses to locate you

- [ ] His heart is still racing, as though he’s in a particularly harrowing fight, when he finds you crouched down by a stream splashing water on your face

- [ ] Not stopping, feeling determined but not sure why, he clenches his fists and makes his way over to you with stiff shoulders and a flicking tail

- [ ] Hearing his loud footsteps on the grass you turn, your eyes wide and your cheeks pink

- [ ] Seeing that expression on your face makes his fur ripple and he barrels right up to you as you stand and take a step back from him putting your hands up

- [ ] His chest hits your hands and you give him a strangely vulnerable look opening your mouth as though youre going to explain yourself

- [ ] He doesnt let you.

- [ ] Pursing his lips he gently reaches up, pressing his chest heavily against your palms and wrapping his tail around your waist securely, his hand cups your cheek

- [ ] His hold is gentle but firm and he shuts his eyes as he leans in and puts his mouth against yours

You:

- [ ] You’re confused, nervous, and kinda freaking out as he suddenly gets into your space

- [ ] It all moves so quickly that you don’t have time to react as his strong chest presses against your hands and his tail anchors itself around your waist pulling you into him as his claw tipped hand gently angles your face

- [ ] You suck in a surprised breath as his mouth is pressed firmly against yours for a moment, your heart racing and your eyes wide

- [ ] His lips dont move, in fact the touch is kinda strange as he just holds his face against yours and as he pulls back you blink at him completely stunned and speechless

- [ ] His brow has a deep furrow to it and he seems to contemplate something before he pulls your face against his again and you squeak as he does this very quickly several times

- [ ] As he pulls back one more time, you hear a frustrated and pained monkey sound coming the back of his throat, its almost like a whine, his expression that of confusion and frustration you realize very quickly that he just simply doesn’t know what to do

- [ ] Swallowing thickly, you try your best to calm your heart and find your voice. “D-did you want me to show you?” You whisper in the small space between your faces

- [ ] He slowly jerks his head in a nod and looks at you imploringly

- [ ] taking a shuddering breath you slowly slide your hand up from his chest, he seems to shiver as your fingers glide across the skin on his neck and he tentatively leans into your touch as you cup his cheek. His eyes wide, curious, and searching.

- [ ] You pull gently and he leans down towards you again and this time when your lips touch you can help but smile just a little at how stiff he is

- [ ] “Do as I do” you tell him lowly as you pull back only a hair before kissing him again, this time you gently put pressure on his lips with yours, moving just a little

- [ ] It takes him a second but then he tentatively copies you with a sigh through his nose and a pleased monkey noise rumbles in his chest

- [ ] You both take a few moments just testing the waters, him following your guidance and slowly gaining confidence with his lips

- [ ] You know you’ll have to explain yourself soon, but for now, you enjoy the slow exploring kisses and his gentle hold keeping you pressed tightly to him

Sun Wukong:

- [ ] As soon as your lips touch his, Wukongs body does its best impression of turning into a statue, living up to the name “Stone Monkey”

- [ ] Everything stop for him

- [ ] He only vaguely notices your lips leaving his and your touch being gone

- [ ] No sound or smell reaches him. His sight doesnt register and all he can do is stand there for a moment as his body tries to understand the unfamiliar sensation he’d just experienced

- [ ] His lips twitch first and then a high pitched, curious, and surprised little monkey sound leaves his throat as everything comes crashing into him all at once

- [ ] His tail is still frozen in place slightly curled at the end. The furry tip of the appendage starts to wiggle though as his senses return to him

- [ ] Bajie’s cackling being the first thing he hears and the trees you’d scurried off behind being the first thing he sees.

- [ ] His lips tingle and his heart hurts with how hard and fast it’s pounding in his chest

- [ ] Another instinctive monkey sound leaves his throat and he licks his lips flaring his nostrils at the faint taste of the pear youd eaten just a bit ago

- [ ] Bajie, hearing Wukongs little primal vocalizations laughs harder and falls backwards off the log he was sitting on

- [ ] Wukong ignores him in favor of latching on to the rising instinctual feeling in his gut, needing to give chase to you

- [ ] He tightens his body and in an instant hes off, the dirt where he had been standing is displaced with the force of his movement. The leaves on the ground fly up as he disappears and bushes and trees sway dramatically as he rockets himself through the forest towards you

- [ ] Seeing you crouched by the stream he stops only half a step from you and you jump to your feet in fright at his sudden presence

- [ ] Any other time he might have found that amusing

- [ ] Instead he reaches out to you with both hands, a needy instinctual monkey sound ripping from his throat, cupping your cheeks and his claws gently grazing the back of your head as he pulls you up and dives down to meet you in a fiery kiss

You:

- [ ] You dont have time to even breathe as his strong calluses hands grip your face and yank you up towards him

- [ ] His lips slam into yours causing you to gasp and fall into him with your hands against his chest as he practically starts to devour your mouth

- [ ] It’s completely uncoordinated and messy, as though he’s impatient and inexperienced

- [ ] His claws grazing the back of your head and neck make you shiver and you try to keep up with his passionate kiss

- [ ] You both are breathing heavily through your noses and you have to turn your head with all your strength to dislodge his lips from yours

- [ ] He thankfully allows it and pulls back only a breath away to look into your eyes, something desperate and vulnerable in them

- [ ] After a moment he tries to dive back in but you stop him by putting your the tips of your fingers softly over his mouth

- [ ] He frowns obviously pouting at you and you huff a breathless laugh

- [ ] “Slow down a little,” you say with a racing pulse and excitement running through you

- [ ] Wukong makes a little frustrated grunt but you lean up and softly kiss his lips once and then pull back “Like that,” you say

- [ ] He squints at you before giving a short, sharp nod, and you laugh to yourself as he dives right back in for another kiss

- [ ] He’s still impatient. Still too quick and messy but he moves slower and as you guide him he learns to follow your movements - of course with his own over confident spin on it.

- [ ] You cant complain though, not even as he licks sloppily into your mouth and pulls you tightly against his warm sturdy body, his tail wrapping tightly around your thigh just under your ass cheek.

- [ ] You kissed the Monkey King and he came back for more

[so-i-did-this-thing]

This is a weird question and im really sorry if im overstepping, so if i am just say and I'll shut up. I was scrolling through your blog for fashion inspo and I noticed you said in one post you're Cuban American. I notice a ton of Cuban Americans online consider themselves white, and admittedly a lot of Cuban Americans do look white, including pitbull my beloved, but im a British turk, a lot of turks do also look white (myself included) and we don't consider ourselves white outside of turkey (my mum is light brown and lived her entire 30 something years in Turkey believing she was white and had an extremely rude awakening in london). Are race and whiteness just very different in Cuba and the United States? Ive been to America as a toddler once, and unfortunately never been to cuba or anywhere in Latin America, so I have no idea what your cultures are like beyond what I see on tv

Hello! For background, I am 2nd generation American on the Cuban side. My dad was an anchor baby.

Ethnicity and race are different concepts in America, but they tend to only be applied to Hispanic/Latin American people -- it's obvious in the checkboxes on our official forms. It's also very important to understand that this ethnicity is not immune to internal and external white supremacy.

I cannot say firsthand how whiteness is perceived in Cuba itself -- my dad always went solo on his trips to the island.

I consider myself white, even though the Cuban side was fairly brown until 3 generations ago. The family has strong ties to Spain, which is why many of us in my family tree ended up with reddish hair and green eyes.

I am a white man who fortunately grew up with close connections to his culture, which is why it is important for me to call myself Hispanic. I grew up with the language in the house, with the food, the celebrations, the multi-gen household, the religious side, the fraught relationship to machismo, etc. I have distinct cultural earmarks I can point to wrt my upbringing, unlike a lot of white Americans who have homogenized so much, their own culture is mainly football and shopping.

But, my Cuban side also includes a lot of assimilation into American white supremacy, which carries both shame and a sense of diaspora. Cubans in America tend to run conservative, which feels traitorous to me, given the current plight of black and brown Hispanics/Latin Americans.

I'm of a generation that lost their Spanish in the name of assimilation. I still can't forgive my parents, both fluent speakers, for stopping to teach my sister and I Spanish. But to be fair, the schools threatened to hold us back a year if we were to be bilingual.

I move through this world as a white man. My ethnicity is mainly considered in the context of medical risk (explains my heart disease coming in young). Because a woman carried the Cuban name, I am no longer a Suarez. I have a faux German last name (more assimilation, from the other side of the family) and am treated differently for it.

There are more educated people than I on this subject, but whiteness in America only has to do partly with skin tone. Whiteness is also about a certain type of "desireable," which is why Jews, the Irish, and Italians, to name a few, have all had periods in history where they were not "white," despite their complexion. And I try to remember this lesson and hope other white Hispanics/Latin Americans realize that our whiteness is purely conditional and can be taken away at a whim. Which makes it all the more important to support our brethren of color.

[thehorsewaslee]

Wilted lemon trees

──────────────────────

──────────────────────

The recruiter x Female reader

Summary; He roped you into his world, you crawled out. Now he’s sent to kill you. In a game of cat and mouse with way too much feelings for either of you, assassin vs assassin. (think Ada Wong and Leon Kennedy except idk who’d be who) The story follows the plight of trying to kill you as well as flashbacks of better days. This is angstyyyyyy

Wc; 20k...I think I blacked out writing this. (I added breaks though dw)(I added a lil more to the ending lol)

Warnings; Violence, blood, guns, one mention of DMV (not against reader), stalking, one mention of weight gain, recruiter being a creep, they match each other's freak tho, sfw, kissing. Non sexual nudity. All ‘smut’ is just fade to black or mentions. Drinking. Breaking glass, breaking hearts. Death, a lot of it. MAJOR ANGST THERE'S LIKE V V LITTLE FLUFF. No happy ending. Kinda graphic descriptions of injury at the end. No reader body/race/age descriptions (if any pls lmk), but in my mind there’s an age gap. A little ooc at the end I guess. NO USE OF Y/N. English is not my first language, also this is like only kinda proofread so lmk if something is wrong :D

Reader is referred to as 038, Recruiter is referred to as 013, ex gf oc is referred to as 024.

Other ending 🫶🏻 

──────────────────────

The pitter patter of rain hit the top of your umbrella with a heavy force, picking up speed as your boots squelched in various little puddles. You hurried under the little bus stop, kneeling down to grab the can of tuna from your handbag. The strays had been following you for a minute or so as you tried to find a dry spot for them to eat. They meowed in affection and contempt, allowing you a few headscratches each before they swatted your hand away, your cue to leave. You walked back out under the rain, still bearing down with intensity as you crossed the empty street to make your way to the narrow back alley where the door to your building was. It was warmer inside, but only by a degree or two. You kicked your shoes off, albeit prematurely, but you knew climbing all these stairs in them would be a mistake.

You sniffed slightly as you fished your key out of its hiding spot, the metal cool on your already freezing hand. Before opening the door, you noticed the carpet in front of it being a little damp. Not enough for anyone to notice, but you did. Mostly because you’d stepped on it barefoot. The apartment door croaked open inwardly, revealing your place just as you’d left it; dark and stuffy. The far window was opened slightly, just a centimeter or two. But you knew for sure you’d always kept it shut, meaning only one thing.

Your view of the studio was obstructed by the wall on the left, only allowing you some vision of the foot of the bed and the bathroom by the door. You were at a disadvantage here, gun in your belt useless if you couldn’t see your target. You flicked the central lights by the door on, the room falling into an eerie yellow glow allowing you to catch a hint of his reflection in the window. Your shoulders relaxed slightly and you allowed yourself to fully step into the place and shut the door. 

“You’ve gotten real sloppy.” You shrugged your flimsy coat off and hung it on the hook by the entrance. Dislodging your gun from its spot, you rested it by the table opposite to the bed alongside your keys, paying him no mind. 

“Maybe I wanted you to know I’m here.” He spoke plainly, eyes trained on your movements from his comfortable position on the bed. You looked at him then, willing yourself to soak in the man that had been haunting both your nightmares and dreams. Had it been that long since you last saw each other? The fine lines at the corners of his eyes tell you so. Maybe he’d just been smiling more often in your absence, but that's doubtful. You trailed your eyes over the rest of him, pristine suit contrasted by your cheap bedsheets, gun safely within reach by his hip. 

“Take your shoes off the bed.” you gave him a tired sigh and he pouted, tilting his head slightly but ultimately humouring you. 

You moved to grab a bite from the minifridge by the window, opening it to grab some leftover bread and the nearly empty jar of jam, when an unfamiliar smell hit your nose. 

“Did you- Smoke in here? You know I don’t own the place my landlord’s gonna kill me-” “You’ve had quite the fall from grace.”

“Shocking isn’t it.”

He stood up, rocking slightly on his heel with his gun in hand, arms crossed over his chest. You followed his eyeline to a spot where paint was chipping on the ceiling. 

“Why do you allow yourself to live like this?” 

You turned back to the fridge and grabbed the half-full bottle of cheap whiskey, standing up to grab two of the clean cups on the table and pouring some into each. Swinging your hips softly to shut the fridge door, you turned around to fully face his intense gaze, offering his share. His eyes shot down to the cracked glass and back to you in a mocking manner. He ultimately took the drink though, sipping on it with more class than it deserved. 

“How do you drink this crap?” He grimaced.

“It gets the job done. Any more questions for tonight sherlock?” You raised the glass to your head, an attempt to ease the headache that he’s about to cause. 

“Yeah. You don’t even have ice?”

You didn’t reply, only watched as he let go of his pride and downed the fluid in the cup, his expression turning into a slight frown as he put the cup down on your bed. You knew this wasn’t him being unable to handle his liquor, just pure disgust at the drink you gave him. And at you, just a little.

“You looked like you needed that.” you chuckled, pointing out the tenseness in his jaw.

“Yeah well, I have a very big job today.”

“Oh yeah? What’s that?” You feigned innocence, moving closer to him slowly, not that the distance was already that large. He gave you a half lidded look, watching intently as you inched closer to him. 

“I think you know,” he smiled slightly.

“Say it.”

“I’m here to kill you.” he whispered, the distance between you now less than a breath’s worth. 

“So do it.”

He didn’t move and neither did you, both holding your positions in determination. Or maybe this was a fight for dominance. His hands were rigid at his sides, gun in one and fist balled up in the other, his head was tilted to look at you, gaze finding the contrast between your lips and eyes an interesting sight to compare time and time again. You were getting a little bored, so your hand found it’s way to the one with a gun and brought it up to your torso, aimed straight at the heart. 

“Shoot. Me.”

He took a deep breath in and let it out slowly, air hitting your face as he held his place. You felt his fingers move around the gun, placing an index on the trigger. You moved your face ever closer to his, lips almost touching as you both stood in the stillness of the room. He met your eyes, conflict and turmoil simmering in his. 

“You gone soft on me?” You challenged. “How boring, I need a shower,”

You pulled away from his warmth and he watched as you turned around and began undressing, stripping casually and folding your outside clothes neatly on a nearby chair with other garments. You turned back to him once more, finding his gaze begrudgingly fixed on your face rather than your naked form. Once he made sure you were watching, he lazily took in the rest of you, a new tally of scars peppering your arms and abdomen, and one particular nasty one near your hip bone. His eyes stopped at it, observing the irregular healing and stretched, discolored skin in an almost circular shape. 

“That one didn’t heal quite well.” He commented.

You chuckled mockingly, stepping towards the tiny closet space to grab a towel and stepped back into his armreach slowly.

“Well the guy who shot me used a shotgun that day, close range too.” You were ever so close to him again. “Ain’t he cruel?”

His nostrils flared slightly, recalling the actions you were referring to. His hand moved to grab you on its own but you slipped away, as you usually did. His gaze never left your back as you disappeared from his line of sight into the bathroom. 

“You’ve gained weight.” He said playfully, eliciting a loud laugh from you in the adjacent room. He strolled the short distance to where you were slowly, habitually avoiding making any noise. 

“You like?” You leaned your head out of  the bathroom door, tilting your head innocently, as if you two were just some couple flirting with each other. “That’s what happens when you stop seeing death so often, you start regaining your appetite. It’s crazy, you should try it sometime.”  

You whipped back into the small room. He made his way to its door leaning slightly on the frame, observing as you stepped under the water stream in the far corner. Far is an overstatement actually, it was only a step or two away from him. A singular white light bulb lit the overhead, hanging from some loose wires. Quite the fire hazard. One hand found a way into his pocket whilst the other rested by his side, gun still heavy and presumably loaded. He watched you curiously, your trembling muscles telling him the water was cold. You had your body towards him, head angled away from the water to avoid wetting your hair. You brought your hand over your face, rinsing it with some of the cold, a sobering motion it seemed, as you then quickly met his looming figure. 

“You gonna join me or just stand there like a creep?” You finally acknowledged him. 

He didn’t know why he obeyed, why his feet made their way into your embrace, stepping under the stream with you, causing his clothes to get soaked. His hair was getting wet too, though he didn’t really mind. Your back hit the cool shower tile, allowing him to step fully in and lean over you. He began shivering a little, too. The cold finally found his skin through the thick suit. Your hands smoothed over his toned abdomen from above the wet dress shirt, roaming up to his shoulders to help him out of the jacket and tossing it onto the ground. He kept his eyes on you, watching as you soaked him all in. His teeth started clattering a little. 

“You can’t afford warm water?” he whispered, the distance between you not calling for his voice to be louder than that. You didn’t answer, instead grabbed his tie and pulled him in. He took the initiative to slot his lips onto yours then, soft and unsure. You pulled back momentarily, allowing only a whisker of space between you. 

“Why are you being so gentle?” You poked at him. “I’m afraid you’ve really lost your touch.”

“You used to be more polite last I left you.”

“Oh don’t go telling people you left me now, it’ll ruin my image.”

“Do you always have to have the last word?”

“How many more questions are you asking me tonight?”

You were pissing him off, he knew this was purposeful. You loved to get on his nerves, rile him up over the littlest things. He’d abandoned this part of him so long ago, and now here you were forcing it back out of the depths of his being.  

He used his free hand to grab your cheek harshly, pulling you into his lips once more. Only this time, the kiss was bruising. He was not letting you get one single breath in, biting at your bottom lip a little causing it to draw blood. He lapped up that flavour like a man starving. Still deep in your air, his loaded hand traveled up with the gun, aiming it at your chin from below. He pulled away only when he physically couldn’t breathe anymore. You were in a very compromising position, you both knew that. 

“There he is.” You panted with a small smile, a hand coming up to brush a stray hair off his face. “I’ve missed you, you know.”

He knows, of course he knows. You didn’t acknowledge the threat at your neck, whether this was trust or a challenge he wasn’t sure. He isn’t ever when it comes to you anyway. The water above you two sputered, signaling the end of the reserve. You snorted at his face, he must’ve been appalled or something, and turned the tap off, stepping off to his side leaving his warmth. He stared at his shoes, back to you as you dried yourself and left the room, water dripping down his head and to his feet. He willed himself to just get this over with, end this game you two have going on. Push the memories back down to where no one could elicit them again. His grip on the gun tightened, but what good does that do if he can’t twitch his finger on the trigger. 

1. . .1

He stared at the range from behind the thick pane of glass, using the cold cup to ice the bruises on his knuckles. The place was really nothing more than a hole in the wall, but it had it’s charm. A combination bar-gun range with some pool and poker tables, likely a front for money laundering, considering it was only ever busy on weekends. Otherwise it would just be him and the bartender of the night, but he enjoyed the break from the outside world. Plus he could watch amateurs give it their all in a macho-off, usually ending in some form of fight. They disgusted him, the people here. He’d people-watched long enough to know who most of them really were beyond these walls, pathetic and indebted to a vast array of people, yet they blow thousands on stupid bets and rigged games of poker, he can’t get that much entertainment elsewhere really. His spot in the corner gave him quite the view of all the commotions. Occasionally, he’d venture into the poker tables and play a few rounds. Losing his first couple of hands only to win big when the players got cocky. Something about watching low-lifes lose their entire net worth gave him satisfaction. He’d leave the winnings for the waiting staff that night anonymously, though he’s got a feeling they’d caught on to him. Other times, he’d watch as patrons came up with their own gun-shooting competitions, placing silly bets and risky prizes. He always joins those, they’re quite rare. Like tonight. There was a particular man in his mid-thirties that would spark these contests. Ex-policeman, that much he told everyone. Through a little more homework he found out that his wife left him and now he’s running away from several domestic violence charges. Unfortunately, the man had never given him the chance to drain him dry, always refusing to bet any real money on these contests. That’s why he’s resorted to staying at 3rd to 4th place when they play, waiting for the cop to let his guard down. Laying the trap so that he could pull the rug from under him. Yes, he plays the long game here, no matter how often they trash talk. 

That’s where he first fully laid eyes on you. You were usually behind the bar, so seeing you waiting tables meant that they were likely very short staffed. You smacked a piece of gum as you maneuvered around drunk patrons to reach the tables. You made it to the gun area with the beers that the men had ordered, looking captivating as ever in your unassuming uniform. Something about you drew his attention, though he couldn’t quite place it. You set the drinks down in front of the loud men, your gaze finding his for only a fraction of a second. 

“Thank you doll,” the older policeman said with a bit too much honey in his tone. “Oh and uh one more thing,” causing you to turn around, notebook in hand ready to take the next order. 

“How bout that kiss huh,” smooching sounds came out of him and you made a very obvious face, the drunkards around him roaring with laughter. You didn’t say anything, only turned back around to wait more tables. 

Later on in the night, after the contest had ended leaving the policeman, once again, victorious. He placed 5th, already almost feeling the fruits of his patience start to blossom as some of the guys had begun discussing re-matches with serious money involved. Oh how he could not wait to drain these fools dry. Bye-bye college fund. You made your way back to their place with refills of their drinks. The bar was a lot less busy now, considering the approaching dawn. Most of the other staff had left, and now that he looked around, most of the bar goers had gone too. Leaving you and the group he sat with. The man couldn’t resist taking another shot at you, now more vulnerable with less people around.

“Cmon sweetheart, what’s a man gotta do to earn your affection?”

You ignored him, continuing to slowly place the cups onto the table. He then slapped two 50,000 won bills on the table. “Cmon baby, how much for the night.”

“Not for sale,” you grumbled. 

“Let's make it a bet then. If you win, I’ll give you double the amount” he said, slapping two more bills on top. That piqued your interest. You looked at the money then back up to him. 

“And if I lose?”

“You know what, but I’ll be nice. Maybe tip ya after.” 

You swallowed thickly, weighing your options carefully.

“What’s the bet?”

“If you could shoot better than my buddy here,” the man pointed back to him, snapping him out of his thoughts. “Then you win.”

You smiled a little. 

“Why him? Why not you?”

“Just giving you a fair chance sweet thing,”

You sucked on your teeth a little, smirk evident on the corner of your mouth. You shoved your hand into your pocket and pulled out some bills, tips he assumed, and stacked them onto the money on the table. 

“No, I'll shoot against you.”

Ooohs erupted from around. If the man had a little less ego he would’ve seen your confidence and took it as a sign to back out. But he didn’t, instead he sneered and motioned for one of the other men to grab two handguns, 10 bullets each. 

The officer went first and the other bartenders huddled in with the group to observe. Out of the ten bottles they used as targets, the man shot down 5. Yes, 5. That was the high score for the night. Though, most of them were drunk and probably struggling with diplopia so that’s impressive enough. They reset the bottles and everyone held their breaths. 

He observed your stance, way too comfortable with the weapon to be just a waitress. You shot bottle after bottle, missing not a single one. The dim lighting of the place coupled with the breaths of a dozen men down your back should've thrown you off, but it didn’t. Color him impressed. Cheers of bewilderment rose through the crowd as you moved to grab your money but a hand stopped you, causing the roars to quiet down.

“You cheated.” the officer accused.

“How? I made the bottles blow up?” You mocked.

“One more round, this time we use the bullseyes”

 “Hmm I don’t really feel like a rematch,” you pouted, causing the angry man to slap a few more bills onto the table.

“No that won’t do…How about that card?” You smiled innocently and the man’s jaw clenched.

“Fine, but if I win, you won’t like how you’ll end up tonight.”

That statement didn’t scare you, only disgust present on your face as you continued chewing the gum. 

He watched in awe once more as you handled the bullseye with ease, the skills of a marksman present in your grip. Though he could tell you were holding back. Ultimately, you had the winning paper. He stood by you as you watched the angry man get escorted away by security as you gave his credit card an obnoxious kiss, followed by waving an enthusiastic goodbye.

He was so intrigued by you, just itching to know more. 

2. . .2

He made his way back to where you were, clothes dripping onto the floor with every step he took, panting a little with frustration. It was neither the water nor the cold that bothered him, but the effect you hold over his being. He observed your movements with tongue in cheek, looking at you with his head tilted to the floor slightly as you waltzed around the small space as if nothing happened. As if he wasn't here to end you. As if you hadn’t spoken in almost a year. He spent the better part of it clawing your ghost off his skin, promising himself self control if he ever saw you again.  

“Why didn’t you run?” He sneered.

“This is me running.” You replied plainly. He hugged himself a little as he leaned on the wall, crossing one leg over. 

“You’re doing a terrible job.”

“Hard to flee the country when you’re legally dead.” You handed him an item of clothing but he refused it before even checking what it was, convincing himself he would not be staying that long anyway. He gave you a mocking sympathetic expression as he decided to pull himself deep into his thoughts to build up the strength to just shoot you. 

You took the item back and turned away from him on the opposite side of the room, rummaging through a bag on the floor. He thought of everything he had on the line, everything he was risking by letting you live this long and it fueled his grip on the gun. You’d both gone silent now, the room only filled with the loud clicking of a beat up clock you have on the wall. He cocked his weapon, allowing you the warning to say any last words. Your hands slowly came up from your sides, showcasing their emptiness as you turned around with wide eyes. He didn’t ever gather how you’d been able to read him so well, how you know when he’s weak and when he’s willing to take the shot. You stared at him with a hurt expression. 

“Any last word-”

“You won’t make this a game at least?”

“I have a job to do-” His words were cut off by a swift trick of your hands, pulling out a throwing knife from its hiding spot in your sleeve and lodging it in his shooting shoulder, causing the first bullet to miss and break the window instead. His free hand came up to clutch the bleeding joint as his grip weakened in pain, though he kept it aimed at your head. In the meantime, you pulled out a gun yourself, yours aimed directly at him, too. Your expression had changed from fear to determination and he noticed you’d put outside clothes on. He must’ve been distracted while you were changing. 

“Is this why you took my jacket off?” He laughed a little and you smirked. Of course you did, ridding him of the only form of protection he had on, leaving him just as vulnerable as you were. Evening the playing field, clever girl.“I don’t want to die,” You shook your head slightly, silently telling him this wasn’t going to be an easy win. 

“No hard feelings, 038.” He used your guard ID, further driving a wedge between the two of you. The sudden change in demeanor like a punch in the gut. 

“Ditto.”

Time stood still once more as his hand clutched the firearm, carefully weighing the options here. Last time you two had a standoff like this you ended up with that scar and he wasn’t unharmed either, but you both lived. He can’t let that happen again. The yellow bulb casted a weak glow on your face making you look quite ethereal. He couldn’t come up with a way to move things forward. He knew that the moment he took the shot, you would too, leaving you both dead. He also knew that he couldn’t dodge it from such a short distance. 

You could though, because you wouldn’t wait for him to take initiative. Another concealed knife made it’s way into his arm as he shot in reaction to your sudden movement, lodging itself near the elbow causing his muscles to misalign and miss you, the shot landing in your biceps instead. You took this opportunity to lunge at him, knocking him to the ground in the process. Your undamaged hand wrestled with his twice injured one in an attempt to disarm him as you straddled his abdomen, but he managed to toss the gun into the other palm and hit you on the head with it throwing you off balance. He moved quickly to position himself on you but not before you managed to grab the weapon embedded in his shoulder, soaking his formerly white shirt with even more red. He re-positioned the pistol to your head as he noticed his blood staining your face, but you managed to stab him in the same arm once more, twisting the knife causing him to cry out in pain. The blood from your little trick dripped onto your lips and you smiled, then took this opportunity to knee him right where the money’s at, hindering him enough to be able to wiggle out from beneath him and get up. 3-1, to you. 

The front of your boot collided with his sternum causing him to fall back as you reached down for his gun. You kept your foot there as he panted beneath you, and you made a show of unloading his gun of its ammo all around him, tossing the weapon out of the broken window, your hand then coming up to clutch your injured arm. 

“You haven’t changed at all,” he laughed, defeated and bleeding from three different wounds in the same arm. 

“You, however, have gotten real rusty.” You kept your own firearm aimed at his head, knowing that logically, this is the only out you have. 

“Is it too late to convince you to change your mind?”

“What? And come back to the games?” you asked and he nodded softly. “I left for a reason, 013. Plus they’d have my head the moment I step on the island, I’m not stupid.”

“I could put in a real good word for you,”

“I don’t think you’re as significant as you think you are.”

“Got you in, didn’t I?” That caused you to ponder.  “Back then I was even less significant.”

You frowned a little, unsure where he was going with this.

“Is this fear talking, 013? You scared to die? Scared I’ll shoot?”

He laughed, tossing his head to the side a bit before re-meeting your amused expression. 

“No. I know you won’t shoot,” He smiled. “Maybe I just miss you too.”

He propped himself onto his elbows as you both panted in frustration, sweat dripping down either of your bodies as you contemplated his words. He was pretty like this, so harmless. It often makes you forget who he really was, so the little weasel wasted no time in reminding you. 

In one quick movement, he grabbed the knife in his forearm and stuck it in your leg, hitting bone in the process, you yelped at the sudden pain.

He took the opportunity to volt back up, grabbing an empty bottle from the floor and throwing it at your head, you managed to duck though, the glass shattering on the wall behind. You used this moment to run for the door, bag of belongings slung on your good shoulder. You reached the knob before he grabbed the glass you’d been drinking from earlier and charged at you, smashing it on your head, causing bright blood to drip from your scalp onto your face. He used his position behind you to wrap a strong arm around your neck, his other hand stabilizing your head as he began ridding you of your air supply. You struggled once, twice, smacking his forearm with all your might, then went limp in his embrace. He loosened his grip on you at the relief of your unconsciousness. He hadn’t though, anticipated the shot that rang out. You were only pretending to go limp and the relief he grated you allowed you to snake your arm around yourself, shooting blindly into him. The shot landed near his liver, but he knew it likely missed anything important, you weren’t shooting to kill after all. He clutched his side, vision going a bit blurry from the accumulated blood loss, causing him to drop down against the wall, staining it red. 

He watched as you wheezed violently, coughing up blood as you clutched your trachea for relief, your injuries exciting him a little, especially your painted face. You both heaved in unison, either one of you unable to take the winning shot. You kneeled down next to him and stuck a hand in his pocket, he didn’t have the energy to stop you. 

“Take me out to dinner first,” he chuckled, earning no reaction from you. You made a show of jiggling his car keys in front of his face, clutching them back in your palm before he could snatch them away. Before you turned to leave you leaned in close and planted a feverish kiss from your busted lip onto his. His hand instinctively cupped your face, dyeing it with some of his blood to match yours. Your bleed seeped slowly into the kiss and he couldn’t get enough of the flavour, chasing your warmth a little when you pulled back, wiping your face and sniffing.  

“Don’t keep me waiting for you that long again, baby.” You pecked him harshly once more and rose back up to pull the door open, letting the building’s cold in. This occurrence must not be that rare since none of the residents cared enough to come check or even filter into the hallway. You turned back to him once more, shooting him a smirk-wink combo before slamming the door shut in his face. 

His tongue wiped his teeth free of your taste, tangy and metallic as he sighed, laughing a little maniacally to an empty room. The events of the night being the highest form of entertainment to him. Baby. What an odd word, he chuckled. He reached his hand into his pocket to call for backup, something he’d never usually do but he’d rather not bleed out here, all alone. His fingers stilled in his pants as a realisation dawned on him.

You took his wallet too

.

3. . .3

He’d spent the last few weeks watching you intently, finding out all there was available to know about you. Your name, how old you were, where you grew up, went to school. Basic stuff. He’d also made a habit of following you along your daily routine. It was fun, always being around without your knowledge. He knows where you live and on which floor. He knows what time you get off your morning shift and he’d watch you change into a different uniform for the next. 2 different jobs a day and sometimes you’d add the extra night at the bar. Your favorite coffee spot became his and the store you stop by regularly had started to recognise his face. All information available about you, every routine, every like and dislike, every hobby and nervous habit, he had memorised to heart. He’d held out for this long cause not a single pattern in your past or present gave him a clue about your skills. Not military service, not an ambitious parent, not self defence classes and not even a pastime. Away from that one night at the bar, you’ve never picked up a gun again in the last weeks. How could someone so ordinary hold such a specific skill? Fascinating. He skimmed your medical records looking for any slip up he could find, a wound unfitting for a simple waitress, finding nothing but endless bills piling up in debt. The only logical next step was to just ask, but he had bigger plans. 

“She’d have to join circle and work her way up” 

He sighed. No, that wasn’t satisfactory. He tried pleading once more with the head guard, his position as head triangle guard not strong enough to make a case, but his charm has gotten him way bigger things before.

“That would be a waste of quite the sharpshooter.”

“When she comes in and is able to display these skills you speak of, we can talk then.”

That's The best he could get. 

You got off work, as usual, at around 2am. He waited in the quiet corner of the bar as you rid yourself of the apron and packed your things. He followed from a safe distance, your first stop on a sunday like this being the 24hr convenience store a few streets down. Then you’ll take an  extra five minutes to pet the sickly dog whose owners won’t feed him at the end of the street, leaving him some sort of processed meat before you turn back to the actual way home. Near the end of your tour there’s a particular alleyway you have to cross to get home. He’d noticed how you always tense up then, likely due to the constricting and dark nature of the path. He’ll strike you then, it’ll earn him the best possible reaction, scared and alone. That part is for his own enjoyment, nothing more. 

Tonight though, weather much warmer and no breeze in the air, you’d taken several unplanned detours to seemingly random places all around. This angered him, following you like a lost puppy, briefcase heavy in hand as he tried to keep up appearances, but your sudden spontaneity put him on edge. He trailed you errand to errand, though you never seemed to have a reason for them. Clothes store then a jewelry one then you went fruit shopping, he really couldn’t fathom what you could be preparing for. At the end of the night though, you fed the ugly dog and treaded back to his made up meeting point. You were several paces ahead of him as you turned the corner into the alley, disappearing from his sight momentarily. He took a deep breath, willing himself to keep the excitement inwardly. He turned the corner in your steps only to be confronted face to face with you. The coldness of your revolver an unexpected feeling on his forehead, doing its best to ward off the summer heat. You stared at him with a tense expression, hand steady around the firearm you were pushing into his temple. 

“Drop it.” you ordered, motioning to the bag in his hand, so he obeyed and you kicked it far out of reach across the dirty street floor. Both hands came up in surrender. 

“Game’s over pretty boy.”

He shot you one of his million dollar smiles, the one he usually resorted to to get what he wants. It didn’t seem to affect you though, only clenching your jaw as a response. 

“I come in peace.”

“That why you’ve been following me for the last month?”

So you noticed him. Did you also notice him watching you change? And jump from job to job? Or just following you home? You were a lot more vigilant than he’d given you credit for. His chest filled with admiration. 

“You are not at all who you seem to be, ms…”

“Oh you know my name too?” You scoffed. “You wanna stop flashing your teeth before I make a hole in that head of yours?”

“My apologies,” he cleared his throat, amusement still evident on his face. “So aggressive…” he whispered, but at the distance you two stood at, he knew you heard him. Your expression remained unchanged. 

“I’ve come with a proposal for you.”

“I decline.”

He bit his tongue to suppress his smile, letting out a shaky breath of pleasure. He wants nothing more than to break you apart, bit by bit, your strong attitude making the image in his mind ever more satisfying. 

“I beg you to let me convince you then.”

You rolled your eyes, “I’m not interested in drug schemes,”

“Do I look like I would approach you for that?”

It was that statement that caused you to take a good look at him, recognition finding its way into your face. Yes, the man from the shooting range. 

“Ah, you’re the scammer.”

“I am no such thing.”

“Right, you pretend to be bad at poker so they play their life savings onto the table then win, scamming them out of their money. You’d been doing that at the range too right? But they won’t give you the chance.”

He smiled ear to ear, you knew him a lot more than he anticipated. 

“You call it scamming, I call it a fun night out. Besides, I assure you my employer has nothing to do with that.”

“And what makes you think I’m buying whatever you’re selling”

“The fact that you haven’t shot me yet, anyone else wouldn’t have given the strange man following them a chance to speak, let alone converse. So either you’re morbidly curious to what I have to say or you’ve got no sense of self preservation.”

It was your turn to smile, flustered a little as you bit on your bottom lip, his effect now impossible to deny.

“May I ask you lower your weapon?”

 “No you look good like this.”

That caught him off guard, causing a little blush to rise to his cheeks.

“We’ll be needing your skills-”

“My shooting?” you interrupted.

“Yes, you can say you’ll be ridding the world of its filth.”

“Sounds like community service.”

“You could call it that.”

Your gun finally went down to your side as you pulled away from him, turning to give him your back “I’m good, thanks.”

“10 million won for around 2 weeks a year. More, if they like you.”

That stopped you in your tracks. 

“I know what that kind of money could do for you ms…, the hospital records are easy to access.”

“What’s the catch?” you turned around slowly.

“There’s no catch.”

“What kind of community service is it?”

He crossed the distance between you, picking up his long forgotten case in the process. He smoothed his clothes over and reached into his chest pocket, pulling out a brown business card. 

“You’ll just have to find out for yourself.” He offered you the card between two fingers, neat and trimmed. You grabbed it, going to inspect what exactly it says. 

3 shapes and a number on the back. 

“Hey this doesn’t really-” You looked back up from the paper, finding no trace of the man you’d become familiar with. You never even caught his name. The card in your hand felt heavy, as if it was calling for you to sell your soul to it. Ok that’s a bit dramatic, but the nature in which you were handed it didn’t really ease your worries. What kind of work has their - albeit, smoking hot- representatives stalk potential employees? And they’d take you based on just this guy’s word? He must be important.

You stood dumbly in the dim corridor, gun in one hand pointed at the ground and the card in the other. The kind of money he speaks of…it could change everything, it could give you a new life. 

What’s the worst that could happen? 

4. . .4

He clutched his side, chasing any form of pain relief he knows won’t come. The streets were empty aside from the occasional bar or party. The car was window sprinkled with raindrops from earlier. They zoomed past the dingy part of town he’d cornered you in, heading back to the main quarters he presumed. The silence was deafening, he waited for anyone to say anything, though there was no one in the car. He was expecting a call from one of the higher guards, though his position granted him a lot of immunity from them. 

“013.” a voice came over the speaker and he tensed up, knowing exactly who this belonged to.

“Mr. Frontman.”

He sat up straight, knowing he was likely being watched at the moment, wincing in pain as some blood oozed out at the sudden movement, his vision growing more blurry by the minute. The matter was a lot more serious than he’d given it credit then, to have the man himself discuss what happened with him could only mean one thing. You’d been causing more trouble, running your mouth and needed to be put down. It’s not a lot that could spike his nerves like this, but the thought of losing everything he worked hard for because of some girl, it tore at him. 

“What happened tonight?”

He had a feeling the man already knew.

“A slip up, it won’t happen again.”

“I took quite the risk sending you, 013. But you’ve let her get under your skin, again.”

He opened his mouth to protest but only groaned in pain. 

“I’ll find her again, and this time I won’t-”

“I’d like you to take backup.”

Backup? He scoffed. He was not a child needing babysitting. 

“I assure you-”

“Take 024, that’s an order.” The line clicked and he sighed, grabbing one of the glasses on the armrest and smashing it in anger, both hands then coming up to rake through his damp hair in frustration. He tried to even his breathing, recollect himself and not allow you to have this effect on him, failing miserably. The car screeched to a halt in front of his own building, guess he won’t even get good treatment tonight.

He limped his way to the elevator and smacked the button with a closed fist, leaving blood everywhere he stepped. He leaned back on himself a little, head tilting up to observe the numbers decrease then a ting! His feet shuffled in and punched in his code, the elevator closing shortly after as he began the ascent to the penthouse. With his back against the wood of the elevator wall, he observed his reflection in the metal of the door. Bloody, tired, defeated. 

Pathetic.

He couldn’t help but recall the way your hands moved over him earlier, already stupidly missing your touch. Another ting! And he was at his place, cold and empty. His finger flicked the central lighting by the elevator, bringing the place to life. He kicked off his shoes, walking barefoot to the nearby guest bathroom. Guest… yeah. The room was relatively small, in comparison to his main bathroom anyway, but he didn’t want to taint the whole place with blood. He’d hate to get rid of yet another cleaning lady. He stepped into the shower, not bothering to toy with the water settings as he turned it on. For the second time that night, he’d found himself under a stream, only this time the temperature was much more humane. Usually he likes cold showers, but the warmth was a lot more efficient in getting rid of your icy memory. He stripped off his blood-soaked garments, red fluid flowing down his legs and into the drain, tossing the clothes to the side. He rested his pounding head on the tiled wall, sighing as the heat eased his aching muscles. Then he pooled some water into his hands, bringing them over his face and head a few times to wash away all impurities. The injuries littered across his body burned a little causing a shiver to crawl down his spine, he needs to take care of those. 

Back out in the kitchen, he made skillful work of the needle and thread through the deep wound as the dirtied clothes sat by the door waiting to be taken care of. He had a towel wrapped around his waist, hair still freshly wet from the shower. He’d fished the bullet out, placing it next to him as a token of defeat. The needle pierced his abdomen easily and he pushed it back out the other side with impatience; he still had a few stab wounds he needs to get to. But at the rate he was going, it would heal quite badly, then you two would be matching. How revolting. Once he was done with that mess, he moved onto using surgical staples for his arm, since there’s no way he could fix that himself. 

He used some bags and gloves to handle the clothes next, transporting them to his disposal oven. He tossed everything in there, his shoes, pants and shirt. The door of the furnace slammed shut and he observed the rising fire through the little window. He ought to do that to you, he thought, lit cigarette in hand. He hates smoking, the smell of it and the aftertaste don’t go well with him, but its effects as a stress reliever are undeniable, considering the other option is on the run at the moment. At the image of you sneaking back into his mind, his body slumped a bit forward as he kept his eyes trained on the dancing flames. A thousand thoughts raced through his head, mostly memories of better days and yearnings of what ifs, things that he did not want to dwell on right now. The phone in his hand read the familiar number, one that often left a sour taste in his mouth, but he had to click dial. Captain’s orders. He took a long drag in. 

The tone rang once, twice then,

“Hello?” A soft female voice enthusiastically replied from the device, clearly anticipating his call. He could only stare at the contact, grimacing a little at the prospect of who was on the other side, blowing some smoke at the screen. 

“Hellooo?” The voice called again, then laughed, “I know it’s you 013,”

“Hello, 024,” he replied finally. “I trust you got the memo,” He took another inhale.

“Yeah I did, wanna come over to discuss?” the voice a little too sultry for him to deal with right now. He knew what she was insinuating, he’d tried to find comfort in her at your disappearance. Big mistake seeing as he spent their fleeting moments together looking for hints of you in her, wasting both of their time. Exhale.

“That will not be necessary, I’ll see you at headquarters tomorrow morning.”

“Aw, sugar, why so cold? She hurt you that bad? I’m always here to kiss it better.” He rolled his eyes, not needing to be present to feel her winking. 

“Goodnight 024.” He ended the call before she could get another word in. The fire was long gone now, leaving only ashes and a burnt out cigarette as a testament to the night’s shenanigans. 

5. . .5

You woke up groggy in a pristine red and white room, mind scrambling to try and recall where you were and how you’d gotten here, though you could only remember the latter. You took the man in the suit up for his offer, dialing the number a few days later and getting into that weird storage container. Everyone else there knew what to do, leaving you the sheepish odd one out. You considered backing out then, since no one would tell you what the hell was going on, but for some odd reason, you pushed through. Maybe you were worried you wouldn’t see his pretty face again otherwise…maybe. There was a blinking camera in the corner, indicating your every move being watched. You moved the covers off your body to reveal a black set of loungewear underneath; a tank top and leggings. To your right there was a toilet with its cover shut, a red uniform placed neatly on top of it and a black mask with a huge circle on it. You looked around for any instructions, explanations but found none, so you sat cluelessly, weighing the options. But by the time you decided to try the door, a knock came from outside. You shot up, ready for anyone to tell you what the hell was going on. The door cracked open to reveal a looming figure in the same uniform that rested in your room, his face covered by a triangle mask. The whatever pushed past you, welcoming themselves into your room. They turned to the camera to reveal their identity, discarding the cover to the side. You shut the door softly, leaning back on it as you observed him turn around with an eager smile on his face. His presence was oddly comforting. 

“I was beginning to think you wouldn’t show up.” you mirrored his expression.

“You’ve been awake for all of 5 minutes, plus I had things to do.” He teased. 

“Well?” You gestured to the surroundings. 

“Well,” he parroted. “Just put your uniform on, I’ll get you shooting soon enough.”

You nodded and he left the room with determinants in his movements, face once again covered.

He maneuvered through the empty hallways he had access to, mind set on reaching the head guard to work his magic for you. He was evidently excited, hoping for a front seat view of presumably your first kill. The door to the room slid open upon identification, revealing some of the other heads as well as the main one readying up for the game in their lockers. He skipped past everyone and aimed for the highest ranking man in the room.

“She’s here.” he stated.

The other guard sighed, “She can join circle for now-”

“Red light, green light is the best time for her to show you what she could do.”

The man stopped his movements and turned to him, despite having his face hidden and a voice changer on, he could tell that he was tired of his antics.

“013, as head triangle you know we’ve got a full house,” the man said sternly. “If someone drops out for any reason, you could have her fill in.”

That’s all the motivation he needed, he left the bathroom stalls in search of you once more, leaving that lanky kid’s unconscious body in a locked stall. He doesn’t really feel bad for him, he’s a terrible shooter so there’s no net losses anyway. 

He knocked on your door once more, an extra mask in hand to be gifted to you. You opened and he observed your figure in the unflattering uniform, face still uncovered. You took a small step to the side to allow him in and shut the door. 

“Ok, put this on. Your number is 038, for now.”

Your identity was now fully concealed, the only difference between the two of you being the height. 

“Follow my lead, don’t ask questions till we get to the shooting range.”

You nodded and he reached for the door handle but your voice stopped him. 

“Wait, I never caught your name.”

“That’s confidential.”

Actually, it's been so long since someone referred to him by his actual name, the people here use guard IDs for ease of recall. 

“Oh come on,” you lifted your mask to get rid of the stupid voice changer. “You know all there’s to know about me and I know absolutely nothing! I can’t keep referring to you as ‘gun guy’ in my head.”

He chuckled quietly, appalled at your insistence of finding out who he was. He mirrored your previous action, moving the cover of his face so that you could see him. 

“Just call me 013 for now, ok?” He put the cover back on, referring to the number on his chest.You rolled your eyes, “Sure.” and fixed your mask once more.

You trailed behind him as he led you through colourful passageways and winding corridors. Nothing about the place could give you any indication as to where you were or what the task was. Or what’s with the eyesore for uniforms. A few people passed you on your journey, all wearing the same uniform save for different shapes on masks and numbers. He finally brought you over to a small room with black walls and a singular window on the opposite side. The area was tiny, barely leaving any space for you two to stand side by side. The walkie talkie on him made a sound but no words came out, only a sort of code you assume. 

“Wait here,” he turned back to deal with whatever that was. “You can take the mask off.” 

Didn’t have to tell you twice, that thing is so stupidly suffocating it’s insane. Sweaty too. You have a feeling someone was wearing it before you put it on. Ew.

You crouched to inspect the view from the little hole, sitting on your knees. It looked out onto a vast desert-like arena with painted walls, huge. It was also made so that you’d have to be laying down to shoot, well, like a sniper. Near your side of the arena there was a large doll-like statue with its back to you. Some red guards began filtering into the from the sides, contrasting the dull blues of the place, like blood on a surgeon’s scrubs. The heat was unbearable in the uniform, they really could afford all this but made the thing out of polyester? Was cotton out of budget? Maybe it doesn’t come in this ugly colour. 

Your fashion critic moment was cut off by ‘013’ sneaking back into the room, a black case in his hand. He dropped it gently at your feet before taking his mask off and fixing his hair, beads of sweat dancing on his forehead. 

“I trust you know how to handle this?”

You popped the case open to reveal a sleek black sniper rifle, the kind way too expensive for you to have ever held it. But you knew the concept.

“More or less.” you grumbled as your hands went to work assembling the piece as he stood over you with his arms crossed, watching with intense eyes. He saw you struggle a little with the support tripod so he leaned down to help you. You both worked in silence and efficiency, moving the completed puzzle to the window. You took your position behind the trigger, patiently awaiting instructions. He sat down by your side, mumbling something into the device in his hands. 

The small doors opposite to where you were opened allowing teal blue figures to move in. You used the scope to observe the targets closer.

“People…?” You questioned out loud. “People??”

“I wouldn’t call them that” the gruff voice from behind you replied as you began piecing the situation together. 

“What the hell is this?” You turned to find him smiling sickeningly at you, his hands toying with a smaller weapon. 

“Red light, green light.”

“The children’s game?”

“If the players move when they shouldn’t, I’ll tell you a number, you find them, then shoot.”

“I’m not killing anyone.”

His jaw clenched in frustration, suddenly making you feel fear in the compromising position you’re in. A voice outside began explaining the game rules. 

“The game is simple enough, really, but you’d be surprised how often they mess up.”

He cocked his gun. 

“My instructions were also pretty simple but I’ll clarify them for you. They move, I tell you the number, you shoot.” His eyes were fixed on your terrified ones. “Or else I shoot you.”

He pointed the gun at you and something about the whole circumstance made you sure he wasn’t just talking. You turned back to the scope, observing as the players readied themselves for the task and he lodged the gun into your side, keeping it there. 

“Do they know?” Your shaky voice betrayed you. You didn’t have to turn around to see the smile on his face, coupled with a short laugh. 

“No. Not yet.”

The doll sang her melody and the victims began to play. Stopping at red, going with green. Your palms were sweaty on the trigger as you tried to come up with a way to back out of this, finding no escape. You saw the man move out of turn before 013 relayed the number to you.

“255” 

You had the shot aligned to his head, breath getting quick and frantic. He pushed the gun further into you. 

“Do it.” 

So you did, jumping back a little at the loud bang. 

“Domino down.” He laughed into the walkie talkie and you weren’t sure what he meant. Soon enough though, the realisation came to you. 

The arena descended into chaos, almost half of the players had now started running the way they came from, breaking the rules.

He leaned in close to your ear. 

“Cmon now, don’t disappoint me.”

You blocked it all out, the screams and cries of fear, the blood splashing all around outside, the clothes sticking to your skin, all of it, and began to shoot. 

Moving targets were always your favourite anyway. 

Shot after shot after shot. You became numb to it, the thought that these were real people, bargaining with the idea of it being either you or them. No longer waiting for the numbers to be called out, you can tell who lost yourself. The machine in your hands made headshots a breeze, the scope making it impossible to miss, or maybe you were just getting cocky, knowing you’ve shot better with much more rudimentary equipment. 

“013,” a voice came from behind you, “tell your girl to leave some kills for the rest of us.”

He laughed into the device, “get better.”

You were not his girl. 

The rush died down and the doll explained the rules once more to the surviving competitors.  

Red light, green light. 

You watched closely for any more losers, shooting a handful in the remaining game time. Your lip was bloody from how hard you were biting it as you got back up with a vacant look in your eyes. He got up as well, grabbing your discarded mask and handing it to your shaking grip. His hand came up to your face, brushing some of the blood on your lips with his thumb. You swatted his arm away and looked at him, a sick smile plastered on that perfect face of his. You turned back to the door and quickly left as he watched you in amusement, bringing the bloodied digit onto his tongue. Kneeling back down to dismantle the weapon, he wondered with a smirk if you’d even be able to find your way back, or if he would find you in some empty corner all scared and alone, easy prey. He put the gun back into its case and exited the room, being met with a short triangle guard’s presence blocking his way. 024.

“Who was that?”

“New recruit.”

“You don’t sneak into new recruits’ rooms or personally oversee their stay. Who is that?”

“Why does it matter to you?”

“I’m…curious.”

“Sounds like jealousy.”

The woman only shrugged. 

“I made whatever was between us clear, 024. Don’t interest yourself in my personal life.”

“Personal?”

He pushed past her, berating himself for giving too much away. But he only had one thing on his mind at the moment and he wanted to be there to watch it. 

You didn’t end up seeing him again for the rest of your time there, falling back into ‘circle guard’ duties. From laundry to cooking and cleaning the arenas, this was much more tame than the excitement you had that first day. 6 nights went by in a blur, moving from one duty to the next. You didn’t actually know what the protocols were like here but some of the other circles were kind enough to show you the ropes. 

Kind. 

Funny word. 

From your interactions you’d learnt that most of them were in similar situations to you, broke and struggling, which really conflicted you but you tried not to think about it. You heard them speak of talks of making routines stricter, limiting interactions between guards. Maybe someone got pregnant. 

At the end of the week there was a celebratory gala that you had to cater at, as the lowest guard rank of course. They switched out your uniforms in favour of sleek black suits and decorative face masks. You saw him then. 

He had a different mask on, but you knew it was him, looking care-free as ever with his arm draped around some girl. All you could think about is what he made you go through, the stuff he put you in. You were so incredibly angry at him for acting like nothing happened at all. You totally spilt wine on him that night, ruining his outfit then scurrying away in giggles to one of the staff rooms. 

You heard he looked for you all night. 

The next time you crossed paths again was the night you were leaving. You only knew it was him because of his number and that obnoxious stance of his. He made you sick. Still hot though, unfortunately. He was standing next to some other guards and a man dressed in all black as they bid all circle guards goodbye. The man in black, who you’d come to learn was the frontman, gave some sappy, thank you for your service type speech and left you on your way. 

You promised yourself you’ll never trust random men in dark alleyways again. 

6. . .6

He remained quiet, allowing the unknown number to identify themselves first. He was, afterall, used to receiving key info from burner phones and unsaved callers.

“Is this supposed to make me feel jealous?”

He smiled, biting his lip a little to prevent himself from alerting his partner. Your voice was music to his ears, a welcome comeback after a little less than 3 months of silence. His wounds were a lot better now, his mind way more set on the goal. For the past weeks he’d been working with 024 to pin you down on the map, attempting to pull on leads and follow weak clues to where you were. You hadn’t been making things easy, he expected no less. You were at least decent enough to leave his car in pristine condition at some junkyard and he was able to retrieve it before they tore it apart. Barely. You were more clever than he often gave you credit for, disappearing without a trace on such short notice, but you were bound to slip up eventually. Currently, he was sat with her at a lively cafe, observing your meeting with a friend of yours. They thought you hadn’t spotted them, leaving shortly after a quick exchange and heading to your motorbike, rented and license plate-less of course, back to your hideout. Following you would be difficult, especially in a vehicle so obvious to you as theirs, so they needed to come up with another way. 

But here you were, dropping it at his feet. 

Amatuere work. 

“Hello again, 038,”

“I suggest you get rid of her.”

“...Or?”

That seemed to shut you up, long enough for him to signal to 024 for help in tracking the number. It was a temporary phone no doubt, but it could give a clue. 

“You need a nanny to help you find me 013?”

He knew you were just trying to rile him up, but his plan was working so he wouldn’t quite give in yet.

“You’re very slippery,”

That earned a chuckle. 

“I warned you.”

The line cut off, but the location was already obtained. And, stupidly enough, it seemed you were keeping the phone on you, giving away your temporary escape. A busted motel in the outskirts of seoul, a place where there's more shady people than not, allowing you to blend right in. You’d done everything right up until now; used cash, avoided cameras, changed your gait but it was jealousy, jealousy that was your ultimate demise. He moved the cup of cold coffee to his lips to avoid the smirk catching the other woman’s attention. 

The location was just as he’d imagined; cheap and with a laughable amount of security. All he had to do was bribe the front desk with a stack and they gave your room number up immediately, 8F, the money probably worth more than your entire stay’s worth. The key felt light in his palm.

“I’ll take the inside, you wait out here in case she gets away.”

“No, I'm coming in with you.”

He sighed, already feeling suffocated in the car at the thought of confronting you again, he’d really rather not have the other woman in there too. 

“And if she manages to escape? Or never even enters the room because she caught us?”

He wasn’t really making sense, prompting 024 to give him a look. 

“From the moment she walks in, I’ll give you 5 minutes. After that I’m coming in to finish the job. I know you won’t.”

He rolled his eyes, opening the door and stepping out into the cool night air. 

“You better not screw each other!” She called out, he pretended not to hear it. 

There was not much inside that caught his eye, the place as unwelcoming as your last one. It was, however, an absolute mess. Clothes strewn about all over, unmade sheets and leftover takeout on the bed. The place was, well, filthy. Very unlike you. On the nightstand sat your notepad, a habit he noticed you always held close. He couldn’t stop himself from looking through it. It was filled with random entries and detailed sketches of everyday items. There was a page for the night you saw each other again, three months ago. The paper was stained with tears.  

He hasn’t changed a bit, still a psycho freak and still so. hot. It’s actually infuriating now. Left my mark on him though, physically and emotionally. My leg hurts like hell, my head too, but you should’ve seen the other guy, haha. 

Seeing him again was…oh I don’t know. Everytime I pretend I’m over him he sneaks back into my mind one way or another. If only he wasn’t trying to kill me. Sigh, maybe in another life we end up together, the normal way. I know I shouldn't, but I miss him. So, so, so, so, so, you get the point, much. I think he missed me too, doubt his pride would let him admit that though. Wait he actually did admit that, but I think he was just talking. I feel so empty, he’s left a print on me I can’t freaking get rid of. He’s trying to K I L L you you idiot, pull yourself together. I should've killed him when I got the chance. But I always wonder, you know? What if he could change? What if we could be? I feel so silly, thinking of white picket fences and wrap around porches with a man who can’t wait to put a bullet through my skull. 

He tried not to let your words get to him, tried to ignore the feeling it made in his chest. Longing. You weren’t the only one dreaming of different circumstances. Though he hates to admit it, he’d been looking for your face in every crowd and your voice in every song. He may be a maniac, sure. But that didn’t stop you from sneaking into his barren heart. What a mess. 

The following page had a drawing of your kiss in the shower, done in pencil and with an amazing attention to detail, reminding him of the exact woman you were before he roped you into his world. He doesn’t regret it though, it gave him the pleasure of knowing you. He ripped the page out, keeping it as his personal souvenir of you. 

He flipped through the next few pages.

Meeting with x at 9;00PM, by the nursery

Flip,

Need to buy some metoprolol, DON’T FORGET!!!!

Flip,

Total spent; 6k! Girl get it together.

Flip,

Saw him again today, he is so fine ffs. 024 was with him, lol. Gonna have to work harder than that to get me mad, babe. 

Flip,

Though it is a bit unfair don’t you think?

That one caught his eye, flip,

2 against one? Low blow.

What? Flip,

Surely you’ve gotten it by now.

His breath grew quicker. Flip, 

If you’re reading this, it’s too late.

See you soon ;)

The smile on his lips remained as he shut the notepad forcefully, feeling himself slowly lose it.He turned on his heel, the journal still in his hands, toward the widow that was covered by blinds. It overlooked the parking lot, allowing him to have a direct view of his car. 

Empty. 

Whatever you had planned involved 024, apparently. His jaw clenched so hard he felt his teeth might shatter. The anger got too much, you were, once again, two steps ahead of him. This time, he genuinely had no idea what you might be up to, or where you were. He yelled in frustration, slamming the notepad against the far wall. But it wasn’t enough. He picked up the bedside lamp and shattered it on the window, pieces of glass flying everywhere, cutting him all over his face and chest. His hands shook as he did a final sweep of the room and adjoining bathroom; no sign of you. This was a setup, and he fell for it. Of course you’re smarter than to leave your location on, so easy to access. He should’ve guessed.

Now though, 

Now this game ends. 

He stormed away to his vehicle, hair a mess and blood staining his shirt. He tried not to feel hurt over the words you wrote, assuming now that you only put them to mess with him. Of course you don’t love him.

He doesn’t either. 

In fact, he can not wait to watch the life drain from behind your eyes as your body lays there helplessly, at his mercy. 

He was in for another surprise at the car though, looking down to find it nearly touching the ground. Slashed tires. These were custom made, you moron. But of course you wouldn’t let him find you that easily, you had to slow him down somehow. He kicked the stupid thing, turning back to wipe a hand over his face and through his hair. He had to think of something, fast. 

4 cheap tires and a long 50 minute drive later, he parked his car carelessly at the foot of his building. He wasn’t sure what he was hoping for, only thing he knows is that if the plan went sour, 024 was meant to meet him back here. He gave her a temporary code that his phone notified him of it being used, meaning she was back here. Maybe she overpowered you somehow and brought you back here for him to kill you himself, but why not call? Whatever it was, he knew they’re regrouping now. The 10 second ride up felt longer than usual, the uncertainty of what to expect kept him on edge. He tried 024’s number again and again, nothing. The doors to his place slid open, revealing a dark and empty apartment, though that only worsened his worries. He flicked the lights on and did a quick view of the immediate environment; peaceful. Nothing out of place. Well, nothing except the sleeping figure on his couch. He pulled out his revolver, only 2 bullets inside because of an altercation he got into on his way here. The figure was completely covered and he couldn’t really make out who it was, he approached from behind the couch, shoulders relaxing a little at the sight of 024’s shoes. Then he saw it. 

Blood. 

So so so much blood. Dripping from the body down to stain his perfectly white carpet. He moved the cover quickly, cringing a little at the sight. It was 024, slashed and torn from multiple places, a handful of bullet wounds all around. She was still breathing, somehow, though she was definitely unconscious. He saw something move out of the corner of his eye on the upper floor, making the hair on his arms stand up. He whipped around quickly, but his gun was shot out of his hands before he could do anything. 

You emerged from your hiding like some cartoonish villain, twirling the gun in your hands a few times before blowing off imaginary smoke. You rested against the black railing, giving him a clear look of your face. Bloodied, bruised with a few cuts, but so cocky. 

“Surprise!” You said in a sing-song voice.

“Missed me?”

7. . .7

The bar was less busy than usual, regulars turning in for the night rather than stay their normal hours, leaving you and just a few more patrons who were closing their tab for the night. It was nice like this, quiet. No big fights or smashed glass, just a few drinks and counter wipe-downs. The days seemed to have been blending together these past weeks, routine just barely changing, if at all. You were at peace with all this though, guilt of the blood on your hands slowly being washed away with the ordinary day-to-day. 

Money though, now that’s another issue. 

The not so small payout you’d gotten was always on your mind, seeing as to how your life greatly improved afterwards. You slept more soundly at night, knowing that the next meal will be warm and within reach. Sure, it didn’t really affect your debt on the grand scale of things, but it did make you more comfortable. You know you shouldn’t consider going back, calling that number again and putting in a better effort, you were better than this. Better than killing for dirty cash. 

Or you tried to be anyway. 

The bar had been barren for almost an hour, but you had to stay open for at least another two, management’s orders. You could risk it, just leave and deal with it next time, but you preferred having a stable source of income to gambling it. You hadn’t heard anyone come in, not even that obnoxious bell by the door. You had your back to the bartop, inspecting the bottles with hyper focus, trying to decide if you should re-arrange them..for fun. Or boredom. But you were taken out of your trance by a firm knock on the bar behind you. You turned around only for your eyes to meet his. 

“You.” You sneered, causing him to smile a little.

“Missed you.” 

Your expression didn’t falter, pure anger evident on your face. You crossed your arms over your chest, unsure what to do now.  You hadn’t seen him since that day, 2 months ago. He looked so different in this lighting, almost like a normal person, rather than a mass murderer. The grey shirt he wore was two sizes too small for him, suffocating his biceps. His hair was neat, as it usually is and he wore a pair of black combat pants, with boots to match, he almost looked human. 

“What the hell do you want?”

He raised his arms up in a mock surrender, “Just wanted to see how you’re doing, that’s all.”

“I’m well, you can leave now.”

“Oof, ice cold.” he pretended to get stabbed in the heart and you huffed in annoyance.

“I wanted to talk to you actually, but how about we make it fun. Let’s play poker-”

“I will not be doing that.”

“How about pool then?”

That got you thinking. With poker, a liar like him would easily beat you, but you were pretty good at pool, meaning you could beat him at whatever his ulterior motives were. It’s not like you had anything better to do anyway. Realistically though, you should be telling him to piss off, not allowing him access to you again. But that charm of his…unfortunately difficult to resist. 

“Sure,” you sighed. 

“But we need to make it interesting. How about this; everytime someone gets a ball in, they can ask the other person a question. If the person refuses to answer then they have to-”

“Strip.” You pushed past him to set the table up. 

“Bold. I was going to say take a shot but, as you please.” he smiled. 

You set the balls in their place and handed him a stick. 

“Ladies first,” ever the gentleman, you rolled your eyes. 

Conversation between plays was kept to a minimum, the place was so silent, filled only with the sounds of balls rolling and colliding. You got the first point in. He gestured with his hands, almost like he was a bit excited, then leaned onto his stick, awaiting your question.  

“What’s your real name?” You smirked a bit, knowing that his body is about to go on display. He sighed loudly before resting the stick to the side, arms coming to pull his shirt off of his head, revealing a very toned, well-looked after chest. 

He whistled “Eyes up here.” smirking a little. This atmosphere allowed you to loosen up, quipping back at him with

“Nice tits.”

He won the next point. 

“Where did you learn to shoot like that?”

So your apron came off. 

“Oh come on now, no cheating,” he winked, prompting you to unbutton your work top as well. 

He whistles again, “Anything else you hiding down there?” 

“You’ll just have to work hard to find out”

The next few rounds were spent blocking each other’s wins, the air was getting tenser with neither of you willing to break the silence between, neither of you wanting to strip nor spill. Well that was broken by a smug victory smile on his face, you slumped a bit, ready to likely have to strip again. You stared at him and you could almost catch the amusement behind his eyes, like the question had been eating up at him for a bit. 

“Was that your first kill?”

Of course that’s what he wants to know. It wasn’t, but you’d put that part behind you a while ago, hoping to never fall back into old habits, blood money. You’d built up a new life for yourself, albeit a bit pathetic compared to how you used to lavishly spend. You’d strayed so far away from your old ways, you’d almost started to believe you were a good person. Almost. 

“Yes.” You breathed out. 

“Strip.”

“What?”

“I said strip.”

“No I heard you- I answered the question; I’m not stripping.”

He stalked towards you, a sure and entertained look on his face. 

“Liar.”

“I don’t follow?”

“That was most certainly not your first kill, you were way too comfortable with that trigger. Fast too. Would’ve taken a little more hesitation from someone clean, don’t you think? I mean-”

He laughed, bringing his free hand up to squeeze his lips. He leaned on the table only inches away from you. “You killed those people no problem, headshots and all. Anyone else would’ve shot one or two at most, you capped off at 76, almost as high as my high score! Very-”

“You had a gun to my side you ass,”

“Wasn’t loaded.”

“What?”

“Wasn’t loaded. If you gave a little more resistance I would’ve let it go, let you go. I would never shoot my new favourite thing so early on. I’ve still got plenty of ways to break you and you’ve still got plenty of ways to disappoint me.”

The air in the room was getting tighter, the way he spoke made you gag, your eyes held his with disgust. You knew he was just toying with you, that the gun was more than likely loaded with bullets with your name on them, and that he was just trying to put the blame on you. You tried not to let him get to you, with that satisfied smile and look of admiration he had on at the moment, but it was difficult. 

What if?

What if your finger hadn’t been so itchy in the trigger? What if he wasn’t lying?

Someone else would’ve killed them dummy, don’t let him mess with your head. 

Yeah, but the blood wouldn’t be on your hands. 

The rest of his words registered then. ‘ I would never shoot my new favourite thing so early on. I’ve still got plenty of ways to break you and you’ve still got plenty of ways to disappoint me’

Who does this dude think he is? He’s got you all up in your thoughts conflicted between what you see and what you hear. You could swear he was blushing a little. 

What kink is this? Weirdo. 

“Who do you think you are?” You picked up one of the balls and angrily threw at him with full force, aiming for that big head of his. 

He caught it.  

“I’m not your thing, and I think you should leave.” 

You began to walk away, setting the stick to the side. 

“So it wasn’t your first kill,” 

“Piss off,” 

He quickly got in front of you to block your little escape. 

“You are so very entertaining,”

“Don’t you have something better to do with your life,”

“I do. You can say this is my new hobby.”

“Seek therapy.”

He pouted “You think I’m crazy?”

“A psycho actually.” 

“I’m very flattered.”

“Of course you are,” you rolled your eyes, stepping past him to find your long discarded top. 

“Didn’t it feel good though? All that money.” He called out, taking a few steps in your direction. 

It did, it really did. You faltered a bit. Warm meals and hot showers were a luxury you didn’t realise, along with paid off prescriptions. The fat stack they handed you had left you way more than comfortable, stress about bills gone for a nice period of time. It was the only thing, the only reason, you hadn’t ran away from him until now. The money. You knew it was wrong, to be willing to kill again to have a roof over your head that isn’t leaking, but the comfort was so tempting. Your hands picked up your blouse and began buttoning it, trying to come up with some escape so that his words don’t find their way into your mind. It was difficult, this internal monologue fighting itself, and he could tell. 

“You aren’t as moral as you pretend you are, you know?” He chuckled, but you still had your back to him, still refusing to talk. After finishing your top, you picked up his shirt and turned to toss it at him, surprised to see him standing very close to you now. You tensed a bit at the proximity and shoved his shirt into his bare chest. 

“Don’t come looking for me again.” You tried to sound sure of yourself. 

“Or?” He pulled his shirt over himself, messing his hair up even more in the process.

“Is this what you came here tonight for? A game of pool and one worded replies?”

You moved behind the bar to grab your things. You knew he won’t let you go that easily, you’ll either have to kill him or yourself. Or fake your death and change your name, again. 

“I came with an offer actually,”

“I’m not killing more people, you creep.”

“Is it fun to call me every name in the book?”

“I don’t know what you’re actually called, so, yeah.”

“No killing involved this time,” he sighed from the other side of the bar and you shot him a questioning look. He threw his hands up in surrender, “I promise,”

“Oh good, your word means so much to me.”

He made a betrayed expression with his face, lips pouting a little and brows furrowing in sadness. You only stared in annoyance. 

“Goodbye, weirdo.”

“We need a helping hand in training new recruits, shooters. I’m sure you could guess why we have a high worker turnover. You’ll only be helping them shoot targets, not humans. Not animals either.” He cut you off before you even spoke, “It’ll be good pay, you might have to help with a few other duties as well. The rules are a lot more relaxed between games, in relation to masks and uniforms. I knew you couldn’t stand them.”

“I would still be helping someone kill someone; a killer by proxy.”

“Don’t go pretending to be noble now, you’re already a killer.” He rolled his eyes, getting a little mad. “Plus if you don’t do it, someone else will. These ‘people’ will die anyway. Might as well get paid for it.”

You paused for a beat. He was, unfortunately, making a good point, to you at least. You were a killer, hands stained with more red than he could imagine, what’s another shade deeper at this point. That or you starve in a cycle of debt and pitiful repayments. 

“Why me? Why not someone more willing?”

That was the first time this whole night that he stuttered. Opening his mouth and closing it, trying to find something to say to your question. That caught you off guard, you’d never seen him so…flustered?

Oh.

OH.

“Someone’s got a crush,” you giggled in a sing-song voice, your coat snug around you as you moved close to him, swaying a little, until you were face to face. 

“Don’t flatter yourself, I’m just…intrigued by you.”

“Intrigued oh-” you couldn’t stop giggling. “Oh you wanna sleep with me so bad.”

That shut him up, fully, instead just keeping his gaze cast on your face, momentarily jumping to your lips then back up. He didn’t even try to deny it. Leverage, you’ve got leverage over this hot piece of work. Bingo. He was smiling with his jaw tensed forcefully, attempting self control-you guessed. 

“Your higher-ups know you’re here, 013?”

Once again, no reply. You moved in closer, just so your lips were barely brushing his. 

“Where’s your tough guy act now, hmm?”

You pulled away after a beat, watching as his lips chased yours for a second, but failed. 

“I’ll think about it.” You sped a little towards the exit, leaving him with a problem he’ll have to take care of himself. 

8. . .8

He observed as you descended the steps lazily, shrugging off your coat to reveal a very provocative dress underneath. 

“You wore that to a gunfight?” he questioned the ridiculousness of it all. 

“Of course not, it's freezing out.” You chuckled, moving towards his discarded gun. “But you took so long and I got bored. You sure know how to keep a lady waiting”

His jaw clenched as you picked up the weapon and moved towards the open kitchen. He took the moment with your back to him to quickly grab the spare gun under his couch; one of many around the place. But the moment it came into his hands, he could tell something was wrong. It was empty, the glock’s amo cartilage taken out of it. He stared at the thing in defeat, turning around to find you with a smug expression on your face. 

“I wouldn’t bother with the rest of them by the way. Or the knives, though I know you can’t aim those to save your life anyway.” you smiled. “Can we not just have a nice night, like normal people?”

“My ex is dead on the couch.”

“Oh she isn’t dead.” you snorted, then your expression suddenly dropped. “Why does this bother you anyway?”

There it was, jealousy. It was such a lovely colour on you, filling him with butterflies. Your jaw tensed, your legs moving closer to where he was.

“You jealous?” he chuckled. 

“No, just possessive.”

“Same thing.”

“It wasn’t ‘same thing’ when it was you speaking, no?”

He laughed a little, a smile finding its way onto his lips. He wanted to get it all over with, get rid of you. But something about how you looked in this light, at this hour, some blood on your body born from desire. He saw something then, a future perhaps. You were so similar, two souls meant to be. He couldn't help but allow himself to indulge in you tonight, just this once he’ll let his resolve crumble in favour of his hunger. He drank in your appearance, eyes stopping at all the scratches all over. He wanted to kiss it all better, wipe the stains from your skin. Your eyes scanned him as well, finding the cuts from the glass from earlier. You both stood there in silence, leaning into eachother’s warmth subconsciously. He captured your lips with his with the force of years of yearning, your hands coming up to find his face-

A groan stopped you both, the injured woman behind you struggling to pick herself up. You rolled your eyes, turning your head to shoot her square in the face, ending her run immediately. You turned back to him, a look of lust and admiration painted all over his face. 

“Where have your manners gone, sweetheart?” he pretended to be upset. “I mean-really? My white carpet, my tires, you’re milking me dry.”

“Wanted to leave my mark.”

“I think…” he hesitated. “I think you’ve already done that.”

There was a moment, where just everything seemed so normal, regular. Like you two were star crossed lovers who met at the wrong time. Like, if you two worked hard enough, you could have a life of laundry and burnt pancakes. 

You slammed your lips onto his once more with desperation and want, air being sucked out of your lungs with passion. Your hand came up to rest on his chest and he winced, causing you to break apart once more. 

“We should get you cleaned up, there could be some shards inside.”

He chuckled, “After you.”

You sat in the balcony, the air a lot cooler from how high up you were. He poured you a pretty glass of aged red wine.

“How do I know this isn’t poisoned?”

“Poisoned? You think I’d stoop low enough to poison. That is such a lazy way to kill, you know I’d rather have my fun.”

 You worked a soaked gauze on the cuts littering his chest, one particular one having a few shards that you had to pick out of the wound. Nothing needed stitches though. He rested a warm hand on your bare thigh, eyes watching the knot in your brows form in concentration, a sheet of sweat and dirt dried over your face. You avoided his gaze in nervousness, fearing your heart may break out of your chest. He grabbed your forearm, noticing the deep cut in it.

“This needs stitches.”

“It’s ok I’ll do it later-”

“No. It’ll get infected if you leave it like this, let me.”

So you switched roles, sitting back to watch his attentiveness to your pain, hand more gentle than he ever was with anyone or anything ever. Afraid to hurt you. Everytime that needle pierced your skin, you’d tense, to which he’d apologise. Every time. It was like something was different that night, the occasional distant car horn being the only other break in the silence. He finished you up and wrapped your arm, kissing your hand afterwards. His lips were rough and broken on your equally calloused skin, dreary eyes looking up at you. There was a sadness to it all, knowing this won’t-can’t last. Doomed by the narrative, you two were destined to end prematurely. But you pushed it all to the back of your mind, willing yourself to just enjoy the night to come. But first, 

“We should burn the body.” You looked over through the glass at the now permanently red stained area. He leaned back on his chair next to yours, spreading his legs until he got comfortable. His dress shirt was unbuttoned, pants hugging his knees as the jacket hung loosely around your bare shoulders. Sighing, he pulled out a cigarette from his pocket along with a lighter, covering the flame to light the smoke. 

“Yes, that would be best.” he inhaled a puff, blowing it out towards the night sky. 

“You won’t offer me one? Chivalry really is dead.” you teased. He turned to you, firm grip grasping your chin to bring it to his face. He took another inhale then tapped his thumb on your bottom lip and you obliged, opening your mouth to allow him to exhale into it. He then slotted his lips against yours once more, recycling the same breath. He repeated all this a few times, till the cigarette was burnt out, once your breath and the next his, a little game of who could taste sweeter. 

“Let's go take care of that.” His forehead rested on yours, but neither of you moved. Another blanket of silence

“We should-”

“Yeah.”

You don’t really know what’s with the awkwardness all of a sudden. You two moved in tandem to transport the dead woman to the little furnace, blood staining both of your bodies. You watched the flames dance around the corpse, the day’s events weighing on your soul, causing you to lean onto him for support. He stood rigid, arms crossed as his breathing slowed with your touch. You hugged yourself for a little warmth, before taking a deep breath to break the silence. 

“Are you still going to kill me?” 

He sighed, “I have no other option, you killed 024, they’ll have my head otherwise.”

“We could run away,” You stood back up and his hand came to rub his eyes, already not convinced with whatever you wanted to say. “We could leave Seoul, leave korea all together and-”

“And go where? Huh? Run for the rest of our lives?”

“I’ll figure something out, we could go anywhere in the world 013-”

“They’ll find us.”

“We’ll change our names and-”

“Where would we get the money?”

“Same way I always did, odd jobs and daily wages.”

“We’d be dirt poor.”

“But we’d have each other.”

As cheesy as it sounds, you really thought you two could be something more, something permanent. No-one got you like he did, no-one got him like you did. 

“Why did you come here tonight 038?”

Tears had built up in the corners of your eyes. “I don’t know I just- I thought you could change, that we could be.”

“You meant it? What you wrote in that notebook? White picket fences and wrap around porches?”

“Yes! Of course I did.” The emotion had leaked from your eyes and streamed down your face. He cast his gaze to the floor, avoiding your sad eyes. 

“But you know it won’t be like that, we’d have to slave for our next meal.”

“I don’t mind.” You sniffed.

“I do!” He yelled out suddenly, brushing a hand through his hair and panting in an attempt to compose himself. “I can’t go back to that, 038, I can’t. I don’t- want to. I love my job, I have never felt more fulfilled, ever-”

“You send people to their deaths!”

“They deserve it! Don’t you get it? It’s the one system where they get what they deserve. They could choose not to go. Chose to get up off their ass and crawl their way out, but they chose to-”

“The system doesn’t work that way.”

“It did for me!”

“That’s cause you have charm and a pretty face, 013, you got lucky.”

“It was not luck.”

“Yes it was! The sooner you realise this the sooner you’ll be face to face with the fact that they’d replace you the moment you die.”

“I’m not abandoning my dream life, that is final. So if that’s what you were here for, then go.”

You turned away, makeup running all over your cheeks, but it took him all of 1 second to change his mind, grabbing your wrist and pulling you back into him. His eyes were glassy as he pushed you up against the wall, his hands tangling in your hair as his mouth sought you out once more. Rough, desperate and aching, that’s what this kiss was. You let yourself get lost in his smell as he placed open mouthed kisses on your shoulder. His eyes came up to meet yours for a moment and you both knew what this was. Your final night together, that’s for sure.

Might as well go out with a bang. 

His muscles were sore the next morning, he was never really one for sleeping in, but your touch had left more than just surface bruises on him. He got up slowly, finding his phone barren of any indication of the boss finding out what happened, for now anyway. The cold water helped wake him up fully as he recalled last night’s events, cuts burning a little causing a shiver to dance down his body. He slumped against the sink, bloodshot eyes in the mirror stared at him with determination. 024 wasn’t any help, no. He needs to play dirty, do things his way.

Next time he sees you, either one of you will end up dead. 

9. . .9

The gala was in full swing, a celebration of yet another successful round of games. You stood off to the side, a drink in hand long forgotten. The gown you were wearing was quite a sight, adorned with hand embroidery and fine stitching that you would otherwise never be unable to afford. It was meant to make you more appealing to the guests of honor; the rich men behind this all. The mask on your face was itchy, but it was better than the dumbass one they usually have you wear. It only covered the top half of your face, allowing you a much more comfortable experience, and a nicer voice. Most of the time, these galas were a gateway for these men to enjoy some of the staff before they departed to their respective countries. You were always spoken for though, 013 making sure none laid hand on you except him, of course. You knew how this night always ends between you two, a week’s worth of pent up frustration on both ends with no other way of contact except short nods in hallways. Usually by this time you two would be sneaking off for your own celebration, but tonight, 013 had been the centre of attention. Praises showered him from VIPs and guards alike, congratulating him on his one of a kind achievement. “He shot his own father?” “Yeah! No hesitation!” “His self control is so admirable.” “Hope I can get to his level one day.” “He’s so hot too, truly has it all” “Is he still with that-”

You zoned back out. 

They were bumping him up to ‘recruiter’, a position you were unfamiliar with. He’d refused square/head guard positions, citing them being way too ‘desk job like’ for him. You two hadn’t really talked since his achievement, it all left a sour taste in your mouth. This wasn’t envy-no, this was the realization that the man you were slowly falling in love with was so far gone. So out of it that he shot his own father. You were familiar with their relationship, he was just a poor man’s son. His father was a hard worker, though it never amounted to anything, that’s where the resentment grew. You could tell that 013 was so deluded with this so-called system that he held a grudge against his own father for not being rich. You couldn’t convince him that this ‘get rich quick’ scheme only worked for him by chance. Only worked for you by chance. He cut that awkward conversation short with a little more than a kiss, so you abandoned the topic, seeing as he was unwilling to push it further. 

He would shoot you too, if he felt like it. If he felt you’re deserving enough. That was your rude awakening. The only difference between you and his father is that he approached you under different circumstances. Had it been a different person, an actual recruiter back then perhaps, you’d be dead. For sure. It was only chance that you ended up on the other side of the gun. 

You’d already been toying with the idea of running away, leaving it all behind and starting over again. Avoiding trouble for real this time. Maybe you’d even snitch on their whole operation. You have enough evidence, polaroids and such, of the place, the deaths. You could attempt to put an end to it all, the weight of the innocent lives lost on this island was beginning to get to you. This was the straw that broke the camel’s back, your sign to leave it all behind. 

You can’t pretend you won’t miss him though. 

During your years working here, you’d grown impossibly closer. Bunking together secretly during the games and him finding you after. Always. You’re not sure if you could label it, since you never really discussed it, but no-one approached you and no-one approached him. You were both unofficially off limits.

 In a better world, you’d call it love. 

He showed you parts of him no one else had ever seen, swore up and down that his name was a fact lost to the test of time, and held you in his arms as you cried. He always knew how to make it all better; the  guilt, shame. You try not to let yourself wonder how things would’ve been if you’d met him earlier, before all this. If you could’ve somehow saved him from the lie he was living, built a life for the two of you far far away from all this death. He loved cats, though he wouldn’t admit he loved anything in this world. There was a certain softness in how he handled strays that would cross your path, he treated you like that, too. Sometimes. You’d have a house full of kittens with him if he’d let you. Best not to dwell on it, seeing as he was being fawned over by everyone at the event. It was too late for him now, but  maybe you could save yourself.  You spent the rest of the night in the corner, people watching, and he spent the rest of the night being swept away from your proximity by fans. 

By the end of the party, you walked back to your room barefoot, heals in hand to avoid sore feet later. It would be best to slip away tonight, before any attention is drawn to you. It wasn’t forbidden to leave, but 013 knows you won’t be quiet, leave peacefully. He’d either force you to stay or convince the higher ups to kill you, now that that's so easy for him to do. You needed to make your getaway tonight, allowing some distance before he starts hunting you down. With everyone high on festivities, you were sure no-one would stop you. In your room, you’d packed up all your belongings that they’d allowed you to bring, along with all the cash you could find. It wasn’t a lot, but you’ve survived with less. You knew where they kept spare speed boats for emergencies, and the air was clear enough to give you a smooth ride. Yes, it was perfect, all of it. 

Tonight had to be your getaway. 

A knock on your door pulled you out of the excitement, tensing a little, as it could only ever be one person. You opened the door slightly, allowing only yourself to be viewed and not your escape backpack. It was him, 013, glowing from the party’s flattery. His mask was off and he had a shotgun slung over his shoulder, still wearing his party clothes; a nice dress shirt, unbuttoned to his belly button and a pair of beige pants. You didn’t say anything, fearing that your voice would betray you. You weren’t as good of a liar as he was, and he’d be able to smell you out if he lingered for long enough. He leaned on the door frame, a smile crept up his face.

“Well, you looked gorgeous tonight” he slurred a little, clearly tipsy from all the drinks he was offered. It caused you to giggle.

“You didn’t look so bad yourself.” you bit your lip. “Congrats on your uh- promotion” 

“Gonna treat you to something real nice with it,” he winked, laughing to himself. 

“013, are you- ok? I know everyone is celebrating, but this is quite a heavy thing that you did, do you wanna-”

“I’m fine, better than ever actually. Some of the triangles and I are going shooting,” he pointed to the shotgun. “Join me-us?”

“I’m calling it in for tonight actually,”

“What’s wrong?”

Shoot, he’s sobering up.

“Nothing, just tired.”

“Well if you let me in, I’ll make you feel better.”

You tensed, he noticed. “No uh, you wanted to go shooting, no? You should enjoy your big night.”

“Who’s in the room?”

“What? No-one, what are you on-”

He pushed past you, finding no-one, like you said, instead spotting your getaway bag by the door. Your hands shook, he had his back to you so you weren’t able to read his expression. You moved to the bag, zipping it up and trying to save face. 

“Just packing up for next week.”

“A whole 5 days before we leave?”

“I like a tidy room.”

“I suggest you stop lying to me.”

He had turned to face you, bag in your hand as you stood by the slightly opened door. You swallowed your fears, knowing there's no way out of this situation except through it. 

“I…don’t want to do this anymore.”

“What? The games? No one is forcing you to come back, you do that out of your complete free will.”

“I know but, it’s all too much, I want to leave, now.”

He stared at you for a moment, tongue pushing the inside of his cheek as he pieced your story together. 

“You’re going to rat us out.” he stalked towards you, grabbing the gun off his shoulder. 

You took that as your cue to-

“Run sweetheart, cmon, make this entertaining. Run.”

So you did, through winding passageways and long, empty halls, you ran with all your might. You weren’t out of shape; much more agile and faster than he was, allowing you a good space between you two, but the adrenaline and fear of it all made your lungs burn. You made it out of the building complex without hearing a single shot ring out. This was way too easy. 

You headed through the woods straight to the emergency dock, leaping over bushes and fallen trees left and right. You had made it all the way to the sheds near the boats when you spotted him. 

He must’ve taken a shortcut, must’ve known you were coming through here. He had the gun cocked in his hand, it was a disadvantage for sure, the smaller gun in your possession easier and faster to shoot with. But just as you don’t miss no matter the weapon, he doesn’t either. It worried you, how willing he would be to shoot you dead. But it can’t end here, you won’t allow it. The air was humid this time of year, causing your desperate breaths to be inefficient. You figured taking him head-on would be useless, you needed to-

He whipped around suddenly, gun aimed at your head. 

“Found you.”

You got up with your hands in surrender, a little defeated at your failed escape. 

“Come here.”

You obeyed, avoiding the last few lines of bushes before it turned into sand. He didn’t ask you to stop, allowing you to reach all the way to feel his breath on your face. 

“I can forgive you for this, but-”

But you had one more trick up your sleeve. You slammed the gun in your hand onto his head, banking on the alcohol from earlier already making him loopy, effectively knocking him out. You wasted no time in rushing to one of the boats, turning the keys into the ignition and starting the loud machinery. Victory was within reach. 

Bang!

You had your back turned to him, so you hadn’t seen nor heard him get up and stalk towards you. He was standing just off the side of the boat, shotgun emitting some smoke from where he fired it. It had hit you in the abdomen, shots dispersing only a little due to his proximity. You fell back onto the wheel, bringing a hand up to push the boat forward. 

He watched you disappear into the night, not attempting to attack again.

10. . .10

ALT ENDING (FLUFF)

He watched through the scope as the car approached his made up end spot. Welcome to the final show. The car you picked out was unassuming, grey and very much a family car but he caught your alias pretty easily. You were speeding down an empty backcountry road, almost at your sweet sweet escape, not on his watch though. He shot the bullet, hitting your tires immediately, causing the car to flip over into a nearby ditch. He abandoned his position, taking his gun with him to ensure the job is done. The wreck caught up in flames, the light from the fire casting a yellow glow onto the surroundings. He approached your position under the turned-over car. Your back was to the ground as your hands were reaching for your gun, but it was too far away, plus he kicked it from your line of sight with his polished shoe. You panted, looking down at your immovable lower body with defeat. He watched you, so helpless and at his mercy and he couldn’t help but feel a little bad. Just a little. 

“Bad time to say that suit looks great on you?” You coughed. “Brings your face out.”

“Get up.” he kicked your side softly, causing you to cough more. 

“Way to kick a woman when she’s down.”

The heat from the flames was becoming unbearable, even in the cool spring night air. The fire was inching closer to where you were, and he’d really rather not have to hear you burn to death.

“Get. Up.” He picked your gun back up, tossing it at your side once more, allowing you a ‘fair fight’.

“I can’t-” a sob got caught in your throat. “I can’t feel my legs.”

The crackle and whooshing of the fire were the only sounds heard, both of you silent as the situation set in. You didn’t have it in you to fight, to grab the gun and shoot him, because you were already dead. Tears began streaming down your face, sobs wracking your already battered and bruised body. He stood there with his hands at his sides, hesitant and awkward. He hadn’t imagined it being this easy, this quick, hadn’t pictured you going down without a fight. 

Hadn’t truly come to terms at the thought of losing you, permanently. 

“Cmon now, don’t give up so easily.” His voice shook, the weight of his actions slowly dawning on him. 

“I can’t- 013, I-” You were fully crying now, “I don’t want to go like this.”

He knew what you meant, the fire was likely already at some part of you. He dropped his weapon, hurrying over to attempt to lift the car a little to give you crawl space. The metal of the door burnt his hands, but he endured, for you. 

You made it out, crawling on your cut up forearms and collapsing when your legs were free. You couldn’t see them, obviously, but he could. They had burns and deep wounds all over, he could see the bone in a few places from the severity of the cuts. They were also twisted and contorted in terrible ways, meaning multiple breaks and fractures. It was a good thing you couldn’t feel them. 

Your breaths had become wheezes, more desperate gasps for air. He felt dizzy, his eyes welling up with tears. 

“Come- Come on now sweetheart,” he sniffed. “Let me help you up.”

He doesn't know why he did that, why he supported your upper body with his since your legs couldn’t. You rested your head on his chest, your body slumping a little from lack of leg support. You sobbed into his shirt, afraid and in pain. The stupid car’s radio sputtered on, playing some slow classical song that was filled with static due to bad service. You chuckled between sobs.

“How poetic.” You looked up at him, eyes finally meeting the one’s of the man that took your life. He began swaying you two gently to the tune, arms doing their best to keep you up. You looked at him with so much sincerity, admiration, as if he wasn’t the one that’s been trying to kill you all this time. 

“We would’ve made quite the couple you and I, 013. I wish that I could’ve met you sooner, kept you from all the horrors they let you stain your hands with.”

That’s when it all got too much for him. 

Now more than ever, he wanted to sweep you away, take you to some remote countryside and build that stupid house you wanted with his own bare hands. He wanted to wake up next to your sleeping figure, rush to make you breakfast before you got up to scold him as to why he wasn’t in bed. He wanted to hold your hand on bad days and listen to your endless lame jokes. He wanted his every moment to be filled with your air. The years you two had spent together may have not been conventional, but, for the first time in his life, someone got him. Someone understood him for what he was, not what he was pretending to be. You’d brought so much life into his days that it completely changed him. People would tell him he’d gotten softer, and though he would deny it, you must’ve had some invisible print on his actions. He should’ve spent his days protecting you, warding off evil like some knight. Should’ve grown old with you, watched you croak and grey, instead he has to watch the life drain from your eyes in this very moment.

It was only now he’d realised how deep a scar your death would leave, and he brought it on himself. 

“Hey- keep your eyes open for me” he tapped a little on your cheek, hoping to prolong your final dance for a little bit. 

No ambulance would make it in time, you’d already lost way too much blood. 

You smiled at him, “Kiss me.”

He didn’t waste time in humouring your request, capturing your lips in a matter too gentle for who he was. 

You pulled back for a moment, both of your foreheads touching and eyes shut. 

“I love you.” You croaked, finding his lips again. 

“I love you too.” His tears mixed in with yours, seeping into the kiss with their salty awakening.

He wanted to cry out, now more than ever regret had taken over his soul, but nothing came. He had nothing to offer you; no ambulance, no pain relief and no escape.

“I’m sorry-“ he choked, “I’m so so sorry, sweetheart. I should have- I-” he was struggling to find the words, to articulate his remorse and self hatred in the moment. To make it all better. You only looked at him with so much love in your eyes, as if you were seeing right through him, as if he was the man you wanted him to be. The years you two shared were nothing short of cinematic, he longed to jump back into any of the moments you shared now, un-do it all. It was too much, you tried to ease his turmoil by shushing him softly, shaking your head to stop his rambling.

“It’s ok. It’s ok.” You soothed.

You were leaving, and taking a huge piece of his cold, cold heart with you. You’d left him with so much, and in return, he gave you nothing. It was as if enlightenment had befell him in that moment, allowing him to give you the one piece of himself he’d kept from everyone. Of course, how could he forget.

“My name is-” but by the time he’d put together what he wanted to tell you, you’d gone limp in his arms.

The music from the car sputtered to a stop as the new day’s sun began peeking out from the horizon. This was it. You were dead. He got what he wanted, only to realise what he really wanted too late. He collapsed with your corpse by the wreck, tears dried up and hands shaking uncontrollably. He was covered in your blood, everywhere. His palms, his nails, his face, the shirt. It was the whisper he had of you. He stared at your limp body, still as beautiful as the day he laid eyes on you. He wished he’d never walked into that stupid bar, then you’d still be alive.

He didn’t have much in this world, his character a tough one to handle, but he had you. Used to, anyway. He recalled your words from earlier, about the system that was bound to fail and replace him. He has nothing but that system now, nothing else to give his life to. He wouldn’t ever be able to give what he gave you to anyone else anyway.

“Good work, 013.”

That’s all he got in return for ending your life, the mission file being wiped clean moments later. On his way out, people would congratulate him, pat him on the back for cutting off the last human part of himself. He couldn’t speak, only giving them tense smiles in return. Back at his place, he’d stare at himself in the reflection in the glass, sat by his neatly made bed where he had you last. He hadn’t anticipated the quiet that followed your goodbye.

It was strange, really. Considering you weren’t usually around to drown out the silence with your laughter. But it was the loud thought of you that had kept him distracted.

He fell back into routine, running errands and doing tasks for the games, taking his anger and self loathing out on the participants, never fully being able to recover from your loss.

No one came to your funeral; there was no-one to invite in the first place. He held it mostly for himself, burying the body he was meant to burn, giving you a proper rest. He looked through your records for a long long time, finding himself faltering at every picture of you. For his own peace of mind; he wiped it all. Burnt all the physical copies, keeping only that notebook of yours from the motel. He’d love to say something cheesy like ‘it rained the day of your funeral’ but it didn’t, he held his black umbrella under bright sunlight. That’s what you were, he guesses, warm. He stood there solitarily, he was the likely the last person that will ever speak your name.

And you didn’t even know his.

Nice ending 🤧

[meowmeowriley]

Ghoap Actor AU but 'Ghost' is the stage name used by a a mysterious man who takes "faceless" rolls. Rolls that require pounds of makeup, tons of prosthetics, huge armor suits and feats of puppeteering. No one knows what he looks like, or his real name, and he likes it that way.

Sorry, it got kinda long lol, ficlet after the cut.

Johnny is a new face but damn is he winning hearts quickly. He loves fantasy and sci-fy rolls, and for him getting cast as the heart throb muscle-bound hero is as easy as smiling. A smile which sweeps any and all off their feet, straightness be damned.

Working next to The Ghost is as much a dream come true as it is fucking terrifying. His list of rolls is as long as Johnny is tall, the man is a legend.

Said legend stalks into the catering tent in full makeup, extras scattering because the man is honestly pretty intimidating. Ridges and bumps, red skin and horns, all work to completely dehumanize his features and frighten away any potential lunch buddies. After grabbing his food he stalks back out wordlessly.

They hadn't shot any scenes together yet, but the schedule called for the two of them to be working together nearly every hour of the next week, and John was determined to make a good impression. He grabbed his own food and swiped some fancy wrapped chocolates, perhaps to share and make friends, and scampered out after Ghost.

The man was seated alone, at a table under a tree. He'd popped his fake fangs out and sat them on his tray, and was digging into his sandwich. Red hands tipped in wicked red claws expertly avoided spearing and shredding his food.

Johnny plopped down across from him.

"Cannae be comfortable, wearin' all 'o that all day." Best to get the whole 'being Scottish' thing out if the way immediately, he often had to hid his accent for rolls and this was no exception. Opening his mouth and speaking naturally always garnered a huge reaction, generally glee, from his co-stars. Though, if Ghost was surprised by it, he made no comment.

"Been doin' it for years, 'm used to it." John found himself the one surprised, he hadn't expected the man's voice to be so lovely. Nor had he expected the man to be a fuckin' brit. Clearly he'd also been masking his accent. Shame, Hollywood always loved an evil Brit.

Delighted by this new discovery, Johnny launched into introducing himself, gushing about the rolls he'd seen Ghost in and how he'd loved his performances. Ghost didn't respond much, but slitted pupils with gold and red irises never left him, and even through the makeup a small smile played at the corner of his bright red lips.

Ghost didn't participate much, throwing out a hum or a nod, an occasional quip, but Johnny quickly realized the man was simply quiet, as every time he stopped he'd receive a few words, a gentle nudge to keep going. All was well until Johnny finished his meal and started in on his chocolates.

He'd held one out to Ghost, who took it, and wordlessly sat it on his tray, mirth dancing in his eyes, amplified to a mildly animalistic predatory level by his contacts.

Johnny had rolled with it, assuming the man was just happy about the sweet, and popped his own in his mouth. Only to spit it back out immediately after crunching down.

"Ach, that is VILE, the fuck is wrong with this chocolate?" Johnny stuffed his fingers into his mouth, attempting to scrape the bits that had secured themselves in and between his teeth.

A deep rumbling belly laugh enveloped him, the sound coated his body, every last inch of him, and locked it into place. Fingers still stuffed into his mouth and crouched over like a golem, Johnny watched wide eyed as Ghost leaned back, shoulders heaving and a clawed hand over his brow as he laughed uncontrollably at John's plight. "It's not chocolate," the man gasped out, "it's bloody hand soap!"

Johnny groaned and spat out his fingers as well as a few bubbles. He'd grabbed them from beside the hand washing station, but hadn't thought anything of it. Why the fuck were they wrapped all fancy like?!

Ghost stood, and clapped a hand on Johnny's shoulder. "I look forward to working with you, Johnny." He sighed between fits of laughter. He grinned and popped his fangs back in. "Keep up, Soap."

Johnny turned and watched Ghost stalk back into the catering tent to return his tray, silicone tail swishing side to side, really lending itself to Ghost's jolly demeanor as he left, still chuckling. Johnny felt his face flush, knew he must be as red as Ghost's makeup, in embarrassment, knowing he was gonna be stuck with a ridiculous nickname, but also from realizing he was still bent over and staring at Ghost's ass. Was his ass really that nice, or were those heels, designed to look like hooves, just working absolute wonders?

Thus began Soap's insane crush on a man he knew nothing about, not even how he looked.

[seongwars]

𝐰𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐟𝐥𝐨𝐰𝐞𝐫 | 𝐨𝐧𝐞

Pairing: Viscount!Choi San x Countess!Reader AU: non-idol | regency Rating: T/NC-17 Summary: After falling prey to one of Choi San’s cruel games, you vowed yourself to a life of eternal spinsterhood. But when a fire leaves the Choi estate in ruins, the very man you swore you would never forgive re-enters your life. Word Count: 7.8K Warnings: you were a bet trope, misogyny, men being disappointing, angst, swearing, inaccurate depictions of the era (sorry history buffs 😭)

Fic Masterlist | Taglist Signup

a/n: it's here! the rewritten version of Ardently, now known as Wallflower! Note that those who signed up for Ardently's taglist will be tagged here, but let me know if you'd like for me to remove you!

feedback on this new version is also appreciated

"I’m joining a convent!" you declared dramatically, clutching a small sack packed with nothing but a pair of sensible shoes, and a shawl for your new monastic life.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” your mother snapped, reaching for your arm as you darted past her with surprising agility, fueled by equal parts adrenaline and spite.

“I will not be trapped under the same roof as him!” you shouted, narrowly avoiding Anna, the head maid, who was attempting to form a human barricade by the parlor door. 

“The sisters of Saint Hala will understand my plight! They’ve taken in women for less!”

Joe, the head butler, a sweet old man, tried to sidestep your wild trajectory near the staircase, but you spun past him with an impressive maneuver. He groaned, pressing a hand to his lower back as you darted away, Anna and your mother hot on your heels. 

You burst out the front door and onto the gravel path. Anna was close behind, huffing as she struggled to keep her bonnet in place, while Joe followed at a more measured pace, muttering about the indignities of old age. Your mother, however, stalked after you like a woman possessed, her voice rising above the commotion.

“Kang Y/N, stop this nonsense! “You are not becoming a nun just because the Choi family is staying with us!”

You whipped around briefly, clutching your sack like a shield. “You’re asking me to endure the unspeakable horror of living under the same roof as Choi San!”

“I’m asking you to behave like an adult!” your mother shot back.

“I am an adult!” you retorted, darting further down the path. “One who is capable of making her own decisions!”

Behind you, the haphazard mob of your mother, Anna, and Joe screeched to a halt, their gasps of exertion mingling with the crunch of gravel underfoot.

“What now?” you barked, spinning around to glare at your entourage, your chest heaving from the effort of your escape. 

“My lady!” Anna squeaked, her voice strained. “My lady, wait!”

The answer came in the form of an unfamiliar silence. Slowly, you realized the mob wasn’t staring at you—they were looking just beyond you.

Confused, you turned toward the gates, and there he was.

Choi San was standing just a few feet away, halfway down the steps of his family’s carriage. He stared at you, his head tilted slightly, dark eyes wide with confusion as he took in the spectacle: you, breathless and disheveled, holding your pitiful sack like a runaway, while your mother, Anna, and Joe formed a panting, disorganized trio behind you.

For a moment, the only sound was the rustle of the breeze through the estate’s trees.

San blinked, clearly at a loss for words. His hand lingered on the edge of the carriage door as if he were debating whether stepping back inside would be the more sensible option.

“M-Ms. Kang?” he asked hesitantly, his voice soft and cautious, entirely devoid of the insufferable smugness you had expected.

Your face flushed a furious red, caught somewhere between humiliation and indignation. You had not run halfway down the estate path, your mother, Anna, and Joe in hot pursuit, just to be confronted by him of all people.

“You!” you spluttered, pointing a shaky finger in his direction, the sack swinging precariously at your side.

“Me?”

“Mr. Choi!” your mother shrieked suddenly, pushing past Anna, her skirts swishing dramatically.

“Mr. Choi, stop her!”

“She’s running away!” Anna exclaimed, clutching her chest as though this scandal was enough to make her faint.

“Block the path, tackle her if you must, anything to stop this madness!” Joe groaned, rubbing his aching knee.

Without giving anyone a chance to act, you spun on your heel and bolted. Your little sack was clutched tightly in your arms, its contents jingling faintly as your feet crunched against the gravel. 

Behind you, the chaos reached its peak—San calling your name in confusion, Anna’s faint protests, Joe muttering curses about his knees, and your mother’s furious shrieks of indignation. 

But none of it mattered. You had escaped. For now.

You hadn’t always loathed Choi San. At twenty, you’d even been drawn to his charm, captivated by the effortless confidence he exuded. But that admiration was short lived, turning into bitter resentment after he lured you into a reckless wager, a cruel game fueled by his arrogance that left you humiliated and betrayed.

4 Years Earlier

“Why the doom and gloom?” Wooyoung asked as he plopped into the seat across from San. He leaned back, stretching his legs out comfortably, as he took a swig of his scotch. 

San shot him a glare, the kind that would make lesser men falter, but Wooyoung only raised a brow, unfazed. San’s jaw tightened, and he gripped his glass more firmly.

“I’m not,” he muttered through gritted teeth.

Wooyoung scoffed. “What’s going on? Did someone step on your pride or just your heart? Oh wait,” he feigned realization, snapping his fingers.

“It’s Dami, isn’t it?”

San’s jaw clenched visibly at the jab, and for a moment, he contemplated chucking the glass across the room just to see Wooyoung flinch. But he didn’t. It had been weeks, weeks since Dami’s defection to Lord Jeon, yet the sting of her rejection still burned like an open wound. 

San, the youngest and only son of Viscount Choi, had an uncanny knack for charming everyone he met. His charisma was well-known, making him the center of attention in any room. He wore his rakish reputation with pride, his flirtations harmless enough to keep him out of scandal but tantalizing enough to make him the subject of constant speculation.

And for a time, his charm had captured the heart of Han Dami, the daughter of a baron and the envy of every debutante. Together, they had been the couple of the season—the talk of every ballroom, the object of admiration and envy alike.

But that was before.

Before she abruptly ended things with him, San had entertained dreams of romance. A sweeping love story that defied the harsh realities of their world. But love alone was never enough. He lived in a world where practicality reigned, and expectations of passion often crumbled under the weight of ambition and survival.

“Look,” Wooyoung began, waving a dismissive hand. “Wallowing doesn’t suit you. If you’re so hung up on her, why not make her regret it? Win someone else over. Let her see what she gave up.”

San’s jaw tightened, his fingers drumming against his glass. The idea was ridiculous, childish, even, but it wormed its way into his mind nonetheless. Wooyoung, ever the instigator, saw it instantly. The faint flicker of hesitation in San’s eyes, the way his pride clashed with caution. 

“If you’re so confident, give me a name, and I’ll prove you wrong,” San finally said. 

“The Wallflower.” 

“Wallflower?”

“Miss Kang Y/N,” Wooyoung elaborated, his grin widening.

“Sister to the Earl Kang. You’ve seen her—always hiding in the corners, avoiding conversation like it’s a plague. Invisible to most. Certainly not your type.”

Your debut season in society was a whirlwind of excitement and trepidation, a delicate dance between anticipation and the subtle pressure to conform. As the younger sister of Earl Kang Yeosang, you entered the glittering world of the ton with a blend of expectation and apprehension. 

While others were preoccupied with securing advantageous matches or making influential acquaintances, your thoughts frequently wandered to the world of literature. You dreamt of a future where you would hold your first published book in your hands—a future that seemed distant amidst the societal demands of the present.

San scoffed, setting his glass down with a deliberate clink. “Since when have I needed a type to charm a lady?” 

“You’ll find no eager glances or fluttering fans with this one. She’s not desperate for attention. She’s reserved. Thoughtful. The sort who can see through a man’s empty words.”

“What’s the wager?”

“If you can truly win her over, I’ll fund that expedition you’ve been pestering me about for months,” Wooyoung replied with a nonchalant wave of his hand. He secretly hoped San would fail—an expedition of such grandeur was bound to cost a pretty penny.

San’s lips curved into a confident smirk. “Consider it done.”

A wave of laughter and cheers erupted in their circle of friends. The challenge had been laid out, and San’s self-assured response had ignited a buzz of excitement. He would prove Dami wrong. If she had chosen security over passion, then he would show her and everyone else that he was still the man every woman desired.

After all, what harm could there be in making a wallflower blossom?

The first attempt San set out to woo you, was at a hunt hosted by his family. The day was crisp, with a low mist hanging over the expansive grounds of the manor, a sprawling estate nestled against the autumnal countryside. The air is filled with the distant sounds of hounds barking, horses snorting, and the low murmur of conversation from the assembled guests.

Amid the cluster of gentlemen in their riding coats and polished boots, you spotted San, seated atop his stallion. His posture was relaxed yet commanding, drawing more than a few admiring glances from the assembled ladies.

San caught your gaze from across the clearing and nudged his horse in your direction. Your heart began to pound against your ribcage, each beat growing louder, more insistent, until it drowned out the distant chatter of the other guests. 

You were suddenly, acutely aware of the many eyes turning to watch this unexpected approach—mamas murmuring behind their fans, young ladies whispering behind gloved hands, and even the gentlemen casting curious glances. You could almost hear their thoughts: Why is he riding toward her? What does he mean by it?

“Ms. Kang,” San greeted as he reigned in his horse beside you, his voice low and smooth, laced with that familiar, infuriating hint of amusement. 

"What a welcome surprise."

You tilted your head slightly, fighting to keep your voice steady even as your fingers nervously fiddled with the leather handle of your riding crop. 

“Mr. Choi,” you replied, allowing a thin, polite smile to play on your lips, though you could feel the heat rising to your cheeks. 

“I didn’t expect to see you here, away from the rest of your party.”

“And yet, here I am. Fate has a strange way of bringing people together, don’t you think?” San’s voice was smooth, his eyes twinkling with amusement.

“Or perhaps it’s your…habit for being everywhere at once,” you insinuated, taking a jab at his reputation.

His gaze lingered on you, a flicker of confusion in his eyes as he took in your demeanor. He had expected you to be as shy and reserved as the rumors suggested, but you defied those expectations entirely.

“Will you be watching from the sidelines like the rest?” San asked, a teasing edge in his voice that softened into genuine interest. 

“Or might you be bold enough to take part in the hunt yourself?”

You raised an eyebrow, meeting his gaze with a hint of challenge. “I might surprise you, Mr. Choi. I’m not one to sit idly by when there’s excitement to be had.”

San’s confusion quickly turned to intrigue. “I look forward to seeing you out there,” he said, his voice carrying a thread of quiet confidence. He gave you a slight, respectful bow of his head before guiding his horse back toward the group.

You caught the faintest hint of a smirk playing at his lips as he rode away, and a wave of frustration mingled with something warmer, something unwelcome, swept through you. You turned your horse away forcing yourself to ignore the whispers and sideways glances, and made your way over to where your brother and the rest of the hunting party had gathered. 

It was unusual for women to join the hunt, an activity traditionally dominated by men, but you had never been one to follow convention. Ever since you were a child, you had accompanied your father on his excursions, slipping away from the stuffy drawing rooms and the tiresome embroidery lessons to ride beside him. Your father had always encouraged your spirit, delighted in the way you held the reins with such determination, the way you matched him stride for stride through fields and forests.

The horns sounded, a clear, commanding call that echoed across the fields. The hounds sprang forward, their lean bodies surging across the estate, their howls filling the air with a primal energy. You urged your own horse to move, feeling the familiar rush of excitement as the wind whipped against your face, the ground blurring beneath you. 

San hadn’t expected to see you mounted on a horse with such a determined look in your eyes. The sight was a stark contrast to the reserved demeanor you usually displayed at social gatherings. As he watched you ride, he saw you weaving through the other hunters with practiced ease, your movements fluid and confident. The way you handled your horse, guiding it with subtle commands, spoke of a skill honed over years.

A thrill shot through him, an electric spark that danced along his skin, igniting a sense of admiration and curiosity. He found himself captivated by this facet of your personality, one that defied the quiet, unassuming image you were rumored to project.

Perhaps the wallflower has a brazen side to her, he mused.

The hounds had picked up a scent, their excited barks echoing through the forest. The riders spurred their horses forward, the thrill of the chase driving them on. You urged your horse to keep pace, the wind whipping through your hair as you navigated the dense underbrush.

Suddenly, a fallen branch blocked your path. You guided your horse to leap over it, the powerful muscles of the animal bunching beneath you as it soared through the air. You landed smoothly on the other side, the impact barely jarring as your horse’s hooves met the ground with practiced precision. 

A triumphant smile spread across your face, the exhilaration of the jump coursing through your veins. As you regained your stride, you noticed San riding alongside you, his eyes alight with admiration.

“Impressive,” he called out, his tone genuinely warm and filled with respect.

You gave him a small nod, acknowledging the compliment with a modest smile. The thrill of the moment spurred you on, and you surged forward with your horse, the wind whipping through your hair as you raced ahead. 

San matched your pace effortlessly, but confusion crossed his face once again. He had expected a verbal response, perhaps a playful retort or a shared laugh. Instead, your silence left him puzzled, wondering if he had misread the situation.

Eventually, the hunt drew to a close. The hounds had cornered their quarry, and the riders began to gather, their faces flushed with excitement. You dismounted, your legs slightly unsteady from the exertion. San was at your side in an instant, offering his arm for support.

“Thank you,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper. 

“It was my pleasure,” he replied, his voice soft and sincere. “Perhaps we could ride together again sometime,” San suggested, his tone hopeful.

You chuckled softly, trying to steady your racing heart. “That would be improper without a chaperone, Mr. Choi,” you teased, a playful glint in your eyes as you pulled your hand away and turned to make your way back to your brother and mother.

San watched you go, a thoughtful smile lingering on his lips, knowing full well that he had caught a glimpse of something rare and untamed—a side of you that he would very much like to see again.

⊹

The day after the hunt dawned quietly, the morning light filtering through your window in soft, golden rays. You were beginning to settle into the rhythm of the day when a knock sounded at the door. One of the housemaids appeared in the doorway, looking slightly flustered.

“Miss, a delivery has arrived for you,” she announced, her eyes bright with a mixture of curiosity and excitement.

“A delivery?” you repeated, setting down the book you were pretending to read. “For me?”

She nodded eagerly and stepped aside, revealing a young footman holding a large, exquisite bouquet of flowers—pink roses, rhododendrons, and geraniums, artfully arranged with sprigs of greenery and delicate baby’s breath.

You took the flowers gingerly, surprised by their weight and the intoxicating scent that enveloped you. For a moment, you were at a loss, glancing down at the arrangement with a mixture of confusion and wonder. Who could have sent these?

Your eyes caught sight of a small card nestled among the blooms. Your fingers trembled slightly as you pulled it free, turning it over to read the neat, elegant script written on it:

“For the lady whose grace and spirit during the hunt were truly a sight to behold. –S.”

You could almost hear his voice in the words—the familiar teasing lilt, that infuriating hint of amusement that seemed to color everything he said. A smile tugged at your lips despite yourself, but you quickly suppressed it, unsure of how you truly felt. Flattered? Irritated? Amused? Perhaps a confusing mix of all three.

“What is this?” your mother asked, appearing in the doorway.

“A gift,” you replied, “from Mr. Choi.”

Your mother’s eyes widened slightly, and she stepped forward, her hands clasping together in front of her. 

“Mr. Choi?” she repeated, her tone colored with intrigue. She paused, a contemplative look crossing her face, and you could practically see the wheels turning in her mind. “That is… unexpected.”

“Indeed,” you murmured, glancing back at the flowers. 

“Well,” she asked, her tone almost teasing, “will you respond?”

You sighed, feeling a familiar mix of exasperation and affection for the woman who always seemed to know how to unsettle you. You flopped back onto your bed, the springs creaking under your weight. 

“I suppose I should thank him,” you admitted, your voice carrying a hint of reluctance.

Your mother’s eyes sparkled with anticipation, a mischievous smile plastered across her face. “He has made quite a gesture, after all. It would be rude not to acknowledge it.”

“Yes, yes, I know,” you said, sitting up again. 

Moving to your writing desk, you dipped your quill into the inkwell. As the nib touched the paper, you paused, considering your words carefully. You knew you would have to strike a balance—a note that was gracious, but not too encouraging; polite, but with just enough edge to keep him guessing.

You hesitated, wondering if you should add something more, some playful remark that would remind him that you weren’t so easily won. But then, deciding that less was more, you signed your name with a flourish and sealed the letter with a small, satisfied smile.

“Mr. Choi–I must thank you for your most unexpected gift. Your thoughtfulness is noted. I trust you enjoyed the hunt as much as I did. Until we meet again.”

The Cromer Fair was a lively affair, bursting with color and sound. Brightly painted stalls lined the village green, offering everything from delicate ribbons and bolts of fabric to candied apples and steaming pies. The fair for all its charm, had become another stage for the intricate theater of high society.

Your family’s arrival, marked by the gleaming carriage, did not go unnoticed. Heads turned as you stepped down from the coach, drawing more attention to the elusive Wallflower. For weeks, whispers had circulated throughout the ton, their interest piqued not by scandal or intrigue, but by your notable absence from social gatherings. Your avoidance of the spotlight had, ironically, made you the subject of intense curiosity.

“Ms. Kang!” 

The sound caught your attention instantly, and there he was—San, standing just a few paces away, his expression alight with something close to joy. His smile was so easy and genuine that you felt the corners of your own mouth tugging upward, almost involuntarily.

He bowed slightly, though the gesture carried more charm than propriety. “I feared the fair would pass without the honor of seeing you.”

“Lady Kang,” he greeted your mother, his voice polite and measured.

“Choi,” Yeosang acknowledged curtly, his tone cool and formal. He inclined his head slightly, though there was no warmth in the gesture.

“Kang,” San replied, his eyes briefly meeting Yeosang’s before returning to you. There was a subtle challenge in his gaze, a silent acknowledgment of the tension that hung in the air. Perceptive bastard, Yeosang thought as he rolled his eyes. 

“How lovely it is to see you here, Mr. Choi!” your mother exclaimed with a lilting laugh, the kind she reserved for smoothing over the awkwardness of situations she had orchestrated.

“Perhaps, a stroll might be in order? The fair has so much to offer, and it would be a shame to miss it.” 

Before you could respond, she continued, “Yeosang, dear, you’ll accompany your sister and Mr. Choi, won’t you? As her brother, it’s only proper.”

You and Yeosang exchanged a glance, dread mirrored in both your eyes. It wasn’t the usual look of sibling camaraderie but a shared expression of silent protest aimed squarely at your mother. You had no desire to go promenading with San, and Yeosang had even less interest in being dragged along as a chaperone.

“Of course,” he replied stiffly, his tone making it painfully clear this was not his preference.

“Wonderful!” your mother declared with a clap of her hands. “Make the most of it, dear. I’m certain Mr. Choi will make an excellent companion.”

“Mother!”

“Oh look, if it isn’t Duchess Jeong!” your mother interrupted without missing a beat, waving gracefully at Duke Jeong’s mother across the grounds. Before either of you could argue further, she glided away, leaving you and Yeosang standing frozen in her wake.

San looked to you, his dark eyes alight with curiosity and amusement, but your thoughts were already elsewhere, drawn by the promise of the fair’s treasures. As the three of you set off, he fell into step beside you.

“Is there anything in particular you’re hoping to see, Ms. Kang?”

You hesitated, glancing at your brother, whose expression seemed to silently dare you to say something frivolous. Deciding honesty wouldn’t hurt, you allowed a hint of excitement to creep into your tone. 

“I heard there’s a merchant with books from overseas,” you admitted. “With illustrations from distant lands.”

“Is that what excites you?” San’s lips curved into an easy smile, though his gaze lingered on you with a mix of curiosity and something else. Something more…thoughtful. 

“Absolutely,” you replied, meeting his gaze without hesitation. “Books are reliable and make their intentions clear. They don’t waste your time and if they bore you, you can close them and move on.”

There was a deliberate pause as your gaze lingered on his face, a silent question dancing in your eyes. Was he testing you, or simply trying to gauge how far he could go?

He leaned in slightly, as if daring to close the distance between you. “So, you prefer something that can’t surprise you? That can’t push you to think or feel beyond the words on the page?”

“Books surprise me all the time. They’re just more considerate about it. They don’t linger when they’re no longer wanted.”

His laughter came, soft and deep, but his gaze remained fixed on yours.

“And yet, you still let me linger.”

Your cheeks warmed at the unexpected retort, a telltale heat spreading that you struggled to suppress. You turned your head slightly, pretending to take an interest in a nearby stall, but the way your fingers fidgeted together betrayed your composure.

Just ahead, the foreign book merchant’s stall came into view, and you felt relief. Seizing the opportunity, you quickened your pace, using the excuse to put some distance between you and the weight of his attention.

“Here we are,” you announced, your tone just a bit too bright as you gestured to the vendor’s display. Books of every size and color were arranged in carefully balanced stacks, their worn spines hinting at untold stories and distant lands.

You stepped closer to the shelves, your fingers brushing over the embossed titles, pausing occasionally to pull a volume free and examine it. Your expression softened as you opened a leather-bound book, your eyes skimming the faded ink with quiet reverence.

San watched as you picked up another volume. The quiet focus in your movements seemed to draw him in, as if the bustling fair around you had melted into stillness. There was something captivating about the way you moved as though nothing else existed but the books in front of you.

Despite your best efforts to regain control of your thoughts, you could feel his presence just behind you. It made your steps falter slightly, and you cursed inwardly at your inability to maintain your cool. 

“You’re unusually quiet,” he remarked. Your gaze flitted to his, your heart betraying you with a slight quickening. 

“I wasn’t aware silence was such a novelty,” you replied, attempting to mask your unease with a touch of humor.

“It is, coming from someone who usually has such pointed opinions.” 

You rolled your eyes, handing him the book you’d just examined. “Hold this,” you said, your tone brisk but not unkind.

San blinked in surprise but complied, taking the book from your hands. His fingers brushed against the worn leather cover as he glanced down at it. Before he could comment, you had already moved on, scanning the shelves with a discerning eye.

“It seems books hold the secrets of the universe?” he teased lightly, approaching your side.

“They do, in a way,” you replied without looking at him, your attention fixed on the spines in front of you. Your fingers danced over the titles until you selected another volume, pulling it free and flipping through the pages.

“Every book is a door to somewhere new. You never know what you’ll find until you open it.”

“I see,” he murmured, though whatever witty retort he had in mind dissolved the moment you placed a second book atop the first in his arms. He chuckled softly, the teasing glint in his eyes softening as he watched you move with determination. 

“Isn’t that Mr. Choi?” a whisper came, the words carrying despite the attempt at discretion. 

“Is he courting Ms. Kang?”

San stiffened, his shoulders tightening as if bracing for impact. The muscles in his jaw tightened for a fraction of a second before he forced himself to relax. With a subtle shift, he angled his body to shield you from view, though his eyes flicked instinctively towards you.

You remained blissfully unaware, lost in the pages of your chosen book, your brow furrowed slightly in concentration. Whether the murmurs reached you or not, you gave no indication of noticing.

“They make for such an unusual…pair,” the other woman chimed in, her voice quieter but no less pointed. 

The first woman hummed in agreement. “Quite a step down from Dami, wouldn’t you say?”

“Dami was the diamond of her season,” the second woman added, a faint laugh in her voice, “but this…” She let the words hang, heavy with judgment.

“Perhaps she’s just…a distraction,” the first concluded with a theatrical sigh.

San’s grip on the books tightened slightly, the sharp edges pressing into his palms as their words sank in. He should have brushed them off, reminded himself of the role he was playing and the purpose behind it all. Yet their voices grated against him; not because of their dismissal of him, but because of the way they belittled you.

A frown tugged at the corners of his mouth. This wasn’t how things were supposed to go. You weren’t supposed to be anything more than a convenient prop, proof of what Dami had walked away from. 

But as you turned to show him the book, your eyes lit up with excitement. In that moment, he wasn’t thinking about Dami or the wager with Wooyoung.

All he could think about was you, standing before him, and how fond he was growing of you.

San leaned back in his chair, the rich scent of smoke curling around him like a veil. He held his cards in one hand, his other hand bringing the cigar to his mouth for a slow, deliberate puff. The ember at the tip glowed brighter as he inhaled, a flicker of fire against the dark backdrop of the room.

“How goes the wallflower?” Lord Park Seonghwa asked. The question was casual, almost offhand, but the sharp glint in his eye suggested he was more interested in the answer than he let on.

San studied his cards, his fingers tapping lightly against the worn edges. After a moment of silence, he flicked his gaze up to meet Lord Park’s.

“She’s…intriguing,” San replied at last, his voice carrying a hint of something more than mere curiosity. He exhaled a slow stream of smoke, watching as it swirled and dissipated into the room. 

“Not as shy as others say she is. I’d say she has more thorns than petals.”

“Thorns can be dangerous, my friend,” Wooyoung mused, his gaze sharp as he considered San’s words. 

“Especially when they’re hidden beneath such a delicate facade.”

San’s smile didn’t waver, though a shadow passed over his features, too fleeting for most to catch. “Delicate things also have a way of surprising you when you least expect it.”

Wooyoung raised a brow. “Is that so?” 

“Might I remind you gentlemen that you’re playing with fire?” Duke Jeong Yunho interjected smoothly, his eyes never leaving the cards in his hand. 

“Kang Yeosang doesn’t take kindly to anyone who crosses his family.”

The room fell into a tense silence, save for the fire crackling softly, its light flickering in Yunho’s eyes as he finally looked up. The warning was unmistakable in his expression, a quiet but undeniable threat hanging in the air.

San’s gaze remained fixed on his cards, his mind clearly elsewhere as he processed Yunho’s warning. The Duke studied him for a moment longer than necessary, the silence thick challenge. It was a standoff of sorts, where neither words nor gestures were needed to communicate the rivalry between them.

Finally, with a slight nod, Yunho returned to his cards, signaling the end of the conversation. But the tension lingered, palpable and unresolved, hanging over the room.

As the days turned into weeks, San found himself increasingly torn between the thrill of the dare and the reality of his growing affection for you. He hadn’t expected you to be so different from what he imagined. 

“Mr. Choi–do you believe that ducks have the ability to ponder their existence?”

He stared at the words for a long moment, both amused and intrigued by the sheer randomness of the question, before dipping his pen into ink.

“Miss Kang��I assure you, if ducks ever stopped to ponder their existence, they would undoubtedly seize control of us all. That is, of course, assuming they’re capable of getting their ducks in a row.”

When this began, it was easy. You were charming in your own way, but he hadn’t been looking for depth. He hadn’t anticipated someone passionate, whose sharp wit and quiet strength captivated him.

San adjusted his cravat in the mirror for what felt like the hundredth time, his reflection offering no solace for the turmoil within. He knew he was treading dangerous waters. The more he allowed himself to feel, the harder it became to maintain the facade. 

He feared what would happen when the truth inevitably came to light; that his intentions had been born not from affection, but from a petty wager and desire to vindicate his pride. That he had approached you not as the woman you were, but as a means to an end. 

The thought haunted him. You deserved better than the lies he’d told, better than the man he had been when this all began. And yet, as much as he wanted to walk away and spare you the eventual heartbreak, he couldn’t seem to stop himself from wanting more. 

More of your company. More of your attention. More of you. 

The familiar strains of the musicians tuning their instruments floated through the ballroom. From the gilded mirrors that lined the walls to the chandeliers dripping with crystal, every detail of the Kang ballroom was a testament to opulence and sophistication. 

San, ever the charming gentleman, was acutely aware of the eyes that followed his every move. His colleagues and other potential admirers watched with barely concealed interest, some with jealousy, others with curiosity. They knew he was playing a game, but none knew the rules, least of all you.

As his gaze swept across the crowded room, searching for any sign of you, the lively chatter and watchful eyes faded into the background. Uncertainty crept in as he wondered where you had disappeared to.

Determined to find you, he stepped forward, his eyes darting toward the balcony doors and the faint glow of the gardens beyond. Perhaps you had retreated to steal a moment of solitude. The thought of you standing alone beneath the stars sent an inexplicable urgency coursing through him.

Just as he started toward the edge of the room, a hand brushed against his arm, halting him mid-step.

“San.”

The familiar voice broke through his thoughts, and he turned, startled to find Dami standing before him. Her expression was poised but not unreadable.

"May I have a word?"

He hesitated, his gaze flickering over her shoulder in a final, searching sweep of the ballroom. A part of him wanted to dismiss her, to follow the thread of instinct that urged him to find you instead. But Dami’s presence demanded his attention, her tone leaving little room for refusal.

“Of course.”

⊹

The evening had been a whirlwind of forced smiles and polite exchanges, each interaction more draining than the last. The laughter and chatter of the crowded ballroom felt like a cacophony, grating on your nerves, and you had long since grown tired of the superficial conversations.

Seeking a moment of solitude, you slipped through a side door and into the garden, a quiet sanctuary away from the prying eyes of high society. You wandered along the gravel paths, the scent of night blooms filling the air. For a moment, you allowed yourself to imagine a world where you weren’t bound by the rigid rules of propriety, where you could be free to live and love as you wished.

But that fleeting peace was abruptly interrupted when you heard voices nearby, muffled but unmistakably familiar.

“Was it worth it? Putting on this little act, dragging her along?” Dami’s voice was soft, almost sweet, as she glanced up at San with a tilt of her head.

“Don’t tell me you actually started to feel something for her.”

The silence that followed was excruciating, heavy and suffocating, stretching on for what felt like an eternity. You leaned closer, heart pounding in your chest as you tried to make sense of what you were hearing, your breath hitching at the implications.

San froze, his body stiffening as if the question had struck him physically. His chest tightened, the weight of her words twisting in him like a blade. The confident smirk he had worn earlier faltered, dropping his gaze to the dim glow of the lanterns flickering around them.

“No.”

The single word cut through the air, sharp and final, and it shattered something inside you.

Dami’s lips curved into a triumphant smile, her eyes gleaming with satisfaction. She took a step closer, her voice dropping to a near whisper. 

“We both know you don’t want her. You never did. You wanted to forget me. That’s all this was.”

Her gloved hand slid down his arm in a gesture that was both possessive and intimate. “What’s stopping us from trying again?”

“No more pathetic little wallflower,” she murmured, her voice dripping with disdain. 

“Terribly awkward and unsociable. The type doomed to spinsterhood.”

San let out a low chuckle, the sound dark and hollow as he shook his head. But he didn’t pull away from her touch.

“What did Wooyoung bet you?” Dami pressed, her curiosity sharp and pointed.

“That’s between us,” he teased, amused.

Your heart sank as you listened, your world crumbling around you. The man who sent you flowers, who had seemed to share a connection, had been playing a game all along.

How could you have been so foolish? How could you have let yourself believe that someone like him could genuinely care for someone like you? 

You could feel the tears stinging your eyes, but you refused to let them fall. Not here, not now. You wouldn’t give them the satisfaction of seeing how deeply they had hurt you. But as you stood there, the anger began to build, simmering beneath the surface until it was impossible to contain. 

You couldn’t let San believe that his betrayal would go unnoticed, that his actions would have no consequences. With a surge of resolve, you stepped out from the shadows, making yourself known.

“Is this true?” you demanded, your voice quivering and strained.

You locked eyes with San, the man who had been at the center of it all, the one who had so effortlessly made you believe in the possibility of something more. But there was no explanation that could undo what he had done. 

“Y/N. I–” he stammered, his voice faltering as he grappled with the gravity of the situation.

“How dare you toy with my feelings because of your bruised ego? How dare you lead me to lay bare my vulnerabilities only to use them as fodder for your amusement?”

San flinched at the venom in your words, his face paling as the full impact of what he had done became impossible to ignore. 

“Y/N, please—”

“Don’t,” you cut him off, the tears you had been holding back finally spilling over. “Don’t try to justify this. Don’t try to tell me it wasn’t what it seemed. Because I heard you. I heard everything.”

For a moment, you stood there, breathing heavily, your chest heaving with the force of your emotions.

“You’ve shown me exactly who you are.” 

With one final look at San, you turned on your heel and walked away. You would not run, you would not flee into the night like some wounded animal. You would survive this. You would rise above it.

And you would show them all that you were not a wallflower to be trifled with.

“The Choi estate was partially burned last night,” Yeosang announced, stepping into the drawing room. His voice was tinged with urgency as he approached, the unopened letter a silent plea for attention. 

You ignored your brother and instead flipped the page of your book with deliberate nonchalance. “Send them my regards,” you bristled, your tone biting even as you maintained the pretense of calm. 

Yeosang sighed, clearly grappling with how best to navigate this unexpected development. He ran a hand through his hair, a gesture you recognized as one of his tells when he was deeply troubled. 

“They’re seeking refuge with extended friends and relatives while the estate is restored,” he explained softly. His eyes lingered on you, gauging your reaction as he placed the envelope on the table before you. The Choi family’s wax seal, a delicate emblem of the mountains and skies, seemed a fragile echo of their former prestige.

“Y/N,” Yeosang’s voice softened, almost pleading. 

“Brother,” you replied, finally looking up from your book. The skepticism in your voice was as much a defense mechanism as the sarcasm you’d laced it with. 

“They’re desperate,” Yeosang admitted. “The accident has left them with little choice.”

“How unfortunate,” you replied flatly. “Perhaps the Viscount should have ensured his household wasn’t a tinderbox waiting for disaster. Foolishness, it seems, runs in their blood.”

The words were more cutting than you had intended, but you didn’t regret them. The Choi’s predicament, though dire, was of their own making, and the idea that they would try to drag your family into their mess infuriated you. 

“The Viscount is invoking a favor as a friend to father.”

“Our late father’s generosity does not extend to negligence or recklessness,” you retorted, leaning back in your chair, crossing your arms over your chest. 

“And it certainly does not extend to housing strays.”

The tree branch creaked under your weight as you settled higher up, your legs dangling lazily over the edge. The letter from the Choi family had been too much to bear, its contents so suffocating that you bolted, preferring to become a sister of St. Hala to sharing a roof with Choi San.

How convenient it must be for them, you mused bitterly, to seek sanctuary now, when it was their own schemes that had caused this debacle. 

Your thoughts were interrupted by the sound of horses' hooves, faint at first, then growing louder as they drew closer. You peered through the branches and spotted Yeosang and Yunho riding toward the estate. 

You swung your legs back over the branch, debating the best way to descend without completely embarrassing yourself. Grabbing your sack, you decided to toss it to the ground first but miscalculated when it veered too far to the right and smacked Yeosang in the head.

“Y/N!” your brother barked. 

Ignoring his swears, you began shimmying down the tree, carefully testing each branch to balance your weight. But as usual, fate had other plans. Your foot slipped, and you let out a startled gasp, flailing for the nearest branch. Gravity claimed you, sending you tumbling through the air until a pair of strong arms caught you mid fall.

“Careful there, Lucifer,” Yunho laughed, steadying you in his arms. 

You blinked up at him, momentarily dazed. His arms were firm around you, and the absurdity of the situation hit you all at once. You, tangled in Yunho’s arms, looking thoroughly disheveled from your grand escape attempt.

“Foiling my plans to destroy the heavens, as always,” you groaned, your face flushing with embarrassment as you pulled yourself away from him. 

“If this is your idea of a divine rebellion, might I suggest conquering climbing first,” he chuckled. 

Yeosang dismounted his horse with quiet fury, stalking towards you. He held your sack, his knuckles white against the worn fabric, as if it were the root of all his troubles.

“Running away?” 

You crossed your arms, lifting your chin defiantly despite the fact that your hair was likely a mess and your clothes bore the evidence of your failed escape. 

“Yes,” you replied coolly, “but I thought it only polite to bid you and Yunho farewell before committing myself to St. Hala.”

His grip on the sack tightened, his knuckles standing out starkly as he muttered under his breath, something that sounded suspiciously like, “Why am I related to this lunatic?” He exhaled sharply, as if forcing himself to rein in his frustration.

“Do you ever stop to think, or is recklessness a natural talent of yours?”

You glared at him, refusing to back down. “I could say the same about you, brother, for not understanding the brilliance of letting vipers into the nest.” 

“I’m doing what’s necessary to fulfill a promise between father and the viscount! Do you know what it meant to father to keep his word? A bond of trust that defined him and our family!”

“And yet here you are, jeopardizing all of it by letting them crawl closer! A promise to the viscount doesn’t mean we have to blindly—”

“There she is!”

Both of you froze as your mother swept onto the scene, flanked by Anna, and her husband Jason, the head groundskeeper. Jason’s expression left no doubt he was prepared to intervene if necessary, unlike poor Joe. 

“Fuck,” you muttered under your breath, darting behind Yunho in a desperate attempt to escape. But Jason, faster and far stronger than Joe, easily caught up to you. His firm grip closed around your arm, leaving no room for negotiation.

“Not another word,” your mother hissed, her voice icy enough to freeze the air around her.

Yeosang, who had momentarily been forgotten in the chaos, muttered something unintelligible, as your mother grabbed your free arm with an iron grip.

“I’m not going back there!” you shouted, your voice echoing across the grounds as Jason and your mother began dragging you toward the estate. 

Behind you, Yunho chuckled softly, falling into step with the chaotic procession. His easy going demeanor only added to your frustration. 

“Yunho, don’t just stand there!” you snapped, trying to twist out of Jason’s hold. “Help me!”

From the drawing room, San watched the commotion unfold, his arms crossed, though the faint smirk that once might have graced his lips was absent. Instead, his expression was tense, his brows drawing together as his dark eyes followed your every move.

There had been a time when he might have chuckled at the sight, teasing you later about your theatrics or making some sly remark about your temperament. But now, the thought of doing so felt hollow, wrong even. 

He told himself you hated him, and maybe you did. Maybe you always would. And yet, as much as he tried to accept that as his punishment, the thought of it gutted him.

All he could think about was ways to reach out to you, ways to fix what he’d broken. But how could he even begin? What could he possibly say to undo the harm he’d caused?

He found himself hoping desperately that fate might grant him a second chance. A chance to make amends, to prove that he was more than his mistakes.

Because if it wasn’t, he wasn’t sure he’d ever be able to forgive himself.

Two

taglist: @e3ellie @scuzmunkie @syubseokie @sunnysidesins

@notevenheretbh1 @litolmochi @intowxnderland @etaerealboy

@foxinnie8 @sanriomilk @kang-ulzzang @life-is-a-game-of-thrones

@vcutparis @ishz @park-simphwa @moonsanshine @drinkingrumandcocacola

[empress-ghoul]

Rising Waters, part eight

141 x witch!reader | old gods of appalachia au cw: supernatural elements, heavy gore (it's a lot), blood, vomiting, torture

a/n: took me nearly a month to write this but yippee! featuring very mean and evil john price and very heavy gore :)

The ground was sinking beneath your bare feet, the mud and debris weighing down every step trudged along. Putting on boots was a decision you didn’t have time to make but you weren’t sure if it would have helped or slowed you down. Truly, moving quickly proved to be a challenge — even if you were properly dressed— especially with the kickback that had left your shoulder screaming in protest with every movement. You were violently aware of the danger your current state posed, in the wilderness in just a nightgown. And with the world still reeling from the storm, everything seemed off kilter. 

It was cold and humid at the same time. Your nightgown stuck to you like a second skin and sweat soaked your hair, but your lungs stung from the early autumn chill. Even after about an hour of switching between running and walking, there was no sound of the calvary hunting you down. You were certain you would hear them, four giant men like that. 

When the adrenaline began wearing off, you found yourself leaned up against a tree while heaving for breath. There was a thickness in your throat that made the task difficult, as air refused to move until you finally calmed down. And now everything felt so heavy and wrong. 

What had you done to yourself? Out of the stupid things you’d done in your life, shooting a creature like John Price was likely at the very top of the list and running from the wards was right below it. There were no wards to protect you out here in this part of the woods. But fortunately, your gift still alerted you when two of them began closing in on you. 

You weren’t sure how close they were, but they were sure as hell close enough to get you moving again. Jogging was easier than running, until the pain in your feet began making itself known. There were no cuts when you examined them, but fat blisters had formed that made each step agony. Stopping wasn’t an option. You had to keep moving. 

Then a shadow shifted in your peripheral vision, massive and heavy. Whipping around, you found yourself watching a massive sycamore tree. Your throat was so dry from running that the scream building within it ended up caught in your throat. It escaped as a choked gasp when a monster of man stepped out from behind a tree. 

For a moment, you thought he was klan with the weird hood he wore over his head that obscured his face, but it was charcoal gray and dirty instead of white and pointed. He moved slowly towards where you stood, wide-eyed and frozen at his impressive stature, and handed you a card. 

Shepherd & Graves Mining Combine

Another company man. Why wouldn’t it be another company man?

“You here to take me in?” you asked, somewhat defeated. 

The behemoth took the card and flipped it. 

“I am looking for four men.” His accent made it nearly impossible for you to hear, especially over the blood pumping through your head.

But your eyes shot up when you processed his words. Graves had been looking for them too. Which meant the company truly wasn’t after you. 

“You can help me,” you gasped, grabbing his arms. “I can show you where they are but you have to help me!”

The man’s eyes crinkled with an unsee smile at the revelation that you could help him. But instead of taking you to safety, he pulled out a gun. 

“Show me,” he demanded. 

The lack of emotion and care in his voice toward your obvious plight completely leveled you. “Please. Get me to safety and—“

He surged forward and wrapped a massive hand around your jaw, squeezing your face in a crushing grip. The gun was at your temple and you wondered how much shorter his temper was. 

“I’ve been in this shithole for over a month,” he hissed, a strange accent playing on his tongue. “You are going to take me to them right fucking now.”

That ringing in your ears began to build up once more, alerting you that two of them were getting close again. It muffled the sound of wet leaves under approaching heavy footfalls. You watched as his head shot up, staring just behind you, before shoving you to the ground. There was nothing behind you when you looked back.  

“I found your little witch!” he called out to nothing as he began yelling out to the woods. “How about I take her back to Shepherd? Let him play with—“

You managed to scream as shadows twisted out of nowhere, wrapping around the enormous man’s limbs to lift him off the ground and pulling. It was impossible to look away. Fear had paralyzed you, had rooted you to the spot. There was a moment where you thought about trying to help him. As if you had a fighting chance against something already set in motion. 

All you could do was watch with silent horror while his body creaked and groaned against the force holding him. He screamed, thrashing uselessly against the binds as his body was pulled taut. Joints began to pop and separate, his shoulders dragging from their sockets while his bones cracked under the pressure. The ligaments holding them in place strained, then snapped like bands that were pulled too tight. With his legs no longer able to kick out in his frantic attempts at escape, he just hung limply as he screamed. 

Time hung heavy, seconds turned tedious and minutes leaden. You remained frozen, still. The world was quiet, save for the man gasping and groaning, speaking in a language you had no hope of understanding. He might have been praying, though you knew now that God would never hear him this deep in the mountains. 

You didn’t know how long it had been — minutes or hours — when the skin began to tear, the muscles and nerves ripping apart before finally separating from the body. When he screamed, his voice tore from his throat with blood frothing from his lips. Even more showered down upon you as his limbs were separated from his torso. Then the man went silent. 

All five pieces of him were dropped with soft thuds in a pile. You remained seized, unable to look away until the bile began rising in your stomach and up to your throat. At one time you might have bragged about having a strong stomach, but this was just too much. Soon you were crawling over and leaving a puddle of stomach acid and venison at the base of a tree. 

You looked back again where the pile of viscera had smothered the patch of goldenrod beneath them. They had weathered the storm only to be destroyed by man. The irony nearly made you laugh. Mama might have had something to say about God’s mysteries, but she wasn’t here and neither was God.  

Tears were pricking your eyes as you glanced up at Simon and Johnny. They were getting closer but clearly not in any rush to get to you. You wouldn’t be going anywhere. Your stomach was empty, your body was shaking, and the fear of something far worse than any celestial force had been instilled deep inside you. 

You braced your hands on the tree for support, far too ready to let your body drop and let the Green take you back. It seemed you were the only one eager for that, though.

The inertia set in when two calloused hands gripped your biceps to pull you away from the tree. They felt almost like bear paws ready to sink claws in and drag you back to their den. 

Their bucolic den protected by you and your wards with a wraparound porch, an ice box, and a massive garden that needed tending to. A punishment waiting to be served. 

“Made a right mess, didn’t ya, bonnie?” Johnny chuckled. He picked you up with a grunt, his calloused fingers squeezing your soft flesh. “Price is pissed.”

“Me too,” Simon huffed. “Made us run through ‘alf the bloody mountain.”

“Should be thankin’ us,” Soap added. “Saved ya from that hackit.”

The only thing you thought about on the walk back was the fact that they thought it was funny. Your escape attempt, shooting Price, and offering to sell them out to that man. It was all just amusement. And they expected you to thank them. 

By the time you all got to the property line, the sun was high in the sky and the two men were dripping sweat. The humidity had gotten worse, leaving all of your clothes soaked through. But for some reason, Kyle and Price stood next to a crackling fire. They were equally soaked but you weren’t sure if Price was hot from the heat or the unbridled fury in his eyes. Neither he nor Kyle even asked about the blood all over you, and Simon and Johnny neglected to tell them about the man that had been ripped apart. 

You highly doubted they would care. 

When Price stepped up to where you were — still in Johnny’s arms — you saw the bandage on his ear and another on his hand. Likely from the barrel burning him when you fired it. 

“You took off half of my fucking ear,” he spat. “We gave you a home, and you shot off my ear and burned my hand.”

Despite the temperature, a chill crawled down your spine like a snake. “I wanted to leave,” was all you managed. 

Price was not amused. He nodded to Kyle, who obediently came over and unsheathed a knife. Frantically, you kicked and thrashed, managing to escape for a brief moment before Simon grabbed you and forced your head down onto a tree stump. 

“Eye for an eye, love,” Price sighed, almost disappointed. 

You clawed at the ground for purchase, your heart pounding as you helplessly sunk your nails into the earth. Nothing. No miraculous aid or relief from the Green. Just the sound of the forest and the fire. 

You thought about that man in the woods and how long he truly felt the pain before he died. 

There was a thud when Kyle sliced your left ear off. Just as quickly as blood poured out, he had it stitched shut and wrapped in gauze. You stared at him like a confused sheep, mouth slightly open in a pathetic bleat and eyes blown wide. It was impossible to even process the pain because they were already moving again. 

Johnny helped you sit upright and facing the fire, where a fireplace poker rested among the logs with the handle just out of the pit. By the time you noticed it, Simon was already grabbing your arm. 

Words failed you. All you managed to do was sputter and stutter up at Price while tremors wracked your frame. 

“Eye for an eye,” he repeated, this time showing off the bandage on his hand. 

Somehow you knew that this would hurt more than the ear — which was now in a puddle of blood on the stump. You made a fist and dug your nails into your palm, determined not to let them burn you. Even your face was scrunched up in concentration. Still, Simon managed to peel your fingers open from the fist they were clenched into, and force them back. 

“Bravery doesn’t suit you, love,” Price said, taking up the poker. He admired the way the metal glowed white and ticked as it slowly cooled. “It makes fools out of us, makes us think we can do more than we were made for.”

Your legs kicked out wildly, but he merely walked around to your side. “I’m sorry,” you panted, craning your head back to face him. “I didn’t— it was—

“We were all made with a purpose.” He pressed the poker to your open palm and pain ignited up your arm. You cried out, a broken and strangled sound, as the flesh seared and cooked. “Sometimes it just takes a while for us to understand that purpose.”

He finally pulled it away, leaving behind dark red, blistered skin. It was agony. Every twitch in your fingers and shift in your arm sent pain shooting through your wound. 

As you stared at your disfigured palm, struggling to move, Price patted your head. It was such a cold, empty gesture but one that might have been comforting at a time, before whatever had been done to them was done. 

You were carried back over the property line with a cool cloth pressed to your hand. This must have been how they got you back after the storm. The Green never stopped them that time, and certainly didn’t stop them this time.

[lotusloong]

So there’s this game on Steam called Spirittea, a cozy little game about running a bath house for spirits (think Spirited Away by Studio Ghibli) and I've been casually following the game since its original testing (even though I haven’t played in a looooong while) and just all the sudden started thinking of the idea but including Wukong…

Fem!Reader - mostly rambling thoughts

The set up is roughly the same, you own a bath house that's run down and broken and needs a whole lot of loving before it’ll be anything magnificent - but the water is clean and hot, the creaking walls do add a certain charm and atmosphere to the place, and nature spirits and gods appreciate the plant life growing through the cracks in the wooden walls and stone flooring.

Wukong didn’t even mean to stumble upon your little mountain hideaway bath house, it just sort of happened.

He had been craving a break from his busy life and decided to take a long flight away from everything. No godly or kingly duties could bother him while he was flying along the clouds, and the view of the world below is unmatched from such a high point in the sky. It just so happened that when he looked down he could see the roof of your business through the trees, smoke curling from the furnace in a steady stream, and many small groups of yaoguais walking up the winding path of stepping stones. Wukong grew curious, and decided to float down to see what was grabbing their attention.

Some of the yaoguais immediately cowered at the sight of him, kowtowing low and greeting him by his official titles. Others gave him respectful bows but continued on their walk up the pathway. He paid them all no mind, jumping towards the rundown archway with the words ‘Moonlit Bath’ carved into the ancient wood. Fruit trees were blooming all around, among them where his favorite peach tree blooms, and the groundwork for a small garden out front was clearly marked. His interest peaked, Wukong goes inside.

The smell of bath salts and herbs hits him immediately, and he’s grateful that there isn’t any incense burning or his nose would actually kill him on the spot. Other spirits waiting in the front seem to share his plight, rubbing at their snouts as they adjust to the smell.

And Wukong sees you for the first time, running down the worn grand staircase (he’s worried for a moment you’ll trip in one of the many holes in the wood, but you’re clearly practiced and avoid them with ease) and towards the front desk with a breathless ‘Hello!’ for the guests in front of the line. With familiar movements you check the two horse guai in and lead them up the stairs, apologizing for the poor state they’re in with an eager smile. The Monkey King waits for you to return, looking at the list of bath amenities you have on a list at the front desk.

He didn’t think he’d find himself doing this today, but why not? He was looking to relax, and despite the run down and broken appearance of the building you were clearly doing something right to attract so many spirits. He thinks of the determined glint you had in your eyes when you had rushed up just moments before, and his stomach does a flip.

When you rush back down the stairs it’s to the sight of him standing at the check-in desk. He’s in his full regalia, phoenix feather crown, golden armor and cloudtreader boots, his fiery diamond eyes taking in everything around him with interest.

Wukong will give you credit, while he sees recognition flash in your eyes, you don’t freak out. He sees you swallow and fidget with your clothing, adjusting it and trying in vain to wipe away a water stain from when you must have gotten splashed by a guest, and greet him with hardly a tremble in your voice.

“G-Great Sage! It is an honor to have you here, how may I help you?” He likes the sound of your voice, he decides. He gives you his order for a personal bath, and follows with a cheeky smile as you lead him down the winding halls of your business. 

“So, has this been here long? It’s not too far from my mountain but I don't recall ever seeing it.” You won’t meet his eyes, staring respectfully at the wooden floor as you walk.

“Not long at all, no. I opened just recently and still have…lots of work to do.” You say this while leading him around a fallen support beam in the middle of the hallway. “It’s been difficult to get repairs done quickly because…well it’s only me up here. I do apologize for the state of everything…” He waves you off, using his tail to grab a shiny trinket he sees glinting on the floorboards. Just a loose nail. He holds it out for you with his tail, and you obediently hold a hand out for him. Your eyes widen at the sight of the metal, an embarrassed flush to your cheeks.

“T-thank you.”

“Wouldn’t want anyone to step on it.” He gives you a wink.

The bath is exactly what he needed that day. The quiet and privacy of the room lets him unwind without issue, and he doesn’t leave until the water turns cold and the skin of his palms and feet turn pruny. The towels you left him are clean, fluffy, and soft and he feels like a new monkey by the end of it. His fur is a little untidy and more fluffy than usual because of his lack of grooming supplies, but he doesn’t mind as he laces his armor back on.

“I apologize again for the mess, thank you for your visit, Great Sage.” You speak.

“No need, I feel better than I have in days thanks to this.” He sees the way your eyes stare at his fluffy fur, your fingers twitching by your side with the desire to touch. He genuinely wonders if you’ll take that chance, to reach out and touch him. He doesn’t think he would be angry if you did.

He keeps coming back after that. The first time he does you stare at him with wide eyes for only a moment, as if you didn’t think he would actually visit again. But he does, he keeps coming back and watches your progress as your business grows more and more popular. You share your small wins with him, proudly boasting one day that you managed to find a supplier for new bath salts and hygiene products to deliver to you. More rooms are slowly opened for use, and he finds himself enjoying your company with every visit. There are days when business is slow and he’ll take a spot in one of the public springs, just so he can watch you work and tidy the place up. He’s gotten lucky a few times where you’ll actually stop and sit with him, talking about your day as if he’s an old friend. After so many years of nothing but responsibility and work since his ascension to Buddhahood, it's…nice to have a normal friend again.

He ends up bringing monkeys from his home with him on certain visits. He gives you warning days ahead so you can prepare, and shows up with a colony of monkeys, some yaoguai and some not, all ready to soak and enjoy themselves for a while. They love you immediately, laughing and joking with you while some sit on the edges of the hot springs, and others float leisurely in the hot water. Wukong sits in his favorite spot, one that gives him a clear view of you no matter where you are. He’s able to watch you giggle and dote on his people, and his mind is filled with thoughts of you dressed in the finest silks, a crown to match his own sitting on your pretty head.

He debates with himself on telling others about your bathhouse. On one hand, keeping silent means he gets to keep you all to himself a little longer, with only occasional interruptions by other mountain yaoguai and spirits. On the other hand, helping your business get more customers would make you happy, and he finds himself looking for more ways to make you smile every day. In the end, he tells the other demon lords and even a few celestial friends about the up and coming business, and how he always feels refreshed and rejuvenated after a visit. 

The beaming smile you give him when new customers visit, claiming how he had endorsed you, makes it all worth it.

Right now though? Right now he regrets ever opening his mouth.

His sworn brother, the Giant Lynx King has been talking with you for far too long. Keeping your attention off of him, the one you’re supposed to be chatting with when you have free time. Wukong can see the way you fidget with the towels in your arms, your eyes darting towards the hallways to the private baths even as you smile and nod to the Giant Lynx King. 

‘She has work to do, idiot.’ Wukong thinks with a growl, his tail flicking under the steaming water. He loves his sworn brothers, even if he’s not on great terms with them all (he shoves the memories of Demon Bull King into the deepest corners of his heart once more) but sometimes they do still test his patience. When Giant Lynx brings a paw up to your face, clearly intent on brushing your hair away from your cheek, is when Wukong has had enough.

“Brother! Mover of Mountains!” He shouts across the room. Giant Lynx looks up, clearly startled, and your eyes find his own immediately. “Come join me in the water. Leave my sweet peaches to do her work, yes?” Giant Lynx gives him an uneasy look but does as he asks, slipping his towel off and folding it neatly before stepping into the water. You give Wukong a grateful smile he returns with a nod of his head before rushing off to take care of your guests. Giant Lynx paddles close to him and gives an apologetic smile.

“Apologies, brother. I didn’t realize you had a claim on her already.” Wukong doesn’t feel like correcting him, so he doesn’t. He simply winks and lays his head back against the stone rim of the spring, letting the hot water seep into his very bones. One of his monkeys lifts her head up and gives a cheeky giggle at the Lynx King.

“His majesty has plans to make her our Queen! Don’t tell her though, it’s going to be a surprise!” Lynx King gives a hum of acknowledgement as he settles down, and Wukong again doesn’t bother to speak. What his subject says is true, after all.

Someday soon he’ll make his intentions to court you clear, and when you say ‘yes’ - because of course you’ll say ‘yes’ - he’ll be able to officially help you as a mate and provider instead of just a customer. He already has a collection of treasure ready to be bartered and sold to get you the funds necessary to rebuild the rooms in the back, and anything else you may need. 

He can’t wait.

[azamansource]

the fox and the grapes - trailer | 2024 | a short film by assad zaman

synopsis

Ash wakes up to find his apartment in disarray, every corner trashed, and a mysterious stranger trapped on his roof terrace. As he grapples with his fragmented memories of the night before, he struggles to piece together what happened. The tension between them escalates, leading to a climactic confrontation. Desperate and with no other option, the stranger begins to recount a mesmerizing tale, one that echoes the timeless wisdom of an Aesop fable, unraveling secrets that challenge Ash’s understanding of reality and himself.

director's words

My inspiration for this film stems from the Aesop fable, in which a fox, unable to reach a bunch of juicy grapes hanging from a tree, ultimately gives up and rationalizes his failure by claiming he never wanted them in the first place. This story serves as a poignant metaphor for the themes explored in the film: control and the human tendency to assert it as a defense mechanism when confronted with the unattainable or the incomprehensible. In this narrative, Ash's initial reaction upon discovering the mysterious stranger on his roof terrace is not to ask, "Who are you?" but rather to declare, "The police are on their way." This immediate assertion of control starkly contrasts with the reality of his situation—one where he has no recollection of the previous night's events and no genuine authority over the unfolding chaos. Through this film, I delve into the psychological complexities of control, mirroring the fox's plight, and highlighting how the fear of the unknown can drive us to create illusions of dominance.