#EDWARD&MOONJO.

[reddevilmcnt]

Edward fought to keep himself composed. Under ordinary circumstances, such thick tension while waiting wouldn’t have stretched this far. He enjoyed playing with his food now and then, savoring the heated thrill of a prolonged hunt, but this wasn’t one of those times. The tug-of-war between predator and prey usually sent fire surging through his veins, and he couldn’t deny the heady rush of those moments when someone begged for their life; there weren’t many highs that could rival it. Edward had still granted Moon-Jo a leeway he never would've extended to anyone else-------- a fact that differed heavily from his blood-soaked record of brutalized bodies. Edward was vicious, a predator through and through, and sending Moon-Jo in to confront him alone? That was a bold gamble. Perhaps their plan hinged on Moon-Jo’s role as Edward’s beloved spouse (a bond now cracked but not fully severed) to buy them an edge. And disturbingly enough, they weren’t wrong. Edward had given Moon-Jo time to prove his innocence or to make the first move. Deep in his gut, a part of him still wanted his husband. He knew that he shouldn’t. His love was smothered under the weight of climbing anger and hate, emotions burning hotter with each passing moment. And yet, even that rage was just another shade of his love, twisted, but not the cold indifference or sadism he reserved for his usual marks. Moon-Jo wasn’t a victim to be toyed with for pleasure or profit. Not yet, anyway.

The smaller, svelte figure slid effortlessly onto Edward’s solid thigh, sealing Edward’s decision. He knows now-------- this was meant to be his last meal. All that’s left is to hold back the storm brewing within him long enough to drive the steak knife into Moon-Jo’s back, a poetic end for an absolute fucking liar of his caliber. Would Edward mourn his husband or merely the idea of him? Perhaps. The love had been real once, but love doesn’t govern a killer’s heart. By the end of it all, men like Edward always choose themselves. ...Moon-Jo’s impossibly smooth fingers (how did he keep them so soft, even amidst his deceitful work?) graze the pulse in Edward’s throat, where it pounds quite heavily, though not from nerves. Proximity alone has always been enough for Moon-Jo to evoke a reaction. He’s everything designed to ensnare someone like Edward: soft, beautiful, and graceful. A creature Edward could snap in half with a flick of his giant wrist, yet one who drank in Edward’s aggression and obsessiveness without breaking. For a time, those first few years at least, it had been a euphoric ride, an intoxicating whirlwind of passion and power. Edward doesn’t regret those moments. What he regrets is not killing Moon-Jo sooner, back when the fire first began to dim. But despite his penchant for sadism, Edward had lacked the specific cruelty required to turn his full hostility toward someone he once loved.

Until now.

His head tips slightly, smoldering blues alight with curiosity and fixating properly on Moon-Jo. He watches as the man sips his wine, the subtle bob of his small Adam’s apple with each delicate swallow drawing Edward’s gaze down the milky expanse of his throat. It riled up an almost maddening urge to lean forward and press kisses there. Something about the knowledge of this being their last true night together amplified his need for intimacy, even as it set his internal alarms ringing. He chalked it up to his nature, choosing pride over logic. ...For a man like Edward, danger and desire came intertwined. How many times had he returned home after a kill, adrenaline pumping through his veins, only to take Moon-Jo against the nearest surface? This craving wasn’t new; it was a part of him, as natural as the bloodlust that drove his other impulses. But then he felt it------- a knee nudging between his powerful thighs, brushing idly against the rigid heat straining behind his tailored suit trousers. Edward, ever disciplined, swallowed the grunt that threatened to escape, though his lashes fluttered briefly, betraying his surprise. The friction was slight, hardly enough to distract him, especially with the heat already simmering through his bloodstream. But, the idea that Moon-Jo believed this would be enough to disarm him was laughable. Unless, of course, Moon-Jo was angling to be fucked before dinner had even ended.... though Edward sincerely doubted that.

The savage killer in him decided on playing along, escalating the game for his own amusement. Seduction had never been Edward’s initial weapon of choice------- it rarely needed to be. Nonetheless, that didn’t mean he wasn’t skilled in the art when the moment called for it. He was keenly aware of how his striking, classical good looks could lull unsuspecting victims into letting their guard down, convincing them he might be a hero instead of the monster he truly was. "Actually," he began, voice surprisingly still as steady and calm as the sleeping ocean, with an endearing warmth------ a hint of something almost like adoration curling at the edges, "I thought I’d feed you, my sweet little husband." If this were any other night, Edward might have savored one of their usual games: Moon-Jo doting on him, servicing him like a King before the feast. That kind of submission had always been enough to keep Edward utterly enthralled, wrapped around Moon-Jo’s pretty fingers. But tonight wasn’t one of those nights. Edward slid a broad hand beneath Moon-Jo’s thigh, dragging it across his lap with an effortless strength, grip then shifting so that powerful hands could adjust Moon-Jo’s hips until he was straddling him, forced to face Edward’s grim smirk head-on. Edward’s blue eyes had darkened, the playful glint in them tempered by something far more animal. He leaned in, scrumptious lips brushing the vulnerable skin of Moon-Jo’s throat, coarse beard grazing the soft flesh as he mouthed a line along it. He kissed up the delicate curve of Moon-Jo’s jaw before capturing one of his hands, bringing it to his lips. Edward went about kissing each knuckle and slender finger with a fervent, almost reverent hunger, and for a fleeting moment? A wave of emotion swelled harshly in his chest. The idea of interrogating Moon-Jo like this, pressing him for answers, tempted Edward. But what would it matter? They’d both swallowed lies... maybe it was best to finish this now, to set aside sentiment and sensitivity. After all, neither of them had ever been saints, and their work demanded such never-ending sacrifices.

"No talking." Edward’s tones set in a rasped, guttural warning, the final signal that any pretense of conversation was fucking over. He dropped Moon-Jo’s delicate hand, callused thumb and forefinger gripping Moon-Jo’s chin instead, yanking him forward into a bruising kiss. Their lips met slowly at first, almost tentative, as if Edward were soaking in one final taste. Then his tongue swept over Moon-Jo’s bottom petal, prying apart those soft, pliant lips and delving deeper, exploring, memorizing. The lingering flavor of wine on Moon-Jo’s tongue drew a faint hum of satisfaction from Edward, even as his grip tightened. One hand stayed firmly planted against Moon-Jo’s slender hip, pressing him down, while the other slid deliberately along the curve of his back. It moved with purpose, thick, powerful fingers closing around the hilt of the steak knife resting just out of sight. The big man drew it closer, blade gliding up beneath the hem of Moon-Jo’s shirt, until the cold steel kissed the warm skin of his lower back.

"You feel that?" Edward rumbled darkly against that sweet pink-tinted mouth, his voice a gravelly growl that matched the unrestrained hunger in his movements. He didn’t let Moon-Jo pull away, their tongues still tangling with a feral intensity. "That’s what you do to me…"

And it's not specified whether he means his thickening cock... or the knife.

the american dream as depicted on the television screens, that's what they were living. in a sitcom... passion lulled to a Parental Guidance viewing, lacking the fever flame they once had. laughable. they were both playing parts they believed the other wanted of them, neither knowing the other carried a dark passenger on their left shoulder... not knowing the other person at all. aside from the outwardly attraction that's kept them together, the red strings of fate fraying but still held. edward was his golden ticket... so, he thought back then. just a green card. but he wasn't. arduosly handsome, unorthodox eyes that haunted his dreams those first few nights and onwards... until the next step. yet the man would never know the lengths that moon-jo went to honour their relationship, to honour him. still did. seductress... enticing men and women only he gives them the illusion never going further than that. even the husband he believed he married wouldn't be pleased to heard of his enticing ways of persuasion / disarming, possessive he is. an illusionist. tied down moon-jo never occurred until he met edward, it sparked something within him. the need to keep something... someone for himself. ALL to himself. edward was HIS.

love is a funny thing ever fleeting that needs to be re-caught and cherished but for the past two or so years, moon-jo has let it slip through his fingers, carelessly. falling back into habits of being robotic in nature. to keep his story straight in his head, never had he stayed put in one place for so long that he believed cabin fever had long set in and stubbornly he's ignored it.

first omen.

QUALMS. had this been a ploy from the very beginning of their relationship, fond memories flash with skepticism scrutiny. the extent of edward's knowledge on him was up in the air -- he could know a little or the whole picture -- how infuriating. he only knew very little... simply edward is his mark with a nice money pool on his head. going in blind on his husband's actual abilities is hazardous, moon-jo liked to have all the facts or as much as he can get before even taking a job.

love is an omen.

❝ near perfect. ❞ moon-jo repeated, undulation from his hips, decoying him from taking his seat for as long as he possibly can. a nod of his head to follow up the repeated words, calculating an innocently shyness. once edward sat down the corners of his lips flicked up like a rattle snake's tail, his prey vanquishing his power. false sense. snake flicking his tongue in the air, reading the space between wasn't needed, the tension had become suffocating. reading his husband's body language those shielding muscles, deliciously visible ( a sight that in a different context might've had moon-jo jumping his husband's bones ) but the clench was that of what moon-jo thought to be apprehension -- as he was as well. arching of a brow, expression unreadable aside from the hint of amusement, slithering chuckle at his apparent flaw. ❝ to voice my flaws would be unwise, no ? can't let you know such things, eddie. you might leave me. ❞ his flaws would stay with him forever never to be voiced and certainly not to a man whom would soon-to-be six feet under. flaws aren't even safe in death.

icicles return. a giveaway intentional or not.

a flash of silver movement, minorly so. he saw it nonetheless. it thrilled him a little, oddly enough. so, it was going to come to a clash between the two tonight. plans of killing him in his sleep out the window. but taken aback by edward's demand, uncertainty etched on soft features pulling them tightly. no argument. ❝ i'm right here. ❞ words fall faint and inaudible. frozen to his spot, it would be odd and out of character for him to decline... no option other than to do as he's told.

bare feet make haste around the table, illusion still lingering of the perfect little male-wife that he depicted himself as. casting a wary eye over his husband, he slipped between the table and his adjacent seat. fork. deliberately his hand laid flat over the eating utensil, easing down upon the muscular cushion of his husband's thigh... used to believe it to be his throne. perfectly their bodies complimented each other. leisurely his arm curl around a strong shoulder, calculated fingers splaying over a pulse point. ❝ i'm not hungry. ❞ he said flatly, removing his hand from the fork and effortlessly slipping the wine glass from edward's grasp. ❝ though i'll share this. ❞ taking a sip of the crimson liquid. planting a seed of doubt about the eerily beautiful banquet fit for a king.

seduction bleeding through his body, legs spread out as if butter, smooth and second nature. a strategic knee rest between his husband's legs, sultry friction beginning as his knee moves up and down upon repeat. ❝ what else do you-- ❞ suggestive tone of his voice, stopped himself mid-sentence, it had been months since they shared in a truly passionate moment such as this. quick his legs closed. giving edward a hint of what he truly was. ❝ you want me to feed you as well ? ❞ a little chuckle of uncertainty, casting his browns to catch those icicles. guard and overly-aware of every micromovement his husband makes.

an illusion of the doting husband.

[regvined]

hello i FINALLY have the list of costumes for my muses thanks to the very talented and clever renny :c

adam banks, mat barzal aleksander kirigan, the phantom antonia dreykov, juliet from romeo and juliet (leo’s movie version) ares cappello, rocky ariel evenstar, mercy from overwatch boris shuster, indiana jones bucky barnes, the mad hatter cal kestis, the scarecrow from wizard of oz ezra raine, a mandalorian luo fusheng, wu xie from the grave robber chronicles greg hirsch, jeffrey the giraffe jaskier pankratz, venti from genshin impact john booker routledge, brody from jaws john-john sundberg, a greaser kaz brekker, anthony from bridgerton namaari fang, harpy paul hill, himself with cat ears peggy carter, catwoman roy kent, a werewolf stewart hosseini, jordan from the wolf of wall street maka albarn, tinkerbell marshall jeong, a train to busan zombie winston hallows, minnie mouse leon dilioncourt, micahel from the lost boys lukas laufeyson, sir thomas from crimson peak sebastian lacroix, the grim reaper from goblin seo moonjo, the tooth fairy steven crain, wang so from scarlet heart ahn seojun, ash ketchum pippin took, buddy the elf snap wexley, captain america tony stark, ultron edward cullen, young beethoven

[jentonic]

I'm gonna hit you with a question if that's cool. Now there's a lot of disturbing moments in Strangers From Hell, but which one really unnerved you the most?

that scene where the twins are taking out the trash and jungwoo is coming back from work and sees them and thinks theyre carrying a corpse so he hides behind a dumpster and he thinks the twins hear him so the camera focuses on jungwoo and then it zones out and you see the fucking twin closer to him so you think theyre gonna see him but they dont and then it finally zooms out and suddenly theres moonjo standing there a la edward cullen saying ‘what are you doing’ i. fucking jumped on my bed lmao

but like personally the whole dead cats in a bag business cause im very sensitive and also that scene where ms eom is gonna feed the old man they got trapped downstairs cause for a wild second i thought she was gonna feed him with HIS own meat and i was like jesus FUCK...........

[reddevilmcnt]

There was a time when words like "I live to please" would have been sweet, sweet music to Edward’s ears------- the kind of dulcet promise that provoked him to keep big destructive hands all over his husband, unable to resist. Back then, those words would have been enough to ignite something deliciously crazed between them, but in all honesty? The fire hadn’t burned out just because of what he’d recently uncovered; that had happened long ago, somewhere in the quiet break down of their marriage. The attraction remained, sure, like a faint glow of embers, but they'd started going through the motions, performing a hollow version of the perfect passion they once had. ...Edward could admit now that he’d been a little naïve about marriage. He’d acted like any ordinary husband, oblivious to the cracks forming in his relationship, blind to what was slowly falling apart, even though Edward was anything but ordinary. In all actuality, he wasn’t the clean-cut, pristine type who dreamed of long hours at the office and evenings with a doting partner waiting at home. No, that life had never been meant for him. He’d told himself to play the part anyway, simply because he didn’t know what else to be------- because he hadn't known any other way to keep Moon-Jo by his side. In the beginning, that was all that mattered: the selfish drive and desire to hold on to something so beautiful, so captivating, and claim it for himself. Even for someone as lethal and calculating as Edward, whose emotions often ran muted, there had been something close to love. At least, from his end.

Unlike Moon-Jo, Edward hadn’t adopted this life as a convenient façade to mask the blood and filth he truly thrived in. He'd forced his way into this role because he believed he had to------ because he needed Moon-Jo. Thus, he had been willing to bind himself with the ultimate vows, promises he had convinced himself would be enough to prove his devotion.

And yet, none of it mattered. He was just another fucking mark in the end.

How ironic.

Perhaps marriages built on a foundation of lies were never meant to last. Maybe that’s why the passion went out long before the truth was exposed. Edward wasn’t made for pretense. Underneath it all, he was a predator, a killer. Hiding that extremely crucial part of himself had been a mistake.

Now was the time to strip away the illusion, and destroy the last remaining fragments of their so-called commitment.

"Only near perfect?" Edward arched a dark brow, expression eerily calm. Across the way, Moon-Jo still hadn’t touched his own food. The untouched plate spoke volumes------- he wouldn’t relax, wouldn’t engage, not until Edward himself sat down and began eating. Just like a fucking snake. Fine. A flicker of frustration rippled through Edward’s impressively built frame, muscles clenching visibly beneath his shirt as he finally dropped into his seat. "I’m curious," he began, voice smooth but laced with a dangerous undertone, "about what flaws you think you have." He paused, letting the silence stretch, before adding with a low drawl, "...Besides sticking your cold feet on me in the middle of the night." And spying on me for our whole goddamn marriage. Ever so fleetingly, the corner of Edward’s mouth kicked slightly upwards, a dash of wry amusement as some sort of old memory surfaced. But the chill returned almost instantly, features steeling back into an icy calm. His gaze skimmed over the table in front of him, everything arranged with perfect precision. The steak and potatoes looked amazing, exactly to his tastes. He had to admit, for all Moon-Jo’s manipulations, the man knew him well. Edward loved a good steak.

Adjusting the silverware deliberately, he slid the gleaming knife just a touch closer to his side before pouring a generous glass of crimson wine. The deep red swirled in the light as he took a long sip, his intense blues locking right away onto Moon-Jo’s browns. There was a contemplative weight to his stare, one that glinted briefly with something darker as his lips curled upward.

"You’re too far away." His voice carried an edge of authority, the kind that brooked no argument. He patted his thick, muscled thigh and added, "Come sit here and share with me, doll. I want you closer."

The words drizzled with false affection, a carefully set snare hidden behind his calm exterior. Two could play the role of the devoted spouse.

Moon-Jo should have killed him the moment he pulled into the driveway.

OBEY. disobey. never had he disobeyed an order, an assignment, a target. edward is his latest target. a mistake. surely it had to have been a mistake. so, much so, he had even double checked with his agency that there hadn't been some sort of error on their part, another first for moon-jo. BETRAYAL. it had festered for the day's length though how can he feel betrayed when all of this is a sham ? it's a lie upon a lie. did edward even love him ? was EVERYTHING fake ? but did he have the right to feel such a way when he's been lying through his teeth from the very beginning ? no. clock a dawned upon the wall displayed the usual time edward returns home, a fatal fault on his part. anchored down into the depths of betrayal, hurt, and to obey.

off his game.

ethereally soft beauty becomes stiff, dark chocolate hues drone into the icy depths of unnatural blues, lulling to the side his head in tempt to read his husband. ❝ it happens to all of us. at least you're home now. ❞ he declared, warmly in its usual nature though there was a hint of strain. thus moon-jo knew he knew. from no outwardly affection from either of them. showing his own hand in doing so. edward overpowered him with sheer strength alone, despite his muscles moon-jo knew he was somewhat flexible which is a dangerous combination in hand-to-hand. refusal to fall into the entrapment of muscular arms that felt like home. TRAP. eyes of a hawk watching his enemy husband closely. draped in one of edward's shirts, hem falling mid-thigh and pale golden legs bare, a lure. him holding onto this fantasy for as long as he can before it would inevitably come to a bloody end. alias burned along with what he'd do to their little american dream house.

neither seemed to be making the first move. a stalemate ? slender fingers curled around the chair, nails denting the soft wood whilst he approached. confirmation. he need not, it's clearly displayed in the cautious movements of his husband --- to kill him. flee the scene for his drop, never be heard from again. SIMPLE, right ? shifting his weight to his back leg, twine his other leg to give a laxness to his stance, duplicity sinking in, weighing him to the chair. sharp gaze drifts cautiously over to his phone that sat upon the table, just out of his reach. nonchalant roll of his shoulders, returning his guardian stare to edward. ❝ it was supposed to be a surprise... ❞ moon-jo says delicately sinless yet tauntingly so. letting his words hang in-between them, wanting to see if his mind runs.

TORN. every fibre of his being is needing to be near him, draw closer and close the distance between them. to fall into those strong arms. but his calculated mind believing it to be a trap, one which will cost him his life ( despite not knowing the other's skill-set ). edward was a living and breathing trap... TARGET. a target which should've been shot dead the moment he walked in through the garage door. another mistake he might live to regret.

prolonging the inevitable.

thus his heart swooned a little, how easy it was to fall back under the spell... yet a bitterness clouds in his mind. it was all false. make-believe. ❝ i live to please. ❞ moon-jo hummed out, blasé he stretched out from the chair, a sway to return to his stance. ❝ to spoil you is to spoil myself, if you truly think about it. ❞ he pondered out loud, ice blaze from those unnatural blues was burning through him, felt it in his core. hunter and prey. what one was he ? ❝ you deserve only the best in life. and i'm near perfect. ❞

[reddevilmcnt]

The day did crawl forward like a dying fuse, tension snaking tighter with every passing minute. His anger roiled, just out of reach, something bewildered and disbelieving keeping it shackled------- either the unsettling suspicion that he’d been sleeping with the enemy all along or the far more dangerous whisper that, perhaps, he didn’t truly want to kill the liar he’d called his spouse for so many long, burdened years. Nevertheless, he shoved those murky thoughts aside, anchoring himself to something else: this vague but persistent irritation that he’d somehow forgotten Moon-Jo had the day off. Except he hadn’t forgotten. He simply hadn’t been told. Edward, of course, doesn't voice this quiet deceit aloud.

Instead, he wears the mask of the gentlemanly husband, though there's more frost than warmth in his striking blue eyes. "Right. Must've slipped my mind," he murmured, deliberately withholding the usual gestures of affection he might have offered, quite certain a kiss would only be met with a swift knife in the gut. He noticed, too, when Moon-Jo failed to close the distance, offering no affection in return. Unbothered, or pretending to be, Edward settled into his usual routine of feigned ease, moving as though his guard had slipped in the comfort of his own home. He loosened his tie, letting it drape carelessly around broad shoulders still confined in the fine, crisp white of his button-down, then shrugged off his tailored suit jacket entirely. Every inch the picture of a sophisticated managing director for whatever prestigious investment bank he'd claimed as his cover-------- one that also conveniently demanded long, disjointed hours 'at the office.'

Very well. He'd play along with this strange, drawn-out game of cat and mouse, if only because some stubborn, insistent part of his mind still refused to fully accept it. It still needed the direct proof that Moon-Jo intended on following through with orders and killing him------- before Edward bolted for his stash of impressively excessive firearms. Edward began rolling his sleeves up to his elbows, the motion purposeful, exposing the thick muscle and veins along his forearms. Then, he undid the top few buttons of his shirt, just enough to ease that small suffocating sensation pressing against his chest... though his actual work might be calling him soon enough anyway. When he approached the table, his gaze sharpened, watchful and guarded, corners of his eyes hardening as he surveyed what could very well be his last meal... if he trusted his false husband enough to eat it.

"What's on the phone?" he asked nice and smoothly, too smoothly. Those perfectly blue eyes, almost too blue to be real, flicked briefly to Moon-Jo before settling on the phone screen. He'd noticed how his husband had been looking at it when he walked in, a fact that grated against his growing suspicion like nails on a chalkboard. Edward kept hovering by a dinner chair, one hand placed just so on the edge, fingers curling gently around the wood, as if weighing his next move. The rugged elegance of his features had tightening pressure building all throughout his calm exterior, as a storm on the horizon brewed behind those eyes, yet he masked it well with a controlled smile. "But everything looks fantastic, babydoll," he continued in silken tones, words falling from his lips as though he had no care in the world. "You really do spoil me sometimes. What did I ever do to deserve you?"

the great enemy of truth. a lie. but a lie saves lives. it keeps one safe and functioning in the real world. a cover. it was a requirement in his line of work... well, for him it has been a requirement since birth. nor had it ever been his choice. the agency took children from orphanages around the world, a program which had since been blacklisted by the agency, he was the only one from that program still left.

living a lie.

a spider weaving his web of lies, carefully and methodically. each string of silk built his web. a web which ensnared a wasp, years ago. and so the spider fell in love with a wasp.

complacent.

complacency is dangerous. lulls one into a false sense of security, safety and even slowly he's believed in the lie. believed in this false sense of life. a nurse. his cover. they work odd hours so it was ever so fitting. squirrelling away his extra money in secure places, along with passports at the ready... as of late he's gotten his husband's passport, fake ids, and other things. an inkling on his chatter feed had been slow, snail pace. it had bloomed woe in his heart recently.

within, walls continued upright, bricks met neatly, floors were firm, and doors were sensibly shut. he lifted his head from his phone screen, tiktok video playing without a witness, sound barely breaking the tranquil silence that lingered within the room. ❝ you're home earlier than usual. ❞ he says softly, flicking the screen of his phone and placing wine on the table. a table set for two. ❝ i always make dinner when i'm home. ❞ he chuckled lightly, a pinch of confession drew his brows together.

stepping away from the table though within arms reach of it. skirting around the table, coming to a stop at the head of the table. ❝ have you had a long day ? it's not like you to forget when i have days off, edward. ❞ moon-jo pondered out loud, not being able to read his husband for the first time in a long time. brought a tilt to his own head, smiley chocolate hues darkened with scrutiny, an air of tension was building where edward stood. was he upset ? why ? he hadn't been really living in the fantasy of his lie, moon-jo has been distant even. a lie. a lie about being tired from work.