#moonjo imagines

[page-soobinnie]

✂Moonjo Boyfriend Head Cannons ִֶָ 𓂃⊹ ִֶָ

✂Special Thanks Too: Moonjo, Sfh

✂Note: I don't think it was requested if it was then it's apart of another request

✂CW: Moonjo : jealousy : teeth : mentions of hidden cameras : mentions of a pervert :

✂Taglist: no one atm but you can join by sending an ask comment or dm

✂Oh boy...ok, he doesn't let you do anything without permission.

✂If you act without telling or asking him, he'll take two teeth out your mouth and use them as jewelry.

✂Y'know that bracelet he gave to Jongwoo? Yeah you have one of just his back teeth, and he has one of your back teeth, he made it so they can interlock with one another...

✂Never takes no for an answer.

✂If you live in the Eden apartments, he'll make sure to live next door to you and basically tears the walls down.

✂The others aren't even allowed to look at you let alone talk to you, especially that perverted guy (forgot his name-)

✂He always keeps tabs on you, by that I mean hidden cameras so he can watch you while he works.

[whimsimille]

THICKER THAN BLOOD

Chapter 2: "Come home to me, darling."

(Jeong Jin-Man x fem! reader)

"Why are you leaving so suddenly?" You questioned, your voice bouncing off the tapestry that adorned the living room wall of your quaint shared apartment and the oak bookshelves filled with classics.

The comforting aroma of a simmering homemade tomato sauce filled the air, mingling with the sound of sizzling pans and the rhythmic chopping of crisp, fresh vegetables on the polished granite kitchen countertop. 

Dressed in a worn-out apricot apron adorned with faded sunflower prints, your hands were occupied with diligently kneading the carefully prepared pasta dough for your dinner, a recipe passed down from your Italian grandmother.

All of a sudden, the living room's normal sounds—the soft purr of Gunpowder, his gray cat curled up on the plush Persian rug, the low drone of the television playing the evening news—were replaced by an eerie silence that made your skin crawl. 

On turning, you noticed Honda in the midst of rushing preparations for departure. He was hunched over the suede couch, lacing up his sturdy boots, his face etched with stern concentration. Against the dimly lit backdrop of the room, his figure blended seamlessly, rendering him no more than a transient silhouette.

"Where exactly are you off to? And what's the urgency?" You signed, your hands dancing in the air while you leaned against the wooden door frame. A knot of unease formed in the pit of your stomach at the sight of his hasty departure.

His gaze met yours, a small, reassuring smile playing on his lips as he signed back, "I have to go. Jin-Man needs me. I can't disclose more for your safety. You know how it works."   

He continued to pack his bag—a small duffel made of worn leather with patches on the corners and straps slung over one shoulder. As he did so, you caught sight of an old photograph falling out of the side pocket; it was of you both from what looked like a summer festival years ago, grinning widely under colorful umbrellas while balloons swelled around you both.

"But can't it wait until tomorrow? Is it really necessary to depart on the day that we get back together after several months?

The worn-out leather of the couch groaned under his weight as he rose, his tall figure casting a long shadow against the faded brown wallpaper. 

Moving towards you, he avoided the cluttered coffee table littered with dog-eared magazines and discarded newspapers. His leather jacket, draped over the back of a nearby armchair, was quickly pulled on, the rusted zipper scraping against the silence of the room.

"No, it can't wait. But I'll be back in time for dinner. I promise." Even as he used a gentle swipe of his thumb to remove a stray splotch of tomato sauce from your cheek, his smile never left his face. “When I return, we can lounge on the couch, munching on popcorn and be engrossed in those old Hollywood classics you're so fond of. You can also show me your progress with that hacking project you've been working on. Maybe try not to fry the motherboard this time?"

"First of all, you better keep that promise. Second,  I’ll hold you to it. Third, for your information, that was a one-time thing!"

"First, I will. It's a promise. And second, I remember it being a three-time thing." He chuckled, his laughter warm like a summer's day.

"Shut up. But tell me, why the secrecy? Why can't you share what's happening? Jin-Man usually keeps me in the loop when a mission comes up.”

Despite your persistent questioning, Honda remained resolute, his face as unreadable as a closed book. He gently loosened your grip on his arm. "Stop nagging me like Mama would. I can't divulge any details. It's not safe. But I need to go. Jin-Man needs me. Don’t you have any government sites to hack? Or do you plan on crashing our systems again?"

"Stop it, douchebag. You're being reckless. We need to tread with caution, especially now more than ever. You know that. And that was not my fault; their security was just… upgraded."

However, he simply shook his head as he smiled at your pout, pulling you into a warm embrace. The cold, hard metal of his brass knuckles, concealed in his pocket, pressed against your side. A chilling reminder of the danger that lay ahead. Yet you refrained from voicing your fears, choosing instead to hold him tight, the rhythm of your heartbeats synchronizing.

"Alright," you conceded, swallowing your protests, "at least take some food with you." Gesturing towards a Tupperware container on the table, filled with steaming eggs and a side of kimchi jeon—both staple dishes in your shared meals.

His eyes softened at your concern, and he took the offered container, pressing a quick kiss on your forehead before making his way towards the entrance.

As he neared the door, a rush of childhood memories invaded your mind. Sometimes you stayed up late whispering secrets under the covers; sometimes you felt his pain even when he was miles away, and sometimes you both fell off your bikes and ended up in the emergency room with scraped knees. They dubbed it the twin instinct, but to you, it was a lifeline, a warning system that alerted you when Honda was in danger.

"Honda, wait!" You called out, your voice echoing off the creaking wooden floorboards. 

The desperation in your plea stirred Gunpowder from her sleep, her tail twitching softly against the worn-out rug as though caught in a dream of chasing unseen mice. Honda turned, his hand still on the doorknob, his eyes questioning in the pale afternoon light filtering through the gaps in the old blinds.

A knot of guilt twisted in the pit of your stomach, threatening to crawl out through your lips and fill the room with its bitter taste.

The two of you were caught in a moment where petty bickering had canceled all the plans you had carefully added to your shared agenda. Your hands, once intertwined in unity, had become unglued from one another, your fingers now tangled in the strands of hair sprouting from your head. The hateful words you once spat at each other—words that had plunged through the gaps of your milk teeth—had turned into a somber reality. It suddenly seemed oddly appealing to consider dying in order to keep him around.

"I...I love you, brother," you admitted, the words feeling foreign yet so right. It was something you should have said a long time ago, after your parents' deaths, when it was just the two of you against the world. But you had always been afraid—afraid that admitting your fears would make them real.

A soft smile tugged at his lips as he nodded, an unspoken understanding passing between you two. "I love you too, sis," he signed before stepping out into the afternoon, leaving you in the silence of the empty apartment.

While life in the apartment carried on around you—the stove still burning, the TV blaring the evening news, Gunpowder curling around your ankles, licking your calves—you felt tears springing up in your eyes as your thoughts raced.

Come home, Honda. Come home and tell me everything about your day, from the way the sun glinted off the skyscrapers to the way the coffee tasted at your favorite café. Come home and argue with me again, about trivial things like who left the lights on or whose turn it was to do the dishes. Slam your bedroom door like you used to when we were teenagers and stomp around the house in Dad's old boots.

Come home and laugh with me, share those terrible inside jokes that only we understand. Handle your knife in the wrong way, the way you used to when you're not on a mission, when you're just my brother and not a covert operative. 

Come home and hold me again while I cry in your lap about the girls and boys that shattered my heart. Come home to fix the TV you always mess up with those greasy fingers of yours, leaving stains on the remote.

Scream at me if you need to; let out all that pent-up frustration that I know you keep bottled up inside. 

Come home and tell me how you always manage to burn the pasta, making it stick to the pots. Come home and let me nag about your messiness, about the dirty socks you always leave on the floor and about the dishes in the sink. 

But most importantly:

“Come home safe. Come home to me, Honda. Please."

2 months later

Late afternoon light filtered through the window, casting elongated, capering shadows across the glossy surface of your living room's hardwood floor.

Finally, after a whole day cleaning the place and trying to make it more child friendly, you were curled up in the embrace of the vintage couch and a soft, threadbare blanket, a relic from your childhood, was wrapped snugly around you, providing a comforting barrier against the creeping chill.

You idly stroked Gunpowder, who was as much a part of the family as any human member. Her fur was coarse, yet soothing under your fingertips.

Gunpowder was the only other living being that missed Honda as much as you did; her amber eyes held a profound sadness that echoed your own. You were grateful that Jin-Man let you take her from the animal shelter.

She didn't deserve to be alone, not when she had already lost so much.

With the monochrome scenes flickering against the brick wall, the contemporary television set in the room's corner was showing Casablanca.

Nonetheless, your mind was elsewhere, lost in a world of thought, meandering through a labyrinth of candid memories as your eyes were glued to the window, drinking in the expanse of the verdant family farm outside.

In your hands was your favorite cat mug, the one with the chipped ear and faded paint, a sentimental relic from your college days.

It was unusually quiet, the usual cacophony of farm life replaced by the relentless drumming of rain.

Not only was Ji-An nowhere to be seen, but Jin-Man's rusty truck had vanished from its customary location beside the red barn.

A glance at the old, ticking clock hanging on the wall—16:00, way past the time Ji-An usually got home from school—made your anxiety spike.

Just as you were about to pull on your trusty yellow raincoat to go look for her, you saw Jin-Man's truck pulling up the gravel driveway. He got out of the truck, his jacket hanging haphazardly off his broad shoulders, and his jaw clenched in a way that set off alarm bells in your head.

You quickly signed , "Hey! Old man! Good afternoon to you too! Where's Ji-An?" as he stomped past you, heading straight to his office. But he didn't answer; he didn't even spare you a glance.

Following him, you tried to make sense of what was happening, but he closed the office door right in your face. You were left standing there, frustration bubbling up inside you, a sense of foreboding making your heart pound in your chest.

As you paced around the living room, worry gnawing at you, the front door creaked open. Your heart leapt at the sound, and you turned around, expecting to see Ji-An, safe and sound.

But what you saw made your heart drop.

Ji-An walked in, soaked to the bone and covered in mud, carrying her pink backpack—the one her mother had bought for her last Christmas. Her uniform was clinging to her small frame, her hair plastered to her forehead, but she didn't make a sound. Not a sob, not a whimper.

Seeing her, you rushed over, dropping onto your knees to be at her level. "Ji-An, sweetheart, what happened? Why didn't you come home with Uncle Jin-Man?" you asked. A flutter of panic seized you as she remained silent, her eyes downcast. "Did something happen at school? You can tell me. I'm here for you."

“I need a bath, Noona. I don't want to talk about it right now. Is that okay?”

You looked at her for a long moment, the sight of her shivering form causing a lump to form in your throat. Her hair, previously neatly braided, was now a mess; the ties you had made for her earlier that morning were nowhere to be found.

"Yeah… Of course, baby," you reassured her, offering a weak smile.

With a sigh, you slowly rose to your feet and gently took her hand, leading her to the bedroom. You could feel her fingers tremble slightly in your grasp, her small hand cold and damp from the rain.

You then went to the bathroom to prepare a warm bath for her. You quickly grabbed a fresh set of clothes for her—a soft purple cotton t-shirt and a pair of comfortable cartoon pants that had cute little teddy bears printed on them. You placed them neatly on the bathroom counter, within her reach.

Once the bathtub was filled with warm water and a generous amount of bubble bath, you helped her undress the wet clothes sticking to her skin. 

While Ji-An enjoyed her warm bath, Gunpowder sat in front of the bathtub. Her amber eyes were focused on the bubbles, her tail twitching with curiosity. Every now and then, she would bat at a stray bubble, her paw slicing through the air with a fluid motion as if it were a game.

With Ji-An safely in the bath and the clothes inside the washing machine, you then went to the kitchen to begin preparing dinner. Using cookie cutters, you shaped the food into fun shapes—a star-shaped sandwich, fruit cut into the shape of animals, a bowl of soup with alphabet pasta. You even managed to make a small salad; the vegetables were bright and colorful. It was a small gesture, but you hoped it would bring a smile to Ji-An's face.

Throughout the days you've been living in this place, you've tried countless times to make Jin-Man and Ji-An eat at the same place, to share a meal like a family. But Jin-Man always avoided you and Ji-An like you were viruses, always eating small things before burying himself on the couch while watching movies all alone or in his office working with Pasin. It was frustrating to see the distance between them, but then again, it wasn't your job to force conversations and lovey dovey moments.

Once the food was ready, you set the table and then sat down in front of Ji-An, waiting for her to finish her bath. She emerged a while later, her hair damp and her cheeks flushed from the warm water.

Gunpowder, having finished her bubble play, twined around Ji-An’s legs as the child sat at the table. You both sat in silence for a while, the only sound being the gentle hum of the washing machine and the occasional clink of cutlery against plates.

Then, to your surprise, Ji-An was the one to break the silence.

"Today, I waited for Uncle Jin-Man to come and pick me up from school. But he was late, and it started to rain. I decided to walk home instead."

You watched as she continued to sign, her hands moving with a quiet determination. " I was walking in the rain when I saw Uncle Jin-Man's truck. He slowed down, but I didn't want to get in. I was upset with him. So, I continued to walk, even though it was raining hard. Uncle Jin-Man stopped and waited for me to get in, but I didn't."

“I wanted him to come out and apologize, to tell me he was sorry for being late. But he just accelerated and went away. I was so angry, Noona. I wanted him to understand how I felt and how it felt to be forgotten."  

"It's okay, baby. It's okay to feel upset. But remember, your uncle loves you very much. Sometimes, adults make mistakes too."

Shortly after dinner, you decided it was time for Ji-An to learn a new task: cleaning the dishes.

Filling the sink with warm, sudsy water, you showed her how to hold the scrub brush and guided her hand to clean the surface of the plates with gentle but firm strokes. You made sure she understood the importance of removing all leftover bits of food and how to rinse each dish thoroughly under the running water.

"Remember, Ji-An, cleaning is also a part of cooking. Once you're done eating, always make sure to clean up after yourself. It's not just about keeping your area clean, but also about respecting the people who will use the kitchen after you. See, we're not just cleaning up our mess; we're also preparing a clean space for the next person, " you signed, watching as she absorbed your words and continued washing the plates carefully under your watchful eye.

When you were done and completed with the task, you noticed that the sky had completely darkened, the bright hues of the day replaced by the deep blues and blacks of night. You gently dried Ji-An's small, pruney hands with a plush, soft towel and led her towards her bedroom. The room was bathed in the warm, cozy hue from the night lamp sitting on her bedside table, casting playful shadows that danced on the walls.

You tucked her into her bed. The fluffy comforter was pulled up to her chin, and you couldn't help but laugh at the way Gunpowder jumped onto her lap, purring contently.

"Noona," she signed, her eyes wide and luminous in the dim light, reflecting the soft glow of the night lamp. "Can you tell me a bedtime story? "

"Of course, sweetheart. Do you have any particular story in mind?" You asked, settling yourself comfortably at the edge of her bed, your hand gently rubbing soothing circles on her back.

"No, you choose, " she shrugged, her small body snuggling deeper into the warm covers.

You mulled over her request for a moment, your mind flipping through the pages of the countless stories you knew. Finally, one came to your mind. "There's a sad yet beautiful story from my hometown about two squirrels. They were mates—lovers for life and the town's favorite pair of animals. They were seen everywhere together, always chattering away in their own language, their tails intertwined. "

With each word, you painted a vivid picture of their life together. You told her about the female squirrel's illness and the male's devotion and his refusal to leave her side even in search of food.

As you narrated, you noticed Ji-An's eyes welling up with a faraway look. She interrupted you multiple times. "Why didn't the male squirrel eat?" "Why didn't he find another mate? " "Do all squirrels do this? "

You answered each question patiently, explaining the depth of the squirrel's love and the depth of his grief. You told her about how the male squirrel mourned for his mate, returning to their empty nest alone each year.

As you reached the end of the story, you noticed Ji-An's eyes growing heavy. Her questions became fewer and farther between, her chest moving slower until she slept. Still, she was twitching ever so slightly, hands closed and then jerking open in a rhythmic pattern that spoke volumes.

In an attempt to provide some comfort, you laid down next to her, being careful not to jostle her too much. You wrapped your arm around her small form, pulling her closer to your warmth.

Out of the corner of your eye, you saw a flash of yellow and red. The hyena. It was lurking in the corner of the room, its eyes gleaming malevolently in the dim light, eager to haunt you too. You didn't even turn to look at it. It was there, but it wasn't real. You knew it.

"Goodnight, Ji-An," you murmured softly, pressing a gentle kiss on her forehead, placing her bunny toy in the place where you'd been seconds before. "Sleep tight, sweetheart," you added, stroking her hair soothingly. "Noona's here. You're safe."

You switched off the night lamp, plunging the room into darkness, save for the faint moonlight filtering through the window.

As you left her room, you closed the door gently behind you, leaving the hyena and the remnants of your past locked away.

Easing back into the worn porch chair, the fabric of Jin-Man's purloined shirt fluttered against your skin in the cool night breeze. A stolen moment of solitude, with nothing but a half-burnt cigarette for company. 

The embers at the tip flickered, casting an eerie glow in the darkness. Drawing the cigarette to your lips, you inhaled, letting the sharp tang of nicotine coil around your senses and momentarily dull your worries. 

Eyes shut, you allowed your thoughts to drift to the intricate web of coding and changes you had to make in Murthehelp.

The only sounds were the distant hum of crickets and the soft rustling of leaves under the night sky's vast expanse. Yet, this tranquility was abruptly shattered by the encroaching sound of hushed footsteps gradually growing louder. Your eyes fluttered open to see Jin-Man standing before you, arms crossed over his chest, eyes fixed on the cigarette nestled between your fingers with a look of distaste as if you had the devil's hands between your lips.

A chuckle escaped you; the sight of Jin-Man, usually so composed, visibly irked by the cigarette, was enough to momentarily diffuse the tension. "Insomnia again?" you asked, flicking the ash off the cigarette with your thumb.

His hardened gaze didn't waver as he retorted, "I was waiting for you to come to bed."

You shrugged nonchalantly. Since your suicide attempt, Jin-Man has taken it upon himself to keep a watchful eye on you. The concept of solitary sleep had become foreign to both of you.

“What's eating at you?" he asked, his gaze softening slightly.

"Why did you abandon Ji-An at school?" 

"I got tied up and lost track of time," he replied, but his excuse fell on deaf ears. You scoffed at his words, well aware of the truth. He hadn't forgotten; he probably thought leaving Ji-An to trek home on her own would toughen her up.

"That's a load of crap, and you know it," you retorted, stomping out the cigarette under your feet. "Do you think making her walk home alone in the rain is going to make her stronger? Is that your grand plan?"

His silence was a response in itself, resonating in the quiet night air louder than any words.

"You are unbelievable, Jin-Man," you muttered. The scent of fresh paint and pine filled the air. It was a far cry from the gunpowder and blood that once filled your memory. But you couldn't help but crave it sometimes, even if it meant pain. Pain meant life; it meant survival. "You keep pushing her away relentlessly, like a stubborn child refusing his vegetables. You're so preoccupied with making her tough and resilient that you forget she's just a child. She needs your love and your understanding. You forget that she can't even communicate normally and that her aphasia is only getting worse! You don't even let me talk with her teacher, and don't pretend I don't know about the bullying she's enduring at school! We're not in Babylon , Jin-Man! We're in a small town where everyone knows everyone else. For heaven's sake, grow up!”

He retorted, his voice sharp as a blade, slicing through the heavy silence. “You should be more concerned with managing your own aphasia and PTSD. Ji-An’s not your responsibility. She's not related to you by blood. Drop this saintly act of playing mom. We're not her parents. This isn't a dollhouse and we're not Ken and Barbie.”

"Act? I kept Ji-An alive after her parents died! I trained her to communicate again! And even though it's hard, I've made her eat properly and taught her how to brush her teeth and do her homework again! I've been here for her every step of the way! You just... sit in your office or hide in your room!"

His jaw clenched tightly before he spoke again. "You think that's all it takes? Just feeding her and teaching her sign language?" He spat out angrily. The tip of his tongue traced his bottom lip as he continued speaking harshly, "It's not enough! She needs discipline! She needs structure!"

You shook your head violently. "She has enough structure! She needs us, Jin-Man! She needs our support, our guidance. She doesn't need a soldier; she needs a parent!" 

His face tightened, his eyes narrowing into dangerous slits. 

"Are you that afraid to care for someone, that afraid to love again? Are you hiding behind your uniform, your duties because you're too scared to face your own feelings?"

"Don't play with fire. You don't know what you're talking about."

"I think I do! And do you think Jin-Suk would like to see his daughter being trained as a warrior rather than growing up as a normal girl?" you challenged, your voice echoing with the strength of your belief.

The mention of his brother struck a nerve. A flash of anger crossed his stony features, and before you knew it, he was charging at you like a wild animal. 

Suddenly, Jin-Man's hands shot out, pushing you roughly against the wall. Your back slammed into the gnarled wooden planks, the splintered texture scratching against your skin. The impact sent a sharp jolt of pain through your spine, causing you to gasp as the wind was knocked out of your lungs.

"Why are you doing this, Jin-Man?" 

In response, his large, calloused hands wrapped around your throat in a vice-like grip, cutting off your airway. His fingers pressed against the delicate skin of your neck, the strength in his hands threatening to crush your windpipe. It felt like you were sinking into an abyss, the darkness of his rage engulfing you, making it impossible to breathe.

You clawed at his hands, desperate to pry them off. But his grip was unyielding; his hands felt like iron bands around your neck, tightening with every second that passed. As you gasped for breath, your vision started to spin, the edges blurring as black spots danced in front of your eyes. Your lungs felt like they were on fire, screaming for air.

Panic surged within you, a tidal wave that threatened to consume you. Time seemed to stretch, each second feeling like an eternity as you struggled to draw breath.

Finally, his grip loosened just slightly, allowing a sliver of oxygen to rush into your lungs. You gasped; the taste of air was like ambrosia—sweet and life-giving. Coughs racked your body as you struggled to regain control over your breathing, your throat raw and your chest heaving. The salty tang of tears prickled at the corners of your eyes, blurring your vision.

But you refused to back down, to give in to the fear. You locked eyes with him, defiance burning in your gaze. "Go ahead, Jin-Man, continue," you spat out, your voice raspy from the assault. "Kill me. But know this: my death won't change the truth.”

“Jesus, you're so weak, girl.”

A chuckle found its way through your bruised vocal chords. “Yeah? Wanna see who's weak then?”

Summoning every iota of your willpower, you retaliated against his suffocating hold. Your fingers clawed at his wrist, nails digging into his skin as you strained against his formidable strength. 

After a fierce and desperate struggle, your adrenaline-fueled power seemed to catch him off guard. With a sudden explosive kick, you managed to wrench yourself free, pushing him violently away from you.

Caught off balance, Jin-Man stumbled backwards. His feet skidded across the wooden floorboards, and his body crashed into the pot of vibrant lilies you had carefully chosen from the local market to adorn the porch. The pot shattered on impact, fragments of terracotta scattering across the floor, intermingling with the uprooted flowers and loose soil.

For a moment, the world seemed to hold its breath. The only sounds were the soft rustling of the brutalized lilies and the quiet patter of dirt falling onto the floor. But inside? Inside of you, the hyenas laughter echoed through your mind, mocking you for getting what you deserved—too used to chaos and violence.

The sight of the destruction seemed to snap Jin-Man out of his rage-induced stupor, his furious gaze softening as he took in the aftermath of your altercation.

"I'm done," you said, breaking the silence. "I'm done with this, Jin-Man. I'm done with your anger, your stubbornness, and your refusal to let anyone in. I'm done with the constant battles, the endless wars. I'm grabbing my stuff and leaving."

“Y/N…” He trailed off as he grabbed your arm roughly, pulling you around to face him. Your bodies were just inches apart now, his breath hot on your cheek as he pleaded silently.

“Don’t. Just shut your mouth and let me go. I'm not your Barbie, right?” Each word was punctuated by the bitter taste of blood as you absentmindedly touched your raw throat.

“You can't sleep alone.”

“I'll manage.”

“You can't remember when you last ate.”

"I'll set a reminder.”

"You can't drive without crying."

"I'll get a taxi."

"Ji-An needs you."

I need you.

"She needs you more."

"And you, Jin-Man," you added, the sting of your words sobering the air. "You need to realize that before it's too late."

----------------

April 3:

"Are you serious? Did I actually have to buy another chip to send you messages? You know, the store owner looked at me like I was crazy."

1 missed call from Ahjusshi

April 5:

"Ji-An keeps asking for you. She asked me to tell her the story about the couple of squirrels. You know, the one about their endless love and devotion."

2 missed calls from Jeong

April 7:

"Pasin showed me the link to the site. It's pretty quick and easy to access. Even an old man like me can make requests for guns, right? Technology these days, eh?"

April 11:

"She asked me to put on Casablanca. It's one of your favorites, right? I remember Honda telling me that you're addicted to Hollywood classics.”

“Gunpowder keeps sleeping on your side of the bed. I hate it.”

3 missed calls from Jeong Jin-Man, son of a bitch

April 22:

"I have a mission for you. It's critical and requires your skills."

"Can you come home so that we can discuss the details? There's something about it I can't trust in a message."

8 missed calls from the son of a bitch

“I guess I will ask So Min-Hye to replace you then. I know you wouldn't want that."

May 7:

“Ji-An's teacher told me that you visited her today. Did you really make two boys eat dirt by grabbing her money?”

“I could've helped.”

May 9:

“Went to the market today and heard Kyung Soo say that you're a good kisser. I had to stop myself from laughing."

“I heard from the locals that he went to the hospital after being knocked out. Strange, right? Or should I say, expected?"

May 16:

"Gunpowder brought a dead bird into the house. I think she's trying to replace you as the hunter of the family."

May 21:

"I saw a girl at the market wearing a dress you would like. It had sunflowers all over it. Made me think of you."

"She was about your age, too. For a moment, I thought it was you ."

-------

As Jin-Man speeds in the direction of Ji-An's school, his heart pounds against his ribs like a war drum. His knuckles turn white as he tightens his grip on the steering wheel, his forehead slick with beads of sweat. He curses himself silently, berating his own negligence.

How could he have not noticed that Ji-An hadn't come home?

The typical view of the small city blurs past him, the houses and trees merging into a hasty collage of colors under the evening gloom. The town's bakery, the park where the children play, and the old library all blur into indistinguishable shadows. But he barely registers any of it. His mind is filled with vivid images of you screaming at him for this oversight.

He imagines your small fists beating at his chest, your eyes—those captivating eyes that he secretly admired—flaring with anger and worry. 

“How could you forget her again , Jin-Man? She's just a child!"

The guilt, like a ravenous beast, gnaws at him, driving him to press the pedal harder. The old engine protests, its roar echoing through the tranquil evening. 

Suddenly, he remembers his phone.

Snatching it from the passenger seat, he dials your number hastily. The line rings once, twice, thrice, but there's no answer. He fumbles to leave a voicemail, his voice shaking slightly as he speaks into the device. "Hey, I… messed up. Ji-An... I… Just call me back.”

The voicemail ends with a beep, leaving Jin-Man alone with his thoughts and the eerie silence of the empty road. He tosses the phone onto the passenger seat, his eyes never leaving the road.

Nearing the school, his eyes flicked to the digital clock on the dashboard—it read 19:00, the hour when the last echoes of childhood laughter usually fade away. But now, the school grounds were eerily silent and deserted, a stark contrast to the daytime symphony of playful shouts and laughter. The playground, usually a vibrant hub of activity, was painted with somber shades, the swings swaying lightly in the breeze, their squeaky chains the only sound piercing the silence.

As he swung into the school's parking lot, a small figure suddenly sprang from the shadows, frantically waving his arms. 

A boy was shouting, his voice hoarse and strained, as he pointed towards the grimy basement door at the rear of the school building. "She's locked there!"

Without a second thought, Jin-Man abandons his car, leaving the engine running as he sprints towards the basement door. The door is locked, but within, he can hear Ji-An's voice, her pleas echoing through the desolate night. 

"Jeong Jin-Man! Jeong Jin-Man! Jeong Jin-Man!" she is calling, her voice scratchy and strained, likely from the first use of her vocal cords in months.

Frantically, he scans his surroundings. His eyes land on a fire safety box nearby. Inside, he spots a hammer. 

With no time to spare, he smashes the box, glass shards raining onto the worn-out asphalt. He grabs the hammer, using it to break the rusted chains and unlock the door. 

In a final heave, he throws the door open, revealing Ji-An inside. Her cheeks were flushed red from crying and her eyes were brimming with a mix of relief and fear.

She doesn't waste any time rushing at him, her small fists pounding against his chest. He doesn't move; he doesn't try to stop her. She's screaming at him, her words punctuated by her furious hits: "Why did you take so long? You promised you were coming back soon! Why did you arrive so late? Why did you let her go? Why did you let Noona go? Why? Why?"

He could only look at her, absorbing her words and feeling each syllable like a physical blow. Her pain, her anger, and her confusion were all directed at him. 

Then he did the only thing he could think of—the only thing he thought you would have done in this situation. 

He pulled her into a tight, protective hug.

For minutes, he doesn't say a word until he grabs her, holding her close.

Turning to the boy, he nods, "I'll give you a ride home."

The journey to the kid’s home was silent, save for the muted hum of the car's engine and the occasional rustle of cloth against leather. 

Ji-An was huddled against the passenger seat, her body trembling slightly. Noticing this, he pulled off his jacket, wrapping it around her small frame in the same way he did for you.

After dropping the boy off and Ji-An finally falling asleep, he drives aimlessly. The city lights flicker past in a hazy blur, their glow casting fleeting shadows on his face. He thinks of you—your laughter, your anger, and your determination. It's strange, he thinks, how the absence of someone can fill a room, a house, or a life.

His thoughts are interrupted by the sudden ringing of his phone.

Glancing at the screen, he sees your name flashing. He hesitates, his thumb hovering over the decline button. 

But then he remembers how things used to be and how it felt to hear your voice without the weight of regret and guilt. He misses when your name didn't make his chest ache, when it was just a name he heard now and then but held no significance to him.

He yearns for the days when he didn't know you, when his eyes didn't instinctively scan every room he entered in hopes of finding you there. He misses the sight of you standing among strangers, wearing that ridiculous skirt he used to tease you about but now finds himself missing.

He finds himself longing for the mundane details. How you'd take off your shoes at the front door, placing your keys with care in the small glass bowl on the corner of the kitchen counter. How you'd drape your coat over the back of a dining room chair, your socks left at the foot of the bed next to the sleeping cat.

He misses holding back your hair as you succumb to the side effects of your PTSD pills, your body rejecting the chemicals meant to help you cope. He yearns for the times when you would climb under the white blankets with him, forcefully opening his arms to encase you between them.

He misses how you would place your legs on top of his and let your hands wander to his waist and chest. He misses hearing you say, "I missed you," telling him about your day as you would slowly drift off to sleep. And he longs for the times he would secretly kiss your cheek softly before he inevitably had to leave you for work.

He misses when you were simply strangers—not two people who act like strangers in public but once knew each other better than they ever knew themselves. He misses the simplicity of those days and the innocence of not knowing what it felt like to lose you.

Because, in the end, when the lights are off and his eyes flutter shut, the back of his mind always whispers your name, calling out to you like you are the only place he was ever meant to call home .

When he finally decided to answer the call, he placed the phone on the dashboard, the worn leather creaking under the weight. He switched to speaker mode, the familiar chime filling the small space of the car. 

"Hello?"

Tinny and distant over the phone speaker, you responded almost immediately. "You left a voicemail. What happened?" In the background, he could hear the faint, unmistakable sound of a lighter flicking open and the soft hiss of a cigarette being lit.

"Your voice sounds rough," he commented, trying to lighten the heavy atmosphere with a touch of humor. "How many days have you been communicating only with sign language?"

"Shut up, motherfucker. What about Ji-An?”

"I…" he started, faltering. The words he needed to say were stuck in his throat, like a bitter pill he couldn't swallow.

“Look, Ji-Man. I have nothing to do with you anymore. I’m calling you back because you sounded like a wounded little bitch and you said her name. Drop the show and spit it out.”

“I failed again, okay?" The confession spilled out of him, the words tasting like defeat. But he couldn't stop there; he had to finish what he started. "But, look, Ji-An spoke.”

He could almost hear your sharp intake of breath and the sound of the cigarette being hastily put out in the background. There was a long, drawn-out silence, the kind of silence that spoke volumes. He could imagine your surprise—the way your eyes would widen slightly, the lit cigarette forgotten in your hand. But when you finally spoke, your voice was quiet, filled with a strange mix of relief and trepidation.

"She spoke?"

"Yes. She called out to me. She used her voice, and she spoke."

"Look, I'm not going to pretend that everything is okay between us," he continued, his voice gruff, "But I'm also not going to pretend that we don't have a shared past. One that involves a little girl who misses you."

"You're such a bastard. You know how to manipulate me using her," you snapped, the sound of a chair creaking in the background signaling your agitation.

"Maybe, but it doesn't change the fact that Ji-An misses you. And you miss her too, don't you?"

A silence followed his words—not an uncomfortable one, but a silence filled with unspoken words and a shared history. And then you sighed, a deep, heavy sigh that echoed with the weight of your unspoken thoughts.

"I do miss her. But you, Jeong Jin-Man, are a pain in my ass.”

He couldn't help but chuckle at your words. "I've been told that before."

"I'm sure you have."

Another silence filled the line, comfortable yet heavy with years of shared experiences.

"By the way," he added, his voice softer now, "the key is still under the cat statue you put by the front door. You can drop by anytime."

"I'll think about it. But don't expect me to come running back, Jin-Man. We're not the same people we used to be."

"I know. But we're still us, aren't we?"

"We're something ," you admitted, a sigh slipping past your lips. "But I don't know what that is anymore."

"Neither do I. But maybe we can figure it out together, old lady."

"Old lady?" you scoffed, a hint of amusement in your voice. "Coming from a man who's 10 years older than me."

"Years are still years," he teased, a smile playing on his lips. "But whatever we are, Y/N, whatever we become, you're still… something to me. And so is Ji-An. Remember that."

"I will. I will, Ahjusshi."

[sweetlullabyebye]

One thing I really love but that really kills me about the murderous rampage sequence is that I have litteraly so many questions about it that will go unanswered. Like I get that's the whole point but where was Mrs. Eom while the boys massacred Jongwoo and his friend? Was Moonjo just cheering in the background while Jongwoo got rid of the other residents? Where were the others while Jongwoo killed them one by one, like were Mrs. Eom and the twin just taking a nap before getting killed? I like to imagine that during each murder, the people that aren't getting killed are in a room playing red light green light or something

[shrineifletro]

Delicious hell

He pulled the gag upwards opening your mouth further. Your throat tightened and saliva pooled in your mouth. Moonjo forced your head backward causing you to swallow painfully. He was not wearing his gloves and you could feel his long finger probing your mouth. The fear gnawing at you was making you feel dizzy and light headed but at the same time a part of you knew he wouldn’t really hurt you. Sure, he will pull out a teeth or two but wouldn’t fuck you up like his other victims. You both had a connection he believed. He saw something in you that stopped him from bashing your head in the first time he saw you. even though this obsession of his scared the living lights out of you it was the only thing keeping you alive now you hoped this obsession of his was strong enough to spare you from pain. His long fingers were now inside your throat. The intrusion was painful but there was nothing to do except take it.

“The most fascinating part of a person’s mouth is uvula.” His long finger took hold of your uvula pulling it up. All thought in your head stopped and a sickening feeling to throw up your gut overtook you. You thrashed your head against his hands. He refused to let go. You couldn’t breath. ‘It secretes saliva to keep the mouth moist.’ He goes on listing the divine properties of uvula. Your gut lurched to throw up. He let go at the last moment and forced your head back making you swallow everything.

Your mind goes blank. After what seem like an eternity you woke up to a pair of hands gently massaging my necks.

‘You have the perfect uvula’ he said running his hands across your lips. ‘I don’t want to carry on making this difficult for you honey just do what I asked you to and I will let you go’.

‘Really if I kill miss Eom you will let me leave and never see me?

“I meant I will let you leave this room” he chuckled. He will never let me go.

‘You know you want to his lips ghosted over yours ‘ She deserves it you saw her killing people, you saw her eat them.’ His hands moved from your neck to your thighs.

‘You did the same things’ you weakly pointed out. His hands slipped past your underwear and cupped you. ‘Your are so wet my love’ he groaned and started to bite your throat.

This is how it went every single time he would ask you to kill someone you will refuse he will lock you up in his room in the hopes of coaxing you to do his bidding through intense fuck sessions and orgasm denials. You have prevailed for three years. But not without cost. Several of your molars are missing.

His finger on your clit started to gain speed and your legs began to shake. He frees your hand from the chains and you throw one over his shoulders pulling him close and the other over his head pulling at his hair painfully. He grunts in pain biting your neck drawing blood. You scream in pain but it is cut short as your mouth freezes in a soundless gasp as moonjo curls his fingers inside your cunt. Your body seizes and you thrash against his weight. “You refuse to kill” he pants against you “so that I drag you back here and fuck you senseless” his free hand pinches your nipples. ‘That is what it is isn’t it y/n.’ his hand releases your breast and squeezes your neck. ‘Answer me’ he screams his finger pumping in and out. ‘ Yes yes’ you scream not caring in the least about what was being said.

[wrenchenthusiast]

I always wondered if he genuinely enjoyed playing the role of a dentist or at least found it entertaining somewhat to do keeping up his act that he’s just a regular person and isn’t fucking insane

[braceletofteeth]

You fantasize about killing me. Yes.

[punkiio]

i love your art! the way you draw ur oc julius reminds me a lot of lee dongwook

THANK YU!!!!! And ur not wrong! My main inspo is his character in Strangers from Hell and I have used him as reference multiple times! And ofc I plan on doing more bc Moonjo has that perfect unsettling vibe to his character that I gave Julius too ^__^

I always get so happy when ppl notice where I get his inspo from 😁😁 Strangers from Hell is one of my favorite shows!! I've actually drawn Moonjo a few times and u can find that on my blog !!

[hobisfavoritespritecan]

hii! would you continue p3 of the moonjo fic?? if that then im sorry if i wasted for you to answer this 😭

Hey hey!

I've only written two Moon-Jo fics, "You're My Salvation" and "Atonement" which are two separate ones! I'd be more than willing to write you one specifically to what you'd like if you send me an ask with a description!

Nothing to apologize for lovely!

💛🦐

[ailurostheendless]

Hear me out Seo Moonjo & Lee Ro Joon combination would be hot ngl.

[dreamer25sblog]

New blog discovered😍

I want you to write some more!

[autistichanseo]

I’m completely sure he’s still alive, more evidence being that I’m fairly sure he doesn’t have the bracelet on when he’s outside with Officer Soh, but has it on inside, which means there had to have been a reason it was put back on.

Sure, he could’ve put it on when he was inside and didn’t want her to see it, but then if that was the case why did he so carelessly take the book with the hand that had the bracelet on and not even seem to explain or care that in jingled, not even noticing she saw it?

I have a feeling Jongwoo had told officer Soh that Moonjo had died as he genuinely thought Moonjo had due to killing him in his hallucination, and she believed him and they were still trying to find the body, but the Moonjo she saw in the elevator was in fact the real Moonjo.

The Rashomon effect: when the same event is described in significantly different—often contradictory—ways.

It's pretty clear how things ended in the webtoon. But not really in the live-action adaptation. After all, it doesn't make sense that Seo Moonjo said almost the exact same words twice. They couldn't both be real, nor could they both be hallucinations. One had to be real, while the other had to be a mere hallucination—which was practically Jongwoo's attempt to lie to himself. Just like what they said in the Rashomon, "It's human to lie. Most of the time we can't even be honest with ourselves." So Jongwoo hunted down everyone else there, killed them one by one. Then went back to the 4th floor, where Moonjo and unconscious Jieun waited. He freaked out when he realized that he, too, enjoyed killing. Moonjo touched his neck, praised him, and then left him there. To his broken mind, to him hallucinating—and that's when Jieun regained her consciousness, witnessing her boyfriend got lost into his own delusion. Nevertheless, I have to emphasize here that Jongwoo never tried to trick his mind into believing that Moonjo killed all those residents. He was fully aware of what he's doing, and even thrilled when he did it. The only thing he was hallucinating about was him killing Moonjo. Because in his mind, killing him was the only way to end this madness. The only way to 'save himself'.

With the theory above, everything would be in line. Everything would make perfect sense. Except for the facts that the detective practically announced Moonjo's death to the thug, and for Officer Soh's reaction when she saw Moonjo at the hospital *sigh in delusional*. (Well she seemed so sure it was just hallucination. Besides, that's not how a police supposed to react to seeing a fugitive, wasn't it)

So I guess it's the other way around: the killing was real, and the living and breathing Moonjo that Jongwoo saw when they're in the torturing room was hallucination. But that doesn't really fit into the puzzles, in my opinion. Because Moonjo's hair was wet when Jongwoo killed him (while Jongwoo's hair was supposed to be the wet one, since he was the one who went to the rooftop). It doesn't make sense that Officer Soh hallucinated about him either, she was mostly assaulted by Nambok instead of Moonjo. She's not traumatized enough—at least not by Moonjo—to hallucinate him.

If I want to keep my delusions, I can say that the detectives lied to the thug to make sure he told them nothing but the truth. I can say that they also didn't tell Officer Soh that Moonjo survived because they didn't want to involve her even further into the case. I can also say that the police filtered the information that went to the media about a fugitive running lose. But all those would be too... irresponsible to be real? Haha.

And if I really really really want to keep my delusions... I can say that both versions of the event only happened in Jongwoo's head (especially considering what happened in the webtoon). Sksksks halluciception skakjdheuf.

[page-soobinnie]

Hello 🤗🤗🤗

I just saw that you write for Strangers From Hell characters so I wanted to request dating and jealousy headcanons for Moonjo, Jongwoo, Seokyoon and Jieun separately.

I know it's a lot 😅 but there's so little contents about them. So I would really appreciate it if you would. But it's ok if you can't. Thank you anyways ❤️ ❤️

✮Them Being Jealous✮

✮Special thanks too: Anon, Moonjo, JongWoo, Seokyoon, Jieun

✮Note: Hi hello!! Thank you for requesting and being my first Request on this account I hope you enjoy it and remember you can request any time as long as it fits my rules ♡︎

✮TW: Moonjo : Psycho JongWoo : Jealousy : Yandere themes : mentions of murder : mentions of a pervert : teeth (Moonjo) : gender of reader is not specified : creepy man in Seokyoon's : Jongwoos boss being weird :

✮Taglist: No one yet but you can join by clicking this link and commenting the category you want or dming me or sending an ask

©Yawnzzznnn do not steal or copy my work

9-11-23

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥Moonjo

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥Oh boy... He is very protective and Obsessive so he won't let you out Eden without him and the only time he leave leaves is for work so you don't really get to leave maybe once(1) or thrice(3) a week even then your not allowed to look at someone or speak to anyone that's not him

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥So if he was to get jealous it would be of someone at Eden no it's not the pervert or the twins, but instead let's say it's Seokyoon

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥I mean Seokyoon is young and cute who wouldn't fall for him, although you already had Moonjo you couldn't deny the little butterflies whenever he smiled at you.

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥Moonjo isn't stupid he saw how shy you get around Seokyoon so before bed he brought it up to you "Yn" he said "do you have somthing to tell me?" He continued confused you shook your head "oh no?" He mocked "so you don't feel anything when Seokyoon looks at you? You didn't think I noticed how shy and giggly you get when he smiles at you?" He spoke his voice raising every word, in response you gasped "it's not like that" you say Moonjo wasn't buying it "it's not like that?" He scoffed and looked at the door

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥"fine if you like Seokyoon so much" he mumbled rushing out the door with a familiar syringe in his hand you knew you couldn't stop him and if you tried too it'll make it worse on your end

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳Later that night Moonjo walked through the door with a bracelet filled to the brim with teeth "here these are Seokyoon's" he said trying to put the bloody bracelet on you in response you jerked your hand away looking up at your face he gave you the crazed smile before setting Seokyoon's teeth down on the table "now to take care of you"

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥JongWoo

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥Its no secret that JongWoo has an attitude with people he can't stand or that annoy him or weird him out

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥The two of you were at his work place you visiting to give him emotional support because of the things he's told you about Eden and how scared he was

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥"Yn" he said causing you to raise your head from his shoulder "do me a favor and get documents from there" he said pointing at a file cabinet through a glass window after describing the kind he needs you walked to the file cabinet and bent down to search

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥Unknown to your knowledge you've attracted a viewer the quiet guy who sits next to JongWoo was not so subtly starring at your butt

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥"Yah" Jongwoo said grabbing the attention of everyone in the room including you "dont stare at my partner like that" he said the guy looked around a bit embarrassed "wait what happened" you said coming back with what JongWoo needed JongWoo snatched the file from you before grabbing your arm and forcing you back to your seat on the other side of him

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥"I caught him starring at your butt" he said loud enough for everyone to hear you gasped before you heard giggling "that's gross" you heard the girl next to you mumble the guy looked down "your not even going to apologize?" JongWoo said standing up from his chair getting ready to grab the dudes keyboard you were quick to stop JongWoo

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥"Don't your gonna get yourself in trouble" you mumbled holding on to his hands JongWoo scoffed "I don't care he needs to apologize" JongWoo said snatching his hand away from you "yah!" He said the guy refusing to look at him

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥"what's going on out here?" The big boss said coming out his office "JongWoo caught him starring at yn's butt" the girl said next you in a disgusted tone "are you not going to apologize?" JongWoo scoffed "yah asshole!" JongWoo yelled kicking his chair the guy flinched "JongWoo!" You gasped "stop Yn" he said trying to pull his hands away from you "dont jeopardize your job for me" you said pulling him into a hug hoping to calm him down

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥JongWoo visibly relaxed before wrapping his arms around your waist "your more important to me than this job" he whispered you sighed "baby please I dont want to see you suffer because some hentai loving asshole can't keep his eyes to himself" you said rubbing his back JongWoo slightly giggled "I love you" he said swaying the two of you back and forth "I know" you said hearing him slightly gasp before pinching your back you giggled "I love you too now let's get you back to work" you said the rest of his time working there JongWoo had a really bad attitude towards the guy

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥Seokyoon

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥Seokyoon is a very understanding person he prefers to look on the bright side of things which means he hardly ever gets jealous

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥Hes more protective of you like let's say you go to a bar with him after he begged you too, the two of you were relaxing having a good time cuddled up to one another in the corner kissing every two seconds Seokyoon stood up saying he had to use the toilet he promised to be fast and when Seokyoon makes a promise he'll keep it

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥While waiting for your boyfriend a random man comes and sits Infront of you "are you alone?" He asked eyeing your body you shifted uncomfortably in your seat "no-no I'm here with my boyfriend" you said quietly "boyfriend?" The man laughed "you mean that kid that walked to the bathroom?" He said acting like he just said the funniest thing in the world "Seokyoon isn't a kid don't call him that and please leave me alone" you said fear washing away replacing with irritation

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥In response the man laughed "you could date a real man" he said emphasizing 'real' you scoffed "I told you I have a boyfriend" you said leaning back in your chair slightly jumping when you felt a familiar hand touch your shoulder "besides your not much of a real man if you can't take a hint" Seokyoon hissed out towards the man

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥The tone in Seokyoons voice was something you never heard before the man gulped "sorry" he said standing up before rushing away. You and Seokyoon sighed in unison before you both bust out laughing after a minute or two Seokyoon sat back in his chair on the right side of you trapping you between him and the wall again

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥"Sorry I couldn't get here faster baby" he said playing with your fingers "it's fine I just wanted him gone he stank" you jokes scrunching up your nose Seokyoon giggled before leaning in to kiss you

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥Jieun

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥Jieun is a pouty type of jealous like if your paying too much attention to another girl that isn't her she'll pout and latch herself to your arm

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥when the two of you leave that conversation she'll speak on it "you know she was flirting right?" She mumbled "that's why I left as soon as possible I don't need her I have an amazing girlfriend right here a clingy but adorable one too" you said ripping your arm out her hold in order to hug her "oh whatever" she said wrapping her arms around your waist

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥Jieun needs reassurance so you being the amazing partner you are made sure she gets that assurance

[whimsimille]

THICKER THAN BLOOD

Chapter 3: Cherry Blossoms

Jeong Jin-Man x Reader!

Ensuring the cold steel pin snapped back into the slide with a click? Check. Carefully inspecting the barrel, the recoil spring, and guide? Check. Examining the magazine, the safety mechanism, and the trigger, testing each one to guarantee they were functioning at their optimal level? Check.

“Yeah... I still got that," you murmur to yourself, the words barely audible over the soft crackling of the vintage radio playing a forgotten tune from the 60s in the background: Cherry Blossom Ending. Mom’s favorite. 

Taking another long drag of your cigarette, you savor the rich taste of a blend of Turkish tobacco that Pasin introduced you to.

Exhaling a cloud of smoke, you watch it drift upwards lazily before dissipating into the stale air of the room. The sight brings back memories of foggy winter mornings back home, when the world seemed shrouded in a blanket of mist. But, unlike those mornings, there's no fragrance of dew-kissed roses or the sweet scent of mom's freshly baked apple pie to erase your nose scrunching—not when this place smells like a battlefield. The distinct aroma of gunpowder and the sharp tang of sweat mix in the air like a witch's potion, creating an unsettling olfactory cocktail.

Your eyes fall on the poster of an old concessionary you once visited, featuring a sexualized pit girl with improbably large breasts for her leather crop top. You sigh. No amount of decoration, no matter how weird or random, can erase the sensation that men in tactical gear might spring up through the gun stock’s door any minute. In your mind’s eye, they empty all the shelves as they run, their gazes wild with bloodlust, chins coated with saliva as the drugs they took to make them more alert take hold of their minds.

Yet, amidst the chaos, your eyes notice the old wooden table, scarred with years of use and abuse. Its familiar creaking sound, especially from the third leg, the one that always needed fixing. Despite its oddities, this place has a certain charm.

As a woman, you know that there are environments that society still judges as masculine. But whether you want it or not, whether you identify as a feminist or not, these judgments don't matter to you. 

Whilst memories flood back—your father patiently teaching you how to shoot, your mother cheering you on at the shooting competition—you can't help but listen to the echoes of your parents amidst the gunpowder. The rusty corner nearby the Glocks shelves reminds you too much of your old house, of mom and dad dancing across it the way they used to on Saturday nights, their laughter filling the room. Even the leftover smell of Gun's piss on the floor brings back how Honda brought home that forsaken cat that you've learned to love. 

These memories remind you that this has nothing to do with being feminine or masculine. This is about being you.

Suddenly, your phone vibrated, breaking your shitty reverie. It was a muffled sound by the work table, buried somewhere beneath the scattered assortment of guns—pistols, rifles, and shotguns—in your twin's meticulously disordered workplace.

Discarding your half-smoked baby into the overflowing ashtray, you slowly rise from the creaky stool, stretching your stiff muscles. A dull ache radiates from your lower back—the result of countless hours spent hunched over the workbench. 

Ignoring the discomfort, you navigate through the maze of scattered tools and disassembled machinery, your boots echoing against the concrete floor, until you reach for the incessantly vibrating device under a pile of blueprints.

You lean against the graffiti and poster-covered wall, its coldness seeping through your top. Your gaze drifts to the multiple monitors displaying the gradually emptying streets of Seoul, illuminated by the neon glow of streetlights.

Honda always had an obsession with surveillance, with keeping an eye on every single movement outside. 

To the uninitiated, it might come off as paranoia. But in your line of work, it was a necessity. The last thing you both needed was someone sniffing around your... less-than-legal activities.

You swipe the screen, bringing the encrypted chat to life.

Younger brother by 6 minutes:

Hey, sis! Just checking in.

I trust Sukku's client came to pick up his custom order—the modified Glock 19? Did he give any trouble? Notice anything out of the ordinary? Are there any signs of suspicion that we might need to worry about?

Considering the late hour and the fact that you've been alone in this place all evening, do you want me to swing by? Gunpowder is already fast asleep. I took her to the vet earlier. They think it might be chlamydia. Apparently, it's a thing in cats.

Big sister by 6 minutes:

Chlamydia? In a cat? That's news to me. Is she going to be okay? Will she need any special treatment?

As for the client, there are no issues whatsoever. He seemed satisfied with the custom Glock. Even complimented the grip modifications.

And don't worry about me. I'm used to the workshop without you by now. Besides, I’ve been productive. Uploaded a few of our modified guns and encryption codes on our site for our initial clients to browse.

I also completed a thorough maintenance check on the old Sig Sauer P226. Replaced the recoil spring, cleaned the firing pin and even polished the slide rails. It's as good as new now. You know, just in case we need some extra firepower.

But yeah, if you're free and not too worn out, do swing by. We can grab a late-night snack from the 24-hour joint down the street. Their kimchi jjigae has been on my mind.

But for now, don't rush. I'm fine on my own. I will keep the place locked down and secure until you get back. It's not like we have a shortage of security systems.

And tell Gunpowder her noona got her back. And ask her to keep her paws off my toolbox.

Watching the gray bubble with your message pop up on the screen, you hit send.

Just as you were about to pull up the Murthehelp site on your phone—the one you had coded from scratch after many long, caffeine-fueled nights—a sudden flicker on one of the large monitors caught your attention. You squinted, setting your phone down on the table.

There, in the grainy black-and-white footage, you could make out a figure. It was vague and blurry, moving in the shadows, but their height and gait unmistakably suggested a man.

He was coming towards the workshop, his path unwavering and purposeful. You quickly glanced at his attire—a dark jacket and a baseball hat pulled low over his face. Not exactly the outfit of someone who was just strolling by, especially not at this late hour when even the nocturnal creatures had retreated to their burrows.

Keeping your nerve, you reached for the console, fingers nimbly dancing over the buttons to turn off the monitors. You didn't want the soft blue glow of the screens to betray your presence in the otherwise dark room. 

Leaving the gun stock downstairs, you entered the quiet workshop, the smell of oil and metal heavy in the air.

After tiptoeing towards the reinforced steel door, you hid behind a towering metal shelf cluttered with an assortment of spare parts, rusted tools, and half-assembled machinery, their metallic sheen glinting dimly in the ambient light.

The silence hung heavy, broken only by the steady tick-tock of an old clock on the wall. Your heart pounded in your chest as you braced yourself for a loud bang, anticipating a forceful break-in. But instead, the soft rustle of someone kneeling near the entrance reached your ears. The muffled clicks of a lock being picked followed and then the door was gently pushed up, its usual creak betraying its motion conspicuously absent.

The moment the man stepped in, you sprang into action and the workshop transformed into a battleground.

You dove under a swing. A wrench grazed your arm—a missed punch. You retaliated with a swift kick, watching as he stumbled back, barely keeping his balance. But despite your best efforts, your back soon hit the cold metal of an old car under repair.

Cornered, with no way out.

A thin ray of light from a partially opened window cut through the darkness, casting long, distorted shadows. As your eyes adjusted, you saw him—Jinman. His face was as cold as the winter wind, revealing nothing of his intent. He held a knife in his hand, the cold steel pressing ominously against your stomach.

"Complacency could get you killed," he admonished as he tossed his baseball cap somewhere in this place. "In Babylon, I trained you to be sharper, faster, but you've let yourself grow soft. One inch to the side, and this blade could have nicked an artery. It would've been a messy end."

“Damn you, Jinman! What the hell were you thinking, barging in here like some low life thug?" Your hand instinctively went to your side, where your trusty Smith & Wesson lay as you watched through hooded eyes as he leaned against you, his nose scrunching in what might be the unique signal of pain from your attacks. “I mistook you for some gangster trying to get a hand on our stash! I could've shot you, you reckless idiot!" You pushed his hand away, stepping out of the claustrophobic corner.

“Do you remember our lesson on critical injuries?”

"The intestine, when damaged, can lead to sepsis," you replied, his voice flat, your eyes never leaving his as he begrudgingly sheathed his knife. You quirked up an eyebrow as you saw blood under his nails, but you didn’t dare say a thing, you knew he wouldn't talk about it anyway. Jeong was stubborn like that.

"And if left untreated, the mortality rate is high, even with immediate medical attention.”

Ignoring his continued lecturing, you moved past him, heading towards the narrow staircase that led back to the lower level where the gun stock was kept. He trailed behind, his usually light steps now heavy and labored.

"So, care to explain your sudden, unannounced break-in, Jinman?" You questioned, the cool air from the underground level hitting your face like a welcome reprieve. Without waiting for his response, you kept talking, "And why the sudden interest in giving me a lecture on gut wounds? Planning on stabbing my twin next?

"Because you..." he began, but his voice trailed off, replaced by a pained grunt.

Alarmed, you turned around just in time to see him stumble, clutching his side. He landed heavily on the last few steps, letting out a string of curses.

"Jinman?" you called out, rushing over to him. "What's wrong?"

His response was a mere groan, his face a sickly pale hue contrasted by the cold sweat forming on his forehead. The hole in his shirt as he shed his coat could be a smudge of dirt from his shoveling chore, and the blood that has soaked his shirt is almost invisible in the dim light. He's now making a strange whistling noise each time he inhales. He'd been shot. Near his intestines.

"Oh, God, Jinman! This... this is serious," you stammered, your hand shaking as you reached out to check his wound.

You have seen injuries before. Gunshot wounds, stabbings, broken bones are occupational hazards that come with your line of work. But seeing Jinman, your former partner and mentor from Babylon, bleeding and weakening struck a nerve. A sudden adrenaline rush surged through you, coupled with a rising protective instinct. You had to act quickly, keep your wits about you. Panic wouldn't help either of you now.

"Alright, Ahjussi," you said, forcing a steady tone into your voice. "We need to get you lying down. Now."

He lets go, or maybe just loses the strength to hold on, as you maneuver him onto a makeshift bed—a heap of old, worn-out blankets and tarps that you usually use when working on cars. You pull back a little—not far. His eyes regard you from their deep and blackening sockets. They are as brilliant as ever, but you see, they are also full of terror and (this is what frightens you most) some wretched, inexplicable amusement. 

Still speaking low—perhaps so only you can hear, maybe because it's the best he can manage—Jeong says, "Listen, little woman. I can handle myself.."

 "No—you have to stop."

He pays no attention. He draws in another of those screaming breaths, purses his wet red lips in a tight O, and makes a low, incredibly nasty chuffing noise. It drives a fine spray of blood up his clenched throat and into the sweltering air.

He turns his head to the side, spits a wad of half-congealed blood onto the hot tar, then turns back to you. "I guess it's karma.”

You understand that he means it, and for a moment (surely it is the power of his eyes), you believe it's true. He will make the sound again, only a little louder, and in some other world, Bale, that lord of sleepless nights, will turn its unspeakable, hungry head. A moment later, if you don’t just move and fucking think, in this world, Jeong Jin-Man will simply shiver in this old place and die. The death certificate will say something sane, but you’ll know: his dark past finally saw him, came for him and ate him alive.

“I guess I’m getting old, huh?”

Leaning even closer. Into the shivering sweat and blood of him. Leaning in until you can smell the last palest ghost of the Prell he shampooed with that morning and the Foamy he shaved with. Leaning in until your lips touch his ear. You whisper, "Be quiet, Jin-Man. For once in your life, just be quiet. Don’t you dare make this pussy sound again.”

Looking around, you knew no bandage in your medicine cabinet would be enough, so you ended up tearing long strips from a sheet. The sheet is old, but you mourn its passing just the same—on a waitress's salary (supplemented by niggardly tips and only slightly better ones from the faculty members who lunch at Pat's), you can ill afford to raid your linen closet. But when you think of  stuffing it into his mouth to muffle his screams and grunts, you don't hesitate.

You caught sight of an old bottle of Korean whisky, a forgotten souvenir from a past mission to Jeju Island. Honda had won it in a high-stakes game of poker but never got around to finishing it. Now, it seemed like a fitting antiseptic.

Raising the bottle to your lips, you took a swig, the liquid burning its way down your throat—a twisted semblance of courage. Then, with a grimace, you drenched the wound with the help of a cloth, the sharp smell of alcohol mingling with the raw scent of blood. Jinman’s body tensed, a deep groan escaping his clenched teeth.

“I’m hot.”

"Shit, Ahjusshi." Emboldened, you rubbed your freezing, leaking hand along his right cheek, his left cheek, and then across his forehead, where drops of whisky-colored water dripped into his eyebrows and then ran down the sides of his nose. He hums in satisfaction. "You should have been more careful."

The room was filled with a heavy silence, the only sounds being the occasional drip of water from a leaky pipe somewhere overhead and Jinman’s labored breathing.

You remembered a mission in Gwangju, back when you two were still new to the field. It was a stormy night, the air was so heavy with rain that it felt like you were walking through a cloud. The neon lights of the city were blurred, painting everything in an ethereal glow. There was a sense of surrealism to that night, a feeling of being detached from reality. That was the first time you had seen Jinman truly vulnerable, his usually stoic demeanor giving way to panic as a bullet grazed his shoulder.

“It’s just a scratch,” he had grumbled, his hand tightly gripping yours as you tried to clean the wound. He licked at his lips. You saw the blood on his tongue and it turned your stomach, but you didn’t pull away from him.

Now, years later, history is repeating itself. But this time, the stakes were much higher.

"Listen to me, old man," you began, your voice breaking the overwhelming silence. "We've been through worse, haven't we? Remember that time in Busan when that crazy bastard tried to stab you with a switchblade?"

A ghost of a smile tugged at his lips, his eyes half-closed, the sheets between his teeth stained with blood and saliva. "Yeah, and you broke his nose."

"You're damn right, I did," you chuckled, your fingers gently tracing the outline of the wound, assessing the damage, before rising up again in search of your purple lighter somewhere in this place. "And we made it through that night, didn't we? So, we're going to make it through this shit too. But you need to stay with me, alright? Don't you fucking dare drift off on me!"

Found it!

As you kneeled again and prepared the needles and threads, sterilizing them over a small flame, your throat felt as dry as the barren lands of the Mojave Desert. Words stuck in your mouth like cotton, but you forced them out. 

"Do you remember that pawnshop in Itaewon? The one with the old, rusted sign hanging crookedly and the fat, ginger cat named Tofu who would lazily sprawl across the counter? The owner—what was his name? Sungmin, right? He had this weird obsession with Elvis Presley. Used to play vintage vinyl records on that old gramophone he had all day long. You hated it; you said it was too 'old-fashioned' for your taste. But I caught you humming 'Love Me Tender' once."

His eyes met yours, a faint glimmer of amusement in them. You could see his chest rise and fall, each breath a little more labored than the last. But he was listening, a hint of a smile tugging at his bloodstained lips.

"And then there was that time in Hongdae," you continued, your fingers gently manipulating the sterilized pliers inside his abdomen. He hissed and jerked, the sudden movement causing the tools in your hand to clatter loudly. But a stern glance in his direction had him stilling, his jaw clenched tightly to suppress any further sounds. "We stumbled upon this cute little bakery at three in the morning. The owner was this old lady, who claimed her red bean buns were the best in all of Seoul. You were skeptical and said nothing could beat your grandma's recipe. But, after the first bite...”

You paused, recalling the look of sheer surprise on his face. "You devoured five of those buns in a matter of minutes. You even tried to flirt with the old lady, hoping to score the recipe."

A soft chuckle escaped his lips, his grip tightening around your free hand. "And she said... she said she had a... strict policy. No sharing recipes with… playboys."

"Exactly!" You exclaimed, a genuine smile spreading across your face as you noticed the mischievous light returning to his eyes. "She definitely put you in your place, didn't she?"

“Shut…up.”

“I like you too. Please don’t die on me. I don't want to hear Honda crying in my ears at your funeral.”

As you finally found the bullet, the harsh reality of the situation loomed over you, a grim reminder of the danger he was in. But for now, for just a few moments, it felt like old times. Just you and Jinman, bleeding wounds, guns on your feet and hips. You and him.

   --------------------------------------------------

The short walk from the taxi to Jin-Man’s porch had been enough to thoroughly drench you, with your clothes clinging uncomfortably to your skin. Raindrops dripped from the brim of your hat, splashing onto the porch's wooden planks, causing the aged wood to glisten under the feeble light from an old lamp hanging precariously above the door.

A sudden gust of wind made you shiver, and you quickly pulled your coat tighter around yourself, silently cursing the weather. You couldn't help but take a moment to observe the changes Jin-Man had made to the entrance—the broken lilies and the shattered pot had been replaced by beautiful blue hyacinths. You admired them briefly before bending down to retrieve the spare keys hidden beneath the ugly cat statue.

"Hey, ugly one! Been taking care of them for me?"

As you straightened up, key in hand, the door suddenly swung open.

Jin-Man stood in the doorway, his eyes softening as they took in your soaked floral skirt, the one he had always nagged you about, and the top that clung damply to your torso. He looked spent, with dark circles under his eyes and the distinct smell of ink and gunpowder clinging to him. The stubble on his face stood out more prominently against his tired features.

"I didn't think you'd come home.” Unusually, he started to balance on one foot while his hair was too long in the back—he needed it cut badly. You know he looks in the mirror and sees a Kpop star but you look at him and see a vagrant out of a Woody Guthrie song—dust in the wind.

What Jeong didn't say was, "Why didn’t you come in earlier?" Or, "Why do you look so hurt?"

As Honda had pointed out on more than one occasion, Jin-Man had what was surely among the rarest of human talents: he was a business minder who did not mind too much if you didn't mind yours. As long as you weren't making explosives to throw at someone, that was, and in your case, explosives were always a possibility. 

You shrugged off his remark; the tension between you two is still palpable. "I'm not here for you, Jin-Man," you replied, your gaze hardening. "I'm here for Ji-An."

Stepping past him, you entered the house, your gaze scanning the familiar surroundings—a mix of vintage and modern decor. Everything was just as you remembered it; the mahogany coffee table with its assortment of vintage car magazines, the worn-out, leather Chesterfield couch that bore the imprints of countless lazy afternoons, and the rustic brick fireplace that still smelled faintly of burnt cedar—the same furniture, the same arrangement, the same scents.

As you moved further into the house, a familiar sound reached your ears: the quiet jingling of a collar. Turning around, you saw Gunpowder padding towards you, her amber eyes glowing.

"G-Pow," you called, crouching down to her level, your hand reaching out to her.

The moment stretched uneasily as she mulled over your extended hand and her new master, standing a distance away. “Betrayal alert: Hostile territory,” seemed to be the message running through her kitty brain.

Just when you were about to etch another loss, Gunpowder decided otherwise; tail held in festive high, she padded towards you, meowing a soft welcome.

A chuckle rippled through you as your fingers slid behind her ears, playing briefly, "Missed all this mess, didn't you darling?”

Gunpowder meowed in response, her tail flicking playfully.

“My good girl.” You kissed her fur before she ran away to the couch.

Standing back up, you turned to face Jin-Man, your gaze hard but determined. "Is Ji-An asleep?"

He nodded, running a hand through his hair—a nervous habit you remembered well. "She's had a long day. But she'll be excited to see you in the morning."

"That's good," Bidding your drenched jacket and your hat goodbye onto the nearby coat rack, your eyes danced around the familiar kitchen layout till it landed on the kitchen counter, noticing the half-eaten sandwich and the glass of milk. "Eating habits are still the same, I see."

Jin-Man shrugged, his gaze avoiding yours. "Habit is a hard thing to break."

"You should try sometimes. It wouldn't kill you to have a proper meal."

His gaze finally met yours, a spark of defiance in his eyes. "I can take care of myself, Y/N."

You sighed, shaking your head slightly. "I know you can, Jin-Man. But taking care of yourself doesn't mean you have to do everything alone."

He didn't reply, his gaze dropping to the floor. You could almost see the wheels turning in his head; his mind was probably grappling with the fact that you were back in the house after months of absence.

Deciding to break the silence, you moved towards the kitchen, opening the fridge and scanning the contents. "I'll make dinner. It's about time we had a decent meal. And while I do that, could you fetch me some dry clothes? I'd prefer the black shirt with the Nirvana logo if it's still around.”

He sighed, closing the fridge door abruptly. “Stop it,” he demanded, his voice carrying that note that you hated so much. The note of a boss talking with his partner. “Stop thinking about me and go take a shower. You’re freezing, and no shirt, Nirvana or not, is going to help with that.”

"Okay, okay, bossy much?" You rolled your eyes as you moved past him, heading towards the doorway. "By the way, I'm not freezing. I'm just a little wet."

With a sense of nostalgia, you began to tread softly down the hallway, the familiar creak of the wooden floorboards echoing in your ears.

Gliding past Ji-An's room, you lightly pressed the door ajar. Bathed in the subdued glow of her nightlight was a picture-perfect scene—a tiny human swaddled in warmth, clutching onto her fluffy bunny with all the ferocity her little fists could offer. 

With feather-light steps, you ventured further in, pressing a gentle kiss on her forehead as whispers of "Goodnight, Noona" danced around your heartstrings.

Clutching your top hem, your mind began to drift back to the past as you continued down the hallway. The memories of nights you spent in this house were like a movie playing in your mind: the arguments filled with passion, the shared meals around the worn-out dining table, and the shared silence that spoke more than words ever could.

After Honda’s death, you hadn't wanted the slice of cheesecake he would bring home from the restaurant for dessert, and you certainly hadn't wanted to go to any Hollywood movie... but you had wanted all those things with Jin-Man. Yes. Because over the last couple of months, and especially over the last months, you’ve come to depend on him in a funny way. Maybe it's corny— probably—but there's a feeling of safety when he puts his arms around you that wasn't there with any of her other guys; what you felt with and for most of them was either impatience or wariness. (Sometimes fleeting lust.) 

But there is kindness in Jeong (hidden between the rusty corners and dark basement of his heart, but, yes, there was), and from the first you felt interest coming from him— interest in you—that you could hardly believe, because he's so much smarter and so talented. And he speaks a language you grasped greedily from the beginning. Not the signing language, but one you know very well, just the same—it's as if you were speaking it in dreams.

But what good is talk and a special language if there's no one to talk to? Someone to cry to, even? That's what you needed tonight. You’d never told him about your crazy fucked-up family or your past before him—oh, pardon me, that's crazy smucked-up talk in Honda's speech—but you meant to tonight. Felt you had to or explode from pure misery. 

Walking into the bathroom, its altered landscape consumed your attention. Pristine countertop occupied by practical necessities: a single toothbrush, tube of toothpaste, and straight razor aesthetically laying on top screamed 'functional' compared to it once being decorated chaotically with personal effects nestled among skincare bottles alongside makeup and a carelessly thrown hairbrush—an exquisite mosaic of a life once lived.

Stepping into the shower, the hot water cascaded down your body, washing away the grit and grime of the day. Still, no water could stop you from remembering the last time you were in this shower—the last time you were in this bathroom.

"Can I join you?" Jin-Man's voice had echoed off the bathroom tiles, the door creaking open slightly.

Looking back, you found him leaning against the door frame, sleep-ruffled hair visible over the frosted shower barrier—a low-hung towel only embellishing his irresistible nonchalance.

“If you promise not to fuck me against the tiles again, sure, why not?”

“Alright, alright,” he had chuckled, opening the shower door and stepping in. The water immediately started soaking his hair, the droplets trickling down his face and chest. “I promise, no fooling around.”

You had laughed then, tilting your head back to rinse the shampoo from your hair. “Good. Because I need to get ready, and I don’t have time for your… shenanigans.”

Jin-Man simply smiled at that, his hands reaching out to help rinse your hair. His fingers were gentle as they massaged your scalp, working through the tangles. “I’ll behave. Scout's honor.”

“You were never a scout,” you pointed out, rolling your eyes at his antics but not being able to suppress the smile that tugged at the corners of your mouth.

"But I could have been. Imagine how good I would have looked in the uniform."

You laughed at that, the sound echoing off the bathroom walls. "Yeah, right. You would have been the rebel scout. I can just see you now, trying to start a fire with a pocket knife and a piece of flint, and ‘accidentally’ burning down the entire camp because some weird boy thought it was funny to pull on my pigtails."

"Probably," he agreed. His hands moved to your shoulders, kneading the tense muscles there. "But I bet I would have been the best at telling ghost stories around the campfire."

"That's true. You do have a knack for dramatic storytelling. You could have scared all the other scouts half to death."

His hands stilled on your shoulders, and he pulled you closer, his chest pressing against your back. "I only scare people because I care," he murmured in your ear, his breath warming against your skin.

"Is that so?" You turned to face him, a soft smile on your lips, and you reached up to trace the line of his jaw. "Well, in that case, I guess I should be grateful."

"You should be. Now, let's get you rinsed off. We wouldn't want you to be late, now, would we?"

"No, we wouldn't.”

As you stepped out of the shower, you reached for the towel hanging on the rack.

Dressed in the Nirvana shirt and a pair of his boxers, you padded back into the kitchen, finding Jin-Man leaning against the counter with a mug of coffee in his hands. He looked up as you entered, his eyes automatically dropping to take in your attire. He said nothing, but you could see the flicker of something in his gaze—the ghost of a memory, perhaps.

His other friends saw his talent and were dazzled by it at first. You saw how he sometimes struggled to meet the eyes of strangers. You understood that, underneath all his smart (and sometimes brilliant) talk, in spite of his stern expressions, you could hurt him badly if you wanted to. He was, in your dad's words, cruising for a bruising. Had been his whole charmed smucking—no, check that—his whole charmed fucking life. Tonight, the charm could break. And who could break it? You could.

Any tension laying dormant was pushed aside as you reached into the refrigerator, selecting ingredients for tonight's culinary endeavor: crisp bok choy leaves, thick udon strands slightly sticky to touch, and leftover samgyeopsal marinated with sesame oil, which filled the air with a slightly charred meaty smell while cooking yesterday. The symphony of chopped vegetables thudding on a wooden cutting board, accompanied by a sizzling pan flanked by the soft purring of the refrigerator, announced another evening feast showtime.

Finally, you couldn't take it anymore.

“Stop staring and say something, Jin-Man.”

He blinked, his gaze lifting from the coffee mug in his hands to meet yours. “You look…”

“Don’t say it.”

“Okay.”

You let out a sigh of relief, turning back to the stove.

“I wasn’t going to say you look good.”

“No?”

"Nope," he said, maintaining eye contact while parking his well-loved first edition Penguin mug with a soft thud. "You've got this 'This is my kitchen' glow about you—no make-up, tousled midnight hair against your cheeks, and my shirt on your body... You look like you belong at home, in this kitchen, with me."

“Oh, shut up, Jinman. Are you sure that coffee isn't spiked? That cheap bag of Dong Suh you've been hoarding since you bought it from that old market in Gyeongju?"

He laughed then, a deep, rich sound that echoed warmly around the room, bouncing off the peeling sunflower-yellow wallpaper and the worn-out, wooden cabinets. "I promise, it's just regular coffee. But if you're not careful, I might start spouting poetry next.”

"I'd like to see you try," you challenged as you moved to add the noodles to the boiling pot.

At the same time, however, a soft melody began to fill the room. Turning, you saw Jinman’s back turned towards you. He was hunched over an old radio placed precariously on the window ledge over the sink—an old Philco with a cracked case. It had been his mother’s; he kept it out in the barn and listened to it while he was choring. It's the only thing of hers that he still has, and you keep it in the window because it's the only place where it will pick up local stations. It was secondhand even then, when Jin-Man gifted it to her after earning his first paycheck, but when it was unwrapped and she saw what it was, she grinned until it seemed her face would crack and how she thanked him! Over and over!

The tinny sound of the old device was playing a song that you recognized immediately—it was your mother's favorite song. A smile tugged at your lips as you watched him, his fingers delicately turning the knobs to get the best reception.

At the end, he cocked a thumb at the radio and said, stupidly proud of his useless knowledge, "That's Busker Busker. The original indie version."

"Jeong…I—”

You had no idea where to go from there, and it seemed there was no need. The man raised the forefinger of his left hand like a teacher who meant to make a particularly important point, and the smile actually resurfaced on his lips. Some sort of smile, anyway.

"Wait," he said.

"Wait?"

He looked pleased, as if you had grasped a difficult concept. "Wait."

And before you could say anything else, he simply walked off behind you, turning off the stove before his hands found your waist. His warm body pressed against your back, his head burying itself in the crook of your neck.

The aroma of your cooking, mixed with the familiar scent of Jin-Man and the sound of the old song playing on the radio, transported you back to simpler times. Times when life was not about surviving, not about fighting, but about living. About enjoying moments like these.

He began to sway, his movements leading you in a slow dance around the kitchen. His touch was gentle yet firm and you allowed him to lead, your body moving in rhythm with his as you danced barefoot on the cold ceramic tile floor.

Beyond the rustic kitchen windows, Mother Nature cooed her own ballad—soft chirps cushioned in cool country air under the moon's watchful eyes, dressing everything in stretched-out shadows—that played on repeat. Gunpowder was outside too busy bullying a moth under a moon-bathed silhouette, while Ji-An’s gentle snores added a comforting motif to your nighttime symphony.

It felt like you were in some sort of dream, the reality of your world forgotten for a moment. You were not a killer, not a fighter. You were just a woman, dancing in the kitchen with the man she secretly might like.

Turning you around, he looked down at you, his gaze soft and filled with emotions you could not decipher. Your heart pounded in your chest as you looked up at him through your eyelashes, your fingers idly playing with the hem of his worn-out puma shirt.

The world outside did not matter at this moment. The only thing that mattered was Jin-Man and the way he held you, the way he looked at you. You could see a mirror of your own emotions in his eyes—longing, fear, and a hint of sadness.

As the last note of the song played, you rose to your tiptoes, pressing a soft kiss to his lips. It was filled with promise, with hope—a kiss that said more than words ever could.

As you pulled away, you rested your head on his chest, listening to the steady rhythm of his heartbeat. His arms wrapped around you, holding you close as the two of you stood in the middle of the kitchen, the smell of your cooking still lingering in the air.

"Welcome home, Y/N," he whispered, his voice barely audible over the soft hum of the radio.

And for the first time in a long time, you felt like you belonged.

[braceletofteeth]

let’s say vegas and moonjo are acquaintances in someway.

maybe vegas studied in korea for a while and noticed some people in his uni going missing, maybe moonjo was involved with the korean mafia and vegas had to secure a partnership, maybe moonjo and jongwoo relocated to thailand to start a new life.

either way, they meet, they hit off, they exchange dental torture tips. vegas looks at moonjo being an absolute simp for jongwoo and thinks ‘rip to him but i’m different.’

then pete happens.

I go a little insane every time I think about what you sent here, honestly. It opens room to so many questions... Where, when and how Vegas and Moonjo could have met; their impressions of each other and the influence their partners have over them; Pete and Jongwoo’s own impressions of Vegas’s and Moonjo’s relationship… I mean, can you imagine the four of them in the same room, having a friendly chat? It has the potential to be really entertaining, and also to go so, so wrong.

But let’s stay focused (I'm trying! I'm really trying!).

First of all, I think the idea of Vegas getting exposed to the Very Normal Relationship™ of Moonjo and Jongwoo and his inner response to it being “that could never be me” is SO funny. Especially if it's not because they're weird, but because they're cringe. Count me in on the maiming and the torture, the manipulation and the emotional instability, but finding religion in a lover? Yikes. That’s the real crazy.

Bonus points in that scenario if Vegas and Moonjo were acquaintances before Moonjo found Jongwoo. It would totally go against Vegas’s expectations. Which is to say, no fucking expectations, have you met that guy? Moonjo cares about no one. At least Vegas has Macau, and his father (that doesn’t care about him in return, but one day he will, of course). Moonjo is completely alone. By choice. He can’t stand anyone. Not even the woman who raised him. Even the people he entertains himself playing mind games with, are eventually disposed of and forgotten. Vegas might find himself in a position where the two of them are able to (almost) see eye to eye, and socialize, but he would know better than to let his guard down around him. That’s not a man you can trust your life with. Or your head. Definitely not your head.

Which probably makes Vegas wonder, as of meeting Jongwoo, just who would be stupid enough to trust their heart with him?

And here comes the shocker, for Vegas, and maybe for everyone who has ever crossed paths with those two: that’s not what happened. Jongwoo isn’t some naive darling that fell madly in love with Moonjo without knowing what he was in for; he’s not a pet Moonjo is keeping around until he finds a more amusing one (that would be Kihyuk). Jongwoo actually did something extraordinary, when he didn’t even have the intention to: he made Moonjo vulnerable. He’s the one that got Moonjo’s heart in his hands. And for Vegas, who met Moonjo pre-Jongwoo, that is… bizarre. Surreal. Unbelievable. It makes no sense, because Moonjo is supposed to be like Vegas, and people like them never show weakness in front of anyone, because they know, they learned, that when you do that, you get hurt. You lose. You die.

But Jongwoo changed something in him. Moonjo could die by his hands, and he’d still feel like he won. There’s no bad nor wrong between them, therefore, he’d take anything Jongwoo gave him. There is no one else besides him, and no one after. Jongwoo changed him.

And yet, he didn’t change. For the rest of the world, Moonjo is still the same. He still lies, he still kills, and he still regards everyone with the same indifference he always did—only he has Jongwoo by his side now, and to him it makes all the difference.

Vegas wouldn’t know what that feels like. He doesn’t even want to. Rip to Moonjo, but he’s different. He’d never let someone have so much power over him. Maybe Moonjo can afford that, because, after all, he has nothing but himself and his art, but Vegas is a businessman, who has a legacy to carry on. One day, he’s going to rule an empire, and it’s going to be all his. He doesn’t need, doesn’t want to be helped or understood by anybody that’s not family. He’s different from Moonjo, and he’s different from Kinn. They are fools. They’re going to be betrayed, or killed, or left. They are going to suffer, they are going to lose, and it’s going to be their own fault. Vegas is better than that. He does the betrayal, the killing, and the leaving, before it’s done to him.

And for some time, that's all he believes in.

… Then Pete happens. Vegas happens to Pete, Pete happens to Vegas, and Vegas finally gets it.

When he loses, but Pete stays by his side, that makes all the difference.

[akirayuri]

@3ons actually, that's possible. If only Moonjo was not so jealous. Like, just putting aside the comedic elements. Seokyoon is actually pretty interesting and fascinating ( atleast from a serial killers view ). If you have read the webtoon you will know seokyoon Never really had a easy life but he is still weirdly optimistic and pure. And serial killers like Moonjo would eat that shit up. He fucking loves to traumatize people and make criminals out of them right? Seokyoon is a jackpot in that matter; naive, pure but weirdly helpful. Just the thought of ruining him ( other than FUCKING BEHEADING HIM LIKE MOONJO DID IN CANON. I CAN NEVER FORGIVE HIM FOR KILLING MY MEAW MEAW. ) should be enough for Moonjo to act up. And not to mention how Seokyoon is literally the definition of sunshine for Jongwoo. His girlfriend ghosting him? There is Seokyoon waiting for him. He got his head messed up by Moonjo, Seokyoon would hug him. Like I'm was grinning like a manic at their every interaction lol.

I honestly blame Moonjo's petty ass for it.

moonjo has two hands for a reason

[nahoyasboyfriend]

nsfw alphabet — Seo moonjo

A/N: I'm still getting a feel for his character. Forgive me if these are ooc. I tried 😭

A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex)

He is surprisingly doting. Wiping you down, pressing a kiss to your forehead, massaging places he knows will be sore later. I could see him brushing your teeth for you, and helping you into a change of clothes.

B = Body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

He doesn't pay attention to his features for the most part but he likes his hands. They're key to his job and the creation his "art". His intelligence & poise is a good runner-up.

As for you, I think he'd like your face. Not only because he thinks you're pretty, but because he loves seeing how you react to things. Your cheeks streaked with tears, eyes all wide and glossy. It's mesmerizing to him.

Another favorite of his is your neck & your wrists. He likes to decorate them with jewelry.

C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically)

It doesn't matter to him, but he does enjoy the visual of your skin glistening with his cum. But he equally likes the closeness of cumming inside.

D = Dirty secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

Hard to choose between him stalking you and watching you sleep, or the sick gratification he gets from getting you to unknowingly try human meat.

if we move past the creepy stuff, it might be his deep dark fantasy of total loss of control. To be tied up and completely at your mercy. But that takes a lot of trust on his part. I don't even know if he'd acknowledge he wants that.

E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)

he's not as experienced as he acts, but he's good enough to pretend he is. Like he's not a virgin, but he doesn't go out of his way to bed anyone. He doesn't watch porn because he doesn't get anything out of it. He prefers imagination.

F = Favorite position (this goes without saying)

Anything where he can see your face. He wants to be able to see how everything he's doing affects you in real time. Like how your eyes gloss over, or how your bottom lip quivers. He needs to see all of it.

G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)

nope, he treats sex very seriously. However, if he's feeling mean he'll poke fun at you a bit with that creepy little smile on his face.

H = Hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)

He definitely trims. He has a thing about good personal hygiene & maintaining upkeep.

I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)

Sex with him is very intimate in the weirdest way. Sex with him isn't usually romantic, it's more obsessive. Very all-consuming, just like him as a person. Sex is very personal to him when it comes to you, and it's like he's trying to read your soul through touch. there's a sense of control in that to him. He wants to know everything about you.

His words can be very romantic though, murmuring about how beautiful you are, and how much he loves you.

J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon)

Not something he does often, but occasionally he partakes in a little self indulgence.

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)

Intoxicated sex, but you're the one intoxicated. Not enough that you're not cognizant of what's happening, but drunk enough your words are slurred & you need his help to function. Honestly, he likes dubcon a lot.

Being in control all the time, and I don't mean that in the sense that he likes barking out orders (though he does enjoy it) he gets something out of being the one in control emotionally too. He loves casual dominance.

Choking is another big one. He almost always has a hand wrapped around your neck. He doesn't always squeeze, sometimes he just holds it there. He's not opposed to your hands around his neck. In fact, he encourages it. Actually violence is his kink. Threaten him, fight him, direct all your hurt at him and he's on his knees.

L = Location (favorite places to do the do)

He prefers to do it in the comfort of his or your home.

M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)

Gets off on seeing you angry. Something about it goes down south immediately. Maybe it's the thought of you getting so angry you resort to violence, but he loves it. Especially if the anger is directed at him.

Another is seeing you cry. He thinks hopelessness looks amazing on you. If you cry when you get angry, he's never been more turned on in his life. Not pretty kind, the ugly blotchy face with red rimmed eyes... The type of sadness that you wouldn't want anyone to see.

N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

Watersports, there's nothing sexual about that to him.

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

He seems like a giver to me. Watching you fall apart is deeply satisfying to him. He'd rather give than receive, but he loves your mouth. Unfortunately, he doesn't get all whimpery & pathetic when you suck him off.

P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)

He's not exactly fast but he's not slow. It's hard to explain but do not believe for a second that he won't fuck you stupid. if you ask nicely he can speed it up or slow it down.

Q = Quickies (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc)

Not a big fan. He would rather wait; he doesn't like to be in a rush.

R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)

he's not gonna go out of his way to experiment. He does things he knows he likes. He's not against trying new things, but you'd have to suggest it and it's up in the air if he'll do it.

S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)

He can last for an abnormally long amount of time. It's kinda scary.

T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)

He does not. He doesn't see the point when he can please himself & you just fine. It's not a jealousy thing either, he just truly doesn't think you'll ever need it.

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

He can be really mean. Continuously edging & overstimulating you. He loves pushing your limits until you can't take anymore.

V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)

He's not too loud. There are grunts and groans scattered throughout. He talks you through it. Praising you, or if he's feeling evil, he taunts you.

W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character)

He does things to make sex slightly painful. Sucking a little too hard when he's giving hickeys, biting your lip too hard, fucking you without prepping you properly. He's an intense kisser, kinda suffocating. like I don't think kisses are soft and romantic with him ever. It always feels like he's trying to devour you. Pressing his lips against yours too hard, or using too much teeth. But he only has this problem when he kisses you on the mouth, gives you the softest cheek & forehead kisses.

X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)

7 inches, it's long and pretty like him.

Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

He doesn't really care for people, finding most of them generally displeasing to be around, so it's hard for him to want to have sex with anyone. However in a relationship, it's definitely higher.

Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

He usually doesn't go to sleep. he's a night owl, and he seemingly never gets tired. After he gets you situated, he might even take a smoke break. If you're like him, the two of you might go for a walk, or simply enjoy each other's company. Though if he has to work the next day, he goes to bed by your side after.