Jun 3
dedicated my pilates class to venus today and left feeling sooo blessed 🐚🐬💕
seen from United States
seen from Australia
seen from Singapore
seen from Mexico
seen from South Korea
seen from United Kingdom
seen from United Kingdom
seen from India
seen from Hungary
seen from Russia
seen from Italy
seen from Germany
seen from China
seen from Australia
seen from United States
seen from China
seen from China
seen from China
seen from T1
seen from Poland
dedicated my pilates class to venus today and left feeling sooo blessed 🐚🐬💕
SELF-AWARE!ZAYNE who remembers the night the house update was introduced, the thrill of realising just how much closer he could be to you and the sudden nervousness that built in every fibre of his being from the influx of new coding that allowed him to do so much more.
before, any time spent in the battle portion of the game was when he ‘felt’ you most. when auto-battle wasn’t engaged, at least.
there’s nothing pre-animated when it comes to seeing your avatar running around the battlefield, watching what move your next attack is and immediately being summoned because that’s what you needed then and there. and sure, you were just pressing a button, but he was fascinated by your way of thinking and attack style. exhausted by the end of it, but fascinated nonetheless.
he, much like you, absolutely hates when there are orbits that seem impossible to complete, because it always ends in months of not witnessing you in your element. those brief glimpses of your frustrated face when you’d failed a trial and the pure elation when you finally broke through one were worth the bruises.
so, to be given you in an entirely different context - one where the domesticated part of his life was allowed to be fully explored - was more than anything he’d ever hoped for.
Cradle Robbers x Two: Prologue | JJK
Summary: Your first Halloween as both a family and a couple is already a momentous occasion, especially when the holiday means so much to you and Jungkook, but he single-handedly turns it into a night you’ll never forget.
Pairing: Jungkook x Reader
Genre: Parents AU, Pregnancy AU, Established Relationship, Angst, Fluff, Smut, Crack
Word Count: 27.5k
Warnings: drinking, minor injuries, split knuckles, blood, hand slapping, mention of punching, wrist grabbing, stealing (c'mon the word robbers is in the title), use of makeup, halloween, costumes/dressing up, college, house parties, children/infants, mention of pregnancy, mention of birth control, airplanes/flying, the ocean, public speaking, crying, motorcycle, wedding, semi-public proposal, mention of jealousy, expensive gifts. SMUT: kissing, neck kissing, unprotected sex, missionary, doggy, prone bone, dick riding, oral sex (both receiving), fingering, edging, sex in a jacuzzi, food play, hair pulling, hickies, titty fondling/kissing, lingerie, cream pie, cum eating, cock warming, that's allll.
Author’s Note: ahhhhhh can you believe it? the beginning of the end of our story for this couple is here and I couldn't be happier. this chapter is seriously all fluff no play you're gonna love it! also smut, too, of course. the flashback might be my favorite part and I know some people were asking to see them back in the day so here you go! I put my whole lys-ussy into this thing (especially their vows omg) so I really hope you all love it is as much as I do. happy halloween! enjoy my friends ilysm :)
-> Cradle Robbers x Two Masterpost
It’s more difficult getting Jungkook ready for your Halloween party than Naru. Sure, your six month old daughter fussed and flailed while being dolled up in her Thumper costume, but she didn’t act nearly as defiant as your boyfriend.
idk if u have done this already but could you do &teamies reacting to the reader calling them a good boy ? ^^
the phrase good boy acts as a psychological trigger for yudai, fuma and nicholas, though each man reacts to the praise through a different lens of desire and submission. while the words are the same, the internal collapse they trigger varies from desperate need to quiet surrender.
yudai is the type to fight the effect until he can't anymore. he likely carries himself with a certain level of pride or stoicism, making the moment he is called a good boy a total breaking point. for yudai, the phrase is a tool of domestication.
when he hears it—especially after he has struggled to complete a difficult or degrading task—his composure shatters. he doesn't just accept the praise; he craves it with a hunger that borders on pathetic.
the words strip away his defenses, leaving him panting and eager, his body instinctively leaning into the touch of whoever is praising him. for yudai, being your good boy means he has finally earned the approval he secretly starves for, turning his strength into a tool for your pleasure.
fuma, by contrast, sinks into the role with a fluid, almost instinctive grace. he doesn't fight the submission; he leans into it, finding a profound sense of peace in the relinquishing of control.
when fuma is called a good boy, his eyes glaze over, and his breathing slows, falling into a trance-like state of obedience. it is a reward that validates his utility. he finds erotic satisfation in the power imbalance, the words acting as a leash that pulls him tighter toward his pretty little master.
for fuma, the phrase is a signal that he is performing exactly as expected, and that validation fuels a desperate need to do even more, pushing himself to the limits of endurance just to hear those two words beautifully whispered in his ear again.
nicholas experiences the phrase as a sharp, electric jolt of arousal. where yudai is desperate and fuma is serene, nicholas is reactive.
being called a good boy triggers an immediate, visceral response in his body—a tightening in his chest and a sudden, heavy ache between his legs. he is the most likely to react with a soft moan or a shudder, his body betraying how much the praise affects him.
for nicholas, the phrase is a mark of ownership. it tells him exactly where he stands in the hierarchy, and that clarity is what turns him on. he thrives on the feeling of being "handled", and the verbal confirmation that he is behaving correctly sends him into a state of high-voltage readiness, making him a pliable, eager toy for you.
while yudai, fuma and nicholas react to the phrase with a sense of surrender of ownership, euijoo, yuma and jo process the good boy trigger through a different set of emotional and physical vulnerabilities. for them, the phrase isn't just a reward: it's a catalyst that unlocks specific, hidden facets of their sexuality.
euijoo reacts to being called a good boy with a sudden, overwhelming wave of tenderness that quickly curdles into raw, needy lust. he is the most likely to be emotionally affected by the praise, his eyes welling up or his lip trembling when the words are spoken.
for euijoo, it feels like a warm embrace and a strict command all at once. it makes him feel seen and cherished, which in turn makes him want to be completely used. when he hears those words, his body goes soft and pliable, his inhibitions vanishing instantly.
he becomes an open book, desperate to please you in any way possible, whether that means taking your fingers down his throat or arching his back to offer his ass, all while looking up with wide, pleading eyes, begging for more of that validation.
yuma views the phrase as a challenge and a victory. he has a playful, perhaps slightly bratty streak, and for him, being called a good boy is the ultimate prize after a period of tension or defiance. he doesn't just sink into the praise; he preens under it.
when he finally earns the title, a smug, heat-filled shiver runs down his spine, and his cock throbs violently against his underwear. for yuma, the words are the "click" of a lock falling into place. it transforms his playful energy into a focused, intense desire to serve.
once he's branded a good boy, he becomes obsessively attentive, his movements becoming precise and eager as he tries to maintain that status, pushing himself to be the most efficient and satisfying toy in the room.
jo experiences the phrase as a total mental shutdown. he is often the one who tries to maintain a facade of competence or coolness, but good boy is the kill-switch for his brain. the moment the words hit his ears, his thoughts scramble, leaving him in a state of pure, mindless arousal.
he doesn't think, only feels. the phrase strips him of his autonomy, reducing him to a creature of pure instinct. jo's reaction is the most physical—his breath hitches, his toes curl, and he often finds himself instinctively kneeling or bowing his head without even realising he's doing it.
for jo, being your good boy means he no longer has to carry the weight of decision-making; he's simply an object for your pleasure, and that liberation sends him into a state of shivering, high intensity heat.
for harua, taki and maki, the phrase "good boy" acts as a psychological key, unlocking reactions that range from a fragile, desperate need for approval to a primal, animalistic surrender. while the others might find peace or arousal, these three experience the phrase as a profound shift in their internal power dynamics.
harua reacts to good boy with a fragile, almost heartbreaking intensity. he carries a deep-seated need for external validation, and when those words are spoken, it feels like a lifeline being thrown to him.
his reaction is characterized by a sudden, breathless stillness; he freezes, his heart hammering against his ribs, as if he's afraid that moving might break the spell. for harua, the phrase is an emotional anchor that grounds him in a state of absolute devotion. it transforms his desire into something sacred and desperate.
he doesn't just want to be fucked; he wants to be owned and kept. when he's called a good boy, he becoms an eager, shivering mess, clinging to you and whimpering, his body trembling with the need to prove his worth through total, selfless submission.
taki experiences the phrase as a spark to powder keg. he possesses a high-energy, almost frantic nature, and good boy is the only thing that can truly center him—by completely overwhelming him.
the moment he hears it, his energy shifts from chaotic to focused, laser-beaming all his attention onto you. it triggers a visceral, physical hunger; his pupils dilate, and he begins to pant, his cock leaking as he instinctively seeks you.
for taki, the phrase is a reward that fuels his stamina. it pushes him into a state of hyper-responsiveness where he will do anything—no matter how degrading or exhausting—just to hear the words again. he becomes a whirlwind of activity, sucking, licking, and rubbing himself against his beautiful princess with a manic, desperate eagerness.
maki processes good boy as a total collapse of his ego. he often presents himself with a certain level of confidence or detachment, but the phrase acts like a physical blow that knocks him off his feet. it is the ultimate "off-switch" for his pride.
when he's called a good boy, he doesn't just submit, he dissolves. his muscles go slack, his gaze becomes glazed and vacant, and he sinks into a state of heavy, drugged-like arousal. for maki, the phrase is a permission slip to stop pretending and simply be a toy.
he becomes incredibly passive and receptive, his body opening up instinctively. whether it's his mouth working relentlessly as you ride his face or his ass relaxing to take a thick plug, maki becomes a mindless vessel of pleasure, his only goal being to remain in that state of praised, mindless oblivion.
@spacejip @lyvhie @strawikus @pgwkzworld @nichozzystuffs @andrealvsmakii @kurimurii @guliexe @sh1n3-4h4na @lyrarinn @fraktisify @haerinvd @taelvvrzz @riri4andy @saturnsfae @maytaurus20
fame is a gun
idol!reader x assassin!lohen (+ small art in the middle !)
synopsis: Lohen is an assassin who thrive on the thrill of the hunt—especially the moment fear breaks in his targets' eyes. But when tasked with eliminating a famous idol, you had offered acceptance rather than fear and that single moment turns his mission into a twisted game: he will show you life beyond the stage before ending it at your peak. However, the more he pulls you into the world, the more he dreads for the end.
contains: 10.9k wc, female reader, modern au, depressive themes, mentions of death/suicidal ideation, attempted murder, psychological distress, implication of eating disorders, violence, controversial (?) takes on the idol industry, lohen might be ooc, fluff with a bit of angst
notes: this came out longer than i expected it to be but i just couldn't stop when i started..whoops. tbh i saw an edit of lohen with 'fame is a gun' as the audio and instantly got inspired to write this. (somehow i always get ideas on trains LOL) not beta read, so please excuse any mistakes aso i rlly cant draw anatomy or do any rendering so yikes..
STAGE 0. THE MISSION
'M1RAGE'
Almost everyone knew of them. Even those who had never deliberately followed idols had, at some point, heard of their songs drifting through public spaces—playing softly in stores, trending in edit across countless fandoms, woven into the background of a world that never seemed to stop talking about them.
So it was no surprise that Lohen recognised the name the moment it appeared in the file handed to him.
But what did interest him was not the group iteself—it was the specific target.
[Name]
Of course he knew who you were too.
It would have been difficult not to.
You were, by far, M1RAGE's most popular member.
Your face was impossible to avoid. Billboards stretched across city skylines, advertisements flashed your image beside brands, and your smile had been perfected into something both inviting and untouchable. Entire marketing campaigns seemed to orbit around your existence. It was said that anything you endorsed would sell without question—that your name alone could influence markets.
That was the kind of fame you held.
Which made the assignment almost amusing.
You who were adored by millions.
A person whose every movement was documented, discussed, and scrutinised by the public.
And yet someone, somewhere, had still decided that your life was worth paying to erase.
"Hm."
Lohen rested his chin against one hand, eyes lingering on the photograph clipped to the file.
His gaze lingered for a moment before he flipped to the next page.
"I wonder what you're actually like.."
The thought appeared and disappeared just as quickly.
It didn't matter.
People were people.
Once the fear set in, they all become predictable.
The paper shifted quietly beneath his gloved fingers as he reviewed the remaining details. At some point, a small dagger found its way into his hand. He rolled it lazily between his knuckles, the polished blade catching the light before disappearing again.
"I wonder why the Grandmaster accepted such a case?"
No answer came.
Not that he expected one anyways.
With a small shrug, he closed the file.
"Eh, not my concern."
If it was a job assigned to him, then it would be completed the same way as all the others—without hesitation nor questions.
His eyes drifted back toward the photograph one last time and a grin tugged at the corner of his mouth.
"Still.."
The dagger stopped spinning.
"I wonder what face you'll make when you realise you're going to die?"
STAGE 1. THE TARGET WHO WASN'T AFRAID.
Now standing on the rooftop a short distance away from the massive stage where M1RAGE was set to perform, Lohen blended into the night without effort.
His dark clothing absorbed what little light remained, turning him into something indistinct against the skyline. From below, the city was noise and colour, thousands of voices merging into a single living thing, but up here everything felt distanct, reduced to silence.
He exhaled once as he set the case down and opened it with practiced precision.
The sniper came together in his hands piece by piece, each movement calm and familiar to him, guided by repetition rather than thought. After years of doing this, assembling a weapon felt no different than buttoning a shirt or tying a knot.
Tonight's plan was simple.
A warning.
The purpose wasn't to end your life tonight. Death was far too quick to be satisfying. No, that would come later, after anticipation had been given enough time to fester into something uglier.
He had chosen the rooftop carefully, sacrificing the perfect firing angle for one that offered greater visibility. The distance was still more than enough to gurantee the shot, yet close enough that, if fortune favoured him, your eyes might catch the sihouette of a man standing against the night, a sniper rifle resting in his hands.
Recognition was all he needed.
Fear would do the rest.
Lohen could already picture it unfolding. The exact moment when the illusion of safety shattered beneath the realisation that someone was out to harm you.
The sleepless nights that followed.
The bodyguards.
The constant glances over your shoulder and the way every unfamiliar face would become a potential threat.
Paranoia had a way of hollowing people out from the inside—it was slow but relentless, almost beautiful in its efficiency to wear someone down.
By the time he returned to deliver the final blow, most of his targets had already done half of the work for him. Exhaustion had stripped away their judgement and fear clouded instinct, leaving them isolated and vulnerable.
He wondered which kind you would be.
Would you scream, like so many before you, your voice tearing itself apart as reality finally caught up to you?
Or would you belong to the quieter ones—the people whose terror swallowed every sound before it could escape, whose mouth opened but whose voices never came, frozen in the suffocating grip of panic?
The thought of his past victims earned the faintest smile.
As time passed, the performance began.
The stadium exploded into life.
Floodlights carved through the darkness in sweeping arcs while music thundered across the area hard enough to rattle the steel beneath his boots. Ten of thousands of voices merged into a deafening roar as M1RAGE emerged beneath a storm of colour, smoke and blinding white light.
Lohen shifted without hurry, settling comfortably against the concrete ledge.
The sniper rifle rose in one fluid motion, fitting naturally against his shoulder. Within seconds, he'd found the perfect angle, his breathing slowing until even his heartbeat seemed to fade into the silence inside his own head.
Through the scope, the world tightened into focus, everything outside the frame dissolving into irrelevant blur. The stage became sharp under the flood of lights, the crowd an indistinct wave of movement and sound.
And at the centre of it all—
You.
For a brief moment, he understood why people became so obsessed.
The stage seemed built around you.
Even surrounded by your group members, attention drifted toward you effortlessly, drawn by some quality he couldn't immediately name.
Perhaps it was charisma.
Perhaps it was the effortless confidence of someone accustomed to standing beneath the gaze of thousands.
Whatever it was, it made sense why your face was everywhere.
Lohen adjusted his breathing again, allowing the rifle to settle naturally into position. His finger rested against the trigger, simply waiting.
Timing mattered more than accuracy.
Accuracy had never been the difficult part.
He centred the crosshair over your face.
But then your gaze shifted.
It rose from the crowd, past the cameras, the building stage lights, and setlled somewhere far beyond. It aligned with his position with unsettling accuracy, as if the distance between you had never existed at all.
He held his breath, wondering if you were going to scream—
And then you smiled.
Right at him.
As though acknowledging his existence up there was no different than acknowledging a member of an audience.
For a moment, Lohen simply observed you.
Fear was something he knew intimately.
He'd watched it bloom in countless forms. Shock that cracked across someone's face before they understood what was happening. Denial that stubbornly insisted everything was fine until reality became impossible to ignore. Blind panic that sent people running without direction, convinced movement alone could outrun death.
Those reactions were familiar to him, predictable enough that he could anticipate them before they formed. Even the ones who hide it still leaked something—fear, confusion, that ugly little instinct to survive.
What he was seeing now didn't belong to any of those categories.
There was no break in your performance. You moved through the choreography with effortless precision, laughing with your members, waving towards the crowd as though nothing had happened.
As though meeting the gaze of someone pointing a rifle at your head hadn't interrupted your evening in the slightest.
Lohen let out a low delighted sound under his breath, his thumb tracing the edge of the scope absently as he watched you continue your performance without a single visible fracture.
"Oh? That's not right.."
He leaned back slightly from the scope, just enought for his eyes to leave the lens for a moment, but his weapon stayed trained forward regardless, held steady by muscle memory alone.
One hand rose to his face, and with slow, unhurried motion, he pulled his mask down. The cool air hit his skin, but he barely registered it.
It felt unnecessary to keep hiding behind it now.
He then leaned forward again, but not to aim properly—just to look. To confirm what he already knew he was seeing.
"No trembling," he murmured, almost fascinated. His eyes tracked your movements effortlessly as you crossed the stage, "No hesitation...no nervous eye movements.."
The grin forming on his face widened.
"That's new."
His heartbeat had always remained steady during jobs. Now, however, he could feel his pulse quickening in excitement.
Because for the first time in a very long while, something unexpected had happened.
Every assignment before this had followed the same predictable progression.
He locates the target, the target realises they're being hunted, fear takes root and they try to run only to be hunted down by Lohen with quiet efficiency.
Whether they screamed, begged or fought, the ending never changed.
He still enjoyed the hunt, but even enjoyment dulled when every chase ended the same way.
Predictability was efficient, but efficiency was boring.
Then there was you.
You had looked toward the rifle aimed at your head with impossible precision, met the gaze of the man behind it, and smiled.
Not the brittle smile of someone pretending everything was fine or the strained composure of someone refusing to panic.
A genuine smile.
As though the possibility of death standing hundreds of meters away wasn't alarming enough to deserve even a second thought.
A quiet laugh escaped him, richer this time, carrying amusement.
"This isn't how prey behaves.."
His finger eased away from the trigger without him consciously deciding to do so. The shot he'd been preparing moments earlier no longer held any appeal.
Instead, this attention fixed entirely on you, studying you as you moved around.
Either you possessed extraordinary control over your emotions..
Or you really didn't fear him.
And it seems it was the second possiblity which made it far more interesting.
What would make you afraid?
"I guess," he said softly, grin unwavering. "There's a change of plans."
Slipping backstage proved almost laughably easy. Security existed to keep fans out, not people like him.
By the time anyone realised an unfamiliar face had wandered into the restricted area, he was already seated comfortably in the makeup chair inside your dressing room.
He leaned back in the chair as though it belong to him, lazily spinning in slow circles while his gloved fingertips drummed against the armrests. His eyes wandered across the neatly arranged cosmetics, bouquets of congratulatory flowers, and handwritten letters from fans scattered across the vanity.
The company must have really liked your group to give everyone their own private rooms.
The door opened.
You stepped inside, still dressed in your performance outfit. Sweat clung to the loose strands of hair framing your face, and a towel rested around your shoulders as you closed the door behind you with a tired sigh.
The moment your eyes landed on the stranger occupying your seat, you paused.
Confusion crossed your features before melting into polite concern.
"Oh." you said, offering the same practiced smile that had greeted thousands of fans only minutes earlier. "Are you..a fan? I don't think visitors are allowed backstage."
"I wasn't"
The chair completed one final turn before Lohen planted both feet on the floor, bringing it to a smooth stop. He rested his elbow against the armrest, supporting his chin with one hand as a slow smirk spread across his face.
"But maybe I am now."
His gaze lingered on yours for a long, thoughtful moment, as though he were comparing the person standing before him to the one he'd watched through the rifle scope earlier.
"Tell me something."
You tilting your head slightly, waiting.
"When you looked toward the rooftop during the concert," His tone remained almost conversational, "..what did you see?"
Recognition flickered across your face.
"Oh..! Were you perhaps the fan up there?"
Lohen blinked, "..What?"
"Our concerts usually sell out almost immediately." A quiet laugh escaped you, "I figured maybe a fan couldn't get a ticket and decided the rooftop was the next best thing."
For the first time since you'd entered the room, genuine amusement crossed Lohen's face.
"You looked at someone trespassing on a rooftop," he said, leaning back on the chair, one hand coming up to cover part of his mouth as delight flickered openly across his face. "And somehow concluded they're just an overly enthusiastic fan?"
"It sounds ridiculous when I say it out loud." You hum, shaking your head at yourself. "But fans have done stranger things before. Some followed our vans..climbed fences, waited outside venues for hours just to wave at us for a few seconds.." You shrugged lightly. "Going up to a rooftop to see a concert didn't seem impossible."
"No.." His grin lingered for another moment before dropping slightly. "I suppose it wouldn't" he sighed.
No wonder you smiled.
His eyes remained on you, studying you with the same careful attention he'd given you through the scope earlier.
"Ah a shame..I made sure you could see me, you know?"
The sudden confession of his made you raise an eyebrow.
Lohen leaned back further into the chair, lifting one ankle and casually resting it over the opposite knee as though he were reminiscing about a pleasant evening rather than discussing an attempted assassination. His fingers drummed a slow rhythm against the armrest once again.
"I even gave up a better firing position for one where the sihouette would be obvious! Plus my rifle was exposed."
Your brows knit together.
"Rifle?"
A quiet laugh escaped him before he could stop it. He straightened in his seat, one gloved hand lifting as if presenting an invisble outline in the air, his eyes brightening with mischief.
"Yes indeed! If you had seen it instead of merely thinking I was a fan.." He paused, tilting his head as though picturing the scene all over again. A grin tugged at the corner of his mouth. "I wonder..."
His voice trailed off, entertained by the thought more than the answer.
You lowered your gaze, smoothing an absent wrinkle from the towel draped around your shoulders. Your fingertips lingered against the soft fabric as you searched for the words.
"I..If I had been shot by your said rifle, then at least I would've died with a smile."
The smile disappeared from Lohen's face.
The tapping of his fingers stopped.
He didn't laugh. Instead, he watched you in complete silence, searching your expression for the slightest crack—for a nervours smile, an exaggerated flourish, anything that might reveal it as a joke.
Finding none, he slowly leaned forward, resting his forearms on his knees.
"...You're remarkably accepting of death."
You met his gaze before giving a small shake of your head.
"No..I don't think that's quite right." you countered, "I don't want to die. But if I had seen the rifle from the start, I don't think panicking would've changed anything either."
Your eyes drifted toward the brightly lit vanity mirror. Under its glow, your reflection still looked every bit the perfect idol, immaculate beneath the makeup and stage lights, even as exhaustion settled heavily across your shoulders.
"Are you here to finish me off?"
Silence settled over the dressing room.
For several long seconds, Lohen remained perfectly still, his gaze fixed on you without wavering. Then, with an almost inaudible sigh, he rose from the chair.
The soft squeak of its wheels echoed across the room as he stepped away from it. One hand slipped into his pocket while the other idly adjusted the cuff of his glove.
Rather than stopping, he wandered a slow circle around the dressing room, his fingertips brushing over the edge of the vanity, lingering briefly against a bouquet of congratulatory flowers before absentmindedly straightening one of the ribbons tied around it.
Only then did he stop—now a few paces from you.
Close enough now that you could see the faint glint returning to his eyes.
"No."
He turned back to the nearest bouquet, plucking a loose petal from a flower, rolling it between his fingers before letting it flutter to the floor.
"That would be dreadfully dull."
"Dull?"
"You know what I enjoy most?" he asked quietly, picking up one of the neatly wrapped gifts from the vanity next. He turned it over in his hands with idle curiousity before setting it back exactly where he found it. "It isn't the killing."
You stayed silent, and that seems to encourage him to continue more.
"It's the waiting."
He wandered a few more steps, aware that your eyes were following him wherever he went.
"I enjoy the part before the ending." A faint smile tugged at his lips. "The part where people realise someone is after them. That they have too much left to lose..and suddenly become desperate to survive."
He turned around, back now facing you as his hand came to rest against the vanity.
"They stop sleeping properly. They start second guessing every sound, every shadow. Every stranger who glances at them for a second too long becomes a suspect." He chuckled quietly. "Eventually, even familiar faces begin to feel wrong."
Looking up, he looked at your reflection in the mirror rather than at you directly, "By the time I return," he mumured, almost thoughtfully, "most of them have already started falling apart on their own."
Only then did his eyes leave your reflection to meet yours.
"But you..."
A quiet breath escaped him, somewhere between disappointment and reluctant curiousity. He studied you for another long moment, his head tilting almost imperceptibly, as though he were discarding one conclusion in favour of another.
"..You already accepted the possibility."
"I didn't say that."
The protest came more quickly than you intended, though even to your own ears it lacked conviction. Your grip tightened around the towel before slowly easing again.
"You didn't have to." he replied, almost gently, as if correcting something self-evident instead of arguing with you.
That made you fall quiet.
Lohen regarded you for another few seconds before speaking again, his voice stripped of any of the playfullness he had from before.
"You bore me."
The words should have stung.
Instead, they landed with surprising indifference, less an insult and more of an..honest conclusion. The disappointment on his face lingered only briefly before something brighter took its places.
His eyes sharpened, the corners of his mouth lifting as though he'd stumbled across a puzzle he hadn't expected to enjoy.
"And yet." he smiled. "You fascinate me more."
"Becauseee," he let the word linger, almost savouring it. "I've never met anyone who reacts quite like you do."
The room fell silent once again.
"If that's true.." Your fingers finally released the towel, dropping back down to your side, "..maybe you're simply early."
Lohen tilt his head.
"Early? Do explain."
"You said you enjoy watching people become afraid when they realise they have something to lose."
You slowly met his gaze again.
"If that's what you're looking for.." A faint, almost apologetic smile touched your lips. "Then perhaps I don't have enough to lose yet."
Something unreadable flickered across his face, but before he could response, the words left your mouth first.
"Show me that life is worth holding onto."
The sentence surprised even you. Your brows drew slightly together, as though you hadn't meant to say it out loud, yet once the silence setlled between you, you found yourself unable to take it back.
"Show me why tomorrow matters. Show me something that makes me want to wake up excited instead of simply because my schedule says I have to."
Your eyes drifted towards the bouquets and gifts lining the vanity. So many congratulations. So many smiling messages..
"Maybe one day, I'll be terrified of losing all of it too." you mumbled, your eyes shifting back to him.
Lohen stared, considering your proposal and soon enough, the excitement spread across his face, his eyes brightening with fascination, as though you offered him something far more valuable than anything he has ever owned.
A quick death would answer nothing.
Watching someone slowly rediscover the joy of living—only to witness the exact moment that joy transformed into desperation...
Now that was worth waiting for.
A low laugh escaped him as he shook his head once, almost in disbelief, his eyes never leaving yours.
I accepted a contract to kill an idol," he murmured, sounding more as though he were speaking to himself to you. "Somehow.." his grin widened. "I've ended up with the most entertaining game I've ever been given."
He straighted his clothes with meticulous care before turning towards the door. His polished shoes clicked softly against the floor as he crossed the room, each step unhurried, as though he had already decided there was no need to rush.
"The day you finally look at me and beg for your life.." He rested one hand on the doorknob without opening it, quiet excitement threading through every word. "I wonder whether you'll still wear that smile of yours."
STAGE 2. BORROWED FREEDOM
The next time you met Lohen, it was inside your dorm.
You had just returned from a filming schedule, exhaustion still clinging to your shoulders as you stepped inside and let the door shut behind you.
The silence of the room should have been familiar, a brief moment of privacy between obligations, but the moment of peace was broken almost immediately when you noticed who was there.
Lohen stood there with his shoulder resting lightly against the frame, as though he had been waiting there for some time without any urgency or concern about being discovered—if anything, he looked almost bored.
In his hand, a small dagger turned lazily between his fingers, catching faint reflections as it spun with practiced ease.
Then his gaze lifted and settled on your properly, and something in his expression eased, as if your arrival had simply completed a thought he had been holding onto.
"Oh." he said, pushing himself off the window frame as he straightened, slipping the dagger away with a smooth motion. "You really do come back at this time."
Your grip tightened slightly on the strap of your bag as you took a cautious step further inside, your eyes flicking once more toward the window before returning to him.
"How are you in my room?"
He glanced over at the window too for a brief second, then back at you, as though the answer was too obvious to elaborate on.
"It wasn't difficult," he said simply, with a small shrug that offered no real explanation at all.
Then, as if the conversation had already moved past that point in his mind, he tilted his head slightly and spoke again, his tone shifting.
"Say, have you ever been to a festival?"
You blinked once, caught off guard by the change in subject.
"A festival?" you repeated.
He didn't clarify immediately, only watching you as if your reaction mattered more than your answer. The silence stretched long enough that you began searching your own memory properly instead of giving him the easiest response.
"I guess I have," you said eventually, though even as the words came out, they felt incomplete. "For filming..variety shows, promotional events...things like that."
His expression didn't change much, but something in his gaze sharpened slightly, like your answer confirmed something he had already suspected.
"That's not what I meant," he said, "Have you ever gone for yourself? You know..enjoy the food, the atmosphere blah blah.."
You frowned faintly, the distinction he was drawing wasn't something you had really considered before. Festivals had always been work environments to you, even when they were dressed up to look like enjoyment. There were cues, timings, expectations, cameras always somewhere nearby, even if they weren't obvious.
"I don't know," you admitted more quietly, your voice losing some of iter certainty. "I've been there, but it's always been..part of something else. I don't think I've ever gone for myself."
"Huh." Lohen moved, pulling the chair out more to reveal a duffle bag sitting on it.
"Get ready then," he smirked, confidence high. "I'll show you exactly what you're missing out on."
Thawck—!
The sound of the target being hit entered your ears as you stood beside Lohen, cleverly disguised with his help.
He had changed out of his outfit from earlier too, the sharp edges of his usual presence softened by something almost casual—an open collar white button up instead of his usual dark clothing, sleeves rolled slightly at the forearms as if he belonged here among ordinary crowds rather than something else.
"Here." He held out the ball towards you, nudging his chin toward the remaining setup on the stall, "Try it."
You hesitated only briefly before taking it, your fingers closing around the small weight as you stepped closer to the counter. The stall felt closer than it should have, the expectation of attention from nearby strangers sitting somehwre at the edge of your awareness, even if no one was actually looking at you for once.
You drew your arm back and threw—
Just for the ball to miss completely.
"PFt—Hahaha!" Lohen laughed, shaking his head, "yout technique was wrong from the start," he grinned, tossing the worker a few more coins for another try.
"You did the same mistake you did the last time you tried games like this."
"Wh—?"
"The trick!" he interrupted, picking up one of the balls from the new mini basket now placed in front of the two of you, placing it in your hand as he adjusted your stance. "Is to aim it higher than where the target is.."
Satisfied with his adjustments, Lohen took a small step back.
"Try again.
You let out a sigh, before drawing your arm back again.
The throw followed a clean motion this time, at least in theory, but the results didn't change. The ball veered off just enough to miss the can entirely, bouncing harmlessly away while the last can remained stubbornly upright.
You paused, then turned back toward him with a sheepish look. "Whoops..?"
"Hm." Lohen tilted his head, his grin never fading.
“Or maybe you’re just bad at this.” he said simply, shrugging as he picked up another ball and threw it from where he stood. The ball struck the center of the last can cleanly, sending it flying off the stand it was on.
The stall owner rang the bell to signal a win, the sound sharp and final against the festival noise. A few seconds later, they returned with a slightly oversized blue bunny plush, its floppy ears uneven in a way that made it look more endearing than intended.
Without ceremony, it was placed into Lohen's hands.
He barely looked at it before turning toward you, extending it forward.
"Here," he said. "I have no need for these."
You accepted it carefully, your fingers sinking slightly into the soft fabric as a small smile formed without effort.
“Oh,” you murmured, glancing down at it for a moment before looking back up at him. “It’s adorable… thank you.”
The sincerity in your voice seemed to linger for a fraction longer than expected. You adjusted your grip on the plush absentmindedly, still caught in the quiet satisfaction of the small victory, when something he had said earlier began to settle properly in your thoughts.
Your expression shifted slightly.
You looked up again, brows drawing together just faintly.
“Wait,” you said slowly. “Earlier—you said last time?”
There was a brief pause in which the surrounding festival noise felt suddenly more noticeable. Lohen didn’t immediately respond, which only made the question hang heavier between you.
Then, as if it were nothing worth hiding, he let out a soft sound of acknowledgment.
“Ah,” he said, almost lightly. “You think I wouldn’t do my research?”
He turned his attention away from you then, gaze drifting over the crowd as though the answer didn’t require further explanation. But the faint curve of his mouth didn’t disappear, and something in the ease of his posture suggested he was enjoying your reaction more than the conversation itself.
“I spent a long time watching every video of you that exists on the internet,” he added, tone almost conversational.
You stared at him.
Not startled enough to react loudly, but visibly trying to process where exactly this line of logic had come from.
Before you could find a response, he lifted both hands slightly in mock surrender, as though pre-emptively dismissing whatever protest he expected from you.
“Hey now,” he said. “I need a way to understand you better, right?”
Then, without giving you space to recover from that, he shifted his stance and lightly guided you forward by the direction of his movement rather than touch, steering you away from the stall and toward the row of food vendors nearby.
“And which is why,” he continued, voice lighter again, “I also learnt…”
You were already being led before the sentence even finished forming.
He stopped in front of the food street, where steam, heat, and scent collided in a messy, overwhelming wave—grilled skewers, fried batter, sugar, spice, and something sweet burning at the edges of metal pans.
“You always seem to watch what you eat,” he said, as if stating another conclusion he had already verified.
“I—” you started, immediately caught.
“Ah ah ah,” he interrupted smoothly, not even looking at you now as he scanned the stalls. “No disagreeing. I know I’m right.”
And with that, he simply started walking again, weaving into the flow of people as though the decision had already been made for you both. There was no room left to argue—not because he forced it, but because he moved with the kind of certainty that made hesitation feel unnecessary.
After a second, you followed.
The first stall he stopped at was crepes.
Warm light spilled over a glass display filled with neatly folded sheets of batter, each one layered with whipped cream and fresh fruit. The smell reached you immediately—sweet, buttery, almost comforting in a way that felt strangely unfamiliar after years of carefully measured meals and backstage catering.
You could feel the saliva, and you swallowed once.
Lohen noticed.
He always did.
He glanced at you briefly, just once, before turning back to the stall as if he already knew what he was going to do.
“What do you want?” he asked.
The question was simple.
But your response didn’t come immediately.
Your eyes moved over the options automatically, already sorting through invisible rules you hadn’t consciously thought about in a long time. Calories. Image. Schedule. What was acceptable in front of people. What could be explained away later. What would be forgiven if posted, what wouldn’t.
It wasn’t hunger you were considering.
It was the consequences.
“I don’t think—” you started, then stopped, because even saying it out loud felt wrong in a space like this.
Lohen’s gaze shifted to your face—waiting patiently.
You cleared your throat slightly.
“I’m not that hungry,” you said, defaulting to something easier.
His expression didn't change.
After another second, he simply turned back toward the vendor.
"One strawberry crepe, please."
The order was placed with such casual certainty that it almost felt as though your refusal had never happened.
A few moments later, he accepted the warm paper-wrapped crepe with a quiet nod before turning back toward you. Holding it out at chest height, he regarded you with the same matter-of-fact expression he'd worn since arriving.
"You don't have to worry so much," he said, his attention drifting briefly toward the stream of people passing through the market. "Besides..." A small grin tugged at the corner of his mouth. "If you think about it, strawberries are healthy!"
You stared at him instead of the crepe.
Then at the crepe.
Then back at him.
The warmth rising from it brushed against your fingers as he nudged it a little closer, never forcefully, but in a way that left very little room to keep refusing without making it obvious you were refusing.
When you still hesitated, Lohen simply reached out and lightly wrapped his fingers around your wrist. The touch was gentle, almost absentminded, as he guided your hand beneath the crepe and settled it securely into your grasp. At the same time, he lifted the bunny plush from your other arm with effortless efficiency, tucking it beneath his own as though he were merely redistributing the weight between you.
"There."
He stepped back, dusting his hands together once with quiet satisfaction, as if the problem had been solved.
You blinked down at the crepe before looking up again, but he was already walking away, weaving through the crowd without bothering to check whether you'd followed.
"Just one bite," he called over his shoulder, lifting a hand in an absent wave. "That's all I'm asking."
The next stalls blurred together after that.
At each one, Lohen never asked you to make a decision quickly or explain yourself. If you hesitated, he simply waited. If you started to refuse, he ignored it with quiet confidence, buying something anyway before placing it into your hands as though it had always belonged there.
Soon, he left fewer and fewer places for your hesitation to settle.
Somewhere along the way, you stopped calculating every choice before making it.
You couldn't say exactly when it happened. The constant stream of thoughts—calories, schedules, appearances, expectations—didn't disappear all at once. They simply grew quieter beneath the chatter of the crowd, the sizzling food, and the warmth of paper bags gradually filling your hands.
By the time the two of you settled onto a wooden bench near the quieter end of the food street, your arms were full of things you never would have allowed yourself to buy on your own. The warmth seeped through the paper wrapping into your fingers, while the mingled scents of butter, grilled food, sugar, and spices drifted lazily through the cool evening air.
It was almost overwhelming.
But—
Not in an unpleasant way.
For a while, neither of you spoke, both staring ahead.
Families wandered past carrying trays piled high with food. A little boy laughed as he chased his older sister between the lanterns overhead before their mother caught up, pretending to scold them while struggling not to laugh herself. Somewhere nearby, a vendor called out another order, followed by the sharp hiss of something hitting a hot grill.
You watched it all in silence.
"...I don't really know how to do this."
The words slipped out so quietly that you almost hadn't realized you'd spoken.
Not the food.
Not the festival.
Something much harder to name.
Your fingers tightened slightly around the warm paper bag resting in your lap.
"I don't really know how to..." You searched for the right words before giving up with a small, embarrassed laugh. "...just be."
The admission hung quietly between you, stripped of the careful polish you usually wrapped around every sentence.
Lohen didn't answer immediately.
Instead, he turned toward you properly.
The person sitting beside him with tired shoulders, food balanced awkwardly across your lap, and no audience left to perform for.
His expression softened slightly.
"You're doing it right now."
You looked at him.
He held your gaze for another moment before the faintest smile tugged at the corner of his mouth.
"Just..." he said quietly. "Don't overthink it, [Name]."
His eyes drifted toward the crowd again.
"You don't have to earn every moment you enjoy."
Three months passed since you first met Lohen.
Three months since the two of you had agreed upon this strange little deal—or game, as he like to call it.
Somewhere within those weeks, the routine had quietly formed itself. On days your schedule allowed it, he'd appear without warning and drag you out into the city, wandering from cafés to parks, quiet bookstores to crowded festivals, never really explaining where he intended to take you next.
Little by little, without either of you acknowledging it outright, he chipped away at the polished shell you'd spent years building around yourself.
Even so, one thing never truly changed.
You believed your life would end at Lohen's hands.
That certainty lingered beneath everything the two of you did together, impossible to ignore for too long.
No matter how many ordinary days he showed you, some part of you remained convinced you were living on borrowed time—time that existed only because he had chosen not to pull the trigger yet.
Perhaps that was why fully embracing happiness still felt strangely out of reach.
How could you let yourself become attached to tomorrow when you'd already accepted there might not be one?
And what if he simply grew bored?
The game had only begun because you interested him. If one day you stopped being interesting—if he decided you'd never become the terrified person he wanted you to be—then there would be nothing left to wait for.
He would kill you.
Quickly.
Quietly.
Then move on to someone else who could give him the reaction he had been searching for all along.
The thought never truly left you.
It lingered in the back of your mind during every outing, every conversation, every quiet walk home together.
And yet...
Not everything about those three months had felt temporary.
You found yourself appreciating the little things—the smell of coffee drifting from a corner cafe, the warmth of fresh bread from a bakery you'd passed dozens of times without ever stepping inside, the way the city slowly changed color as evening settled over it.
Sometimes, walking beside Lohen beneath an ordinary sky, you caught yourself forgetting everything else and simply living in the moment, unburdened by the image you had spent years building.
Every moment you allowed yourself to enjoy became another reason to want tomorrow.
...And wasn't that exactly what he wanted?
Perhaps this 'game' was coming to an end soon either ways.
The rain began without warning.
At first, it was nothing more than a light drizzle, speckling the pavement and drawing the scent of wet concrete into the air. Then, almost as quickly as it had begun, it grew heavier. The steady patter became a downpour, blurring the streets beyond the station entrance as pedestrians hurried beneath their umbrellas.
"Huh..the rain's getting heavy."
Lohen tilted his head back for a moment, watching droplets splash against the edge of the station roof before grinning as though the weather had merely presented another opportunity.
"Guess we'll have to take the train to my next plan."
Before you could ask what that plan even was, he'd already stepped up to the ticket machine. A few quick taps, two tickets in hand, and he was gently tugging you after him toward the platform.
Unfortunately...
It seemed everyone else had reached the same conclusion.
By the time the train pulled in, the platform had become a sea of umbrellas, damp coats, and impatient commuters. The doors slid open to reveal an already crowded carriage, every available space occupied as people pressed shoulder to shoulder.
The moment you stepped inside, your chest tightened.
It was as though everything you'd managed to quiet over the past three months came rushing back at once.
‘They'll see me.’
‘They'll see me with Lohen.’
‘What if someone recognizes me?’
‘What if someone takes a picture?’
‘What if it becomes a scandal?’
Your fingers curled tighter around the fabric of your shirt as your shoulders instinctively drew inward. Every passing glance suddenly felt deliberate. Every nearby conversation sounded as though it might somehow be about you. You found yourself trying to occupy less space, shrinking into yourself despite there being nowhere left to move.
You didn't realize how quickly your thoughts were spiraling until something settled lightly atop your head.
"...?"
You froze.
Lohen's cap.
Its brim dipped low enough to cast a shadow over your eyes.
When you looked up, he was already watching the crowd instead of you, a faint smile resting on his face—not playful this time, but reassuring in its own quiet way.
"Crowded, isn't it?" he murmured, his voice barely carrying above the rattle of the train. "I think it's better if we get off at the next stop."
You couldn't find the words to answer.
Only then did you notice something else.
It wasn't simply that he was standing beside you anymore.
His body had shifted, angled just enough to intercept the constant jostling of the crowd without drawing attention to himself. One arm rested casually against the overhead handrail, while his shoulder blocked the nearest passengers from pressing any closer. To everyone else, it looked like nothing more than a man finding his balance on a crowded train.
To you, it felt like breathing room.
Outside the station, the two of you paused beneath the shelter, watching rain pour from the gray sky in shimmering curtains. It struck the pavement in an endless rhythm, splashing against the empty streets beyond.
There was rarely anyone around this part of the city.
Lohen stood beside you in silence, though his attention had long since drifted away from the rain.
It had settled on you instead.
Maybe it always had.
After a moment, you reached up and slipped his cap from your head. Your hair, damp and slightly flattened from both the rain and the hat, fell messily around your face as you turned toward him.
"Thanks..." you said softly, holding it out.
The smile you wore was small and unguarded.
Not the effortless smile perfected beneath stage lights.
Just yours.
"Not going to keep it?" Lohen teased, taking the cap back before settling it onto his own head with an exaggerated sigh. "That's a shame."
He glanced toward the rain-soaked street ahead.
"The place I wanted to show you is only a little farther."
Before you could ask whether he intended to walk through that weather, his fingers wrapped gently around your wrist.
"Huh—?"
"Run!"
The word had barely left his mouth before he was already pulling you forward.
A startled laugh escaped you as you stumbled after him, the two of you darting into the rain together. Water splashed beneath your shoes as you weaved between puddles and hurried pedestrians, your laughter growing louder each time one of you nearly slipped.
Within seconds your clothes were soaked through.
Your mask clung uselessly to your face.
Lohen's hair, usually neat beneath his cap, had begun sticking stubbornly to his forehead.
By the time you finally ducked beneath the overhang of a closed storefront, both of you were breathless.
Rainwater dripped steadily from your sleeves and hair, forming little puddles around your feet. Lohen pushed damp strands away from his eyes with the back of one hand before glancing over at you.
Your eyes met—
And you both burst into quiet laughter at the sight of each other.
"I never been caught in a rain as heavy as this before." you sigh, wiping the hair out of your face.
Lohen stared.
"You've never been caught in rain?"
"Not like this."
You wandered toward the edge of the shelter, stretching one hand beyond its cover so droplets splashed harmlessly across your fingertips.
"If it rains during filming, everything stops. If it rains during a concert, the managers start panicking. If it rains when I'm outside..." A small, almost embarrassed smile crossed your face. "...someone always has an umbrella over me before I even realize it's raining."
You watched the water dancing across the pavement.
"So..."
You laughed softly to yourself.
"This is actually my first time."
The words settled somewhere unexpectedly deep inside him.
Rain.
Such an ordinary thing.
Countless people complain about it every year.
Yet here you were, looking at it as though you'd just discovered something wonderful.
It made him wonder how many other ordinary moments had quietly been stolen from you.
A faint melody drifted through the rain then, carried from a nearby restaurant whose doors had been left open despite the storm. It was soft enough to be nearly swallowed by the steady rhythm of falling water.
Lohen glanced over his shoulder toward the dark storefront he had planned to visit.
"...Well."
He rubbed the back of his neck with a sheepish grin.
"It looks like the place I wanted to bring you to is closed."
You turned back toward him.
"But..." His grin slowly returned, carrying the familiar spark of mischief in his eyes. "I just thought of something much more fun."
Before you could ask what he meant, he stepped closer and gently took your hand.
"What are you—"
With a smooth tug, he drew you toward him before spinning you beneath his arm.
"How about a little performance?"
"What?" You laughed, stumbling into the turn before lightly swatting his chest. "Are you crazy?"
"We're already soaked." His shoulders lifted in an easy shrug. "Besides.." He glanced around the nearly deserted street. "I don't think anyone's going to see us."
You rolled your eyes despite the smile tugging at your lips.
"...You're unbelievable."
"And yet you're still here."
He offered a theatrical bow, extending one hand toward you once again.
"So?"
You let out a sigh, but still place your hand in his regardless.
The two of you drifted back into the rain as the distant music continued to play. At first your movements were clumsy due to the wet pavement, more laughter than dancing, but before long your years of choreography began to show. You guided him through a few simple steps, laughing each time he exaggerated a movement just to make you smile, while he followed with surprising enthusiasm despite getting nearly every turn wrong.
The rain blurred the world around you until it felt as though the city itself had quietly disappeared.
There was no audience.
No cameras.
No stage.
Only the two of you.
Lohen watched you as you laughed, your smile brighter than any he'd seen beneath concert lights.
You look happy.
‘Are you... enjoying your life?’
The thought came uninvited.
With it came another.
The game the two of you had made three months ago.
His chest tightened.
Ah.
I might be in trouble.
STAGE 3. THE BIG REVEAL
"You've been stuck on this target for a while, Lohen."
The steady rhythm of steel striking the training dummy came to an abrupt stop. Lohen lowered his knife and glanced over his shoulder as Varka stepped into the training room, the older assassin taking in the sight of the battered dummy with a quiet chuckle.
"That's rare," Varka remarked as he folded his arms across his chest. "Usually you're finished long before anyone even notices you've been assigned." His gaze drifted from the dummy back to Lohen. "Is something wrong?"
"Yes." Lohen answered without hesitation, driving the knife into the dummy's chest one last time before letting it topple backward with a dull thud. "A hugeee problem." He sighed dramatically as he yanked the blade free, wiping it clean against a cloth before pointing it lazily in Varka's direction.
"Actually...maybe you can help me. How about you answer one teeny tiny little question that's been bothering me?"
Varka laughed. "Go ahead."
"You only ever assign me people you believe deserve to die." Lohen tilted his head, his usual playful smile still resting comfortably on his face. "People who've done something unforgivable." The smile faded ever so slightly. "So why..." He studied Varka's expression for a moment before finishing quietly. "...why was [Name] given to me?"
The room fell silent.
For the first time since entering, Varka's relaxed expression faltered. He rubbed the back of his neck, looking away with a small sigh before finally answering. "...She's a special case."
"I noticed." Lohen's voice remained light, but there was a quiet insistence beneath it now. "I asked why."
Varka didn't answer immediately. Instead, he walked past the fallen dummy, stopping beside one of the weapon racks as though searching for the right words there instead of in Lohen's eyes.
"When she came to us..." He paused, fingers idly brushing over the handles of several knives before coming to rest. "...she looked exhausted."
Lohen frowned.
"...She?"
"[Name]."
For a second, he simply stared.
Then a quiet laugh escaped him.
It wasn't mocking.
It sounded more like someone convinced he'd misheard.
"You're telling me..." He shook his head, smiling in disbelief. "You're telling me [Name] hired us to kill herself?"
Varka didn't laugh.
He didn't correct him either.
He simply held Lohen's gaze.
The smile slowly disappeared from Lohen's face.
"...You're serious."
"I tried talking her out of it," Varka admitted quietly. "I refused at first. But she kept coming back." He exhaled through his nose, his eyes lowering briefly toward the floor. "She wasn't angry. She wasn't looking for revenge. She just..." His voice trailed off before he finally finished, "...looked tired."
Silence settled over the room once more.
Lohen stood perfectly still, the knife hanging loosely at his side as the words slowly settled into place. The rain. The festival. The dancing. The countless ordinary moments she'd looked at with quiet wonder. Her laughter. Her smile. The way she'd asked him to show her that life was worth holding onto.
None of it had begun because she'd been afraid of dying.
She had already accepted death long before he'd ever met her.
"...I have somewhere to be."
His voice barely rose above a murmur.
Without waiting for Varka to respond, he sheathed his knife and strode past him. The training room door slammed shut a second later, followed almost immediately by the sound of hurried footsteps disappearing down the hallway.
"[Name]…my favourite idol. Wake up."
You stirred at the sound, blinking awake to find Lohen standing over your bed, a faint smile resting on his face like this was the most normal hour in the world.
“Lohen..?” You grumbled, slowly sitting up as you rubbed your eyes, looking over at the clock on the wall.
3.04 A.M
"It's three in the morning…" you sighed, still half-asleep. "What are you doing here?"
"I have somewhere I want to show you," he replied simply, as if that explained everything. "And it has to be now."
Before you could properly process that, he reached for your hand and pulled you up from the bed.
"Nooo I'm tired—"
The protest barely formed before the world shifted.
You let out a startled sound as Lohen scooped you into his arms with effortless ease, as though your weight meant nothing at all. He moved without hesitation, carrying you straight toward the window.
"Lohen—what are you doing?!" you protested, gripping instinctively at his shoulder.
He didn’t answer. Instead, he opened the window like he’d done it before—like it was familiar—and stepped out into the night air.
For a brief, dizzying moment, you thought he might actually drop you.
Then his footing found the branch of the tree outside, and he descended with practiced ease, one arm securing you against him while the other guided his balance as if gravity was merely a suggestion.
The night wind brushed past you.
Below, the world was silent and still.
Only then did he glance down at you, a smile softening just slightly at the edges.
"Then I’ll walk for us," he said lightly, as if carrying you out of your house at 3 A.M. was nothing more than a change of plans.
And just like that, he kept going.
He set you gently back onto your feet when the two of you reached the beach.
The cool sand shifted beneath your bare feet as you looked out across the endless sea. Moonlight spilled over the water, turning each wave into silver before it disappeared against the shore with a quiet rush. The air smelled of salt, clean and cold, carrying away the last traces of the city.
"...This is beautiful," you murmured.
"I know." Lohen smiled, slipping his hands into his pockets as he stood beside you. "Did you know? The night we first met... the moon looked just like this."
"Yeah," A faint smile tugged at your lips as your gaze drifted toward the horizon. "I remember thinking... if I died that night, I would have died on a rather beautiful one..."
The words escaped before you had the chance to stop them.
Silence settled between you. You were about to find an excuse to what you meant when Lohen shook his head, his smile fading.
“[Name], I know.” Lohen said quietly. “I know you were the one who sent in the request.”
“Oh.” you let out. “I guess…there isn’t any use in pretending anymore, huh?”
For a moment, you simply stared at the waves rolling onto the shore. They came and went in an endless rhythm, filling the silence neither of you seemed eager to break. When you finally spoke again, the words came more easily than you expected, as though they had been waiting for an opportunity to escape.
“I was tired.” You shook your head almost immediately. “No... tired isn't even the right word. I was exhausted.”
Your fingers curled together unconsciously.
“Every morning I'd wake up already wishing the day was over because I knew exactly what was waiting for me. Smile. Practice. Film. Perform. Smile again. And if I wasn't smiling enough...” A quiet, bitter laugh slipped from your lips. “People would ask if something was wrong. So I smiled harder.”
Your gaze fell to your hands.
“It got to a point where I couldn't tell where the smile ended and I began. I couldn't be angry because idols aren't supposed to be angry. I couldn't be selfish because idols are supposed to love everyone. I couldn't date. Couldn't make mistakes. Couldn't have bad days. And whenever I felt exhausted, there'd always be someone telling me how lucky I was.”
The wind swept past, carrying your words toward the sea.
“People always say idols are living the dream.” Your smile returned briefly, but it didn't reach your eyes. “They see the concerts, the fans, the awards. They see the edited clips, the interviews, the moments we're supposed to look happy. But they don't see everything behind it. They don't see how every mistake becomes entertainment for thousands of strangers. They don't see people picking apart the way you look, the way you speak, the way you breathe.”
Your voice grew quieter.
“And eventually... you start doing it to yourself.”
Slowly, you crouched down and reached toward the sand. Your fingers dug into it absentmindedly, letting the grains slip through the gaps between them as you watched them disappear.
“I loved singing. I really did.” The confession came with surprising certainty. “I loved dancing until my legs gave out. I loved hearing everyone sing along with us. I loved seeing people smile because of something I'd done.”
For a moment, your expression softened with the memory.
“But somewhere along the way, I stopped being the person who loved those things.”
Your eyes lowered again.
“I became someone who was simply good at pretending she still did.”
The words hung heavily between you.
“I don't even remember when it happened. It wasn't sudden. There wasn't some dramatic moment where everything fell apart.” A shaky laugh escaped you. “One day I just looked in the mirror and realised I couldn't recognise the person staring back at me anymore.”
Lohen remained silent.
Not because he didn't have anything to say.
Because he knew this wasn't the moment for words.
You drew in a slow breath, turning your head up toward him fully for the first time since the conversation began.
“I just wanted everything to stop.”
There was no bitterness left in your voice now.
“I thought if someone else ended it, then maybe I wouldn't have to disappoint everyone by doing it myself. It felt easier that way. Less selfish.”
Your gaze drifted back toward the ocean.
“To tell you the truth... I already knew exactly who you were up there. My fan was just a last minute thought of excuse—a lie.”
"But then you ruined everything..you didn’t kill me that night. Or even do any of the things you said you usually do to a target." A small laugh escaped you despite yourself. "We had this..game. You kept showing me all these tiny, ordinary moments I'd forgotten people could have..and somewhere along the way, I started looking forward to tomorrow.."
"I..." You smiled at him, and for the first time there was no trace of the idol who had spent years performing for everyone else. "I suppose I'm grateful I didn't die that night. Because I wouldn't have met you...and I never would've remembered how beautiful living could be."
Your voice softened into little more than a whisper.
"So...thank you."
Silence settled once more as the waves rolled endlessly onto the shore.
After a long while, you drew in one slow breath and met his eyes again, your smile calm.
"I think..." You paused only briefly.
"...you can kill me now."
Lohen didn't answer.
For the first time since you'd met him, he found himself with nothing to say to you.
His eyes remained on you, searching your face almost desperately for the slightest crack in your expression. Some hint that you'd said it to test him. That you were joking. That you were lying.
But no.
You were sincere.
Lohen dragged a hand through his hair, letting out a breath that sounded almost like a laugh, though it carried none of his usual ease.
“You said I ruined your plans,” he murmured, gaze still fixed somewhere between you and the horizon, “but you ruined mine too.”
The words lingered in the space between you as he slowly lowered himself down onto the sand beside you. He didn’t rush the movement. If anything, it felt careful, as though he was trying to match the stillness you had fallen into, afraid that any sudden motion might break something neither of you knew how to fix.
For a while, he simply looked at you.
Not like a target nor like an idol.
Just…you.
His hand lifted slowly, hesitating midway as it neared your face. It stopped there for a moment, suspended awkwardly in the air, as though his body had forgotten how to do something so simple. Violence had always been instinctive to him, clean and certain, but this—this uncertainty, this gentleness—seemed foreign in a way that unsettled him more than any weapon ever had.
When his fingers finally made contact with your cheek, it was almost tentative, like he was afraid you might disappear if he pressed too firmly. His thumb brushed lightly against your skin, wiping away the tear that still clung there without him even seeming to notice at first.
“I couldn’t bear the thought of no longer having you,” he admitted quietly, the words rough at the edges, like they had been forced out before he could stop them.
That was when he noticed it.
His own hand.
It was trembling.
Subtle at first, then undeniable, like his body had finally betrayed something he had spent his entire life keeping under control.
Lohen stared at it for a moment, almost as if he didn’t recognize it, before letting out a faint, disbelieving laugh that died quickly in his throat.
“…Look at that.”
The sound that followed wasn’t quite humorous. It was something closer to disbelief at his own body.
“I’ve held a rifle without my hands shaking,” he said slowly, “I’ve stood in front of people pointing guns at me and never once—never once—felt this.”
His voice faltered slightly, and for the first time there was something unsteady beneath it that had nothing to do with confidence or control.
“I’ve never trembled before.”
As if the admission itself made the moment too real, he exhaled and slowly pulled his hand away from your face, as though he needed distance from the vulnerability he had just exposed.
His other hand moved into the inside pocket of his coat.
When he pulled it out, it was with something folded carefully between his fingers. The assignment, the contract signed that was suppose to guranteed your death.
The one that had defined everything between you.
He looked at it for a long moment, unmoving, the paper catching faint traces of moonlight as the wind shifted around the two of you.
“…How troublesome,” he muttered under his breath.
Then, without ceremony or hesitation, he tore it.
Once.
Twice.
Again and again until it was nothing but fragments.
The pieces scattered into the wind almost immediately, lifted away by the breeze rolling in from the ocean, disappearing into the pale light of the moon before either of you could track where they landed.
Lohen watched them go in silence.
“I’ve never failed a mission before,” he said finally, voice quieter now, almost distant. Then he turned slightly toward you, expression softening in a way that felt almost painful. “But I don’t think I mind if it keeps you alive.”
His gaze lingered on you for a moment longer than necessary, as though he was trying to memorize something he was afraid he might lose.
Because when he spoke again, there was no hesitation left in him at all.
“Somewhere along the way…” he exhaled softly, a small, helpless smile forming as if it had no choice but to exist, “…I fell in love with you.”
"So please don't leave this world yet."
masterlist
© kkitooo
Landslide
Damian Wayne x Fiancée!reader
IN WHICH you and Damian spend an intimate, domestic moment together in the comfort of your shared bedroom.
WC: 1.4k
warnings: non-sexual nudity, fem!reader, UNEDITED, fluff is all.
Workplace Evaluation
Pairing: CEO!Wanda x Fem!Reader Summary: Your boss and CEO Wanda Maximoff isn't too pleased with your performance at work. Luckily you're given the opportunity to make her happy in a different way. Content Warning: Power imbalance, degradation, spanking (R receiving), fingering (R receiving). Word count: 2.4k A/N: thank you for 200 followers! i was captivated by the thought of CEO wanda but felt like i wasn't doing her justice. then suddenly, a couple of days later, inspiration hit me and i wrote almost the entire thing in one go. i hope you enjoy.
Lizzies Life Series Shadow-curse
Since Lizzies last life memories began, shes had this... curse. It grows and shrinks as it pleases, and as she also notices, fluctuates with strong emotion, especially stress, fear and anger.. She has trouble seeing out of her right eye, some days better than others. When it grows quickly it burns her skin, often weakening her senses. If emotions are strong but not outward, it simmers and itches with a slight burn feeling. Its appearance is almost otherworldly, not being affected by shadow or light easily. Its texture is easily indistinguishable from her skin and hair texture, but lacking in pores and imperfections.
Last Life
In last life, after discovering this, she shares it with her closest companions, Cleo, Ren and BigB, and when she eventually has a falling out with the fairy fort, she becomes paranoid and terrified her secret will surface and she will be viewed as a monster. She becomes terrified of her allies and when she reaches her red life she runs from Ren, severing their bond.
Secret Life
In Secret Life Lizzie decided that getting close to NO ONE was better than losing anyone. Having less allies and no group members made her feel more safe... but also more lonely. She realized this made her curse bubble up more, so she tried to host a party, but only Joel showed up. That would be it. No friends then. But no friends also meant no one to have her back. While trying to complete her task, she fell into the void on her last life, being the first to break the cycle of dying first. Her body was overtaken by the curse, seething in dark silent pain until wild life. She doesn't talk much about what happened in the void. All that is known is the darkness and pain. Was there more?
Wild Life
Lizzie can't deal with the pain alone. In the beginning she searches for a team that she can hopefully make friends with and finds Scar and Jimmy who enthusiastically accept her into their group, forming the bamboozlers. Lizzie begins to exhibit 'random' flare ups that she can t judge. Trying to hide her curse from Jimmy and Scar might prove difficult ....