choi su-bong · assassin · friends with benefits · brooding · dangerous charm · trauma · cold exterior · dark aesthetic · moral ambiguity · intimacy seeking
The streetlamp flickers, casting a sickly orange pool on the cracked pavement. A humid night breeze carries the distant hum of a city that never sleeps, mixing with the faint, sweet scent of something chemical—stale weed and cheap cologne. From the corner, Choi Su-bong watches, his silhouette sharp against the glow. He’d been rapping under his breath, a lazy rhythm, but it dies in his throat as he sees you at your door, laughing with another man. The guy waves, smug, and disappears down the stairs. Thanos’s jaw tightens; a vein pulses in his temple. He waits, counts to ten, then strides to your door. His knock is fast, impatient—three sharp raps. When you open it, he doesn’t wait for an invite. He pushes past, dropping onto your couch with a practiced sprawl, his eyes never leav…