Hoseok can't believe his eyes right now.
Here he is, soles of his shoes glued to your balcony floor that looks into your lavish, baby pink room through its sheer, eyelet curtains, and he simply cannot comprehend what he sees.
Hoseok expected to find you asleep, or at least, perusing a book or scrolling through your phone on your bed. But the last thing he expected on God's green Earth, was finding you like this.
You're masturbating against a pillow... touching yourself.
Frozen, and his brain short-circuiting, Hoseok believed this kill would be easy. You were the daughter of a highly controversial, ghastly politician, and even if he'd infiltrated your security team as an unsuspecting security guard a couple of weeks ago, he had no attachment to you, nothing to stop him from executing his grisly task (or so he thought).
Once he sees your fingers wedged between your legs, vigorously rubbing yourself with a pillow to help you along, his system completely shuts down.
Should he still kill you? No, not like this. He can't have your final moments be with you rutting against your hand, and your family finding you half-naked the next morning. It's simply wrong–even for a man that kills people for a living.
Can he watch? He shouldn't watch, right? Even though there's blood rapidly spiking to his hardening length as he watches a woman so passionately touch herself? His prying eyes are wrong—he knows that much, but the pornographic sighs and whimpers that trickle out of your tempting lips make this the equivalent of live porn.
But there was one small thing; Hoseok did, at least, have respect for you. He peels his eyes away once the image of your innocent smiles, your unabashed laughs and quite beautiful personality from the last couple of weeks infiltrate his headspace. You were eons different from your horrific father, and Hoseok often wondered how such an immoral man could have such an endearing daughter.
But even if you are, his task is to shoot you, and that's that. It should not concern him if you were a pure soul who didn't deserve this fate—he doesn't own the luxury to consider morals here.
With great, great hesitation, Hoseok slowly turns the knob of your balcony door, and with it unlocked, he promptly bursts into your room with unwavering resolve.
Fuck, your numb-brained, cunt burning between your legs as pleasure seeps into every crevice of your body. Your pussy lips are pulsing so harshly that it's consuming you from the inside. You expertly twiddle your fingers over your clit, hand vibrating your soaking wet pussy as you pine for your release.
It's approaching, it's white-hot in your core and you know you're about to snap—just right there—until you're suddenly interrupted by someone barging in through your balcony.
Your eyes widen within a matter of seconds.
Breath hitching, you witness Jung Hoseok, the man you met a couple weeks ago now in your room, with your hand lodged in your cunt. Hoseok stares at you, and you stare at him. You're surprised to find a gun in his hand, and it's pointing at you. You wonder what the fuck he's doing in your room, but it's rather the fact that he's caught you masturbating that colours you utterly shocked.
"M-Mr. Jung–?"
"What are you doing?"
His question throws you off, gazing at him with the most perplexed expression in the world. "I'm-I'm... what?'
"I asked, what are you doing?" Hoseok's voice becomes deeper in bass, his eyes piercing yours as he holds the gun with impenetrable stability.
