#a murder at the end of the world fanfic

[thatesqcrush]

Not A Bad Idea

Fandom: A Murder at the End of the World (Not Retreat)

Pairing: David Alvarez x reader

CW: smut, pure filth… language, p in v sex, an*l sex, cunnilingus, tit play, ass play, etc.

AN: @witches-unruly-heart requested David + honeymoon… enjoy!

“Please, accept this as a gift from us. It’s the least we can do. David, you are more than just our friend - you are family.”

David finished replaying the voicemail from his best friend, Andy Ronson. He looked over at you and raised his brows. “After all the shit Andy’s put me through, this is the least he can do?” He scoffed.

“Babe, I know Iceland isn’t exactly where we thought we’d honeymoon, but where else could we have it be where it’s just you and I minus some staff?”

You looked at David, your soon-to-be husband. “I’ve never been to Iceland anyway,” you continued.

You turned back and continued to chop the parsley and oregano in front of you.

David walked over to you, and wrapped his arms around you. He nuzzled your neck, his spicy cologne wafting over you. “I went a couple years back, for a retreat at Andy’s hotel. It was the most fucked up time… but that’s a story for another day.”

You hummed and nodded but continued to prep the herbs. “Besides,” David murmured, “we can take advantage of the hot spring right on the property.”

You dropped the knife to the side of the cutting board, before leaning your head back so it rested on David’s shoulder. David’s fingers trailed up along the sides of your body, before reaching around your ribcage to your tits, squeezing and kneading the fat of your flesh. The bristles of David’s beard tickled your skin and you let out a small moan as he sunk his teeth along a sensitive spot, before running his tongue over the tender, now darkened spot. David continued to play with your tits, feeling how hard your nipples were through the thin fabric of your sundress.

“I’ll never get dinner done if you keep that up,” you gently chided. You could feel David’s smirk along your skin. He let out a low chuckle before nipping at your ear.

“I’ve got my dinner right here,” David husked as he used the tips of his brogues to spread your legs. He sunk down to his knees and pushed the hemline of your dress upwards. He could see how your simple cotton panties were soaked with arousal. He took a deep inhalation of your scent before pushing your panties to the side. You cried out as he buried his tongue inside of your hot, needy cunt.

-

The wedding was later that summer, but business kept David busy soon after. You didn’t have to worry about work due to David’s abundant wealth.

When a small break in David’s calendar opened up along the Fourth of July weekend, it was perfect timing to go away. While certainly not the weather you were accustomed to in July, temperatures rose, leaving the days at a comfortable (on the cooler side) 52 degrees.

Andy’s hotel in Reykjavik was closed off to all but you and David and hotel staff. Anything you wanted or needed was just a push of a button or call away. The majority of the days and nights were spent fucking every which way. Towards the end of the week, the two of you decided to emerge from the cocoon of sheets to take some time to enjoy the hot spring. The hot spring soothed you both, the heat sinking into your bones.

You wrapped your arms around David, brushing your lips against his. The kiss is soft, unhurried. You press your body against his, your nipples diamond hard as are his. He pushes you back against the wall of the spring, the water sloshing with the movement. Steam emits from the spring, creating its own foggy cocoon. His cock is hard against you and you ache to feel him again, splitting you. David’s fingertips trail over the contours and planes of your body, re-exploring familiar areas and delighting in your heady response. You angle the nape of your neck, and David pushes your hair back as he presses open kisses along your wet skin. He dipped his head to mouth your pert tits, using his hands in tandem to tease you. You take one of his hands and push it between your bodies, stopping at your cunt. You sound more needy, desperate for more and David is quick to oblige. It’s just the two of you, so no bathing suits were needed. David’s fingers tease your inner thighs and then your outer lips before pushing two fingers inside of you. You let out a gasp which turned into a groan as he curled them, his fingers finding a steady rhythm. You drag his face back to yours and you kiss him. He swallows your moans with his mouth all the while promising all the filthy things he wanted to do with you.

You grasped his biceps tightly, your nails leaving crescent shaped marks along his skin. Your hips moved on their own accord, riding his fingers. You whined his name, further spurring the pace in which David fucked you with his fingers.

“That’s it pretty girl,” David husked. “Come for me.”

You bit David’s shoulder as you came hard, your cunt clenching and quivering around his long fingers. You hung onto his frame as you came down back to reality.

“Let’s take this inside,” David murmured as he kissed you once more.

—

You gripped the duvet as David took you from behind, his cock driving in and out of you at a brutally hard and fast pace. His fingers gripped your hips tightly, fingers digging into your flesh. You were certain you’d find marks on your hips after. Your ass was in the air, your torso bent all the way down. Your arousal, mixed with lube, dripped down your thighs as David took you balls deep.

“Ay, mi muñeca, mi tesoro, you’re so fucking tight. Taking me so well,” David grunted.

“Please! Give it to me!”

David leaned forward and grabbed you around your waist, pulling you flush against him. He stilled, leaving him deep in you, the connection never breaking. You whimpered and tried to move to get him to continue but he held you still.

“Stay right there muñeca. Just feel me,” David growled. His hand pawed at your tits, pulling and squeezing. “Tell me you love my big cock.”

You trembled, the feel of his cock splitting you was almost too much - where pleasure hovered around the line of pain. “You know I love your big cock, David.�� Your words were punctuated by pants.

His hand reached down your body to your clit. He rubbed in slow circles before laying a sharp slap on your clit. He repeated the actions, almost in a pattern - rub, rub, slap, rub, rub, slap.

“Tell me your mine, your body is for me alone.”

Tears pricked your eyes as you felt another stinging slap. “You have me David, you know you do.”

“Yeah?” David asked as he resumed with slow, short thrusts. “Your pretty pussy is mine?”

“Yes,” you whimpered. “Yours.”

He pushed you back down on your hands and knees, never once stopping his pace. You let out a gasp as you felt his fingers by your ass.

“And what about this pretty little hole here? You want my cock in your little asshole?”

You nodded, the material of the duvet rubbing against your cheek. “Please, need to feel you.” Your voice was slurred, drunk on pleasure - drunk on his cock.

David reached over and grabbed the bottle of lube. He poured an obscene amount of liquid between your ass cheeks, before sliding his thumb inside.

“Good girl,” he murmured. “Such a good girl.”

He’s possessive of you, obsessive almost. But he is always looking out for your pleasure just as much as his. Your adventurous spirit in bed makes him love you all the more.

He slid his thumb out after a bit, and then used some of the lube to coat himself. He took his cock into his hand and just above where he would position to slide into you, he began to push through your cheeks slowly.

“You tease,” you gasped, pushing back.

He pushed slowly, watching as the head of his cock slipped out on the other side of your ass cheeks, pushing through to your crack. He repeated his actions, his hands squeezing your cheeks tightly as he thrusted, pushing his cock through your flesh.

You whined and begged some more. David chuckled darkly.

“Okay, okay mi muñeca. I won’t make you wait anymore,” he tutted quietly.

His cock is well lubed so he pushes into your tight hole easily, until his hips are flushed against your ass. His eyes rolled back - his cock is being squeezed by your ass, deliciously tighter than your already tight pussy.

David made sure that you were okay - and you murmured that you are. The thrusting is slow, punctuated and when he’s certain you’re ready for more, he doesn’t hold back.

He held your hips and fucked up into your ass, watching how your ass rippled and clapped against him with every thrust. He smacked your ass, causing you to squeal with delight. David looks at the scene below him - your cheeks are red and hot and you look absolutely fucked out, hair a mess, your jaw slack, eyes shut. It’s then he noticed what you were doing.

“That’s it - play with that pretty pussy while I fuck you like this,” he all but growled. “Come for me - make a mess, princesa.”

“God your ass is so tight,” David continued. “Gonna milk all that cum out of me. Fucking squeezing me.”

His words sent you over the edge. You gasped, body tightening, little fireworks going off behind your closed eyes. He closed his eyes as he pushed deep, his cock throbbing as he filled your ass with spurts of hot, white creamy cum, panting against your back, before dropping a few kisses along your damp skin.

He thrusted shallowly, riding out his orgasm as he pressed more kisses to your skin before moving back and withdrawing. You felt boneless and you didn’t dare move. He spread your cheeks once more and his eyes watched as you pushed some of his spent out, dripping.

David flopped onto his back, his arms wrapping behind his head. You mustered strength to face him and as he gave you a satisfied smile, you gave him one in return.

Finally you settled over him, playing with his chest hair. You let out a small yawn. “Now can you agree that Iceland wasn’t such a bad idea?”

David hummed. “You know, Andy and Lee are probably keeping tabs on us through all their alternative intelligence system.”

You shrugged. “Probably. Hoped they enjoyed the show.”

FIN.

Tags: @beccabarba @witches-unruly-heart @adarafaelbarba @dreamlover31 @madpanda75 @mrsrafaelbarba @storiesofsvu @plaidbooks @detective-giggles - not sure who wants to be tagged for this character, so just msg me if you do (or don’t)!

[atanxdoesstuff]

nejisasu doodle! a universe where the hyuuga's slavery bs doesn't get ignored and Neji and Sasuke are better off for it (and also they're married)

[iamumbra195]

Home Is Where The Heart Is

(Spider-Verse Fanfic) “Miles?” Panic sparked in his chest at the sound of his mother’s voice and he shot up from the ground, moving to grab his jacket only to hesitate just inches away. Did he want to keep lying to them after this? Did he want to bear the loneliness of it once again, to hide that part of him from the very people who he’d fought to protect for days on end?

Or

Miles tells his parents about him being Spider-Man

In the aftermath of the battle against Spot, Miles had swung home on a broken leg, several fractured ribs, a concussion, and a sprained ankle. His body was bruised and aching all over but he couldn’t bear to stand in the wreckage that had been left behind in the wake of their fight.

Not when he knew his parents would be home waiting for him.

His phone had gone missing somewhere in the last two days but the hazy fog in his mind and the sharp jolt of pain that shot through his body with every movement was too overbearing to focus on anything besides swinging as safely as he could.

The sight of his window was like a breath of fresh air and he crawled through it without a care for subtlety. He slumped to the ground, his breath coming out ragged and faint as he lay motionless on the ground. The smell of home– his home– was soothing, wrapping around him like a warm blanket as his eyes burned with tears and the events of the last two days crashed down on him all at once.

He was so tired.

He had been chased and beaten down by hundreds of people– some of them being his friends, he had been stranded in another world with another version of himself, he had been fighting Spot on his own while the others handled Miguel, his dad and mom had almost died –

It was too much.

He wanted his dad, he wanted the sense of security that came with his hugs and the sweet nothings he would whisper when Miles was still young enough to go to his parent’s room when he had a nightmare.

And that was exactly what this was; a nightmare.

Only it was one he couldn’t wake up from.

His breath hitched and his eyes blurred with overflowing tears that he blinked away.

“Miles?”

Panic sparked in his chest at the sound of his mother’s voice and he shot up from the ground, moving to grab his jacket only to hesitate just inches away.

Did he want to keep lying to them after this? Did he want to bear the loneliness of it once again, to hide that part of him from the very people who he’d fought to protect for days on end?

The door creaked open before he could come to a decision and he shrouded himself from her view, watching as his mom’s face crumpled at the sight of his empty room before she closed her eyes (they were brownbrownbrown, not green, brown like his). His stomach churned with guilt at the sight of the pained expression on her face.

He’d never wanted to hurt her or his dad when he became Spider-Man but the longer time went on the more it seemed like this power– this responsibility was a curse he couldn’t get rid of. He wanted them to be proud of him, not to look at him and wonder where they had gone wrong, where they had failed him.

They always supported him, always tried to understand and maybe his dad was a hardass at times but he had been trying to understand Miles’ perspective ever since Uncle Aaron died. It was Miles’s own inability to tell them the truth that slowly caused the rift between them to grow, the fracture in their relationship that his father had fought so hard to mend.

It was his fault.

“Mami,” he called softly just as she was about to leave, slowly flickering into visibility when she wheeled around to face him, her face lighting up with relief.

“Miles! We were so worried – ”

Her voice broke off when she saw the condition he was in, her face falling in alarm– the torn suit, the uncomfortable way he hunched over himself, the dried blood staining his face.

“... Miles?” she whispered softly, her voice tinged with horror that forced him to tear his gaze away from hers, unwilling to see the look on her face as she drew closer hesitantly– warily, his mind whispered venomously.

His lips trembled as his eyes burned with tears once more, suddenly terrified of the vulnerability that came with exposing this part of his life to his mother. Something thick lodged itself in his throat the longer the silence stretched, a mix of fear and dread swirling in his chest as his mind raced through hundreds of scenarios.

What if she didn’t accept it, what if she shunned him, what if–

Warm hands encased his face, guiding his gaze up to meet his mother’s as she crouched next to him. There was no accusation in her eyes, only intense worry and fear– for him, he realized a moment too late. “What happened, mijo?” she asked carefully, like he was glass on the verge of shattering.

His face crumbled, lurching forward to hug her as tears slipped down his face. “I’m sorry, I didn’t– I’m sorry,” he sobbed into her shoulder, a mantra of broken apologies escaping his lips as he clung to her as if he were a child.

She didn’t hesitate to hug him back, soothing the edge of jagged, icy panic in his chest as her arms wrapped around him in a tight enough grip that it was reassuring, grounding as something brittle and frail crumbled inside him.

She smoothed a hand over the back of his neck, an act that was usually comforting but sent a shudder of pain down his spine thanks to the still-bleeding welts and she pulled away just a little concern etched into her face. Her eyes glistened with unshed tears and that same terrified look she’d had in her eyes before– terrified that she would lose her son, terrified because of Miles.

“Miles? Qué te pasa? Where are you hurt?” Mami asked frantically, pulling back further to examine him.

Miles wanted nothing more than to fall asleep and pretend that the last two days hadn’t happened, to bask in the unspoken promise of safety and security his parents’ presence exuded but he knew he had to do something about his injuries lest they heal wrong.

It had happened once when May was still around and she had broken his nose all over again before setting it right and sending him home.

He took a few deep breaths before wiping his tears away and collecting himself as best as he could with the frayed strings of his emotional stability, grimacing at the overpowering scent of his own body odor along with the sickeningly familiar metallic scent of blood.

Nausea bubbled in his stomach all of a sudden, his head swimming and pounding as black spots danced across his vision. He managed to spit out his injuries before what leftover adrenaline had been fueling him diminished and he faded out of consciousness

The next hour or so was a blur for the most part with Miles floating in and out of consciousness, catching little snippets of what was happening around him. He caught sight of his dad at one, a wave of relief loosening the anxious knot in his chest before he finally drifted to sleep.

Miles woke up slowly, blinking his eyes open before letting them fall shut again, content in the space between sleeping and waking as he buried his face back into the soft pillow bracketing his head. The blankets wrapped around him were heavy and warm, their weight comforting. He breathed softly, unwilling to move despite the fact that his mind was slowly beginning to become more aware.

He shifted a little, tugging his blankets tighter around himself and savoring the warmth. Most of the pain he’d been suffering through before had dulled to a faint throbbing ache that hardly even registered as he settled into a more comfortable position.

Blunt nails gently scratched his scalp and he relaxed into the sensation, eyes fluttering shut as he let out a content sigh. It took a few more seconds for him to reluctantly wonder where he was, blinking the sleep from his eyes as he turned his bleary gaze up to see his dad sitting by his head.

The events of last night suddenly came rushing back and Miles shot up from his bed– the living room couch– a knot of terror and panic forming in his chest.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa. Everything’s okay, Miles,” his dad reassured him hastily, hands firmly gripping his shoulders and forcing him to look at the steady, comforting expression on his dad’s face. “Everything’s okay.”

“Do you… know?” Miles croaked, terrified once more of the vulnerability that came with his parents knowing about that side of his life. He wanted to tell them but his dad’s disapproval often rang in his mind when he contemplated doing so.

Dad’s face did something weird, looking almost pained as he closed his eyes for a short few seconds. “Yes, your mother was…” he trailed off before shaking his head. “Yes, I know about you being Spider-Man.”

Hearing it said out loud felt like a dirty secret had been made public, something private and personal aired for all to see. Something to be ashamed of when it was usually something that brought him a sense of pride and accomplishment.

“I’m sorry,” was all he managed to say, a pathetic apology for countless things– Uncle Aaron’s death, the numerous sleepless nights his dad had endured thanks to his positive relationship with Spider-Man, the fight with Spot.

The look on his dad’s face softened into something weary as he scrubbed his face. “...I’ve watched you almost die so many times in over a year. I saw you fight Kingpin… Miles, you could’ve died so many times yesterday and I wouldn’t have had any idea,” he said, his voice strangled like he was going to cry.

“Dad, I wasn’t… I was fine,” he tried to reassure, the defense lame to his own ears.

Dad bristled and Miles’s shoulders curled up to his ears when he turned to him with an incredulous expression on his face. “ Fine? That’s what you call fine?” he hissed.

“Jeff,” his mom warned as she stepped into the room, looking just as exhausted as his dad, who deflated, anger bleeding away just as quickly as it had come.

“Sorry. This is a lot. This…” Dad trailed off without finishing his sentence.

Miles knew he needed to explain, needed to say something so the words that spilled from his mouth were unscripted, nothing like the scenarios he had built in his mind because this wasn’t the way he wanted them to find out.

“I– I’m sorry, I didn’t want to lie to you but I didn’t know what else to do and I was scared you wouldn’t– I didn’t know what else to do. After Uncle Aaron–”

Dad sucked in a sharp breath, disbelief and horror etched into his face. “You were there. In the alley with Aaron last year, you were that Spider-Man– Miles, I pointed my gun at you! I could’ve hurt my own–”

Now both his parents looked terrible, exhausted and scared all because of him.

“It’s not your fault, Dad,” Miles whispered, desperate to reassure his father but terrified of their rejection all the same.

He took a deep breath, trying to steady himself so he could properly explain without tripping over his words. Somehow telling his parents the truth seemed more daunting than anything he’d ever done, the prospect of their rejection hanging over his head like a herald of bad news.

The nightmares of their disapproval, of being sneered at or thrown in jail or out of the house even though he knew they would never do that haunted him day and night, his lies heavy on his tongue but the icy rush of fear that shot through his body was terrible in comparison.

“I wanted to tell you for so long– I knew I needed to tell you after everything with Spot. But there were people like me, other spider-people so I thought that I had people in my corner, that I would be okay but they didn’t– they didn’t listen to me. You were right, Mom, they didn’t– I didn’t belong there, they didn’t accept me. I broke my promise, I know but I… I know I should’ve told you and I was trying to… it was just complicated. I was scared you’d make me give up Spider-Man, that you wouldn’t… love me the same.”

His last few words were said in a barely audible whisper but they rang in the silence following his explanation, a weight falling off his shoulders when they finally slipped from his mouth before it was quickly replaced with heavy dread.

His gaze flitted between his mother’s crestfallen expression, like he had broken her heart with how much he doubted their love for him, and his dad… Dad looked the same way he had the day of Uncle Aaron’s funeral, conflicted and heartbroken all at once, his eyebrows drawn into a soft frown that made it look like he was going to cry.

Neither of them said anything, the silence growing heavier with every soft tick of the clock fixed on the wall and Miles barely managed to refrain from fidgeting, limiting himself to picking at the skin around his nails.

“Oh, Miles,” his mom said softly, pain clear in her eyes as she drew closer, cupping his face carefully like he was something fragile, something precious. “We love you, we’ll always love you no matter what. Don’t ever doubt that. As much as I hate the idea of you putting yourself in danger, you came home and that’s what matters most. I’m sorry we made you feel like you couldn’t trust us.”

Tears burned in his eyes for what felt like the millionth time and he blinked them away, shaking his head a little. “It’s not your fault… I trust you, I just… I didn’t want to hurt you. Me being Spider-Man almost got you killed last night.”

“No,” Dad denied fiercely and Miles’s eyebrows furrowed in confusion. “I don’t understand much of what was going on with you and those other… Spider-people but we chose to go out last night because it was our job. Our responsibility.”

Oh, how Miles hated that word.

Sometimes he wished his dad hadn't picked a career that put him in the direct line of fire of multiple villains, armed with nothing but a gun and his face bared for everyone to see.

“Spot attacked because of me, he wanted to… he said he wanted to take everything away from me, that he was going to destroy everything. If I had just–”

“Miles, you can’t dwell on the what-ifs. You did the best that you could and you stopped him,” his dad interrupted, reaching out and squeezing his shoulder gently. “I’m proud of you, Miles.”

The last of the tension in Miles’ body bled away with that admission and he threw himself at his dad, wrapping his arms around the man and hugging him as hard as he could without hurting him.

Dad let out a quiet oof, before hugging Miles back just as fiercely and pressing a kiss to the top of his head. He melted into the steady security that came with being in his dad’s arms, warmth curling in his chest at his dad’s acceptance.

“You know this doesn’t mean I’m letting you off the hook?”

“Dad,” Miles huffed.

Mami laughed quietly as she joined the hug, her arm resting over his shoulders and her hand rubbing absent circles on his bicep.

“Spider-Man or not, I’m gonna be on your ass from now on and you better check in with me and your mother every time you go out, you got that?”

Miles flushed at the deliberate callback to the little remark he’d made during his conversation with his dad as Spider-Man, shrinking a bit in embarrassment before fully processing what his dad said and what?

He gaped at his dad, pulling away just enough to see his face and attempt to detect any deception in his eyes.

“You mean… you’re not going to make me stop? You’re okay with me being Spider-Man?”

“We wanted to,” Mami said softly and Miles’ stomach sank a little bit. “We’re proud of all the good you’ve done but we’d never be okay with the idea of you putting yourself in harm’s way. We’ve seen you pick up cats from trees, we’ve seen you save people from fires and it will always scare me to see you jump off buildings with nothing but a web to hold you. But we know you, we know you won’t stop even if we try to tell you to stay put. I’d rather be able to watch over you than have you running around behind my back.”

A part of him wanted to protest and say that he wouldn’t completely disregard their words but he knew he wouldn’t be able to sit still while others were getting hurt. For all that his father ranted about Spider-Man and how much he disliked him, the ideals Spider-Man upheld and the ideals he’d instilled in Miles were one and the same.

He had the power to fight back and do his part, how could he possibly hide in his home, pretending that he couldn’t make a difference when he could?

He hugged both his parents, squishing them all into one tightly knit embrace.

“Okay, I gotta ask. Do the webs come out of you or–”

“Dad, Miles groaned, an exasperated grin pulling at his lips with the familiar question.

“What? My son is Spider-Man, I think I have the right to ask that now.”

Maybe Miles had failed to fulfill his promise to his mom but he would always, always come back home.

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

I love the morales family with my whole heart

I rewatched some parts of the movie to write this and Rio's speech is so cute, she cares about Miles so much that it made we wanna cry I wanted to write Jeff as like a sturdy presence in Miles' life because no matter how much they argue, his dad is always there when he needs it most but I also wanted to write his foot-in-mouth syndrome so we got this as a result Plus, the symbolism and double meaning with Rio's speech and Miles coming home and not getting lost, and then he tried to do that at the end of the movie but got stranded on E-42- ugh, Miles and his family mean so much to me, I have so many feeling about them

Check out my Ao3 for my other fics: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Umbra195/pseuds/Umbra195

[hexiewrites]

carve your name into my chest: chapter 7

(read it on ao3!)

with all love to @stevecarrington & @maxineholtzmann!!

posting schedule here

[explicit | tw for slurs and internalized homophobia]

chapter seven: by your side

The world is watching as first openly gay NHL Player, Eddie Munson, squares up for the All-Stars game this evening. And the question on everyone’s minds: will being on the same team finally end the rivalry between Munson and Canadiens goalie Harrington, or are we in for blood on the ice? Tune in to NBC tonight to find out!

Practice was fine.

Like, shockingly fine.

Eddie knew most of the players on his All-Stars team, which was nice. They’ve got him and Archie, from the Bruins, Steve and Jonathan (who almost everyone called Shoots, even though he didn’t tend to do a lot of shooting) from the Habs, a second goalie with the unfortunate nickname Gorg from the Senators, and then a smattering of other forwards and defensemen from Florida, Detroit, and Buffalo. 

Eddie got a good line, with Archie skating as his fellow forward and Jonathan sticking more to defense. Breakaways were a real worry in three on three, and Steve’s job would be hard enough in net without someone strong enough to cover for him. Besides, Eddie and Archie knew each other well, and with Eddie’s speed and Archie’s somehow shocking ability to almost always be in the right place, they were in pretty good shape.

Steve looked… well.

He was jittery, more nervous than Eddie had ever seen him. Every time someone clapped a hand on his back he jolted, and his eyes kept flicking over to Eddie again and again, whenever no one else was looking.

(keep reading on ao3!)

[bookgeekgrrl]

My media this week (28 Apr - 4 May 2024)

📚 STUFF I READ 📚

😍 Bound by Contract (BootsnBlossoms & Kryptaria) - 135K, 00Q00 - pt 2 of The Marketplace AU with Bond & Q figuring out how their relationship works for them and how Alec fits all while doing semi-canonical spy shit. Such a huge fan of this series.

😍 Out of the Dead Lands (orphan_account) - "Someone is building machines that look and act like people. Meanwhile, the Winter Soldier tries to be Bucky Barnes." - 62K, stucky, very angsty with a happy ending, robots, identity porn (of a sort) - SO GOOD! (thank you, unknown author, for orphaning your work instead of deleting it.)

💖💖 +207K of shorter fic so shout out to these I really loved 💖💖

February (xoxobuckybarnes) - MCU: stucky, 5K - Steve and Bucky celebrate Valentine's Day in Wakanda

if the bad times are coming let 'em come (suzukiblu) - MCU: shrinkyclinks, 9K - accidental interdimensional swap puts still recovering WS into 1940s with pre-serum Steve

Maybe Our Kind Don't Fit Round Here (Rainne) - MCU: shrunkyclunks, 5K - companion fic to above - 1940s pre-war Bucky with modern Steve

📺 STUFF I WATCHED 📺

Um, Actually - s1, e21-32

Royal Pains - s8, e1-8

Ghosts (US) - s3, e10

The Brokenwood Mysteries - s10, e1

D20: Fantasy High: Junior Year - "The Name" (s21, e17)

D20: Adventuring Party - "Five Years in the Making" (s16, e17)

Dead Boy Detectives - s1, e4-8

🎧 PODCASTS 🎧

⭐ Lost Notes - S1 Ep. 1: Louie Louie: The Strange Journey of the Dirtiest Song Never Written

Dinner’s on Me - Niecy Nash-Betts

Under the Influence - Ham on Wry: Sandwich Board Advertising

Under the Influence - Cars Are The Stars: Automobile Brands in Hollywood

⭐ Lost Notes - The True Story of ‘Tainted Love’

Worlds Beyond Number: Fireside - [One Shot] SPACE CRAM: Reasonable Hoop Dreams - "The Menlo County Summer League 3X3"

Pop Culture Happy Hour - Dead Boy Detectives

Homophilia - LOL LOL OMG LOL with Steve Yockey

WikiHole - Virginia (with Lauren Lapkus, Naomi Ekperigin and Mary Holland)

Switched on Pop - Best of 2024 so far: hip hop feuds, Hozier’s pop surprise and espresso shots

Pop Culture Happy Hour - Summer Guide

The Atlas Obscura Podcast - Old Cahawba

Wild Card - Jenny Slate turns fear inside out

It's Been a Minute - How Chicago's Black press shaped America

Consider This - Judi Dench reflects on a career built around Shakespeare

Shedunnit - The Murder on the Links

Vibe Check - Every Girl Has A Good Gay

⭐ 99% Invisible #580 - Mr Yuk

Today, Explained - One Flu Over The Cowcow’s Nest

The Atlas Obscura Podcast - Checking Into Hotel Imperial with Deborah Cohen

Pop Culture Happy Hour - The Idea Of You

Throughline - The 4th Amendment: Search and Seizure

⭐ If Books Could Kill - "Going Infinite": Michael Lewis Takes On Sam Bankman-Fried

⭐ You Are Good - My Own Private Idaho w. Cecil Baldwin

Dear Prudence - My Brother Is a Budding Alex Jones. Help!

⭐ Endless Thread - Episodes We Love: Doom Jelly

Pop Culture Happy Hour - The Fall Guy And What's Making Us Happy

Re: Dracula - May 3: Your Friend, Dracula

It's Been a Minute - An inside look at the campus protests; plus, Israel at Eurovision

Armchair Expert - Chris Pine

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Today, Explained - The tourist tax

Welcome to Night Vale #247 - Rerun

🎶 MUSIC ���

The Who

Dua Lipa

Back to the Yacht

Endless R&B Throwbacks

Hozier

[ncstalgicc]

Hi, Welcome!

Hey guys welcome to my fanfic blog :] You can call me Nostalgic or Stal. I completely forgot about this account lol and was really busy irl.

The fanfics will mostly be for gender-neutral or male readers as I am a guy but if it is highly requested I may write a female reader one. At this point in time I think I will mostly write in 2nd person perspective but may write in third with an oc or so. Still figuring it all out.

Here are some fandoms I will be writing for:

COD MW2

Twilight

TWD(The Walking Dead) Up to season 3

Shadow Hunters (the show)

Baldurs Gate 3

You

A Murder at the end of the world

V for Vendetta

Scream (1st movie)

Deadpool

The witcher

The Boy

There might be more added to the list over time but this is all I got for now

If I listed all the characters I'd write for I feel the post would be too long but feel free to ask in requests!

A bit about me:

I've been writing on and off since I was 11 but honestly haven't written in a long time apart from school essays. I'm queer and am attracted to all genders so a lot of the characters may be queer. I read mostly fantasy, sci-fi, romance and horror books. I also try to draw and paint occasionally and do random crafts. Hope you feel welcome here and find something you like :)

This is a safe space and anyone is welcome here!

[ja3yun]

https://survive | S.JY

serial killer!jaeyun x fem!reader warnings: please read them and do not engage if you are uncomfy!! smut (mdni), gore, murder, character death, lots of descriptions of saw like traps (mutilation and body gore), blood (ofc), guns, blackmail, unprotected sex, gunplay, petnames (baby), multiple orgasms, weirdly fluffy at the end, anything else lmk bc i guarantee i've missed smthn. w.c: 33.7k synopsis: you're trapped in a room with four other people, and there is only one guarenteed survivor. will it be you? ft. characters: jaehyun (nct), sunoo (en-), heeseung (en-), dayoung (wjsn). a/n: hi! welcome to my halloween fic that i have scrapped and rewritten 4 times lmaoo. please read the warnings and do not engage with this post if any of the above makes you uncomfy, pls put your comfort first!! i hate how this turned out and i love it all the same. it is not my usual style since i write fluffy fanfics about soulmates at least 80% of the time so if it's shit, i am so sorry! please enjoy if you do decide to read, and i hope your fave survives!

Your eyes flutter open slowly and the moment they do, a stabbing pain splits through your skull, sending your senses reeling. The world around you feels heavy, like a storm just crashed through your body and jumbled your insides. Your breath catches in your throat as you feel a strange, warm trickling sensation on your face.

Instinctively, you lift a trembling hand to your forehead, fingers brushing against a slick wetness and the coppery tang of blood hangs in the air. When you pull your hand away, the sight of thick crimson streaks running across your palm makes your stomach churn, but you feel the need to explore the source, touching the tender gash on your scalp.

“Help! We’re trapped in here!” A girl’s voice, high-pitched and filled with terror and desperation rings through the chaos. Her words stab through your clouded mind, pushing you to focus and look beyond the pain.

You force yourself to take in your surroundings. The floor beneath you is cold, hard concrete that chills your skin through your clothes. The room is wide, but the walls stretch up tall, covered in grimy, cracked tiles. Red stains mar the surfaces, some splattered haphazardly across the tiles, others pooled and dried in dark streaks. It's everywhere, like the aftermath of something disastrous.

Your gaze lifts, drawn upwards towards the ceiling. Industrial scaffolding crisscrosses high above, its rusted metal beams looming. The sight sparks a flicker of recognition - a warehouse? A factory? The place feels abandoned, yet recent, like it’s still haunted by the last horror that just unfolded.

The girl’s voice echoes again, frantic, tearing your thoughts back to the present.

Blinking hard, you try to clear the dizziness that still lingers, your breath shaky as you sit up, the pounding in your head dulls a little, but the fear remains. 

Five people, including you, are in the room, all coming to grips with the nightmare you’ve all woken up in. Each person reacts differently, the tension thickening with every breath and realisation of the surroundings.

To your right, there’s a boy who looks barely out of his teens, maybe 20, 21. His blonde hair is tousled, layers falling over a set of delicate, pretty features. His dark eyes are wide as he tries to make sense of it all but failing to grasp the reality of the situation. He wears a bright, eye-catching fit - a pink hoodie with characters on it…Sanrio maybe? It’s hard to tell from the glaze in your eye. But either way, he looks so out of place against the grim backdrop. His hands are shaking slightly as they rest on his knees, his innocence clashing with the horror around him.

Opposite him stands another man, older by a few years, maybe mid-twenties, with a hardened expression that tells a different story. His dark eyes are calculating, his face carved with indifference, a nonchalant coldness to his posture. He’s dressed simply in a faded black shirt and worn jeans, but there’s something sharp about him, as though he’s accustomed to violence or pain. Unlike the boy, this man seems almost detached, unaffected by it all. 

Weird…

On the far side of the room is the girl who brought you to attention, pulling you from your unconscious state. She’s banging on the large metal door, her fists bruised and bloodied from her frantic efforts. Her voice trembles as she yells, but now she turns around, her brown eyes wide with fear. Her long, tangled hair hangs around her face, and she’s covered in dirt and what looks like splashes of dried blood on her clothes - a simple white shirt and jeans that are torn at the knees.

One more boy sits close to you, clearly still feeling the effects of whatever beating he endured. His head is placed firmly in his hands as he tries to bring himself around. From what you can see, he’s around ages with you, youthful and pretty, with a sharp jawline and pretty lips. His clothes are ripped, probably struggling with whoever put him here.

The fifth person is you, but the growing dread makes you feel distant from your own body. You clear your throat, the air dry and sharp, your voice hoarse as it escapes. "W-what’s going on?" you ask, timidly, the words coming out cracked and raspy.

“We’re in a death box by the looks of it,” the older man says, his voice calm. 

“What do you mean?” The colourful boy asks, his voice shaky, eyes darting around the room, looking for answers. He’s so desperate he looks to the older man hoping for an explanation or reassurance, but there’s none to be found in those dark eyes.

“I mean, look around,” the man continues, standing slowly, unfolding his tall frame. “There’s blood and piss everywhere. You can literally still smell death in the room.” He says it without flinching, his eyes scanning the bloodstained walls with no reaction, like the gore is no more unsettling than a stain he can easily get out with some Vanish.

“And how would you know what death smells like, huh?” the girl snaps, spinning away from the door with her eyes narrowing in suspicion. She’s still trembling, but now her fear has turned into a raging accusation, her fists clenched at her sides. “Are you the one that put us here?”

The bright boy, caught between the man’s cold indifference and the girl’s rising panic, shifts uncomfortably, his bright eyes flickering from one person to the next. You can feel his uncertainty, his confusion, and deep down, you share it.

The man, however, remains unbothered. He stares at the girl with a bored expression, clearly not agreeing with her that the accusation requires a response. There’s not a lot to read on his face; you can’t work out if the girl has clocked him perfectly or if she’s clutching at straws to find reasoning.

"Answer me!" she demands, her voice trembling with fury. "Are you the one that did this to us?"

“You think I put us all in here?” he replies, his tone dripping with disinterest, the accusation itself beneath him. “If I had, do you really think I’d be stuck in this shithole, bruised and battered, and having to deal with you?”

The girl bristles, taking another step towards him, a vein slowly making its presence known on her forehead. "You’re too calm-"

"And you're too loud," he cuts her off and his voice is sharp now, clearly over her dramatics. "Screaming at me isn’t going to open that fucking door."

Tension rises, the air thick with suspicion and apprehension. The boy with the blonde hair flinches at the harshness in the older man, not accustomed to raised voices. "Stop it," he pleads, his voice soft, wavering, oh so gentle. "We shouldn’t fight. We need to figure out what’s happening..."

"Figure out what?" the girl snaps, turning her frustration toward him. "We’re trapped in here like animals!"

Before anyone else can respond, a low mechanical hum interrupts the argument. You glance around, searching for the source, and then, without warning, the tile wall opposite you flickers to life. Everyone falls silent, the room filling with the eerie glow of the screen.

The image shows a boy in his early twenties standing before the camera. His face is smooth and untroubled, with dark brown hair, thick-rimmed glasses that frame his face perfectly, and a pretty nose to match. There’s no mask, no attempt to hide his identity, and his eyes twinkle with an unsettling glee, a bright grin stretching across his lips, completely at odds with the horror of the room. 

"Hi!" he chirps, waving at the camera. “You’re probably a little confused, but you shouldn’t be. You all asked to be here." His voice is light and playful. To be fair, it matches his features, but you already know that what he presents isn’t the case.

"Asked to be here?" the younger boy mutters in an innocent pout, resembling a cute penguin.

The boy on the screen just continues smiling, oblivious or indifferent to the growing dread in your hearts. "Dayoung, Jaehyun, Sunoo, Heeseung and Y/N," he says, rattling off your names like he’s reading from a class roll, and he lets each name hang in the air for a moment, allowing you all to figure out who is who by the reactions. "You all answered my ad, y’know, the ones on the dark web?"

The blonde boy - Sunoo - gasps softly, his eyes wide with sudden recognition. The others exchange uneasy glances, knowing they can’t deny his claims. The older man  - Jaehyun - folds his arms and glares at the screen with narrowed eyes, his expression hard and calculating.

"You all wanted me to save you, to help you out," the boy on the screen continues, waving his hand around as though explaining something trivial, like when you have to explain a new TikTok trend or why Tesco is the best supermarket in the UK. "Or rather…to help me out."

Dayoung - you presume, being the only other girl in the room - asks, her voice low and filled with bitterness. "What the hell is he talking about?"

Your kidnapper leans in closer to the camera, his grin never faltering. “I asked for a helper. Someone who wouldn’t mind getting their hands dirty. And you guys were the most promising ones who responded.”

Your stomach drops as the full meaning of his words begins to settle. This isn’t a random abduction. You willingly put yourself here.

“I know what you’re thinking,” the boy chuckles softly. “You’re thinking, ‘What did I get myself into?’ Well, let me tell you - you’re in for some fun.” The animation in his body is cartoon-like, soft and playful. He’s finding pure, unfiltered joy in whatever this is, and you don’t know whether he is reading the room wrong or simply fucking psychotic.

"No...I didn’t...I never agreed to this..." Sunoo mutters, his voice shaking.

On the other hand, Dayoung is shaking with anger once again, her face turning red. "This is a sick joke!"

But the boy on the screen doesn’t seem to care about the protests. He continues on, breezily. “You see...I have a bit of a hobby.” His grin widens, and there’s a disturbing glint in his eyes. “I like to murder people. But recently, it’s been getting...a little overwhelming. Too many bodies, too much cleanup. My hands can only do so much, y’know?” He sighs in inconvenience, clearly all the murdering is taking its toll on the boy.

The brooding older man’s jaw tightens, his eyes dark as the boy continues his twisted monologue - you can’t help but eye the man suspiciously, suddenly curious as to why he is here. 

“I mean, don’t get me wrong, it’s fun and all,” the boy says with a shrug, “but even I can’t do it all by myself. So I figured - why not get some help? That’s where you come in.” He gestures toward the camera, shooting comical finger guns at you all, but absolutely nothing is funny.

“No…no, this isn’t happening,” Dayoung steps back defiantly, her body subconsciously seeking space from the boy despite his absence in the room. You can tell that she never in a million years thought that this was what she was offering help for. 

In her case, all she wanted was some cash, a new job and get out of her small town. Someone suggested that the dark web is where all the highest-paying jobs are, they aren’t pretty jobs, but they are jobs. She just never expected this to happen; call it naivety. Could she clean up the blood and ask no questions? For sure. Can she help a murderer commit the crimes? Not so sure.

The murderer on the screen lets out a soft laugh, mocking. “Oh, but it is. You all wanted an escape, right? A way out of whatever hell your life was? Well, this is it. I’m giving you a purpose. A new path. You’re here to help me with my work.”

The room is dead silent now, the weight of his words sinking in like a stone. The realisation hits everyone at once: you didn’t stumble into this nightmare. You walked right into it. 

The boy claps his hands together, his grin acting as his most prominent feature, looking like he is about to unlease the punchline to a joke only he finds funny. And to be fair, he is. “Alright, now that we’re all caught up - let’s talk about what happens next.”

You can feel the weight of his words crushing you like a lead blanket. Your heartbeat hammers in your chest, each thud reverberating in your ears as frisson slowly wraps its icy fingers around your throat. The others are still frozen, processing the horrifying reality of the situation. You can see it in their eyes - the slow dawning of horror.

Jaehyun is still standing stoically in the corner, his cold facade cracking ever so slightly. His dark eyes flicker toward the others, calculating, assessing. 

Sunoo, is shaking, his face drained of colour. He’s clutching his knees, eyes wide, breath coming in shallow gasps. He looks so young, so fragile; he’s barely holding it together.

Dayoung’s lips tremble, but her eyes burn with an inner fire, a desperation to escape this madness, to fight her way out if she has to. But there’s a fear in her, too - a deep, raw terror that seeps into the edges of her defiance.

The boy next to you, Heeseung, just has his head down, not looking up to even peep at what his new potential boss could look like. He’s quiet, distant, and not mentally in the room with you all even if he is physically. 

“I know, I know,” the kidnapper says, as if reading your thoughts. “You’re thinking, ‘This can’t be real, right? There’s no way this psycho actually expects us to help him.’” He chuckles, a soft, almost boyish sound, but there’s an edge of malice behind it. You wonder how many victims heard that laugh as the last noise before they were brutally murdered. “But here’s the thing - it’s very real. And I’m about to give you the chance of a lifetime.”

Jaehyun narrows his eyes, his arms crossed, watching the boy on the screen with a calculating expression. “What kind of chance?” he asks, his voice low and dangerous.

The boy’s smile widens, his eyes gleaming with excitement. “Glad you asked!” He stands up straighter, chest protruding proudly. “See, you’re all here because you needed a way out of your pathetic lives. Don’t try to deny it - you wouldn’t have answered my ad if you didn’t. Each of you has your own personal hell, something that you want to escape or gain. And that’s what I’m offering you - a way out. A new life.”

You swallow hard, the room feeling smaller, the air tighter. His words stir something in you, a dark truth you don’t want to acknowledge. You were desperate, looking for something…that much is true.

“But,” the boy continues, his voice dropping to a soft, almost conspiratorial whisper, “I don’t just let anyone into my little...operation. No, no. You have to earn your place.”

The atmosphere in the room shifts, a heavy tension filling the space. No one speaks, the silence punctuated only by the sound of your racing hearts and the quiet hum of the projection.

“So here’s how it works,” the boy says, pacing in front of the camera, gesturing animatedly with his hands. “There are a series of tests in place. You can take a turn each, I don’t care what order, that’s up to you guys. You just need to survive. Survive the test, and you win. Fail, and…” he whistles, letting your imaginations run with conclusions of your own, his smile turning into something darker. “Well, you don’t want to fail.”

Dayoung steps forward, her face twisted in disbelief. “You want us to play some sick game for you? Is that it?” Her voice trembles, the earlier bravado she showcased cracking under the weight of the horror she’s facing. And who can blame her?

The boy tilts his head, a patronising expression plastered on his face. “It’s not a game,” he says softly, almost sweetly. “It’s a job interview. If you pass, you get to work for me. You get to leave behind whatever miserable life you were living before. Isn’t that what you want?”

Sunoo shakes his head, his voice weak, barely a whisper. “I didn’t want this...I didn’t know...”

“Oh, but you did know, Sunoo. You knew something dark was waiting on the other side of that ad. But you still clicked, didn’t you?” His tone is mocking, almost sing-song. “You all did. If you guys wanted a normal job, you would have gone on Indeed, not the dark web.”

No one moves, no one breathes. It’s hard to grasp that the lunatic is actually right, and it’s the bitterest pill to swallow.

“This is insane,” Dayoung whispers in disbelief. Sunoo’s wide eyes fill with tears, his hands shaking uncontrollably. Heeseung, a quiet figure at the back of the room until now, looks away, his face pale, as if retreating inward, trying to block out the horror unfolding around him. Jaehyun stands still, his eyes narrowing as though calculating his next move. But even he, with his calm facade, looks shaken.

The boy on the screen throws his head back and laughs, the sound bright and carefree yet insanely manic. It echoes unnervingly in the cold, bloodstained room, making the hairs on the back of your neck stand on end. His smile stretches wider, his eyes twinkling with that same psychotic glee.

"Don’t look so dramatic about it!" he says, waving a dismissive hand at the camera. "It’s fun, I promise." No one dares speak, as if the wrong word will trigger whatever madness this boy has planned for you. The boy in the video sighs. "Now, I would get out of your scared little minds and focus if I were you. Seriously, you’re all acting like this is the worst thing in the world." He tilts his head, his smile softening, though it’s far from comforting. "It’s not. I’m giving you a chance. This could be the best thing that ever happens to you."

He pauses, letting the eerie silence settle in. You can hear the sound of your own shallow breaths, the frantic beat of your heart pounding in your ears. His feigned innocent smile never falters even within the quiet. 

Dayoung steps forward, her voice filled with fury. “You’re insane. We never wanted this!” One thing you’re learning about Dayoung in this predicament; she’s loud and unabashedly, stupidly brave

The boy just chuckles again, his laugh light and almost boyish, which only makes it more unnerving. "Oh, you’ll see soon enough how much you’ll want this. But if I were you, I’d stop worrying so much about me and focus on yourselves."

The air feels heavier now, as though the walls themselves are caving inward. You feel a growing…’something’ in your gut, a sinking realisation that this isn’t just a game. This is a dream you might not wake from. 

Clapping his hands together again, your captor startles you from your thoughts. “Now, let’s get to the fun part!” His energy is high, you can see how his face is lit up with glee, a clear juxtaposition to the rest of you. "The first test is coming up."

Your blood runs cold. "Test?" you murmur under your breath, feeling the weight of the word crash over you like a tidal wave.

The boy’s smile widens as he sees your reaction. “That’s right. The first of many. But don’t worry! Like I said, it’s fun. Just think of it as...an initiation. Survive this, and you’re one step closer to working with me. One step closer to getting out of this room, out of whatever sad little life you were living before.”

Jaehyun’s fists clench at his sides, his knuckles white as the pretty murderer’s words strike a nerve in his chest, but his face remains a mask of control. "What’s the test?" he asks through gritted teeth.

 “You’ll find out soon enough.” His eyes gleam with twisted excitement. "I’m Jaeyun by the way. It’s nice to properly meet you all! Good luck with the interview; I’m rooting for you to survive.”

The video flickers and shuts off, the tiled wall goes back to a blank surface and the humming of the projector stops, leaving behind only the sound of your ragged breathing, the quiet gasps of terror from the others.

The shock of Jaeyun’s words hangs in the air, thick and oppressive. Sunoo lets out a shaky sob, covering his face with his hands, his body trembling. Dayoung is pacing now, her eyes darting toward the door, fists still clenched as if ready to punch her way out.

Jaehyun steps forward, his expression hard, a calculating look in his eyes. “He’s playing with us,” he mutters, his voice low but filled with barely restrained fury. “We need to be ready.”

“Ready for what?” Dayoung snaps, her voice breaking. “What the hell are we supposed to do?”

No one has an answer. The silence stretches until you feel like the room is turning into that one hallway in willy wonka. Your heart pounds, fear gnawing at the edges of your sanity. The test is coming. The only question is, will you survive?

_____

Not one of you has uttered a word in the past 30 minutes, each brain focusing on its own fears. The room has fallen into a suffocating silence, the only sound breaking through is Sunoo's quiet, shaky sobs. His soft cries echo in the dim space, bouncing off the walls, making the stillness feel even more unbearable. His breath hitches every now and then, little gasps of panic, his shoulders quivering as he tried, and failed, to keep it together. His bright hoodie, once a symbol of his sunny disposition, now seems like a cruel joke, a beacon of misplaced hope in the grim reality.

You make your way over to him, the concrete floor cold beneath your feet giving you a subtle chill biting at your skin. Kneeling down beside him, you gently place a hand on his back, feeling the tremor of fear that possesses his body. You have no words to offer; nothing you could say would fix this. Instead,you flash him a small, strained smile, trying to convey comfort, even if you don’t believe it yourself. 

With your thumb, you gently wipe away the tears collecting under his eyes but the action feels hollow, not filled with the intent you need it to. You know it won’t stop his panic, but in a place as shit as this, sometimes just knowing someone’s there is enough.

Sunoo sniffles, looking up at you with wide, terrified eyes. His lips quiver, but he manages a weak nod, the faintest flicker of relief crossing his face. All he needs to feel like he isn’t alone in this hell.

Meanwhile, Heeseung is finally up, pacing the room. His eyes dart around, taking in every corner, every inch of the walls, looking for something, anything, that might be an escape. His movements are stiff, purposeful, his mind clearly racing. 

He didn’t think this was real when he applied. He’s navigated the dark web more times than he could count, seen the fake ads, the scams. Every twisted job post was always a hoax, a trap set by someone looking to get a rise out of thrill-seekers. But this…This wasn’t some elaborate prank. This was real. And as much as he tries to keep a cool head, he isn’t truly prepared for any of this. Who actually would be?

Suddenly, a loud metallic creak cuts through the silence, making everyone flinch. You all turn as a hatch in the wall slowly slides open, the rusted metal scraping against the frame causing the irritating grating in your ears. A cardboard box is thrown through the abyss, it’s small but deliberate, a grotesque gift dropped at your feet. You’ve always liked presents, this one…maybe not so much.

Jaehyun steps forward first, his movements deliberate yet measured, his eyes narrowing as he approaches the suspicious box. With unnerved hands, he opens it despite Dayoung’s cries to leave it alone. Once he rips the flaps open, his face flashes with confusion. 

“It’s a collar,” he informs, his voice carrying no emotion as he peers inside, leaning over just enough to pull the object out.

“Like a dog collar?” Dayoung asks tentatively. Her earlier fear has settled into cautious curiosity.

“More like a Battle Royale collar,” you say quietly, stepping up beside Jaehyun. The moment you see it in his hand, your stomach leaps. The worn leather strap is attached to a thick, cold-looking metal device with intricate wiring running along the surface. A faint red light flickers within the contraption. The collar isn’t for show and certainly won't appear on the next Prada F/W season - it’s much more dangerous than a fashion statement.

Your mind races back to all the horror movies you’ve devoured over the years - Saw, Hostel, Texas Chainsaw Massacre. Even the obscure British slashers which somehow found purchase on Amazon Prime that for some reason feature Danielle Scott. You remember the collar from the Japanese cult classic - the way it sat ominously around the necks of the students, a grim countdown ticking away until their last moments. The sight of it here, in Jaehyun’s hands, sends a shiver down your spine, making the hairs on your arms stand on end, a thrill encroached in your blood.

Sunoo inches closer behind you, his footsteps tentative and quiet, afraid to make a sound. His wide, innocent eyes are filled with disbelief, his lips quivering as he stares at the collar in Jaehyun’s hand. He never planned on this being his fate. His new uni friends had dared him to answer an ad which screamed dodgy, saying he lived too cautiously, that he was too safe, too nice. They had called him boring, the good boy, the one who never stepped out of line. They wanted to see if he could do something reckless for once. So he clicked on the ad. This all started as a stupid fucking dare but now, standing here, he’s regretting every second of that decision.

Jaehyun pulls a small card from the box that had been hidden under the leather. His face hardens as he reads it aloud. “For your first task, one of you should put on the collar and sit in the iron chair at the back of the room. Strap yourselves in! It’s quiz night.” He tosses the card to the floor, his lips curling into a sneer and voice losing edge as annoyance seeps in.

The rest of you follow his gaze toward the back of the room, where a chair stands alone, bathed in the bask of an overhead light. It’s hidden in plain sight, none of you registering its existence or importance until this exact moment, which is crazy considering it’s completely unmissable. As you get closer, the details of the chair come into view. The seat is worn, darkened with age, and thick leather straps hang from the armrests, ready to bind whoever sits there. The straps are cracked and rough, but still functional, their purpose and past crimes clear. But it’s the strange contraption beside the chair that sends a wave of nausea through the room.

A twisted metal device sits on a pedestal to the left of the chair, resembling a skeletal hand. Each finger is a cold, metallic clamp, poised to cause irreversible damage. You’ve seen something like it before, it’s a trap. The kind that springs back when triggered, bending fingers until they break. You swallow hard, anticipation rising in your throat as your mind conjures up the image of bone splintering and flesh tearing.

Suddenly, a deafening screech fills the room, the sound of a tannoy system coming to life. The static drone crackles for a moment before a throat is cleared, and Jaeyun’s voice, upbeat and casual, cuts through the tension like a knife.

“Welcome to your first task, which I’ve cleverly named Quiz and Snap! A little fun game to get all your brains and bones working.” 

“I hope his quizzing is better than his naming,” Jaehyun snorts, his face set in a grimace.

“I heard that!” Jaeyun’s voice whines through the speakers, an exaggerated pout in his tone. “Anyway, you’ll love this one. For this task, I need one brave volunteer to sit in my lovely antique chair, strap in, and place your hand in that cute little metal skeleton hand over there. See it?”

All eyes are on the device now, the sight of it sending a fresh wave of chills down your spine. There’s something wrong about it - something viscerally terrifying.

Jaeyun’s voice drops, the grin in his tone so palpable it makes your skin pop with goosebumps.“Once you’re all strapped in, I’ll start the quiz. Just five questions. Nothing too hard. Mostly about cleaning up blood, disposing of bodies...you know, simple stuff related to the job you’ve applied for. Easy, right?” 

The way he says simple implies it will be anything but.

“What’s the catch?” Dayoung’s voice cuts through, her earlier anxiety now giving way to an edge of scepticism. “Why the hand thingy?”

“Inquisitive! Extra points for you!” Jaeyun giggles through the speaker, and you catch the faintest flicker of pride on Dayoung’s face despite the situation. You need to watch out for that. “Well, if you get a question wrong,” Jaeyun continues, his voice gleeful, “a little spring will snap, and…well, then so will your finger! It’ll bend it back and back and back until - pop - off it goes! So I wouldn’t make a habit of getting answers wrong.”

His grin is so clear in his voice that you can almost see it, hanging in the air like a sickly, invisible presence. You can feel it wrapping around you, tightening its grip on your chest.

Jaehyun lifts the collar, turning it in his hands, his expression a mixture of suspicion and curiosity. “And what’s the collar for?” His voice is steady, but you can sense the tension coiling behind his nonchalance.

“Oh, just a little accessory! Something to complete the look. Nothing to worry about, really. What you should be worrying about is which one of you is brave enough to try and pass my first test. And, of course, be in with a chance to become my sidekick. Doesn’t that sound exciting?”

Jaehyun’s eyes narrow, and before he can respond, you find yourself speaking, your voice softer than you intended. “What if...none of us want to do it?” It’s the first time you’ve spoken directly to Jaeyun, and the moment the words leave your lips, a prickly chill runs down your spine.

There’s a beat of silence, followed by a laugh from Jaeyun. “Well, pretty lady,” he says, his tone taking on a flirtatious but mocking tone, “I don’t think you want to know the answer to that question. But let’s just say, if none of you want to play, you’ll all be sleeping for a very, very long time...”

The threat is suffocating and the atmosphere shifts. The panic that had lay just upon the ocean bed of the situation now feels like a tidal wave, crashing over everyone. The room is thick with unspoken terror, a collective paralysis. Of course, being kidnapped and forced to attend an ‘interview’ doesn’t set everyone with great faith, but hearing that your life could end so blasé-like is what really sets the haunting tone in the space.

Sunoo’s sobs have quieted, but his wide, tear-streaked face looks between each of you, desperate for someone to step up and make this nightmare end. Dayoung’s hands twist nervously at the hem of her shirt, her earlier confidence giving way to hesitation. She opens her mouth as if to speak, but no words come out, only a sharp, shaky breath. Even Jaehyun, who had been so calm and composed, is frozen, his eyes darting between the chair and the collar still clutched in his hand.

Heeseung’s jaw is clenched, his fists balled tightly at his sides. He’s scanning the room again, probably still searching for an escape, but even he knows deep down that there’s no way out of this - not without playing Jaeyun’s twisted game.

You can almost feel the dread sinking in, seeping into your bones. The low hum of fear vibrates in the air, like a pressure building, ready to snap - no pun intended. No one moves. No one wants to be the first. The weight of the decision is suffocating, and you can see it in everyone’s faces - the growing realisation that if no one steps forward, the fate Jaeyun promised is waiting for you all.

“I’ll give you all two minutes to decide,” Jaeyun’s voice suddenly crackles through the speaker again, almost jovial, relishing in the tension. “But if none of you are in that seat when I come back...well…night-night.” He draws out the words, taunting, the sickly-sweet edge to his voice making your skin blister in unease.

The seconds tick by in oppressive silence. Everyone exchanges glances, the fear fairly obvious in the small, cramped space. No one wants to die, but no one wants to be the first to volunteer either. The weight of Jaeyun’s threat makes it insanely hard to breathe. It feels like the room itself is watching, waiting, pressing down on all of you, daring someone to make a move.

But who?

“Look, I-I can’t do it,” she says, her hands wringing together. Her face is like a ghost, her eyes wide and pleading as she looks around at each of you. “I’m not…I’m not strong enough for this. I barely made it through high school biology without fainting. The second that thing snaps, I’ll probably pass out, I’ll never make it.”

Her words filter through your ears but you find it hard to register them or find sympathy. Aren’t most people squeamish with blood? Hardly a solid excuse out of this.

Then again, do you have one better other than the fact that you simply don’t want to?

“I don’t think I can do it either…” Sunoo whispers, his voice trembling. “I-I’m not brave like the rest of you. I shouldn’t even be here. This was all a stupid dare - my friends, they…they told me to apply as a joke. They said I live too safely, that I never take risks. But this? This isn’t what I signed up for. I’m not cut out for this kind of thing…”

His hands tremble, his fingers twitching nervously as he shifts on his feet. Even the thought of being strapped into that chair terrifies him beyond words. His usual sunny demeanour is completely shattered, replaced with raw panic.

Jaehyun snorts, his arms crossed over his chest. “Well, none of us want to do it, kid. But the fact is, we don’t have much of a choice, do we?” His voice is sharp, but there’s a tinge of bitterness in it. He exhales, running a hand through his hair before looking at the rest of you. “Look, I’m not putting myself in that chair. I’ll save myself for harder tasks, give you all a chance to do the simpler ones. God knows what this psycho has planned.”

His words are cold, but you can see the fear flickering in his eyes. He’s not as unaffected as he pretends to be.

“He is right, we need to be smart about this,” you mutter under your breath. “I get it. No one wants to do this. But if we don’t…we know what happens.”

Heeseung, who had been eerily quiet up until now, suddenly exhales sharply and the sound pulls everyone's attention to him. His arms are crossed and he’s been watching as the conversation spirals. But now it’s his turn to speak up.

“I watched How to Get Away with Murder,” Heeseung says unexpectedly, his tone eerily calm. “I mean, I can deal with a few broken fingers in the worst-case scenario, but that show taught me a lot.”

His tone is calm given the circumstances. He stands upright to fake confidence, his eyes scanning each of you with a sharp, assessing gaze. He can see and feel the apprehension in each of you. A TV show isn’t really the best means of knowing how a murderer actually works.

“Look,” he continues, “I don’t give a shit about being Jaeyun’s lackey. Fuck, there’s no way in hell I’m working for that psycho. But if this is what it takes to get out of here, then fine. It’s just a couple of fingers, right? I get this over with, I survive, and then I’ll figure out how to end this whole thing. We need everyone to survive each test at a shot of getting out of here. There is strength in numbers.”

Jaehyun glances at Heeseung, his eyes narrowing, though a flicker of respect passes through his gaze. “You’re serious?” he asks, disbelief threading ever so finely through his voice.

“Dead serious,” Heeseung replies, rolling his shoulders back as if shaking off the weight of what he’s about to do. “Someone has to go first. Might as well be me.”

He knows - he knows - that putting his hand in that device will hurt like hell, but he’s already rationalised it in his head. Broken fingers are temporary; death is permanent. And if this twisted test is the only way to survive long enough to escape, then fine, he'll take the pain. Heeseung's not the kind of guy to back down, not when there's a way forward, however brutal it might be.

You watch him, feeling a strange mixture of admiration and awe. Someone has to make the first move, or you’ll all be dead anyway. His determination brings a sliver of clarity, cutting through the terror gripping you.

Dayoung looks away, biting her lip, her eyes filling with guilt. “But...what if it’s worse than just broken fingers? What if-”

“I’ll handle it,” Heeseung cuts in, his voice sharper now, impatient. “We don’t have time for ‘what ifs.’” He looks toward the chair, and you can see the muscles in his jaw tense, his resolve hardening. “Two minutes. That’s all we’ve got. I’m not waiting around for this asshole to put us all to sleep.”

Without another word, you all watch Heeseung move toward the iron chair, his steps slow but deliberate; he’s walking a path already set in stone. The atmosphere shifts with each step he takes, growing heavier. It’s as if even the air is afraid to stir, afraid to acknowledge what’s about to happen.

Heeseung reaches the chair, his expression still calm, but you notice the subtle way his fingers quake as he reaches out to brush the metal skeleton that holds the fate of his fingers as he takes a seat.  

The strange contraption sits gleaming menacingly under the faint light. It reminds you too much of something straight out of a twisted tale you love, the kind of device you’ve seen rip apart flesh and bone on screen. But now, it’s here, in front of you, real and ready to inflict its brutal punishment.

Jaehyun approaches Heeseung, collar still in hand. “You sure about this, man?” His voice is quieter now, cautious. His eyes flit between the chair and Heeseung’s face, secretly begging the boy to not back out now.

Heeseung turns his head slightly, casting Jaehyun a brief look. “No,” he says simply, but with a grim smirk. “But it’s better than sitting around waiting to die.” His voice is calm, like he’s resigned to the pain that’s about to come. He slides into the chair, exhaling slowly as the cold metal presses against his back. 

You swallow hard, moving closer alongside Jaehyun and Dayoung, feeling the collective tension in the room ratchet up to a near-breaking point. There’s no way to delay this, no way to stop it. Heeseung’s steely determination is infectious, but it’s also terrifying. 

Watching him buckle the leather straps across his chest and arms is surreal, like watching someone chain themselves to their own doom. Jaehyun reluctantly straps and locks the boys wrists to the armrests, and places the collar on his neck, giving him a knowing but sympathetic look as he tightens it, the leather representing more of a noose than a fashion statement.

This is his death sentence.

Dayoung’s voice cracks as she speaks, her words faltering. “Heeseung, if you...if you can’t handle it, we’ll -”

“I’ll handle it,” Heeseung interrupts, his voice absolute. He gives her a brief, almost reassuring glance before slipping his fingers into the grooves of the trap. The device clicks, locking his hand in place with a chilling finality. He breathes in sharply but stays composed, his eyes narrowing in focus.

The room feels like it’s holding its breath, just waiting to be disrupted like still water. Then, without warning, Jaeyun’s voice echoes through the speaker, loud and bright.

“Ah! Looks like we’ve got our first interviewee. Atta boy, Heeseung,” he coos mockingly. “Now don’t look so grim, everyone. I promise this is going to be fun. Just sit back and enjoy the show. Who knows, you might learn a thing or two about the fine art of murder.”

Jaehyun snorts, though the sound is hollow. “Yeah, can’t wait for the master class.”

“Oh, someone’s still got jokes! Cute!” Jaeyun chirps, his voice taking on a teasing lilt bit you can sense the threat behind it. “Now, Heeseung, since you’re the brave soul taking a seat, let me remind you how this works. Get the question right, and you’ll walk away with your fingers intact. Get it wrong, and...well, I think you get the idea. Snap, crackle, pop!” 

A sickening sense of anguish washes over you. You glance at Heeseung, whose face is set like stone, determined, though you can see the slight twitch in his jaw as he braces for the worst.

“Let’s start with something simple, shall we? Question one: What chemical is most commonly used to dissolve organic matter, particularly bone?”

The question hits like a hammer against wood, reverberating through the room. You know the answer - you’ve seen enough crime documentaries in your life to know - but the gravity of the situation is causing your brain to short circuit. Finally, you understand contestants on The Chase and seeing them seize up in pressure makes more sense. Maybe you should stop slagging them off and start empathising. 

Heeseung, however, is unflinching. He knows this.

“Hydrochloric acid,” Heeseung answers coolly, eyes fixed on the trap, just in the off chance that it’s going to snap anyway despite his own assurance that he’s correct. 

For a moment, there’s nothing but silence. Then, Jaeyun’s voice comes through again, delighted. “Ding ding ding! Looks like you have potential. Good for you, Heeseung! But don’t get too comfy. The next one’s gonna be trickier...”

Jaeyun’s voice continues to betray light and bouncy colours, like someone introducing a game show, but there’s a sinister undercurrent to it - a dissonance that twists your stomach into knots. That contrast of him compared to your surroundings is what makes it so much worse. If he were dark and brooding, if his voice dripped with malice, at least you’d know what to expect. 

But this? This feels like a mockery of the fear gnawing at within you. The way he speaks - so upbeat, so casual - makes the horror of the situation seem unreal; you’re being taunted for even thinking this could be deadly serious.

“Oh! One little thing I forgot to mention, Heeseung, my guy.” There’s a pause between Jaeyun’s interuption, the silence stretching out ominously before he continues. “That collar you’re wearing? Yeah, if you get more questions wrong than right...let’s just say your fingers won’t be the only thing going capute, I’m afraid.”

The impact of his words hits like a Roman Reign’s Superman Punch. Heeseung’s face tightens, his composure faltering for the first time since this interview task began. The suffocating atmosphere in the room turns colder, sharper. 

“W-what does he mean?” Sunoo whispers, his voice trembling. His wide eyes dart between the collar around Heeseung’s neck and the rest of you, desperately seeking answers. You notice that about him, how he seeks guidance like a lost lamb. 

You daren't think how he will cope with his task.

Yet you don’t have time to think about Sunoo’s own woes as your own heart hammers in your chest, the tension skyrocketing. You try to keep your breathing steady, but Jaeyun’s words tighten around your body like a vice. The room feels impossibly small, the walls closing in, and suddenly, the bloodstains and grime seem more oppressive, more real.

Jaehyun’s brows furrow as he tries to process it all, but his voice comes out strained. “That thing…it’s rigged to kill him if he messes up too much. Fuck, this is insane.”

Heeseung’s gaze remains locked on the finger trap, but his breathing has quickened. His eyes flick briefly to the others, and for a moment, you can see the fear gnawing at him, breaking through that calm facade. But then his jaw sets again, and he straightens his back in the chair, forcing himself to maintain control. Heeseung doesn’t speak, but the flicker of doubt in his eyes tells you all that he understands the stakes now. More than just a few broken fingers are on the line - his life is teetering on a razor's edge.

Jaeyun’s voice hums back into the room, sensing the collective panic. “I wouldn’t worry too much, though,” he says, his tone still obnoxiously bright. “It’s just a little extra incentive, y’know? A bit of motivation to make sure you’re paying attention. Besides, Heeseung, you’re a smart guy! You already got the first one right. Piece of cake, really.”

“Piece of cake?” Jaehyun mutters darkly, his hands balled into fists. “This psycho’s enjoying this.”

“No shit,” you murmur in reply, yet your eyes locked on Heeseung’s collar. The device looks deceptively simple but now that you know what it’s capable of, it seems like something far worse. 

Sunoo looks like he’s on the verge of tears again, his hands clasped tightly together, trembling and he holds them to his chest, clearly wishing on a prayer. “Heeseung, you...you can’t get any more wrong. You just can’t.”

Heeseung glances briefly at Sunoo, then at the rest of you. His voice is calm, but you can hear the strain behind it now. “I’ll try not to.”

“Try?” Dayoung echoes, her voice rising with panic. “This isn’t something you just try at, Heeseung. If you get it wrong...”

Heeseung cuts her off, his tone sharper now, trying to maintain control over the situation. “I know. I know what happens. But freaking out isn’t going to help. I just need to focus.” His voice dips lower, almost as if he’s trying to convince himself as much as you, if not more. You can see him getting agitated with Dayoung but you know his attitude isn’t directly pointed at her worry for him, but rather the situation he has put himself in.

The rest of you stand frozen, helpless as the seconds tick away. Time feels like it’s slipping through your fingers, and there’s nothing you can do but watch.

Heeseung's chest rises and falls a little faster now, the weight of the situation pressing down hard on him. His hands flex slightly in the grooves of the device as though testing for a way out, but there’s no escaping what’s coming. 

Jaeyun’s voice returns, gleeful and dismissive of Heeseung’s pain. “Alright, folks, let’s get this party going again. Question two! Should be easy for a sharp guy like you, Heeseung.” He clears his throat, the grit of it grating your ears through the speakers. 

“What’s the best way to get rid of bloodstains on concrete? Think fast!”

Heeseung’s lips press into a thin line, his eyes narrowing as he focuses. You can almost hear the gears turning in his head, calculating the right answer while also bracing for the trap to spring if he’s wrong. The rest of you hang on the edge, nerves frayed, hoping he can pull through. Because who the fuck would know this answer? 

Swallowing thickly, the trapped boy can feel his adams apple collide with the metal death trap, which does nothing to clear his mind. Think, think, think. His chants of wishes are meaningless, there isn’t an episode or crime podcast that is coming to his mind that could save him.

He’s fucked.

“B-bleach,” Heeseung finally stutters out, unsure and unprepared for what the consequences are.

There’s a brief pause although it feels like an eternity, and then Jaeyun’s cheerful voice rings out again. “Ohhh, so close! It’s everyone’s go-to answer but bleach won’t get blood out of anything. You could have even said cow’s milk, but bleach is a basic bitch answer.”

Everyone stiffens. Heeseung’s jaw tightens in apprehension and his eyes flick nervously to the finger trap. There’s a moment where nothing happens, and everyone thinks that this is a hoax, that the psychotic boy is just fucking around with your minds. 

But then it all happens so quickly.

Heeseung’s breath hitches as the first snap resounds through the room - a brutal, stomach-turning crack. His hand jerks, but it’s locked in place, trapped as the device rips his finger back mercilessly. The bones give way with a sickening crunch, and though Heeseung tries to hold it in and be brave, a guttural scream rips from his throat. The sound is raw, torn from deep within him. You can only akin it to an animal being tortured, and in some way, he is.

His knuckles from his right hand whiten further as it clings to nothing, his other fingers trembling uncontrollably as the trap tightens. You can hear the awful, wet sound of skin stretching, starting to split at the joints. The mechanic isn’t just breaking his fingers…it’s tearing them off. 

Blood wells from the tears, trickling down his hand, the droplets splattering softly onto the grimy floor. Heeseung’s entire body trembles as wave after wave of agony courses through him and his breaths come out in ragged gasps, chest heaving violently, but there’s no escape from the vice-like grip.

Dayoung turns away, shielding her eyes from the gore in front of her. Never has she seen something so brutally evil. The worst thing she has ever witnessed was a Seagul popping under a tyre, and even then it took her 2 months of therapy to even glance at a winged animal ever again.

You can't tear your eyes away though, no matter how much you know you should. For just one finger, there’s so much blood, trickling relentlessly like a grotesque, mesmerising waterfall onto the floor, forming a pool of dark red. You hear each drip hit the ground, its quiet sound somehow more deafening than the crack of bone that preceded it. You're frozen, trapped with Heeseung in this nightmare.

“That’s one right and one wrong. Let’s hope for your sake, Heeseung, you get the next questions right. Wouldn’t want to see any more fingers out of place, would we?” Jaeyun mocks. He’s so sarky you wonder how on earth he ended up this way -  so numb to all of this.

Jaehyun's attention moves down to the collar that is snugly wrapped around Heeseung's neck. His heart clenches as he realises how much worse things may get. Heeseung treated this as a quiz with consequences. However, when Jaehyun watches the blood run freely from the boy's hand, he realises that this game is far crueller than they could have anticipated. His expression remains stoic, however, disguising his terror. Without the tiny wobble of his Adam's apple, no one would have known he was anxious.

Heeseung's breathing is weak and uneven as his body trembles from shock. The acute, burning agony that had previously ripped through him begins to fade slightly, but it stays in deep, throbbing pulses. He grinds his teeth, pulling in air through his nose, attempting to endure the pain, but it's searing up his arm and into his shoulder.  

Squeezing his eyes shut, he wills himself to breathe through it, to focus on something - anything - other than the pain and his other fingers twitch slightly, instinctively trying to pull away from the trap and escape their possible fate, but it's pointless - they’re trapped in there like rats on glue.

"Okay, time for the next round, folks! Are you ready, Heeseung? This one’s a real doozy. Third question!" Jaeyun’s voice is tainted with dark amusement, basking in the misery he is causing. "What's the best way to dispose of a body in under six hours without leaving a trace?"

The room becomes deathly quiet. It's a question no one could know the answer to unless they have done it before. The air feels heavy, as everyone holds their breath, or rather, gifts the air in their bodies to Heeseung. His chest rises and falls fast with your snatched breaths, his mind rushing for anything, any piece of knowledge that may rescue him.

But there's nothing.

"I-" Heeseung stammers, his speech scarcely audible. His throat is dry, his thoughts are confused, and his body is gradually giving up, wracked with distress and anxiety. He tries again, but his words are little more than rasps. "Acid?" It's a crazy and desperate guess, and the moment he says it, his face falls. He knows it's not the right answer.

Jaeyun’s laugh crackles through the speakers, high-pitched and mocking. “Oof, sorry, Heeseung, that’s not quite right. You’d need a lot more time to do that properly…Man, I should have invested in that buzzer.”

Everyone tenses again. Heeseung doesn't even have time to prepare himself before it happens. The second snap is even louder and quicker than the first: a horrific, gut-wrenching crack. His finger is violently jerked back, the bone splintering due to the pressure. This time, the device doesn't stop with a single snap. The finger bends even farther back at an unnatural angle, causing the broken bones to grind together with a sickening crunch. It makes your teeth grind together for some reason. The skin breaks more, the sharp edges of bone ripping through the flesh, blood coughing out in a fine mist and trickling down his hand in thick rivulets.

Heeseung lets out a strangled shriek, and his body convulses in the chair. His scream is muffled, halfway between a gasp and a sob, as he struggles to breathe through the unbearable pain His non-trapped fingers squeeze into fists, his knuckles becoming white as his body reacts instinctively to the sheer agony he is in. Tears burn his eyes, distorting his vision as the room around him appears to shrink, the anguish overshadowing everything.

“Looks like that one’s a little worse than the last, huh? Really fun fact for you all, the fingers located near the middle of your hand are actually attached to more nerves and have more bones than the others. So you better hope you get the next few questions right because otherwise…”

Everyone looks at Heeseung’s severed hand and comes to the same realisation. With his pinky and engagement finger already torn from his hand, his middle finger is up next, which means the most painful of all. 

The tortured boy finds it hard to concentrate on the madman’s educational lesson as he sits there, trying to fight the dizziness creeping in from the loss of blood.

"Hey, Heeseung, we've had our ups and downs, right? But I bet you'll appreciate the next one! It's a little challenging, but I believe in you. Fingers crossed!"

Heeseung flinches at the mention of fingers. His entire body is shivering, his muscles taut, and his head is foggy, pain radiates from his hand in unrelenting waves. His pulse thunders in his ears, and the room spins slightly as he struggles to remain aware. Every part of him wants to give up and let the misery engulf him, yet some deep, primordial urge drives him to hold on - to survive.

Jaeyun's voice becomes more serious as he continues the interview. "Okay, listen up. If you wanted to make a murder appear like an accident, how would you shatter the victim's bones in a way that mimicked a fall from a high location without actually dropping them?"

Squeezing his eyes shut, Heeseung’s mind is beginning to race, trying to latch onto something that might help him. Documentaries, tv shows, movies, all play in his head at once like an overstimulating nightmare, and somewhere in that murky chaos, an idea forms.

“...Weights,” Heeseung mutters, his voice hoarse. It’s a shot in the dark, but it’s all he has and it’s better than no answer at all. “You…use weights…drop them…to break the bones, then stage the fall.”

The five of you hold your breath as silence falls over. Even Jaeyun appears to linger longer than usual as he considers Heeseung's response. Then, through the crackle of the speakers, Jaeyun lets out a slow, almost begrudging whistle. “Well, colour me impressed, Heeseung. That…is correct. You actually got it. Who knew you had such a devious mind, eh?”

The shock reverberates through the room because no one, including Heeseung, can believe it. His head lolls forward, and for the first time, he lets out a small, broken chuckle of relief. His chest heaves with a deep, difficult breath, and his ray of hope brightens, even if only slightly.

Sunoo stands next to you, shaking frantically. His gaze darts between Heeseung and the collar placed securely around his neck, his lips twitching with barely restrained terror. Then, unexpectedly, a faint, pathetic sob escapes him. You look at him, experiencing the genuine horror that emanates from his body. 

Without thinking, you draw him closer, throwing your arm around his shoulders in an attempt to console him. His body is rigid, yet he leans into you and grabs your sleeve like a lifeline. You've only known him for an hour or so, but with these circumstances, you feel compelled to shelter him. You wouldn’t say you had maternal instincts, none at all really, but you feel a pull towards the boy; like a planet to the sun. .

“And now… the fifth and final question.” He lets the words hang as he breaks the tender moment, “You’ve made it this far, Heeseung which is impressive, but you know how this works. This is the decider. Get it right, and you walk out of here with your life. Get it wrong…”

He doesn’t finish the sentence, but everyone knows what happens if Heeseung fails. That collar around his neck isn’t just for show. It will obliterate his being if he fumbles on this last question.

There is a shared look of sorrow mixed with the tiniest specal of hope that Heeseung can get out of this, that he might have lost two fingers but he will rise from that chair with his life. It’s all anyone can hope for, particularly the boy himself. 

"Alright Heeseung, last one, and let's see what you've got. Who was the first person ever murdered?”

The room freezes and you feel Sunoo’s breath hitch beside you, his body going rigid in your grasp. A ripple of disbelief washes through everyone because this question…it’s fucking impossible. You exchange a glance with the others, hearts pounding, knowing that the probability of Heeseung guessing this right is closer to zero than ten. 

Heeseung stares blankly ahead, his thoughts racing. The pain flowing from his wounded hand fades into the background as he realises this is the end. His thoughts race through several clouds of despair, anxiously searching for a solution. However, his thoughts comes up empty. He has no means of answering this. His breathing quickens, his chest rising and falling wildly as the pressure builds, clamping down on him like a vice.

His gaze shifts to his hand, or what's left of it. The gruesome scene of fractured bones, ripped flesh, and pooled blood. His once-strong fingers are now disfigured beyond recognition. It appears alien to him, as if it does not belong to his body anymore, and he certainly doesn't want it to be. The agony that once overwhelmed him has subsided, replaced with a chilly, creeping anticipation of what is to come. He cannot win. He's known it for a while, but this question - this impossible, ludicrous question - solidifies it in his mind.

Heeseung’s heart sinks as the hopelessness floods in, drowning any last flicker of hope. He looks down at the collar around his neck, the cold metal pressing against his skin, and he knows, without a doubt, that it’s going to kill him. His thoughts turn dark, his pulse pounding like a war drum in his ears. The idea of death, once abstract and distant, now feels all too real, looming over him like a shadow.

His mind begins to spiral. He pictures the trap and what on earth it could do to his neck. Would it hurt? Would it be fast? Or would there be a brief moment, just a second, where he’d feel everything before the darkness swallowed him whole?

A bitter taste fills his mouth, the knowledge that he’s going to die here settling like lead in his stomach. There’s no way out. No answer that will save him. He’s done for.

“I… I don’t know,” Heeseung finally whispers, his voice cracked and hollow. It’s not a plea for mercy, not an attempt to bargain. It’s just the truth - cold, hard, and brutal to accept.

Jaeyun's voice, feigning sorrow, returns over the speakers. "That's a shame, Heeseung. According to the Bible, the first murder was committed by Abel. But that doesn't really matter, does it? You got it incorrect.

Sunoo lets out a choked sob, burying his face in your shoulder and shivering vehemently as the reality dawns on everyone.

Heeseung's fate is sealed. He's going to die. 

The room is a graveyard of mourning, with the weight of what's going to happen crushing down like a thick and choking fog. Heeseung sits there, shaking, just holding on to his last scrap of hope. The pain from his fractured fingers pales in comparison to the nearing horror that looms over him.

The trap releases Heeseung's finger for just a moment before a quick, abrupt force yanks it back violently. The sound is horrible, a harsh snap that echoes across the room. Flesh shreds, tendons and muscle give way to the unrelenting strain of the pull, and the bone shatters into shards. Blood pours like a crimson rainbow, with the droplets catching the light before falling to the floor to meet their already escaped family. 

His anguish is a living thing, twisting and writhing inside him, growing with each heartbeat. He feels the loss - both physical and metaphysical - as his finger is ripped from him. The pain doesn’t just echo in his hand; it reverberates through his soul, a profound reminder that he is about to lose it all. His breath comes in ragged gasps, sharp and shallow, as the world begins to fade at the edges, like a high-opacity vignette. 

Amidst the hubbub, your eyes suddenly lower, and you notice it; the red light on the collar flickers like a heartbeat in the quiet. It's a warning sign for approaching disaster, a siren song that you can hear all too loudly. Each LED flicker acts as a countdown, catching everyone's attention.

Confusion sweeps across Heeseung's face, his forehead furrowing as he struggles to grasp the unexpected change in the room until he follows each of your gazes down to his fate. He observes the red glow as it pulses, and it is enough to warp the faces in the background.

He shakes his head weakly, as he attempts to wish the light away. "I…I don't want to die," he murmurs, each syllable a desperate cry that hovers in the air like a ghost. "I...I'm a good person!"

Dayoung’s heart sinks at the sound, and without a second thought, she rushes towards him, the instinct to save overwhelming any sense of self-preservation. “No! We have to get this off him!” she shouts, desperation flooding her voice.

But Jaehyun lunges forward, catching her arm before she can reach Heeseung. “Don’t! If you try and take it off, you’ll die too!” The urgency in his voice is laced with fear; while the boy in the chair’s fate is sealed, the rest of you can still have a chance.

Heeseung's eyes widen with terror and his breath quickens. Desperately, his wrists struggle to escape out of the leather straps, his legs kicking and struggling as he tries to tear himself free with the adrenaline of knowing he is dying in mere minutes, seconds. He opens his mouth, a choking sound emerging as he searches for one last idea, a desperate confession that could rescue him. 

But time is no longer on his side.

In a single second, the collar explodes with a thunderous sound that resonates across the room. The blast is brutal, sending pieces of metal and flesh flying in all directions. Blood splashes the walls, mimicking a horrific shower, turning the room scarlet and crimson. Heeseung's head vanishes in an instant, skin and bone crushing under the sheer force of the collar's mechanics, spreading fragments of him throughout the universe like grotesque confetti. 

Some of his skin and blood splatter on the rest of you, Dayoung and Jaehyun getting the brunt of it as they stand too close to the crime. Pieces of the boy now firmly clinging to you, his last remnants of hope in each of the lumps of his flesh, begging you to put him back together. 

Silence follows, thick and suffocating, leaving everyone in the room trapped in a state of shock, their minds struggling to comprehend the unthinkable. It’s not every day that you see someone blown to smithereens.

Dayoung remains transfixed, her hands quivering at her sides with specs of Heeseung's blood covering her skin. The warmth seems surreal in juxtaposition to the icy grip of disbelief that has settled in her chest.  She feels as if she has been driven into a nightmare that she can't escape, her heart beating in frantic panic as the truth of the situation breaks over her like a tidal wave.  

Jaehyun's eyes are wide and unblinking, peering into the space where Heeseung formerly sat. The conservatism he wore as armour has crumbled, revealing a raw vulnerability. He feels the weight of guilt crushing down on him, thick and oppressive. He should have done something to stop this madness. But now all that remains is a terrifying quiet, broken only by the gentle patter of blood flowing from the surroundings, as if the room were mourning the loss along with you all.

With his breath hitching in his throat as he grapples with the horror, Sunoo falls to the ground, letting you go, the impact jolting him back to reality. Tears stream down his cheeks, mixing with the blood that clings to his skin. “What just happened?” he whispers, his voice breaking, a fragile thread of sound that feels more like a whistle in the wind. No one can hear him, all drowning in your own minds.

You wipe the blood from your face, spitting out little bits of Heeseung's shattered head from your mouth as you gaze at his motionless corpse, shoulders to feet still attached. There is a beautiful quiet in death, both serene and awe-inspiring. Though his screams of dread and anguish echo in your memory, you know he is finally free.

You just need to make sure you avoid the same fate.

_____ 

Hours pass by as the group processes Heeseung’s demise. You try to clear up as much of him as you can, finding an old brush in the corner of the room, and sweeping up his head’s ashes. It’s surreal to be sweeping up a splattered head with such a commonly used household tool. Once you finish, you see the pile of him smooshing together, you wonder what type of person he was; good or bad, happy or sad, smart or dumb. You never really got to know him in the fleeting hour you spent trapped here together, all you can run off of is your imagination.

That is easier said than done however, especially with your mind caught up in what happened; it’s hard to separate him from the dismembered mess you’re cleaning up so casually. He seemed kind, and strong-willed, though that might be the reason he’s dead right now. 

Taking the first task was a brave but foolish decision. Is it wrong to be thankful that it wasn’t you? Even though you knew the answers, you wonder how your brain would have processed them if you were in the same situation as Heeseung. Like when you watch Catchphrase and get them all perfect, but as soon as you step foot in that studio, your mind blanks out from the pressure.

Sunoo and Dayoung have formed a bond through your time stuck in misery, those two you can read like a book. Both bubbly and bright, well, at least they would be if you met them under different circumstances. Dayoung is a beautiful air hostess who needs a job closer to home now that her mother is sick. When her best friend told her about jobs on the dark web, she applied for a bunch that seemed promising, dirty work that no one else would want to do - cleaning, sex work, drug transportation. She applied for them all. She is far too sweet to be here, and certainly too lovely to be a murderer's assistant. 

Jaehyun on the other hand, you haven’t heard a peep, a few grunts here and there, but never a word. He’s strange, constantly working something out in his head that you can’t quite put your finger on. You think about Dayoung’s accusation again but more in-depth. 

Clearly, he is not the killer or orchestrator of this entire derangement. But he is hiding something, either about his past or his present; in either case, you need to be wary of him.

"What about you, Y/N," Sunoo says with a sweet grin, "what did you do before this?"

To be honest, you haven't been paying attention to their chat recently, so the question throws you off. "Um, I…go to university."

Dayoung’s eyes light up, a flicker of her usual sunny personality breaking through. “I knew you were about our age! What are you studying?”

Before you can respond, the air crackles to life unexpectedly with the tannoy - it's almost cheery, in sharp contrast to the strain on everyone's faces.

"Sorry, I kept you waiting," Jaeyun's voice echoes uncomfortably light-hearted. "I had some other business to take care of." His voice alone sends shivers down your spine, and the phoney civility makes it much more terrifying. "Isn't it a shame about Heeseung? I was convinced he would make it!"

Your gaze instinctively flickers to where Heeseung’s body lays, and a cold wave of dread washes over you. The atmosphere shifts instantly, becoming even more hostile; Jaeyun’s mere voice is enough to suck the warmth from Sunoo and Dayoung straight out of the room. The others seem equally disturbed - Sunoo pales, and Dayoung’s lips tremble, her hands fidgeting in her lap.

“Are you ready for task two?” Jaeyun continues, never actually expecting an answer, because let's face it, you all don’t really have a choice.

“Well, that depends,” Jaehyun mutters under his breath, bitterness tainting his words. “Is it fucking impossible?”

Jaeyun tuts mockingly, “No task is impossible, Jaehyun.” His tone sharpens, clearly irritated by the defiance. No one really talks back to killers like this, so you can understand the animosity that he holds for the older man. “Y/N, angel, could you be a sweetheart and pull that cloth over on the right?”

Your heart skips a beat as he speaks to you directly. You had not seen the big, alarming object wrapped in a thick sheet until now. It lurks in the corner of the room, producing a massive shadow that appears to reach across the ground. With trembling hands, you approach it, the others gazing in tense stillness. The cloth seems heavy in your fingers, and the structure beneath is gradually revealed as you draw it away. 

It's...horrifying. The tower rises around 8 feet tall and resembles a monstrous crucifix made of cold, glistening metal. At the top, as well as at the ends of the arm and foot sections, are little contraptions linked to a gear system that is too complex for even a YouTube tutorial to describe. The mechanics look meticulously designed for one purpose: pain. Your breath freezes in your throat as you take in the whole thing.

“Isn’t it beautiful? I made it myself, believe it or not.” Jaeyun’s voice drips with pride, “Someone needs to strap themselves in, and the rest of you... well, your job is simple. Find the keys I’ve hidden-”

“No,” you cut in, your voice surprisingly steady despite the bubbling in your stomach. “Tell us what really happens. One of us goes into this trap, and what?”

There is a pause. Then Jaeyun's voice returns, a bit slower and more deliberate. "Well," Jaeyun drawls, delighting in you discomfort. "See those gears? Once you're strapped in, parts of the machine start to spin all the way around. Slowly at first and each limb gets a full twist, one by one. You've got 10 minutes to find all the keys before your neck gets twisted and...you get the jist"

A countdown appears on the wall, and you realise the terrifying truth. The floor drops out from beneath you. 

"So, who's going in?" Jaeyun taunts.

The four of you exchange glances, each of your eyes betraying the same emotion - terror. None of you need to voice it. After witnessing Heeseung’s brutal demise, it's clear that no one wants to be the next victim. The unspoken tension swallows you whole. Jaeyun’s laughter still echoes faintly in your ears, mocking your helplessness as you stand before the towering metal monstrosity.

Jaehyun breaks the silence first. His hands shoot up, palms forward as though warding off any suggestion that he should take the fall. “Not me.” His voice is firm, adamant that he will not be strapped up and deemed helpless. Maybe it’s the toxic masculinity or something else, either way, you don’t really like his mentality. 

He steps back, glaring at the floor as if searching for answers in the cracks of the concrete. “I’m no good to you in that trap. I’m...” He hesitates, his brows knitting together as he searches for the right words, contemplating how much he should share. “Good at finding things. Things out of sight.” His lips curl into a faint snarl as his mind thinks in ways you can’t decipher from the twitch in his brow.

Sunoo fidgets anxiously before exclaiming, "I'm really good at escape rooms!" His speech resonates with an unexpected surge of confidence, and his eyes are filled with the hope that this will pardon him. "I always find the last clue!" A short smile flashes over his lips, a proud glance that glows behind his sullen demeanour. Escape rooms require cleverness, a knack for finding hidden things, secret compartments, and codes. He’s putting himself forward as the best option for hunting down the keys. His reasoning is sound, and the relief on his face is almost palpable as he sees the rest of you nod. 

You just hope he isn’t lying.

That leaves just you and Dayoung. You can feel their gaze on you, and the weight of expectation presses across your chest like a weight bar, and you have no one to spot you. The boys have already thrown out their reasons.. Now it's your turn. You open your mouth, but your thoughts are blank. How could you even start arguing your way out of this? There is no legitimate justification that will not come out as cowardly. Fear claws at your insides, and for a brief minute, you envision the machine twisting your limbs one by one, hearing the crunch of bone and muscles shredding, and experiencing the excruciating pain. The image makes you feel like vomiting. 

Dayoung fidgets next to you, her eyes darting between the rest of you in search of an escape. Her face is pale and fingers tremble as she tugs on the hem of her shirt. You can see her anxiety, a mirror of yours. But underneath that anxiety is truth, and the truth is that someone has to step into the trap - you cannot let that person be you.

The painful instrument dominates your thoughts, its cold, lifeless shape sending shivers down your spine. You can hardly think straight as you look for any excuse or justification to avoid the crucifix-like monster.

"I..." you begin, your voice unsteady and hesitant. "I have quick hands." The lie emerges before you can stop it, a feeble attempt to weasel your way out. “I’m good at…opening things. Picking locks, and…I can hotwire stuff. If worst comes to worst, maybe I can stop the gears.”

The flimsy excuse hangs in the air, and for a moment, you wonder if they’ll see through it. Sunoo, to your surprise, nods quickly, accepting your words without question. His eyes flicker with a strange sense of determination, as though he’s already decided this task will be his moment to prove something - perhaps even to himself. It’s not just about who gets into the death trap anymore; it’s about whether or not the others trust you enough to find the keys and save whoever steps into that crucifix-shaped machine.

Dayoung, however, remains frozen, her terror palpable. She looks between you and the machine with a mixture of disbelief and silent pleading, as if she’s hoping someone - anyone - will speak up and spare her from what’s coming. The claggy air around you grows thicker and more suffocating. Every breath feels shallow, as though you’re inhaling the very tension that blankets the room.

“Dayoung, you get in,” Jaehyun says, his tone flat and absolute. There’s no room for argument, and you can see from the set of his jaw that he’s not going to entertain any. His words hang heavy in the silence, a command disguised as a suggestion.

Dayoung snaps out of her haze, eyes widening with horror as she instinctively goes into defence mode. Nothing like someone forcing you to possible death to spring you alert. “Huh? Why me?” Her voice wavers, panic obvious in her words. “I have twenty-twenty vision, and I’m smaller than all of you! I can squeeze into tight spaces-”

You interrupt, your voice stronger than you feel. “The three of us all have those skills covered. I’ve got good eyesight, and Sunoo is small, he can wiggle into any space that needs crawling into.” You’re desperate now, more than you’d like to admit. If they start considering her reasoning, you’ll be the one stepping into that machine, and you can’t - won’t - let that happen. You don’t know these people. You don’t trust them. What if they strap you in and fail to find the keys in time? What if they’re lying about their abilities? What if they leave you to die?

Sunoo, catching onto your momentum, pipes up next. “Yeah, and you said you were a cheerleader back in high school,” he says, trying to keep his tone light. “So that means you’re, like, bendy, right?”

Dayoung glares at him, clearly regretting ever sharing that piece of personal information. “What does that have to do with my limbs being twisted off my body?!” she snaps. “Flexible or not, they’ll still be twirled like a fucking pretzel!”

You wince at the harshness of her words, but Jaehyun, standing by the contraption, doesn't seem fazed. Instead, he glances at Dayoung, his expression unreadable as he adds, “It means you might be able to withstand it more than we will.”

The room falls silent, weighing up the truth of his statement and somehow agreeing with his logic. Dayoung, however, looks at him like he’s lost his mind, her face contorted with disbelief and horror. “Oh, and what about my neck, huh?” she snaps, voice rising. “What if you losers don’t find all the keys and my neck gets snapped? Nobody can ‘withstand’ that more.”

Her words echo in the room, and for a brief moment, everyone is stunned into silence. Jaehyun crosses his arms, clearly unmoved by her protests. He’s decided, and there’s no changing his mind. 

"I don't want to die like this," Dayoung says, her voice suddenly low and broken. Her shoulders sag as the gravity of the situation sinks in. Her eyes are glazed over with terror, and you can feel her breaking. All that bravado and bite she had earlier is slowly but surely disappearing.

But Jaehyun's stare is unwavering. He takes a step nearer and rests his hand on the cool metal of the machine, his eyes surveying the intricate gearwork with detached fascination. "We won't let it go that far; just do it," he adds, almost as if he's trying to persuade himself as well as her.

Finally, Dayoung takes a hesitant step forward, her face pale as a ghost. She's resigned, like a prisoner headed to the end of the line. And you can only watch as she climbs onto the platform, her hands shaking as she fumbles with the straps, helping Jaehyun secure her into whatever fate lies ahead.

The sound of the straps and locks clicking into place makes your stomach churn and Dayoung’s breath hitches as the final buckle snaps into position, locking her neck in. You can see the panic rising in her eyes, her chest heaving as the machine stirs to life. She’s finding it hard to believe that Heeseung was so calm, and if he wasn’t, then how the fuck did he hide it so well.

“Excellent! Well done Dayoung,” Jaeyun’s unsympathetic voice bounces between the speakers and down the walls. “The countdown’ll start as soon as your right arm starts to twist! Good luck and remember, this is a team interview exercise.” 

Your legs feel like cement as you wobble forward, your gaze darting over the room, looking for any trace of the missing keys. The others follow suit, but it’s clear that the tension has infected everyone’s ability to think straight. The sound of the machine's gears creaking fills the room as the clock ticks down, and every second feels like a mallet, battering you deeper into dread.

Dayoung whimpers behind you, the straps tightening as precious time slips by. The air is thick with her shallow breaths, and the hum of the machine grows louder, more menacing. You can hear the faint clicking of gears preparing to turn, and the thought of her limbs being twisted…it’s enough to make bile rise in your throat.

You can’t think, can’t focus.

The countdown is annoyingly bright and menacing in the corner of your eye as Dayoung’s breath comes in sharp, ragged gasps, the crucifix’s gears clanking ominously and telling the tale of what is to come. Her wide eyes dart frantically between the three of you as her right arm jerks in its restraint, slowly being twisted backwards, the pain already creeping up to her shoulder. 

"Please! Oh my God, hurry!" Dayoung cries, her shrieking voice slicing the quiet like a blade. Her body twitches in pain as the cuff tightens around her wrist, and you watch in horror as the skin on her arm stretches unnaturally, taut like a rubber band about to snap.

The grinding noise grows excruciating as the gears yank harder, and suddenly, you hear it: crack - the first bone in her arm fractures loudly, like dry twigs breaking beneath your feet. Blood vessels begin to creep onto the surface of her skin. Her hand twitches furiously, fingers curving into odd angles as her forearm twists tighter and tighter, bones grinding against muscle. 

Dayoung’s right arm twists further, the machine now dragging her elbow into an impossible angle. The skin stretches thin, almost translucent, the veins standing out against her flesh. A sickening pop fills the air as her elbow dislocates, and her screams grow louder, more desperate. Blood oozes from her wrist, the pressure of the cuff cutting deep into her skin.

You feel like you’re frozen in place, staring at the horror unfolding in front of you, but Sunoo is sueprisingly the first to break free of the trance. “We need to find the keys!” he shouts, voice tight with panic, to which you and Jaehyun nod, tearing your eyes away from the sight. You all wasted two precious minutes just staring at her when you could have been looking for the keys that could have been saving her.

You rush into action, your mind racing and your hands shaking violently as you yank every object in the room out of its designated space. As you knock it over, a chair smashes to the ground, tearing up its cushion in a blind quest for the key to stop the madness.

Jaehyun searches through a cabinet, tugging drawers out one by one, the wood splintering as he throws them away. "There must be something! Anything!" His voice shakes and you can see desperation in his eyes. 

Yanking open a vent in the wall, Sunno’s hands tremble as he feels around inside, the cold metal and dust bunnies brushing his fingertips. Then, he feels a bump and his digits pinch around it, the jagged edges meaning only one thing.  

“I’ve got one! I found a key!” he cries out, holding the small piece of metal high. You all rush over to Dayoung, hope surging through you like lightning. Maybe this will work, maybe you can stop it.

Sunoo's heart pounds in his chest as he wrestles with the lock on her right arm restraint. His fingers fumble with the key, trying to find the right angle, but it just won't turn, or more to the point, the key isn't fitting. "No, no, no, no!" he mutters, his voice rising in desperation. He tries again, twisting the key with all his might, but it remains stubbornly stuck. 

Jaehyun takes the key from him and tries another lock on the machine. "What the hell?!" He plugs the key into the contraption's base, but the gears continue to revolve. You can hear Dayoung sobbing; the anguish is too much for her to bear. 

“We’re wasting time!” you shout, looking around frantically. "Let’s just collect all the keys first, then we’ll figure it out!"

The three of you go back to scrambling around, opening drawers, and checking behind cabinets, Jaehyun even looks around Heeseung’s decapitated body, hoping that one could shine out amongst the blood. 

Sunoo discovers another key buried in a crack in the wall, near a dusty old picture. "Another one!" he cries, but the desperation in his voice exposes the helplessness that grips all of you. He pockets the key, and the three of you spread out again, tearing through the room with intent.

Jaehyun is ripping apart the shelf with desperate energy, his knuckles white, when the next horrible thud of the machine resonates across the room, sending a chill down your spine. You turn just in time to see Dayoung's right leg furiously writhing in its constraint, the strap pressing further into her skin. The machine moves its brutal focus to her lower body. Your stomach clenches and nausea rises in your throat as you watch the grotesque scene unfold.

The machine's gears moan, and Dayoung's foot begins to twist awkwardly, as the rotation accelerates. Her thigh remains rigid, its muscles straining and bulging under the pressure, like a rope stretched to its breaking point. Her knee tendons swell beneath her skin, huge cables of flesh pulling and stretching in a dance of resistance. Dayoung's scream punctures the air, a primal, guttural sound that stills your blood. Her face is pallid, smeared with tears and sweat, and her eyes are wide with fear as she thrashes helplessly.

"Oh my God! Not my leg! Not my leg!" She screams with an understandable mix of fear and pain. The thin layer of skin around her knee begins to rip, blood pouring through as the strain goes above what human flesh is capable of withstanding. Her muscles twist and sag as the machine's merciless grasp tightens, and suddenly, with a horrible crack, her knee breaks sideays, making a wet, nauseating sound that echoes like thunder. 

The jagged edge of her femur rips through her skin with a nauseating pop, jutting out in a jagged shard. It weirdly reminds you of Adamantoise from Final Fantasy XV. Flesh hangs in torn, ragged ribbons around the exposed bone, and blood pours in a thick torrent, pooling in a dark stain beneath her mangled limb, much like Heeseung’s fingers did, except this is a lot more blood and a lot more evil to watch.

Jaehyun stumbles backwards, panic in his eyes as he tears open another drawer, frantically pulling out a key hidden behind a false panel. His hands shake as he tries the key in the restraint locking her left leg, just in the off chance. “Goddammit! What are these for?!” His voice cracks, teetering on the edge of despair as the key refuses to budge. His breath comes in ragged gasps, desperation turning his hands into quaking fists.

Your mind is overwhelmed by the image of Dayoung's leg, which is no longer recognisable as a limb but rather a tangle of flesh and bone gushing blood. It looks like raw meat shredded apart by wolves. The room spins around you as you claw at the walls, overturning furniture in a wild frenzy, searching for anything - literally anything - to stop this.

Suddenly, Sunoo’s shout pierces the chaos. “I’ve got a gold one!”.

He bolts toward Dayoung, holding up another key as if it were salvation itself. He jams it into the restraint around her left leg, but it doesn’t turn. The machine chugs and Dayoung’s other leg is pulled taut, the bone twisting under the skin in a gruesome slow-motion torture. The sound of her muscles tearing, that awful wet rip, lodges itself in your ears, and you can't shake it.

Then comes the final, sickening snap. The bone in her shin shatters, tearing through her skin in jagged shards. A spray of blood explodes across the room, splattering onto Sunoo’s face, and your legs. It feels warm and sticky against your skin, the coppery scent filling the air and overcoming your senses. Dayoung’s screams have weakened, her voice barely a whisper now, choked with exhaustion and agony, her eyes glazed over in shock, mouth spilling out choked sobs.

It’s amazing how different the circumstances between Dayoung and Heeseung are, yet their deaths follow a similar parallel. The sprays of blood, the weakened states, the bones crushing. It shows that no matter the reason for death, everyone bleeds and breaks the same.

“We don’t have much time!” Sunoo cries, his hands shaking violently, clutching the remaining keys like they’re mocking him. His eyes are wild, filled with fear as he glances between Dayoung’s mutilated body and the infernal machine that continues its slow, merciless work. You can feel it, too - the ticking clock of doom, grinding closer and closer to its inevitable, bloody end. 

It’s more daunting than the actual clock behind you.

The machine clicks ominously, and the sound alone makes your stomach lurch. Dayoung’s left arm jerks violently as the mechanical cuffs tighten around her wrist, pulling at her arm and beginning it’s torture on the perfectly in-place limb - the only one she has left. The grinding whir of the machine grows louder, almost gleeful, as though it’s savouring the destruction it's about to unleash on her fragile body. You know Jaeyun will surely be enjoying this - like machine, like inventor.

Her arm twists further, the tendons straining beneath the skin like cords ready to snap. Then, with a sickening pop, her shoulder dislocates just like her right, and you watch as the bone and muscle jut unnaturally against the surface of her skin, threatening to rip through. Blood begins to trickle from the edges of her arm, mixing with the thick pool already staining the floor beneath her mangled legs. Her head lolls to the side, her mouth opening in a weak gasp as her eyes roll back, the struggle for consciousness palpable on her ashen face.

Jaehyun is tearing apart the last piece of furniture in the room, his voice raw with frustration. “There has to be one more key!” He throws the remains of a shattered drawer against the wall, rage flooding his features. It’s supposed to be five keys for the five locks, and even though the older man knows that the likelihood of the last key working, he needs to find it for principle.

The machine doesn’t give you a moment to process that you can’t save her as a dark groan comes from behind her head. it locks into its final phase and Dayoung’s body spasms, her neck jerking in the metal collar now tightening around her throat. Her eyes snap open, wide with pure, unadulterated terror as the realisation hits her, the clock from the projector down to its final two minutes. “No! No, no, no! You said you would save me you fucking assholes.” Her scream is shrill, a piercing wail filled with desperation and horror, the kind that claws at your insides. Her chest heaves as she tries to force air through her constricted throat, her sobs now a mix of strangled cries and gurgling gasps.

The collar tightens further, pressing into her throat like a vice. Rather than spinning her around like it did her arms and legs, this one tightens, squeezing flat against her neck. Her throat bulges unnaturally under the pressure, veins pulsing as the skin stretches to its breaking point. She’s barely able to get a breath, her voice reduced to choking whimpers. “Please, please, stop it!” Dayoung pleads, her wide, panic-stricken eyes darting between you and the others, pleading for mercy, for salvation. “Don’t let it kill me! Please!”

You’re out of time. The keys don’t work and the machine has literally no mercy to offer. But Sunoo isn't going to just let someone die; it's not who he is. He begins to shake the device, kicking and clawing at it, desperation as his driving force. He attempts to remove the leather strap from her throat, but it's too tight to fit his fingers beneath.

“Y/N, you said you can hot wire! Fucking do something,” he cries out, never taking his eyes off Dayoung. He doesn’t know her but even with the dragging hours that have passed, learning about her and forming even a slither of connection, he has to do everything to get her out of this.

In a panic, you rush to the rear of the equipment ripping apart the metal plate concealing its inner workings. Inside, you can see the gears spinning, the chilly, complex system pushing Dayoung's head tighter and tighter, threatening to shatter her neck like a fragile twig.

As your fingers dig into the tangle of cables, the machine roars louder, its gears grinding cruelly, as if mocking your efforts. Sweat pours down your cheeks, and your hands tremble uncontrollably as you grasp at wires, hoping to disconnect something to halt the awful machinery. 

"Y/N, hurry!" Sunoo's voice breaks with dread, and his eyes widen as he sees Dayoung's body contort even more. Her short, raspy gasps get faster and more frantic as she struggles against the collar's inexorable tightening. She can't even fight with her body, all of her limbs being held together by straggled pieces of muscle and cartilage. If you were to describe it, you would say what should be her arms and legs have turned into those childhood blankets that disintegrate through years of wear and tear. Yet this only happened in a matter of minutes.

Your fingers fumble with the cables, shaking with every quick movement. You cross some over, hoping that by some miracle, your desperate efforts may put an end to the horror unfolding right in front of you. The air is heavy with tension, and each breath is weighed down by fear and powerlessness. But suddenly, amidst the metallic clinks and grinding hum of the machine, you hear it: the unmistakable click.

The machine surges, accelerating with terrifying speed”

"Y/N! Stop it! Stop it!" Sunoo’s voice is raw, squeaking with sheer panic, but the horror is already set in motion. The machine lets out a final, deafening whir, as if announcing its triumph, and then it happens.

The sound is an abomination - a sharp, bone-splitting crunch that reverberates through the room like a gunshot. It’s not just a snap; it’s a sickening, wet crack and squelch that makes your skin crawl, as though the very marrow inside her bones has been torn apart. 

Dayoung’s head shifts distortedly as it falls forward, barely hanging on. Her eyes are wide, lifeless - once filled with terror, now emptied of everything. There’s no struggle left in her, no more screams, no more gasps. The frantic twitching of her body ceases in an instant, the fight drained from her all at once, leaving only a horrifying stillness. Her limbs hang limp in the restraints, the tendons and bones within mangled beyond recognition.

Blood runs from her neck and down her body, creating a deep, black pool with a sticky surface that gleams in the harsh lights above, almost acting like a mirror. Every morsel of life have been drained from her, oozing into the concrete floor and merging with the carnage that has already taken her legs and arms. The machine comes to a slow, halting end, seemingly content with its work, leaving nothing but shattered quiet in its wake.

The silence that follows is oppressive, an emptiness so profound that it feels as if the room is closing in on the three of you. The weight of the terror bears down on your chest, making it difficult to breathe, and your pulse hammering in your ears as the realisation of what has just happened sets in. As you walk around to see the mess that you helped cause, you place a hand over your mouth, masking your emotions as your eyes trail every piece of her. Dayoung’s mutilated body hangs before you, a disturbing wreckage of blood, bone, and twisted flesh. Her limbs, once full of life and motion, now hang like shattered remnants of a body that once moved, once breathed. The machine has reduced her to ruin, her final scream still echoing faintly in your mind, haunting and relentless.

Sunoo backs up and you catch him before he falls, your left arm scooped around his waist as you hold him steady. You pat his head with your free hand, lulling him to calm down, but no amount of shushing or empathetic words can stop him from shutting down. So, you gently place him down on the ground, facing away from Dayoung’s mangled body.

The clock behind you switches from the dreaded countdown to Jaeyun, his eyes lighting up with joy as he takes in the pretty sight before him. 

“Wow. That was a mess huh?” The pout on his face makes him look young, but no matter how baby his face might look, he is still evil throughout his bones. "That is such a shame, guys. Really, I am so sorry. All you needed was one mor-" he stops suddenly and it's quiet as you’re all left in suspense. He giggles and gasps in mocking shock. "Oh no…guys this is all my fault…I didn't put in the right keys...my bad" 

The taunting lilt in Jaeyun's voice makes your skin crawl, the shine of the correct keys in his hands only adding insult to injury. The weight of Dayoung's lifeless body settles heavily on your chest, but Jaeyun’s words rip through that veil of despair like a sharp blade, twisting the knife deeper.

"You sick bastard!" Jaehyun shouts out, veins popping from his forehead. Hearing the murderer through a tannoy is one thing, but for Jaehyun, seeing him is so much worse. The smug grin that never leaves, the sheer enjoyment that vibrates through his body as he talks you through the torment, he can’t fucking stand it.

"Even if the correct keys had been in place, Dayoung would still be nothing more than a twisted wreck. This doesn’t change anything. Her fate was sealed the moment this game began. You didn’t find the last key."

Frustration mounts, fists clenched and knuckles whitening. There’s an instinct to lash out, to break something, to do anything to fight the powerlessness suffocating the room. "You’re lying!" Jaehyun snaps, refusing to believe or accept his own downfall in finding the key. "You hid that last key! There was never a chance to save her!"

The murderer on the screen gives a cold laugh, eyes gleaming with perverse pleasure. "Now, now," comes the taunting coo, "I wouldn’t be screaming at your potential future employee, Jaehyun."

A sharp bang fills the space as Jaehyun’s fist slams against the wall, the thud reverberating through the air. "Where is it?" The demand is firm, the need to know outweighing the anger. “Tell me where the last key is!”

A soft, condescending sigh follows. "Why do you care, hmm? Dayoung is already dead, her neck squished like a grape. Why does it matter?" The question is laced with cruelty, the words designed to provoke.

Taking a breath, Jaehyun forces the anger down, his voice dropping to a low growl. He needs to remain calm and focused right now. "Call it curiosity."

Silence hangs for a moment before Jaeyun leans forward, his gaze dark with amusement. "Curiosity, huh?" he muses. "I like that in my workers." The pause stretches on as if savouring the tension. Then, his voice takes on a more dramatic tone. "The last key…is in the eye of the beholder." 

“What the fuck does that mean?" The sneer from Jaehyun is filled with disdain as his eyes narrowed in frustration. "Quit with your cryptic bullshit!"

Jaeyun’s grin widens into something grotesque. He doesn’t explain, not even a blues clues crayon drawing to help you understand. Instead, he adopts a chirpier demeanour, clapping his hands together and bringing back that game show host vibe he had at the very beginning. 

"Who’s ready for round three?" The shift in tone is as jarring as it is maddening, the man’s sadistic pleasure in his own game shining through.

A whisper breaks the silence. "W-what is it?" Sunoo’s voice trembles, his body shaking and eyes glistening with tears.

"Glad you asked, Sunoo!" The glee in Jaeyun’s voice is palpable, oozing cruelty. "Round three is a favourite in our household. We like to call it...Key Cutter."

A thrill spikes as you glance toward the screen, dread and curiosity settling deep in your stomach. "What...what does that mean?" you ask, voice tight.

"It begins with a scan," he replies, his tone dropping lower and more sinister. “Y/N, why don’t you be a doll and grab the brown envelope on the table to your right?”

Swallowing hard, you nod and move stiffly toward the table, legs heavy. The envelope sits there, innocuous in appearance, yet you know that whatever it contains will be anything but ordinary. With trembling hands, you tear it open and pull out the contents. A stack of MRI images stares back at you, cold and clinical. At first, you don't register what you're seeing, but then the truth hits like a sledgehammer. 

The scan shows a skull, some side view and others straight on, but within it, lodged behind the eye socket, is something metallic.

A key…the key.

“What the hell is this?” Your voice barely escapes your lips as the images tremble in your hands.

Jaeyun’s laughter reverberates through the room. "Oh, it’s actually kinda funny. The fifth key you need? It’s hidden inside someone’s skull."

A wave of nausea washes over you as his words sink in. One of you is carrying the key inside your own head.

“How the hell were we supposed to know that?” Jaehyun barks, snatching the scan from your hands quickly, eyes narrow as he studies the image and muscles tensing with each second that passes. His knuckles turn white, gripping the paper so tightly that it threatens to tear. There’s a fire in his eyes - rage, frustration, and helplessness all coiling into a dangerous tornado inside him.

“Didn’t you say you were good at finding things? You should’ve figured that out, Jaehyun.” The taunt from Jaeyun cuts deep, aimed with precision to needle Jaehyun's already strained patience, and clearly it’s working.

Sunoo, wiping his tear-streaked cheeks, takes a trembling step forward. His body is still shaking but there’s a determination now - a need to understand what the fuck is going on, even as fear gnaws at him.

“I...I want to see it,” Sunoo mumbles softly, his voice cracking as he approaches. His hand reaches out, fingers quivering as they touch the edge of the scan and pull it from the man’s grasp. Sunoo doesn’t like anger or confrontation and although he understands Jaehyun and his right to be mad, it doesn’t make him any less frightened of him.

His eyes flit across the image, tracing the lines of the skull, the shape of the eye socket, and finally, the small key embedded within. His breath catches in his throat. “Whose... whose eye is it?” he asks, his voice barely above a whisper.

A sinister chuckle echoes through the speakers. “Why don’t you take a closer look, bud?” 

Sunoo’s fingers tighten around the paper, pulling the image closer to his face and his brows furrowing as he focuses. There’s something familiar about the shape, the positioning of the skull. He’s seen this before...in a different context. His eyes widen suddenly, like a jolt of icy realisation has shot through him, freezing him in place.

“N-no...” he breathes, the colour draining from his face. His lips tremble, and his whole body runs cold, every part of him going rigid as his heart pounds in his chest, desperate to keep his blood pumping. "I-it’s...it’s mine."

Both you and Jaehyun turn toward him, the air in the room thickening with dread. Sunoo stares at the scan, barely able to process what he’s seeing. His hand lifts shakily to his face, fingers hovering near his right eye, as if he could somehow feel the key hidden inside, buried in his skull. "I-I recognise the fracture," he says, voice trembling. "I...I had an accident a few years ago...a fall. They did a scan, and it looks just like this...This is my skull."

A suffocating silence falls over the room as the three of you stare blankly at the scan, any hope that it was a hoax now ripped away from each of you. 

Sunoo is the one. The key is inside him. And now, the terrible weight of what that means settles over the group like a dark cloud.

Jaeyun’s voice, dripping with delight, breaks the tension. “That’s right, Sunoo! You’re the chosen one. You’ve been holding onto the key this whole time. Isn’t it funny how life works?” The sound of his laughter twists the knife further into the collective horror.

Sunoo stumbles back, his legs giving way as he crumples to the floor, shaking violently and backing up to the wall. "No...no, no, no...this can’t be real!" His hands grasp at his face, desperate and terrified, as if he could pull the key out by sheer will alone. Tears stream freely now, the terror overwhelming him completely. It might be his imagination but as the salty liquid hits his lips once again, there’s a metallic taste to it, the key dissolving into his tears.

"Hey, hey, it's okay! We don’t need the key anymore, Sunoo. You’re safe,” you rush to comfort him, your voice strained but hoping that somehow your words will break through his panic. After all, Dayoung’s fate was sealed without that final key. What difference would it make now?

But the instant Jaeyun’s voice cuts in, your skin crawls, and you feel a chill deep in your bones. "Weeeelll..." Jaeyun drags out the word, dripping with sinister delight. You freeze. His tone alone tells you that something much worse is coming. You glance at Sunoo, who is still sitting in a broken heap on the floor, and your stomach turns.

"You see," Jaeyun continues, "those keys you’ve been gathering? They weren’t actually for task two... but you do need them for task three."

The room seems to close in as his words seep into your mind. You can feel Sunoo next to you, his entire body trembling uncontrollably. His eyes glaze over in shock, and he looks like he’s going to be sick - and you wouldn’t blame him if he projectiled all over the floor right now. 

The sharp stench of fear and sweat fills the air. His throat bobs, dry lips parting as if he wants to say something, but nothing comes out because there’s nothing to say, nothing that can get him out of this. His chest rises and falls rapidly, breaths shallow, and you see the terror completely take over.

"Y-you’re lying...we don’t need the key..." Sunoo mumbles, but there’s no conviction behind his words. His body betrays him, curling in on itself, as though he’s trying to make himself small enough to disappear.

Jaeyun hums thoughtfully, as though considering. "I wouldn’t lie to you. I make it habit never to lie to my employees. You see, task three? It’s a blood sport. Literally."

A low, ominous hum begins to vibrate in the room, coming from somewhere deep in the walls. The tension mounts as Jaeyun’s explanation continues. "There’s a box in front of you, you see it? That box needs to be filled with blood. When it’s full, the door to the final interview will open. Easy enough, right?" His voice is light, almost playful. But the implications hang heavy in the air, crushing your hope.

Your eyes dart around, searching the dim room until they land on the glass box that had gone unnoticed until now, nestled against the far wall. It's ominous, with measured lines down the side of it, indicating the measurements of what it’s supposed to hold.

"The catch," Jaeyun goes on, relishing every moment of your growing horror, "is that you need all the keys to unlock the cabinet where some special tools are stored. You can’t spill a drop until you have every key in hand because you can only use the tools that I give you! And before you think about it; no, you cannot use Dayoung or Heeseung’s blood, that would be waaay too easy."

Sunoo stifles a sob as he listens, hands clenched at his sides. His breath comes out ragged, and his whole body seems to shake with barely contained hysteria. “N-no...I can’t...I can’t do this!” His voice wavers as his panic deepens. The vomit threatening in his throat seems to rise, and he swallows it back, his face going pale as his lips tremble.

You kneel down beside him, placing a firm hand on his shoulder. "Sunoo, listen to me," you whisper, trying to keep your voice steady. "We can figure this out. Just breathe."

Sunoo shakes his head frantically, panic surging through his veins. "I can’t...I can’t-"

Jaeyun cuts in again, casually flipping the mood. "Of course, you don’t have to volunteer yourself, Sunoo. You all make it a team effort. It’s up to you, I’m all for teamwork, although, I would like it if my new assistant had most of their body intact." He chuckles darkly, the sound grating in your ears like nails on a chalkboard.

Your heart sinks as you absorb his words. You glance at the others, trying to read their faces, but the reality of what’s being asked of you makes everything seem surreal.

"Fill the box with blood, and the door opens. Simple as that." Jaeyun’s words echo, cold and final. "If you want a shot at getting out of here, you're going to need that key. So, what’s it going to be?"

Sunoo squeezes his eyes shut and wraps his arms around himself, trying to keep from falling apart completely. Fresh tears fall down his cheeks and he’s breaking down right in front of you, shaking like a leaf from the wind that Jaeyun has just knocked out of him.

His panic spirals rapidly out of control; breaths come in short, erratic gasps, his chest heaving as if he can’t get enough air. His eyes dart around wildly, searching for a way out, but there is none. His entire body trembles violently, and you can see the sweat gathering at his hairline, his skin pale as death…which is all his body is gearing him up for.

“I can’t…I can’t…I can’t!” His voice cracks, hysteria rising, tears flowing freely down his cheeks. He starts backing away, his legs stumbling over themselves as he moves like a cornered animal. “Don’t make me! Please, I can’t do it!”

The desperation in his voice rips through you, and you can’t help but feel awful. Every instinct inside you screams to comfort him, to tell him it will be okay. But the truth is, it won’t be. There’s no escape from this. You’ve seen it too many times already. If you don’t get that key, you’re all going to die.

Your throat is tight, and the words feel like acid on your tongue as you step closer to him, trying to keep your voice steady. “Sunoo…listen to me. We…we don’t have a choice.” You swallow hard, the weight of what you’re about to say crushing you. “If we don’t get that key, we’re all dead. We need it. You know that. You’ve seen what happens here.”

Sunoo shakes his head furiously, his hands coming up to clutch his head as if trying to block out your words. “No, no, no…Please…There has to be another way.”

Jaehyunhis face is twisted in frustration. His fists clench and unclench, but you can see that same terrible understanding in his eyes. He knows there is no other way.

“There’s no time, Sunoo!” Jaehyun snaps, his voice harsh but cracking with the weight of the situation. “You heard him! If we don’t do this, we’re all going to end up like Dayoung and Heeseung. Do you want that?”

Sunoo’s face crumples, his hands dropping from his head as a sob escapes him. He shakes his head weakly, his voice just a titter or a whisper. “I don’t want to die…I don’t want to…” His wide, tear-filled eyes lock onto yours, pleading for some other solution, for some mercy that clearly no one is willing to give him.

You kneel in front of him, reaching out to gently take his nervous hands in yours. The moment your skin touches his, you feel how ice-cold he is, his body in shock. “I don’t want you to die either, Sunoo. None of us want this. But if we do this right, then you won’t. If you lose an eye you can still survive.”

His breath hitches, and you can see the conflict raging inside him. He doesn’t want to do it - no one would - but deep down, he knows you’re right. You can see it in his face, the crushing weight of the truth bearing down on him.

‘I can’t believe this is happening…” he whispers, his voice fragile, broken.

“I’m sorry…” You choke on the words. “I’m so sorry…but we need that key.”

For a long, horrible moment, the room is silent except for Sunoo’s ragged breathing. He’s staring at you, his eyes wide with disbelief and fear. Slowly, almost imperceptibly, he nods. It’s the smallest, most reluctant gesture, but it’s enough to get the ball rolling.

Jaehyun, seeing the acceptance wash over Sunoo, lets out a harsh, shaky breath. “Okay. Okay. We can do this. We’ll…we’ll be quick, alright?”

But you all know there’s no way this will be quick. Not if you want him to live.

You scour the room, and Jaehyun eventually finds a rusted metal spoon, one he skidded across the floor in the manic panic of the last task. He holds it up, his hand trembling as he looks at it with disgust. The idea of using something so crude for this…it’s unthinkable. But you have no other choice.

Sunoo is seated against the wall, his legs pulled up to his chest, his arms wrapped around them tightly. His breathing is uneven, and the tears have dried on his cheeks but his quivering lips tells you the fear he’s feeling.  His eyes are wide, staring off into space as if he’s trying to disassociate, trying to be anywhere but here. He knows what’s coming, and the terror is palpable and paralysing.

Quickly, Jaehyun places the spoon in your hand, dissolving himself of all responsibility in the matter. You don’t argue with him about it though, deciding that at least you can show some compassion in the moment, unlike someone…

“Sunoo, we’re going to do this together, okay? You’re not alone.” Your voice wavers, barely able to keep steady under the pressure.

He doesn’t respond at first, his gaze locked on the floor. But finally, he nods weakly. He looks up at you, eyes glistening with tears. “Just…do it quickly, please…”

You give him a reassuring - if be it fake - nod, but your hands begin to mirror hisnshaking form as you hold the spoon, the weight of what you’re about to do making your entire body feel cold. Jaehyun stands over you, watching intently.

“We have to be careful,” Jaehyun mutters, his voice strained. “We can’t mess this up.”

Ignoring Jaehyun, you and Sunoo look into one another's souls, knowing that there’s no careful way to do this. It’s going to hurt, no matter what.

Taking a deep breath, you steady yourself, and gently place your hand on the side of his head, positioning him. His breath hitches at your touch, and you can feel him trembling beneath your fingers, vibrations trepidation making your hand unsteady. You hate yourself for what you’re about to do to this innocent little lamb, but there’s no going back.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper, voice cracking, and then you bring the spoon to his eye. “I am so, so sorry, baby.”

The second the cold metal touches his skin, Sunoo jerks instinctively, letting out a strangled whimper. “No… no… please-”

“It’ll be over soon!” Jaehyun snaps, his voice tight with panic and impatience. He isn’t a nurturing person, you can tell that much about the enigmatic man, but you guess he is trying to soothe the boy in his own, fucked up way.

You press the spoon against his lower eyelid, feeling the resistance as it digs into his flesh. Blood wells up immediately, dark and thick, as you force the spoon deeper, pushing it into the socket. Sunoo’s screams fill the room, high-pitched and desperate, his body convulsing in pain.

“I’m sorry…I’m so sorry! Shhh,” you let a few tears fall, voice jittering as you work, your hands slick with his blood which now drips freely from the socket. The flesh tears as you force the spoon in deeper, scraping against bone and wiggling it around to break the tether, until you feel the pop - the horrifying, wet pop - of his eye dislodging from the socket.

Sunoo’s screams reach a fever pitch, his hands clawing at the ground and your chest, his entire body thrashing in agony. Blood pours from his ruined eye, streaming down his face in thick rivulets, soaking his clothes, those cute characters on his hoodie now looking like they’ve failed to survive a Jason Voorhees attack.

You force yourself to keep going, tears blurring your vision, and with a sickening squelch, you pull the eyeball free, catching it in your hand as it flies free from its home. Blood drips from the dangling nerve, pooling on the floor as Sunoo’s sobs turn to broken gasps, his body convulsing in shock and pain. The once-beautiful eye now sits useless and mutilated.

“There…there…” you whisper, voice shaking. But it’s far from over.

With nervous fingers, you reach into the hollow space behind his eye, feeling the sticky, wet mess of blood and tissue. You dig deeper, wincing at the sound of Sunoo’s raw, guttural cries, apologising profusely along the way, until your fingers brush against something cold and hard.

The key.

Sunoo's soft, pitiful sobs bounce around the room as you lean closer, brushing your lips against his forehead and trailing down to kiss away the tears that spill from his remaining eye. His whole body trembles beneath you, the shock of the impromptu surgery overwhelming him, and you feel a fierce protectiveness welling up inside you. He’s like your little brother, fragile and broken, and all you want to do is shield him from the horrors that keep crashing down on him.

You whisper soothing words, your hands gently cradling his head, but it does little to comfort him. His chest rises and falls in shallow breaths, each one laboured as he fights to keep his grip on reality. You stroke his hair, once blonde now dying red with the blood on your hands.

Jaehyun, meanwhile, is moving swiftly. He yanks the other keys from Sunoo’s blood-soaked pocket, his face a mask of determination, and then reaches out to take the key you’re still holding, your fingers slick with blood. His hand lingers for just a moment, his eyes locking onto yours as if to say ‘good job’, but the compliment lacks conviction. He just wants out of here, and granted you do to, but a little sympathy for the boy in your arms wouldn’t go amiss.

The metal locks clink against each other as he hurriedly makes his way to the box and tries each key, his hands shaking but focused. He jams the first key into the lock, twists it with a click, and tosses it aside. The second follows suit, then the third, each unlocking with a sharp clank that reverberates through the room. Your heart pounds in your chest with every click, the sound marking your descent deeper into this nightmare.

When he reaches the final key - the one you pulled from behind Sunoo’s eye - he hesitates, his thumb brushing over the bloodied surface. He turns to look back at Sunoo, whose broken body is slumped against the wall, pale and drenched in blood. Sunoo’s single eye is half-closed as he fights the sleep that pulls him. Jaehyun’s jaw tightens, and then with a final, decisive twist, he unlocks the last lock and throws the box open.

Inside, the contents are far from what any of you expected. A thin, transparent tube lies coiled neatly next to a length of what looks like wire - flimsy, almost like dental floss. Jaehyun’s face contorts in confusion as he pulls them out, holding the tube and wire up to the dim light.

“What the fuck? How are we supposed to get blood with this?” he mutters, examining the odd materials in his hands. His voice wavers slightly, betraying the exhaustion and frustration that’s building beneath the surface.

You tear your gaze away from Sunoo’s spent body, trying to focus on what Jaehyun is holding and your mind races, trying to make sense of the strange tools laid out before you. Honestly, you expected a knife or a saw, but not this.

Sunoo, still groggy and weak from the pain, turns his head toward Jaehyun, squinting with his one remaining eye. He looks disoriented, his face pale and drawn, but his voice comes out in a weak rasp. “Put the tube…in my socket…” His words are a breathless whisper, as though each one costs him more strength than he has to give.

“There’s not enough blood in there, baby,” you say softly, trying to keep your voice calm, though every part of you is screaming. “We need more than that…” You pause, staring at the box, dread curling in your stomach. “What does it say on the box?” you ask, hoping there’s some instruction that might make this clearer. “How deep is it?”

Jaehyun glances down at the lid of the box, his brows furrowing as he reads the small print engraved there. His lips tighten as he processes it. “It says…the container can hold 1 litre.”

Your heart sinks at the words. A litre of blood. That’s more than any eye socket could ever give, no matter how gruesome the idea. You cast another glance at the tube in Jaehyun’s hand, and that horrible idea solidifies even further in your mind. You’d need to draw blood directly from someone’s veins, from their body - slowly, methodically, until the box fills with enough to unlock the next stage.

“Jesus…” Jaehyun mutters, running a hand through his hair. His eyes dart back to Sunoo, then to you. “We need to decide. There’s no other way, is there?”

You shake your head, the weight of the situation pressing down on you like a boulder. “No. There isn’t.”

Sunoo turns his head slightly, trying to make sense of what you’re saying, his face drenched with sweat as he goes through a cold flush. He’s still coming to terms with the loss of his eye, his body limp from the trauma, but he knows there’s more to this task and he has to push through.

His lips part as if he’s going to say something, but no words come out at first. His breath is ragged, and for a moment, you think he might pass out from the stress. But then, he swallows, his throat bobbing, and he looks at you, resignation written all over his face.

“I’ll…I’ll do it,” he whispers, his voice barely audible. “If it’s…if it’s the only way…”

“Sunoo, no-” You start to protest, but the look he gives you is so filled with sorrow and determination that it makes your heart break all over again.

“I can,” he breathes, shaking his head weakly. “I’m already…dead anyway. It might as well be me…”

Jaehyun steps forward, his eyes softening as he kneels beside Sunoo. “We’re not asking you to die, Sunoo. We just need enough blood to get through this. We’ll stop before it’s too much, alright?” His voice is low, almost gentle, trying to reassure him, but you can see the strain on his face. 

None of you are sure how far this will go.

Sunoo takes a shuddering breath and closes his eye, giving the faintest of nods. He knows there’s no escape, no mercy here, and it crushes your soul to see him like this. You can only begin to imagine how vibrant and charismatic he is outwith the circumstances.

You carefully wipe the blood from his cheek and cradle his face in your hands. You can feel his body trembling beneath your fingers, the fear coursing through him and shock from the blood loss overtaking his nerves, but he’s trying to be brave. 

“I’m sorry,” you whisper again, voice breaking. You wish there were something else you could say, something more you could do to make this easier. But there’s nothing.

“If you make it out, can you…please tell my mum I love her?” It’s a simple last request, but one that tugs at your heartstrings.

Tell my mum I love her. Such a simple, human request - one that breaks you more than any of the blood and horror surrounding you. You press your forehead against his gently, tears brimming in your eyes as you try to find some semblance of strength to give him the answer he needs, even if you are unsure about the fate.

“You’ll tell her yourself, Sunoo,” you whisper back, though the words feel hollow even as you say them. You both know the chances are slim but you cling to the lie because the truth is too unbearable.

His lips quiver, and for a moment, he tries to offer you a smile but it falters before it fully forms. Instead, his eye glimmers with dread and tears, his breath shallow as each exhale hitches painfully in his chest.

“We…we can do this,” you continue, voice shaking. “We can cut through your leg with the wire. I saw it in a movie once.” You don’t know if the suggestion is even realistic, but the desperation in your voice makes it sound plausible - you suppose anything can be justified if it means surviving this. “There’s a lot of blood in the leg…and then we can tourniquet it. We can use Jaehyun’s tie and wrap it around tightly to stop the blood after we fill that stupid box.”

Sunoo’s eye widens, the reality of what you’re suggesting setting in. His whole body tenses, his remaining hand clutching weakly at your sleeve, holding onto you for some last semblance of comfort. The fear is obvious in him, but so is his trust in you. It’s the worst thing - knowing he trusts you to guide him through this but also knowing you’re about to lead him into more pain.

“I know,” you murmur, brushing your thumb against his blood-smeared cheek. “I know it sounds fucking awful and scary…but I promise I’ll stop the bleeding before anything bad happens, okay? You’re not alone in this.”

His chest shudders with a sharp, ragged breath, already foreshadowing his fate with a death rattle. Still, he gives a shallow but definitive nod; he’s surrendering to the outcome that has formed in his head, giving up his life for you and Jaehyun, and it breaks something in you.

Jaehyun watches from the side, his face a stony mask, though you can tell he’s struggling, the weight of what you’re about to do hanging over all of you all like a death sentence. He moves closer, his voice low and controlled, though there’s a slight undercurrent underneath it. “Let’s get it over with. The longer we wait, the harder it’s going to be.”

You nod, trying to swallow down the bile rising in your throat. Jaehyun holds out the thin wire, its appearance belying the horrific task it’s going to perform.

Laying back against the wall, Sunoo’s body stiffen, his breaths coming in quick, panicked bursts. His lips are dry and cracked, his whole form trembles as the fear tears him apart from the inside.

“Sunoo,” you say softly, “look at me. Just focus on me, yeah? We’re going to get through this.”

His eye locks onto yours, wide and full of terror, but he nods weakly, his chest rising and falling erratically. His lips quiver, his breaths shallow and quick, as he braces himself for what’s coming next. 

You quickly take off his jeans, discarding them and gently lifting his thigh over the wire, feeling the warmth of his skin beneath your touch. The thought that in a few minutes his leg will be severed and bone sawed makes your hands shake, but you force yourself to keep moving. You can’t falter. Not now.

Jaehyun steps in to help, holding Sunoo’s ankle firmly and holding his leg in place. He glances at you, his jaw set. “Ready?”

You nod, swallowing hard. “Yeah. Let’s do this.” 

That might be the biggest lie you’ve ever said…or one of them at least.

“I’m so sorry, Sunoo,” you whisper, and with a deep breath, you begin to saw.

The wire digs into his flesh, slicing through the skin and muscle like a knife through butter, its flimsy appearance teaching you never to judge a book by its cover.

Sunoo screams - a raw, gritting sound that rips through the room, filling the air with his agony. The sound pierces you to your core, every second of his suffering echoing in your head as the wire cuts deeper, exposing the red tissue beneath the skin.

Blood spills instantly, thick and dark, pouring from the wound and pooling on the floor. It’s warm, sticky, and the metallic of it all stifles the room, making your stomach churn.

Sunoo thrashes in your grip, his hands clutching at the ground as his scream dissolves into sobs. He’s in agony and his body convulses as the wire digs deeper into his flesh. His face slick with sweat, his eye squeezed shut as he tries to block out the pain, but it’s useless. 

You keep pulling the wire back and forth, your hands covered in blood, trembling as the wire grinds through his leg, severing muscle, tendon, and bone. It’s a gruesome, horrific scene, the wet, squelching sound of flesh being torn apart filling your ears. 

“Hold on, Sunoo,” you whisper for his comfort, though your voice shakes. “Just a little longer…”

His cries are ragged and throat hoarse from screaming, his whole body is shaking violently, his face twisted in pain. You can see the life draining out of him, the blood loss taking its toll, and you know you have to act fast.

With a final, desperate pull, the wire severs through the leg with a sickening slce, and Sunoo’s leg comes free. His scream echoes through the room, a sound so full of pain and fright that it feels like it’s tearing your soul apart. 

Sunoo is barely conscious now, his body limp, his eye fluttering as he teeters on the edge of passing out. His breaths are shallow and rapid, and his face is ashen, the life draining from him with every second.

You drop the wire, horrified by what you’ve just done, but there’s no time to dwell on it because you have to finish this. You have to fill the box or it will all be for nothing.

Jaehyun grabs the tube, plunging it into the open wound, sucking on it to get the flow started,  and soon enough the blood begins to flow through it, filling the container. The sight of it makes your chest tighten but you force yourself to watch, to make sure it works. Thick and dark crimson pumps into the small tube you’ve inserted.

It starts slowly - drop by drop, the blood pooling in the bottom of the box, each splash of liquid a reminder of the life draining from him. It feels like time is slipping through your fingers, just like the life from Sunoo’s body. 

“Stay with me, Sunoo,” you whisper, voice breaking as the tears build in your eyes. You can barely see through them, but you refuse to let them fall. Not now. You reach out, carefully wiping away the blood thats still falling from his socket and smeared over his clammy skin.

Sunoo’s one good eye flutters weakly open, overridden with pain, yet still trying to focus on you. The sight of him like this - broken, scared - it tears at your heart in ways you can’t describe. “I’m sorry,” you say again, voice cracking under the weight of your guilt. You wish there was something, anything, that could make this easier, but there isn’t.

“Tell me it will be okay,” he whispers, his voice barely audible, yet the words hit you like a freight train. You swallow hard, a sob rising in your throat, but you push it down. You can’t promise him a lie, but you can’t vocalise the truth either.

You steal a glance at the box as the blood continues to flow into the container, the level slowly creeping higher. It’s almost full, almost there but it feels like it’s taking forever. And Sunoo…Sunoo is fading faster than you can process.

Jaehyun watches in tense silence, his knuckles white as he grips the tube, his face hard but his eyes betraying the same fear and helplessness you feel. His jaw clenches as he steals a look at Sunoo, then back at the box, calculating the blood flow, his mind racing against the ticking clock that seems to be counting down to Sunoo’s last breath.

Finally, the blood reaches the top of the container, the dark liquid filling it to the brim and Jaehyun curses under his breath, his eyes flickering to you, waiting for you to take the next step.

But Sunoo’s body has already gone limp. His breathing has slowed to a near stop.

“Sunoo…” you murmur, panic rising in your chest. You can’t lose him. Not after this. Not now.

“Quick!” you blurt, hands fumbling as you reach for the tie around Jaehyun’s neck. You pull it off in one fluid motion, shaking, and wrap it tightly around his leg, above the gaping wound. You’re gripping it so desperately that you lose sensation in your fingers, but the blood just keeps coming despite your efforts.

“Come on,” you beg, tears streaming freely now, desperate to stop the vicious flow of blood. “Please. Please just hold on!”

You knot the tie with shaking fingers, doing everything you can to slow the torrent, but it’s already too late. His body is cold beneath your hands and the life that was once in his eyes is slowly fading away.

The blood has poured out too quickly, too much of it lost in too short a time. You glance at the box and see it screaming victory - but at what cost? The success feels hollow, a sick joke in the face of Sunoo’s fading life.

“Sunoo, please…please stay with me. You’re going to be okay. You have to be…”

As you mutter the words, you can feel his body grow still, his breath stutters and falters. “I’m sorry,” you whisper, your tears falling onto his cold cheek. You kiss away the blood and tears, desperate to bring him comfort, to let him know that he isn’t alone in these final moments.

Sunoo’s lips part, a faint sound escaping him, but it’s not a word - it’s just a weak, broken breath. His chest rises one last time, then falls with finality, and you feel the last of his warmth leave him.

“No…” Your voice is barely a whisper, breaking under the weight of your grief. You can’t look away from him, even as the silence fills the room, thick and suffocating.

Jaehyun steps back, his hands falling to his sides as he watches the scene unfold. The tie around Sunoo’s leg is soaked with blood, useless now and only acting as a symbol of your failure to save him. 

The door creaks open, signalling the end of the task, but there’s no relief, no victory. Only loss. Only the hollow, aching void left behind as Sunoo’s body lies motionless before you.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper one last time, though it feels empty now. You hold onto him, even though he’s already gone, the weight of his loss crushing your chest, making it hard to breathe.

_______

The door that you hoped would lead to freedom opens into something far worse. Instead of the grim, blood-soaked chaos you’ve become accustomed to, you're met with a blinding light so harsh that it feels like needles piercing your eyes. 

You squint, trying to adjust, and the scene before you slowly comes into focus. It’s jarring - the sterile whiteness of the room, the gleaming tiles that cover the walls, floors, and ceiling, all so clean, so pristine, it feels unnatural. There's no trace of death here, no hint of the violence that has marred your every step. The air smells faintly of disinfectant, as though someone had meticulously scrubbed away any sign of life.

Your eyes are drawn to the centre of the room where a steel table sits. Its surface gleams and has two folding chairs on either side. The setting feels clinical, almost surgical, like a place where emotions have no home, and only cold, calculated decisions are made. 

As your vision clears fully, you notice something on the table. It stands out against the spotless surroundings, its presence contrasting. 

A gun. Black, sleek, and menacing, it rests atop the table like a predator waiting to strike. It glistens under the fluorescent lights, polished to perfection for this exact moment - a moment you don’t know if you’re prepared for.

Without hesitation, Jaehyun is the first to move. His eyes lock onto the weapon, drawn to it like a moth to a flame, his hand reaching out to grab it. His fingers are mere inches away when the room is filled with a slow, deliberate clap, echoing off the walls with a mockery that makes your stomach twist.

Both of you freeze, turning towards the sound, your hearts hammering in sync. There, stepping calmly into the room, is Jaeyun, the man responsible for all this suffering. But this time, he’s different. The game show host energy that once radiated from him has dimmed, replaced with an eerie calm. His movements are fluid and his face wears an expression of utter contentment. 

“Congratulations on making it this far,” he says smoothly, his voice carrying twisted pride. “It was a tough interview, huh?” His smirk widens as he speaks, his eyes flicking between you and Jaehyun, watching your reactions like a predator savouring its prey’s final moments.

The words hit Jaehyun like gasoline on fire. He sees red, the pent-up rage, fear, and exhaustion now coming to blow. With a feral growl, he lunges at Jaeyun, fists clenched, ready to pummel him into oblivion. But before he can reach him, Jaehyun’s body jerks violently. His scream of outrage is cut short and replaced with one of agony as he collapses to the ground, muscles spasming uncontrollably.

You stare in horror, your brain struggling to comprehend what the fuck just happened. Jaeyun’s face remains neutral and his expression almost bored as he watches Jaehyun writhe on the floor. He looks at you, shrugging with casual indifference. “You didn’t think I’d walk in here without some form of protection, did you?” His voice is soft and conversational, like he’s discussing the weather and not the violent collapse of the man before you.

Jaehyun’s body finally stills, but he’s left trembling on the ground. With sheer effort, he manages to push himself up onto his knees, his face contorted in pain and fury. 

“What the fuck was that?” he spits out, his tone raw with rage.

Jaeyun raises an eyebrow, almost amused by Jaehyun’s defiance. “Just a little insurance,” he says with a smirk. “A key in Sunoo’s eye wasn’t the only action my medical table got.”

You blink in confusion, trying to process his words. Jaeyun, ever the showman, sighs dramatically and points at the back of his neck. “I installed a little chip into each of you, right at the base of your skull. A ‘zapper,’ if you wanna call it that. I didn’t think I’d need to use it, but it’s nice to have, don’t you think? Keeps things…civilised.”

Digging his fingers into the back of his neck, Jaehyun’s expression twists with shock and anger. “You chipped us?” The words shake as he spits them out, his eyes wild with disbelief. “You’ve tortured us, and you’ve got the nerve to call this civilised?”

Jaeyun’s smirk widens, enjoying Jaehyun’s reaction. “Tortured? Naaah, torture is messy. I gave you choices. Every step of the way. This?” He points to Jaehyun’s shaking body. “This is just an incentive to play by the rules.”

“This is a fucking game to you,” Jaehyun growls through gritted teeth, his voice low and dangerous. “You enjoy this, don’t you?”

“It’s not a game, Jaehyun. It’s an interview. And you’ve done so well making it to the final round.” He gestures toward the gun resting on the table, its dark presence looming like a shadow over the room. “Call this the work trial.”

The silence that follows is thick, suffocating, as the weight of what comes next begins to sink in. You can feel the tension crackling in the air between the three of you, like a wire pulled too tight, ready to snap at any moment. The gun, once a distant threat, now feels like an inevitability.

Jaeyun’s voice cuts through the tense silence, as smooth as ever. “Can you both take a seat, please?” 

You glance at Jaehyun, then at the gun resting ominously on the table, before you both lower yourselves into the cold metal chairs across from one another.

The gun, gleaming under the fluorescent light, is the unwelcomed third party in this macabre meeting. You can feel the weight of it, the way it pulls all the air out of the room, making it difficult to think or breathe. Across from you, Jaehyun is just as tense, his eyes flicking between you and the weapon. Although, while you’re scared of the outcome, Jaehyun looks determined, willing to do anything.

Jaeyun leans casually against the wall, arms crossed, observing the way you both wriggle in discomfort, a fun source of entertainment. “Now, this is the easiest task of all. No wicked schemes or brilliantly designed traps.” His tone is boastful, an artist revelling in his own masterpieces. “All you have to do…is shoot.”

His words hang in the air, heavy and cold like a death sentence. You shift uncomfortably in your seat, your gaze darting from Jaeyun to Jaehyun and back to the gun. There’s a pit forming in your stomach, because whatever happens next, you know you’re going to be unprepared every minute of it.

“The rules are simple,” Jaeyun continues, his voice disturbingly cheerful. “One of you picks up the gun and shoots the other. I need to make sure you’ll kill who I tell you to.” He pauses to gage your reactions, and when he sees your shaking hands and Jaehyun’s mutter of disbelief under his breath, there’s a mocking lilt to his voice. “C’mon, don’t make this harder than it needs to be, guys. I mean, you’ve already killed before, right, Jaehyun? Why hesitate now?”

Jaehyun freezes and face hardens as Jaeyun’s words strike a nerve. The shift is subtle, but you notice it - the tension in his jaw, the way his eyes darken with something unreadable. You furrow your brow, confused and suspicious.

“What is he talking about?” you ask, your voice barely more than a whisper. Your eyes search Jaehyun’s face, looking for answers, but he avoids your gaze, his shoulders tightening.

“Nothing,” Jaehyun mutters with his voice now gruff and defensive.

Jaeyun’s smile spreads wider, almost gleeful. “Oh, you wanna keep it a secret? Okay, that’s fine.” He lifts his hands in mock surrender, but his eyes are gleaming with malice. “But, Y/N, he has killed someone before. What’s to say he won’t do the same to you? You should consider taking the shot. Self-preservation, you know?”

With your mind swirling with doubt, you stare deep into the man’s deadpanned face. The Jaehyun you’ve fought beside, suffered with, suddenly seems like a stranger. To be fair, he is a stranger, yoy don’t know him from adam. 

Jaehyun’s fists clench on the table, his knuckles white. “Don’t listen to him,” he snaps, his voice tight with barely restrained fury. “He’s just trying to get inside your head.”

“Am I?” Jaeyun’s tone is laced with cruel taunt now. He takes a step forward, his eyes shining with the pleasure of watching your doubt grow. “Or maybe I’m just telling the truth. I mean, how well do you know him? He’s desperate, Y/N. Desperate men will do anything to survive...ain’t that right, JaeJae?”

“Shut the fuck up!” Jaehyun growls, obviously not content with the nickname nor the underlining accusations.

Jaeyun, of course, is unfazed, his smirk never faltering. “What’s wrong, Jaehyun? Can’t handle the truth?” He leans in slightly, his eyes gleaming with malice. “Face it - you’ll do anything to get ahead. All you have to do is pull that trigger, and you get to live. Easy, right?”

Every part of you wants to scream, to run, to make this nightmare end, but you’re trapped. Trapped between Jaeyun’s manipulations, Jaehyun’s anger, and the gun on the table.

For a moment, everything is still. Then Jaehyun moves.

In a blur of motion, Jaehyun’s hand shoots forward, grabbing the gun with a speed that startles you. He stands, his chair screeching as it scrapes against the floor, and before you can even react, he’s pointing the barrel straight at your head.

“Sorry, sweetheart,” he strainly mutters, a hint of regret lacing his tone. “I’m more valuable alive than dead. I’ll make sure this bastard pays, for all of us.”

It doesn’t take him two seconds to pull the trigger, and the moment his does, time itself seems to slow. The world around you shrinks to the narrow tunnel of focus between you and the gun, its evil barrel aimed squarely between your eyes. 

The sterile white walls reverberate the sudden echo of violence, making the shot even louder, more deafening. The bright lights overhead seem to flicker for just a second, casting shadows across Jaehyun’s face as he stares at you, frozen in place. The gun in his hand shakes violently, his knuckles white from how tightly he’s gripping it. 

For him, the world has gone silent. His ears are ringing, his heart pounding so loudly that he can hear absolutley nothing else.

You, however, remain perfectly still.

The moment stretches on forever. The smell of gunpowder lingers in the air, sharp and bitter, mingling with the sterile scent of the room. You watch Jaehyun’s face twist from anger and sorrow to confusion. His brows furrow and eyes deplete in size as the seconds tick by and the smoke from the gunshot dissipates. 

He blinks, disbelief spreading across his features. His chest rises and falls as the enormity of what should have just happened sinks in. Key word being should.

But you’re still there. Sitting calmly, untouched. Not a drop of blood, not a flicker of pain or fear on your face. In fact, there’s something else entirely.

Your lips part in a smile, a soft laugh bubbling up from deep inside you, completely at odds with the life-or-death moment that just unfolded. The sound cuts through the tension like a knife, light and eerie in the quiet aftermath of the shot. Jaehyun flinches at the noise, his eyes darting wildly between you and the weapon in his hand. His pulse quickens, his breath hitching, and you can see the tremor in his hand growing stronger as he tries to make sense of the situation.

He blinks again, harder this time, as if trying to wake himself from a nightmare. But no matter how much he wills it, you’re still sitting there, your expression composed, your eyes gleaming with something - something he can't quite place. It’s not fear. It’s not shock. It’s not even anger.

It’s amusement.

“What the hell…” he breathes, barely above a whisper. His words are broken, disjointed as his mind struggles to form any coherent thought. “I shot you. I…I shot you.”

You tilt your head, your smile widening as you lean back in your chair. There’s a smugness in your posture, a confidence that sends a chill down Jaehyun’s spine. His heart is racing, his chest tightening with a feeling he can’t quite describe. Fear? Confusion? Betrayal? Maybe all three.

“For a detective,” you murmur, your voice low and mocking, “you sure miss the mark.”

He stares at you like you’ve just spoken in a foreign language. “What-what are you talking about?” His voice wavers, the certainty he once had crumbling as the pieces of the puzzle scatter before him.

Your soft giggle echoes in the room again, and you watch as his hands shake, the gun slowly lowering from where it had been aimed at your head. He looks down at it, something he uses almost every day now something he can’t understand. 

“I don’t get it…” His voice is weak now, the bravado from moments ago completely gone. The gun in his hand feels heavy, useless almost. “Why are you - what’s going on?”

Before he can even gather a clump of understanding, Jaeyun’s lips brush against your head, soft and tender, the casual affection jarring against the brutal backdrop of the room,making Jaehyun wonder if it’s the smoke or the panic of the ‘work trial’ that’s making him see illusions.

"Good job, baby," Jaeyun murmurs, his words oozing with pride.

“Baby?” Jaehyun echoes, his voice strangled with disbelief.

You stand up slowly, brushing off your clothes and shaking off the last remnants of the innocent facade you wore. Now, you’re free to reveal the truth, and the satisfaction rolls off you in waves. You tilt your head, eyes shining as you lock onto his shattered expression. “What?” you ask, pouting in mockery. “Didn’t suspect me? This is why you’re so terrible at your job, Detective Jeong.”

Jaehyun’s face twists in horror as your words settle in. You were in on this. All of it. “What sick joke is this?” he growls, desperation creeping into each syllable, thick and bitter.

You giggle at his choice of words, filling the sterile room with an eerie playfulness that makes the bewildered man’s skin crawl. "Sick? I don’t know if I’d call it sick.” You glance over at Jaeyun, who’s watching with an amused smirk, before turning back to Jaehyun. "It's so fucking funny from where I’m standing."

Jaehyun’s body jerks as he tries to push himself to his feet, the fire of defiance still burning inside him. But Jaeyun casually pulls out the small remote from his pocket and presses the button without hesitation once again. The sharp, electric snap crackles through the air, and Jaehyun screams just as before, collapsing back into his seat. His muscles lock, spasming as the shock courses through his nervous system.

Keeping his thumb on the button just a fraction longer than necessary, Jaeyun watches with an almost clinical detachment as Jaehyun’s body finally stills. His breath is ragged, and he coughs, choking on the pain. “W-why?” he hisses out, his voice barely more than a rasp, his whole body trembling from the shock.

You casually sit upon the steel table, crossing your legs with the same nonchalance you’d have if you were sitting in a café. Your smile is soft, almost affectionate, as you look down at him. "Well, I hate to pin blame on people, but this is actually your fault."

Jaehyun’s brow knit together, his mind struggling to process everything. "What...what do you mean? How the fuck is it my fault?" His voice is hoarse, broken.

“You see, we know how long you’ve been after Jaeyun. Two years, is it? You've been so relentless, so close, but never quite enough," you give as half an answer and keep your tone light, so scarily similar to Jaeyun’s, yet you sound more evil. Perhaps it’s because Jaehyun not 5 minutes ago had perceived you as a scared girl, trapped in a nightmare.

"My baby has been following you, actually. Quite closely. You spent years interviewing every possible witness, arresting suspects, trying to catch the ‘Midnight Murderer’ and yet, despite all your efforts, you couldn’t quite figure out who or where he was." You pause, watching as Jaehyun’s expression shifts, the pieces clicking together painfully. “Then, you got a tip that he was hiding in the Avenue Garage. You were so desperate for his blood, so eager to finally catch your big break, that you didn’t even question it. You just barged in and killed the first guy you saw.”

Jaehyun’s face pales, his breath catching in his throat. His eyes widen with realisation dawning slowly but surely, like a weight sinking into his gut. “No…” he breathes out, shaking his head, as if denying it could change the truth.

You lean in close, your lips dangerously close to his ear as you whisper, “But it wasn’t him, was it, Jaehyun? You knew it right after you pulled the trigger. The guilt hit you like a freight train, but yet, you still called it in. You claimed your hollow victory and got promoted from Officer to Detective.”

His eyes glaze over with the memory of that night - his hands trembling over the body of the man he killed, the overwhelming rush of panic and regret he’d shoved down deep just to survive the lie. It all happened so quickly, his head not thinking clearly - or practically not at all - just trying to find a means to justify his actions.

“And yet," Jaeyun pipes up, picking up the gun from the table and twirling it effortlessly in his fingers, "you couldn’t let me go, could you? You’ve been trailing me in secret, obsessed, haunted by the ghost of your mistake.” He chuckles darkly. “That’s why you answered the ad I so perfectly orchestrated to catch your interest. Cleaning up a ‘midnight mess,’ right?”

Jaehyun swallows thickly though his mouth is so dry it does nothing for him, his heart thudding in his chest. His worst fear, the nightmare he’s tried to bury is now staring him in the face. His entire career has been twisted into this sick, elaborate game. “So it’s both of you?” he croaks, voice trembling as he finally connects the dots.

“Oh, not me,” you giggle, twirling a lock of your hair with playful ease. “I’m a new-ish addition.”

“The best addition,” Jaeyun coos, kissing your temple and then your lips so lovingly you almost melt onto the table.

Jaehyun’s face contorts with disgust, his eyes darting between you and Jaeyun, trying to find some sense of logic in this twisted reality. “And how did he drag you into this?” he spits out, desperation bleeding through his words as he tries to prolong the conversation, desperately begging his mind for an idea that will help him escape out of this nightmare.

You lean closer, your breath fanning over his face, intimate and unnerving all at once. “Oh, it didn’t take much convincing,” you whisper, smirking as your eyes dart to Jaeyun. "He has a very persuasive tongue." You wink before sitting back up, taking the gun from Jaeyun’s hand with a playful twirl. “That, and, well...you killed my brother.”

“What? When…when did i-”

You smile sweetly, almost pitying the man before you. “That’s right, detective. The man you murdered in cold blood - he was my brother.”

The truth hits him like he just got punched by Muhammad Ali, and for the first time, Jaehyun feels truly, utterly defeated. You can see the exact moment Jaehyun breaks. His expression goes blank, his face ghostly pale as the truth settles over him, suffocating and inescapable. He opens his mouth to say anything but no words come. Because what can he say to a bereaved family member of a man whose blood is on his hands? 

"My brother was innocent, Jaehyun," you continue, and for the first time, your voice trembles, just a little. “He was in the wrong place at the wrong time. A good man, with a family, with dreams.” You pause, staring at the floor in an attempt to find some strength there. “He wasn’t a criminal, wasn’t a part of anything dark or twisted, he didn’t even have a fucking parking ticket. But you didn’t care. You didn’t even stop to think. You were too blinded by your ambition, too eager to make a name for yourself. You saw a body, and you pulled the trigger. ”

Jaehyun winces as your words slap him straight across his cheek. His breath quickens, his mind racing back to that night, the moment he saw a shadow move in the dimly lit garage, the way his heart pounded in his ears. He hadn’t thought twice before firing. He couldn’t afford to. It was best for catching the Midnight Murderer, or so he told himself. But now, staring into your eyes - those eyes filled with fury and loss - he knows there’s no excuse that can absolve him.

“And after you killed him,” you whisper, your voice growing hard, “you didn’t even have the decency to admit your mistake. You lied. You built your career off of that lie. How does it feel, detective? Knowing that every time you got promoted, every time you were praised for your ‘brilliant work,’ it was all built on the blood of an innocent man? My brother has been painted a murderer all because of you.”

Tears burn at the corners of your eyes, but you blink them back, forcing them down. You won’t cry. Not here. Not for him. Instead, you steel yourself, wrapping your pain in a cocoon of rage. 

Jaeyun who is standing just behind you, places a hand on your shoulder, squeezing gently as he grounds you and massaging the pain away as best he can. His touch sends a wave of warmth through your body, a reminder that you're not alone in this. You lean into him slightly, drawing strength from his presence.

Jaehyun’s voice finally breaks through the silence, shaky and weak. "So what now?" His voice is hollow, like he already knows the answer, but he asks anyway, clinging to the last shreds of hope. "You gonna kill me?"

You smile, a cold and calculating curve of your lips. “Better,” you say, that peak of vulnerability you showed now pushed back to make way for your wicked side to take over once again. “You’re going to kill yourself. And we’re going to watch.”

Jaeyun steps forward as you hop off the table, wrapping his arms around your waist from behind, pulling you close. He presses a tender kiss to your shoulder, his lips lingering on your skin, his breath warm against your neck. “You did so well, my love,” he murmurs softly, nuzzling into your hair. His voice is sweet, intimate, that side of him reserved only for you.

Jaehyun stares at the two of you, his eyes widening in disbelief. “And if I don’t?”

Jaeyun chuckles softly against your skin, his lips brushing your ear as he replies, “Then we release all your dirty little cover-ups.” His voice is still blasé. “Because, Detective Jeong, there’s a lot more than just my girls’ brother.”

Jaehyun’s breath hitches, pinpointing the moment the words sink in - the moment he realises just how deep the hole he’s in really is. His mind races, replaying every cover-up, every questionable decision, every corner he cut to get to where he is. It wasn’t just your brother. There were others. He had made too many mistakes, too many wrong choices. And now they’ve all come to bite him in the ass.

"Did you think it was just my brother we knew about?" You ask, your tone deceptively light as you tilt your head and study his expression, watching the colour drain from his face. "No, Jaehyun. You’ve been sloppy. So many good people - innocent people - fell because of you. We have everything. All the proof. Every lie, every falsified report, every life ruined by your hands. And all we have to do is press send."

Jaehyun’s eyes widen in terror. “No,” he breathes, his voice cracking. He starts to shake his head, as if denying it could somehow make it untrue. "Please…no."

“You could’ve stopped after my brother. You could’ve fixed it. But you didn’t. You kept going. You chose this.”

Trembling now, the detective’s entire body shaking with the weight of his sins. He swallows thickly, mind spinning as he desperately tries to find a way out, but there’s no escape. Not now. Not anymore. If he refuses, his entire career, his reputation, everything he’s built will go up in flames. And the world will know him for what he truly is - a fraud, a murderer.

“You never wanted this life, did you, Jaehyun?” you whisper, your voice soft, almost sympathetic. “You wanted to be a hero. But somewhere along the way, you got lost. You let the pressure, the ambition, the fear of failure consume you. You couldn’t afford to make mistakes, right? But the mistakes just kept piling up.”

He squeezes his eyes shut, his hands fisting in his hair, his breath coming in short, ragged gasps. "I didn’t…I didn’t mean for any of this to happen. I just…I couldn’t-"

“You couldn’t afford to be wrong,” you finish for him, nodding as if you understand. “But now, there’s no way out. You have two choices, Jaehyun. Kill yourself, or we expose you for what you really are. Either way, your life is over.”

Jaeyun moves around you, stepping toward Jaehyun with a cold, predatory smile. He kneels down in front of him, swapping the blanks for real bullets in the magazine of the pistol. “You see, Detective, you’ve already lost. The only decision left is how much pain you want to feel on the way out.

Every instinct in Detective Jeong screams to fight, to resist, but deep down, he knows. He knows there’s no escaping this. His hands shake violently, the weight of his choices now crushing him.

“You’re fucking monsters. How dare you lecture me when you kill innocent people all the time! It’s hypocritical!”

A cold laugh escapes your lips and you step closer, leaning down so you’re eye-level with him, letting your eyes glimmer with a blend of amusement and scorn. “Hypocritical? Oh, hun, we kill for fun, we know we are evil. But you act innocent, gain from the lives you steal. You’ve made your entire career on the backs of the dead and innocent. You’re the real monster.”

Jaehyun’s breath hitches, and for a moment, you think you see regret flicker in his eyes, but it’s quickly swallowed by anger. “I had no choice! I was trying to do my job! You think I wanted this?” His voice rises, the desperation spilling out of him like a dam bursting. “You think I wanted to become what I am? I didn’t know it was him! I didn’t-”

“Exactly,” you interrupt sharply, straightening up. “You didn’t know because you didn’t care enough to find out. You were too busy fucking chasing glory, too focused on your own pathetic ambition to see the truth right in front of you. But now you have a choice to make, and this time, it’s not about your career. It’s about your life.”

“So, this is it?” he rasps, his voice cracking under the strain. “You think you can just toy with me and I’ll roll over?”

“Toy with you?” You scoff, placing a hand on Jaeyun’s arm, feeling the heat radiate from his skin. “No, this is about consequences, Jaehyun. You’re going to pay for what you’ve done, and whether that means taking the easy way out or letting us destroy you…well, that’s entirely up to you.”

Jaehyun’s hands shake as he grips the gun tighter, his knuckles going white. “I can’t-”

“But you can,” Jaeyun interrupts smoothly, lowering himself closer, the gun now resting against his thigh. “You can end this, Detective. You can make this your final act of bravery. You can take the burden off your shoulders.”

“And leave you both unscathed? You think I’ll just sacrifice myself to protect your twisted little game?” Jaehyun sneers, his voice gaining a hint of strength. But it’s a facade, a last-ditch effort to regain control.

“Oh, it’s not about protecting us,” you say, tilting your head slightly, a smirk tugging at your lips. “It’s about protecting yourself. The truth will come out eventually. Your secrets will spill, and trust me, it won’t be pretty. If you have any semblance of dignity left, this is your best option. But if you refuse,” you lean in, lowering your voice conspiratorially, “you’ll find yourself at the center of a scandal bigger than you could ever imagine. Your career will go up in flames, and you’ll be left with nothing but the ghosts of those you’ve wronged.”

You step back, glancing at Jaeyun, who is watching Jaehyun with a predatory gaze, a hint of excitement dancing in his eyes. “So, what will it be, Detective?”

You wave the gun in Jaehyun’s face, your movements slow and deliberate, offering him a priceless gift. His eyes follow the barrel intently as it sways in front of him. Shame flickers in his expression, but it’s quickly replaced by something darker - his pride, rising like a beast refusing to be caged.

His mind is a battlefield, caught between the unbearable truth of his crimes and the desperate need to preserve the image he’s built. Hero. Detective. A man untainted by the blood on his hands. He’d rather die with that lie intact than face the disgrace of being unmasked as a villain.

His shaking hand reaches out, fingers ghosting over the cool metal of the gun you’re dangling before him. He takes it, trembling as though the weight of the weapon is the weight of all his lies finally coming back to take revenge. 

As he raises the barrel under his chin, pressing it to the fragile skin there, his eyes glisten, but whether it’s from fear or a final surge of regret, you can’t tell.

Jaeyun watches him with quiet fascination and joy, his lips curling into a cruel smile. There’s no sympathy in the room, only cold satisfaction as Jaehyun contemplates his final act. 

You and Jaeyun exchange a mocking glance, and then you lift your hands, giving a small, sarcastic wave. “Goodbye, Detective~” you mock in sing song.

Jaehyun’s grip tightens, his knuckles paling. His teeth grit together as his finger hesitates on the trigger, the seconds dragging out like an eternity. His face twists into a mask of anger and despair - remorse simmering just beneath the surface, but drowned out by the relentless need to protect his pride. 

“I hope you both fucking rot in hell.”

With one last shuddering breath, he pulls the trigger.

The gunshot echoes through the room, deafening in its finality. His body jerks, his head snapping back as blood and bone splatter the walls behind him. He collapses in a lifeless heap, eyes still open, reflecting the briefest remnants of the man he was - or pretended to be.

As the bounce of the gunshot fades into silence, you finally let out a long, shuddering breath. All the tension that had built up over the course of this cat and mouse game unravels, leaving you feeling light, almost weightless. It’s finally fucking over. You can hardly believe it. 

Jaeyun spins you around, his hands gentle as they pull you away from the gruesome sight, forcing your gaze away from Jaehyun's crumpled body. His expression softens, a loving twinkle in his eyes. “How do you feel, baby?” 

The sense of victory allows a grin to stretch across your face as you finally allow yourself to revel in it. “Fucking fantastic,” you reply, the words leaving your lips in a breathless rush. 

You can’t believe you survived - not just this, but everything that came before. All the games, all the manipulation, all the close calls. Deep down, you know Jaeyun would’ve never let anything happen to you, not really. Worst-case scenario, he’d have stepped in, come up with some excuse to save you. But now, knowing Jaehyun is gone, and your brother’s death is finally avenged, you feel truly free.

Jaeyun’s eyes gleam with approval, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. “You were really good in there,” he murmurs, his hand brushing a stray strand of hair behind your ear. “I almost believed you were scared for your life.”

You chuckle, looping your arms around his neck, leaning in closer. “I really got into the acting,” you admit with a teasing smirk. Then you tilt your head, feigning a pout. “But did you really have to knock me out, though?”

Your boyfriend’s grin widens as he leans in, stealing a quick kiss that leaves you giddy. It’s exactly what you needed - this closeness, this moment of calm in his arms. You had missed him, and even though you’d only been apart for two days, it felt like too long. 

“It’s all part of the experience, baby,” he whispers against your lips, his voice playful. His hands rest at your waist, pulling you close as his warmth melts away the last remnants of tension.

“It feels so much more vindicating when there’s a reason behind it,” you murmur slyly, a mischievous glint in your eyes. For months, you’ve been trying to shape Jaeyun’s approach to this game. Killing for no reason is great and all, but taking down people who deserve it - those who harass or harm others - that’s a thrill with purpose.

Jaeyun rolls his eyes, a knowing smirk curling his lips. “Are you telling me that seeing Heeseung’s head explode or Dayoung’s neck snap wasn’t entertaining?” His eyebrow arches in challenge, already well aware of how much you enjoyed yourself. No one else in that room had a clue, but Jaeyun knows you too well. He knows the rush you get from this, the thrill of taking control.

When he first met you, he saw it - that sadness buried deep within. He knew how to turn it into something else, something darker but freeing. He twisted your pain into anger, and then into joy, showing you how much fun life could be when you channel your rage outward. He’s been there with you ever since, your partner in every sick trap.

You can’t help but laugh, the memory of the ‘interview’ sending a spark of excitement through you. “Okay, okay,” you admit with a wide grin. “I loved it, especially the crucifix. You didn’t tell me you were going to add that!”

Jaeyun chuckles, leaning in to plant soft kisses along your nose, your cheek, and then your lips, each one a tender reminder of his adoration and pride. “Thought I’d surprise my baby since I know it’s your favourite,” he whispers between kisses. “But seriously, good work on speeding it up, that was clever.”

His praise sends a warm flush to your cheeks, though it’s hidden beneath the dried blood that still clings to your skin. “I remember you teaching me how it works,” you say modestly, still basking in his approval. Then a frown touches your lips, and you pout slightly. “I feel bad for Sunoo though. He was so sweet.”

“Yeah, he was cute,” Jaeyun agrees, shrugging slightly, brushing off the death of yet another innocent. He doesn’t care about people. Not unless it’s you, you are the only one in this world that gets to feel his heart beating.

He reaches down, casually plucking the gun from Jaehyun’s cold hand, inspecting it for a moment before glancing back at you. “C’mon, we should clean up.”

“Or…” your voice drops into a whisper, playful and suggestive as you jump on the table and spread your legs, giving Jayeun a clear signal.

The change in his demeanour is immediate. His eyes darken, trailing over your body with a hungry intensity that makes your pulse race. His teeth sink into his bottom lip, hard enough to show he’s seriously considering your offer. “I always forget how needy you get after a game,” he teases, his voice low and laced with desire as he steps toward you.

He’s right, the rush of excitement and adrenaline always does this. You remember the first time you watched him kill, how it awakened something in you, that desperate need to have him right there and then. The blood dripping from his fingers, the splatter across his face…you’d never seen him look more beautiful.

That’s when it hit you. All those dark romances you devoured, Rina Kent’s books that filled your mind with dangerous fantasies, altered your brain chemistry in ways you hadn’t expected. Maybe that’s why it hadn’t taken long for Jaeyun to pull you into his wicked world. 

Or maybe you’re just really fucked in the head.

Jaeyun’s eyes gleam with dark amusement, fully aware of what’s racing through your mind. His confidence radiates as he steps between your legs, his lips hovering inches above yours. “What’s it gonna be, baby?” he whispers, his voice a low, seductive drawl, dripping with intent.

Feigning thoughtfulness, you tilt your head, looking off into the distance as if contemplating his question. But it’s just an act, one he knows too well. You feel the corners of your lips twitch upward before your entire expression shifts. Your eyes lock with his and a smirk etches on your lips as you slowly reach for the gun, your fingers grazing the metal. You bring it to your lips, the weight of it pressing against your mouth.

Jaeyun’s breath hitches and his throat bobs, eyes following your every move with rapt attention. You tilt your head slightly, letting your tongue slip out, brushing over the sleek barrel. The taste of cold steel and blood floods your senses as you drag your tongue teasingly, savouring how his eyes darken with every secondof your display. His gaze is glued to your lips, watching intently as you lick the gun, your lips grazing over the tip, his cock twitching in jealousy.

You open your mouth, taking the barrel between your lips, wrapping them around the gun with a sensual slowness that has Jaeyun’s chest rising and falling faster. The sight of you, so bold, so shameless, has him swallowing hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing visibly as he tries to keep sane and not rip your clothes off right here and now.

His breath becomes ragged, gaze locked on how your lips wrap perfectly around the barrel. You pull back slightly, your tongue flicking over the metal one last time before your lips curl into a wicked smile. “I think I’ve made my choice,” you whisper, voice sultry and teasing.

"Oh yeah? Tell me, baby," Jaeyun murmurs, his smile widening as if he already knows exactly what you’re about to do. 

Your hands move with purpose, putting the gun in his hands. Slowly, you guide it down your body, the metal pushing past your main organs, sending shivers through you. The exhaustion from the game still clings to your muscles, a dull ache in your bones, but none of that matters. Not now. Not when the thrill of Jaehyun’s death and the freedom it brings pulses through you.

Plus, all you can think about is Jaeyun - his touch, his heat, and the way his eyes devour every movement you make. His hands tighten their grip on your thighs, fingers pressing into your skin as he gets worked up in excitement over what is about to happen.

He is so fucking lucky he found you.

As the gun reaches just above your aching heat, The tension between you intensifies, each breath you take beaming with excitement. The gun is more than a weapon in his hands because right now it’s an extension of the fun you’re both going to have.

His gaze flickers back to you, eyes dark with intent as his fingers hook into the waistband of your pants. Without a word, he pulls them to the side, exposing you to the cool air. A shiver runs through you, but it’s not from the chill - it’s from the way Jaeyun looks at you, relishing in every second, every inch of you.

The barrel of the gun slides between your legs, the surface brushing against your heat. The contrast between your warmth and the icy, hard steel is electrifying, making the moment more intense. A low moan slips from your lips, your thighs instinctively parting wider like a silent prayer for more.

Jaeyun leans in, his breath hot against your neck as he whispers, “You love this, don’t you?” His words are lustful, knowing exactly how much you crave what’s coming next. His lips graze your earlobe before he pulls back just enough to watch your reaction, the smirk on his face deepening as your chest rises and falls with anticipated breath.

Without another word, he tilts the gun to press gently against your entrance, teasing you. You can’t help the way your body reacts - hips lifting, muscles tightening because you want nothing more than to have this gun shoved deep inside of you. Jaeyun holds you steady, fingers digging into your thigh as he slowly pushes the gun into your cunt.

The metal stretches you, the sensation making you gasp and your body instinctively tensing as you adjust to the intrusion.

The feel is foreign, dangerous, and exhilarating all at once. The weight of the gun inside you is unlike anything else, making you feel a twisted pleasure that only Jaeyun can swirl inside of you. The cold metal slides deeper and a tremor of pleasure ripples through your core.

“Oh god…Jaeyun…” you moan out, hips bucking up to let the pistol slip in deeper.

Jaeyun watches you, eyes locked on the way your body responds to his every movement, his lips parting slightly as he savours every moan, every shiverbhe’s drawing from your perfect body. His control is maddening, slow and deliberate as he moves the gun in and out of you, pushing just deep enough to make you ache for more but never fully giving in.

“Fuck, you’re perfect,” he murmurs, his voice thick with lust. His eyes glint with satisfaction as he watches you fall apart under his touch, his thumb brushing against your clit, adding just enough pressure to make your back arch off the table. “No one else could handle this. Could handle me.”

Your mind is hazy, overwhelmed by the feeling of the gun filling you, stretching you, while his thumb expertly circles your swollen clit. Every movement sends a wave of pleasure crashing through you, the tension in your body building as Jaeyun continues his torturous pace.

“You’re mine,” he whispers, his voice dark and possessive. His hand tightens on your thigh, fingers digging into your flesh as he thrusts the gun deeper, the grooves of the gun dragging along your tight walls and you gasp, your body trembling with the intensity of it. The mixture of the gun inside you and his thumb on your clit is almost too much, pushing you closer and closer to the edge. “You’re always gonna be mine.”

Hiis smirk widens as he watches the way your trying to fuck yourself on the pistol and match his rhythm. “Such a good girl for me,” he murmurs, his voice thick with pride and desire. “Look at you, falling apart on my gun.”

The click of the safety being pulled off fills the room, adding a harmony to your moans and the thrill of danger just turned up to 100. There’s something about being on the end of a fully loaded gun, no safety, and your boyfriend’s finger on the trigger that makes you squeeze and suck in the barrel deeper.

It’s reckless, scary, and everything you could ever want.

You’re completely at his mercy now and you wouldn’t have it any other way. Your legs begin to rise as you lean back, searching for a deeper angle, which Jaeyun happily gives you, twisting the pistol with each thrust inside of you.

You grip the edge of the table, knuckles white as your body tenses, the heat pooling in your core ready to erupt. Jaeyun’s heart picks up pace as he leans in closer, his lips brushing against yours, barely a whisper of a kiss. “Cum for me, baby.”

And you do.

The pleasure surges through you like a tidal wave, crashing over every part of your body, leaving you breathless and gasping for air. The combination of the weapon deep inside you and Jaeyun's thumb working expertly against your clit sends you spiralling into a blissful frenzy. You feel the tension coil tightly in your core, your stomach twitching with each pulse of your orgasm.

“That's it,” Jaeyun encourages, his words vibrating through you, adding to the delicious intensity of your release. “Let it go, baby. I want to see you shake for me.”

A cry escapes your lips, a mix of pleasure and relief as you lose yourself completely in the moment. You can’t hold back, not when he’s watching you so intently, his eyes dark with lust and satisfaction.

Your back arches off the table, and for a brief moment, the world around you fades into nothing but the pure bliss that consumes you. Every inch of your body tingles, pulsing with the aftershocks of your climax, and all you can think about is Jaeyun and the way he makes you feel - like you’re both powerful and utterly vulnerable at the same time.

As your body starts to settle, Jaeyun doesn’t stop. He maintains his rhythm, thrusting the gun inside you a little faster, a little deeper, as he prolongs your high, milking every last drop of pleasure from you. “Look at you,” he breathes, his voice thick with lust. “You’re so fucking beautiful when you come apart like this. Just for me.”

You moan in response, the sound escaping you unbidden as you feel another wave of pleasure cresting, threatening to pull you under once more. Jaeyun’s fingers work tirelessly, teasing your clit, drawing out the remnants of your orgasm as the intensity builds again. The world around you fades further, Jaehyun’s body long forgotten, and it’s just the two of you - lost in your own wicked game.

“God, you’re perfect,” he murmurs, his voice dripping with admiration and need. “I can’t get enough of you.” He leans in closer, his lips finding yours, capturing your mouth in a heated kiss that sends sparks flying through your body. You can taste the lingering traces of adrenaline and excitement on his tongue, and it only deepens your desire.

Your hands find their way to his hair, fingers tangling in the soft strands as you pull him closer, desperate for more of him. The gun, once a symbol of your wild game, fades into the background, eclipsed by an undeniable craving for his body. Each thrust blurs the line between pleasure and pain, sending thrilling sensations coursing through you.

“Jaeyun,” you gasp against his lips, your voice barely a whisper, heavy with desperation. “Please…”

He pulls back just enough to meet your gaze, his eyes darkened with a mix of passion and mischief. “Please what?” he teases, a smirk curling his lips that sends a shiver cascading down your spine.

“More,” you breathe, the word spilling from your lips like a prayer, each syllable thick with longing. “I need more. I want you - your cock, please, give me your cock.” The urgency in your voice is embarrassing as it rises, a fire igniting deep within you. “I need you to fuck me.”

“Is that really how you want it, baby?” His voice is a low growl, sultry and commanding, wrapping around you like a velvet chain, tethering you to him for life. “Beg for it.”

Your breath hitches, excitement flooding your veins as you lock your gaze with his. “Jaeyun, please,” you plead, not even wasting a minute. You need his cock and you need it now. “I can’t get enough of you. I want you to fill me up, ruin me, do whatever you want with me. I’ll do anything - just don’t hold back.”

A wicked grin spreads across his face, and you can see the hunger in his eyes, the way your desperation ignites something primal within him. “That’s what I like to hear,” he growls, his voice thick with lust and possessiveness. “You’re so beautiful when you’re begging.”

With that, he pulls back, putting the gun back on safety and tossing it on the table, it’s work done for the day. His hands fumble with his jeans as he pushes them down along with his boxers, both just sitting at his thighs. 

Gripping your hips as he positions himself at your entrance. “Say it again,” he commands, his tone firm yet teasing. “Beg for me to take you.”

“I need you, Jaeyun, fuck,” you cry out, feeling the heat pool low in your belly. “I need you inside me. Please, don’t hold back. I want to feel every inch of you.”

His breath hitches at your words, and with a fierce intensity, he thrusts into you, filling you to the brim, his tip kissing into your cervix straight away. A gasp escapes your lips as you adjust to him, the delicious stretch making your head spin. “God, yes,” you moan, your body arching toward him, urging him to move faster. 

Jaeyun grits his teeth, his eyes locked on yours as he begins to thrust, hard and deep. “You feel so good,” he groans, his voice thick with desire. “You’re mine, all mine.” Each thrust drives you higher, the heat pooling in your core as he takes you further into ecstasy.

“Jaeyun, yes!” you cry out, your body responding eagerly to his every movement. The thrill of his control, the way he possesses you completely, sends waves of pleasure crashing over you, and you can’t help but beg for more. “Please, don’t stop!”

He responds with a wicked grin, increasing his pace and angling your hips as he drives deeper into you, each thrust pushing you closer to the edge. “That’s it, baby. Let go. I want to hear you scream for me.”

With every powerful buck of his hips, the table rattles, mirroring your trembling form. You can feel the pressure building again, the heat pooling in your belly as you lose yourself in the pleasure he’s drawing from you. 

The gun is great, but your man will always be better.

“Cum for me again, baby” he urges, his voice low and commanding, sending shivers down your spine. “I want to feel you squeeze me.”

With his words echoing in your ears, you surrender completely, spiralling into ecstasy as your body convulses around him. Your scream fills the air, raw and unrestrained, as the world explodes into a kaleidoscope of colours. He’s the best fuck you’ve ever had, and you’re hoping he’ll be the only one from now on.

You love him, every disgusting, brutal, tender, imprefect, beautiful piece of him. 

Jaeyun groans in response, his grip tightening on your hips as he feels you clench around him, lost in the moment. “Yes, just like that,” he praises, his voice thick with desire. “You’re fucking perfect.” 

As the aftershocks of your climax ripple through you, he doesn’t relent, maintaining his powerful rhythm as he pushes you higher and higher. You can feel yourself teetering on the brink once more, the world fading away as all that matters is the connection between you. His kisses are cleaning up the blood from your face and his hands are massaging your aching bones as he piledrives into you.

He leans down, pressing his lips against your ear, his voice a low growl laced with affection. “You’re doing so well, baby. Just keep letting go.” His words send shivers down your spine, a mixture of dominance and tenderness that makes your heart race.

“Jaeyun,” you moan, overwhelmed by the sensations flooding through you. “I’m yours. I love you so much.”

His grip on your hips becomes almost possessive, yet there’s a warmth in his hold that reassures you. “That’s right,” he whispers, a grin tugging at his lips as he drives deeper, his thrusts growing more urgent, more passionate. “You’re fucking perfect for me. The only one in this world that deserves to live.”

Jaeyun doesn’t know if he believes in love, or if he’s even capable of producing that emotion, but he thinks he found it in you. You’re the only shining light in this shitty world, you’re his everything.

The combination of his strength and the tenderness in his voice makes you feel cherished even as he claims you. You can feel the familiar knot tightening within you, your instincts taking over as you arch your back, pushing against him, begging for everything he has to offer. “Please, Jaeyun! Don’t stop! I’m so close!”

He rewards your eagerness with a low growl, quickening his pace as he drives deeper into you, each thrust pushing you closer to the edge. “Let go, baby. You’ve earned all of this,” he urges you on.

And then, with one last powerful thrust, the pressure within you snaps, and you’re sent tumbling over the edge, your body clenching around him as you cry out in pure ecstasy. Your senses explode, pleasure radiating through every fibre of your being as you shatter around him, the world fading into nothingness.

“Fucking perfect,” Jaeyun breathes, his voice heavy with lust as he follows you into bliss, losing himself in the moment as he releases inside you, filling you up, shots of white rope painting his name all over your cunt. The warmth of him spills, a mark of possession that ignites another spark of ecstasy within you.

As you both ride out the waves of your euphoria, your bodies entwined, you realise this moment is everything - raw, passionate, and undeniably yours.

The intensity of your shared climax begins to fade and you both sink into a comfortable silence, the aftermath of your passionate encounter wrapping around you like a warm blanket. The room, stark and gritty with the remnants of the chaotic scene you just orchestrated, contrasts sharply with the tenderness that unfolds between you and Jaeyun.

He pulls back slightly, his eyes softening as they meet yours. The moment gives way to something sweeter, and his lips curl into a genuine smile. "You okay, baby?" he asks, his voice low and warm, filled with concern even amid the chaos. You know he's asking about more than just the sex.

"I feel perfect. Thank you for letting me do all of this, Jaeyun." You press a soft kiss to his nose, tucking a stray lock of hair behind his ear, feeling that familiar surge of affection for him.

His smile widens, and for a moment, it feels like the world has narrowed down to just the two of you. You nuzzle your noses together, sharing a moment of softness that contrasts with the bloody carnage around you. Jaeyun’s fingers brush lightly against your skin, and you lean into his touch instinctively, savouring the warmth before reality creeps back in.

"We really should clean up this mess," he says, his tone suddenly practical as he pulls away, adjusting his clothes. His fingers deftly work the zipper of his pants, yet, his eyes never lose that lingering warmth, the way they stay soft for you, even amid the chaos.

Just as the haze of passion begins to fade, a soft, broken whimper echoes from the other room, making both of you freeze. Your heart jumps as you lock eyes with Jaeyun, confusion flickering between you. Everyone is dead - aren’t they? Who could possibly still be alive?

"Stay close," Jaeyun murmurs, his tone low, protective. His fingers find yours, gripping tight as he picks up the gun and leads you toward the source of the sound. You nod, heart pounding as adrenaline floods your veins once again.

As you step into the room, the sight that greets you is almost surreal. Among the wreckage and ruin, you find Sunoo - alive, but barely. His face is smeared with crimson, blood pumping steadily from the empty socket where his eye once was. His leg, grotesquely amputated, drags uselessly behind him as he weakly attempts to pull himself across the floor. It’s a pitiful sight, one that tugs at something deep inside you.

You weren’t lying when you said you felt bad for him. Sunoo didn’t deserve any of this. He wasn’t like the others - he was sweet, cautious, always thinking before acting. But his so-called friends had dragged him into this nightmare, trying to shame him for his care.

You release Jaeyun’s hand, crouching beside Sunoo’s trembling form. His half-conscious eye flickers up toward you, and you can’t help but throw a sympathetic pout his way as you brush a lock of blood-matted hair from his face. His body trembles as he coughs, the wet sound grating against the silence. You gently lift him, cradling his fragile body to help him sit up.

Behind you, Jaeyun clicks the safety off hisngun, this time not in the thrill of sex but the anticipation of death.  

“I’ll make it quick,” he says, his tone nonchalant, like this is just another part of the routine. He wasn’t fazed by Sunoo’s suffering, wasn’t trapped in the same space as you, listening to Sunoo’s whispered pleas, hearing him beg to tell his mother he loved her before he thought he’d die.

The sound of Jaeyun pulling back the pistol’s slide makes you flinch, and without thinking, you wrap your arms protectively around Sunoo’s shaking frame. "No! Don’t," you protest, surprising even yourself with the sudden urgency in your voice.

Jaeyun stops, his brow arching in confusion. “Why not? If we let him live, he’ll just run off and tell the first person he sees.” He shrugs, shifting his grip on the gun. His impatience is palpable now like a man denied his final course after a bloody feast.

"We don’t have to kill him," you murmur, keeping your voice soft but firm, hoping to reach the part of Jaeyun that always listens to you. "Why don’t we keep him?"

Jaeyun’s incredulous chuckle fills the room. "Keep him?" He shakes his head, exasperated. "He’s not a pet, baby. He’s a boy, and a weak one at that. He’s not going to be any use to us."

You feel Sunoo shudder against you, his body convulsing as it fights to stay alive. He’s terrified, and rightly so, but there’s something in you that refuses to let go just yet. You rub small circles into his back, hoping to soothe him, even as your gaze locks with Jaeyun’s, pleading silently.

“He could help us,” you argue, voice soft but insistent. “He’s not like the others. He’s...sensitive.” You hesitate, watching Jaeyun’s expression closely. “No one would ever suspect a sweet boy like him of being involved. He could lure people in for us. Or clean up. He could take care of things while we’re busy.”

Jaeyun’s expression hardens. “Y/N, he’s not going to kill people. He’s not like us. He’s a liability,” he snaps, voice edged with frustration. Jaeyun gets like this when he can’t kill, the same way people do when they’re hungry. He’s starving right now despite the murder three-course meal he’s just devoured, and he is not appreciating the hold-up on dessert.

"Maybe not right away," you concede, "but he could be. He just needs time. We could toughen him up...just like you did for me."

The mention of your own transformation makes Jaeyun pause. His gaze softens slightly as the memory of what you once were flickers in his eyes. He’d seen potential in you, had taken you under his wing when you’d been weak, unsure. You hadn’t let him down. Maybe he could do the same with Sunoo.

You watch as Jaeyun’s expression shifts, a battle waging within him. He doesn’t like the idea of leaving loose ends, of anyone weak in your little circle. But you can see the doubt forming, the way his eyes linger on Sunoo’s frail form.

"Move out of the way," Jaeyun says finally, his voice more tired than angry now.

Sunoo’s remaining eye widens as his thin fingers clutch your shirt, his body jerking in fear. He knows what’s coming, and the thought of dying after surviving this far terrifies him. Tears spill from his eye, the hopelessness so raw it makes your chest tighten.

"No," you whisper, holding Sunoo tighter. Then you look up at Jaeyun with the soft, pleading eyes that have always been his weakness. "Give him a month," you suggest gently. "Let’s see what he’s made of. If he’s no good - if he runs or tries anything - then I’ll kill him myself."

A heavy silence hangs between the three of you, the only sound the soft dripping of blood onto the floor. Finally, Jaeyun lets out a long sigh, his lips twitching into a reluctant smile.

"Okay, baby," he murmurs, lowering the gun. "Anything you want." His tone softens, a warmth slipping back into it. "You know I can’t say no to you, especially when you look so pretty all roughed up like this." His eyes sweep over you, lingering on your blood-splattered face, and there’s something both tender and dangerous in the way he looks at you.

Relief washes over you as Jaeyun finally concedes. He steps forward, his fingers brushing your cheek before he bends down to kiss you, the gesture both possessive and reassuring.

“One month,” Jaeyun adds, his voice playful but tinged with a dark edge. "But if he screws up, if he even thinks about betraying us - you’ll do what you said."

You nod, feeling Sunoo’s trembling body slacken slightly in your arms as hope, fragile as it may be, flickers in his eye. For now, at least, he’s safe.

Jaeyun straightens, holstering his gun with ease. “Come on,” he says, tossing a glance at the carnage around you. "We’ve got a lot of cleaning up to do."

_____

perm taglist: @immortalvee @sunpov @heeseungspookie @strawberrysavi @monstanctiny21

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@haechonly @berryblog @no-mannerism @jaehoonii

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@ikeuverse

[sluttylittlewaistenthusiast]

╰┈➤ 18+ none of these stories belong to me! this is a masterlist of all the fanfics i’ve read and reblogged! just thought it would be nice to have them all in one spot! (if your fic is on here and you wish not to be, please let me know!) some will have summaries if provided <3

ᡣ𐭩 how you can help palestine . fic recs m.list

@gutsby

⭒ Wedded Bliss

The marriage was arranged, and the sex is deranged. Bucky is so obsessed with your pussy that he almost forgets he’s meant to be faking this whole thing—and hating it, like sworn enemies are supposed to do.

@samthemarvelfan

⭒ Bad Romance

In Brooklyn, everyone knows the unwritten rule: you don’t cross James Barnes. When you return after nearly half a decade, things are anything but the same. After the murder of your Uncle, you begin to learn that no one is who they say they are, and that you may have accidentally given your heart to a mobster; The White Wolf of Brooklyn. More dangerous than that, he’s given you his.

@anonymityisfunwriter

⭒ Two Sides of the Same Coin

⭒ You're Losing Me

Your fairytale ending is crumbling before your eyes. You don't know how to love someone who can't tell you're dying. You fear you're fading away, begging him to do someone, say something, choose something. You fear he won't be able to resuscitate you this time. This time, he's losing you.

⭒ Alone Together

It was always been you and Bucky, alone together, you'd say. But suddenly, you're just alone.

⭒ Uptown Girl and the Brooklyn Boy

Everyone knows that all any Uptown Girl needs is a Greaser from Brooklyn to make her forget all about her uptown world.

@pellucid-constellations

⭒ For the Love of the Game

Bucky Barnes was a menace. NYU’s top baseball player, he was used to girls falling at his feet and could smooth talk his way out of just about anything. You hated him. He couldn’t figure out why. So when the novelty of weekend parties and quick hookups finally wore off—and his feelings for you began to grow—he made it his mission to fix it. 

@barnesafterglow

⭒ Friday (I'm In Love)

every day you love bucky. every friday he pretends to love you too

@sinner-as-saint

⭒ Tempestuous

With his kingdom flourishing in peace, and no threats from enemies; recently crowned King - James Buchanan Barnes sets out at sea. With his finest ship, the best crew ever recruited, and a deep desire to see whether the edge of the world truly exists; the King sets sail. Hoping to find the marvels of the ocean, to find beauty and magic even; however he ends up finding a fiery soul – one he cannot get enough of. But then again, no love story is ever perfect, is it? 

⭒ Ruin

You work at a café owned by your family, close to your uni. And most of your days are pretty laid back and calm, but that is until you catch the eye of the mob boss. Your cute skirts and soft sweaters make him weak. Your innocence captivates him. And he wants you, badly. He wants you in his bed, wants his hand under those cute little skirts… he wants to ruin you. 

⭒ A Sweeter Place

Years after a messy break-up, and now seeking stability, infamous mob boss James Buchanan Barnes finds himself reunited with an old flame of his. Instant guilt and regret wash over him when he finds out that his reckless ways back then, changed an innocent girl’s life forever. 

⭒ You're No Saint

Steve and Bucky have been friends since they were young boys. They are inseparable, so naturally when you married Steve you were aware that Bucky came along with him. Every event, every vacation, even as the best man at your wedding - Bucky was always there, alongside you and Steve. He was one of your best friends as well, so you’ve never thought of him in a sexual way, ever. That is until one certain night, when you see something you’re not supposed to and you like it a little too much. You deny your desire towards Bucky, but Steve knows you better than anyone. He knows what you want and need, and he’s determined to fulfil your fantasy; because what his wife wants, she gets. 

⭒ Run For Your Life

He was away from the city for a while, chasing after some bastards who betrayed him. But the traitors were no longer breathing now and Bucky Barnes was finally able to come home to the city he ruled. Mostly, he was excited to come back and see his girl again. However when he got to the strip club where you worked as a waitress, he didn’t find you there. They told him you didn’t work there anymore. No one knew where you went, or why you left. Nobody even knew your real name. Now it was up to him to search the whole wide world to find a nameless girl – one he was obsessively, mindlessly in love with. 

⭒ All Yours

One of your students confess their feelings for you and things get interesting... 

@mellowsaturns  

⭒ In Losing Grip, on Sinking Ships

when the avengers pick up unusual activity, they realize that not all of hydra was destroyed. one unidentifiable face sends the team into a frenzy but bucky knows it. he could recognize those eyes anywhere.

⭒ All to Myself

after bucky finds out why you've been acting up ever since his company's party, he teaches you a lesson and remind you that you're the only one for him

@renxzs

⭒ Redemancy

Maybe it was a bit naive to think moving in with your best friend and long-time crush, Bucky Barnes, was going to be some smooth road that led to an admittance of mutual feelings for one another and a happily-ever-after ending, wrapped up nicely in a bow. Naive indeed; especially when you have to consider the fact that Bucky is the biggest womanizer you know.

@cryptidcasanova

⭒ My Devotion

The one where Bucky doesn’t take your breakup well.

⭒ Loverboy

It's the Bridgerton carriage scene, but make it mob!Bucky.

@subwaysurf45

⭒ She's Not Mad

Bucky Barnes was a known people pleaser, it was second nature to him. After meeting you and getting close you both try to navigate his eternal stressed state, working together you try your best to tone down his obsessive ways. 

@adrinktostopyourthirst

⭒ Sniper

Reluctantly, you get thrown into an assignment with Bucky and Yelena, but Bucky doesn't trust you as far as he can throw you. When he's proven to be correct, it turns out you're still a hell of a good team.

⭒ Three Hundred

Bucky always makes sure his best friend is okay, because that is what you need. He's caring, but very passive and nonchalant, because you need it. Not him. He doesn't need that. He doesn't need you. Does he?

⭒ Variant

The chaos of the multiverse is quite literally holding up a mirror to Bucky. Turns out, it's very easy to get under someone's skin when you have a universal connection to them.

⭒ Underground

The Underground is the last way for you to survive whatever is left of the world after the Blip. Natasha introduces you to the Winter Soldier whose wing you're under until you find your way around. He's a stoic Underground fighter and you're... useless.

⭒ One Shot

Bucky and you have a hard time staying away from each other. And though you try to push him away, every time he finds you again, the universe finds a new way to pull you apart.

⭒ Satisfied

Drunk sex with Bucky.

@thenhewaswrongaboutme

⭒ Your Hands Have Made Some Good Mistakes

Bucky has to spend six months locked up with a stranger.

⭒ Time Out

Need me a boy who is so needy and whiny when he cums inside for who knows how many times, and yet he still begs as soon as he's done "please, please again? I'll be good, I-I swear, I just need it so bad, just one more baby I promise–"

@bucky-bucky-bucky-bucky

⭒ After All This Time

impending danger puts you and your ex, Bucky, in close quarters.

⭒ Why Are You At The Wake?

Bucky sits by your hospital bed, anxious for you to finally open your eyes. He’s got to set the record straight, and apologize for what he said before you got hurt.

⭒ The Rain Is Always Gonna Come If You're Standing With Me

A hurtful article in a low-budget gossip magazine throws your relationship with Bucky for a loop.

⭒ I Can Go Anywhere I Want, Just Not Home

Bucky doesn't talk to you anymore, and he's less than enthusiastic when he runs into you out of the blue. But when he calls from a strange phone number, the puzzle pieces fall together.

@noceurous

⭒ Get You Back

You hated that you loved Bucky Barnes, and he loved that you could not hate him.

@violentdelightsandviolentends

⭒ Honey Girl

The Universe shows you your soulmate when it feels like you need them most. When you least expect it, you're given yours - Bucky Barnes. Your Dad's best friend. You can try to refuse it all you like; but the universe wants what it wants. There's no denying fate.

@notafunkiller

⭒ You Were Just Mine Yesterday

It's been a while since your break up with Bucky happened, but you're still not over him. You try to move on, go out, and have fun with your friend, Steve, but you end up in the same bar you two went to often. It also just happens that Bucky is there too, with Natasha by his side. It doesn't take long for you two to end up getting into old habits.

⭒ Out Of Style

A year after your divorce, you and Bucky come face to face at your closest friends' wedding. Emotions run high, leading to a fiery confrontation that takes a detour to Bucky's hotel room, where the old flame might just reignite.

@queers-gambit

⭒ Curiousity Killed The Cat

after rescuing you from kidnappers, you overhear your boyfriend-turned-savior complain about how clingy you've become.

@cherryblossom-heart

⭒ I Loved You Once

Loving Bucky Barnes was never easy but breaking your heart seemed to come naturally to him. A love story about your heartbreak,his betrayal and a chance at redemption.

@rookthorne

⭒ Purity

Softness was a trait you unwittingly carried - the wings of a dove taking you higher and higher, elevating you in the eyes of the devil. And that devil did not want to wait any longer. It was time to collect.

⭒ His Girls

Cars were all the same to you — classics, imports, you name it, they were all the same. Well, they were, until you were nonetheless forced to visit your local mechanic and saw the man that would pique your interest in not only every single make and model of classic car, but his charming smile; the air of righteous arrogance that flowed from his tattoos, and that damned cheeky glint in his bright eyes.

⭒ Hollywood Boulevard

All it took was one night, one song - hell, one note - and you were gone for him, hook, line, and sinker. Turbulent times lay ahead, but in the afterglow of ecstasy, forced to feel emotions in such intensity for someone you’d never expect, you couldn't help but follow him anyway - he was irresistible, after all.

@boxofbonesfic

⭒ You're Gonna Give Me Six

@gogolucky13

⭒ Mean It

You and Bucky get trapped overnight in the safe house after a mission. Everything should be okay, except he's your ex and thanks to his carelessness, the situation gets a little more complicated.

@intrepidacious

⭒ Almost Believing

You and Bucky aren't exactly on speaking terms at the moment. That doesn't mean you're getting out of having to pretend to be married for a mission.

@buckybarnesdiaries

⭒ Please

Bucky needed to be spoiled.

@buckys-darling

⭒ Face The Sun

To ensure the prosperity of their two kingdoms, a determined Princess and reluctant King are to be wed. She is willing to commit, but he can’t seem to let his lover go. 

⭒ Will You Love Me Tomorrow?

You and Bucky are friends who fuck and nothing more. That’s what you’ll keep telling yourself, at least.

⭒ Electric

Flirtation has a different meaning with Bucky, and his patience doesn't last long when it comes to you.

@straywords

⭒ Kiss It Better

You’re not entirely sure your boss with the staring problem even likes you, but you’re determined to do your job either way.

@little-miss-dilf-lover

⭒ Fifteen Minutes

@bucksfucks

⭒ The Feeling's Mutual

the amount of times you and bucky have seen each other masturbating is alarmingly high. might as well do it together.

@ellemj

⭒ Bigger Than He Was

Bucky pretends to be your new man when you run into your ex in public. However, the little act of pretending sparks something inside of him that he didn't know was there.

⭒ Strawberries

Bucky, the man with a long list of girls on his roster, gets exposed to a sex pollen in the field. Will he fuck the first girl he calls or the girl he's wanted for the last two months?

⭒ Breathe

Bucky hates the way you take unnecessary risks in the field, the way you're so mesmerizing and yet so hard to work with, and he especially hates the way you get on your knees for him during a dangerous mission. Finding out how pretty you look on your knees is the last thing he needs.

⭒ Flustered | part 2

Bucky seems to thoroughly appreciate all women...except for you. When he finds out one of your weaknesses, he can't help but use it against you, which only makes you hate him more.

⭒ Inevitable

While on a mission with Sam, John Walker, and Bucky, you're the only person exposed to a sex pollen. Bucky sure as hell isn't going to let anyone else take care of you.

⭒ Blurred Lines

When choosing a female agent to send back in time to gain young Sergeant Barnes's trust, everyone's in agreement that it should be Sharon. Until Bucky, the man that you barely get along with, speaks up and lets everyone know that it could only be you.

⭒ Does It Hurt?

Bucky never would've gone out of his way to help you if he knew that HYDRA was still watching his every move, if he knew that it would shift their focus to you. When you're targeted and taken, it's his fault and he'll do anything to save you. Anything.

@viixenvi

⭒ Red

You work at a strip club and Bucky is a regular. Tonight he specifically asks for you in a private room. You never thought he'd love the color red on you so much.

@ro-is-struggling

⭒ Self Care

Bucky always seemed interested in your skin care routine, so when one day he arrives tired and drained from a mission, you take the opportunity to show him the importance and benefits of self-care.

@kinanabinks

⭒ Silent Girl

After a traumatizing event, you aren’t the friendliest or most talkative of people. Bucky understands, and in turn becomes the one person you soften your hard exterior for.

@angrythingstarlight

⭒ Roommate Bucky

@wkemeup

⭒ Cold, Cold Water

While on a stakeout in the heart of Russia, Bucky learns that touch can bring something more than pain and he will willingly give himself over to the ice if it means keeping you alive.

⭒ Drunk On You

Bucky has always been nervous around you. When he’s tasked with caring for you after a night of heavy drinking and suddenly you’re kissing him, Bucky doesn’t know what to do. You couldn’t possibly want him sober, right?

⭒ Honey and Chamomile

Four cups of tea, four distinct moments in time, and each pulls you in closer beyond the walls surrounding Bucky’s heart.

⭒ Suburbia

Posing as husband and wife, you and Bucky infiltrate a quaint suburban neighborhood in search of a Hydra hacker. Perhaps if you weren’t so in love with him and he hadn’t broken your heart, the act of pretending wouldn’t hurt so much.

⭒ Eclipse

When a mission leaves you empty and broken, Bucky is determined to heal the wounds that linger deeper than the cuts on the surface. 

⭒ Back to Bourbon Street

When you’re badly injured on a mission, Bucky works desperately to keep you alive. Only, it might not be enough. 

@espinosaurusrexex

⭒ Bad Boys Don't Buy Flowers

Bucky would have never thought, he’d be chasing after a girl. Not when all of them usually fell at his feet. But when he finds himself entangled in a deal born out of a desperate argument with his assistant, he realizes there is nothing he wouldn't do for you: The independent florist who is adamantly dragging him to the homeless shelter every chance she gets. There is just one problem: Bucky doesn't know how to tell you. And the teasing from his friends is certainly not making things easier for him...

@navybrat817

⭒ Reconnect

Bucky Barnes is your best friend. You're also in love with him. After his recent breakup, the two of you get a chance to reconnect during a weeklong vacation together. Is it long enough to get your happy ending?

@dyspneagrime (wattpad & ao3)

⭒ No Privacy

You're stuck on a mission that never seems to end, in a completely destroyed studio apartment, with absolutely no privacy. And no privacy means- you haven't cum the whole time. Thing is, neither has the ancient, half-cyborg, psychopathic, hobo-lookin' asshole that you've been partnered up with.

⭒ Little Wing

The year is 1973. All Dove Rogers wanted was a relaxing summer. Just one last hoorah before being thrust into the adult life. Yet everything shifts when her new houseguest and long standing enemy- Bucky Barnes, arrives. In the thick of sun-kissed relaxation, the two of them are forced to face the awakening and burning desire growing between them.

⭒ Possessed

Margaret Everlee is a meek little thing. Living her life as a struggling artist in New York, trying to find her place in the world. That is until the formidable CEO with a dark past, James Barnes sets his sights on her. His infatuation is instantaneous, becoming a man obsessed with making her his own little doll.

@stardustdreams-andcaffeine

⭒ The Thin Line

Of one thing you were certain—Bucky Barnes hated you, and you hated him. How could you not, considering the super soldier had made it his personal mission to make your life a living hell after you had been assigned to protect him? But there was someone after Bucky from his past, and now he was forced to work alongside you to stop them. And in the process, you would find out just how thin that line was between love and hate.

@buckybabesonly

⭒ Wanna Be Yours

You are afraid to believe that someone like Bucky might actually love you back.

@lovelybucky1

⭒ Flirting and Football

@kurogxrix

⭒ Drunkenly In Love

you and Bucky ‘accidentally’ get married after a drunken game of truth or dare with the avengers.

@stxrvel

⭒ Hate Is A Strong Word

you hated Bucky and you were convinced that he hated you back. until one time he was talking to you and it started to sound... lovely? what was happening?

@kikixreverie

⭒ Its Called: Freefall

Things get heated between you and your closest friend Bucky, when you're made to play a married couple on an important mission. Neither of you can help yourselves when you end up stuck in a hotel room together, with sexual tension you could cut with a knife.

[cult-of-husbandos]

yami ai [yandere] - Hot Yandere Singles Near You

synopsis: you click on a random pop-up ad and are visited by weird smiling man in suit.

genre: pure crack (like fr), fluff, tbh there's not really a plot

word count: 4.4k

warnings: implied stalking

Isn’t insomnia just the worst? Like, seriously? What’s the point of being a human being with antiquated thoughts and impressive cognitive and motor skills when your brain fights you on the most basic stuff. For example, like sleeping!!

You must’ve refreshed YouTube and Twitter over a thousand times. Over 8 billion people in the world and there’s no new content anywhere? You groaned and jumped back over onto Twitter, silently praying and pleading for something new to show up on your feed. Maybe a wacky billionaire got eaten by a mob of homeless people or maybe a news article about a Floridian doing something gross and outrageous and virtually impossible.

But nope. Nothing.

Not a single thing piqued your interest. You groaned again and looked at the time on your dimly lit phone. It was past 2 a.m. and you were bored out of your mind. You then lazily clicked on Google and sighed.

‘Maybe someone posted a new fanfic over something…’ you hoped. And even if there wasn’t a new fic uploaded you’ll just read the old ones you favorited. Perhaps reading something might put you to sleep.

As you were scrolling through your favorite ship tags, you were startled by a pop up ad covering up 90% of the screen and flashing emojis.

“Ugh… seriously?” you groaned. “They should make ad-blockers on phones for this shit.” You squinted at the bright lettering emanating from your phone even though it was at the lowest brightness setting.

⚠️(99+) Hot Yandere Singles NEAR YOU⚠️

Yandere’s…? Singles? Near me?

The pop-up ad had flashing peach, cherry, and eggplant emojis with a water splash emoji at the end to signify… well, you’re not sure what it was trying to signify. On the sides of the ad, it showed pictures of very gorgeous men and women, all striking suggestive poses. Underneath the title was a small summary that read. ‘These lonely desperate yanderes wanna meet you! They’ll most likely find you anyway, but wouldn’t you rather be the honey to a bee instead of a fly? Try it NOW for FREE!! No hookups! No catfishes! No sign ups!’ Then below that were a few empty boxes to fill out requiring your personal information.

"..."

Was this a porn ad?!

No way at 2:45 in the freaking morning did you just get a porn pop-up ad while googling mafia au fanfiction. This has to be some kind of joke. Maybe it was prank and someone was just fucking with you. And how and why would there be 99+ yanderes in your area?! You couldn’t be surrounded by that many psychos. Could you? Whatever the case may be, it was now past 2 a.m. and as the rule of life states ‘Nothing good happens after 2 a.m.’. You don’t know if it was the lack of sleep or just reckless curiosity, but you gave your shoulders a shrug and mumbled a ‘fuck it’ as you put in your information. Your name, number, gender, age, preferred sex, email, and mailing address. As you clicked submit and continued scrolling, you gave very little thought about how this would go down.

On one hand, the ad turns out to be real and you get a partner out of this. Or

You get quartered, stalked, doxxed, and murdered like the dumbass you are for putting your personal info into a sketchy porno-like pop-up on Google.

Or, it turns out to be a prank and some asshole sitting in a basement has a good laugh at you.

Meh. You’ll deal with it in the morning.

*****

You were jolted awake with the sound of rapid knocking coming from your front door. You groaned into your pillow as you tried to ignore the person desperately wanting your attention from outside your apartment. You finally got some sleep only for it to get interrupted. Only minutes and minutes of continued knocking without any signs of letting up, you decide to get up and shoo away whoever it was. You wearily grabbed your phone to check the time.

8:02 a.m.

You huffed as you stormed towards the front door.

“If this a fucking Jehova’s Witness, I swear to god…” you grumbled. You swung open the door and threw the person a harsh glare, only to be met with popping sounds as confetti flew in your face.

“Good morning, my dear darling~!! Are you ready to begin on the road to happiness and love?” the stranger shouted a far too happy tone for 8 in the morning.

You took a step back in shock, fully awake as you waved and dusted the confetti from your face and hair. You looked the strange man up and down. He was smiling ear to ear and wore an expensive looking suit to warm for the summer weather. A briefcase stood right beside him along with dozens of other party poppers and a white plastic bag filled with brown bottles with oddly enough no labels on them. You looked at the man’s face. He was surprisingly attractive and without a single flaw anywhere. His hair was jet black and shined a very prominent gloss. You were honestly kind of embarrassed to be seen by him when you looked like such a mess. The man let out a chuckle.

“Oh my.” he said, gently putting his hand over his mouth with vague concern. “I hope I didn’t startle you too much. I probably should’ve sent you an email notifying you of the time I was coming. I’m sorry that must’ve been a troubling awakening.”

You quirked your eyebrow and took another step back, grabbing onto the doorknob so that you could slam it right in his face if things got too weird.

“And… you are?”

“Oh my, oh my. Where are my manners? How careless of me to assume.” The man bowed with a curtsy. “I am the ‘Matchmaker’. My job is to pair two people with their fated soulmate and give each of my clients their happily ever after. It’s very nice to meet you, (Y/N) (L/N).”

You felt a chill crawl down your spine. How’d this weirdo know your name?! You tried to close the door as fast as you could, but the ‘Matchmaker’ was even faster. He clicked his tongue at you, his smile unchanging, but his eyes seemed to harden his gentle tone.

“My, how rude. Is that any way to treat a guest?” He let out another chuckle. “You’ll never find love that way.”

“H-How did you know my name?” you stuttered.

Again, another chuckle. What was so funny? “My dear~. You gave it to me.”

What the hell was he talking about? How could you have given this creep your name? Was he a stalker? A junkie? Noticing the confusion on your face, the man spoke up again.

“Oh my dear. Do you really not remember?” he asked, tilting his head in feign innocence. “You filled out an ad to meet singles in your area. And here I am, coming to fulfill that ad.”

You eased up on the tension you had on the door and tilted your head in surprised confusion. “That was a real ad?”

The man stood up tall and smiled earnestly again. “Of course. However, you are the first person to actually fill out that ad. Really, this is more of a celebration to both of us.”

Huh, so the pop-up ad was real.

Not a prank.

And now there’s a psycho standing at your front door promising you a partner from an actual yandere.

“I honestly thought it was a prank. I mean… yanderes? Isn’t that just an anime thing?”

“Oh, I assure you my darling.” he said with a snide smirk. “Yanderes are real. And when they heard about signing up, it was like tossing chicken in a sea of alligators. All clamoring to be the first person to take a bite.”

Okay, gross but kind of sweet.

“May I come in?”

“Huh?”

“Well, my dear. It would be easier to come in and talk through the process of how this goes instead of standing here.”

“Oh, um… Suuuree-”

“Great! My my darling~. What a lovely home. Very well decorated.” The man quickly strided into your house and made himself comfortable in your living room, looking as if he was analyzing every detail about your house.

Richard Chase would’ve loved your dumbass.

You shut the door and followed him into your own apartment and offered him a seat on your couch. Might as well, right? You’ve gone this far and you're still alive.

“Umm…” you hesitantly shifted from one foot to another. “Do you… um… want some coffee maybe? Or tea? Maybe a glass of water? If you haven;t eaten breakfast yet, I whip you up something.”

Yeah, sure. Feed the man with only a title for a name and waltzed right into your house after showing up after you put in your personal information into a random pop-up ad at 3 a.m. promising you a happy life with hot single yanderes in your area. You are the pinnacle of human genius. The apex of natural selection. The creme de la creme of common sense. Charles Darwin would be so impressed.

“How thoughtful. Just coffee would be fine. Thank you.”

After brewing a quick pot, you sat across from the man facing him heads on and gently slid him his steaming cup. After a while of taking little sips in weird silence, he spoke up again.

“Before we continue, I’d just like to say: Thank you so much for applying for this wonderful opportunity!! Not many people would click on an ad requiring doxxing information to meet their soulmates! Again, congrats on being our number one willing client!”

“Willing client?” you asked.

“Well, of course! For some reason, humans seem to really love the idea of a yandere until there’s one standing on their front porch!” he laughed.

“Humans? I’m sorry. Are you not human, Mr…?”

“Ah ah! No need for formalities! Just ‘The Matchmaker’ or simply ‘Matchmaker’.

“Oh, so… you don’t have a true name? Or is that just a title?”

“Oh darling~.” he sang sweetly. “That’s none of anyone’s fucking business, is it?”

Your eyes widened and let out a nervous chuckle. “Okay, got it! Just Matchmaker. Lovely name. Adore it. In fact, I love when strange mysterious men only give a title for a name.” What the hell does that even mean? You had no idea what you were saying anymore.

“Heh, smart cookie.” He winked. “Shall we begin?”

“Um, yeah, so… how does this work exactly?” you finally asked.

“Simple, my dear darling. Think of this as an ordinary matchmaking appointment. I have a stack of potential soulmates all ready to meet you. I have the same information about them that I also have of you. Each potential soulmate also has a picture so if you don’t really feel up to meeting face-to-face just yet you can look over the picture and see who captures your heart.”

“Face-to-face? So these guys have my picture too?” “Of course! And might I say, those pictures don’t do you justice. In all my years in this business, I’ve never seen such an obsession and overload of potential soulmates for just one person.”

You lightly blushed. “I-I don’t know about that… I barely got any sleep last night so I probably look like a zombie right now…”

“Au contraire, Darling. You look absolutely stunning. If I weren’t such a professional I would burn all these forms and claim you as my one and only~.”

You felt your entire face flush red as the Matchmaker pierced your soul with his longing gaze. It felt like he was staring into your very essence – like he could read you like a book. You nervously cleared your throat and shifted your eyes away, hoping to bring down your blush.

“S-So! Um… should we get started?” you stuttered, internally kicking yourself for being so easily flustered by a couple of smooth words. Ted Bundy would’ve had a field day with your dumbass.

“Ready whenever you are, my dear.” The Matchmaker set his briefcase on your coffee table and pulled out a single form and slid it over towards you. “Let’s start off with an easy one.”

You looked at the form along with the picture of a very attractive man paperclipped to the paper. According to the form, his name is Hamazawa Akita. He was in his early 20’s, had a varying array of hobbies from hiking to scuba diving, and was very much in love with you.

“Well, what do you think?”

“Hm, well, he’s very cute. And very active.”

“Would you like to meet him?”

“Um, sure… is there a number I could call or…?”

“No need! We can bring him in right now.” The Matchmaker snapped his fingers and you whipped your head towards the front door where Akita strolled in, all smiles. You looked back over the Matchmaker. “Did I not lock my door? Wait. More importantly, how’d he get here?!”

The Matchmaker smiled. “My dear, when you’re in this business you pick up a few tricks.” He then turned his attention towards Akita who now stood in the middle of the living room. “No. 1 would you like to introduce yourself?”

Akita stood tall and his eyes seemed to beam directly at you. “My name is Hamazawa Akita. Ever since I saw your picture I’ve dreamed about sweeping you off your feet and claiming you all to myself!”

“So, like 8 hours ago?”

“Yes!! But those hours feel like years when being away from you.”

“Hmm.”

“So, what do you think? Are you feeling the butterflies?”

You looked up Akita up and down and your face twisted as if you’re deciding on whether or not to buy a car or a piece of clothing.

“Um, to be honest my guy. I’m not feeling it.”

“Huh?”

“Excuse me, my darling?”

“Weeeelllll…. I mean, don’t get me wrong! You’re very attractive and your words are sweet, but I don’t think I believe any of it. Like, you just admitted to wanting me all to yourself only 8 hours ago, but I don’t really feel anything. Not even a shiver.”

The Matchmaker and Akita both looked at each other like they weren’t really expecting that. With a quick wave of his hand, Akita slumped his shoulders and headed towards your front door. You shouted out an apology as the dejected suitor walked out.

“Well, I didn’t expect that. I don’t normally get such competent clients. At least those that get past kicking and screaming.” The Matchmaker grinned. You shrugged.

“I guess I just know what I like. All the anime I’ve watched kind of gives you that high standard of what makes a yandere a real yandere, y’know?”

He nodded. “I cannot agree more. Well, we have plenty more where that came from. Shall we continue?”

*****

Papers were strewn across your coffee table in an unorganized fashion as both you and your estranged guest were tired beyond belief. You had no idea how many hours had passed nor how many guests were in and out of your apartment. You’re honestly surprised none of your neighbors complained or called the police. Your apartment would’ve looked like a clown car if anyone had been watching from the outside. You honestly lost count after No. 256. You let out another yawn and laid on your side trying your best to keep your eyes open. Maybe 2 hours of sleep wasn’t enough for the multiple interviews you had to conduct today. Maybe your 9th grade biology teacher was right. Maybe you are going to die alone. A weary sigh brought you from your thoughts.

“My, my. You are definitely the most high standard client I’ve ever had. I didn’t think we’d get to the triple digits in just one day.”

You also sighed and sat up in your seat. “I know. I’m sorry. It’s just… All these guys are cute and all, but they’re all lacking something. They’re either too forceful or not forceful enough. Too wimpy or too strong. Or too obsessed or just incredibly so lovesick that I feel like they’d fall in love with just about anyone who’d be willing. Ugh, why can’t this be simpler like adopting an animal?” You groaned. You also hadn’t thought this would take this long. You didn’t really think of yourself as having high standards until today. Until today, you’d be happy with anyone close to you in age and with a heartbeat. Who knew picking out a yandere soulmate would be so challenging. And who knew that there’d be so many willing participants! The Matchmaker reached into his briefcase and pulled another stack of forms and slid them over to you. There must be at least over a hundred papers in front of you. How did he have so many?!

“How about we switch things up, hm? You’ll look over the papers and when you see someone that catches your eye, I’ll bring him in.” He made it sound like you were adopting a dog or a cat. But if this made it go any faster, you were willing to try.

After about 3 more stacks of papers, you were starting to lose hope and patience. When you got to the last few papers, you stopped dead in your tracks. Woah baby!

“Woah baby!” you exclaimed.

“Did you find someone you like?” The Matchmaker asked hopefully.

“Oh yeah. This guy.” You showed him the paper. He furrowed his brows a little.

“Are you sure? I don’t think I remember this man. His name and face don’t seem familiar.”

“Really? Maybe he’s a late entry or something?”

Matchmaker stroked his chin in thought. “I’ll go check it out. Be right back, dear. I’m very sorry for this inconvenience.”

You waved off his apology with a smile and he left your apartment. You then leaned back with a groan. You just wanted to find your ‘soulmate’ or whatever and move on with this day. You closed your eyes for a second and waited patiently for Matchmaker to come back.

Tap tap tap

Just like deja vu, you were awoken by rapid knocking. Except this time it wasn’t coming from your front door.

Tap tap tap tap

It sounds like it’s coming from… your window?

Tap tap tap tap tap tap tap

You quickly got up and walked towards your window and opened it.

“Woah!” You jumped back a little as you were met face to face with the man that you had picked out and that the Matchmaker went to go find.

‘Wow… he’s even cuter in person!!’

He let out a delicious chuckle and gave you a charming smile.

“I didn’t mean to scare you, darling~. Hehe, though I think that fear in your eyes was worth it. So adorable~.” For the second time today, a complete weirdo stranger has made you blush. Wait…

“Wait! I don’t have a balcony and I’m on the third floor. How’d you-?” You peeked over the window to see if he was pulling a Criss Angel.

“I have incredible grip strength~.” he winked.

“Oooh I’m sure~.” you swooned. For a weirdo, he was a smooth talking weirdo.

“Oh, I got these for you, sweetheart~.” He pulled himself up and sat on your windowsill and pulled out a bouquet of roughly cut flowers from behind him. You gasped and grabbed them, giving them a smell.

“These are my favorite!! How did you know? I don’t think that was one of the pieces of info required for the Matchmaker.” you asked.

The stranger chuckled. “Easy. I never filled out that stupid application.”

You looked up from your flowers and titled your head like a confused puppy.

“I already know everything about you. I don’t need a stupid piece of paper to tell me what I already know about you. Like, how I know that you have secret sweets hidden all throughout your room. Or that whenever you have a good day you love to sing Stray Kids.”

He inched closer to you as you backed up further into the room.

“You won’t eat frozen pizza, but every so often you eat a lobster roll from a food truck from Gary on Main St.. You have life destroying evidence of your boss that you’re planning on using on your last day. You’ve seen the Barbie movie 5 times. And…”

You felt your legs hit the couch and tried to keep yourself from falling onto your back like a defenseless turtle.

“Your favorite anime is… Dar-” You quickly covered the stranger’s mouth with a furious blush.

“I only watch it ironically!! I don’t love it! It’s not my favorite!” you quickly clarified. The gravity of the situation was made perfectly clear after that. This man really knew all about you. Honestly, you’re so loud that you’re pretty sure that people on the ground outside could hear you singing. And you don’t really pay attention to your surroundings so it's easy for someone to know that you eat from a food truck every other week at specific times. But, knowing your favorite secretly watched anime?

“W-Who… are you?” you stuttered. You’re pretty sure you already knew the answer.

He laughed and you felt his lips brush against your fingers. You blushed and tried to pull back, only to be stopped by his hands.

“Sweetie~. You already know who I am.” He grabbed the paper from the stack and put it next to his face. “See? I’m Yami Ai. Your soulmate.”

Before you could even process what was happening, you were gently pushed onto the couch with Yami hovering over you holding your hands beside your head. You couldn’t stop the blush erupting from your neck to your face. Your heart was beating way too fast and your stomach felt jumpy and queasy. Butterflies.

You cleared your throat. “Um… so, if you didn’t fill out a form then how come The Matchmaker had your profile and picture? And why didn’t you use the front door?”

Yami smirked and leaned in closer. “It’s pretty simple to pull off when your apartment does security checks on new guests entering the building.”

“But, my apartment doesn’t–” you stopped. “Ooooh… So you impersonated a security guard, slipped your profile and info into his briefcase, and were planning on showing up as one of the potential singles? That’s… convoluted. But, smart.” You shrugged. “And since you obviously knew which floor I was on and which window was mine, I assume you’ve been watching me for a while and were watching me last night when I couldn’t sleep?”

Yami laughed again. “You are so smart~. You really catch on quickly, don’t you?”

You shrugged again with a nervous smile. “W-Well, obviously not smart enough to not put in my personal info and have strange men come in and out of my apartment.”

Yami was quick to turn his gentle smile into a hard, harsh frown. His grip on your wrists grew tighter and you winced under the force he placed in you.

“You know, my darling. It’s partially my fault. If I hadn’t backed out and taken you that night, you’d never be in this situation. With those men eyeing you up and down like you were theirs. Having that smiling freak calling you ‘dear’ and ‘darling’ when only I can call you that. I was planning on getting rid of the competition, but you did that for me.”

Yami loosened his grip and lifted you up, staring into your eyes. You blushed again.

“Rejection after rejection. Some guys didn’t even get 2 words out before you turned away. Of course my darling would only want the most perfect man. Isn’t that right, darling~?”

“Hehehe~” you leaned in with a giggle. “You’re so sweet~.”

You are such a baby for flattery.

*****

“My dear darling, I’m so very sorry for the inconvenience. I didn’t mean to be gone for so long, but I could not find this person you–” Matchmaker explained, rushing in and stopping dead in his tracks when he saw both you and Yami, the man who left 30 minutes ago to go find, eating breakfast in the living room.

Sitting in his lap.

And feeding each other.

“Oh! Matchmaker!” you exclaimed, quickly swallowing your food. You didn’t notice Yami tightening his grip on your waist nor did you notice the cold glare and tense atmosphere enveloping the room. “Look who I found~.”

“I see…” he said hesitantly.

“He climbed up the building and came in through the window.”

“My~. How romantic~.” he sang. “So, I take it that you are satisfied with your soulmate? Or… do you wish to continue searching?” he asked teasingly. Before Yami could say anything, you quickly spoke again.

“Yep! I’m sure.” You ruffled Yami’s hair and nuzzled up against him. “I wouldn’t trade him for anyone else.” Yami hugged you closer to his chest as you giggled. “Plus, he makes the most amazing breakfast in the world, so extra points!” you cheered. You reached out towards the Matchmaker’s briefcase.

“Here you go! I put all the papers back in for you.”

Matchmaker quickly walked over and grabbed his briefcase along with your hand. “Well, my dear. It’s been an honor. You are truly the most remarkable and memorable client I have ever had.” he said with a bow and made his way towards the door. However, before leaving he chuckled and looked back at the both of you. “Although, it’s a shame,” he sighed. “Maybe if I had stayed, I would’ve snatched you up myself.”

And with a final loud laugh, The Matchmaker disappeared, but not before Yami stood up to lounge and attack the fleeting man like a guard dog. You snorted and caressed his face to calm him down. “Relax, Yami. He’s just joking.”

“Well, I hated his joke. Fuckin’ freak…” he grumbled. “And it’s Ai. You’re mine now. You should get used to calling each other by our first names.”

You smiled and leaned against him. “Okay, Ai. Whatever you say.”

“And if a man comes to the door, never EVER answer it, got it!”

“Mhm.”

“I’m serious, darling. I’ll gouge their eyes out right in front of you.”

“Yes sir.”

The rest of your life was going to be very interesting. Suck it, Ms. Braxton. I guess you’re the one dying alone. Because you have a yandere boyfriend! And she has gonorrhea. Bitch.

---

a/n: this is so shit. i'm so sorry that i've been MIA for a while. work has been pretty crazy and i haven't really felt much motivated to write. however, i'm trying to get back into it now. with this goofy shit. kind of a joke piece, but i needed to write something silly and not serious at all to relax. (also i've been writing since 4 a.m., so...) anyways, i'm going to try and update regulary or at least post something.

Here's my YouTube. I make anime playlists.

[senascoop]

DREAMSCAPE ☁︎ M.LIST !

WELCOME to the DREAMSCAPE MINI ENHYPEN series— a collection of seven unique fanfics that blur the lines between fantasy, crime, comedy, and romance. Each story dives deep into intricate plots, so if you were hoping for simple FLUFF or SMUT, you might want to look elsewhere. But if you're here for thrilling twists, complex characters, and captivating worlds, you've come to the right place! BUCKLE UP; it's going to be a wild ride!

WORD COUNT MIGHT RANGE FROM 10K—30K,

MINORS, please steer clear of the SMUT fanfics. However, don't worry—you’re more than welcome to dive into the fluff stories! They’re just as captivating and enjoyable, offering all the heartwarming moments without the mature content. Enjoy responsibly!

IF YOU’RE INTERESTED IN ANY OF THESE FICS, PLEASE LET ME KNOW WHICH ONE YOU'D LIKE TO BE TAGGED IN!

JUST REPLY WITH THE PREFERENCE, AND I’LL MAKE SURE TO KEEP YOU UPDATED. THANKS!

﹙ 🕊️ ﹚ ぃ ──── SHE HAS LOST EVERY CASE, HOW COULD SHE WIN MINE?

EXCUSE ME !

READ HERE

SUSPECT ! HEESEUNG × LAWYER ! AFAB READER

MATURE THEMES, LAW BASED & SMUT !

Heeseung is unexpectedly thrust into the center of a murder investigation, accused of killing an old school friend. The truth, however, runs deeper than it appears, leaving everyone questioning whether he's truly the suspect. Enter you, his defense lawyer, notorious for losing every case you take on. Against all odds, you're handed Heeseung's case, and let’s just say…it’s a recipe for disaster for both of you. As you dig deeper, unraveling layers of deception, you’ll have to confront your own doubts and insecurities. Will you be able to prove Heeseung's innocence, or will this case be another tally in your string of failures?

﹙ 🧊 ﹚ ぃ ──── DID I REALLY DESERVE TO BE CAUGHT UP WITH SUCH A TROUBLE?

OOPS, WRONG ERA !

READ HERE

TIME TRAVELLER ! JAY × STUDENT ! AFAB READER

20TH CENTURY AU, SLIGHTLY FUTURISTIC & FLUFF !

Jay was the epitome of a perfect student—charming, intelligent, and utterly dedicated. The only catch? He was a time traveler from the future, marooned in the 20th century and trying to blend in as a normal teenager. When you discovered his secret, you seized the opportunity. You blackmailed him into becoming your personal homework and assignment writer, using his advanced knowledge to help you ace your classes. Jay’s attempts to navigate high school life while fulfilling his unexpected new role provided endless amusement and challenges for both of you.

﹙ ☁️ ﹚ ぃ ──── WHY WOULD YOU SHOW UP WHEN I MOVED ON?

WINDS CHANGE ☁︎

READ HERE

EX ! JAKE × EX ! AFAB READER

ANGST & SMUT !

It's been five years since you and Jake called it quits, each going your separate ways. Life seemed fine—until the dreaded wedding invitation arrives from an old friend. Reluctantly, you decide to attend, only to find Jake, your ex, waiting there like a storm on the horizon, ready to turn your calm into chaos. With unresolved feelings and past memories looming, the wedding becomes a battlefield of witty exchanges, accidental encounters, and a slow unraveling of what truly ended between you two. Are the winds of change blowing in favor of a second chance, or will they only serve to remind you why you broke up in the first place?

﹙ 🍁 ﹚ ぃ ──── I KNOW IT'S MY FAULT, BUT I WANNA MAKE IT BETTER!

GET WELL SOON シ︎

READ HERE

RACER ! SUNGHOON × ORPHAN ! AFAB READER

MENTIONS OF CRIME & ACCIDENT, OVERALL FLUFF & CRACK !

You’ve always considered yourself a good person—kind, forgiving, and patient. But Sunghoon tested every bit of that. One reckless, drunken drive was all it took for him to flip your life upside down, leaving you temporarily confined to a wheelchair. The inconvenience was more than just physical; it was a wound to your pride and independence. Sunghoon, however, refused to walk away from his mistake. Guilt-ridden and determined to make amends, he became a constant presence in your life—covering your medical bills, offering you emotional support, and sticking around even when you wished he wouldn’t.

﹙ 🦄 ﹚ ぃ ──── CAN'T YOU TAKE CARE OF YOURSELF BY YOURSELF?

LIKE PINK !

READ HERE

GUARDIAN ANGEL ! SUNOO × CLUMSY ! AFAB READER

FANTASY & PURE FLUFF !

You’ve always believed you were cursed with the "unlucky girl syndrome." From tripping on flat surfaces to losing your keys every other day, it seemed like misfortune followed you everywhere. But was it really a curse, or just bad luck? You never quite figured it out. When a guardian angel was sent from above, you hoped your luck would finally turn around. Instead, you got Sunoo—a messy, clumsy, and utterly unhelpful angel who seemed more like a walking disaster than a divine helper. All you could think of was asking God for a refund, because with Sunoo around, your life was about to get a lot more chaotic… and maybe a little brighter, too.

﹙ 🔥 ﹚ ぃ ──── I KNOW A TRICK TOO!

SIZZLES OF HIM ᯾

READ HERE

CLASSMATE ! JUNGWON × AFAB ! READER

FANTASY ELEMENTS, MAGICAL AU & SMUT !

There was always something about your quiet, mysterious classmate Jungwon that piqued your curiosity. You couldn't quite put your finger on it—until the day you accidentally peeked into his room and saw him hovering mid-air, surrounded by sparks of electricity. It all made sense then; he wasn't just your average student. Little did he know, you were hiding a secret of your own—one that mirrored his in more ways than one. Two forces of nature, each with powers as different as night and day, destined to collide. As they say, opposites attract, but in your case, they might just ignite.

﹙ 🍫 ﹚ ぃ ──── THIS MIGHT SOUND CRAZY BUT TRUST ME IT'S TRUE!

TIED UP IN YOU !

READ HERE

PHONE GUY ! NIKI × STUDENT ! AFAB READER

CRACK (?), PURE FLUFF !

Niki was a good guy, no doubt about it. The only problem? He was your phone. How, exactly, did your phone transform into this strikingly handsome guy? It was baffling, frustrating, and, honestly, a bit overwhelming. Here you were, trying to navigate a world where your device had somehow become a charming, infuriatingly attractive human being. And to make matters worse, he was as stubborn and endearing as any person you'd ever met.

﹙ 🍒 ﹚ ぃ ──── THANK YOU FOR READING!

Sena’s note: I’m not sure when I'll finish these seven fics, but I hope it’s soon. I’m unsure if anyone will be interested, but this was a preview of what’s coming.

main masterlist.

[thatesqcrush]

Inaugural Sparks

David (A Murder at the End of the World) x reader.

AN: I know nothing about Raúl’s character so forgive me for any mischaracterizations. I just really wanted to write something for this character and couldn’t wait until the 14th.

Rating: NSFW for 🌶️🌶️

You stood poised in front of a rustic bar, your heart fluttering with the anticipation of your first date with David Alvarez. The autumn air is crisp, causing a soft blush to bloom on your cheeks. You are clad in a cozy, burnt-orange sweaterdress that complements the fall foliage. Your eyes, full of hope and curiosity, are as vibrant as the setting sun. Your fingers nervously played with the cuff of your sleeve, a silent testament to the excitement and uncertainty of the impending encounter. The scent of fallen leaves and the distant sound of laughter from the bar added to the atmosphere of anticipation.

In many ways this was a blind date. But it also wasn’t.

It was a date in the making through mutual friends, Andy Ronson, and his wife Lee, who showed you off to David on his phone and vice versa with him to you. It might have been just a picture, but the attraction was instantaneous.

And this date took weeks in the making thanks to conflicting work schedules. David was an Argentine venture capitalist who happened to be on the top ten Midas list for Forbes. While VCs only invested in 2–3 companies a year, the rest of his time was spent platonically courting entrepreneurs. Suffice it to say, he was loaded. But truthfully, you were well off as well and your work had kept you just as busy.

You and David had been texting and calling for weeks now. Some of the communications were purely innocent, while others were downright filthy. Finally, after so many nights of teasing and eluding, of shared pictures that showed little but promised much more, you were going to be meeting face to face. You had a feeling that this evening held the promise of something special.

You checked the time on your watch before re-applying your lipstick. Then drawing a deep breath in, you made your way into the dimly lit bar, poised, head raised in confidence. As you made your way in, you realized that David was already at the bar. He is sitting, facing the door with one leg hooked through the legs of the stool. He wore a crisp white button down, the top two buttons open, accentuating his tanned skin. There was a glint of a gold chain from the overhead lights. His hair - a distinguished mix of salt and pepper - was perfectly coiffed and accompanied with a neatly trimmed beard.

You could tell he was striving for casualness but there remained a tension in the way he sat, a restlessness you could sense in your gut - as if he preferred to pace and prowl the room while he waited. He exuded sophistication - but there was an air of rugged charm which added to his already distinguished features.

One broad palm cradled a tumbler full of brown liquor. He swirled the drink close to the rim, allowed it to settle and then raised it to his perfectly pink lips. You paused mid-stride, drinking him in. His eyes snapped up, meeting yours and the air cracked with a magnetic pull.

Unbeknownst to you, David had already spotted you outside, bathed in the early evening light, a vision in your sweater dress that clung to your curves in all the right places. He couldn’t believe his luck.

David’s intense gaze held for a moment before he lowered his, dragging along the curves of your dress. His lips twitched in a smile at the hint of skin between the hemline of your dress and the thigh highs that you wore.

You felt desire shoot down your belly, creating a warm pool between your thighs. The smoldering look in his green eyes caused your nipples to harden and pucker against the fabric, eager to show off for him, already seeking his touch. The tip of his tongue emerged to dance along his bottom lip. For a moment, you imagine what it must be like to sink your hands into his beard as you kiss him.

Pictures did not do him justice. He was without a doubt, the most fucking handsome man you had ever had the pleasure of looking at. You take in the width of his broad shoulders, down his chest. You finally continue your journey until you are standing face to face with him.

You get a whiff of spice from his aftershave. Your blood fizzes in response and your pussy is now throbbing in tandem with your heartbeat. More slickness gathers between your thighs and you know he would be pleased when he found out you weren’t wearing any underwear.

He shifted in his seat, causing you to smile. The two of you had not even touched, but you could already tell that he was growing hard, the bulge straining against the zipper of his pants. You ached to have him fill you, fucking you hard as your pussy milked him for all that he was worth.

Pleasantries are exchanged and as you sit next to him, you order a shot of tequila with a lime. David watched you with intense fascination as you slammed the shot back. You bit into the lime, sucking out every last drop of citrus, igniting an electric shock that sent shivers down David’s spine and right to his aching cock.

The night continued over a shared bottle of red wine as you each shared stories about work and life. David mentioned he was planning on attending an upcoming exclusive retreat at Andy’s high-tech hotel, located in the snowiest reaches of Iceland.

But as the evening deepened, so did the connection between the two of you. The chemistry was undeniable, and it only grew as the two of you shared more personal tales, vulnerabilities laid bare.

When the idea of dessert was floated to the two of you by the bartender, you took the opportunity to reach for David’s thigh.

“I am not hungry for dessert.” You felt as if you were almost vibrating with desire.

David’s fingers traced a path along your hand, causing your breath to hitch. “There is something about you that I can’t resist.”

You gave him a victorious smile. You changed to standing and planted yourself in between his legs. You leaned to his ear.

“Finish your drink and pay the man.” You finished with a nip to his ear causing David to groan.

The pupils of his eyes are dilated and you are pleased as punch watching him swallow the remainder of his drink before slamming the glass along the bartop. He reached for his wallet and dropped a few hundred dollar bills, more than enough to cover the tab and then some. “Keep the change.”

Finally, you found yourselves beneath the canopy of bar, waiting for an Uber to arrive. David pulled you close, his lips finding yours in a fiery, passionate kiss. You let out a moan as his tongue licked hotly into your mouth. The world around you both faded away as the two of you surrendered to the intensity of the attraction.

The kiss deepened, and the sparks that had been building all night ignited into a passionate, all-consuming flame.

FIN.

Tags: @beardedbarba @beccabarba @melk917 @madpanda75 @adarafaelbarba @storiesofsvu @dreamlover31 @detective-giggles @plaidbooks @eltrujillo @jenparis

[grayson10yearslater]

YOU DON'T KNOW GRAYSON: The Construction of Dick Grayson's Identity in Grayson Act I

INTRODUCTION: WHO AM I?

Like many of us, I first heard of Spyral in Dick-centric hurt/comfort fics. In these fics, the focus is often on how lonely and miserable Dick was during his time as Agent 37. How even after he became Nightwing again, his brothers never forgive him for letting them think he was dead. How the relationship between him and Bruce has been poisoned forever because Bruce savagely beat him and forced him to play dead. Usually Jason, Tim, and/or Damian discover Batcave footage of Bruce’s beat down of Dick, find out Dick was forced against his will into going undercover, and shower Dick with the love and forgiveness he deserves (and also probably kick Bruce’s ass a little). I want to be very clear. I eat these fics up for breakfast. Part of the reason I was so eager to read Grayson myself was for the hurt/comfort fodder.

But Grayson, in tone and execution, is nothing like the fanfics I read. There’s whump fodder, yes, but there is also humor and charm and new gratifying heartfelt relationships built within. Imagine my surprise when I read Grayson for the first time and found that Bruce and Dick’s relationship is not strained and bitter, but actually very tender and nostalgic. Both during and after the infamous Nightwing #30, there is so much affection between them. What got lost in fandom telephone? If Grayson isn’t about Dick at his absolute lowest, being the most miserable and alone sadsack to ever sack, what is it about?

The promo material gives us the easy pitch: identity. “YOU THINK YOU KNOW NIGHTWING…” the ad tells us, “YOU DON’T KNOW DICK.” For my money, this might be one of the best DC house ads of all time. It so perfectly captures the theme and the tone of Grayson. It’s in your face, it’s tongue-in-check, and it is so excited to explore Dick Grayson as a character.

But then the question remains: Who is Dick Grayson? The last six pages of Nightwing #30, written by Grayson co-writers Tom King and Tim Seeley, ends with Dick himself telling us.

“Who am I? I’ve been a lot of things. I was a son. I was a performer. An acrobat. A member of Haly’s Circus. Part of a family, a legacy. Then came Tony Zucco. He murdered my parents, and I was alone. I was angry. A sad, angry boy looking for revenge. Any revenge. Then came Bruce Wayne. He found me, and I wasn’t alone anymore. I was his ward. I was a son again. He trained me. Focused me. And I was Robin. A colleague. A hero. Partner to the Batman, the Dark Knight of Gotham. I was part of a family again. Batgirl. Commissioner James Gordon. Alfred Pennyworth. I grew older. I became a hero in my own right. I was Nightwing. I was a teacher. A mentor. To Jason…Tim…Damian…and eventually, when I was needed, I was Batman. I was part of a legacy again. Then came the Crime Syndicate. They put a noose around my neck, and I was alone again. I was tortured. I was put in front of cameras. I was unmasked. I was a plaything. They strapped me to a machine, I was their weapon. A bomb. Lex Luthor stopped my heart. Killed me to save the world. I was dead. Or so it seemed. In secret, I was saved. Who am I? After all that, I wanted to go back. I wanted to be who I’d been. A son. Part of a family…a legacy. Robin. Nightwing. Batman. I wanted to go back. But I can’t. Something terrible is coming. And I have to stop it. My enemy is in front of me and I’m alone. Who am I? My name is Dick Grayson. I’m who you need me to be.”

This monologue lays out the foundation: Dick defines himself by his network of relationships, his family. From Dick’s very beginning, family is an all-encompassing word that holds both his biological family (the Flying Graysons) and his chosen family (Haly’s Circus at large) together. Dick sees the world relationally; he defines who he is by how he is connected to others. Even his time as the solo hero Nightwing is framed through the relationship oriented occupations of teacher and mentor. It’s telling that in his monologue he uses the word “legacy” almost as often as family. It’s not just about the individuals he’s connected to, it’s about having a web of connections at all. A safety net. Dick is a trapeze artist. The trapeze is not a solo act. Grayson dares to ask who Dick Grayson really is when he’s not a legacy, not a member of a team, not the ‘and’ after Batman?

STILL TWO BEST FRIENDS

Tim Seeley: One of the things Tom and I wanted to do, beyond the drama and conflict between Dick and Bruce, was not another story about the drama and conflict between Dick and Bruce. We didn't want to do another story about how the Robins are exploited and used and eventually turn against Batman. This is still about the two best friends in the DC Universe, but they fight and they have to ask each other to do things that they don't want to. But when it comes down to it, these are the two best buddies that there could be. When they have conflict, it's because it's important. It's because it means something. It's not something to falsify the drama.

To understand what Grayson is doing with the themes of identity and partnership, we have to unpack Nightwing #30. I could write a whole series of posts on Nightwing #30. It’s so densely packed and, by my money, one of the most misunderstood issues in fandom. Every time I reread it, I discover something new to munch on. For the purposes of this post, I will focus on how Dick and Bruce construct Dick’s identity.

Bruce frames their fight as a test. “I need to see if they broke you,” he says, “I need to see if you still have the heart you once had.” This is what Bruce and Dick are fighting over: after being tortured, having his identity revealed by the Crime Syndicate, and killed by Lex Luthor…is Dick Grayson still Dick Grayson?

Their fight is brutal. And why wouldn’t it be? Dick’s lost everything, even his life, and Bruce was helpless to save him. Both Dick and Bruce are at their lowest points right now. “I trained you to live,” Bruce yells as he strikes Dick in the face, “and I watched you die!” This fight is one of the most bloody, violent brawls we’ve ever seen between Bruce and Dick. It’s easy to see why this confrontation spread like wildfire in the whump-centric parts of fandom. It’s blood, guts, and tears.

The quote from Seeley at the beginning of this section is so illuminating. Despite the reputation this scene has gained in fandom, it was never intended to be “another story about how the Robins are exploited and used and eventually turn against Batman”. This scene is intended to break Bruce and Dick down in order to build them back up again. So why doesn’t that intention always come through?

I think it’s a question of genre. Both King and Seeley have gone on record as really enjoying superhero comics for their genre conventions. They are not interested in anything hyperrealistic or gritty. When Dick and Bruce beat the hell out of each other across the Batcave, it’s more equivalent to two characters in a musical breaking out into a dance number, as opposed to actual physical abuse. Compare this issue to New Teen Titans #55, where Bruce’s single punch there has more traumatic weight in the narrative than all the punches here combined. The violence in Nightwing #30 is much more a visual metaphor for Bruce and Dick’s emotional states. The emotional fight is the real concern for the plot, not the literal physical blows, a convention we see often in the superhero genre. And the emotional fight is over what Dick’s identity is now, after the events of Forever Evil. Who does Dick need to be next? Bruce needs Dick to be someone stronger, someone who can’t die, someone who can infiltrate Spyral and not be corrupted by them. Dick wants to return to comfort, to family. He wants to, as he says later on in this issue, “be who [he’s] been”. 

For Dick especially, the violence here showcases his struggle with his identity in the aftermath of Forever Evil. As Bruce begins to tell Dick about the Spyral mission, he kicks Dick into the glass case holding the Robin costume. Dick is broken and battered, on his knees on the Robin cape, surrounded by shattered glass and the looming shadow of Batman. This is a visualization of what Dick feels internally: that by agreeing to stay dead and go on this mission, he is shattering everything he once was. Batman is killing him. Bruce is killing the person he used to be.

Dick can’t accept that. He outright says no and uses the Robin cape to choke Bruce out. Again, that sounds horrifically violent. But on the page, it just feels like symbolism. Dick chokes Bruce out with the Robin cape, tying them together back-to-back. He doesn’t want to leave Bruce again. He wants to stay together. If Dick understands his identity to be Batman’s partner, what does it mean that Bruce is trying to take that away?

Bruce and Dick are at cross-purposes with regards to who Dick needs to be next. As they throw punches, Bruce rattles off intel as Dick says the names of his family like a prayer. Bruce is acting from a place of terror. He just witnessed Dick die and his coping strategy is what it always is: become the mission. Bruce needs Dick’s identity to be mission focused, and that mission is staying alive and keeping their secrets safe (pointedly, the very same things Dick just failed to do). Dick needs to feel reconnected to his old identity, he needs to return to his family and be with them. Both of them are desperately trying to make meaning out of Dick’s death. When Dick tackles Bruce into the Batmobile, saying that he’s alive, it almost looks like a hug. They are not communicating here, but that does not mean they don’t care deeply for each other. It is the same tenderness they feel towards each other that provokes them into such a no-holds-barred fight. They are desperate; both of them will stop at nothing to not lose each other. It’s just that they have different definitions of salvation. 

Nightwing #30 is an argument of ideology. After knocking Dick to the ground, Bruce plays the mentor. “Why do we fall, Dick? We fall so we can learn to get back up.” The Spyral mission is a very real, very urgent threat. But there’s also a part of Bruce that desperately needs to see Dick prove his invincibility again, for the sake of his worldview. Dick, at this moment, refuses Bruce’s lesson. He peels off the mask Bruce gave him. “No,” he says, “No, that’s not true. We fall because someone pushes us. We get up to push back.” Dick’s resolve is iron-clad. He will never just stay on the ground, not when someone pushed him. His desire for justice will always compel him back on to his feet. That desire belongs to Dick Grayson, not Nightwing, not Robin. Even as Dick argues against Bruce, he proves to them both why he is the only option for a long term undercover mission in Spyral. 

Bruce continues to preach the necessity of Dick’s Spyral mission, no matter the costs. “After this, Bruce,” Dick tells him as he blocks Bruce’s punch, “after asking this, between us – it can’t be the same again.” Bruce knows. He delivers his explanation of his self-identity: 

“I’m hurting you. My family. I’m making that sacrifice. Because I don’t give up. I don’t give in. But what about you? Are you them? Or are you me? After the Crime Syndicate captured you, tortured you, killed you – tell me Dick, my body, after all of this – will you give up? Will you give in?” 

While Nightwing #30 has been laying the foundation of the plot of Grayson this whole time, this is the foundation of Grayson’s Act I’s thematic question: Who is Dick Grayson? Bruce here pitches it as a binary question. Is Dick him? A Bat who never gives up. Or is he “them”? The “them” is ambiguous. Grammatically, it refers to the other heroes who would give up and let Spyral use them. But I think it could be argued that “them” means anyone who isn’t Bruce. The Crime Syndicate. Spyral. The dead. Anyone who isn’t relentless and alive. Dick is a pillar in Bruce’s psyche. It’s an essay on its own tracking all the moments throughout canon and elsewhere stories where Bruce loses his grip on his own identity when Dick dies. He frames this as a binary question not out of sadism, but because this is how Bruce’s worldview works. It is just fundamentally more binary and egocentric than Dick’s worldview. Bruce does not construct his identity (or his understanding of Dick’s identity) in the same way Dick does.

Dick constructs his identity through the relationships he has with people, not if they are him or not. It’s a bringing together of people and identities within himself, not a subjugation. Having those identity defining relationships is an action, not an act of possession for Dick. And Bruce is asking Dick to leave those relationships behind. Dick’s identity is in freefall. He’s losing his family. He’s losing his mantle. After all that loss, one thing remains true: he “is not [Bruce’s] boy”. With that mission statement, Dick delivers the knockout punch that has Bruce forfeiting the fight.

This spark of independence is what makes Dick a survivor. This is what allows Dick to define himself through his web of connections without being a hollow person who has no true personality, no true self. Dick is not a child, a boy, who just belongs to someone. Not Bruce. Not Spyral. He is his own man. And while Dick will struggle with not being able to behave as a Bat does anymore once he’s in Spyral, if a Bat was truly all he was, Spyral would break him. Dick’s refutation here further proves to Bruce that he can survive this mission. “I win,” says Dick, just a small figure in a sea of broken, burning childhood mementos. Goodbye, Robin. Bruce embraces him in a sidehug, literally pulling Dick under his wing. “Good,” Bruce says. Their pose mirrors the photograph of young Dick and Bruce in the panel. The visuals here communicate what Seeley spoke of in his interview: despite the destruction, despite the goodbyes, this is still two best friends. 

This is the catharsis of Nightwing #30, the resolution to this fight of ideology and grief. This moment is overlooked because it is so brief compared to the length of their fight. And it’s a messy resolution. I imagine that there are many readers who remain unconvinced of the necessity of the Spyral mission as Bruce’s posits, or the depiction of the physical violence, or many other messy things in the issue. But Dick isn’t unconvinced by the necessity of infiltrating Spyral. The next time we see him, he’s all in on the mission, ready to be “who you need me to be”. Bruce tells a horrified Alfred that he’s “fixed it”. Bruce and Dick both understand that they have to be apart for right now, just for this one problem, and then home will return to them. They both understand it as a sacrifice, not an estrangement. I think a lot of Spyral hurt/comfort fics assume that the Nightwing #30 fight was never resolved. It was. Perhaps in a way that feels unsatisfying to some readers, but Grayson does not make sense if one doesn’t accept that Dick has already made peace with Bruce before he left. 

Dick’s relationship with Bruce is solid when Helena Bertinelli offers him a job at Spyral. It is Dick’s own personal sense of self that remains in jeopardy. The last three lines of the issue are Dick’s monologue: “Who am I? My name is Dick Grayson. I’m who you need me to be.” In bold red letters, the issue tells us “TO BE CONTINUED IN GRAYSON #1!” It could not be more clear what thematic questions Grayson will seek to explore. Can Dick really be whoever he needs to be? Can Dick really become the agent Spyral needs him to be and the double agent Batman needs him to be, all while still being himself? Will being Agent 37 break Dick Grayson permanently? 

DOWNSIDE OF A SOLO ACT

“The downside of a solo act. No one around to see you do the cool stuff.”

The first four issues of Grayson are defined by identity crisis. The agents of Spyral struggle to get Dick to let go of his current identity that is rooted in Batman and become Agent 37 more fully. Dick struggles internally to adapt enough to Spyral’s culture to continue to be a double agent, while not engaging in any acts that break the morals he’s so firmly tied to his sense of self. Dick can no longer define himself by a family who isn’t there, so he has to define himself as the person his family once loved.

Grayson #1 sets the stage. We are dropped right into the action as Dick takes down an enemy on a moving train. He uses a gun, but not by shooting it. Instead, he uses it as a boomerang that hits his enemy in the head. On the last panel of the page, Dick sighs to him and says, “The downside of a solo act. No one around to see you do the cool stuff.” Readers turn the page, heightening the gag. Set-up and payoff: Midnighter watches Dick with a pair of binoculars. “Damn,” he says, “That was pretty cool.” This exchange is peak Grayson. Its snappy humor disguises the work it's doing to contribute to Grayson’s central dramatic question: Who is Dick Grayson when he isn’t Batman’s partner, a solo act? Midnighter, looking every inch like a Batman type, tells us that Dick is not as alone as he thinks. But the leather daddies in black aren’t here to rescue him from his loneliness, they are here as his enemies first. Dick defines himself through his relationships. How will his sense of self be challenged by people who don’t want to form strong bonds with him?

Even as a spy, it’s still Dick’s default to make friends. His first use of Hypnos, the mind control implant given to him by Spyral, is to make Ninel Dubov think they are close friends. He says: “I’m your friend, Ninel. You’ve been lonely and afraid for so long. I just want to help you. And you want to help me. That’s what friends do.” Yes, Dick is literally brainwashing the guy here, but his words are a solid definition of friendship. This is how Dick incorporates his friends into his identity: he’s there to help them. Even as Dick is doing the most Spyral thing in the world, using Hypnos on a target, he is still operating under his old construction of his identity. 

But this classic Dick Grayson approach soon backfires. Ninel activates a very dangerous power in order to assist Dick in his fight against Midnighter. When Dick sees that Ninel is at risk of dying, Dick has to drop the friendship act. He goads Ninel into venting his power and completes the mission. In the past, Nightwing would have been able to talk Ninel down with sincerity. Agent 37 does not have that luxury. Dick’s always been talented at manipulation, by his own admission later on in the issue (“I-I’ve always been good at reading people. [...] Never used it – like it.”), but his people reading skills have always been used for the pursuit of justice. Now Dick is using the skills for morally ambiguous Spyral’s benefit. Under Dick’s own sense of self, he should be bad at being a spy. But he’s not. So what does that say about Dick’s identity? Is he really who he thinks he is?

Dick’s struggle to remain connected to the morals that define his place with his family is exemplified in Grayson #2 by Dick’s struggle to remain connected to Batman. Undoubtedly, Dick’s relationship to Batman is crucial to how Dick self-identifies. Over and over again in this run, Dick’s defines himself as Batman’s partner, Batman’s heir. Batman is emblematic of a moral system that is important to Dick’s understanding of himself, the same system that is at odds with Spyral’s definition of Agent 37. But more than that, Batman is emblematic of a person, a history of a relationship, that is critical to Dick’s self-identity. When Dick craves comfort and support, he reaches out to Bruce about their interpersonal connections. He wants to know if Alfred and Barbara are okay after attending his funeral. In order for Dick to feel centered and stable with himself, he needs to know that the people he includes in his self-identity are okay, too. 

The downside to this way of being is that if Dick doesn’t have access to those people who are his foundation of self, he grows unsteady. But his Spyral mission, by design, keeps him cut-off from his family, for his and their safety. Bruce must rebuff Dick’s desire for comfort. “Birdwatcher,” Bruce stops and corrects himself, sensing Dick’s vulnerability, “the longer we stay on the line the more likely it’ll be intercepted.” It comes off as a chastisement, and it is, but it’s also Bruce giving to Dick the same comfort he would give to himself: focus on the mission. And Dick tries to. “Right. Yeah. Hey y’know what? I don’t need to know. Because I’m going to wrap this up before the flowers on my grave wilt. Over.” But even as he’s trying to model Bruce’s coping mechanism, his real desire bleeds through. Dick wants to return to his family. By returning to them, he’ll return to a congruent self-identity. When Helena sees Dick after this call, she notes that he looks “rattled”. Until he can return to his connections in Gotham, Dick is trapped in the identity limbo of being Agent 37. 

Dick Grayson, however, is a character inclined to change, whether he intends it or not. Batman may be the most important connection in the web of relationships Dick uses to define himself, but he is not the only one, and the web is always growing. 

Helena Bertinelli, code name Matron, is that first new connection. She is assigned to be Dick’s partner. As someone high up in Spyral’s food chain, Helena is an antagonistic force to Dick’s mission. Her personality is efficient and no nonsense. Their dynamic in Grayson #2 is reminiscent of the dynamic Dick had with Batman when he was Robin. The stoic, more knowledgeable mentor and the playful, confident student. But that dynamic is purely surface level right now. There is no foundation of trust between Dick and Helena, not at the start. Neither of them are under any delusions about their ability to truly trust each other. But for the mission, they must act as partners.

Spyral sends them to find a bioweapon enhanced stomach of Paragon in Farmington, Leicestershire. Their investigation leads them to Dr. Poppy Ashemoore, who has the stomach implanted into herself, and is now an enhanced cannibal attacking them. Dick’s got a plan to take her down. It’s a very superhero genre plan, he’s going to get her monologuing and then strike. He expects Helena, his partner, to have his back. She doesn’t. Helena orders Agent 37 not to strike. Dick’s confused; this is not how the story goes. “She’s a cannibal, Matron! She killed people and ate them! It goes like this: we knock her down, and we take her to the proper authorities!” Helena reminds him that his old ways of identification hold no value here: “She is not a supervillain. She is an asset who happens to be an incredibly self-sufficient genius.” Dick cannot accept the idea that a murderer may escape justice and be rewarded for it, so Helena uses the code word “tsuchigumo” and knocks Dick out.

After an issue of bonding, it’s a big betrayal. Back at homebase, Helena completes her lecture from the start of the issue about what a Hadrian woman is: “She is unconcerned with righteousness or virtue. She exists only for the prompt and unerring delivery of her charge.” Dick watches from the shadows, sick and defeated. Helena is training the girls, but her words apply to all those who work for Spyral, including Dick. This is the type of person he must become. A strong connection to Helena did not provide him with any relief, just more disconnection. Again, Dick must question his own self-identity. 

The issue ends with Dick making a mission report to Bruce again. He’s internalized the need to not linger, but can’t resist one last attempt at re-establishing connection. Helena was a failed partnership, but Batman and Robin never die. This time, he appeals to a value Bruce also shares: nostalgia. They share a sweet memory about Babs and Alfred. Dick may not have his relationships present in his life currently, and he’s suffering for it, but the memories of the love he has for them cannot be taken away. Those memories can stabilize his self-identity for one more day. 

But that is just duct tape on the hole in the dam. Eventually, the dam is going to burst. Dick could only juggle being half Agent 37, half his former self for so long. Grayson #3 serves as the ultimate nadir for Grayson Act I. In #3, the struggle between Dick’s relationship-centric self identity and the mission-centric identity of Spyral agents causes the death of two people.

Issue #3 opens with Dick establishing a new connection with a new character: Alia, codename Agent 8. After Helena and Dick are assigned a joint mission with Agent 1 (AKA Tiger) and Agent 8, Agent 8 meets Dick at the shooting range. She isn’t impressed with his shot: “Really? This is how the great Wing-Knight shoots? I see why Mr. Minos has Agent 1 and me bailing you out on this mission.” Dick corrects her. It is both a fact correction and an assertion of his identity. “Nightwing. And you should see me with a slingshot, Agent 8.” Even as Dick asserts his identity as Nightwing, he calls upon the distinctly Robin imagery of the slingshot. Dick’s framing his identity not just as Nightwing, but his time as a caped hero overall. Nightwing isn’t just the Nightwing suit - it’s the entire life Dick’s led up to this point. And that person, he begins with the oath Dick swore to Batman in order to become Robin. Nightwing is the legacy of Robin. And Dick is proud of that legacy. He would rather be good with a slingshot than a gun - that is what keeps him connected to Bruce. This is how he understands himself.

Still, the back and forth between Dick and Agent 8 begins to cross the line into flirtatious. Her body language is clearly sensual as she corrects his form. “But remember, don’t anticipate the explosion,” Agent 8 tells Dick, “Cause the explosion. Can you do that, Wing-Knight? Can you do that for me?” Dick again reasserts his identity. “That’s not my name. My name is…” The next page reveals Agent 8 in bed gasping Dick’s name in pleasure. It’s a cheesy homage to the brazen sexuality of spy thrillers. But even still, it’s revealing. Nightwing doesn’t make up Dick Grayson; Nightwing makes up a part of Dick Grayson. Losing Nightwing does not mean Dick has lost his identity, it just means he’s lost the easiest way to sum himself up. There is hope for Dick’s self-identity, even as we nosedive to his lowest point. He may not be “Wing-Knight” anymore, but he is still Dick Grayson.

After their tryst, Dick continues to struggle with his identity as an agent of Spyral who should be using a gun, vis-à-vis struggling to understand Christophe Tanner, their target for this issue. “I don’t understand these things,” Dick says of a gun. “Going after a guy like this, with a tool like this. He’s in pain. He should stop the pain. How does this stop anything?” Dick’s worldview is so much about soothing hurt. He’s a fixer. Guns don’t solve emotional wounds. But this worldview has no place in Spyral. Agent 8 says so: “What do you know about guns?” But she might as well be asking what does Dick know about this spy world.

Dick, Helena, Agent 8 and Tiger track Tanner down. It goes tits up pretty quickly. Dick faces Tanner down alone. He tries to talk sense into Tanner the same way he’s been talking sense into himself: by reminding Tanner of his relationships. “I know about your boys,” Dick says. “I know you tried to save them, and I know what he did. Haven’t you had enough? Haven’t the guns done enough? We don’t need these to settle this. Tell us where the eyes are, and we all walk away. Think about your boys. Some things you don’t shoot your way out of.” Tanner rejects him and chooses his guns. Tiger comes to Dick’s rescue, but not without chastising him. Dick’s method has failed on Tanner. The worldview on which he constructs his identity has failed. Is it doomed to fail for himself, too?

The consequences of this are severe. Agent 8 blows up at Dick for endangering Tiger, her partner’s, life. She calls him out on a perceived hypocrisy: “Oh, yeah, you noble superheroes. Fire laser beams at people. Arrows. Batathingies. But a gun, no, no, never. God forbid! Not a gun!” Nursing the cheek Agent 8 just slapped, Dick can only repeat what he’s desperately holding on to: guns aren’t “the way [he] fight[s]”. His identity is being challenged at all fronts. He can’t risk revealing how much he holds on to the people of his previous life, so he can only cling on to their teachings. Guns aren’t the way he fights. His explanation only makes Agent 8 angrier. “You’re all like Batman,” she says, “little boys under little masks, crying about their dead mommies.” Dick, acting as both the double agent seeking information and the Bruce Wayne defense squad he usually is, asks, “What do you know about Batman?”

Agent 8 gives an ending argument that hits harder than her slap. “I know he still wears his little mask. What I don’t know is if you’ve taken yours off! You’re not a superhero. You're a spy. With a gun. You’re not Wing-Kinght or Nightwing or whatever. You’re Agent 37.” Here she reveals a flaw at the center of Dick’s identity - if Dick defines himself through his relationships, how can he endanger a partner by not taking the shot? Are Batman’s teachings getting in the way of helping people? But if Dick isn’t Batman’s teachings, who is he? Agent 8 would answer that by saying Dick is Agent 37, a spy who uses a gun. But can Dick really be that?

No. No, of course not. When presented with the shoot or be shot dilemma, Dick does the most Dick Grayson thing he can do: he finds a third option. Dick’s puts together the missing pieces of Tanner’s backstory, tracking him down to the school that his youngest and only alive son attends. He uses the weapon at his disposal that predates even Robin; he tries to talk it out. Dick encourages Tanner to drop the guns and meet his son. “Is that how you want him to see you? With your guns in the air?” Dick reiterates Agent 8’s own defense of guns to him, Dick understands that they “make things go faster”. But, as he tells Tanner, “what’s the damn rush?” 

This time, Dick’s words reach Tanner. He confesses he stole the macguffin of the issue because he didn’t want to see his son through the gun. The Paragon eyes aren’t compatible with him, so he gives them to Dick. The two share a touching moment where Tanner is insecure about his looks scaring his son and Dick jokes about Tanner’s chest hair. This is the type of relationship building that is at the core of Dick’s self-identity. But just as Dick wins a laugh from his once enemy, Agent 8 shoots Tanner. Everything goes to shit from that moment on, right in front of Dick’s eyes. Tanner survives the shot and returns fire to Agent 8, killing her. He then falls off the roof and dies in front of his son. The parallels to both Bruce’s and Dick’s parents’ own deaths cannot be ignored; it is salt in the wound. Dick has defined his life by his mission to save people. Now, Dick is left alone on the rooftop, with nothing but blood, a gun, and Tiger’s desperate voice ringing through his coms.

As Tanner’s son finds his father’s body, still clutching his gun, Tiger speaks, “37. 1. Do you have eyes on Agent 8? Repeat. 37, do you have eyes on Agent 8? 37? 37? Agent 37!” Dick raises his head. Grayson artist Mikel Janín’s composition is spectacular here. Dick looks the reader straight in our eyes. “That’s not my name.”

This is the ultimate rejection of Dick’s Agent 37 identity. He will never be convinced of Agent 8’s and Spyral at large’s ideology. All it’s done is make two people dead and a little boy an orphan. This knowledge doesn’t change the fact that Dick’s mission isn’t over. Lives are on the line, in all directions. He has to be a spy. Agent 37 isn’t his name but still Dick must wear this disguise. How will he adapt? 

As always, Dick’s ability to adapt is helped by the relationships he forms with other people. If Grayson #3 was about the ultimate failure of Dick and Agent 8’s partnership (and I don’t just mean romantically, I mean Agent 8 as an opposing ideology Dick cannot integrate into his sense of self), then Grayson #4 is the beginning of Helena’s growth into that web. Even though Helena has been tasked by the Director of Spyral, Mr. Minos, to root out the double agent in their midst, she and Dick continue to grow closer. 

Grayson #4 starts out with their status quo sunshine-grumpy relationship. Dick is purposefully sucking a lollipop as annoyingly as possible and Helena karate chops it out of his mouth. Dick wraps up the lollipop to send it back to Bruce for DNA sampling, but plays dumb with Helena, who reacts with scorn and disgust. But even after this engineered tiff, Helena immediately tries to comfort Dick over Agent 8’s death. Dick rebuffs her, he knows that death “is part of the job”. He is playing the Agent 37 role that Agent 8 so wanted him to do. Helena isn’t convinced. She tries again to have this conversation with Dick and again is rebuffed. “Don’t worry,” Dick assures her, mistaking what I would argue is Helena’s genuine concern over him with her fixation on accomplishing the mission, “I’m focused. I’m ready. The mission is as good as accomplished.” The status quo is starting to shift between these two, but Dick hasn’t forgiven her betrayal yet.

The rest of the issue acts almost as a breather episode. The Hadrian students decide to raid Dick’s room for his panties. Dick catches them on the hunt, of course. But rather than turn them in for breaking curfew, he starts a cat and mouse game, leading them in a chase across campus. They want a game? Sure, Dick’s happy to play. This moment is silly and fun but it’s so revealing of how Dick recenters himself in his grief. He wants to be with people without having to be vulnerable with people. He wants to be in the air. He wants the chase. This is how Dick self-soothes a wound to his worldview, to his very identity. 

Helena, out at night investigating Agent 8 as the potential Spyral mole, catches the group. She sends the girls back to their dorms and Dick to Mr. Minos, where he receives his punishment. He is to become the girls’ gay French acrobatics teacher. It’s pitched as a torture for Dick, and while the Hadrian girls are thirsty af, Dick loves being a teacher. Teacher is one of the ways Dick defined himself as back in Nightwing #30 and of course acrobat is Dick’s very essence. The cover story is framed as a punishment for Dick, but truly this is an opportunity for Dick to maintain his old, true, self-identity. 

Helena has another opportunity for Dick’s self-identity too. Later that night, she sneaks into Dick’s bedroom. “I know why you came to Spyral, Dick Grayson.” Dick reacts with confusion. Helena gives an impassioned monologue. It’s a reversal, instead of Helena dragging Dick into the messy spy thriller genre, here Dick inspires Helena to dip her toes into the superhero genre, where impassioned speeches can reach another person’s heart. She says: 

“I saw you tonight. Running across those rooftops. There was a joy in your movement. In your eyes. You loved the night. You loved the chase. You loved being the fearless hero. You loved being Nightwing. When you were outed by the Crime Syndicate. Believed killed. You knew you had to remain dead. To reveal that you were alive could endangered those you loved. Set your enemies against them. You had to quit being the hero. Being Dick Grayson. Now, you fear that you might lose who you are.”

Helena reads Dick like an open book. To know Dick’s motivations so well is dangerous, but Helena does not make Dick bleed for it. She simply walks towards the window. When Dick asks where she’s going, she turns and says,  “I do not want you to forget who you are Dick Grayson. I want you to remember the rooftops. I want you to remember the night. I want you to remember Nightwing.” She smiles, which on Helena looks more like a smirk, “Chase me.” And Dick does. 

For Dick, this is the remedy for the poison from the last issue. Agent 8 wanted Dick to be someone else. In her worldview, Agent 37 can only exist at Nightwing’s death. Dick must forget everything he was before to be Agent 37. In contrast, Helena wants Dick to remember who he is, which includes (but is not limited to) Nightwing. She wants him to be successful in Spyral not at the cost of his previous selves. Dick has to hide so much of his true identity and belief systems right now. But Helena, at least, can offer herself up as the means in which Dick can still feel safely connected to his old, true identity.

Dick started in Issue #1 utterly alone. He ends #4 chasing after someone who is sour, dark, and perfect into the night, a smile on his face. This ending allows Dick to metaphorically be Robin, Nightwing, and Agent 37 all at the same time. He is able to hold that multiplicity of identity within him because of his connection to Helena. Once again, being a partner act keeps Dick’s identity whole.

I HAVE HER

“This can’t…this…you can’t do this…I know you. I see what’s coming. You…you…can’t. I have…my enhancements. I have…powers. Dick…Dick Grayson...what…what do you have?” “I have her.”

Grayson #5 is one of my favorite single issues of all time. It should be part of a mandatory DC onboarding when it comes to writing Dick Grayson. It captures the core of his character, his ultimate truth: the unflinching determination to help people in the face of impossible odds.

The issue starts in media res. Dick and Midnighter are helping a woman deliver her baby as Helena tries to pilot a failing plane to safety. The mother dies. The plane crashes in the desert. The baby is alive and crying. Helena, Midnighter, Dick and the baby are two hundred miles away from civilization. Midnighter does the math: they’re dead. There’s no way any of them can survive the trek.

Dick refuses to accept that. If they die, the baby dies, so they can’t die. It’s just that simple.

Thus far, in Grayson, Dick’s ability to care deeply about strangers has been used against him. A good spy makes people think they care, but they don’t actually care. They exist in order to survive the mission or themselves. Dick’s mission is caring about people; he defines himself through loving other people. Grayson #5 shows us that this isn’t mere naivete. This is Dick’s most dangerous skill. He doesn't have to have special enhancements or powers. As long as he has "her", a person to save, Dick can do anything. His determination arises from his relational approach to identity.

This has been true for Dick since he was a child. Later on in the issue, after Helena and Midnighter have both succumbed to the elements, Dick tells the baby about a dream he once had. The story he tells is a heartfelt and poignant reference to Batman #156, “Robin Dies at Dawn”. “On this world,” Dick says, “I was Robin. I had to save him.” The syntax and order of Dick’s sentences here reveal that he defines being Robin as saving people and he is Robin. In order to be himself, Dick must save people. And he does, even though Dick’s story ends with rocks and darkness, the moral he gives to the baby is bravery in the face of any odds.

For those of us who are familiar with Batman #156, we know that Dick is hit with rocks and dies. Batman, guilty, grief-stricken, and alone on an alien planet with a monster about to attack him, begs for death. It’s eventually revealed that Robin is alive and well, Batman was just undergoing an astronaut simulation. This meta reference highlights Dick’s superpower in this issue. When Batman doesn’t have Robin, he begs for death. When Robin doesn’t have Batman, he finds more people to save. Dick is able to survive the loneliness and isolation that Batman isn’t because Dick doesn’t define his identity by one person or purpose, but by his ability to care for many people. Today, it’s this baby. Tomorrow, it will be someone else. That’s who Dick is. Dick’s devotion to life itself gives him determination.

Devotion is not something many call a strength anymore. After all, devotion so easily becomes zealotry. Grayson #5 itself warns us of this. A Saudi couple find Dick and the baby and the wife is overjoyed. “We have prayed for so long for a child,” she says, “And here, god has brought one from the desert.” Her husband disagrees. “What is this? God has not brought this boy. This is no God. Look. This is only a man.”

Dick is not a god. He is not even an enhanced guy with a supercomputer for a brain. He is just a man. But when a man makes serving other people his identity, he can do the impossible.

HEART IS AN AWESOME POWER

“Who are you? What do you hold inside? Is it love? Is that what you believe?”

If Grayson #5 is about Dick proving who he is to the reader, then Grayson #6-7 are about him proving that core identity to Midnighter and Helena.

Grayson #6 opens with Dick and Helena investigating a prison island. After surviving an attack from a robot orca, they find that their targets have already been slaughtered by the Fist of Cain. While Helena uses her Hypnos implant to get information about the issue’s macguffin, the Paragon Brain, from a surviving Fist of Cain member, Midnighter kidnaps Dick and takes him to the God Garden. There Dick and Midnighter finally have the all out brawl they’ve been building towards. As they trade blows, Midnighter reveals exactly what he thinks of Dick. He states as fact of all the worst fears Dick has about himself during the Spyral mission.

“You traded in the supertights for a decoder ring but you think you’re still the good guy,” Midnighter says, “But you’ve changed. You’re just lying to yourself. You’re one of them.”

Dick refutes Midnighter’s analysis of himself. First, by refuting Midnighter’s claim that he’s figured out Dick’s fighting style (“You can do jazz. How are you at punk rock?”). Dick is made up of more than what Midnighter claims he is. It’s easy to read this as a rebuttal against the naysayers of Grayson itself: Dick is more than just his mantles. He can carry a solo title with no masks, just as Dick Grayson.

“Comfort. Trust. Family. I gave that up to become a spy. A spider man. A tsuchigumo. I have changed,” Dick acknowledges. “But I’ll always be Dick Grayson.”

If that’s true, then how is Dick constructing the identity of ‘Dick Grayson’, if not by those ties of family and legacy? Issue #7 will answer that for us in time. Here in Issue #6, there’s still more setting up to do. After Helena is exposed mentally to the Fist of Cain’s plans for mass murder, she awakens to see that Dick is gone. She doesn’t know he’s been kidnapped. The first thing she asks is if Dick left her. Like Midnighter, Helena is suspicious of who Dick claims to be. Is he really her partner? Or will he abandon her the second it suits his goals?  

As Issue #6 sets up the fears Helena and Midnighter have about who Dick is as a person, Issue #7 proves those fears wrong. Cue the transformation magic, Dick is about to go full magical girl.

Issue #7 is an ode to Dick’s legacy. As Robin, Dick represented spring: the joy and new life after the cold death of winter. As Nightwing, Dick represented rebirth, the great rebuilder after destruction. The mantles don’t represent those things intrinsically. They represent those ideals because Dick infused them with the essence of his own person, who lives by those ideals. Agent 37 does not carry that Dick Grayson legacy the way Robin and Nightwing do; it carries the reputation of Spyral. As Dick tries to convince the Gardener to let him and Midnighter stop the Fists of Cain, the Gardener calls him out on this. “[...] You, Dick Grayson, represent lies and treachery. The loss of ideals. The desire for power at the cost of innocence.” Here, in this world, Dick is no longer the benchmark of the superhero community, the guy everyone respects. He’s fallen. He’s been corrupted.

But he’s still Dick Grayson. He’s not going to let a fall stop him from saving people. The Fist of Cain plan to use the Paragon brain to make innocent people kill each other. Gardener believes that this bloodbath will serve as an example for all of humanity and help create a better world. Dick can’t physically fight her, so he uses his other skills: empathy and compassion. 

He tells the Gardener a story about himself.

“When my parents died, I thought that was the end for me. I was freefalling. I thought that I was going to fall and fall until I hit the ground. But someone came to my rescue. He caught me before I hit the ground. He was my net. He taught me to focus my anger. To stop myself from hating the world. From blaming everyone for the evil of a few. And then, I realized how lucky I was. I realized I had to pay it back. I owed it to other people to be their net. I had to dedicate my life to being there to catch anyone who needed it.” 

Dick’s anger is not an explosive, severed heads in a duffle bag kind of anger. After Dick’s parents die, he was never in danger of becoming a thug or a murderer, he was in danger of losing his idealism. Anger takes the form of mistrust, disconnection, and apathy in Dick. It’s “blaming everyone for the evil of a few”. It’s closing himself off from the world and all the love the world offers. 

When one is faced with the type of acute trauma young Dick survived, it’s easy for that experience to make you selfish and isolated. Becoming the Robin to Bruce’s Batman saves Dick from this worldview.  Robin gifts Dick a world of connections - from the bond he forms with Bruce and Alfred, to the people he saves every night on the streets. This is what Gardener is not understanding. There are evil people in the world. The world itself may even be cruel. But that’s not the point. The point is the friends you make along the way, the people you catch in your net. By limiting his scope to the people he can reach, Dick is able to love the whole world. 

The Gardener, moved by Dick’s and Midnighter’s pleas, allows them to teleport to Tel-Aviv and save the day. The Fist of Cain are disguised as the band Sin by Silence; they intend to unleash the power of the Paragon brain at a concert for peace. “But I want you to answer a question Tel-Avi,” lead singer Clutch asks the crowd. “Who are you? What do you hold inside? Is it love? Is that what you believe?”

So far Dick himself has not dropped the L word. He speaks around it, citing family and catching people when they fall - terms and phrases that absolutely do share the same meaning as love, but don’t sound as cheesy when said aloud. Clutch is able to speak directly to the central dramatic questions of this issue on Dick’s behalf: “Who are you? What do you hold inside? Is it love? Is that what you believe?” Notice here how the order of Clutch’s questions directly ties the construction of identity to a belief system of love. Clutch intends to subvert this by proving that the true self of all people is a murderer, but Dick Grayson answers those questions in the affirmative. It is love that he holds inside of him. That is the belief he is devoted to. That is who he is.

Helena is starting to understand that. When Dick comes to her rescue, she succumbs to the power of the Paragon brain and attacks him.“Agent 37.” She corrects for his true identity. “Dick. You—abandoned me! I hate you! Kill you!” Dick dodges her attack and Helena is able to come to her senses and realize the impact that Paragon brain is having on her. 

“I’m too angry, Dick. I have too much hate,” she says, confessing to Dick her own construction of identity. “I’ve killed. And I’ll do it again. I can’t…I’m too weak even with the Hypnos to get anywhere near the Paragon brain.” It’s only after Helena tells both Dick and herself who she is that she is able to tell Dick who he is. “But you, Dick Grayson. You have no hate. You would never take a life. Everything you do…it’s...”

She kisses him. It’s an appropriate action for her speech as this is all but a declaration of love. It’s a declaration of Dick’s nobility, the very thing both Midnighter and Helena were scrutinizing in the last issue. Helena says Dick has “no hate” but I think another way of saying that is that Dick is full of love. Kissing Dick “clear[s] [her] mind a little”, freeing Helena of the Paragon brain’s influence. Where once Helena flirted with Dick to assert her identity as the better spy, now she kisses him to center herself as someone who won’t give into hatred and mass murder. She kisses Dick as a way back to her identity, just as she lead Dick back to his identity in Grayson #4. They depart, refocused on the mission.

Dick eventually makes it on stage to destroy the Paragon brain. The brain, in Dick’s own words, offers him up the greatest temptation. “I—I can feel you. Whispering to me. Telling me it’s okay to abandon my code...to let go of my humanity. To fear. To h-hurt. To…k-kill”. And Dick is tempted to give into his hatred. As he recounts later to Bruce:

“I was about to smash the brain on the stage. I hated it. Hated what it had done, what it represented. I just wanted to see it in little tiny bits. But then I realized I’d be feeding the emotions the fist wanted to unleash here. I knew that the people who’d been influenced by its empathic attack wouldn’t stop if I fed it more violence. So I didn’t dash it to chunks on the stage like a guitar. I stopped. And I thought about everything I have. My family. My net. And I changed its mind.”

Dick’s ability to pause and reflect before he acts is crucial here. Even though smashing the Paragon brain to bits is ostensibly a good thing, Dick knows that actions of hatred will only beget more hatred. He has to feed the brain something different, show it a different path. He has to forgive it for making him hate it. He has to teach it about being grateful, about family, about helping people up when they fall. This is Dick’s Moon Healing Escalation moment. This is what has been at the core of his identity, since he pledged to never swerve from the path of justice in the wake of his parents’ murders. His ability to forgive, his ability to love, reminds the brain and everyone in its thrall to do the same.

The issue ends with Midnighter breaking ties with Gardener. “I can’t be surrounded by liars and murderers without becoming one myself,” he says, “I’m not like Grayson.” Dick Grayson is a person who can surround himself with liars and murderers and not become one himself. Midnighter, the man who not one issue ago was Dick’s biggest naysayer is now all but calling Dick incorruptible. Dick’s had to give up a lot of the embellishments that traditionally define him in order to be Agent 37. But he’s kept the core thing that makes him Dick Grayson: his ability to love. The people around him are starting to take notice.

CONCLUSION: SAME OLD DICK

Grayson #8 marks the shift from Act I to Act II. It’s a tying up of loose ends and the opening up of new doors to explore. The macguffin of Act I, collecting the Paragon organs, has been completed. Mr. Minos, the enigmatic boss of the last eight issues, makes his play. He attempts to kill Helena, succeeding only in wounding her. She collapses in Dick’s arms, warning him of Minos’ betrayal. At the same time, Minos attempts to kill Tiger with the newly reassembled Paragon. Dick saves him and they work together to defeat the creature that has the powers of the Justice League. Even the Hadrian girls get to have their hero moment in this fight. Minos’ reassembled Paragon has a flaw the original did not: its heart. The baby Dick saved in the desert still claims the organ as her own. Dick does the one thing he’s been avoiding for the last eight issues: he picks up a gun and takes the killshot. He shoots the creature right where its heart would be. Tiger is astounded. “Agent 8 said you were a horrible shot!” Dick responds as an Agent of Spyral should, “Yeah, well, that’s what spies do. We lie.” This is the triumphant defeat of the villain. In this moment, Dick is able to incorporate Agent 37 into his self-identity without completely shattering the construction of self that came before. Being Agent 37 did not break Dick Grayson; Agent 37 is now another aspect of Dick Grayson. Dick Grayson still endures. 

Meanwhile, Minos is killed off by the even more enigmatic Agent Zero. She calls Minos bait, a “cliched bat villain” meant to “attract Grayson into [our] web”. It’s clear she will be our new main antagonist. If Act I asked ‘Who is Dick Grayson?’, Act II will ask ‘Who is Spyral?’ Issue #8 ends with a tagline for Act II: “A NEW MISSION! A NEW PARTNER! SAME OLD DICK!”

Same Old Dick is the best conclusion I can think of for Grayson Act I’s thematic exploration of Dick’s identity. Grayson stripped Nightwing and Robin away from Dick, separated him from Batman and the entire Batfamily, and placed him into a situation that routinely demanded he forsake his own personal morals. And yet, somehow, Dick is still the Same Old Dick.

This is the brilliance of Grayson, its ability to synthesize such contradictions. Grayson is both a tongue-in-cheek parody of the spy genre at the same time it’s an earnest spy thriller. It’s both an interrogation and celebration of DC superheroics. It is a story about mistrust, loneliness, and isolation…but also one about friendship, the importance of the connections we form with other people. It’s a story about Dick Grayson, forced out of his element and into the shadows of espionage, still shining brightly as the heart of the DCU.

[blackenedsnow]

Hi could I please request a beetlejuice x reader fanfic where they are together or in love and reader is killed. Reader shows up in the waiting room panicking that beetlejuice will find their murdered appearance disgusting. And him just reassuring reader etc?

Love your work so much!

waiting for you

WARNING: Gore, descriptions of death, disfigured appearance, angst

PAIRING: Beetlejuice x Reader

NOTE: Thank you so much for this request! I’m so glad you enjoy my work, and I loved writing this one! Hope you enjoy! Stay safe, and take care!

SUMMARY: You are killed unexpectedly and end up in the afterlife’s waiting room, panicking over how Beetlejuice will react to your disfigured appearance.

You never imagined death would feel so... cold.

One moment, you were alive, your heartbeat thundering in your chest as you screamed for help, the world spinning, blood soaking the ground beneath you. The next, you were here, in this waiting room that smelled like mildew and decay. It was quiet, except for the soft ticking of the clock on the wall – the kind of quiet that gets under your skin. The silence pressed against your ears, and you had to fight the urge to scream just to break it.

You glanced down at yourself, at the torn, mangled flesh, and the panic rose in your throat again, thick and choking. Your hands trembled as you touched the edges of the wound, your fingers slick with drying blood. You could still feel the ache, the raw pain of the knife sinking into your chest, the way your breath had rattled and caught as life slipped from your grasp.

But it wasn’t just the pain or the cold that terrified you. No. What else terrified you was the thought of him seeing you like this.

Beetlejuice.

He loved you, you knew that. As twisted and unconventional as his affection was, it was real. His love was like nothing you’re ever experienced before – intense, overwhelming, and often chaotic. But now, sitting here in this grotesque version of yourself, you wondered if even he could handle what you’d become.

You caught a glimpse of yourself in the mirror hanging on the opposite wall and had to turn away. Your face was... wrong. Pale, sunken, smeared with blood. The gash in your neck gaped open like a grotesque smile, the skin torn and jagged. You looked like something out of a horror movie, something even Beetlejuice might recoil from.

What if he can’t stand to look at you? The thought slithered into your mind, and you clenched your fists, your nails biting into the flesh of your palms. He loved the bizarre, the weird, the macabre – but this? This was different. You weren’t just some oddity or a playful corpse in his world. You were broken. Ruined.

You were disgusting.

Your chest tightened, and you wrapped your arms around yourself, trying to steady your breathing. But every inhale was shaky, every exhale ragged. How could he ever look at you the same way again? How could he still want you, like this?

You didn’t have to wait long to find out.

There was a burst of energy as Beetlejuice appeared right in front of you, his signature grin plastered on his face. His mismatched suit was as disheveled as ever, his hair wild, that manic glint in his eyes brighter than ever. And then he saw you.

For a second, you held your breath, waiting for the inevitable – waiting for the disgust to wash over his face, for the revulsion to twist his features. But instead, he just stopped, his grin faltering for the briefest of moments before it came back even wider.

"Babes," he rasped, his voice a gravelly purr as he sauntered toward you. "Look at you... You look killer."

You blinked, unsure if you had heard him right. His eyes raked over you, taking in the blood, the wounds, the disfigurement, but there was no horror in his expression. If anything, he seemed... impressed.

"Y’know," he said, crouching down in front of you, his hand reaching out to brush a strand of your matted hair from your face, "I gotta say, you pull off the whole freshly murdered look real well. But hey, you were always drop-dead sexy."

You stared at him, your mind spinning. You opened your mouth to speak, but no words came out. Your throat was tight, your chest still heavy with the fear that had gripped you since the moment you arrived in this place.

"Beetlejuice," You whispered, your voice cracking, "I... I thought you’d... I thought you’d find me disgusting."

His expression softened, the manic energy in his eyes dimming for just a moment as he tilted his head, studying you. Then, with a laugh that echoed through the room, he leaned in closer, his hand cupping your cheek with surprising tenderness.

"Disgusting? Are you kiddin’ me?" he scoffed, his tone playfully offended. "Babes, you’re the most beautiful corpse I’ve ever laid eyes on." His thumb brushed over the bloodstained skin of your cheek, and you shuddered at the feeling – not from revulsion, but from the warmth in his touch. "I don’t care if you’ve got a few holes in you. I’ve seen worse, trust me."

You swallowed hard, your fear ebbing away with every word. "But I... I’m not the same."

"You think I fell in love with ya just ‘cause you were alive?" Beetlejuice chuckled, leaning in closer until our faces were just inches apart. His breath smelled faintly of decay. "Nah. I fell for the whole package – dead or alive, doesn’t matter to me. You’re mine, babes. Always will be."

His words settled over you like a balm, soothing the panic that had been gnawing at me since you arrived in the waiting room. You closed my eyes, letting out a shaky breath.

"You’re not afraid of this?" You asked, your voice barely a whisper.

"Afraid?" He snorted, leaning back just enough to give me one of his signature devilish grins. "Babe, I strive for this kind of thing! You should see some of the stiffs I’ve run into. You’re practically a masterpiece." He winked, his eyes gleaming with mischief. "Besides, who else would I wanna spend eternity with?"

You laughed, a small, broken sound, but it felt good. It felt real. Beetlejuice had always had a way of making the grotesque seem normal, of turning the terrifying into something almost... comforting. And now, as you sat there, bloodied and broken, you realized that nothing about you – not even death – could scare him away.

His fingers traced the edge of the wound on your neck, and instead of flinching, you leaned into his touch, trusting him completely.

"Besides," he whispered, "we make one hell of a couple now. Who needs a pulse, huh?"

You were dead, yes. But with Beetlejuice, death didn’t seem so bad.

[gallavichsreddie1128]

Different Universes (Hannibal)

Description: Y/N ends up in the Hannibal universe and Hannibal falls for her

Warning: Smut, Cheating (sorta)

Word Count: 2,526k

Request: could you write a fanfic where the reader is a big fan of the Hannibal series, just goes about her day normaly,falls asleep and then wakes up in the Hannibal universe. She tries to figure out where she is (without knowing that she is in an alt. universe) and witnesses an actual murder, but manages to escaped unscathed with her knowledge of the Hannibal universe. After that she is contacted by the FBI, who want to interrogate her and this is how she ultimatly meets Dr.Lecter, who will be her therapist.(with her realising who he is).He quickly gets intrigued with her and wants to get to kniw her. Would it be possible to end it with some smut? Sorry, if this a really odd request.

Author’s note: I changed some things up but I really like these sort of requests. Also I work all day tomorrow so I will post two fics today.

Being married to a celebrity had it’s pros and cons. Cons being that fans were everywhere and so was paparazzi. You could never get a break. But the fans are what made Y/N’s husband who he is today and his talent of course. Pros being that the one person everyone thirst for on the internet you have. They love you and that it makes you feel like the luckiest person in the world. And of course when you see them on TV it’s like watching your husband. Oh wait, it is. Y/N and Mads have been together for 5 years, married for 1. They were 20 years apart but that didn’t mean anything to them. Y/N is a fan of Hannibal and watches it all the time, like right now.

She always wondered what it would be like to be in the show. It was something that crossed her mind often. She even read fanfic about her husband’s character. She would give anything to be in that universe even for a day. So When she wakes up outside Hannibal’s house, she isn’t too upset. At first she didn’t realize where she was, but it looked familiar. It took a minute but she gasped so hard she started choking once she realized it. She was outside Hannibal Lecter’s house. She looked around in awe, she couldn’t believe that she was here.

She walked around his house for a little bit, exploring the place. “Can I help you?” She heard it was her husband’s accent. She turned towards the voice and gasped. It was Mads except it wasn’t, it was Hannibal. “You look lost.” He stated as she looked at him in awe. She couldn’t say anything, too shocked. “Can you talk?” He asked after a while of silence. “Yeah I uh yes.” She said, making the man chuckle. “Are you okay?” He asked. “I don’t know.” She answered, she really didn’t. “Come inside. I’ll make you something to eat.” She got excited at first but realized that Hannibal was a cannibal.

“Uh I’ll just take some tea.” She said as they walked in his house. His house looked like it did on the show. He poured the tea and she watched him. “Can you tell me why you were outside my house?” He asked as he handed her the tea. “I actually don’t know. One minute I’m on the couch in my house watching TV, the next I’m here.” He hummed at her words. “So you sleep walk?” He asked. She shook her head, “No.” He looked at her as she drank from the cup. She was beautiful and he felt like he knew her. “I feel like you do and don’t realize it. Have you ever woken up in a weird place before?” He asked, she shook her head. “No. This is a first.” She said.

He got up and walked upstairs leaving her there in her thoughts. Moments later he returned with a notebook. “I thought I recognized you. You’re my new patient. Y/N.” She looked at him confused. “Patient?” She asked. “Jack Crawford assigned you to me after you witnessed a murder.” She had no memory of this. “Um okay.” She said still confused but realized that she had woken up in this universe and this wasn’t a dream. She was a part of this show. Though she had no memory prior to waking up outside his house. “Right. Sorry I just forgot.” She lied. He nodded and opened the notebook. “I guess we can start our session now. Wasn’t expecting you until tomorrow.” He said. She looked at him as he wrote some things down. “Okay Ms. Y/N tell me what you remember about the murder.” She was fucked.

After the session was over she realized that she probably couldn’t stay here even though she hadn’t had a place to go. “I will see you next week.” He told her as she walked out of his house. She didn’t know what she was going to do. She had no memory of anything that he said. So she certainly doesn’t remember where her home would be. As she left his house she thought of what she could do. Thought of going back and falling asleep by his house but what would she do for a week? She huffed as she walked back to his house and rang the door bell. He answered and she sighed, “Can I stay the night?” 

It was beyond her why he agreed without explanation. She sat in the bed that he gave her and just thought. Thought about how crazy this was and how apart of her wants to go back to her universe. As she sat on the bed thinking she heard a knock. “Come in.” She said and Hannibal walked into the room. He saw how distraught she looked and he sat by her. “You okay?” He asked, concerned in his eyes. She looked at him, god he looked so much like her husband. She knew that he basically was but he wasn’t. “I don’t know.” She whispered. “Is this about not having any memory at first?” She wanted to tell him. She wanted to tell him the truth, that she wasn’t from this universe and that she’s married to his actor but he would probably think she’s nuts. But she couldn’t live in this world alone.

“I’m gonna say something and it’s going to sound crazy but I need you to bare with me.” He nods. She lets out a sigh and looks away from him. “I’m not from here.” She says. He looks at her confused, “What do you mean?” “Like this universe. I’m from a different one and in that universe this is a tv show called Hannibal. If i’m not mistaken given what you’re wearing this is season two and Will Graham is in prison for crimes he did not commit. You committed them but don’t worry I won’t tell. And your actor is my husband Mads Mikkelsen.” His jaw dropped and he looked at her in shock. He wasn’t quite sure he believed her. But how did she know that he was the killer? “Mads Mikkelsen?” He asked. She raised an eyebrow at him.

That’s really what he got out of all of that. “Yes that’s my husband, that’s you just in a different universe.” He didn’t know what to say, she sounded crazy. “I know I sound crazy.” “Well I wouldn’t say that.” He tried, she rolled her eyes. “But i’m telling the truth. That’s why I don’t remember anything from here like the murder or the FBI.” “But you told me the story.” “I lied.” He nodded. “I’m sorry Hannibal. I know this is a lot to hear.” “I’m a TV Show character and my actor is married to you and you are well aware that i’m the killer.” He summed up what he could.

She looked at her hands, “You have to believe me.” He looked at her. She had to be crazy, none of it made sense. Though he could read people very well and she didn’t seem like she was lying. “Do I ever get caught?” He asked. She looked at him, “Yes but you escape.” He nodded. “With Will. I mean you two are basically in love.” He gave her a weird look. “I’m not in love with Will.” She looked at him with a “really?” look. “I’m not.” He said. She shook her head, “yeah whatever you say.” “Does he love me?” She chuckled at the question but nodded. “One might say he does but you guys don’t get together. You almost kiss but that’s it. You might be together after the show ends. There isn’t a fourth season.” She tells him. “This is unique.” He told her and she laughed. “I know but it’s all true.” “So since the man you call Mads? Plays me do you find me attractive?” He asked. She looked at him, red in the face.

“I mean yeah. Of course I do.” She said. “So then if I kissed you, you’d be okay with it?” Her jaw was on the floor. “I uh I mean yeah. Yes, I would like that.” She said. He leaned in and kissed her. She was shocked that it came down to this moment but she wasn’t complaining. She kissed him back and cupped his face. Their lips moved in sync as thoughts were racing through both of their minds. This was all crazy. She got up and straddled him, pulling him closer. His hands were placed on her hips as she deepened the kiss. Her hands ran through his hair. “Have you always wanted to do this?” He asked against her lips. She nodded out of breath. “Yes.” He smirked and ran his fingers over her lips. “Have you thought about having sex with me?” She nodded and pushed him down so he was laying on the bed. His hands went under her shirt and she pulled it off her body revealing a red lace bra that she had on. His hands immediately went to her boobs. “You’re so beautiful.” He tells her and removes the bra.

She lets it fall off her before she throws it with her shirt. Her hands travel down his white shirt that he was in. He looked so good in PJ’s. “Take this off.” She tells him. He leans up and takes the shirt off, throwing it with her things. He didn’t have abs per say but he was still the hottest man she’s ever seen. She gets off him to remove her panties and he removes his PJ pants and boxers. She straddles him again and looks down at him. He looked up at her like she was his whole world, in her universe she was. His hands pulled her hips closer to where she was almost lined up with him. She looked down and saw his hard dick. Same size and thickness as her husband. He watched her as she lined herself up and slowly sat on his dick. He felt her walls taking him in like they were made for each other. She let out little moans until he was all the way in her.

His hands held her hips again and she began riding him. She went slow at first building up the pleasure. They didn’t break eye contact as her jaw dropped. It felt so good. He could feel her walls clenching him and it made him groan. How was he supposed to be in love with Will when she was here? Her hips started moving faster and faster making the pleasure more intense. Both of them making noise now, enjoying the moment. She leaned down and kissed him, silencing her moans. Their lips moved together in a sloppy kiss. It wasn’t a neat kiss, it was tongue and teeth and everything was put into it. Hannibal’s hands gripped her back as he felt himself getting closer. She gasped into his mouth as she felt her high near. Her eyes rolled back as her hips went faster.

He couldn’t tear his eyes away from her face, it was like a pretty painting that he longed to see. She was so close she could taste it. “Are you going to cum, pretty girl?” He asked her. That’s all it took. She was cumming all over him with whines of his name. Seeing her cum, made him cum even harder. With a groan of her name he released inside of her. Her hips slowly move to ride out their orgasms. Her moans die down and her hips stop. She looks down at the man still shock that he’s Hannibal fucking Lecter. He stares back at her with a look in his eyes she knows all too well. It’s the same look her husband gives her. Is this man in love with her? 

She had to get back to her universe. This was so nice but she didn’t belong here. She belonged with Mads not Hannibal but since Mads plays Hannibal she does love him. But the time she has spent with him has been amazing and she didn’t wanna leave but she also wanted to get back to her life. Hannibal was a killer after all. She knows how this story ends and she truly thinks Will and him are meant to be.

As much as she loves him she doesn’t wanna change that. But these past few weeks have been amazing. She laid her on Hannibal’s chest as they just talked. “Is your universe different from this one?” He asked. It kinda was in a sense that the issues going on in this universe were the only focus and in her universe they aren’t just main focuses like that. Everyone has got their own problems. “It feels the same but from watching it on TV no.” Will’s powers that he has as well. “And Will’s visions.” “Now I definitely believe you.” He joked and they both laughed. This was nice. Not having any actual problems besides to get back to her universe. “When does Will get out of prison?” He asked. She shouldn’t tell him. “Soon.” Was all she said. 

She sat at the table as she watched him make dinner. It was like a routine. She loved doing it but as she watched them cook, she realized that this was the stuff that her and Mads did. They had a life together and this reflected that. “I’ve really enjoyed our time together, Hannibal.” She said with a smile as she drank from her wine glass. He smiled and gave her a plate. “I have to.” Her smile dropped slightly as she looked up at him. “I uh wish I could stay.” She said. “You can.” He told her. “I can’t though. I have a husband and life to get back to.” She told him. “I’m your husband though. I mean technically.” She looks at him and sighs, “You are but you aren’t. My husband isn’t a cannibal. He just plays one on TV.” “So I’m just a TV character to you.” That knocked the wind right out of her.

That was something she never thought she’d ever hear. She loved fictional characters so much and they were so much more than that but hearing that question made her sick. “No Hanni you’re not you’re so much more than that but you gotta look at it from my perspective this wasn’t supposed to happen. I don’t even know how it happened.” She told him. “To you it wasn’t. But this to me was a blessing.” He took her hands. She looked up at him from her seat. “Stay with me, Y/N. I can give you all he can.” But he couldn’t and they both have different endings that don’t include each other. “Hannibal you’re amazing but we aren’t meant to be together.” She said. “Then how come you’re here?” She didn’t have an answer for that. She truly didn’t know. Luck? She didn’t have an answer to his question but all she knew was that she had to get back to her universe

[sunfyrisms]

rhaenicent being made canon—or even implied—is a travesty. it completely ignores how these two women have hurt each other.

was alicent aged down just for this dynamic? was her status as a child bride, her trauma, the fact her children are conceived through marital rape, just an after thought? why must her entire world revolve around rhaenyra? why must she sacrifice her family—the family she fought for, the family she so deeply loves, the family she literally attacked rhaenyra for—just to appease rhaenyra?

why would rhaenyra want anything to do with the woman who aided in the usurpation of her throne? who’s son murdered her own? the woman who refused a peaceful end to the war (however poorly written that damn septa scene was)? why must rhaenyra demand another son’s head when her insane husband already had alicent’s grandson brutally murdered? the debt has been paid.

it makes the characters inconsistent. the meetings between the two characters in season two were unnecessary. the parallels they force are unnecessary. the character assassination is unnecessary and tragic. if the media you consume has no problem forcing two characters together at the expensive of their characterization, it isn’t representation. it isn’t a good ship. it’s a poorly written fanfic. it is a cash grab.

[wangxianficfinder]

In the mood for...

Oct 23rd

~*~

1. itmf fics where lwj (or even one of the other characters like nhs or the juniors) gets mad about what lxc said to wwx about being lwj’s only mistake?

Thank you for your help!

break by justdoityoufucker (orphan_account) (T, 3k, WangXian, Canon Divergence, LXC Critical, JC Critical, Canonical Character Death, Guānyīn Temple Scene, BAMF WN, Protective WN)

🔒💖 When has silence saved anyone? by Vrishchika (T, 6k, wangxian, LSZ & WWX & LWJ, post-canon, LXC  critical, family feels, angry LWJ & LSZ, LXC gets scolded)

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2. hello! itmf request for fics where lwj punches people. like we know he's good with the sword but his lan arm strength should also be used for breaking jaws with his fists. no jc bashing tho. i mean lwj can beat him up, but id rather the author not, yknow? thank you very much in advance and blessings come your way!

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3. Do you know of any fics where wwx's ghost sticks around to help raise lsz? @dawnforger-fr

🧡 Lan Sizhui Sees Dead People Series by darkbrokenreaper (T, 30k, WIP, WangXian, LWJ & LSZ, JC & LSZ, Canon Divergence, Fluff, Kid Fic, Hurt/Comfort, lsz sees dead people, Paranormal)

🧡 Ghosts Shouldn’t by ShanaStoryteller (Not Rated, 15k, WangXian, Grief/Mourning, Canon Divergence, Angst with a Happy Ending)

From the beyond Series by apathyinreverie (T, 11k, WangXian, Canon Divergence, Some angst, Ghost WWX, BAMF LWJ, BAMF WWX, Domestic WangXian, rogue cultivators wangxian, of sorts, Ghostly Sunshine Husbands: A Guide on Accidental Sect Creation by Hanguang-Jun, Cultivation World Critical, Fix-It, Oblivious WWX, Smitten LWJ, Time Skips)

A-Yuan’s first Inquiry by SaiaiSaiko (G, 1k, LSZ & LWJ, LSZ & WWX, LWJ Plays Inquiry, LSZ Plays Inquiry, Canonical Character Death, Spirits)

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4. (First part moved to FF) where wwx goes to the future (modern) if you have any fanfics like that, I would appreciate it @quwieiidkd

🔒Confusion by Vrishchika (Not rated, 4k, wangxian, time travel)

🧡 The Shade of Old Trees by Kryal (T, 363k, WangXian, Ridiculously Long Notes, History, Canon Divergence, Modern AU, Slow Burn, Worldbuilding, Slow Life, Action/Adventure, Magic Returns, BAMF WWX) which isn't tagged as time travel but has a canon-era Wei Wuxian frozen in a block of ice and, after being discovered in current times and thawed, he has to adjust to the future. / One of my all time top favourites

🔒I Got Isekai'd into a High School Romance But I Used to Be the Founder of Demonic Cultivation! by LizzyPanic (T, 20k, WangXian, Minor XuanLi, Canon Divergence, Modern AU, Reverse Isekai and Transmigration, High School, wwx is a cultivator, no one else is, Pining, Flirting, attempts at humor, gender nonconforming nhs, First Kiss, Good Uncle LQR, Light Angst)

~*~

5. Yilingwei type fics, some have protective commoners. I really wanna say murder of crows by cerbykerby or cradle by dragonesque had that element. I know I've read ones where the locals find the visiting cultivators sus and the cold welcome unnerves the visitors (cause they expected the locals to hate the "great evil") or where locals scam the voting cultivators by over charging for items they wouldn't be familiar with cause snooty & don't shop for themselves

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6. In the mood for:

a) Canon characteristics compliant fics.

b) Fics where Lan Xichen is shady, mean, condescending, or doesn't like Wei Wuxian (Preferably with LWJ standing by his man)

c) modern Fics where WWX is disowned or kicked out of the Jiang but goes on to do well. (Preferably, confident!WWX)

Please 🥺 and thank you 😊 @myblurryreality

For 6B, I didn't mention it but it can be in canon or an AU.

6A)

It's Only Time by etymologyplayground (T, 8k, WangXian, Epistolary, Post-Canon, Canon Compliant, It's About The Yearning., Getting Together, Love Confessions, Cuddling & Snuggling, Humor)

and he sang about the stars by hauntme_then (M, 29k, WangXian, Brotherhood, Growing Up Together, Canon Compliant, Canon-Typical Violence, Angst, Grief/Mourning, Canonical Character Death)

Gathered Herbs & Sweet Grasses by hansbekhart (Not Rated, 19k, LSZ & LWJ, WangXian, dad wangji, LWJ’s Questionable Parenting Skills, Grief/Mourning, Recovery, Injury Recovery, Hopeful Ending, Canon-Typical Violence, Gathered Herbs & Sweet Grasses [podfic] by someplacelikebolivia)

Florescendo by flowercity (FaoriE) (T, 9k, WangXian, Sentient Burial Mounds, Canon Compliant, POV Second Person, POV Third Person, Introspection, there are wangxian scenes but theyre not the focus, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Kinda, poetic prose, the mortifying ordeal of having hope, Character StudyParallels)

6C)

crimson blue by cherrywhiskey (E, 138k, WangXian, Modern, Arranged Marriage, Angst with a Happy Ending, Marriage of Convenience, genius WWX, Not Jiang Family Friendly, Supportive LQR, Bottom LWJ, Eventual mpreg, Protective WWX, protective LWJ, Soap Opera, with plenty of telenovela tropes, like scheming in-laws, sizzling drama, Romance, AND SO MUCH LOVE & DEVOTION, Power Couple Wangxian, they're smitten with each other, WWX × LQR bonding, soft LWJ, but he also has a temper, WWX's debt & duty factor is heavily focused, baby is not having a good time im sorry, let me show you what Wei Wuxian's love looks like, comes with gorgeous arts) he doesn't get kicked out, more like leaves

Crazy, Rich Cultivators by ShanaStoryteller (Not rated, 13k, wangxian, Modern Cultivation, Idiots in Love, Misunderstandings, POV LWJ, īthis started as a crazy rich asians au but quickly got away from me, light moments of angst but mostly shenanigans)

🔒 Step by step by apathyinreverie (T, 12k, WangXian, Modern AU, JFM and YZY Bashing, not particularly Jiang family friendly, Guilt, Fluff, past angst, Flashbacks, Protective LWJ, Soft WWX, adorable a-yuan, Friendship, Family, Getting Together, Established Relationship, Hurt/Comfort, Domestic Fluff)

Catharsis by Starfell123 (T, 9k, WangXian, Modern Cultivation, mentions of abuse, Mentions of Disownment, Swearing, Friendship, Attempted Arranged Marriage, WWX has gone through therapy, Catharsis, supportive friends, Hurt/Comfort, Happy Ending, Genius WWX, Rich WWX, Bad Parent YZY, Bad Parent JFM, BAMF WWX)

you'll always know me (ana_cp) by anaphoricae (E, 127k, WangXian, Modern, Actor WWX, Teacher LWJ, Getting Back Together, Exes to Lovers, is it exes to lovers if you never quite defined your relationship?, for WangXian it is, Angst with a Happy Ending, LWJ being cute with children alert, WWX rides a motorcycle, LWJ writes as a hobby, ALL THE GOOD THINGS, Back hugs as a love language, Sharing Food as a Love Language, Really anything between them is a love language if you squint hard enough)

~*~

7. Hello! Could someone recommend some fics where wwx is believed dead at the burning of lotus pier/the burial mounds/the beginning of the war and everyone mourns him??? Thank you in advance, have a nice day <333

The Scarlet Lotus by rainbowninja167 (M, 137k, WangXian, Marriage of Convenience, Secret Identity, Fix-It, Angst with a Happy Ending, It Gets Worse Before It Gets Better, Canon-Typical Violence, canon-typical war crimes, Yunmeng Bros, the mortifying ordeal of getting seduced by your own husband, nonlinear chronology we die like cql, just kidding nobody dies in this fic, Slow Burn, Mutual Pining, Miscommunication) doesnt die, but everyone believes he's gone crazy

Lay my body down by tawaen (M, 48k, WWX & WQ, WWX & WN, wangxian, WWX & JYL, Canon Divergence, Time Travel, Rogue Cultivator WWX, Eventual WangXian, No Golden Core Transfer, Not Cultivation World Friendly, Canon-Typical Violence, Not JC Friendly, What if WWX saw the first siege of the burial mounds and said Nope to the war, OCs, OC point-of-view for one chapter for plot reasons)

Go Hiking With a Blindfold On by Hauntcats (Not Rated, 12k, WangXian, WWX & JC, WWX & WQ, Not JC Friendly, Time Travel Fix-It, No Golden Core Transfer, Canon JC Characteristics)

when you’re doing all the leaving (then it’s never your love lost) by tardigradeschool (T, 26k, wangxian, canon divergence, hurt/comfort, canon-typical violence, sharing clothes, sharing a bed, fix-it, golden core transfer)

The Fire Lapping Up the Creek by notevenyou (E, 66k, WangXian, Canon Divergence, Hurt/Comfort, Canon-Typical Violence, Injury, Injury Recovery, Blood, Respiratory Illness, Major Illness, Fever, Grief/Mourning, Burial Mounds, Angst with a Happy Ending, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Hunger and food scarcity, Surgery, Fix-It of Sorts)

only the dead (have seen the end of war) by comforting_monachopsis (T, 42k, wangxian, JYL/JZX, temporary amnesia, BAMF WWX, sad LWJ, grief/mourning, loneliness, mild gore, secret identity, loss of identity, identity porn, angst, humor, crossdressing)

~*~

8. Hello 🥰!

Itmf:

A) Artist Lan Wangji and muse Wei Wuxian. Whether it's painting, photography, sculpture, I'm happy!

B) Wangxian (one or both) being acrobats like in Cirque Du Soleil. I'm talking aerial silks, those things in the air where performers throw other performers to each other, contortionists, etc.

C) One or both of Wangxian as dancers. It can be any kind of dancing (if it's sexual, I'd prefer it if there wasn't a lot of actual sex). Ballroom dancing, ballet dancing, swing dancing, whatever! (I've already read Unstrictly Ballroom by Ariaste).

Thank you!! @acebookdragon47

8A)

when you say nothing at all by sysrae (T, 4k, WangXian, Modern AU, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, artist LWJ, tattoo artist WWX, past angst, Getting Together, emotionally significant art installations, Soulmates)

🔒a reunion is made of words by spookykingdomstarlight (T, 2k, WangXian, Modern AU, Artist LWJ, Estranged Friends to Lovers, Reunions, Chance Meetings, Second Chances)

Muse by LadyVamp (E, 9k, WangXian, WangXianXi, Modern AU, Romance, Tragic Romance, Artist and Muse, Painting, Sex, Explicit Sexual Content)

8B)

fear you won't fall by anaphoricae (E, 87k, WangXian, Modern, Circus, Fire Dancer WWX, Trapeze Artist LWJ, Slow Burn, Rom com vibes, No Angst, Just an overall good time I hope, Come as Lube, Rimming, WWX and LWJ's 'mutual dislike' to 'let's get married tomorrow' pipeline, some scenes of WWX and LWJ being really cute with children. Beware!, Bottom LWJ) circus au with trapeze artist lwj & fire dancer wwx

8C)

Falling to the Rhythm by Selenay (E, 128k, WangXian, Modern: No Powers, Dance, Strictly Come Dancing Fusion, Ballroom Dancing, Dancer!WWX, Violinist LWJ, Pining While Dancing, Oblivious WWX, Gratuitous Costume Descriptions, Gratuitous dancing descriptions, Slow Burn, [Podfic] Falling to the Rhythm by semperfiona_podfic (semperfiona)) Both fics are explicit but I don't believe there're too many explicit scenes in either story.

varied my velocities by fantasiavii (E, 58k, WangXian, Modern AU, Ballerina LWJ, Football/Soccer player WWX, Enemies to Lovers, Top WWX/Bottom LWJ, Dom WWX, Angst with a happy ending, Internalized homophobia) Both fics are explicit but I don't believe there're too many explicit scenes in either story.

Pas de Deux by TriviasFolly (M, 62k, WangXian, Modern AU, ballet dancer lwj, Hip Hop Dancer WWX, dance teacher au, reference to career ending injuries, referenced injuries, Addiction, Drug Addiction, we attempt some pining)

Ugly Duckling by Witch_Nova221 (T, 57k, WangXian, NieLan, Romance, Friends to Lovers, Ballet Dancer WWX, Ballet Dancer LWJ, Theatre, Dance School)

🔒space, skin, muscle, bone by tombenough_and_continent (T, 23k, WangXian, Modern AU, Matthew Bourne's Swan Lake, Non-Linear Narrative, Dance, Background SongXiao, background NieLan, a surprising amount of texting, gratuitous use of ballet terminology)

~*~

9. ITMF where WWX's title is not yiling patriach. Like ghost flute or red lotus or something. It could be that his title was yiling patriach and he or someone change the title to something else. Thanks!

Hand in Hand Together (All Your Life) by sami (T, 41k, JC/WZL, WangXian, Asexual JC, Queerplatonic relationship, Implied future NMJ/JYL, Not Everyone Dies, Canon-Typical Violence, Canon Divergence, Time Travel Fix-It, Honestly at this point you probably know what you're getting with me, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Healing, Slow Burn)

~*~

10. ITMF where LWJ runs away/defecting the lan sect and join the jiang sect. Like after his punishment, he feels trapped in the lan sect and leaves his forhead ribbon and then join the jiang

Bonus if JWY and LWJ become a reluctant partner in crime/coparenting

Another bonus if WWX is the only casualty

Thanks

The Price of Freedom by meyari (T, 32k, WangXian, JC/LWJ, Past Character Death, Grief/Mourning, PTSD, Post-War, Children In Danger, Past Rape/Non-con, Warning: JGS, Physical Abuse, Chronic Pain, Canon-Typical Violence, seriously a lot of grief and loss, no resurrections (yet), LQR Bashing, Execution, excessive discipline, Platonic Relationships) note that it's tagged for JC/LWJ but it actually is more platonic

Delight in Misery by nirejseki (Not rated, 44k, WangXian, JC & WWX, JC & LWJ, JC/LWJ, WIP, Canon Divergence, Accidental Baby Acquisition, Accidental Life Partner Acquisition)

First Love by Kaunakukko (Liitohauki), translation of Первая любовь by AlexVulpinus and Mathew, (M, 109k, JC/LWJ, Memory Loss, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Drama & Romance, Post-First Siege of the Burial Mounds, Translation - English, Original - Russian)

picking up the pieces by KouriArashi (M, 111k, JYL & LWJ, WangXian, Canon Divergence, Alternate Canon, Grief/Mourning, Angst, Regret, Family, Kid Fic, Families of Choice, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Politics, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Canon-Typical Violence, canon typical political bullshit, Eventual Happy Ending) is an AU where Jiang Yanli lives while Jiang Cheng dies. Lan Wangji takes Yuan to Lotus Pier to raise him alongside Jiang Yanli raising Jin Ling.

❤️ For Both Of Us (And Time Is But A Paper Moon) by sami (E, 65k, WangXian, Time Travel, Some People Live/Not Everyone Dies, Fix-It, Hurt/Comfort, Healing, Yunmeng Shuangjie, Canon Divergence, Asexual JC, First Time, Getting Together, BAMF JC, BAMF LWJ, [Podfic] Cold read of For Both Of Us (And Time Is But A Paper Moon) by kisahawklin, Для нас обоих (И время лишь бумажная луна) (Russian translation) by nomuad) I'm not sure if this is exactly what OP it's looking for, as this is a) a time travel fic and b) LWJ defects to the Jiang sect after the Cloud Recesses lectures. But hopefully OP can still enjoy

~*~

11. ITMF a fic where lwj pines/crushes hard on wwx. light hearted and indulgent vibes, preferably modern au but cloud recesses arc also welcome. thank youu @f1sh1ng4gl0ry

every time we kiss i swear i could fly by sarahyyy (T, 2k, WangXian, College/University, Kissing Booths, Misunderstandings, Getting Together, First Kiss, Love Confessions)

How Wei Ying Went from Oblivious Idiot to Shameless Boyfriend in Three Days by misscam (T, 5k, wangxian, Modern, College/University, Getting Together, Humor)

💖 love on 35mm by fakeplasticlily (M, 26k, wangxian, modern au, college/university au, pining, LWJ is BFFs with JYL)

mating rituals by detectorist (E, 16k, WangXian, XuanLi, Modern AU, College/University, Humour, Pining, Getting Together, Idiots in Love)

🔒 you’ve ruined my life (by not being mine) by cicer (E, 132k, WangXian, Modern AU, Developing Relationship, Idiots in Love, Awkward Flirting, teenage romance, Shameless WWX, slowburn, Demisexuality, references to lqr’s a+ parenting, references to jfm’s a+ parenting, but we’re gonna get a happy ending ANYWAY, references to yzy’s a+ parenting, Background NMJ/LXC, hints of nmj/lxc/jgy, bottom LWJ in chapter 15)

r/relationships by vespertineflora (T, 8k, WangXian, Modern AU, Social Media, Viral Reddit Post, Pining, Crushes, Friends to Lovers, Awkward Flirting, Romantic Gestures, Romantic Comedy, Love Confessions, Kissing, Happy Ending)

it’s just (aah) a little crush (crush!) by sweetlolixo (T, 9k, WangXian, Canon Divergence, Romance, Fluff, Pining LWJ, Humor, Courting Rituals, Teen Wangxian)

~*~

12. For the next itmf I wanted some time travel from post-Canon to the Sunshot campaign, I haven't been able to find anything like this but I'm fairly dure it exists 😢 thank u ♡

🔒 Forget Myself in Memories by geethr75 (T, 10k, JC& WWX, JC & JL, JL & LSZ & LJY & OYZZ, WangXian, LXC & NMJ, JYL/JZX, Junior Quartet Dynamics, Time Travel Fix-It, Juniors travel to the past, Post-Canon, Canon Divergence, double trouble, Past WWX meets future WWX in MXY's body, Past JC meets future JC, Sect Leader JL, Sect Leader OYZZ, Sect Heir LJY, Fluff and Angst, Happy Ending, JGY dies as Meng Yao, SS and JZN dies, JGS dies, WQ & WN lives, JYL & JZX Lives, Canon doesn't exist anymore, no golden core transfer, No golden core melting, The Juniors save the day, WWX saves the day too, Alternate Timelines)

Lynchpin by ShanaStoryteller (Not Rated, 103k, WangXian, JC & WWX, Time Travel, Fix-It)

Stubborn Shadows by secretlyteo (teobunn) (T, 24k, WangXian, Canon Divergence, Time Travel, comes in at the moment WC dies, Wangxian ducking around with their past selves, LSZ is tired and would like to go home)

Time Travel, Obviously by nirejseki (Not Rated, 1k, Time Travel, Crack)

Whatever it takes by Moonlit_dewdrops (T, 115k, JC & WWX, WangXian, JC & WWX & JYL, JC/WQ, JYL & WQ, WWX & WQ, WWX & JGY, WWX & JZX, Canon Divergence, Time Travel Fix-It, Not Everyone Dies, yunmeng prides, POV JC, POV WWX; WQ & WN live, Angst with a Happy Ending, Hurt/Comfort, WWX & JC actually communicate, Yunmeng Siblings fluff, But Also Some Angst, Lots of WangXian moments, Protective JC, Protective LWJ, JGS & JXN will die for sure, NMJ Lives, Twin Prides of Yunmeng Feels, Slow burn but not for Wangxian, Brotherhood, justice for the wen remnants, JYL & JZX Live, Wen Remnants Live, Cinnamon Roll WN, Canon-Typical Violence, Implied/Referenced Cannibalism, reference to wwx’s suicide, Established Relationship, Torture)

🔒 if you can’t beat them, recruit them by moeblobmegane (T, 228k, Wangxian, NHS & WWX, WWX & WQ, Time Travel Fix-It, Conspiracy, Spies & Secret Agents, Team as Family, Found Family, Burial Mounds, Temporary Character Death, Canon-Typical Violence, Pining, Morally Ambiguous Character, Rumors, Politics, Developing Friendships, Good Uncle LQR, Demonic Cultivation, YilingWei Sect)

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13. Hey do yall have any fic recs where wwx needs more recovery after the battle at nightless city at the end of the sunshot campaign? @turtleoftheabyss

Tether by WithBroomBefore (T, 40k, WangXian, SangLi, WWX’s passive suicidality, Canon Divergence, Somebody Lives/Not Everyone Dies, WWX Lives, JYL Lives, Golden Core Reveal, Minor Character Death, Canon-Typical Violence, POV JYL, Grief/Mourning, Sunshot Campaign, Healing, Hurt/Comfort, Family Feels, LWJ makes friends, Fix-It, Happy Ending)

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14. Hi so do you have any fix where wwx is like a mother to the juniors like he gives motherly advice and is a comfort to everyone and acts like a mother too and the juniors secretly refer to him as their mother or some kind of mother figure @constancebloodstone

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15. Hello! ITMF a fic where wangxian spend at least part of the fic living far away from the cultivation world, something where wwx gets a chance to heal and live away from all the politics and drama.

Thank you so much for all the work you do! I’ve found so many wonderful fics scrolling though this blog, you’re amazing!!

💙🔒Away from Trouble by Ilona22 (M, 15k, WangXian, Not JC Friendly, LWJ/WWX Get a Happy Ending)

Discarded by teawater (E, 187k, WIP, WangXian, Canon Divergence, Dying Lan children, Hurt/Comfort, YL WWX, Golden Core Reveal, Case Fic, Depression, Family Issues, Self-Esteem Issues, Self Confidence Issues, Self-Worth Issues, Angst with a Happy Ending, and it’s not always dark, POV Multiple, BAMF WWX, dubious morals in the Lan sect Feels, Pining, Grief, Fix-It, BAMF LWJ)

And They Have Escaped The Weight of Darkness by cosmicmilktea (T, 10k, WangXian, Canon Divergence, Amnesia, Memory Loss, Grief/Mourning, Implied/Referenced Sexual Assault, Screw the Cultivation world tbh, The Lan precepts deserves better, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Falling In Love, domestic life, Social justice boyfriends wangxian, Happy Ending) These next two may also work but Wei Ying develops amnesia in both and doesn't remember his past

🧡 the river brought you here by chilianxianzi (Not Rated, 11k, WangXian, Canon Divergence, POV Outsider, Amnesia, Past abuse, Strangulation, Found Family) These next two may also work but Wei Ying develops amnesia in both and doesn't remember his past

wide enough and wild by impossibletruths (E, 64k, WangXian, Canon Divergence, Getting Together, Canonical Accidental Baby Acquisition, Families of Choice, References to Depression, Happy Ending, I Swear To God I’m Giving Them A Happy Ending, Overzealous Use Of Imagery, Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Well Except WN But He Was Already Dead So, Fix-It of Sorts, [Podfic] Wide Enough and Wild by semperfiona_podfic (semperfiona))

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16. ITMF where peoplw found out/relized that the resentful energy is the one that keep WWX alive or functional. Thanks

The Core Issue by Hauntcats (T, 21k, WangXian, Angst with a Happy Ending, Not JC Friendly, Canon Divergence)

❤️ three surgeries and a mercy kill by MarbleGlove (T, 11k, medical procedures, fix-it, Demonic Cultivation, Canon Divergence, Fix-It, Self-Indulgent, WWX Has a New Golden Core, Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies)

🧡 decay by antebunny (G, 15k, WangXian, Canon Divergence, Angst, Misunderstandings, Miscommunication, Fix-It, Angst with a Happy Ending, the fluffiest ending, Hurt/Comfort)

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17. Hi, I'm hoping that someone has recs of mxy being pregnant before bringing back wwx, so when wwx comes back he is pregnant

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If you didn’t get an answer to your ask here, don’t forget to make use of @mdzs-kinkmeme and MDZS KINK MEME on Dreamwidth. Authors actually do use them for ideas. You may get what you order!***Your prompt doesn’t have to be kink! Fluff, crack, whatever - it’s all good!***