#standing here i realise moment

[37gorditas]

@spider-mand ‘s reply to my ask inspired me to doodle this ahaha!!! Bonus doodle under the cut :-)

i should stop drawing with a ballpoint pen

who am i kidding this is fun (no its not i cant ERASE!!!! GRAHH!!!!!)

[ef-1]

girlhood

[musicals-and-mushrooms]

just rewatched encanto and its still incredible i still cried but OH MY DAYS THE FLASHBACKS FROM MY CAMILO PHASE I WAS THERE IN THE TRENCHES HE WAS MY JACK FROST HE HAD 4 MINUTES AND 52 SECONDS OF SCREEN TIME I KNOW THAT BECAUSE I WATCHED THOSE 4 MINUTES AND 52 SECONDS RELIGIOUSLY ALL MY FRIENDS WERE SO OBSESSED WITH HIM ITS NOT EVEN FUNNY

I WAS TRYING TO ENKOY THE MOVIE BUT EVERY TIME HE WAS ON SCREEN I WAS HAVING A CRISIS BECAUSE I REMEMBER THE ANNOTATIONS THAT EVERYONE HAD FOR EVEY SECOND LIKE HES SO SILLY GOOFY HE JUDT WANTED MORE FOOD 🤪 HE WAS DONE SO DIRTY IN THE INTRO SONG HE DESERVED MORE LINES HE DESERVED MORE SCREEN TIME IN GENERAL😭😭 MY POOR BABY BOY OH NO HES HURT 🥺🥺 YOU CAN SEE HOW HE WAS RUNNING TO PROTECT MIRABEL DID YOU KNOW THAT IN THE ORIGINAL SCRIPT THEY WANTED CAMILO WHEN HE LOSES HIS POWERS TO BE COMPLETELY UNRECOGNISABLE BECAUSE HE DIDNT KNOW WHO HE WAS ANYMORE AFTER THE SHAPESHIFTING😥😥 AWW HIS LITTLE FACE HES TOO BEAUTIFUL FOR THIS WORLD🥰 HE HAD THE BEST PARTS IN WE DONT TALK ABOUT BRUNO DID YOU KNOW HIS VA RHENZY FELIZ WAS SO SCARED THAT THEYD HIRE A NEW VOICE ACTOR BECAUSE HE HATED HOW HIS VOICE SOUNDED!!! LOOK HOW GENTLE HE IS WITH MIRABEL WHAT A GENTLEMAN!!! LOOK HOW HE IMITATES HIS DAD!!! LOOK HOW I COMFORTS HIS MUM!!! LOOK HOW HE PLAYS WITH HIS BROTHER!!!! LOOK AT HIM!!! LOOK . AT . HIM .

[mariocki]

Stuart Damon guest stars as Texan oil baron (and Simon's new bff) Rod Huston in The Saint: The Ex-King of Diamonds (6.17, ITC, 1969); this episode was the direct inspiration for Roger Moore's subsequent series The Persuaders! (ITC, 1971 - 72)

[steakout-05]

saw some really triggering and horrible shit in the absolutely rancid shithole that is radfem tumblr so here is a reminder that TERFs are not, never have been and never will be welcome on this blog. i will not tolerate any hate or bigotry for trans people (or any people, really) on this blog, and if i gotta see people spewing any sort of that shit on here, it's blocked on-sight. take your blind hatred somewhere else, preferably where no one else can see or hear it.

[coweye]

The Worst Logan

Logan Howlett x Reader!Loganverse| smut | 5.8k words

Summary: You are the deceased-anchor-being-Logan's lover, having found yourself with Laura in the void, you navigate meeting the variant of the love of your life. Sweet dick kicking angst with gratuitous smut, cause we all know Logan eats pussy like a CHAMP. 😤

This is self indulgence at its finest, but it had be to done. 7-years ago, the movie Logan broke something within me that has finally been fixed! 🤠💕

Warning: Explicit - smut. canon death, depression, angst, spoilers for Logan / Wolverine and deadpool, cunnilingus, unprotected p in v, creampie, all the good stuff. 18+

The first time you see him again, the new him, the other him you mean. It’s in the cave accompanied by a man who talks far too much.

You recognise his voice in an instant when the mouth finally allows him to get a word in edgeways. His voice. 

You’ve heard it nearly every night for the past seven years. It's a few octaves deeper than you remember and filled to the brim with vitriol but it's definitely his. The realisation that your memory has been warped by time is a blow to the gut but you continue towards the sound all the same.

When finally you round the corner Logan stands before you in all his glory. For a moment you are rendered utterly unable to form a single sentence as he leans against the wall, a bottle of bourbon in his palm and adorned in yellow and blue.

Your mind can't reconcile this figure as the man you buried. He has the same sneer, the same broad shoulders, he even has the same stance - but Logan, your Logan, would rather die than wear that garish yellow suit and admit to being the hero he always was. 

His nose flares in what you believe to be recognition as he smells your presence, you allow your powers to retreat and reveal yourself. As your invisibility ebbs away Logan snarls in surprise as the talkative man in red gasps theatrically and begins jumping on the spot. 

Your fears are proven well founded when your eyes connect with his across the room, instead of the love and recognition, you find only open hostility and rage.

Your heart had bulldozed all logic, you were in the fucking void, of course it was a variant.

This Logan looks younger; his hair not so grey, his face unscarred and his eyes not so tired. 

This not-quite-Logan stares right back at you seemingly ill at ease with the stranger who is currently taking an inventory of his face. 

“Logan, that's them. It’s X-23 and Y/N, the one’s I told you about.” You graze your palm along your daughter's back in support as you come to stand beside her. 

“Her name is Laura.” It’s a knee jerk reaction; your correction. Your girl wasn’t the sum total of an experiment, she was her own person with her own thoughts and feelings, not a weapon to be utilised. 

The Wolverine’s gaze darts between the two of you, it’d be comical if you didn’t feel like you were about to regurgitate your lunch. They land on Laura, and linger there for a few moments, before they return to you, it's as if he’s trying to find you in her features. 

You barely hear the man you will later come to know fondly as Wade Wilson, question how you all ended up in the void.

“There was a knock at the door TVA sent me here, saying my world was dying … and I never even got the chance to fight for it.” Blade explains remorsefully. 

“They sent us here because they knew we’d put up a fight.” You utter distractedly, finally breaking your staring contest with Logan as he takes a swig from the bottle he’s currently white knuckling. 

“People like us don’t go quietly, TVA knows that so they took us out.” Elektra attests.

“The answer is yes, I’m in.” Wade declares.

“In what?” Blade questions bemused by the man in red. 

“A team up, you me, me you, all of us together, lets get the fuck outta’ here.”

“Don’t listen to him, he’s a fucking liar!” Logan growls, furious at the other man. 

“It was an educated wish!”

“HA!” The loathing behind it makes you pause, he was so angry. 

The heat in his voice, the resentment, it burns you. You supposed even your Logan had his fair share of rage.  

When he arrived at the mansion all those years ago, fresh faced and wild, you had adored him even then, though Logan was far too preoccupied with Jean to notice the torch you carried for him back then.

It was ironic that It had taken the utter annihilation of the X-Men to bring you together. Charles’ accident had left the two of you as sole survivors. Over the years in hiding your ability to mould force fields managed to keep the worst of the effects of Charles’ seizures at bay, but Charles Xavier was one of the most powerful telepaths to grace the earth and your powers had limits. 

Those years were some of the darkest and yet the best of your life, you found yourself growing to love the man the world called The Wolverine.

You realise you’ve entirely tuned out Wade’s rousing speech and have spent the time analysing the man wearing your love’s face currently gargling bourbon though your name pulls you out of your reverie. 

“Laura, Y/N? What’s it gonna’ be girlies?” 

“Lets fucking go.” Laura agrees heartily, you simply nod still dazed. 

“YES! LET’S FUCKING GO!” Wade shouts back fist pumping. 

“You’re all fucking dead.”

Much later in the evening when the sun has finally set you seek him out. When you come across the father and daughter duo before the campfire you hold back, your skin slowly begins reflecting light, fading from vision as you call upon your powers to hide in the treeline. 

They both needed this and it wasn’t something you were about to get in the way of. They talk for a little while, before they part ways, both a little teary. Laura nods your way despite being unable to see you as she heads back to the cave, her nose just as keen as her fathers. 

So it shouldn’t surprise you a few moments later when you hear Logan's voice call across the clearing.

“You gonna’ stand there all night, Bub?” The man sounds utterly exhausted. 

You say nothing in response, only dismissing your powers and revealing yourself as you advance. You take Laura’s seat at the fire, not quite having the courage to look at him just yet. 

“You hear all that? Should mind your own damn business.” You remembered this Logan well, the one aching for a fight, desperate to shed his vulnerability and bloody his fists. 

“I didn’t hear a thing, Logan.” Your voice is barely above a whisper, you haven’t had to gentle parent The Wolverine in a while but it’s like riding a bike. “I wanted to let the two of you talk, she needed it and I think maybe you did too.”

“What do you fuckin’ know.” He growls dismissively, swigging from his bottle of what now appears to be scotch. “You can skip the speech and go back up, I’m not looking for company.” 

“I’m not here to tell you what to do, Logan.” Finally, you look away from the fire and find his eyes fixed on you, you swallow the lump in your throat before you speak. “I just wanted to see you.”

“See me?” He questions incredulously. “Well, keep the change, bub. Good night.”

Despite your smile at his words, you can’t help the tears that begin to cloud your eyes. Your mind and your heart have been locked in a constant battle since setting eyes on him. This man by all rights is Logan. The man you have mourned relentlessly and yet in every way that matters he isn’t.

“It’s like seeing a ghost.” Is the only explanation you can give him, his response is a stoic cheers with his bottle before he takes a deep gulp. 

Finally either his curiosity or the alcohol gets the better of him as he questions. “You her Mother?” 

“Yes and no.” His stare doesn’t leave your face as he waits for you to elaborate. “Her biological mother was a woman from Mexico City that the fuckers in the lab exploited, all we know is that she disappeared after giving birth. After … you … after everything that happened in North Dakota…” You trail off.

Your voice is suddenly thick and your words get stuck in your throat as you try to make them form. It's utterly embarrassing as you feel the traitor tears begin to form. 

A bottle of Johnny Walker enters your field of vision from where you sit staring at your clasped hands in your lap. Startled, you glance up to find the Wolverine standing before you, casting an impossibly large shadow as he holds out the bottle.

You accept the offering from his gloved hand, your fingers grazing his in the transaction as you take a swig or two (or three) before passing it back. He looks thoughtful when he places his lips on the place where your own had just lingered, as he retakes his seat. With amber courage coursing your veins, you continue. 

“She was all I had - if not for her, I-.” You wipe your nose, staring back into the fire. If it was a struggle to meet his eyes before, it was impossible for you now.  “I just couldn’t see the point in being alive anymore if everything just slowly gets stripped away; the X-Men, then Charles and then Lo-” 

You don’t know it, but you’re preaching to the fucking choir with your words. It was rare to find a soul, going through the exact same torture as yourself. Logan found himself softening to you, it was as involuntary as it was unwelcome, but he couldn’t help it as you described a battle so close to the one he fought daily. 

“-she reminded me what I had to live for. Laura she is fierce and so fucking kind; she is everything I loved about him.” You cut your trauma dumping to a swift end as you remember yourself. “So no, to answer your question. I’m not her biological mother, but she’s my daughter in every way that counts.”

Silence reigns for a moment as neither one of you knows what to say to the other. 

“You loved him?” Logan’s voice is deeper than before when he speaks the sentence. You raise your eyes from the fire to find his for the first time since you began monologuing. They’re filled with something you can’t quite name.

“I did.”

Logan seems to contemplate this, mulling it over as he continues drinking. Finally, he seems to reach some sort of conclusion.  “You should get some sleep, big day for you tomorrow.”

“Can I stay here … with you for tonight?” The words slip out before you really even mean them to. Tomorrow you might be going to your death and the ghost of the love of your life is here alive and real, what do you really have to lose?

Logan does a double take, not quite expecting those to be the words that leave your lips. “I’m not him, Darlin’.”

“No, I suppose you’re not.” You sigh, “but could you please just hold me whilst I sleep, James?”

A huge part of you expects him to tell you to fuck off back to the cave and leave him to his booze fueled pity party. However, against all odds, he doesn’t do that. 

Logan simply lifts the half full bottle of scotch to his lips and downs every last drop. He’s a little unsteady on his feet when finally he stands up to his full height and turns towards the blankets he’s laid out on the ground. 

“Fuck it.” He growls and drops himself like a sack of potatoes onto the pile with little regard for his own body. You’ve certainly had nicer invitations into his bed but when he waves you over with a lazy gesture, you can’t help but hurry before he changes his mind. 

Before you know it you’re tucked into Logan’s side. His gloved hand doesn’t quite seem to know where to go, more accustomed to brutality than tenderness these days as it hesitates for a moment suspended in the air. After some careful consideration he delicately places it on the dip in your waist securing you to him. 

Logan’s breath is uneven, though he’s doing his best to seem unaffected by your closeness. It has been years since someone has touched him with such easy affection and the way your body curls around his own as if it was created to do just that is driving him crazy. 

You are completely at ease with him, you trust him so entirely it almost breaks his fucking heart. Logan's stomach is heavy with something he can’t name, you fucking terrify him. Yet, he doesn’t move because you feel so fucking good as he holds you. 

It's scary, you realise, how easy it would be to pretend this was your Logan as you melt into his embrace. He smells exactly the same as you bury your face in his neck, the roughness of his beard feels the same pressed against your forehead. 

This Wolverine’s arms are a little fuller and his chest a little firmer, but he still holds you the same. You make a decision to not focus on such difficult philosophical concepts as variants and the morality of switching out your Wolverine. You decide to live in the moment, to just enjoy the furnace of his body keeping you warm and his arm encircling your waist protecting you from the world, it’s so easy to pretend that this was your Logan, so you do. 

And you fall asleep quicker than you have in years.

It is still night when you awaken, it's not quite dawn but the fire has burned out to a low smoulder. You’re not sure what has awoken you from the best sleep you’ve had in a long while, that is until you feel the arms wrapped around you and the sleeping Wolverine holding you in a death grip against his chest, his half hard appendage digging into your hip. 

Everything is still hazy; you’re floating in that sweet spot between waking and dreaming, you forget about North Dakota and, god forgive me, Laura. 

You’re back in your bed at home and Logan is holding you.

There's no my logan, new logan, old logan. 

He’s just Logan. 

You bury yourself deeper in his neck. 

It’s only for a moment though before it all comes flooding back and the agony overwhelms you like a blade to the gut. 

Instantly tears flood your cheeks as you shake from your silent sobs. 

“...Y/N?” Logan's voice is thick with confusion and sleep, his grip has loosened somewhat to allow you to breathe but he doesn’t release his hold on you. “What’s wrong darlin’?” 

That affectionate name is the last nail in the coffin it fucking ends you. 

All teary, and regrettably maybe a teensy bit snotty, you lean forward and kiss him. Kiss isn’t the right word but it’s your intention. Your lips touch one anothers before he’s pulling away and holding you back. 

“Y/n… Darlin’ you don’t want this… I’m not-”

“But you are Logan. You’re him just as much as he’s you.” Your hands rise to his jaw, running your finger along its familiar sharp edge. “You’re Logan.”

“Y/N… I’d be taking advantage…” His voice is firm yet gruff as he tries to inject reason into the conversation. As usual being the good guy he’s constantly telling everyone he’s not. 

“I am so goddamn sick and tired of being sad, please Logan.” This time when you capture his lips, he doesn’t rear back. You’re not sure what’s going through his mind, but his self control seems to snap within him as he begins returning the kiss in earnest.

Logan’s tongue swipes along your bottom lip begging entry, entry you swiftly allow. You’re breathing heavily through your nose as he plunders the depths of your mouth, exploring your mouth with his quick tongue. 

Deciding to make the next move you push yourself up, throwing a leg over him to straddle his lower stomach. He’s lifted the top half of his body to ensure he doesn’t lose your mouth, your teeth clash slightly with the movement and you can’t help a bubble of nervous laughter.  He pays it little mind though as he swallows the noise, his hands coming to rest on your hips. 

Instantly, you grind your hips downward on the growing bulge that lurks below. Logan lets out a deep groan at the friction and his hands on your hips raise to the bottom of your tee in response, his thick hands tugging at it requesting your permission.

Nodding, you pull back causing him to groan at the loss of your hot mouth on his. Though it's only for a moment as the second the tee is over your head, he’s back on you, only it's your bare neck he’s lashing with affection now.

Logan breathes in deep your scent mixing with the heady aroma of your arousal. He’s nipping and licking along the smooth skin, soothing his bites as quickly he makes them. It's the animal instinct within him, telling him to devour you entirely; make you his. 

“Logan…” You gasp, your eyes are clenched shut in pleasure as he bucks his hips upwards into your jean covered centre.  

Logan pulls back to take you in, writhing above him in the moonlight, you’re fucking beautiful, though the flash of familiar metal between your breasts catches his eye, unable to stop himself, he catches it in his fist. 

Dog tags; his old dog tags.

‘LOGAN’ is etched into the aged metal and they’re warm to the touch from living beneath your shirt over your heart. 

The realisation hits him like a freight train, not only was he loved by you, but for his other self to have given you these, he fucking loved you. 

He’s not sure why it didn’t occur to him before, that the other him was as devoted to you as you were to him. He’s not entirely sure how to feel about it, but he twists his hands, careful not to snap the metal string, but using it to pull you close. 

For the other dead Logan, the hero he’s heard so goddamn much about, he decides he’ll give you the treatment you deserve. 

As if you weigh nothing at all he flips you onto your back, his hands dropping the dog tags and falling to the waistband of your jeans. His dexterous hands undo the button so quickly, that your trousers are peeled from your legs before you know it, leaving you in an unimpressive unmatching set of underwear beneath his roaming eyes. Though Logan couldn’t give a fuck as he groans at the sight of your body exposed to him. 

Logan begins by kissing down your stomach before his hands linger on your black panties, he can't help but grin at the tiny barely there bow in the middle of them; you’re like a gift all wrapped up for him. 

His eyes lift to meet your own as he begins sucking at the fabric that's keeping your pussy from him, it's already damp with your arousal and by the time he finishes, absolutely sodden with his saliva.

“Logan, please…” you whisper desperately as your hands find his ‘tufts’ for a lack of a better word. They were new, but you liked them, plus they now seemed pretty functional. 

He takes only a moment to remove his gloves, before they return eagerly to your body. Those thick hands traverse the planes of your thighs, they’re quick in their passing as they make their way up to the waistband of your panties, he hooks them over his thumb and reveals your soaking core to his hungry eyes and he’s right back to wanting to fucking devour you, and boy, fucking does he. 

Enthusiastic, would be the word, earth-shattering would be another - the word to describe how Logan eats pussy.

Logan without much preamble dives into your centre, his tongue slips into your hot wet heat, lingering for a moment on your clit, circling it reverently before he dips that talented tongue inside of you. His nose knocks against your clit several times, each more delicious than the last as he utterly devours your pussy. He moans, grinding his hips into the dirt and readjusts pulling you closer, his thick muscled arms locking under your thighs as you buck against his mouth. 

You're a complete goner the second he slips a single long thick finger inside of you. 

“Fuck, Lo, I’m gonna-” 

“Come, baby... I got’ya.” He mumbles into your pussy. And fuck me, he does. He carries on lapping at you all the way through your orgasm, drawing it out of you like the pied fucking piper of pussy. It feels like you’ve been falling for hours by the time you finally come down, only Logan doesn’t allow you any reprieve before he’s back to lashing your clit with his quick tongue. Your hands find those faux ear tufts once more and he groans as you pull on them a little more sharply than you intend in your shock, in answer Two fingers bury themselves deep inside of you.

“One more.” He’s negotiating orgasms, but you have no qualms as he rubs his nose side to side with affection against your sensitive bud. His tongue and nose moving in pace with his fingers, currently fucking in and out of you. 

It's when he scissors those thick long fingers inside of you, hitting that spongy spot within you that makes your back arch. 

Your top half has left the ground, he grunts in annoyance, suspending your hips back to his mouth at the angle he likes. Those deep hazel eyes meet yours from between your thighs, crazed and animalistic, driven wild with arousal as he eats your pussy with gusto.

It's that image that thrusts you over the edge once more, your back hitting the ground as your body seizes, thrusting your hips against his mouth. 

Without any preamble a third finger joins stretching you deliciously. The hand not currently fucking you, leaves your hip to caress your stomach stroking the flesh there, not quite able to reach your breast. 

“Lo… fuck… yes… right… right fucking there.” You cry as he draws your second orgasm of the night out, only when you tug at his tuft due to overstimulation does he acquiesce and pull back, only of course, after cleaning up your gaping desperate hole. 

He sucks his fingers clean as he sits back on his knees, his cock thick and tenting against the yellow bottoms of his suit. Your arousal has soaked through his beard making his chin slick, he wipes it with a single swipe with the back of hand though, it does very little for his sodden chin. 

Tired of not touching him, you sit forward grabbing at his belt. It's a difficult contraption that confounds you, though Logan is far too wound up to find any humour from it. 

 He replaces your hands unbuckling the thing before finding the hem of his shirt and pulling it over his head. 

There, finally in all his glory, he is exposed to you and you’ve never been a religious woman, but Mary mother of fucking christ, he is gorgeous. Logan’s chest is fucking… transcendant to behold, it's like he’s been sculpted by god herself, the light isn’t the best out of here, but you hope to god you don’t die tomorrow simply for wanting to take your time and lick each and every single one of those muscles on his stomach. 

Its your turn to leap forward onto your knees and join his mouth with yours, he tastes distinctly of you and his chin is still sodden, but you couldn’t give less of a fuck, you love the fact your desire is still marking his skin. 

Your hands trace the firm abs at your disposal, before dipping into his now open trousers and underwear to find him rock hard. 

If his physique impressed you, you had a big storm coming, because his cock was a fucking resplendant beauty and it was plain to see from the swelling Logan really liked eating pussy. 

Your fingers barely touched as you pumped him, once twice, spreading the copious amounts of precum along his shaft.

“Fuck.” He grunts into your mouth. You lean down, positioning yourself to take him in your mouth, though he stops you in your tracks grabbing your shoulder. “No sweetheart, I want your pussy.” You clench around nothing at his filthy words, this man will be the fucking death of you. 

You reach behind you and free your tits from their confines, another moan leaves his throat as he pushes you backwards. On his hands and knees he’s deliberate with every move as kicks the bottoms of his suit off as he prowls towards you.

Finally, he’s in between your legs naked as the day he was born. His hands are on your breasts, exploring the new plains exposed to him, playing with your nipples alternating between sucking and twirling them between his fingers. 

So lost in his skilled hands, you barely notice when one disappears to line himself up, it's a shock, the sudden intrusion, but not an unwelcome one as he thrusts himself forward and as deep as he can go. 

You moan his name into his ear, doing your best to keep your volume down.

He has prepared you well, you’re so worked up that he slides home through your tight slit. The sheer size of him means it's a stretch that borders on uncomfortable, but the second his hand finds your clit you’re clenching around him and grinding forward, desperate for more. Unable to control himself, his claws extend, he grunts pulling you close and thrusting them down into the ground. 

“Fuck, you’re tight.” He grunts into your neck, where he's busy lavishing the flesh once again with bites. Your neck is going to be black and blue tomorrow, but you can’t find it in you to give a single fuck.

The two of you are so fucking close his bare skin so deliciously hot against your own, but you want more, you need more.

Logan pulls his hips backwards, pulling out of you until only the tip remains before slamming home and spearing you wide open his cock. Your moans blend together as you lose yourself in each other's bodies.

Logan is worked up from eating your cunt, so it doesn’t take long for the sensation to hit him.

“Fuck, where do you want it?” He grunts into your neck, as his hand descends to rub quick circles on your clit. He pulls your ass up, making sure to hit the spot inside of you that makes your toes curl.

You know he’s teetering on the edge, desperate to make you cum before he does. 

“Inside - come inside me, baby.” You whimper into his neck as he pounds into you reaching your deepest recesses with his thick cock, his hammering, it’s unforgiving with his enhanced strength but it pushes him deeper into spots you couldn’t have imagined. He groans at your words, sounding every bit the wounded animal he is. Your shared groans and the sound of his balls slapping against your ass as he takes you again, and again is all that can be heard in the clearing. 

Finally as he joins your lips in a kiss, you come hard on his cock. Clenching around him as your body writhes uncontrollably. 

Logan adjusts his hold on your thighs, now he uses your body, drawing out your pleasure but ultimately chasing his own. The pace is fast as he grunts and groans erotically into your neck, he fucking growls as his hips stutter against your own, and you know you should be more careful, but the thought of him cumming inside you has you gripping his cock like a vice once more. You give him a tight sheath to come in, and he pumps you fucking full of his cum and its a big fucking load. Logan thrusts a few more times, pushing his seed deep inside of you as he claims your mouth once more.

You run your hands through his hair as he lets his body fall against yours, he’s supporting his own weight, thank god, you don’t think you could handle his muscle, let alone the adamantium skeleton. He’s still sheathed inside you as the two of you revel in the closeness.

The silence stretches on for an amount of time you can’t quite quantify. The two of you take in your surroundings, listening to the quiet of the forest, until your breathing has finally calmed down. 

Logan lifts himself up on one arm, and pushes your hair back from your face. You stare at him in the moonlight for a long moment, unable to help yourself as you trace his familiar features. His strong nose and the curve of his brow, your finger dances along his flesh. 

Logan’s eyes close, so touch starved he basks in your affection. 

“I-” Logan goes to speak, before you drop your finger on his lips.

“It’s okay. Whatever happens tomorrow, happens. I’m okay with it.” You smile at him, there's a chill to the air but you’ve got your Wolverine warming you up. “I just wanted one night to be about something other than death.”

He takes your hand from his lips and kisses along the back of it and up your wrist, though It's a slippery slope as he hardens inside of you again. 

Logan manages to pull two more orgasms out of you before dawn.

When your time has run out, the two of you finally dress, not wanting to be found in a compromising position. Logan curls his body around yours and buries his face in your hair as he spoons you from behind. 

Just when you’re just on the cusp of sleep, he finally speaks into the night. Logan opens up about his world tearfully, instantly you reach your hand down, finding his own thicker one resting on your belly and you intertwine your fingers with his. He tells you of the mutant hunting as you draw comforting circles on the back of his hand, it's not much, but it's more than he’s ever had whilst reliving his worst day. When he has finally bared his soul, the two of you fall back into silence. 

After what has been an emotionally, not to mention physically taxing night the two of you finally fall asleep if only for a few more hours, two incredibly damaged souls offering one another comfort.

It’s later in the morning when you finally awake. The sun has risen that much is clear but you're slow to awaken from your comfortable position in Logan's arms, his warm strong body coiled against your back fighting off the worst of the early morning chill, his face still buried in your hair as he snores peacefully.

There’s a sensation niggling at you, you think it's what woke you up in the first place; you can’t shake the sensation of being watched. 

Lazily you open your eyes, only for your heart to drop to your asshole when you find Wade Wilson about 10-inches from your face lying on his side, his head supported by his hand.

“Mornin’ sleepy head, have a good night?” You can hear the smile in his voice. 

“AGH!”  Unable to stop both your cry of fear and your fight or flight response in progress, you throw yourself backwards, your powers activating of their own accord, and slamming your body into Logan’s chest. He startles awake, with the telltale ‘snikt’ of his claws extending as he orientates himself, his arm coming out to block you from the threat, despite not being able to see you. 

After your brain catches up, you call your power back, but Logan doesn’t do the same, keeping his claws out seemingly ready to slice up his not-so-best friend. 

“Get the fuck outta’ here, Wade.” Logan growls harshly at the other man, his voice is filled to the brim with hatred.

“Hmph - this is what I get for acting altruistically. I thought a good stress relieving bone in the woods with your cherie amour would really sort out that bee in your bonnet, but you sir are just a very unpleasant man and I’m worried that-”

“WADE.” This time Logan’s voice is a threat as he shouts at the man. You place a hand on his muscled arm to steady him. Though he may have stopped your heart with his antics, Wade isn’t doing anything particularly outrageous.  Logan shakes your hand from his arm and allows his claws to retract as he stands. 

“Thanks for jumping to my defence there, Y/N. Great to meetcha bt-dubs, huge fan.” You’re disoriented from the wakeup call but you shake the hand he offers you.  Honestly, you’re still trying to process the head-fuckery of the past day, so you don’t have a quick response for him, though the mouth doesn’t seem to mind as he continues. “That mean lil’ lady is asking for ya’. Thought I’d come and check you and big yellow weren’t still bumpin’ uglies. Didn’t want her to see you and Papa going to town on each other's fun parts.”

“Uh - Thanks… Wade?” 

“That’s me.” He theatrically begins bestowing multiple kisses on the back of your hand he still had in his grasp, which you retract gently. “Oh, and we’re done.”

Pushing yourself up, you go to stand though Logan offers you his newly gloved palm. You lock your fingers around his and the two of you stand together, inches apart and your fingers still intertwined, neither quite sure what to say to the other. Wade’s ‘awh’ over your shoulder shatters the moment and he drops your hand instantaneously. 

After a beat or two Logan leans forward, placing a single solitary kiss on your forehead. “See ya’ around, bub.”

“Where’s my smooch, Logie-bear?”

“Go fuck yourself, Wade.” He calls as he walks around, Logan doesn’t look back as he heads off into the forest. 

You still had faith he’d turn up for the fight, Logan always turned up when it counted and you knew this time would be no different. 

“Hate to see him leave, but love to watch him go.” Wade sighs linking his arm with yours. 

“Mmh, You can say that again.” You agree with the clown watching Logan’s ass as he walks away, you swear you see his step falter thanks to his impeccable hearing, but he doesn’t turn back. 

The two of you turn and you begin walking back to the cave arm in arm with the strange man to prepare for the assault on Cassandra’s lair when Wade finally asks the question you know he’s been dying to ask since meeting you “So, Y/N just between us girls… how big is it?”

LOGAN TENDER HAIR TUCK SUPREMACY RISE. I'll use it in every fic, don't think I won't.

Thanks for reading xxx

Graphics by my pal - @saradika-graphics 💕

[nexus-nebulae]

i used to like. Never drink milk i think it was my most hated beverage for a while there. and then recently i found out im lactose intolerant and at the same time was noticing i have a tendency to "not like" foods that i didn't realise were making me sick (hating tomatoes or Specifically american soda or most american breakfast foods or specific artificial sweeteners = fructose intolerance! who woulda thought) like i guess i just subconsciously avoided all the stuff my body couldn't digest well (which was great i barely had to change my diet to avoid all my allergens and intolerances) but like. recently i decided to try lactose free milk like just regular milk with the lactose Deleted and. now suddenly i keep craving milk. im actively choosing to drink milk. i think i like milk now. what the hell

[vogelmeister]

(when i say general i mean standard 2 and 2 unit is advanced)

[shrimpybbq]

rafe experiences the comfort of a mother

synopsis: rafe appears on his girlfriend’s doorstop, badly burnt and in need of care and affection

Rafe stood in front of the guest room, body stiff and hand frozen against the wooden door. He wanted to knock, he really did, and yet he was hesitant. Only the day before had the couple fought, screaming and shouting until both were out of breath. Rafe had watched his sweet girl leave with teary eyes and he’d felt bad, his heart twisting as she had slammed the door in his face. It was the same door he finally knocked on after realising he’d been motionless for too long. The rap of his knuckles echoed and for a moment, he wondered if she wouldn’t answer the door at all, until a creak sounded. Rafe raised his gaze to see his girlfriend standing in front of him, her fists rubbing the sleep away from her eyes.

“R-rafe? What are yo-”, she began to ask, voice heavy with tiredness, the hour late. It wasn’t until she looked at him properly that she paused, taking in his entire state. Rafe was standing there, clutching his arm to his chest protectively. It wasn’t the childlike pose that caught her eye though, no - it was the way Rafe’s eyes were filled with unshed tears and his bottom lip wobbling ever so subtly.

“Are you ok?” She asked gently, as if she were talking to their son. Rafe could only shake his head side to side, slowly pulling his arm away. At the sight of the red and blistering flesh, she gasped loudly, “Oh my god! What happened?”.

“I-uh, I got into some trouble,” Rafe responded timidly, full of shame and in pain.

“Come here,” his girlfriend said, gently ushering him into the guest room, “sit down. Have you cleaned this?” She asked. Again he shook his head, leading her to hum lowly. “Ok, I’ll need to clean it. Gimme a sec.”

Rafe sat on the bed patiently as he took in the room. He’d never been in there since she began sleeping in there, now taking in all the little trinkets she had lying around. He had been trying to get her to move back into his room but she still refused, and the pair used the nursery as a mutual zone.

His musings were cut off by a gentle voice questioning him.

“What happened Rafe?”

“It’s nothing, just an accident, you know?” Rafe grumbled out as she began to wet antiseptic pads in front of him. She looked up at him, gaze incredulous.

“This is bad, Rafe. You don’t just get something like this accidentally! You said you got into trouble before - what did you mean by that?” She questioned. Rafe sighed, having underestimated just how much she would question him, but he should’ve expected that, he thought to himself. When he didn’t answer, she began to clean his arm.

The sharp stinging sensation that travelled through him as the antiseptic touched his burn made Rafe jump, his voice exclaiming in shock. It was that sudden pain that caused the unshed tears in his eyes to spill over, and it was like once he started he couldn’t stop. All his pain and worries spilled out of him, the tears streaming down his face.

“Oh baby, it’s ok, come here,” he heard her say, cleaning forgotten as she pulled his head into her chest. Whenever she had comforted Rafe in the past, this had been his favourite position, curled up against her chest and having his hair stroked. So she did just that, soothing his heaving sobs with each pass through his hair. “It’s ok Rafe, you’re ok here baby. I’ve got you, ok? Breathe, Rafe.”

He didn’t know how long they stayed like that, his sobs wetting the fabric of the tank top she wore. He’d almost completely exhausted himself by the time his sobs stopped, only able to breathe deeply now. It was then his muffled voice could be heard, “it was Barry.”

He felt her stiffen before she tentatively probed further. “Barry, your dealer?”

At the feeling of him nodding, she pulled him away from her chest. Her voice was stern, as if she was talking to a small child,

“Rafe, why is your dealer burning you? What did you do?”

He looked up at her, eyes wide and rimmed with red. He looked just a like their son, she thought, his features so innocent and needy.

“I-I couldn’t pay him back in time… I tried, I really did, but I had this thing and I couldn’t get it all there in time, and I said- I said to him I would get it bu-but he didn’t care,” Rafe began to ramble, his voice pleading with her to understand him. He had been trying to do better, for her - for his family. He watched her sigh, before she returned to clean his wound in silence. Rafe wanted to speak, to explain himself more but he didn’t know what to say, and the idea of her disappointed gaze upon him once more sealed his lips. The feeling of her fingers smoothing a burn cream over his wound tenderly had him curling back into her chest.

She began to card her fingers back through his blonde locks, feeling Rafe relax against her. When he was upset he would be one of two ways: angry and reactive, or clingy and touch-starved. Today, it was clear he was the latter. She couldn’t bare to leave him alone like this, and so she gently whispered,

“Come here baby, let’s get you into bed, ok?”

Rafe pulled away, his eyes wide as he looked up upon her face.

“Here?”

She nodded and began to pull the covers away, creating a space for him to shuffle in. Rafe allowed himself to be guided under the quilt and he couldn’t help but sigh at the feeling of her fingers tenderly brushing his messed-up strands away from his forehead. As he made space for her beside him, Rafe watched his girlfriend pull away from the bed.

“Nononono-” he began to mutter, only to be cut off. His hand was outstretched pathetically to try and keep her by his side, scared to be alone.

“Hey, hey, it’s ok. I’m just going to the nursery. I thought you’d want him to stay with us tonight,” she soothed, watching surprised as Rafe shook his head in response.

“No, let him sleep. Just c’mere,” he mumbled, dragging her into his side and under the blankets. Within seconds Rafe had found his position for the night, curled up into her side, his head resting on her chest once more. He was so sullen and quiet as he listened to her heartbeat, hands clutching at her waist.

“Goodnight Rafe,” she uttered sleepily, the events of the night catching up to her.

“I love you,” he said quietly, his voice muffled against her chest. He didn’t say it often, preferring to show his love for her through actions, but she always knew it. With a soft kiss against the crown of his head, she echoed those words back to him, before slipping into unconsciousness,

“I love you too, baby.”

[sinner-as-saint]

the alchemy

Mob!Bucky x Reader 

Run-through: About a decade ago you left your home and ran away, looking for a fresh start after having had your heart broken by the boy you loved. Now you’re back and turns out Bucky Barnes – the same man who once broke your heart – is adamant on tormenting you some more. But why? Why does he want you back at all cost when he was the one who once pushed you away and crushed your heart like it meant nothing to him? What secrets has he been keeping for almost a decade? Most importantly, what truly happened that night he broke your heart? 

Themes: forced marriage/marriage of convenience, angst, mob!bucky, metal arm, fluff, smut, possessive!bucky, childhood friends-to-enemies-to-lovers trope, bratty!reader, mentions of violence, explicit language, slow burn-ish, HEA 

a/n: new mob!bucky pics dropped–

“I do.” You said in a sombre voice, with blood dripping from the cut on your lip as you sealed your fate and married your worst enemy. 

Bucky’s face was bleeding too, your nails had done some damage earlier when you both got into a physical altercation like wild animals. You nearly smirked when you realised he looked worse than you did. 

Then again you both looked like you went through hell as you stood here, at this makeshift altar, in the middle of what used to be the foyer of your father’s mansion before Bucky and his men shot at it until it was nothing but rubble, broken glass, and cracked marble. 

Messy hair. Cuts and bruises all over your bodies. Dishevelled clothes. Your white jumpsuit had your own bloodstains on it, and his all black suit was torn in certain places. But he looked every bit the man they say he is. Dangerous. Cold, dark presence. The large bruise on his jaw was beginning to get darker now, thanks to the many punches from you. His near shoulder length hair was surprisingly looking neat. It pissed you off. 

You looked like a mess too. And for a brief second, as his blue eyes looked down at your throat, you knew he could see a matching bruise forming around your neck from when he’d pinned you down to the floor earlier with that damned metal arm. 

No one was dead, none of your people and none of his. Thankfully. But right now, as you married the man standing in front of you, you felt dead inside. 

“You may now kiss the bride.” Was all you heard and you remained still as Bucky grabbed you by the waist and pulled you into him. 

You resisted for a moment, but then he pulled you harder until your chests collided and you had no choice but to remain pressed against him. “I’m tired of these games, princess.” He hissed in a lowered voice, looking down at you with his merciless blue eyes. 

You stared back at him with equal contempt. “You’re gonna regret this, Barnes.” You sneered, in a hushed voice. Not that the injured family members and men surrounding you – both his men and your father’s guards who stood and watched the show in disbelief and shock would mind the disrespect for each other in both your tones – but you didn’t want to add to the ridiculousness of this situation. 

“Oh?” He taunted with a faint smirk. Only then did you notice the small cut on his upper lip. It brought you a little solace. “You’re my wife now, you will do as I say.” 

The bitterness in your tone matched his as you said, “We’ll see about that, husband.” 

You could tell he’d accepted the unspoken challenge, and he would do anything to win. After all, everything was a game to Bucky Barnes. He didn’t care who he used, who he manipulated, or who he tossed aside. He paraded around like he owned this world and everything and everyone in it. 

Bucky scoffed then leaned in to kiss you, hard. It wasn’t a loving kiss in any way. It was possessive though. Like he was putting on a show for whoever was watching, making sure everyone in this dilapidated room understood that you were his now. 

You kissed him back, angrily. You despised him. Your entire family did. But they couldn’t save you this time. Bucky’s attack was unexpected. Your guards were unprepared. You were the last line of defence and this… union was necessary. You had to offer something, anything. Otherwise Bucky and his guys threatened to burn down your half of the city and turned it to ash immediately. 

But it wasn’t always like this. Your families used to be allies. You actually grew up with Bucky, he tolerated you enough back then and you had always had a crush on him. 

Then that night happened almost a decade ago… 

It was your twentieth birthday party, and your father made an announcement which you were not ready for. 

He announced to the ballroom filled with important people that you were to marry Bucky, and that both families were beyond happy to transform their friendship into something more solid through this alliance. 

You remained frozen in place for long minutes after that announcement was made, even though your heart raced like never before. No one had told you about this, but judging by the way your family hugged and congratulated Bucky’s family you understood that this was all planned. 

You kept that smile on your face though, as people walked over to congratulate you. You looked around and tried to find Bucky in the crowd to see if he knew about this but he was nowhere to be found. 

You were certain he was here just a moment ago, leaning against one of the pillars and brooding as always. And he’d just disappeared. 

The announcement made your heart flutter incessantly. After all, you’d always had a huge crush on Bucky. How could you not? He was the boy you grew up around, he had pretty eyes and nice hair. Sure he was broody and rarely ever smiled but you liked how it suited his bad boy personality. And your young heart was weak for the handsome boy with tattoos and blue eyes. 

After people were done congratulating you, you discretely walked out of the party and decided to look around and try to find Bucky. You hated how giddy you were. Sure, Bucky was broody and rarely ever laughed. He spent his entire time glaring at you then getting jealous when you talked to other guys. But you had liked him since forever. 

You looked all over your father’s mansion. Bucky was nowhere to be found indoors. So… maybe the pool area outside? You started walking in that direction, feeling like a princess in your white ball gown as you walked down an empty hallway, a faint smile on your face as you looked for the man you were meant to marry soon. 

Maybe Bucky knew about this announcement. Maybe he was okay with it. Maybe this would be your fairytale in real life, you thought. Maybe you’d melt his frozen heart and everything would be perfect. Maybe he liked you back all along and you just never knew! 

“...marry her?” 

Your smile vanished as you stopped right before you stepped outside onto the patio. Was that Bucky’s voice? Was he talking to someone? You quietly stepped closer, hiding behind the plants as you tried your hardest to listen to what he was saying. 

You could see him, standing on the black tiles by the pool. He had his back to you, and he held a phone to his ear. His broad shoulders and lean waist accentuated by how well that black suit moulded to his muscular body. You watched as he ran his fingers through his short black hair in frustration. 

Who was he talking to? 

“No!” He barked at the phone. “Did you not listen to what I just said? I don’t want to do this!” He yelled, not bothering that anyone around might hear him. “I tried to talk them out of it! This is so fucking stupid!” 

You blinked in surprise, unable to process what you were hearing. 

“I don’t care what I have to do, but I will not marry her.” He said with enough venomous certitude that a silent tear fell down your face. 

All your previous delusions turned to nothing but heavy disappointment. It made you feel stupid. This gown felt stupid. The diamonds around your neck, around your wrists and in your hair felt stupid. How stupid of you to think this was all going to end well? How stupid of you to think your childhood crush actually meant something? How stupid of you to think that there was a chance he liked you back? Of course he didn’t. He wouldn’t have ignored you for years if he did. 

You couldn’t stop the sudden sob that escaped your mouth. Afraid that he might have heard, you took a few steps back and hid behind a nearby, tall potted shrub. 

Things were quiet for a moment or two. You heard him whispering so quietly you couldn’t make out what he said. Your face burned in embarrassment at the thought of him finding you here. You already felt stupid and childish, you didn’t want to get caught eavesdropping in this situation. 

But then he resumed talking on the phone. You couldn’t risk moving to look at him so you remained hiding, and listened. Your heart broke with each word that left his mouth. 

“And she’s so blind she doesn’t even see it.” He hissed, louder this time. “I barely tolerate her. Her whiny, and bratty attitude. I mean she’s a grown woman and still acts like she’s daddy’s little princess.” He scoffed. “You should’ve seen her today, she looks like a kid’s toy with that ridiculous dress on.” 

More tears streamed down your face as you heard nothing but distaste and irritation in his voice. This was the boy you had a hopeless crush on? This is what he thought of you? 

You didn’t need to hear more. This was more than enough to completely break you so you turned around and quietly walked back down the same hallway. You wiped your tears, and put a fake smile on as you went back to your party. This time with a plan in your head. 

You endured the party with a heavy heart. Faked some more smiles until it ended. You didn’t see Bucky again for the rest of the night, which was good. By the early hours of the morning, everyone had left. You wandered around that empty ballroom like a ghost that night. For hours. Thinking, plotting. It was clear Bucky didn’t want this. And now neither did you. But your families had announced it. So what exactly could you do? 

By the time the sun rose, you had already written a note to your father and left it on his desk. By the time the sky brightened, your bags were packed and you were already driving out of the mansion grounds. And you knew that by the time your father would go into his office and find that note, you would already be on a plane, on your way out of here. 

You didn’t give too many details in the note. You simply said that you were leaving, not knowing when or if you’d be back. 

Truth was, you had no solid plans. All you knew was that you needed to get away from home. 

You didn’t know that when you’d return home – almost a decade later, so much would have changed. 

Your father was angry. Livid actually, that you’d been away for years without contact. You briefly explained why you needed to leave. And how you’d been able to make a name for yourself elsewhere. But after he was done berating you for what you did when you were twenty and stupid, he filled you in on all that you’d missed in the past decade almost. 

Some important points were: your family and Bucky were no longer allies, but were now each others’ worst rivals but no one knew that. The city was now secretly divided – your family ruled and controlled one side, and Bucky ruled the other. 

“It’s just him now?” You had asked, and your father nodded. 

“A lot happened after you left, actually–”

A loud noise cut him off. Rounds of bullets shot at the windows of the house, from all sides it seemed. And it was pure chaos. You could hear your guards fighting back, but even by just hearing the commotion you could tell you were severely outnumbered. 

But whoever it was, they weren’t shooting at anyone, just at windows – making enough noise to get your attention and to get you to come outside. 

You marched out of the room despite your father ordering you not to. And you were halfway down the grand stairs when he walked in and spotted you immediately with a smug look on his face. 

Bucky. Walked in like he owned the place. He stopped in the middle of the foyer, which was now ruined. Bits and pieces of concrete and glass all over the marble floor. Flower pots destroyed, the gilded mirror in pieces as well. He made a mess of the home you grew up in and you almost shot him right in the heart there and then. 

Here was the man who once broke your heart after making you think for years that maybe you had a chance. 

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” You hissed. You could hear your father coming to a stop on the landing several steps behind you. He was unprepared. You were armed with only one handgun tucked into your pocket. Your guards were outnumbered. This was a shitshow. 

The guards – his and yours – stopped firing and now just stood all over the place on high alert. And you knew, deep down in your gut you just knew something which you weren’t ready for was about to happen. 

“I see you’re finally home, princess.” Bucky just gave you a cold smile and shoved his hands in his pockets. The action drew your attention to one specific thing. The metal arm. You frowned at it in confusion, but didn’t react. 

But that word… ‘princess’ brought back memories which chased you out of this place. And it only fueled your anger. 

“What the fuck do you want?” 

He lifted his nose slightly in the air, like the arrogant prick he had always been. “I’m here to collect what I was promised.” His voice was strong and confident. “A bride. Now you have a choice, princess. Either we do this in peace and no one gets hurt, or…” 

He didn’t even have to finish his sentence because on cue, one of his guards sneakily appeared on the landing behind you, holding a gun to your father’s head. You froze for a moment. The look on your father’s face made everything so serious all of a sudden. You had to be extra careful here. 

“You wouldn’t.” 

He scoffed, “Wouldn’t I?” 

You argued, “It’s been almost a decade.” 

“I don’t care. We were supposed to marry each other–,” 

You cut him off, “Yes, and you didn’t want that, did you? I heard you on the phone that night.” You finally confessed. “By the pool. I remember every single word that came out of your fucking mouth. So don’t come here acting like you’re entitled to–,” 

“You think you know everything, don’t you?” He smirked, shaking his head. “Is that why you ran away? And didn’t come home for a decade? Because you spied on me that night and didn’t like what you heard?” 

That did it. One moment you were standing on the stairs, afraid that your father might get hurt and the next you had your gun out and shot right at his metal arm, knowing it wouldn’t hurt him but it would make him lower his guard for just a second. 

And that one second was enough to jump him and punch him right in the jaw. Fuck, it hurt but it also felt so damn good. All those years you’d been away, you were also training in your free time. And you knew you were good at combat. 

But so was he. A few punches in and he managed to throw you down on the floor and pin you to the ground with that same metal hand around your throat, keeping you in place. You didn’t know why his guards just stood and did nothing, as though they had been ordered not to shoot at anyone here. 

But you weren’t under any such orders, so you managed to land another punch to his jaw before he yelled, “Enough!” Right in your face. “Stop this shit, or I swear to–,” 

You cut him off by punching him again, trying to get free the moment you felt his metal hand get loose around your throat. He growled in annoyance and tightened his grip. 

“You’re like a wild fucking animal. Stop!” 

You gritted your teeth at the insult and scratched his face exactly like how a wild animal would. You tried everything, tried to punch him again, tried to scratch down his neck and arms which only tore his shirt instead of his skin. You went for yet another punch and only then did you feel another pair of arms – one of his guards – pulling your hands away from his face. You thrashed and tried your hardest to break free but you couldn’t and ended up biting your own lip rather badly in the process. 

“I fucking hate you, Bucky Barnes!” You hissed, defeated, and now with a bleeding, throbbing cut on your lip which matched his. 

Bucky kept his hand around your neck as he leaned in menacingly and whispered, “Hate me all you want, princess. But you will marry me. Right here. Right now.” 

And that’s how you found yourself kissing your husband, in the foyer of your father’s ruined mansion. With your helpless father, and the many guards as witnesses. 

You pulled away from the kiss, breathless and angrier than earlier. Jaws clenched, you were ready to tackle him to the ground again, maybe actually shoot him with your gun this time, but he spoke before you could say anything. 

“Let’s go.” He spoke, and like the loyal followers that they were, all of his guards silently walked out of your house. And Bucky grabbed your hand firmly in his and began pulling you out of the house as well. 

You resisted again. “Wait! You brute!” You pulled your hand away from his and ran back up the stairs to your father. “I ruined everything, I’m sorry.” 

He just hugged you and told you to be careful and be smart. And that he forgives you. You promised you’d come to see him soon. And then you left, refusing to take Bucky’s hand again as you walked out of your father’s house. 

You needed to think. You couldn’t fight him right now. Besides, it’s not like you married him legally. All Bucky wanted was to make a scene and you let him. For now. You’d need some time to come up with a plan and decide what needed to be done. But for now… 

“If you’re thinking about running away and disappearing for a decade again, you better stop. You’re not getting away this time. You hear me?” Bucky spoke, sitting next to you in the backseat of his car as the driver drove to his side of the city, to his house surely. That authoritative tone of his made you want to scratch his face again. 

“You seem to be under the impression that you’re in control here, Barnes. Just know, I could still shoot you right now if I wanted to.” You didn’t look at him, you looked out the window. At the city that had changed in your absence. 

“Ouch.” He faked his surprise. Then proceeded to put his arm around your shoulders to pull you into his chest, leaning down he whispered into your ear, “That’s not a nice way of treating your new husband, now is it?” 

You gave him a fake smile, ignoring the way your brain thought he smelled delicious, and reached into your pocket to pull out your handgun. Placing the cold barrel right under his chin you said, “Try me, husband.” 

The driver cleared his throat in nervousness and you didn’t want to traumatise the man so you pulled your gun away but left it in Bucky’s line of sight. He pulled away then, pulling his hand away from your shoulders but placed his metal hand on your thigh. A possessive move. 

Yet that didn’t bother as much. But the metal hand? Where did that come from? What happened while you were gone? 

He answered your questions voluntarily. “Got caught in a crossfire. I got shot too many times, the arm was beyond saving. So I had the metal arm made. It’s a very intricate technology, but it works just fine.” He said, flexing the hand on your skin. 

You didn’t miss the hidden sexual connotation in that last part of his sentence. And you certainly couldn’t ignore the way your body responded to the cold, metal touch. It looked… badass. Not that you would ever tell him. 

You tried to look out the window again, but his touch on your thigh was more distracting than you wanted it to be. It was all you could focus on. Just to stop thinking about it you said, “I don’t have any of my things.” 

“It’s all been taken care of. Don’t worry.” He answered, looking down at his phone. Acting like he didn’t know his hand on your thigh was messing you up. 

Still you frowned at his answer, “What do you mean it’s been taken care of?” Then you paused and thought about it for a moment, “Did you–” You sighed, “You knew I was coming, didn’t you? Did you have people spying on me?” 

He shrugged, “You thought I would let my betrothed be out there in the world without keeping an eye on her?” He scoffed, looking up from his phone for a brief moment, “Of course I did. I know everything about you. I even know all about that secret, women-only army you created.” He added, “I was half expecting them to pop out of nowhere earlier at your father’s house.” 

You were in disbelief. This whole time you thought you’d hid well. But no. 

“Where are they anyway? Your girls?” He asked, and for once it didn’t sound like a taunt. It sounded like he was genuinely curious. 

“Probably out hunting and beheading men who think they can get away with forcing women into marrying them by threatening to kill their fathers.” You gave him another one of your fake smiles, “I’ve trained them well.” 

Bucky smiled back. “Well good. When they get here to try and free you, we could unite our forces. We’ll be untouchable then, you and I. I have the money and you have an army.” He winked. “Ultimate power couple.” 

“You won’t get away with this, Barnes.” 

He looked out of the window and said, “I just came to collect what was promised to be mine that night.” 

You argued, bitterly, “Oh we both know what happened that night.” 

“I do.” He said, “But do you? Do you really?” 

You remained quiet for a moment. This was the second time he questioned your knowledge of what truly happened that night. As if you hadn’t heard him loud and clear on that phone call. 

“You–,” 

He cut you off and looked out the window as he said, “We’re home.” 

It had been a long day. And you were running out of energy so instead of arguing some more, you just followed him out of the car and remained stunned for a moment as you looked at his house. It wasn’t his family home. This one seemed new. 

It was just as large as your father’s mansion, just a lot more contemporary compared to the more Georgian architecture-inspired one you grew up in. 

Bucky’s house sat on a sprawling green and pristine property. It was a perfect blend of sleek architecture and a glass house, which allowed the right amount of privacy but also allowed glimpses of the warm, farmhouse inspired interior. Even from outside you could tell it was homey and bright inside. 

Before you could get a word out, you felt his hands on you again. You tensed up and almost hit him again in defence but before you could, Bucky was carrying you bridal style – literally – and marching towards the large doors of his ridiculously pretty home. 

“What the fuck are you doing?” You questioned, squirming just a little in the intimate embrace. 

“Traditions,” He said, looking down at you, “Can’t have you trip at the doorstep and risk bringing bad luck into our marriage.” 

You frowned at him, reluctantly wrapping your arms around his neck for support. “You say ‘our marriage’ like it’s gonna be a real thing. It won’t, Barnes. I’ll be out of here before you–,” 

He used you to push open the door and the warm interior of the home shut you up. For some reason you never imagined someone like Bucky would live in a house that actually looked like a home. You pictured him living in some villain’s lair. 

But this was… beautiful. 

You squirmed into his arms until he finally set you down carefully. You stood there for a minute, in the foyer, just looking around. Then you couldn’t help but say, “It would be a real pain if someone just started shooting at the windows of your house like a madman, wouldn’t it?” You waved your gun in front of his face. 

“I’ll send people over tomorrow morning to fix your father’s house.” 

“You don’t even sound apologetic.” You scoffed. 

“I’m not.” 

You narrowed your eyes at him. “Was it necessary? To shoot at my house like that? You couldn’t just, I don’t know, ring the doorbell to get me to come outside? You absolutely had to be a child?” 

He smirked then said, “First of all, that isn’t your house anymore. This is where you live now, and you will call this your home. Second of all, why blame me when you acted just as childish when you decided to run away all those years ago? Third of all, I did it because, well, I do like some drama.” 

You couldn’t not believe him. “You amaze me with your stupidity, Barnes.” 

“You amaze me with your bratty attitude, Mrs. Barnes.” 

You stepped closer to him, slow and in a threatening manner. “Don’t call me that.” 

“Don’t call me that.” 

You sighed, “You know you’re still that little boy who used to bully everyone when we played as kids.” 

He clarified, “No, I bullied you because you were annoying. Everyone else was fine.” 

“I hate you.” You said with enough hostility you hoped it would shut him up. 

It didn’t. “Well, see.” He took your hand in his and said slowly as if talking you down, “That’s something we’ll work on together as a couple.” 

You pulled your hand away and were so tempted to just– 

“Come,” he said, “I’ll show you where our room is.” You began protesting immediately but he cut you off by saying, “Stop being fucking difficult. We’re married now, act like it.” 

“I want a separate room!” 

“No.” 

“I’m not sleeping with you!” 

“Then don’t. But you will sleep in my bed. Like my wife should.” 

“You’re a fucking animal!” You tried tugging your hand free from his grasp. 

Bucky had had enough. So he pinned you to the nearest surface, which happened to be the closed door of his bedroom. He grabbed both your wrists in his metal hand and pinned them above your head. His face was just inches away from yours, and he stared deep into your eyes. 

Your mind immediately went to that harsh kiss you’d shared earlier. And you hated how your body squirmed just as the thought of it. You refused to think about it any more, but his mouth was just so, so close. The cut on his lip, the slight stubble on his cheek and around his mouth, the texture of his skin, you were picking up on details you’d missed. 

Bucky spoke in a calm, deep voice which sent shivers down your spine. “Let’s be adults here, okay? You stop acting like a brat, and I’ll stop treating you like one.” He said, pressing his chest into yours. “It’s been a long day, and I know you’re running out of energy as well so stop resisting me. If I was an animal, I would’ve dragged you to bed right now and would’ve made you mine in every sense of the word.” He whispered, his voice cold and dangerous. “But I’m not. So you will walk into this room, and head straight for a warm shower and after you’re done we’re gonna clean these wounds. Am I clear?” 

You nodded quickly, like an idiot entranced by his gorgeous voice. 

“Use your words, princess. Am I clear?” 

“Yes.” 

“Good. Let’s go.” 

— 

You leaned against the counter, wrapped in a fluffy robe and another towel wrapped around your wet hair, and Bucky was cleaning the cut on your lip. 

His wounds were all cleaned. It looked like he had used a different shower while you were in here. His long hair was damp and tied into a small bun, with strands of his dark hair falling on either side of his face. He had changed into a tight black t-shirt and PJ trousers. It was frustrating to look at him. Because he looked so damn good. 

Last time you’d seen him was when he was a twenty year old boy. He’d changed since. He seemed taller somehow. Or maybe it was just the muscles making him look bigger. 

You couldn’t look away from the metal arm. And the intricate details on it. 

“Are you hurt anywhere else?” He asked, throwing the used cotton balls and napkins in the trash can. 

You didn’t miss the way he was being gentle all of a sudden. Calm voice, calm movement. Very different from the man who’d forced you to marry him just hours ago. 

“No.” You answered, turning around to look in the mirror. The bruise on your neck was very much visible now. You didn’t notice Bucky approaching you again, you didn’t notice how close he got, not until he reached out and touched your neck with his warm fingers. 

And for the first time, he sounded genuine when he said, “I’m sorry. About that.” 

You met his eyes through the mirror and remained quiet for a moment. For a brief moment you thought back to that night. What if you hadn’t heard him on the phone? What if you had married him back then? Would this be a normal, daily thing? Sharing a bathroom, a bed? 

“I punched you. Multiple times. This makes us equal.” 

Bucky scoffed, then nodded. Then said, “Come to bed when you’re done.” And left you alone in the bathroom. 

Shit. You stared at yourself in the mirror. What a day. All you wanted was to pay your father a visit and maybe spend some days at home and then fly back to where you came from. Having your father’s house be attacked, getting married, and having to share a bedroom with the man who once broke your heart… yeah, all that wasn’t in the plan. 

You changed into some comfy PJs Bucky had brought you earlier and walked out into the bedroom. You found Bucky on his phone again, standing by the foot of the bed. 

“Which side do you sleep on?” He asked, not looking up from his phone. 

“Uh, right.” You answered, because for some reason now he felt the need to ask for your opinion. 

Bucky didn’t say a word as he moved to the left side of the bed and peeled back the covers before getting in. Like this was just another day. Like this was normal. You awkwardly walked to your side of the bed and just stood there for a moment. 

“Just get in bed. I won’t touch you.” 

He didn’t even look at you as he spoke and, well, the lack of attention from him bothered you. Oh what the hell. You pulled the covers and got under them. You curled onto your side, with your back facing him. 

Soon, you heard him click something and all the lights turned off. You sensed movement behind you but that was it. He didn’t touch you. In fact, there was so much distance between you two that your back felt cold. And now that annoyed you as well. 

You couldn’t sleep. 

An hour went by, you still couldn’t sleep. 

Another hour went by, and now you’d begun tossing and turning so much that you heard Bucky groaning. 

“Will you stop that?” 

“I can’t sleep.” You mumbled.

“Don’t make it my problem. Stop moving.” 

“Wow. Some husband you are.” 

Silence. Then you felt your body sliding across the bed as Bucky wrapped an arm around your waist and pulled you into his warm chest. 

“What the–,” 

“Shh.” He cut you off, his warm breath tickling your cheek as he spooned you from behind. “It’s cold. We could both use the warmth. Now go to sleep.” 

You scoffed, but didn’t move. “Your fancy house doesn’t have a thermostat? Fix the temperature.” 

“I like this better.” 

“I better not find your hands wandering.” 

You moved around for a bit, finding a comfortable spot. Then you moved some more and Bucky tightened his arm around you and whispered into your ear, “Stop wiggling against my cock. I understand it’s our wedding night and all but I’m too tired to do anything.” 

Your face burned in embarrassment. You tried to put some distance between your bodies, even though you liked his body heat, but thankfully Bucky pulled you right back. 

“Did I say you can move?” He chided. 

“What now, I need your permission to get comfortable in bed?” 

“Brat.” 

“Asshole.” 

— 

You didn’t know when you fell asleep at night. But the heat from Bucky’s chest definitely helped. It must’ve been that. And in the middle of the night, you must’ve searched for more heat. That was probably the only reason why you woke up and found yourself sprawled all over him, face into the crook of his neck and both your hands under his shirt, legs tangled with his. 

“You call me an animal. But look at you. Touching me while I was sleeping.” He mumbled. “Shameless.” 

You pulled away so fast, but then regretted it. Because now you missed his warmth. You shivered even under the covers. “Would it kill you to keep your damn house a little warmer?” 

He just yawned and got out of bed. “Get ready.” He said, “We might have a guest coming over. And you have to be a good little wife and play host.” 

“Fuck you.” 

“Oh you will.” He teased, “Soon.” Then he winked and walked out of the room. 

Well, he at least was giving you some privacy and let you have this bathroom all to yourself. Screw his and his mind games. First he barges into your house, forces you to marry him, then cuddles you to sleep. 

You caught yourself frowning multiple times while you showered, did some skin care, and found the closet on the other side of the room. You weren’t even surprised when you found a whole section filled with all you could need. All the shoes seemed like they would fit you, all the outfits as well. 

Nothing fazed you anymore. Not even the fact that your new husband might be a bit of a stalker. How else would he know your underwear size!? And there were drawers full of them. 

You tried not to worry too much as you got dressed. You were gonna get out of here soon anyway. 

Once dressed and ready for the day, you got downstairs and immediately heard Bucky’s voice, along with another voice. They were laughing over something. You found out where they were and approached the high-ceilinged, charming, farmhouse-inspired kitchen which blended with a spacious, cosy dining area. 

The other man had his back to you, but you knew that voice. Even though you hadn’t heard it in years. 

“Sam?” You couldn’t help but call out, lingering by the large doorway. Bucky remained leaning against the kitchen counter with a coffee mug in his hand, while Sam got up from where he sat at the breakfast counter. 

He turned around and his familiar, warm brown eyes met yours. He gave you a comforting smile. You, Sam, and Bucky all grew up together, along with some other kids from families similar to yours. And Sam had always been a sweetheart. You’d missed him. 

So you didn’t even hesitate to walk right into his arms once he opened them, wanting a hug. You squeezed him tight and said, “I thought I’d never see you again, Sammy!” 

Sam hugged you back just as tight, “I can’t believe I haven’t seen you in almost a decade.” He pulled away to look down at you before giving you a loud kiss on the cheek. Safe to say, he was just as handsome as he was when you left this place. “How have you been?” 

You looked over Sam’s broad shoulder and found a broody Bucky. “I’ve been better.” 

Sam got really serious, and was about to say something but Bucky’s voice rumbled from behind. “That’s enough hugging and smooching. Sam, stop touching my wife.” 

“Ooh, your wife.” Sam teased, before letting go of you and letting you walk out of his arms. “First of all, why didn’t you tell me you two were planning to get married this whole time?” He asked Bucky in an accusatory tone. “My childhood friends got married and I wasn’t even invited.” 

Sam sat back down at the breakfast counter, so he didn’t see the questioning stare you sent Bucky. So Sam wasn’t aware of the circumstances under which you got married? Of course he didn’t. Nobody knew, and Bucky wasn’t about to tell anyone 

“It all happened so quickly, Sam.” You placed a gentle hand on his shoulder as you said, “Bucky was… impatient. Even my father didn’t have time to prepare much. It all just, you know, happened.” You spoke as you helped yourself to some breakfast, taking a seat at the table where you could see both men well. 

You didn’t miss the way Bucky’s jaws kept clenching and unclenching as you tiptoed the line between telling the truth and lying to Sam. 

“Yeah,” Sam agreed, “I know how impatient he can be.” He glared at Bucky, who shook his head in disbelief. 

“I take it you two work together now?” You only asked because you remember how the parents would always talk about how wonderful it would be if these two boys worked together. Apparently they made a great team back then. 

“We do.” Bucky answered, placing his mug down before turning around and began chopping some things. 

“You see,” Sam began explaining in a playful tone. “After everything happened, Bucky was all along. Poor little princeling with no guidance and a kingdom to run.” You saw Bucky shaking his head at Sam’s words. Sam continued, “So I knew I had to step in and become his mentor. He wouldn’t have survived without me.” 

You made a mental note to ask about what ‘everything’ he was referring to, but couldn’t help but smile at the camaraderie between them, despite it all. Sam had always been a good company. He was the sun rays filtering through dark clouds, and Bucky was the dark, gloomy day who needed the sun’s brightness. 

“Wouldn’t have survived.” Bucky muttered, mocking his friend. “You helped me train sometimes. You introduced me to people. That’s about it.” He clarified, bringing over a bowl of chopped fruit over to you and pushed it towards you without a word said. 

You liked fruits for breakfast. And you assumed he remembered. But he did it all too casually. As if he did it every day. You didn’t want to cause a scene so you accepted the bowl quietly. 

“That’s about it?” Sam shook his head, then turned to you. “I took care of him like a parent–,”

“No you didn’t. You–” 

“–and this is how he treats me. I should’ve let you bleed out from that bullet wound that one time. Maybe you wouldn’t be here disrespecting me then.” 

You chuckled, clearly on Sam’s team. Bucky didn’t like that. “What about my wife then? Who would be taking care of her?” 

“I would.” Sam answered without missing a beat. “We all know if not you then I was gonna marry her.” He turned to you, knowing damn well he was gonna get a reaction out of Bucky any time now. Sam lived to mess with Bucky after all. He always did, ever since you were all kids. “Wouldn’t you have married me if Bucky had died?” He asked you with that mischievous smile on his face. 

“I–,” 

“You answer that and you’ll never see Sam again.” Bucky said, narrowing his eyes at you, before you couldn’t get a word out of your mouth. 

Sam smirked triumphantly. 

You rolled your eyes at Bucky and looked right at Sam and said, “I would’ve married you in a heartbeat, Sammy.” 

Sam went to grab your hand, surely to bring it up to his lips for a kiss, but Bucky threw a napkin right at him before he could. 

“You touch my wife again and I swear–,” 

“Must you always threaten people?” You asked, glaring at Bucky. 

He glared back. And opened his mouth to say something but Sam cut him off. “Hey, hey, kids. No fighting.” He quickly changed the topic, “Now, since you have gotten married and no one was there, how about a party? To announce it to everyone? We could invite the whole city.” 

Party. Yeah right. The last time you attended an extravagant party you had your heart broken. Not just broken, but stepped onto and crushed to a pulp. 

You went to say no, “Maybe we shouldn’t–,” 

But Bucky declared, “Absolutely we should. After all, we waited almost a decade to marry each other.” He looked right at you as he said that. “It’s time everyone knows you’re finally mine.” 

“Perfect!” Sam began planning immediately. He had always been the life of all parties, and he loved them. 

While you occasionally answered his questions, you didn’t stop glaring at your husband while you finished your breakfast. There was something he was hiding. You were certain of it. But what? 

— 

A couple days later, it was finally the night of the party. 

The past few days had been more or less similar. You’d always wake up sprawled all over Bucky’s chest, and he always made a teasing comment about it. You’d have breakfast in silence, after which he’d disappear and then he’d come home in the evenings. You never talked while having dinner. 

The one time you did talk, it didn’t end well. 

You brought it up at dinner. “I tried to go out today. Your people followed me into the city.” 

“Our people.” He corrected. Bucky didn’t find anything wrong with that apparently because he simply said, “And they’re your security detail. They’ve been ordered to follow you.” 

“So I don’t escape?” 

“So you’re always safe.” 

“Oh come on. You can’t keep me here forever.” 

He shrugged, “You’re not being kept. This is your home, we’re married. This is where you live now.” 

You stood up from the table.You didn’t care that the housekeepers you’d been recently introduced to could hear. “And who are you to make that decision for me?” You asked, in a surprisingly calm tone. 

He replied in a similar tone. “Your husband.” 

You sighed, trying your hardest to keep it all contained. “I have a life, you know? A totally separate life I’ve been living since I left this place. I have to get back to it at some point. You proved your point. Now let me go.” 

He ignored all of that. “I’m working on transferring all your businesses and staff here.” He announced. “I’m buying a brand new building in the city, you can have it and set it up however you want. The only thing I can’t find is your secret army of highly trained soldiers.” 

“You’ll never find my girls.” 

“Why’s that?” 

“They’re trained to outrun men like you. All men, in fact.” You added, “I made sure of that. I made sure they’d never be used and moved around like pieces on a chessboard then discarded by people like you.” 

“Sounds like you speak from experience.” 

“Fuck you, Barnes.” You spat before walking away. 

You made sure to sleep on the very edge of the gigantic bed that night, as far away from him as possible. But in the morning, you still woke up snuggled into his chest, on his side of the bed, like you’d been trying to burrow under his skin seeking warmth at night. 

You didn’t speak after that. You made sure to ignore him. Each time you left the house, to go see your father or to just roam around the city you’d missed so much, you’d look in the rear view mirror and find big, bulky SUVs following you around. 

And here you were now, after days of silent treatment, you stood in front of the large mirror in the closet of your bedroom and watched your reflection. Of course the bastard had chosen an extravagant evening gown for you to wear which looked eerily similar to the one you wore that night for your birthday almost ten years ago. 

Except this one was much more elegant. And looked a lot like a wedding dress. With its simple square neckline, thin straps, fitted bodice and a majestic skirt. All white and sparkly. The last time you felt like a princess, the night ended terribly. So this time you were afraid to even let yourself appreciate the beautiful woman in the mirror who stared back at you. 

You kept fidgeting, with the skirt of the dress, watching it swish around. You didn’t notice Bucky approaching you from behind. Not until he stood right behind you, his chest brushing against your slight exposed back. 

He looked… unreal in his all black suit. Shiny black tie and a small shiny pin. His hair was perfect as always, and his all black outfit really made his eyes seem bluer than ever. Or maybe it was the lights in this closet that did it. But it made you notice the lines by his eyes, which gave away just how much time had gone by. 

He was still that bad boy with tattoos whom you had a crush on, who made your race whenever he looked at you. Except now he was older, meaner. And your husband. Whom you hated. 

Did you? 

You tensed up when he placed a hand on your waist, right where the bodice and skirt were sewn together. You met his eyes through the mirror, but said nothing. You had no mean words to throw at him this time and neither did he. 

“You look beautiful.” He said, leaning in just a little to rest his cheek against your temple. 

You froze at the soft touch which drove you insane. You must be ovulating, you thought, because there was no way that mere touch was making your heart race like this for no other reason. You began breathing faster, that’s how fast your heart was racing. 

You almost leaned into his touch, ready to forget it all just for one moment of warmth. Of peace and quiet. Just one moment to appreciate that you looked beautiful and you had your husband’s attention and all was well. To appreciate that you two look great together. To stop fighting this weird alchemy between you two which kept drawing you to one another no matter what. But then you remembered. 

“Do I?” You asked, keeping your voice steady. “You sure I don’t look like a kid’s toy with this ridiculous dress on?” 

He remembered too, judging by the look on his face. He looked surprised, then briefly apologetic before settling on a familiar, broody frown. “What did I say about being a brat?” 

“I’ll stop being a brat when you stop being an asshole.” You scoffed. “You always were so… careless. With people. With everything. Always thinking you were above everyone else, ever since we were just kids.” You added, “I hate you.” 

He smirked, then grabbed your elbow and turned you around so he could look at you, or glare at you with his ocean blue eyes. “You didn’t hate me back then, did you?” He pushed you against the closest surface, which happened to be a wooden dresser. “You craved my attention back then. You used to find excuses to hold my hand when we were little. When we got older you used to hate it when I looked at other girls at school. Now look at you. You’re in my house, you sleep in my bed.” He leaned in, whispering in your ear, “You’re my wife. Then why do you keep resisting me, hmm?” 

“I was stupid back then. Wasted so much time trying to get your attention, and all I ever was to you was a whiny, bratty–,” You cut yourself off with a surprised gasp as you watched Bucky lower to his knees in front of you, his hands lifting the skirt of your dress. He was rough with it, crumpling it in his strong fists. “What are you doing?” You asked, shocked and surprised but not making a move to get away. “You– you’re ruining my dress.” 

He looked up at you, bunching some of the fabric near your waist and holding the front part of your dress up, pinning the bunched up skirt at your abdomen. As if he wanted to– 

Your entire face burned when you realised just how close and intimate this was. 

“I bought this dress. I’ll ruin it if I want to.” He spoke in that arrogant tone you weren’t sure you entirely hated at this moment. “You’re lucky I’m not tearing it off of you.” 

“And you’re lucky I’m not–,” 

He cut you off by leaning in and kissing your inner thigh. Just like that. As if you weren’t on the verge of arguing just now. You were still processing that soft kiss he left on your thigh, and he was already moving to spread your legs apart as he slowly looked up, waiting to see if you’d tell him to stop or push him away. 

You didn’t. 

His eyes remained focused on your face as his hand reached out and he ran his metal knuckles between your legs, along your wet folds through your thin underwear, making you shudder at his mere touch. You flinched at the cold, but didn’t pull away. 

“You’re dripping.” He commented, slowly sliding down your underwear. “Does arguing with me turn you on, baby? Is that why you do it all the time?” He smirked, finally throwing your underwear to the side. 

You glared at him, opening your mouth to argue yet again but you ended up just letting out a soft moan as you felt his metal fingertips gently trail up and down your legs. He chuckled at how sensitive and responsive you were. Bucky placed a kiss on your inner thigh again and you gasped.

“Looks like you haven’t been taken care of in a while.” He said, moving his fingers over your clit, circling it slowly. “Have you?” He sounded like he was accusing you.

“No.” You hissed, angry at how much you didn’t mind his touch. “You barged in and married me before I could go out and find someone who might–,” 

“I tolerate you talking to and about Sam because he’s our friend.” He cut you off. “But if I hear you talking about any other man, I promise I will be committing unnecessary crimes and it’ll all be on you.” He paused, glaring at you. “You hear me?” 

You nodded. Fuck he looked good from up here. 

He held your stare as he leaned in and placed his mouth to your core, giving your clit a firm such before his warm tongue slipped past your folds and teased your dripping hole. One hand holding part of your dress up while the metal one worked in tandem with his tongue, circling your throbbing clit and parting your wet folds with ease. 

“Should’ve known you’d taste like fucking heaven,” He whispered, almost to himself. 

You couldn’t hold the moans and whimpers in, feeling his stubble rubbing against your soft skin, craving more of it. You couldn’t help but slide hesitant fingers into his hair, pulling him closer. “Please, more…” You whined. 

That made him wild. And he ate you out relentlessly, taking his time and learning what worked for you and what didn’t, until your legs were shaking and your moans were louder. 

He slid his fingers, just a knuckle deep inside you and watched how much you loved that. “That feels good, doesn’t it, baby?” 

You only whimpered in response. 

When he was certain you were right on the edge, hips moving in a frantic way which made you grind against his fingers and tongue, only then did he pull away and let go of your dress before standing back up to face you with a condescending smirk. 

“You think it’s that easy?” He spoke, but you focused more on the wetness coating his lips rather than his words. 

You blinked a couple of times to break out of whatever spell he’d just put you under using that damned mouth and fingers of his. He’d… he’d dared bring you right to the edge. But hadn’t let you come. 

You were breathing heavily, feeling hot and tingly all over. 

He chuckled, enjoying the speechlessness which was rare when it came to you. “If you want more, then behave tonight. Be good and tell everyone how in love we are and all the nice things, and I promise I’ll take care of you later tonight. Okay?“

You knew what he was doing. He wanted you to tell as many people as possible because the more people knew, the harder it would be for you to sneak out of this place again. 

He didn’t even wait for a response. He just licked his lips clean, shamelessly holding your stare while he did. Then turned to the mirror and fixed his suit before bending down to pick up your discarded underwear. You looked away, embarrassed but waiting for him to hand it to you. 

Except he didn’t. He pocketed it like it was nothing and said, “Come on, our guests are waiting.” Then he walked out of the room like nothing happened. Like he hadn’t made you almost lose your mind just minutes ago. Like he didn’t have his tongue and fingers inside you. Like he hadn’t gotten so close to making you come. 

Like your heart wasn’t still racing even after he’d left the room. 

Eventually, you calmed down. Fixed your makeup, hair and dress again before heading towards the temporary, clear outdoor party tent Sam had people install in Bucky’s huge backyard. The closer you got, the more it looked straight out of a fairytale. Given the clear walls, you could see the golden lights and decor inside. 

The chandeliers, the floral arrangements, the tables and the dance floor where people danced with their partners. 

Speaking of partners, there by the entrance stood a tall, dark figure. Your husband. 

“Took you a while.” He muttered once you got close enough to him. 

You stopped by his side and sighed. Then answered in a monotone voice, trying to hide how bothered you were. “Well, some conceited asshole left me to deal with a mess he made so there’s that.” 

Bucky snickered. “Don’t act so indifferent. You were dripping all over my tongue and hand just minutes ago.” 

“Keep your voice down.” You hissed. 

“Nothing to be ashamed of. It’s not taboo for a husband to take care of his wife, you know?” He sounded just as annoying as you expected he would. 

You looked down and noticed he had his elbow extended out for you to take. You took it and spoke once you two began walking into the venue. “If you think you are getting anywhere near me to take care of me again, husband, you are dead fucking wrong.” You put a fake smile on as people began noticing your arrival and flocked to you. 

Bucky whispered one last thing into your ear before he left you in the care of the excited, curious, and loud group of ladies coming your way, “Oh you’ll beg me to touch you soon enough, wife.” 

Then he was gone again. Leaving you right on that edge again. 

Damn him! 

—

You had to give it to Sam, he knew how to organise a party. The decor, the food, the music, the performances, all of it was perfect. 

He even re-introduced to all the people you might have forgotten while you were gone. And naturally everyone had questions. You repeated the same answers to them all. The same lies. 

Where were you this whole time? You wanted to do your own thing, and make your own name so you decided to get away from home. 

Why did you leave right after it was announced that you were to marry Bucky Barnes? Oh your father never said when you were to marry him. He just said you would. Besides, both you and Bucky were too young to marry back then. 

Did Bucky know you were going to be gone? Of course he did! You two were childhood sweethearts after all. Yes, you did keep in touch this whole time and only fell more and more in love. Yes, distance does make the heart grow fonder and all. 

Why did the wedding happen so suddenly and in secret? After almost a decade of being far apart from each other, you two could no longer wait anymore. So you eloped the day you came back. 

There are rumours that your father and Bucky have some kind of tension going on between them, is any of it true? That was the one question you didn’t feel too confident about. Because your father never ended up telling you why that was. How did the rivalry start? You lied and said, it’s just because you eloped. Your father wanted to be involved but you were too in love to think straight. So now your father was giving your poor husband a hard time for stealing his little girl. 

As you paraded around and met everyone, you could feel Bucky’s eyes on you at all times. You didn’t have to look to know. You could feel the burning sensation along your back and you just knew he was watching you. 

And he watched all night. Up until the moment people began leaving and you had no choice but to find him again, not knowing what else to do. 

“You lie very well.” He commented, holding his elbow out for you to take again. 

You did. And also leaned into him a little because you had been standing for too many hours. You decided to ignore the hostility for just a minute. “Yes, I’m a natural.” 

“Everyone bought your bullshit about how we are childhood sweethearts turned lovers.” He whispered, turning his head to face you. 

“Well, you did say to make it believable.” 

“Oh it is.” He boasted, “Especially since you’ve been looking at me like that the whole night.” 

You rolled your eyes, “How?” 

“With longing, and desire. You’re all hot and bothered. You crave my tongue back on that throbbing little clit, don’t you?” 

“You’re delusional, Barnes.” 

“And you’re dripping wet for me, Mrs. Barnes.” 

— 

The party ended, and after Sam left you and Bucky made your way back inside the house. Sam, being the angel that he was, had made sure a clean up crew would be here early the next morning so you had nothing to worry about. 

Not that it should bother you whether or not Bucky’s house is tidy. 

You had a faint smile on your face as you went about your nighttime routine. Shower, skin care, a quick snack in the kitchen. And while you were downstairs, searching the pantry for something sweet, you saw Bucky near the thermostat. 

The pantry hid you well, so Bucky didn’t see you. But you watched him mess with the temperature. You squinted and realised he was lowering it. The damned bastard was making it colder! No wonder you were freezing each night and woke up each morning snuggled up to him, basking in his warmth. 

This asshole. 

You remained in hiding until Bucky left, and this time as you made your way upstairs you vowed you wouldn’t reach for his warmth. No matter how cold it got. And he wouldn’t get to use you as a personal heated blanket either. Let him freeze. 

You barely lasted thirty minutes under the covers. 

And he was quiet and didn’t move so you thought he was asleep already as you carefully scooted a little bit closer, trying to feel where he was in the dark. If only this bed wasn’t so damn big. You patted around, trying not to move to much as you– 

“I can hear you, you know? If you want to cuddle, just say it.” 

You stopped moving immediately. “Shut up.” You muttered, frowning at him even though he couldn’t see it. You could see his faint silhouette in the dark, so you knew when he turned on his side to face you. 

“What is it, wife? You need some warmth on this cold, cold night?” He asked in that mocking tone of his. 

“No.” You answered, lying. Because yes you did. 

He muttered ‘stubborn brat’ under his breath and then grabbed you and pulled you close until your back was completely pressed against his chest. His warm, comfy chest. You bit back a sigh of relief once you felt his body heating wrapping you in a cocoon. 

“I saw you messing with the thermostat.” You admitted. 

“Oh?”

“Yes. You make it cold on purpose.” 

“Oh no.” He mocked. “ Why didn’t you fix it then?” He asked, and it hit you how childish this was. He leaned in just enough so that his lips brushed against your cheek when he spoke. “Could it be that you like cuddling with me?” 

“Shut up.” 

He scoffed, finally wrapping his arms around you, but you hissed upon feeling his metal arm on your body.  

“It’s cold.” 

“Warm it up for me then.” 

“What–” 

You stopped talking the moment Bucky grabbed one of your legs and hooked it on top of his, spreading your legs to make room for his hand as you both remained on your sides, with him spooning you from behind. 

His metal hand found itself sliding into your shorts, past your underwear and he cupped you with such confidence and authority that you couldn’t help leaning into and grinding into his touch. His other hand slid under your pillow and down so he could grab and give your breast a firm squeeze. 

Fuck. His hands felt like they were touching you everywhere. 

“I told you I’d take care of you if you behaved.” He whispered into your ear. “Time for a little reward, wife.” 

He slid two fingers inside you, you gasped at the feeling of him being knuckles deep inside you. You whined as he stretched you a little, moving his fingers around until your hips were moving on their own, trying to get him to move some more. 

He chuckled. “That feels good?” He murmured into your ear. 

His voice, his warmth, the softness of his embrace, the unhurried way his fingers were moving in and out of you, sliding over your clit and stroking your walls like he had all the time in the world. 

Your hands wrapped around his metal wrist, keeping his hand in place as you rode his fingers the way you wanted. Hips moving forward and causing his fingers to slide in and out, while you moaned and whimpered. 

His lips brushed against your cheek over and over again as he whispered against your skin, “See how nice it is when you behave? Hmm? You can have me whenever you want, baby. Just be good for me, and I’ll do anything for you.” 

The animosity between you was forgotten at this moment. Here, in this dark room the past didn’t matter for a few minutes. Nothing mattered, just that you wanted something and he was giving it to you. 

His thumb caressed your clit, teasing it a little more until you cried out, “Bucky, please…” 

He froze. You did too. Then he chuckled and said, “So all is takes is a little finger fucking and now you have manners and you call me by my name?” He sounded just as annoyingly playful as you knew he would. 

“Oh fuck you!” You spat, then immediately let out a loud moan as he sped up and really fucked you with his fingers until you were a whimpering mess. “Please, please, please…” 

“What did I say, huh?” He hissed. “Keep acting like a fucking brat and you’ll be treated like one.” He kept his fingers moving in and out of you. “I planned on really taking care of you tonight, but you know what? This is all you’re gonna get.” 

Your moans and whimpers got louder and louder until you began clenching around his fingers, coming undone with a loud cry of his name. Body shaking and your hips grinding down on his hand as you savoured the last moments of your orgasm before he pulled out and pulled away from you. 

You thought he’d go right back to sleep but then you felt him get out of bed. “Where are you–,” 

“I’ll fix the temperature.” He mumbled, sounding annoyed. Rightfully so. “Go to sleep.” 

And that was the last you heard or saw of him until the morning because you passed out right after. You didn’t even know if he returned to bed or not. Not that you cared much. 

Right? 

— 

Things changed after that night. 

A lot changed actually. Bucky had, miraculously, managed to uproot ten years of your life from elsewhere and planted it right here in the city. He took you to the building he’d been getting ready for you and it sure was something. You didn’t know what you expected but a brand new skyscraper was not what you had in mind. 

The day he handed over papers and keys and gave you a tour of the huge building was the first time you felt a shift in this… bond you shared with him. 

“Thank you.” You simply said as you both stepped into the shiny elevator so he could take you all the up to the top floor, to show you to your new office. 

Bucky slid his hands in his pockets and turned to face you. “You think being nice equals sexual favours from me, wife?” 

You could’ve told him to shut it. Or told him to go get fucked. But he was trying to be good to you, wasn’t he? Even after all he did, he wanted you next to him for some unknown reason and frankly you were tired of resisting. Your entire life was here now anyway. It wouldn’t hurt to… try. Would it? 

So instead you answered with, “Doesn’t it?” 

Bucky narrowed his eyes at you, searching for the catch. He didn’t find any so he said, “We’ll see about that.” 

And that night he followed you into the shower and kissed you hard under the falling water. “I see you behaved yourself today.” He whispered against your mouth. 

You pulled him closer by grabbing his neck and said, “Do I get a reward then?” 

He didn’t say anything, just kissed you hard again and walked the two of you backwards until your back collided with the cold clear glass of the shower cubicle. Then he pulled away, looked down into your eyes. His own filled with lust and hunger as he asked, “You’re gonna let me fuck you?” 

You nodded quickly before saying, “Yes. Please.” 

He didn’t waste a single moment. He grabbed one of your legs and hooked it to his hip, spreading you open. He kissed you senseless again while he pushed inside of you. You moaned into the kiss as he filled you up, his cock stretching you out, making you whine and whimper as he slow fucked you. 

“Fuck…” He breathily moaned against your open mouth while he moved against you. Pushing deeper, in and out of you until your moans and whimpers got louder and louder. The sound of the water falling from the shower drowned out most of it, so he fucked you until you moaned loud enough that he could hear you over the falling water. 

“Please,” You cried out. Weeks of frustration wanting to be let out. “Please, Buck…” Your hands wrapped around his shoulders, and you held on while he fucked you. 

Bucky almost froze again at the sound of his nickname falling from your lips. But he maintained his composure and sped up into you, feeling your walls clenching around him, gripping his cock. 

“You’ve been good today,” He said, noticing the way you clenched around him hard at the sound of praise. “You didn’t talk back, not once. Is it because you wanted this cock, baby?” 

You whined in response. Feeling his damp skin rubbing against yours, and for a brief moment you wanted to live in this moment forever. 

“Oh, poor baby.” He gave you a messy, heated kiss then said, “It’s all yours, you know? You just have to ask nicely. And you can have it whenever you want.” 

“Please…” You begged again, your pride nowhere in sight. “Please, Bucky.” 

“Come for me, baby…” He breathed against your skin. His hands held you in place as he pounded into you. “Come for me.” 

You did, moaning so loud it was all he heard as he came right after you. 

— 

It became a daily thing over the next few weeks. You’d seek Bucky out at random times during the day or more often right when he’d get into bed at night. 

“Were you good today, wife?” He asked, his hands already moving all over you trying to undress you as fast as he could. 

“Yes,” You breathed into his ear, your hands touching him all over his tattooed chest. “I even made you breakfast, remember?” 

“Those burnt pancakes count?” 

You shut him up by kissing him, pulling him down onto the bed and straddling him, then proceeded to ride him until you were both moaning and spent, too tired to move. 

—

Things got… playful. 

Oftentimes you’d catch yourself wondering why you weren’t actively working to get out of here. But your whole life was here now. Work, your family, and your husband. You didn’t hate Bucky as much as you thought you would. Just a few months ago you wanted to kill him on sight but now… 

“I saw the new building you work at. He bought you that?” Your father asked one morning when you went over to join him for breakfast. 

You cleared your throat and answered, “He did. He moved everything here. My businesses, my staff, all of it.” 

“And the girls?” He asked, referring to the infamous, feared, and fierce army you had raised and trained over the last ten years. 

“My girls are free to go wherever they want to.” You let pride fill you as you thought of them. “Besides, they don’t have to be here for me to know I can always count on them. They’re just a phone call away.” You explained. “Plus they have work to do. People to save, women to recruit. You know, the usual.” 

“I’m proud of you, you know?” 

You smiled at your father. Then a few moments passed and you couldn’t help but ask, “What happened after I left? Where is the rest of Bucky’s family?” 

Your father looked surprised. “He didn’t tell you?” 

“Tell me what?” 

Your father shook his head. “It doesn’t matter now. They’re all gone anyway. Plus the boy, he… he treats you right, doesn’t he?” 

You nodded. Then left it at that. You wanted a peaceful morning with your father, you didn’t want to ruin it by insisting he tell you about whatever it was that he wanted to keep in the past. 

—

But it bothered you, knowing that something happened while you were gone that you knew nothing about and everyone refused to tell you about it. 

All except one man. Your beloved friend, Sam. 

He showed up one morning, demanding to see Bucky. 

“He said he has an important phone call to attend to. With someone named Steve. He’s been outside for over an hour now,” You explained to Sam, who stood at the foyer looking disappointed, “It looks like he’ll be out for quite some time.” 

Sam frowned, and sighed. “He said to come over for a round of golf.” He sounded like he’d been betrayed. “Ever since he started doing business and being friendly with that Steve guy,” Sam complained, “That bitch has been trying to steal my best friend.” 

You chuckled and grabbed his hand to lead him further into the house. “I’m sorry my husband ruined your playdate, Sammy. But you can hang out with me.” 

Sam reluctantly agreed only after you promised to make him blueberry muffins. He liked those ever since you were kids. 

He agreed to help, and you both had a nice, comfortable conversation going while you worked. You caught yourself shaking your head a few times thinking about how just a few months ago if someone had told you you’d be in Bucky’s kitchen making muffins you wouldn’t believe it. 

But here you were now. 

Then Sam casually said, “I’m glad you two worked it out, you know? You’re so perfect for each other. Even back when we were kids, remember how everyone used to tease you two and say you would surely marry one another?” He laughed. “I mean after he told me all about how you heard him on the phone with me by the pool, I was worried you might never clear up the misunderstanding.” He chuckled, keeping his eyes down as he lined the muffin tin so didn’t see the way you froze. Sam continued, “I thought that’s why you left when I heard about your sudden disappearance. But–”

You cut him off, heart racing as memories of that night came flooding back in. “Sam… what do you mean on the phone with you?” 

Sam looked up, frowning. “That night of your twentieth birthday. Remember how you found Bucky by the pool? He was on the phone with me that night. He was so angry when he told me what his family was planning to do to yours, how they were going to–,” Sam cut himself off as the realisation set in. “Did he not tell you the truth?” 

Your heart pounded. Something was wrong. 

“Tell me what truth?” 

Sam’s eyes softened. “Oh, I shouldn’t be the one to–,”

“Sammy, please.” You begged in a whisper. “Even my father refuses to tell me anything. I have the right to know. What happened?” 

Sam tried his hardest to make sense as he told you everything in a rush. “Look, something went wrong back then. Bucky’s family began siding with the rivals and they were trying to take your father down. They tricked your dad into thinking that getting you and Bucky married would be a good idea and well, your father chose to believe his friends so he made that announcement at the party.” Sam sighed, “But Bucky’s family were planning something really bad. They were going to use the wedding as an excuse to gather all your family in one place and… end all of you. Just so they’d be able to expand their territory. Bucky found out about this plan and he was pissed. So that night, he called me. To vent.” 

You felt your eyes begin to water. 

Sam continued. “But then you found him. I remember him whispering to me that you were doing a terrible job at hiding behind a plant or some shit. Then your huge gown gave away your hiding spot. But given you were listening, Bucky decided he’d get you annoyed enough to have you at least try to call off the wedding which would buy us some time to figure out what to do. That’s when he began saying those things about you. Trying his hardest to sound like he truly did not want to marry you.” Sam sighed, “I mean there might have been a better way of doing it rather than fake dialogues on a phone call, but we were twenty year old boys. We didn’t know better. We didn’t know you’d write that note and just disappear.” 

What the actual fuck. 

“Sam…” You whispered in disbelief. 

He shook his head. “Please tell me you didn’t truly believe all that. He lied when he said those things that night, you know? Bucky liked you ever since we were kids. You don't remember how he used to get mad at me whenever I was around you for too long? How he always ignored your hiding spots when we played just so you’d win at hide-and-seek? You don’t remember how he used to bully your stupid boyfriends as we got a older?” 

You couldn’t believe any of this. But Sam would never lie to you. 

“Wait,” Sam put the pieces together. “So you didn’t know about any of this?” 

You closed your eyes and sighed, “I didn’t. I heard all the things he said that night and… I had spent my entire life loving him and I thought…” You sighed. “I was young and stupid and heartbroken so I just left.” Then you explained. “I got back recently, Bucky made this whole show of raining down bullets at my father’s house and, well, we kinda got married that same day, in my father’s destroyed foyer.” 

“You didn’t talk to each other this whole time?” Sam was in disbelief. “Oh for fuck’s sake. And I thought Bucky just never mentioned you while you’ve been gone because… well, he’s not exactly good at the whole heart to heart thing. He’s Bucky.” 

Your surprise morphed into anger really quickly. “I need to find my husband.” You said, quickly walking out of the kitchen. 

Sam yelled behind you, “I'm gonna take this muffin batter and go before he shoots me after he finds out I told you all this!” 

You just yelled back, “Bye Sammy, I love you”

Sam’s voice sounded distant as he yelled back, “Don’t let him hear you!” 

You ran out to the back, where Bucky said he would be. And you found him by the pool. Again. The sight of him standing there gave you déjà-vu. Except he wasn’t your twenty-year old crush, in a black suit, arguing with who turned out to be Sam, on the night of your birthday anymore. 

He was older now, your husband, wearing dark trousers and a loose white-button up shirt, standing by the pool with the sun setting behind him. You stood on the patio, for a second more, admiring him. The metal hand casually shoved in his pocket and his heavily tattooed arm held a phone to his ear. 

You called out, no longer containing your anger. “You absolute piece of shit!” 

Bucky looked towards you and just frowned, before rolling his eyes. Then said on the phone, “Hang on a minute, Steve. My wife’s angry at me again.” He lowered the phone to his chest and whispered to you, “What is it this time?” 

“How long were you going to keep the truth from me?” You accused him. “Why didn’t you just tell me?” 

He raised the phone to his ear again and said, “I’ll call you later Steve, something came up.” Then he hung up, tossed his phone onto one of the lounge chairs before turning to face you again. “Don’t get mad–”

“Stop telling me what to do!” 

He sighed. “Did Sam tell you anything? I saw his car coming in earlier.” 

You hissed, “Oh leave him alone! He’s a good man who doesn’t lie to me!” 

Bucky shook his head, understanding that you knew all about what he’d been hiding, and too calmly said, “They were gonna kill you. All of you. Not just your family members, but the guards, the family friends, the members of your family who aren’t even in this life – all of you. I had to do something. My folks were wrong, I couldn’t let innocent people die just because my family got too power hungry.” 

You took a step forward, “Why didn’t you tell me before I left? I would’ve talked to someone.” 

“We barely even talked to each other as we got older. I thought you wouldn’t believe me.” 

“But you could’ve at least tried to say something!” 

He was quiet for a moment. Then said, “I came to see you the next day.” He confessed. “The morning after the party. But your father had found your note and you’d already left. You never mentioned exactly why you left in the note, so I let him think it was because of me.” He explained, “Since there would be no wedding I didn’t have to worry anymore. But the threat remained. So I goaded your father into a fight. He took the bait and tried to shoot at me. He missed, of course. But enough people heard about it so he ended up declaring war against my family.” 

He paused. You listened quietly. 

“No one knew it was all because of me. But at least from then on, your father was more cautious. And he began hating my folks. And they couldn’t keep pretending to be his friend for much longer either. All the truth began spilling out. Soon the city was divided and the attacks began. Allies became enemies, just like that.” 

You were quiet. Processing everything. All of that shit happened and you were not aware. 

For some reason, you asked, “During those attacks… Is that when you lost your arm?”

You only realised you’d been stepping closer and closer to him when he raised said metal arm and touched your cheek gently. He smiled and said, “No, baby. That was a different time.” 

You had a tear sliding down your face. He wiped it away. “What happened then?” You asked. 

“My folks didn’t stand a chance. Your father was not only angry and betrayed, but he was also sad that he lost you because of them, or me.” Bucky explained. “It got… really bad. Your father lost a lot of his guys. Then he got angrier. So he stopped responding to the petty attacks and came after my folks directly.” 

“He killed them?” They were his friends once. 

Bucky said, “He still doesn’t know I helped him all the way until the end.” 

“But he spared you.” 

Bucky smirked. “He just could never catch me.” 

“But your family…” Bucky went against his own you realised. 

“They were bad people. Not just because of what they planned to do to you but…” He sighed. “They were doing bad things in the background. Dealing in substances, and people.” He spared you the gory details. 

But you understood.  

“Why didn’t you tell me all this that day we got married?” 

“You wouldn’t have believed me. You had just spent ten years hating me.” He shrugged. “But hey, it kept you safe.” 

You stepped closer to him, feeling tired with all that you felt inside you. “So you never meant the things you said that night?” 

Bucky pulled you close, cupping your face in his hands. “I have loved you my entire life. I never stopped.” 

You sniffled, looking up into his pretty eyes. “We lost so much time. I spent years hating you for nothing.” It hurt thinking about it. 

He smiled at you, “I should’ve thought it through better. But I was young and rash, and my family threatened to kill the girl I loved. I thought I was doing the right thing by pushing you away.” He sighed. “I just didn’t think I was going to lose you for almost a decade. I was always aware of where you were and what you did in life in those years. I was so proud of everything you did, the name you made for yourself. But I couldn’t reach you. You were angry and you hated me. So I waited. And then you came back and… I needed you with me. I’m sorry, I couldn’t wait any longer.” 

You wrapped your arms around him, shoving your face into the crook of his neck as you let the tears fall quietly. 

“Shh,” He whispered, running a comforting hand down your back. “It’s okay now, I’m here. We’re okay.” 

“I’ve been mean to you.” You whispered. “I’m sorry.” 

He chuckled quietly, “And I shot at your father’s house. We’re equal.” 

“I… I love you too, you know?” You sniffled. 

Bucky pulled away so he could look down at your teary face. “Sorry to say this, wife, but this isn’t half as romantic as the first time you told me you loved me.” 

You frowned. “What?” Did you talk in your sleep? Oh no. Did you? “When did I say it?” 

“We were seven, playing in the hedge maze in your father’s backyard.” He smiled, thinking about that day. “He had just had a new water fountain placed in there, and you wanted to show it to me. You must have thought it was pretty and that I needed to see it too. Then you dragged me all the way there and told me you loved me.” He smirked, “Seven-year old you would be disappointed in you right now.” 

A chuckle escaped your lips at the faded memory. “I wish we could go back in time.” 

“Well, we can’t. But we can have the rest of our lives together.” 

You sniffled again, wiped your tears. Then nodded, and leaned in for a kiss. Deepening it the moment he kissed you back. Your fingers found their way into his longish hair and you gently tugged at his roots. 

He smiled into the kiss when you whispered against his lips, “I like you with long hair.” 

“I see you’re being nice again,” He murmured in between kisses, “Does my wife need something?” 

You giggled this time. “I want you, Buck. Just you.” 

“You have me.” He said. “Always.”

[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."

_____

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[chaconnenha]

ꔫ I'LL BE YOUR BOYFRIEND

❛ 𝐈𝐍 𝐖𝐇𝐈𝐂𝐇───𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝖽𝗈𝗇'𝗍 𝗐𝖺𝗇𝗍 𝗍𝗈 𝗌𝖾𝖾 𝖾𝖺𝖼𝗁 𝗈𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗋 𝗐𝗂𝗍𝗁 𝖺𝗇𝗒𝗈𝗇𝖾 𝖾𝗅𝗌𝖾...

爱 𝓮𝗇𝗁𝓎𝗉𝘦𝓃 𝔁 𝒻!𝗋𝖾𝖺𝖽𝖾𝗋 › sum. you're not his girlfriend, and he's not your boyfriend, but... ♯ cw. jealousy & possessiveness, petnames, minor suggestive, insecurities ✉️Ꮺ jw's scenario inspired by @jwnstars <3 ❪ THE ✦ LIBRARY ❫

𝐇𝐄𝐄𝐒𝐄𝐔𝐍𝐆 doesn’t even spare a glance to the girl clinging onto his arm when you walk through the door. immediately brushes the girl off to follow you when you glare at him, before turning on your heels to walk away. he really doesn’t want anything to do with someone who isn’t you, but has to put up an act because that’s the only way you ever show him any reaction. doesn’t take long to find you where you sit at the bar alone, nursing an untouched drink. you roll your eyes, getting ready to leave, but his hand shoots out to grab yours and pull you into his lap, arms wrapping around your waist. “no need to act so jealous,” he teases. when you deny it, he chuckles, because you weren't fooling anyone except yourself. “you know, you could end this once and for all: just say the word…” he places a sensual kiss on your cheek, smirking when you shiver involuntarily at the feeling of his lips. “and i’ll show everyone here that i’m yours.”

𝐉𝐀𝐘 is so sweet, it's hard not to feel special... until you realise that he's just that way with everyone, and that you weren't an exception. he doesn't see anything special about the way he lends a girl his jacket when their shirt is soaked through. but you don't know that. so you barely look at him, and forego the usual pretty smile that you grace him with whenever you meet eyes. he literally follows you around like a lost puppy for the rest of the day, and he doesn't care if he looks pathetic because he just really doesn't want you to be upset with him. he corners you at the end of the day, and you can't help but admit everything, even though it feels silly. but instead of teasing, he smiles and brings you to his chest, pressing a searing kiss against your lips that makes you lose all strength in your legs. "you know, i don't kiss anyone else like this," he says, as you pant for your breath. "you're the only one for me, princess."

����𝐀𝐊𝐄 immediately loses all feeling when he spots you with his arch enemy, smiling at him so prettily while the latter stares at you in awe. immediately knows what you're up to when you shoot him an innocent smile once you spot him staring in the distance, and smirks at himself because, that's how it's gonna be, huh? pushes you up against the wall later on, when the two of you are alone, laughing to himself internally when you try to push him away so half-heartedly, your hand simply resting on his chest. "does your little boyfriend know you were using him to make me jealous?" you scoff, rolling your eyes, because not everything you did was about him. to this, he only hums, his lips ghosting over your skin. he smiles when you swallow a lump in your throat, breathily whispering his name when he places kisses up the column of you neck to your jaw, so he can whisper into your ear. "no? well too bad for him, i don't like sharing my pretty girl."

𝐒𝐔𝐍𝐆𝐇𝐎𝐎𝐍 panics when he sees you crying to your best friend on the phone after you spot him with his ex, accidentally overhearing the moment when you start comparing yourself to her, how she's so much prettier, so much better for him, and how there's no way you can compete with her. he can't stand seeing you so insecure, when in his eyes, there was no competition─you were it for him, and that was the end of the story. he marches over to where you're curled up in a ball under the bleachers. your eyes widen in shock at seeing him, panic flooding your features. but you have no time to question how much he heard, when he suddenly grabs your face in his palms and kisses you dumb right there and then because how dare you talk so little about yourself? you're in shock, because weren't the two of them getting back together? or so, that was what you heard anyway. "no we're not and we never will," sunghoon replies. "because i only want you."

𝐒𝐔𝐍𝐎𝐎 gets along with everyone, and that just happens to include the girls that you've never liked, and whom have never liked you. but if he knew that was the case, he would have stayed well away from them. when they notice you walk into the room, frowning as you spot sunoo with them, they get cocky thinking they have something over you. they flirt with him, giggling at everything he says, before one of them loudly fawns over how buff he is getting. that is the last straw for you, and you immediately excuse yourself from the room, not wanting to see anymore of it. but sunoo is hot on your heels, chasing you down until he catches up to you. "hey, what's wrong?" he asks, to which you scoff, saying that nothing is wrong, and that he should go back to those girls instead. but, "why would i?" he asks. and when you're left speechless, he smiles, before grabbing your hand in his and leading you away. "they're not you."

𝐉𝐔𝐍𝐆𝐖𝐎𝐍 hadn't anticipated you'd run into each other at the mall, but he's glad for it, because unlike you, he immediately becomes aware of the way a group boys eye you up and down in the distance. it only becomes more irritating when they seem to be laughing among each other, bumping shoulders and watching as you walk out of the dressing room, looking much too pretty for your own good as you try a new dress on. he instantly walks up to you, bringing you in by the neck for a deep kiss, his hand laid possessively on your waist. "sorry, baby," he says, buy not looking sorry at all, when he sees how the petname effects you. "you're just too pretty to leave alone." but you instantly catch on to what's happening, and tell him that he was awfully jealous for someone who wasn't even officially your boyfriend. to which he says, "i thought it was obvious? you're mine, and i'm yours."

𝐍𝐈-𝐊𝐈 doesn't get jealous, but he does hate the feeling of being the one left out of the loop─which is exactly what is happening right now, with the way you and one of your close guy friends keep exchanging looks that make you giggle and hit his arm, telling him to knock it off. he watches as your friend gives you teasing looks, and for what? he doesn't know. "you guys seem close," he says after your friend finally leaves, to which you tease him, asking if he's jealous. and at this point, he sighs in exasperation, because, "you already know i am." and when you're stunned into silence, he can't help but smirk, because "why are you so quiet all of a sudden?" he leans closer, towering over you, loving the way he's the one making you flustered and not someone else. "everyone except you knows i'm down bad."

© CHACONNENHA, all rights reserved ( dividers do not belong to me )

[aquaticmercy]

Hot Chocolate?

Summary: Bucky wakes up from a nightmare and can’t find you.

Pairing : Bucky Barnes x reader (she/her)

Warnings/tags : PTSD, nightmares, panic. very slight cursing. hurt/comfort. Very much an angsty fic.

Requested by : myself again 

Word count : 1.4k

Note : As someone who has struggled with sleep disorders, writing this helped me reach a strange catharsis. Since today is World Mental Health day, please check up on your friends, my loves! Oh and I am still accepting requests, I just have enough prompts for the rest of this week and will be replying to your asks at the start of next week! Also, do Americans use electric kettles? Sincerely, someone who lives in England.

Requests are open!

○ buy me a ko-fi ○

Bucky shot awake. He shuddered, trying to bat away the lingering visions of his nightmare that clung to him like a drenched blanket.

He found his lungs grasping for air with panic gasps as his eyes darted around the bedroom. The shadows casted by the starlight filtered through the curtains took shapes that made his heart race. For a split second, he thought he wasn’t in his apartment anymore. He was back in the Siberian Hydra lab, cold metal restraints nipping into his skin. He heard his handler’s voice speaking Russian, echoing the room with his old trigger words.

He forced himself out of this terrified state, grounding himself in reality. His chest was heaving, his eyes were bleary. Instinctively, his hand reached for the space next to him. 

It was empty.

You weren’t there.

A wave of panic crashed over him, and this was far more constricting than the terror of his nightmares. His heart started pounding more violently in his chest. His fingers grazed the sheets where you should have been. You had at least been gone long enough for the pillows to grow cold.

He could feel his pulse in his veins, each beat hammering the insides of his skull. His mind spiralled uncontrollably, thoughts feeding off the remains of the nightmare and twisting them into something much worse.

Had you left him? 

What did he do? 

Had he driven you away?

Was this it?

Bucky hastily threw off the covers, sprawling it all on your bedroom floor. He stumbled out of bed, mind clouded with fear and panic. The apartment was eerily quiet— too quiet for him to handle on his own. Too quiet for his overwhelmingly loud thoughts.

He waded through the hall as if he was four feet deep in muddy waters, his bare feet softly thudding against the floorboards. The faint sound of water boiling reached his ears. His breath hitched, his heart racing.

Emerging into the open space, his eyes darted around the dark living room, his gaze finally landing on the soft glow of the kitchen light.

He walked towards the kitchen.

There you were.

You were standing by the kitchen counter, a mug in one hand, the other resting on the kettle. You were so beautiful. So perfect, compared to him.

You looked lost in thought, your posture relaxed. It was a stark contrast to the storm raging inside him, though you were unaware.

Bucky’s feet stayed where he was for a moment, as if ice had frozen over him. Relief washed over him so fast that it nearly knocked all the air out of his lungs. 

You were here. You hadn’t left. 

The relief was quickly replaced by the gnawing ache of guilt, the kind that made his chest feel tight and his head swim feel like it was underwater. He’d thought you were gone, and the mere thought of it had sent him into a spiralling depth. How pathetic.

He couldn’t help it. He constantly felt like teetering on the edge of losing you. Like every day with you was borrowed time. Like he had already stayed his welcome. Like he wasn’t worthy of holding you in his arms.

Perhaps the reason he was so jaded sometimes, was that he was sure you’d wake up and realise he was too broken, too damaged. 

When he played this scenario in his head, you’d walk out the door, leaving him a shell of the man he is now. He thought about it more that he’d care to admit.

His heart was still pounding in his chest as he moved closer to you. His footsteps were slow and uncertain. Your eyes lifted to meet his stormy blue ones as he entered the kitchen, your brow furrowing in concern when you saw his pale, shaking face.

"Bucky?" your voice was soft, just barely above a whisper. 

He shivered a bit, unable to form words for just a second. The ache in his stomach and the ball in his throat made it impossible to speak. His eyes dropped to the floor, shame curling a painful knot in his core. 

“I woke up, and you weren’t there,” he finally muttered, struggling to get every word out, as if he was swallowing glass. “I thought…” He trailed off, the rest of the sentence too painful to say out loud. Instead, small sobs escaped his lips.

You set the mug down on the counter and closed the distance between the two. Your hand found his arm, your fingers warm against the cool vibranium. 

“Hey,” you said gently, willing your voice to be as soothing as can be, “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to worry you. I just couldn’t sleep.”

Bucky’s gaze stayed fixed on nothingness. You could hear his jaw clicking nervously, like a man terrified for his life. 

“I thought you’d left,” he admitted in a cracked whisper, sounding as fragile as he felt. “Thought I’d… driven you away.”

Your heart broke at the pain in his voice. He sounded like a whimpering puppy, begging to be held.

He had such a raw, vulnerable nature that he tried his best to keep hidden all the damn time. You moved closer, wrapping your arms around him as tightly as he allowed you to. You needed him to know you were never letting him go.

At first, his body was frozen like a petrified statue— he wasn’t sure he deserved the comfort. But slowly, his muscles relaxed under your touch.

“I’m right here, darling,” You whispered. Your words were firm but gentle. “I’m always right here.”

He let out a shaky breath. His forehead dropped to rest against the top of your head, breathing on your scent— the scent that always brought him a sense of calm. “I don’t… I don’t know why I keep thinking you’ll leave.”

“I’m not.” You pulled back slightly to look up at him, your hands resting on his chest. “I’m not,” you repeated again, hoping that if you said it enough times, he’d finally believe it.

The sincerity of those two simple words made his throat tighten, his chest constricting under the weight of emotions he had always struggled to fully process. He had never ever wrapped his head around how you could stand here, looking at him—someone so broken and damaged—with such gentle desire. He had never believed he deserved it.

But he wanted to believe, to trust that maybe he wasn’t as alone as he always feared. That maybe, just maybe, you weren’t going to leave him behind like he feared you would.

The faint shimmer of tears fractured the soft kitchen light. He was at a loss of words at how you were holding him together, when he couldn't even do it for himself.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I keep putting you through this.”

Your hand found his, fingers intertwining with his. Your grip was warm, It was reassuring and steady. “Don’t be,” you said softly. You could tell that he had a nightmare. You learned the signs— the shaking, the sweating. The look of restlessness despite being asleep for the last several hours. “You just had a rough night.”

Bucky trembled against you, feeling him unravelling as he buried his face in the crook of your neck. His breath was short and it came in shaky bursts. Tears streamed down his cheeks, hot and heavy, soaking into your skin. They started quietly, a gentle release, but soon turned into shuddering sobs that echoed against the kitchen counter, the walls, the floors.

His grip tightened, fingers twirling into the fabric of your shirt as if you were his anchor in this reality. Each sob was raw, steeped in guilt and in the fear of losing you.

No matter how vulnerable he felt, he knew that in your embrace, there was no judgement. You held him tighter, whispering soft reassurances and sweet nothings— promises that you’d stay with him forever and ever. Until the end of time. Until your heart gave out.

“Do you want hot chocolate, too?” you asked softly.

For the first time in what felt like forever, he let out a small laugh, your words a shocking catharsis, bringing him out of the spiral. 

Oh, you always knew how to say the right thing at the right time.

He nodded, squeezing your hand one more time, just to reassure himself that you were real, that you weren’t slipping away.

You smiled gently at his quiet laugh, slightly reaching out to turn the electric kettle back on again without letting your grip on him falter.

As the kettle hummed in the background, Bucky held you close, finally convincing himself that no matter how dark the nightmares were, you would always be there when he woke up.

-end

[svtiddiess]

Thot Hour

Synopsis: You're supposed to be mad at Mingyu, but how can you when he's looking so delicious working out…wearing only his boxers?

Pairing: Mingyu x afab!reader

Genre: smut, one shot, established relationship

Rating: mature

Word count: 2.3k

Warnings: pet names (baby, puppy), unprotected sex (don't do this!), penetrative sex, overstimulation, sub!Gyu, thigh riding, creampie, jealous reader, biting, Mingyu in Calvin Klein boxers (yes, that needs a warning), jealous reader, kinda mean dom!reader, big dick!Gyu, lemme know if I missed anything!

Note: This was inspired by a dream I had. Guess which part I dreamt of.

Big love to @tomodachiii and @tusswrites for helping me with the plot and beta reading!

Click here to join my taglist!

Reblogs are appreciated ♡

.ᐟMinors/blank/no age indicator blogs will be blocked.ᐟ

"Baby, I said I was sorry."

You could hear the desperation in his voice as he apologised for the umpteenth time today. He stands before you, placing your hands against his chest, whipping out the puppy eyes. You'd fall for it in any other instance, but today, when you're this annoyed, nothing works.

"Baby, I told you what I did was just fan service. They don't mean anything. You're the only one I have feelings for," you hear him almost whine as he pouts at you.

Yes, that's what you're pissed about: him giving fan service. You may seem petty, but you have valid reasons for getting upset. You don't mind him giving fan service; it's part of the job. But lately, it seems as if he's giving a bit too much fan service.

Several moments of his fan service have gone viral, littering your feed with constant comments from fans stating how he's the perfect man. And he is, but just not at the moment. Not even when he looks down at you with his precious big eyes blinking at you, resembling a puppy. If you stared hard enough, you could swear his ears had drooped a bit, lips pursued in a pout that seemed to dissolve your anger.

Stay strong; you have to prove your point.

Huffing, you snatch your hands back from his, afraid you'll cave in if you stare for even a second longer. He lets out a defeated sigh, walking away, leaving you to brood alone.

Several minutes pass, with you wallowing in your self-pity before you are interrupted by the sound of grunting. Straining your ears, you catch on to the louder grunts and huffs from the other room. Shifting your eyes to the nearby clock, you stare at the time and widen in realisation.

It's 6 pm.

6 pm is Mingyu's usual workout time, infamously known as Thot Hour. Why, you ask? Well, it's the time of day when you sit back, relax, and shamelessly ogle at your beefy boyfriend working out. If you're lucky enough, he might end his workout with cardio, which involves you between his legs.

Losing the silent debate in your head, you make the right decision to go and watch him work out; just cause you're mad at him doesn't mean you're not allowed to appreciate eye candy. You will not let the fangirls take this away from you.

You enter the home gym that Mingyu has slowly built over the years, jaw-dropping at the sight. There he is, your boyfriend, Kim Mingyu, working out in nothing but his Calvin Klein boxers.

"What are you doing?" You ask, clearly not expecting the sight in front of you.

He sets down his weights with a grunt and then looks at you with a straight face.

"Working out," he deadpans as if it's the most obvious thing in the world.

"In just your boxers?" you ask, waving hands around his body to emphasise your point.

"It's a hot day today," he shrugs casually, but you can see him fighting off a smirk.

Cocky, arrogant son of a bitch.

You scoff and turn around to take your prime seat to watch him work out; you will not let him win. You pull out your phone, purposefully ignoring him (or trying to, at least). Upon noticing this, Mingyu grunts and moans even louder, trying to win your attention. And while you try your best to ignore his obnoxious sounds, you can't help but get a peek at him from your peripheral vision.

Ooh, you're drooling on sight. His muscles contract and relax every time he moves. His head's thrown back; his eyes scrunched up in concentration while his already big muscles visibly get even bigger due to the pump. Your eyes are drawn to the sweat dripping down his almost naked sculpted body and the prominent bulge straining against his boxers.

Fuck, he looks so juicy.

Your boyfriend was big everywhere, and he prides himself on it whenever he splits you open. His bulge looks so big, and he's not even fully hard yet. Gulping hard, when you notice a small wet patch on his boxers. Too bad he notices you staring and smirks.

"Like what you see, baby?" He asks with a cocky cadence to his voice.

You quickly snap out of it and scoff, remembering you're supposed to be angry at him. You go back to staring at your phone, making him chuckle. God, you wanted to wipe that smirk off his face so bad.

Then it hits you: the perfect revenge plan. You smirk to yourself as you put away your phone and start stripping down to your underwear as well.

Two can play that game, Kim Mingyu.

He's halfway through his set when he notices you. He drops the weights and turns to look at you, visibly confused.

"What're you doing, baby?"

"Like you said, it's a hot day," you shrug, mirroring his actions from earlier.

He looks with intensity as you move to unroll a yoga mat. You smirk to yourself when you hear him groan when you begin stretching and purposely manoeuvring your body into tempting yoga poses. From the corner of your eye, you can see Mingyu get more and more riled up as the poses get more and more provocative. You hear him whine by the time you’re doing the 'Cat-Cow' pose, your ass facing him. You shift to face him with a cocky smirk on your face.

"Why're you whining, Gyu?"

"I can't focus if you act like this baby," he whines.

"Like what?"

"You know what," he huffs and pouts like a child.

You shrug, then go back to doing more poses. You see him approach you with a permanent pout plastered on his face. He crouches down to your level and tries to touch you, but you quickly swat his hand away.

"Thought you were working out?"

"Baby, please," he whines, and you can almost taste the desperation in his words. This is fuelling your ego a bit too much.

"I need your help; it's becoming too painful," he strains, and you look down at his now fully hard bulge. It was huge and had you salivating, but you can't give in, not yet, at least. Not when your pettiness from earlier sets in.

"Go ask your fangirls for help," you huff and scoot away from him, sitting down on the mat.

He shifts to kneel in front of you. "Please, baby. I'm sorry. I'm yours and only yours. I promise I won't act out of line ever again. Please, please, please just touch me. It hurts so bad, baby, please," he's full-on begging at this point, and you're sure you can see tears pricking the corner of his eyes.

Something about a 6-foot-something man kneeling in front of you and begging for you to touch him makes you feel powerful. You smirk, knowing you have Mingyu exactly where you want him, desperate and needy in front of you. If he's going to act out of line, then you'll just have to put him in his place.

"You want me to touch you, Gyu?" You tilt your head and pout in faux sympathy.

"Please," he whispers, voice straining as he tries his best not to cry.

"Sit down."

You stand up, giving Mingyu room to sit on the yoga mat. He sits down with his legs outstretched on the mat. Shifting above him, you move to sit on one of his thick thighs, almost moaning at the contact.

"You're gonna sit here and take whatever I give you like a good puppy; if I catch you touching me, I won't let you finish. Okay?"

He nods frantically, desperate for anything at this point. Slowly, you start grinding against his thigh, moaning his name and holding onto his shoulders for support. He moans at the feeling of his thigh slowly getting more and more coated in your arousal. He throws his head back and grips onto the yoga mat below to prevent himself from touching you.

You lean forward and start leaving bite marks on his neck and shoulders. You make sure to bite down extra hard in places that would be visible even if he was wearing a shirt. He whimpers and groans at the feeling of your teeth digging into his skin.

"Mine," you mumble against his skin.

"Yours, only yours," he whimpers, body straining to keep still.

You start grinding on his thigh faster, determined to reach your high; Mingyu notices this and flexes his thigh, giving you more stimulation. You pant and whine out his name, getting close to the edge.

"Fuck, please cum. Cum all over my thigh, please," Mingyu whines out desperately, tipping you over the edge.

Your nails dig into his shoulders, making him hiss as you cum all over his thigh, your arousal drenching the bare skin. Resting your head against his shoulder, you take a minute to catch your breath.

"Baby, please, need you so bad. It hurts too much," he whimpers.

You look down and notice the wet patch on his boxers got bigger. You snake your hands down and cup his bulge, making him hiss.

"Yeah? It hurts?" You whisper whilst grinding your hand against his bulge, making him moan out and nod frantically.

"Please, I can't take it anymore," he whines, tears escaping his eyes.

"I don't know, Gyu; I don't think you earned it," you hum in faux pity, jutting your lips in consideration.

"No, no! Please, I'm begging you. I can't take it anymore," he cries out, desperately bucking into your hand.

"Why don't you ask your fangirls, huh? Since you seem to be more desperate to please them than me," you mock, squeezing him hard, causing him to let out a desperate sob.

"No! No, please! I'm sorry, I'm so sorry! It's only you that I want. I'll be good. I promise!" He cries out, distraught clear in his eyes, with tears now streaming down his face. You can see him try so hard to restrain himself from touching you.

You smirk with satisfaction as you watch your big, beefy boyfriend break under you. You remove your hand from his bulge and move it to wipe his tears from his face.

"Oh, you poor thing," you coo, "How badly does it hurt baby?"

"It hurts so bad," he sniffs, "I need you so badly, please."

"I don't know," you hum and move to get off his lap, "You've been a bad puppy lately, and you know bad puppies get punished, right?"

His eyes widen, and his hands fly to grab your hips to prevent you from moving away from him.

"No, no, no!" He begs, "Please, don't leave! Please!" Tugging you back onto his thigh, he pleads, "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry! I'll be good! I'll be a good puppy! I swear!"

"What did I say about touching me?" You tch, and his mouth falls open in realisation, and he quickly retracts his hands as if he's burned you.

"I'm sorry! I didn't mean to, please. Forgive me, please," he whimpers.

You shake your head and sigh. "I did warn you, Gyu," you sigh and stand up.

In an act of desperation, he manhandles you back onto the mat, making you lie on it. You let out a squeak as your back hits the mat.

"Fuck, I can't take it anymore," he murmurs before smashing his lips onto yours into a messy and desperate kiss. You kiss back with equal fervour, tangling your fingers in his permed hair. He starts grinding against you like a bitch in heat, letting out small whimpers and pants between the kisses.

He separates from you and quickly discards whatever remaining clothing the both of you have, throwing it to god knows where. You look down at his cock; it's thick and angry, with beads of precum dripping down it. Spreading your thighs, he aligns his tip against your entrance and starts slowly pushing in. You gasp and grab onto his shoulders; no matter how many times he fucks you, you can never get used to his huge size.

"I don't think I can go slow," he rasps. He's not even halfway in, and you already feel so full. Without warning, he slams the rest of him into you, causing you to scream out his name so loud you're sure the neighbours heard you. Your eyes roll to the back when you feel his tip kiss your cervix.

His thrusts are sloppy and erratic. Neither of you are thinking straight anymore. Your thoughts are only filled with how big he is and how good it feels being split open on his cock whilst his own thoughts are only filled with how warm you feel and how you're perfectly wrapped around him.

"S-Shit, I'm cumming," he pants out. He cums whilst moaning out your name, filling you up to the brim with his seeds. He chokes back a whine, but he doesn't stop thrusting. He snakes his hand down to your clit and starts rubbing it in circles, desperate to make you cum as well.

"Please, cum. Please cum all over me," he whines out, body shaking from overstimulation. After a few more thrusts, you cum, hard, convulsing around him. He pants and whines as you squeeze around him. After a few more clumsy thrusts, he collapses onto you.

"Gyu! You're heavy!" You whine.

"But you're so cuddly and warm," he says breathlessly as he wraps his arms around you and squeezes you, making you grumble.

"Are you still mad at me?" He looks at you with a pout.

You grin an easy smile, wrapping your legs around his waist and squeezing him, causing him to groan reflexively.

"I don't know. Maybe you should fuck me again just to be sure."

[fastandcarlos]

Night Time Routine : ̗̀➛ Lando Norris

summary: you've watched him for so many nights, at last it's your turn to help lando with his nightly routine

Your smile was wide as Lando lowered his head down to rest against your shoulder, swinging his legs around so that they rested over your lap. Your arm wrapped around him to stop him from slipping as Lando let go of a dramatic, loud yawn. 

Your laughter threatened to spill as a huff came from him, letting you know just how tired he was. It had been a long week of racing, and Lando was determined to let you know just how much all of it had taken out of him. 

It didn’t take long before your hands to find their way into his hair, detangling his messy locks. It was a weakness of yours, but also a sweet spot of Lando’s, which didn’t help when he was already feeling so sleepy. 

“Can we go to bed?” Lando whispered, pressing a kiss against your cheek to try and persuade you. “If I don’t go to bed now then I might just fall asleep here for the rest of the night,” he added. 

You hummed in response, encouraging Lando to stand up before you did the same. Your hand intertwined in with his as you turned everything off before leading Lando over to the stairs, taking it nice and slow as you made your way up, taking him by surprise when you went into the bathroom rather than the bedroom. 

“You’ve still got to make sure that you clean yourself up Lan.” 

“I’m too sleepy, you do it for me instead love.” 

You placed Lando so that he was resting against the sink, opening up his side of the cupboard looking through at all the products that he owned. A murmur came from you as you noticed his moisturiser, taking it out and removing the lid. 

“Go easy on me, I’m tired,” Lando hummed, closing his eyes as he felt your hands go to his cheeks, beginning to rub the product all over his face, covering as much of his face as you could. 

“Your beard is getting so long,” you laughed as your hands came down underneath his chin, tickling against the goatee that he was growing out. “You’ve got to start tidying this up a little bit better Lan.” 

His head shook with a pout on his face, keeping his eyes closed for a few more moments when he felt your hands drop. “Do you know how long I’ve had to work to grow this thing out and stop looking like a teenage boy? It’ll take me months to grow it out as good as this again. 

Your head shook as you placed Lando’s moisturiser back into the cupboard, picking out his toothbrush and toothpaste. He remained glued to the spot as he placed his hands against your hips, a shy smile creeping onto his face at the small distance that was between the two of you. 

As he realised what you were doing, Lando slowly opened his mouth up so that you could get in and brush his teeth for him, relishing in the feeling of you doing everything for him. 

“You’re enjoying this,” you teased, squeezing some paste onto his brush. Your free hand went to Lando’s jaw, holding him tightly in position as you began to brush his teeth, covering everywhere in a circular motion. 

Lando shrugged, unable to hide the smile that was on his face, his eyes watching the concentration in your expression. “You do such a good job of taking care of me my love.” 

After a couple of minutes, you turned Lando around so that he could spit out the toothpaste, rinsing his brush underneath the tap. You tidied everything up before nudging Lando’s waist, encouraging him to move. He stayed where he was though, holding out his hand as if to tell you that you had to take him there. 

“Seriously?” You chuckled, lacing your hand in with his, turning the bathroom light off before guiding Lando into the bedroom, sitting him down on the edge of the bed. 

He was a proud figure as you went over to his wardrobe, digging through and finding a fresh shirt for Lando to change into. You threw it over to him, watching it land on top of his head, but Lando didn’t move to take it away. 

“Don’t tell me I have to change your shirt too?” You questioned, but you already knew the answer as he remained perfectly still. “No way are you this tired Lando Norris.” 

You took the shirt off of his head before he stretched his arms up, allowing you to take his old shirt off. You discarded it onto the bedroom floor before taking the new one, placing his arms through first, then his head, before pulling it down so that it covered his toned body. 

“Anything else I can do?” You asked, smiling wide when Lando’s head shook in reply to you, throwing himself down so that he was laid out in the middle of your bed. 

As another yawn came from him, you used the time to sort yourself out for bed too. A groan came from Lando as you disappeared, impatiently waiting for you to return. When you did so, only a couple of minutes later, Lando was in the exact same position, with his eyes tight shut. 

“I guess if you’re asleep I’ll go and sleep in the spare room then,” you joked, knowing exactly what would happen. In the blink of an eye, Lando scrambled awake, rolling over to his side of the bed so that there was plenty of room for you too. 

“There's room...look,” Lando assured you, tapping the space beside him on the bed. Lando pulled the duvet back as you slid in, latching onto you as soon as you were laid down, with his arm around your frame. 

Your smile was wide as Lando’s head rested against your shoulder. “Can I go to sleep now? Or is there anything else I have to do for the tired man?” 

“All you need to do is lay here and cuddle me,” he whispered into your ear. 

Your head nodded at his request, “you know, I think I might just be able to help you out with that one.” 

“Thank you for taking care of me tonight,” Lando hummed in reply, “I do appreciate it even though I can be a giant pain in the ass.” 

Your hand reached back and brushed through Lando’s hair, feeling his lips press a kiss to your cheek. As he began to settle, his eyes slowly closed, basking in the feeling of your fingertips curling through his messy locks. 

As tired as he was, Lando kept a close eye on you, noticing that you were still awake. Every so often he checked again, worried when he saw that you were still staring ahead of you, unable to settle quite as well as Lando was. 

“Are you alright?” He whispered, his voice taking you by surprise.  

You hummed back across to Lando, “I’m just enjoying the cuddle for a little while, I’m not quite sleepy enough just yet.” 

“As long as you’re alright,” Lando smiled, “is there anything that I can do for you?” 

Your head shook in reply, “don’t worry about me, you just get some rest. Goodnight Lan.” 

“Goodnight love.” 

˗ˏˋ 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 ! ´ˎ˗

[ham1lton]

don’t trust the bitch in apt 33!

— part one of four.

pairings: max verstappen x reader.

summary: your new apartment in monaco is amazing. it’s close to your friends, family and work, it has incredible amenities and your neighbours for the most part seem kind. the only issue is your upstairs neighbour, who games all night and sleeps all day, and is insufferably loud while doing it.

author’s note: also this is a little longer than my usual smaus. the usernames might also be slightly different as this is an au!!also i am updating my taglist!

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liked by bestie1, bestie2 and 245 others.

yourusername: moving day done!! shout out to my sexy movers <3

tagged: apartmentrush.

view all 78 comments

bestie1: the pizza was soooo good 😋

-> bestie2: so yum 😋

-> bestie1: so good… we should come around again this week and have it again??

-> bestie2: yes….. we should….

-> yourusername: 🙄 fine. come round on saturday!

workbestie: so excited to see you at work on monday!!

-> yourusername: me too!!! i’ll bring the coffee <3

apartmentrush: welcome to our community!

-> yourusername: glad to be here :)

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liked by landonorris, max.fan1 and 1,728,982 others.

gamermax: just completed another successful 24 hour stream! thank you all for helping me raise money for the sassy animal shelter! also thank you @ landonorris for stocking my fridge up!

view all 234,793 comments

user1: ur so fine.

-> user4: was i the only one staring at his hands the entire stream????

-> user9: i mean. we barely see his face, that’s probably why.

georgerussell63: lando is trying to kill you! that’s why he’s an awful community president. all that redbull will have your heart exploding.

-> landonorris: not this shit again 🙄

-> georgerussell63: profanity on a public platform? another TICK against your name.

user7: is it truly a max post without a cat meme?

*liked by gamermax.*

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from lnorris4@rushapartment.co.uk.

to grussell63@rushapartment.co.uk, c.leclerc16@rushapartment.co.uk, lhamilton44@rushapartment.co.uk, ynln77@rushapartment.co.uk, mverstappen33@rushapartment.co.uk and 45 others.

subject: MEETING REMINDER.

thanks,

lando norris.

rush apartment president.

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you head upstairs to knock on this max’s door, dressed in your night clothes. your sleep mask across your forehead, your bonnet on and your skin still glistening from your skin routine. you knock on the door loudly. you hear swearing as someone falls over and then stands to open the door. the door opens to show a twenty something guy with a pair of streaming headphones on his head. he gives you an obvious look up and down before tilting his head in confusion.

“uh, can i help you?” he asks, his eyes meeting yours with a mix of curiosity and concern.

“you can start by keeping it down,” you snap, crossing your arms over your chest. “some of us need sleep.”

his eyes widen slightly, and he pulls the headphones down around his neck. “oh, i’m sorry. i didn’t realise i was being that loud.”

“well, you are,” you retort. “it’s three in the morning, and i have to work tomorrow. this is ridiculous.”

he runs a hand through his messy hair, looking genuinely apologetic. “i didn’t know anyone was in the apartment below. no one’s been there for a while. i’m max, by the way.”

“yn,” you reply shortly, not in the mood for pleasantries. “just please, keep it down.”

“i will, i promise,” max says earnestly. “i’ve got these noise-canceling headphones, and sometimes i forget how loud i’m being. i’ll make sure it doesn’t happen again.”

you study him for a moment, still irritated but starting to believe his sincerity. “okay. goodnight, max.”

“goodnight, yn,” he replies, giving you a small, apologetic smile. “and good luck at work tomorrow.”

you turn to leave, feeling a mix of lingering frustration and unexpected intrigue. as you head back downstairs, you can’t help but wonder if he’ll actually keep his promise.

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MEETING TRANSCRIPT.

[sound of murmuring voices and rustling papers as the meeting starts]

NORRIS: alright, everyone, let's get started. we’re here to address some noise complaints. yn, you had a specific issue?

LN: (angrily) yes, my upstairs neighbor, max, keeps making noise late at night. i've talked to him, but it hasn’t stopped.

RUSSELL: (salty) typical. this is why i should have been president. i would’ve sorted this out immediately.

NORRIS: (sighs) george, not now. let’s focus on the issue at hand. alex, any thoughts?

ALBON: (trying to smooth things over) well, it’s important for everyone to be considerate of their neighbors. but, you know, people have different schedules. maybe max can use quieter equipment?

HAMILTON: (working on his laptop, half-heartedly) yeah, yeah. quieter equipment. great idea. can we move on? i’ve got a deadline.

LECLERC: (confused) what’s going on again? can we just finish this? i want to go home and see my uh… friends.

TSUNODA: (munching on snacks) i brought these for everyone! maybe we can bribe max with food to be quieter?

LN: (exasperated) i don’t think snacks will solve the problem. i just want to sleep in peace.

NORRIS: (rubbing his temples) max isn’t here because he owns his apartment, and these meetings are mandatory for renters or new buyers. so, we’re kind of stuck.

RUSSELL: (grumbling) see? this is why lando’s presidency is a joke.

NORRIS: (angry) oh give it a rest, george!

ALBON: (egging them on) oh, come on, george. let’s not make this about the election again. unless you want us to go over our allocated time.

HAMILTON: (still working) can we wrap this up? i’m really busy here.

BUTTON: (chuckling) you’re always busy lewis.

RUSSELL: jenson why are you even here. these meetings aren’t mandatory for you.

BUTTON: (smirking) maybe i like the company.

LECLERC: (standing up) i’m leaving. this is pointless.

TSUNODA: (offering more snacks) anyone want some chips before we go? charles, you’ll need the energy when you go visit your ‘friends’ later.

HAMILTON: and let them know to keep it down, some of can’t work through all that noise.

LECLERC: (blushing) uh, yeah, sure... i’ll let them know.

NORRIS: (defeated) fine. meeting adjourned. we’ll try to talk to max again, but for now, let’s just… go back to our lives.

[sound of chairs scraping and people leaving, with no resolution in sight]

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new taglist: @23victoria @maxlarens.

— want to be tagged for any future works? join my new taglist!