tbr/rec ♡

You knew this was bound to happen. You look at Mark, who’s standing in the middle of the living room in your studio apartment, his jaw set and his muscles tensed, yet his eyes are so full of emotion, and it has you gulping because you know that if you keep standing like this, looking at him just standing there and looking at you the way he is — it’s going to ruin you and the last grams of self respect you have left in you.

So you avert your gaze, looking somewhere behind him so you won’t be distracted as you finally make up your mind. There’s no going back.

“I think we should take a break,” you mumble, and a lump sets in your throat.

The world around you stills for a few moments, with your heart threatening to burst in your chest and your ears ringing waiting for your boyfriend’s reply, you try to swallow the lump in your throat.

“Y/n, don’t do this,” he warns, but his tone isn’t upset. It’s raw with emotion as his voice trembles, and you finally find it in you to look at him, “You know we don’t believe in breaks,” he tries to convince you, and you agree with his statement but you warned him about all the small things in the past months, and you knew this was bound to happen. 

“Y/n, please,” his voice trembles as he pleads, taking a few steps around the couch to be closer to you, except you move backwards, until your back touches the counter of your small kitchen, making him halt his steps. The look in his eyes is full of worries, they’re shadowed by fear, by heartbreak, “If we do this, there’s no going back,” he tries, moving one hand pointing at the two of you, respecting the clear stance you just made by putting space between the two of you. “I love you, please don’t do this,” his voice breaks, and a closer look to his face makes you realise his eyes are brimming with tears.

You close your eyes immediately, reaching behind you with one hand, trying to steady yourself by gripping the kitchen counter. You hate seeing him crying, because he’s always been one of the strongest people you’ve known and he was the one who always consoled you. 

You open your eyes, and you feel your eyes swelling with the pressure of tears building up. You look at him — he’s biting his bottom lip, look of devastation making his features sharper. 

“I love you too,” the words leaving your lips are barely a whisper, but he hears you nonetheless, seeing him nodding your way and expecting you to call off the whole taking a break thing. “But I also love myself, Mark,” your voice is slightly louder, because this is something you’re not playing about anymore, “I love you so much, but I need to love myself as well, and I’m putting myself first because we talked about these issues before, apparently to no use,” 

You see Mark bringing a hand up to ruffle his hair, his gaze not leaving yours, as he registers your words and their meaning. “I promise nothing happened,” he shakes his head, the lump in his throat getting bigger and bigger and he thinks he’ll ruin your beautiful carpet soon.

“Stop!” You raise your voice, and you can’t control your tears any longer, “Stop saying this to me! I feel like an idiot because I always believe you, but you always betray my trust!” You’re accusing him, and you don’t like this side of you but you’ve had enough of this. “I warned you about her and you dismissed my worries every single time!” Your voice is full of newfound courage, your tone accusatory, and you hate how the way he’s looking at you right now is making you doubt your choice and your words.

“I never cheated on you, I swear,” he tries to reassure you, and his words only make your tears stain your cheeks faster. “Y/n, I would never do that to you,” he tries again, and after seeing how you’re not responding, he goes on, “I’m not that kind of scumbag, I love you too much,”

And you sigh, closing your eyes, and feeling an incoming splitting headache making your temples throb. 

“We need a break from each other, we have a lot of things to think about,” you start again, and Mark feels like you’re not listening to him or to yourself. His heart starts racing and there’s a strange feeling pooling in the pit of his stomach, and the fear of losing you it’s driving him insane.

He respects your choice of avoiding him physically, and he doesn’t even think about invading your personal space right now, knowing that he’d worsen the whole situation by crossing your boundary, especially because he can literally see you putting up an emotional wall, and denying him access.

You look at him, his disheveled self, and you see him getting paler and paler the more your eyes are set on him. There are tears running down his face right now, and he tries his best not to let out a sob as realisation sinks in. You’re serious about this. 

“If we do this, there’s no going back,” he repeats himself, in a last attempt to convince you to give up this idea.

But you stand your ground, and you once again avert your gaze. If you look at him any longer you’ll give in, and so many things have happened that you feel you can’t allow yourself to be this stupid and give in just because it’s Mark.

It’s Mark, the only man you’ve ever really loved, that made you realise what falling in love meant. Mark, who held your head while you cried and rubbed your tummy every time you were bedridden by period cramps. Mark, that wiped your tears with his t-shirts and blew your nose with the sleeves of his hoodies. Mark, who broke your trust after becoming too close to a co-worker. And what hurts you the most is the fact that you warned him about this, about your hunch, and he dismissed you every single time.

You’re doing this for yourself, but also for him. Maybe he’ll realise his mistakes, or maybe he’ll just give up and he’ll start a new life, with no trace of you in it. And if that happens, maybe it was always meant for it to happen.

“Mark, I need you to leave,” you tell him, and your tears are flowing freely, yet you still manage to contain the sobs that you so desperately need to let out past your lips. 

Mark closes his eyes, and you see him taking a few seconds to take big breaths. He nods, looking around for his jacket discarded on the couch, and he walks slowly towards the front door. You don’t look at him, you don’t find it in you to give him one last look, because you know it will haunt you forever. So you just watch the spot he stood in a few seconds ago, waiting for him to get out of your apartment.

“Call me, yeah?” He whispers, and you can see him with the corner of your eye as he’s stopping himself from getting out the door to look at you, to take you in one last time, “I love you,”

And the door doesn’t slam, doesn’t creak, doesn’t swish when he closes it after himself, leaving you all alone with your thoughts and the realisation of what just happened finally hitting you.

Everything in your studio apartment reminds you of him. He’s present in every corner you look, his scent fills the air, lingers on your sheets and pillows, his towel is still touching yours by the shower. His toothbrush is propped against yours, his slippers are scattered by the front door just the way he left them the night you told him to leave, your set of keys to his apartment resting in the bowl by the entrance. 

Your chest tightens looking at the keyring that he chose for you, a small Spiderman figure dangling alongside the keys to his apartment. You still remember how you chose a miffy one for his keys to your apartment, finding it extremely cute how a token of your favourite things get to be with each other all the time, like a part of you is there to be a reminder of how close you are, the domesticity between the two of you even if you don’t live together. The girly trinket hanging from his set of keys always made your heart melt whenever you caught a glimpse of them — seeing a man like Mark fishing for his keys with miffy attached to them made your heart lurch in your chest.

While you’re left to look at Spiderman, and you’re short of breath remembering you might not use these keys ever again.

His shower gel stays unmoving in your shower, his razor and aftershave lotion catch dust in your cabinet by your skincare, where they look so misplaced between the many products wrapped in such pretty and girly packaging. But they’re a part of you and a part of your space, and you don’t have it in you to move anything of his away from their spots.

Mark’s presence is felt everywhere in your apartment, and so is his absence. No more loud laughing, no more gossiping sessions during which he backs you up even if you’re wrong, only for him to tell you twenty minutes later that you were kinda wrong. No more binge watching a show in one night and no more him coming up to you with a recipe he found on social media that looked just too good, asking you if it would be alright for you to cook it someday. 

No more hurried showers together, no more kissing in the middle of the steam of the scorching showers that you take, that have his skin redden because he always takes cold showers instead. No more hands lingering between your bodies and no more kisses traveling down on your skin. 

The first two days into this break and things were relatively alright, but only because it was the weekend, and you spent two days rotting in bed with your feet only walking you to the bathroom and then back to bed. And when the workweek began, you had to brace yourself for impact, because every single thing you saw around on the street or at work that reminded you of him, you had to stop yourself from taking pictures to send to Mark so he could see as well. No more ‘outfit of the day’ pictures in the morning or selfies during your breaks, no more ‘thank you’ texts and no more ‘I love you’s’ sent randomly. 

On tuesday you had to refrain from texting him about your co-worker, the one you can’t get along with, to let him know what had happened and how it had gone down, just to have him backing you up. 

On wednesday it hit you, when it became hard to get out of bed in the morning. The lack of sleep, the lack of appetite, and the apathy you found yourself in made you miserable, not to talk about just how much you missed Mark. He tried reaching out a few times by calling you, yet you looked at the screen and then at how the call went unanswered, prompting him to call you once again. He always called you twice, knowing you might not always hear it or feel it vibrating on whatever surface it is on around you apartment. But you never picked up. You needed your space away from him, because the small conflicts that led to you taking this decision really hurt you, and you needed the distance.

And truth be told, you warned him. You asked him every single time and you confronted him, not wanting to be jealous or toxic, because it was better to talk it out and settle things once and for all, only for him to dismiss your worries. And look where it got him, where it got the two of you.

He met her at work, and you noticed her in his comment section on instagram whenever he posted something with only himself in the picture, never the ones with you, but you turned a blind eye, because Mark never gave you any reason to be jealous or worried about a possible lack of loyalty from his side. Then you noticed the pictures together during the company dinner, when she was a little too close to him, grin plastered on her face as she leaned on your boyfriend’s shoulder, and that’s the first time you opened up about it to him.

“Baby, you have absolutely nothing to worry about!” He reassured you, and you threw a skeptical look his way. “She’s a coworker and she’s friendly to everyone else as well,” his tone was airy, nonchalant, and he kissed you to ease your worries. 

So that time you shut your mouth, thinking there’s no way you’re letting this girl you don’t even know ruin your confidence or setting jealousy or insecurity in your bones. Until you met her.

For Jaemin’s surprise birthday party, which his girlfriend organised, inviting everyone from work too. And it was only normal for her to be there too, since Mark and Jaemin worked together. You observed her, discreetly of course. She might have been friendly to everyone else, but she didn’t lean on any other man present at the party, and you definitely saw how she avoided Mark when he was next to you. She only talked to you once that night, and you swear her eyes sparkled with something malicious, but you didn’t bring it up to your boyfriend, only telling him that you have a hunch, and that he should really trust you on this.

You turned a blind eye every time he brought her name up in conversations, and the times you couldn’t take it anymore you spoke openly about it with Mark, who seemed to partially understand what you meant, but he still dismissed your worries.

And thank goodness for your hunch, thank goodness for believing your instincts, because that feeling in your guts was never wrong. Generally a woman’s hunch makes no mistakes, especially when it comes to women like her who aren’t even trying to hide it. 

Mark was the confirmation in flesh and bones, because you noticed how he stopped talking to you about stuff. He no longer had that sparkle in his eyes while telling you something that had happened to him, or talking to you about new books he wanted to read and what activities for the weekend he wanted to get to do with you. The weekend activities started disappearing entirely, with Mark telling you he was drained and he didn’t want to spend his free time outside the house anymore. 

Mark stopped caring, stopped seeing the signs that things were starting to change when it came to you, and he started avoiding communicating. He lost the spark from his eyes, those beautiful eyes, and you still convinced yourself it wasn’t because of her. Because Mark reassured you, and you blamed all the changes on him being a workaholic on the brim of burnout. 

It took Jaemin’s girlfriend unexpectedly calling you, for you to really open your eyes. Yena was nice, Jaemin introduced her to both you and Mark and their other friends a couple of years ago, and you wouldn’t say you are best friends but you definitely are close to each other — maybe not in the ‘I’ll help you bury a body if you need me to’ type of close, but definitely in the ‘hey, watch out for that bitch because I’ve heard something from Jaemin and I felt like I needed to tell you’ type of close.

“Jaemin agreed to let me come to you, because he feels uncomfortable with everything going on,” Yena explained to you, not touching the iced coffee you bought for her before she showed up. 

“Is he sure?” You asked, biting on your bottom lip, but you couldn’t resist the curiosity. Everything Yena told you, that she knew from Jaemin, was a confirmation of everything you had your doubts on already, everything that was previously dismissed by your boyfriend. 

“Yes,” Is the only thing Yena managed to answer, not knowing what else to tell you, or how to sugarcoat it. 

“Thank you, to both you and Jaemin,” you mumble, and you can’t find it in you to fake being your normal self. 

What Yena told you started eating at you immediately, the anger of betrayal eating at you while also making you feel incredibly anxious of what you’ve just discovered. 

Mark didn’t physically cheat on you, but he did have an emotional affair with his coworker, and it is just as bad. The sparkle in Mark’s eye was gone because another woman had already seen it, the way Mark didn’t have enough energy to entertain you because he had spent it all on another woman. And it made you sick. It made you want to scream, it made you want bawl in the middle of the cafeteria, and although Yena could see your eyes lost yet still getting all puffy from the tears you were keeping at bay, she didn’t say anything.

A week after your and Mark’s break started, you started feeling everything ten times worse than you did before. During days you kept busy with work, but nights were the worst. Although you and Mark didn’t live together, you spent every night together, either at his or at your place. You’re now alone and all by yourself in an apartment that still smells like him one week after he’s last stepped foot in here, you’re engulfed by his scent, and you toss and turn into bed only to feel it even stronger on your pillows. The pillow he used to sleep on now a souvenir of the way the two of you were before, and while you hug his pillow to your chest, his scent lingers in your nose like it’s the only smell you’ve ever known.

Getting straight to bed after you’re done with work, phone on ‘do not disturb’, tossing and turning into bed while you try to get to sleep, seem like the perfect things to do, especially because you need a break from your own racing thoughts, from your own feelings. A very atypical friday night for you, but this is what you have to work with at the moment.

You flinch the moment you doorbell rings, and panic starts to settle in as you think it’s some unwanted visitor, which you’re really not in the mood for because not only do you look like a mess — tired and pale, — but so does your apartment, that has been your depression pit for the past week.

Your steps are cautious as you approach the from door, lights still off in case it really is an unwanted visitor and you need to fake not being home, and you peek through the peep hole, but your brows furrow with confusion, and you turn the lights on with a swift motion of your hand before unlocking the door.

“Hi, I didn’t order anything,” you let the delivery guy know as soon as you open the door, and he looks over the receipt stapled to the brown bag.

“I’m sorry, but this is the right address,” he explains, and the look on your face makes him throw another look at the receipt. “It says here it’s for Y/n… has already been payed for,” he seems to get tired of your cluelessness, so you pick the brown bag up and take it to the kitchen, and when you take the contents of the bag out to sprawl on the kitchen table, it dawns on you.

Friday nights are for Chinese food, a tradition you and Mark established very early on into your relationship, and you look at the receipt to make sure this isn’t just in your head. 

Your name is written on the receipt and the note stapled to the bag, and tears form in your eyes knowing that Mark ordered you food, because despite being apart from each other, it still is friday night. The bag contains dumplings — his favourite, — and spring rolls, your favourite.

There’s a lump forming in your throat as you think of Mark’s gesture, but your stomach growls as soon as you open the containers full of food, and it seems like Mark knew you weren’t taking care of yourself well enough.

You take a bite from one dumpling, and you force yourself to chew. Tears start streaming down your face before you can even think to stop them, and feeling the familiar taste of the food has the lump in your throat making it very hard to swallow your bite, — which consequently leads you to put your food down when you feel a sob suffocating you. The familiarity of the meal is almost made unbearable by the atypical silence that’s haunting your place, and your heart can’t help but break inside your chest as you think of Mark, and you hope he’s doing better than you are.

By the time the second week since you decided on taking this break from Mark comes to an end, you’ve changed the sheets. And another piece of Mark’s presence was gone from your life.

Mark’s not sure how he got home that night. He wandered the streets of your neighbourhood hoping for you to call him and to tell him you changed your mind, and that it’s best to talk it out. But your call never came, and he sat down on a curb crying like a little kid the more he spent outside in the cold.

He must have blacked out the moment his tired body hit the bed many hours later, when exhaustion finally took its toll on him. He’s also not sure how he managed to get through that weekend, but one thing is certain, he took a whole week off from work.

He’s so upset with himself, he’s so upset with the entire world — which only makes him want to isolate himself from everyone. He kept hoping he’ll see your contact picture popping up on his screen, and he decided maybe he should be the one to reach out first. Mark’s heart fell to his stomach the more time passed and the only thing greeting his hearing was the dialling tone instead of your sweet voice.

He knows you set a boundary by deciding to go on a break, yet he can’t shake all the anxiety away, knowing all the discussions the two of you had about how you both believed taking breaks meant actually breaking up but it’s just a way of sugarcoating it. 

Staying away from you, knowing and admitting what led up to this makes him feel short of breath, and a sob escapes past his lips even before he can register he’s crying in the first place. Something inside of Mark’s chest hurts when he remembers all the times you brought the issue up to his attention, and he dismissed every single one of your worries like the biggest idiot he is.

But to his defence, Mark wasn’t aware this emotional cheating was a thing, and he thought you were being jealous for some inexplicable reason. He should have listened to you, because he loves you so much, and he should have trusted you and your judgement, because look where all this dismissal and avoiding got him.

He loves you so much, he never thought he’ll go through this with you, he never thought he’ll break your trust and heart the way he did. You’re the best thing that happened to him and realising he might never hear from you again has his head falling into his hands. 

Mark becomes the shadow of the man he once was, appetite and will to just exist long gone. How will he manage to be without you, when he found your trinkets resting on his desk and tears suffocated him to the point of letting out sobs? Looking at your little Hirono figure that you gave him to bring him luck at work, has a lump forming in his throat.

He’s lost in his misery every time he wears his hoodies and t-shirts scattered around the house, because the collar smells so unapologetically like you, and realising this is the last bit of you he has around makes him sleep in all those clothes of his that you’ve worn recently. It’s the last palpable thing he has of you, and he can’t let go of them. Yes, he has the trinkets, and yes, he has the books and everything else in his apartment reminding him of you, because everything you touched was now marked by your presence. 

Your perfume clinging to the collar of his shirts is the last thing he has to remember your body by. There’s a shape of you in his bed, and he now sleeps on your designated side just to feel a bit better and not like his heart is literally trying to crawl out of his chest to get to you. He sleeps with one of those garments nearby, because he can’t hold you, but your scent still present and lingering on his pieces of clothing brings him a bit of comfort, like you’re there with him, and he’s sticking to your warm sleeping figure like he always does, not knowing what personal space is whenever you’re around.

Mark regrets everything he’s done to hurt you, everything he’s done to break your heart. A few more days being away from you and he felt like calling you again, but instead he bit his lips and he switched his phone off, not in the mood to see anybody else calling him, because he’s certain you won’t be one of them.

You made your stance clear, yet it breaks him to know you don’t want to talk about it, because in all honesty you kept trying for the past months, only for him to basically tell you that it was all in your head, and now that he wants to talk and he’ll hear you crystal clear, it’s too late. It’s always too late.

Mark used to judge men who couldn’t keep their relationships by fucking up. ‘How hard can it be to be genuine to each other?’ He always wondered with acerbic judgement, yet look at him know, hanging to everything his girlfriend’s ever touched like he’ll forget who she is and how she looks like if he doesn’t.

Nearly a week into this break and Mark thinks he started hallucinating. 

He lays in his bed, wearing his green hoodie, the one you always stole away from him, when he thinks he hears knocking on his door. He thinks he might be going insane, all the knocking feels like it’s far away, echoing in his ears as he rests his heavy head on your designated pillow. The more the knocking persists, the closer the sound feels in his ears, and it eventually brings him back to reality, making him shudder as he wakes up.

He drags his feet to the front door, not even peeping to check who the visitor at his door is, and he opens his door, the motion making his dishevelled hair move on his forehead.

Jaemin walks in, already knowing his way around the apartment. He’s carrying a brown bag in his right hand, a coffee carrier with two tall cups in the other. He’s standing in the middle of the living room, looking concerned around himself, knowing that Mark is not the type of guy who’s messy, but right now his place looks like a pigsty.

Mark is sitting on the couch, one leg bouncing, waiting for his friend to open his mouth. He’s averting his gaze, almost like he knows the look Jaemin’s sporting right now, and he prefers to look at the spot on the floor you usually sit down in while eating in the living room with him, binge watching a new series that you can’t just pause in favour of eating in the kitchen.

Jaemin raises his brows swiftly, getting rid of any emotion that might betray just how concerned he is, because he’s not here to nag, but he’s here to check on his friend and make sure he’s safe and sound.

“So,” Jaemin clears his throat, but he doesn’t move from his spot in the middle of the living room, “I called you a lot these days, but you never answered,” 

Mark nods, leg still bouncing betraying his nerves. He only switched his phone back on once a day, usually at night, to check if you had contacted him. No other text was important, not the four hundred missed calls from his friends when they realised he was unreachable. 

“Have you,” Mark gulps, his throat suddenly dry, and he finally raises his tired gaze to look for Jaemin’s, whose is already eagerly looking at him like he’s eating up every single bit of this interaction, “Have you heard from Y/n?” You are his main concern, he needs to know you’re at least doing better than him, because while he’s here repenting for everything he’s ever done to hurt you, you only need to think if he’s worth the while after all.

Jaemin shakes his head, lips pressed in a thin line, “She hasn’t reached out to anybody,” Jaemin confirms to him, and Mark wants to ask him to make sure you’re alright, to take care of you — but he ends up swallowing his words, and he only nods as a reply.

Jaemin looks around himself one more time, and then at Mark, who’s known for not being a messy person. Clothes scattered everywhere around the room, the apartment’s a mess. One look at Mark and he can tell he’s been going through it, his hair is disheveled, he hasn’t shaved in days, and his eyes are tired and puffy from all the crying Jaemin is sure these walls have been witness to.

“I brought you food, I was worried about you,” Jaemin shakes both his hands, the ice inside the tall cups of coffee making noise. “Man, you also need to do your laundry,” he rasps, not able to stop himself, “What’s all this?” He points at the few t-shirts and hoodies scattered messily on the couch and any other surface in the living room. Jaemin is sure the bedroom looks even worse, if the living room is presenting itself in these conditions. Thank goodness Mark doesn’t cook because the hairs on the back of Jaemin’s neck stand up immediately thinking of the additional mess, that would officially make this place ready to be burned down instead of cleaned.

“It’s Y/n,” Mark mumbles, bringing the collar of his hoodie up to his nose, hiding half of his face in it.

Jaemin looks confused. Is this the place where you’ve broken up with him? Did you perhaps raid it out of spite? But you’re so sweet and an angel, really, he can’t see you doing this type of stuff.

“Y/n? But this is all your stuff laying around,” Jaemin mumbles, furrowing his eyebrows. He really can’t understand.

“How can I do my laundry when these are the only things left for me to remember her by?” Mark’s voice breaks, and so does Jaemin’s heart while looking at his friend. “How would I ever go on with my life if I don’t have her by my side, Jaemin?"

Mark inhales sharply before squinting his eyes, and his bottom lip starts quivering. His head falls into his hands, and silent sobs are making his shoulders shake. 

Jaemin takes pity on him and, after placing the bags on the coffee table, he sits down on the couch next to his friend. He pats Mark’s back, trying to comfort him, only for then to literally drag him into his embrace, because he knows Mark needs this right now.

He just hopes you’re doing better than Mark, because it’s only been a few days, but seeing Mark’s condition has worry creeping up his spine, and his concerns suddenly know no bounds.

It’s been four weeks — almost a month — since you took a break from your relationship with Mark. 

You miss him every day, and your apartment has never been this quiet ever since you moved in, a couple of years ago. But you’ve grown strangely accustomed to the silence. 

Every single item of Mark’s is still in the same place he left them in. Except for the cleaning up you had to do around the apartment, the sheets and towels that needed to be changed, you didn’t touch anything of his. 

Mark is in everything around you, everything you notice, everything you see and touch. He’s in the Andy Williams vinyl, he’s in the sunny side up eggs you sometimes find yourself craving late at night, he’s in the morning coffee and in the late night hot showers. His presence is felt every time you walk by the convenience store around the corner as you make your way home after work, but where you don’t stop anymore because every time you did, it was to get him something. Yet in the last few weeks you didn’t have much of an appetite. 

He’s in everything you spot that’s blue — his favourite colour. He’s in every single thing around you somehow, and so is his absence. 

You didn’t keep up with your friends that much. You spoke to Yena a couple of times, Jaemin called once to ask for a film you had recommended him two years ago and you never managed to convince him to watch it, so you’re sure he only called to sense your mood and to check on you without him having to directly tell you that’s what he was doing. And with the others, they checked on you but you only told them not to worry about you, through text.

You took your distance from all of them , because they might be your friends, but they were Mark’s first. And you would never put them between you and Mark, like children between divorced parents. During this break they should be of support to Mark, even if you’re not sure how he’s doing and if he needs any of them to be there for him. He might be doing just well and you’re here worrying about him — and you have a clear answer as to why that is.

You’re extremely surprised to see Renjun’s contact picture popping up on your screen during your lunch break. You want to ignore it, you want to send him a text in maybe five minutes to tell him you’re in a meeting, but you’re sure he knows your schedule already and he’s aware that you’re on a break right now, and that throwing a lame excuse through text would be absolute bullshit. 

And there’s also a bit of anxiety that’s settling in the pit of your stomach, knowing that he might be calling for an important reason, but then you remember his birthday is in a few days, so you sigh and pick up the call.

“I honestly thought I had to show up to your workplace to talk to you,” he nags as soon as he hears the call going through, “I know you’re on a break right now, Y/n,” 

You sigh, “But I picked up, didn’t I?” 

“It took you a long time, though,” he retorts, sighing. You know there’s no winning when it comes to Renjun, he’ll always be the one winning in the end, “What are your plans for today?” 

You bite your lip, “Home, probably to sleep,” you lie. You haven’t been able to sleep more than two hours a night, and you’re not sure how you’re surviving. 

“Great,” his response is dry, like that’s exactly what he needed to hear you say, “You know how my birthday’s in three day, right?” He asks, and you hum, already having a faint idea about where this conversation is headed. “Come to my birthday dinner tonight,” he’s demanding, and you know it’s hard to refuse him.

You sigh, bringing a hand to you temple to massage it slowly, “I don’t know if I can come, Renj-”

“Mark won’t be here,” he interrupts, already knowing your real reason for refusing.

“He won’t?” You gulp, straightening your back, your ears ringing as you wait for his reply.

He tsks, and you can envision him shaking his head, “He said he prefers knowing you were the one having a good time,” there’s something he wants to add, but he hesitates.

“What?” Your voice is high in pitch, and your heart sinks to your stomach thinking of Mark choosing not to be with his friends tonight, so you could be the one going instead, “Renjun I don’t thi-”

“You said you weren’t doing anything tonight so just come by, for a drink at least!” He’s using his authoritarian voice on you, and you know he’ll start cussing at you soon if you go on to make him angry.

“Okay, okay,” you close your eyes, because you feel so many emotions right now that you might start crying, “I’ll come for a quick drink, just text me the details,”

You feel the familiar lump in your throat once again, and it’s like it is already a part of you, with the amount of times you felt it in the past weeks. You stand to your feet, leaving your cubicle behind, and you feel your bottom lip quiver as you make your way towards the restroom.

By the time you enter one of the stalls, tears are already streaming down your face, and you sit on one of the toilets to let all the tears flow freely. You feel like you’re suffocating trying to contain the sobs stuck in your throat, and there’s an ache inside your chest at the thought of Mark. You’ve never felt this broken, this devastated, and you tried coming to reason that maybe being far and away from him is the best thing for you right now, but you feel like you’re torturing yourself. You’ve never been this miserable, so alone.

The loneliness made your ears ring every single time you heard your neighbours laughing or just talking loudly in the building’s hallways. The loneliness physically hurt you every time you laid into bed alone, your muscles aching to be squeezed in the usual warm embrace your body knew so well.

Maybe time will heal your wounds, and maybe time will make it all better. Eventually you’ll stop feeling like a ghost roaming around pretending you’re living your life to the fullest — without the man you were once sure was the love of your life.

The rapid steps you take as you walk your way towards the address Renjun texted you earlier are making your cheeks warm up. You’re a bit late, even if usually you’re not the type, but today you stopped by some shops, buying some flowers and a small gift for Renjun’s birthday, even if he did invite you last minute. 

Your nostrils flare at the smell of grilled meat and delicious sautéed vegetables you sense once you enter the restaurant, telling the waiter your friends are already here.

The moment they spot you, everyone greets you, their gaze following your every move as you embrace the birthday boy.

“I’m sorry for being late,” you mumble against his shoulder as he squeezes you in his arms, and your eyes are glossy at the contact, and even if these aren’t the arms you wanted around your figure right now, they’re still nice to feel especially after the tough time you’ve been having. “These are for you,” you hand him the bouquet and the small bag you’ve been carrying around town, “It’s not much, but it’s your birthday and I stopped by some shops on my way here,”

Renjun kisses your cheek, and he takes a good look at you, eyes scanning your features before he shows you to your seat.

You sit down between Yena and Haechan, and the lump in your throat is once again present knowing you’re sitting next to your boyfriend’s bestest of friends. He should be the one here, sitting in your spot right now, enjoying his friends’ company. Not you. 

Guilt eats at you and you feel pressure building behind your eyes once again. Like a sign that he knows you’re not feeling your best and that he’s slightly aware of what’s going on with you and what’s happening inside your mind right now, you feel Haechan’s hand patting your back, and you gulp at the feeling of his very warm hand on your cold body. 

He gives you a warm and reassuring smile as he pours you a glass of wine, and you try your best to calm your nerves. 

Conversations start awkwardly as you chat with Yena and then with Jeno who’s sitting across from you, giving you his signature smile more often than usual, and you have a faint idea why that is. No one talks about Mark, like he’s the unnameable, like they’re doing you a favour not bringing him up, and you’re once again uneasy being around them, guilt making your insides churn.

You don’t stay much longer, blaming the fact that you have an important meeting tomorrow — which is totally a lie, but you have to get out of here because you don’t want to ruin the mood of the dinner, and something tells you that everyone really sees through you tonight, and even if Renjun and Jaemin do their best trying to convince you to stay a bit longer, to make you eat something at least, you decline nonetheless.

“Y/n, wait!” Someone shouts after you as you start walking away from the restaurant. And you turn around to see Jaemin jogging towards you and giving you a smile once he reaches you, “How… how have you been?” He asks, his tone genuine, “You know what I actually mean,” he makes sure you got everything that his question implies right. 

You take a big breath, wrapping your arms around your body, “Like shit, to be honest,” you’re truly honest, and he can tell by the way you avert your gaze, looking at something on the ground, eyes all droopy. “How-” you open your mouth, but your throat becomes dry and you have to pause, “How is Mark doing?”

Jaemin smooshes his lips in a thin line, and he puts his hands inside the pockets of his jeans. He ran after you to talk to you about this whole situation, and now you’re here making it easier for him.

“I haven’t seen him in a few weeks,” he admits, but to his defence, it only happened because Mark agreed to call Jaemin once in a while so his friend could check on him without having to show up, “He didn’t speak to the others, so I’m the only one who’s still in contact with him,”

“What?” You furrow your brows confused. Mark loves his friends, and to know he’s gone no contact with them it’s making your heart race.

“Mark…” Jaemin has to make a pause, and he brings a hand to his hair, fingers combing through the strands, “Mark quit his job,” 

“He what?” You nearly shout, and you have to seal your lips not to ask a billion other questions.

He nods, gulping, “I think it was after the first week into your break, he just showed up to have a talk with the managers and to take his things,” you can’t believe Jaemin’s words, and your eyes are starting to brim with tears for the second time today — and then there’s the night awaiting, and you’re not sure how many times you’ll have to dry them off your face.

“I know this is tough for you, and taking this decision wasn’t easy. I would never want to be in your shoes and be forced to recur to something like this, but please Y/n, if you can find it in yourself to take a decision soon, for your own good as well as his. You two can’t go on like this,” he brings both his hands up to squeeze your arms, “I know it’s tough, but you’re the one who has all the power right now,”

Jaemin’s words echo in your head, and he holds you in his arms as he pats your head, encouraging you to let it all out. Once again, the arms engulfing you in a hug are not the ones you need, but you feel secure and for the first time in the last four weeks, you feel ready for closure. 

Mark’s not sure how he got through the last weeks since he last saw you, since he last heard your voice in person. He finds himself looking through his phone almost every night, listening to your voice messages, watching all the videos you sent each other, even checking the shared folders in his phone, of all the trips and all the events and concerts the two of you attended together, grouping the videos and photos. 

He’s also not sure how he plans to go forward. You haven’t reached out to him, and the one month mark has already passed. Just thinking of you and how you’re basically refusing to acknowledge his existence makes him want to hurl.

But he’s acknowledged all his mistakes, and quitting his job was the best decision he’s taken. Distancing himself from what — or who, to be precise — caused his relationship to go into shambles was the wisest thing he thinks he’s done in a while. Because he knows that nothing really matters anymore, only you matter, and just the thought of going to work after knowing what caused your rupture drove him insane. 

He also acknowledges that he was at fault, too. Because if only he listened to you, this wouldn’t have happened. If only he took his distance from his coworker, if only he took matters into his own hands and set a healthy boundary, this wouldn’t have happened.

It’s been so long since he felt in touch with reality, and he honestly doesn’t know how many times he found himself crying, tears rolling down his face without him realising. Tears of anger, sorrow and despair.

No one heard from you, they didn’t know how you were doing. And it lowkey pissed him, because how can his friends say they care for him, but at the same time they wouldn’t check on you to see if you’re okay? He couldn’t stand having Jaemin at his doorstep too often, feeling like his friend was coming over more for an inspection than to have a normal hangout, whatever normal could mean for Mark nowadays, anyway. 

So he promised Jaemin he’d call once in three or four days and fill him in on how pathetic his little life is, fill him in on how much he loves you and how much he sobs wanting for you to come back to him. And what pissed him off even more is that, during said phone calls, every time Mark asked his friend if he had reached out to you, the answer was always a negative one. 

“Then did Renjun or Haechan try reaching out to her?” Mark sniffed into the phone, and Jaemin’s silence made him rasp back to him, “Then don’t expect me to call you again if you don’t know how my girl is doing. The fuck, Jaemin?” His tone was low, seething with anger, before he switched his phone entirely, not caring to hear another word.

And now he’s still worried sick, because he still knows nothing about you and it has been so long. The uncertainties settle inside of him, inside his bones, and now he’s restless because his mind has to worry for one more reason. 

No amount of scorching showers or nights spent hugging your pillow could make him feel better. No amount of shed tears could make him stop thinking about you. His entire being is crying for you to give him another chance, and the more time passes, the more Mark is sure you've already thrown his stuff away from your apartment, the more he’s sure that night more than a month ago was the actual breakup and not the two of you just taking a break. Again, Mark remembers how neither of you believed in breaks.

Crying in the shower was the easiest. While pillows were getting damp and t-shirts were getting temporarily stained, the running hot water of the showers he started taking — as a way of feeling closer to you, and remembering the scorching water you liked having on your skin, — was the best choice. He couldn’t notice the wet tears in an already wet environment, and blowing his nose had never been easier than just letting the snot run out his nose and into the running water.

He looks at all the t-shirts and hoodies in his laundry basket, already overflowing, because they stopped smelling like you a while ago, but he still didn’t find it in himself to put them into the washing machine. Maybe another month has to go by for him to make this transition.

There’s a small knock on his door, almost imperceptible if it weren’t for the dead silence in his apartment, and he’s already preparing himself to tell Jaemin to piss off. He closes the laundry basket, putting it back in the corner of his bathroom, and he sniffles all the evidence of his earlier melt down in the shower, walking towards the door lazily.

He doesn’t even peep before opening, all ready to see Jaemin’s concerned scowl, but Mark’s breath catches in his throat the moment his gaze meets yours. 

You, who’s standing in front of him now, wearing your comfortable home clothes that you didn’t bother changing before showing up to his doorstep. 

“Can we talk?” You mumble softly, and there’s something in your gaze that has Mark weak in the knees.

His eyes try to scan yours to get an idea of what it is you might want to talk to him about, but they don’t get any clue from you, and he gulps while opening the door for you to step in. Mark is glad he at least cleaned some of the mess away, but he’s sure you can still see the traces of the disastrous way in which he’s been living lately.

His uncertain eyes are glued to your back, and he wants to get closer to you, hug you and never let you go, but he’s not sure if that’s accepted of him right now. 

“I’m not sure how to start, to be honest,” you mumble again, turning around to look at him. “Not sure if our relationship can be mended,” you gulp, eyebrows furrowing.

Mark feels light headed all of a sudden. You’re here, in flesh and bones to tell him what he dreads hearing  the most. It’s really over, and he feels his heart sinking to his stomach. “Y/n…” his voice breaks, and you can hear the tears before you can see them. 

Your head snaps towards his direction, and your gaze meets his. He’s trying so hard not to let out all the tears suffocating him, all the sobs stuck in his throat, and you bite your lip pitying him — feeling the urge to pat him for comfort, but you resist your instinct, and decide to go on with your explaining instead.

“Maybe I should start with telling you that you betrayed me the moment all of my fears became reality. Maybe I should tell you how it broke me to know you were neglecting me and our relationship because you found comfort being around your coworker,” you start, and Mark recognises you’re getting upset, the soft tone of your voice changed to a slightly more raging one.

“I don’t know why I did it, but I swear I never cheated on you,” he finds the voice to answer back to you, even if his tone is soft, uncertain.

“Physically, you didn’t,” you retort, bringing your hands behind your back,

“I know, you explained it to me and I looked into it. And I’ll regret it forever, Y/n,” he remembers thinking you’ve just pulled the term out of nowhere when you brought it up in your last fight, right before you said you wanted a break from your relationship with him.

“Do you think taking a break helped us?” You ask, looking into his teary eyes. You hate to see him crying.

“We don’t believe in breaks,” he whispers, averting his gaze so he doesn’t start bawling in front of you.

“I heard you quit your job,” you mumble again, and he nods. “Why did you do that?”

“I knew I couldn’t be there anymore,” Mark really wanted to say that he couldn’t be there with that one coworker anymore, knowing how right you had always been when it came to her, and it brought to his despair, “I can always get a new job, but I can’t possibly get another you,” he gulps, and his head hangs between his shoulders.

“But you loved your job, Mark!” You retort, almost nagging at him,

He shakes his head, eyebrows furrowing as he takes his hands behind his back — otherwise he’ll continue to have the urge to grab you and take you into his arms, “Not as much as I love you,” his reply is simple, it gets straight to the point, “I’m sorry for not showing you how much you meant to me, how much I love you, and I’m sorry for hurting you,”

You sigh, closing your eyes, “I need you to promise me you’ll open up to me more, in the future,”

Mark’s head snaps back up to look at you, “What?” His tone is high in pitch, almost incredulous.

“I need you to be honest in the future, if you want us to work out,” Your eyes scan his face, and he goes through all the emotions in the book. “I love you, Mark, but I won’t be able to go through this one more time,” you say, alluding to the break, all the heartbreak and all the sadness it brought you.

“We don’t have to go though this again. We won’t, I swear!” His voice is full of newfound confidence after hearing your words, and he takes a few steps towards you, and you allow him to take you into his embrace.

This time, the arms wrapping around you are exactly the ones you’ve been needing, the ones your body has been craving for.

Mark’s nose is filled with your perfume, and he starts crying at the way your arms wrap around him, squeezing him. 

“I’m not sure how I survived being away from you for so long,” he mumbles, his nose nuzzling into your hair.

You look up at him, his beautiful and sparkly eyes are droopy from all the crying he’s been doing. He takes a few steps back until his heels touch the foot of the couch, and he sits on the armrest, bringing you after him, entrapping your body with his arms and legs as you stand between them. His face is now to the same level as yours, and it doesn’t take you long to grab the sides of his face to bring him in close. 

He closes his eyes the moment he feels your sweet lips mere centimetres away from his, and his hands roam on your waist and back to keep you as close as possible to him. His lips are devouring yours in a hungry, desperate kiss, that he deepens as soon as you grant him access into your mouth. You’re so sweet, like everything he’s ever tasted in the past few weeks tasted bland, like your sweetness was everything he’s ever needed. 

You have to break the kiss when you feel your lungs burning, asking for air, and as much as you love Mark and his obsession with having your lips entrapped in a kiss, he’ll have all the time in the world to be all over you, literally.

And his head falls in the crook of your neck, nose nuzzling against your skin and lips giving you small pecks. He inhales your perfume, the scent of your skin, he’s not sure anymore what it is — he’s elated to feel you, to have you back into his arms and into his life.

“I can’t believe you quit your job,” you tell him, bringing one of your hands up to play with his now long hair. You hope he knows that getting back together doesn’t mean him getting a haircut, at least for now.

“Stop saying this,” he commands, giving your hips a warning squeeze. “My job isn’t as important as you are, and I love you too much not to do this for you, for us,” 

You kiss him once again, and this time it’s sweet and slow, exactly like your relationship will be from now on. 

The moment is interrupted as you flinch against his body, after the doorbell startles you. Your boyfriend looks at you, confused, wondering if Jaemin dropped by like he expected just earlier, when he opened the door and the sight of you on his doorstep greeted him.

it’s been an ongoing struggle recently. he doesn’t know why, but he’s been filled with the need to have your warm walls around his length. on the late nights where you’re not there with him, he’s left alone to fuck his fist, imagining it’s you wrapped around him. he’d be so good to you, taking care of your every need.

he knows that he’s supposed to take it slow with you. you opened up to him saying that you were more inexperienced and that you were open to trying things with him. you just wanted to take it slow, you weren’t in a rush. he obviously respected your opinion, but he can’t help the thoughts that flooded his mind.

all he could manage was a soft smile and a press of his lips onto yours. he couldn’t wait to have you how you wanted.

-

jaemin wants you to come onto him. he doesn’t want to pressure you into something you’re not ready for yet. 

it’s one night where you’re both watching a movie. you’re cuddled up into his side, trying hard to pay attention to the movie playing in front of you. you’re not sure what’s gotten into you, but you can’t stop thinking about jaemin. he’s not doing anything, his hand is smoothing over your side as he watches the movie. 

you keep thinking of your words from the other day. you were the one who suggested going slow, but as you’re sitting next to him now, you’re not sure how you’re supposed to hold up your words. you don’t know how to bring it up. you’re not even sure what exactly it is that you want.

you can feel heat building up in your body, your cheeks growing hot the more time you spend at jaemin’s side. you bury your head into his shoulder, and jaemin coos at the sight of you. you almost feel guilty for feeling so… like this while he has no idea. you can feel frustration build up inside you, tears threatening to prick at your eyes as you want something you’re not even used to.

you accidentally let out a soft whine, immediately slapping a hand around your mouth. you pull away from jaemin, your shocked eyes looking into his. he looks more worried than anything, his eyes scanning all across your face as he asks, “are you alright, angel? is anything wrong?”

he watches as you shake your head no. for a moment, he’s worried for you, his hands moving to hold yours as he checks over you. he’s quick to realize how your thighs are squeezing together. it’s easy for him to pick up what’s wrong with you. there’s a small smile on his face when he puts one of his hands on your cheek, “you feel hot. you need to tell me what’s wrong so i can help you.”

judging by how he’s looking at you, you can tell he probably already knows what’s wrong. you let out a shaky breath, unable to come up with any words. his thumb rubs softly into the skin of your cheek as you nuzzle into his touch. you take a deep breath before you speak, “i… i need your help, jaemin.”

he tilts his head, “with what?”

“w-want you to… touch me.” before he can do anything, you reach for his hand, placing it softly onto your thigh. he stares at it, squeezing lightly as he feels around. he’s touched you before, but there’s a difference between now and the quick, soft touches that he usually lays onto you. you’re asking him to touch you in a voice he’s never heard from you before.

he calls out your name, getting your attention as he stares into your eyes. you slowly move toward him, softly placing your lips onto his. that’s all he needs, your confirmation as he molds his lips against you. his hands hold your face, keeping you still as your hands stay on the couch. one eventually makes it to his thigh, lightly touching it like he touched you earlier.

he lets you pull away from the kiss to take a breath. he finds himself slightly out of breath, too caught up with the feeling of your lips. he wants to feel you closer to him, despite you sitting right by him. he clears his throat, “can i try something?”

you whisper out a yes. he tells you to stand up as you watch him get more comfortable on the couch, spreading his legs apart. he looks up at you, patting his thighs, “come and sit down.”

the initial nervousness comes back as you feel more heat bloom in your face. your hands squeeze into fists as you debate on what you should do. it doesn’t last long, though. there’s a need for you to be close to him, to have him hold you as you kiss him. you want to feel the heat of his body against you as he kisses you.

you move slowly as you settle yourself on top of his thighs. it’s not uncomfortable, but you’re nervous to have him this close to you. he’s smiling at you, his hands sliding up on your thighs, causing goosebumps to rise on your skin. he bats his eyelashes at you, “do you still want to kiss?”

nodding, you learn forward to press your lips onto his. you’re mindful of how you’re sitting on him, not wanting to put all your weight down on him. he’s quick to run his hands down your sides, getting you to fully sit down on him. 

he hums against you, gripping down onto your waist. he has you so close, and he can feel how warm you are against him. his tongue darts out, licking at your bottom lip. you open up slightly, letting his tongue lick into your mouth. it’s different from the soft kisses he gives you, and you welcome it as you move your tongue against his.

a soft whine escapes you, and before jaemin can try to get you to make that sound again, you instinctively roll your hips down onto his thigh. jaemin lets out an internal groan, swearing that he could feel you clench on top of him. all he’s done is kiss you and you’re already worked up. you move to get closer to him, your chest against his as he presses a hand to your back.

you roll your hips down, small noises escaping your mouth as you chase any type of friction you can get. your hands make it onto his shoulders for support as you mindlessly grind against him. 

jaemin can feel himself getting hard from the way you’re moving on top of him and from the way you’re whimpering in his mouth. he grabs your hips, shifting you right on top of his clothed cock. you don’t seem to notice at first, but when his cock twitches against your thigh, you pull away from him, staring down.

jaemin starts, “when you move like that on top of me…”

“it feels good for you, too?” 

he nods, smoothing his hand over your back, “i think i could cum just like this. whatever you do, angel, i like.”

you gasp at his words, feeling his hands snake around to your back, moving you forward against him. he lets out a swear at the feeling, moving his hands to your waist as you grind down. there’s a newfound desperation in your movements knowing that jaemin feels just as good as you feel, that you’re making him feel this way. 

you’re on top of him, rolling down your hips in a way that seems too out of character for you. the shy, reserved self that you show to him is gone, replaced with the need to get yourself off with him. you’re using him, pants of his name fan across the skin on his neck as his hands wander a little further down.

he’s no better than you. he’s letting out low grunts as his hips roll up to meet yours. his hands finally make it to your ass, giving it a light squeeze as he lets out a curse. there’s been too many times he’s had to stop himself from doing this, his hands moving a little rougher against you. he helps you roll your hips down onto him, grinding you down onto his tip.

he could easily flip you over, could pull down your shorts and panties and rut against your leaking pussy. but he can’t, choosing to be content with how he has you now. he grits his teeth, pushing away the thoughts as he hears you let out a whimper of his name. he asks with a low voice, “angel, do you feel like you might cum?”

you don’t answer right away, your whines and whimpers filling the air as you try to process what he said. you can feel him twitching under you, rolling his hips up against yours. your head falls to his shoulder, “jaemin, i need… i need to cum!”

his hands grip your hips, setting a pace for you as he grinds you harder against him. it doesn’t take long for you to cum, not when he’s holding you and letting out groans of your name. seeing you so desperate to cum pushes him over the edge, cum staining his boxers as he ruts his hips up.

there’s a comfortable silence between the two of you, heavy breaths filling the air as you collect yourselves. his arms wrap around your back, pulling you into a hug. you smile against his shoulder, your arms trying their best to wrap around his slumped figure on the couch.

it doesn’t take you long to start whining, “i’m hot and sticky all at the same time, jaemin. i think we might need to move.”

he murmurs against you, “let me hold you a little longer, angel. i liked this so much.”

“i did, too,” you press a kiss to his skin, “and as much as i did, i need to shower.”

a laugh fills the space between the two of you, “of course.” he pulls away from you, watching as you stand up on wobbly legs. to your embarrassment, he moves to walk you to the restroom, ignoring your complaints. 

-

jaemin thought that maybe just that once, you would act out on your instincts.

he noticed that you let him be a bit more touchier. he didn’t want to push anything, but he let his hands linger on you a lot longer than they used to. you didn’t even shy away when he would, you’d let his hands stay where they want to be. you’re the same, you kiss him more openly; you try teasing him a bit more, too. 

he likes seeing you be more open with him, likes seeing you feel more confident in your love. he’ll do anything you want him to if it means he can make you feel more comfortable. 

it’s another day that he’s at his apartment with you. you’ve had more time to come over, more time to spend with your boyfriend. he doesn’t expect anything because he has to remind himself: you want to take it slow. he doesn’t mind, he loves spending time with you regardless.

he doesn’t really expect you to come to him that day while he moves you both to his bedroom, a shy look as you approach him, “jaemin…”

he smiles at you, “hey, angel. what is it?’

“can we… can we do what we did the other day again?’

“what do you mean? what did we do exactly?”

you’re not dumb to not notice his sly smirk, a cat-like grin growing on his face. he knows exactly what you mean, but he’s trying to get you to say it. your face heats up, murmuring out words that you can’t even understand.

he moves to sit on the corner of the bed, his head tilting at your mumbled words. he reaches his arms out towards you, “you’re gonna have to tell me what it is that you want, baby. can’t help you if you don’t tell me.”

without much thinking, you move to sit down on jaemin’s thighs. he didn’t expect you to move like that on your own, shown by how his breath hitches in his throat. his hands don’t hesitate to move to your waist, bringing you closer to him before they drop to your thighs. his thumbs move to the sensitive skin of your inner thighs, causing you to shiver on top of him.

he chuckles at the sight of you, likes how your shorts have ridden up, giving him all access to your thighs. he pushes you right on top of his bulge, and slowly grinds you down on top of him, “i had my baby waiting for too long, hm? i should’ve known you needed me, right?”

you’re already feeling dizzy from his words, trying to grind down on him already, trying to chase the feeling from before. his hands stop you, though, keeping you in place. he bites back a groan when he feels you squirm on top of him, “won’t you tell me how much you needed me?”

your voice comes out breathy, “i- couldn’t stop thinking about you. i tried touching myself, but… it just didn’t feel right without you.”

jaemin’s grip on you gets tighter, his eyes shutting at the thought. imagining you stuffing your hands in your shorts, trying to make yourself feel just as good as he made you feel. he lurches forward, caging you in a heated kiss. he can feel you try to keep up with him, your arms wrapping around his neck as you do.

he can feel how desperate you are, no restraint shown in how you moan into his mouth. you’re more unrestrained, and he loves it, loves how he’s made you like this. he’s just as needy as you are, probably even more than you are. he’s the first one to start moving, his hips grinding up into yours. he’s practically using you like a toy, groaning in your ear at the feeling.

his grip loosens, allowing you to move with him. you drag your clit along his hardening cock, clenching around nothing as jaemin peppers kisses along your shoulder. it feels just as good as last time, but you can't help but feel like you’re missing something. you want him, you need him to help you make you feel good. “jaemin, i-” you whimper, “i w-want more, please.”

he has to forcibly stop himself from grinding up to you, focusing on your words, “what do you want me to do?”

you grab one of his hands, looking at his fingers before placing it back at your inner thigh, “i-i want you to touch me. like how i tried touching myself.”

jaemin’s head tilts back, eyes shutting at your words. you can feel him twitch under you, his hands balling at his sides. he takes a breath before refocusing on you, “can you stand up for me?”

you do, moving off of him, immediately whining when you’re not close to him. he shushes you lightly when he rests against the headboard of his bed, his legs spread, eyes filled with need as he looks at you. “come here, angel. i’ll make you feel good.”

you crawl over to him, and as you’re about to face him, he turns you around so that your back is towards him. he pulls you against his chest, his head resting on your shoulder as he coos at you, “can you take off your shorts for me, baby?”

you’re a bit shy, but do so nonetheless. you struggle, too eager for him to continue. he watches you, eyes zeroing in on the expanse of skin being exposed to him. this is the most he’s ever seen of you, and you’re not even fully undressed. without thinking, he says, “you’re so pretty, angel. so pretty, just for me, hm?”

you’re quick to agree, your back pressing against his chest. you can feel his cock twitch under you, and it makes you more eager. his fingers leave featherlight touches along your thighs, inching close to where you need him most. he hums in your ear, “needed me to feel good, couldn’t touch yourself without my help. you’ll let me help you, right?”

you let out a whine at his words, squirming on top of his lap to get him to continue. he lets out a low chuckle, “my eager baby, i’ll make you feel good. just be patient.”

his fingers trace circles on your inner thighs, enjoying the small noises you let out at his teasing. you don’t try to rush him anymore, trying your best to stay still on his lap. you’re biting down on your lip when his fingers rest on the edge of your panties. he’s sitting there, so close to your heat while pressing kisses to your neck, and you’re not sure how much more you can take.

“jaemin, please touch me. i wanna know how it feels.”

he traces his fingers along your clothed slit. he immediately lets out a shaky breath when he does, realizing just how wet you are from the little touches he’s offered you. you’re like this because of him, and he knows you’ve never felt like this for anyone else. he’ll make sure you’ll never want anyone to do this to you.

“you’re dripping, angel,” his fingers press against your clit, “is it all for me?”

you gasp, hips twitch at the feeling, “y-yes! all for you, please keep going.”

he can’t say no when you ask so nicely, your sweet voice taking over all of his thoughts. his middle finger makes slow circles on your clit, enjoying the way whimpers easily begin slipping out of you. you hold onto his arm for support, your hips trying to rut up in his touch, unknowingly trying to gain more stimulation.

his other hand that’s not touching you pries your leg open, keeping it from trying to shut around his hand. you’re so sensitive, responding to the light touches with high pitched moans, whimpers of his name rolling off of your tongue. he has to forcibly stop himself from grinding into your ass, biting the inside of his cheek when he can feel himself twitching. 

he knows you need more when your nails begin to dig into the skin of his arms. his arm has a hard time trying to keep your legs open for him, caught up in all the sensitivity of his touches. you break when he speeds up the circles on your clit, “j-jaemin, hold on! i might- i might cum!”

“isn’t that what my angel wants?”

you feel embarrassed asking, but if you don’t tell him, he’ll never know, “can we… i wanna feel your fingers on me- or in me.”

jaemin’s head tilts back onto the headboard, all of his restraint lost at your words. “i’ll help you, wanna show you just how good you can feel. is that okay with you?”

“yes… please, jaemin.”

his fingers move to pull your panties to the side, exposing your dripping pussy to him. he bites down on his lip again to contain the moan that threatens to slip out. he can look over and see how wet you are for him, how you’re on display for him. “my angel has the prettiest pussy i’ve ever seen,” he lets out a breath at the whimper that comes from you, “so needy just for my fingers.”

you let out a whine, your hips bucking into the air as you try to search for any friction. he finally gives in, two fingers moving to circle at your clit. you melt immediately, head lolling onto his shoulder, loud whimpers filling the air. he mumbles in your ear, “wanna get you all wet for me before i try fingering you, okay?”

“please keep going.”

he presses a kiss to the shell of your ear, fingers speeding up on your clit. he can feel you begin twitching on top of him, legs threatening to close on his hand. you try to keep yourself spread open for him. jaemin’s other hand slowly trails up your body, reaching under your shirt to one of your boobs. he groans when he realizes you aren’t wearing a bra, fingers meeting a hard nipple.

with jaemin’s fingers on your clit and tugging on your nipple, it doesn’t take long for you to begin dripping all over the sheets. your moans have raised in pitch, calling out to him, begging him for more. “you’re ready for my fingers, angel? wanna feel them inside you?”

a moan of his name slips out of you, pleading for him. he plants a kiss on your shoulder, licking at the spot right after, “of course, baby. gonna take it slow for you.”

his hand slides down, his middle finger making it to your entrance. he shushes you when you start squirming, his finger slowly sliding inside you. it feels different, but good. your legs shut around his hand, and he lets it happen as he watches in awe. you’re so tight, he thinks. he wonders how he’s gonna fit himself inside of your tight pussy.

the thought makes him twitch in his pants, bringing himself back to the task at hand. your legs slowly open back up, your hips rolling in time with the movements of his finger. he didn’t expect to see the sight of you like this this fast. you let out a moan, “wan’ another finger, jaemin.”

“angel’s ready for another?” his ring finger moves to your entrance, slowly entering inside along with his middle finger. he can feel you tightly clench around his fingers, letting out a cry when his palm rubs against your clit. it’s too much, the sensation bringing you quickly to the edge. it’s only intensified when jaemin curls his fingers inside you, finding a spot inside you the sends shocks along your spine.

“feel good, baby?”

you can barely hear him, thighs beginning to shake as he presses he continues presses his fingers against your sweet spot. you’re falling apart quickly, his fingers plunging deep inside you as his other hand moves back to your boob, groping at the flesh. you let out a sob, “gonna cum, jaemin. wanna cum so bad!”

“yeah, gonna cum all over my fingers? go ahead and cum, pretty.”

your head falls back onto his shoulders, a wail leaving you as you cum, clenching on his fingers. his watches you intensely, watches how you’re left a mess because of him. he gives up on keeping your legs open, liking just how much you show how good he’s making you feel. 

he leaves kisses along your neck, his hand thumbing over your nipple and his palm slowly rubbing into your clit. you ride out your orgasm, letting out a squeak when the stimulation feels a little too much. he removes his hands from you, choosing to wrap them around you as he whispers in your ear, “did so good for me, angel. loved watching you fall apart because of me.”

while you’re coming down from your high, jaemin subtly brings his fingers that are wet with your slick to his mouth. he almost wants to moan around his fingers, realizing that you’re the sweetest thing he’s ever tasted. he likes the taste of you on his tongue so much, realizing he might just have to do more than finger you next time.

your breaths begin to even out, your mind becoming clear from the haze you were in. you can feel jaemin nuzzle into your neck, but more importantly, you can feel his dick press into your backside. he’s still hard, and you realize he hasn’t cum yet.

jaemin watches as you slowly turn your body to face him, sliding down to your knees. he moves to sit at the edge of the bed, your dazed eyes following his every move. your head moves to rest on his knee, looking up at him with a pretty smile on your face, “are you gonna teach me how to make you feel good?”

he follows your hand that trails up his thigh, dangerously close to his bulge. his angel wants to make him feel good. his hand cups your cheek, thumb sliding across your skin, “gonna be good for me, baby?”

-

over the course of a few weeks, jaemin has been seeing a change in you.

you’re more touchy now, easing into his side as you cuddle on the couch. you don’t shy away when he touches you either, choosing to go along with his antics. you tease him, a playful smile on your face when you let yourself sit on his lap.

now, you try to initiate more intimate acts with him. you’re still a little nervous, jaemin helping you along the way as you lay back onto his bed, fingers moving inside you. you always return the favor, jaemin liking the way you look with his cock in your mouth way too much.  he’s also had the time to eat you out, easily folding when you ask him to use his mouth one day.

which is how he finds himself today, harshly sucking on your clit while his fingers plunge into your dripping cunt. your whimpers and moans fill the air, almost covering up the lewd sounds of jaemin eating you out. every time he does this, he acts like a man starved, licking at your entrance just to get a taste of your slick.

one of his hands makes it to your boob, kneading at the flesh just to get you to moan out for him, just to feel you clench harder around his fingers. you whine when he pulls his fingers out of you, his tongue moving to lap at your hole. what’s different is that his tongue slips in, pressing into your hole.

your hips jut into his face, his nose rubbing against your clit. it feels so new, and it sets off a desire in you. your mind is now needing to be filled up with something more, something that jaemin can easily provide to you.

one of your hands wraps around the one on your boob, moving to interlock his fingers with yours. you can feel him smile against you, speeding up his movements. you call out to him weakly, getting his attention as he hesitantly moves away from your pussy. you try to ignore how his mouth and chin are wet, his low voice asking, “what is it, baby?”

you try to put yourself together, your voice coming out shaky when his other thumb rubs against your clit, “i-i’m ready.”

“ready to cum? i’ll make sure you do.”

before he can plunge back to your cunt, you call him once more, “not for that! well, to cum, but… i think i’m ready to have sex with you.”

at lightning speed, he sits up, eyes bulging out of his head, “really? are- are you sure? it’s not too soon?”

“no,” you smile, “i-i mean, i trust you. i trust you to, um, take care of me.”

he watches as shyness takes over you, avoiding eye contact as you talk. there’s a soft smile on your face, your words being genuine. “you should’ve told me so i could’ve made today more special,” he nags, “i could’ve had a whole day with you, angel.”

you let out an airy laugh, “any time i get to spend with you is special, jaemin.”

he huffs, “if you say you’re ready, then you’re ready. if at any point in time you want me to stop, i’ll stop. we can do anything you want, just say the word.”

“want this, jaemin. want you.”

he lets out an affirming okay, quickly sliding off of the bed in order to take his sweats off, choosing to leave his boxers on for now. he quickly rejoins you, “i’m gonna finger you some more, alright, baby? wanna make sure that you’ll be nice and ready for me.”

you nod, choosing to sit up a little more as you watch two of his fingers slide into you. you’re still so wet, his fingers easily plunging inside you. he scissors his fingers inside you, stretching you out for him. his thumb hooks around to your clit, rubbing in tight circles that has your head lolling back. 

“doesn’t take long for you to get ready for me, hm? my baby just needs my help, right?’ his words shoot straight to your core, pushing you close to cumming. he can feel you clench tightly, adding a third finger as he continues. 

you tell him that you’re close, whining that you want to cum with him instead. he smiles at you, cooing, “want you to cum now, then i’ll know that you’re ready to take my cock.”

you immediately let go, cumming all over his fingers. he knows what sets you off now, how to get you to cum quickly with just a few motions. he grins at the sight of you, “so good for me, my baby is so good for me.”

you swat him away when he tries continuing, a small laugh leaving him as you do. his hand smoothing over your thigh calms you, bringing you back to look up at him with a certain look. he bites down on his lip when you speak, “i think i’m ready- think i’m ready for you, jaemin.”

“yeah?” jaemin tries not to sound nervous himself, “my baby needs me already?”

you nod, covering your face in embarrassment at his words. it’s even more embarrassing when you ask, “you have c-condoms, right?”

he reaches over to his nightstand, fishing one out from the bottom of his drawer. since he started dating you, he hasn’t found the need to buy anymore. he thanks his past self for leaving just a few behind, he would’ve died if he had to say no to you now. a bright smile shines on his face when he shows it to you, laughing at you when you look at it weirdly.

“wanna watch me put it on?”

you laugh at his words, thanking him internally for trying to lighten the mood.

as jaemin slides the condom on, he realizes he wants this just as bad as you do. he notices how his chest is heaving with every breath he takes, and he’s not even inside you yet. his eyes glance up towards yours, looking back at him, pleading for him to just do something. “i’m gonna start moving. angel, need you to tell me if i need to slow down or stop moving.”

you nod sweetly at him, hand moving to cup his cheek, thumb smoothing over his skin. “i love you, jaemin. you can start.”

your sweet words and action has his skin burning up, his cheeks turning red as he lines himself up at your entrance. he can feel how warm you are, his tip sliding over your slit a few times, working the both of you up. his body hovers over yours, moving to press kisses on your neck when he slides in.

your nails dig into his shoulders when he presses in. he lets out a grunt, “s-so tight, need you to relax, baby. can’t move if you’re not relaxed.”

“s-sorry! i just- you’re so big.”

he groans at your words, his head falling to your shoulder again. he slips out of you, giving you a second to relax before you give him the go ahead again. he slowly slips his tip in, wincing when he feels you clamp down on him. he bites down on his lip to stop any embarrassing sounds from coming out, hand soothing your side as he pushes more of his length in.

it’s a weird feeling for you, it doesn’t exactly hurt, but he is stretching you open. nothing this big has been inside you, so used to his fingers. you let out broken whines, asking him to stop at certain points. your nails lightly scratch down his back, 

his hips finally are flush against yours, his cock buried deep inside you. you can feel him twitch, slightly shaking on top of you. he’s trying to calm you down, soft words being whispered into your ear, followed by soft kisses. his thumb snakes between your bodies, tracing light circles on your clit.

if only you knew how much he was struggling not to buck his hips into your cunt. you’re so tight, so warm, clenching down on his cock. your walls are getting used to the intrusion, soft pants fanning across his face. you call out his name, his hips accidentally pushing closer to you as you clench around him. he quickly apologies, eyebrows furrowing at the feeling.

“i-” you let out a breath, “i want you to s-start moving. s-slowly, please.”

“of course, angel. like i said, tell me if i need to stop, if i need to slow down, or anything, okay?”

you nod quickly, jaemin leaning back up, his eyes staring down at where you two are connected. you spare a look, getting embarrassed at the sight. he starts slowly moving, pulling slowly out of you before pushing back in. you can feel every inch of him, your warm walls inviting him in. it’s so easy for you to just let him take over, the feeling slowly bleeding into pleasure as he gets a rhythm.

while you’re getting used to the feeling, jaemin seems to be losing himself in you. every time he moves his hips, he can feel how wet you are. it’s like you try to suck him back in when he tries pulling out, like you need him to keep on fucking you. your arms are wrapped around his shoulder, bringing him closer to you. he’s surrounded by all of you, your scent, your cunt, the pretty sounds you’re making.

when you start moaning his name, he has to stop, head falling to your shoulder as he tries to keep his composure. he knows he can’t just yet, but he wants to fuck into your cunt, wants to have you fucked stupid just because of his cock. the thought makes him twitch inside you, the feeling of his orgasm already bubbling up in his abdomen.

he lets out a shaky exhale before he starts moving again, a little faster than before. “how’re you feeling, baby? tell me how it f-feels for you.”

“feels so good, jaemin! your cock feels so good inside me!”

you clench down on him, your hips rolling up into his. you’re moving in time with his thrusts, your nails raking down his back, leaving trails of red marks for later. he doesn’t care though, not when you’re wrapped tightly around him, not when he gets to hear you moan his name. all he can think about is you, and how badly he wants to flip you over and really fuck you.

“so tight, you keep clenching so tight around me, wanna make this pussy mine. tell me it’s mine, angel.”

“please! ‘s all yours, i’m all yours!”

he lets out a growl, he’s quickening his pace, hands gripping onto the sheets near your head. he needs to kiss you or else he might think about how bad you need him, how he’s been the one to show you all this. you kiss him back, whining into his mouth as your chest arches into his. he can feel your hard nipples against his chest, letting out a low fuck.

he can feel himself getting close, his thumb rubbing quick circles on your clit. he can start feeling you clench around him, your voice rising in volume as you start babbling out to him. he prays that your close, too. he doesn’t think he can last much longer, not with the way you’re wrapping around him.

“gonna cum, angel? you wanna cum, gonna cum with me?”

he sounds so needy, just as fucked out as you are. you can barely register his words, but you know you need to cum just as bad as he does. he picks up his pace, his hands gripping onto your hips as he pounds into you. his low moans join your whines and whimpers, jumbled praises leaving his mouth as he gets closer, “s-so good for me, angel. pussy made just for me, only for me. no one else will ever have you like this.”

you nod, tears pricking your eyes as you come undone, cumming all over his cock. he’s quick to follow, unable to stop himself from cumming when you clench down on his cock. he’s groaning in your ear, quickly moving to messily kiss you. he licks into your mouth, moaning when you start milking his cock.

he slows down, quickly sliding out of you. he sits back on his knees, eyes staring at your spent pussy. he’s broken from his trance when you let out an embarrassed whine of his name. he chuckles when you shut your legs, sliding the condom off before tossing it in the trash.

you’re so tired, all of your energy being used up. jaemin rejoins you in bed, hand smoothing over your thigh, admiring the glow emanating off of you, almost wishing he could take a picture. maybe for another time, he thinks, he’ll bring it up later.

it’s quiet, enjoying the presence of your boyfriend as his light touches move all over. before you can fall asleep, his voice calls out to you, “angel, we gotta get you cleaned up.”

you whine, “but ‘m too tired, you did this to me.”

he laughs, hand moving to hold yours, “i know, i know. let me make it up to you, let me take care of my baby, hm?”

you sigh contentedly, “in five minutes.”

Charles hadn’t thought much of it, really. Not at the time. It was just a pen — a fountain pen, sleek and finely weighted, its deep emerald lacquer gleaming under the conference room’s sterile lights as he scribbled notes absentmindedly during the debrief. The nib glided effortlessly across the parchment-like pages of his notebook, each stroke smooth, precise, almost indulgent. It was one of those rare moments where the act of writing felt as dignified as the content itself.

He only pulled it out because the biro on the conference table had given up mid-stroke, dry as dust. With little thought, he reached into the pocket of his jeans, retrieved the fountain pen, uncapped it in one fluid motion, and continued scribbling on the project debrief like it was the most ordinary instrument in the world.

Until, of course, it wasn’t.

The murmuring of engineers and department leads around him blurred into the background until a voice to his left cut through. “You’ve got an eye for quality,” murmured one of the engineers across the table, a lanky man named Alessandro who had a penchant for cufflinks and fountain pens.

His gaze lingered on the pen with something approaching reverence. “Montblanc 149, if I’m not mistaken? Limited edition run... rare resin finish. You don’t see many of those around.”

Charles glanced up briefly, with Alessandro’s eyes locked on the pen in Charles’s hand with borderline reverence. He blinked. “The what?”

“The 149, Charles. The grail pen. The top of the bloody line.” Charles offered a vague shrug, still writing with his brow slightly arched. “Oh? I hadn’t noticed. It was a gift,” he replied offhandedly, his tone clipped in a way that suggested the topic needn’t go any further. But Alessandro, undeterred, leaned back with an appreciative whistle.

“A gift?” Alessandro nearly sputtered. He leaned back in his chair, folding his arms with a wry grin. “Hell of a gift. That’s not the sort of thing you find at the corner stationery shop,” he mused, eyes lingering. “Whoever gave that to you must’ve thought you hung the bloody moon.”

Alessandro’s voice rose with each word, drawing the attention of at least three other colleagues around the table. Charles remained unmoved, eyes still on his page, the nib gliding in smooth, elegant arcs.

Alessandro pressed on, animated now. “Those go for over a thousand pounds, easy. If you’re lucky. And that’s just the base price. There are custom editions, limited releases — hell, the vintage ones sell for four times that. You don’t just use those pens. You preserve them. They must’ve thought you were the sun and stars, giving you that.”

Over a thousand pounds? If you’re lucky?

The words were light and casual, intended as a compliment, but they landed like a hammer to the chest. Just for a breath of a second, the pen paused mid-word, leaving a slight smudge of ink like a bruise blooming on the page. And then silence. A roar of silence that crashed against him louder than any reprimand could. Because Alessandro didn’t know. He couldn’t have known.

She’d given him that pen. She, whose hands bore the calluses of part-time work and after-hours hustles. Who stitched her life together with early morning lectures and late night shifts, budgeting every pence to make rent and afford her textbooks or semesters. She wasn’t from a world of luxury or excess, yet she’d given him the one thing she’d worked tirelessly for, her first fountain pen. Her favourite. A piece of her heart wrapped in lacquer and gold.

And he, the coward, had let her slip through his fingers.

They’d met at a dinner party, one of those mindless affairs hosted by a mutual friend. She had laughed with the kind of carelessness that made people look, not because she was loud, but because she was real. He’d liked that. The easy cadence of her voice, the way she tilted her head when listening, the quickness of her wit. And somehow, between late-night texts and shared taxi rides, she became a constant in his life.

He had never asked her to give him the pen. But one evening, as they sat on the stone steps outside her university hall, she pressed it into his palm with a smile that trembled at the corners. The look on her face, half proud, half sheepish as she handed him the box. The Montblanc. He hadn’t even registered the name then, not really.

“It’s my favourite,” she had murmured, not quite meeting his eyes. “I saved up for it, for months. But I want you to have it although you could easily afford it.” she admitted, laughing at herself like it was silly. “But it’s the one thing I’m proud of. I really wanted to give you something you’d use. It’s… my favourite. The first one I ever bought for myself but I want you to have it. It felt right to give it to you.”

He remembered now — how her fingers trembled slightly as he opened the box. How she watched his expression, almost apologetically, as if afraid he wouldn’t see it the way she did. And he hadn’t. Not really. He thanked her, kissed her temple, tucked the pen into his bag, and treated it like a kind gesture. Nothing more. He never asked how much it cost. Never asked how she’d managed it. He didn’t understand that for someone like her, it wasn’t just a pen.

He should’ve said no. He should’ve realised then. But back then, he believed time was something he had enough of. That feelings could wait, that she'd always be there. It hadn’t registered, not properly, how much she gave without ever asking for anything in return.

He remembered the way she’d rush to her night shifts at the bookstore, hair barely dried from her evening shower, the way she’d juggle coursework with rent payments, never complaining, only smiling. She never had much, not money, not time, but she gave it all, and gave it to him.

“Gifted, huh?” Alessandro repeated with a curious smile, unaware of the emotional avalanche he’d triggered. “Well, you’ve got good taste in friends for them to be giving it away, it’s like giving away your favourite child.” Charles swallowed hard, blinking back the fog settling behind his eyes.

His throat tightened, his jaw clenching ever so slightly, letting out a soundless breath, one that seemed to draw from somewhere deep within him. “You alright?” Alessandro asked, his voice cutting through the fog of memory.

Charles blinked, eyes falling back to the pen, to the way his hand trembled slightly now. “Yeah,” he murmured. “Just tired.” Alessandro nodded, oblivious. “Well, whoever gave you that, damn. You don’t let a girl like that go.”

He didn’t reply. What was there to say? That she’d left quietly, without slamming doors or raising voices? That she’d simply stepped back, the way people do when they’ve tried too many times and are met only with silence? That even now, he didn’t know what her life looked like anymore.

Charles stared down at the page, at the scrawled ink lines that blurred slightly as his eyes began to sting. He blinked hard. No. Not now. Not here.

But inside, the ache twisted.

Somewhere out there, she was probably walking home from class, clutching her coat tighter around her against the wind, working a second shift to afford another semester. And here he was, with the remnants of her sacrifice resting quietly in his palm — proof that once, someone had loved him so deeply they gave up something they had nothing of, just to make him feel important.

It wasn’t just a pen. It was a declaration, a vow he never answered.

He’d give away every accolade, every successful race, every win; if it meant he could go back to that step outside her hall, take the pen she offered and say, “Only if you stay.” But he hadn’t. And now she was gone.

And the cruel irony was, he’d still see her until the end of his days, not in person, but in everything: the pen that moved like a whisper across paper, the scent of rain on warm concrete, the spaces in his life she used to fill.

Now, with Alessandro’s words lingering in the air like smoke, ‘thought you were the sun and stars’, Charles felt something rupture quietly within him. A pinprick of guilt blooming into something cavernous

She had given him that pen when she had nothing.

He hadn’t even realised how little she had until much later. Until she stopped calling. Until her texts grew colder. Until silence replaced her place in his life like ivy creeping over a home abandoned. He told himself he was busy. That the distance was hard. That life got in the way.

But that was the coward’s answer. The truth? She gave and gave and gave. And he only took.

“She wasn’t even well off, she just gave me everything when she had nothing,” he muttered under his breath, not even realising he’d spoken aloud until Alessandro turned toward him in faint surprise. Charles cleared his throat quickly, returning to the pad in front of him. His hand tightened around the pen. His pulse was loud in his ears, a dull thrum that drowned out the rest of the room.

How many times had she reached out? How many times had he left her on read, promising to reply later, only to forget? She had always tried, tried harder than anyone ever had. Even when he didn’t deserve it. Especially when he didn’t.

He hadn’t meant to distance himself, it just happened. Gradually. Subtly. Always with an excuse at the ready. “I’ve just got too much on.” “We’ll talk later.” “It’s not the right time.” The calls had slowed. The messages became brief. One missed call led to another, then replies delayed for days, then work trips stretched longer than they should’ve. Eventually, she stopped reaching out altogether, and he had let her slip through his fingers, too tangled in passion and ambitions to notice the quiet emptying of his world.

She never raised her voice. Never demanded his time. She simply existed, quietly waiting on the other end of a call he rarely returned. She didn’t beg. Didn’t cry. She simply stopped asking for more. She understood. She always understood. Until one day, she didn’t. And he hadn’t heard from her since.

Alessandro was saying something again, but Charles didn’t catch it. His eyes stayed fixed on the Montblanc 149, now resting against the pad, its cap rolling gently across the desk.

She had nothing, yet gave him everything. He had everything, yet gave her nothing that stayed.

“You’re a lucky bastard,” Alessandro remarked under his breath, eyes still on the pen. Charles stared down at the gift that now felt like a confession in ink and gold.

“No,” he murmured, voice brittle. “I was. Once.” And as the debrief dragged on around him, he couldn’t help but wonder if there was a version of his life where he had chosen better. Chosen her. Where he hadn’t let the noise of ambition drown out the sound of someone quietly loving him from the sidelines.

He might have already lost the love of his life, and the cruel thing was, he’d never even realised she was it, not until now.

And he knew, somehow, even if he lived a thousand lives and scrawled his apologies into every page with that same ink — he’d never earn her back. But he’d still see her, until the end of his days, in the trails of ink and in the silence of every unsent reply.

And he would always remember, she gave him her best, her everything, even when she had almost nothing. Her permanence in a fleeting world in the form of a pen.

But he never once deserved it when all he gave her was goodbyes, nothing but temporary love dressed in promises he never kept.

jake hums, thoughtfully. it’s definitely your type to like those kind of hopelessly romantic stuff. and if you believe it, then he does as well.

his first reflex isn’t to look for where he might have been kissed before. no, the first thing he thinks about is where your moles are. because he memorized their places — of course he did.

“yours must have been a gentleman,” he says, reaching for the mole right under your clavicle, his favorite.

you quietly laugh, hand drifting to your mole as well. it’s not the first time nor the last, still he feels electricity when you fingers brush over his own.

“maybe it was you,” then the faint hum of the city behind the window is the only sound between you after you murmur those words.

jake is flabbergasted. how can someone’s words create tons of butterflies from the pit of his stomach to the core of his heart — without even trying?

his agape mouth leaves a space for a quiet and amazed huff to be heard. soon enough, he is giggling.

your eyes linger on his skin, pink cheeks, wide grin and smooth, flawless skin. not one mark, not one trace of kisses from an anterior life.

jake speaks again, “then you must have not kissed me that much.”

his voice is pouty and his tone is light. yet, for some reasons your heart tightens. perhaps, his last lover wasn’t you — he didn’t had any, maybe. because if it was you, then his entire body would be covered in moles.

you decide to take the matter into your own hands. literally. you cup his face to press a kiss on cheek, firm and warm, “i’ll change that.”

jake blinks, taken aback. he would like to say something back but you start to plant gentle kisses all over his face — down to his jaw, his neck, his temple. he starts giggling again as you earnestly mark him for this life.

“my love,” he breathes between his incessant giggles. your lips on his neck always tickle him, “what—what are you doing?”

“marking you,” you say between a kiss. “for your next life.”

you are already planning on where you are going to kiss him next. on his shoulders, all over his back, each one of his fingers and everywhere you can.

jake closes his eyes, feeling himself all some more. it’s like his body is comfortable — in this fall. his lips part slightly, as if he can’t quite believe that he is right there being kissed by the love of his life.

“wait, wait,” he speaks after a moment. not stopping you with his hands but with his words. “you need to leave some space for our next life together.”

jake’s sentence is much more than what it seems. it’s a vow — to find you, to love you, to yearn for you in his next life and all the others after that.

your lips press a kiss against his, sealing the hidden promise he made to you. he’ll never get over the feeling of kissing you, of having your gentle mouth on his own, he’d look for that feeling in each one of his next lives.

“i love you,” he tells you, breath brushing over your freshly kissed lips.

“i love you more,” you answer before kissing him again — so he can’t argue back.

he’ll continue to fall for you a little more everyday, until he finds you in another universe and love you harder.

분지 ܃ this is very short and self indulgent mmhhh .. i hope you liked it still 😓🎀

House Emberwyn ruled the Seven Kingdoms, making them the most powerful house of all. Your father had forged a deep bond with King Aelyx, the two men connected by the shared grief of losing their wives. Beyond their friendship, your father was adamant that uniting your houses through marriage was crucial. He envisioned a future where the intertwining of two powerful, wealthy legacies would forge an unbreakable realm.

Atticus, the son of King Aelyx, was only a year older than you — making him a suitable match. Like you, he was reluctant to marry, but he, too, understood the importance of duty. He wanted nothing more than to make his father proud, even if it meant sacrificing personal desire.

As the sole heirs of your respective houses, the pressure to produce children was immediate. The act of intimacy with Atticus was never one of passion or love; it was merely another duty. The first time was uncomfortable, almost unbearable, but over time, you learned to tolerate it. This was your life now, dictated by duty rather than desire.

Since your marriage, you have been blessed with three children. Ares, your eldest and only son, was conceived during your bedding ceremony. Now a boy of one and ten, he is wise beyond his years, his sharp mind driven by a deep love for books and knowledge. Celeste, your first daughter, is nine years old — a whirlwind of wild, unrestrained energy that seems impossible to contain. Already, she’s been eagerly awaiting the day she can take to the skies on dragonback, her spirit far older than her years. Then there is Luna, your youngest and newest addition to the family, a radiant little soul who brings warmth and light into every corner of your life. She is the calm of the storm, a small but powerful source of joy that never fails to lift your spirits, no matter how heavy the burdens of the day.

Atticus is a good father, never neglecting his children. He is present in their lives, providing for them with steadfast love and care. As a husband, he is kind and dutiful. Yet, despite all his virtues, he is not the love of your life.

The two of you had come to an agreement early in your marriage: you were free to seek pleasure where you wished, as long as heirs were made with each other. It was a compromise, one that allowed you both to navigate the confines of your duty while maintaining some semblance of personal freedom.

Tragedy struck shortly after Celeste’s birth when King Aelyx succumbed to an unknown illness. The crown passed to Atticus, and with it came the immense burden of ruling the Seven Kingdoms.

With Atticus as king, you became Queen of the Seven Kingdoms. Yet, unlike your husband, you did not feel the same pressure. Your days were mostly spent within the confines of your chambers, where the laughter and antics of your children filled your life with light and purpose. Despite never having known your own mother — she had died giving birth to you — you felt as though motherhood had always been your calling.

While you wouldn’t trade your life for anything in the world, motherhood came with its challenges. Ares and Celeste were at the age where they bickered endlessly over the smallest of things — whether it was toys, attention, or simply to see who could get on your nerves first. Their constant squabbles were a source of frustration, and yet you knew it was a phase they would eventually outgrow. Luna, on the other hand, still so small and newly born, could not seem to stop crying. Her wails often filled the castle, and while the maids were always close by, ready to assist, you never allowed them to. You wanted your daughter to find comfort in your arms, not anyone else’s.

There were days when calming her down felt like a losing battle, the hours stretching into what felt like an eternity. But when you finally succeeded, when her cries quieted and her tiny form melted into sleep, it filled you with a sense of accomplishment. It was a small victory in a life full of larger, weightier battles.

Fortunately, today was one of the easier days. Luna wasn’t feeling particularly fussy, and after a few gentle rocks and soft pats on her back, she fell asleep in your arms without much protest. Relief washed over you as you gazed down at her peaceful face, her tiny chest rising and falling in a steady rhythm. The soft warmth of her against you, the quiet of the room, made you feel like, for a moment, everything was right.

“Your Grace?”

A voice interrupted your quiet reverie, but you didn’t turn. Your eyes remained fixed on Luna, unwilling to break the fragile serenity of the moment. You hummed in response, acknowledging the speaker but unable to tear your gaze from your sleeping daughter.

“Your presence is wanted, though not required, Your Grace.”

The words draw you from your thoughts, and with a soft sigh, you finally turn to face the speaker. It’s the Lord Commander, standing tall and imposing, his armor catching the dim light filtering through the windows.

“What for?” you ask, your voice calm but laced with curiosity.

“The Kingsguard posting,” he replies, his tone formal, as always. “It’s been suggested that you select who will guard the Red Keep.”

You consider his words, your gaze drifting back to Luna, still fast asleep in your arms. The thought of placing your trust in someone else, of relying on others to protect what matters most, brings a weight to your chest. As a mother, your first instinct is always to shield your children. You would want nothing more than for them to roam the castle freely, knowing they were surrounded by those you trusted — those you handpicked.

“I suppose,” you murmur.

After carefully setting Luna in her crib, you linger for a moment, brushing a tender hand over her soft cheek. Ensuring the maids were nearby to watch over her, you quietly slip from the nursery and follow the Lord Commander through the castle's stone corridors. Your thoughts remain on Luna for a heartbeat longer before shifting to the matter at hand — choosing the knights who would guard your family, your children.

You arrive at the balcony overlooking the courtyard, where a line of knights stands at attention, their armor gleaming in the afternoon sun. The air is crisp, the tension palpable as each knight awaits his turn to be presented.

The Lord Commander steps forward, his voice ringing with authority. "Step forward, Ser Kim Namjoon."

The knight moves with a quiet confidence, offering you a small, almost shy smile. Dimples crease his cheeks, and despite the serious nature of the proceedings, you find yourself smiling back, charmed by the warmth in his expression.

"Ser Namjoon has proved strong and steady in both the tourney lists and in service beyond," the Lord Commander begins. "While traveling through the Kingswood on the way to King’s Landing, Ser Namjoon recently brought a would-be poacher to justice."

You listen carefully, considering the man before you. His loyalty and steadiness are clear, and his recent actions speak of a knight who serves with honor. Still, your mind drifts to a darker, more urgent thought — combat. The Red Keep, and more importantly, your children, needed knights who were not only honorable but battle hardened. In these uncertain times, loyalty alone would not be enough. 

"Ser Namjoon," you say, your voice polite yet measured. "We thank you for your loyal service to the Crown."

He bows deeply before stepping back into line, and you offer him a nod in return, though your thoughts continue to circle around the same question — how many of these knights had seen true combat?

The next knight steps forward, and your gaze narrows as you take him in.

"Ser Kim Seokjin," the Lord Commander announces.

This knight is taller, leaner than Namjoon. He holds himself with a quiet grace, his expression serious, but there's a spark of something beneath the surface — determination perhaps, or ambition.

"Winner of the melee at Cider Hall," the Lord Commander continues. "He was the last mounted of three and twenty knights. Ser Seokjin was knighted at eight and ten."

You raise an eyebrow, impressed by his accomplishments. Yet, your thoughts linger on something more pressing, more crucial to the protection of your family.

"Do any of these knights have combat experience?" you ask, your tone sharper now. "Beyond capturing poachers and winning tourneys?"

The Lord Commander nods solemnly, signaling the next candidate.

“Ser Jeon Jungkook.”

As the name is called, a young knight steps forward, noticeably younger than the others who had come before him. Yet, despite his youth, he carries himself with an air of quiet confidence, his steps measured and purposeful. Strands of raven hair fall loosely across his forehead, framing a face that, while youthful, is sharp with focus. His dark eyes meet yours with a steady gaze, neither too bold nor deferent — he stands unshaken by the weight of the moment.

He looks about your age, perhaps even younger, and though he lacks the grizzled scars of a seasoned warrior, something about him immediately draws your attention. There's a natural grace in the way he moves, his armor fitting him perfectly as if he was born to wear it. He’s quite handsome, a fact you can’t help but notice as he stands before you, the light of the setting sun casting a faint glow over his features.

"Tell me, Ser Jungkook," you say, breaking the silence, "have you seen real combat?"

He doesn’t falter, his voice steady as he speaks. "I have, Your Grace. I fought for a year as a foot soldier against the Dornish incursions. I was knighted after we razed two of the watchtowers along the Boneway.”

There is no hesitation in his tone, no embellishment. The quiet intensity of his words, the weight of lived experience behind them, strikes you deeply. His demeanor isn't that of a man seeking glory but of one who has already faced the fire and come out stronger for it. In that moment, your decision feels clear.

“It’s settled.” Your lips curve into a smile, one of certainty and satisfaction. “I choose Ser Jungkook.”

The Lord Commander stiffens slightly, his jaw tensing as though weighing whether to speak. Before you can take a step back toward your chambers, his voice interrupts, filled with respectful hesitation. "Perhaps we shouldn’t be too hasty, Your Grace. There is no doubt Ser Jungkook is a fine warrior, but Ser Namjoon and Ser Seokjin are from houses that are important allies of the Crown."

You turn slowly, your expression cool but firm. The politicking of the court — alliances, the endless exchange of favors and titles — was something you understood all too well. Yet, this was not a matter of alliances. This was the safety of your family, the future of your children. And no amount of courtly maneuvering could change that.

“Those men are tourney knights,” you say, your voice laced with a sharp edge. “My children should be defended by a man who’s known real combat. Should they not?”

The Lord Commander pauses, his gaze flickering between the knights and your unwavering stance. He gives a short bow, conceding. “Of course, Your Grace.”

You nod once, satisfied. “Very well, then,” you say, a smile returning to your face, though this time with a sense of finality. “I expect you to plan Ser Jungkook’s investiture.”

There’s a flicker of something in the Lord Commander’s eyes — perhaps begrudging respect or recognition of your authority in this matter. He bows once more before stepping aside. “As you wish, Your Grace. I will see to it.”

As the days passed, it became clear that your decision to appoint Ser Jungkook was more than justified.

Jungkook proved himself an unwavering presence in the lives of your children. He guarded Ares and Celeste like a loyal hound, always at their side, his dark eyes constantly scanning their surroundings for any sign of danger. Wherever they went — whether it was the training yard where Ares spent hours practicing swordplay or the garden where Celeste attempted to name every flower — Jungkook followed, his sight never leaving them.

In the corridors of the Red Keep, you would often catch glimpses of him, stationed at the door to whatever chamber Ares and Celeste had wandered into, standing with that same quiet intensity that first caught your attention. He never intruded upon their activities, never interfered with their games, but his presence was felt all the same. He was a silent sentinel, ensuring that no one entered or exited a room without his knowledge.

Even the servants and court members began to take note, offering respectful nods as they passed him. There was a certain respect that began to build around Jungkook, not just as a knight, but as a protector of the royal family — of your family.

Before Ser Jungkook’s arrival, the Red Keep had always felt secure. Its towering walls and seasoned guards provided a fortress of safety, a place where danger rarely crossed your mind. Yet, somehow, with Jungkook’s arrival, there was a new, tangible sense of protection. His presence, quiet yet vigilant, added an extra layer of assurance, as if the very air had shifted, growing thicker with safety, steadier with his watchful eye. He didn’t need to speak or make grand gestures; just knowing he was there, standing mere feet away from you, made the castle feel more fortified than it ever had before.

In many ways, he made you feel like that too — protected, even in the smallest, unspoken ways.

The Small Council was always the most grueling part of your day. Despite your title as Queen, you found yourself constantly sidelined, your voice often drowned out by the men who dominated the discussions. You had grown accustomed to their subtle condescension — the way they’d nod and pretend to listen, only to carry on as if your words had never been spoken. You’d learned to expect it, but the sting of dismissal never faded entirely.

And today was no different.

As you took your seat, Jungkook stood nearby, ever the silent sentinel. He’d grown adept at reading you, his dark eyes keenly observing the smallest shift in your demeanor. He noticed how, at first, you entered the room with a composed grace, ready to engage in the matters at hand. But as the meeting dragged on, frustration began to creep in, visible in the slight tightening of your jaw each time a man at the table spoke over you or dismissed your suggestions with a polite but infuriating nod.

Jungkook’s eyes followed the subtle changes — the way your posture stiffened, the soft sigh you tried to suppress, and then, finally, the way boredom started to settle in as you reached for the small stone ball on the table, rolling it between your fingers absentmindedly. He knew you were doing your best to remain patient, but the disrespect weighed heavily in the room.

His hand instinctively twitched at his side, a protective instinct rising within him as he stood there watching. He was ready to intervene if the moment called for it, though he knew better than to step in unless absolutely necessary. Still, his silent support was palpable, a reassuring presence amidst the clamor of men who failed to see the strength in the woman before them.

“Perhaps we should discuss Driftmark, Your Grace,” the Maester began, his voice too casual for the gravity of the subject. He directed his attention toward your husband, but the mention of Driftmark instantly drew you in, pulling you from your growing boredom. You straightened in your seat, the defensiveness in your posture clear.

“What of it?” Your voice came out sharper than you intended, the raw emotion behind it hard to suppress. Driftmark wasn’t just a topic for idle conversation — it was family. Personal. The loss of the Lord of the Tides, your cousin’s husband, had been a blow that still lingered, and the aftermath of it weighed heavily on your heart.

He had been more than just family; he had adored your children as if they were his own, even naming your daughter, Celeste, as his heir. It was an honor, though one with its own set of complications. With Ares set to inherit the Iron Throne, Celeste was to inherit Driftmark. Your cousin, devastated by the loss of her husband and without heirs of her own, was to hold the seat in her stead until Celeste came of age.

The Maester’s eyes flickered between you and your husband, clearly aware of the tension in the room but too entrenched in his own position to approach the subject delicately. He cleared his throat, then spoke with a tone that bordered on patronizing. “It’s... a delicate matter, Your Grace. There are those who believe the succession should be reconsidered, given your daughter’s age. Furthermore, some question the wisdom of naming a girl as heir to such a powerful seat.”

Your stomach tightened, fury simmering beneath the surface. A girl. As if Celeste’s age or gender diminished her worth, her potential. You could feel the disdain, not just for your daughter, but for the very idea of a woman wielding such power.

You held the Maester’s gaze, your voice sharp with barely concealed fury. “And do you agree with them?”

The chamber seemed to freeze in that moment, the weight of your words pressing down on everyone in the room. All eyes flickered nervously between you and the Maester, the tension palpable as if even the air had thickened, making it harder to breathe. Everyone braced themselves for the confrontation that was surely coming.

The Maester, sensing the chance to finally reveal his true thoughts, straightened in his seat, his chest puffing out as arrogance replaced caution. He no longer glanced toward your husband for approval; instead, his focus was solely on you, his eyes glinting with condescension.

“A woman on the Driftwood Throne, Your Grace?” he repeated, his voice dripping with condescension. “Forgive my candor, but Driftmark is not some soft and delicate estate. It is a seat of warriors, sailors, men of the sea and battle. Its history is steeped in strength and tradition. To put a mere girl — no matter her bloodline — on that chair is folly, plain and simple. A woman’s place is in the home, tending to hearth and children, not commanding fleets or sitting in council chambers. The late Lord has a brother who would make a fine new Lord, more befitting the legacy.”

You felt the heat rise to your cheeks, your hands tightening into fists. “His brother has no desire for rule!” you shot back, your temper dangerously close to boiling over. “Celeste is his rightful heir. It was his wish, and it will not be questioned!”

The Maester, unfazed, continues. “Your Grace… with all due respect, your daughter is but a child. A girl of her age should be concerned with dolls and dresses, not the governance of a seat as vital as Driftmark. There are many in the realm who would argue that Driftmark deserves a stronger hand. A male heir, one capable of steering the course of the future, as tradition demands. Perhaps it is time to reconsider your decision, before it’s too late. Before the realm begins to question not only Driftmark’s future, but the Queen’s judgment as well.”

The insult hung in the air like a storm cloud, casting a heavy, suffocating tension over the room. The audacity — the sheer gall of the Maester to question not only your daughter’s right but your authority as Queen. Fury simmered beneath your composed exterior, your hand twitching as though you might lash out.

But before you could muster a response, Jungkook was already moving.

“You will watch your tongue when speaking to the Queen, Maester,” Jungkook’s voice was a low, dangerous rumble, carrying the unmistakable weight of a threat. His usually calm demeanor was gone, replaced by something far more menacing. “Or it shall be taken from you.”

The room seemed to shrink around the Maester, all eyes now on him as the color drained from his face. His earlier arrogance dissolved in an instant, replaced with wide-eyed panic. The man who had dared to question your daughter’s birthright now looked as though he might faint from fear.

“I- I meant no offense, Ser Jungkook,” the Maester stammered, his words tumbling over themselves in a desperate attempt to backpedal. His gaze flickered nervously from you to Jungkook, searching for some kind of escape.

“You did,” Jungkook cut him off sharply, his tone like the edge of a blade. His gaze bore into the Maester, unyielding, unwavering. “And I will remind you once more: mind your tongue.”

The silence that followed was deafening, the threat hanging in the air like a blade, and no one doubted that Jungkook would make good on his promise if pushed further.

You turned your gaze to Jungkook, barely concealing your silent shock. The man who stood just feet away, usually so quiet and composed, always speaking only when spoken to, had stepped in to defend you — boldly, without hesitation. The gesture was unexpected, and for a moment, you were struck by the kindness and protectiveness it held.

It was not just the words he had spoken, but the intensity behind them, the clear signal that he would tolerate no disrespect toward you. In a room full of lords and courtiers who often dismissed your voice, Jungkook’s sudden defense felt like a rare and precious show of loyalty. Uncommon as it was, it left a warmth spreading in your chest, a silent but deeply felt appreciation.

Jungkook still hadn’t met your eyes, his intense gaze fixed on the Maester, the disapproval and disgust etched in his expression radiating an aura so fierce, it was almost frightening. He stood there like a wall of steel, silently daring anyone to challenge him again.

You turned your attention back to the Maester, who now squirmed under the weight of the moment. His once confident, condescending exterior had crumbled, now sitting timidly in his seat.

“Celeste is the rightful heir,” you stated, your voice even and composed, though laced with quiet authority. “She will rule Driftmark, and she will do so just as well as any man ever could. Anyone who questions that,” you paused, allowing the weight of your words to settle over the room, “will regret it.”

The Maester lowered his head, unable to meet your gaze, his earlier arrogance completely shattered. “Of course, Your Grace. Please, forgive my words.”

Jungkook didn’t move an inch, his focus still locked onto the Maester like a hawk waiting for the slightest wrong move. The room felt smaller, the tension almost suffocating as the Maester’s earlier confidence reduced to a pitiful murmur.

“See that you don’t forget that again,” you said, your tone final and cold, leaving no room for further argument.

With that, you stood up from your seat, the weight of the moment still hanging heavy in the air. Without another word, you turned on your heel and made your way out of the courtroom, every step deliberate, your posture unyielding. The entire room seemed to hold its breath as you moved, a quiet power radiating from you that demanded respect.

Jungkook, as ever, was by your side in an instant, but he kept a respectful distance, just enough to remain a silent protector, his presence still like a shield around you. His footsteps were measured, the sound of his boots echoing softly in the corridors, and yet there was an undeniable sense of security in the space between you two. No words were exchanged as you made your way to your chamber — there was no need for them. His silent solidarity was all you required.

Jungkook’s presence was reassuring, like the calm after a storm, and it made the weight of leadership — of being Queen — just a little easier to bear.

After the heat of earlier’s events, the last thing you wanted was to step foot back into the chaos of the court. The weight of the Maester’s words still lingered in the air, and you felt the need to retreat, to recharge in the only place that felt truly like yours. So, you didn’t leave your chambers for the rest of the day. You took the rare opportunity to unwind, the need for solitude outweighing any further obligations for the day.

Without a second thought, you changed into your nightgown well before the moon rose, the soft fabric a welcome contrast to the tense weight of your court attire. You moved with practiced ease, the familiar ritual of shedding the day’s responsibilities easing the knots in your shoulders. 

The fire crackled merrily in the hearth, casting a warm glow that danced across the room. You sank into the couch, the cushions molding to your body as you settled in front of the flames. With a book in hand, you opened the pages, the words inviting you into another world — a world where you could forget, if only for a moment, the burdens of being Queen.

You lost yourself in the story, the flicker of the fire keeping time with the rhythm of your reading. Outside your window, the castle was quiet, the usual noise of the corridors muted by the sanctuary of your chamber. For the first time that day, you felt a sense of peace. The world outside could wait. Here, in the comfort of your own space, you could simply be.

But just as the fire’s soft, flickering glow began to lull you deeper into peace, a knock at the door broke the fragile silence, its sound sharp and intrusive. A flicker of annoyance stirred within you — someone daring to interrupt the quiet sanctuary of your evening. But then, a familiar voice, calm and steady, followed.

“Your Grace?”

It’s him.

You took a slow breath, the irritation melting away at the sound of his voice, and called softly, “Come in, Ser Jungkook.”

The door creaked open, but Jungkook didn’t immediately step inside. He stood just beyond the threshold, his tall frame framed by the dim light spilling from the hall, casting long shadows across the stone floor. There was something endearing in the way he paused there, as though uncertain, hesitating to cross the boundary of your private space without your explicit permission. His respect for the sanctity of your chambers was something rare, a simple act that made him stand out even more.

“My apologies, Your Grace,” he said, his voice smooth and steady, like the evening air itself. “I’ve just come to alert you that the children are abed.”

A soft smile tugged at the corners of your lips.

What you didn’t know was that the children had been in bed for some time. Jungkook had only alerted you now because he was standing just outside your door, hesitating. He wasn’t sure if he should disturb your peace with the news. Still new to this role, he was uncertain of how to balance his duties with the delicate art of discretion.

“Thank you, Ser Jungkook,” you said, your tone warm with gratitude. “I would appreciate it if you informed me every night from now on.”

“Of course, Your Grace. Sleep well.” Jungkook gave a respectful nod, his voice as steady and sincere as ever, and he turned to leave.

“Ser Jungkook,” you called again, before he could close the door behind him.

He paused, hand resting lightly on the doorframe, his dark eyes meeting yours in the soft, flickering firelight. For a brief moment, the noise of the castle seemed to fall away, the crackling fire the only sound that filled the space between you. It was rare, these moments of true stillness, where it was just the two of you, no interruptions, no duties weighing on either of your shoulders. The warmth from the fire cast a soft glow over him, accentuating the quiet strength in his features.

For the first time, you found yourself truly looking at him — not just the protector of your children, not just the present knight, but Jungkook. 

“I’ve yet to thank you for earlier — in the Small Council chamber,” you said softly, your voice quiet but earnest. “I appreciate your defense. Thank you.”

The words hung between you for a moment, carrying a weight that felt heavier than it should. It wasn’t just the defense itself, though that was significant; it was the quiet way he had stood up for you. Jungkook had always been the silent one, always just there, standing in the background. But today, he had been more. He had spoken when no one else had. His simple act of defending you meant more than you could say.

Jungkook’s posture softened at your words, though his expression remained composed, his usual stoic demeanor intact. Yet, as he held your gaze, his dark eyes seemed to linger a moment longer than usual, a subtle warmth settling in his look that wasn’t often there. It was as though the space between you both had shifted, the heavy tension of the day dissolving into something quieter, almost comforting.

“It was nothing, Your Grace. You need not thank me,” he replied, his voice low and measured, though there was something beneath it — something genuine, almost vulnerable, that made the words feel different from his usual calm, detached responses. His eyes remained steady on yours, and for a moment, the usual distance between you seemed to shrink, as though he was offering something unspoken, something more than just a knight’s duty. “You shouldn’t have to endure that kind of disrespect. It’s my duty to protect you, in all ways.”

You gave a soft nod, absorbing the weight of his words. Jungkook was a constant in your life — a silent guardian who stood watch over both your children and yourself. But hearing him speak of protecting you in such a way, so plainly and honestly, stirred something within you. It wasn’t just your children that mattered to him; it was you, as well. 

“You do more than protect,” you said, your voice softer now, the weariness of the day gradually easing. “Your actions today… they meant more than you know.”

Jungkook’s lips twitched at the corners, acknowledging your words, but he didn’t respond right away. There was a brief silence between you both, the fire’s crackling embers filling the stillness as he shifted his weight, his stance still as rigid as ever, but now, a slight tension in his shoulders had eased.

“If there’s ever anything you need, Your Grace,” he said finally, his tone softer than it had been moments before, but with an underlying firmness that conveyed his commitment, “I am here.”

The sincerity in his voice wrapped around you like a quiet promise, steady and unwavering. The light of the fire caught on his features, casting soft shadows over his face, making his usually guarded expression seem less distant, more human. You felt a sense of peace settling into the space between you both, a momentary connection that felt more genuine than anything that had passed between you in the public eye.

“Thank you,” you replied softly, a small smile tugging at the corners of your lips, finding comfort in the rare, honest exchange.

Jungkook inclined his head once more, his expression softening in a way that was unusual for him — a small, but genuine smile curling his lips, the warmth of it making him seem more approachable, more... real.

“Goodnight, Your Grace,” he said quietly, voice full of respect, but also something else — something deeper.

“Goodnight, Ser Jungkook,” you murmured in return.

With that, he turned and moved to close the door behind him, the soft click of the latch signaling his departure. But as the door clicked shut, you realized that this time, you didn’t feel the usual solitude. There was something different. Something comforting. Something exciting that made the pit of your stomach feel funny, in knowing he was standing just outside your door.

Just the barrier of wood between you two.

The next day unfolded much more peacefully than the last. 

You sat on the floor of your chamber, the luxurious fabric of your gown pooling around you like a soft sea of silk. The quiet of the room was comforting as you focused on the delicate task in front of you — embroidering a blanket for Luna. Each stitch was a calming motion, your mind momentarily free of the weight of royal duties. 

You hadn’t seen Jungkook yet, but his presence lingered in your thoughts, like an unspoken promise. The anticipation of his arrival stirred a quiet excitement within you, though you had no idea when he might appear. 

The silence was broken by your husband's voice, cutting through the peaceful air as he entered without knocking, his tone casual. “How are you feeling today?”

You glanced up briefly, meeting his eyes before returning to your work. “Better,” you answered, the edges of your lips curving into a faint smile.

“Good,” Atticus replied, smirking as he made his way over to the table and poured himself a goblet of wine. “Do you think you’ll be attending the Small Council today?”

You hesitated, the thought of sitting through another long, tedious session filling you with a quiet reluctance. “No… if that’s alright?” you replied, your tone tentative, not wanting to seem too dismissive of his suggestion.

“Of course,” Atticus said, lifting the goblet to his lips. His eyes gleamed with a hint of mischief as he added, “But I’ll have you know, I’ve hired a new Maester.”

The words hit you like a spark, and without thinking, you put your needle down. The sudden shift in the conversation caught your attention fully. Your eyes locked onto him, eyebrows raised in surprise. The idea of a new Maester was unexpected — and it immediately piqued your curiosity.

"Are you upset about that?" you asked, your voice soft and laced with a hint of apology, eyes searching his face for any sign of how he truly felt.

Atticus paused, his gaze meeting yours with a quiet intensity. His lips curled into a knowing smirk, and he set the goblet down gently on the table. "I could never be upset with you for only standing up for yourself," he said, his voice steady, though there was an underlying heat to his words. "And someone as disrespectful as that will not continue to walk around in this castle."

His declaration was resolute, filled with a quiet determination. The confidence in his voice was not just from his position, but from a place of deep respect for you. It was as if he had taken the full weight of your frustration upon himself, and the fire behind his words showed that he would do whatever it took to ensure you never had to endure such treatment again. 

You smile warmly at his words. "Thank you, Atticus."

He pauses, a small smile tugging at his lips, his fingers tapping idly on the edge of the table. "You know, as much as I’m not in love with you," he says slowly, his tone more thoughtful than usual, "I still love you."

The admission hangs in the air between you, the raw honesty in his voice bringing a quiet comfort. It wasn't the passionate declaration of romance you might have hoped for, but it was the kind of love that ran deep — steady, consistent, unshakable. 

You meet his gaze, and your heart softens with understanding. "As do I," you reply, your voice gentle but genuine. 

It wasn’t the kind of love that others might expect, filled with grand gestures and whispered sweet nothings. But in its own way, it was a love that had stood the test of time. It isn’t passionate, but there’s a respect and understanding between the two of you that runs deep.

“Now,” Atticus says, his voice low, teasing. “Can we talk about your knight in shining armor?”

You roll your eyes but can’t suppress the smirk that tugs at your lips. “Oh Gods,” you say, the edge of amusement clear in your voice as you go back to your needlework.

“Oh, come on,” he whines, a mischievous glint dancing in his eyes. “I let you pick, now you have to tell me all about him!”

You raise an eyebrow, glancing up at him. “It was you who suggested I pick?”

He shrugs nonchalantly, a playful grin tugging at his lips. “I thought you’d feel more content choosing someone yourself.”

“I do,” you reply with a small smile, returning to your embroidery. “It was a wise suggestion.”

“Oh, don’t change the subject now!” He motions with a dramatic hand. “What was that about yesterday?”

“He was just defending me,” you say, hoping to dismiss the conversation, though you’re well aware it won’t be that easy.

Atticus lets out an exaggerated sigh, rolling his eyes in dramatic fashion. “No knight is that devoted to duty, my dear wife.”

His words make you pause, but you try not to let it show. Still, a smile begins to creep onto your lips, unbidden. You hadn’t really allowed yourself to think about it that way. Jungkook had always been quiet, loyal, reliable — but devoted in the way Atticus is hinting? It’s a thought that stirs something unexpected in you.

“Well, believe it or not,” you say, unable to stop the small grin now, “we’ve spoken to each other only a few times.”

Atticus raises an eyebrow, leaning in slightly, clearly entertained. “Is that so? And yet, with little words between you, he’s ready to challenge a room full of lords for your honor. Fascinating.”

You roll your eyes, returning to your needlework in an attempt to focus, but your mind can’t help but drift back to Jungkook. The memory of his voice, steady and unyielding as he defended you, lingers. Maybe Atticus has a point, but admitting that would only fuel his relentless teasing.

“He’s just dutiful,” you insist, though even you can hear the uncertainty creeping into your voice. 

Atticus catches it too, and his smirk widens as he takes a slow, deliberate sip from his goblet. “Dutiful because he loves his duty? Or because of you?”

Your cheeks flush instantly, the warmth creeping up your neck as you try to brush off the insinuation. “You’re reading into this too much,” you mumble, focusing on the embroidery in your lap, though your needlework suddenly seems less interesting.

“Am I?” Atticus drawls, stepping closer, his tone playful but probing. “Did you solely choose him because of his skills?”

You glance up at him briefly, trying to suppress a smile. “Are you implying something?”

He shrugs, the smirk on his lips widening. “Well, did you?”

“I did!” you exclaim, the words tumbling out a little too quickly, as if you’re trying to convince yourself as much as him. You glance up at Atticus, catching the amused gleam in his eyes. “He’s excellent with the children, and he strikes the perfect balance around here — intimidating enough to make it clear no one should challenge him, but not so much that the children are frightened. I trust him completely, and I’ve only known him a short while.”

Atticus hums, swirling the wine in his goblet with deliberate slowness before taking a sip, his skepticism apparent in the slight arch of his brow.

You shake your head, sighing lightly. “He’s proven his worth,” you say, trying to sound firm, though the soft smile that sneaks onto your lips betrays you. “It’s his abilities that matter.”

Atticus grins, thoroughly enjoying this exchange. “Of course, his abilities. And it’s just a coincidence that the knight you trust with our children’s safety also happens to be rather… easy on the eyes?”

You scoff, rolling your eyes, though the warmth spreading through your chest betrays your amusement. “His appearance has nothing to do with why I chose him,” you insist, though your tone has lost its edge, becoming playful and light. “He’s capable, loyal, and vigilant. His looks are irrelevant.”

Atticus raises an eyebrow, his smirk widening into a knowing grin. “Irrelevant, but not unnoticed?”

You shoot him a mock glare, though the smile tugging at your lips makes it hard to maintain any seriousness. “You’re impossible,” you say with a shake of your head. “I care about his skills and nothing more.”

Atticus chuckles softly, clearly entertained. “We shall see,” he teases, his voice lingering in the air as he begins to make his exit. His steps are slow, unhurried, as though he’s savoring the moment. 

He walks out with a lightness in his stride, and the faint echo of his laughter trails behind him, leaving you alone with your thoughts — and the quiet, unsettling realization that maybe, just maybe, his words weren’t entirely off the mark.

Returning to the Small Council felt different this time. The atmosphere had shifted. The men were more considerate, actually taking your opinions into account — a stark contrast to their usual dismissiveness. It seemed Atticus’ harsh punishment of the last Maester had sent a clear message: disrespect would no longer be tolerated. They were treading carefully now, not wanting to find themselves in a similar predicament.

You exhaled a long breath as you walked into your chamber, ready to unwind after the tense day. Removing your jewelry, you placed each piece delicately on the table, the soft clink of metal filling the otherwise quiet room. You went to bend down to slip off your shoes, eager for the relief of the cool floor beneath your feet.

But before you could, a sharp point suddenly pressed against your neck.

You froze.

Panic surged through you as the cold blade pressed harder against your skin, the world around you narrowing to the sound of your racing heartbeat.

“Don’t scream,” a low voice hissed in your ear, breath hot against your skin, “or you will die.”

Your breath hitched, the threat sinking in, terror flooding your veins. Tears welled in your eyes as helplessness gripped you. You had never felt so vulnerable, so utterly at the mercy of another.

The man spun you around with a jerk, and your gaze landed on another figure lurking in the shadows — both were dressed in the rough, dirt stained garb of rat catchers, but their eyes gleamed with intent far darker than pest control.

“We were paid to kill the little girl,” the man growled, his eyes boring into yours with malicious purpose. “The one who is set to inherit Driftmark. Where is she?”

Your heart stopped. They wanted Celeste. Your daughter. 

Desperation clawed at your insides, but you forced yourself to remain calm, though your voice trembled as you spoke. “I have many things in here of great value,” you said, your mind racing to stall, to buy any time you could. “You can take whatever you want. Jewelry, gold…”

The man sneered, pressing the blade just a fraction closer, enough to make your skin prickle with fear. “We’re not here for trinkets,” he spat. “We’re here for the girl.”

The suffocating pressure eased as the man shoved you away, though he kept his dagger trained on you, its sharp point a constant threat.

“Lead us to her,” he snarled, “and you will live.”

Your pulse quickened, panic rising. But amid the terror, you clung to one thought: Jungkook was just outside, standing guard by the children’s room. He would protect Celeste.

Heart pounding, you forced your legs to move, stepping cautiously toward the door of your chamber. The rat catchers followed closely, one of them pressing the dagger against your back, a constant reminder of the danger lurking just inches away.

By the time you reached the door, your eyes caught a glimpse of movement. Jungkook — his back against the wood, waiting, ready. His gaze met yours, and in that brief moment, you felt a surge of relief, but it was fleeting.

Before you could react, Jungkook sprang into action. In a heartbeat, he grabbed your arm and yanked you behind him, shielding you with his body. You stumbled backward, watching in awe as he unsheathed his sword with deadly precision. 

Jungkook wasted no time. His blade sank deep into the stomach of the first rat catcher, a sickening thud echoing in the hallway. The man gasped, blood spurting from the wound, and crumpled to the floor.

The second assailant, wild with desperation, swung his dagger wildly at Jungkook. But Jungkook moved with lethal grace, dodging each strike effortlessly. His movements were swift, controlled, each step calculated. In one fluid motion, he caught the man's wrist mid swing, twisting it with a force that made the man cry out in pain. Jungkook’s grip tightened, and with a brutal efficiency, he forced the attacker to plunge the dagger into his own abdomen.

The man’s eyes widened in shock, the weapon lodged deep within him, his strength faltering. Jungkook released him, and the second rat catcher staggered before collapsing to the ground beside his companion, both of them now lying in pools of their own blood.

In shock, you stood frozen, tears welling in your eyes as the reality of the moment crashed over you. Only a minute ago, you had feared for your life, for your family’s lives. And now, Jungkook had effortlessly put an end to the rat catchers, his blade on the ground still stained with their blood. It all felt too surreal, too close.

Before you could fully process what had happened, Jungkook rushed to you, his expression softening with concern. He cupped your face gently in his hands, his touch grounding you. “Your Grace? Are you hurt?” His voice was low but urgent, his eyes scanning you for any sign of injury.

You shook your head, still unable to find your voice, too overwhelmed by everything. Your heart pounded, your throat tight as you struggled to keep yourself together.

“You’re alright now,” Jungkook whispered, his thumbs brushing tenderly across your cheeks. “Everything’s okay.”

But it wasn’t. The fear, the relief, the gratitude — they all hit you at once, overwhelming your senses. And before you knew it, your emotions spilled over. You erupted into sobs, throwing your arms around Jungkook’s neck, seeking the warmth and safety of his presence. You buried your face into his skin, your tears dripping onto his armor as you cried.

Jungkook didn’t hesitate for a second. His arms wrapped tightly around you, holding you close to him, his strength and warmth offering the comfort you so desperately needed. One of his hands rubbed soothingly up and down your back while the other cradled your head, pressing you gently against his chest. His heartbeat, steady and strong, was the only thing keeping you grounded amidst the chaos of your emotions.

“Shh, it’s alright,” he murmured into your hair, his voice soft and calming. “You’re safe now.”

And in that moment, in his arms, you believed him.

After Atticus learned about the rat catchers’ attack, his fury was swift and intense, shaking the very walls of the Red Keep. His voice thundered from the Small Council chamber, echoing through the halls as he took command of the situation. His anger wasn’t just justified — it was terrifying. No one dared stand in his way as he set out to make sure something like this could never happen again.

You sat in your children’s room, seeking comfort in their innocent presence. Even as you tried to calm your racing heart, the distant roar of Atticus’s orders only heightened the gravity of what had nearly occurred. He wasted no time doubling the guard, placing knights at every vulnerable corner of the Keep. The added protection was meant to reassure, but for you, it only underscored the severity of the danger that had almost taken your daughter.

Atticus was relentless in his pursuit of justice. He immediately dispatched his men to find out who had hired the rat catchers. It wasn’t long before the truth came out — your former Maester hadn’t been acting alone. There were more, many more, who shared his poisonous view that Celeste, your little girl, had no right to inherit Driftmark. These men, clinging to their outdated belief that only a man should rule, had conspired to end her life before she could ever sit upon the Driftwood Throne.

Those who were caught speaking against Celeste’s claim were dealt with harshly. Atticus showed no mercy. He threw them in the dungeons without a second thought, ensuring that any who dared oppose your daughter’s future would be silenced. In this, he was steadfast, and you were grateful for his fierce protection of your family.

But even with the threat supposedly contained, the fear hadn’t left you. That night still clung to you like a dark shadow, creeping into your thoughts when you least expected it. The memory of those men — of their knives and their cruel threats — replayed in your mind every night, a loop you couldn’t break free from. 

Sleep was becoming harder to find. You would lie awake, staring at the ceiling, feeling the weight of the attack pressing down on your chest. Even with Jungkook stationed just outside your door, standing as your silent guardian, the sense of unease never fully faded. You trusted him more than anyone now, knowing he had saved you without hesitation, but your mind couldn’t silence the what ifs. What if something happened to him? What if the guards missed something? What if they came back?

Tonight was no different. The room was quiet, your children safe in their beds, but your thoughts raced. Every creak of the floorboards, every gust of wind outside felt like a reminder of how close you had come to losing everything. You sat up in bed, pulling your knees to your chest, trying to calm the storm within. 

Jungkook was right outside the door — so close, and yet, the fear lingered. You knew he wouldn’t let anything happen to you, but that night had changed everything. The vulnerability, the terror, had been too real, and you couldn’t just forget it. Even though the Red Keep was locked down, even though Atticus had done everything in his power to keep you safe, you were haunted by the thought that danger still lurked just out of sight.

You couldn’t sleep. The quiet room, the stillness, your own thoughts circling endlessly — it was too much. You knew that tonight, like so many others, you’d be awake until the sun rose. So, with a sigh, you slipped out of bed, crossed the room, and quietly opened the door.

And there he was.

Jungkook stood just outside, his back to you, ever vigilant. When the door creaked softly, he turned, eyes meeting yours. In the faint light of the moon, his features were softened, yet his gaze was alert, concerned. The gleam in his eyes caught the moonlight, and for just a moment, the comfort of his presence made the world feel a little less daunting.

“Your Grace?” he asked, his voice low but steady. “I thought you’d be abed by now.”

“I can’t sleep,” you admitted, your voice quiet but laden with the weight of sleepless nights and endless worry.

“You’re safe now,” he said gently, his tone firm yet soothing, as if trying to will your mind to find peace. “Allow yourself to rest.”

You managed a faint smile, though it didn’t quite reach your eyes. “You said you’d be here if I ever needed anything.”

His brows furrowed slightly as he nodded, understanding your unspoken request. “I did.”

You hesitated only briefly before speaking again, your voice softer now. “Can you come in?”

Jungkook’s eyes widened ever so slightly, and he straightened. “Your Grace, I hardly think that is appropriate,” he replied, though his tone was more uncertain than firm. His sense of duty and propriety clashed visibly with his desire to help you.

“It will comfort me,” you said, the vulnerability in your voice enough to make him falter.

He hesitated, clearly torn. His hand gripped the hilt of his sword as if it could ground him in the face of your request. His loyalty to you was absolute, but the boundaries of it were something he grappled with now.

Seeing his hesitation, you added, teasing softly, “Your Queen demands you.”

That earned you a small smile, one that softened the tension in the air. Jungkook shook his head, chuckling under his breath as he conceded. “Well, who am I to deny my Queen?” he said, stepping past the threshold.

As Jungkook entered the room, his mere presence brought with it a sense of security you hadn’t even realized you’d been yearning for. His eyes never left yours, filled with a mix of concern and quiet understanding, as you led him over to the couch by the fireplace. 

You settled yourself on one side, pulling a blanket over your legs as you crossed them beneath its warmth. When you glanced up, you noticed he hadn’t joined you yet. Instead, he stood a little distance away, unsure, his posture stiff as if still on duty.

“Sit,” you gestured to the empty space beside you.

He hesitated for a moment, his eyes flickering to the door as if he still wasn’t sure this was the right thing to do. But your gentle command was enough to sway him. With a slight nod, he moved closer, his heavy footsteps softening as he reached the couch. Just as he was about to sit, you spoke again, your voice quiet but firm.

“Take off your armor.”

He froze, eyes wide as if caught off guard by your request. “Your Grace,” he said slowly, his tone almost a warning, a reminder of the boundary he believed needed to remain in place.

But you shook your head, your expression soft but insistent. “I don’t want you here as Ser Jungkook,” you explained, your voice carrying a vulnerability you hadn’t meant to reveal. “I want you here just as Jungkook.”

For a moment, he didn’t move, clearly torn between his sense of duty and the comfort you were asking for. But then, with a slow exhale, he began to unfasten the clasps of his armor, the metallic clinks filling the otherwise quiet room. Piece by piece, the weight of it fell away, and he set it aside, each movement careful and deliberate.

Jungkook looked at you, a small, knowing smile tugging at his lips as he gestured to his cloak. "If you would," he said softly, his eyes warm but with a hint of playful mischief.

You couldn’t help but smile back, feeling a bit lighter as you stood from the couch, the blanket slipping from your lap and pooling onto the floor. Your fingers brushed against his as you reached for the clasp of his cloak, feeling the cool metal as you carefully undid it. The fabric was thick and heavy, and as you pulled it off his shoulders, it seemed to take with it some of the invisible barrier he kept between you both.

The air between you felt different now, more intimate, as you set his cloak aside with the rest of his armor. When you turned back to face him, he was watching you closely, his expression softer than before, as if seeing you in a new light.

For a second, you just stood there, gazing at each other in the soft glow of the fire.

Now, without the weight of his armor, Jungkook looked more relaxed, his shoulders less tense, though there was still a quiet alertness in his posture. When you invited him to sit, he did so without hesitation this time, his expression softening as he settled next to you on the couch.

As the fire crackled gently beside you, casting a warm glow over the room, you found yourself seeing him differently. Here, sitting in your chambers, with the walls of duty momentarily lowered, Jungkook wasn’t just your knight anymore. He was a man — kind, steady, and unexpectedly gentle in his presence.

“I’ve not been able to sleep as of late,” you admitted, your voice quieter, more vulnerable than you intended. “But with you here... I feel safe.”

Jungkook’s smile was soft, a flicker of warmth that reached his eyes. “I’m happy to hear that,” he said, though his voice was still laced with the respectful formality he always carried. “Your Grace.”

You hesitated for a moment, then spoke your name, more firmly this time. “Use my name. The formalities can stay with your armor… Jungkook.”

The moment hung between you, quiet but significant. When he repeated your name, his voice was different, softer, almost intimate. It felt personal, as if you were the only thing that mattered in this room, in this moment.

Your heart fluttered hearing your name on his lips. The way he said it felt more intimate than you’d expected, and as the quiet settled around you both, you realized the walls between you were coming down even more.

“My mother died when I was four and ten,” Jungkook begins, his voice steady but carrying the weight of years of grief. “She was murdered right in front of me. I was weak, untrained... I couldn’t help her. I just stood there, frozen, and I couldn’t save her.” He pauses, his gaze distant, lost in the painful memory. “When I left the children’s chamber to go guard yours and I saw those rat catchers in there… I knew I couldn’t let you down like I did my mother. I couldn’t let that happen again.”

Your heart clenches and your brows knit in sorrow, completely torn by his story. His words hang heavy in the air, the realization of his past weighing on your chest. You feel both gratitude and guilt — glad that Jungkook trusts you enough to open up, yet heartbroken by the trauma he’s lived through.

It suddenly makes sense — why he’s always so guarded, so precise, so fiercely loyal. You understand now why he was trained in combat at such a young age, why he’s so vigilant, and why he holds himself to such a high standard. His devotion to you, his protection of your family, it all stems from a promise he made to himself long ago, a promise born from tragedy.

You reach out, placing a gentle hand on his arm resting on the back of the couch, your touch warm and comforting. Jungkook’s gaze flickers to where your hand rests on his arm, and then back to your face, the tension in his shoulders easing slightly.

“You’ve done well to uphold that promise,” you say softly, your voice filled with sincerity. As your eyes meet his, you offer him a genuine smile, hoping it conveys the compassion you feel. “Your mother would love the man you’ve grown to be, Jungkook.”

For a brief moment, Jungkook’s eyes soften, his usual stoic expression breaking. He looks almost vulnerable, as if the weight he carries is shared, if only for a second.

“Thank you,” he says softly, his voice low and sincere. “I find myself very… protective over you.”

You tilt your head slightly, a teasing smile curling at the corners of your lips. The soft glow of the fire casts a warm light over your face, and your eyes seem to shimmer with curiosity. “Why is that?” you ask, a playful lilt to your tone as you watch him.

Jungkook hesitates for a beat, his dark eyes holding yours. He slowly pulls his arm away, the loss of contact leaving your skin colder than you expected. But before you can fully miss the warmth, you feel the feather light touch of his fingertips brushing down your arm. His touch is slow, deliberate, sending a tingling sensation across your skin, awakening something inside you.

Your breath catches as his fingers trail lower, the gentle path they take igniting a flutter in your chest. When his hand finally finds yours, his touch is warm and firm, his fingers lacing with yours like it was meant to be all along.

Jungkook looks down at your joined hands, his thumb brushing tenderly over the back of your hand as if testing the waters. “It’s more than duty now,” he murmurs, his voice soft but filled with something deeper. He looks up, his eyes meeting yours, and you can see the vulnerability there, something raw and unguarded. “I can’t explain it fully, but… it’s like you’ve become more than just someone I’m sworn to protect.”

His gaze lingers on your face, searching for a reaction, and you feel a mix of emotions swirling within you — curiosity, anticipation, and something that feels dangerously close to longing.

Your lips part slightly, your heart hammering in your chest as the room feels smaller, the air between you thick with unspoken tension. “More than duty?” you repeat, your voice barely above a whisper.

Jungkook’s fingers tighten just a little around yours, grounding you in the moment. His eyes soften, a small smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “Yes… much more than duty,” he says, his voice tender yet filled with a quiet intensity that sends a shiver down your spine.

The fire crackles softly in the hearth, casting flickering shadows on the walls, but all you can focus on is him — on the warmth of his hand, the depth in his gaze, and the way the space between you seems to shrink with each passing second.

With his fingers still interlaced with yours, Jungkook gently pulls you closer. The sudden shift brings you nearer to him, and you let out a soft giggle, feeling your cheeks heat up as you blush under his gaze. The warmth of his body, the way his eyes are fixed on you — it sends a shiver of excitement down your spine.

As the distance between you vanishes, your breath catches when you realize his gaze is locked on your lips. It’s intense, and it makes your heart race. You watch, spellbound, as he lifts his other hand slowly. His thumb brushes tenderly across your bottom lip, the pad of his finger soft against your skin. The simple, teasing touch sends a wave of warmth washing over you.

He lingers there for a moment, rubbing your lip, and then his thumb presses just a little more insistently, grazing the slit of your mouth as though silently asking for permission. The unspoken question in his eyes makes your pulse quicken, and you instinctively part your lips in response. His thumb slips inside, and you close your mouth gently around it, letting him in.

Your eyes remain on him as his thumb rests against your tongue, the sensation both intimate and electrifying. The fire crackles in the background, but the world feels muted, like it’s just you and him in this moment. Your heart pounds, and the connection between you grows stronger as you suck lightly on his digit.

Jungkook’s breathing becomes slightly uneven as he watches you, his eyes darkening with something deeper, more primal. He gently withdraws his thumb, his fingers now tracing the curve of your jaw, his touch both firm and tender. His hand slides to the back of your neck, pulling you even closer, his lips hovering just inches from yours.

The air between you is thick with anticipation, the moment heavy with the promise of what’s to come. His forehead rests against yours, and for a heartbeat, time seems to stop.

“We should stop before things go further,” Jungkook whispers, his voice low and husky, the warmth of his breath tickling your lips as he gives you the chance to pull away.

You pause, your heart racing in your chest. “We should,” you whisper back, the words lingering in the air between you both.

But neither of you move.

Instead, your gaze remains locked on his, and you can feel the heat radiating between you, the unspoken desire that lingers in the small space that still separates you.

And just like that, his lips are on yours.

The kiss is electric, his lips soft yet insistent as they press against yours. It’s slow at first, a tentative exploration, but the moment your mouths meet, everything else fades into the background.

As your lips remain locked with his, you straddle his lap, the movement seamless and natural, as if you’ve both been leading up to this moment for far too long. Your hands slide behind his head, fingers threading through the soft strands of his hair, tugging lightly as the kiss grows more heated, more desperate.

Jungkook’s hands find your waist, gripping you firmly, and the sensation sends a shiver down your spine. You feel his muscles tense beneath your fingertips as you press yourself against him, your hips moving instinctively. A soft gasp escapes your lips when you feel the hardness beneath you, his cock straining against the fabric of his breeches, the friction making you yearn for more.

Your hips begin to buck slowly, grinding against him as you search for more contact, more release. The heat between you two is palpable now, your breath mingling with his as the kiss deepens, tongues tangling in a rhythm that matches the slow, steady roll of your hips. Every shift of your body sends a wave of pleasure through you, and you can feel his grip tighten on your waist, his breathing growing heavier.

Jungkook lets out a low groan against your lips, the sound vibrating through you, igniting something primal. You can feel the restraint he’s holding onto, the tension in his body as he struggles to keep control, but the way his hands grip your waist tells you he’s just as lost in the moment as you are.

The friction between you both builds, the heat intensifying, but the layers of fabric between you only heighten the desire, making you ache for more.

“Perhaps I should thank you,” you whisper against his lips, your breath hot and teasing as your hips roll against him, causing a deep groan to escape from Jungkook’s throat. You can feel him hardening beneath you, his body responding despite his attempts to maintain composure. “For your service…”

His grip on your waist tightens, his fingers digging into your sides just enough to make you feel how much he’s holding back. “It is only my mere duty,” he says, voice strained, each word laced with barely controlled desire.

You smile at his restraint, your lips moving to brush against the sharp line of his jaw. “You’ve done so much,” you murmur, your lips trailing lower, leaving a warm path down his neck, just beneath his jaw. His skin is soft and warm, and his pulse races beneath your touch. You hear his breath catch as you kiss along his collarbone, each word punctuated by a slow, deliberate press of your lips. “For me…” You move lower, your kisses more intentional, feeling his chest rise and fall more rapidly under your touch. “For my children…”

His hands twitch on your hips, torn between pulling you closer and letting you continue your slow, torturous descent. When you glance up at him, you see the way his dark eyes watch your every movement, clouded with need, a silent plea for more even as he struggles to keep himself grounded.

"I think you deserve a reward," you whisper, your voice sultry, teasing as your lips hover just above the edge of his tunic. Your fingers slowly, deliberately trace the hem, brushing against his heated skin as you make him wait, drawing out the anticipation.

Jungkook's head falls back, his lips parted as he releases a shaky breath, his control slipping with every passing second. His voice is a low growl, thick with longing. “You owe me nothing,”

You shake your head softly, your lips grazing the exposed skin of his chest. “I owe you everything,” you whisper back, your voice filled with sincerity and seduction, the intensity of the moment building as your hand moves lower, testing the boundaries of his restraint.

His body tenses beneath your touch, but his hands stay firm on your hips, holding you against him as if he’s afraid to let go. His eyes meet yours again, dark and full of raw emotion, his voice hushed, almost reverent. “I am yours,” he breathes, and in that moment, you know that he means every word.

With a soft smile playing on your lips, you slowly lift yourself off his lap, feeling the tension in the air as you lower yourself to the ground, kneeling between his legs. Jungkook watches you closely, his breathing uneven, eyes darkened with a mix of anticipation and restraint.

You place your hands gently on his thighs, feeling the heat radiating through the fabric of his breeches, his muscles tense beneath your touch. You start slow, allowing the moment to settle between you, your fingers tracing soft, deliberate circles along his thighs, teasing without rushing. Jungkook’s breath hitches slightly, his gaze locked on your every movement, as if entranced by the sight of you at his feet.

With a deliberate slowness, you begin to untie the laces of his breeches, savoring the quiet rustling of fabric as you pull them off completely, your fingertips brushing against his skin, making him shiver. You take your time, your eyes never leaving his, a playful gleam in your gaze as you watch his resolve crumble little by little.

His cock springs free, finally released from its tight confines. Jungkook lets out a low groan, the sudden release of tension sending a wave of relief through him. The sight of him, hard and ready, makes your breath catch, but you don’t rush. Instead, you rest your hands on his thighs again, grounding yourself in the warmth of his skin, feeling the subtle flex of his muscles beneath your palms.

You glance up at him, and the intensity in his gaze sends a thrill down your spine. His lips are parted, his breath heavy, and you can see the restraint in the way he grips the couch, knuckles white, fighting the urge to take control.

You spit into your hand before wrapping it around his cock, feeling its warmth and weight resting in your palm. You start slow, allowing him to adjust to the sensation, your fingers curling around him with a firm but careful grip. As your hand begins to move, sliding up and down in deliberate, teasing strokes, Jungkook's head falls back against the couch. A low, breathy moan escapes his parted lips, his chest rising and falling more heavily with each breath, betraying his struggle to hold onto his composure under your touch. His muscles tense, eyes fluttering shut, as the pleasure builds with each movement.

His reaction fuels you, and you keep your pace slow and sensual, your hand gliding smoothly along his length. Each movement draws another sound from him — whether it’s a quiet sigh, a deep groan, or the way his breathing catches for a split second. The power you hold in this moment, the way his body responds to your touch, makes the air between you feel electric, alive with tension.

Jungkook’s fingers dig into the cushions beside him, as if holding on for control, but you can see the way his restraint is unraveling, bit by bit. His throat bobs as he swallows hard, his lips parted in silent bliss, eyes closed as he surrenders to the sensation.

With a mischievous smile, you tighten your grip just a little, adding the slightest bit more pressure as you continue to stroke him, and his moan deepens, sending a shiver through you.

You lean in, teasingly slow, letting the anticipation build. Jungkook’s breath hitches as he watches you, his chest rising and falling faster, his hands tightening into fists. The moment your tongue makes contact with the tip of his cock, his body tenses. You start with soft, delicate kitten licks, testing his sensitivity, letting him feel every light flick of your tongue as you work.

A bead of precum gathers at the tip, and you lap it up, the salty taste lingering on your tongue. Jungkook’s groan is deep, almost guttural, his head tipping back against the couch once more as you tease him with your soft licks, never giving him more than just a taste of what’s to come.

The way he reacts, the way his body trembles under your touch, only spurs you on. You take your time, savoring the control you have over him, feeling the way his thighs tense beneath your hands.

You glance up at him through your lashes, enjoying the sight of Jungkook completely lost in the moment, his lips parted, breath heavy. His reaction fuels your desire to tease him more. Your tongue moves slowly, deliberately, swirling around his sensitive tip, while your hand continues its steady rhythm, pumping him with just enough pressure to keep him on edge.

He moans again, low and deep, his hips instinctively bucking up, searching for more of that friction you’re so teasingly withholding. You hum softly, the vibrations making his cock twitch against your tongue. You take him a little deeper, wrapping your lips around the head, sucking gently as you let your hand pump the base, building the tension.

Jungkook’s hands grip the couch tightly, fighting to stay still, his body betraying him with every small thrust of his hips. You take him deeper, hollowing your cheeks as you suck, your tongue working against the underside of his shaft as you slide him further into your mouth. His response is immediate — his body jerks, a strangled groan escapes him, and you feel his hands twitch as if he’s fighting the urge to reach out and grab you.

You reach up and intertwine your fingers with his, and in that simple gesture, a new layer of intimacy blooms between you. His grip is firm, almost desperate, as if holding your hand is the one thing grounding him in the intensity of the moment. It's no longer just about desire; it's something deeper, more vulnerable, a connection that transcends the physical. His thumb gently brushes over your knuckles, a soft, tender contrast to the raw passion swirling around you. That small touch, full of unspoken emotion, speaks louder than words ever could, reminding you both that this is more than just a fleeting moment — it’s a quiet, shared promise.

Jungkook’s breathing becomes even more ragged as you continue to take him deeper, your lips and tongue working in perfect harmony to push him closer to the edge. You can feel his restraint, the way he’s holding back, trying to stay in control despite the pleasure coursing through him.

He groans, your name slipping from his lips in a way that sends a shiver down your spine. You hum softly in response, the vibrations causing another moan to escape his lips. The combination of his hand in yours, his soft gasps, and the warmth of his skin beneath your touch creates an almost overwhelming sense of connection.

You pull off him with a soft, wet pop, leaving his cock glistening in the firelight. Your lips curve into a teasing smile as you drag your tongue slowly along the length of his shaft, watching his reaction. Jungkook’s breath catches, his body tensing with anticipation. When you reach his base, you let your tongue dip lower, tracing a path to his balls. You take your time, licking and teasing the sensitive skin before gently sucking them into your mouth.

The reaction is immediate — his hips jerk up involuntarily, a deep moan escaping him as his head falls back against the couch. His knuckles are white as he grips the cushions, and his fingers tighten around yours, the warmth of his touch grounding you in the moment. You keep your eyes on him, enjoying the way his face contorts with pleasure, his lips parting with a shuddering breath.

“Fuck,” he groans, voice rough and strained, the sound vibrating through the air, sending a thrill through you. His chest rises and falls heavily as you continue to pump his cock in your hand, your strokes slow and deliberate, matching the rhythm of your mouth as you suck gently on his balls.

You can feel the tension building in him, his body trembling slightly under your touch. His muscles are taut, straining as he tries to hold himself back, but you know he’s close. The soft, breathless curses he murmurs between groans let you know just how much you're driving him to the edge.

Jungkook’s mind is a whirlwind of thoughts, each one more intoxicating than the last. The feel of your mouth wrapped around his cock is overwhelming, your lips warm and slick as they glide over him, sending shivers of pleasure down his spine. But what makes his pulse race even more is the sight of you — the Queen of the Seven Kingdoms — on your knees before him, your eyes dark with desire, lips wet and swollen as you take him deeper.

He can barely process it. A part of him feels like he’s lost in a dream, but the grip of your hand on his thigh, the soft, wet sounds filling the air, and the heat of your mouth around him all ground him in reality. His fingers tighten around yours, the intimacy of your entwined hands a stark contrast to the lust coursing through him.

He can’t stop thinking about how utterly beautiful you look, your regal composure gone, replaced by raw want. It’s sinful, how he can feel his cock throbbing in your mouth while your crown sits not too far away, a reminder of who you are — his Queen. And yet, here you are, on your knees, giving yourself to him so completely.

And then there’s the thought of what comes next. His cock twitches at the idea of getting you beneath him, of spreading your legs wide and burying himself in your warmth. He’s desperate to feel you around him, to watch your face twist with pleasure as he takes you, over and over again.

But even with all those thoughts swirling in his mind, one thing keeps echoing louder than the rest: the sheer power of this moment. The Queen, on her knees, sucking his cock like she’s wanted this as much as he has.

The thought sends another wave of heat through his body. He’s barely holding on, every moan, every stroke of your tongue pushing him closer to the edge. His breaths come faster, more ragged, his hips beginning to move on their own, thrusting gently into your mouth. 

Before Jungkook can take control, you pull back, rising from the ground and denying him the release he craves with a teasing smile. His frustrated groan fuels your confidence as you straddle him again, your knees resting on either side of his hips. Your fingers intertwine with his, and you guide both of his hands behind his head, locking your arms around his neck. His arms cross behind him, muscles flexing as he fights to keep himself in check.

The intensity in his eyes is undeniable — burning with desire, frustration, and the raw need to touch you, yet restrained by the control you've taken. Every part of him is taut, his body tense beneath you, waiting, aching for your next move. His gaze never wavers, fixed on you with an almost desperate longing, as if the anticipation alone could undo him.

You lean in slowly, planting a soft kiss on his lips, then another on his cheek, your breath brushing his skin. His chest rises and falls against yours, the heat between you both building to a near unbearable height. Then, lips grazing his ear, you whisper in a low, sultry voice, “I want you to fuck me the way a Queen should be fucked.”

Your words send a shudder through him, his body reacting instantly to your challenge. The restraint he’s been holding onto falters, his breathing turning ragged, his grip tightening slightly on your hands. The dominance of your demand ignites something primal in him, the heat in his gaze searing into you.

"Your Grace..." Jungkook murmurs, his voice deep and breathless, the title slipping out before he can stop it, laced with a mix of reverence and raw, uncontained desire. The slip into formality catches him off guard, as if he’s forgotten to leave the titles behind along with his armor. His jaw clenches, the tension in his body palpable as his control begins to fray at the edges. His eyes burn into yours, dark and hungry, as if your very presence has set him ablaze, and now, all he can do is watch helplessly as the flames consume him.

You feel the tension in his body, the way he’s holding himself back, and you smirk, rolling your hips against him, letting the friction drive him further into madness. “Are you going to make me wait, or must I command you again?”

That’s all it takes. His resolve snaps. With a low, feral growl, Jungkook releases your hands and grabs you by the thighs, lifting you effortlessly in one fluid motion. You let out a surprised giggle, heart racing at how easily he’s carrying you across the room. His strength, his commanding presence — it’s intoxicating, making your body heat with anticipation.

With a mischievous grin, he throws you down onto the bed, your body bouncing softly against the mattress. Jungkook is on you in an instant, crawling over you with a predatory grace, his body looming above yours, eyes dark and filled with intent. His hands press into the mattress on either side of you, caging you beneath him. The weight of him, the way his muscles ripple as he moves, has your breath catching in your throat.

His lips hover just inches from yours, teasing, his breath hot against your skin as he whispers, “I’ll show you exactly how my Queen should be fucked.”

There’s a rough edge to his voice now, one that sends shivers down your spine. His hands trail down your sides, fingers curling around the fabric of your dress, pulling it up and over your head in one swift motion. He takes a moment to admire the sight of you beneath him, his gaze smoldering as he drinks in every inch of your bare skin.

With a slow, deliberate movement, Jungkook’s lips descend to your neck, trailing hot, open mouthed kisses down your throat, your collarbone, and lower still, as his hands grip your hips, holding you firmly in place. His touch is everywhere — greedy, relentless — stoking the fire that’s been building between you all night.

As his mouth moves lower, a soft moan escapes your lips, your body arching instinctively toward him, craving more. And just when you think you can’t take any more teasing, he pulls back, hovering above you once more, eyes dark with lust and promise.

Jungkook pulls off his tunic, standing before you, fully bare. His gaze is unwavering, filled with awe and raw desire as he drinks in the sight of you, every inch of your body drawing him in with quiet reverence. The heat of his stare is palpable, his lips parting slightly as his eyes travel from your breasts down to your stomach, pausing at the faint stretch marks left behind by your children. 

There’s no shame in his gaze, only admiration — those marks are a testament to your strength, the life you’ve brought into the world. His hand reaches out, hesitating for just a second before brushing over your skin, tracing the delicate lines with his fingertips, as if memorizing every detail. His touch is tender, contrasting the heat in his eyes, and the reverence in his expression makes your heart swell. 

“So beautiful,” he murmurs, his voice hushed but filled with sincerity, almost as though he's speaking to himself. The way he looks at you makes your heart swell. There’s no hesitation in his gaze, no second thoughts — just pure admiration.

You can’t help but smile. Despite being nearly bare beneath him, you don’t feel vulnerable. You feel cherished, worshipped even, as if this wasn’t the first time he’s seen you like this. There’s a sense of ease between you, as if his presence was always meant to be like this — intimate and without fear. 

Jungkook leans in closer, his lips trailing down to your hip bone, placing a soft, lingering kiss there. The sensation is both grounding and electrifying, sending a shiver through your body. You glance down, meeting his gaze — intense and burning with desire, the kind of look that makes your heart race and your breath falter. In that moment, you can feel the fire behind his eyes, as if the world has fallen away and you're the only thing that matters.

Without breaking the connection, he lowers himself further, his lips finding the sensitive skin of your inner thigh. The kiss is soft, reverent, but full of promise, inching closer to the place where you crave his touch the most. Your breath catches in your throat, anticipation thick in the air, when he finally leans forward and presses a slow, deliberate kiss to your pussy through your soaking wet underwear.

A sharp gasp escapes your lips at the sudden contact, and instinctively, you lift your leg, gently pressing your foot against his shoulder to stop him from going further. His eyes flash with surprise, but there’s a glimmer of amusement in them as he looks up at you, waiting for your command.

“Maybe another time,” you murmur, your voice breathless but firm. “I want your cock.”

Your words hang in the air, heavy with anticipation, and Jungkook’s expression shifts, darkening with pure lust. He gives a low growl of approval, his hands gripping your thighs a little tighter as he quickly moves back up your body.

Jungkook wastes no time, his hands quick but careful as he pulls off your last piece of clothing and positions himself between your legs. His cock, already hard and slick with anticipation, brushes against your entrance, the warmth of him sending a ripple of electricity through your body. You can feel the tension in his muscles, every inch of him taut with restraint as he fights the urge to simply take you. He wants this moment to be more than just a rush of desire.

With a slow, deliberate nudge of his hips, he presses the tip of his cock against your core, the sensation both tantalizing and overwhelming. Your body reacts immediately, a soft gasp escaping your lips as he teases your entrance, the heat between you intensifying. His eyes are locked on yours, as if he’s savoring every second before fully sinking into you. 

Your legs wrap around his waist, pulling him in closer, urging him to give you exactly what you’ve been yearning for. His lips crash onto yours in a heated kiss, the moment charged with raw, unspoken passion as he finally pushes into you.

“Oh Gods,” you moan, your back arching off the bed as the sudden stretch overwhelms you. Jungkook fills you completely, every inch of him pressing into you, making your breath hitch as your body adjusts to the delicious pressure. His movements slow for a moment, letting you feel every bit of him, the weight of his body grounding you as the heat between your legs spreads throughout your entire body.

Jungkook’s forehead drops to yours, his breathing ragged as he holds himself still, giving you a moment to adjust. "You feel so perfect," he groans, his voice thick with restraint. His hands roam your body, gripping your hips as though he needs to hold onto something to keep himself from losing control completely.

Your fingers slide up his back, nails grazing his skin as you tug him closer, desperate for more. "Move," you whisper, your voice trembling. "I need you."

That’s all it takes.

With a low growl, Jungkook begins to move, pulling out slowly before thrusting back in, the sensation sending waves of pleasure rippling through you. Each movement is deliberate, deep, and measured. Your moans mix with his breathless grunts, filling the room with the sounds of your shared desire.

Your legs tighten around his waist, pulling him deeper with every thrust. His pace quickens, and soon, he’s moving faster, harder, the rhythm building as the pleasure between you grows. Each thrust drives you closer to the edge, your moans growing louder, more desperate as you cling to him, completely lost in the moment. 

Jungkook’s lips find your neck, peppering kisses along your skin between ragged breaths. “You feel so good… so fucking good,” he pants, his hips snapping against yours with growing urgency. 

Your hands tangle in his hair, your body responding to his with a need that’s been simmering for so long, now finally unleashed. "Don’t stop," you moan, your voice shaky as the heat within you builds to a breaking point. 

Jungkook’s thrusts become erratic, his breath hot against your ear. "Don’t think I can stop," he chuckles, his words sending a shiver through you just as the first waves of release begin to crash over you. 

You kiss him eagerly, teeth grazing his bottom lip before tugging at it playfully. Jungkook groans into your mouth, his hips stuttering for a moment at the sensation. The kiss deepens, becoming more urgent, more heated as your hands pull him closer, your nails digging into his back.

He responds in kind, his lips crashing back onto yours, the intensity of his kiss matching the rhythm of his thrusts. He bites gently on your bottom lip in return, making you gasp into his mouth, your bodies completely in sync as the pleasure mounts between you.

Your kiss is a frenzy of passion, tongues dancing, breaths mingling, as every movement pulls you closer to the edge. You tug harder at his lip, and he growls low in his throat, the sound vibrating against your lips and sending a fresh wave of heat coursing through your veins.

Jungkook’s pace becomes relentless, his control slipping as he loses himself in you. “The day of the Kingsguard posting,” he starts breathlessly, his voice low and rough as he thrusts into you. “When you walked onto the balcony… I saw you. Thought you were so pretty. So, so pretty.”

His words, spoken between ragged breaths, send a shiver down your spine, making you arch closer into him. You gasp, your hands clutching onto his shoulders as his confession wraps around you like a heated secret. The intensity in his eyes as he speaks, as he moves inside you, is overwhelming — his vulnerability laid bare, a part of himself he’s never shared with anyone else.

“I shouldn’t have thought it,” he continues, his voice thick with desire and restraint as his pace quickens, “but I couldn’t help it. I wanted you from that moment.”

You feel your heart pound in your chest, not just from the pleasure but from his raw honesty. Your lips part, but no words come out, only breathless moans as he pushes you closer to the edge. His hands tighten on your waist, his lips brushing your ear.

“I never thought I’d have you like this,” he whispers, his voice rough with awe and hunger, each word laced with the weight of unspoken desire. “But now that I do… I’m never letting go.”

His confession wraps around you, sending a shiver through your body as his movements become more intense. The passion in his eyes, the way his body presses into yours, has you spiraling, lost in the heat between you.

You raise a trembling hand, gently brushing his hair back, your fingertips lingering against his skin. “I’m yours,” you breathe, the words slipping from your lips like a vow.

The way his eyes darken, the way his grip tightens on you, tells you he’s heard it loud and clear. And in this moment, you know he’ll hold onto that promise as tightly as he holds onto you.

He laughs out a moan at this. His pace quickens, his thrusts deeper, harder, each one sending you spiraling further. Your moans mix with his, filling the room, the sound of skin against skin only adding to the fire between you. His hands roam your body, memorizing every curve, every inch of you like it’s the last time.

“I’m so close,” he whispers, his voice strained, his body trembling as he fights for control. His forehead presses against yours again, his eyes searching yours, desperate, as if he’s asking for permission to lose himself in you.

You nod, your own release building, teetering on the edge. “Cum with me,” you breathe, your voice shaky, your heart pounding in your chest. “Please.”

With a few more deep, powerful thrusts, you feel Jungkook’s body tense as he releases into you, a low groan escaping his lips. The sensation triggers your own climax, waves of pleasure crashing through you as your body tightens around him. You gasp, arching against him, your hands clutching at his back as you ride out the overwhelming sensations together.

His name tumbles from your lips in a soft moan, and he buries his face into the crook of your neck, his breath hot and ragged against your skin. For a moment, the world outside fades — it's just the two of you, tangled together, hearts pounding in sync, as you both come down from your highs.

He doesn’t move right away, his weight still pressed against you, his hands tracing slow, soothing circles on your hips as he catches his breath. You can feel his heart beating wildly against your chest, a silent reminder of the intensity you just shared.

Finally, Jungkook picks his head up from your chest, his dark eyes soft as they meet yours. He leans in, capturing your lips in a tender kiss, just because he finally can. It feels different now, with no hesitation between you, just pure connection. After pulling away, he shifts to lay beside you, pulling you against his chest, your bodies fitting together perfectly. 

You lie there in comfortable silence for a while, both of you catching your breaths, the calm after the storm. Jungkook’s fingers absentmindedly trace shapes on your back, lulling you into a peaceful haze. But then, he breaks the quiet with a teasing tone.

“Did I exceed your expectations, my Queen?” His voice is low and playful, a soft chuckle escaping him.

You laugh, swatting his chest lightly. “Arrogant, are we?” 

But you don’t let him respond. Instead, you sit up, straddling his waist once again, your grin mischievous as you lean down to kiss him, deeper this time, your lips lingering against his. 

“Might need to go again to give you a wholehearted answer,” you say with a smirk, looking down at the man who looks far too comfortable in your bed — a man who, by all means, shouldn’t be here.

His eyes widen for a moment before a slow, wicked grin spreads across his face, matching your energy. He chuckles, his hands gripping your waist firmly, his desire evident.

Jungkook knew that once the children were tucked safely into bed, these sneaky nights with you would be his favorite part of the day — full of far more excitement than he’d ever imagined.

The days stretched on like endless hourglasses, the sand moving far too slowly. Every moment of the daylight hours was consumed by anticipation, the constant pull of wanting the sun to sink and the moon to rise. It was during the night, when Jungkook would slip quietly into your chamber, that the world finally felt right.

Whether it was tangled sheets, quiet conversations, soft laughter, or simply lying in each other’s arms, those moments with him were the highlight of your days — only second to the joy of your children’s smiles, of course. But with Jungkook, time seemed to bend, each night feeling like a stolen treasure that you cherished more with every passing hour.

As much as you despised the act of walking past Jungkook during the day, pretending he wasn't your lover at night, the thrilling game of trying not to get caught was undeniably fun.

The secret, the tension of it, had its own special allure. Yet, there were moments when the near misses took a more terrifying turn.

Like that one time.

You'd been soaking in a bath, the water warm and fragrant with bubbles, the steam swirling around you like a blanket of comfort. But Jungkook, always unpredictable, had snuck in without a sound. Before you could even protest, he was stripping himself bare, sliding into the tub with you, the sudden shift in water making a small splash as he settled in.

Laughter filled the room as water overflowed, but that quickly faded into a mix of heavy breaths, wet skin, and the sound of sloppy kisses. Jungkook's hands gripped your waist as he leaned back, his head resting against the tub's edge, eyes locked on you. Your hips moved in sync, the sound of water splashing and your soft moans combining with his groans, creating a rhythm that made your heart race.

Then, just as the heat between you both reached its peak, a knock at the door shattered the moment. It was so sudden and unexpected that Jungkook's hand shot up, covering your mouth before you could release a gasp, freezing you in place. Your breath caught, heart pounding in your chest.

"Your Grace, I have your warm towels," came a muffled voice from the other side of the door. The maid sounded so oblivious, so unaware of what was actually happening just beyond the wooden barrier.

Jungkook didn't move a muscle, still as stone, his hand resting over your lips as his eyes met yours with a mischievous glint. Slowly, he lifted his hand, urging you to speak.

"J- just leave them at the door," you stammered, trying to keep your voice steady, though your heartbeat betrayed your calm facade. "I’ll grab them once I'm finished."

Jungkook stifled a chuckle, clearly finding the entire situation amusing as though it was nothing more than a joke to him. But you knew better. This was dangerous, reckless, and could cost both of you far more than just embarrassment.

"Very well, Your Grace," came the maid's voice, before the sound of her footsteps faded into the distance.

The moment she was gone, you slapped Jungkook's chest, eyes narrowed in mock fury. "We could've been caught," you said, your voice laced with both exasperation and something else — something darker, more thrilling. But the smile that tugged at your lips betrayed your feigned seriousness.

Jungkook grinned, his chest rising and falling with a quiet chuckle, as he pulled you back toward him, the playful tension still lingering in the air.

Because nights with Jungkook were always too short, he made sure to steal as many kisses and playful winks during the day as possible. The fleeting moments shared between you were like stolen treasures, hidden in plain sight.

Whenever the children finished their lessons, Jungkook was quick to position himself in front of the door to the next room they’d move into, knowing you'd soon follow, eager to check on them and hear about what they’d learned. Each time, like clockwork, you’d approach, ready to step past him, only for him to block your way with a teasing grin.

“Let me in,” you’d whine softly, unable to hide the smile tugging at your lips.

He’d simply point to his cheek, signaling for a kiss as if he were making a royal decree. You’d roll your eyes but play along, leaning in. Just as your lips brushed his cheek, he’d turn his head swiftly, catching your kiss on his lips instead.

Your heart would race as you quickly pecked his lips once more, a mixture of thrill and worry filling you at the thought of someone walking down the corridor and catching you both. With a final flustered glance at him, you’d hurry into the chamber to join your children, trying to maintain your composure as you asked them about their day.

Meanwhile, Jungkook would stand tall outside the door, his expression serious, as though he was merely guarding the room. But the sparkle in his eyes and the lingering hint of a smile betrayed him, the playful mischief still present even as he forced himself to appear composed.

The only person who knew about your secret relationship with Jungkook was Atticus. You’d confided in him, and he had been overjoyed to learn he’d been right all along. He had always suspected something, but hearing it from you only fueled his excitement and pride at being in on the secret.

Jungkook’s devotion to you went far beyond his duty as a knight. On the surface, he played his role flawlessly, always by your side, always vigilant. To everyone else, he was simply your loyal protector, the ever watchful guard who would give his life without question. But beneath that armor, beneath the stern facade he wore in public, his loyalty ran much deeper.

He wasn’t just devoted to you as his Queen; he was devoted to you as the woman he loved, with a fierce, unshakable passion that transcended titles or obligations. Every time he stood by your side, it wasn’t just as your sworn knight but as the man who would do anything to keep you safe, even if it meant loving you in secret for the rest of his life.

In the quiet moments, when the world wasn’t watching, his love shone through. The way his eyes softened when he looked at you, the way his fingers lingered just a moment longer when they brushed against yours, or the way his lips would curl into a faint smile when he caught you stealing glances at him. It was in the way he held you at night, after everyone else had gone to bed, his arms wrapping around you with a tenderness that spoke of a love so deep, words could never do it justice.

Jungkook didn’t need grand gestures or declarations of love. His devotion was in the small things, the quiet sacrifices, the way he protected you not just with his sword but with his heart. Every glance, every touch, every whispered word in the darkness was a testament to his unwavering loyalty — not to the crown, not to his duty, but to you.

And though the world might never see the depth of his devotion, you felt it every day. In the way he watched over you, in the way he shielded you from not only physical threats but from the weight of loneliness that sometimes crept in. He was your protector, not just in body but in spirit.

As the years passed, your secret love remained hidden, but his devotion never wavered. No matter the risks, no matter how many times you had to pretend in public that he was nothing more than a knight, Jungkook’s heart was yours, fully and completely.

In the end, it didn’t matter that the world would never know the truth. You knew. You saw the way he loved you, not just as a knight sworn to protect you but as a man devoted to your heart, forever bound to you in a way that went beyond duty or title.

And in that devotion, you found your peace. Because you knew, no matter what happened, Jungkook would always be by your side — not just as your protector but as your lover, your confidant, and the one person who truly understood the depths of your soul.

Noticing the difference in your behavior, Jake straightens himself, tilting his head to the side while he looks at you with furrowed brows. 

“You okay, babe? Work doesn’t usually get to you like this. Do you want to talk about it?” He speaks to you with a low softened voice, despite his earlier proclamation.

Vigorously, you shake your head. “It’s just dumb stuff and I know I’m overreacting slightly. I just…I don't know…I kinda wanna just be in a bad mood? Does that make sense?” you chuckle, “I know it sounds dumb but-“

“No, I get it,” stepping towards you, Jake pinches your chin gently between his thumb and pointer finger, “Hell, take it out on me if you need to.”

It might be the way his thumb is lingering along your jawline now, hovering so his skin is only slightly grazing against yours, or the way his eyes darken as he looks at your lips, but something in his words sounds more like a plea than a simple comedic suggestion. 

You narrow your eyes at your boyfriend, trying your best not to convey how instantaneously he takes over your mind and body. It’s dizzying the way he looks you up and down, consuming how you can feel the heat from every slight touch of his hand. 

“How would you like me to take it out on you?” You question with a lowered voice, tilting your head down slightly to flick your eyes more up at him, batting your eye lashes in a way you know he can’t resist. 

His thumb stops moving just below your bottom lip where his eyes also rest. “Well, depends on the type of day you had. Do you need to let out your anger? Pretend I’m your boss and raise your voice, say some absurd things? Or do you need to feel useful?” The more he talks, the lower his tone and volume go, his voice growing softer while his speech slows. To make it worse, at the end of his sentence he releases your lips from his gaze, his deep brown eyes flicking up ever so slightly to meet your own. And you instantly become putty in his hands. 

“Useful,” you mutter, averting your gaze to the side to avoid the smirk you know is displayed on his handsome face.

“Oh, I can put you to use, my love. Knees. Now.” Jake commands with a snap of his finger before pointing it down at the ground and using his other hand to give your bottom lip a quick swipe with his thumb. 

“Right here? In the entryway? What about the bedro-“

“I thought,” he cuts you off, removing his hand from your face to slowly start undoing his belt, “you wanted,” the belt’s on the floor, his hands now unbuttoning his slacks, “to be,” his eyes are locked on yours, “useful,” he growls.

Placing a hand on the back of your head, he leans you forward, giving you a swift tender kiss on the forehead before pushing your head down. 

You fall to your knees quickly, your hands sliding down his torso until they rest at his hips where his slacks are barely hanging on by his growing bulge that you’re now eye level with. 

Between clenched teeth and a sharp inhale of his breath, Jake commands, “Don’t make me have to ask you twice.”

Your hands move without any further hesitation to push his slacks and underwear down from his hips, his hardened member bouncing at the release of the constraints. How is he already this hard? Jake’s weeping cock is already fully stiff and alert, a small bead of precum glistening at his tip, begging for contact. 

Looking straight up at your man, wanting to hold his gaze, you stick your tongue out and give him a long lick from the base of his member to just below the bulbous part of his tip. Jake’s head falls back against the door, his eyes fluttering to the back of his head as one of his hands reaches for your hair. He strokes it gently at first before giving a warning tug. 

“Please,” he whines softly with an airy gasp, eyes still closed, “not today. Don’t tease me today, Y/n.”

Even though he’s not looking, you still smile up at him fondly. Just for a moment, savoring the desperate look on his face before swirling your tongue along his tip. 

Jake’s body trembles, mouth open slightly as he sucks in a breath. Then suddenly, he opens his eyes. They narrow down at you with a darkness that loudly tells you he is not planning on warning you again. Jake places both of his hands around your head, palms brushing your temples as he lines your mouth to his cock. 

You hold his eye contact as you open your mouth and wait for him. 

You don’t have to wait long. Jake has never been the patient type. And when it comes to you sucking him off? He was never really good at playing around and teasing and for sure did not like to have that patience tested.

Slowly, but steadily, Jake pushes himself into your mouth until your nose brushes his abdomen. Stifling a gag, you moan against his body and try to maintain your focus. His entire body shivers as he holds you in place, hands still cupping your face lightly as your eyes flutter shut. It takes everything in you to try to remember to breathe through your nose, or really, to remember to breathe at all. Which seems ridiculous but, in this moment, every cell of your body is consumed by him. 

Jake’s head falls back against the doorframe yet again, an intense inhale goes in through his nose and his lips form in a tight line. He may have tried to contain his moans but couldn’t suppress a deep, guttural groan from ripping out deep within his throat.

“Fuuuckkk, baby. How do you always take me so well?” His thumbs brush at the tears welling up under your eyes, a soft, fond smile forming on his face. 

The softness of his features only lasts for a moment before he starts moving his hips with a perfect cadence, relentlessly fucking your throat.

“That’s my good, useful girl,” Jake slowly groans. With each thrust that has him hitting the back of your throat, you try to focus on your breathing even more. Your goal is to not gag, no matter how much your body wants to, no matter how much you know he would love it. He’s claimed in the past that hearing you gag on him alone gives him an insane ego boost. But feeling it? Oh he couldn’t contain himself. Knowing he’s too big for his perfect girl but she tries her best to please him anyways? One of the best feelings a guy could ever hope to experience.

And because of this, Jake knows exactly when you’re on the brink of hitting your limit. As much as he would love to chase his own pleasure, he’s choosing to think outside of himself and knows you need this more than he does.

One of Jake’s hands moves to grab a fistful of your hair, pulling your head back and your mouth off of his slick cock, leaving a string of saliva connecting the two of your bodies together. 

Jake kneels down until he’s face to face with you, holding your face in his hands as he looks in your eyes. “That’s all I needed. Now, let me get a good look at you.”

His grip makes it impossible for you to look away. All you can muster out is a slight moan in protest, your bottom lip jutting out as you furrow your eyebrows. Thumbs catching some runaway tears from under your eyes, Jake lets out a low chuckle, peppering quick kisses along your face.

“As good as you make me feel,” he starts, guiding you up to your feet and leading you towards the bedroom, “it’s not how I want to come.”

“But I barely even-”

“Shhh,” Jake abruptly pushes you up against the wall in the hallway, his lust filled eyes combing over the spots where his hands roam all over your body, “it’s okay, baby. That’s all the use I needed from you. You did amazing. Let me make you feel good now.”

Gently and slowly, at first, he kisses your lips, moving your arms so they wrap around his neck. Muscle memory has your hands interlocking in his hair at his nape, giving a slight tug which elicits a sweet groan from your man. It doesn’t take long after that for the kiss to deepen, Jake moving one his knees to press against your clothed heat. He pulls away from you briefly to look in your eyes, looks down at his knee then back up at you, giving you an encouraging nod, his eyes wide and eager, swimming with excited anticipation.

You look deeply into Jake’s eyes as you lower your core down to his thigh, holding his gaze as you slowly move yourself along his muscle. You can’t hold in the soft whine that comes out as you finally feel some friction on your needy clit. Jake loves and hates when you hold eye contact and moan like this, claiming it’s an unfair use of power. He shakes slightly under your touch, gripping your hips tightly enough to surely leave some marks. He tries to hold your eye contact, but can’t help as his eyes roll back, his body moving closer to yours to grind with you.

“Fuuckkk, baby,” Jake lulls out, “you really needed me this badly?” He continues to grip your hips, now guiding you along his thigh. His assistance reveals his own desperation. Jake pushes you down harder against him while simultaneously moving you back and forth at a faster pace. Pretty little desperate whines come out of him as he stares hazeley at your lips.

“Mmmm, sweet boy, look at you. So desperate to make me feel good, hm?” It was hard to talk like this in this position you’re in. Too easy it would be to give into your boyfriend’s ministrations, too easy it would be to give in to your own wants and pleasures. 

“Please use me now.” Jake’s grip on your hips tighten. Your wincing muddles amongst his moans as he grinds you harder against his thigh. 

“Please, baby,” he begs again, his yearning glossed over eyes meet your gaze once more. A lightning shock shoots down to your already throbbing core, “Please need me.”

That is your last straw. 

“Oh my- I need you so badly, Jake. I can't take this teasing foreplay anymore. I need to feel you inside me. Baby, please.” 

Switch flipping yet again, Jake doesn’t hesitate and wraps both of your legs around his waist, now carrying you to the bedroom while you feverishly kiss along his neck and jawline, leaving a pretty trail of love marks as you go.

He walks towards the room with long confident strides, holding you up easily with one hand as he opens the door. And once you’re both inside, he closes the door behind him with a simple kick of his foot, not even bothering to look back as he does so. 

Laying you down softly on the bed, Jake’s jaw clenches as he works to fully undress himself. As he’s unbuttoning his shirt, he smiles softly at you and leans forward, connecting his lips with yours yet again. The kiss is soft, delicate, as his fingers continue to work against the stiff buttons of his shirt. Your body relaxes against the kiss, your mouths molding together with familiarity, tongues swimming messily with each other in a familiar dance. 

Finally, his top is fully undone but he doesn’t take it off. As for his pants, he’s long forgotten those somewhere near the front door of your shared apartment. Jake doesn’t hesitate with removing your clothes, practically ripping them from your body. He’s fueled by his need to see you naked and needs to see you now.

Your chest rises even faster as your skin is now exposed, your boyfriend taking a moment to marvel at your physic. 

“You are so damn beautiful,” he grumbles as he gets on all fours, crawling on the bed until he’s hovering over you, using one hand to pump his length a few times for good measure. He bites his bottom lip as he looks down at himself and back up at you, the sparkle in his eyes all too telling how excited he is to dive right in and ruin you.

“Are you ready for me, sweetheart?” He holds himself at your entrance, body frozen in place as he looks into your eyes with those big pleading puppy dog eyes of his that always has you on your knees. You could never say no to him when he looks at you like this. How he manages to look so adorable and sexy at the same time will forever be a mystery to you.

“If we wait any longer I might actually lose my mind,” you huff, leaning forward to cup both of your hands on his cheeks, pulling him forward into a savory deep kiss. Jake’s eyes immediately flutter shut as you guide him down with you, his lips hungrily chasing after your own. Before your head even hits the pillows, Jake blindly inserts his tip inside your cunt, the sensation making you gasp against him.

Jake chuckles against your mouth, taking the chance to quickly pepper sweet kisses around your entire face. “Hmm? Didn’t think I’d be able to do it without looking? Darling I know your body better than anyone else. I could find this pussy anywhere.” The confident smirk on his face pulls you in even deeper to his charms.

His words make you clench around him, making your boyfriend wince slightly.

“So tight. Even though it’s just my tip. I guess I should have taken the time to prep you properly. I’m sorry, darling, this might sting.”

And, without another word, Jake pushes himself forward, his cock sliding into you painfully slow. Each inch stretching you further and further as your body desperately tries to adjust as quickly as it can. A mix between a choked moan and a gasp leaves your lips while Jake turns his head to the side to sink his teeth into the flesh of your shoulder, small whimpers coming from him in return.

Wanting to hear more from him, you take one hand and intertwine your fingers in his wavy black locks, tugging slightly so his head is lifted from the crook of your neck. Now that he’s facing you, you can properly look him in the eyes while he whimpers again, this time from the tugging on his scalp. Jake’s bottom lip juts out at you, his puppy eyes are back, pleading for something unknown to you. 

Despite his pouty demeanor, Jake is still rocking his hips back and forth, pounding into you at a satiable rhythm. The dynamic between you two might seem confusing to anyone on the outside looking in, but the satisfaction from being with someone who’s both submissive and dominant all at the same time is unlike anything you’ve ever experienced before. Plus, it allows you the space to give the same in return. Taking turns between caring for each others needs to then be the one receiving fulfills you in more ways than you can even begin to explain.

“Aw don’t give me those eyes, pretty boy. You know how it makes me melt,” you sigh, eyes rolling back as you roll your hips in time with his thrusts.

“Let me leave marks on you then.” Jake doesn’t wait for a response. He quickly grabs your bottom lip between his teeth, tugging softly before sucking. Words completely escape your brain as he releases you, smirking before diving back down against your neck. Your brain starts to feel dizzy as he adjusts his hips, fixing the angle of his thrusts ever so slightly to where he knows he’ll hit your g-spot. He nips at the flesh below your ear, right in the spot that sends chills down your entire body. At this point, your clit is throbbing and it’s your turn to become a pouty, moany mess.

“Use your words, Y/n,” Jake chuckles against your neck, giving one last bite before flatting his tongue on the sensitive area. 

When he doesn’t hear you say anything in response to his command, he sits himself up so he’s looking in your eyes. One of his eyebrows quirks up, waiting for your response. When you still won’t give it to him, he stops his languid movements and slowly pulls himself out of you with a tsk tsk tsk.

“I know you know better than to ignore me.” He licks his lips slowly and leans forward, his face now hovering directly over yours. Your chest is rising and falling quickly, not realizing how out of breath you were from only such a short time of contact with him. Jake’s head tilts to the side, his eyes darkening ever so slightly as his impatience takes over. Suddenly, one of his hands is lingering over your throat, his thumb lightly brushing against your esophagus. 

“Now, beautiful. Why are we being so stubborn all of a sudden? Why aren’t you talking to me?” He releases your throat by moving his hand upward just a bit, his thumb moves along your jawline then up some more to trace along the outside of your bottom lip. Tingles and chills naturally erupt throughout your body with every soft touch he leaves on your skin. It doesn’t matter how much time has passed since you two have been together, Jake still has this unwavering affect on your mind, body and soul. Subconsciously your body communicates with his, going well beyond needing words at times.

But that doesn’t mean Jake doesn’t want to hear them still.

“I know you want something. It’s so easy to tell with the way you’re moaning and the way your hips are bucking up against me. Just say the words and it’s yours.”

It’s stupid to try to compete with him. No matter how hard of a stubborn fight you could try to conjure up, Jake always wins. 

Always.

“I want you to play with my clit while you fuck me,” you whine, drawing out the last syllables in an unmistakably ‘you can’t say no to me’ way, shaking your shoulders, closing your eyes and jutting out your lower lip for extra affect. He might be the one to win every time it comes to stubbornness, but no one can deny the fight you put up when it comes to pouting, begging, and pleading.

“Ugh, baby don’t give me that look, please,” Jake rolls off of you, now on his back beside you with one arm covering his eyes, “I just want to hear you say what you want. I love listening to your demands. It's so sexy when you tell me what you need.”

“Would it be even sexier if I just do it?”

Jake moves his arm slightly to look at you with a questioning yet excited gaze. His hesitation and agape mouth is all the answer you needed.

Without letting another second pass, in one swift motion you’re now on top of him; both legs straddling either side of his thighs and your core hovering dangerously close to his cock.

“Fuck,” he mumbles, hands up in the air somewhat similar to a surrender pose. Jake’s eyes dart all across your body, genuinely not knowing what to do. His mind races with all the places he wants to put his hands on you, all the things he wants to do and say to you. It’s happening so fast that he’s stuck in a frozen state.

You place one hand confidently on his chest, making sure he stays put. It’s your turn to hover your face over his, taunting him with what looks like is going to be a kiss, but you pull back at the last second, smirking at the dumbfounded look on your boyfriend’s face.

“Haven’t you ever heard the phrase ‘actions speak louder than words’?” You tease.

“Oh yes, I have,” he nods quickly, eyes wide as he licks his lips hungrily, his hands now resting comfortably (and cockily) behind his head, “but I think I could still use a demonstration.”

With a smirk, you lean down and kiss his plump lips. It’s slow and intentional, setting the pace of not wanting to get too lost in the moment. After a few languid exchanges, you lower your hips down until finally, finally, your still sopping cunt makes contact with his length. You know he expects you to be just as impatient as him, to just grind against him a couple times before finally letting him back inside you.

But that would just be too easy.

You slowly start to grind against him, moving back and forth slowly. You press down harder against him when you get close to his tip, making the poor boy moan louder and louder each time you do so. Almost immediately your slick is coating him, the friction now even more satisfying the more you grind against him.

“Ugh…Y/n…baby…put me in already,” he begs, his eyes clenched tightly shut, “Put me in so I can start playing with your clit like you wanted.” Beads of sweat start to trickle down his temples, his cheeks flushed a glowing shade of pink. You silently ignore his pleas, wordlessly picking up your pace and pressure. Jake’s hands fly to your hips, nails digging into your skin at a satisfying grip. At first, you thought he was going to attempt to stop your movements. But, to your amusement, he’s only assisting you more. He guides your hips along his length while bucking his hips upward. You’re desperately trying to revel in the absolute mess of a sight your boyfriend is below you, but the friction against your clit is getting harder and harder to ignore. Jake’s eyes are still shut tight, his bottom lip now quivering as a slew of please’s and an array of petnames leave those pretty lips of his. At this point, your brain is so hazy you can’t even make out anything he’s saying.

Eyes focusing on those quivering lips, you lean in once again, this time more hungry and desperate than before. Going straight for that bottom lip of his, you pull it between your teeth, groaning with him as you feel his cock twitch between your other lips. 

“Baby, please. If you don’t slow down I’m going to come.” His legs are starting to tremble beneath you as he desperately tries to find relief and restraint in the same action. His composure is cracking more and more. 

And you only want to do as you're told.

So, with a smirk, you slow your pace to a painstakingly slow one. From quick and harsh movements to slow, drawn out romantic ones, Jake is immediately regretting his word choice.

If it’s any consolation at all, it’s just as torturous for you as it is for him. The moans and whines you’ve been trying to trap within yourself are letting loose and competing with the whimpering man beneath you. The longer you draw this out, the harder it is for you to keep your own composure, quickly forgetting the punchline to the joke you’re playing on him.

“Fu-fuck, oh my god. I can’t- I can’t take this anymore, baby. Please, let me come. I need to come,” he pleads with a shaking voice, head thrown back against the pillows so that the muscles in his neck strain. In this position he’s proudly displaying the bright love marks you’ve left along his delicate skin. Seeing those marks ignites something truly primal within you, knowing that he is all yours and everyone, stranger or familiar, will know it without a doubt. Jake always wears your marks proudly after the fact too, claiming that if anyone has an issue with it they’re just immature and jealous that he gets fucked so well and they don’t. It’s a part of what makes marking him up even more arousingly special. Plus, it’s not like he doesn’t do the same to you. The running joke at both of your places of employment is that whenever either of you come in with a new scarf or turtle neck it’s to maintain what little bit of professionalism you have left. But if anyone asks about it…neither you nor Jake are shy of pulling down the garments and displaying the pretty bruises in any coloring stage they may currently be in.

“You want to come now?” You finally speak up. Jake’s muscles start to twitch all throughout his body at the sound of your sultry tone. You watch as he bites down on his bottom lip hard, gripping your hips even tighter as he desperately tries to hang on for just a little bit longer.

Jake finally opens his eyes to give you that irresistible pleading stare. “Yes, please.”

“Such a needy boy, all ready to come without even being inside of me,” you coo and Jake just whimpers in response. You lean your head down next to his ear, making sure he feels the warmth of your shaky breath as you tell your sweet boy to come for you, eliciting a quick bite on his earlobe.

Of course, you do this while guiding your cunt only along the tip of his cock now, thankfully (in Jake’s mind at least) picking up speed once again. Jake’s mouth falls open in the perfect ‘O’ shape, his moans coming out in gasps and he looks in your eyes. Mere moments later you feel his cock spasm beneath you, his hips bucking up as he sits up slightly, spurts of cum shooting past your folds and onto his stomach.

He wraps his arms around your waist, pulling you close against him as his chest rises and falls quickly. Jake whimpers and nuzzles his face into the side of your neck, leaving soft desperate kisses where he can. In turn you wrap your arms around his shoulders and rest your head against his. Soft murmurs of praise and comfort leave your lips as you rub your thumb in small circles against his bare skin. You both stay like this for a moment, you not caring about the pause in intimate physical action. In your relationship, this moment of sex is the most intimate you can be with one another and it’s something you cherish deeply. Knowing that the both of you put the other person's needs and comforts before their own is something unique to you both.

The heartfelt moment doesn’t last as long as it usually does though, because before you can even blink you find yourself with your back now on the bed and Jake with a devilish smirk looming above you.

“My turn,” he snarls, grabbing your hips roughly and flipping you onto your stomach. Time isn’t wasted with your impatient man as he pulls your hips towards him, placing a hand between your shoulder blades to keep your head down.

A loud smack followed by your body wincing, Jake rubs his hand soothingly on the mound of your ass that he just spanked. He’s cooing something under his breath, but your heart beating loudly in your ears keeps you from hearing what he’s saying exactly.

You’re about to ask him to repeat himself, turning your head so you can see him properly, when he smacks his hand across your butt harder than before. 

“Did I say you can move? Face back down.”

The growl in his undertone sends shivers down your spine, eyes widening as you turn back and do as you're told. 

Not long after that you feel three of Jake’s fingers push deep into your cunt, pistoning in and out at an insane speed, especially considering he hasn’t properly warmed you up. 

You cry out in surprise, gasping into the bedsheets while the friction and lack of proper build up confuses your body. All the tension from before blooms inside you and you can't believe you’re already feeling that white heat about to burst inside you. 

“You’re already clenching around my fingers,” Jake chuckles in surprise, not relenting on his speed as he continues to scissor his digits inside of you, “oh my poor needy baby, you’re absolutely soaking me.”

You shut your eyes tightly, trying to think of anything to hold onto your sanity. You absolutely cannot come this quickly, you’ll never hear the end of it from Jake. You wouldn’t put it past him to brag to everyone and anyone he knows about it too, it must be some kind of record, right? Making your girlfriend come in less than a minute? Maybe even less than thirty seconds? Yeah there’s no way you can let him have this one. But fuck, he really knows how to curl those fingers perfectly within you, beckoning your release with aggressive tender strokes.

Tears prick your eyes and you can’t stay still, grasping at the bedsheets frantically while you try to adjust your body to avoid the inevitable. 

“Not so funny when the tables are turned, huh?” Jake chuckles menacingly, speeding up his pace and flicking his thumb against your throbbing clit. It feels like he’s about to split you in two with his fingers alone and your entire body is at war with itself – unsure if it loves the contact or wants to get away.

“As soon as you come I’ll give you my cock again. That’s all you gotta do.” He states plainly, almost nonchalantly, eyes focused as he watches his fingers drill in and out of your hole, unknowingly pushing you right over the edge and perfectly into his trap.

Everything blurs as your release erupts. Moans of pleasure and surprise fill the room while Jake grabs ahold of your hips, rooting you in place. 

“That’s it, baby. I’ve got you. Just needed to hear my voice to get you to come undone, hmm?” His one hand roams over the mound of your ass while he murmurs to you, fingers still languidly pumping in and out of you. Your muscles are finally starting to relax, legs still shaking as your breath catches up with you. Just as you’re about to collapse into the bed, Jake says one word that has your eyes opening wide in surprise.

“Ready?”

You open your mouth to ask ‘Ready for what?’ but before you can get the words out your cunt is deliciously stretched, now filled to the brim with your boyfriend’s throbbing cock. 

“Ah-aahhh,” Jake sighs, “you’re still so tight holy shit.”

You jolt forward as you feel his tip kiss the edges of your walls. Pulsing around him, you’re still sore from the damage his fingers did just moments before. Jake’s hands move from your hips and roam your body, admiring everything about you as he gives you a moment to adjust to his girth. His hair tickles between your shoulder blades as he leans forward to plant chaste kisses across your skin, groans singing out between each one that he leaves. His cock twitches inside of you and you know it’s taking everything in him to keep calm and still. Even his breathing is becoming rigid and off beat.

Wordlessly, he lifts himself up and slowly pulls himself away from you until just his tip is inside. It’s like you can hear his brain churning with thoughts and ideas, but you know his brain fog can get just as bad as yours and he’s probably lost in the moment.

Now that you’ve had a taste of him, though, you’re not letting him off so easily.

“Jaakkeeee,” you whine, wiggling your ass slightly to get his attention, which only backfires and makes your body flinch with the feeling of him still partially inside of you.

“I’m trying not to go crazy here.” He laughs. You turn your head to look over your shoulder and see your boyfriend's eyes glued to where you’re both connected.

With a warning bite to your tone, you mutter his name again and he groans in response, biting down hard on his bottom lip before chuckling to himself.

“Alright. You asked for it.” He snaps his hips forward and slams his cock deep into you again. Instead of starting a slow rhythmic pace he thrusts quick and hard. Your body is pressed firmly into the mattress with the way he’s holding you down, his grip stronger than you’ve ever felt in the past.

The pace he’s set is dizzying, pounding you deep into the mattress as the sounds of your squelching wetness fills the room. Your body doesn’t even get a chance to fully appreciate the bliss he’s bringing you before your system is shocked again and again and again.

“Gonna fuck you till you’re good and dumb, all you’ll be able to say is my name,” he grunts, giving a deep smack to your ass before grabbing your hips and pulling you back and forth with his thrusts.

Normally you’d giggle at him in response, but fuck he might actually be fucking you stupid. Moans, whines, and his name is truly all your lips can form. You want to scream out how good he’s making you feel, but each time his cock slams against your sweet spot your eyes roll to the back of your head and you lose any coherent thought that was trying to form inside your brain.

None of it goes unnoticed, of course. Jake is a very observant and attentive boyfriend in every sense. 

“What? Five seconds with my dick inside you and you lose your mind? Who knew you would be such a cock hungry little slut.”

“Just…just for you.” Is all you manage to gasp out knowing how much Jake loves to hear how you only go crazy for him.

“Fuck.” His thrusts quicken despite his already relentless pace. Jake pulls your hips upwards ever so slightly, but it’s enough to change the angle, his tip now hitting a perfect bullseye against your sweet spot. The force of his body slamming into yours doesn’t give you a chance. Before you know it, you’re coming undone yet again, body shaking as you gush all over his cock.

“You’re coming so quickly tonight, baby. Work really has had you all pent up. Don’t worry, just hang on a little bit longer and then you can rest, okay?” Jake kisses the spot between your shoulder blades again, one of his hands reaching around to grab at your breasts. He tweaks at your perked nipple as his pace becomes sloppy and uneven, his head resting on your back as his hips continue to snap back and forth. Small whimpers leave his lips as he chases his second release that he’s been holding onto for so long now.

“Mmm, fuck, baby, you’re squeezing me so tight,” he whines, lifting his head up and placing his hands back on your hips.

Three more thrusts is all he has left in him. On the final thrust he grinds his hips harshly against you, making sure his cock is as deep in your cunt as it can possibly be as he spills his seed deep within your clenching walls.

The warmth weirdly soothes you through your overstimulated body. Being full of him like this makes you feel even closer to him and it’s something you’ll never get tired of. Feeling his cock twitch relentlessly inside you is addicting, your body trembles with satiated pleasure around him, wishing this feeling never had to end.

“Fuck that was a lot,” Jake mutters to himself. You feel him spilling out of you even with his cock still stuffed inside of you. You chance a look back at your boyfriend and marvel at the sight of him; wavy hair sticking to his forehead with sweat, his eyes fluttering slightly from bliss and tiredness, and his beautifully plump lips parted slightly as he tries to regain his breath. It’s a breathtaking sight, and one you’ll never truly get used to seeing.

All too soon, Jake slowly pulls himself out of you. The loss of contact from him has you wanting to throw a mini fit, but you’re too tired to fight for it. Plus, it’s not like you’ll be feeling this emptiness for long. The likelihood of you being woken up in the middle of the night with your boyfriend between your thighs, lapping up the previous night's leftover reminiscence, is very high. Once is never enough when it comes to Sim Jaeyun.

After a moment, your boyfriend helps you flip over onto your back, nessling himself against your warm body as you try to catch your breath. Your arm wraps around him automatically, holding him as close to your beating heart as you can muster.

Silent minutes pass by. Both of your chests finally fall into a calm and matching rhythmic beat and his skin isn’t feeling as hot to the touch as it was moments ago.

With a groan, Jake sits himself up and stretches his arms over his head, letting out a satisfied sigh as he brings them back down.

Turning to you, Jake leans down and presses a light kiss to your forehead, his lips quivering slightly as his body still recovers from the intense orgasm. Wobbling slightly, Jake leaves the bedroom and flicks on the bathroom light, returning in a short minute with a paper towel. Wordlessly, he tilts your chin up with a delicate hand, fingers tracing outlines of your skin as he carefully collects the sweat from your face. And he continues this down your entire body, even opening your legs to gain access so he can clean the cum from between your legs.

He leaves again, probably throwing out the paper towel, obviously. Jake doesn’t return empty handed though. Water droplets intertwine between his fingers as the condensation slips from the water bottle he has in hand. He sits down on the bed again, smiling at you softly as he uncaps the water bottle, motioning with his head for you to sit up.

You do as you're told, wincing slightly as you truly get a feel for how sore you are. Everything hurts. The muscles in your legs, your still pulsating clit, your insides, literally everything. You scoot backwards so you can rest against the headboard and reach for the water bottle in Jake’s hand. He pulls it away, shaking his head as he tells you to open your mouth.

How could you not smile slightly as you tilt your head back, water dribbling down the sides of your chin as your boyfriend giggles next to you, cupping his hand under your face to catch the escaping water, as if that would do anything.

Cheeks full of water and eyes twinkling, you take a moment to look into Jake’s eyes. Something pangs lovingly deep within your chest as you’re met with the same look of adoration on his own face. It’s a moment where it feels like time has stopped, the world spinning by as you two live comfortably in your own little world.

Jake sighs as he tilts his head, a sweet innocent smile painted on his face while his shoulders relaxe, still holding your gaze. “I love you.”

All you can do to keep yourself from getting too teary eyed is jut out your bottom lip and hold out your arms to him. Jake smiles again and crawls towards you, the water bottle now resting on the nightstand, his head finding solace on your chest while the rest of his body sits like a weighted blanket between your legs.

Like magnets, your fingers instantly go to his hair, softly running along his scalp while lightly tugging on the wavy strands. Jake sighs with relief and you just know his eyes are already closed. His arms wrap around your waist, squeezing slightly as he buries his face upward to rest in the crook of your neck.

“I love you too,” you whisper back followed by a gentle kiss to the top of his head. You feel his lips brush against your neck in a lazy and comforting reply.

Your hands move lower, massaging the muscles of his back as you both go back and forth mumbling and murmuring about how you appreciate each other. The horrid day long forgotten as you lay peacefully within each other’s arms, knowing no matter what tomorrow or any future day may bring, you’ll always have a safe home with one another.

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."

"Oh!" Dayoung speaks out, her regular personality of sunlight shining through the mists of anxiety in her head. "I knew you were about our age." 

Thrown off by the sudden attention, you stammer, “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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You stared at your reflection in the mirror, the cool morning light filtering through your bedroom window. The dream from last night clung to your thoughts like a stubborn fog, making it hard to focus. Every time you tried to push it away, it resurfaced—Heeseung’s hands, his breath on your neck, the way he’d looked at you with such raw desire. You shook your head, trying to dispel the images, but they only seemed to grow clearer.

Across town, Heeseung was standing under the steaming spray of the shower, his hand pressed against the cold tile as water cascaded down his back. He’d woken up with the dream still fresh in his mind, the memory of your body pressed against his in the boardroom sending a jolt of arousal through him. He bit his lip, trying to shake the feeling, but the more he thought about it, the more turned on he became. His hand twitched, itching to do something about it, but he forced himself to stay still. He was married, for God’s sake. But even as he reminded himself of that, the thought of his wife barely registered—just a distant echo compared to the vivid images of you.

You pulled a pair of black dress pants from your closet, laying them on the bed as you debated what to wear on top. Normally, getting dressed for work was a mindless task, something you did without much thought. But today, after that dream, it felt different. You didn’t want to dress too provocatively—Heeseung was married, after all, and it’s not like you were going to seduce him—but you also didn’t want to seem like you were behaving out of the ordinary. You settled on a white long-sleeved shirt, hoping it struck the right balance.

Heeseung turned off the shower, running a towel through his hair as he stepped out, the cool air hitting his skin doing little to quell the heat still coursing through him. He stood there for a moment, staring at his reflection in the bathroom mirror. What the hell was wrong with him? Why couldn’t he shake this feeling? He tried to think about his wife, but even the thought of her didn’t stir the guilt it used to. Instead, all he could see was you—how you’d looked in that dream, the way your body had responded to his touch. He cursed under his breath, forcing himself to focus on the day ahead.

In your room, you slipped into the black waistcoat, adjusting it until it sat perfectly. The formal look of it made you feel more grounded, more in control. But even as you dressed, your mind kept drifting back to Heeseung. How were you going to face him today, knowing what you’d dreamt? Your heart raced at the thought of seeing him, of being in the same room with him after what had happened in your subconscious. The images from the dream were still so vivid, so real, it was hard to believe it hadn’t actually happened.

Heeseung pulled on a pair of black dress pants, followed by a crisp white button-up shirt. His movements were precise, almost mechanical, as he tried to suppress the arousal that kept surging up every time his thoughts drifted back to you. He fastened each button with deliberate care, but even that wasn’t enough to keep his mind from wandering. His wife’s voice, faint and tired, reached him from the bedroom. “You don’t care about us anymore, do you?” she mumbled, half-asleep but clearly hurt. Heeseung froze for a moment, listening to the words, but they barely registered. He knew she was right—there had been a distance between them for a while now. But instead of feeling guilt, all he felt was a dull, muted acknowledgment. He didn’t care as much as he should, and the realization didn’t bother him like it used to.

In the kitchen, Heeseung’s wife was pouring coffee when he walked in, her expression distant. She didn’t look up when she spoke, her voice flat and resigned. “Have a good day,” she said, the words empty, merely being said out of habit rather than genuine care. “You too,” Heeseung replied, his tone just as hollow. As he grabbed his briefcase and headed for the door, he glanced back at her, but the connection they once had seemed to have withered away. Whatever was missing, he didn’t have the energy or desire to find it again.

You grabbed your bag, checking your reflection one last time before heading out the door. The nerves were still there, but you tried to push them down, reminding yourself that it was just a dream. However, deep down you knew it had changed how you saw Heeseung. As you locked the door behind you, your heart pounded with anticipation, the thought of seeing him today sending a thrill through you that you couldn’t quite shake.

Heeseung climbed into his car, his mind still buzzing with thoughts of you, of the dream that had left him aching for something he knew he shouldn’t want. As he drove towards the office, his grip on the steering wheel tightened, the familiar route passing by in a blur as he mentally prepared himself for the day ahead. He tried to think about the project, about the work waiting for him, but it was useless. The dream had taken hold of him, and no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t escape it

ᡣ𐭩 •｡ꪆৎ ˚⋅

You stepped into the elevator, the familiar hum of filling the small space as you pressed the button for your office floor. The doors began to slide shut when you heard a voice calling out, just before the doors sealed completely.

“Hold it, please!”

Instinctively, you reached out to press the ‘open’ button, the doors pausing their descent before slowly reversing. Your heart skipped a beat when you saw who it was. Heeseung stepped into the elevator, his pace quickening to close the distance before the doors could shut again. He offered you a grateful smile, his hand brushing yours as he reached for the button panel, sending an unexpected jolt through you.

“Thanks,” Heeseung said, his voice smooth, though there was an underlying tension you couldn’t quite place.

“Sure,” you managed to reply, your voice quieter than you intended. You could feel the atmosphere in the elevator shift as the doors finally closed, sealing the two of you inside the small, confined space.

The silence that followed was thick and heavy. You stood side by side, close enough to feel the heat radiating from his body, the scent of his cologne enveloping you. Your mind raced, replaying the vivid details of your dream, trying to push them out of your mind. You had never felt so uneasy around him before, and the tension in the air only made it worse.

Heeseung, meanwhile, was doing his best to keep his thoughts under control. The memory of his dream lingered at the edges of his mind, and every time he glanced at you, he felt an odd mix of confusion and guilt. He didn’t understand why he had dreamed about you, of all people, and the lingering effects of the dream unsettled him. But he refused to let it show, keeping his expression neutral and his demeanor calm.

When you and Heeseung first started at the company, it was immediately clear that you were both cut from the same cloth—ambitious, driven, and determined to make a name for yourselves. You joined the company on the same day, and from the outset, there was a natural chemistry between you. You quickly became each other’s unofficial competition, constantly pushing one another to do better, to reach higher. But it wasn’t the kind of rivalry that bred resentment. If anything, it brought you closer together.

In those early days, there was an unspoken understanding between the two of you. You knew that Heeseung would work just as hard as you would, and you respected him for it. Heeseung, in turn, admired your tenacity and sharp mind. The competition between you was light-hearted, almost playful at times. You’d tease each other over who could land the biggest client or who could draft the most airtight proposal, but it was always in good fun. There was a certain flirtatiousness in your banter, but it never crossed the line into anything inappropriate. It was just the way you interacted—two people who genuinely enjoyed each other’s company, who relished the challenge of trying to outdo one another.

There were countless late nights spent in the office, just the two of you, with takeout containers strewn across your desks and a few empty coffee cups lined up as you pored over financial statements or budget proposals. Those nights had a certain intimacy to them, but it was always rooted in your mutual respect and shared goals. There were moments when the teasing would get a little more personal—a compliment on how sharp Heeseung looked in his suit, or a playful jab from him about how you always seemed to have the right answer at the right time. But it was all part of the dance, the rhythm you’d fallen into over the years.

And now, after years of working side by side, something had changed. The friendship that had once been so easy had become tainted with an unfamiliar tension, an awkwardness that neither of you knew how to address. It was as if the dynamic that had once defined your relationship had been thrown off balance, leaving you both unsure of how to resolve this.

The numbers on the elevator panel ticked up slowly, each floor feeling like an eternity. Heeseung glanced at you from the corner of his eye, noticing the way you kept your gaze fixed forward, determined not to meet his eyes. He wondered if you were just as uncomfortable as he was, but quickly dismissed the thought. There was no way you could know what had been going on in his head last night.

“So… how was your weekend?” Heeseung asked, his voice light but slightly strained. It was a desperate attempt to break the silence, to inject some normalcy into the situation.

“It was… fine,” you replied, forcing a smile. “Pretty quiet, actually.”

He nodded, his expression neutral. “Yeah, same here. Quiet.”

The conversation died as quickly as it started, the tension between you both thickening the air. The elevator continued its slow ascent, the atmosphere growing more stifling with each passing second. You could feel your pulse quicken, the proximity to Heeseung almost unbearable as you tried to focus on anything other than the dream.

Heeseung shifted slightly, trying to focus on anything but the lingering tension. He had worked with you for years, and there had never been anything like this between you before. The dream had thrown him off balance, and he didn’t know how to regain his footing. The memory of his wife’s words that morning echoed faintly in his mind, but he pushed it aside, refusing to let it distract him any further.

The elevator dinged softly as it reached your floor, the doors sliding open with a mechanical whoosh. You practically leapt out, eager to escape the suffocating tension, but you felt Heeseung’s presence close behind, his footsteps copying yours as you made your way to your respective desks.

As you reached your desk, you let out a shaky breath, one you hadn’t known you were holding. You sat down in your chair, opening your laptop in hopes that work would be enough of a distraction. Across the room, Heeseung settled into his chair, his face a mask of calm professionalism, but beneath the surface, his thoughts were anything but.

ᡣ𐭩 •｡ꪆৎ ˚⋅

The office was quiet, the usual buzz of activity replaced by the soft hum of machines left running through the night. The last of the overhead lights dimmed as their colleagues packed up and headed out, offering quick farewells to you and Heeseung. You smiled and nodded in return, though your thoughts were far from the work you were about to dive into.

Your mind kept drifting back to the dream throughout your entire work day. The memory of it made your cheeks flush even now, hours later. It wasn’t just the vividness of the dream that lingered—it was the way it had sparked something new in you. You stole a glance at him, wondering if he could sense the awkwardness you felt or if you were giving away too much with your lingering looks.

But Heeseung was as calm and composed as ever. He leaned casually against his desk, his posture relaxed as he chatted with a colleague. His voice was smooth, his expression unreadable, revealing nothing of what might be going on in his mind. If he had any idea about the dream that had shaken you, he didn’t show it. Yet, beneath your nerves, there was a strange, new pull toward him—something the dream had awakened.

"Ready to get started?" His voice was steady, and confident, as he approached you.

"Yeah, let’s do this," you replied, hoping your own voice didn’t betray the nervousness you felt.

As you settled into the now-empty office, the silence between you and Heeseung stretched, filled only by the quiet clicking of keyboards and the distant sounds of the city outside. You tried to focus on the work at hand, but your thoughts kept straying back to the dream—how real it had felt, how much it had affected you. More than anything, you were startled by how much you had enjoyed it, and how much it had made you see Heeseung in a different light.

Every time you glanced at him, you couldn’t help but wonder what he was thinking, but he gave nothing away. His movements were fluid and assured, his focus seemingly unshakeable. He occasionally offered you a small, reassuring smile, as if everything was perfectly normal. But there was a newfound awareness in the air, something unspoken yet undeniably present.

But beneath that calm exterior, Heeseung was battling thoughts he couldn’t shake. The dream he’d had the night before was still fresh in his mind—an unexpected and vivid encounter with you that left him feeling uneasy. Despite the unease, he couldn’t deny that the dream had enticed him. It had stirred something within him that he hadn’t anticipated—a secret attraction he now found himself struggling to ignore.

Still, Heeseung was an expert at keeping his emotions in check. His demeanor remained collected, his focus on the task at hand. He wouldn’t let a stray dream affect his professionalism. But as the night wore on, the guilt started fading away and the attraction mixed with his own selfish desires lingered.

“Do you have the financial report for Q1?” Heeseung’s voice broke through the silence, his eyes scanning the documents in front of him, as if drowning himself in numbers could chase away the thoughts that kept resurfacing. You had the report he’d requested right in front of you, but every time he spoke, it felt like your brain was short-circuiting. You stared at the title on the report, trying to focus on anything other than the remnants of the dream that refused to leave your mind.

“Yeah, sorry,” you mumbled, passing him the stapled papers. You attempted to refocus on your own work, your fingers tapping across the keyboard, but your eyes kept drifting back to Heeseung—the way he bit his bottom lip when he was deep in thought, the way his eyes narrowed as he concentrated, and then there was the wedding band he kept twisting around his ring finger.

It was shameful, you knew, to be thinking like this about a colleague, especially a married one.

But Heeseung’s thoughts weren’t much different from your own. It was shameful for him to be stealing glances at you when he thought you weren’t looking, his thoughts drifting back to the dream he couldn’t shake. He prided himself on his self-control, on resisting temptation, but as he watched you from across the desk, the memory of that godforsaken dream kept creeping back. His gaze flickered briefly to the hallway, where the boardroom from his dream lay just out of sight.

“Have you ever dreamt about work?” Heeseung asked suddenly, the question slipping out before he could think better of it. It was a risky move, bringing up his dream of all things, but something compelled him to broach the topic. He wasn’t sure what he hoped to achieve by mentioning it—it wasn’t as though he could come right out and say what was really on his mind.

The question caught you off guard, leaving you momentarily frozen. Why would he bring up dreams right now of all times?

“Yeah… last night, actually.” You felt a blush creep onto your cheeks as you responded, your fingers pausing their movement on the keyboard. “But I can’t really remember what it was about.”

Like Heeseung, you felt an inexplicable urge to keep the conversation going, as if talking about it might somehow dissolve the tension in the air. Maybe if you opened the door to the subject, it would help you forget the dream altogether. But as the images of the dream grew sharper in your mind, you felt the familiar pull of desire gnawing at you. “Me too, actually… something to do with the boardroom.”

Your mind raced as Heeseung spoke. Had you accidentally said something? Had someone somehow found out about your dream? You knew it was impossible. You hadn’t told a soul, and you were certain you hadn’t slipped up. Yet, it felt like he was reading your thoughts, like he knew exactly what was tormenting you. Anxiety twisted in your chest, but it was mixed with an unexpected surge of adrenaline, making your pulse quicken.

In Heeseung’s mind, a similar conflict was raging. The thought of his wife, once a grounding presence, had faded into the background. He’d worked alongside you for years, and though he’d always harbored a subtle, unspoken attraction, he had never let it show. The atmosphere was thick with unspoken tension, making it feel as if you were strangers who had only just met each other.

Heeseung knew he was venturing into dangerous territory. He was fully aware of the risks, of the line he was dangerously close to crossing. He’d always prided himself on his self-control, on keeping his professional and personal lives separate. But the curiosity, the temptation, was growing too strong to ignore. “Remember when we first started?” he began, his voice taking on a nostalgic tone. “We were chasing clients like crazy, spending nearly every day and night in this office drafting proposals.”

“Of course I remember,” you replied, a small, almost forced laugh escaping your lips. “Your wife saw me as a threat because she thought you wanted me,” you added, trying to keep the mood light, though inside you winced at the mention of his partner. It was a clumsy attempt to deflect the rising tension, but it only made the air between you feel even heavier.

Heeseung’s eyes darkened, his gaze locking onto yours with an intensity that sent a shiver down your spine. He knew he shouldn’t make an advancement towards you. But it’s like he had lost all control of himself. “Aren’t you though?” he asked, his voice low and measured, each word carrying a weight that hung between you. The question took you by surprise, leaving you momentarily speechless as a jolt of unease settled in your stomach. What could he possibly mean by that?

“W-what are you talking about?” you stammered, hating the way your voice faltered. You mentally cursed yourself for letting your nerves show, for giving him a glimpse of just how much his words had affected you. The tension in the room was palpable now, thick and suffocating. It was as if the long hours of work and accumulated stress had cracked open something between you, something neither of you were fully prepared to face. Yet, there was no denying the undercurrent of desire that had been simmering beneath the surface, threatening to boil over.

Heeseung leaned closer, his voice dropping to a whisper that sent a thrill through you. “Are you sure you don’t remember what the dream was about?” His chair inched closer, closing the distance between you, his eyes never leaving yours. They were searching, probing, as if trying to unlock the secrets you were so desperately trying to keep hidden. Your heart pounded in your chest, the room suddenly feeling too small, too intimate.

“Because ever since I woke up from my dream… God, I’ve wanted to go back to it over and over. I haven’t wanted something this badly since—”

“The Decelis deal,” you interrupted, finishing his sentence with a voice steadier than you felt. The words tumbled out before you could stop them, and for a moment, silence filled the space between you. When your eyes finally met his, you saw the recognition in his gaze, the silent confirmation that your worst fears were true. Every piece of the puzzle clicked into place, and with it, the undeniable truth: Heeseung had the same dream. The realization sent a shockwave through you, leaving you breathless and reeling.

Time seemed to stretch endlessly as you stared into Heeseung’s eyes, the unspoken truth hanging heavy in the air between you. The world outside your small bubble ceased to exist—the office, your responsibilities, and even the boundaries that had once kept you in check all faded into the background. It was just the two of you, standing on the line of something dangerous, something that could change everything. The tension was unbearable, and yet, neither of you moved, neither of you willing to be the first to break the fragile silence.

But then, as if drawn by an invisible force, Heeseung leaned in, his eyes never leaving yours. The space between you seemed to vanish in an instant, and before you could fully process what was happening, his lips were on yours.

The kiss was tentative at first, as though he was giving you a chance to pull away, to stop this before it went too far. But when you didn’t, when you instead leaned into him, his hesitation vanished. Heeseung’s hand cupped the back of your neck, pulling you closer, deepening the kiss until it was all-consuming.

You melted into him, your body responding instinctively, as though this was what it had been waiting for all along. The kiss was everything you hadn’t known you needed—intense, overwhelming, and utterly perfect. It was nothing like the dream; it was better. So much better. The reality of it, the warmth of his lips, the way he tasted, the way his body pressed against yours, all of it was far more intoxicating than anything your mind could have conjured up while you slept.

Without breaking the kiss, Heeseung’s hands moved to your waist, gripping you firmly as he tugged you from your chair onto his lap. The sudden shift made your breath catch, your legs straddling him as he pulled you even closer. The feel of his body beneath you, strong and solid, sent a jolt of electricity through you, heightening the intensity of the moment.

Your hands rested on his chest, feeling the rapid beat of his heart beneath the fabric of his shirt. Heeseung groaned softly against your lips, the sound vibrating through you, igniting a fire that burned hotter than anything you’d felt before. Every thought of professionalism, of the consequences, of his marriage, vanished as you lost yourself in the moment.

The kiss deepened, becoming more urgent, as though you were both trying to make up for lost time, for the months, years even, of holding back. There was no more room for restraint, only the overwhelming need to be closer, to feel more. The way you fit together felt natural, as though you’d been doing this for years, and yet, it was all new, exhilarating in a way that left you dizzy and craving more.

When you finally broke apart, both of you were breathless, your foreheads resting together as you tried to steady your racing hearts. The room was still spinning, the weight of what had just happened starting to settle in, but neither of you spoke. Words felt unnecessary, trivial even, compared to what you had just shared.

All you could think about was how right it had felt, how much better this was than any dream. The reality of Heeseung’s touch, his kiss, was more than you had ever imagined it could be, and you couldn’t help but wonder how you had ever gone so long without it.

Heeseung’s eyes met yours again, and this time, there was no confusion, no hesitation. Just a mutual understanding, a shared acknowledgment of what you both wanted, and a silent agreement that this was only the beginning.

Your need for more was undeniable as you leaned in, eager to reconnect your lips with his. The kiss was charged with desire, a release of the pent-up tension that had been simmering all day. As your lips moved against Heeseung’s, you could barely contain yourself. “I want you so bad,” you whispered, your voice trembling with need. His eyes fluttered open at your words, and you could feel the effect they had on him, the tension in his dress pants growing as you straddled him.

“Just one kiss and you’re already acting like a desperate slut for me?” Heeseung’s voice was low, teasing, as a smirk tugged at his lips. His hand came up to cup your cheek, his thumb brushing over your skin with a tenderness that contrasted the roughness of his words. The contrast sent a thrill through you, and you found yourself nodding slowly, acknowledging the desire he had ignited deep within you.

“Please, Seung, I need you.” Your plea was all the encouragement he needed. In one swift motion, he hooked his hands under your thighs and lifted you effortlessly as he stood. He carried you across the room, your heart racing as he moved towards the boardroom—the very place that had been haunting both of your dreams all day. “Oh, baby… don’t worry. I’ll give you what you need,” he murmured, his voice a promise that sent a shiver down your spine.

As soon as you entered the room, Heeseung set you down on the polished wooden surface of the table, his hands sliding from under your thighs to your waist. His movements were deliberate, slow, as he began to unbutton your waistcoat. He knew exactly what he was doing, taking his time as if savoring every second. His smirk only widened as he watched your patience wear thin, your hands moving to help him, pulling off the waistcoat and then your shirt, tossing them both aside in your haste.

Heeseung’s amusement was evident, but there was a hunger in his eyes as he took in your eagerness. Even as your fingers fumbled with the buttons of his shirt, your desperation to feel his skin against yours was clear. His shirt soon joined yours on the floor, leaving the two of you exposed, the intensity of the moment amplified by the shared vulnerability. “God, you’re perfect,” Heeseung whispered, his voice filled with genuine admiration as his hand came up to cup one of your breasts through your bra.

He leaned in again, capturing your lips in a kiss that was different from the others. This one was unhurried, sensual, a deep connection that sealed the unspoken bond between you. “I think I need to show you just how perfect you are,” he mumbled against your lips, his breath warm and intoxicating. You nodded frantically, the anticipation almost too much to bear as he gently guided you down onto your back.

The cool surface of the table met your skin, sending a shiver through you as Heeseung’s fingers deftly worked at the waistband of your dress pants. He took his time, slowly undoing the button and zipper, his eyes never leaving yours as he slid the fabric down your legs. Heeseung was in no hurry; he was savoring every moment, every inch of your skin that was revealed to him.

Heeseung was on cloud nine, his desire for you overwhelming. He had never felt anything like this before, not even with his wife. It was as if his entire world had shifted, and now, all that mattered was you.

He leaned over your body, pressing a trail of kisses along your stomach, each one setting your nerves alight. As he worked his way down, his lips reached the edge of your panties. With a playful glint in his eye, he bit onto the delicate fabric, dragging it down to your knees, his gaze locked on yours the entire time.

Heeseung was like something out of your deepest fantasies, a vision that put every other experience to shame. Even the simple act of undressing you felt charged with an intoxicating sensuality. Before you could fully process it, Heeseung’s lips brushed against your clit, a light, teasing kiss that sent a jolt of pleasure through you, making your breath hitch.

Heeseung’s lips hovered just above your clit, his warm breath ghosting over your sensitive skin, sending shivers down your spine. The anticipation was maddening, the tension in your body coiling tighter with each passing second. Heeseung was teasing you, savoring the moment as his eyes stayed locked on yours, filled with an intense hunger that made your pulse race.

Slowly, he dipped his head, pressing a soft, lingering kiss to your clit. The sensation was electric, sending a shockwave through your entire body. A soft gasp escaped your lips, your back arching slightly off the wooden surface in response. Heeseung smirked against you, clearly enjoying the effect he had on you.

Without warning, his tongue flicked out, tracing a slow, deliberate circle around your clit. The pressure was just right, enough to make you moan, your hands instinctively reaching down to grip the edge of the table. Heeseung’s hands gripped your hips, holding you steady as he continued his slow, torturous assault on your clit, each stroke of his tongue pushing you closer to the edge.

Heeseung didn’t let up, his tongue moving with purpose now, alternating between soft flicks and gentle sucks, pulling more desperate sounds from you. Your mind was a haze of pleasure, every coherent thought melting away as Heeseung worked you over with an expertise that left you breathless.

You could feel the pressure building in your core, the coil tightening with each skilled movement of his tongue. “Heeseung…” You breathed out his name, the sound trembling on your lips. Heeseung hummed against you in response, the vibration sending another wave of pleasure through you, pushing you even closer to your peak.

Your hands found their way to his hair, tangling in the soft strands as you tried to ground yourself. Heeseung’s mouth was relentless, focused entirely on bringing you to the brink of ecstasy. His tongue moved faster now, flicking against your clit with just the right amount of pressure, driving you wild.

You could feel the orgasm building, threatening to crash over you at any moment. Your thighs trembled, your breath coming in short, ragged gasps as you teetered on the edge. “Please… don’t stop,” you managed to choke out, your voice thick with desperation. Heeseung only responded by doubling down, sucking hard on your clit and flicking his tongue with precision, pushing you over the edge.

The orgasm hit you like a tidal wave, ripping through your body with an intensity that left you breathless. Your back arched off the table, a strangled moan escaping your lips as the pleasure overwhelmed you. Heeseung didn’t stop, his tongue continuing to work you through your high, milking every last drop of pleasure from you.

You were completely undone, every muscle in your body trembling as the aftershocks of the orgasm washed over you. Heeseung finally pulled back, his lips glistening as he looked up at you, a satisfied smile on his face. You were still trying to catch your breath, your mind reeling from the intensity of it all.

Heeseung wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, his eyes never leaving yours as he stood up, towering over you. “You taste even better than I imagined,” he murmured, his voice low and husky. His words sent another shiver down your spine, your body still buzzing from the afterglow.

You could barely form a response, your body still trembling with the remnants of your orgasm. But the look in Heeseung’s eyes told you that this was far from over. Heeseung reached down, his fingers trailing over your skin as he slowly leaned in, capturing your lips in another searing kiss.

This time, you could taste yourself on his lips, a reminder of what he had just done to you. The kiss was slow and sensual, a stark contrast to the intensity of what had just happened. It was like he was savoring you, drawing out every moment, every sensation.

When he finally pulled away, his forehead rested against yours, both of you breathing heavily. “I’m not done with you yet,” he whispered, his voice sending a thrill through you. And with that, he leaned in to claim your lips once more, as if to prove that he was just getting started.

Your body was still trembling from the waves of pleasure that had just surged through you, but the desire to taste Heeseung was overwhelming. With what little strength you had left, you slid off the table, your knees sinking into the plush carpet as you gazed up at him with a mix of determination and innocence. Reaching up, your hand found its way to Heeseung's bulge, massaging him through his pants. The sensation drew a hiss from him, his breath catching in his throat.

"Are you just going to tease me, or are you going to put that mouth to good use?" Heeseung's voice was laced with frustration, his hands slamming onto the table with a resonating thud that echoed through the empty boardroom. His tone was a mix of command and need, driving you to act.

You eagerly undid the button and zipper of his dress pants, pulling them down to his ankles. With a quick, practiced motion, you slipped his boxers down as well, revealing him in all his glory. Your eyes widened at the sight—he was more than you had anticipated. The shock of his size was clear on your face, and Heeseung noticed. A satisfied smirk spread across his face as he took in your reaction.

"Like what you see, baby? Think you can handle all of it?" His taunting words were delivered with a growl, a playful challenge that only fueled your eagerness.

You leaned in, your lips, still tingling from earlier kisses, wrapped around the tip of his cock. The initial contact made Heeseung curse under his breath, a sound of relief escaping him. His hand found your hair, tangling in it to guide you as he pushed more of himself into your mouth. "Fuck, your mouth feels incredible. I could have you under my desk all day."

His grip tightened in your hair, and you began to bob your head, taking more of him in with each movement. The room was filled with the sounds of your efforts, the slick, rhythmic motion of your mouth against him, and Heeseung’s growing groans of pleasure. He thrust forward to meet your rhythm, his tip hitting the back of your throat with each push. The gagging only seemed to spur him on, his moans growing louder and more desperate.

"You're taking me so well," he panted, his voice a mix of praise and primal need. "Should have fucked this mouth sooner." His thrusts grew more urgent, faster, as he chased his climax.

"You're such a pathetic little slut for me, aren’t you?" Heeseung’s words were a mixture of praise and degradation, his control slipping as he neared the edge. His moans were uncontrollable now, his breathing ragged as he felt his orgasm building.

With one final, hard thrust, Heeseung’s release hit him like a tidal wave. His head fell back, eyes rolling, as ropes of cum shot down your throat. Heeseung’s moans filled the room, each sound a testament to the intense pleasure you had given him. The culmination of his desire left him breathless, and he marveled at the unparalleled pleasure you had delivered.

The two of you lingered in the aftermath, bodies spent yet neither willing to let go of the moment. Heeseung helped you to your feet, guiding you back onto the table with a gentleness that contrasted the intensity of just moments before. "Heeseung..." you breathed out, your voice trembling as your eyes locked with his. Without hesitation, you wrapped your legs around his hips, drawing him closer until you could feel the heated press of his bare cock against your slick entrance, the sensation pulling a needy whimper from your throat.

"I know, baby..." Heeseung’s voice was low, thick with desire as he seemed to read your thoughts. He knew exactly what you wanted because it mirrored his own need. His hand slid down between your bodies, gripping the base of his cock before slowly dragging the tip along your wet folds. The anticipation built as he nudged at your entrance, teasing you before finally pushing in, inch by agonizing inch.

Both of you moaned as he stretched you out, your body adjusting to accommodate him. You sat up just enough to reach behind you, swiftly unclasping your bra and tossing it aside, not caring where it landed. All that mattered was him. "God, you’re so tight," Heeseung hissed through clenched teeth, his hands gripping your hips to steady you both as he bottomed out inside you.

Once he was fully sheathed, Heeseung pulled back, only to slam his hips forward in a series of hard, deliberate thrusts. The raw intensity of the pleasure caught you off guard, the sensation so overwhelming, so perfectly right. "This pussy was made for me," he groaned, his words echoing in the air as your bodies moved together, fitting like two pieces of a long-missing puzzle. "Mmph... Seungie, you feel so good..." you moaned, your voice breaking as he set a relentless pace.

Heeseung’s thrusts were timed to perfection, each one hitting deeper than the last, sending shockwaves of pleasure through you. His hand slid up your body, wrapping firmly around your neck as he continued to pound into you. "This is so much better than the dream," you gasped, your fingers curling around his wrist as his grip tightened, the pressure adding another layer to the overwhelming sensations.

"We should’ve done this sooner," Heeseung growled, his voice strained with the effort to hold back his release. "Could’ve had you taking my cock all day... God, you feel so perfect." His words hit you like a bolt of electricity, igniting a blush that spread across your cheeks. He tugged your body closer to the edge of the table, his cock driving deeper, brushing against your cervix with every thrust. "Fuck, I’m already so close..." he groaned, biting down on his lip as his movements grew more desperate.

Your moans echoed through the boardroom, loud and unrestrained as you met each of his thrusts with a roll of your hips. "Cum in me, Heeseung... please, I want to be filled with your cum," you cried out, your voice laced with need as you pleaded with him. "Yeah? You want me to breed this little pussy? Want everyone to know who you belong to?" Heeseung’s free hand slid down to your clit, his fingers stroking in time with his thrusts as he watched you unravel beneath him.

The tension coiled tightly in your core, your orgasm building with every passing second. Heeseung could feel the way your walls clenched around him, your body trembling as you edged closer to release. "Fuck, you’re squeezing me so... ah—fuck!" Heeseung’s sentence trailed off, his mind going blank as the sensation overwhelmed him. It was as if you had trapped him, and he was helpless to resist.

"Hee... Please... please, I need to cum," you begged, your legs shaking around his waist as you teetered on the brink. Heeseung gave you a nod, and that was all you needed to finally let go. Your orgasm hit like a tidal wave, your body tensing around his cock as you came hard, screaming his name as the pleasure tore through you. Sweat beaded on your forehead as you cried out for him, lost in the ecstasy of the moment.

The tight squeeze of your pussy was all it took to push Heeseung over the edge. With a final, powerful thrust, he buried himself deep inside you, his grip on your neck tightening as he emptied himself into you, his release spilling out in hot, thick waves. "Fuck... Y/N. Oh fuck, baby," he groaned, his voice raw as his orgasm crashed over him, leaving him breathless and spent.

As his grip on your neck loosened, Heeseung leaned down, resting his head on your chest as he caught his breath. Instinctively, your hands tangled in his hair, soothing him as he pressed soft kisses along your exposed skin. Slowly, Heeseung withdrew, his cock slipping out of you as he stood upright, his eyes fixed on the sight of his cum beginning to spill from your still-sensitive entrance. With a smirk, he pushed two fingers inside you, gathering the leaking cum and pressing it back into your body. "Can’t have you wasting this, can we?" he murmured, his tone teasing.

Even now, after everything, he couldn’t resist taunting you. A small smile tugged at your lips as you nodded, too blissed out to form a coherent response. Heeseung pulled his boxers back up, his touch gentle as he fetched your discarded panties and slipped them back onto your legs. His movements were tender, a stark contrast to the intensity of what had just transpired.

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It wasn’t long before the two of you were fully dressed again, returning to your shared workstation and attempting to pick up where you left off. The air was still charged with the lingering heat of your earlier encounter, making it nearly impossible to focus. Every few minutes, your eyes would meet, and before you knew it, you'd be exchanging soft, lingering kisses. Heeseung was completely lost in you, every touch, every glance fueling the connection between you both. But there was a shadow that loomed over this moment, a problem neither of you could ignore—his wife.

By the time the clock ticked past 5:00 a.m., the final proposal was submitted to your boss, setting him up for the client meeting later that day. You both knew you’d be fast asleep by then, but it didn’t matter. The work was done, and it was the least of your concerns now. Like the gentleman he prided himself on being, Heeseung insisted on walking you to your car. As you reached the driver's side door, he leaned in, capturing your lips in a string of gentle, lingering kisses that made your heart race.

"Seung... will this be the last time we’re... like this?" you asked softly, nibbling on your bottom lip. The question hung heavy in the air, your nerves betraying your calm exterior. You knew the reality—you were standing on the precipice of something forbidden, something beautiful, but he was still married.

Heeseung’s gaze softened as he cupped your cheek, his thumb brushing tenderly against your skin. "I’ll handle it," he murmured, his voice steady and sure. He knew exactly what you were asking, and more importantly, he knew what he had to do. "I think a part of me has always wanted this... I don’t want to let it go." His words were whispered against your lips before he kissed you once more, a kiss that felt like both a promise and a plea.

You nodded, your heart swelling with hope and fear as you reciprocated the kiss, pulling away reluctantly to slide into the driver’s seat. "Text me when you get home, yeah?" he asked, a small, genuine smile tugging at the corners of his lips.

You returned his smile, nodding as you backed out of the parking spot and drove away. Heeseung stood there, watching until your car disappeared from view, the warmth of his feelings for you burning brightly in his chest. It was a feeling he hadn’t experienced in years, something that chipped away at the walls he had built around his heart, leaving him with a smile that he couldn’t seem to shake.

But as he returned to his own home, the smile slowly faded. The scent of freshly brewed coffee greeted him, and the faint clinking of dishes could be heard from the kitchen. "I’m home," he called out, his voice a bit flat as he walked into the kitchen. His wife was there, tidying up, just as she always was. Heeseung grabbed a mug, pouring himself some coffee before settling at the kitchen table. The silence that followed was heavy, the kind that wraps itself around you and makes it hard to breathe.

Finally, his wife spoke up, her voice cutting through the stillness. "How was your night, honey?"

Heeseung stared into his coffee, the steam rising in lazy spirals as his thoughts drifted back to you. He couldn’t answer honestly, couldn’t bring himself to tell her that he had spent the night consumed by thoughts of someone else. His gaze lifted, taking in the life they had built together—the home, the routines, the familiar comfort that had long since faded into dissatisfaction. And then, like a beacon in the dark, thoughts of you took hold, the possibilities of what you could build together seizing his mind.

His wife’s voice cut through his thoughts again, a touch of concern lacing her words. "I said, how was your night... did you finish that project, sweetheart?"

Heeseung met her eyes, the blank expression on his face revealing nothing of the storm brewing inside. There was no internal debate, no hesitation left in him. The answer was clear.

"I want a divorce."

ᡣ𐭩 •｡ꪆৎ ˚⋅

taglist ; @aetherl0l (happy birthday!!) @llvrhee @yohanabanana @rayofsunshineeee @mitmit01 @heartheejake @melonvrs @shanb1n @jakeyismine @yunhoswrldddd @jinspinkflipphone @woorcve

You stared at your reflection in the mirror, the cool morning light filtering through your bedroom window. The dream from last night clung to your thoughts like a stubborn fog, making it hard to focus. Every time you tried to push it away, it resurfaced—Heeseung’s hands, his breath on your neck, the way he’d looked at you with such raw desire. You shook your head, trying to dispel the images, but they only seemed to grow clearer.

Across town, Heeseung was standing under the steaming spray of the shower, his hand pressed against the cold tile as water cascaded down his back. He’d woken up with the dream still fresh in his mind, the memory of your body pressed against his in the boardroom sending a jolt of arousal through him. He bit his lip, trying to shake the feeling, but the more he thought about it, the more turned on he became. His hand twitched, itching to do something about it, but he forced himself to stay still. He was married, for God’s sake. But even as he reminded himself of that, the thought of his wife barely registered—just a distant echo compared to the vivid images of you.

You pulled a pair of black dress pants from your closet, laying them on the bed as you debated what to wear on top. Normally, getting dressed for work was a mindless task, something you did without much thought. But today, after that dream, it felt different. You didn’t want to dress too provocatively—Heeseung was married, after all, and it’s not like you were going to seduce him—but you also didn’t want to seem like you were behaving out of the ordinary. You settled on a white long-sleeved shirt, hoping it struck the right balance.

Heeseung turned off the shower, running a towel through his hair as he stepped out, the cool air hitting his skin doing little to quell the heat still coursing through him. He stood there for a moment, staring at his reflection in the bathroom mirror. What the hell was wrong with him? Why couldn’t he shake this feeling? He tried to think about his wife, but even the thought of her didn’t stir the guilt it used to. Instead, all he could see was you—how you’d looked in that dream, the way your body had responded to his touch. He cursed under his breath, forcing himself to focus on the day ahead.

In your room, you slipped into the black waistcoat, adjusting it until it sat perfectly. The formal look of it made you feel more grounded, more in control. But even as you dressed, your mind kept drifting back to Heeseung. How were you going to face him today, knowing what you’d dreamt? Your heart raced at the thought of seeing him, of being in the same room with him after what had happened in your subconscious. The images from the dream were still so vivid, so real, it was hard to believe it hadn’t actually happened.

Heeseung pulled on a pair of black dress pants, followed by a crisp white button-up shirt. His movements were precise, almost mechanical, as he tried to suppress the arousal that kept surging up every time his thoughts drifted back to you. He fastened each button with deliberate care, but even that wasn’t enough to keep his mind from wandering. His wife’s voice, faint and tired, reached him from the bedroom. “You don’t care about us anymore, do you?” she mumbled, half-asleep but clearly hurt. Heeseung froze for a moment, listening to the words, but they barely registered. He knew she was right—there had been a distance between them for a while now. But instead of feeling guilt, all he felt was a dull, muted acknowledgment. He didn’t care as much as he should, and the realization didn’t bother him like it used to.

In the kitchen, Heeseung’s wife was pouring coffee when he walked in, her expression distant. She didn’t look up when she spoke, her voice flat and resigned. “Have a good day,” she said, the words empty, merely being said out of habit rather than genuine care. “You too,” Heeseung replied, his tone just as hollow. As he grabbed his briefcase and headed for the door, he glanced back at her, but the connection they once had seemed to have withered away. Whatever was missing, he didn’t have the energy or desire to find it again.

You grabbed your bag, checking your reflection one last time before heading out the door. The nerves were still there, but you tried to push them down, reminding yourself that it was just a dream. However, deep down you knew it had changed how you saw Heeseung. As you locked the door behind you, your heart pounded with anticipation, the thought of seeing him today sending a thrill through you that you couldn’t quite shake.

Heeseung climbed into his car, his mind still buzzing with thoughts of you, of the dream that had left him aching for something he knew he shouldn’t want. As he drove towards the office, his grip on the steering wheel tightened, the familiar route passing by in a blur as he mentally prepared himself for the day ahead. He tried to think about the project, about the work waiting for him, but it was useless. The dream had taken hold of him, and no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t escape it

ᡣ𐭩 •｡ꪆৎ ˚⋅

You stepped into the elevator, the familiar hum of filling the small space as you pressed the button for your office floor. The doors began to slide shut when you heard a voice calling out, just before the doors sealed completely.

“Hold it, please!”

Instinctively, you reached out to press the ‘open’ button, the doors pausing their descent before slowly reversing. Your heart skipped a beat when you saw who it was. Heeseung stepped into the elevator, his pace quickening to close the distance before the doors could shut again. He offered you a grateful smile, his hand brushing yours as he reached for the button panel, sending an unexpected jolt through you.

“Thanks,” Heeseung said, his voice smooth, though there was an underlying tension you couldn’t quite place.

“Sure,” you managed to reply, your voice quieter than you intended. You could feel the atmosphere in the elevator shift as the doors finally closed, sealing the two of you inside the small, confined space.

The silence that followed was thick and heavy. You stood side by side, close enough to feel the heat radiating from his body, the scent of his cologne enveloping you. Your mind raced, replaying the vivid details of your dream, trying to push them out of your mind. You had never felt so uneasy around him before, and the tension in the air only made it worse.

Heeseung, meanwhile, was doing his best to keep his thoughts under control. The memory of his dream lingered at the edges of his mind, and every time he glanced at you, he felt an odd mix of confusion and guilt. He didn’t understand why he had dreamed about you, of all people, and the lingering effects of the dream unsettled him. But he refused to let it show, keeping his expression neutral and his demeanor calm.

When you and Heeseung first started at the company, it was immediately clear that you were both cut from the same cloth—ambitious, driven, and determined to make a name for yourselves. You joined the company on the same day, and from the outset, there was a natural chemistry between you. You quickly became each other’s unofficial competition, constantly pushing one another to do better, to reach higher. But it wasn’t the kind of rivalry that bred resentment. If anything, it brought you closer together.

In those early days, there was an unspoken understanding between the two of you. You knew that Heeseung would work just as hard as you would, and you respected him for it. Heeseung, in turn, admired your tenacity and sharp mind. The competition between you was light-hearted, almost playful at times. You’d tease each other over who could land the biggest client or who could draft the most airtight proposal, but it was always in good fun. There was a certain flirtatiousness in your banter, but it never crossed the line into anything inappropriate. It was just the way you interacted—two people who genuinely enjoyed each other’s company, who relished the challenge of trying to outdo one another.

There were countless late nights spent in the office, just the two of you, with takeout containers strewn across your desks and a few empty coffee cups lined up as you pored over financial statements or budget proposals. Those nights had a certain intimacy to them, but it was always rooted in your mutual respect and shared goals. There were moments when the teasing would get a little more personal—a compliment on how sharp Heeseung looked in his suit, or a playful jab from him about how you always seemed to have the right answer at the right time. But it was all part of the dance, the rhythm you’d fallen into over the years.

And now, after years of working side by side, something had changed. The friendship that had once been so easy had become tainted with an unfamiliar tension, an awkwardness that neither of you knew how to address. It was as if the dynamic that had once defined your relationship had been thrown off balance, leaving you both unsure of how to resolve this.

The numbers on the elevator panel ticked up slowly, each floor feeling like an eternity. Heeseung glanced at you from the corner of his eye, noticing the way you kept your gaze fixed forward, determined not to meet his eyes. He wondered if you were just as uncomfortable as he was, but quickly dismissed the thought. There was no way you could know what had been going on in his head last night.

“So… how was your weekend?” Heeseung asked, his voice light but slightly strained. It was a desperate attempt to break the silence, to inject some normalcy into the situation.

“It was… fine,” you replied, forcing a smile. “Pretty quiet, actually.”

He nodded, his expression neutral. “Yeah, same here. Quiet.”

The conversation died as quickly as it started, the tension between you both thickening the air. The elevator continued its slow ascent, the atmosphere growing more stifling with each passing second. You could feel your pulse quicken, the proximity to Heeseung almost unbearable as you tried to focus on anything other than the dream.

Heeseung shifted slightly, trying to focus on anything but the lingering tension. He had worked with you for years, and there had never been anything like this between you before. The dream had thrown him off balance, and he didn’t know how to regain his footing. The memory of his wife’s words that morning echoed faintly in his mind, but he pushed it aside, refusing to let it distract him any further.

The elevator dinged softly as it reached your floor, the doors sliding open with a mechanical whoosh. You practically leapt out, eager to escape the suffocating tension, but you felt Heeseung’s presence close behind, his footsteps copying yours as you made your way to your respective desks.

As you reached your desk, you let out a shaky breath, one you hadn’t known you were holding. You sat down in your chair, opening your laptop in hopes that work would be enough of a distraction. Across the room, Heeseung settled into his chair, his face a mask of calm professionalism, but beneath the surface, his thoughts were anything but.

ᡣ𐭩 •｡ꪆৎ ˚⋅

The office was quiet, the usual buzz of activity replaced by the soft hum of machines left running through the night. The last of the overhead lights dimmed as their colleagues packed up and headed out, offering quick farewells to you and Heeseung. You smiled and nodded in return, though your thoughts were far from the work you were about to dive into.

Your mind kept drifting back to the dream throughout your entire work day. The memory of it made your cheeks flush even now, hours later. It wasn’t just the vividness of the dream that lingered—it was the way it had sparked something new in you. You stole a glance at him, wondering if he could sense the awkwardness you felt or if you were giving away too much with your lingering looks.

But Heeseung was as calm and composed as ever. He leaned casually against his desk, his posture relaxed as he chatted with a colleague. His voice was smooth, his expression unreadable, revealing nothing of what might be going on in his mind. If he had any idea about the dream that had shaken you, he didn’t show it. Yet, beneath your nerves, there was a strange, new pull toward him—something the dream had awakened.

"Ready to get started?" His voice was steady, and confident, as he approached you.

"Yeah, let’s do this," you replied, hoping your own voice didn’t betray the nervousness you felt.

As you settled into the now-empty office, the silence between you and Heeseung stretched, filled only by the quiet clicking of keyboards and the distant sounds of the city outside. You tried to focus on the work at hand, but your thoughts kept straying back to the dream—how real it had felt, how much it had affected you. More than anything, you were startled by how much you had enjoyed it, and how much it had made you see Heeseung in a different light.

Every time you glanced at him, you couldn’t help but wonder what he was thinking, but he gave nothing away. His movements were fluid and assured, his focus seemingly unshakeable. He occasionally offered you a small, reassuring smile, as if everything was perfectly normal. But there was a newfound awareness in the air, something unspoken yet undeniably present.

But beneath that calm exterior, Heeseung was battling thoughts he couldn’t shake. The dream he’d had the night before was still fresh in his mind—an unexpected and vivid encounter with you that left him feeling uneasy. Despite the unease, he couldn’t deny that the dream had enticed him. It had stirred something within him that he hadn’t anticipated—a secret attraction he now found himself struggling to ignore.

Still, Heeseung was an expert at keeping his emotions in check. His demeanor remained collected, his focus on the task at hand. He wouldn’t let a stray dream affect his professionalism. But as the night wore on, the guilt started fading away and the attraction mixed with his own selfish desires lingered.

“Do you have the financial report for Q1?” Heeseung’s voice broke through the silence, his eyes scanning the documents in front of him, as if drowning himself in numbers could chase away the thoughts that kept resurfacing. You had the report he’d requested right in front of you, but every time he spoke, it felt like your brain was short-circuiting. You stared at the title on the report, trying to focus on anything other than the remnants of the dream that refused to leave your mind.

“Yeah, sorry,” you mumbled, passing him the stapled papers. You attempted to refocus on your own work, your fingers tapping across the keyboard, but your eyes kept drifting back to Heeseung—the way he bit his bottom lip when he was deep in thought, the way his eyes narrowed as he concentrated, and then there was the wedding band he kept twisting around his ring finger.

It was shameful, you knew, to be thinking like this about a colleague, especially a married one.

But Heeseung’s thoughts weren’t much different from your own. It was shameful for him to be stealing glances at you when he thought you weren’t looking, his thoughts drifting back to the dream he couldn’t shake. He prided himself on his self-control, on resisting temptation, but as he watched you from across the desk, the memory of that godforsaken dream kept creeping back. His gaze flickered briefly to the hallway, where the boardroom from his dream lay just out of sight.

“Have you ever dreamt about work?” Heeseung asked suddenly, the question slipping out before he could think better of it. It was a risky move, bringing up his dream of all things, but something compelled him to broach the topic. He wasn’t sure what he hoped to achieve by mentioning it—it wasn’t as though he could come right out and say what was really on his mind.

The question caught you off guard, leaving you momentarily frozen. Why would he bring up dreams right now of all times?

“Yeah… last night, actually.” You felt a blush creep onto your cheeks as you responded, your fingers pausing their movement on the keyboard. “But I can’t really remember what it was about.”

Like Heeseung, you felt an inexplicable urge to keep the conversation going, as if talking about it might somehow dissolve the tension in the air. Maybe if you opened the door to the subject, it would help you forget the dream altogether. But as the images of the dream grew sharper in your mind, you felt the familiar pull of desire gnawing at you. “Me too, actually… something to do with the boardroom.”

Your mind raced as Heeseung spoke. Had you accidentally said something? Had someone somehow found out about your dream? You knew it was impossible. You hadn’t told a soul, and you were certain you hadn’t slipped up. Yet, it felt like he was reading your thoughts, like he knew exactly what was tormenting you. Anxiety twisted in your chest, but it was mixed with an unexpected surge of adrenaline, making your pulse quicken.

In Heeseung’s mind, a similar conflict was raging. The thought of his wife, once a grounding presence, had faded into the background. He’d worked alongside you for years, and though he’d always harbored a subtle, unspoken attraction, he had never let it show. The atmosphere was thick with unspoken tension, making it feel as if you were strangers who had only just met each other.

Heeseung knew he was venturing into dangerous territory. He was fully aware of the risks, of the line he was dangerously close to crossing. He’d always prided himself on his self-control, on keeping his professional and personal lives separate. But the curiosity, the temptation, was growing too strong to ignore. “Remember when we first started?” he began, his voice taking on a nostalgic tone. “We were chasing clients like crazy, spending nearly every day and night in this office drafting proposals.”

“Of course I remember,” you replied, a small, almost forced laugh escaping your lips. “Your wife saw me as a threat because she thought you wanted me,” you added, trying to keep the mood light, though inside you winced at the mention of his partner. It was a clumsy attempt to deflect the rising tension, but it only made the air between you feel even heavier.

Heeseung’s eyes darkened, his gaze locking onto yours with an intensity that sent a shiver down your spine. He knew he shouldn’t make an advancement towards you. But it’s like he had lost all control of himself. “Aren’t you though?” he asked, his voice low and measured, each word carrying a weight that hung between you. The question took you by surprise, leaving you momentarily speechless as a jolt of unease settled in your stomach. What could he possibly mean by that?

“W-what are you talking about?” you stammered, hating the way your voice faltered. You mentally cursed yourself for letting your nerves show, for giving him a glimpse of just how much his words had affected you. The tension in the room was palpable now, thick and suffocating. It was as if the long hours of work and accumulated stress had cracked open something between you, something neither of you were fully prepared to face. Yet, there was no denying the undercurrent of desire that had been simmering beneath the surface, threatening to boil over.

Heeseung leaned closer, his voice dropping to a whisper that sent a thrill through you. “Are you sure you don’t remember what the dream was about?” His chair inched closer, closing the distance between you, his eyes never leaving yours. They were searching, probing, as if trying to unlock the secrets you were so desperately trying to keep hidden. Your heart pounded in your chest, the room suddenly feeling too small, too intimate.

“Because ever since I woke up from my dream… God, I’ve wanted to go back to it over and over. I haven’t wanted something this badly since—”

“The Decelis deal,” you interrupted, finishing his sentence with a voice steadier than you felt. The words tumbled out before you could stop them, and for a moment, silence filled the space between you. When your eyes finally met his, you saw the recognition in his gaze, the silent confirmation that your worst fears were true. Every piece of the puzzle clicked into place, and with it, the undeniable truth: Heeseung had the same dream. The realization sent a shockwave through you, leaving you breathless and reeling.

Time seemed to stretch endlessly as you stared into Heeseung’s eyes, the unspoken truth hanging heavy in the air between you. The world outside your small bubble ceased to exist—the office, your responsibilities, and even the boundaries that had once kept you in check all faded into the background. It was just the two of you, standing on the line of something dangerous, something that could change everything. The tension was unbearable, and yet, neither of you moved, neither of you willing to be the first to break the fragile silence.

But then, as if drawn by an invisible force, Heeseung leaned in, his eyes never leaving yours. The space between you seemed to vanish in an instant, and before you could fully process what was happening, his lips were on yours.

The kiss was tentative at first, as though he was giving you a chance to pull away, to stop this before it went too far. But when you didn’t, when you instead leaned into him, his hesitation vanished. Heeseung’s hand cupped the back of your neck, pulling you closer, deepening the kiss until it was all-consuming.

You melted into him, your body responding instinctively, as though this was what it had been waiting for all along. The kiss was everything you hadn’t known you needed—intense, overwhelming, and utterly perfect. It was nothing like the dream; it was better. So much better. The reality of it, the warmth of his lips, the way he tasted, the way his body pressed against yours, all of it was far more intoxicating than anything your mind could have conjured up while you slept.

Without breaking the kiss, Heeseung’s hands moved to your waist, gripping you firmly as he tugged you from your chair onto his lap. The sudden shift made your breath catch, your legs straddling him as he pulled you even closer. The feel of his body beneath you, strong and solid, sent a jolt of electricity through you, heightening the intensity of the moment.

Your hands rested on his chest, feeling the rapid beat of his heart beneath the fabric of his shirt. Heeseung groaned softly against your lips, the sound vibrating through you, igniting a fire that burned hotter than anything you’d felt before. Every thought of professionalism, of the consequences, of his marriage, vanished as you lost yourself in the moment.

The kiss deepened, becoming more urgent, as though you were both trying to make up for lost time, for the months, years even, of holding back. There was no more room for restraint, only the overwhelming need to be closer, to feel more. The way you fit together felt natural, as though you’d been doing this for years, and yet, it was all new, exhilarating in a way that left you dizzy and craving more.

When you finally broke apart, both of you were breathless, your foreheads resting together as you tried to steady your racing hearts. The room was still spinning, the weight of what had just happened starting to settle in, but neither of you spoke. Words felt unnecessary, trivial even, compared to what you had just shared.

All you could think about was how right it had felt, how much better this was than any dream. The reality of Heeseung’s touch, his kiss, was more than you had ever imagined it could be, and you couldn’t help but wonder how you had ever gone so long without it.

Heeseung’s eyes met yours again, and this time, there was no confusion, no hesitation. Just a mutual understanding, a shared acknowledgment of what you both wanted, and a silent agreement that this was only the beginning.

Your need for more was undeniable as you leaned in, eager to reconnect your lips with his. The kiss was charged with desire, a release of the pent-up tension that had been simmering all day. As your lips moved against Heeseung’s, you could barely contain yourself. “I want you so bad,” you whispered, your voice trembling with need. His eyes fluttered open at your words, and you could feel the effect they had on him, the tension in his dress pants growing as you straddled him.

“Just one kiss and you’re already acting like a desperate slut for me?” Heeseung’s voice was low, teasing, as a smirk tugged at his lips. His hand came up to cup your cheek, his thumb brushing over your skin with a tenderness that contrasted the roughness of his words. The contrast sent a thrill through you, and you found yourself nodding slowly, acknowledging the desire he had ignited deep within you.

“Please, Seung, I need you.” Your plea was all the encouragement he needed. In one swift motion, he hooked his hands under your thighs and lifted you effortlessly as he stood. He carried you across the room, your heart racing as he moved towards the boardroom—the very place that had been haunting both of your dreams all day. “Oh, baby… don’t worry. I’ll give you what you need,” he murmured, his voice a promise that sent a shiver down your spine.

As soon as you entered the room, Heeseung set you down on the polished wooden surface of the table, his hands sliding from under your thighs to your waist. His movements were deliberate, slow, as he began to unbutton your waistcoat. He knew exactly what he was doing, taking his time as if savoring every second. His smirk only widened as he watched your patience wear thin, your hands moving to help him, pulling off the waistcoat and then your shirt, tossing them both aside in your haste.

Heeseung’s amusement was evident, but there was a hunger in his eyes as he took in your eagerness. Even as your fingers fumbled with the buttons of his shirt, your desperation to feel his skin against yours was clear. His shirt soon joined yours on the floor, leaving the two of you exposed, the intensity of the moment amplified by the shared vulnerability. “God, you’re perfect,” Heeseung whispered, his voice filled with genuine admiration as his hand came up to cup one of your breasts through your bra.

He leaned in again, capturing your lips in a kiss that was different from the others. This one was unhurried, sensual, a deep connection that sealed the unspoken bond between you. “I think I need to show you just how perfect you are,” he mumbled against your lips, his breath warm and intoxicating. You nodded frantically, the anticipation almost too much to bear as he gently guided you down onto your back.

The cool surface of the table met your skin, sending a shiver through you as Heeseung’s fingers deftly worked at the waistband of your dress pants. He took his time, slowly undoing the button and zipper, his eyes never leaving yours as he slid the fabric down your legs. Heeseung was in no hurry; he was savoring every moment, every inch of your skin that was revealed to him.

Heeseung was on cloud nine, his desire for you overwhelming. He had never felt anything like this before, not even with his wife. It was as if his entire world had shifted, and now, all that mattered was you.

He leaned over your body, pressing a trail of kisses along your stomach, each one setting your nerves alight. As he worked his way down, his lips reached the edge of your panties. With a playful glint in his eye, he bit onto the delicate fabric, dragging it down to your knees, his gaze locked on yours the entire time.

Heeseung was like something out of your deepest fantasies, a vision that put every other experience to shame. Even the simple act of undressing you felt charged with an intoxicating sensuality. Before you could fully process it, Heeseung’s lips brushed against your clit, a light, teasing kiss that sent a jolt of pleasure through you, making your breath hitch.

Heeseung’s lips hovered just above your clit, his warm breath ghosting over your sensitive skin, sending shivers down your spine. The anticipation was maddening, the tension in your body coiling tighter with each passing second. Heeseung was teasing you, savoring the moment as his eyes stayed locked on yours, filled with an intense hunger that made your pulse race.

Slowly, he dipped his head, pressing a soft, lingering kiss to your clit. The sensation was electric, sending a shockwave through your entire body. A soft gasp escaped your lips, your back arching slightly off the wooden surface in response. Heeseung smirked against you, clearly enjoying the effect he had on you.

Without warning, his tongue flicked out, tracing a slow, deliberate circle around your clit. The pressure was just right, enough to make you moan, your hands instinctively reaching down to grip the edge of the table. Heeseung’s hands gripped your hips, holding you steady as he continued his slow, torturous assault on your clit, each stroke of his tongue pushing you closer to the edge.

Heeseung didn’t let up, his tongue moving with purpose now, alternating between soft flicks and gentle sucks, pulling more desperate sounds from you. Your mind was a haze of pleasure, every coherent thought melting away as Heeseung worked you over with an expertise that left you breathless.

You could feel the pressure building in your core, the coil tightening with each skilled movement of his tongue. “Heeseung…” You breathed out his name, the sound trembling on your lips. Heeseung hummed against you in response, the vibration sending another wave of pleasure through you, pushing you even closer to your peak.

Your hands found their way to his hair, tangling in the soft strands as you tried to ground yourself. Heeseung’s mouth was relentless, focused entirely on bringing you to the brink of ecstasy. His tongue moved faster now, flicking against your clit with just the right amount of pressure, driving you wild.

You could feel the orgasm building, threatening to crash over you at any moment. Your thighs trembled, your breath coming in short, ragged gasps as you teetered on the edge. “Please… don’t stop,” you managed to choke out, your voice thick with desperation. Heeseung only responded by doubling down, sucking hard on your clit and flicking his tongue with precision, pushing you over the edge.

The orgasm hit you like a tidal wave, ripping through your body with an intensity that left you breathless. Your back arched off the table, a strangled moan escaping your lips as the pleasure overwhelmed you. Heeseung didn’t stop, his tongue continuing to work you through your high, milking every last drop of pleasure from you.

You were completely undone, every muscle in your body trembling as the aftershocks of the orgasm washed over you. Heeseung finally pulled back, his lips glistening as he looked up at you, a satisfied smile on his face. You were still trying to catch your breath, your mind reeling from the intensity of it all.

Heeseung wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, his eyes never leaving yours as he stood up, towering over you. “You taste even better than I imagined,” he murmured, his voice low and husky. His words sent another shiver down your spine, your body still buzzing from the afterglow.

You could barely form a response, your body still trembling with the remnants of your orgasm. But the look in Heeseung’s eyes told you that this was far from over. Heeseung reached down, his fingers trailing over your skin as he slowly leaned in, capturing your lips in another searing kiss.

This time, you could taste yourself on his lips, a reminder of what he had just done to you. The kiss was slow and sensual, a stark contrast to the intensity of what had just happened. It was like he was savoring you, drawing out every moment, every sensation.

When he finally pulled away, his forehead rested against yours, both of you breathing heavily. “I’m not done with you yet,” he whispered, his voice sending a thrill through you. And with that, he leaned in to claim your lips once more, as if to prove that he was just getting started.

Your body was still trembling from the waves of pleasure that had just surged through you, but the desire to taste Heeseung was overwhelming. With what little strength you had left, you slid off the table, your knees sinking into the plush carpet as you gazed up at him with a mix of determination and innocence. Reaching up, your hand found its way to Heeseung's bulge, massaging him through his pants. The sensation drew a hiss from him, his breath catching in his throat.

"Are you just going to tease me, or are you going to put that mouth to good use?" Heeseung's voice was laced with frustration, his hands slamming onto the table with a resonating thud that echoed through the empty boardroom. His tone was a mix of command and need, driving you to act.

You eagerly undid the button and zipper of his dress pants, pulling them down to his ankles. With a quick, practiced motion, you slipped his boxers down as well, revealing him in all his glory. Your eyes widened at the sight—he was more than you had anticipated. The shock of his size was clear on your face, and Heeseung noticed. A satisfied smirk spread across his face as he took in your reaction.

"Like what you see, baby? Think you can handle all of it?" His taunting words were delivered with a growl, a playful challenge that only fueled your eagerness.

You leaned in, your lips, still tingling from earlier kisses, wrapped around the tip of his cock. The initial contact made Heeseung curse under his breath, a sound of relief escaping him. His hand found your hair, tangling in it to guide you as he pushed more of himself into your mouth. "Fuck, your mouth feels incredible. I could have you under my desk all day."

His grip tightened in your hair, and you began to bob your head, taking more of him in with each movement. The room was filled with the sounds of your efforts, the slick, rhythmic motion of your mouth against him, and Heeseung’s growing groans of pleasure. He thrust forward to meet your rhythm, his tip hitting the back of your throat with each push. The gagging only seemed to spur him on, his moans growing louder and more desperate.

"You're taking me so well," he panted, his voice a mix of praise and primal need. "Should have fucked this mouth sooner." His thrusts grew more urgent, faster, as he chased his climax.

"You're such a pathetic little slut for me, aren’t you?" Heeseung’s words were a mixture of praise and degradation, his control slipping as he neared the edge. His moans were uncontrollable now, his breathing ragged as he felt his orgasm building.

With one final, hard thrust, Heeseung’s release hit him like a tidal wave. His head fell back, eyes rolling, as ropes of cum shot down your throat. Heeseung’s moans filled the room, each sound a testament to the intense pleasure you had given him. The culmination of his desire left him breathless, and he marveled at the unparalleled pleasure you had delivered.

The two of you lingered in the aftermath, bodies spent yet neither willing to let go of the moment. Heeseung helped you to your feet, guiding you back onto the table with a gentleness that contrasted the intensity of just moments before. "Heeseung..." you breathed out, your voice trembling as your eyes locked with his. Without hesitation, you wrapped your legs around his hips, drawing him closer until you could feel the heated press of his bare cock against your slick entrance, the sensation pulling a needy whimper from your throat.

"I know, baby..." Heeseung’s voice was low, thick with desire as he seemed to read your thoughts. He knew exactly what you wanted because it mirrored his own need. His hand slid down between your bodies, gripping the base of his cock before slowly dragging the tip along your wet folds. The anticipation built as he nudged at your entrance, teasing you before finally pushing in, inch by agonizing inch.

Both of you moaned as he stretched you out, your body adjusting to accommodate him. You sat up just enough to reach behind you, swiftly unclasping your bra and tossing it aside, not caring where it landed. All that mattered was him. "God, you’re so tight," Heeseung hissed through clenched teeth, his hands gripping your hips to steady you both as he bottomed out inside you.

Once he was fully sheathed, Heeseung pulled back, only to slam his hips forward in a series of hard, deliberate thrusts. The raw intensity of the pleasure caught you off guard, the sensation so overwhelming, so perfectly right. "This pussy was made for me," he groaned, his words echoing in the air as your bodies moved together, fitting like two pieces of a long-missing puzzle. "Mmph... Seungie, you feel so good..." you moaned, your voice breaking as he set a relentless pace.

Heeseung’s thrusts were timed to perfection, each one hitting deeper than the last, sending shockwaves of pleasure through you. His hand slid up your body, wrapping firmly around your neck as he continued to pound into you. "This is so much better than the dream," you gasped, your fingers curling around his wrist as his grip tightened, the pressure adding another layer to the overwhelming sensations.

"We should’ve done this sooner," Heeseung growled, his voice strained with the effort to hold back his release. "Could’ve had you taking my cock all day... God, you feel so perfect." His words hit you like a bolt of electricity, igniting a blush that spread across your cheeks. He tugged your body closer to the edge of the table, his cock driving deeper, brushing against your cervix with every thrust. "Fuck, I’m already so close..." he groaned, biting down on his lip as his movements grew more desperate.

Your moans echoed through the boardroom, loud and unrestrained as you met each of his thrusts with a roll of your hips. "Cum in me, Heeseung... please, I want to be filled with your cum," you cried out, your voice laced with need as you pleaded with him. "Yeah? You want me to breed this little pussy? Want everyone to know who you belong to?" Heeseung’s free hand slid down to your clit, his fingers stroking in time with his thrusts as he watched you unravel beneath him.

The tension coiled tightly in your core, your orgasm building with every passing second. Heeseung could feel the way your walls clenched around him, your body trembling as you edged closer to release. "Fuck, you’re squeezing me so... ah—fuck!" Heeseung’s sentence trailed off, his mind going blank as the sensation overwhelmed him. It was as if you had trapped him, and he was helpless to resist.

"Hee... Please... please, I need to cum," you begged, your legs shaking around his waist as you teetered on the brink. Heeseung gave you a nod, and that was all you needed to finally let go. Your orgasm hit like a tidal wave, your body tensing around his cock as you came hard, screaming his name as the pleasure tore through you. Sweat beaded on your forehead as you cried out for him, lost in the ecstasy of the moment.

The tight squeeze of your pussy was all it took to push Heeseung over the edge. With a final, powerful thrust, he buried himself deep inside you, his grip on your neck tightening as he emptied himself into you, his release spilling out in hot, thick waves. "Fuck... Y/N. Oh fuck, baby," he groaned, his voice raw as his orgasm crashed over him, leaving him breathless and spent.

As his grip on your neck loosened, Heeseung leaned down, resting his head on your chest as he caught his breath. Instinctively, your hands tangled in his hair, soothing him as he pressed soft kisses along your exposed skin. Slowly, Heeseung withdrew, his cock slipping out of you as he stood upright, his eyes fixed on the sight of his cum beginning to spill from your still-sensitive entrance. With a smirk, he pushed two fingers inside you, gathering the leaking cum and pressing it back into your body. "Can’t have you wasting this, can we?" he murmured, his tone teasing.

Even now, after everything, he couldn’t resist taunting you. A small smile tugged at your lips as you nodded, too blissed out to form a coherent response. Heeseung pulled his boxers back up, his touch gentle as he fetched your discarded panties and slipped them back onto your legs. His movements were tender, a stark contrast to the intensity of what had just transpired.

ᡣ𐭩 •｡ꪆৎ ˚⋅

It wasn’t long before the two of you were fully dressed again, returning to your shared workstation and attempting to pick up where you left off. The air was still charged with the lingering heat of your earlier encounter, making it nearly impossible to focus. Every few minutes, your eyes would meet, and before you knew it, you'd be exchanging soft, lingering kisses. Heeseung was completely lost in you, every touch, every glance fueling the connection between you both. But there was a shadow that loomed over this moment, a problem neither of you could ignore—his wife.

By the time the clock ticked past 5:00 a.m., the final proposal was submitted to your boss, setting him up for the client meeting later that day. You both knew you’d be fast asleep by then, but it didn’t matter. The work was done, and it was the least of your concerns now. Like the gentleman he prided himself on being, Heeseung insisted on walking you to your car. As you reached the driver's side door, he leaned in, capturing your lips in a string of gentle, lingering kisses that made your heart race.

"Seung... will this be the last time we’re... like this?" you asked softly, nibbling on your bottom lip. The question hung heavy in the air, your nerves betraying your calm exterior. You knew the reality—you were standing on the precipice of something forbidden, something beautiful, but he was still married.

Heeseung’s gaze softened as he cupped your cheek, his thumb brushing tenderly against your skin. "I’ll handle it," he murmured, his voice steady and sure. He knew exactly what you were asking, and more importantly, he knew what he had to do. "I think a part of me has always wanted this... I don’t want to let it go." His words were whispered against your lips before he kissed you once more, a kiss that felt like both a promise and a plea.

You nodded, your heart swelling with hope and fear as you reciprocated the kiss, pulling away reluctantly to slide into the driver’s seat. "Text me when you get home, yeah?" he asked, a small, genuine smile tugging at the corners of his lips.

You returned his smile, nodding as you backed out of the parking spot and drove away. Heeseung stood there, watching until your car disappeared from view, the warmth of his feelings for you burning brightly in his chest. It was a feeling he hadn’t experienced in years, something that chipped away at the walls he had built around his heart, leaving him with a smile that he couldn’t seem to shake.

But as he returned to his own home, the smile slowly faded. The scent of freshly brewed coffee greeted him, and the faint clinking of dishes could be heard from the kitchen. "I’m home," he called out, his voice a bit flat as he walked into the kitchen. His wife was there, tidying up, just as she always was. Heeseung grabbed a mug, pouring himself some coffee before settling at the kitchen table. The silence that followed was heavy, the kind that wraps itself around you and makes it hard to breathe.

Finally, his wife spoke up, her voice cutting through the stillness. "How was your night, honey?"

Heeseung stared into his coffee, the steam rising in lazy spirals as his thoughts drifted back to you. He couldn’t answer honestly, couldn’t bring himself to tell her that he had spent the night consumed by thoughts of someone else. His gaze lifted, taking in the life they had built together—the home, the routines, the familiar comfort that had long since faded into dissatisfaction. And then, like a beacon in the dark, thoughts of you took hold, the possibilities of what you could build together seizing his mind.

His wife’s voice cut through his thoughts again, a touch of concern lacing her words. "I said, how was your night... did you finish that project, sweetheart?"

Heeseung met her eyes, the blank expression on his face revealing nothing of the storm brewing inside. There was no internal debate, no hesitation left in him. The answer was clear.

"I want a divorce."

ᡣ𐭩 •｡ꪆৎ ˚⋅

taglist ; @aetherl0l (happy birthday!!) @llvrhee @yohanabanana @rayofsunshineeee @mitmit01 @heartheejake @melonvrs @shanb1n @jakeyismine @yunhoswrldddd @jinspinkflipphone @woorcve

smut tags― BIG DICKED BESTIE, pussy eating (he gets IN THERE), masturbation in the form of dry humping a mattress and then into his hand, finger fucking, cum eating, sunghoon hook up, morning sex, lazy fingering, lazy fuck, dirty talk , unprotected sex, awkward build up,raw grinding, no blowjob in sight sorry lmao, deep penetration, cream pie, kind of cum stuffing but like not entirely intentional, cheesy love stuff 

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

“What? Again?” Jake says, leaning back against the couch with a groan and a smack to his own forehead.

“Yeah, so basically he went down on me for less than a minute but expected me to, like, go long enough to ‘swallow’ or whatever.” You continue the story in a frustrated huff, shaking your head in self-pity.

Jake groans louder, leaning himself forward again and swiping his drink from your coffee table to take a long and thoughtful sip. 

“How many times is that, then?” He says between sips, glancing around the room as if he’s in deep thought. “I can’t help but think you pick these kinds of guys on purpose at this point.”

You look at him in mock pain, grabbing his drink and taking your own thoughtful sip of it.

“I dunno, they always talk big game during phone sex and stuff. I figure eventually one of them will live up to it.” You drone on, internally marking your recent date’s name off of your call-back list. 

“Be honest with me, have you ever actually gotten good head? Like how would you know if they’re bad if you have nothing good to compare them to?” Jake asks, letting you mindlessly drink his beverage.

It’s not weird to be having these types of conversations with him, if at all, something would seem off if you didn’t. He’s the only person in your life that you’ve ever felt this close to. At this point, you think he’d have to chase you down with a bloody hatchet for things to be awkward. Which is…kind of interesting, you guess.

“Well, I mean,” You think for a moment too long for his liking, but he gives you the space to finish your answer. “It feels good and all but it’s not like I’ve ever gotten off by it.”

“Correction –” Jake starts, blinking right at you. “You’ve never been given the chance to get off on it.” His bright  smile shows through his words, and you’re sure he’s mocking you at this point.

“Yeah, yeah. Yada, yada. I have terrible taste in sexual partners but to be fair, it’s not like the pool is that big to choose from.”

He nods in agreement, humming as if to end the conversation and still watching you sip at his drink.

“Would you be opposed to–” He pauses, making eye contact with you. “Y’know, I could do it for you.”

You pause, nearly dropping his drink out of your hand but thankfully your grip actually tightens on it instead. You swallow as you look at him, searching his face to see if this is some kind of joke.

“Jae-fucking-yun,” You deadpan, sitting his cup back down on your coffee table and leaning toward him, staring him down. “You’d really do that, for me?”

You bat your eyelashes at him, mostly playing it off as a half-joke just to see if he’s fucking with you or not. 

“How else are you gonna experience it?” 

You stare him down harder.

“You say that like you’re some sort of pussy-eating-god,” You narrow your eyes. “Are you?”

He shrugs casually with his little smile, leaning back on your couch and stretching his arms out. One of his hands lands behind your shoulder and you lean into it. 

“I’d let you be the judge of that if you’re up for it.”

Finally, you decide that he’s definitely not joking and you’re definitely gonna do it because like, that’s your best friend. Experiencing your firsts with him comes almost as naturally as walking. You had your first kiss with him, albeit it was a dare. You experienced your first concert with him, your first break up, your first failed exam, and even your first legal drink in a club. What’s so bad about letting him eat you out?

“Right now?” You ask, quirking your brow and tilting your head.

“Now, tomorrow, next week. Whenever.” He runs his hands through his hair as he says it and only now are you starting to really tune into his features that you’ve already found handsome.

Day after day you’ve seen him on this couch and in other states of dress without really thinking twice about how his lips would feel on you (despite that short first kiss). You’ve seen him kissing all up on other people, you’ve seen him in the club with wet lips from alcohol, you’ve seen him all messy and eating spaghetti at his parent’s house– but for some reason, his lips seem different now. His sleepy eyes seem different, his messy hair seems like something that should be tugged on, his fucking jawline– 

“Why’re you staring at me like that?” He looks at you up and down as if he’s judging. “You wanna go right now?”

You nod slowly, letting the traces of any lusty thoughts you’ve had about him in your life come to the front in waves. Then you quickly shake your head.

“Wait, no,” You roll your eyes more at yourself than him. “I haven’t showered since my date, maybe I should, uh…”

“Uh – yeah. Please do.” He grimaces, that same dopey smile coming back after a moment. 

“Fair.” You roll your eyes. “Gonna go shower then.” 

Part of you wonders if like, he’s being totally legit. For all you know, you’ll get out of the shower and he’ll be too busy doing something else, or like, he’ll go home or something. No hurt in seeing though.

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

In the bathroom, you can’t help the feeling in your chest at even the thought that this may be about to happen.

Excitement. That’s what you feel. Not because it’s Jake. Well, maybe a little bit because you wanna see what his tongue is all about but more so because you’re about to get some presumably good head.

You shower thoughtfully, cleaning every part of your body and feeling little goosebumps rise and fall with each sensation of your air conditioning snaking its way past your shower doors. When you get out, you lotion your body so you’re all nice and soft and brush your teeth just in case things go a little further. You’re not expecting it to, but y’know, nothing wrong with having fun if it comes to it. 

After all, he’s doing you a favor by going down on you, the least you can do is smell good, be soft, and totally prepared for if he were to suggest more, right? Right. Anyway, you’re all showered up and opt to just let your hair do its own thing as you throw on your shirt and shorts. You ignore the panties at this point, because why not?

When you get back to the living room, Jake isn’t there. Naturally, you check your bedroom and there he is, still his normal self and lounging against your headboard while flipping through videos on his phone. 

“And she’s back,” he comments, reaching a hand out as if to invite you to your own bed. “Change your mind yet?”

“Not even for a second,” you smile as you take a spot in front of him, your entire body facing him as you pull your knees up and lay your chin against your arms. “Have you?”

He seems to fall into a more serious tone now, locking his phone before tossing it to the side and flicking his eyes up to look at you, scanning your legs in the shorts. 

“No,” he chokes back, shocked to see straight between the gap of your shorts and actually lay eyes on the point of this whole situation for the first time. “And you’re not wearing anything under those shorts.”

You watch his face and the way it turns from your best friend into something you’ve seen time and time again from men you’ve gone home with. It’s sexy on him though, for some reason.

“Figured I’d save you the trouble?”

He smiles, now moving himself toward you and reaching a hand behind to cradle your head. 

“Lay back,” he says softly, in a voice you’ve only heard a few times from him, “you could have left the shorts off too though.” He adds with an even softer laugh.

For some reason, it makes you feel shy. His hand guiding you to lay back all while grabbing the pillow from behind him and placing it under your head so that you’re nice and comfortable.  You watch him look at you and honestly, it’s in a way you can’t remember him ever looking at you before. If this is how he looks at other women, you may be a little jealous. 

It feels more intense right now than you thought it would.

“You’re being weird.” You say offhandedly, looking away from him and trying to keep the heat from flushing to your cheeks. 

“You’re letting me eat you out, how am I being weird?” He leans up from you, putting two hands on your knees but still waiting for your eyes to meet his again. “You want me to act like the other dudes? Dip my tongue in then wrap it up?”

You groan, rolling your eyes back to him and analyzing the way his big hands drape over your knees. 

“Okay, fair.” You admit defeat, feeling his warm palms move down the back of your thighs and to your ass. 

“Lift up,” He says, quickly pulling the shorts off of you when you do as he asks. 

“Oh–” He gasps quietly. “Damn.”

He stares directly between your legs, bracing his hands back at your knees and spreading your legs a bit. He angles his head in different ways to really look at you, seemingly enamored with your pussy as a whole. 

“Look who’s staring now.” You chuckle, instinctively hiding your face from him despite knowing he isn’t looking up at you.

“Yeah– I am,” he admits, now adjusting himself on the bed to lay down, his head easily slotting between your legs as he rests his chin on your lower belly and looks up at you. “You can pull my hair or do whatever, I’m just gonna…like, start I guess. Tell me if it’s something you don’t like.”

As normal as this isn’t, he’s speaking similar to how the two of you had taken on projects before. He typically takes the lead but offers you control more often than not. All you can do is nod at him, trying to comprehend that it’s your best friend’s head between your legs right now.

When he pulls his head back up with one last nod of confirmation, the first thing you feel is his fingers slipping up your folds, the other braced on your thigh and holding your legs open. You release a short sigh of relief at the feeling and he instantly smirks at it. 

“I haven’t even started yet,” He whispers, glancing up at you before fixing his eyes back on the expanse of your pussy. He uses his ring and pointer finger to spread your lips open, and the middle finger to rub against your hole only for a brief moment before he licks his lips and releases his own sigh of relief. “God, Sunghoon would be so jealous right now.”

You look down at him, wanting to ask him what the fuck he’s talking about and why he’d bring up Sunghoon right now, but you find yourself staring at him instead. Breath caught in your throat with the way his eyes meet yours before letting his tongue hang from his mouth as if presenting it to you in a cheeky way.

He’s so fast with it too, with the way he replaces his middle finger with his tensed tongue, forcing you to swallow your words and hold your breath even more. You can feel him lick and nibble against each of your lips before moving inward, flattening his tongue to lick one long, languid, and wet stripe up until meeting your clit. 

He wraps his lips around it, sucking once, hard, before releasing it and pulling back to look at you.

“This okay?”

Goddamn him for making you have to talk right now. You’re still trying to comprehend the fact that he said Sunghoon, fucking Sunghoon of all people would be jealous that he’s doing this right now. That’s definitely a question for later, because yeah, it’s fucking okay. 

More than okay. 

You nod to him, throwing your arm over your eyes and instinctively bucking your hips up towards his hovering mouth. 

“Oh, that was hot,” He groans out his compliment, watching the way you hide your face before he pulls his eyes back down and uses his fingers to spread your pussy open wider, enough to see your hole pulsate when he dips down to blow against it, “I can see how wet you’re getting, Is it because of me or is it just because someone is playing with your pussy?”

You half groan half moan at that, mostly because hearing these words from him is something that feels entirely too sexual. As if he hasn’t already tasted you, as if you’re not spread out by his fingers right now. You ignore his words, yet, your brain holds onto them with white knuckles and your hips buck toward him again.

“Not a talker, got it.” He notes, watching your hips chase his breath. 

He watches for much longer than you’d like for him to, and you’re about to lift up and accuse him of being just like the other guys but he shuts your thoughts off so fucking fast when you feel his lips on you again. 

His tongue explores every part of you, licking and sucking against areas you didn’t even know would feel good until his mouth lands against your clit again. This time, you can’t help it, you grind up and he hums at it as he braces your legs open just enough to skew his head and move his tongue back down. 

He’s slurping. Lost in the moment as he does it. Tasting you in full and getting a warm, pleasant feeling each time your legs try to close and your hips buck up for more. He…can’t believe this is finally happening. Fucking finally.

Unsure if you’d let him, he tries anyway. He stiffens his tongue, circling your hole before pressing just a bit, giving you just enough pressure that you feel frustrated. So frustrated that you’re the one who ends up finishing his attempt at something new. You reach down and lace your fingers in his hair, and let out a soft, needy little moan for him. 

That sound forces one from his chest too, he can’t help it, really. With the way you’re grabbing his hair and holding his head in place, pressing yourself against his mouth so much harder than before. Ah, he really, really loves doing this for you. 

To think any man would already be done? To think anyone could like, not wanna eat you out? Insanity. Stupid, stupid fucking men.

He can taste how wet you are now, truly taste it as he stretches your hole as much as he can with his tongue and another groan of his own. It’s probably embarrassing, truly, but he doesn’t care. 

Both of you are moaning at this point as you hold his head in place and grind your hips harder than you think you are. He loves it, you love it. So much that you really are barely comprehending that your best friend could do this the whole time?! And never told you until now?!

Jake is just as drunk on the moment as you are though. Totally lost in the scent and taste of you as he continues to lap away, constantly trying to prove that you can and will get off from his mouth alone. And honestly? It’s at the point that he figures he can use his fingers now too considering you let him spread you open with his tongue. What’s a little more gonna hurt, anyway?

The taste of you alone has him in heaven, cursing any man who didn’t take advantage of your pussy against their mouth. He can easily slip a finger into a hole this wet and needy, gasping in awe before glancing up at you. 

God, the way you immediately ride his finger, no huff or sound of irritation that he’s pulled his tongue back now. Your face. Fuck. 

He watches as you shamelessly chase the small amount of pleasure he can offer in terms of just head and fingering. He can imagine how hot you’d be without that shirt on, with your legs around his hips, with your mouth wrapped around him. You look blissed out, soaking his finger and keeping your hand in his hair, mindlessly grabbing and scratching at him. 

Making quick work, he goes back for your clit, circling his tongue around the bundle of nerves and noticing how you ride his finger harder. He can’t help but smirk against you when you do it either. 

The movement of your hips constantly humping against him is enough, and he can’t help but groan at the sound of your slick squelching out of you and warming his chin, he can’t fucking help but grind his own hips forward when you act like this. His cock is so painfully hard for you right now, at the taste of you, that all he can do is chase the mattress beneath him. Tensing his muscles and moaning against your clit shamelessly at the jolts of pleasure he gets from it. 

He slips another finger in with ease, feeling how much wetter you’ve gotten in the way the slide is filthy and audible. You groan out at that too, feeling his tongue flick relentlessly against your clit and only now moving your free hand from your face and trailing to your stomach. 

You can’t even talk, so you don’t. You lift your shirt up until you can at least rub against your nipples, just to heighten the pleasure your best friend is so graciously giving you.

His eyes roll back when you do that, only to fall back on you and get a frustrated grunt from him. He’s a bit annoyed that the shirt is still covering you despite your hand under it, fondling yourself. He’s thinking with his cock, so fucking aroused that he doesn’t think twice when he aggressively lifts your shirt up to your chin and watches the way your fingers poke and prod at yourself.

He inhales a sharp breath at the image, and his hips fuck harder against the mattress at that. His fingers speed up and now he’s focused. You feel him all over you from the waist down, his tongue flicking and lips sucking against your swollen clit, his fingers relentlessly fucking into you, your fingers heightening those sensations by playing with your own tits– then, oh, then you notice. 

Jake, you’re best fucking friend, is so goddamn horny that he’s dry humping against your bed and whining out moans against your clit. Probably to avoid asking for more, to avoid making you feel obligated to get him off too, to avoid anything you may not want or consent to. And that’s why he’s your best friend.

It doesn’t take long after that, your hips come to a stop as you watch him get himself off all while getting you off, and you find your orgasm bubbling up much faster than if you’d have imagined solely because of the image in front of you.

“Jake, you’re fucking whining.” You groan almost as needy as he does, rolling your hips up in a stutter. 

He was almost gonna stop, because yeah, he is whining. Gasping for air but only tasting you, only swallowing up the moans you give to him, only inhaling the dull scent of the fruity soap you used when you showered. But, you moan louder after you say that. You like it. You like seeing him act so desperate. So he continues, shamefully reaching one of his hands between himself and the bed and quickly shoving it down his pants, circling around his cock and continuing to fuck into it. 

If he thinks hard enough, you’re what he’s fucking right now, and technically, he is. With his fingers and mouth at least. When your hips stutter more, he fucks harder against his hand and holds his fingers inside of you as deep as he can get them. There, he sucks against your clit until you’re the one whining louder. 

You’re shocked at how quickly you’re getting off. Releasing a splash against him in a breathy, choked up sob. Nearly squeezing his head between your thighs to the point he almost misses the way you breathe out strings of praises toward him. But he hears them. 

He definitely heard you say that he looks sexy with your hand in his hair, and god, did he ride off of the fact that you encouraged him to get off with you. Regardless of if you knew if he could or not, regardless of if you knew his hand was providing just enough pleasure for him to do just that. 

There, as your orgasm subsides with his tongue still flicking your sensitive clit, you watch him writhe his hips against your mattress, his eyes slammed shut, and his breath coming out in pornographic moans. So this is what Jake looks like when he cums. It’s desperate, but somehow, it feels passionate too.

You’re all dazed after the fact, pussy pulsing and tingling from the loss of his lips and fingers once he pulls back and lays against your bed with a lazy smile. His pants are uncomfortable, but he doesn’t mind as he wipes his hand across his shirt and watches the way you catch your breath. 

“So,” He tries to say, clearing his throat. “I– um– hope that’s what you needed?”

You’re shy. You’re never fucking shy, especially towards Jake, but god. 

“Um, yeah,” you sigh out, lifting from the bed and looking back at him. Part of you wondering if that’s what it’s supposed to be like when someone gives you good head, or if that’s just…what it’s like when Jake gives head.

For some reason, you genuinely don’t think another man would ever eat you out to that level again. There’s no way, based on experience. 

“It was definitely what I needed.” 

He nods in a shy way, reminding himself that his pants are fucking nasty right now. So, he goes to stand up and extends a hand out to you. 

“Let’s go clean up.” 

You shake your head, not at all wanting to move from this bed. He nods again, pulling your shirt back down for you and leaning to look at you. 

“I’m gonna bring you something to clean up with, and I’m gonna shower.”

You smile at him, a bit dazed as you make yourself comfortable on your messy sheets as you think hard about the fact that this dopey motherfucker really never told you how good he was at this? Rude.

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

Jake looks all proud of himself when he comes back to your room and cuddles into bed with you much like he always has. 

“I didn’t expect to sleep over, I have work in the morning.” He whispers in a rasp against your back, curling around you like the perfect big spoon. 

You’re quick to turn on his work alarm on your phone, like you always do when he crashes during weeknights. Because, what best friend doesn’t have alarms set for each other anyway?

After a few more long moments of silence, you try to talk. Mostly because your brain is swimming with the fact that, like, you’re not sure but it’s just– wow. 

“Hey, um–”

“Hmm?” He hums out in a sleep-heavy voice.

“Did you actually enjoy doing that?”

“Are you fucking kidding me? I literally came in my pants.” His sudden louder voice causes you to jump, but you relax back into his gasp. 

“Oh,” You think hard. “Is this gonna change stuff between us?”

“Probably, but not in like, a bad way. More like in the can-i-eat-you-out-all-the-time-way.” He responds with mock-confidence, shifting a bit and hugging you closer to him, as if to hide the way he’s trying to make this sound like a joke. For his own comfort, really.

You smile.

“And don’t tell other dudes my secrets.” He adds.

“I won't.”

Jake has his own smile from behind you, wondering if he really is just that good at eating pussy. The truth is, he’s done it a handful of times but he was just really really interested in doing it for you. For…reasons.

・・・・・・THIS WAS ORIGINALLY TWO PARTS, NOW IT’S ONE. YOU’RE WELCOME・・・・・・

“Hey, um,”

“Hmm?” Jake hummed out in a sleep-heavy voice.

“Did you actually enjoy doing that for me?”

“Are you fucking kidding me? I literally came in my pants.” He responded in a sudden, louder voice. 

“Oh,” You think hard. “Is this gonna change stuff between us?”

“Probably, but not in like, a bad way. More like in the can-i-eat-you-out-all-the-time-way.” 

You remember the conversation that happened after he went down on you like it was yesterday, and he’s a goddamn liar. Nothing changed in your friendship with him, and he certainly doesn’t ask to eat you out all the time either. If anything, you’ve felt disappointed time and time again with the aftermath of that night.

It’s weighing on you in a strange way. At first, the weeks following the first and apparently, only time Jake went down on you, you almost expected him to ask for a repeat. You wanted to return the favor. You wanted him to ask but he never did. Even when he came over to hang out, even when you tried to lay down hints.

Nothing changed.

In fact, he doesn’t even talk about it. He doesn’t look at you as if he’s tasted you, and he doesn’t act like he came in his palm against your bed, right in front of you. He’s just…Jake. Sweet, caring, aloof, Jake. And you’re just you. Except you want to be someone else at this point. Someone that he does feel differently around after that.

Maybe you weren’t a memorable event for him when it comes to intimacy. Maybe he prefers to pretend it never happened? Maybe he was really just doing you a favor and intending for it to never go past the initial act. Even with his sweet words after the fact. Maybe, that was just to reassure you so it wouldn’t be awkward. 

You’re a version of you who wants to know what the fuck he’s thinking about. Did it taste bad? Did he get cold feet about it all? Arguably, if things did get weird after what happened, you’d feel more comfortable than you do with the situation as it stands. 

It is weird now, but only because it’s not weird for him. 

Even now, as you lay across the same bed where he had his head nestled between your legs, you can almost feel the tingle of what it felt like. The way his hair tickled your thighs, and the way his fingers laid against the flesh of your legs. The sun is beaming in through your windows and it still doesn’t feel as warm as it did when he cuddled against you that night. It’s been weeks and your heart is sick for him by this point. Sick with confusion, angst, lust, maybe even love if you think hard enough. 

You miss him a lot more than before as you throw your hand up to your face in a gentle slap as if to knock yourself out of it. This is insane. Every day you wake up feeling this way, thinking of him, and where you stand with him. It wasn’t like this at first, you truly expected him to come back for more and now you’re just sitting here with a loop of reasons as to why he never did. 

Insane. You’ve gotten head from so many people and didn’t think twice about them the next day, Jake is different though. You knew he would be too.

Why is Jake any different? Why do you miss him so badly right now? Why couldn’t he pick up on it either? Even worse, why do you feel like doing that with him was a mistake?

He’s with his parents for the weekend, and you’re here still thinking about shit that should have been released with your orgasm. 

You haven’t gone on any dates since that day, you haven’t met up with any one other than him to hang out, and at this point you’re starting to feel a little pathetic for falling in so deep. It’s entirely one sided, he makes that very clear.

So, naturally, you hop up with the confidence of a damn lion and decide that today, it ends. You will stop making it weird between the two of you, if he has even noticed anyway. You’re gonna get dressed, look hot as fuck, and sit on your couch swiping left and right until you find a hot piece of man that’s willing to take you out tonight.

That’s when something dawns on you. You remember Jake briefly mentioning Sunghoon to you, which seemed more like an implication if anything at the time. 

Why would Sunghoon be jealous of what happened? You can admit to being attracted to him but it’s not like the two of you hang out often or anything, and it’s also kind of a rule for yourself that you don’t fuck within the friendgroup. Jake was an exception, solely because that’s your best friend. Or, well, was your best friend. 

Now though? Who cares about these little rules you create for yourself? You need a confidence boost. You need your mind to be taken off of this little spiral you keep falling into. Most of all, you need to be proven wrong that you can still get off without it being him. 

So, texting Sunghoon? Easy. 

Thankfully, Sunghoon texting you back at lightning speed seemed even easier for him. 

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

Well, Sunghoon sure did a great job at getting your mind off of Jake for the past couple of hours. 

You lay here in his bed, feeling your body tingle from the sensation of just how well he lived up to the promise of a good time. For hours he touched you, licked against you, fucked you. And yeah, you did fucking enjoy it. 

But why now? Why did you only just decide to give Sunghoon a shot? Why are you lying in his bed, with his heavy arms thrown across you as he snores gently behind you, feeling the need to cry? Why do you wish it was Jake, your best friend who seemed so eager to please and then suddenly leaped ten feet back as if he never suggested it in the first place? 

Your brain is confused despite your body relaxing itself from the state of bliss you were able to experience. You really did enjoy this time with Sunghoon and think that maybe, if you continue to make late night visits to him, the need for your best friend will weaken in time. 

God, if only Jake would just talk about it.

And you fall asleep thinking about that. About how you’ve let your feelings weaken you to the point that it’s genuinely hard to enjoy being pleasured by someone who actually has the capability. 

And, well, you wake up much the same, except Sunghoon was quite quick with his fingers upon waking up himself. Showing you that even if the person you want doesn’t have a thing to do with you, he sure does. 

“Good morning,” He rasps in a sleepy voice, fingers already traveling down your stomach as he hugs up against you from behind. “Glad you finally came through for me.” 

You quirk a brow. Right, Jake is the whole reason you're here. If not for mentioning him, at least.

“I finally came through?” You chuckle, your body jolting at the ticklish sensation of his lips brushing the back of your neck. “You knew I was single, why didn’t you call me?” 

You feel a harsher kiss against your neck, and his fingers only travel further down now. 

“Bro code.” He whispers, dipping his fingers between your still naked thighs. “I’m not overstepping if you’re the one asking for it.” He slides his fingers gently back and forth between your legs, trying to work you up. “And you did.” 

You think hard about that. Bro code, overstepping limits, not coming onto someone unless they do first solely because someone must have asked him not to. And you’d think even harder about who that someone might be, but instead your brain is quickly thrown into the morning sex routine Sunghoon must offer to all of his lovers. 

You enjoy it too, the small moments of bliss where you’re not in your head about what you could have possibly done wrong with Jake for you to end up feeling this way. It’s a brief moment of numbness though, feeling his fingers pleasure you gently can only do so much to quiet your thoughts. 

“Are you saying one of your friends had dibs on me or something?” You laugh in a half-joke, arching your back to rub your ass up and against the bigger and warmer man behind you. 

“You could say that, I’m assuming he missed his chance though–” Sunghoon whispers snidely, now satisfied with how you already drip for him and sliding one of his fingers into you. His other hand, being used to hike one of your legs up and against his hip to open you up for him. “You wouldn’t be here doing this if he didn’t.” 

You clench around his finger unintentionally, pretending you don’t know who you’re both referring to. Mostly because there’s no way in hell it’s your best friend, seeing as how he’s acting like you don’t exist outside of platonic friendship with him. Then again, who else could it be? Jay? Heeseung? Fucking Jungwon? As fucking if. 

“I guess he did miss his chance–” You breathe, now allowing yourself to give into the lazy and slow pleasure being offered. “Deeper.” 

And he listens. Sunghoon goes deeper and deeper with one finger, then two, then three, up until you slip his fingers out of you and plead through your body to have more. Deeper still, holding you from behind, plunging in as if to intentionally fuck the confusion out of you. As if to, maybe, prove that Jake isn’t the only man who can please you now. 

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

When you eventually find yourself walking through your front door, you do feel better. Sunghoon did have some type of capability to make you feel as desired as Jake did. After all, it’s not often that you sleep over with a man, better yet get fucked again as soon as you wake up with him. 

Even so, you know Jake will be back tomorrow, wanting to hang out yet again as if nothing happened. Thankfully, with Sunghoon around, maybe you can pretend alongside him. Maybe even forget it ever happened. 

You can argue that for the first time, you’re even a bit annoyed when you see his name pop up in your notifications with a call as if you’re not right in the middle of texting Sunghoon. It’s not that you were trying to go back over to his house or anything, but man, he sure is trying to get you to come back for a third round already. 

Maybe you just like when people are eager to please you, or maybe you don’t like to feel as if you’re the one chasing another person. Still, you answer Jake, seemingly releasing all of this resentment you’ve built up for him in an instant. 

“What?” You huff into the phone, feeling it vibrate with another text from Sunghoon and wanting nothing more than to see what his fourth reason would be for you to come over not even two hours after you left. 

“What?” Jake responds in confusion  to you. “What do you mean ‘what’?” 

“I mean what do you want? I’m busy.” You huff again with a roll of your eyes, flopping back on your bed. 

“Oh god, something happened.” Jake groans, though he was simply calling you because he missed your voice. “What’s wrong?” 

“No, not really. Was just trying to figure out what I’m doing tonight when you rudely interrupted me.” 

Something is off, Jake can feel it. Your voice has a bite to it, one that feels like you’re mad at him. Not to mention, he knows what you mean when you say you’re trying to find something to do for the night. He tries to reserve his feelings though, despite wanting that something to be him. 

“Oh, I know there’s an event at one of the clubs downtown tonight I think. Jay mentioned it–” He pauses briefly to hear another annoyed breath from you. “You’re not gonna go with him?” 

“Nah,” You wave off dismissively. “I think I’m just gonna go hang out with Sunghoon.” 

You don’t notice at all the brief and panicked silence for a solid second and a half before Jake reacts.

“Wait, what?” He says quickly after managing to process those words, trying not to sound as panicked as he knows he feels. “Sunghoon? Why?!” 

God, he knew he shouldn’t have said anything about Sunghoon that day, but his confidence was overflowing and he couldn’t help but boast at the time. It’s come back to shoot him in the dick, knowing full well that Sunghoon has been trying to get you into bed since he fucking met you. Hearing you ask for him in this context is something that makes his blood run cold. 

“Relax, I was with him last night. It’s kind of like, maybe gonna be a normal thing now.” 

You refuse to pick up on Jake’s tone. He had all the time in the world to make you feel something other than confusion, and this is just fucking petty at this point. He clearly doesn’t want to have anything with you, so why in the hell should you just sit around hoping? Waiting? 

“Sunghoon? You want to fuck Sunghoon?” He asks in a lower tone, trying to convince himself that he has to be mishearing you. You can hear him shuffle around and close a door behind him, showing that he doesn’t want his parents to hear him. But the frustration showing blatantly in his voice is somehow…satisfying. 

“I already did. I figured he would show me a good time since no one else can, and he did.” You shrug with slight disobedience. Resentment bubbling up in your gut to the extent that you almost want to grill him for having any type of opinion about it. 

Jake hangs on those words for a second. “Since no one else can.” 

He really thought he was the one who could do it for you. 

“Yeah, but–”  Jake starts, feeling like a child almost in the way he protests despite not being in a position to have a say in who you sleep with. “You know what? Nevermind. Do what you want.” He adds blankly, hanging up before you can get another word in. 

Honestly, he doesn’t know what he’s doing wrong because you acted like he was fully capable of doing everything right. Hanging out with him consistently after the fact, not making it weird, flirting with him, asking him to sleep over. 

He wasn’t sure if he should ask you for more or if he should ask you to be his girlfriend first. The whole reason he’s with his parents right now is because he felt the need to run home to his Mom for girl advice. Embarrassing? Yes, but he really wanted to do things right. He cares about you. 

He needed just one single weekend away, and the second he’s gone you’re out fucking other dudes? Fucking Sunghoon? 

By now, that asshole is probably feeling like he’s on top of the world for getting to touch you. Not even he has done what Sunghoon managed to do with you by now and he can’t help but feel pissed about it. 

Whether you’re his or not, Sunghoon never should have been a fucking option. 

So, he calls you right back, pushing back the feeling of how pathetic it seems considering he’s the one who hung up on you. Then, when you don’t pick up, he immediately feels his stomach drop. 

You must be talking to Sunghoon, you must be setting up a time and place to meet with him. And Jake has heard that Sunghoon knows how to fuck. Other people have said he’s good in bed. Surely, if you’ve already been with him once and you’re still wanting to go back to him, those other people weren’t lying. 

To Jake, it feels like he’s losing you to his own friend with each passing second, and it’s weighing so heavy that spamming your phone with calls to interrupt whatever it is you’re doing right now feels like the right thing to do. In fact, it feels like it is the best thing in the world to do. 

He calls again. You don’t answer.

Again.

“What?!” You answer, annoyed. 

“Why would you even want Sunghoon?! Is he really that much better than I am?” He doesn’t think before he says it, because if he did, he wouldn’t have been able to say it at all. 

It’s his turn to experience that awkward silence because in all fairness, you don’t know how to respond to that. You feel annoyed now, you feel confused and quite frankly, blind sided. Since when did he care? 

“What’s that supposed to mean? You came onto me once and then never followed up.” You dead-pan at yourself in the mirror across your bedroom, speaking into the phone with a voice that seems scolding. “I don’t see why you’re mad that I’m hanging out with Sunghoon. We aren’t dating, Jake.”

“Since when? Who said I didn’t want to do it again?” Jake argues back in a whispered voice, showing you that he still can’t be as loud as he’d like to be. He chooses to ignore that last sentence though, pretending as if it doesn’t strike him in the center of the heart. 

“Nobody! That’s the thing, you haven’t said anything about it. Not that you want to, not that you don’t. You’re just being you and it’s driving me up a fucking wall.”

Pause.

“You’re mad because I didn’t make it weird?” It’s like his brain clicks. 

“Pretending it didn’t happen somehow makes it worse.” You lower your voice, ignoring the string of texts Sunghoon is sending you and listening closely to what Jake might say next. Your heart is racing through this hushed argument, and it feels good to admit that you kept thinking about it, even if he hasn’t.

“I wasn’t pretending that it didn’t happen,” He pinches the bridge of his nose with a sigh. “I just wasn't sure what the next step was.”

You’re fucking appalled.

“Jake, I have been flirting with you since it happened because I couldn’t stop thinking about it. You’re the one who didn’t make any moves, so I figured you wanted it to end there.” You sigh loudly, but somehow feel a bit lighter. “Do you have any idea how that fucked with my confidence?”

Jake sighs along with you on the other end of the line. 

“That’s why I was annoyed earlier, and that’s why I’m going to Sunghoon’s tonight.”

“What?” Jake’s voice raises a bit higher. “Still?!” 

It’s the fact that he’s trying to explain himself. Had he known that you were confused by his lack of, um, touching you, he would have done it every day since it happened! Yet, you’re still considering Sunghoon an option? Knife to the heart, honestly. 

Or maybe he’s not being clear enough with you about this. 

You, on the other hand, nod your head as you hum a confirmation to him, smiling and wondering if this conversation will turn into an event that would, perhaps, have you cancel the hook-up with Sunghoon.

“Why? Are you jealous?” You pry.

“You really called him, and now I’m just sitting here in my old room trying to find a way to get to you before he does….again.” An inhale. “ Yes! I’m fucking jealous!” 

You remain silent, trying to pretend that your pettiness isn’t solely to confirm what he seems to be implying to you. Then, an unintentional chuckle leaves your lips. 

“Why are you laughing?!” His voice is raised again, and he doesn’t seem to stop spilling what he needs to say. “I wanted to do that for you for years and you somehow still didn’t know?” He pauses. “I always made it weird between us, what? You thought I treated all of my friends like that?”

You just listen, feeling your heart beat in time with each word he speaks. Strings of sentences like, “I’m going to kick his ass.” and “You thought I’d just eat you out as a friend?! You’re insane.” and “I would have come home last night if you wanted to feel good so badly, why did you have to go see him, of all people?” 

The confirmation of Jake being the friend who forbade Sunghoon from making a move on you is right there, clear as day. 

“Ah, so the Jake I know isn’t the Jake everyone else knows?” You respond, trying to force the tingling feeling in your gut to calm itself. Hearing him be so blatant to you has your heart doing flips, and it’s not an easy task to make it stop.

“Of-fucking-course not!” He rolls his eyes, you can definitely tell. “You had me wrapped around your pinky from day one.”

“And you really thought that, with the way you seemed so uninterested–” You pause, processing his words. “I would have asked you to come home from your parent’s house to get me off? For what? Funsies? You thought I'd be brave enough or selfish enough to ask such a thing?” 

Jake sighs deeply, seemingly fed up with the situation. 

“It wouldn’t be because you are selfish.” He breathes out, almost angrily. “And for the last time, I’m not uninterested. I was just trying to do things right. I don’t just want to fuck you, you know.” 

“And you didn’t think to tell me until weeks after you ate me out?” You smile harder, trying to contain the heat flushing over your cheeks. “Until after I thought I had a pH imbalance and maybe you were just grossed out by me?!” 

“I’m genuinely shocked you didn’t know already. Made me think you weren’t interested enough to like–” He pauses, not wanting to be too telling. “I guess waiting and being polite isn’t really your style. I should have known that though.”

You let him continue, because you can tell he’s simply taking breaths and small pauses to figure out how to express his thoughts to you. 

“You can’t tell me that over the years, you never once noticed how often I stared at you.” He lowers his voice again, softening it to an extent that you actually feel the butterflies fly from your belly to your chest. 

”The fact that I jumped in head first and offered to do that for you? I didn’t think I had to tell you at this point…”He breathes out a chuckle through the line this time. “And for the record, I couldn’t get enough of it. I was just trying to like– I don’t know.”

You listen to him breathe deeply, again. 

“I didn’t want you to think I was in it just for the sex, I guess.”

There. There it is. You’re nearly kicking your feet, feeling him confirm feelings and erase any hint of doubt within you. Despite never truly noticing that he treats you differently compared to his other friends, despite never thinking too hard about the way he looks at you. 

“You acted like it wasn’t a big deal, Jake. I’m not joking. If that’s how you act when you like someone, you shouldn’t blame me for not noticing.”

“I literally tongue fucked you.” He dead-pans. “Friends don’t just do that.”

“I thought we were friends who could do that.” You argue. “But I guess you’re not quite looking to just remain friends, are you?” 

“No,” Jake sighs. “Mom told me I needed to take you out on some extravagant date and express my undying love for you with a handful of red roses, but I guess this is just how it’s gonna be. After all, this is you.” 

“And this is you.” You confirm. 

“I was going to come home tomorrow and try to lie our way to the restaurant, which I still can, if you want. You kind of fucked up my plan though.” 

You pause at his words, suddenly feeling like shit for not realizing sooner. In your defense though, if he really did like you from day one, you didn’t exactly have a chance to see how he would have acted without feelings. The Jake you know is your best friend, and someone you trusted with everything, you thought he treated everyone as well as he treated you. That’s why, when he didn’t change, you couldn’t read him anymore. 

Then again, all of this could have been fucking avoided if he had just voiced it to you. 

“Romance is dead and it’s your fault.” Jake tries to joke, his soft tone somehow coming out even softer as he waits for some type of response from you. 

“So, are we done fighting?” You ask meekly, tapping your finger against your phone and looking up at the ceiling with a smile that by now, you can’t escape. “Since you’ve just expressed your undying love for me and I very much wouldn’t mind going on a date with you so we can work this out face to face?” 

“Are you still going to fuck Sunghoon?” 

You laugh. 

“Oh yeah, for sure–” To his silence, you immediately take it back. “Oh my god, relax. It’s a joke.” 

“Get better jokes, asshole.” 

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

“What the fuck?” Jake deadpans into the phone, his heart beating far too fast for his health, but vibing with it anyway because by tomorrow night, he’ll be next to you again. “You seriously had sex with her?!” 

“Hey, she’s the one who called me.” Sunghoon shrugs as he listens. “To be fair, Jake, I did tell her that someone else had dibs on her.”

Jake slaps his forehead and rolls his eyes. 

“You’re such a dick– I told you at least three hundred times that I like her! I don’t have dibs.” He gripes, trying to pretend that he’s not imagining Sunghoon with you, the person he wants the most. 

“Damn right you don’t, because she seemed to have a great t–” 

“Sunghoon, stop. I don’t want to know what happened, but like, stop texting her.” 

Sunghoon’s brow raises in curiosity. 

“Ah, did you finally make a move?”

If there’s anything Jake knows Sunghoon won’t do, it’s go for a woman that is actually unavailable. He has his fun, and he’s not one to turn anyone down if he has an interest in them, bro code be damned. And yeah, he’s still a little pissed at him for hooking up with you…but, it is true, Jake made you feel like he wasn’t even an option in his attempts to be a gentleman. 

Still, boundaries need to be set now. Real boundaries.

“I did, and I would really appreciate it if you back off. I’m trying to make something out of this, you know?”

Sunghoon lightens up, sighing at his loss of a would be fuck-buddy that seemed more promising than some he’s had in the past. 

“Jesus, you’re serious about her aren’t you?” He smirks as he speaks, feeling proud of Jake for finally stepping up for himself. “I mean, I can totally see why. Please excuse me as I mourn that sweet, sweet, pu-” 

“Sunghoon.” Jake warns. “Shut the fuck up.” 

“Relax, jesus.” Sunghoon plays it cool, though he actually is mourning it a little bit. “Good on you though. I’ll back off, don’t worry.” 

Jake rolls his eyes yet again, his love-hate relationship with Sunghoon becoming more fond than ever by this point. Only because the confidence he had in himself before all of this wasn’t entirely where it needed to be. It’s true that he wasn’t exactly a pussy eating god before, nor could he even say he’s amazing at sex but, when it comes to you, he can’t help but be excited. He wants to do it all, be it all for you. 

Never in his life has he eaten pussy like that, and never in your life have you felt a mouth so eager to please between your legs. 

Sunghoon could have been something, but he couldn’t have been Jake, ever. 

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

The day couldn’t go by any slower than it already has. 

Jake comes home tonight, and by home, you mean to your apartment where he doesn’t live. 

Your mind goes in loops on what could possibly happen. Scenarios of him getting cold feet and ignoring that any of this happened at all again. Scenes of him unlocking your door, closing in on you, and kissing you before you can even say “hello”. Images of his hands on you, his mouth on you, what it would feel like if he were to…well, oh.

You snap yourself out of it, every bad scenario in your head gets replaced with one where you’ve got Jake working himself on and inside of you. It’s making you feel hot, insane, and entirely too horny for the proposed date night full of talking that needs to be had first. 

Then you freeze, your hand on the handle of your mug as you wonder a bit too hard. 

What if he doesn’t show up at all? 

You did run off the second he left the city and fuck one of your mutual friends. Arguably, you were equally as bad at communicating with him as he was to you during the past few weeks. Sure, you flirted, but was that even enough when he literally put his tongue inside of you “as a friend”? 

God, he’d have every right to not show up. To move on, to never speak to you again. 

You’ve been so stupid. Both of you have, stumbling together but apart into something neither of you could even begin to navigate. For you? Sex is easy. Feelings though? That’s where it gets complicated. Yet, still, you find yourself more willing than ever to let these feelings roam free if he accepts them at face value. 

Solely because of how shitty it felt when you were trying to pretend that Jake was nothing but a one time thing for his sake. 

And when the time comes, after hours of brooding, getting worked up, and feeling insane, you’re looking like a mess when he knocks on your door. So much for looking good for him. You’re an absolute fucking wreck when you open that door and dead-pan stare at him and his bags. 

“Hi,” He smiles, not quite making eye contact because he really is kind of embarrassed by all of this. “I’m here.” 

You step back from the door, eyes remaining on him. 

“You’re here.” You say quietly, watching him step into your apartment and drop his bags. 

You feel his breath before you hear his voice. So much closer than just moments before, right up against your ear, and his arms wrapping tightly around you. 

“Felt like I was gone for too long–” He whines slightly against you, breathing in a breath and taking in your scent. “Didn’t know I could miss you like that.” 

You fucking melt. Out of all of those scenarios and fantasies in your head, this wasn’t one of them. Which goes to show that Jake is the one person in this world who can surprise you time and time again. You’ve hugged him like this hundreds of times, but this one, oh this one. He feels so close after feeling so fucking far away.

“You were gone for two days,” You smile, nuzzling against him and gripping his waist in your own hug. 

“Two days too long, though.” You feel him smile, that little upturn of his lips pushing his cheek up and against you as he chuckles and pulls back.  “We don’t have a lot of time, but we can still make it to the restaurant if you still want to go? I can shower when we get back.”

You pull back, offering him a small nod and feeling a bit let down. You wanted more, especially after that hug. The fact that he can contain himself right now feels isolating. Are you the only one who has a vibrating brain right now? He really wants to have the conversation at the restaurant? 

He really wants to do this the right way?

You look like shit, but arguably he might think he looks worse considering the long trip back to you. Still, the restaurant is the chosen option to have this conversation, and you’re ready to get it over with so that finally the two of you can take a step forward. 

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

The restaurant is nice. There’s a buzz of conversations surrounding the two of you but most of it feels muffled because the only sound you can truly hear is Jake’s hushed and awkward attempts to get the ball rolling. 

“So, I guess that’s why I went to my parent’s house. It’s embarrassing, I know–” He says before you cut him off. 

“Tell me how you felt the past few weeks when we were together.” You say boldly, wanting so badly to have the confirmation that he really does want this, and that he suffered much like you did.

You watch a fan of rosy tint cross his cheeks as he breaks eye contact with you, looking to the table and then back up at you. 

“Okay, um–” He stiffens a bit, glancing around to make sure no one is looking or listening in. “When we weren’t together, it was a lot easier for me to think, but when we were together, I could only really think about one thing.” He admits, nodding to himself. 

You look at him curiously before you see his eyes light up in panic.

“No! No, no. Not like, sex…” He looks down. “I mean, yeah maybe sex too but mostly I just couldn’t stop thinking about ways to make you want me more than anyone else.” 

Your heart swells at his panicked save, and then the words that follow. 

“I think I already did want you more than anyone else.” You admit back to him. “Even if I didn’t know I had feelings until you did that to me– I’m sorry it took me so long to realize.”

He smiles, reaching over the table as if to ask for your hand. 

“What about you? What did you think about when we were together after that night?” He asks for his own confirmation now. 

“Sex. Mostly, I guess. I felt like no one else would ever be able to make me feel that good again.” You look away, feeling ashamed and seen. “Goddamn, I sound so dramatic.”

Jake snorts, laughing at how he should have expected this but the confidence boost is a happy surprise to him. 

“To be fair though, Jake, I think I had my feelings and my lust for you mixed up.” You continue. “But that doesn’t change the fact that I still feel both of those things every time I see you, or even think of you.”

“Feelings and lust?” He nods with a smile and wiggling his eyebrows, his eyes glistening in the warm lighting of the restaurant. 

You nod in confirmation, side eyeing the waitress who walks over to take down your order. 

Both of you are somehow dissociated outside of each other, there’s no way you’re not because you don’t recall what you ordered, nor what he ordered, and he appears to be feeling much the same. The moment she walks away, he’s continuing. 

“I was really that good, huh?” A smirk from him, and a nod from you. 

“What about right now then? How do you feel when you look at me?” He follows up, looking down at the table. 

“Both of those things.” You dead-pan, squeezing your legs together as you look at him and feel the warmth radiating from even this far away. The confirmation of feelings is enough by itself to have your thoughts in the gutter about him, especially after weeks of wanting him. 

Especially after having to be in this stupid fucking restaurant in the first place.

He quirks a brow before lowering his voice, his eyes drooping a bit. 

“Do you have any fucking idea how badly I’ve wanted to get my mouth on you?” 

God, there he is. That same bold best friend who originally suggested eating you out in the first place. Not entirely unfounded that he said it, but fuck, your cheeks are searing. 

“Jake, we’re in public.” You warn, knowing damn well that you’ve not been able to think of anything else either, but for the sake of the foundation of this relationship, you want to tame yourself a little bit.

“Since we started hanging out, every fucking time.” He continues, ignoring your warning. “I would get so mad when you’d go to your little hook-ups. Sometimes I even wondered if you did it intentionally to piss me off.” 

Your cheeks are still hot, but now there’s a bit of guilt filling you. 

“You really had no idea how badly I wanted that to be me?” He continues with his streak of confidence, unintentionally dirty talking to you solely because he, genuinely, cannot deny his attraction or his feelings for you by this point. “Even right now, I want nothing more than to have you to myself.”

You pause, the guilt leaving you in an instant as it’s fully replaced with Jake’s eagerness to have you in full, finally. 

“Why–” You sigh, dropping your head into your hands to hide your face from him. “Why are we at this restaurant again?” 

You feel his hand reach back over to you, removing your hands from your face and dipping down to look at you. 

“It’s so fucking hard to contain myself right now. I can admit that.” He whispers, blinking at you. “If you feel satisfied with where we stand, I’d be more than happy to leave this table now and prove everything to you.”

An instant nod from you, and an instant confirmation from Jake. 

You’re both out of the restaurant before a single sip of water, before a single visual inspection of the forgotten food the two of you ordered, and before any doubt could creep in to ruin the electrifying atmosphere you were indulging in with him. 

For Jake, his self control wavers with each passing moment as you sit next to him in the car. You look so calm as he drives as quickly and safely as possible back to your apartment, shaming himself for ever considering the two of you go in the first place. Still, the outcome is somehow more satisfying. Both of you wanting to leave just so you can truly be alone together? He couldn’t ask for a better night. 

Still, your calmness contrasts the way his insides vibrate the closer he gets to your place, and he wonders how the fuck you manage to do it. If you were to simply glance at him at the right moment, you’d see his entire body melt in the fantasies of what the two of you may be willing to do tonight. 

Years worth of pining in his head and heart are bubbling up now. You’re inviting him in, you’re accepting him, you’re wanting him back. 

What he doesn’t know though, is that you are quite literally imagining yourself wrapped in chains to this seat. Why? Because if it weren’t for those astral chains, you’d be on top of him in an instant, reassuring him that if there’s anything in the world you’ve wanted within the past few weeks, it’s him. You’d be apologizing for never taking note of his feelings before, and kissing away all of the moments he wished he could have had with you before, replacing them with very real, firm, hot kisses. 

Thankfully though, you manage to tame the beast from within and somehow, so does he. Up until you get through your apartment door and the electrifying atmosphere sizzles away in an instant. 

You expected to have the confidence to, quite literally, jump on him as soon as your door closed. Instead, you find yourself standing in awe at the entryway. 

Jake, on the other hand, would love nothing more than to have you right this moment, speeding and parking crooked be damned, he will not allow it just yet. 

“Listen,” He reaches out to you, pulling you up and against his chest. “I need to shower before I let myself do anything.” 

You breathe a sigh of relief, noting that the awkwardness came from the fact that Jake’s energy is seeping out of him, lust and worry for possibly not being as clean as he’d like to be for this. 

It feels strange, actually. You can imagine you’ve had many hook-ups with men who wouldn’t even consider a shower before inviting you over. 

“Hurry up then, before I decide to call Sungh-” 

“Don’t you fucking dare make that joke right now,” Jake squeezes you tighter against you, hating himself for constantly bringing up reasons to wait. 

“If we are going to like,” He pauses, struggling to say it out of pure nervousness that you might change your mind. “You know, be exclusive, Sunghoon’s name is forbidden.”

You chuckle against him before shoving him back in a playful way. 

“Deal. Now, can you fucking hurry?” You roll your eyes playfully, internally a little thankful for the short moments you will have to prepare yourself for this. 

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

Damn this shower for feeling so good. Jake could fall asleep under the warmth if it weren’t for the fact that he’s been half-hard this entire time and truly fighting with himself on how to approach this situation.

It’s kind of awkward, actually. Knowing exactly what the two of you are about to do but having to wait even for fifteen minutes makes it seem like you both have a scheduled hook up and nothing more. 

It’s not a hook up though. Jake is finally where he’s always wanted to be with you, in your shower priming his body to go absolutely fucking insane on you. Before, when he ate you out, he really was controlling himself. He wanted to do more with you so bad, and now? God…

He’s flushed as he finally makes his way out of the shower, length still stiffening and softening with each thought that passes. He can barely look at himself in the mirror without wanting to laugh at how embarrassing he truly is. 

You’d probably laugh too, and he’d love the sound of it. 

Then, he’s faced with a dilemma. 

You, on the other hand, find yourself lying quietly in your bedroom after doing your best to fix the mess of yourself for whatever Jake may offer. Waiting for him, and ultimately wondering what the fuck is taking him so long when you finally hear the bathroom door open.

Faintly, you can smell your shampoo and body wash that he used as you hear him make his way to the living room and not find you. 

Then, you hear him making his way to your room. He doesn’t open the door any further than it already was and instead, stands behind it quietly before muttering out. 

“Um,” He starts, putting his hand on your door and only peeking his head in. “I wasn’t sure if there was a point to putting my clothes on–” 

Fucking pause.

God, he must sound so stupid saying that, especially after looking into your room and seeing you lying against your bed changed into the exact same pajamas you put on the night he initially made a move on you through the guise of friendship. 

Well, now it’s not even a question and he was right to assume that all he needed to do was wrap a towel around his waist and come to you. 

You watch his eyes travel your body curiously, a smile forming on his face.

“If you’re wondering if I put panties on this time too,” You smile, reaching a hand out as if to invite him to open that door and come have at it. “I didn’t.”

That’s all it takes, really, to have him pushing the door open and not-so-calmly making his way to your bed. 

Seeing his naked and damp chest is one thing, but smelling your scent all over him is another, especially when the first thing he does is practically envelop you with his body and plant his lips straight on your own. 

The first real kiss. Despite his lips having been on you before, you melt into it and find yourself forgetting how differently he’s acting now compared to before. He was so confident, so cocky, and now he’s almost docile. Meek. 

“I’ve wanted to do this for so long,” He leans back to whisper, adjusting his body so that he’s more comfortable and leaning down on one arm while the other holds your cheek. “Can’t believe you let me eat you out before ever letting me actually kiss you.”

Your face heats up at the comment, making you feel more scandalous than you ever truly tried to be. But he’s not wrong, and you regret making him feel like eating you out was the only way to get to your heart.

Strangely though, it was the way to your heart. Him doing that for you practically threw you into the deep end in search for more, from him, specifically. 

“Can’t believe you decided that you should just eat me out rather than admit your feelings for me.” You counter with a smile, lifting your head to kiss against him again and pretending you can’t feel the weight of his length under the loosely knotted towel on his waist. 

“Well, it worked, didn’t it?” He says through the kisses, quickly losing the ability to speak when you lick against his bottom lip and, ultimately, take control of the act.

He wonders what your mouth could do to him. His entire body reacts to the way your tongue flicks and licks against his own, it takes everything in him to try and control himself from pushing too far too soon– until he realizes that there is no reason to control himself now. 

Never has making out gotten him this turned on, and it’s not a surprise because it’s you. 

He half moans, half chuckles into your kiss when he does it, pressing his hips down and against your thigh much like he did previously to the very mattress he’s got you lying against. 

“There’s so much I want to do,” He finally admits, pulling back from the kiss and hanging his head to feel how his cock reacts to the flesh of your thigh. “Please, let me do all of it.” 

You sigh, somehow feeling a pang of arousal radiate between your legs despite not yet being touched there. The weight of him on you is enough, and all you can do is nod and await the ways he intends to relieve himself with you.

Hours of head, he could give. Even more hours of burying his cock between those pretty lips and watching you return the favor for him. His confidence grows as your body moves under him, waiting, waiting, waiting for what he will do next. 

First, he plants another kiss to you, pressing his hips hard against your thigh with a breathy sigh before moving his lips down, against your neck. 

At the same time, his hands work their way up your loose shirt, cupping one breast in his palm and easily teasing your nipple with his fingers. He works his lips down the center of your clothed chest, down to your stomach, and then up again. His nose nudges your shirt up with each kiss, until his lips replace his fingers and he’s sucking your nipple into his mouth.

You’ve never felt so wanted in your life with the way he appears to be savoring you. Leaving his own pleasure neglected once again, his entire focus is on you. You arch your back up a bit, hands shooting to his head and cradling it there against your breast. 

He groans when you scratch against the nape of his neck, wiggling your hips under him and chasing the sensation that his mouth manages to send to your clit. He groans again when your nipple remains firm between his lips, and he begins to nibble. 

And this time, he moans when he manages to trail one of his hands down just to see how much it will take of this to get you wet. He tucks one hand under your shorts, only to find that you’re already dripping, soaking his fingers with a mere single slide up your folds.

“Fuck,” He sighs as if it’s a compliment when he pops his mouth off of you, flicking his head up to look at your already dazed eyes. “Already?” 

You glance away, embarrassed by how badly you want the man who was once your best friend, and is now….more than that. You can feel his fingers graze and gently play around with the heat your body has already released for him, rolling your eyes back each time he pretends he’s going to offer pressure to your clit. 

He’s fucking teasing you, and you know it.

He knows it too, because of fucking course he is. After years of torture, wondering if you’d ever manage to get wet at all with the thought of him, here you are, dripping under him when all he’s done is kiss you and fondle your nipples. 

Briefly, he remembers how needy your hips were when his tongue was seeping into you. He remembers the taste of each thrust you pressed against his face, and the smell of how badly you needed him at the time. 

As used as he was by you that night, he wants nothing more now than to pull those same desperate moans from you, to taste the wet inside of you that no man ever managed to release for you. 

“I feel like I’m going insane,” He finally breathes out, still toying with your folds and keeping an eye on the way your eyes glare back at him. “I want you so fucking bad–” He stutters now, instantly sliding his fingers into you and scooting down on the bed at lightening speed, pressing your loose shorts to the side just to get the taste of you against his lips again.

Your legs instantly shoot over his shoulders, and one of his hands reaches up to hug your thigh against him as his tongue immediately laps at every dip and crease of your cunt. His eyes nearly roll back at being able to experience this again, his fingers holding firm without a single movement just so he can feel your body confirm that you want him just as much. 

The clench around his fingers are enough, and he licks around them only for a moment before returning his lips to your clit and giving you all he’s got. 

All he can feel is your legs tightening around his head, nearly lifting your ass up and off of the bed, all he can hear is his own moans vibrating through him each time he hears you react. 

Arguably, even after that brief moment of teasing from him, feeling his mouth so eager, much like before, sent you straight into a blissed state and made you forget about the restaurant, the shower, the weeks of pining before this. His mouth is so warm, and his vibrating moans sooth your clit through its desperate attempts to beg for more. 

You can’t help the fact that your legs hug his head, or the way your hands shoot down much like before, scratching through his hair before dropping down and spreading yourself open with two fingers solely to expose your clit in full to the assault of his tongue he’s giving you. 

He missed you so much, he missed this so much. Never again will he leave you wondering, from this point forward, you should be well aware that if you so much as pushed him to his knees and lifted a leg over his shoulder, he’d be eating like a fucking king. 

Still, even with his immense love for kissing your pussy until your legs shake, there’s more to be experienced here than just this. His pace slows with the reality of that, and only now does he move his fingers with intent, and he pulls back to see how you’re spreading yourself for him, even as your legs fall from his shoulders.

“Fuck.” He rasps, lips glistening with a mixture of his own saliva and your slick. 

You lend him a drunken smile, nodding slowly as you focus in on the way his fingers scissor you open. Within a blink though, his face is right there hovering above you, staring intently at the way you react to his fingers. 

“You look so good right now, you know that?” He compliments, leaning down again to plant a kiss against you, only pumping his fingers in faster when your kiss appears to be more hungry than his own. “God, I can feel you squeeze my fingers–” 

And it’s true, he’s seeing stars solely because he can feel the clench of your pussy walls pushing his two fingers together, almost pushing against his attempts to scissor you open and curl them into the spot inside he knows you have. He can only imagine how good that would feel if he were to…

His eyes squeeze shut in a drawn out moan at the thought, his own kiss growing more hungry as he releases the towel from his waist and quickens the pace of his fingers inside of you. 

You can feel him press his cock against you, and the weight of it only becomes heavier when his fingers pause inside of you just so he can slip them out and use those same slick-coated digits to hold his length down and against you before he slides it between your lips. Now coating himself in the same wet sensation. 

You listen closely to his moan, knowing that he seems fond of neglecting his own pleasure to the point of doing near-embarrassing things to get it back when he needs it the most. It’s strangled, almost. You can hear him swallow around it when he slides up harshly, bumping your clit and causing your shorts to stretch against the crease of your thigh. 

He seems so…desperate. Yet, he can have anything he wants. 

“Keep it spread open–” He mutters when he feels you try to remove the hand that had been holding your pussy out on display for him. “I want to feel all of it.”

God, you’ve never heard him say something so sexy. Easily you do as he says, now using both hands to hold either side of your pussy open for him, and feeling the underside of his length slide against your hole. 

You let out a pleased sigh, despite your shorts becoming a nuisance at this point. It’s easy to forget you’re still wearing them though, because they only become drenched more and more as the moments pass with Jake.

You can genuinely just assume that his cock must be aching as he does this, leaking all over you. That’s something you don’t mind at all, because the stimulation is far beyond what you could ever ask for. 

“Jake–” You try to speak, only to be cut off by his hand sliding under your head and his lips attaching yet again to you.

There, you can’t help it when you remove your hands and shoot them up to his face. Holding him there, feeling the way his jaw moves when he licks into your mouth in a desperate attempt to get as much of you as he can in this moment. 

His hips fuck forward much like they did into his palm all those weeks ago, and the anticipation of if or when he finally plunges it into you drives you to kiss him just as hard as he does you.

There is nothing but the sound of kissing in the room save for muffled moans from both of you, entirely tangled up together as he does nothing more than grind himself against you. His hand cradling your head and the other still pressing his length down and against you as close as he can manage. Yours, cupping his cheeks as he kisses you, up until you run one hand down to take over for him.

In that moment, with his free and now shaking hand, he pulls back entirely and just looks at you.

He’s out of it, entirely gone from this world as he stares down with his hair drying by the minute from that shower, messy as all hell with darkened hooded eyes. He continues to stare, each thrust against you becoming pointed to the extent that it almost feels like he’s already fucked you for hours. 

And then, you feel it. The weight lifting, your shorts being stretched until they’re sliding down your thighs and off of you, and then the warmth as he adjusts his hips just barely enough to line up with your quivering hole, practically begging for him to stretch you out for the first time. 

His eyes falter only for a moment when he realizes that this is a moment he will never forget. The way you look up at him with glassy and needy eyes, out of breath, seemingly loving him as much as he’s always loved you. 

“Yeah?” He whispers, not breaking eye contact even for a moment. 

“Please.” You mutter out, not fully intending for it to sound so broken.

And as broken as your voice was in that instance, he grows much weaker by it. Dropping his head with a deep sigh, a smile, and then a chuckle.

“You really, really, can’t look at me like that and expect me to be gentle…” He pauses to look at you again. “For your sake, please tell me to slow down.”

You can barely comprehend a word he’s saying when you can feel the head of his cock teasing where you need it the most. 

“Please.” You rasp out again, wrapping your legs around his waist and forcing his body forward, ultimately sliding the tip of his length into you yourself. 

“Oh, fuck–” He chokes out before sucking in a breath and letting out a moan at the feeling. His body jerks at the sensation, the sound of your voice, the way you pulse around him. “Fuck, so good.” He continues to mutter, controlling himself for only a few seconds longer just to see if you have the ability to understand that he truly and honestly will not have the ability to go easy on you at this point. 

“Deeper.” You plead, squeezing your legs tighter around him, uncaring of his attempt to control the situation. 

That’s all it takes. Your broken voice already had him shaking, and now he’s giving up any and all control that he could have possibly hoped to have. 

Right there, with your legs hugging his waist, your hands gripping the pillow behind your head, and his hands finding purchase on either side of your shoulders, he sinks himself into you as deep as he can go and feels as if the life is being choked out of him over how fucking good it feels. 

He throws his head back in an erotic and attractive moan of relief, allowing you a glimpse at the expanse of his stretched neck, naked of any marked territory. Still, your vision goes white when the stretch hits you.

So big, so strong on top of you. You can imagine he really could fuck you hard, you hope he doesn’t go gentle on you at all, actually

“Shit, please,” You moan brokenly again, releasing your pillow and gripping his forearms. “Jake, god–” You have no words to describe how good he feels inside of you, you couldn’t begin to fathom trying to explain to him how perfect he is. 

It feels deep, deeper than you ever could have imagined. His length alone should have been enough to tell you that, but you hadn’t yet factored in the girth of it. So heavy inside of you, touching each soft and sensitive surface your pussy has to offer. 

Your body jolts in adjustment, knocking the breath out of you despite him not moving just yet. 

“Shh–” He soothes, not at all actually wanting to hush your cries for him. In fact, he’s simply saying it because he could quite literally release at any moment if you continue to speak and clench him like this. And when he finally looks down at you, he can’t fucking help it.

His hips move at their own volition, and he was right in believing there is no gentle fuck to be had here. He slides out only slightly, with the intent to fuck you as full of him as he can. He wants to stay deep, because you asked, and he wants to keep you feeling stretched around him because he can truly never get over the way you look and sound right now. 

You shake at the feeling of him pressing impossibly deeper into you, keeping his hips flush against you before snapping his hips back more now. A slightly empty feeling inside of you being filled once again within a second. 

His moans sound beautiful, he feels beautiful, and all you can do is stare up at him with watery eyes and a slack jaw, wondering why it took him so long to do this with you.

Wondering why it took you so long to want it at all, when now, you think you could never feel this good with another person again. 

His arms flex in your grasp with each thrust, and his eyes land on each visible part of your body before he weakens his stance and lowers himself to you, hips still fucking you open at a pace that’s only becoming more and more rapid, more and more fucking blinding. 

“Yeah, yeah–” Jake suddenly chimes with out of breath words, kissing you before you can comprehend or respond to those words. “No one has ever reacted like this for me–” He continues, pointing his thrusts harder into you. “Feels so good, so tight around me.” He chokes up at the last few words, stuttering his and picking up a different pace.

This time, those harsh thrusts pull back further, emptying you before slowly pressing into you again. 

“I want you to remember how this feels,” He continues, seemingly rambling against your lips with each slow thrust. “No one will ever fuck you like I will.” 

Your hooded eyes shoot open with arousal at his confident boasting. Those words feel so final, as if it isn’t even a rule, but a logical fact that only the two of you could ever find to be true. 

You can’t even manage a response, and instead moan before tucking your lips up and against his neck, using one hand to grip his hair and skew his head. 

That once naked and markless neck is no more. He is yours, and you’re lucky enough now to know that this is exactly how he wants you to feel. 

“Ahh, you like that?” He questions your reaction to his words, feeling your hips make attempts to meet him halfway with each thrust. “You like when I talk?” He continues to urge your sucking lips to speak out to him, to answer him, to boost his ego just a bit more. 

“So much,” You nearly whimper against his neck, moving your lips to another spot. “Love when you’re confident like this–”

He’s in heaven hearing those words. As if it’s a confirmation that he wasn’t just talking dirty. You both truly take those words and will fuck by them from this point forward. He truly doesn’t want anyone else, and hopefully, you’d never give another person the chance to make an attempt to fuck you the way he does. 

And then the room falls silent again, as if Jake is focused on reminding you with each passing second that he’s never been more sure or right of something in his life. Despite you already believing him, the way his cock pulses inside of you is enough of a reminder even if he had never said it in the first place. 

His pace quickens again, and then slows, and then stutters. Only to fall back into a good rhythm before his entire body starts to shake through the act. 

You wonder if this is it. Is this how his body reacts when he’s about to cum? Is this what his face looks like? Is this what his eyes do? Did his arms strain like this the first time? Did his moans come out as choked and desperate? 

None of that matters, because as quickly as it started, he buries himself into you again and stays in that one spot, shaking and timidly looking down at you. 

“Don’t move, please, don’t move.” He practically begs, losing himself to the way your hips chase the feeling of constant stimulation. “Stop moving.” He pleads again, pulling his chest from you and sitting up on his knees, keeping his cock in place deep within you. 

You watch him, unable to keep your hips still, and he watches you– trying to keep his orgasm under control before seeing your fingers trail down your stomach and to your clit.

There, he loses himself, watching you rub the soft spot just above where his cock stuffs you full. 

“I can’t,” He chokes out, snapping his hips back and allowing himself to get lost in the feeling. “Fuck, I really can’t.” He continues to mutter out, pressing his strings of cum ever deeper inside of you as he feels every muscle in his body tense. 

It feels so sensitive, but he can’t stop moving, feeling his cum fill you up to the point it’s surely being pressed out of you by his desperate length wanting nothing more than to stay inside of you.

You moan through it with him, encouraging him to lose himself inside of you, and he’s so beautiful when he does it. The fact that he does it at all has your body tensing on its own. Teetering on the edge of your own orgasm with the way your fingers almost aggressively chase after the feeling he appears to still be releasing inside of you.

And then, emptiness. You are left empty and dripping, fingers still chasing your release before–

“What the fu–” You moan, squeezing your eyes shut at the feeling of his tongue instantly back on you. As if he’s looping back to the beginning of it all, uncaring of tasting himself solely because through it all, he can still taste you. “Jake, Fuck–yes, right there.” You continue to groan when he replaces his tongue against your hole with his fingers, fucking into you as quickly as he can before nudging your fingers away and taking over the chase of your orgasm. 

You’re entirely amazed by how eager he is to pull it from you, and that alone is enough. The desperate ways in which he decided to pleasure you right in this moment, it’s enough.

Your hands instantly reach for his hair, gripping so tightly that you can hear the pained sound he lets out at the sheer force behind it. You very nearly rub his nose in the mess he’s made of you out of the sheer arousal you feel through your orgasm. 

You’re seeing white, feeling his fingers expertly work you open and somehow don’t feel disappointed at all that you didn’t get there before he pulled out of you. You can still feel him dripping out, fingers squelching and sliding through the mixture of both orgasms inside of you. And his tongue, good lord his fucking tongue, licking up every bit and eagerly flicking your clit at a pace much faster than he offered before.

And now, you find your legs nearly kicking him across the room. As soon as the orgasm subsides, your body goes into overdrive with the overwhelming sensitivity between your legs and all he can do is laugh at the way you practically do kick him.

Right off the bed, actually, he tumbles. 

You lay there, staring into space as you attempt to bring yourself back to reality when you see his messy hair and glistening eyes peek from the edge of your bed at you. His shoulders huffing with each deep breath he takes. 

“Jesus fucking christ.” You manage to gasp out, spread eagle and almost completely naked on your bed save for the forgotten shirt that’s still pushed up to your collarbone. 

He makes his way back up to you, pressing your legs together, lowering your shirt, and planting his heavy dead-weight right on top of you. 

A solid ten minutes pass as the two of you lay there in the mess you’ve both created. Heavy breaths turn to easy, balanced breaths together. You can barely hold your eyes open when he finally rolls off of you and right up against your side. 

“Can I ask you something?” He mutters, throat dry and stomach growling embarrassingly loud. 

“Hm?” You hum out, entirely ready to just sleep in the mess.

“Are you always like that?” He questions, a little hint of doubt breaking his confidence. “Like, did Sunghoon see you act like that too?” 

You crack your eyes open and instantly turn to face him. 

“You’re insane if you think Sunghoon is that good. I’ve never used the word ‘please’ in my life.”

Jake glances away, thinking to himself and letting those words sink in.

“Well,” He starts, pausing and feeling that little pit in his stomach return. “That’s a lie because I’ve heard you use your manners at least twice in the years I’ve known you.” 

You smile, loving that the two of you can still be somewhat catty and playful even after the fact that you just realized how insanely in love with him you are. 

“Jake, no one has ever made me act like this in bed.” You try to reassure him. “I don’t think anyone else could, besides you.”

He smiles with a nod, running his hands down your body before pausing at the half dried cum that managed to make its way up to your stomach. And then? He groans. 

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

It’s insane really, that all it took for you to fall in love with the person you think you were always meant to love was him admitting it. Even more insane that he decided to take the route that involved faux playful head, with no feelings attached despite his feelings being deeply fucking attached. 

Still, the route taken to get to this point, he thinks, is fitting for the two of you. Especially now that he can look at Sunghoon without wanting to strangle him, and he can look at you knowing you’d very much invite him to strangle you, you know, considering the fact that you’re now trying to explore every sexual realm in the fucking universe with him.

Even with the desperate need to have you under him any chance he gets, and the fucking, and the arousal, none of it shines brighter than the small intimate moments he has with you that aren’t weighed down by pining or lust. 

As playful as the two of you are together, there is so much love here. So much love to still be discovered too, and he can’t help but feel excited by it. 

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."

"Oh!" Dayoung speaks out, her regular personality of sunlight shining through the mists of anxiety in her head. "I knew you were about our age." 

Thrown off by the sudden attention, you stammer, “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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