#HE KEEPS HIS PLANTS IN THE BACKSEAT | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

seospicybin · 2 months ago

Text

TILL DEATH DO US PART.

Lee Know x reader. (s)

Synopsis: You and Minho head to a cabin for a weekend getaway but beneath the seemingly normal relationship, both harbor dark secrets and hidden desires to end the marriage by any means necessary. (13,1k words)

Author's note: Happy birthday to the poster boy to my spooky Halloween fics, Lee Know 🦇

Content warning: Violence, graphic imagery, blood, toxic romance. Readers discretion is advised!

Minho wants to kill you.

He’s reached the point where he can no longer tolerate you. You've crossed the line of things you shouldn’t do and checked off every item that finally leads him to this decision: he wants to kill you. He carefully crafts a plan, asking himself all the basic questions.

What? A plan to kill you.

Minho has been holding back his rage, but it keeps mounting and mounting. He believes that ending your life will release it all, finally bringing him peace. He thinks of it as a purge, sending you to your demise to purify his soul.

Who? It’s you.

You'll be the victim of his plan. His wife, the one he no longer wants to have and to hold from this day forward, for better or worse, for richer or poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish. But the ‘till death do us part’—he’ll gladly do that himself, with his own bare hands.

And it’s him who's going to kill you.

Minho considered hiring a contract killer—it would’ve been easy, and he could have kept his hands clean. But the little compassion he has left for you tells him this needs to be done personally, and in private. No one has to know the terrible things you've done to make him want to kill you.

As a husband, the least he can do is protect your dignity as his wife.

And as a killer, he’ll try to make it quick and painless.

When? This weekend.

Last night, before bed, he told you he wanted to spend the weekend together. You didn’t ask why, just agreed right away. You needed time away to memorize and practice your lines for the short film you’ll be starring in at the end of the month.

Minho has barely begun but his plan is already in motion.

Minho sees you lugging a duffel bag in one hand and your purse in the other. Without hesitation, he strides over to help.

“Let me take that,” he offers, snatching the duffel from your hand.

You flash him a smile and plant a quick kiss on his cheek. “Thanks, honey.”

While you settle into the car, Minho places your duffel in the trunk next to his own bag. He unzips his bag briefly to double-check the contents: all the tools he needs for the weekend—sharp, heavy, and metallic—gleam in the sunlight as it hits them. He zips it up and slams the trunk shut, ready for the three-hour drive ahead.

You, already comfortable in the passenger seat, put on your sunglasses and prop your feet against the dashboard. Flipping through the script in your lap, you chew gum obnoxiously, popping bubbles every few minutes, each burst louder than the last.

“There are snacks in the backseat,” Minho says, hoping to distract you from the gum.

You turn just enough to see the stash of chips, drinks, and bottles of wine. Supplies he bought for the weekend in the cabin. Without much interest, you go back to reading.

“I bought your favorite,” he tries again.

“I concentrate better when I’m chewing gum,” you respond flatly, flipping the page.

Minho grits his teeth but stays silent. You hear the scoff he doesn’t manage to suppress.

Dropping your feet to the floor, you snap the script closed, marking your place with a finger. Turning toward him slightly, you say, “It’s scientifically proven that chewing gum improves concentration in visual memory tasks. Surprised you didn’t know that, being a doctor and all.”

Though you aren’t looking, he knows you're wearing that condescending smile, the one that implies you’re smarter than him. It’s a look he’s grown used to over the years, but today it grates more than ever.

Minho’s fingers tighten around the steering wheel. He fights the urge to jerk the wheel into a tree—just one hard turn would wipe that smug grin off your face. But no, that’s too messy and he’s not ready to blow his plan just yet.

He inhales deeply to steady his nerves. “What kind of movie are you working on this time?” he asks, pretending to show interest.

You raise a brow at his sudden curiosity but answer anyway. “It’s a thriller.”

“What’s it about?” Minho presses, not because he cares, but because he needs to keep you talking. Anything to shut you up about the gum.

“A girl gets kidnapped and held in a basement,” you explain briefly, scribbling notes in your script.

Minho forces himself to feign interest. "And what’s the catch?"

You plainly chuckle. "Like I’m going to spoil it for you."

"Because I probably won’t get to see it anyway," he retorts with a laugh, the irony not lost on him—after all, you won’t be around to finish it.

You sigh but eventually give in. "The girl tries to make her captor fall in love with her."

Minho holds back a laugh. He already knows it's going to be another bad movie. Lucky for you, he’ll be saving you from further embarrassment.

"Let me guess. You’re going to get naked again?" he asks, sneering.

Your deep, frustrated sigh is all the confirmation he needs. “So what if I am? It’s my body.”

He shrugs, eyes fixed on the road. “Sure, but haven’t you done it enough already? That’s like what… your fifth movie in a row?”

Your pencil scratches violently across the page. “Are you bored of my tits now?”

Minho stays silent, gripping the wheel tighter. Your next comment stings more than you know.

“Remember when you used to be obsessed with them? Oh, wait—when was the last time you even touched me?” You sneer, adding a little “tch” at the end of your sentence that makes his blood boil.

He once again pictures slamming on the brakes, imagining your pencil impaled your eye. But no. He breathes deeply and reminds himself that you’ll be gone soon enough.

“I need to pee,” you grumble, shifting in your seat.

“We’re almost there. Hold it,” he snaps, not caring about your discomfort.

“I'll pee in the car then,” you retort, already unbuttoning your jeans.

With an exasperated sigh, Minho jerks the car into a sudden U-turn, sending your head against the window. He pulls into a gas station, parking roughly by the entrance.

“Go ahead. Do your business.”

You storm out of the car, slamming the door behind you as you head inside. After a few minutes, Minho watches as you return from the restroom, only to stop and flirt with the cashier.

He taps the steering wheel impatiently, his eyes narrowing as he sees you and the cashier sharing a laugh. His patience runs thin, and before long, he exits the car, marching over to you.

"Let’s go," he growls, grabbing your hand.

You pull away, smirking. "Let him guess first."

"Guess what?"

The cashier laughs, clearly amused. "Trying to guess which movie I’ve seen her in," he explains.

You lean against the counter, offering the man a flirty smile. "I’ll give you a hint. It has something to do with the color blue."

Minho’s eyes darken, his anger bubbling beneath the surface, he knows exactly that you’re doing this just to annoy him.

The man’s face lights up as he gets the answer, "Blue Daisy!"

You clap softly and smile brightly, "That’s right! What did you think of my tits in that movie?"

The cashier falters, his smile faltering as he glances nervously at Minho. "Pardon?"

"Oh, come on. There's a scene where I take off my bathrobe," you tease, toying with the lighters on the counter.

"They’re... nice," the man replies and then looks away, clearly uncomfortable.

You sigh dramatically, glancing at Minho as you say, "Apparently, my husband doesn’t think so."

The cashier looks at Minho in disbelief. "You’re married?"

"Unfortunately, yes," you answer with a fake, sad smile.

Minho takes a deep breath, trying to keep his composure, he grabs you hand tighter and asks, "Are you done?"

You yank your hand away and brush past him, your shoulder grazing his as you head back to the car.

Just a few more hours, he reminds himself. Soon, it’ll all be over.

Now that you've known the who, the what and the when. The next question is where?

The cabin looms in the distance, nestled deep within the woods by the lake. As he gets out the car, Minho takes in the familiar sight—the water reflecting the afternoon sun, the towering trees surrounding the cabin, the peace and quiet. It’s secluded, far from the rest of the world.

You get out of the car and head straight for the trunk to collect your things.

"I’ll take the bags inside," Minho says, rushing over before you can lift the trunk lid, "Just grab the groceries from the backseat "

Shrugging, you open the back door and gather the bags of groceries, holding them against your chest. You don’t ask questions, not when you’ve been here so many times before. You punch in the code to retrieve the key from the safety box, opening the cabin door with ease.

Minho stands by the car for a moment, breathing in the last of the summer air before the season shifts. He pauses, scanning the quiet surroundings, appreciating how isolated it all feels.

No neighbors. No signal. Just the lake, the trees, and the silence.

It’s perfect.

Minho drags all of your things and his inside, then drops them in the living room. He’s greeted by the musty air of a cabin that hasn’t been lived in for over a month, and the dusty framed photos on top of the fireplace—his family, his parents, a childhood snapshot, and one of the two of you spending a week here for an extra honeymoon.

He remembers taking the picture with his phone, the two of you looking so happy lying in the hammock together, your heads resting against each other. Your hair was still its natural color back then, before you bleached it for the movie role.

What he doesn’t remember is how in love he was—why he decided to marry you. His eyes, once filled with affection, now only see hatred and resentment, two black orbs filled with void.

The sound of rustling plastic snaps him out of his thoughts, and his gaze shifts to your figure in the kitchen, tossing expired food into a trash bag.

Before you can notice, Minho silently takes the small duffel bag into the basement, placing it next to the cupboard where the hunting rifles are stored.

When he returns, you’re still in the kitchen, unpacking groceries. He gathers the remaining bags to take upstairs, but as his foot lands on the first step, you call for him.

“Are you going to cook dinner?” you ask, filling a pitcher with tap water.

“Yes. I’ll be back in a few minutes,” he replies without looking.

Minho drops everything in the corner of the bedroom, noticing your makeup bag already by the sink in the bathroom. He changes his clothes quickly before heading back downstairs to cook, just like he promised. He starts preparing dinner, laying out the ingredients on the counter. While seasoning the tenderloins with salt and pepper, he watches you chop vegetables at the other end.

“You have to cut them thinner,” he says.

“What difference does it make?” you mutter, ignoring him.

Minho carefully lays the tenderloins on the hot pan, the meat sizzling as it hits the metal. “Watch the meat,” he says, swapping tasks with you and taking over the vegetable chopping.

He notices you eye roll as you reluctantly take his place by the stove. After a while, you attempt to flip the steaks and he quickly stops you.

“It’s not ready yet!” he snaps.

You immediately throw your hands up in defeat while still holding the wooden spatula in one, “You know what? I’ll just wait at the table, drinking wine,” you say, this time making no effort to hide your eye roll.

Since the sun hasn’t fully set yet, you suggest dining on the back patio, where the sunset offers its best view, even though the air is getting cooler.

It’s always been like this—sitting far apart, the space between you thick with dead air. You both eat in silence, sipping your wine.

Minho remembers that tonight possibly will be your last so he decides to start a conversation.

“How’s the script going?” he asks, wiping the sauce off his plate with the last piece of meat.

“Going well,” you reply curtly, licking your lips.

Minho leans back in his chair. “Who’s that guy… the one helping with your acting?”

You pull your jacket tighter against the cool wind. “Ryan?”

“Yeah, him,” Minho says, taking a sip of his wine. “You’re not working with him for your next role?”

“He’s busy with other things,” you answer, tucking your hair behind your ear.

Minho stabs a piece of carrot with his fork. “So, you’re not the only one he’s… working with?”

You stop eating abruptly and look at him, “Pardon?”

“He’s working with other actors too, right?”

“Well, yeah, it’s his job,” you reply, more casually this time.

As the last rays of sunlight hit you, casting a golden glow like a halo, Minho feels a pang of something. Sadness, maybe. He’s certain it’ll be the last time he sees you on this light so he takes it all in.

Soon, you catch him staring. “What are you looking at?”

“You,” he simply answers with a cryptic smile.

Your eyes meet for a moment and Minho searches for something in your gaze, some lingering emotion, but the gaze doesn't last long enough for him to know for sure as you look away.

After dinner, you both sit in the living room, playing a quiet game of chess. The ticking of the old clock fills the silence as Minho watches you fall into the trap he’s set. It’s ironically fitting, like you’re handing him your life, allowing him to end it with a simple move of the black knight.

“I won,” he says, a faint smile of triumph on his lips.

You don’t respond but instead, draining your wine in one gulp. “I’m tired,” you sigh.

As Minho packs away the chess pieces, he throws a smug comment your way. “You always get tired when you lose.”

You ignore him, heading to the kitchen to leave your glass in the sink and head upstairs.

Once you're out of sight, Minho makes another trip to the basement, unlocking the cupboard with the hidden key. Inside, he finds the hunting rifle. It’s been a while, but he still remembers how to use it.

Loading two shells into the chamber, he clicks it shut and for a second, he feels tempted to fire a shot just for the thrill, but that would ruin the surprise so he tucks the rifle back into the cupboard and turns off the lights as he heads upstairs.

When he gets to the bedroom, the bed is empty. He hears the water running—you're probably halfway through your skincare routine. He changes into sleepwear and lies down, charging his phone even though the reception is useless here.

The rustling of leaves outside is the only sound he's hearing until Minho begins to drift off. Just then, he feels a kiss on his cheek.

His eyes flutter open, and he finds you leaning over him, your lips brushing against his. The kiss is long and lingering, your hand gently cradling his face.

When you pull back, you smile softly. “Goodnight, honey.”

For a moment, Minho says nothing, watching as you turn and lie down, your back to him. A strange feeling twists in his chest—a hesitation he hasn’t felt in a long time. The kiss... something about it felt different.

He shifts slightly, his brow furrowing as suspicion creeps in. Was it genuine, or was it part of your own plan? For a second, he wavers, doubt gnawing at the edges of his resolve. Could you really be so oblivious to what’s coming? Or are you hiding something, just like him? He clenches his jaw, forcing the thought away.

It’s too late for second-guessing now. Still, as he stares at your back, he can’t shake the lingering sense that maybe, just maybe, you're not as unsuspecting as you seem.

The next day, the cabin is flooded with golden rays as the sun rises high in the sky. Minho stands by the kitchen window, washing the breakfast dishes, his eyes following you as you sway gently in the hammock, engrossed in your script.

He finishes quickly and heads to the back door, pausing in the doorway as he calls your name.

You turn your head slightly. “What?”

“I’m going for a walk around the lake. You coming?” he asks, though he already knows the answer. It’s just for show, a part of the performance, to keep suspicion at bay.

“No, thank you,” you reply, turning your attention back to the script.

Perfect. It’s exactly the answer he wanted. Everything is going according to plan.

As he steps outside, Minho's eyes dart back toward the hammock, checking to see if you’re watching. From a distance, he can still see the top of your head peeking over the edge, unmoving. Satisfied, he walks toward the shed, retrieving a small bag before starting his trek around the lake.

As he jogs along the edge of the water, he scans the ground for the right kind of rock—one heavy enough for what he needs. He finds it near the water’s edge, half-covered in moss. It’s heavier than he expected, and he has to flip it over with his foot before using both hands to hoist it into the bag.

His eyes drift back to the cabin, paranoid that you might somehow be following him. But no, you’re still in the hammock, or at least it seems that way.

He drags the bag back to the shed and hides it behind a stack of old tires. Everything is in place. Just one more thing to prepare—but he realizes he forgot his car keys.

The whole morning slips by as he meticulously works on his plan and by the time he returns to the house, the hammock is empty, swaying lightly in the breeze. Your script book is left behind, pages fluttering in the wind.

Minho’s chest tightens with unease. He steps cautiously toward the front door, his senses heightened. “Honey?” he calls out, but there’s no reply.

He steps inside, the air thick with tension. “Honey?” he repeats, louder this time, his voice echoing in the silence.

In the kitchen, he spots you standing behind the island, your back to him.

“Honey?” he says again, his tone more uncertain now.

You turn slowly, and that’s when he sees it—the gleam of a knife in your hand. The blade catches the light, sending a sharp reflection into his eyes.

A jolt of panic surges through him. His plan was flawless. But somehow, he hadn’t accounted for this—the possibility that you knew. And if you knew, he was already doomed.

He swallows hard, trying to think of something to say. “What are you doing?”

Without a word, you turn back to the counter, your hands moving in a way he can’t fully see. He takes a cautious step back, bracing himself for a sudden attack.

But instead, you turn around holding a head of lettuce. “I’m making sandwiches for lunch,” you say innocently, setting the vegetable down on the chopping board with a loud thud.

Relief floods through him, and he lets out a low breath, clearing his throat to mask his moment of weakness. “Sounds good,” he comments, though his voice lacks conviction.

You calmly slice the lettuce, your knife moving with unsettling precision. “Were you looking for me?”

The question jolts him, reminding him of his real purpose. “Uh… yeah, I was looking for my car keys,” he says quickly, scrambling for an excuse. “I left my charger in the glove box.”

You glance up from the chopping board, still holding the knife in one hand. “You can use mine. It’s upstairs by the bedside table.”

There’s something in your smile—a strange, almost sinister edge that makes his skin crawl. Like you know something he doesn’t.

“No, I’ll use mine. It’s more convenient,” he says, forcing a polite smile, though inside, every instinct tells him to leave. Now.

You hold his gaze for a moment too long before turning to the fridge. “It’s on the hook next to the boat keys,” you reply, slicing open a pack of bacon with a swift flick of the knife.

“Thanks,” he mutters, backing away.

He doesn’t waste another second. Grabbing the car keys, he heads for the door, but then you call his name, stopping him in his tracks. He turns, his heart thudding in his chest. You stand in the middle of the room, a strange smile playing on your lips.

“Yeah?” he asks, his voice tight.

“Lunch will be ready soon,” you say, still smiling that unsettling smile.

Minho nods, trying to shake off the eerie feeling that lingers. He hasn’t seen you smile this much in a long time, and it’s not even noon yet. It’s unnerving, like you’re doing it to make him feel guilty. Like you’re daring him to go through with his plan.

Minho decides to proceed with caution.

The little smile you gave him earlier is enough to put him on edge, so he takes a seat on the stool, eyes fixed on you as you meticulously prepare his sandwich. You slice it in half and place it in front of him. He doesn’t hesitate to eat it, knowing that he hasn’t taken his eyes off the process. This way, he’s sure you haven’t tampered with his lunch.

"Good?" you ask, watching him closely.

He chews, waiting for any signs of something off in his body, but nothing happens.

"It’s good," he replies, nodding.

You smile, then sip your orange juice, making a little gasp of satisfaction. "Orange juice?" you offer, holding up the pitcher.

"Sure," he says.

You get a clean glass from the cabinet, which checks off another one of his worries. He saw you drink from the same juice, and the glass is fresh. No reason to suspect anything, right? Maybe you’re still unaware, and things are still going according to his plan.

"You’re not eating?" he asks, testing the waters.

You finish your glass and shake your head. "I’m still full from the smoothie I had earlier."

You walk over, placing a hand on his shoulder, then gliding it to the back of his neck, massaging gently. "I’m going to take a long bath," you say, smiling down at him.

"Okay," he mutters, looking up.

You lean down, brushing your lips against his in a brief kiss. "Enjoy your lunch."

This is the perfect opportunity.

Minho only manages to finish half of the sandwich before draining his glass of orange juice, feeling a bit parched from all the work he’s been doing since the morning. He heads down to the basement, ripping open a bag full of tools. He picks the hammer, gripping it tightly in his right hand.

As he makes his way upstairs, he marvels at how smoothly everything is going. If he manages to bash your head in the bathroom, he doesn't need to worry about the mess. The only challenge is getting your body downstairs, but that’s a problem for after.

Right now, all he has to do is get in there and deliver the fatal blow.

But as he climbs the final stairs, his vision blurs, and his limbs grow heavy. He tries to shake it off, widening his eyes and slapping his cheek to wake himself up. It must be the adrenaline, right? That’s why he feels so lightheaded.

He reaches the bathroom, hearing the water running and your soft humming. The door is left ajar, steam wafting out. Minho peeks in and sees you sitting on the edge of the tub, still in your bathrobe, one side slipping off your shoulder.

Slowly, he pushes the door open just enough to slip inside. The sink is cluttered with your things—makeup, a toothbrush, and what he assumes is some spilled powder from your makeup routine.

Confident you can’t see him through the fogged mirror, he raises the hammer above his head, ready to strike. Suddenly, his legs give out, and he stumbles backward, the hammer slipping from his grasp, then clatters to the floor.

You whip your head around, startled, and see him crumpling against the bathroom wall. Squatting down in front of him, you say softly, "Honey?"

Minho fights to open his eyes, but his body is shutting down against his will. "I’m—I…" he stammers.

You lean in, your forehead resting gently against his as you sigh. "Shh… it’s okay," you murmur, stroking his hair.

With one hand cupping his face, you look into his eyes, a sinister glint now replacing the warmth. "Just go to sleep," you say softly, your voice almost soothing.

Minho’s vision starts to fade, but he sees it in your eyes. You did this. "You—"

Before he can finish, everything goes black.

The sound of a knife scraping against the surface of a plate jolts Minho awake in the worst possible way.

Disoriented, he squints his eyes and realizes he's downstairs, seated at the dining table. You're sitting across from him, chewing on a piece of meat with a soft groan.

"I think I flipped it too early again," you mumble, dabbing your mouth with a napkin.

You look up from your food and gasp when you notice he's awake, "Honey!"

Grabbing the bottle of wine, you pour it into his glass, the intoxicating scent of it filling the room. "I'm sorry I started dinner without you."

Minho tries to move his hands but can't. He glances down to find them tied to the chair.

"Ah! Let me help you with that," you say, standing beside him as you unfold a napkin and spread it over his lap. You kiss him on the cheek, wiping away the lipstick mark with your thumb after.

"How was your nap?" You ask once you're settled back to your seat.

Minho glares, his nostrils flaring with the rage boiling inside him. He curses himself for letting his guard down, for believing things were going his way when they never did. Shaking the fog from his head, he focuses on you.

"Sleeping pills, huh?" His voice drips with disdain, realizing too late that the white powder he'd seen earlier wasn’t makeup—it was the remnants of crushed sleeping pills.

You don't answer, just sip your wine with a satisfied smile.

Minho scoffs, tossing his head back. "How clever!"

Refilling your glass, you raise an eyebrow. "What?"

"It wasn't the sandwich, not the juice..." He lets out a bitter laugh. "It was the glass."

You clink your wine glass against his with a smirk. "Almost got caught there, didn’t I?"

"So, you know," he mutters.

You set your glass down and rest your hands on the table, an innocent grin spreading across your face. "Know what?"

Minho’s dark eyes remain fixed on you, simmering with fury.

"I'll let you have your dinner later," you say, pushing his untouched plate to the side, clearing the center of the table.

You retrieve something from the chair beside you—a hammer. The same hammer he’d planned to use on you. You place it on the table between you both.

"Are you asking if I knew you were going to use this to smash my head in?"

Minho’s gaze flickers between the hammer and you.

You chuckle mockingly, hand pressed against your chest. "Thank God the pills kicked in just in time!"

Though not surprised, Minho wonders if you’ve uncovered his entire plan. As if reading his mind, you bend down and drag a duffel bag onto the table with a loud thud.

"Or are you asking if I knew about this?" you ask, emptying the contents—rope, duct tape, a blade, a wrench, a saw, and an axe—spreading them across the table like hardware on display.

Sitting back down, you examine the tools with a smile. "You’re thorough, I’ll give you that."

"You know I never do things half-heartedly," he replies, voice laced with sarcasm.

Your laughter echoes around the room. "And look what I found," you say, lifting his hunting rifle, pointing it directly at him with your finger hovers dangerously close to the trigger. "It’s loaded."

Minho’s calm exterior falters. He knows all too well that he loaded that rifle himself. How fitting it would be for him to die by his own hand.

"BANG!" You shout, trying to startle him, but he doesn't flinch.

Your laughter fades as you lower the rifle, setting it aside. You cross your arms, eyes studying him intently and he can sense the curiosity swirling in your mind.

"Go ahead," he taunts, leaning forward as much as he can. "Ask your question."

You trace the rim of your wine glass with your finger. "So, that's the plan? To kill me?"

He tilts his head, eyes burning with intensity. "Yes."

"Let's say you manage to knock me out with the hammer..." You cut a piece of meat and continue eating. "What happens next?"

Minho stays silent, watching as you play this little guessing game.

You raise a hand before he can speak. "Wait, wait, wait, let me guess."

You chew faster, sipping your wine between thoughts and begin guessing his whole plan. "You wouldn’t kill me with the hammer—too messy. Too much work. And definitely not upstairs. It would be a hassle dragging my body down."

You glance at the ropes on the table and continue, "You’d tie me up once I was unconscious. Then, once secured, you’d get to work."

Your hand hovers over the tools spread on the table. "As for the weapon of choice..." You pick up the blade, testing its sharp edge with a playful gasp. "Ouch. This would’ve made it fun for you."

Minho’s lips twitch into a small, sinister smile.

"But no," you continue, setting the blade down and then you point at the rifle. "You’d use this. Quick. Easy."

"Exactly," he admits, slightly impressed by how well you know him.

Your eyes drift toward the saw next as you continue talking. "And the saws... well, those would be for afterward. To dismember me, right? You’d chop me into little pieces and dump me in the lake."

Minho raises an eyebrow, impressed. You got most of it right. The how.

"Did I guess correctly?" you ask, tilting your head.

He nods slowly in approval. "I’d applaud, but..." he glances at his tied hands.

You clink your glass with his. "See? I’ve learned a lot in our marriage."

As you sip your wine, he asks the one question still lingering in the space between. "Aren’t you going to ask why?"

You pause mid-sip, placing your glass down before pulling a handgun from your bag.

Minho’s breath catches in his throat. You want him dead just as much as he wants you gone.

"Because we hate each other enough to kill," you say, placing the gun next to your plate. But you rummage in your bag again and pull out a letter—divorce papers. Sliding them toward him, you add, "Or, we could avoid the drama. Sign this, and I’m gone. Forever."

Without hesitation, Minho shakes his head. Strongly refuses to do it any other way.

"Why not?" you ask, brows furrowed.

"I need to kill you," he says, voice unwavering.

You burst out laughing. "You hold that many grudges, huh?"

He doesn’t answer. His silence speaks volumes.

Sighing, you try to reason again. "I’ll disappear. You won’t even know I exist."

Minho leans forward, his voice a low growl. "I have to be the one to do it."

You shiver despite yourself. His intensity is chilling, but you remind yourself that he’s tied up, unable to do anything.

"You're a doctor, Minho. You know you're supposed to save life not—"

"I have to kill you," he cuts you off, nostrils flaring, eyes burning with determination.

Realizing there's no convincing him, you slide the gun back into your bag and put it on your lap. "I don't care if you sign the papers or not."

You take your wedding ring off and put it on top of the papers, making a bold statement. You stand, walking to his chair and then leaning close to plant a soft kiss on his cheek.

"Good luck with everything," you whisper, knowing those words will provoke him further.

As you head for the door, bag slung over your shoulder, he calls after you. His voice echoing against the eerie silence.

"I’ll find you... and I’ll kill you," he screams as he fights his way out of the bind. "Do you fucking hear me?"

As you set one foot out of the door, Minho screams one last time, "IF I CAN’T HAVE YOU, NO ONE CAN!"

You break into a run toward the car and with your heart pounding, you shove the key into the ignition and twist it, the car sputtering to life. Relief floods your body for a moment as the engine hums beneath you, and you slam your foot on the gas.

The car lurches forward, gravel crunching under the tires as you speed away from the cabin. But the relief is short-lived.

After just a few yards, the engine sputters and dies. Panic grips you as the car slows to a stop, and your hands tremble as you frantically try to restart it. You twist the key over and over, forcing the ignition, but the engine won’t turn over.

“Come on… come on!” you mutter desperately, glancing into the rearview mirror, afraid that Minho somehow break away and chase after you.

You continue to restart the car engine but it still won't turn on, you slam your hands on the steering wheel out of frustration and reorganize your breath to let your brain able to work.

With your brain is well oxygenated, you start checking the car and that's when you see the gas gauge and the needle points to the E. Fuck! Minho must have drained the tank empty.

"Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!" You continuously scream in dread now but the real dread is glancing through rearview mirror and see the cabin door is open.

That’s when you see him.

Minho is storming out of the cabin, rifle in hand, his face a mask of cold determination. Your blood turns to ice. He’s coming for you, and you have no time.

"Shit!" you curse under your breath, your breath quickening. Abandoning the car, you fling the door open and bolt into the woods, legs trembling as you stumble over roots and uneven ground.

The sound of the rifle cracks through the air. You gasp, ducking as the bullet strikes a tree near you, splintering bark and sending shrapnel flying. Your heart nearly stops.

You pick up the pace, adrenaline coursing through your veins, but the forest floor is unforgiving. Your foot catches on something—a root, a rock, you don't know—and you crash to the ground with a hard thud, pain shooting through your body.

Before you can scramble back to your feet, Minho is already there. His heavy footsteps pound against the earth as he catches up, his presence looming over you. You try to crawl away, your muscles screaming, but his hands grab you from behind, yanking you around with brutal force.

“Got you,” he growls, his voice cold and menacing.

You barely have time to scream before his hands are wrapped around your neck, squeezing with a vicious intent. Your hands fly to his wrists, clawing and yanking at them, but he's too strong.

"Don’t worry, honey. I'm not going to kill you just yet."

He tightens his grip, cutting off your air supply. Panic floods your body as your vision begins to blur, your strength draining away with each passing second.

"I'm just going to stop the blood flow to the brain through constriction of the carotid arteries and..."

You kick, aimlessly hitting him, your movements growing weaker as the world around you starts to fade.

Minho’s face is the last thing you see before the darkness consumes you entirely.

A gasp escapes your lips as you regain consciousness, immediately followed by a coughing fit.

Disoriented and lightheaded, you try to sit up, only to realize your hands and feet are bound to the bed. The ropes burn against your skin as you thrash in place, but you’re held fast. Helplessly stuck, you let out a loud scream, frustration boiling over as your cries for help go unanswered.

"Is that the best you can do?"

Your head snaps to the side, eyes wide, to see Minho leering at you from across the room.

He’s rummaging through a duffel bag, calm as ever, his dark eyes glinting with malice. You try to speak, but your throat is dry, and only a rough cough escapes your lips.

Minho pulls something from his bag—a small, rectangular box. It looks like a jewelry box, but the careful way he places it beside your body tells you it contains something far from precious.

He stands at the foot of the bed, staring down at you with a mocking grin. "Comfortable?"

Your fury flares. You swallow hard, forcing your voice to work. "You should have told me you were into bondage," you sneer, eyes narrowing.

His laugh is deep, amused by your defiance. Without warning, he climbs onto the bed and sits between your open legs, his gaze locked with yours, making it impossible to escape his predatory stare. "Let’s make you even more comfortable," he says, a sinister smile creeping across his face.

With deliberate slowness, he reaches into the back pocket of his jeans and pulls out a pair of scissors. He places them on the bed next to the mysterious box, letting you get a good look, as if daring you to figure out his next move.

A slow sigh escapes his lips as his hand reaches for your face, fingers slipping into your hair. For a moment, you think he’s going to cut it, but instead, he brushes your damp hair to the side and he also wipes the sweat from your neck with the back of his hand.

"It’s hot, yeah?" he murmurs.

"Isn’t that why you married me? Because I’m hot," you bite back, glaring at him with all the hatred you can muster.

Minho laughs again, this time brushing more strands of hair away from your sweaty forehead. "A part of it, yeah," he shamelessly admits.

"What about the rest of it?" you ask, surprising yourself with your curiosity. You’ve never asked him that before; romance was never a part of your relationship.

Nothing about your marriage was romantic, not even from the start. One day, he asked you to marry him, and you said yes. No questions, no love stories. Just a quiet agreement. But over time, things soured, leading to this moment of bitter hostility.

"Do you really want to know?" Minho asks, his face hovering dangerously close to yours, his hand resting beside your head on the mattress.

"You’re going to kill me anyway, so why not?" you reply, a daring smile playing on your lips.

For a long moment, he simply stares at you, his knuckle lightly tracing the curve of your face. His eyes darken, as if he’s about to reveal something, but then he pulls away abruptly.

"You always make me forget what I’m about to do," he says, picking up the scissors again.

Your heart rate slows as he holds the scissors, doing nothing but staring at them, lost in thought. His eyes flicker to you, then to your chest, where he presses the flat edge of the scissors. You can feel the cold metal through your clothes, making the weight of the moment unbearable.

You believe his final weapon of choice is inside the box so the sight of the scissors doesn’t scare you. You suspect he’s just toying with you, testing your fear.

Suddenly, Minho drags the scissors up your chest until they reach the base of your throat. The metal’s coldness makes you instinctively gulp, your breath hitching in your throat. But you refuse to break. Your gaze meets his, unwavering, even though you know exactly what he intends to do.

Unexpectedly, Minho laughs again, pulling the scissors away from your throat. "This is why I married you," he says, placing a hand on your chest, feeling the steady beat of your heart.

"You’re so calm," he muses, dragging the scissors lower, stopping at your thigh. He slides the hem of your dress between the blades. "Way too calm."

In one swift motion, he cuts through the fabric of your dress, the blades slicing up to your chest in one clean stroke. You stop breathing for a second, the fear catching up to you, but you don’t let it show.

"And for a while, I was grateful to have you as a wife," he says coldly.

He moves the scissors to the side, cutting through the sleeves of your dress, leaving you in nothing but your damp underwear. You can’t tell if the sweat is from the stifling heat or the tension building inside you.

"But nothing good lasts, right?" he says, tossing the scissors and the torn dress to the floor.

Your heart skips a beat as his fingers ghost over your bare stomach, barely touching, but sending a shiver through your body.

"I’ll give you a chance to admit it yourself," he whispers, squeezing your hip.

You know exactly what he’s talking about, but you refuse to give in. You won’t hand him that satisfaction. "I have nothing to say to you."

Minho expected that response. He’s always loved your rebellious streak. With a shrug, he turns to the mysterious box beside you. He picks it up, opens it, and without showing you the contents, he says, "Maybe this will help carve the truth out of you."

Your heart races with anticipation, both curious and terrified. His eyes sparkle as he pulls the object from the box like a prized possession.

It’s a scalpel.

Not just any scalpel—a tool Minho is all too familiar with. He’s been using it for years in his line of work as a doctor, his hand accustomed to it, it's technically a part of his hand.

You let out a dark, low laugh, impressed by his choice of weapon. Not letting the fear take over you and give him the satisfaction.

"You think this is funny?" He asks, his voice low and dangerous, the scalpel gleaming in the dim light. His eyes narrow as he watches you closely, waiting for a reaction.

You suppress another laugh, trying to keep your voice steady despite the fear coursing through you. "I guess I always knew you'd find a way to cut me out of your life, but this is a little dramatic, don't you think?" You flash a bitter smile, masking the terror rising in your throat.

Minho’s lips curl into a slow, sinister smile. "Oh, this isn’t about cutting you out. Not yet, at least." He leans in closer, his breath hot against your skin as the scalpel hovers near your collarbone. The cold metal grazes your skin, a teasing pressure that sends a shiver down your spine.

You pull at the ropes again, frustration and helplessness bubbling to the surface. Your skin stings from the friction, but you know it’s useless. He tied the knots too well. Still, you refuse to show fear.

"You really think this will make me tell you what you want to hear?" Your voice is hoarse, but there’s defiance in your tone.

Minho chuckles darkly, sliding the scalpel down the center of your chest, just grazing your skin enough to leave a faint trail without cutting. His eyes follow the path of the blade with eerie calmness.

"You’re tougher than I expected. I like that." His gaze locks onto yours again, and there’s a chilling coldness in his eyes that makes your blood run cold. "But everyone has their breaking point."

He drags the scalpel lower, letting it dance across your stomach, teasing the edge of your hip. You can’t help the sharp intake of breath as the blade comes dangerously close to cutting through your skin. Every muscle in your body tenses, waiting for the inevitable pain.

"You’re hiding something," he says, his voice a near-whisper now, filled with a quiet intensity. "You’ve always been so calm, so composed. It made me wonder, what are you hiding beneath that exterior? What is it you think I don’t know?"

He pauses, his fingers tracing the path of the scalpel with a feather-light touch, as if he’s savoring this moment. His eyes glitter with amusement as he watches your face, waiting for the fear to slip through your mask.

"You don’t scare me," you say, though the waver in your voice betrays you.

Minho’s grin widens, and he brings the scalpel up to your throat, just pressing the flat of the blade against your skin, reminding you of how sharp it is. "Maybe not yet," he replies. "But that will change."

His hand moves slowly, deliberately, the scalpel brushing your skin as he leans closer, his breath hot against your ear. "I’m going to carve out every lie you’ve ever told me, every secret you’ve hidden."

The scalpel flicks across your skin, leaving a shallow scratch, just enough to sting. "Let’s start with why you tried to run," he says, his voice a dangerous whisper.

The blade trails down your chest again, teasing but not yet cutting deep enough to cause real pain. "You’ve been planning this, haven’t you? Just waiting for the right moment to escape."

Your mind races, trying to stay ahead of him, but his control over the situation is suffocating. "What makes you think I’ve been planning anything?" you manage to ask, though the tremble in your voice betrays the fear creeping into your chest.

Minho smirks, enjoying the game. "Because I know you," he murmurs. "I’ve watched you. You think I didn’t notice the way you’ve been distancing yourself? The way you look at me like you’re just waiting for me to make a mistake."

He presses the scalpel a little harder against your skin, and you wince. "I’m not going to let you slip away so easily," he says, his voice dripping with menace. "So why don’t you save us both some time and tell me what you’ve been hiding?"

You grit your teeth, refusing to give him the satisfaction of a confession. "I have nothing to hide from you," you say, though every instinct in your body is screaming that he’s already too close to the truth.

Minho’s expression darkens. He moves the scalpel down again, this time slicing through the thin fabric of your underwear. You flinch as the cold air hits your bare skin, but you refuse to give him the reaction he’s looking for.

"Last chance," he warns, the scalpel glinting in the dim light. "Why Ryan?"

So this is the why.

Your heart stutters, your body stiffening at the mention of the name. Of course, he knows. He’s always known. But now, it’s out in the open, and there's nowhere to hide. You swallow hard, forcing yourself to stay composed even as the truth hangs dangerously between you.

Minho shifts, bringing the scalpel up to your throat again, applying just enough pressure for you to feel it, the sharp edge threatening to break skin.

"You really thought I wouldn’t find out, didn’t you?" His tone is calm, but the anger simmering beneath the surface is palpable. "You thought you could sneak around, play your little games with him, and I’d be none the wiser."

Your throat tightens, and you struggle to breathe through the panic rising in your chest.

He presses the blade down, just enough to make your pulse quicken. "Why him?" Minho asks again, his voice quieter, almost a whisper now. "Why Ryan?"

"I—" you start, but your voice cracks, your throat dry. You don’t even know what to say, how to explain something that’s so tangled in layers of resentment, anger, and escape. Instead, you try to hold on to the composure you’ve managed to keep for this long. "It wasn’t—"

Minho cuts you off with a bitter laugh, pulling the scalpel back but keeping it poised, ready. "Don’t bother lying," he says, his eyes dark with fury. "I already know everything. I just want to hear it from you."

He sits back slightly, still straddling you, his eyes locked on yours with a kind of chilling intensity. The blade dances over your skin, teasing but not yet cutting.

"Why?" he asks again, softer this time. "What did you think Ryan could give you that I couldn’t?"

Your mind races, heart pounding. You don’t want to give him the satisfaction of your truth, but there’s no way out. His patience is wearing thin, and you can see it in the way his grip tightens on the scalpel, his jaw clenching as he waits for your answer.

"It wasn’t about him," you finally admit, your voice barely above a whisper. You don’t know if this will calm him or enrage him further, but it’s all you can offer. "It was never about him."

He tilts his head, watching you closely. "Then what was it about, huh?" His voice sharpens, cutting through the air like the blade in his hand.

You flinch at the venom in his words, but you force yourself to hold his gaze. "You don’t understand," you say quietly, tears prickling at the edges of your eyes despite your best efforts to stay strong.

Minho’s face hardens, and he slides the scalpel down your body, stopping just above your abdomen, his fingers tracing the line of your skin with a maddening slowness. "Then make me understand." His voice is dangerous, low and threatening.

His grip on your throat tightens, and the blade slides down to your chest again, this time pressing harder, enough to draw a thin line of blood. You gasp, the sting sharp and sudden.

Minho watches the blood bead up, a twisted smile playing on his lips. "I said make me understand why you betrayed me."

Before you can utter a word, the door to the cabin bursts open. Ryan stands in the doorway, his face a mix of shock and fury as he takes in the scene—the scalpel pressed dangerously close to your throat, Minho’s body straddling yours, and the faint line of blood on your chest.

“What the hell are you doing?!” Ryan’s voice echoes through the cabin, and in a blur, he charges at Minho.

Minho barely has time to react before Ryan slams into him, knocking him off of you. The scalpel clatters to the floor as Minho is thrown back, struggling to regain his balance. Ryan swings a hard punch, landing square on Minho’s jaw, sending him stumbling backward. You scramble up from the floor, gasping for air, as the two men break into a full-on fight.

Ryan manages another punch, harder this time, knocking Minho to the ground. Minho’s body slumps for a moment, and Ryan quickly grabs the scissors lying on the bed, cutting the ropes free from your hands and feet. He helps you get up and grabs your arm, pulling you toward the stairs.

“Come on,” he urges, his voice low and frantic. “We have to go—now.”

You follow him downstairs, still in shock, the adrenaline pumping through your veins as he grabs his jacket and drapes it over your shoulders.

“I came as fast as I could when I got your message,” he says, his eyes scanning your face, full of concern. “Are you okay? Did he—”

But before he can finish, there’s a sound behind you—a violent thud. You both turn just in time to see Minho launching himself at Ryan from the top of the stairs.

Minho slams into him with terrifying force, sending the two men crashing to the floor in a violent heap. They grapple, fists flying, legs kicking, as they roll across the floor, locked in a brutal fight for dominance.

Ryan struggles beneath Minho’s weight, his eyes locking on the rifle resting against the wall near the sofa. He looks at you, desperation in his gaze, and subtly gestures toward it.

"The gun," he pants between blows. "Shoot him. Now!"

Your heart pounds in your chest as you rush to grab the rifle. Your hands shake as you lift it, your finger sliding onto the trigger. The weight of the weapon feels surreal in your hands, the cold steel pressing against your skin as you aim it at Minho, who is now pinning Ryan to the ground. The two men are still wrestling, but you have a clear shot.

“Do it!” Ryan yells, gasping for breath as Minho’s hands tighten around his throat.

Tears blur your vision, your breath coming in ragged sobs as you hold the rifle steady. Minho’s eyes catch yours, wild and unrelenting, and in that split second, everything seems to freeze. Your finger starts to push down on the trigger, your mind spinning with the weight of the decision.

“Why?” you scream at Minho, your voice breaking with emotion. "Why did you ever doubt me? Why couldn’t you trust that I loved you?"

Minho’s gaze softens for a fraction of a second, his grip loosening ever so slightly on Ryan’s throat. “You call this love?” he spits back, his voice hoarse but filled with pain.

Your finger trembles, hovering on the trigger, and you’re on the verge of pulling it—when something inside you snaps. In one swift motion, you shift your aim, your heart thudding painfully in your chest.

The gun goes off.

The shot rings out, echoing through the cabin as the bullet rips through the air—and buries itself in Ryan’s skull, right between his eyes. His body goes limp instantly, his hands falling away from Minho as he collapses to the floor, lifeless.

You drop the rifle, your whole body trembling, tears streaming down your face. You can’t stop sobbing, can’t even catch your breath as you take a shaky step toward him and ask, “Is that enough to show how much I love you?”

The silence that follows is deafening.

Minho looks at you, his chest heaving, covered in Ryan’s blood, shock registering in his eyes. After a moment, he gets up from the floor, calm and composed, as if the violent act that just transpired hadn't fazed him at all. He walks over to you without a word, his footsteps barely audible in the heavy silence.

From the dining table, he picks up a napkin, its soft fabric starkly contrasting with the blood staining your trembling hands. Gently, he wipes the blood droplets away, his touch careful, almost delicate.

“I cheated on you because—” your voice breaks as the words leave your lips, trembling under the weight of your sobs. “Because I wanted to know if you still care.”

Minho doesn’t respond, but his silence speaks volumes. You watch as he moves across the room, grabbing a jacket from the coat rack. He replaces Ryan’s jacket—the one draped loosely over your shoulders—with his own. His movements are methodical, yet somehow tender, like he’s dressing you for something far more intimate than this horrific moment. You stand frozen, the tears streaming down your face, helpless in your grief and confusion.

“I thought you didn’t love me anymore,” you choke out, your voice barely above a whisper, the sobs making your chest heave.

Minho zips up the jacket, making sure it fits snugly around you, before pulling you close. For the first time in what feels like an eternity, his lips meet yours in a tender kiss, one that reminds you of the warmth you used to find in him. Even with his blood-streaked face, you can see that familiar, intense gaze—the warmth you had longed for finally returning to his eyes.

“I love you,” he murmurs, his hand cradling your face with a kind of reverence, “and if I can’t have you, no one can.”

His lips crash against yours again, this time harder, deeper, and with a hunger that ignites something dangerous inside you. His voice, dripping with possessiveness, makes your heart pound in a way that both terrifies and excites you.

“You’re mine,” he says, the words claiming you with an unyielding finality.

And it’s that very possessiveness that pulls you deeper into him. It’s why you married him in the first place—because Minho doesn’t just love; he consumes. His love is fierce, intense, teetering on the edge of madness, and you wouldn’t want it any other way. You crave it, need it, and right now, it feels like it’s the only thing grounding you in this twisted reality.

“I’m yours,” you whisper, nodding as if you’re sealing your fate with those words.

The two of you kiss again, and this time, it feels like everything is falling back into place, like the chaotic balance of your marriage has been restored. The blood, the violence, the madness—it all shifts back to where it belongs, the perfect equilibrium of your dark, twisted love.

For a moment, the chaos of what you’ve done slips away, and you both stand in eerie stillness, as if nothing happened.

However, the sight of the body lying lifeless on the floor snaps you back to reality.

Minho silently moves to pick up Ryan’s jacket, using it to cover the gaping wound on his head, though the blood has already soaked into the rug. Without a word, he starts dragging the body onto the rug, and you, numb and dazed, help him. Together, you roll the body into it, cocooning Ryan in the bloodstained fabric.

"Go get the body bag from the basement," Minho tells you, his voice cold and devoid of any emotion.

Your legs feel heavy as you make your way down to the basement, retrieving the thick, black bag. The two of you struggle to maneuver Ryan’s body into it, your hands slipping on the slick fabric as you zip it up.

The weight of what you’ve done sinks in deeper with each passing second, but you push it aside, focusing on the task at hand. Together, you drag the body outside into the dark night. The only sounds are the rhythmic scrape of the bag against the ground and the low rustle of wind in the trees.

Minho busies himself with the boat, the mechanical hum of the engine cutting through the stillness. You clamber onto the boat, watching him as he grabs the large rock he collected earlier—the weight that will ensure the body stays submerged beneath the water, lost to the lake’s depths.

Once everything is set, he starts the boat, and it moves silently over the water, cutting through the eerie calm of the night. You sit in the cold air, the distant shore shrinking as he drives far enough from land.

Finally, he stops, and you both work in grim silence to lift the heavy body bag over the edge. The splash echoes in the darkness as it hits the water, and for a brief moment, the sound lingers, unsettling and hollow.

You and Minho stay there, eyes locked on the spot where the bag submerged, waiting, watching. The bubbles rise to the surface, swirling for a few moments before fading away into the night. The water smooths out, becoming calm once more, its surface reflecting the endless stretch of the night sky above.

Nothing comes back up. Only silence, only stillness.

With the body gone, there’s no time to waste.

Minho doesn’t say a word as he moves toward Ryan’s car, his movements swift and calculated. You watch as he wipes the door handles, steering wheel, and gear shift clean of fingerprints before driving it to the edge of the river.

The car slowly inches forward, and as it begins to roll into the water, you stand at a distance, watching the lake swallow it whole, the final glint of metal disappearing beneath the surface. The water ripples for a moment before settling back into silence, leaving no trace of the vehicle behind.

You head back to the cabin to tackle your part. The living room feels eerily quiet, haunted by the chaos that took place just hours ago. You move quickly, gathering the objects that were stained with Ryan’s blood: the napkin, the rug, anything he touched.

With methodical precision, you scrub the floor clean, the sound of the rag scraping against the wood filling the room. You make sure to use bleach, wiping down every surface, making sure no bloodstains or lingering scent remains. The stinging smell of bleach replaces the coppery odor of blood, and you inhale deeply, feeling the chemical burn in your lungs.

When the room looks spotless, you gather the last of the evidence: your clothes, Minho’s bloodstained clothes, and the tools he brought. All of it goes into a large bag—anything that could tie either of you to what happened. Together, you make your way into the woods, where the night feels darker, heavier, as if nature itself is holding its breath.

Minho starts the fire, the flames flickering to life and casting a soft, orange glow over the trees. The bag is heavy as you both throw it onto the growing blaze, the crackling of burning fabric and wood filling the air. You watch as the fire consumes everything, turning it into ash and smoke. The smell of burning evidence—your clothes, Ryan’s blood, every trace of him—rises with the heat, drifting into the night sky.

Minho grabs your hand, intertwining his fingers with yours. There’s a quiet intimacy in the way you stand there, side by side, watching as the fire devours the last remnants of the crime. The warmth of his hand grounds you as the flames burn higher, until all that’s left are glowing embers and ash, scattering into the wind.

There’s nothing left now. No evidence. No trace. Just the two of you and the darkened woods.

The sun is slowly rising on the horizon when you walk back to the cabin

The final task is washing away the evidence from your bodies. You and Minho share the shower, alternating turns under the warm water as it washes off the blood and dirt clinging to your skin. At times, you help each other scrub, his hands trailing over the places where bruises and cuts mar your flesh.

There’s a quiet intimacy in the way you tend to each other, rinsing away the aftermath of the night before.

Once you're out of the shower and standing in front of the mirror, you notice the injuries. There’s a bruise blooming around your neck from where Minho had choked you, a thin cut across your chest from his scalpel, rope bruns on both wrists and ankles, and scrapes on your knees from tripping in the woods. The marks are raw, reminders of the violence that had passed between you.

“Come, sit.” Minho’s voice cuts through your thoughts. You turn to see him sitting on the bed, first aid kit in hand, his eyes already fixed on your wounds.

You obey, sitting beside him as he opens the kit. His fingers graze your skin as he pulls the robe open, exposing the cut on your chest. The light touch sends a shiver down your spine.

Minho leans in, studying the wound with careful attention before smoothing ointment onto it. You wince as it stings, and he immediately blows cool air on it to soothe the burn.

He moves to your knees next, his hands gentle as he applies more ointment and covers the scrapes with band-aids. His gaze lingers longer on the bruise around your neck, his fingers softly pressing against the swollen skin.

“Does it hurt?” His voice is softer now, a hint of worry in his tone.

“Not really,” you lie, and then it's your turn to ask about the bruise blooming on his jaw from Ryan’s punch, "How about it?"

He catches your hand and kisses it. "I'm okay."

Satisfied with your answer, he puts the first aid kit aside. His hair is damp, tousled as he pushes it back, and when his eyes meet yours again, there’s something dangerous and tender in his gaze.

“Aren’t you going to kiss it better?” you ask with a sly smile, teasing him.

His lips curl into a smile, and before you know it, his hands are on your waist, pulling you onto his lap. You straddle him, feeling the warmth of his body through the thin fabric of your robe.

“Want me to kiss it better?” he murmurs, his voice low, his brown eyes fiery as they lock on yours.

“Yes,” you whisper, your hands resting on his shoulders, needing his touch.

Minho leans in, placing a slow, deliberate kiss on the bandaged cut on your chest. His lips linger, and you feel the heat of the kiss searing into your skin. He doesn’t stop there, parting the robe further to press fluttering kisses along your collarbone, down to your breasts.

His hands tighten around your waist, pulling you closer as he buries his face between your breasts. He’s kissing, licking, and sucking your skin, his tongue leaving a wet trail in its wake. He takes his time with you, his fingers joining in, rolling and rubbing your nipples between them until they harden under his touch.

You tug at his hair, watching him, entranced by the way his mouth worships your flesh. His lips part with a soft pop as he releases your nipple, leaving it wet with his saliva.

“I’m obsessed,” he mutters, his lips brushing against your sternum. “I’ll always be obsessed with your body.”

He doesn’t need to say it—you can feel it in every touch, every kiss. His admiration for your body is palpable, his gaze lingering on your skin as though he can’t get enough. Your heart races, your desire growing hotter with each second that passes.

“Want you, Minho,” you moan breathlessly, your hands tightening on his shoulders. “I want you so much.”

Minho needs no further encouragement. He lays you back on the same bed where he tortured you earlier, his body moving over yours with a desperate hunger.

When he enters you, the intensity of his thrusts takes your breath away. His eyes flicker between watching his cock slide in and out of you and studying your face, seeking your reactions with every movement.

He slows down suddenly, leaning down to kiss you deeply, pulling away only when you’re gasping for air. He presses his forehead against yours, the heat of his breath mingling with yours.

“Are you mine?” His voice is rough, commanding.

You nod quickly, barely able to speak.

His fingers graze your lips. “Words.”

“I am yours,” you say, your voice trembling with need.

A dark grin spreads across his face, and he kisses you again, more urgently this time. “That’s right. You’re mine.”

Minho resumes his thrusts, picking up the pace. One hand moves to wrap around your neck, squeezing slowly, cutting off just enough air to blur the line between pleasure and pain. His thrusts don’t falter as his grip tightens, his voice a dark whisper in your ear.

“You’re mine. All mine. Only mine.”

Your vision swims, the pressure on your windpipe mixing with the waves of pleasure crashing through your body. You look into his eyes, and what you see there—lust, love, madness—sends you over the edge.

Both of you reach your peak together, bodies trembling as the release washes over you in shuddering waves.

When it’s over, Minho collapses beside you, pulling you into his arms. He places a soft, lingering kiss on your lips that makes your heart stutter.

“I love you,” he murmurs against your skin. His hand rests over your chest, right where your heart beats wildly.

Then, his voice drops, a dark promise in his words. “I want to cut you open and climb inside, so we can become one—forever.”

Anyone else would think it was madness, but to you, it’s just Minho. It’s the way he loves you—raw, obsessive, and unrelenting. And you love him for it, for every twisted piece of him that’s unlike any man you’ve ever known.

“And I would die for you,” you whisper back, your heart swelling with the weight of it. “Kill for you. I love you.”

It has always been your wish to be loved to the point of madness and Minho made that come true for you.

You wake to sunlight spilling through the cracks in the curtains, the warmth coaxing you from the comfort of sleep. The bed feels impossibly soft, but the familiar ache in your muscles reminds you of everything that happened the night before. Slowly, you stretch, your body protesting as you roll onto your side, blinking into the brightness.

The cabin is silent, save for the soft rustling of leaves outside and the occasional chirp of birds. You glance at the clock on the bedside table—it’s already late morning. You sit up, pulling the robe tightly around your body as you swing your legs over the side of the bed.

Your eyes fall on the small bandages Minho placed on your wounds last night. They’re a stark contrast to the serene morning around you, a reminder of the intensity that’s always lurking beneath the surface. But that’s how it is with Minho—love and danger, pleasure and pain, always intertwined.

The smell of food drifts up from downstairs, making your stomach growl. Minho must be downstairs.

You pad softly down the stairs, your bare feet making no sound on the wooden floor. As you step into the kitchen, you find Minho at the stove, the light from the window framing him in a soft glow. He’s already dressed in a white shirt that accentuate his broad shoulders and there’s a calmness in the way he moves as he plates food.

He turns, a warm smile spreading across his face when he sees you.

“Morning, sleepyhead,” he says, his voice smooth and gentle, as if the events of last night were a distant memory.

“Morning,” you reply, still groggy as you walk toward him.

You wrap your arms around his waist, leaning your head against his chest, breathing him in. His arms immediately encircle you, pulling you close as his lips press a soft kiss to the top of your head.

“You slept in,” he teases, one hand coming up to brush your hair away from your face.

“I needed it,” you murmur, tilting your head up to look at him.

His gaze is tender, and there’s something disarming about the way he looks at you like you’re the only thing that matters in the world. He leans down, his lips brushing against yours in a soft kiss, slow and sweet.

The world outside feels far away, and for a moment, it’s just the two of you—wrapped in each other, the chaos of your love quiet for once.

Minho pulls back, his thumb lightly tracing your lower lip. “I made lunch. Thought you’d be hungry.”

You smile, your heart swelling with affection. “I'm famished.”

He cups your face, kissing you again, this time deeper, more lingering. You melt into him, your hands finding their way into his hair, tugging gently as his lips claim yours. It’s moments like this that make you feel utterly consumed by him.

When you finally break apart, both of you slightly breathless, Minho rests his forehead against yours. His hands slide down to your waist, holding you close.

“How about we go for a ride on the boat today?” he suggests, his voice low. “It’s a beautiful day.”

You look up at him, your mind still foggy from the kiss. “A boat ride?”

He nods, his lips brushing against the corner of your mouth. “Yeah. The lake’s calm, the sun’s out. We could use some fresh air.”

The thought of spending the day out on the water with Minho, with nothing but the peacefulness of the lake around you, sounds perfect. You can already imagine the cool breeze against your skin, the way the sunlight will dance across the surface of the water.

“I’d love that,” you say softly, leaning into his touch.

Minho’s eyes glint with satisfaction, and he presses one last kiss to your lips before stepping back to finish preparing lunch. “But first, finish your food.”

As you sit down to the table, Minho places a plate in front of you, the meal simple but delicious. You eat in comfortable silence, occasionally exchanging soft smiles and touches, your hands brushing across the table as if neither of you can stand to be apart for long.

For the first time, the two of you are connected in a whole new level that it feels like nothing can tear you and Minho apart anymore.

The boat glides across the tranquil waters, the rhythmic sound of the oars slicing through the lake the only disturbance in the otherwise still air. The sun hangs high above, casting a shimmering path of light across the surface, making it look like a trail of gold leading them deeper into the heart of the lake.

You sit facing Minho, watching the muscles in his arms flex and contract as he rows, his gaze fixed on the water, intense and focused. There’s something serene about this moment, a rare softness between the two of you. It feels almost surreal, considering what happened just last night.

Last night, when this very lake was a silent witness to the horror you both created. Now, it feels like a different place—calm, almost idyllic. But the memory is still there, just beneath the surface, lingering like a dark shadow that no amount of sunlight can chase away.

Minho slows the boat as you reach the middle of the lake, his eyes shifting to meet yours. There’s a glint of something unreadable in them, a darkness that always simmers just beneath his surface. It’s the very same darkness that pulled you in, binding you to him in ways that go beyond love. It’s obsession, need, and something far more dangerous.

He lets go of the oars and shifts closer, his knees brushing against yours as he reaches out, his hand sliding into his pocket. You tilt your head, watching curiously as he pulls out something small and shiny.

Your breath catches when you realize what it is. Your wedding ring.

Minho holds it up between his fingers, the gold band catching the sunlight. You stare at it, your heart pounding as memories of your vows come flooding back. The promises you made to each other, promises that were shattered and reforged into something far more twisted and unbreakable.

“I believe this belongs to you,” Minho murmurs, his voice low and soft.

There’s a tenderness in his gaze that disarms you, makes you feel as if he’s peeling back every layer of yourself and looking straight into your soul.

He takes your left hand, his touch featherlight as he slides the ring back onto your finger. You shiver at the sensation, your eyes locked onto his as he recites the very vow you spoke on your wedding day.

“In sickness and in health…” he begins, his voice barely a whisper but strong, his gaze unwavering. “For better, for worse. For richer, for poorer…”

You swallow hard, your heart hammering against your ribcage. There’s an odd sense of finality in his tone, as if he’s sealing not just a promise but something darker—a pact, a blood oath that binds you together not just in love, but in sin.

“...Till death do us part,” he finishes, his thumb brushing over your knuckles, where the ring now rests again, a symbol of everything you are to each other.

You draw in a shaky breath, the words catching in your throat. “Till death do us part,” you repeat, your voice just as soft, but the weight of the vow feels heavier now, burdened by all the blood and secrets you share.

Minho’s eyes light up at your response, a smile tugging at the corner of his lips. He leans forward, pressing his forehead against yours, his breath mingling with yours in the still air.

“We’re bound again,” he murmurs, his lips brushing against yours as he speaks. “In life, in death, in everything. You’re mine.”

“And you’re mine,” you whisper back, your fingers curling around the front of his shirt, pulling him closer. There’s a fierceness in your words, a possessiveness that matches his own. Because you are each other’s, wholly and completely, in ways that no one else could ever understand.

Minho cups your face, his thumb stroking your cheek as he kisses you—soft at first, almost reverent. But then it deepens, turning into something desperate and consuming. You can feel the intensity in every press of his lips, every brush of his tongue against yours.

It’s not just love; it’s hunger, an insatiable need to claim and be claimed.

When he finally pulls back, both of you are breathless. Minho rests his forehead against yours again, his fingers threading through your hair.

“With you, I’m never alone,” he whispers, his voice raw and honest in a way that sends shivers down your spine. “You’re the only one who understands me, the only one who’ll stay.”

“And I will,” you reply, your fingers tightening around his, “Always.”

Minho’s smile is small but genuine, and for a moment, he looks almost boyish, the hard edges of his face softened by the sunlight filtering through the trees around the lake. He brushes a stray strand of hair behind your ear, his eyes dark and intense as they lock onto yours.

“We’re more than just lovers now,” he murmurs, his voice low.

Your gaze shifts to the water surrounding the boat, to the spot where Ryan’s body lies hidden beneath the surface. A chill runs down your spine, but it’s not fear—it’s the thrill of what you’ve become together. Bound by love, by blood, by the darkness that twists through both of your souls.

You softly nod in agreement as you turn back to him and with that, the two of you are bound once more—not just by the ring now resting on your finger, but by the weight of the secret that lies at the bottom of the lake. It’s your bond, your burden, and in a twisted way, it’s also your triumph.

Because what you have with Minho isn’t normal, and it isn’t sane. It’s dark and consuming and entirely your own. It’s a love that defies all reason, a connection that can’t be broken, no matter how much blood is spilled.

After all, when love is not madness it is not love.

Support my works by kindly reblog, comment or consider tipping me on my ko-fi!

@svintsandghosts @abiaswreck @ppiri-bahng @drhsthl @idkluvutellme @biribarabiribbaem @skz-streamer @biancaness @hanjisunginc @elizalabs3 @laylasbunbunny @kpopformylife @caitlyn98s @hann1bee @mamieishere @is2cb97 @marvelous-llama @bluenights1899 @sherryblossom @toplinehyunjin @hanjisbeloved @sunnyseungup @skz4lifer @stellasays45 @severeanxietyissues @avyskai @imseungminsgf @silentreadersthings @army-stay-noel @rylea08 @simeonswhore @jebetwo @yubinism @devilsmatches @septicrebel @rairacha @ven-fic-recs @hyunjiinnnn @lostgirlinthewoodss @schniti-is-in-the-house @jisunglyricist @minh0scat @simplymoo

#stray kids smut #skz smut #lee know smut #lee know x reader #skz x reader #stray kids scenarios #skz scenarios #stray kids imagines #skz imagines #skz fics #skz fanfics #kpop smut #kpop fics #kpop fanfics #seospicy smut

543 notes · View notes

darknight3904 · 3 months ago

Text

𝘗𝘳𝘰𝘮𝘪𝘴𝘦

𝘓𝘰𝘨𝘢𝘯 𝘏𝘰𝘸𝘭𝘦𝘵𝘵 𝘹 𝘍𝘦𝘮!𝘙𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘦𝘳

𝘚𝘶𝘮𝘮𝘢𝘳𝘺: 𝘞𝘩𝘪𝘭𝘦 𝘷𝘪𝘴𝘪𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘔𝘶𝘯𝘴𝘰𝘯'𝘴 𝘧𝘢𝘳𝘮, 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘨𝘳𝘰𝘸 𝘤𝘭𝘰𝘴𝘦𝘳 𝘵𝘰 𝘓𝘰𝘨𝘢𝘯 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘤𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘭𝘺 𝘥𝘦𝘧𝘪𝘯𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘳𝘦𝘭𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯𝘴𝘩𝘪𝘱 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘩𝘪𝘮.

𝘛𝘢𝘬𝘦𝘴 𝘱𝘭𝘢𝘤𝘦 𝘥𝘶𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘓𝘰𝘨𝘢𝘯 (2017). 𝘙𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘦𝘳 𝘩𝘢𝘴 𝘣𝘭𝘰𝘰𝘥 𝘮𝘢𝘯𝘪𝘱𝘶𝘭𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯 𝘱𝘰𝘸𝘦𝘳𝘴 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘢𝘨𝘦𝘴 𝘴𝘭𝘰𝘸𝘭𝘺. 𝘐𝘧 𝘺𝘰𝘶'𝘷𝘦 𝘴𝘦𝘦𝘯 𝘛𝘩𝘦 𝘉𝘰𝘺𝘴 𝘰𝘳 𝘎𝘦𝘯 𝘝, 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘬 𝘝𝘪𝘤𝘵𝘰𝘳𝘪𝘢 𝘕𝘦𝘶𝘮𝘢𝘯 𝘰𝘳 𝘔𝘢𝘳𝘪𝘦.

𝘞𝘢𝘳𝘯𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘴: 𝘝𝘪𝘰𝘭𝘦𝘯𝘤𝘦 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘭𝘢𝘯𝘨𝘶𝘢𝘨𝘦 𝘪𝘯 𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘦 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘮𝘰𝘷𝘪𝘦. 𝘌𝘹𝘱𝘭𝘪𝘤𝘪𝘵 𝘚𝘮𝘶𝘵 18+

𝘐 𝘸𝘳𝘰𝘵𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘦𝘳 𝘵𝘰 𝘣𝘦 𝘮𝘪𝘥/ 𝘶𝘱𝘱𝘦𝘳 30𝘴 𝘪𝘯 𝘢𝘱𝘱𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘢𝘯𝘤𝘦, 𝘣𝘶𝘵 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘤𝘢𝘯 𝘪𝘮𝘢𝘨𝘪𝘯𝘦 𝘩𝘰𝘸𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳 𝘺𝘰𝘶'𝘥 𝘭𝘪𝘬𝘦 𝘴𝘪𝘯𝘤𝘦 𝘱𝘢𝘳𝘵 𝘰𝘧 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘮𝘶𝘵𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯 𝘪𝘴 𝘴𝘭𝘰𝘸 𝘢𝘨𝘪𝘯𝘨.

𝘞𝘰𝘳𝘥 𝘊𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘵: 6.6𝘬

𝘗𝘳𝘦𝘷𝘪𝘰𝘶𝘴 𝘗𝘢𝘳𝘵 / 𝘚𝘦𝘳𝘪𝘦𝘴 𝘔𝘢𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘭𝘪𝘴𝘵 / 𝘔𝘺 𝘔𝘢𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘭𝘪𝘴𝘵

The Munson's farm was a welcome sight after nearly two days on the road. Despite your protests, Logan insisted he would drive the past 40-something hours. The shitty car Logan had bought couldn't reach above 60 miles an hour and then getting stuck in bumper-to-bumper traffic had caused Logan's mood to worsen.

"We're only staying for supper." Logan declared when he pulled the keys from the ignition.

You glanced into the backseat at your companions, who looked even more tired than you were. Your gaze fell onto Charles who gave you a sly wink in return. If he could still use his powers you were sure he'd be in your head saying that Logan was full of shit.

You grumbled in frustration when the potato in your hands slipped and bounced to the floor. You had killed two men a few days ago, and now you were struggling with a potato the size of your fist.

"It's alright, I can do it. I'm sure you're tired." The woman, Kathyrn, said.

"No, let me help. You're giving us a free meal, the least I can do is help cook it." You smile, scooping the fallen vegetable off the tiled floor.

You'd never admit it to her but your lack of potato peeling skill is due to the pain in your hands. The swollen veins and unhealed cut from earlier are driving you up the wall as you peel and slice away. You can tell Kathyrn wants to ask you about them but is keeping it in.

"It's a skin condition." You lie, "It's not contagious though, don't worry you're safe."

She gives you a kind smile, "Oh, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to stare."

"I get it a lot, don't worry about it." You reply

She nods and then moves on to preparing ingredients for what looks like a pie.

"Your home is beautiful." You compliment, unsure what to say. It's been so long since you got to talk to another woman. You don't count the old lady who works at the motel with you, all she talks about is her bunions. Laura doesn't really count either, all you've heard was screams when she sliced those men up days ago. That and her growls when the convenience store's horse ride stopped working. Logan had saved the horse from an early death by gifting a quarter to the little girl, buying her another ride.

"Thank you." Kathryn says, "She's old but we love her."

"It's better than where we live." You say, thinking of the ugly smelting plant you were glad to finally be free of.

Kathryn eventually shoos you away from the potatoes and teaches you how to roll the pie crust out so it doesn't stick to the cutting board, and then she lets you taste the sweetest blueberry you've ever had.

Charles calls your name from his spot on the couch, pointing out Logan who was descending the stairs.

"Oh, Logan." You smile, "Did you trim your beard?"

"No."

He's lying. What an idiot.

Will had insisted Logan take a shower, Logan had resisted but the friendly farmer eventually wore him down, telling Logan he smelled was enough to get him into the bathroom.

"You look nice." Kathryn compliments

Logan gives her a small nod before crossing the room to you.

"What're you cooking?" He asks, leaning against the counter next to you.

His question goes in one ear and out the other. You're focused on the flannel and jeans he must've borrowed. They're a bit too small but you thank the gods above that Will Munson is smaller than Logan because the fabric is certainly hugging him in all the right places. You swore his jeans would split if he even tried to bend down in them. Thank god Charles had convinced Logan to stay. This was officially a glorious day in history. In fact, you're sure if they actually ripped you'd be sent right to heaven.

"She is working on a blueberry pie, my mother's recipe," Kathryn answers for you.

"Don't fuck it up." Logan teases, reaching out to gently tap your hip

His tone makes you bristle and has you breaking out of your trance and kicking at his shin. He lets out a hum of discontent but ignores whatever pain you might've caused him.

"Watch your mouth." You scold him, looking over at Laura, and particularly, Nate sitting on the floor, playing a game of checkers.

Logan scoffs at your command before stealing a blueberry from the bowl and popping it in his mouth.

"There won't be any pie if you eat all the ingredients." You groan, snatching the bowl away.

"Just give me one more," Logan asks reaching for the bowl that you keep from his reach, "I'm a growing boy."

"Go take a nap." You swat at his hand, and he hisses in pain when your hand hits his, "You're not growing, you're like a thousand years old."

"M' not tired." Logan lies, reaching again.

"You're full of shit." You reply

Kathryn lets out a warm laugh, "You two are cute. Bickering like high school sweethearts."

You feel your face warm and Logan shakes his head beside you, clearly flustered as well.

"They basically are." Charles says suddenly, "They used to be students at my school."

"Who had a school?" Will returns from his nightly rounds with his animals.

"My uh Dad was just telling your wife about his school for...special needs kids," Logan says

"They were both his students," Kathryn says

You can tell she likes the picture Charles has painted. Young love blossoming and lasting a lifetime, it was like something out of a movie.

"Logan never paid attention to me while we were there." You smile, "Too hung up a girl named Jean."

Logan glances over at you unsure of what to say or do.

"It's alright though, I've got him now." You assure, hoping you haven't overstepped by mentioning Jean.

Dinner and pie eaten, you find yourself fixing blankets on a small pullout bed the Munsons offered you and Logan. You were glad Logan had relented and agreed to stay. One night wasn't going to kill anyone.

"It's nice here." You say into the darkness, thinking of how wonderful this day had turned out.

"Yeah, it's fine," Logan grumbles, slinging an arm around your waist to pull you closer to him

"This is what life looks like, Logan." You say, hiding your face in his neck

"We'll have a life once we drop Laura in North Dakota." He says

"We really have to take her there?" You ask despite her foul attitude, the little girl was growing on you. If you closed your eyes tight enough you could even see yourself raising her with Logan by your side of course.

"She's not a stay cat. Besides, if we keep her they won't stop coming after us." Logan reasons honestly

"She's your daughter, Logan." You mumble into his skin sadly

"Never asked for a kid." He answered, his gruff voice normally calms you but tonight it upsets you.

"I know, but-"

"No buts. Go to bed." He says

"Gotta go pee." You lie, not wanting to be near him just this second. Didn't he feel anything for Laura?

Logan lets out an angry sound but lets you go, saying something about coming back quickly.

You tiptoe upstairs to the bathroom, trying not to make the steps creak too much. The bathroom door opens and you run right into Kathryn.

"I am so sorry." You say quickly

"It was my fault." She says, "I shouldn't swing the door open so quickly."

You look at her and her face is green with some clay mask that she applied.

"Nice mask."

You mean it as a joke, just a friendly jest since she reminds you of an alien right now.

"Would you like some? It's an overnight mask, it keeps the skin soft."

You back peddle, insisting she doesn't need to do that.

"Oh please, I've only been blessed with a son, as much as I love him it'd be nice to have a girl around here every once in a while."

Before you know it, you're sitting on the closed toilet seat while she paints your face with the cucumber scented stuff.

"Oh, I should've asked if this was going to hurt your skin." Kathryn suddenly pauses.

"My skin?" You ask

She glances down at your arms.

"Oh, right. It's fine. My uh skin will be fine." You affirm

"Does your daughter like doing girlie things with you? I try to take Nate shopping and all he does is whine." Kathryn says, "Always asking me when we can go home or buy some overpriced pretzels."

You're not sure if Laura would like "girlie" things. You suppose the closest you'd gotten to it with her was at the casino and then in the hotel when you detangled her hair. Not that it matters since you'd be dropping her in North Dakota and then running off to buy a stupid boat.

"Honestly, sometimes I can't tell what she's thinking. She's...not my kid." You say, according to Logan, she's not anyone's, "She let me brush her hair the other night though."

"Oh, I'm sorry. I just presumed since you and Logan seemed so close." Kathryn says, "It's nice she lets you do things like that for her."

"Logan and I aren't even married." You say, glancing down at your left hand.

It didn't matter, marriage. So many things were more important right now. You did wonder though, would he ever ask? Sure, the two of you had just finally...well you didn't even know what you were to him. A girlfriend? Partner? Lover?"

"Men, they're always wasting time aren't they?" Kathryn sighs

"Tell me about it." You respond, thinking of the past year you spent pining over Logan. Did he feel the same way the whole time? Why did he bother waiting so long?

"You're done." She declares, "Tomorrow morning you can wash it off and your skin will be softer than ever."

You glance in the mirror at your now-covered face. Honestly, you look ridiculous.

"Thank you." You sheepishly say

"No problem." Kathryn smiles

You bid Kathryn goodnight and then float back down the steps to a now-sleeping Logan. As soon as you slip under the covers, he shifts, moving to rest his head on your chest.

"Long bathroom break." He points out

"I fell in." You joke

Logan lets out a short laugh, arms squeezing your sides.

"Goodnight, sweetheart."

"Goodnight, Logan."

You wake up the next morning to Logan's booming voice scaring you.

"What. The fuck."

You look over at him, his eyes are wide and he looks utterly confused.

"What is your problem?" You groan, wanting to go back to bed

"What happened to your face?" Logan asks

"You shouldn't say that to a woman, Logan." You say, "It's a face mask relax."

"You're blue." Logan points out, distaste evident in his voice.

"Good." You grumble, where was his energy coming from? "And actually I'm green. It's cucumber scented."

"You know that alien emoji you sent me a few days ago? That's what you look like right now."

"You're an asshole."

You drag yourself upstairs, this time to go to the bathroom for real, and to wash your face off. Upon your return, you see the asshole er you mean, Logan, has propped himself up on the pillows and has his glasses on, paging through files Laura had in her bag.

"Much better." He says looking at you over the edge of his glasses

"Glad my face appeases you." You roll your eyes, trying to pretend he doesn't look otherworldly with those glasses.

"You don't need that shit. Pretty just the way you are." He says, motioning for you to join him in bed again.

You crawl over to him, resting your back against his chest. Your eyes scan the papers he holds, looking at all the nameless children Transigen has made.

"What're you looking for?" You ask

"Just, reading, bub. Wanna know more about this Transigen shit."

You nod and reach out to trace the scars that litter his left hand. Basking in the silence you let yourself relax on the soft sofa bed with Logan behind you.

"What are we, Logan?" You ask suddenly overcome with the need to know.

"What?" He asks, dropping the file that was opened to Laura's page onto his lap.

"What am I to you? I want to know what you're thinking. Is this some short-lived fling because I don't want to end up crying my eyes out over you if you were never taking it serious to begin with." You asset, sitting up and facing him

Logan sighs, taking in your determined face. He reaches out and takes your hand in his, tracing the ugly veins that mar your skin.

"You used to scare me you know." He says, pulling the glasses off his face.

"What?"

"Your feelings I mean. Back when we first got settled in Mexico and you were cooking and doing shit for me. It scared me, your feelings, my own for you. The idea of committing, it used to scare me."

"So we're some, what? Some casual thing?" You ask as a pit of despair opens in your stomach.

"What? No. Would you let me finish?" Logan asks

"Sorry."

He nods and starts again, his voice full of hesitance.

"But now I...shit I'm not good at this."

"Keep going."

You squeeze his hand in reassurance, hoping he opens his mouth again. It takes a moment but his deep voice fills your ears again.

"I want this, " He motions between the two of you, "You and me. For however long we have left in these shit bodies, I want it."

He pauses for a second scarred hands taking yours. "If you want to label it, we can. Lovers, partners, boyfriend, girlfriend. I don't care. I just..."

Logan meets your eyes and you let out a small laugh full of joy,

"I want you to be mine."

You smile and gently push the files off his lap, replacing them with yourself. Looping your arms around him so they rest on his shoulders, your hands run up the back of his head and thread through his hair. A gentle, chaste kiss is pressed to his lips. The scruff of his beard tickles as you pull away.

"I'm all yours."

"Good." He laughs, leaning in to let his nose brush yours, your eyes flutter shut as you take him all in.

Logan flips you onto your back and you let out a gasp that is entirely too loud considering the early hour. Logan presses another kiss to your lips and then to your forehead.

"Wanna show you how much you mean to me." He rasps, as he begins to pepper gentle kisses down your neck.

His hips grind into yours and you let out a quiet whimper when his fingers slip below the band of your pants.

"No panties?" Logan whispers, his voice teasing.

"It's more comfortable like this." You pout truthfully

"Easier access too."

Your face heats up in embarrassment but you don't have much time to feel ashamed as his thumb begins to circle your clit while his others push into you. Your eyes scrunch shut as your hips begin to arch up off the pull-out bed.

You let out a small gasp when he pulled his fingers out to spit down on them, easing the slight burn that had been there before. You can tell his ego is soaring with each groan and whimper that leaves your lips.

His spare hand comes up and tugs at the bottom of your shirt. You indulge him and pull it off, grinning when he lets out a deep groan. Your eyes shut again when his head dips down to gently suck at one of your breasts, tongue working wonders on the sensitive flesh.

"Open your eyes," Logan commands suddenly.

You let your eyes flutter open to meet his intense gaze.

"So pretty." He whispers, pressing his forehead to yours.

It's all so intimate as you whimper his name when your climax begins to build. your hand flies down to where his is, gripping his wrist like you want him to stop.

Logan lets out a low chuckle when you cum. He claims your lips with his own, swallowing the loud moan that threatens to wake the whole house.

"Can I suck you off?" You breathily ask when he finally lets you go

Logan looks over at you, obviously not expecting that to come out of your mouth.

"You don't have to." He says, his eyes falling to your lips.

He was definitely imagining them on his cock. What a pervert your man was.

"C'mon, I've never gone down on anyone before. Let me try with you." You smile

Logan's head snaps back up, "You mean to tell me you've been alive how long and you've never gone down on a guy...or girl?"

You shake your head and he pauses, letting his eyes rake over your still-clothed body.

"How's that even possible?"

"Dunno." You shrug and drop to your knees in front of him.

Your hands come up to his pants and gently tug, silently asking for permission. He shakes his head but lifts his hips up anyway.

Your hips wiggle in excitement when he pulls them down, letting the fabric pool at his ankles. His cock springs up and you marvel at it. It's the first time you're seeing it for real. Unless of course, you count that time you accidently walked in on him masturbating a few months ago. He couldn't look you in the eye for a week after that incident.

"Remember that time I walked in on you?" You breathily ask

Logan's face turns red at the memory. You can tell he doesn't want to be reminded.

"You shouldn't have seen that." He says, his voice full of guilt.

You grin, "I just wish you would've asked me to join you."

And then you're licking your lips and gently kissing the tip of him. You gently let your fingertips brush up him before opening your mouth and spitting.

"Keep going." He orders, his voice is desperate.

You do so happily letting your mouth open up and take him in. Gently sucking at first but slowly becoming a bit rougher as he lets out quiet noises.

"Fuck." Logan gasps from above, "You sure you haven't done this before?"

Your hands stroke what doesn't fit in your mouth and the salty taste of precum is staining your tongue. The slight ache of your jaw is becoming annoying but you ignore it, looking up at Logan whose eyes are shut tight.

"Ah, fuck me," Logan declares as a warm spurt of cum hits the back of your throat. His head lolls back and you groan and try to swallow it all down as he fills your mouth, whimpering when it begins to spill out of your lips.

Logan gently pulls his hips away from your mouth and pulls you up towards him. He looks up at you as he sits on the bed while you stand, placing your hands on his shoulders. His hand comes up to wipe at the cum that's escaped your lips.

"That wasn't your first time doing that." He rasps, his voice heavy with euphoria.

You give him a sly smile, "No, it wasn't."

The sound of creaking steps has the two of you jumping back under the covers. You haven't seen Logan move this fast in ages as he yanks the covers up so you're covered. You feel a laugh bubble up in your chest as he scrambles to tuck himself back into his pants, clearly not interested in traumatizing whoever is walking downstairs.

"Morning, Howletts." Will greets, walking into his kitchen.

"Morn-"

Logan's voice is a bit higher than normal and he coughs a bit.

"Morning."

Guilt wells up in your chest. You and Logan had just defiled this man's poor pull-out sofa bed. It doesn't help that Logan's big hand is resting on your hip, drawing teasing little circles on your skin.

"Good morning." Kathryn greets the two of you as she descends the steps

Luckily she too, goes off to the kitchen, asking her husband about coffee. You're about to demand Logan pass you your shirt which lays forgotten on the floor when much to your horror, Laura walks down the steps.

Your prayers are denied when instead of entering the kitchen, she walks towards you and Logan, sitting on the recliner opposite of you.

Logan looks over at you, unsure of his next move. The obvious one is that he should get up and attend to Charles who is surely awake now but you don't want him just leaving you half-naked. A small groan escapes your lips and you look at Laura who is already staring, probably trying to work out why the covers are up to your chin.

"Laura, can you um, grab that shirt at your feet?"

She glances down before passing it to you. Logan lets out an amused chuckle before gently lifting the blankets to hide you behind them while you redress.

"Keep laughing and I'll cut your dick off." You threaten, pulling the shirt down your body.

"You like it too much to do that."

You send a rough punch into a muscled arm and he drops the blanket.

"Hey, don't hit me." He says, a frown on his pretty face.

You stand up, ignoring him and beckoning Laura to go to the kitchen with you. She walks ahead of you and quick as lightning Logan reaches out and gently slaps your ass. You whirl around to see his face full of boyish amusement, making him look years younger.

"Wasn't me."

Charles somehow manages to convince Logan to spend the day with the Munsons, claiming he's too tired to leave. You can't quite tell if he's faking or not, but before you know it you're watching Logan help Will with the horses you saved on the road yesterday.

"You sure you have to leave tonight? You and Logan still look exhausted." Kathryn points out as the two of you lounge on the front porch in rocking chairs.

You couldn't admit to her that the source of both of your exhaustion was from defiling the sofa bed.

"Ah, well we should make up the lost time. Plus we don't want to overstay our welcome." You sigh

"Nonsense. Tell you what. I'll give you our phone number. If you guys ever pass through here again, we can get together." She smiles

"We're not that cool, you don't want to spend more time with us." You reject

"I happen to think you and your little family are wonderful. Besides even Laura and Nate are getting along, he even let her borrow his iPod." She points over to the two kids, Laura is watching Nate climb a tree, iPod in hand.

"Alright, fine." You relent, not having the heart to tell her you didn't plan on ever driving through here again.

"Great, I'll be right back."

Your eyes scan the peaceful land you're sitting on. The setting sun and the chirps of birds fill your eyes and ears as you look around. Eventually, your eyes fall on Logan who has shed his shirt, leaving him in the white tank top he often wore. Your eyes greedily drink up the exposed skin as his arms flex while he helps lift a hay bale for Will. As disgusting as it might be you want to run your lips across those sweaty biceps, this morning had not been enough to quelch the fire in your stomach. Logan was simply a wet dream come true.

"Does he know you check him out constantly?"

Kathryn's voice has you sputtering, embarrassment flooding your system. She laughs loudly and passes you the paper with her number.

"I saw you last night when he came out in that flannel and jeans, I'm honestly surprised the seams didn't burst, your man is rather muscly." She teases

"Ah yeah, Logan has always been well-built." You say, thinking of how strong he was.

"When we were lying in bed last night, Will asked me how long it'd take for him to look like that. I told him not in a million years."

You laugh freely at that, trying to imagine Will Munson suddenly becoming as muscle-filled as Logan was.

Kathryn lets out a love-sick sigh, "I never want him to change though. Will is perfect in my eyes. Just the man for me you know?

"You two gossiping about me?" Will asks stepping onto the porch

"We sure are. All bad things." You grin, "Like the time you left the toilet seat up."

Will laughs, his warm gaze landing on his wife, "I haven't done that in years."

"Sun's setting. We're leavin' soon Logan declares as he walks over, shaking Will's hand in thanks.

You nod and stand up, shoving Kathryn's phone number into your jeans pocket.

After one more dinner, Kathryn insisted on it, you're packing the truck up, while Logan is arguing with Charles upstairs who has spent the day in bed, reading and eating a package of double stuff Oreos.

"Shit." Kathryn curses over a sink of dishes

"You alright?" You ask

"Fine, There's this water main about a mile or so away. Assholes shut it off every once in a while." She sighs, "Will! Waters off again!"

You watch as Logan tosses his bag into the bed of the truck, glancing over at Will who is already walking off in the direction of the water pipes.

"I'll be back soon, try to get Charles out of that damn bed." He says

"How?" You groan, knowing how strong-willed the old man was

"I don't know. Remind him about young mutants or some shit." Logan sighs, obviously tired, "Just try to get him in his chair at least."

You nod and take a step closer to Logan, hooking your fingers into his belt loops, and pulling him in so his chest brushes yours.

"And make sure Laura doesn't try to steal their kid's candy. I saw her eyeing it up earlier." He says

"Got any more orders for me, Sarge?' You tease

"Sorry. I just...We need to get a move on before they find us again. They're using Caliban to track us." Logan worries, resting his hands on your hips while you place yours on his chest, feeling his heartbeat.

"I know." You say sadly, thinking of your pale friend.

"See you soon, sweetheart," Logan says, leaning down to rest his head on your shoulder, his face buried in your neck.

"Logan?"

"Mmm?"

"I love you."

You can feel the smile that stretches across the weary face you want to wake up next to for the rest of your life. He brings his head back up and the porch light makes his eyes twinkle just the slightest bit.

"I love you too."

A gentle kiss, unlike the ones you've shared before, is pressed to your lips and then he's walking off, the darkness swallowing him whole.

Charles is aggravating, he kicks and swears when you go to grab him. You sigh and collapse onto the floor on the other side of the bed. If he wasn't your father figure, you would've smacked him by now. You loved him but he was testing your patience.

You glance over at Laura who is laying on the floor, her eyes shut. She looks peaceful, like a normal little girl. You want her to experience a real like, one like Nate Munson has, winning track meets and doing math at the kitchen table with her dad. You want to experience it with her, fill the shoes of her nameless mother, and have Logan truly be her father.

"I'm sorry," Charles whispers into the darkness

"For not cooperating? Good. Now let's get you in your chair." You say, resting your head on the side of the bed.

"I remember it. Westchester."

Your heart drops to your feet. You and Logan had agreed never to tell Charles about what happened that day. You both knew it'd break his heart to know what happened.

"I've hurt so many. My family. People I've never even met.

Heavy footsteps thud in the hall and a big shadow casts its way into the room, blocking out the hallway light. Logan. That was fast.

"The past two days have been the best days I've had in a very long time." Charles declares

You want to agree with him, to validate his feelings but your voice dies in your throat, so you listen instead, just like Logan is.

"And I know I don't deserve it."

Charles' voice breaks up mid-sentence and the sound of it has tears stinging your water line. Tears for him, for Laura, for yourself, for your friends who he accidentally killed. For Logan who you knew you'd never have enough time with, your failing bodies would one day claim the love story between the two of you.

"I think I finally understand you, Logan."

The soft shifting of sheets hits your ears. Logan must be trying to pick Charles up.

It's the sound of claws unsheathing that has you confused. What was he doing?

Your stomach drops when you see it. A monster bearing Logan's face and body stands before you. A single hand pressed to Charles' chest is what your eyes focus on. Just barely you can see the adamantium glinting in the low light.

"What the fuck?" You breathe

A loud scream snaps you from your trance. Laura.

The little girl who you've become so fond of is on the imposter's back, her own claws unsheathed, stabbing and tearing at him. You rush to Charles' side, placing your hands over the wound in horror. He mumbles something and tries to push your hands away.

"It's alright, we're gonna keep pressure on it, okay." You say, trying not to panic, "Just look at me. Deep breaths okay?"

Charles nods, his hand coming up to wipe at the blood that's trickling from his mouth. His eyes look behind you to Laura and the monster struggling. You should turn to help her, you should, but you can't leave him. Charles. The man who took you in after your parents threw you out when your mutation manifested. Charles, the man who taught you how to focus it, how to control it, how to use it. Charles, the man who was dying in your arms.

"It's alright, eyes on me, it's just you and me."

The man in the silver wheelchair is odd. Sometimes, you can hear him in your mind. But today, he's speaking out loud as he asks you to focus on the blood that courses through his veins. Instead, you focus on his brown hair that is shiny in the sunlight. It's like he's spent some time styling it before coming to see you in this huge home of his.

"Calm your mind and focus. You can control your powers, they are gifts, I'll help you to see them the way I do."

"It's alright...eyes on me...it's just you and me." You gasp and your voice begins to wobble, you can't do this.

The sound of clinking restraints and the crack of a baseball bat have your mind reeling. You take Charles' hands and press them to his chest, whispering that he has to keep pressure on the wound.

You turn around just in time to watch the sixteen-year-old boy you've come to care for drop to the ground dead. Fresh blood pours like a fountain from the six holes in his chest.

Rage courses hot through your veins, bubbling up like a volcano as the click of a shotgun is heard. Kathryn.

You try to block it all out as you will Nate's to come to you, to serve you.

It doesn't.

You scream in frustration as Kathryn's voice shouts at you to run. heavy footsteps are closing in on her. Laura's loud yelling has your world spinning as you stare at the puddle of blood on the ground. What was happening to you? Were you really this useless? Letting your friends be murdered? Letting a little girl be kidnapped by some clone who shouldn't even exist?

The shotgun goes off, it's followed by a slash and another loud scream from Laura. A thud sounds and you know Kathryn is dead. Butchered like a fucking animal.

You wrap your arms around yourself and scream, you scream for your powers, for your friend and her son, for Logan, your Logan to come save you.

"Calm your mind and focus. You can control your powers, they are gifts, I'll help you to see them the way I do."

As if it's magic, the blood bubbles up and begins to move as you will it to. Your mind burns as you bend it to your will. The discarded baseball bat sits on the ground, and you scoop it up. Charles says something but you miss it, that freak of nature won't be taking Laura anywhere tonight.

You pass Kathryn's corpse. Her eyes are empty as she stares up at the ceiling. Her blood follows you down the steps where the clone is.

Laura lets out a loud shout when she sees you behind her. The clone spins on his heel and he cocks his head to the side, like he's confused you're even here.

You can sense it, in his blood. The x-gene, the one that makes a mutant, is there. It's strong, stronger than yours is, stronger than Logan's. A killing machine stands before you.

Laura is discarded like she's some piece of trash as the clone tosses her across the room and onto the kitchen table. Long claws glint in the light as they slowly extend from his hands. You answer it in good faith, the blood you have from your friends is fashioned into long tendrils and sharp and deadly, and the baseball bat sits in your hands as extra insurance.

"Give me the girl. Give her to me and you can leave."

You try to reason with it before you begin a suicide fight.

No response comes but instead, he charges at you, ready to kill.

Your brain feels like it's ready to burst as you let the blood loose, directing it to impale him, to send him flying. He smacks the table and goes flying through the wall into the front yard, taking Laura with him. In some other world you'd be able to use his own against him, pinning him down and blowing him up would be so much easier. But, you're scared. Scared of what it will to do you.

"Kathryn!"

Will Munson has returned to a dead family.

"What happened? Kathryn?!"

He asks when he enters his destroyed home and sees you, blood tendrils floating next to you. He glances up the steps and you know he sees Kathryn lying there, eyes glazed over, unmoving.

"Nate!"

He's dead too. You don't have the heart to tell him.

"What the fuck did you do?" He asks staring at you, "What did you do to them, freak?!"

You want to tell him it wasn't you but you can't. He takes a step back and your instincts kick in. Your hand flies up and the blood of his wife and son hit him in the chest, sending him flying into the kitchen.

And then, he's back. Logan. Your Logan has returned. He races up to you and his hands cup your face but he doesn't say anything. You whisper for him to go get Charles and he listens. Telling you to stay put. Your skin burns as much as your brain does when he leaves you.

Laura is screaming again as you walk after her ignoring Logan's words. The clone is fighting what looks like a bunch of men in cowboy hats. An expensive truck's headlights illuminate the bloody scene.

"There's another!" A voice yells when one man sees you

He loses his head to adamantium claws while trying to run away.

You catch a glimpse of a man in a white lab coat. He's yelling something that your throbbing mind can't process as you set your powers back on this clone. Blood, sharp as glass skewer the imposter as you pin him to the ground, others wrap around his feet, as he is spread starfish on the ground.

Your mind is breaking down, you can feel it. Your senses are dialed up, you can practically taste the blood of the fresh corpses beside you. A loud shout breaks the trance and you whirl around to see Will pointing a shotgun at you.

He fires it.

You turn your head and block the shell with a wall of blood. Your grip weakens on the clone, if this goes on too long, it'll escape.

He fires again.

Logan yells your name, he is carrying Charles out of the house.

"Marvelous, marvelous." The man in the lab coat is speaking to you.

Your mind is going numb, you have to finish this.

"You, my dear are simply extraordinary! Oh the power in your genetics, the future of mutants!"

The van behind him explodes and you lose your control of the blood. You're sent flying to the ground, and blood splatters down, falling like rain as it covers you in its metallic scent. The scent of your singed hair burns your nose. The lab coat man has been knocked out by debris.

Will Munson's shotgun cocks again, yet it never fires.

The clone has unknowingly saved your life as he sends three clean claws into Will's belly before letting him fall to the ground. You feel guilt when you realize you're relieved that Will Munson is gone, unable to gun you down.

Logan is calling your name and when the imposter lifts you up from the ground you see him running as fast as he can to you with his limp that never goes away.

You turn to stare this animal in the eyes. Its heart is beating rapidly, pumping blood to his body so he can kill all these people, so he can kill you. The fear from earlier goes away, you know you can do this. The blood is there, it's just a matter of focusing.

And then, it's rearranging itself, arranging itself at your command.

Claws dig into your belly and a white-hot pain follows as they're removed. It lets out a grunt, the first noise you've heard from it all night as its nose begins to bleed. You're going to rip this thing in half and send it back to hell. Maybe you'll see it there.

You feel it, your brain collapsing in on itself as you let out a yell, a last-ditch effort at getting your powers to truly be your own again.

The ground is cold and hard as you land on it with a thud and a splash of blood explodes across the grass. The monster is sent flying backward into the tractor behind it, impaling it on metal spikes.

Pride surges through your system when you see its head, a chunk of it is missing and it's no longer moving. Faintly you're pretty sure its heart is still beating, what matters to you though is that Laura is safe. Whatever that thing was, it wouldn't be moving for a while.

Your mind is blank as you lay in the grass. Vaguely you can feel the blood you're drenched in, it's ruined your clothes, the casino sweatshirt Logan bought for you to hide behind is fucked, no washer in the world could get it clean again.

And then he's there, above you, scooping you up, holding you to his chest. You can feel his heart beating as he says your name, telling you it's okay, that you're okay.

You want to reply but your mind can't formulate any words, they come out as incoherent gasps as Logan holds you tightly. He holds you and gently rocks back and forth. You feel warm tears trickle from his eyes down your neck as he presses a kiss to your skin.

He shifts again and his forehead presses to yours and his eyes meet yours. His hand gently cradles your face, brushing your hair from your eyes and wiping at the blood that's splattered on your face.

"My pretty girl,"

His voice is nothing but a whisper in the wind as his salty tears stain your face.

"I'm so sorry."

His words, filled with regret seep into your skin like they're secrets just for the two of you to know. Your bleeding brain is a mushy mess as you try to get it to cooperate one more time.

"Logan,"

Your voice is so quiet you swear he didn't hear it. But, he does, he always hears you when you speak.

"I want..."

"I want...to meet you again...to live a life with you"

Perhaps thats the wrong thing to say because he's even more upset now. Bushy brows knitted together in sadness, you're sure you even see his lower lip tremble a bit.

"We will, we'll meet again. You're tangled in my soul now, I'll give you a life, a real one. I promise."

You swallow thickly, trying to get your tongue to say them, your dying words,

I love you.

They die on your tongue and you want to cry out in frustration. Instead, you think them. You think them. You think of the many nights you spent beside Logan at the smelting plant watching a movie on the old box TV he found for you, you think of how his lips felt against yours just this morning, legs tangled in the sheets brushing his. You think of how he looked when you first met him, fresh-faced, smoking that stupid cigar of his.

Logan's thumb brushes the tears that leave your eyes and you sigh. His skin was warm in contrast to yours and it felt like stars were dancing across your skin as your eyes raced to memorize every inch of his face. You wanted to keep him as your own forever.

You'd see him again one day, in another life perhaps.

After all, he promised.

But wait! There's more... Logan and Reader's story continues in The Other Life

Tags:

@gigabitemyass @1cam8 @personofsinterest @corruptedcruiser @flamingbisexual08

@arrozconpepitoria

@e-ak

@nikos-a-clown

@evanpetersmood

@loganhowlettsboyfriend

@persiar9

@khaylin27

@veggie-eggrolls @nicolebarnes @mystiquesvendetta

@squishyfruitloop @lulalovez @mrs-ephemeral

553 notes · View notes

wheeloffortune-design · 1 year ago

Text

headcanon that Crowley can't keep away from the bookshop because he likes to be extra miserable, and more often than not he ends up drunk, ranting at Muriel about everything and mostly Aziraphale. (Muriel nods at the rights places while holding a glass of wine).

At some point Crowley just make them get in the Bentley (in the backseat, with the plants) and drives while ranting. Muriel is just happy to be included.

Crowley puts sad loves songs and sings along, Muriel does the back vocals, badly and enthusiastically. They both suck.

Anyway, Crowley not being alone in his sadness, and Muriel just happy to have a (grumpy) friend.

#good omens #good omens spoilers

3K notes · View notes

parkerluvsu · 4 months ago

Note

the song “diet pepsi” by addison rae is lowkey my guilty pleasure 😔 but maybe you can write something with art inspired by the lyrics :3

“when we drive in your car, i’m your baby/ losing all my innocence in the backseat”

diet pepsi (art donaldson x fem! reader)

my boys a winner, he loves the game/my lips reflect off his cross-gold chain

youre not ashamed, you know art can see you leaning forward in your seat, even wearing sunglasses he can tell that your eyes linger on his v-line when he lifts up his shirt to wipe his face. he doesn't mind it though, how could he complain about his gorgeous girlfriend oogling him from the stands. arts head always whips toward you when he wins, looking for a wide smile on your face. the moment he steps off the court you're jumping into his arms, letting him twirl you around and kiss you passionately, letting the adrenaline do the talking for him.

i like the way he's telling me/my ass looks good in these ripped blue jeans

arts a sucker for you. if anyone asked him what his weakness is he'd respond quickly with "my girlfriend". you always have to hold back your giggles when his mouth drops open as you step out of your apartment for your date, the fabric of your blue jeans hugging your curves just right. he snaps out of his stupor to open the car door for you, placing his usual hand on your thigh as he drives. before you enter the restaurant he'd chosen for your date, he leans down to whisper in your ear " your ass looks good in those jeans"

my cheeks are red like berries in spring/bodies a work of art you'd diet to see

you blush, your face heating up as you sit down at your table for dinner, the red of your cheeks visible even in the low light of the restaurant. art almost doesn't even have the mental capacity to order food, his eyes stuck on the way your skin glimmers from the candlelight, longing to reach out and touch you.

untouched, xo/young lust, lets- (ah)

most people would make fun of art for how hard he's fallen for you, saying that he doesn't know what love is, he's only in his first year of college, but he disagrees, the love he feels for you rivals anything he's ever seen in a romance movie. you bring him back to reality by holding his hand over the table, squeezing it lightly. "you wanna get out of here?" art asks, and you giggle, sensing his eagerness to be near you once again, not seperated by a stupid dinner table. art pays for the meal, leading you out of the restaurant with a hand on the small of your back.

when we drive in your car, im your baby (so sweet)/losing all my innocence in the backseat

the parking lot is empty when you get there, thank goodness, although you doubt that anyone could see in through the foggy windows, but they could probably tell what was going on by the rocking of the car. arts hips pressed against yours, his feet planted on the floor of the car, balancing you on his lap. his slender fingers hiking up your dress, the warm palms of his hands pressed against your hips, almost as warm and comforting as his lips on yours. your head tips back onto the headrest, allowing him access to the panes of your neck, the soft skin making him lick his lips in anticipation. he hopes the marks he leaves behind will stay, scaring off admirers so he can keep you all to himself. art almost feels bad, seeing you squeeze your eyes closed in pain when he presses the flared tip of his cock into you. the way you always have a hard time taking him makes him feel like his taking your innocence, like your body is trying to stay pure. nevertheless, he's in love with you, and the way you always suck him right inside, squeezing so tight that it's hard for him to pull out. he's so sweet though, rocking your hips for you, cooing sweet nothings into your ear, encouraging you that no ones gonna see you, the parking lots empty. art would never admit it to himself, he's not a slut like patrick, but he can't deny the twitch of his cock when he thinks that anyone could find you here, and figure out what he was doing, the cute tennis player, always lagging behind his friends and not speaking unless spoken to, is fucking his girlfriend in the backseat of his jeep. when art cums, he makes sure that you pull your panties up right away, "i want to keep being inside you" he says, as if he could feel your pussy while not being inside you, just because his cum is there. when he drops you off at your place, he takes great pride in seeing a drop of white running between your thighs.. maybe he's more like patrick than he thought.. <3

#parkerluvsu #art donaldson #challengers x reader #art donaldson x reader #challengers 2024 #challengers #challengers smut #art donaldson smut

361 notes · View notes

2amriize · 1 month ago

Text

.ᐟ RIIZE scenario: 'Am I your chauffeur?' ༉‧₊˚.

req: hello hello !!! i hope ure doin’ well <33 can you please do something about riize’s boyfriend reaction when you get in the backseat instead of the front seat when getting in the car? hahahaha

pairing: bf!riize x reader — masterlist

⭑.ᐟ shotaro

“Huh?”

Shotaro would be utterly confused when, instead of sitting in the passenger seat as usual, you climbed into the backseat. He glanced at the empty seat next to him and then back at you. Although you tried to keep a serious face, you couldn’t help but laugh along with him. You often did random things like this, so Shotaro was starting to get used to it. He began driving, chuckling the entire time.

⭑.ᐟ eunseok

He’d turn to look at you, letting out a small sigh while shaking his head with a slight smile. He knew perfectly well you were doing it as a joke, so he simply started the car. But before driving off, he turned to you again.

“Come sit up front, baby. I need to rest my hand on your leg while I drive.”

⭑.ᐟ sungchan

When he saw you climb into the backseat, Sungchan turned to look at you. Then, without hesitation, he opened his door and got out of the car, only to join you in the backseat with a big grin on his face. Now you were the one confused.

“Why are you back here? What are we doing back here?”

⭑.ᐟ wonbin

“What, am I your chauffeur now?”

Wonbin couldn’t have looked more offended when he noticed you didn’t sit in the passenger seat with him. He stared at you for a few seconds, then crossed his arms, waiting for you to move to the front. His reaction was too cute to ignore, and it was clear he wasn’t planning on driving until you joined him up front.

⭑.ᐟ seunghan

“Are you feeling sick? Do you need to lie down?”

Seunghan would be genuinely confused and concerned when he saw you climb into the backseat. His first thought was that you weren’t feeling well and wanted to stretch out in the back. His reaction was so sweet that it melted your heart.

⭑.ᐟ sohee

Hearing the back door close, Sohee would glance over his shoulder with a confused expression that you found absolutely hilarious. The two of you would share a moment of silence, staring at each other, before he sighed and turned back around to start the car.

“Are you seriously going to stay back there?”

⭑.ᐟ anton

Anton quickly turned around when he heard you getting into the backseat, watching you silently as you buckled your seatbelt.

“Are you mad at me…?”

He mumbled softly, looking at you with slightly sad eyes. You couldn’t help but feel bad about his reaction, so you quickly leaned forward to plant a kiss on his lips and reassure him it was just a joke.

masterlist // taglist: @regularsuh @gacktsa @totheseok @kkumistars @taroddori @enhacolor @ladylilith @electric-hearts @astrobymarwa @layluv123 @sunflowers1610 @nctrawberries @synkjellies

331 notes · View notes

vanteguccir · 11 months ago

Text

── ୨୧ !　𝗛𝗘𝗔𝗩𝗘𝗡 𝗔𝗡𝗗 𝗕𝗔𝗖𝗞

　　　　　　　　𝒎𝒂𝒕𝒕 𝒔𝒕𝒖𝒓𝒏𝒊𝒐𝒍𝒐 x reader

SUMMARY: Where Matt eat Y/N's pussy in the backseat of his car.

WARNING: Soft dom!Matt, smut (mdni), fem masturbation, oral (fem receiving), squirting, multiple orgasm, fingering.

AUTHOR'S NOTE: That is my work, I DON'T authorize any plagiarism! | English isn't my first language, so I'm sorry if there's any grammar error.

　　　༻✦༺ 　༻✧༺　༻✦༺

The light from the streetlight on the sidewalk was the only thing that illuminated the car, the windows fogged by the human heat trapped inside the vehicle, with only a few handprints marked there.

Y/N found herself half-lying on the back seat, with her right leg hanging over the backrest while her left leg remained firmly on the carpeted floor, her back against the locked door while her head leaned against the window glass, eyes closed in concentration on Matt's actions. Her clothes were already completely discarded on the middle seats of the car.

Matt was on the other side of the backseat, his head between his girlfriend's legs as his arms rested on the outside of her thighs, his hands pressing into the sides of Y/N's hips, keeping her firmly pressed against the upholstery.

The brunette spread light, wet kisses on the upper part of the girl's intimate area, moving up each time he got close to her pussy.

Her right hand held tight to Matt's tattooed arm, trying to steady herself in reality, her mind divided between her boyfriend's head between her legs and the tattoos on his arm that always made her arousal intensify.

"You are so pretty." Matt whispered against the soft, sweaty skin in anticipation. "The prettiest." He continued to tease her, starting to kiss the inner part of her thighs, his hands caressing the soft skin of her hips.

"Please, Matt." She slurred, thrusting her hips involuntarily upward, silently begging to feel his mouth against her pussy.

"So needy." Matt murmured, moving his wet kisses up Y/N's right leg, tasting the taste of her skin and leaving trails of saliva behind, pulling away momentarily to blow the wetness, making the sensitive skin tingle and gasps escape her lips.

The brunette started kissing the skin again, getting closer and closer to his private paradise. His lips planted seals on her outer lips, his hands holding her hips before his mouth went towards his honey pot.

Matt's hot tongue ran along the slender space between the outer and inner lips of her pussy, before finally coming across her slippery, already extremely wet hole. The boy licked the entrance, collecting the honey there and swallowing momentarily, licking his lips in appreciation, a growl of approval escaping his throat.

His blue eyes caught the way Y/N's mouth opened into a perfect O and her eyebrows furrowed in pleasure.

Matt stuck his tongue out again, opening his mouth and licking from her hole to her clit, his right hand going to her pussy and pulling up the thin skin that covered the pleasure point, his lips surrounding the little nerve, sucking just the right amount, a loud moan leaving Y/N's lips.

"Fuck." Y/N moaned, her back arching at the sensation.

The tip of his tongue started to brush the tip of her clit, starting a figure 8 movement, his entire mouth working together, making his girl's body twitch. Y/N's left hand snaked up her own body, pausing on her left tit, pinching her nipple hard.

"You taste so fucking good." Matt murmured against her pussy, sucking on the nerve of her clit harder, her legs acting on instinct as she tried to push him away, but his arms over her thighs stopped her from completing the action.

"I was dying to make you scream and cum so much in my mouth that it would drip all over my chin." The boy continued, interspersing between his words and her pussy, his completely obscene words worked in conjunction with the perfect oral he was giving his girl, eating her like a starving man.

Matt slowly lowered his mouth, his tongue still out forming a mixture of saliva and natural lube. His mouth stopped above her hole, blowing it before pressing his tongue at the entrance, gradually entering until his lips were completely glued to her intimacy.

"Shit." Y/N groaned, pressing the back of her head against the glass tightly, knowing that in the next day she would wake up with pain in the area, but that was the last thing that mattered to her at the moment, her eyes rolling back at the sensation that her boyfriend provided her making her toes curl.

Matt's mouth and nose worked as a perfect team against his girlfriend's intimacy, stimulating all the best spots.

His right hand went to her belly, pressing there, intensifying the pleasure while his tongue worked inside her hot walls, going in and out in an alternating rhythm, slipping easily.

Y/N's mouth remained open, and loud gasps and moans came out of it, sometimes Matt's name.

Matt removed his left hand, which had previously been on her hip, and bent it so that only his middle and ring fingers were outstretched. The brunette sucked the hole once more before pulling away momentarily, the thumb of his right hand taking over her clitoris, making circular movements on the nerve.

He lowered his left hand, brushing his fingers in the wetness of the entrance to her hole, without penetrating them.

"Is it good?" He asked, smirking at the fucked up state of his girl. She just nodded, wanting more but drowning in the stimulation of his thumb against her clit. "Want me to fuck you with my fingers, baby? Hm?" Matt continued, pressing his fingers against the entrance, only entering the tips, but quickly withdrawing. Y/N moaned, thrusting her hips into his hand. "I want to hear your voice, baby. Tell me how much you want it." He commanded, his hand that was above her belly pressing harder.

"Please, I need you. Fuck me, Matt." Y/N begged, the fingers of her now free right hand climbing to the top of her boyfriend's head, tangling themselves between his messy strands, pushing his head down.

"Good girl." Matt murmured, finally penetrating the two fingers of his left hand inside the needy hole, the icy promise ring on his ring finger sending shivers down Y/N's spine, Matt stopping only when the base of his closed fingers brushed Y/N's inner lips.

The action caused the girl to see stars, her eyes rolling back sharply. Matt opened his two fingers so that he stretched her walls just the right amount, starting a back and forth movement, his blue eyes focused on his girl's slender body, which writhed and reacted to his touches so perfectly.

Matt lowered his head again, his mouth replacing his thumb over her clit like they belonged there, going back to sucking on the magic spot as his eyes looked up at his girlfriend's face through his eyelashes, taking a mental picture of her expression of pure ecstasy.

"Fuck, I could eat you out for the rest of my life, y'so delicious." The brunette murmured against her clit, moaning at the divine taste on his tongue.

"Matt, don't stop, please." She asked breathlessly, her chest rising and falling due to rapid breathing.

"Fuck my face, baby. I want you to take control and use my face for your pleasure." Matt pleaded against her pussy, his fingers still working between her walls. He looked at her with big doe eyes that seemed to be begging for it, his pants seemed tighter than before and he felt like he could cum just from the sight of his girl receiving pleasure.

The girl nodded repeatedly, using her strength to bury her boyfriend's face against her clit again, planting her left foot on the floor of the car and her right leg on the back of the seat, lifting her hips slightly before starting her own movements, fucking herself with Matt's long fingers and his tongue.

She pushed her body forward, making Matt's fingers reach new spots inside her, moaning loudly when she felt him bend them into a hook. Y/N rolled against his face with desire, her eyes rolling with the stimulation that his beard caused against her sensitive skin, rubbing against it again and again, imagining how red the area would be afterwards.

The girl's free hand gripped the headrest of the front seat, squeezing so that her knuckles turned white, her movements intensifying and becoming unrestrained.

"Matt." The name escaped her lips, feeling like she might drown in the sensations she felt with all the stimulation.

"What is it, baby? Hm?" Matt asked in an innocent tone, despite already knowing what the tone used by her meant. "Are you going to cum? Am I fucking you so good you're going to cum already?" He asked in a low tone against her swollen clit, sending loads of energy through her body, his throat letting out a growl as he felt Y/N's hot walls squeeze his fingers.

"Matt." The girl released the name again in a desperate tone, her legs starting to shake as the knot in her belly seemed to tighten more.

Matt moaned against his girl's clit, curling his fingers again and keeping them pressed against the spongy inner flesh, and that was enough for Y/N, her legs shaking incessantly, her stomach contracting and her back curving, her first orgasm of the night passing through her entire body like a wave.

The blind pleasure of the orgasm gradually diminished, her body becoming sensitive in seconds, wanting to push Matt away, but the boy just took his right hand, the one that was previously on her belly, to her hip, pressing her body against the seat, stopping her from moving while his tongue and fingers continued to work on her pussy.

"Matt, I can't." Y/N moaned, trying to move her hips away only to receive a pinch in response.

"Come on, baby. Give me one more, I know you can do it." Matt pleaded still against her pussy, his lips wet with her natural lubrication.

"So good, so good for me." She murmured in pleasure, her fingers pulling his brown hair tightly as her eyes squeezed shut.

Matt moaned with the pull, sucking her clit with unimaginable force, just the right amount, without hurting her, but causing intense pleasure. He added a third finger slowly, curling all three against her magic spot, making Y/N arch her back and press her hips harder against her boyfriend's mouth, searching for more, cutting his breath out, but he just moaned at feeling. Masochistic son of a bitch.

The boy started to move his fingers in and out, curling them in an alternating rhythm while his tongue still worked on her clit, scraping his teeth over the sensitive tip.

That seemed to be enough for Y/N, her second orgasm hitting her differently, her vision momentarily darkening as her legs shook, her toes and hands curling tightly as her back arched, her tongue flicking past her open lips while pants fell from there. The girl felt that at that moment, her soul went to heaven and back in a matter of seconds.

A sound of liquid echoed through the car as a clear stream escaped her pussy, wetting the seat and Matt's face and arm, a grunt escaping his lips at the sight. A loud moan came out of Y/N's mouth, followed by a whine.

It wasn't the first time she had squirted, but every time it happened, it had the same effect on Matt. He would never get tired of watching her fall apart for him. Having his own mouth dripping with her cum was his biggest fetish.

It took a few seconds, or minutes, for her senses to return, and when it did, the girl saw Matt above her body, studying her intently as his fingers caressed her waist, a damp towel on the floor of the car and the seat already cleaned up.

"You with me, my love?" He asked in a whisper, earning a nod from Y/N, the girl too tired and her voice too worn out to say anything.

Matt slowly lowered himself, pressing his lips on her forehead for a few seconds and then kissing her, allowing her to taste herself, a sigh of pleasure escaping her mouth.

"You were so good for me." Matt murmured as he broke the kiss from her, sealing her cheek, neck, and collarbone with love. "God, I'm addicted to you." He said, smirking when he saw a tired smile spread across his girlfriend's features.

The boy bent down momentarily, rescuing his girlfriend's discarded pieces of clothing, thanking her for opting for a Fresh Love set, knowing it would be more comfortable for her.

He lifted her so that she was sitting on the seat and helped her put on the clothes, kissing parts of her body affectionately.

"Are you ready for us to go back? Or do you want to drive around a little more?" Matt asked, sitting down across from her, one of his hands on Y/N's right thigh.

"Can we go back? I'm sleepy." She responded in a whisper, receiving a simple nod from her boyfriend, who kissed her one last time on the lips before helping her back to the passenger seat, getting into the driver's seat soon after and starting the engine, starting his way back home with the girl of his life right beside him.

1K notes · View notes

fallenneziah · 1 year ago

Text

Cw: Stalking, serial killer Simon, non-con, stalking.

Stalker and haunted house worker Simon who sees you and your friends enter the park and immediately is drawn in by you. Getting horny just thinking about stalking you around the park, following you into the darker rooms of the haunted house full of blood and gore.

Thinking of you unsuspecting as you sign that waver to be touched and pushed around, laughing with your friends as you entered the house...

Watching you take an interest in one room, while your friends part and walk another direction...

Pinning you to the wall once you're away from your friends, touching you all over, pulling at your outfit. "Look so beautiful tonight..." He rasps under his mask and jacket, leaning into your neck.

You whined, gasping and fumbling around desperately. Feeling aroused by being like this. People coming and going through the house, probably able to see you.

Simon keeps you pinned, the fake hatchet they gave him pinned to your throat as he wiggles your bottoms down, not wasting any time spanking your ass.

Looking around before taking down his belt and stroking his cock between your ass cheeks.

The idea of fucking you like this making his head spin and his gut tense.

The sound of his fingers sliding inside you colliding with the sounds of the statues and obstacles throughout the place going off. Bathed in red light when his cock sinks inside you, flesh slapping against skin. His boots planting in the ground, gripping you tightly.

The sound of your moans and the house flowing together, hearing others screams from different rooms while you shake and moan beautifully under him.

You look so good, you take him so good. He's so infatuated with you. Seeing how you squirm to try and get away but he only pushes you down, arches your back. He can't stop even if he wanted to, watching his fat cock pound through your insides.

"Got like this all for me." He strokes your cheek, seeing your tears, seeing your lips falling open in a silent moan, followed by a sharp cry of pleasure.

"Fuck, moan louder, love. Louder. Fuckin' let them hear you." He grunts, thrusting his hips violently and harshly inside you. Making you sing louder, desperately crying out with each thrust that hit you right where you wanted it.

You cry, whining and reaching to try and grab him but he keeps you pinned, skull mask staring at you, large body pressing you into the wall, hips still chasing his orgasm.

Wanting to fill you full. Seeing you since the moment you entered the gates of the park in his wanders. Wanting to empty his load deep inside you and make you walk around with his claim deep inside you.

Pulling an orgasm out of you, feeling pride as he fucks you straight through it, your gasps and whines echo. Pleading with him. But he doesn't stop until he shoves all the way in, keeping you still as he empties his balls deep inside you.

Grunting and filling you up with his hot, sticky load.

Pulling out and fumbling desperately to keep it all in, heart pounding in desperation as he keeps every drop of his seed inside you.

Pulling up his pants again, the hatchet digging into your throat as he kissed your neck through his mask. "Go find your friends baby."

He let you go, leaving you there to shakily pull yourself back together, whining feeling so full. Your friends worriedly searching when they ran into you, laughing about where you'd gotten lost to.

You could feel him watching you the rest of the night. Through the haunted house, through the theme park, through the parked cars.

Simon who watches you get in the car with your friends, eyes locked on the licence plate. Simon watching you leave the parking lot. Taking the mask after his shift, getting in his car. Securing the mask, grabbing his hatchet from the backseat. The blade glinting off the moonlight...

He was gonna find you and your friends again. He had to. He wanted you.

(little blurb since what I had planned for Halloween might come a day late. Unless.. we want a full version of this? Up to you.)

#simon ghost riley #cod smut #simon riley #simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #simon ghost riley x female reader #cod mw2 #simon ghost riley x reader smut #simon ghost riley x male reader #male reader #male reader smut #simon ghost riley x any gender reader really #little halloween blurb because what i had planned will probably come late

1K notes · View notes

waitforyrlove · 4 days ago

Text

spy ! chris fucks spy ! reader on the backseat of his benz. tw. nsfw mdni, car sex, dirty talk, praising, hatefuck ( lowk ) , spit kink, big dick ! chris.

the warehouse was cold, the air heavy with the scent of oil and dust. Your fingers grazed the steel briefcase you’d just stolen, the adrenaline still rushing through your veins. You didn’t need to turn around to know he was there—Chris. His presence was like a sixth sense at this point.

“I should’ve known it was you,” his voice cut through the silence, smooth and mocking, a perfect match for the smirk you knew was painted on his stupidly face.

you turned slowly, gripping the briefcase tighter. “You’re losing your edge if it took you this long to figure it out.”

Chris stepped into the light, the soft glow illuminating his sharp features. He looked as infuriatingly smug as ever.

“Let me guess,” you continued, keeping your tone light and condescending, “your bosses sent you to clean up my mess? Again?”

his smirk widened as he took another step closer. “Funny, I was going to say the same about you. But we both know you’re not here because you’re clever, you’re here because you’re reckless.”

you raised an eyebrow, your grip tightening on the case. “And you’re here because you’re predictable.”

Chris moved faster than you expected, his hand snapping out to grab the case. You yanked it back, refusing to let go as the two of you stumbled into each other.

“Still playing dirty,” he muttered, his face inches from yours.

“Still pretending you don’t like it,” you shot back, your breath mingling with his.

for a moment, neither of you moved, the only sounds your heavy breathing and the distant hum of machinery. His eyes flicked to your lips, just for a second, but it was enough to ignite the spark you’d been trying to suppress for years.

“This is a mistake,” he murmured, though he didn’t step back.

“Then stop me,” you whispered, challenging him.

he didn’t. Instead, his lips crashed into yours with the force of a hurricane, stealing the air from your lungs. You dropped the briefcase, your hands tangling in his jacket as you pulled him closer. His hands gripped your waist, fingers digging in hard enough to leave bruises.

“Still think I’m predictable?” he murmured against your mouth, his voice low and rough.

you pulled back just enough to smirk at him. “I think you’re desperate.”

“Desperate enough to wipe that smug look off your face,” he snapped, shoving you back against the wall.

you gasped, the cold steel pressing into your back as he captured your lips again, his hands roaming your body like he couldn’t get enough. The years of tension between you—stolen glances, sharp words, close calls—had finally exploded, and it was intoxicating.

“You’re going to regret this,” you panted as his lips moved to your neck, his teeth grazing your skin.

“Probably,” he murmured, his breath hot against your ear. “But right now? I don’t care.”

neither did you. Not about the mission, not about the briefcase lying forgotten on the ground, not about the fact that this would make your already-complicated rivalry even messier.

Chris’s lips finally pulled away from yours, his breath hot and ragged against your skin. “We’re not doing this here,” he said, voice gravelly with restraint.

you raised an eyebrow, catching your breath. “What, afraid someone will walk in on us? Don’t tell me you have a reputation to protect.”

“Shut your mouth, yeah?” he muttered, grabbing your wrist and pulling you toward the warehouse’s exit.

you yanked back, planting your feet. “And where exactly are we going, Chris? I’ve got work to do, unlike you.”

he turned, his hand still gripping your wrist as his eyes locked onto yours. “You’re coming with me. Unless you’d rather stay here and let them find you.” He nodded toward the far end of the warehouse, where faint shouts echoed in the distance. Backup was coming—probably for both of you.

you frowned, biting back a retort. You hated when he was right, but you hated losing more. “Fine,” you snapped, letting him pull you along. “But don’t think this means you’re in charge.”

“Keep telling yourself that,” he said, smirking as he led you out into the cold night air.

the warehouse parking lot was deserted, save for a sleek black Mercedes-Benz parked under a flickering streetlight. Of course. You should’ve known he’d drive something obnoxiously expensive.

“Really?” you scoffed as he unlocked the car with a sharp beep. “Compensating for something, Chris?”

he shot you a withering look, opening the passenger door. “Get in,”

you crossed your arms, leaning against the car. “And if I don’t?”

Chris didn’t answer. Instead, he stepped closer, his hand brushing your waist as he leaned in, crowding you against the cold metal of the car. “You want to keep playing this game?” he murmured, his voice low and dangerous. “Because I’ll win. I always do.”

your breath hitched, your heart racing as his lips hovered just inches from yours. Damn him for knowing exactly how to get under your skin.

“Fine,” you said, shoving past him and sliding into the passenger seat. “But if you think this means I’m impressed, you’re delusional.”

Chris chuckled, closing your door before rounding the car to the driver’s side. “Keep telling yourself that.”

he started the car, the engine purring smoothly as he pulled out of the lot. The tension between you was palpable, the small space of the car amplifying every glance, every shift of his hands on the wheel.

“Where are we going?” you asked, breaking the silence.

Chris’s hands tightened on the wheel, knuckles brushing the leather as he shifted in his seat. His jaw was set, his usual smirk replaced with a focused expression that made your pulse quicken.

“Just a drive,” he muttered, avoiding your gaze.

“Right. Because you’re all about transparency,” you quipped, watching him out of the corner of your eye. Something was off—his usual cocky confidence was still there, but now it seemed… strained.

he let out a slow breath through his nose, his grip on the wheel visibly tightening.

“Chris?” you pressed, leaning slightly toward him.

“Stop talking,” he snapped, his voice lower than before, rougher.

you blinked, caught off guard by the sharp edge in his tone. Your eyes flicked down to his lap, and suddenly it clicked, he was hard.

“Oh.”

his jaw twitched as he kept his eyes on the road, refusing to look at you. “Don’t.”

you couldn’t help yourself; a wicked grin spread across your face. “Are you serious right now? You’re that worked up?”

“Aight’, I’m pulling over,” he muttered, ignoring your taunts.

your grin widened, “You’re really gonna pull over in the middle of—”

the car swerved to the side of the road abruptly, gravel crunching beneath the tires as Chris threw it into park. He turned to you, his eyes dark and filled with something that made your stomach flip.

“I said stop talking, you never listen don’t ya?” he growled, leaning across the console.

you opened your mouth to respond, but he was faster, his lips crashing into yours with a force that stole the breath from your lungs. His hand tangled in your hair, pulling you closer as he kissed you like he was trying to claim every inch of you.

“You think it’s funny?” he murmured against your lips, his voice dripping with frustration and desire.

you smirked, even as your heart pounded in your chest. “A little,”

Chris chuckled sarcastically, his forehead pressing against yours. “You drive me fucking insane,” he muttered, his free hand sliding up your thigh, the touch searing through your clothes.

“Good,” you whispered, grabbing his collar and pulling him back to you.

his hands moved with a desperate kind of intensity, finding their way under your jacket and shirt, fingers skimming your skin like he couldn’t get enough.

“This is a bad idea,” he said, even as his lips trailed down your neck, his teeth grazing your skin.

“Then stop,” you challenged, arching into his touch.

he didn’t stop. Instead, he muttered something unintelligible under his breath and pulled you fully onto his lap, your knees pressing against the seat as you straddled him. His hands gripped your hips, holding you in place as he kissed you like a man starved.

for once, you didn’t have a sarcastic remark. There was no room for words—only the heat between you, the unspoken tension that had finally snapped.

and as his hands roamed your body, his breath hot against your skin, you realized that maybe—just maybe—you didn’t mind losing yourself to him tonight.

Chris’s hands gripped your waist firmly, holding you against him as your knees dug into the sides of the seat. His lips were rough and demanding, taking exactly what he wanted. You could feel the heat of his body radiating through his clothes, the tension in his grip making it clear who was in charge here.

“You’re so damn stubborn,” he muttered against your lips, his voice low and rough. “Always pushing, always running your mouth.”

you barely had time to smirk before he grabbed a fistful of your hair, tilting your head back to kiss you deeper, harder. He left no room for protest, no room for you to regain any semblance of control.

his lips broke from yours, his breath hot against your ear. “Move,”

“What?” you managed to say, your mind still spinning.

Chris pulled back just enough to look at you, his dark eyes boring into yours. “Backseat.”

your body obeyed before your mind could catch up, the commanding edge in his voice sending a thrill through you. You climbed awkwardly over the console, and he followed, his movements smooth and deliberate, as he lands a slap on your ass.

the leather seats were cool against your skin as you settled in the back. Chris was on you instantly, pressing you down into the seat as his body hovered over yours.

“You always have to challenge me, don’t you?” he said, his tone sharp but laced with something darker, something almost feral.

“You’d get bored if I didn’t,” you shot back, your voice breathless.

Chris chuckled darkly, his hands sliding under your shirt, fingertips grazing your bare skin. “Maybe. But right now?” He leaned in, his lips brushing against your ear as he whispered, “I don’t really care.”

his hands were everywhere—gripping your thighs, sliding up your back, pinning your wrists above your head. His touch was firm, leaving no doubt about who was in control.

“Chris,” you breathed, your voice wavering between defiance and surrender.

“Shh,” he murmured, his lips tracing a slow path down your neck. “You’ve had your fun. Now it’s my turn.”

every touch, every kiss, every word was calculated, designed to keep you on edge. He wasn’t just taking control—he was reveling in it, making sure you felt every ounce of his dominance.

“Still think you’re the one calling the shots?” he asked, his lips curving into a smirk as he pulled back just enough to meet your eyes.

you glared up at him, refusing to give him the satisfaction of a reply.

Chris’s smirk widened. “That’s what I thought.”

and then he kissed you again, swallowing whatever sharp retort you might have had. In that moment, it didn’t matter that you were rivals. It didn’t matter who had the upper hand.

all that mattered was the way his body felt against yours, the way he made you forget everything except him.

Chris’s hands moved with precision, sliding under your shirt and lifting it higher, his fingertips grazing your skin and sending shivers down your spine. His lips ghosted along your jawline, his breath hot against your flushed skin.

“You’ve been teasing me all night,” he murmured, his voice low and rough, like he was barely holding himself back. “Now I get to see what you’re hiding.”

you opened your mouth to retort, but he cut you off with a sharp tug, pulling your shirt over your head in one fluid motion. His eyes darkened as they roamed over you, his lips curling into a smirk that made your pulse race.

“Better than I imagined,” he said, his voice dripping with satisfaction. His hands found your waist, sliding upward, thumbs brushing against bare skin as he leaned down to kiss you again, his lips claiming yours with a force that left no room for argument.

you arched into him instinctively, your hands moving to push his jacket off his shoulders, but he caught your wrists, pinning them above your head.

your breath hitched, heat pooling in your core as his dominant tone sent a thrill through you. His free hand trailed down your side, hooking into the waistband of your pants and pulling them down with agonizing slowness. The cool air against your skin only heightened the sensation of his touch, his fingers leaving a trail of fire wherever they went.

“You’re awfully quiet now,” he teased, his lips brushing against your ear. “What happened to all that attitude, hm?”

you glared up at him, refusing to give him the satisfaction of a response.

Chris chuckled, a deep, rich sound that made your stomach flip. “That’s what I thought.”

he shifted, letting go of your wrists as he moved back to unbutton your pants completely, his hands firm and confident. His gaze stayed locked on yours, the intensity in his eyes making you feel exposed in more ways than one.

as he slid your pants down your legs, his fingers lingered, brushing against bare skin in a way that made your breath catch. He tossed them aside, admiring your lower body making his smirk widening as his hands returned to your thighs, gripping them firmly.

“You’re not used to letting someone else take control, are you?” he asked, his voice teasing but commanding.

“Depends on the someone,” you managed, your voice breathless but defiant.

Chris leaned down, his lips inches from yours as his hand trailed up your leg, fingers teasing the edge of your underwear. “Guess you’ll have to trust me, won’t you?”

his words sent a shiver through you, and for once, you didn’t argue.

“See, baby? you can be a good girl when you want to,” he coos, as his fingers pull your baby blue panties, the cold air hitting your glistening pussy.

without hesitation, he leans forward, his mouth hovering just above your glistening cunt. He parts his lips, letting a string of saliva connect his mouth to your throbbing clit before releasing it with a soft pop.

the cool liquid dribbles down your slit, mixing with your natural arousal to create a tantalizing blend of warmth. Chris watches intently as your body reacts to the sensation, your hips bucking involuntarily against his face.

encouraged by your response, he repeats the process, spitting onto your pussy again and again, each time varying the pressure and angle to tease your sensitive flesh. His thumbs spread your lips wide, allowing his saliva to seep deeper into your core, lubricating your entrance and preparing you for his fingers.

your entire body trembles with need as Chris’s saliva coats your aching slit, the unusual sensation sending shockwaves of pleasure through you. “S-Stop teasing..” you whine as he immediately shushes you by landing a light slap onto your pussy.

“Be quiet f’me,” he whispers, as your arousal builds, you can feel your walls clenching, desperate for something more substantial than just his tongue and spit.

“Please..”

as your beg left your lips, Chris’s fingers delve into your soaked heat without delay, curling inward to stroke your sensitive inner walls. He pumps them slowly at first, allowing you to adjust to the intrusion, before increasing the pace to match the frantic rhythm of your heartbeat.

"You're so fucking tight," he groans, his face buried between your thighs as he works a second finger into your clutching channel. "I love how you squeeze my fingers.."

his thumb rubs firm circles over your engorged clit, the dual stimulation pushing you closer to the edge with each passing moment. His free hand grips your thigh, applying gentle pressure to hold you steady as he plunges his fingers deeper, hitting that sweet spot within you that makes stars burst behind your eyelids.

as he keeps pumping in and out of you, your back arches involuntarily, as you grip his hair, your legs wanting to close around his head, but for him, that just gave him extra motivation.

“You were made for this, weren’t you?” his words are dirty, but they only add to the intensity of the pleasure coursing through you. Your nails dig into his hair as he picks up speed, his fingers plunging deeper with each stroke.

you felt it, you felt your orgasm coming faster then you intended too, but the pleasuring sensation ends, as he removes his slender digits out of you, licking them clean, tasting your arousal in his fingers.

“Don’t want you cummin’ in my fingers,” he murmurs, shifting his position to be able to unbuckle his belt and put his pants down. His precum leaked in his boxers, as he finally puts them down, his cock hitting in his stomach.

you knew he was big, but you didn’t expect to be that big. Your hands make way to your upper body, putting your bra down so you’re able to touch your harden nipples.

“Thaat’s a pretty sight to see, but..” he trails off before manhandling you and putting you face down into the leather seats with your ass up, and your back arched like a fucking cat, making him chuckle before he lands a handful spit onto his hand, jerking his shaft before pushing into you slowly.

“You’re too big—I can’t..” you whine as Chris scretches you out, the feeling being painful but also pleasuring, but he didn’t care as he pushed himself deeper into your spongy walls, your mouth hangs open, gasping weakly as he slowly thrusts into your pussy.

“Looook at you, takin’ my dick so fuckin’ well,” Chris hisses through gritted teeth, “you like it, don’t you hmm?”

“Y-yes..” you whimper, his cock hitting a deep spot that has you seeing stars, “C-Chris, I can’t— s’ too much..”

“Be fucking quiet,” he scoffs, as a laugh leave his mouth, his right hand coming to give a harsh slap in your ass, as you feel the sting burning into your skin, which that only fuels his needs for you.

his thrusts only go harder, relishing the sound of your moans in his ears, “Gonna cum for me?”

“Y-yes…” but squeals keep leaving your mouth uncontrollably, his left hand coming to pinch your nipples, your moans growing louder.

beads of sweat trickle down his forehead as his gaze kept watching his dick moving in and out of you, he grunts as his own hands roam up your spine, thrusting onto you harder — filling and stretching you out completely, hitting all the right spots that have you begging to this happen more often.

the pleasure striking up causes your body to tremble, your hands gripping the leather seats, as you cum around his cock with a cry, as he follow right behind, his body falling into yours.

˙ . ꒷ 🪽 notes from author ˙— this was longer than I expected, I didn’t know how to finish I’m sooo sorry.

taglist: @secretlocket @pearlzier @et6rnalsun @mattscoquette @carvedtits @sirenedeslily @mattslolita @flouvela @bella-loveschris @lovingregulusblack @sarosfilms @annsx03 @eliana-4200 @wakeupitschrizz @emely9274 @sturniolossss @luvs4matt @itsmaddielouis @faiyaz555 @isnyv @phone4pills

#waitforyrlove #chris sturniolo #chris sturniolo angst #chris sturniolo x fem!reader #chris sturniolo fanfic #christopher sturniolo x reader #chris sturniolo smut #chris sturniolo imagine #chris sturniolo x you #chris x reader #chris sturniolo x reader #christopher sturniolo #matthew sturniolo #matt sturniolo #sturniolo triplets x reader #sturniolo triplets #sturniolo fanfic #spy ! chris⁺˖ ⸝⸝

306 notes · View notes