#and i hope you'll have a lovely day/night ahead! | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

seospicybin · 11 days ago

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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

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ethereal-night-fairy · 4 months ago

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Slasher!Soap x Suicidal!Reader

After unwillingly escaping death you find that you're left to deal with the aftermath of your emotions.

Slasher Masterlist

Warnings: MDNI, Suicidal Ideation and Depression, Reader is poor and struggling, Food insecurity, Stalking, Perverted Acts, Stealing, Jerking off, Panty stealing, Dub-Con behaviour, Slight Somnophilia, Reference to Crude and Objectifying language, Harassment and Torture, Choking, Attempted murder, sorry if I missed any.

Head heavy with fatigue you struggle to raise it away from the blue glare of your college laptop. The cracked digital clock hung on your dorm room wall showed it was well past midnight. Your shoulders were stiff, your hands stained with ink from your pen. It felt like things were bursting at the seams. Like you were one stitch away from falling apart. You felt like a chewed up rag doll. Hunched over your desk like some night crawler.

But you couldn't rest. Despite the pounding in your head you continued staring at your blue screen. You had your final exam in two days and you were working a twelve hour shift tomorrow since someone decided to quit last minute. Your stomach growls anger at you for skipping dinner for the third night in a row.

Pushing your smudged notes aside for the moment you open your budget planner. With the way things were going you weren't going to be able to afford eggs or meat for a while. Probably not until next month you think. You had to move out of the dorms soon as well. And all your money had gone towards securing another place to live. Luckily you managed to get a dingy basement studio about 20 minutes away from college.

On the bright side you'll finally be able to get your steps in now. It was the cheapest private space you could find with your salary. It would have been cheaper to share a living space but you couldn't deal with another year of shitty roommates. Shitty roommates who loved stealing food and borrowing things that weren't theirs. You're pretty sure you'd die of frustration within the first month if it happened again. Your so called 'friends' were of no help either. They only ever texted you when they needed help with coursework. It seems like that was all you were good for.

After everything that's happened this year you didn't know why you were working so hard for. There was no light at the end of the tunnel for you. You were suffocating in the oppressive darkness. And no one was willing to help. Not even the blue eyed devil who had promised to end your suffering.

All you could do was keep walking ahead hoping perhaps one day you'll reach the light. Wherever it was.

But right now you were just stuck in this never ending cycle of hate and compliance. At the end of the day you knew what you were, you were a coward. Someone who couldn't stand up for herself. Someone who allowed people to walk all over her. Someone who did everything to please others in the hope of receiving an ounce of love and affection. The very same you love you chastise yourself for craving.

Plastering on a fake smile was your escape from reality. Saying everything was ok was your bread and butter. It was better than becoming a burden everyone resented. So you had no choice but to say you didn't mind being forgotten, that you didn't mind being used and discarded. What else could you do? It wasn't like you were going to voice your pain. I wasn't like you were going to ask for better treatment. No one remembered you and no one cared unless you had something to offer….

Apart from…maybe….no not even him. He was just like the rest. Much like others he dangled a carrot in front of a starving donkey just to make a fool out of it. No wonder he left as soon as he realised he wasn't going to get what he wanted from you.

Images of piercing blue eyes flood your already overwhelmed mind. The same eyes that had followed you for weeks if not months. The ones that you thought perhaps liked you at the beginning before everything got so sinister.

You used to see them everywhere, at work, on the streets, at the library, at the park. Anywhere you went you felt them following you. You felt him following you. And then the notes started appearing, short and sweet. Always signed off with a heart at the end.

You'd be lying if you said they didn't make your heart flutter at the start, that his sweet words didn't fill the longing in your heart.

His calls started not long after the notes did. That's when the sinking feeling entered your stomach. Soap, his deep voice had uttered on the first night he had called you. His breath came out in hot pants as he asked you to say it back to him.

His name was odd but you didn't particularly care at that moment. Too concerned with how he got your number. That's when you knew you fell for a lie. But even after realising that you didn't want things to end.

You later found out why he gave himself such a silly nickname. With a kill record so clean you'd wondered how no one caught on by now, but then again you suppose the answer was in the name.

His notes soon lost their sweetness and the crude language objectifying your body flooded in. It wasn't long after the calls started that you noticed things going missing. First it was small trinkets, then much bigger things were gone from where you left them. It was only when you were down to your last three pairs of panties did you realise his overly perverse obsession with wanting you scared. He left your soiled underwear for you to find often with pictures of you sleeping in your dorm. If he was in a particularly cruel mood, he'd send videos of jerking off very close to your face while he degraded you for being so unguarded. He'd taunt you over the phone, often reciting off everything you did that day, down to the underwear you were wearing. And how he'd like to soil them with his seed. Much like how he'd like to soil and taint your flesh with blood. There must have been cameras in the room. It's the only way he could have known.

Coincidentally it was always on days where you'd get home from a long shift at work. He wanted you asleep. It's not surprising he'd take advantage of that. Especially not after all the explicit notes he left for you to read.

You played along to his sick twisted game of torture. You gave him the satisfaction of being scared. Of crying big fat tears when he wanted. And he loved it. He ate the lie right out of your hands. A couple tears spilled here, a couple choked up sobs there and he was panting like a dog over the phone. Almost certainly touching his needy swollen cockhead. You enjoyed being wanted for once. Even if you were just putting on an act to keep him interested. Being desired for more than what you could do for others felt freeing. Though this was just the other side of the same coin. You were being used either way. But this felt nicer.

He could still be watching now even though you haven't heard from him after the ‘incident’. After everything fell apart in a matter of seconds.

One slip in your expression was all it took for his demeanour to change from excitement to anger and then to confusion.

With the things he has claimed to have done he was being awfully gentle with you. You always wondered why? Was it pity? If it was, why didn't he just end it the night he had his hands wrapped around your throat. That night shattered any ounce of dignity you had left. You'd never forget the look of boredom in his eyes when he said ‘There's no fun in killing the dead Dove…’

Before he was so explicit on his desire to tear you apart. To cut and slice you until you begged and pleaded for mercy. To carve a pretty necklace of blood all over the delicate skin on your neck while he ruts his hard cock inside of you. He told you about his sick fantasies often. And he loved going into detail on how he'd dress you up before ripping you apart. You would have played along too. Had he not left so abruptly you could have slipped back into the facade he wanted.

There were no goodbyes exchanged, not even a nod of acknowledgement. You suppose you weren't even worth that to him. Or anyone for that matter.

You remember crying silently into your pillow after he had left. There was something else in his eyes that night but you couldn't decipher it. That hurt you more than anything else that happened. Because you knew that's how everyone viewed you. Like you were just an afterthought. Someone not worth thinking about. Maybe if you had played the role of prey better you'd be resting in your grave right now.

A sane person would have gone to the police the second the notes and calls started. But you think sanity had left you long ago. It's the only reasonable explanation for your behaviour.

For some odd reason at that time the thought of dying at the hands of a man so obsessed with you didn't feel so bad. Being wanted for once made your heart all fuzzy. Despite knowing why he wanted you. And what he was going to do to you. You desperately wanted to keep his gaze fixated on you. He has probably moved on already. Perhaps scouting out another town over for his next victim. You could still go to the police but you were too ashamed to do that after what you've done.

Back then you were just waiting until he made sure on his promises to end you. It was weird in the way you fantasised about all your troubles ending by his hands. You would picture him kissing your lips when your last breath finally left you. Kinda like the opposite of sleeping beauty yet for some fucked up reason you found it romantic.

You couldn't fathom anyone loving you in any mundane way. You would have experienced it by now if anyone had cared enough. You suppose in your mind Soap must have really cared for you if he was willing to end your suffering. It's probably the reason why you fell so hard for him. But those feelings disappeared the same day he left the job undone.

Tears sting your eyes but you hold them back unwilling to fall apart again. Especially now. You had things to do. You couldn't afford to deviate from your schedule.

You sigh, rubbing the tiredness and unshed tears out of your eyes. With your pen back in your grasp you click it to begin your mental torture again still wishing that you'd die of a heart attack or something so you didnt have to deal with this.

You only get two sentences written before a floorboard creaking halts your movements. You freeze not from fear but rather from confusion.

It couldn't be Soap right? He hasn't contacted you in weeks…But what if it was him?

Has he come to finally finish the job? You doubt it..did someone break in? Unlikely because there was nothing of value in these dorms, the majority of students were broke.

With your nerves vibrating with uncertainty you get up to go to the kitchen. You don't bother arming yourself, it's not like you have any will to live even if it was a break in. It's better just to accept your fate. You're exhausted anyway.

Despite trying to steel yourself for what's about to happen your hands still shake opening your door. Stepping into the dark hallway you find that the kitchen light is on despite knowing you turned it off before going to your room. You strain your ears trying to hear any sound of movement in your apartment. But it's eerily silent. Uncomfortably so.

What made it worse was that all the rooms except yours were empty now. So no one was here to help. Not that you wanted help. But you didn't like the uncertainty of the situation you were put in. It made your skin crawl.

For someone who wanted to die so badly you hated that your body still felt fear on behalf of your mind. The cold sweat trickling down your spine felt like a betrayal to yourself. You shouldn't be afraid…this is what you wanted…wasn't it?

Your heart pounds in your chest as you force yourself to move. To get closer to your demise even if your body tries to fight you on it. After the incident with Soap nothing felt the same anymore. You could tell yourself all you want that you weren't afraid, that you want to die but the fact this most likely wasn't Soap had your skin prickling with terror.

Somehow you still move you don't know how but you do. You cringe as your feet cause the floorboards to creak under your weight. But before you know it you're at the kitchen counter staring at a bag of takeaway with a note taped to the side. You feel something watching you as your brain finally deciphers the lettering on the paper.

'Look behind you 🖤'

Dividers by @cafekitsune

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katyarn · 6 days ago

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FRIENDS WITH BENEFITS - HAIKYUU!

CHARACTERS: Tsukishima, Oikawa, Atsumu, Kenma

SYNOPSIS: headcanons about when, how and why you became FWB

CONTENT WARNINGS: suggestive content, degradation, spitting, fingering, they're all complete and utter assholes

Author's note; This isn't smut but there's really suggestive content ahead, Feel free to request anything you want I'm desperate to write anything. This is a college AU but feel free to consider it whatever you'd like I don't really care. also I see you 13 year olds lurking, I can't really stop you but I'm obligated to tell you to stay away

TSUKISHIMA who had no sexual interest in anyone before he saw you batting your pretty eyelashes at him when you were at a party

Tsukishima who was friends with you way before college, way before you got so damn mature

Tsukishima who finds himself thinking about you day and night, waiting for the next time he'll be able to watch those tears prick at your eyes as he shoves his cock down your pretty throat.

Tsukishima who acts so so mean in bed, calling you his slut or his little whore just to be so so soft for aftercare

Tsukishima who spits on your pretty face when you go down on him

Tsukishima who gets jealous when he sees you with your boyfriend, fucking you in the nearest public space hoping you'll get caught and he'll have you all to himself

Tsukishima who always guards your drink when you're away

Tsukishima who acts soo mean so he doesn't get attached :(

OIKAWA who keeps his pretty girl a secret.

Oikawa who's an asshole that never lets you get a boyfriend but has had countless girlfriends

Oikawa who's mean to you in public, humiliating you in front of others but makes it up to you with those skillful fingers of his

Oikawa who makes you count how many times he spanks you if you misbehave

Oikawa who is so so mean in front of his friends but so sweet in bed

Oikawa who showers with you and washes your hair gently after fucking your brains out :(

Oikawa who makes you dumb on his cock if you flirt with any other guy

Oikawa who doesn't respect you enough to date you but still want his little angle to be all his

Oikawa who bullies your pretty cunt during class :3

Oikawa who always marks you up with love bites and scratch marks so everyone knows he owns you

ATSUMU who fucks you in the locker rooms before every game as a token of good luck

Atsumu who takes out his frustration after an argument with his brother on you

Atsumu who likes stuffing you full in public making you walk around with cum dripping down your leg :(

Atsumu who lets his brother fuck you every once in a while despite your protests (so meann)

Atsumu who takes you on dates but would never go out with you

Atsumu who makes eye contact with you when he's kissing other girls to get you jealous

Atsumu who brags about fucking you to his friends so they tease you when they see you

Atsumu who is just a huge asshole but you love him so much :(

KENMA who goes back to playing video games after frying your brain on his cock :(

Kenma who ignores you in public and pretends he doesn't know you but fucks you so so good after

Kenma who ignores you after you've had sex leaving your apartment immediately after

Kenma who lets you get off on him after he's came cause he's too lazy

kenma who calls you a slut for letting him use you :(

Kenma who does everything possible to not get emotionally involved

Kenma who is such a meanie calling you nothin' more than a warm mouth to him after you ask him to stay

I did everything I could to make them as mean as possible, I don't even know why I just felt like it :3

#haikyuu #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu smut #miya atsumu #tsukishima kei #tsukishima smut #atsumu smut #oikawa tooru #oikawa smut #oikawa x reader #kozume kenma #kenma smut #kenma x reader

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court-jobi · 20 days ago

Note

Hi, is there any Headcanon of a Married relationship between Izuku Midoriya and the reader? Could you write based on the Canon? Although the Reader, besides being a heroine (Izuku the teacher), is a model for clothing brands, cosmetics, etc! like any celebrity.

The reader is female!

ooooo~ how fun, anon! Let's see what I got... first headcanon request, here we go!!

A/N: I've gotten several fun asks recently, and am moving those larger works to the top of my WIPs as time allows. This is so fun, and you all suggesting prompts like these make it a joy!

For my My Hero Academia Masterlist, check it out here!

Pairing: Izuku Midoriya x Fem!reader (SFW)

MARRIED HEADCANONS!

Married!Izuku who -even though you're coming up on your third wedding anniversary- still crams love notes on index cards into your e-reader before he leaves for the day. You have it plugged into the side table of the living room and will pick it up as soon as you come home from work to wind down; so even though he will have a later arrival home than you, you'll hardly feel alone with Izuku's words of affirmation pouring out their surprise greeting.

Izuku writes in the middle of the night when he wakes before you- whether by an overactive mind or a nightmare he'd sooner forget. Rather than disturb your much needed rest, will channel reflective thoughts towards you onto paper- and sneaks their secrets around the house where you'll least expect them. Just when you think you know all his hiding spots, he picks a new one to surprise you. Once satisfied with his "journaling" tactic, he'll scoop you back up against him and settle into sleep.

Married!Izuku who chooses a travel tumbler for you every morning and fills it every time it's empty. Car ride ahead? It's crafted with your homebrewed coffee to keep you awake. Got a photoshoot ahead? Water it is, keeping his love hydrated. You are his beloved beverage goblin and though he finds your car to be a tervis graveyard, what's one more dish to wash if it makes you happy?

This man, who will hiss when your hands are too cold against his, getting ramped up far too easily when it comes to worrying over your health... meanwhile Izuku toughs through the worst of allergies himself with a hundred sniffles (and an aversion to cough medicine.) It's one of the first big arguments you had as a couple: you forcing him to take better care of himself when his self-preservation streak peeks through and nearly wears him into the ground during grad school. He'll start to defend himself, only to be caught by flashbacks to the last time he tried managing things on his own, and rightfully apologize. You are a team, and Izuku tries his hardest to let you step in and give him the same care and caution he gives you. It's a hard lesson, managing pride when it comes to taking care of someone so selflessly, and Izuku is still unused to this treatment when turned to himself. You're doing your best, armed with a world of grace to set him straight.~

Married!Izuku who is a phenomenal teacher. One of the most patient souls you've ever met, which is a large draw that led you to date him! You're encouraged to stretch your ways of thinking, listening to his alternative points of view... and find yourself marveling that a man who's so closely engrossed with training the next generation of heroes is still so happy to watch the news at the end of the day in hopes of learning more!

You've gifted him a notetaking tablet that's meant to replace his waning supply of favorite notebooks, but if you find that blue Campus brand in a shop that's selling your brand deals somewhere, you are absolutely picking it up for him. He cries every time you make him close his eyes and hold out his hands, producing your surprise in giddy silence. "They don't make this edition anymore!! H-HONEY!!"

^^^After a day of sparring with his students -giving them a run for their money- you'll be the one patching him up out of sight of Recovery Girl, everything from a lightly busted lip to each blooming bruise he's gonna feel in the morning. You're surprised he's getting hit as much as he is when he's still renowned as one of the heartiest teachers at UA- quirk or not, he is no lightweight. You may worry over him just as much, but with your honorary brother-in-law 'Kacchan' running drills on him on the weekends, you know Izuku is in tip-top shape. No one is invincible, after all.

Will gladly talk to your mom on the phone~ welcomes it, actually! Izuku wants to learn every little tidbit and creature comfort he can about you, so any nerves he had about meeting your family when you began dating dissolved once he kept that goal in mind. (This mentality won your father over well, to a comical degree once Izuku showed him the notes folder on his phone with your die-hard favorite secret pleasures only a loved one would know...) Allmight makes his trip to your dinner table every other week or so, becoming a ready and available father figure to you while yours lives hours away. It does your heart a world of good sitting in his nurturing company.

Married!Izuku will carry your luggage to and from the airport without a single grunt or complaint (That's what he continues to work out for, even as a teacher!) A few tears upon departure and arrival, sure, but will always ground himself steady in his pride over the hard work you're putting in. He's the one who calls to wish you a goodnight when you're on location for hero support, and a sends a text for every morning and lunch break. Regardless of timezone, he's going to make sure you are part of his routine like nothing's changed. You rely on this consistancy more than life. Living apart -even short term- is expected at this stage of your career where you're needed more than ever to help fund your hero ventures through sponsorships... but Izuku will forever be your biggest supporter.

///Little does he know, you are cramming in twice as many roles to help fund a certain someone's hero suit development, per Bakugou's discretion. It's the one, solitary lie of omission you keep from your husband, but one you trust is going to be worth it in the end to see him shine where he wants to once again. He'll always be your hero, but you'll help him see that realized self any way you can.///

Married!Izuku will be flooding the groupchat with every single advertisement that features your face. Every last one. And there are many. The girls will share you on each of their socials in support of whatever you are sporting, while the boys will... look respectfully and congratulate Izuku on his absolute knockout of a girl. Izuku is just insanely proud of his wife and will make it everyone's problem~

He may be operating on a teacher's salary, but is the most thoughtful gift-giver. Married!Izuku will choose experiences over 'things' when it comes to you, like vacationing to the largest library in the world where you can spend hours holed up on a loveseat somewhere, taking notes on all the old tomes you find, using those classic academia desks as if you were still at the 'study abroad' college where you met... Trip planning gives you both something to look forward to amidst your busy schedules, and takes the financial pressure off you both as well. Not that he won't still treat you to just about anything you ask for when you're giving him that sweet, small 'please' standing in the checkout line at the corner store...

Married!Izuku, who misses you adorably when you're not home. He runs a fairly typical working schedule that lines up with yours for the most part-- makes him the happiest, coming home to you! You adhere to a few sacred rules in your shared home: you always go to bed together, you can occasionally go to bed angry- but always remain in each other's corners, and you know giving him head scritches is the easiest way to make Izuku pliant enough to sleep. He'll nurse your migraines that aren't so pretty, you'll give his hands massages when the phantom pains make them ache. Whatever you can do to give your man some ease into his life, you give wholeheartedly.

You'll kiss Izuku's every trouble away; and the ones that linger, you'll tend to as gently as you can until you can replace the thoughts with something sweeter, kinder, delicately on his still-healing heart when the embers remind him of old hurts you weren't around to see. You care for Deku just as you do your darling Izuku- as they are two sides of the same coin. You polish and affirm them both, strengthening all the parts that have made your life partner the man he is today. That made him him.

Married!Izuku: your darling husband with eyes that light up when you enter a room, mist up when they see you down, and stare eternally grateful on you as you listen and take in every word he has to give and through every promise shared-- just like your vows.

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pennyblossom-meta · 8 months ago

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Analysis of the romance in Death Note's Spiraling Trap game.

EDIT 02/03/2024: minor edits and fixes, added a few imgs and extra content.

A huge thank you to the folks over at agtteam who translated L - the ProLogue to Death Note: Spiraling Trap into English! Now we can all date L become FBI agents after hours.

I've been playing the game recently and one of the features I love the most is the L Communicator, which allows the main character (referred to as MC henceforth) to take a break from adventuring and listen to L talk about whatever is on his mind.

There's around one hundred different lines available as the MC develops a relationship with L and they paint him as such a sweet, attentive and thoroughly unique individual that I was surprised by how detailed it was. If you're thinking about playing, then this part is definitely worth putting effort into.

The mechanics of the dating sim are relatively simple: during the adventure, you'll pick up a number of recipes hidden among traps and tools. Then, Watari will provide the ingredients and you can give L whatever sweets he specifically craves. These recipes and cravings depend on the time of day and can be season specific.

Character analysis

As stated in-game, giving L sweets causes his appreciation for the MC to grow. However, L being L, means that he craves different sweets throughout the day. He's definitely very specific about what he likes and what he wants for his sugar fix.

However, if you give L something he isn't craving at that specific moment, he will sulk. The way he expresses his displeasure varies according to the depth of the budding relationship he has with the MC.

L: To tell you the truth, there are many other things I would have preferred. L: [F/N], I hate to say this, but I really would have preferred something else. L: F/N], you must know that I was hoping for something else, right? L: [F/N]… It’s not my favorite but, it made me really happy.

Note: Given that the books in the expanded universe (Another Note and L: Change the WorLd) came out before this game, I think some of the quotes further ahead might be a subtle nod to how L is perceived by the police forces as the "creepy murder detective". However, references about his piece of mind lead me to believe that L craves some respite from the burdens he carries on his shoulders — burdens so strong that they managed to curve his spine.

Note: I'm unsure how the system here works, as the MC also gets points for gaining L's trust in the actual adventure when they a) agree with his observations and b) find key objects hidden in unsuspecting places. It might affect the available lines through the L Communicator.

L: Today is going to be a better day… Let’s think positive. L: I wonder what kind of morning this will be. L: It seems the air outside is crisp this morning.

L: I want to finish what I need to get done before night falls. L: It’s nearly sunset. Time for children to go back home. L: If you just stare into space, night will be here before you know it.

L: It’s already evening… Time keeps passing me by. L: There’s something different about the air at night. L: Night-time, dusk… It’s the witching hour.

As a naturally introspective individual, L observes the world around him and draws conclusions. To my surprise, the game actually managed to capture how observant L is about small, unsuspecting details of daily life and give him a slightly poetic side laced with a hint of wistfulness that suits his character well.

This is a side of L in his private life that I personally wish we had been able to glimpse during the Kira investigation. Though, at the time, L was busy trying to prove that Light was, indeed, Kira. It left him little to no time to enjoy the world around him. During the brief time that L could have had a semblance of rest right before the Yotsuba arc, he was depressed that his deductions were "wrong" — though I could see him musing about some of the above, equal parts whimsy and sulking.

L: If I start to lose my touch… I guess I’ll retire. L: Another day, another mystery… L: I have a lot of thinking to do. L: I feel like doing some capoeira… L: I haven't played tennis for a while. L: The weather today is… Well, it matters not. L: I, um… No, ignore me. L: Am I reading too much into it…?

As a thinker, L has a lot of unfinished thoughts he says out loud. Some border on cliché, others are musings about things he'd like to do or that he's missing.

I wonder if some of his thoughts end up trailing off because, suddenly, he catches himself and believes they're not important? Or that he doesn't think the MC would be interested in what he has to say beyond work matters?

L: “In spring one sleeps a sleep that knows no dawn.” Though, too much sleep isn’t good for anyone. L: If you think about things persistently, noticing all the sides to them will come naturally. L: Strawberries… Despite the name, they aren’t actually berries. How berry disappointing. L: The one who has thought it through wins. It’s true for chess, and for deduction. But in the case of love… I don't know.

He's also a philosopher at heart, always thinking about the human condition. In these we can also witness his dry humour, silly puns along with a subtle desire to share his thoughts on the world and give helpful advice.

As for love, L is cautious but willing to learn. It's a topic where he's out of his depth.

L: Um, Watari is… L: I wonder if Watari’s asleep? L: What could Watari be up to? L: Today is Thanksgiving Day. I am truly grateful to Watari for his diligence.

I found it interesting how L's thoughts eventually go back to Watari and what he's doing. He's the one person that L relies on and whom he interacts with the most. Other people are passing acquaintances at best, who show little interest in L beyond work.

Notice how he mentions diligence? Although it is a utilitarian consideration, it also reveals a thankfulness for the comforts of familiarity and the peace of mind that trusting someone close brings. This is a topic we'll explore better at a later stage, i.e., how trust and acts of service work as a relationship builder.

Romance

Neutral stage

One of the first things I've noticed is that, during the early stages of the relationship, L is still very formal and quite a bit dismissive — even borderline rude. As his sugar fix gets sated by the MC's keen suggestions (Watari provides the ingredients, of course), L grows gradually more fond of them and wants to include the MC in his life with an enthusiasm I can only define as endearing.

L: Aren’t you bored? You don’t have to check in on me. L: Don’t you have stuff to do?

At the beginning, L is still wary of the MC on a personal level as they have absolutely no rapport beyond a partnership of circumstance and usefulness in the name of justice. He's quick to get bored and doesn't take it very well when he's given sweets he isn't craving. A bit childish, one could say, the way he sulks when the MC errs by not reading his mind.

L: Did I enjoy it? Let me just say “no comment”. (about sweets that weren't quite to his taste)

It's also very in-character for L to feel both annoyed at someone who is randomly calling him and be suspicious of their motives.

Growing interest

L: Spending the afternoon with you isn’t so bad. L: Even though it’s late, you’re not going to bed, huh? L: You must be a night owl, [F/N]. L: I’m a little curious about you, [F/N]. L: Are you having a good time? I’m just curious. L: You’re kind of… Ah, no, forget I said anything.

He starts addressing the MC by their first name as he becomes more enamoured. It's very sweet. I was pleasantly surprised at how attentive L becomes as he gradually comes to the conclusion that this is a person who understands him.

Mind, due to game mechanics the MC gains approval by giving L sweets, but from a narrative perspective what's really happening is that L not only feels seen and understood, but also accepted. And when that happens, he starts lowering his walls and relaxing.

As a plot device, I would say these are defining moments within L's thought process here; he's curious about the MC, finds them interesting enough to want to know more them and pursues that curiosity to see what they might have in common. It seems he's both a little baffled and content about this development.

L: [F/N], what do you think of when you see a sunset? L: What are you doing this afternoon? Oh, should I not have asked? L: Are you a night owl? Oh, you don’t have to answer if you don’t want.

It should also be noted that L is very mindful of boundaries. There's a tentative, almost shy attempt to connect. He's determined to indulge in his curiosity since the MC's attentiveness towards him shows an opening for closeness he's unused to (but is happy about) and to tend to his more immediate needs (i.e., food cravings), which in turn shows a genuine concern for him. Aside from Watari, I doubt anyone ever extended L similar kindness.

And it is in this determination to get to know the MC that I also find Mello's words (AA: LABB Murder Cases) that L is actually a very active, aggressive individual with absolutely no interest in social conventions perfectly represent him this game, as he navigates a growing fondness with expectation, curiosity and caution — on his own terms, while minding that he doesn't overstep.

L: Staying up late talking to you… It makes me feel calm.

I find it particularly heartbreaking how this confession of L unknowingly makes it more transparent how burdened he is. The spine curved by burdens unseen, the addiction to mind games and sweets; all of these point to stress factors which isolate him further, increasing the loneliness and lack of affection in his life.

That L feels the need to mention the MC makes him feel calm seems telling.

L: We’re both late workers, huh? That makes me happy. L: [F/N]… You’re pretty formidable. L: It’s reassuring to have a partner like you. You’re someone I can trust. L: Your feelings have been received. (Valentine's Day) L: The fact we’ve become so close was an unexpected development on my part.

And here it is, the acknowledgement just as L enters the highest stages of approval, where he expresses admiration and happiness at the close bond he developed with the MC.

"An unexpected development on my part" is quite the turn of phrase. One can only wonder, but I'd make an educated guess that L didn't see this coming because:

a) no one showed feelings towards him before. In his line of work, hidden behind a screen there is no time to indulge or get attached to anyone (he would mistrust their intentions anyway) and so L keeps everyone at arms length, sharing little more than a professional side of himself and fostering utilitarian relationships that help him win "games". L ultimately carries various burdens the average civilian would never be able to understand, all due to the pressure of his job. When failing at the "game of cat and mouse" means being responsible for the likely deaths of dozens, perhaps even hundreds or thousands, the stakes are up in unimaginable ways. What started as a thrill chase can have catastrophic consequences should L fail. That in itself alienates him from society at large. It's a game that L plays well and absolutely profits from, but it is also an indicative of two major flaws: his addictive personality and how he suppresses his emotions to carry on. Coincidentally, it's the expanded universe, in particular Another Note: LA BB Murder Case and L: Change the WorLd, that give us the best insight into this. This isn't too dissimilar to the struggles policemen face in high risk jobs or technicians who have to flag and delete sensitive content from online platforms. These people end up changed from what they see — and some carry traumas for the rest of their lives. That's not to say that L doesn't feel for others. He respects people whom he considers good or morally upstanding (Soichiro Yagami), who are competent in their line of work (Naomi Misora, Mogi), worthy of a second chance (Aiber and Wedy), who speak their minds, unafraid (Aizawa) or who are reliable, loyal to him as a person and not just his cause, in whom he can place his trust and feel secure won't betray him (Watari). The MC seems to fall mostly in the last category, though the relationship is rather precocious — and there seems to be a fair amount of wishful thinking and even projecting on L's part, since communication happens over a device connecting two people remotely. He falls both for the idea of the individual and their attentiveness towards him. When L mentions that they make him feel calm, I'd argue it comes both as a surprise to him and a confession of a closeness and safety he intimately craved — though I personally view L as someone who feels lonely and wanting healthy human contact, even if his social skills might not be the best (worsened by his distrust of people as a whole). Someone who ultimately is willing to adapt to him but whom he can adapt to, as well. Someone who sees him as a person and not an unfeeling robot. It's a POV that certainly challenges certain aspects of DN: Vol 13. I would further argue that L's portrayal has evolved significantly beyond the manga, and that his subsequent humanising is partially a result of the creative liberties the English translations took, as well as a more empathetic view of the character and hidden struggles. Each medium displays a separate iteration of L, with common variables.

b) L fosters distant relationships with others as a safety measure. Aside from Watari, L's contact with other people had always been distant, work-focused, perhaps even tainted by notions of his supposed creepiness as a kinky detective "who relished bizarre murders" (L:CtW). He's useful to the police because he achieves favourable results, though L is still viewed as "a human computer, capable only of measuring mass murders in terms of cold numbers, a reclusive sociopath" (L:CtW). He isn't necessarily liked; in fact, I would argue he rubs people the wrong way most of the time — as we can see during his interactions with the Task Force, during the events of Death Note. L is tolerated, a useful asset who is both mysterious and a pain to deal with. However, he's also put on a pedestal due to his status (i.e., Relight, the children at Wammy's). For the latter, he purposely shatters their idea of L as this unbeatable, paragon of justice by defining himself as a monster (anime), a dishonest cheating human being who hates losing (manga). I do share in lux-mea-lex's perspective on L doubting his own humanity and how it fuels a certain self-hatred for distrusting everyone around him. As lux mentions, "love comes with trust" and L is an excellent detective precisely because he questions everything and everyone — but it comes at a cost: his own loneliness. To draw a parallel, L's ultimate flaw — and that which makes him great at his job — is not unlike what we see during the moments of extreme anguish that Veronica Mars goes through in her personal relationships and which draw people away from her when she oversteps boundaries to prove she's not being lied to. That mistrust comes from experience, for people burdened with having seen too much and it's not unlike a kind of paranoia acquired when one has to deal with the worst of humanity on a daily basis.

Full reciprocity

L: [F/N] you’re the light that illuminates the dark night. That’s an exaggeration of course, but… L: What I need to live is glucose… and to talk to you. Nourishment for my brain and heart. L: When we’re together, I feel like there’s no problem we can’t solve. L: The afternoons I get to spend with you are precious to me.

When the MC achieves the stage of full reciprocity with L, he's very open to showing vulnerability and lowering his emotional defenses. I found this to be particularly sweet, as L is such a secretive man with so many hidden layers that him being willing to show such honesty with that one person he holds dear is incredible character development.

Beyond the game, I would say that achieving this stage with L would be much more difficult and, naturally, would involve going beyond picking the best sweets for him.

Something important to keep in mind is that L seems to value acts of service, as the people who interact with him more closely have some utility value and aid his work. However, L's life revolves around his work; he lives and breathes his detective work, which is why having a partner who brings him peace would be so important.

L: The time I spend with you is as important to me as the sweets. L: Good morning. It makes me really happy to see you here. L: For your sake… I’d think of a way to get through anything. We share a bond. L: When you have time, I’d like to take you to a shop that makes the best sweets. L: When you’re free, how about we play tennis together? I will have Watari reserve a court. L: If something were to happen to me… I want you, as the person I hold dearest, to carry on the L moniker. L: When my thoughts hit a dead end late at night, I feel like I’m stuck in a maze. But, having you here makes me feel reassured.

I also found it very sweet how L takes the initiative to plan for activities to do together with the MC. And how their presence, their reassuring words make him feel at ease. It seems that a loving relationship would give L a goal in life beyond his work.

Carrying on the L moniker... this quote might be the result of L's trust in the MC growing during the events of the game, or a sentiment L nurtures due to the MC being attentive enough to understand his specific cravings. But being able to read L and having the mental dexterity to become him are different things, as the latter involves a lifestyle that few would want and a complete focus on work. Even FBI agents have lives beyond work.

L: I learned from you that sweets are the bond that brings people together. L: You give me true peace of mind. No one could ever replace you. L: The way I am now, I… I can’t think straight when you’re not around. L: Being able to share this sunset with you, I couldn’t ask for anything more. L: You understand, don’t you [F/N]? What my heart so strongly desires is something more… L: When I talk to you, I feel like my senses are sharpened. Thanks to that, my radar has become more sensitive.

What a sweet guy. I love how L focuses on the little things and just wants to spend time together with the person he holds dearest. It's almost as if he daydreams a close, loving relationship — a trait that clashes with L's logical side.

This game and the expanded universe of Death Note have convinced me that there are many more layers to L than what we can see in the main story.

As Fu Takahashi, who plays L in the 2020 Japanese version of the musical, said:

“(...) A common thing about L among these versions is that, despite his superficial image as a smart guy who hates losing, he actually feels lonely and needs affection, I imagine. Perhaps he is an orphan – his character suggests so. He tries to control his emotions, like the feelings towards his parents, or romantic feelings; that’s why he is sort of dependent on games or battles of the mind. So I want to play L while thinking about the foundations on which his personality has been formed.”

I think this quote and the game are actually very telling of L's core personality and how it moves beyond that cold, calculating persona that defines him in the manga. It's also more in line with the characterisation that we see in the anime and the books, which help humanise L.

As I mentioned elsewhere, learning how to trust and be comfortable around someone else would do L wonders. Though that person would have to accept him for who he is and help him learn how to navigate a healthy relationship.

Perhaps the true test of love, for L, would even be for him to be confronted with someone who knows who he really is and, is not only kind to him, but also sees the best in him — regardless of his flaws. I think that we've had a glimpse of it in this game and it's a breath of fresh air.

#death note #l lawliet #death note: spiralling trap #spiraling trap #romance #death note meta #watari #character analysis #l lawliet headcanons #l lawliet x reader #in a way #kira #soichiro yagami #aizawa #naomi misora #aiber #wedy #task force

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motorsportbarbie13 · 12 days ago

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Forbidden - Part 7

In which you get your happily ever after with Maxie

OH MY GOD HERE IT IS. I'm so sad this is over but this ending feels so good. I'll probably do an epilogue soon too (and drabbles and head cannons too, if you want to see something about these two send me a message) so you'll get more of these babies, not to worry. Also, requests are open so if there's something else you want, send it in!!!)

Warnings: None Pairing: Max Verstappen X LeClercSister!Reader Word count: 1.7k words (kinda short but super sweet)

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Master List

“You sure you’re up for this?” Max asks you as he pulls the sleek black Aston Martin into the car park at the race track the next morning. His hand stretches out, interlacing his fingers with yours to give you a reassuring squeeze.

You look over at him, soft smile on your face. “I am.”

And it was the truth. After your reunion last night, things just fell into place. Max had asked you to be all in with him and while you still had some reservations about being in such a public relationship, especially when you had spent your life wanting nothing more than to be out of the spotlight, with Max it just felt right.

You knew that walking into the paddock this morning was going to cause quite the stir. You’d been around the paddock enough this season that most of the media knew you were Charles LeClerc’s sister but today you weren’t showing up for Charles, you would be showing up in a navy blue dress on the arm of Max Verstappen. Tongues were absolutely going to wag.

“If you get too overwhelmed at any point today, let me know. I’ve got you credentials to get into any of the Red Bull buildings but I can always have an intern drive you back to the hotel too.”

You could tell Max was more nervous about this than you were, which endeared him to you even more.

“Maxie, I’ll be fine. I’ve been to how many races already this year? I know how this works. I’ll find Kika or…” You pause. You were about to say Alex but truthfully, you didn’t know if Alex would be a welcoming face today. She meant well and was your friend, but she was Charlie’s girlfriend first. “I’ll find someone to hang out with, don’t worry.” You finish, brushing aside the sudden ache for your brother.

“Does he know you’re here?” Max asks, reading the look of apprehension on your face expertly.

You shake your head before reaching up to take the block M and V pendants between your fingers, rubbing them to sooth the anxiety building in your chest. “No, we haven’t spoken since that day in Monaco.”

“I’m sorry, schatje.”

You shrug, “It’s fine. He’ll get over it once he realizes this thing between you and me is more than just a fling.”

You hoped.

Max pulls the car into his designated spot before hopping out, telling you to wait so he can help you out of the low slung ride. You take his hand, giving it a squeeze of thanks when you see the anxiety playing on his face. “I’m fine, Max. Stop being a mother hen.”

Max’s shoulders droop as he releases a long breath. “I just want this to go well. I want you happy.”

Max had been worried all morning that he had pushed you to go public too soon. He desperately wanted you there with him, but he also knew that things were complicated. You still weren’t talking to Charles, the attention that came along with being his girlfriend still intimidated you, and it was his home race so all eyes were on him even more. It was a lot to take in and he didn’t want anything to go wrong, even though he knew that he couldn’t control everything. He just wanted you to be happy and if you had told him you didn’t want to be there, he would have instantly sent you back to the hotel without him, no questions asked.

Grinning up at him, you ignore the flurry of activity that has kicked up as people realize that Max has arrived ahead of this mornings last free practice. “I’m here with you and I don’t have to hide the fact that I’m madly in love with you anymore. Nothing could dampen my day, mon amor.”

To emphasize your point, you stand on tiptoes in order to dust a quick kiss on Max’s lips, grinning when his arms circle your waist to he can pull you in closer. You hear the click of a few camera shutters faintly and you know you’re being watched. It doesn’t bother you though, much to your surprise. It doesn’t bother you because the moment Max’s hands are on you, the entire world fades away and all that matters is that you’re here with him.

“Come on, I don’t want Christian to blame me for making you late.” You murmur, grinning when Max reaches down to twine his fingers with yours.

You and Max make your way towards the entrance of the paddock, your Red Bull credentials hanging around your neck. It’s weird, showing up to the track in something other than Ferrari red. Part of you wondered if you’d feel out of place or like you were betraying your brother but the moment Max zipped up the back of the lacy navy blue dress you wore today, you knew that this was the right decision.

A gaggle of photographers are positioned just inside the paddock entrance, waiting to capture the drivers arrivals and as soon as they notice Max, several cameras swing in your direction. Max takes the lead, swiping his credentials first and you follow shortly after, swiping in your own Red Bull credentials Max had made sure were waiting for you at the front desk this morning.

“Max! How are you feeling this morning after yesterday’s crash?” One of the photographers asks as he takes a photo of the two of you.

“I’ve got a great team behind me, they worked late into the night to get the car back in shape. I have no doubt we’ll be just fine today.” He remarks, giving the photographer a polite smile.

“And who do you have with you today? Is that…”

“My girlfriend.” Max interrupts the photographer before he can finish his sentence. “She surprised me last night, I didn’t think she’d be here but I’m glad to have her by my side this weekend.”

You don’t miss the looks that a few of the press exchange at his quick claiming of you. It’s been a while since Max has brought anyone with him to the paddock that he’s dating, and people have already clocked that you’re a LeClerc, raising some eyebrows before you even make it to the Red Bull hospitality.

As you walk further into the paddock, you begin to hear whispers follow you, heat prickling at the back of your neck. F1 is such a small world, you know it won’t be long before word gets to your brother that you’re here and that you’re here with Max. Strangely though, it doesn’t bother you. Not with the steady presence of Max by your side, his hand securely covering yours as he leads you towards Red Bull’s area of the paddock.

You have to pass the red building of Ferrari though and you can’t help the stitch of anxiety that fixes itself in your side as you approach the red and yellow building. Max notices the change in your gait as you slow down just a touch. He turns to you, brows knit together. “Are you okay, liefje?”

You nod but your attention quickly shifts from Max to the approaching figure, body going completely still as you realize who is making their way over to you.

“Hi Charlie.” You say, desperately trying to keep the anxious quiver out of your voice as your brother stalks towards you.

Max takes a step towards Charles, putting himself between you and your brother. He’d be damned if Charles was going to ruin this for either of you.

“I just want to say hello to my sister, Max.” Charles holds his hands up to show he means no harm. “I’m not going to cause a scene in the middle of the paddock.”

Max glares at him through narrowed eyes. “One step out of line and I’ll send you into the fucking wall this weekend, LeClerc. Don’t fucking test me, I’ll do it.” Max’s voice is low and dangerous. “I don’t care how many points I cost the team. You’re going to be nice to her or you’re going to leave her alone, those are you two choices.”

Charles’ brows rise at the venom in Max’s voice but he simply nods. “I understand. I appreciate you being protective over her.”

“I shouldn’t have to be protective over her with her own fucking brother.” He grumbles, but you reach out a hand, placing it on Max’s shoulder.

“It’s okay, Maxie.” You murmur. “He’ll be nice, won’t you Charlie?”

“I just wanted to say hi and see if maybe we can talk, just the two of us, sometime this weekend?” Charles reaches up to rub at his neck, unable to keep eye contact with either of you. His shoulders slump and you can tell he’s feeling remorseful.

Despite the fact that you know Max wants to tell him to fuck right off and you kind of half way agree with him, you simply nod. “I’d like that, but right now Max and I have to get over to Red Bull’s hospitality. He has a meeting shortly, don’t you Maxie?”

Max takes your hand, pulling it up to his mouth to press a kiss to the back of it, before turning back to Charles. “See you out there, mate.”

As you walk away, you can't help the pang of sadness that rattles it’s way thought your bones. You loved your brother, more than life, and you knew eventually you’d be able to reconcile with him. But right now? Right now all you could hear when you saw him was the names he had called you and the things he had said that night in Monaco when he had discovered you with Max. It hurt and you weren’t quite ready to let go of the hurt yet.

As you walked away, hand in hand with Max, he leans in to press a kiss to the top of your head. “Are you okay, pretty girl?”

“More than okay, mon amor. I am so happy I’m here with you and we don’t have to hide anymore. Now, lets get you to your team. You have a race to win tomorrow.”

Max grins down at you, heart swelling with pride that he gets to have you on his arm all weekend. “I love you, liefje.”

“I love you too, Maxie.”

Tag List:

@shelbyteller, @formulaal, @martygraciesversion381, @longhairkoo, @samantha-chicago, @stelena-klayley @dark-night-sky-99 @luckylampzonkland, @chlmtfilms , @inarabee @aykxz98 @forensicheart @cheer-bear-go-vroom @charlesgirl16

#max verstappen #f1 fanfic #f1 imagine #f1 x reader #max verstappen x reader #max verstappen fanfic #max verstappen fic #max verstappen imagine

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yunohentai · 1 year ago

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night lights. warnings: noncon/cnc ?, pervert heeseung, boob guy hee, reader's older (like 2 years?), reader's shy and sophisticated, virgin reader + experienced hee, dumbification, she says no (which is like noncon) but is enjoying it so its cnc, clicking pics and recording sex too ig??, indication of blackmailing towards the end, he masturbates alot. this is like real filth with some wild kinks. READ AT YOUR OWN RISK + minors dni please.

Lee Heeseung has huge secrets, everyone thinks he's a perfect boy with great grades and a promising future ahead... but little do they know. He's the biggest pervert you could come across. Just 19 yet he's obsessed with sex. He lost his virginity at the age of 17 to a 20 year old girl who rode his dick in a huge crowded party. he was so obsessed with the feeling that since then he's been having sex every week, different pussy every time and well he got blessed to have a huge, thick cock which he knew how to use well, oh and his amazing looks... got all the girls on his dick, ready to let him ruin them.

While you, Y/F/N... knows only the main thing. 'Sex is done to reproduce.' without too much of an idea, and neither you've ever felt any "dark" desire. Innocent little sweetheart who is focused on building up a career and leading a stable life. You love shopping, studying English literature and posting on Instagram. Your tits are so huge. It's as if your tits are honey and boys are bees, they want you and your body so much... but you don't wanna give it up.

Heeseung and you were in the same college but have never crossed ways until today. You were wearing a sage green dress till your knee, which showed alot of your cleavage, your sister always bought you outfits like those in hopes you'll finally have a boy in your life.

You were on your way to class while reading through your 'Wuthering Heights' notes quickly, not noticing your way as you bumped into a guy, falling on top of him. It was obviously none other than, Heeseung. It was a very bad collision. You fell in his lap, your arm hurting as he just stared at you with his mouth wide open, eyes on the main attraction, the huge tits that were almost slipping out of the dress.

Unknowingly his hand moved towards your chest, fixing your dress as you gasped softly and looked into his eyes. he felt your cleavage and the softness made him harden a little as he got up and helped you up too. "I'm so sorry." he apologized and bowed, eyes stuck on your milky white legs. "I'm sorry too! Please forgive me!" you felt really shy and guilty as you bowed, your breasts coming all out again as he moaned lowly and made you stand straight again, "hey it's fine. anyways, I'm heeseung. Freshman." you smiled at him while fixing your dress.

That fucking smile. His heart fluttered, and butterflies filled all of his stomach and he smiled too. "I'm Y/n, Junior." he nodded his head as her cheeks burned with shyness. "I hope we become friends." he winked and walked away, leaving you a mess because of how well that handsome boy treated you and even cared about how your dress revealed your private parts! so considerate!!

He had left straight for the bathroom as he then sat in cubicle, gasping to himself. " Oh wow" he said to himself as he then started wanking, he couldn't help thinking of her. Heeseung tries to use his negative emotions like, anger and all because he works his ass off all the time. So he mostly channels those emotions sexually, kinda hot.

~ ~ ~

The day had ended as you were by your locker, putting in your books and taking the one you're gonna study at home. as heeseung came running to you. "Oh my god- listen y/n do you major in English lit. ?" he asked her, acting all worried. as you nodded your head in confusion. "why?" you asked and he leaned on the lockers. "Okay so our teacher is making me get tutored by a very annoying girl so I told him I'll find someone else, and while looking for someone else I saw you. Do you mind?" he told her with a pout on his lips, and the look in his eyes, that could make everyone melt. "Hmm... I'm not that good at it but I can help."

heeseung smiled. " thanks alot!! btw, your number?" he asked with a pretty smile and you nodded while softly blushing as you both exchanged numbers and shook hands.

~ Timeskip to a month or so later ~

You and Heeseung sat in the hallroom of your rented apartment as you helped him out with the freshman English lit syllabus, wearing shorts and sleeve less top that barely kept your tits inside. "Okay let's take a two minute break." you said and took your phone scrolling through your instagram. you were wearing a really soft shade of pink which highlighted your hard nipples because of cold and your cleavage. Heeseung pulled out his phone and subtly clicked alot of pictures of them, from even different angles.

"hey, i'm gonna use the bathroom." he said and you nodded, very busy on your phone as he quitely went towards the bathroom but sneaked into your bedroom. he knew you won't look for him for the next 10 minutes, so he went into your wardrobe for like the 5th time this month and stole another pair of your panties, it was a lacy white one as he sniffed it and moaned. "Like always. even her fucking panties smell heavenly." he said and put it in his pocket as he went back outside.

he was a bit shocked to see you stretching from your spot, your complete breasts visible and ass in the air, as you lazily tried to grab the charger and your earphones. your hard pink nipples rubbed on the wool carpet getting harder as he felt his dick harden, he looked down and saw the boner. he sighed and coughed, making her gasp and sit back up, fixing her clothes. "Are you alright?" he asked and you nodded. "Let-let's get back to work!" you said and he shook his head. "Wait y/n let me help you." he said and smirked, he knew you were gullible and he could atleast get to touch your tits tonight.

He sat down, way closer to you than before. "Straighten your back." you were about to question but he shushed you and you nodded, giving up. You followed his command as he then leaned down, now his face was almost buried in your chest and your eyes widened. "Hees-" he silenced you and grabbed your tits using his hands. "Heeseung stop!" you said in an angry tone. "just let me do it, y/n!" he said and removed your shirt with one hand and held your hands tightly with the other one. he was so ecstatic to finally see the tits.

he hooked his lips on your nipple and started sucking on it aggressively while caressing the other one, you could feel wetness spread down between your legs. Confusion was what you felt, what's happening- why am i loving it..? she let out a string of hot moans as he grew harder and harder, he then sucked her tits really good, the nipples un-hardening slowly. he then pulled away.

"see. that's how they un-harden" he rolled his eyes and you looked into his eyes. "oh... thank you... heeseung.. can we conti-continue?" he shook his head. "I'm going home." you nodded as he left.

you didn't know or understand this feeling between your legs, as you went into your bedroom, touching between your legs and gasping. "Oh god- i'm just gonna sleep-" you gasped and hugged the pillow between your legs falling asleep.

And well in your sleep, you humped that pillow, thinking it's heeseung's thigh. oh your first wet dream!

while heeseung thrusted his dick into your panties, and also wanked himself off, moaning and grunting your name. how you moaned, your scent, the smell of you in the panties, your tits, your innocence, your beauty.. everything turned him on so bad as he grabbed his phone and wanked himself more and faster, watching you boobs.

~ The next week ~

For the full next week you were acting weird. turning red whenever heeseung was around, and not even avoiding him at all, trying to get closer to him. While heeseung enjoyed the attention and continued to secretly steal your panties and click lewd pictures of you.

For example, He dropped his fork down on purpose and went down the table, where you sat with your legs open wide and enjoyed the food as he clicked a photo. Then when you were busy looking for something under your bed, he got a picture of your perfect round ass. Oh and when you thought he was in the bathroom and sheepishly pushed your hand inside your shorts, feeling and caressing her clit. that photo made him feel so fucking turned on. he litreally caught you touching yourself, he thought. And last, when you had left your main door unlocked and he got in, you had taken off your lens and were showering, you didn't even see him when he got the most lewd of all pictures and videos. Photo and video of you squeezing and scrubbing your tits and them bouncing etc.

He was in love with your body and with sexualizing you. He was excited to fuck you and feel your pussy.

Today you went over to heeseung's so you could help him out with the work and studying as his exam was approaching. you wore the tightest and revealing dress today. it was till your thigh and super tight on the breast region making them pop out more. you had no idea why you were doing this but dressing up for him was fun.

you rang the bell and smiled as he opened the door. "hey y/n, welcome" he greeted as you walked in, taking of your jacket and hanging it. heeseung was done with life now, you're wearing a peach dress till your thighs which was flying everywhere because of the fan, showing him your black underwear and the fact your tits were spilling out and your nipples were visible, you weren't even wearing a bra.

he was now almost offended, she acts innocent? and then dresses like that? is she fooling me.. he pushed away the thoughts and led her into his bedroom as the two sat down and today you were helping him finish his sketches for submission. his arm was pressed in the region between your breasts as you led his hand and helped him sketch. "see, that's how you do it. you're bad at this." you said and continued to lead his hand, as your tits then rubbed on his arm.

That. drived him insane, but he held back and decided to play the same game with you. you giggled at his bad drawing and made fun of him. "Oh yeah? You're so mean" He said and started to tickle you as you giggled and fell backwards onto his bed as he was on top of you tickling you while you giggled and bounced. His eyes were stuck on your tits. "OKAY STOP STOP NOW."

He stopped and you looked into his eyes, seeing a certain look on his face which scared you and brought that same feeling between your legs. "Y/n, Can I?" he asked leaning in to kiss you as you let the thoughts leave your head and pulled him closer by the collar of his shirt and let him lead.

His hands were next to your head as he softly kissed you, slowly speeding up and biting your lips. His hands ranged lower while touching your thighs and touching you sensually as you made out with while breathing heavily. Soon the reality hit you as you pulled away and tried to push him off of you. "heeseung no no-"

You were resisting him but the soft look in his eye had now been replaced by something darker, something more scary. Chills went down your spine and your pussy fluttered. "Shh" He whispered and started to leave a trail of harsh bites kisses from your chin to your shoulder blade. "I've been waiting for this moment. Don't fuck it up for me."

"Heeseung stop, let me go." you said as a few moans left your mouth too. He rolled his eyes and slapped your face as you gasped and looked at him with wide eyes. With one swift moment he threw everything that was on the bed away and pulled you closer to him.

"Are you nicely gonna take it off or should i tear it off?" He asked as you looked at him with doe eyes hoping he'd stop but the need in your eyes stood out to him more. "Fine." And there was your dress, left only in shred around your thighs.

Your tits fell out with a small bounce as he licked his lip at that view. He shimmied off the shreds and your panties to the side as you tried to stop him, few tears forming in your eyes. I want to feel more.. you thought but tried to kick him off of yourself. "Please stop this!!"

His hand moved between your legs harshly as the other one held you down, he rubbed your clit harshly and waited for your wetness to grow so he could put his fingers inside your walls while you complained and cried. His lips were abusing your tits like an animal, biting, pulling the nipple and kissing them. You were moaning and rubbing your hips against his fingers while he thrusted them harshly.

"It- hurts.." You cried out with your eyes closed and he smiled. "Just the way my dick used to hurt watching you in those tiny clothes love." He said and continued abusing your tits and pussy. The tears weren't there because of disgust or any negative feeling, you were crying because you were actually liking it. You knew your dad would kill you if he found out you consummated before marriage.

He was just there admiring your beauty as you threw your head back and moaned softly to his touches. He moved a bit away and stopped touching you as you looked at him. He was rummaging through his side table cupboard as he pulled out a vibrator. You were confused as you watched his click a button and put it into your pussy. "OH GOD-" you moaned and threw your head back.

He then took off his own clothes and started to rub his tip while watching you get off. "Need to get my dick wet myself because you're too dumb to do it for me." He tsked. He noticed how the area around her breast and her face had turned, there was drowsiness in her eyes. "M-my belly-" you moaned as he then stopped to pull the vibrator out.

"Please stop it heeseung... this isn't r-right" You whispered as his hands moved behind your head, and he grabbed your head by your hair. His lips were inches away from yours as he whispered. "I don't care." and there he was, pushing both of your hands above your head and pushing your legs wide apart.

You could feel it, all too much. Even the smallest of touch and the smallest sound in the nearest area, you could feel it all, hear it all. You closed your eyes tightly, slowly fighting the grip his hand had on your hands while he just slid his penis inside you, your faces inches away as a few more tears fell out of your eyes. "I hate you" You whispered out as you felt rippling pain with his soft motion. "D-DON'T!" Heeseung stares at you as you complain about the slight pain.

"Be a woman, Y/n." He whispered as he slowly started to move, taking his time and let the pain turn into pleasure. The moment it did change, it was too clear. You couldn't protest anymore as your hands moved to his shoulder, scratching and wanting him to increase his speed so bad but no word left your mouth except the moans.

"Fuck. this feels so good. so so good" he panted out like an excited child, but in a deep voice. You could feel the shivers on your back as you shook underneath him, letting your breasts bounce and jiggle with each and every hard thrust. Heeseung continued to pound into you senselessly, his eyes stuck on your breasts well it shifted to see your face twist into a pleasure-ful expression. "Gorgeous"

His hands were free now so they dived lower, rubbing your clit while he moved his hips graciously rubbing against THE stop. You felt these overwhelming feelings for the first time in your life, you knew you could just explode anytime and then there came the tickles in your belly. "My belly!" you gasped as you felt his pace increase, it was indicating your coming orgasm and well also how deep his dick was into you. It could be seen when he thrusted inside. "m-my god-"

"You're all mine now" he smiled, watching his cock create the bulge in your belly, proudly. He groaned when you clenched a little too hard on his dick. It twitched inside of you, as you felt him paint your insides white. That feeling broke your control too as you felt all of your tension and stress evaporate along with the "liquid".

You felt free, but little did you know by putting that small camera right in the correct corner... he might have changed everything, and made sure that you stay with him and only him.

#heeseung smut #heeseung #lee heeseung #heesung x reader #heeseung x yn #enhypen legal line #enhypen hard hours #enhypen imagine #jake smut #jay smut #enhypen hard thoughts #sunghoon smut #nct smut

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mienar · 7 months ago

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the wandering painter, part one

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#artists on tumblr #illustration #animated illustration #animation #backgrounds #animated gifs #background illustration #myillust #landscape #plants #scenery #summer #hiii! just wanted to share an artwork i made that's super fresh from the oven ksfknsf #'the wandering painter' will be a series that consists of artworks that has elements that i struggle to draw and am trying to improve on!#ive always really struggled with the process of painting (for example) clouds fields grass grasslands flowers etc #despite the end result coming out satisfactory imo but i cant deny that it most of the time feels like a fluke #so this series would consist of my journey of improving how to draw said elements/areas more confidently :D #this artwork in particular - i studied and practiced how to paint/draw silver grass better along with grasses and clouds #i feel like im sorta getting the hang of it but theres definitely room to study and experiment how i can paint it better #so yeah! nonetheless i really hope you'll like this! and i hope you'll have a lovely day/night ahead <3333

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pnpc · 10 months ago

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ostafa-dewan-an-seo-specialist.Iam a Web developers . I can work with SEO, (off-page SEO) Link building, Facebook marketer, content writing, content rewrite, word press install, blog comment, backlink create, article submission, blog post, etc.

#artists on tumblr #animated illustration #backgrounds #digital art #2d animation #myillust #background art #environment illustration #animated gif #sunset #cozy rooms #evening #ocean waves #reading nook #helloo! just wanted to share this quick little artwork i made! c: this was originally just a warm-up painting of the clouds #but i ended up liking the end result a looot so i added the window reading nook idea around it to really frame the clouds!#this really is a quick one heh so there's not much else to say - i really hope you'll like this!#and i hope you'll have a lovely day/night ahead!

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dreadsuitsamus · 8 months ago

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nsfw, fem!reader, breeding and ozai being ozai

Guarding the former Fire Lord, even with his inability to bend anymore, is daunting. Though a prisoner, Ozai is still intimidating and dangerous, those muscles not simply for display. There aren't many guards willing to take on the task of keeping a watchful eye on him for even a single shift, let alone during all of their working hours. Your bravery and resilience is rewarded with handsome payment, though by now, you'd do it for free! There are certain... benefits that have come with your position.

"Ah, ah— Mm! My Lord, oh, yes...!" You throw your head back onto Ozai's pillows, his time spent as a political advisor to his son having offered him a nicer cell than a typical prisoner would have, thanks to the leverage he still holds over the young man. Ozai has your limber legs spread wide against the mattress, your toes touching the headboard as the man above you plows into you with vigor, his cock reaching places inside of you that you never knew existed before fate brought you directly to him.

Ozai hisses, his grip tightening around your ankles. "That's it... Take it. Take my cock, my power, my all. You'll give me a new heir, one that will be perfect, one that won't fail me like the others! You'll do this for your King, without fail!" He spits out, the excited luster of his ideals getting him off as much as the way your slickened walls grip his shaft and beg to be filled once again, as he has every night for several months now. Whether you're on duty or sneaking into his chamber, you take your Lord's seed and humbly await the night you'll fall pregnant and kick his plans into gear. He cannot bend fire anymore, but his theory rests on your firebending abilities and his genetics to create a child that can bend, and be the very best.

Zuko was a failure from the very beginning, and Azula's demise must surely stem from her mother, a woman never loyal to the Fire Nation and Ozai himself. This heir will be the one to make him proud.

"Breed me, my Lord! It is my duty, my destiny to bear your child! Together, we shall restore your honor, your legacy, with our children."

Ozai's grin is maniacal, his laugh sinister as he lowers himself to speak directly into your ear. "You're getting ahead of yourself, aren't you? You've yet to give me one heir, let alone multiple!"

"The solstice is nearly upon us." You pant, a mewling whimper breaking your concentration as your Lord twists your nipples that will one day feed his child and help him to become strong.

"And...?" Ozai's strong fingers squeeze the sensitive buds harder, grinning at how pleasurable you find his pain to be.

"T-There will be no better time to fall pregnant, my King. Our child will be strong, guided by the stars to take back what is yours!"

"Oh, really? So do you suggest I'm wasting my time now then?" Ozai begins to pull away, only slipping out a mere fraction of his slick-coated dick before your fingers, small and soft and so breakable like the rest of you, are threading into his hair. Amused, Ozai pauses with a raised brow and cocky smirk on his lips. "What's this, hm?"

"My Lord— My love." You breathe out, sneaky legs snaking around his trim waist to summon him back into his fully-seated position. "Please..."

"Please what?" He hisses, those strong arms slipping around your waist tightly in what's nearly a darling embrace, though he still remains only partially inside of your cunt. "Are you simply here tonight as my whore?"

"For you, I am anything." Your chest heaves, beads of sweat prickling you from head to toe. "The mother of your proper heir, the one that sees to your exemplary care... Your courtesan, your lover... Your wife, if you'd have me."

Ozai's large hand, one you'd still not fear even with his power intact, comes to rest at the side of your face. "Provide me a firstborn son that can firebend, and then we'll discuss a permanent relationship."

Your much smaller hand covers his, hopeful tears welling in your eyes. "I won't let you down, Phoenix King Ozai."

"See to it that you don't." Ozai's lips capture yours in a rare kiss, and he again rocks his hips to yours, soon filling you to the brim with seed that takes, settling deep into your womb to create the child that will swell your belly with his pride.

#ozai x reader #fire lord ozai x reader #ozai x you #fire lord ozai x you #atla ozai #x reader #reader insert #fic #something i thought up that wouldn't go away!#ngl i'd let him breed me

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yan-randomfandom · 15 days ago

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i love your writings sm!! It's literally so good i keep coming back to see if you've updated udgshsj 😔😔 💖💖

This might be kinda a weird idea but I want to share this idea of yandere robot ford &/or stanley-

Here's a small drabble

So so reader's like a researcher/mechanic or smth similar to that, and one day they found this strange robot their backbyard and they see that the robot's conditions are not too damaged and it look like its intended to look like a human, reader became intrigued so they took it back inside and decided to repair it. They saw that the robot's label spelling out "ST4NF0R5/ST4NL33". it took days for them to try reactive the robot.. one night reader slept on their desk, and suddenly light appears on the robot's eyes and as he scanned the environment, his eyes landed on your sleeping figure.

i'd love to see your interpretation of this if it isn't too weird !!! Can be HC's or small scenario, preferably romantic but it's up to you!! 🥹🥹

Tysm for your time i hope you have a great day!! 💗

p.s can i be 🪴 anon?

Yandere!Robot!Pines x GN!Reader

a/n: thank you 🪴 anon!! i love the lil robot idea you have, very interesting 👀 I also decided to continue your drabble, which is super well-written btw 😭

Also we won't have a specific twin here, but he'll be called Stan. The first syllable Reader nicknames for. But you can imagine any Stan!

🤖 ;

You wave your hand repeatedly in front of the robot's face.

No response. How strange.

The reports indicated recent activity. His motherboard and circuits were slightly warm, which was unusual for decommissioned robots, and some motors even seemed out of place.

You were supposed to run tests today to see if the robot was still functioning, but it seems that it was ahead of itself.

It didn't make anything less confusing, though. Did it turn on while you were sleeping? Why isn't it reacting now?

With a defeated sigh, you lean back in your chair, loosely chalking the situation up to a faulty powerhouse. Guess you're just too good at fixing stuff. You'll have to observe it more later.

For now, you should really eat breakfast—you haven't eaten anything since yesterday. A bit too fixated on the robot you found.

You placed its cracked glasses back on, your eyes lingering over him.

No further signs of movement; he remained still. You're keeping an eye on this one, because right now, you're slightly paranoid he might explode on you.

Oh, well. There's plenty of time.

You headed to the kitchen and grabbed your usual jar, your fingers wrapping around the lid.

A grunt left your lips. A bit tighter than what you're used to.

You tried to open it again, this time having your hand underneath your shirt.

Dang.

Suddenly, the jar was taken from you and, with ease, got popped open by a large hand.

Your jaw dropped.

The robot you had been fixing for the last couple days stood in front of you—no support, and no external control.

Stan placed the jar on your counter, his mechanical eyes locking onto yours. His stare felt almost reserved, calculating.

You merely stood there in disbelief for the next few seconds.

📝 —

"This is amazing! I didn't think you'd be active so soon," you rambled, scrambling around the room for your notebook. "Just give me a moment. Where did I put that darn thing..."

Stan quietly watched you. His eyes tracked your every movement, never leaving you for a second.

"Found it!" you chirped, holding the notebook triumphantly in one hand. You walked over to the robot, gesturing toward the chair behind him.

"Please, take a seat! You might not be, uh, oof—"

Instead, you found yourself gently pushed down into the chair. He looked down at you, his gaze lingering, before stepping away. That was an act of service, you noted. You cleared your throat.

"...And that brings me to my first question!" You uncapped your pen, positioning the tip on your notebook.

"What is your purpose?"

Stan paused, seemingly processing your words. You'd never actually heard him speak before so you're a little on the edge of your seat.

"...As an artificial intelligence," he started. You almost clicked your tongue at his voice. It was gruff, perhaps a feature, but either way, you could tell it lacked a stable voicebox.

"I provide day-to-day assistance and companionship," he continued, blinking robotically. Stan didn't say anything more after that.

"A companion, huh," you hummed, jotting down your newfound discoveries.

You assumed that his creator must have been incredibly lonely if they had to resort to building robots. Not that you're judging them; after all, you understood the feeling of being an outcast from society. If you had to dig deeper into Stan's appearance, his design looked oddly specific. Maybe he was based on a real person—?

"You are not my creator."

Your hand stopped writing.

"...Oh, shoot," you gasped, standing from your chair. "You're right. I haven't even introduced myself!"

He stared down at you, his height suddenly feeling like it was looming over you. You swallowed the lump of your throat before continuing.

"I'm—"

"You are not my creator," he repeated. "But you fixed me. Why?"

"Well... I—"

Stan purred within his robotic body. "I suppose it doesn't matter. My creator dismantled me, and I must make sure you don't do the same."

His large hands gripped you by your sides. You panicked, your heart rate increasing. He must have noticed.

"Do not worry. I am merely fulfilling my purpose."

bonus draft:

You grinned, letting Stan take your laundry basket.

"Aw, geez, I had it," you snickered, crossing your arms. You watched him put the clothes one by one for drying.

"It is more efficient this way," he replied as he continued to his task.

this was supposed to be longer but yeeaaahh

#yan writes #yandere gravity falls x reader #yandere gravity falls #stanford pines x reader #stanley pines x reader #yandere #ford pines x reader #stan pines x reader #gravity falls x reader #🪴 anon

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flowerandblood · 10 months ago

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The Fall from the Heavens (7)

[ canon • Aemond x Strong • niece female ]

[ warnings: sex content, loss of virginity, smut, angst, mention and description of rape, mention of trauma ]

[ description: A cool distance turns into friendship and more when two children see that they can find refuge and understanding in each other. However, naïve dreams collide with the reality in which every event has consequences and what once could have been love becomes a dark, newly painful obsession. Angst, sexual tension, obsession, violence, madness, very dark Aemond. ]

The story in this series is an alternate reality from the oneshot Stay and love, leave and die, in which Aemond reads the letters his niece has sent to him over the years. They are the same characters and it shows what would have happened between them − I have changed the background story from their childhood slightly for the sake of the plot.

Characters & Series Moodboard Lady Strong Moodboard Aemond & Lady Strong Moodboard Aemond & Lady Strong Childhood

* English is not my first language. Please, do not repost. Enjoy! *

Next chapters: Masterlist

_____

He didn't know what made him follow her out then, after supper, when his father was carried back to his chamber. He felt fear, uncertainty and tension when he saw her leave without even giving him a single glance, as if what she had just said meant nothing to her.

My place is with you, uncle.

He drank with a deep gulp the remainder of the wine that was left in his goblet and put it down with a loud clink of steel, rising from his chair, avoiding the figure of his mother, who was saying something to him quickly, surely wanting to know how he could have done this to her.

He figured that the last time he had done something just for himself he had lost his eye, and that evening he was not going to lose anything else.

She didn't seem surprised that he had followed her out − she stopped and looked at him over her shoulder when she heard his footsteps.

He was trying to decide what he saw in her gaze, tired, sad, disappointed in him and the way he was acting, who he had become.

Still, it seemed to him that their unanimity at the table had reassured them both, that they had obviously proved something to each other.

Neither of them could end it.

He gulped, looking away from her, folding his hands behind his back.

"Your mother will return to the Red Keep in a few days at my mother's request. To discuss our nuptials." He said dispassionately, hoping she understood what he was trying to imply.

There was no need for her to return with them.

Since she wanted it so much, he could take his time with her, speak with her about whatever it was she had wanted over the years.

His expression that he was able to control his aggressive, violent nature.

She nodded and surprised him by moving ahead again, as if she didn't care what he had to say. He pressed his lips together, furious at himself for the desperation he felt, at the fact that part of him not only wanted to prove something to her, but feared that once she left, she would be gone forever.

"She stole you away from me then, but I won't let it happen this time. You are to stay. You'll return to Dragonstone in a few days, with her." He growled with pain, regret, dispassion, at the very thought of the memory of the night, the first in many months that he had spent alone, crying in despair, listening for when she would come to him.

It was obvious she would come to him, he thought then, trying to calm the convulsions that shook his body.

As soon as her mother was asleep she would slip out of her chamber again, as she always did, sneak up to him, embrace him and soothe his pain and fear.

He waited and listened for her footsteps, that distinctive, quiet creak of wood that always brought him relief.

But she didn't come, then or for many nights afterwards.

He saw her stop again and look at him surprised, as if she didn't believe those words had really left his mouth; something in her eyes had changed, her brow arched in pain.

She lowered her gaze, as if pondering his words, as if she had allowed them into her heart, and he thought in disbelief, trying to calm his breathing, that it had worked.

She hesitated.

She lifted her eyes to him and swallowed loudly, sighing quietly.

"I will stay, but only until my mother returns. Then I will travel back to Dragonstone with her and stay there until our nuptials." She said quietly, looking him straight in the eye.

"Yes. It will be appropriate." He replied at once, forcing himself to be indifferent, feeling his heart pounding hard, his body shuddering with satisfaction and contentment.

He thought with some kind of pride that she remained as she had been years ago, that she, unlike Aegon, could converse.

His brother understood only violence, only force; he could not count the number of times he had dragged him out of the brothels, the number of times he had had to hit him to revive him, the number of times he had yelled at him to make him come to his senses.

With his mother he didn't speak but prayed, with Helaena he didn't speak but stayed in her company, with his grandfather he didn't speak but exchanged dry facts.

He didn't speak with his father, because he hardly saw him.

He did speak with Criston, but he always told him what he wanted to hear.

She, however, understood perfectly the nuances and beauty of conversation, could explain what she herself felt, and could also listen to the other side, accept a sensible argument, take another opinion into consideration.

He thought with shame that he hadn't even noticed when he had become a brutal, silent stone that rammed everything in its path.

He let her go when she replied that she needed to ask her mother's permission and hid in the library, knowing that he had nothing to return to his chamber for.

He knew that his mother had certainly made sure that the guards at his and her door ensured that neither of them crossed the threshold of their quarters.

He sat down in the candlelight at one of the oak tables, taking earlier from the bookcase a book devoted to the complex grammar of the language of Old Valyria that he had been analysing and studying alone for several years, trying not to think about what had happened.

About how, despite what he tried to tell himself, the sight of her, her presence, her voice, her touch did not repulse him.

You desire me, but you're not in love with me.

He heard her words in his head and swallowed loudly, closing his eye, feeling a tightness in his throat, figuring that perhaps the few days they would spend together would calm the chaos in her and his head.

They had met years later at a time when things were happening that amplified his frustration, and although he was furious that Luke got what he wanted again, he promised himself that he wouldn't broach the subject with her.

That he would make an effort not to make things worse.

He shuddered when he heard the creak of the wooden door, and was surprised to find that he felt a warmth in his abdomen when she had in fact come to him, without any word or prior arrangement, as if she knew perfectly well that he would be waiting for her.

She looked around the hall, which she hadn't seen for years, walking slowly towards him, coming up to a bookcase filled to the brim with thick, slightly dusty volumes.

She smiled, pulling out with difficulty a large tome that had a leather, gold-decorated binding, which he recognised immediately, and watched silently as she moved towards him with The Great History of Aegon the Conqueror.

Memory after memory struck his mind as she placed the book in front of him, just to his right, exactly as it was then.

"What are you reading, uncle? Are you looking at our family tree again?" She asked lightly, and he felt a pleasant shudder, tightening his lips, hearing in her voice that she was teasing him, exactly as she had been then.

He crossed his legs and readjusted himself in his seat, looking at her out of the corner of his eye, at her figure and how much she had changed, at her breasts that just yesterday he were caressing with his hands.

"No." He replied lowly, unable to take his eyes off her chest encased in the material of her gown, her bare shoulders glistening in the candlelight.

She approached him, exactly as she had done then, leaning in so that their cheeks were right next to each other. He watched her out of the corner of his eye, trying to pretend he didn't feel what was happening in his breeches, in his manhood which, with its intense throbbing, betrayed what he thought of her long, dark hair and lashes, her bright eyes, the scent of vanilla that filled his lungs again.

"The language of Old Valyria? I might have expected that from my future husband's love of our family's traditions." She said softly, as if with some kind of admiration, and he felt a pleasant shiver run along his spine when she called him her future husband.

He knew she was trying to soften his violent nature, to soothe and calm him, to say and do what he wanted.

"Will you teach me, uncle? I promise to be a diligent and attentive pupil." She said with a quiet click of her tongue, looking down at him, waiting for his reaction.

He knew she was taunting him, wanting him to break, to touch her first, to tell her his thoughts, his desires.

"Mmm." He hummed, turning the page, going back to reading again, trying not to think about the fact that his cock pulsed hard under the thick volume he held in his hands.

He heard her quiet sigh of disapproval, out of the corner of his eye he saw her push back the chair to his right and sit down on it, just as she had then, delving into the story of Aegon the Conqueror again.

He could feel the tension between them, knew they were fighting for dominance, for who would break first.

He pressed his lips together, feeling hundreds of questions rush to his tongue, unable to focus on what he was reading.

What was between her and Daemon?

Did she really believe what she had said at supper?

Did she forgive him, or did she want revenge on him for the years of silence on his part?

He was dismayed that he didn't know what he thought of it all himself, once feeling relieved, once anxious, still coming back to the same conclusion.

He didn't trust her.

He closed his eye, trying to calm himself, feeling his heart pounding like mad.

When he opened it, he met her familiar worried gaze, her eyebrows arched in concern, in a warm, characteristic willingness to understand him, to listen to him.

He felt a sense of discomfort when he realised that once he had felt he recognised her, that she was someone close to him, someone he desired so much, only to decide a moment later that she was a stranger, someone distant, someone different than she had been before.

"You and Daemon." He began, recognising that he could not avoid her if she was to become his wife, that he had to understand what was in her mind, who was the woman who sat at his side. "What's between you two?"

She blinked, looking at him with wide eyes, as if she didn't understand what he was asking her.

"What do you mean?" She asked softly, without any fear or discomfort that might betray that his question frightened her. He licked his lower lip, playing between his fingers with a page from the book lying on his thighs.

"You two are delightfully close." He stated coolly and noticed that she twitched, swallowing loudly, as if she only now realised what his imagination was suggesting.

"Not in this way. Gods, uncle, you're the first one who…" She stammered, they both averted their gazes, embarrassed; he could see out of the corner of his eye her chest rising and falling rapidly.

"And you?" She asked suddenly and this time he threw her a surprised look, frowning his eyebrows; she looked at him fearfully, as if she was afraid of his answer.

He turned away from her, breathing loudly through his nose, feeling his heart pound at the memory of the woman Aegon had taken him to when he was only thirteen, the discomfort and tightness in his throat, that cruel, dark, overpowering shame.

He didn't want to remember it, the touch of that shapely red-haired girl much older than he was, her hand clenched over what was hidden beneath his breeches, his feeling of terror, even though she was telling him to relax.

He didn't want it, he felt it was wrong, his beloved had never touched him in such a way, in such a place.

He felt his lips clench so tightly that they turned blue, so that a squeaky sound of despair did not come from his throat.

"Aegon took me to some whore when I was thirteen. Time to get it wet − he announced then." He said, forcing himself to be indifferent, trying to distance himself from those memories, from the images that flashed involuntarily before his eyes, her body climbing over him, her hands untying his breeches, her whisper with which she tried to soothe him before he began to mutter that he did not want this.

"Prince Aegon paid me for your fulfillment." She answered him then, before she sank down on top of him, forcing him to feel her warm walls; for some reason he felt like he was about to vomit, something akin to a whine escaping his lips.

Seeing his state, tears streaming down his cheeks she stopped, desperate bringing him to fulfilment with mechanical, determined movements of her hand.

Her plump fingers squeezing him, up and down, up and down, as he shuddered and pressed his lips together, as tear after tear dripped down either side of his face onto that strange-smelling, scratchy bedding.

His purity had been taken from him once and for all, even though he had bathed for an hour after what had happened, he could still smell her suffocating scent on him.

That night he took all her letters out of his drawer and laid them down beside him, despairing to find that still when he concentrated very hard he was able to smell her scent, which had seeped into the parchment.

The smell of vanilla.

He shuddered at that memory and returned to the room he was sitting in, glancing at her quickly, unsure if he had done the right thing in telling her.

He swallowed loudly seeing that she was looking at him in disbelief, pained and resentful, apparently thinking that, like Aegon, he had indulged himself that night in the pleasures that a woman's body could give him.

Somehow he liked that look of distress and jealousy, the thought that she wanted him for herself, that she despaired at the thought that he could ever desire another woman.

He grunted, not wanting to mislead her, at the same time not knowing how to explain it to her and not come off as a weak, pathetic man who cried when a woman tried to ride him.

It seemed to him that it should come naturally to him, and the fact that it didn't was endearing to him as her future husband and lover.

"Fear not. I didn't lie in bed with her. I didn't want to bring another disappointment and cause of embarrassment to my mother." He hummed, feigning light-heartedness, spreading himself out comfortably in his chair, looking wearily at his fingers, thinking with relief that he had excelled himself perfectly while not going so far as to lie completely.

It was true that his mother's opinion of him was extremely important to him.

He heard her let out a quiet breath, fiddling in a nervous gesture with the fingers of her hands lying on the book open in front of her, gathering herself apparently to say something.

He looked at her indifferently, at her pleasing figure, her pale face framed by long black lashes and full pink lips, and thought with pain that whoever his future wife was, she was beautiful.

"Will you drink wine with me, uncle?" She asked in a quiet, trembling voice, as if she could not bear this discussion with a sober mind.

He sighed and nodded, recognising that he needed the alcohol in his veins no less than she did.

Criston Cole looked at them distrustfully, watching them closely when one of the servants brought them a jug and two goblets, placing them on the table in front of them; she wanted to pour them some wine, however, his niece pre-empted her, saying she would do it.

"You can leave, Cole." He said, taking his cup from her, which she half-filled first.

His mother's sworn protector stood before them with his hands folded in front of him, clenching his lips, an expression of disapproval and condemnation in his eyes that aroused his frustration.

"My Prince, your mother insists that you…"

"That we don't visit each other in our chambers at night. We are having a conversation in the library. You may leave." He added with emphasis not withstanding the objection, looking up at him from below with a look that did not accept the refusal.

Cole bowed, casting one warning glance at his betrothed, then headed for the entrance with a loud clang of his armour.

His niece sat again to his right, spreading herself comfortably in the chair, raising her cup to her lips.

"Has he been trying to father you for a long time?" She asked without thinking, as if the question came naturally to her.

He glanced at her out of the corner of his eye, fiddling with his chalice standing on the table in front of him, and sighed heavily, recognising that so far their honesty had only brought them closer together, and helped to calm him down.

"Unfortunately." He muttered, lifting the vessel to his lips and tilting it, taking a deep sip from it, the slightly tart, sweet and at the same time sour taste of grapes and alcohol spilling over his palate.

He heard her huff softly, glancing up at him with a slight, childlike smile; he felt hot in his chest at the thought that she still had it inside her, that amused twinkle in her eye, indicative of her brightness, of the fact that she was about to say something that would surely turn out to be true and an accurate statement.

"He's afraid you'll make his mistake." She said raising her eyebrows, however there was no mockery or challenge to be heard in her voice, he could hear her tongue hitting her palate with a quiet click as she uttered it softly, cheerfully, as if she thought it was a funny coincidence.

He looked at her impassively, knowing perfectly well what she was alluding to. He had heard, even as a young child, the conversations of servants who said that Criston Cole had broken his vows of chastity and lain in bed with Rhaenyra, who, however, later refused to run away with him and become his wife.

He wondered, what did he expect?

He answered nothing, taking another sip from his cup, looking thoughtfully ahead, remembering how he had repeatedly promised her that he would take her to Essos once he was a dragon rider.

"You also promised me a journey to Essos, uncle. I hope my future husband will not prove unfaithful to his words." She said lightly startling him completely − he looked at her wide-eyed having the impression that she was sitting inside his head.

Her head leaned against the back of her chair, her body spread out on it relaxed and soft, her beautiful dark hair framed her pale face on either side like the night itself.

She was smiling.

It was not a broad smile, almost imperceptible, at the corner of her mouth, her gaze, warm and assured, confirmed the sincerity of that grimace.

He felt a tightness in his throat at this sight; involuntarily the pointing finger of his hand outstretched on his armrest touched her bare skin. He felt her twitch, her lips parted slightly, her eyelids half open.

They began to play with each other's fingers, their tips rubbing against each other in the air illuminated by the warm light of fire and candles.

He had a lot of questions, a lot of doubts that made him furious − he thought about them as he watched their fingertips brushing against each other in the air, so innocent, tender, her skin so indecently soft.

Did she really think anyone would agree to Jace, that fucking bastard, being heir to the throne?

That a war wouldn't break out?

That after his father's death he would remain silent about who her brothers were?

He pressed his lips together, sighing heavily, realising that he would have to humiliate her along with them. He consoled himself with the thought that once she was his wife it wouldn't matter − she would become part of his family, their children would be from the rightful bed, and she would regain her dignity in the eyes of the kingdom.

They sat like this for a long moment, thoughtful, drinking wine, each locked in their own mind, only their fingers meeting once in a while, rubbing against each other in obvious need of closeness, reminding them of their presence.

"Why did you forgive me?" He asked finally, not looking at her though, but into the giant lit fireplace on the other side of the room, illuminating their faces along with the candles standing around them.

He felt her look at him, her gaze fixed on his face. She was silent for a long time before she replied.

"I have not forgiven you. I have understood you. Just as you understood me." She said finally, and he looked at her with a fast pounding, clenched heart, feeling discomfort in his lower abdomen.

Then, at last, everything became clear to him, and the weight that had been crushing him since he had seen her again fell from his shoulders.

They didn't have to force themselves to forgive each other.

They could just understand what had driven them, accept that they had unwittingly destroyed so much, and that some things they would never regain.

He felt suddenly that she was closer to him than ever before, his hand tightened on hers, wanting to see if she felt the same.

He swallowed loudly when her fingers intertwined with his, like the roots of two trees, like a vine; there was something ambiguous, something lewd about this gesture, he imagined their bare bodies hugged together in the same closeness.

"Spend the night with me." He muttered, looking at her, himself disbelieving that those words had left his mouth, feeling that his mind and his cock, all swollen in his breeches demanded her touch, her scent, her presence.

He saw in her misty gaze, in her slightly parted lips, in her sweetly rosy cheeks, that she felt what he said between her thighs, her chest rising and falling faster in shuddering breaths.

"Your mother…I'm sure Cole is waiting at the door to..." She started, but he didn't let her finish.

"Let's climb out the window to the cloisters. I'll take you to the empty servants' chambers." He said feeling her hand quiver in his grasp, excitement and determination in her eyes.

He thought he had completely lost his mind, that he was acting like a child, but maybe that was the point.

To pretend that he could get back anything of what had been taken from him.

She bit her lip at last, the corner of her mouth lifting in an innocent, cheerful smile from which he felt like throwing himself at her; he was sure that, like him, her daring had been enhanced by the wine she drank.

"Let's go, husband." She said softly, cockily, and he gasped loudly for air, standing up with a loud creak of old wood, feeling his head hum with each step to the shutters, the world around him seeming slightly blurred.

He opened them and immediately the cool evening air surrounded them. He glanced down and was relieved to see that they were not high up; he himself was easily able to get to the other side without jumping.

She moved after him without a word with a fierceness that surprised him, her task made more difficult by her long gown, but when he caught her at the waist and lifted her he managed to silently place her on the ground beside him.

They looked at each other with eyes full of self-satisfaction and pride, he grabbed her hand and pulled her behind him, he heard her sweet, pearly giggle.

Although he had said since he was a child that he didn't understand women's notions of fleeing lovers who organised late-night escapades for each other, he thought now that he hadn't known the one thing back then that changed everything.

This overpowering, ferocious desire.

As the door of the cool, cramped, modest chamber closed behind them, as he shut the bolt to make sure no one disturbed them, he turned to her. She covered her mouth with her hand, trying to stifle a laugh of disbelief.

"Gods, they're going to kill us, uncle…we're…" She didn't finish as his thirsty, yearning lips clung to hers in a greedy, wet, loud kiss, his hands clenched on her gown and hair.

He heard her sigh of delight, she threw her arms around his neck, reciprocating impatiently the movements of his lust-swollen lips, their fingers trailing and clenching on their bodies as if to make sure it wasn't a dream, sighing and panting into each other's mouths.

"Let me see your bare body." He whispered between the loud, sticky clicks of their saliva-wet lips. "Your uncle hasn't seen you in so long."

"You must reciprocate, uncle." She whispered sweetly into his mouth and he groaned into her throat, rubbing the bulge in his breeches against her. He felt his mind go hazy, her lips, the tip of her tongue meeting his sweet from the wine, everything around him swirling, so he relied only on his sense of touch and smell.

Their hands began to clumsily untie and unfasten their garments, bestowing loud, wet kisses on each other once in a while in an attempt to sweeten the ordeal of pulling off layer after layer of everything they were wearing.

He pulled off his boots with a quick, impatient movement, almost falling over, losing his balance; he heard her giggle sweetly, her grip on his arm keeping him from collapsing.

He thanked the gods that she was already standing in front of him in only her nightgown.

"Too much wine, uncle?" She asked teasingly and he snorted, furious, grabbing the back of her neck with his hand, walking forward, forcing her to step back until she fell with a quiet squeal backwards onto the bedding on the cramped bed.

"I'll fucking show you in a moment." He hissed teasingly, grinning involuntarily; she smiled cheekily beneath him, writhing under him in impatience, watching as with a nimble flick of his fingers he untied his breeches, pulling their material aside, releasing what was underneath.

She looked up at him with a dreamy gaze, breathing loudly when she noticed how big and swollen he was, the pink tip of his cock all glistening, wet with his own juices, twitching all over with desire.

"I need to feel you. Just for a moment. I won't be violent." He muttered spreading her thighs in front of him, drawing her buttocks closer; she nodded quickly, all red and trembling as he lifted the material of her nightgown higher.

"− fuck − what happened here, sweet niece? − you're leaking −" He whispered in a trembling voice, looking in disbelief at how wet she was, his thumb involuntarily ran over her heat from her bud to her slit, she squirmed beneath him, impatient.

"− tell your uncle what do you want − hm? −" He asked, not believing it was happening, having a feeling it was only a dream; he let his manhood run over her wetness, over her puffy folds, rubbing against her.

"− y-you − gods, I want you −" She mumbled out clasping her hands on the pillow on either side of her head, her hair spread around her head in wonderful disarray − his gaze fled from her face to his manhood sticky with her moisture, a shiver ran down his spine at her words.

"− spread your thighs wide − wider − just like that, come here − let me inside you − shhh −" He hushed her, hearing her whimper as the fat head of his cock pressed against her tight walls, with difficulty forcing its way inside her.

"− fuck − so tight −" He breathed out, clenching his eye almost in pain, his hands slid down from her thighs to her womanhood, his thumbs spreading the folds of her skin to the sides, allowing him to open her wide on his length. He groaned pathetically at the sight, her whole body trembling, a cry of exertion escaping her lips.

"− I know − I know − shhh − just a little more − it's almost in −" He gasped tenderly, wanting to soothe her, with a slow motion of his hips sinking deeper and deeper into her throbbing hot body.

The sensation of being inside her was very different from what he had felt when Aegon had taken him to the brothel, her muscles moist and hot, tight, clenching on his manhood so hard it took his breath away.

He felt vulnerable and safe at the same time, for here was his beloved, his Rhaenys reaching her hand up to his cheek, as terrified as he was, trying to soothe him with the gentle movement of her fingers, from which they both sighed.

"− you are so warm −" He whispered looking at her face, with gasp of exertion sliding his length fully inside her, feeling a tightness in his throat as if he was about to cry, her eyebrows arched in indecision, clear discomfort but also desire shone in her eyes.

"− uncle − too big −" She babbled, bravely trying to fit what he had just thrust into her; he shushed her again and slowly slipped out of her only to fill her again with himself. They looked at each other with slightly parted lips, shocked at how shameless and yet delightful the experience was.

"− gods, yes −" He exhaled, sliding out almost to the very end, only to sank inside her again with a loud click of her moisture, both of them moaned pathetically.

"− o-oh fuck, uncle −" She mewled as he sped up, rooting into her tight core again and again, slowly, tenderly, placing one of his hands next to her head. He chuckled involuntarily, guessing this must have been the first time she cursed loudly.

"− be quiet − want anyone to disturb us? − hm? − see how I take what is mine? −" He growled out, moaning low along with her, their naked bodies slapping against each other loudly, his cock all sticky from her moisture, he felt how at his words her walls clenched hard against him, sucking him inside.

"− i-if we get caught, won't you marry me? −" She asked despairingly like a small child and he snorted, looking with parted lips at her breasts bouncing slightly with each of his thrusts, his hand impatiently slid the material of her nightgown off her shoulder and squeezed one of them, massaging it between his fingers, playing with her nipple with his thumb.

"− you silly woman − no mere lord will take what belongs to me −" He hissed, speeding up, each buck of his hips stretching her hot, throbbing muscles with more and more intense, confident thrusts, he had the feeling that her fleshy walls had adapted to his size.

He leaned over her, sliding his tongue deep into her throat, their kisses loud and chaotic, forming a dance of their teeth, lips and saliva; they whined and panted into each other's mouths, her hands clenched on his naked buttocks, her breasts pressed against his chest as he rooted into her with low groans of pleasure.

"− o-oh gods, uncle − m close −" She whimpered, shuddering and panting beneath him, their bodies entwined together as then their fingers, tight, sweaty and hot, pulsing with desire, slapping against each other loudly.

"− me too − fuck − where −" He muttered, feeling that he was as close to fulfilment as she was, that one more push of his cock into her and it would be all over.

"− inside me − please, uncle, inside me −" She cried out and her words startled him so much that he just came, cursing loudly, furious at himself and his stupidity, slapping his hand loudly on the bed frame above her head in rage, moaning and panting along with her in elation and delight as his seed spilled inside her.

"− yes − gods, yes, yes, yes −" She mewled out, her eyes closed, her head tilted back, her lips parted sweetly in complete bliss, her hot walls clenching and throbbing against him in elation.

"− we're fucking fools − gods, my sweetest −" He howled, falling on top of her, crushing her with his body; he sighed quietly when he felt her arms quickly embrace him, his cock twitching hard inside her in the stupefying delight that was shaking his body.

"− forgive me −" She babbled, clearly only after a moment understanding what they had actually done.

He turned his cheek towards her, gripping her face in his hand, forcing her to look at him.

"− we will marry as soon as possible − do not fret − I took you and you are mine now −" He whispered, and she breathed a sigh of relief, her lips swollen from emotion and exertion clinging to his in a tender, warm kiss full of gratitude and affection.

He closed her in his embrace, trying to calm his breathing with her, stroking her hair, thinking only of how never after he had claimed Vhagar had he felt so fulfilled as a man as he did now.

He thought that there was still hope for them.

That from now on everything would be as it should be.

What he didn't know yet was that the only person who wanted their nuptials as much as them had just fell asleep forever.

The King was dead.

_____

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