#he tells himself he’ll plan it all when he’s in a more settled place

[coldhndss]

One and only

Rin Itoshi

Rin is known to many as blunt and unfriendly. He doesn’t enjoy talking to new people and is almost always on the brink of losing it. Though, this slump that he’s currently in isn’t a reflection of how he always was. Rin used to be bright-faced, and pretty easily excitable.

You’ve known that from the start.

You and Rin used to chat with each other on the way home from school as kids. He’d tell you about how amazing his brother was at soccer, bursting with smiles; as though he was vicariously living through Sae’s talent on the field. When you questioned him about his own skill, he’d tell you that it doesn’t matter, and that his brother was simply better at playing than he was. He said that he'd settle for second place if it meant he'd get to see Sae in the spotlight beside him.

You would cheer him on from the sidelines, watching the local matches he and his brother used to play against other schools. To Rin, there was no one on the field but him and Sae. Though to you, there was no one there but Rin. 

You can’t recall when it started, but there came a day where you were no longer able to listen to Rin mentally lower his own skill in favour of seeing his brother succeed. He looked so oddly happy settling for second place that it frustrated you. You knew his talents; you knew how much he enjoyed winning. What made him put all of his trust in someone other than himself? Couldn’t he also strive for first place while cheering on his brother? None of it made sense…

All he used to speak about were things including his brother’s skill. You get it, younger siblings typically admire their older siblings. Though they shouldn’t think ill of themselves just to heighten the other persons social standing. After all, the two of you had grown up together. You used to talk all the time, play games with each other, have sleepovers, walk home together. It always meant a lot to you, but did it ever mean a lot to him?

He had you, but he also had his brother.  

You had him, and only him.

You noticed slight shifts in Rin’s personality. He stopped joking and smiling as much, though he never pushed you away. He became distant, as though something was constantly on his mind. You noticed his patience wavering, and his soft, subtle smile fading away.

It was as though you were reaching out for something that was no longer there.

Hanging around him started to feel like being around a brick wall. The two of you now had little to no interactions with each other. He would finish his work, and pack his bag immediately, leaving the classroom as though he had something more important to do. He wouldn’t offer his textbook when you forgot yours, and when you spoke to him about your interests, he seemed like he was listening, sure; but he wouldn’t pause what he was doing to give you attention, or even make it look like he had any interest.

“Maybe he’s just become bored of me”, you think to yourself. You know him. You know he wouldn’t tell you about his issues unless you pry. You also know that he would keep it to himself and go about it in his own cathartic way.

Despite this, you felt like he would snap instantly if you brought it up to him. Like he was a boiling pot brimming with water; and despite it having a lid, liquid still trickled down its sides.

Though… the thought of leaving him alone troubled you. It pained you to see him in such a state, and though he wasn’t showing any signs of wavering; you would at least put in the effort to find out what was troubling him, even if he pushes you away as a result of it. At least one day, when he finds that person who will put out the fire from under him, he’ll realise that your carefully chosen words were the shards of ice that would never melt in that boiling pot of water.

Classes had concluded for the week. Students were packing their bags, laughing, and making plans for the weekend. As usual, Rin was already halfway out of the door. Despite being close your entire life, an overwhelming feeling of loneliness dawned upon you as you realised that if you don’t do something now, you may never be able to again. Each step he took felt like another thread of a worn-out rope was snapping before your eyes, and you could no longer endure it.

“Rin..!” You called out to him. Your tone was shaky; you weren’t used anything like this.

The rest of the class had left by this point. He stopped dead in his tracks, his back facing you.

“What?” His voice was blunt. He had never been extremely upbeat, but the thought that he’d been bottling everything up behind the scenes pained you.

After a few moments of silence, he finally turned around to face you, looking you deadpan in the face. It was the first time you’d spoken to him face-to-face in weeks. His eyes looked empty, yet so full of unexplained emotion.

You twiddled with your fingers that were now glossed with sweat from your clammy palms while looking down at your feet. Why were you so nervous? You’ve spoken to him thousands of times.. What was different now? It lingered at the back of your mind; you knew you were too scared to interrupt this this friendship, although deteriorating. At one stage, it had been peaceful, even fun. Though at this point, it had become anything but peaceful.

“If you don’t need anything then I’m leaving.” He turned his back once more, but you refused to see him take another step.

“Wait.” You forced a strengthened tone despite your nerves. “I need to talk to you about something.”

Stepping closer towards him, you get a better look at his expression. His aqua eyes, once filled with so much passion, were now void of emotion.

“Um… I need to ask you something.” You stuttered on your words, heart pounding so loudly that you thought he’d be able to hear it.

Rin sighs, frustrated. He pinches the bridge of his nose with his fingers. “Get to the point already, Yuu.” His patience is waning.

You take in a shallow breath, preparing to finally put your emotions on the line.

“Rin, um… have you been feeling okay lately?”

Shoot. That was such a bad question!

He looked at you as though you were speaking gibberish. His brows furrowed, and his gaze was now somewhat scrutinizing.

“I’ve been fine.” He immediately replied before turning back around. “Since that’s all, I’m leaving.”

No, you weren’t about to let this happen again. You reached out and grabbed his arm in the midst of his step. You wanted to say something, but your throat felt constricted.

To your surprise, he didn’t move your arm away. You knew something was bothering him. He wouldn’t push you away or insult you. It was as though he wanted the comfort of someone else, but he wouldn’t bring himself to ask for it.

Before you knew it, moisture had spread across your eyes, glossing your sight. A warm drop travelled down your cheek, giving way for a wave of tears. It became so quiet that the droplets of your tears tapping onto the ground were audible.

“Please.. don’t leave..” Barely being able to choke your words out, you were doing all you could to keep him listening. “I can’t stand seeing you like this… What happened to you..?”

He didn’t answer.

You continued to pry, raising your voice slightly.

“What happened to us?”

Suddenly, Rin turns around, and yanks his arm from your grasp.

“Are you trying to make me feel guilty? You really don’t know anything about me.” He scoffed. “I was stupid to ever befriend you as a kid. You probably still think I’m content with being second place, don’t you? How pathetic.”

You’d know if he told you. if he took the time to communicate his feelings, to let you hear his troubles. You had no words. What more could you say after that?

Though you did notice one thing; he was still here. He took the battering and didn’t leave. Somewhere in there, Rin you remember is still there. You decide against attacking him with words.

“You’re still here though. You’ve always been here.” Your hand fell down his arm, fingers intertwining with his. “You would’ve gotten rid of me by now if you really thought our friendship was stupid.” Your voice was soft as you spoke, careful not to be too harsh on him.

His eyes widened momentarily. It seems you struck a chord.

“No.. no way. It is stupid.. that’s why.. that’s..” He stuttered; his gaze scattered.

“Rin.. do I have to spell it out for you? I’m not going anywhere. Even if you call me stupid.” You smiled softly, hoping your words would break through the wall he built.

There it was. That look in his eyes that you’ve been yearning to see again for years.

Tears shone in his eyes, adorning a small gleam of light. His lips parted slightly as though he had something to say. He tilted his head and placed it on your shoulder, arms wrapping tightly around your back. You could feel the desperation in his grasp; like he was asking you to never let go. Slinging your arms over his shoulders and around his neck, you felt his breath grazing your neck.

“Why.. Why did you persist..?” He murmurs. Despite all this, Rin can’t seem to fathom why someone like you remained so insistent on digging out his troubles.

“I would never sit by and watch you drown in your own worries. Especially if I know that I can do something about them.” Even though you were holding him in your arms, you felt a little more confident knowing he technically can’t see you saying something so embarrassing.

You shift one arm up to his hair and gently caress it.

“I have no one else..” Your voice shook slightly  “You’ve always been there, even when you were mad. Why would I let you slip from in-between my fingers..?”

You hear a sniffle from Rin. “…You’re not going anywhere after that.”

[nerdierholler]

So I fired up book 1 Ethan today to maybe work on a thing. I’m not reading really just making a copy of text for reference. I have a document with all of his canon choices so I’m just plugging those in.

Ethan detail I decided on in the process: his apartment style. None of the apartment descriptions really fit for him. He’s vintage based on the available options but really, he’s a midcentury modern man. At least for living spaces. He wants more interesting shapes and colors than minimalist but it’s still really tidy and with clean lines. He’s picky about appearances but also on a budget. Most of what he has is modern reproduction but he’s trying to get authentic, or as close to authentic, as he can now that he’s making a bit more.

In the grand scheme, it’s actually very generic and not original but he feels like it’s a step up from all ikea or something. He is also kind of generic looking with a well put together style that is also very vanilla. He looks great in it but you also probably wouldn’t notice any stand out pieces or the outfit he wore two weeks ago. He’s a bland magazine looking man in a hipster magazine looking apartment. He thinks he’s doing great though and he does genuinely like all of it. It isn’t just for show.

[quarterlifekitty]

Something, something, König picking up gaming in his free time, not uncommon for an older guy especially with a cute little thing who has a nice set up for gaming and he absolutely takes to it with flying colours. Kinda pissing you off how he’s gotten leagues better than you at one of your favourites in such a short amount of time. So when that skin you absolutely NEED drops you’re going insane grinding for it. It’s frustrating too because all the sweats have come out of the woodwork to grind for it too, leading to a lot of swearing and groaning on your end, coincidentally, König’s free time aligns and he’s more than happy to help you grind the tougher parts if you sit pretty on his lap and drain his pent cock.

What’s better than two stress relievers when he comes home from a high tension workplace environment?

(Bonus points if he’s your weird online long distance boyfriend who definitely told you an age younger than what’s on his ID and the place he comes home to is just your apartment that he decided was his too.)

Brother. The way this ask is in my mind. I would like to preface this by saying if you or a loved one is playing a video game with microtransactions and limited edition skin drops it’s not too late to get help. We can beat this together.

cw: he’s kind of a creep in this. Red flags abound. Somno/dubcon type stuff

Gonna make a couple of amendments to this one if that’s ok. 1) König is never going to be a god gamer because his hands are too fucking big and also I WANNA BE THE DOMINANT GAMER IN THE RELATIONSHIP. My ass is carrying HIM in apex. I don’t care that he knows how to shoot real guns. Don’t take this away from me

2) while he didn’t outright lie about his age, he did not say shit that would lead you to believe this man was over 40. He shared very few details about his personal life. Just that he was in the military, Austrian, and now? A gamer. Those are all the hallmarks of being a man in his 20s! Except the Austrian thing— that can happen to anyone.

I like to imagine he treats you like his discord kitten tho. You ask how old he is and he’s like “I’m an adult, if that’s what you’re worried about” or “old enough” or “don’t worry about it” and you say “okay 💖 yay 💖”

And he’s 100% your sugar daddy. Constantly buying you games just so you can co-op with him, gifting you in-game currency to spend on battle passes, absolutely ravaging your wishlist— steam, amazon, or otherwise.

He finds himself in your area for work and you tell him your address so he can meet up with you.

And you’re kind of a stupid femcel so when this dude shows up at your door, almost seven feet tall and wearing a surgical mask, scarred face with a healthy grey streak in his hair, it’s not setting off any alarm bells. There’s like at least 5 red flags here but you’re colorblind and inviting him in.

You didn’t realize that he was planning on staying with you while he was in the area. You also didn’t realize that the moment he found out he’d be stationed near you, he decided it was time to take your relationship to the next level.

Which is how you end up stretched out on his cock on the same day that you met in person for the first time, with him grunting in your ear about how he dreamed of this— thought of it every time he jerked off when you fell asleep during a discord call. He could tell just from your voice that you’d be pretty and soft and tight and perfect for him— and he was ready to settle down.

Good thing you didn’t really have any plans for the rest of your life, or you might find how fast he moves a little scary.

So it makes sense that you’re still a little shy. Too nervous to initiate things usually. So he just has to motivate you a little.

This skin’s an exclusive, can’t be earned with currency, and available as a drop for just 7 days. You can’t put in the hours to get it on your own, not to mention how tedious it is, and it can’t be bought. But it’s so cute.

So he makes the offer. He’ll spend his precious leave time helping you earn it if you keep his cock warm while he does it. He’d initially planned on using that time to rearrange your guts, so you’re gonna have to make it worth his while.

And maybe you exaggerate a little. You’re used to saying these things over calls— where nothing has any repercussions in the real world. Where you can promise anything from the safety of being on a screen a world away.

You tell him you’ll let him do whatever he wants to you if he can get that skin for you. After a moment you realize the implications of saying that to someone who can and will hold you down and make out with your cervix using the tip of his cock.

He borrows one of your elastics to tie back his hair.

He’s gonna get you that skin. And then he’s gonna get you pregnant.

You did say anything.

[seospicybin]

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.

-

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[hoshifighting]

Could you do svt’s reaction on forgetting their anniversary with the reader?

seungcheol’d been so wrapped up in schedules, meetings, and everything else on his plate that the date completely slipped his mind. the moment it sinks in, his stomach drops. he’s sitting at home, scrolling through his phone when he sees the reminder forgotten on his past notifications—anniversary dinner tonight. “shit, shit, shit.” he stands up abruptly, knocking his chair over as he scrambles to grab his keys. you’d been waiting, and the thought of you sitting there alone eats him alive. when he finally sees you, there’s no smile, just regret. “baby, i’m so fucking sorry.” his voice cracks. seungcheol is a person for whom responsibility is a priority. and the feeling that he failed a commitment and with you. makes him want to cry. “i don’t know what happened, but i swear i’ll make it up to you.”

jeonghan? oh, he knew it was coming. he just thought he had more time. his confidence gets the best of him. but when you bring it up, the look on your face says everything. and it’s like his brain short-circuits. “oh, t-the date,” he mutters under his breath, realizing that he’s been too laid-back about it. he tries to play it off, but the second he sees how hurt you are, he internally crumbles. “i really fucked up, didnt I baby?” he’d spend the rest of the day trying to fix it, probably spoiling you with something over-the-top, even though you’re still a little pissed.

joshua forgot because he was so caught up in helping his family with something important. when he checks the time and realizes what day it is, he freezes. “no, no, no.” he whispers to himself, heart sinking. his first instinct is to call you, but when you pick up, your tone is cold. “josh, where are you?” your voice is sharp, and he can’t even find the words to apologize. “i’m so sorry. i didn’t mean to. i—” he stumbles over his words, feeling like the worst boyfriend in the world. “i’ll make it right, i swear. please, just... let me make it right. im heading to the restaurant baby, just a sec, please”

junhui’s mind was on a completely different planet—he’d been immersed in practicing something new for you, wanting to surprise you, that he completely blanked on the actual anniversary. when it hits him, he laughs out of sheer disbelief at himself. “holy shit, i’m a dumbass.” he’s halfway through a text to you before deleting it, knowing a message wouldn’t be enough. he’s at your door within minutes, out of breath and a little frantic. “i know i’m late. i’m so fucking sorry. i... i was planning something for us, but i screwed up. can we start over?”

soonyoung’s the type to get so wrapped up in everything else that he loses track of days entirely. when it sinks in, it’s mid-dance practice, and he stops dead in his tracks. the date flashing in his brain like a neon sign. “no way,” he mutters, practically throwing his phone down as he rushes to text you. “please tell me you’re still there. please, please.” the guilt settles in hard when he realizes you’d probably already left. he wants to apologize in person, but he’s afraid of what he’ll see in your eyes. “i’ll do anything to fix this. just... just don’t hate me.”

wonwoo’s lost track of time probably because of a gaming session that went on way too long. he’s always been a little absent-minded, and this time it cost him. he doesn’t realize it until late at night when he’s scrolling through his phone, and your messages pop-up nonstop. he freezes, eyes glued to the screen. “fuck, my babe.” he knows it’s bad. wonwoo’s never been good with words, so when he tries to apologize, it’s a little awkward, but sincere. “i really didn’t mean to forget… i’ve just been all over the place.” he’ll make it up to you in quiet, meaningful ways—extra touches, thoughtful gestures.

woozi was in the studio, headphones on, lost in the music, lost in a project, an album, something like this. when the reminder popped up on his phone—the one he had set just because he knew he must NOT forget, he stared at it in disbelief. “no. fucking. way.” he pulls off the headphones, heart racing, standing up from his chair. he didn’t forget on purpose, but he knows that’s not going to make you feel better. he is already imagining how disappointed you’ll be. he hates that he’s made you cry without even being there to see it. without thinking, he grabs his things and rushes out, dialing your number.

minghao is probably halfway through some deep meditation or art project when he finally thinks of it. the date pops into his mind, and he freezes, the calm shattered in an instant. thrown off balance his usual balance. he hates that he let this happen, especially when he’s always so in tune with your emotions and your relationship. minghao will come to you with all sincerity, not trying to make excuses, just wanting to fix it. “i didn’t mean to forget… you know that right? you know how much I love you.” after the restaurant's booking was fucked up, he brings u to another expensive restaurant, trying to cheer you up with a sad smile.

mingyu’s the type to feel absolutely awful about it. he’s so used to being thoughtful and over-the-top with his affection, so when he forgets the anniversary, it feels like the ultimate failure to him. “oh my god, no way,” he groans, running his hands through his hair. he’d feel guilty as hell, probably already planning some over-the-top way to make it up to you before you even bring it up. he rushes to call you, but it goes straight to voicemail. “baby, please call me back. i’ll make this right, i swear.” the thought of you waiting for him with disappointment in your eyes kills him.

seokmin probably gets caught up in meetings, back-to-back phone calls, just grinding through work like he always does. the moment he sees the date on his calendar on the table, marked with a red heart, it hits him like a fucking truck. he’s frustrated with himself, pacing around the room, trying to figure out how to make it up to you. he doesn’t waste time; the guilt’s already settling in. you mean too much to him to leave it like this, so he’s quick to call you “baby im on my way home, wait for me—shit know i've made you wait a lot already, but just give me some minutes, in on the central bridge”

seungkwan was busy with work, thinking about a million other things when he realizes he forgot your anniversary. for a second, he just stands there, processing. “i’m the worst,” he mutters to himself, panic quickly setting in. he dials your number, but when you don’t pick up, the guilt is agonizing. he would probably appear on your door with everything he can, chocolate, plushies, bouquets of flowers, but all of it, with his teary eyes in the middle.

vernon is the type to lose track of time when he’s deep into something. so when he realizes the date, his heart sinks. its already night when he notices that he had sent you “good morning” and not even mentioning the anniversary. he feels bad, but he doesn’t know how to handle it right away. “let’s do something special today, okay?” he promises as he leaves the subway station.

chan feels like absolute shit the moment he realizes. he’s been so caught up in trying to prove himself, so focused on rehearsals, working hard, pushing himself, that he lost track of what day it is. “fuck, i can’t believe i forgot,” he mutters under his breath, hands clenched into fists. he hates that he let you down, and when he comes to you he gives all of himself. his face scrunched up everytime you hang up his calls, but you cant ignore the door since he lives with you. he would just hug you, even though you don't recriprocate, he does it.

[diazsdimples]

After the lightning, Buck downloads just about every weather app he can find. He doesn’t tell anyone - because he knows they’d immediately become concerned - he’s terrified of thunderstorms. If it’s forecast to be rainy, he’ll check, double check, and triple check that it’s only rain, and not a storm too. What he doesn’t know, is Eddie’s done the same thing.

The first storm happens a couple of months after Buck goes back to work, and he's ready for it. It's one of their nights off, so he gathers all the blankets in the loft, makes himself a little nest with his laptop, a hot water bottle, and some noise canceling headphones and he hunkers down for the night. He's just squeezed his eyes shut after the first flash of lightning when his phone rings. It's Eddie. Initially he doesn't want to answer, because he doesn't want to have anyone asking him how he is right now, but he also knows Eddie will just keep on ringing until he picks up. So he does.

Not once during that call does Eddie ask how Buck is. He immediately lauches into a long tale about Christopher's new crush, which turns into a story about the main characters on the telenovela he watches and "how the fuck have they not figure out they're in love yet", and finally they end up debating the pros and cons of having a smart fridge that shows you what's inside without having to open the door. Buck hangs up feeling a little confused, wondering what the occasion was for such a call, but the storm has passed and he didn't have a panic attack.

The next storm is in the dead of winter and Buck has been watching it brew for days, his anxiety mounting as it builds. He's planning on doing the same as last time, but then Eddie invites him over for dinner. It's not their usual night, and Chris is away with his grandparents in Texas, so Buck is a little confused but he says yes nonetheless. He's looking forward to some time with Eddie - the two of them have been toeing the line between friends and something more ever since the lightning, with long lingering touches and late night phone calls. When he gets there, Eddie has ordered them pizza, there's a case of beers on the coffee table, blankets on the couch, and a new sound system that looks like it could blow the windows out of the Sistine Chapel if given half a chance.

They have a really nice evening and Buck manages to ignore the way the clouds are churning outside, how the wind picks up and rain begins to splatter against the windowpanes. He's comfortable on the couch, with Eddie a warm line against his side from how closely they're pushed together. When the room lights up from the first strike of lightning, Buck jumps. He looks around wildly, just barely fighting the urge to clap his hands over his ears as the thunder booms. Eddie looks up from their movie, and turns up the sound on the TV until the thunder is inaudible. He places a hand on either one of Buck's shoulders and gently guides him down until he's settled against Eddie's chest. Eddie's arms wrap around Buck, holding him from behind and Buck can feel the fear slowly receeding.

"It's okay," Eddie whispers in his ear. "I've got you. You're safe."

The storm rages outside, but Buck doesn't panic. He's safe, in Eddie's arms, and though he might jump and his breathing might speed up every time there's a flash, Eddie strokes his arms and pets his hair and finally, almost nervously presses a kiss to Buck's forehead.

"Is- is this okay?" he asks Buck, so quietly that if it weren't for the fact that his lips were brushing Buck's ear, Buck wouldn't have heard it.

"Yeah," Buck replies, burrowing closer into Eddie's chest as his heart blooms with love, the warmth spreading down to his toes. "I'm safe."

[strawberrystepmom]

minors/ageless dni - i will hard block you. gojo and f!reader are married. never have i met a man whose dick gets harder over nonsense like this. | divider by cafekitsune, wc 656

“God, one of these days I’m going to kill you.”

The aggravated insult leaves your lips before you have time to stop it. Satoru stands behind you, lips pressed against the back of your neck, chuckling deep in his throat while you chop up the final details of dinner on the counter in front of you.

Awkward silence lingers and you place the knife down on the counter, bracing your hands on the edge of the countertop. What can you even say? “Sorry for threatening your life over a minor annoyance?” It seems excessive to ignore what you said but even more questionable to say it again, sharp kitchen knife discarded lest you do seem murderous.

Your husband finds your outburst positively enticing, the reward his pestering sought out to begin with finally dropped in his lap, your frustration nothing short of catnip to a cat.

Opening your mouth to speak, you’re stopped when he slides his hands next to yours, caging you against the corner with his arms. The sheer size of him is lost on you on a day to day basis. He only embraces that size on occasion anyway, usually to puff himself up like a peacock for its mate to impress you, and the reminder that his forearm alone is the size of your entire arm sends a chill down your spine. Resting his chin on your shoulder, he glances at you out of the side of his eye with a smirk.

“What was that?”

He’s taunting you; making fun of your little outburst. The gradual grating of your nerves has made you feisty and if Gojo is honest with himself, that’s how he likes you best on occasion. You turn your head to glance at him silently with wide eyes, his entire body keeping you pressed against the edge of the counter.

“And how were you planning on doing that?” Grinding his crotch into your lower back, you gasp feeling a burgeoning erection pressing into the zipper of his pants. “As you can see, you’re a little outmatched at least size wise, so tell me…how?”

The teasing continues, his lips finding the side of your neck to graze against the tender skin with a few nips and kisses, blood pulsing beneath your skin and heating your face and limbs and all too responsive core.

“I, uh, I wasn’t.” Your answer is weakly whispered, the lip of the counter now digging into the space between your ribs and the bottom of your breasts. “I wasn’t going to do anything.”

Another predatory chuckle is pressed against your neck, his hands sliding up your arms and down your sides, settling on your hips. That burgeoning erection is now full of life, rubbed between the cheeks of your clothed ass, the fabric between your bodies providing delicious friction to ignite the fire between you.

“I know. There isn’t anything you can do to hurt me.” Another drag of his lips up your neck, toward your throat as he speaks. “But there is plenty I could do to hurt you.”

The innuendo laced in his words keeps them light despite the intensity in his eyes that are still locked on your face, one of his hands sliding off of your hip to smack your ass. The touch stings even through the fabric covering it and you hiss in response, arching your back into his chest. He kisses your jaw and chin and forehead, pulling your head backward toward him.

“Say it again?”

You giggle, lips slick with his saliva and your own.

“I’m going to kill you.”

He groans and ruts into your back again, rolling his eyes back in his head. Those impressively large arms hold you in place, his shoulders and chest broad against the back of you, and you know that the only way he’ll be hurting you tonight is going to be by fucking you until you are limping in the morning.

[innerfare]

Mihawk Fluff // Angst Compilation 

Summary: A compilation of Mihawk angst and fluff from my multi character posts (You're Wounded, Type of Date, Paradise, Nightmares, I Love You, Kisses, Cuddling, You're Sick).

Genre: Fluff // Angst

CW: None // SFW

———

You’re Wounded: 

Sees to your wound without a word, making sure it’s disinfected and bandaged and receives proper care until its healed. Places a soft, quiet kiss atop your head, doesn’t say a word. Makes a mental plan to avoid similar situations in the future. 

Type of Date: 

He’ll take you on a private tour of a winery. You’ll sample expensive wines together and debate various flavors and aging processes (he’ll definitely judge you by your taste in wine). When you’re not in a heated debate, you’ll share light conversation, and after the sun sets, you’ll walk the fields together. He’ll steal a few kisses off you, too, and kiss your hand at the end of the night.  

Paradise 1: 

Waking up to fresh powder blanketing the ground and jumping out of bed, barely getting your boots and one of his coats on before you’re outside, romping through the snow. Falling into a snow bank with your arms out, giggling as you make a snow angel, grinning even wider when he surprises you by laying down beside you and doing the same, letting his inner child show through for a brief moment. 

Paradise 2: 

Waiting until late evening to meet beneath a peach tree, speaking at first in hushed tones, worrying someone is on to the two of you, eventually forgetting about all of that and settling into easy conversation about nothing and everything simultaneously, him jumping up to pick a peach for you to have as an evening snack, you taking advantage of the last bit of light to carve both of your initials into the tree trunk. 

Nightmares: 

He sent you away for your own good. He had a premonition the Navy would be coming for him, and with them, a slew of bounty hunters that would have no qualms about using you against him. And yet, you remained in his dreams, though the hot and heavy ones he once had were replaced by cold fear. Every time he went to sleep, a different scenario, though the crux of it the same: you were being used as a pawn to get to him, a pawn in a lot of pain. And every time he woke up, the same: your side of the bed was empty, the shape of your body tangled in those satin sheets now but a memory. For your own good, he kept reminding himself, though he believed it less every time.  

I Love You: 

He doesn’t tell you when he feels it, however overwhelming the feeling may be, so you’ll definitely be the one to say it first. This man is the king of unspoken affection. He’d sooner die than draw his sword and cut through all the tension that seems to follow him. That being said, he does say it in other, more subtle ways, primarily referring to you as, “my love,” and leaving it at that. When you finally tell him you love him, he doesn’t even say it back, simply burying his face in your hair and saying, “I’m glad to hear it, my love.” He shocks you by saying it back a few months later, though you don’t say it back, instead pulling him in for a kiss. And it continues like that, only one of you ever saying it, the other responding with affection. 

Kisses: 

So sensual when he kisses you. Mihawk is an incredible kisser, thanks to a lot of practice in his youth, though these days he’s far more picky about who he chooses to kiss. Almost always has his hands on your face when he does it. Often runs his tongue across your lips before pushing it into your mouth. Will talk to you between kisses, telling you how much he missed you and calling you, “my love,” or, “my little bird.” Very into hickies, particularly in private places. Goes a little crazy if you kiss his hands, especially if you play with them first (foreplay is important). 

Cuddling: 

He’s not clingy, but he’s also not one to withhold affection. When he feels like showing it, he does. Sometimes this is putting a hand on your hip and placing a kiss on your cheek while you’re cooking, and other times it’s pulling you into his arms and kissing the top of your head while you’re asleep but he’s still awake contemplating life. Any sort of cuddles are always accompanied by a kiss of some kind. 

You’re Sick: 

It’s easy to think he’s not taking care of you. You don’t see him at your side the entire time you have a fever, but as you fade in and out of consciousness, you’re aware of a presence, and the times you wake, you find a hot meal or some fresh flowers on your bedside table. When you finally have the strength to rise, you’ll find him in his chair reading the newspaper as if nothing happened. 

———

Hope you enjoyed it! If you want more, you can check out my masterlist here!

[littlespoonevan]

If you are looking for prompts.... Eddie and Tommy realising they unintentionally excluded Buck ?

ohohoho this was fun to write but Sad also bc eddie is clearly thinking one thing and tommy is clearly thinking many things and buck is off in his loft thinking many, Many things but i hope you like it, friend 💛

.

Eddie hobbles over to his couch with Tommy’s help.

“There you go, man,” Tommy says as he gets Eddie situated on the cushion. “You need anything?”

“Nah, I’m good,” Eddie replies, waving a hand. “There’s beer in the fridge though; help yourself.”

Tommy doesn’t take him up on the offer, instead moving to sit on the coffee table next to where Eddie’s propped up his injured leg.

“So, uh, Buck can get pretty competitive?” He says it like a question, nodding to Eddie’s wrapped ankle as if in proof and it’s, well-

“No, actually,” Eddie says, and he feels…stuck between a long-ingrained need to defend Buck and confusion as to how they ended up here in the first place.

Because this isn’t like Buck. Because Buck usually spends his every waking minute actively trying to keep Eddie out of harm’s way. He sure as hell is never the cause. And Eddie knows he didn’t mean to, is the thing. But just calling it a simple accident doesn’t feel quite right either.

“I don’t-” he starts and then reconsiders what he’d planned to say. “Honestly, Buck’s been a little off this week so I think…”

He trails off. It feels weird talking about Buck with someone who isn’t close to them, who doesn’t just implicitly gets all the intricate mental gymnastics behind Buck’s every action.

Then again, Eddie’s not sure if anyone is actually as adept at figuring out how Buck gets from A to Z as he is.

“Is it because of me?” Tommy asks and he looks genuinely concerned.

Eddie replays every conversation he’s had with Buck this past week – every too bright smile Buck flashed him, every enthusiastic assertion that he thought it was great Eddie had a new friend – and then he, inexplicably, thinks about when he first joined the 118 and some things slot into place.

“I think he was maybe a little worried,” Eddie allows. “That I was replacing him with you.”

Tommy’s eyes do a slow, deliberate sweep of the living room and the multiple photo frames of him, Buck and Christopher on the mantel and the side table before he looks back to Eddie. “Is that even possible?”

Eddie shakes his head, letting out a laugh. “I mean, no. Obviously. But Buck just- sometimes he needs reminding how much he means to people.”

Guilt settles between his ribs then. He’s been too distracted this week, too excited about having someone he had so much in common with around to talk to. If he’d taken half a second to look a little closer he would’ve realised Buck was spiralling.

“I should’ve spoken to him,” he sighs. “Reassured him that we weren’t trying to exclude him.”

Tommy frowns. “You really think that’s how he felt? I thought you said he never wanted to play basketball when you asked?”

“I think it was more than just the basketball,” Eddie says, wincing – the memory of him asking Buck to babysit instead of coming to the bar with them feels particularly bad.

Tommy nods slowly, mind clearly working. He’s quiet for so long Eddie thinks about telling him not to worry about it, that he’ll deal with it, but then-

“Why don’t I go talk to him?” he suggests, confident and sure. “Clear the air? I don’t want him to think I’m trying to get in the middle of you two.”

It takes Eddie by surprise. There’s a strangely defensive part of him that wants to say he and Buck don’t need anyone to mend their fences for them but he shoves the thought aside and reminds himself that’s not what Tommy means. Buck had sought Tommy out too last week and they’d seemed to get along. Maybe Tommy wants to clear the air for his own sake.

So he says, “Yeah,” probably a few seconds too late and makes himself smile. “Normally I’d be the one driving to his house and forcing him to talk. But I guess I’m kind of out of commission right now.”

He nods at his foot and Tommy laughs, pushing himself up off the couch to stand. “Well, hey, I’ll be sure to pass on your regards.”

“Thanks,” Eddie snorts.

Tommy claps him on the shoulder as he rounds the couch. “Don’t forget to take those pain pills, man. I’ll let you know how things go with Evan.”

He calls the rest of his sentence over his shoulder as he heads for the door and Eddie manages a half-hearted, “Will do,” as he hears the click of the latch.

And he feels…how Buck has felt all week, probably. Confused and irritated and a little possessive. Like Tommy’s stealing his job. As if Eddie hadn’t just told him it was fine. As if Eddie could even make it over to Buck’s place right now. At least he managed to hold back the petty, “His name is Buck,” that had immediately rose up in his throat as soon as Tommy had called him Evan.

Shaking his head, he reaches for the paper bag with his prescription that Tommy had left on the coffee table.

He’ll talk to Buck tomorrow and everything will be fine.

[sunlightmurdock]

anyway, don’t be a stranger | Bradley Bradshaw

one year after the hardest break-up of your life, you see Bradley Bradshaw again at your aunt’s wedding.

warnings : stand-alone. implied significant age gap (around 10-15 years). low-key dilf bradley except he has no kids. just angst really. this is based on scott street by phoebe bridgers and I felt like that deserved a warning in itself. reader is Penny’s niece. no physical descriptors of reader except brief mention that Bradley stroked their hair. post-break-up, kind of alluded to that the relationship was a secret. wc: 1.6k

…

“I missed you.” He whispers, all past-tenses nowadays. His lips brush your hair before he settles his cheek there instead, his left hand settled politely at the base of your spine while his right holds yours once again.

You miss him. Present-tense, as your make-up marks the white of his neatly steamed shirt. Your head on his chest and his stomach grazing yours.

Your eyes are squeezed shut, and behind your eyelids the floor plan of his living room is etched there. You know what steps to take to mind from bumping into the couch, or the coffee table, or the guitar he keeps by the lamp. You’re wearing his boxers and he’s telling you off with a grin on his face, for not knowing your nineteen-sixty-eight’s from your nineteen-seventy-four’s.

The records he gave you are nestled in the bookcase in your room. Your collection isn’t as extensive as his.

“You’ve been… doing okay?” even the way he speaks to you is cautious now. It wasn’t, once. Once he would have held both of your cheeks in his hands and you would have told him everything without him even having to ask.

He steps back, you step forwards, his hand on your back keeps your middle against his. The music rises and falls, his body keeping yours in rhythm.

“Yeah,” you guess. Okay is subjective, anyway. Your fingers skim along the seam between his shoulder and arm, careful to miss the ticklish spot at the back of his neck. “I got a new place.”

He had been constantly telling you that you needed to move out. That place was shitty in every sense of the word. Your roommates were useless, and rude. He was constantly fixing a leak in your bathroom, or a stiff window latch, or a blown fuse. Not to mention he hated the area.

It hadn’t seemed like too much of a pressing issue back when you spent most of your days at his place.

“Oh,” He murmurs, turning his face toward your hair once more, like he had all of those nights you spent in his bed. If he was an honest man, he would admit to you that he had always figured you would move into his place next, once he finally got you out of that shitty shoebox apartment. “That’s great. By yourself?”

He does everything by himself.

“No,” You answer. It would be far too lonely, far too empty, to have stretched through the winter by yourself. “With a friend.”

He’s glad to hear that. He knows you hate coming home to an empty place. Almost as much as he does. “It’s near the park?”

“No,” You wish. You wish, too, that he didn’t remember how much you wanted to live near there. You wanted a lot of things a year ago. “By the river.”

The smell of him makes the hole he left in the middle of your ribs throb with a painful emptiness. His thumb strokes the space of an inch, top to bottom and there again, on the small of your back.

A year ago, slow-dancing in a packed room, in a pretty dress with Bradley Bradshaw would have made all of your dreams come true. Him spinning you the way he did when you were alone in his kitchen, kissing you with a grin on his face.

It’sforthebetterit’sforthebetterit’sforthebetter. It’s for the best. Your fingers skim along his shoulders, turning your face toward his neck as you had so many times before.

“You could… come see it.” You don’t want him to see your new apartment. He’ll see that it’s everything he wanted for you and it isn’t enough. That his missing shirts are strewn between either your laundry hamper or your closet. His favourite Eagles record on the player he bought you. The stuffed animal he won you so proudly that night on the pier laying on his side of the bed.

He’ll see all the ways you’ve let him down after swearing that you would move on.

You want to see his place. It gnaws at you as he holds you in his arms; to know if pieces of you linger in his life the way he does for you.

Maybe you haven’t held onto the way it ended the same way he has. Bradley remembers, every day, the look in your eyes when he told you that it was over. The way he hurt you. He hadn’t meant to, he hadn’t ever meant to.

He’d hoped to see you here tonight with a new boyfriend and a big smile on your face. He’d hoped to be walking out with a knife in his side about how happy you were without him — at least that would mean he’d done the right thing.

“Is that what you want?” Maybe if he had taken the time to ask you that thirteen months ago you would have washed a few less mascara stains out of your pillowcases this past year.

The band slows and the music fades until the song is gone all together.

“No.” Comes through the resounding silence. His hand pulls away from the small of your back and comes to rest against the back of your neck, hugging you closer as an instinctive gesture.

His fingers squeeze softly at your nape.

This isn’t a very platonic way to dance together. Your arms reach around his shoulders and squeeze. Without checking to see if anyone’s watching, Bradley presses his lips to your temple.

Just like that, it’s over again. He drops your hand and unwraps himself from you.

“Alright,” His adam’s apple bobs as he takes a step back. He tries to offer you a smile. You don’t even attempt at the same courtesy, your eyes trained on him. He reaches out, grazing his fingers against yours as a parting gesture. “You take care of yourself, baby.”

And you’re expected to watch him walk away again.

He swallows thickly, weighted by the all too familiar glassy-eyed look you’re giving him. The dance floor swirls around the two of you, something gravitational that keeps them from getting too close. There had always been a certain level of privacy that came with being his, it lingers even in this vibrant room.

The song slows to a finish, and Bradley feels a familiar sinking feeling. He has to be the one to do the difficult thing, here. He straightens just a little and reaches for you once more, tapping platonically at your forearm.

“Have a good night.”

Don’t. The word almost spills right out. You bite down hard on the inside of your lip to keep it to yourself. He takes his first step back.

He opens his mouth, then. Lights twinkling above him and that look in his eyes, such strong regret— the kind of look that always comes before his best apologies. His eyes snag on the figure behind you.

Pete Mitchell leans against a support beam with a glass in his hand and a waning smile on his lips. His head is cocked with a vague curiosity, his steely irises flickering between the two supposed strangers before him.

Nothing more than passing ships.

No one will ever know how Bradley’s heart had thundered when you had kissed him. How he misses the way you’d tangle in his bedsheets, smiling at him while he got ready for work.

Pete’s dark brows start to pull together just slightly under the dance floor lights, illuminating him in a brash violet while you’re passed into the shadows.

Bradley closes his mouth, and turns away.

Your timeout is over, and the game is back on. As you have been for the past year, you’re invisible. He isn’t, he couldn’t be and you couldn’t even pretend that he is. Your gaze lingers on him through the passing shadows and lights, watching his gleaming smile spread around the room.

Charming the masses, he seems okay.

Your gut twists.

All day, all year, you have picked yourself up and carried on like normal. Like he hadn’t ever stroked his fingers through your hair and told you all the things he hadn’t been brave enough to tell anyone else.

All of those insecurities, and dreams, linger between you like a storm cloud in the sky. No one in this room has the sense to look up and see what’s there.

No one knows exactly what time you leave. It’s just passing conversation that they haven’t seen you in a while, that maybe you had gotten a ride home.

Bradley isn’t surprised, somehow, when he stops at the end of his driveway. The taxi pulls away behind him. His cheeks are flushed and warm-looking, his curls tangled over his forehead and his unfastened tie resting in his hand rather than around his neck.

Sitting on his porch steps, you’ve never felt quite as small. He watches you shrink further, pulling your knees closer and huddling yourself away from him. Memories of the times he would come home to you here and you would throw yourself into his arms flash across his mind.

Wordlessly, Bradley puts one foot in front of the other. He digs his house keys from his pocket as he passes you by, unlocking the door with a familiar jingle. You push yourself up from the steps and hug your arms around yourself while he flicks on the entryway lights.

[allzelemonz]

Long Mission: Bruce Wayne X Male Reader

Summertime Prompt: Day 1, “Only one bed” Pronouns: None Mentioned, masc in mind while writing Physical Sex: None Mentioned Rating: T/Violence Warnings: One bed trope, coworkers, Justice League, mission aftermath, cuddling, sleep cuddling, Bruce is scared of affection, sleep deprived Bruce, Bruce and his weird relationship with feelings, fluff, paranoia Summary: After a long mission with the League overseas, you and Bruce find a place to sleep.

The desk attendant nearly shrinks at the glare Bruce gives them, seemingly he’s forgotten that Brucie isn’t supposed to be threatening. Granted, it’s four in the morning and a bunch of aliens had the League occupied all night so his grumpiness peeking out of his cowl is understandable. Especially when the person he’s glaring at is saying there’s only one room, only one bed, in the entire place that’s unoccupied.

With a groggy and pounding head from hours of fighting, you grab the keycard from the poor soul behind the desk and pull Bruce along to the elevator. He doesn’t resist, only stares at your hand on his sleeve until you let it go once the doors slide closed. You rub at your head, trying to alleviate the pain that makes your brain throb and literally every other muscle but nothing comes of it. Everything feels old and run down, your neck alone feels like it’s been snapped around and around repeatedly.

“We should go somewhere else.” Bruce mutters, staring off at the wall like he’s thinking. “He might call someone, might’ve recognized me.”

“The only place I’m going is bed.” You sigh. “Drop the vigilance for the night, we’re in Ireland. No one cares about Bruce Wayne or Batman or--”

“Don’t say that out loud.”

You groan, squeezing your eyes shut as what feels like a railroad spike splits your brain in half. “Not every building in the world is bugged.”

“I’m still checking the room.” He says as the doors slide open. “Don’t get comfortable.”

He walks down the hall after yanking the keycard from your hand. Maybe you should’ve taken Oliver up on his offer instead, he and Dinah were going to stay in some castle and at the very least they’re not broody. As you follow Bruce down the hall you can practically see the ears poking up from his head as if he’s wearing his cowl. His shoulders are hunched but somehow still impossibly broad, his fingers curled into a fist. Very much not the Brucie he should be while in public.

Bruce swipes the card, watches the little light flicker green, then opens the door to the little room. You follow in and he holds a finger up to his lips, telling you to stay quiet. So you wait while he searches every inch of every last thing. He picks out a gadget from his pocket and it scans over the room as he checks the nooks and crannies. When the device beeps, he checks it and taps a few of its buttons as you try to keep your eyes open.

“It’s clear.” He mutters, so much of his voice still stuck in Batman mode.

“Great.” You huff, rubbing your neck from the pain. “What’s the, uh… sleeping plan?”

He glances at the bed. “You can take it, I’m not sleeping tonight.”

“Clark said you hadn’t slept in days.”

“Clark exaggerates.”

“Just an hour.” You sigh, sitting on the bed and rubbing your eyes. “You can’t be sloppy in unfamiliar territory.”

He’s quiet after that. You roll your eyes, tired of the Batman act, and lay down. Almost as soon as you’re settled, you’re out. The exhaustion takes over and you might as well be dead. Bruce stares for a while, knowing he doesn’t have to be as worried about security as he is. Anything thrown at the two of you could easily be handled, even more so if you’re both well rested. As he crawls into the bed he finally lets himself feel the aches all over his body. He hates to admit Clark was right, but he hasn’t slept in days and it cost him awareness during that alien fiasco. He took more hits than he should have and he’ll definitely be getting an earful from Alfred once he’s home.

With a grunt, he rolls to his side. Every inch of his body aches like an old chair taking on weight as he settles under the blanket. His eyes trail to you, sleeping next to him. It’s not the first time he’s had to share sleeping arrangements with another League member, Clark alone ends up stuck doing it every time they stay a night in space simply because no one else is up to it. Diana did it once and nearly threw Bruce out of a window for making noise in the night.

You look nearly as battered as Bruce feels, much more exhausted. For a moment, Bruce is reminded how long it’s been since he held someone and the image of you in his arms plagues his mind. Most people he hangs around for show as Brucie, or shoves away as Batman. Only his kids, and really any kid that’s scared and needs a hug, have held him. Alfred does sometimes, when Bruce is overwhelmed. But that touch, that feeling of holding someone because they’re yours, that’s something Bruce hasn’t felt. Only imagined, and it’s so easy to imagine that with you right here.

Against his better judgment, he rests a hand on your shoulder. It’s just the slightest feeling, but you’re warm. Bruce shivers now that he realizes everything around him is cold, except you. He’s wanted something from you for so long but he’s just cornered by a million different things with no time to get into those feelings. He has the League and its expenses, Gotham, Wayne Tech, his kids, Ra’s breathing down his neck, everything but the one thing his mind is stuck on right now. And of course he just happens to be shy, he’d rather put on a fake Brucie smile or worn out Batfrown than his own face.

He’d never do it. Not unless you asked first. But you’d never do that, would you?

When you wake up it’s impossibly warm. The curtains keep the afternoon light out and the room is dark. It takes you a moment to see, your eyes blinking sleep and shadows out until the bruised face of Bruce is in focus. He’s completely wrapped around you, arms and legs gluing him to you as if he thought you’d float away during sleep. Everything about him is warm and soft and tight.

With the slightest twitch from you he wakes up. His eyes snap open and he stares at you like the startled bat that he is. Neither of you move, just sitting there in shock and confusion.

“You’re… warm.” You mumble, making the softest move to slip your arms around him.

His jaw clenches for a moment before he brushes his lips over your neck, nothing more than a feather before he nuzzles into the spot and breathes deeply. His hold on you relaxes and his breathing evens out as he falls back asleep. You try not to move, knowing how much he needs this sleep, and likely this comfort.

[luffyvace]

yandere hero & villain hxh au

to explain this is uhhh, idk how. But I’ll do my best!! Basically the main 4 & the hunter association are heroes and the villains are the phantom troupe!!

Request via dms by: @animerules898

I’m not sure if they wanted the whole hxh verse to argue over you or if they meant separately…. But I’m gonna do separately but the yandere feels like the heroes/villains wanna take you away 💃👍

Light! Yandere! Themes, nothing too crazy ofc!! (Part 2 here!!)

Gon 🎣 and Killua 🪀!!

Yeah I’m just gonna lump these two together bc they’d definitely help each other out‼️

but the thing is by lumping them together idk if they’d be sharing or separate, and since this is from reader pov there’ll be a 3rd party I say they don’t share, so I think I’ll go with sharing anyway

alright now that that’s settled!

first off they’ll protect you with they’re life, even if your strong

like actually, they’ll give they’re life to make you keep living, and the other must take care of you

or if they both do then make sure you live in for them!

but onto a light topic- they’re really only yandere when they feel jealous or when your in danger, otherwise they’re really playful and friendly ofc, so you likely won’t be scared of them unless they kidnap you or smth-

if your not they’ll be especially protective of you and at least one of them is near you at all times

things don’t get any safer after you become hunters so they’ll either teach you nen or as a last resort send you to live with aunt mito

(cuz killua family ain’t a option 🗿)

as long as it’s not too dangerous they’ll let you choose which one

also they feel disappointed in themselves after getting kidnapped by the phantom troupe, because it proves they aren’t strong enough to protect you from villains!

they’d better not hurt you or adult gon gonna be activated early! >:(

joking! 😜 but they do prioritize getting you free before them

they’re protectiveness becomes heightened after that incident and you’d have to fight not to go stay with aunt mito if you wanna keep going on adventures

but for the chimera ant arc they definitely don’t let you go

at least not to the king’s castle

they’ll find a strong ally to keep you safe in a safe place and when they get back you better be safe or else whoever was supposed to keep you safe isn’t going to be safe

LOL 🤪

Kurapika ⚔️📚

Kurapika would be one of the most protective ones seeing as though his half of the villains in this au are his enemies 😭

he won’t want you to go out a lot at all so I hope your not one for adventure, preferably an introvert too so you aren’t always super hype to see others and maybe a little skeptical like him

With your permission he’ll put a tracker on you just in case, he seems to be surrounded by kidnapping-🗿 so he can’t risk that happening to you

even more so if the troupe finds out about you, which he really really really hopes never happens even tho it just might

i don’t think it’ll be anyone’s fault if they do, unless Kurapika kidnapped you and you try to escape, then Shalnark likely just found out about you through research

And the chances of Chrollo not taking you hostage to use against Kurapika are almost 0%

if that does happen Kurapika will do whatever it take to get you back, even if it means telling the troupe they can have his life as long as they set you free (which Kurapika is smart so he’ll get his friends/Allies to help make sure they actually set you free in case it was a set up, he comes up with a very detailed plan and it’s success rate is pretty high since he’s managed to outsmart Chrollo before using the element of surprise. I’m not sure where he’ll send you but if Gon suggests Aunt Mito’s house he’ll likely take the opportunity seeing as though he has no family to send you to himself).

but if that doesn’t happen! (Thankfully) he will constantly move every few months and make to sure keep lots of locks and passcodes wherever you stay at the moment. He also has lots of security cameras, but don’t worry! He’s a good boyfriend aside from all the crazy stuff you have to go through from his wild life so he still gets you gifts and spends all his free time with you when he’s home! 💗

Leorio 🥼🩺

Being with Leorio will probably give you the most peaceful life at our everyone here 😭😭

seriously tho this dude’s just a doctor!

If you met in college he likely fell in love with you with for your intelligence/appearance and as he discovered more about you he found himself going down a rabbit whole of newfound affection for you

even if you didn’t meet in college he still falls pretty darn fast for you

your one of the few couple who can have a normal life and regular dates

all thanks to the fact that he basically has no ops LOL

he’s aware of villains and is grateful they don’t even know he exists 😭😅

that way he can give you a peaceful life and he has time to get stronger before taking on any seriously dangerous foes to protect you

but yeah! You adventures with gon, killua and kurapika can get pretty wild but your really on the outside looking in since none of gon, killua of Kurapika’s ops really come for you 😂

enjoy your happy life!♡ Ging 📜

this man has the power and disappearance abilities to protect you and hide you well from your enemies..

so your pretty much good!👌✅

Besides idk know many who has the guts to challenge this guy anyway

in fact idk anyone who even found this guy to be able to challenge him!

I mean besides gon but obviously he wasn’t looking for smoke 😭

when you meet gon you probably find him cute!

Ging probably told you about him but he seemed uncomfortable at the topic and didn’t wanna talk about it much cuz he isn’t exactly proud he up and left…

it doesn’t make him look good for you since your his s/o 😃

Ging will take you on any safer adventures he has but idk how often that’ll be

you probably have a pretty home tho! Somewhere safe too! Although I will say you probably have multiple houses with all the traveling he does, in fact you may own 3 in the most common places you go to but otherwise you just rent trusted, clean places to stay at.

It’s a plus that you don’t have to really worry about villains too!

ngl this is also a pretty peaceful life as long as you can deal with Ging’s antics (if he’s anything like Gon)

btw don’t worry he tells you when he’s going and where when he leaves, and always comes back, he cares about you a lot and doesn’t want you to stop loving him bc of a situation like his and Gon’s- 🗿😜

I have a feeling he didn’t kidnap, but courted you as well.

Go on, runaway (🤭) into the sunset together ☀️ I’m gonna make a part 2 for the phantom troupe as the villains bc I might run out of characters 😅💗

[bomber-grl]

The Torture of Being a Personal Heater

Pairing(s): Leo Valdez x Gn!Reader

Winter post… sort of

It had started before you two even got together

It was unusually chilly, and so you were naturally attracted to the warmest thing in the vicinity

Aka Leo

You stuck to him like glue despite the fact you two never really interacted

Which should’ve been foreshadowing or atleast a glimpse of what being with you would be like

Especially once the weather got chillier and fall turned to winter

He was your designated personal heater

You always held tight next to him at school during the winter months once you two sort of settled at the Waystation

Even when you’re not at the new place you’ve learned to call home- you’re still holding onto him because if you had to describe it in some way shape or form- it’s like he creates a bubble of heat around you two

And you really don’t plan on letting go anytime soon

Luckily this only occurs during Winter because if not then gods so help Leo, he will literally suffer from a heat stroke

Then when he gains consciousness, will argue it’s because he’s too hot (wink wink)

- anyway

Leo doesn’t really mind that you’re drawn to him because of this

I mean he sort of finds it funny and occasionally teases you for it but otherwise it’s just his way of life now

(Adding to the irony of the title)

Especially if you run cold, Leo would actually prefer you lean on him than have you shivering and timbering while he’s all nice and cozy

Now,…

If the only reason you’re actually leaning and resting your head on Leo in the first place is to be able to exert your clinginess without rising suspicion-

Congrats! You’ve succeeded

Homeboy does NOT realize anything is amiss since most of his other friends also use him for warmth

Which can be a tad torturous but he endures it nonetheless-)

He’ll happily hold your hand in his if he gets to hear how warm he is come from you

He does NOT care

But if if Leo hasn’t noticed your clinginess by now-

(Probably blindsided by his own

-you better believe that basically everyone else has

Other residents at the Way station will just roll their eyes playfully and shake their heads at the sight

Eventually Leo finds out that you’re just clingy asf

He really doesn’t get why you’d keep that to yourself, especially since he’s always happy to cuddle

But then again he can’t be talking with all his insecurities that he keeps to himself-

Anyway! Atleast now Leo understands you a tad better than he did a few seconds ago

The only instance where I can think being near you would be close to torturous is when you’re warmly bundled under the covers with Leo

It was a lucky instance considering all of Emmies and Jo’s regulations when couples sleep together-

Anyway

You’re there cuddling and what really Ircks him is if your cold hands brush against his stomach or if your cold ass feet touch his leg or something

He will be startled

And he won’t do anything else really 😭

Just tells you to get closer so that you simultaneously warm up and effectively prevents these shocks

-

A/n: sorry it’s so short but i felt if i added anything more- it’d just be pointless excessive writing

[starrvsn]

` ִ ꔫ ۫ ⊹ W.CLARK ˖ TIL DEATH DO US PART.

pairing: wally clark x fem!reader. 

what to know | 80% angst with 20% of fluff, comfort. fic, a pretty sappy ending. i do not own these characters and this is all fiction! — lowercase is intended.

word count: 5,280 (oops) 

spoilers: death and characters (also assumptions about characters back story). 

☆ on rotation: hate to be lame by lizzie mcapline. lover sung by taylor swift. she was mine by aj rafael. better for you by siaopaolo.

star left a message! my first fic! hope you enjoy and let me know how you felt about it :)

ab. you and wally were inseparable. bared souls to each other but still dancing around the fact of feelings for each other but one night he gathers the courage to tell you how he feels, things don’t go the way he plans and spirals out of control.

1984.

the soft ringing of a phone rouses you awake, your room dark and cool from the gentle breeze coming through the crack in your window. you rub the drowsiness from your eyes before sitting up. glancing at your clock, beside it is the soft yellow landline that rings, a light but repetitive tone. the red glowing numbers reading 11:51 almost made you regret waking up to pick up the phone but the constant ringing means the caller must be persistent to get ahold of you. clearing your throat you pick up the phone, a soft hello emitting from your lips.

“hey sweetheart” you recognize the voice almost immediately, wally clark your best friend since middle school. you two are inseparable, always attached to the hip and despite his reputation, how popular he was. he never let it hinder your relationship. he always joked that you two were high school sweethearts minus the dating part which also always confused people when you had told them you were just friends but your heart hopes, yearns for more.

“hey, did something happen?” there must’ve been a reason why he called you in the first place but he quickly denies:

“oh-oh no, everything is going well… sorry did i wake you?” his voice comes out rushed, as if he’s trying to speed up the conversation. the tone confuses you but you continue.

“not really, i was just trying to fall asleep.” you softly respond. fiddling with the cord, telling him a small white lie but if there was something about wally was that you never wanted him to feel bad at your expense, always saving him the tinge of guilt that affects him more than you thought. he was a soft soul, sensitive but resilient. one of the things that make you more drawn to him. he was someone who made you feel like you had a purpose in life.

“i, i uhm was wondering if you wanted to go for a drive. i-if not thats totally okay!” you can practically hear himself rubbing his neck. a constant habit he had when he was emmbarrased or unsure. you agree almost immediately. hearing the smile plastered on his face, he boasts about having the car for the night so it was the perfect time to make use of it. he promises he’ll come to get you in a few minutes so you rush to get dressed in warmer clothing compared to your sleep wear. as you wait for him, you couldn’t help but feel curious as to why he wanted to take you out at such a late hour. sure he didn’t get the car to himself often but from his tone you couldn’t help but feel something off. ultimately your mind settles on the fact that he just felt spontaneous and just wanted to spend time with your, knowing how the school year just began and he has been busy with the football team and his parents breathing down his neck, so maybe he needed an escape.

minutes pass and you hear the closing of a car door, then rounds of rubble as if someones walking down the side walk. you don’t know how but every time wally comes around, no matter what the sounds are- you always know it’s him and when you confessed this little sense of yours when he let out a boisterous laugh and told you “you have a little part of me then sweetheart.” that made your heart melt. excited, you softly pad down your steps and open the door before he can even let himself in. you had unlocked the door minutes prior to ensure a silent arrival. wally stands still for a few moments. his gaze focusing on your face, your cheeks blush as moments pass and his movement doesn’t change

“uh, earth to wally?” snapping your fingers in front of him, the taller boy jumps back in surprised wondering how you got there so fast, and how you look so effortlessly beautiful at midnight “done gawking yet clark?” laughing, sounding beautiful to his ears he looks away smiling shyly his hand coming up to rub the back of his neck, a repeating his habit. “so where are we going?”becoming the most talkative already, in return there is no response. which is odd coming from you usually commentary filled best friend.

“no hi, how are you? do you not miss me?” lightly shoving his shoulder. you divert the subject to where he could be taking you, the cold air making you shiver as you wait for his response. but instead of giving you one he just leads you to his car across the street, no words exchanged. huffing at the lack of communication you follow him across the street (looking both ways before you cross of course)

the drive to the park is quiet— comfortable silence with the silent play of music fill the air as he drives, you look out the window to stare at the beautiful landscape of the city since wally gives no other form of entertainment to pass time. trying so hard not to stare at him as he drives, you don’t notice obviously since you’re not looking his way but there’s a line of sweat collecting on wally’s hairline but even if you saw you would shrug it off blaming it on his hoodie but no, wally was sweating for a completely different reason. he’s about to change your relationship forever. well, not forever but the outcome can go of two ways, good or bad; with no in-between.

wally clark is going to confess his undying love for you and he feels like he’s gonna throw up from how nervous he is. he didn’t even greet you, that’s how tense he’s feeling he couldn’t even form any coherent word when he saw you, hair ruffled laying in bed with sleepy eyes. it was an image that he wants tattooed on his forehead, dead serious. luckily you didn’t notice how nervous he is because you usually can read him very well additionally, you haven’t asked him anything so he’s relieved to see that nothing he’s done has gotten on your radar yet. well, he didn’t greet you when he picked you up but you just shrugged it off, not thinking to much of it. passing it as oncoming sleepiness from staying up. the ride was filled mostly silence and was also accompanied by mark or your occasion humming, soon you arrive at the park which you immediately recognize as the one where you first met wally, on the swing set late at night when his parent became overbearing. you follow wally out of the car and up a path to a grassy hill out looking the neighborhood and beautiful night sky. he takes a seat and you follow after him, sitting next to him with little space between the two of you.

the scene is quite picturesque, wally wishes he brought his polaroid as he looks up at the stars hoping they’ll talk back to him, talk him out of it or something— maybe some encouragement because he’s been hyping himself up for this moment for so long, okay just for three hours but leading up to this moment he felt like time was moving so slow. the two of you just sit in silence for a while looking at the beautiful night sky until wally speaks up.

“i have something to tell you.” he starts, his voice slightly wavering. you turn immediately to look at him as this is the first thing he’s said to you since he picked you up, a sour feeling rests in your stomach as you process what he said, in fear of hearing what he actually he has to say, you try to figure it out yourself. which you’ll find out yourself was not the greatest idea. sitting up straight you look directly at him with a hand on his shoulder.

“wait don’t tell me, you’re moving? you got early acceptance to ohio state? if so and you’re only telling me now i’m going to murd— or no have you gotten yourself a girlfriend because god knows you nee—“wally shakes his head barely scoffing a laugh.

“no, that is not what i’m gonna tell you! now can you please stop talking? i practiced in front of my mirror for this.” practicing in-front the mirror for what? you tilt your head confused, but turn it upright immediately when another thought comes to mind.

“are you going to show me that stupid dances you’ve been learning because—“

“no! y/n let me say what i need to say before i vomit on your shoes.”

“hold on wha—“

“oh my god y/n! i like you! okay! i like you. god i asked you to not talk and yet you did.”

your heart drops and the sour feeling only heightens. wally on the other hand is frustrated and embarrassed because of your interruptions and his sudden outburst to you. it was uncalled for, he knows. high on his emotions the quarterback stands up from his spot and starts walking down the hill, ruffling his hair in frustration. cheeks red from both embarrassment and the cold. can’t believe you just confessed to her like that! horrible wally clark. now she’s not gonna even want to accept your confession. ‘vomit on your shoes’ what kind of line is that? seriously.

he groans, stuffing his hands in his pockets as he continues down the path. not even bothered to see if you’re following him, he probably just ruined your friendship for life. he’s never going to let himself live this down.

wally is mad at himself, not even you, he’s only a tad bit mad at you for you cutting him off but he’s more mad at himself— he shouldn’t have beaten around the bush, should’ve just told you there and then not have any cheesy climax to it; would’ve gotten it over with quickly. you watch wally walk off while you stay planted in your seat. still processing what happened. wait, wally clark just confessed to you, the man you’ve unknowingly devoted yourself for just confessed and you were interrupting him! what are you doing go after him! y/n go! you scramble from your spot. feeling guilty for cutting him off, you probably sent his confidence down the hill with him. god you felt horrible. “wally! wait!” you call from behind him almost tripping from the decline of the hill but with sportsmen instincts he catches you by your arm. “wally, oh my god. i’m sorry for cutting you off— i’m such a jerk for that.”you say as you pant for breath, your heart racing. you look at his side profile and he’s avoiding your gaze completely, moving his head to look to the side you’re not on. “it’s alright, let me just take you home.” a breath leaves you, take you home? that was the last thing you wanted right now “wally i—“ he cuts you off like you did to him earlier “y/n really, i accept your apology. let me— let me just take you home please.” he is dying from embarrassment at this point, might as well put him out of his misery. “but–“ you start while wally let’s out a hefty sigh and inhales harshly from his nose, rubbing the side of it with his thumb. “y/n can we just forget this all happened? it’s really late i’ll just get you home before anyone realizes your gone.” his tone is distant and really pulls at your heart strings, you didn’t want to forget about this, well some parts of it you wanted to remember like him confessing to you! but you didn’t mean to make him upset; he probably is thinking the worse right now and it’s all because of you, it’s all your fault.

you don’t say another word as you nod when wally briefly glances at you, his light touch on your arm leaves as he continues his walk to the car park. you follow behind quietly, guilt eating you up as you look at wally posture slump as he walks, he’s head hung low. looking small— all because of you.

the drive back to your house was even worse, it was quiet. no music no humming, nothing. just silence— you wanted to say something make it right again but you were afraid to worsen his mood more than you’ve already done. no farewells are exchanged when wally arrives in front of your home, he wanted to say something, anything but he just let the opportunity pass. although, just as you’re about to close the door, he murmurs a soft good night that you wish he could tell you looking in your eyes but instead his eyes stay downcast on the steering wheel. he doesn’t leave right away, he waits until you’re safely inside your house and then some more. he throws his head back wallowing in his emotions, he wished the earth would just swallow him up. when you get into your room, you peak through your blinds and see that wally is still there, you watch as he sits there, eyes closed and head back then he hits the wheel of his car a few times eliciting a gasp from you, feeling more guilty. eventually watching him depart from your street.

wally clark was avoiding you, you knew that much. after what happened that night wally began acting like you didn’t exist– as if you weren’t his best friend; as if he didn’t confess his feelings for you— which you’ve been thinking about for the last few days. it hurts, that wally’s acting so distant. he’s been hanging out with his jock friends— but you can tell his mood isn’t the same. usually preppy and extraverted, practices consuming his time and plans that pop out of thin air that keeps him busy so he doesn’t have to think about what happened with you, to distract him. you’ve tried calling him but it’s all been sent to voicemail or his mother ends up answering the phone, you could tell but it hasn’t been to easy for wally either. he feels like a dick for being this way after what happened but he’s just not ready to face you— face you’re rejection, face the embarrassment, face the spot in his heart for you that he now has to make disappear. he’s just not ready.

this whole wally avoiding you thing has gone longer than you both had expected— you, you were counting the days until wally spoke to you again and honestly you are becoming more concerned with how this is dragging out. you miss your best friend for goddess sake! you miss his corny jokes, his contagious laughter, his habit of running his hands through his had, how excited he gets when he see’s dogs on the street. you just miss him... you miss everything about him, your constant now gone. unfortunately you never end up getting the time to talk to him and by now its been months, now the homecoming game you plan on talking to him after the game. no excuses, no if, ands or buts can interfere with the dire need of bringing him back to you.

the chilly air nips at your cheeks as you stand in the bleachers watching the game. you were never a sports fan especially for football but when your best friend’s whole personality is devoting himself to the sport— not even for him but for his family, you had no choice but getting yourself used to the sport. you went to every game, however far it was you went. distance didn’t hinder your support for him. the game feels aching long and the constant cheering from both schools make it hard for you to focus, you just wanted things to be okay with him. you didn’t want to keep this cold war between the two of you.

now in the second half, you watch from the stands as wally takes a seat onto the metal bench. his mother right behind him. the conversation must be tense because as soon as the finish speaking. he’s up on his feet again. your chest tightening at the thought of how much pressure he’s under right now. you hold your breath as you watch wally catch the ball, running towards the the five yard line when a linebacker runs straight into him, tackling him— wally breaking his fall. you let out a shuttering breath as you watch him, your best friend lie there on the field and it feels as if time stops; you stand on the bleachers in disbelief. praying to some higher up that he’s okay and just being dramatic before getting up like he always does… but that never happens. all air is taken from your chest as you dreadfully walk down the bleachers, hoping this was some sick dream you were bound to wake up from. clamors of terror and commotion fill the stadium as the beloved football player is declared dead on the field. tears are streaming down your face, watching his body being carried in a black body bag that he would’ve joked about it being a tacky way of being taken out.. but theres no room for that you’ve never felt so empty, so helpless as you do in this moment. now never being able to accept is confession, apologize, make a amends. there was no future for you without him.

all wally can see is black, a dark abyss that consumes his vision as he feels weightless, as if he isn’t in his body. an out of body experience that he hopes to recover from. that he’s just in a coma and he’ll be reunited with you and tell you all the things he didn’t get to tell you sooner. his mind is consumed by the thought of you, even before the accident he wanted to see you, talk to you, hold you in his arms but when he opens his eyes he’s greeted by the bright lights of the football field. being completely alone in the stadium. still in his uniform. he sits up dazed and confused. he feels fine, if anything he feels like a whole new person as if he’s been given a second chance in living but what he’ll soon to find out, its not in the way he thinks. he feels a bit light headed as he stands and his eyes immediately landing on a figure when he had thought he was alone. he shouts to get their attention to no avail, confused; he continues to shout walking closer to them. as he gets closer he realizes it’s you with your head in your hands and yours shoulders shaking as you wail to your hearts content. he calls out to you, at first soft but then more desperate as you don’t hear him. he feels frustrated as tears of his own stream down his face.

he cries “yn, sweetheart please, please.” his chest tightening at the sounds of your crying. pleading, begging. a mantra repeating under his breath. he doesn’t want this to be it, to be over for him, for you. he can’t lose you. he doesn’t know where he is, how he got here and he especially doesn’t understand why you can’t hear or see him. if this what death is like he thinks he landed in hell.

wally doesn’t notice the man standing by the entrance. the man that he’ll soon find out is a guide into understanding what exactly is happening and coming to terms with the fact that he’s dead and will never be able to live the life he wanted with you. instead he’ll watch you grow without him as he’ll stay forever eighteen.

‘wallowing wally’ is the nickname rhonda had come up for him. jason chides rhonda for picking on the mourning boy but she insists it was to lighten the mood, the outcome being the complete opposite. when he was first introduced to the group he was quiet, timid, distant. the others understood the feelings and recent thoughts about the afterlife at split river and had assumed he would grow out of it. but no, it continues and rhonda’s continuous jokes about his behavior being the complete opposite to the boisterous quarterback he once was— but that guy since died along with his corpse. he’s now just a shell of who he was.

it was hard for him to watch you at first, he didn’t see you for weeks after his death but when you finally came back to school. you were an entirely different person; you looked paler, bags under your eyes, lifeless as you walked down the halls with soft murmurs about your appearance as you walk by. his heart shatters into pieces watching you, sitting alone during breaks. staring into space during class completely dissociative during class. you distanced yourself from your peers and never responded when someone gave you condolences about your best friend, just nodding then walking away. your were mourning the death of him and he couldn’t handle watching it. you’re hurting at his expense and it’s breaking his already shattered heart that can’t be mended.

so he distanced himself from you. like he did at the end of his life, he couldn’t bare to see you hurt so he spent most of his days on the rooftop. only coming down for snacks or to catch up with the others  but then back at his spot. never going to group because he didn’t want to talk about it. how a little of guilt sits in him everyday watching you mourn for him. days blur by and eventually wally extends to the stadium— he’s bitter, yes that he died during a game, without a fight but it was easier for him to get over compared to you. he will never get over you. he takes his time walking onto the field, closer he sees the memorial left for him. his picture surrounded by candles, flowers, notes and other things left by other students. he’s consumed by the notes and messages his peers left him that he doesn’t realize jason joining him.

“wally” he calls, the boy turns with his hands shoved in his varsity jacket. looking over at the latter with a questioning look. watching the male with his hand over his face shielding him from the sun.

“there’s something i think you wanna see.” as much as he doesn’t want to follow jason or be lead into his trap of being forced into group he couldn’t help the feeling of interest that fills him. as expected they’re towards the gym and as wally is about to protest jason interjects with strong statements about something being there for him. for the first time wally feels hopeful, that something happened— miraculously. he follows jason into the gym. the sight of the circle of chairs in the corner of the gym prominent in his vision but now he sees an extra person taking up another seat. he wasn’t aware that another death had happened at the school and if there was he would’ve been there. heard the sounds of death within the walls. he gets closer and closer, expectant of what jason kept hyping him up about. he’s about to inquire what it is when his eyes land on you. sitting in his seat, he stares at you in disbelief. you dont notice him at first and he takes is as a time to take up you appearance. one that he hasn’t seen in a while.

you look healthier, definitely healing from the homecoming game. you’re wearing a stripped sweater he had lent you, slightly oversized and a pair of dark wash jeans and your beat up converse. the only piece sticking out from your ensamble was the beige apron, stained with clay. it’s quiet around the group before mr. martian walks inside greeting the others.

“wally finally joining us i see.” that name catches your attention. you look up from the gym floor to your recently deceased best friend. your breath hitched, blood running cold, were your eyes deceiving you? you had just seen him died moths ago, the vision still etched in your mind and now suddenly he’s standing in front of you like he’s fine. you think your gonna throw up. wally never expected for his to happen, he didn’t expect for you to react by running out of the gym with your hand over your mouth… it was all to much but the feeling in his heart makes him run after you.  he doesn't know where you went at first but the rounds of retching in the girls bathroom makes him suspect that you’re in there.

“sweetheart, i know you’re in there and i’m not gonna go in there… for obvious reasons but i-i just want to talk.” wally runs his hand over his face, feeling stupid for what he just said. he had such a habit for blabbering even if it was a serious situation. still he just can’t believe you can see him, as much as he wanted to know how you dies; he pushes that thought to the back of his mind, his main focus was making things right with you. he stands by the door waiting for you to finish. he can hear the toilet flushing, then the stall door and the faucet running. his nerves are through the roof as he hears you footsteps come closer. he calls out your name softly as you walk out, ready to be on his knees begging you to forgive him, for what he did, ignoring you for so long, not giving you the time of day. he’s ready for you to yell and shout at him, slap him if you wanted to. he was ready for it. instead, the second you walk out you pull him into a tight hug. noticing the absence of your apron, shoving that thought behind. he bends over a bit to accommodate the height difference. he immediately wraps his arms around you, relishing in your body heat. he’d missed you so much that he almost forgot what it felt like to be in your presence but now that you’re here, there’s no need to worry for that anymore. the hug lasts for a while and soon the wet feeling of tears coat wally’s neck and varsity jacket as you silently cry into his shoulder. he soothingly rubs your back and gently rocking you back and forth, trying his best to comfort you while not trying to cry himself. your knees buckle and he easily catches you, whispering soft nothings to you. it takes you sometime to calm down. nevertheless he waits. listening to your cries become softer, hiccuping for breath as you slowly depart from him.

"i missed you." you tremble in a whisper. he gives you a sad smile cupping your cheek in his hand, gently swiping your tears away.

"i missed you too, sweetheart. fresh tears form on your waterline, eyebrows scrunched you grasp his face, pulling him into a kiss. he's astounded, the feeling of your lips on his was one he dreamt about for years, now here it is and he's standing there like an idiot not kissing you back. his grasps at your waist, the kiss is different from any he's never experienced. it's slow and passionate. you've been yearning for each other for  years, dancing around the potential of where your relationship can go. you're tired of waiting even after death. you relish in the way you lips feel on his after feeling so lost without him with all that emotion you’ve bottled up when you realize that you're in love with him. words cannot express how much he has an affect of you and he can say the same thing about you.  you both pull away a little breathless. you've been waiting to do that for years and wally is a bit envious that you beat him to it. your foreheads are pressed softly together, just standing in each others presence. it's a soft, intimate moment.

"i thought i was never going to see you again." you begin looking into wally's eyes. he tucks a piece of hair behind your ear, urging you to continue. “i thought i would've never be able to tell you how i feel. i-i was going to tell you after the football game but... you know.” wally stiffens, he can only assume what you'll say next but whether you break his heart of make his dreams come true. his feelings for you won't change.

“wally, you mean so much to me. you're my rock, always there for me when i need you. no matter what is it— if it was helping me pick out outfits when you hate to shop or picking me up from a disastrous date. i didn't know what it would be like to live without you until it actually happened. i felt lost, i felt like i didn't have a purpose without you. like a part of me died when you did. you give me direction, a purpose. wally clark, i love you. i love everything about you. you're little habits, the things you hate about yourself i love it all." tears are free falling again when you finish and wally's eyes are blurred with tears as he looks at you with all the love and adoration in the world. he lets out a laugh and your face almost twists into hurt when he immediately brings you close by the waist, standing at full height. he reassures you almost immediately.

"stealing my thunder again huh sweetheart?" he jokes, a smile on his face. it's hard to stay mad at him, especially with that face— trying your best to keep a stoic face while he speaks. "i was supposed to say it first." he pouts. and you shake your head, a smile peeking from your lips but you remain. he brings his hand to cup your cheek and the other on the small of your back. "but i couldn't have said it better than you. you're the only one i think understands me the best, you see right through me and can tell if i'm having a bad day or hiding something. you supported me through my football career especially when my parents seemed like they cared more about the sport than their own son. you defend me, protect me— even though i feel like i should be doing that with you. you make me feel special. i love you and i always wanted to tell you that. no matter what you do, make me sad or mad. i'll always love you."

you flush at his words, feeling small in his embrace. your feelings have never felt so strong and it honestly felt a little overwhelming, but seeing the smile on his face eases you. you lean into his touch, your throat tightening at the new thoughts looming your mind.

"what if i'm not good enough for you.” your voice comes out strained, strong with emotion. he interjects immediately. insisting that there was no one else out that that could change his mind. you were it for him. he pours his heart out to you and you the same.  a smile graces you face and wally swears his heart melts. he'll do anything to protect that smile on your face til the day he dies... again.

"it's me and you against the world, sweetheart." he kisses the crown of your head, taking your hand and pulling you down the hall. maybe death isn’t so bad after all.

ownership of starrvsn. please do not repost, modify or translate.

[berberriescorner]

Hello! Stoping by to tell you I love your Husband/Father!Rio mini series. I know you don't take request, but was just wondering if you plan on giving us anymore glimpses of this cute little family? I love the way you write them. Hope you're doing okay and feeling better.

I'm doing okay, love. Good days and bad days, but I'm pushing through. Thanks for asking💜! I hope you're doing okay as well!

You're in luck, love bug! I cooked something up for them just the other day. The idea came to me, and I just had to get it out😆. I had planned to post it the other day, but I just didn't have the energy.

When I tell y'all this was the most frustrating mood board I've ever worked on🙄. I had it exactly to my liking and went to save...nothing happened. I tried everything before giving in and hitting the refresh button. Lost all my progress and had to start from scratch. That being said, enjoy, comment, and stop being scary with that reblog button😆🧡!

Inspired By💜🧡:

“It Be Your Own Blood”

Snickers filled the room, making way for the side eye your husband gave his two eldest daughters. His eyes moved at a snail’s pace before landing on you. Rio kissed his teeth as he watched your shoulders bounce up and down in silent giggles. You did everything to hold the laughter in, but his reaction made it difficult.

“Ain't a damn thing funny about any of this, mama,” he rasped.

Rio groaned as a tiny hand collided with his thigh. Sucking in a frustrated breath, he looked down, eyes settling on your third and youngest daughter.

“Daddy! You said a bad word. You’re not getting any dessert tonight. Gon’ miss out on all da candies,” she scolded, finger wagging in his direction.

“Alright, little miss thing. You're about to lose candy privileges as well. Are you supposed to be putting your hands on other people,” you reprimanded.

Her head tilted to the side, confusion written on her face. Big amber-colored eyes stretched with realization. “Sorry, Daddy,” she offered in a sweet baby voice.

“It's all good, baby girl. Daddy ain't mean to say a bad word.”

Rio noticed you and the two oldest rolling your eyes, hands flying in the air.

“Now, what I do?”

“These babies got you wrapped around their fingers.”

Just as Rio was about to argue your point, baby boy piped up, reminding him why he was irritated in the first place. The agitated toddler yanked at his pant leg. They eyed one another as his cute, chubby little hands stretched toward your husband. 

“Bae! Up!”

Laughter filled the room once more. You locked eyes with your husband. He side-eyed you as he picked the bossy toddler up.

Your husband nodded towards the chubby tot, “This is what I’m talkin’ about. These little goons talkin’ to me crazy.”

Rio’s brown orbs stared into identical eyes. “Aye, listen, little dude. You’re my mans and all, but you gon’ stop with this bae mess. Can you say Daddy?” Rio pointed at himself and enunciated slowly, “Daddy.”

The little tyrant giggled, shook his head no, and shouted, “Bae!”’

“Listen, little man, we ain't about to be roaming this neighborhood, decked out in the finest of costumes, with you hollering bae at me every five minutes.”

His little feet kicked as he bounced in his father’s arms.

“Baebaebae,” he retorted, doing a little jig.

“How old was little mama when we finally got her to switch back to daddy from bae?”

“Christopher, baby. He's in his terrible twos. Baby boy’s going to do what he wants. Don't fight it, bae-.”

“You do realize you're the problem. That's why I like it when you call me da-.”

Your hand connected with the back of his head softly. “Christopher!”

“I’m just saying, sweetheart. You got my boy over here thinking that’s my name. Put Daddy on repeat, and maybe he’ll get it right. Use my other nickname more often. Papa–that I can rock with.”

“You do realize the more you fight it—he’ll continue to say it, right?”

“All these kids are petty like their momma. It be your own blood, for real. I thought you was the homie, son,” he teased the babbling toddler.

“You say that like it’s a bad thing. At least people will know not to try them,” you sassed.

Rio’s face lit up at that. “You right, mama. Come, kiss Daddy,” he demanded.

“Baebae!”

“That’s opp behavior, son. Do better,” he chuckled as he rubbed his hand across your growing bump.

He kissed, leaving a playful bite on your bottom lip as his free hand grabbed a handful of your round, plump derrière. “I love this green dress on you, mama. I’m feeling this—what are the ladies callin’ them these days? Bust down middle parts,” he quoted. Rio stared at you lustfully, “That honey blonde lookin’ good on you, darlin’. He leaned closer and whispered in your ear, “Wear it to bed tonight.”

“Calm yourself, husband. The children are present.”

Rio bit his lip, nodding his head in appreciation. “Who are you dressed as this year,” he questioned, stealing another kiss.

“Pregnant Beyoncé, duh! You know this is giving very much Queen Bey. Don’t play with your girl. You ain’t gotta worry, b-Papa.” You twirled strands around a finger, biting your lip, “This is an install. You have plenty of time to enjoy her in private.”  Leaning closer, finishing in a mumble, “Can’t wait for you to come up with a name for this alter ego.”

“You need to bust out the red joint again. I’m anticipating a visit from Red Ryder soon,” he insisted.

Clearing her throat, the eldest child brought you two back to more important matters. You chuckled, “Sorry, loves. Let’s revert to more important topics such as these beauties.” Pointing at each child, oldest to youngest, you explained their costume. “Please believe if I’m going as momma Bey, you gotta have Blue and Rumi. Then we have the beautiful Little Mermaid—Halle Bailey’s version, of course, and last, but most certainly not least—Sir Carter.”

“Mama, is this why you got me dressed in black tie? Let me guess—.”

“Yep! You Billionaire Hov. You’re not a businessman. You’re a business, man!” you boasted, popping your tongue. “Minus the cheating, of course. You know not to play with me. Sorry, Bey! Shade but no shade.”

“BAE!”

“Let’s go before this little menace says it again,” Rio sighed. “Everybody got their Halloween buckets?”

He looked toward the oldest, and she took the words out of his mouth, “Make sure you hold your sister’s hands. I know, Daddy.”

Rio continued, “Remember-.”

“Always say Trick or Treat, be polite, and don’t hustle anybody for extra candy. Daddy, we got this, chill,” she finished once more.

His head tilted to the side as he mumbled, “Got a response for everything. Stop laughing, mama. She’s not that funny. Everybody, come on. We out.”

Did you cackle? I hope so😜! Rio, wifey, and children are such a trip😆. Please be sure to show your girl love, my sweet babies💜🧡.

Divider Credit: @firefly-graphics

Tagging some lovelies💜🧡:

@darqchilddaydreamz @4everbrookemarie @starrynite7114

@nightlywords7 @fineanddandy @rio-reid-whoreee

@novaniskye @that-one-anxious-mango @1andonlytashae

@blkbutterfly816 @lovedlover @vanityinvenus @librarian1002

@banana123pudding @fezcosonlylove @sunshine-flower

@invisiblegiurl @astoldbychae @percosim @amorestevens

@alertyoulikeitsamber

[ilovefictionalcuntymen]

Calcharo sfw and nsfw head cannons because I’m fucking down bad for this man pt. 2

[AFAB Reader]

Go here for pt. 1

Sfw

• for your first date he spent days to plan it. He never did any of that stuff, so he had no clue on what to do, but he wanted it to be perfect. He asked a few of his close ghost hounds for relationship advice and on what type of stuff women like. So in the end he settled for a cozy picknick near the coast, along with sandwiches he made himself (he wouldn’t even believe himself if he ever told his past self that) and a bouquet of flowers he brought for you.

• When you’re on your period and act more grumpy, he gets all confused like a lost puppy. Sometimes you just snap at him for something that’s not a big deal because the whole day just pissed you off. Whenever that happens, he just stares at you stoically, wondering why you were so upset. Then he remembers what time of the month it is (cute boy nows all of your schedule from memory) and figures you’re just a bit sensitive. He tries to not annoy you, but doesn’t exactly talk about it except for maybe asking if you need anything. Showing too much affection is kind of awkward for him, so he just tries to make you the least amount of trouble to make you feel better.

• He secretly does things behind your back to help you out. For example repairing things you mentioned, but never telling you that he did. Like when you were bummed about your broken camera and the next day it sat all fixed on your desk. He‘s not exactly hiding it, he knows that you know it’s him who does all that, but he just doesn’t want to make a big deal out of it. He only wants to make you happy in his free time, it’s not something he expects praise for. But you still thank him and pepper him with kisses anyway.

• Is usually the nonchalant and easy going type, but still has his possessive moments. Calcharo doesn’t mind what clothes you’re wearing and doesn’t get all insecure when a guy looks at you. But sometimes when you’re in presence of some other men, he lazily puts his arm on your hip or he pulls you in and lets you rest against his chest while you sit at a bonfire with your teammates. He just likes the feeling of knowing you’re his.

• Gets rarely flustered. He’s like a stone brick sometimes. He also blurts out the most out of pocket stuff that would usually have others think twice before saying it. But ever since he met you, he catches himself blush way more often than usual. It’s not often, but a lot more than it used to be (which means never)

• Because he’s so hardened up from all the fighting and travelling around, Calcharo tends to appear detached and insensitive. Sometimes you get upset over something that’s completely reasonable, but he can’t understand you because for him it’s not a big deal. It definitely does lead to moments were he hurts you without meaning to and him being stubborn in some aspects, because he never sees any issues in the things you’re upset about. But when he sees that it seriously upsets you, he’ll try to avoid it from happening again.

• Take bubble baths with him. Seriously. He might seem like this stoic guy that wouldn’t enjoy childish things, but he can relax from time to time. And what’s more relaxing than taking a bath? With bubbles. Don’t forget the bubbles. It’s fun throwing them at him. He’ll just huff while he leans back and watch your childish antics with the bubbles. And of course there’ll be lots of cuddling and lots of kisses.

Nsfw

• He loves placing kisses all over your body during intimacy. Whenever you’re done with your session, you���ll have love bites on your collarbone, chest, thighs, calves, shoulder blades, back, neck and anything there is. One of his favourite things to do is kiss his way down from your lips to your core, leaving behind a trail of hickeys all the while looking up to you with those mesmerising eyes. He really doesn’t know how much power simple eye contact has over you, especially when he looks at you with those half lidded eyes full of want and love.

• he‘ll often hold your hand while he eats you out, interlacing your fingers and rubbing his thumb over the back of your hand.

• Doesn’t masturbate. He just doesn’t have the time or the need to indulge in such things. Whenever you’re away, he doesn’t get that needy because he just busies himself with work.

• When you go down on him, he tries to remain composed. Even with his low sexual drive, he still is a man and seeing you struggling with fitting his length in your mouth really has him holding back a lot. His breath will turn ragged and he has to keep his hands by his side, because if he ware to put them on your head he would probably grab you by your hair and push you all the way down and continuously bop your head in a way he is afraid might hurt you. So like the nice guy he is, he just keeps his hands at his sides, forced to be merely a spectator.

• Sit on this mfs face. He won’t mind one bit. Please sit on him with your whole weight. He’ll notice if you don’t and will feel offended by it. He would ask you nicely to just do as he says but you’re to afraid of suffocating him. He’ll give you a hard look before pulling you down, forcing you to sit with all your weight and showing you he could handle it.

• When you sit on his face, his nose big nose will keep bumping against your clit

• When you’re in cowgirl position, more times than not it just results in him effortlessly lifting you up and down, making you bounce in his cock without you even having to put in any work

• He used to be pretty awkward when it came to aftercare. He wanted to have you be comfortable, but he didn’t want to cross any boundaries either. He was just very new to this whole relationship thing, but as time passed he got more confident and became an aftercare god. He notices everything about you and remembers the littlest things. At the end of the night you’re always comfortably tugged into bed, all clean with all your necessities taken care of.

• Enjoys cockwarming a lot. He doesn’t feel the need to get freaky all the time, sometimes he just enjoys having you on his lap, his cock snuggled inside your warm walls. He’ll caress you while he does so, his hands striving over your waist and hips, all the way down to your thighs while he focuses on some paperwork because this guy can’t catch a break for some reason.

———————————————————————

Love ya’ll stay safe <3

Me when Calcharo: