#to the point where they try to use it against the film
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luciaintheskyainthi · 3 days ago
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Will the story address other parallels between Peter and Jason? Like the “child soldier” aspect.
In the context of the MCU, Peter was clearly neglected by the adults around him.
Tony is the main one, taking a teenager (legally underage) into a CIVIL WAR with the earth's 'greatest heroes', lying to the boy's guardian, giving him extremely advanced equipment without any training, and essentially being the main one cause of the destruction of Peter's life, directly or indirectly.
Happy was negligent in treating Peter more like a superhero than an inexperienced, traumatized child. The plane scene where he says: “I thought you had super strength” and Peter replies: “it still hurts”, shows that he thinks the boy can handle all because he is enhanced.
May, despite being the most responsible, was relatively emotionally negligent in not addressing the things that happened in Peter's hero's life. No moment in the film shows us a real scene of concern for him beyond the typical “stay safe”.
The end of the third film reinforces how most of the adults involved in Peter's life failed him (even indirectly like Stephen).
I wish Jason would point this out, as an outsider who doesn't connect these actions with the affection that hides the problem from Peter.
(Sorry for the long text :>)
(don't apologise for long texts! We loves it precioussss)
Personally I don't think the whole 'child soldier' thing is something Peter would bring up (at this point!), but this mostly because he doesn't see it that way. You have to keep in mind that Peter is an unreliable narrator, even of his own experiences.
So while he can admit to himself that he's been traumatised by his experiences (hence why he would turn to self-soothing techniques, although even that it flawed since he doesn't do it consistently), he isn't at a point of self-awareness where he can realise that the adults around him sorely failed him through his time as Spider-Man. Rather, his guilt means he sees himself at fault for much of what happened.
Of all the aforementioned adults, Tony is the only one he's starting to see from the light of: 'yeah, what happened with Germany and afterwards was kinda messed up'. But that sentiment of course is warring against the feeling of responsibility he has to do something because of his abilities. After all, Tony did try to protect him! He took the suit away when he realised Peter wasn't 'better'! It was better he had Tony's care with the suit than go without it like he had before! (note I'm saying this as if it were Peter's internal narrative, and note it conveniently leaves out the 'why TF would he bring a 14 yo to goddamn Germany?!')
All of that means, that for Jason to even flip the narrative and highlight the fact that the adults in Peter's life failed him in various ways, he'd have to parse it out of the story Peter tells him... and Peter's already proven himself to be a shit story-teller.
Of course, for Jason to say any of what you discussed about those adults would be something of a hypocritical discussion, considering his own history as a child vigilante.
That's not to say it's not likely to be a discussion that will crop up! Because it is the exact kind of heavy-hitting shit I love to write about haha
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ceasarslegion · 3 days ago
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Oh, boy! @general-luce @justfortalkingtofriends @onwardsandfourwords
So i should underline that I don't know exactly where this started, but I have a few personal theories based on what I've read of his and his online presence.
For those who don't know, years and years ago, when Twitter was still Twitter, SK had made a public statement regarding the then-new wave of book banning in the US where he said that if your school bans a book, to go to the nearest public library or book store and find out exactly what it is they don't want you to see and make your own conclusions. In this he included a graph of all the usual suspects of alt right Christian eye lasers: the hunger games, to kill a mockingbird, 1984, Harry potter, etc. JKR responded to this by saying that SK was one of her allies and said something to the effect of "im so glad that someone in our circles still has common sense" because she had equated his statement about how banning books is always bad regardless of what that book is to mean he was supporting her personal views. SK responded with a short and sweet "trans women are women" and then posted a screenshot showing she had blocked him. Objectively funny interaction
My personal theory is that this is where it all started. Because you don't exactly see the whole interaction if you follow someone and they never reply to the last thing someone said to them. If radfems had only seen the one sided view of SKs words through JKR, then they would naturally assume he was on their side.
But ever since then, there's been a weird... spike of radfems in the tags for SK works. Most notably, I've seen them hanging around the tags for The Shining, Carrie, and most often, Misery.
For those who don't know the book plots of these works, The Shining and Carrie focus a lot more on the systemic misogyny aspect of the abuse that Wendy and Carrie White face than their film adaptations do. Wendy is lulled into learned helplessness by being totally financially dependent on Jack after he saved her from an abusive family life, essentially meaning that she traded one abusive situation for another. In Carrie White's case, she's described explicitly as fat and unconventionally attractive for a young woman, which is portrayed as the main reason that she is abused by the other girls in school, and why pig's blood specifically was chosen to dunk her with at the prom. And a HUGE difference between book and movie in these ones is that in the books, SK's women have a lot more personal agency over their actions and are a lot less passive than they seem in their movies. Wendy is way more gung-ho about self-defense against Jack and Carrie White owns her psychic powers more; they drive their own story and actions rather than being people those actions happen to.
In the case of Misery, you can take that and multiply it by 100. A brief plot summary for those who don't know is that Paul Sheldon is an internationally famous author who made millions off of his victorian period romance/drama novels featuring the character Misery Chastain. He kills her off in his recent book because he's tired of being defined by what he terms as trashy romance books and wants to be a Serious Author. He gets in a car wreck and breaks both his legs, and a former nurse named Annie Wilkes drags him out and nurses him back to health. She claims to be his biggest fan and worships the ground he walks on, until the last Misery book releases and she reads her death. She keeps him locked up and tortures him into writing one last Misery novel just for her where she gets resurrected and they all live happily ever after. That's a very basic version of it, but just know that at one point she chops his foot off with a rusty axe for trying to escape and runs a rookie cop's head over with a lawn mower for trying to rescue him, and the only reason she doesnt shoot Paul in between the eyes and then herself is because he hasnt finished her book yet.
Annie Wilkes is also not described as the most attractive person in the world. This is not for any physical features beyond what you would expect from a book written in 1987, this is a combination of how Paul is a bit of misogynist with mommy issues that he ascribes to women as a group himself (heavily implied that his mother used to emasculate and beat him as a child), and how Annie doesn't take care of herself. She's described as gross more than ugly, like she doesn't bother to shower and leaves greasy dishes behind for weeks to grow mold and rot and Paul can smell it on her breath, or hear the rats scuttling in the basement. She was once also on trial for murder in Denver after a strange amount of NICU infants died under her care as a nurse, but was let off for lack of evidence. She's also very religious but in the way racist republicans are religious, so she essentially kills people and thinks it's justified because they were wicked and deserving of damnation. Many things can be read into there with the earlier things I mentioned.
Anyway, Annie has been... I don't know if "reclaimed" is the best word to use? She's been somethinged by radfems. I think most of us with basic reading comprehension can grasp why Paul's character would not exactly describe Annie in the most respectful or best of lights, considering she kidnapped and tortured him, kept him drugged up, killed a bunch of babies, forced him to write a book for her, chopped off his foot, locked him in a cellar with rats, and horrifically murdered the man who tried to rescue him. The TERFs do not grasp this very well. A common theme you'll see among them in the SK book fandom is that Annie Wilkes did nothing wrong and Paul deserved his torture and should've been murdered at the end of the book for his pretty run of the mill milquetoast 1980s misogyny. And that the way King describes Annie is in itself misogynist for describing a kidnapper and torturer in a negative light. There's many who have voiced that they actually felt bad for Annie by the end of the book and described King as "verbally battering" her. As if a few mean words towards again, a kidnapper and torturer as described from the POV of the guy she is kidnapping and torturing, are worse than the kidnapping and torturing.
There's also a few slurs within the book. I want to heavily underline here that these were dropped within the context of showing the flaws of the characters who said them in a horror novel, they weren't just thrown around for the sake of it. For example, Paul introduces a new black character in the book he writes for Annie because his characters go to Africa looking for an experimental cure for Misery's condition and most people tend to not be white in Africa. Annie actually likes this character a lot, and still very casually and without hesitation refers to him as the N word, which in the context of an otherwise relatively relaxed scene, is meant to make the reader flinch and feel uncomfortable, which draws attention to how Annie's poisonous worldviews infect the way she thinks of even the people she likes, reducing them down to inherently inferior even when they hold positive positions in her head. Also, someone like her is not exactly going to realistically use PC language. The discomfort is the point and it's additive to the novel at large. This is of course taken as though King himself approves of the use of these terms despite being vocally anti-racist and portraying racism as an element of HORROR, ie, something to be HORRIFIED by.
So here's some examples I found after 5 minutes of scrolling the Misery tags to prove I'm not fucking with you:
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Why are the Stephen King tags so full of terfs when the man himself has been vocally pro trans and told JKR to fuck off
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shadowjinx626 · 1 year ago
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Person A, after seeing the Mario movie: Omg, look at all these easter eggs! This movie is so cool!! IT's a masterpiece!!! Person B: I mean the easter eggs were nice, but it made the movie feel like a commercial. Person A: Omg, it's just a kid's movie! Why you gotta take it so seriously? Months later... Person A, after seeing Wish: Omg, this movie is nothing but easter eggs! And they're trying to make a Disney cinematic universe!! This movie is so terrible!!! Person B: The easter eggs are just references and jokes. They're not meant to be taken seriously. Person A: Omg, stop defending Disney you shill!!!
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fairuzfan · 1 year ago
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Is there anything I can do to help Palestinians besides call my representatives and beg them to stop killing people?
This is a great question. There are a few things you can do—just off the top of my head:
BDS (Boycott, Divest, Sanction) https://bdsmovement.net/
Direct Action https://www.palestineaction.org/
Urge your University/School/Organization to put out a statement denouncing Israel
Organize a Protest/Participate in a local one
You might already be doing this but while calling your reps, tell them that as a voter, you're unwilling to support them in the upcoming election unless they urge the White House to take a stand against Israel and stop funding them
Share art/writing/films around Palestinian culture
If you're part of a union, ask them what they're doing to urge their industry leaders to take a stand against Israel + pressure the White House OR urge them to start a strike/walkout/etc if they're not doing anything already
Talk with your friends IRL about Palestine, whether in an activist capacity or watching a movie or literally anything
Reach out to a mosque to see if you can help them with anything
See if your city/state council has put out a statement in support of Gazans. If not, try to push them to do so.
Donate to Palestine Legal or Direct Action if you have some money to spare
KEEP TALKING ON SOCIAL MEDIA!!!!!!!! PLEASE!!!!!!!!!!!!
I know some of these don't feel like they have as big of an impact on helping Palestinians, but we do need to make an effort not to forget their humanity in the face of continued erasure and the media's sensationalist rhetoric.
Talking on social media and posting—while not seeming like a lot—does SO much. I know in USAmerica, it's like yelling into a void, but political analysts are saying that most of the "Global South" has completely lost any amount of goodwill it may have had the past few years. Hopefully, countries will start to put sanctions and embargoes en masse on the US and Israel soon.
Our goals here are BOTH short-term and long-term. We hope for the life and liberation of the Palestinian people, so anything that you can think of might help at some point in the future is encouraged to at least try.
If anyone else has any more ideas, feel free to reblog and add on. Thank you for asking, and here is to a liberated Palestine where Palestinians can live and thrive without fear.
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selfcarecap · 5 months ago
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Insatiable [L.H.]
Pairing: Logan Howlett x female!reader
Summary: Down in the void, where you can find all sorts of dangerous things, you didn’t expect a flower that makes you horny to be your biggest problem. Luckily, Logan is there to fuck that overwhelming feeling out of you.
Warnings: smut 18+, unprotected piv sex, oral (f receiving), spitting and hair pulling (reader pulls Logan’s hair) but just for a split second </3, dub con because of sex pollen but they want each other either way, Logan calls reader baby and good girl during sex, mention of masturbation (f), Wade watches them fuck technically without consent but it’s not mentioned until the end and it’s more of a joke, set during Deadpool & Wolverine but no major spoilers I just used a different gif because Logan is annoyed at Wade in every single one from that film lmao, Wade being Wade, Logan is taller than the reader, age gap implied (well actually it’s not implied but I’m telling you Logan’s older lmao), all porn no plot
Word Count: 3.4k
first Logan fic 🤭 pls be nice <333 
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˚✮*✧*˚☆˚*✧
It shouldn’t shock you that the void is full of weird things — you came here with a mutant and a … well, whatever the fuck Wade is, after all. Yet, you’re still surprised when, on your way back from finding some bushes to pee in, you end up tripping over something and getting addicted to the smell of some glowing plant. 
The flower is bright pink and smells like your favourite perfume. You’re on all fours at this point, your face buried in the bud as you inhale its sweet, sweet scent. 
“What is she doing?” Logan asks from afar, an eyebrow raised in confusion. 
“Yoga?” Wade offers. Logan throws him a look — not helpful. 
Logan makes his way to you; the closer he gets the brighter the plant glows. This can’t be good. He calls your name when he gets to you but you’re in a trance, you don’t even seem to hear Logan. You’re humming — no, moaning?— to yourself, arching your back and lowering yourself to your forearms. 
He pulls you up by your arm and almost flinches at your sudden outburst. “Let me go!” You shout, hitting his chest, and when you look up at him your pupils are so large Logan isn’t sure it’s really still you in there. 
You go to slap Logan so you can get back down but his hand slides down your arm to hold your wrist, his other hand at your waist to keep you in place. 
“Look at me,” Logan orders and, oh you’re looking at him. 
The smell the plant was giving off wasn’t your favourite perfume at all, you realise, it was the smell of Logan. A hint of his aftershave, a little bit of sweat, and all that manly musk. You realise you need him right now. 
You involuntarily arch your back to get closer to him, your chest against the hard of his suit. He’s looking down at you, a mixture of worry and confusion. You reach up to claw at Logan’s collar but he easily holds you off. 
“You okay, bub? What was that?” He looks down to kick at the plant and as it breaks off at the stem the plant gives off a last shake of glittery dust, grows grey, and then dies. You slowly turn your head from the floor to Logan’s face — he’s wearily awaiting your next move. 
“I’m not okay, Logan. I need you right now,” you pull at his collar once more but he has you in a tight grip at the waist — which does nothing but turn you on more. 
“Wade! Come here,” Logan calls, and you see a flicker of red in your periphery coming towards you, but you don’t take your eyes off the man in front of you. 
When you stand still for a few seconds, that’s when the ache really hits you. You clench around nothing and you’re suddenly aware of how wet you are. You’ve never needed to come so badly in your life, but Logan’s got you held firmly in place, no matter how much you squirm. 
Wade sees the plant immediately, even greyed out and dead, “What’s this?” He walks towards it. 
Logan grabs Wade’s arm. “Don’t,” he grits.
With only one of his arms on you, you take the chance to reach up at Logan’s face, try to kiss him, but his hand is back on you before you can even get on your tiptoes. You let out a pained moan and both their heads snap towards you. 
“She was smelling that flower. Now she’s..” Logan looks down at you, which intensifies your need, but he’s careful of what to say. You only met a few days ago and he doesn’t want to humiliate you, doesn’t know how deep down the real you is by now. 
“Horny?” Wade asks, looking at you, “Holy shit, girl, look at your eyes. See, a woman after my own heart. That’s exactly how I look at Logan too—“
“Wade!” Logan shouts, jaw clenching, “We need to get her somewhere safe.”
“Don’t need anywhere safe. Need you,” you mumble, attempting to free yourself from Logan’s grip. He’s so effortlessly strong it makes your mouth water and the place between your thighs even wetter. 
Wade bends down, careful not to get too close to the plant, assessing it. “Easy. It’s sex pollen.”
“What the fuck is that?” Logan half-shouts.
“Have you never read fanfiction? It makes you crazy horny until you’re fucked by the person you’re into the most,” Wade explains, then sighs, looking at you, “Sad that it’s not me, sugarcakes, I’ll be honest.” 
You ignore him, still attempting to get out of Logan’s grasp to climb him like a tree.
Logan groans at Wade, “Do you ever shut the fuck up?”
“No, have you met me?”
Suddenly you’re lifted off the ground and Logan slings you over his shoulder like you weigh nothing at all. His arm grips you just below your ass, and it makes you clench your thighs together, trying to get any type of friction. You attempt to get down but his arm only tightens around your legs and even though your entire upper body is free, hanging off the back of him, you’re helpless. 
-
You squirm and wriggle and moan but all to no avail. Logan’s ignoring you. You feel your underwear getting wetter with his every step and breath and movement, and you’re sure he must be able to smell you at this point. 
Your arousal has turned into nothing other than a pulsing pain and you feel tears springing to your eyes with your sexual frustration. You mumble Logan’s name but you’re too weak to really say anything, too weak to even try and get out of his grasp anymore.
A shadow is cast over you and you see the sand under you turn into a solid floor. Suddenly you’re being lifted back up and Logan sits you on top of a table. You’re in a… diner? You don’t really care, filled with a new energy as you see Logan towering over you, concern written on his face – concern you’re ready to turn into lust.
You sit up with force, ready to pounce on him, but he pins you back to the tabletop immediately, his big arms holding your wrists down.
“Don’t wanna do that, sweetheart,” – the nickname makes you moan right in his face, hips trying to arch up but he’s too far – “We’re gonna need you to calm down, okay? And we’re gonna wait it out.”
“No,” you begin to shake your head quickly, giving Logan your best puppy eyes, “I can’t wait. Need to cum. I’m so wet, Logan. Please.”
“As much as I wish it wasn’t, that’s my cue to leave,” Wade waves, whispering, “I hope you think of me when you come” (you’re not sure if he’s saying it to you or to Logan) and walks out the door.
Logan is distracted for a second, watching Wade leave, and you yank your hand out of his grasp to unzip the front of your suit and push a hand into your underwear. You cry out when you finally get to touch your clit, puffy and wet all over, and for a second Logan can’t keep his eyes off your panties. His gaze lands on your tits almost spilling out of your bra from all the movement and then he takes hold of your wrist once again.
“I’m gonna leave and then you can touch yourself all you want, hm? That sound like a plan?” Logan says, voice quiet and hoarse and all you can do is shake your head at him.
“‘S not gonna be enough. Need you. Please,” you moan again, and you see him clench his jaw in restraint.
“I can’t, you know I can’t. Don’t know if you’d want this otherwise. Wouldn’t be right of me.”
You somehow manage to yank his hand down with yours and shove it into your panties.
“Does this feel like I don’t want you, Logan? You’re all I want. Been making myself come every day since I met you wishing it was you instead.”
“You don’t know what you’re saying, baby, don’t know what you’re asking for,” Logan’s voice is strained. His thumb starts rubbing your clit instinctively, as if he can’t control himself. He moves slightly to get a better angle and you see the bulge pressing against his pants. He’s so big you moan out his name loud enough to echo through the building.
“Know exactly what I’m asking for. Please, Logan. It’s not gonna stop until you make me come. I’m begging you.” He looks at you with uncertainty. Then he’s pulling your arms out of your suit and ripping the rest down your legs.
“I’m gonna make you come, okay? I’ll eat your pussy as many times as you need me to. That alright?” He kneels in front of you and pulls you to the edge of the table. 
You want to ask him to fuck you but all you can manage to say right now is to let out a whiny “Mhmmm.”
Logan wastes no time taking one of your thighs over his shoulder and pulling your soaked panties to the side. He looks ready to surrender and give you what you really need but he stays firmly in his place.
“Look what a mess you’ve made, baby. Such a pretty fucking pussy. I’ll make you feel better, okay? ‘M gonna make you come.” 
Without another word his tongue is on you, licking broadly over your clit and then sucking as much as he can into his mouth. You arch your back and press your hips into his face. His hands come to the top of your thighs to hold you down, palms hot against your skin. 
“Feel good?” He mumbles against your pussy and you sit up on your elbows. 
“So fucking good, Logan. Don’t stop. Please,” you whimper as you look at his face buried in your pussy. He licks into you, nose pressed against your clit and you can’t help but buck your hips. 
“Look how sweet you are, saying please every time. Such a good girl.” He’s inhaling you hungrily now, sloppy in his movements from how turned on he is but it’s not stopping you from feeling good. 
You just need friction. And he’s giving you that, but then he’s licking all the way up from your pussy over your clit, through your pubic hair and up to your belly button — just to tease you. He smirks up at you and you push his head back down; he happily obliges, but not before reaching out one of his big strong hands to settle on your breast, thumb hooking under the top of your bra to play with your nipple. 
“Taste so fucking good, baby. Can’t get enough,” he breathes as he begins to suck on your clit and starts moaning himself. 
It occurs to you then that the pollen in your arousal or in your sweat might be making him lose his mind too. With the way he’s almost painfully squeezing your thigh with one hand and your boob with the other, you’re sure.
Logan groans with a mouthful of you between his lips, your sensitive clit swollen against his tongue. He moans something into you that you can’t understand, but the vibration of his voice pushes you close to the edge.
“Fuck, gonna come,” you whimper loudly, your hips chasing his face.
You finally tip over the edge, your orgasm ripping through you with an intensity you’ve never experienced before.
But it’s over as fast as it started.
You push your hand between your legs to relieve the ache again but you know it won’t be enough. Logan stands up and wipes his mouth, glistening with your arousal. “Y’need me again?”
You shake your head as you squirm without his presence between your thighs. “Please fuck me, Logan. I can’t take it anymore, need you inside me.” As you say it you clench around nothing, the pulsing between your legs insatiable. You start fucking yourself with your fingers, but it’s not nearly enough – you need something bigger, much bigger, and you have a feeling he can provide that.
The pollen seems to take over for Logan as well, and he finally stops arguing. He pulls off his suit and you silently curse him for not doing that earlier. Seeing those muscles is providing more relief than your fingers inside you. You feel like you could come just from the sight of his big, hard cock alone. It’s exactly what you need.
You slip out of your bra that’s almost sticking to your skin with how hot you feel and Logan roughly rips your panties down your legs.
“You really want this?” He asks as he steps between your thighs, jerking off and rubbing the tip against your clit.
“Mmhm yesyes, need you so badly. Please Lo–” you both gasp when he fills your pussy at once. It’s a feeling that brings you close to orgasm immediately and makes you grab him to pull him closer. Logan momentarily slips out of you again to crawl onto the table, pull you across it and wrap your legs around his hips.
“So fucking hard for you,” he mumbles as he pushes back into your slick pussy. You’re both mesmerised by the sight of him starting to fuck into you, your pussy stretching around him with what is the best feeling you’ve ever had. It burns because he’s so big, but it’s a good type of pain.
You grab the hair at the back of his head for support, and he moans at your grip. It angles his face towards yours and you look into each other’s eyes for a split second before his mouth finds yours. You’re biting and licking at his lips and he growls back against you, holding your lower lip down to spit into your mouth, his animalistic nature taking over.
His hips rut against yours faster as your kiss gets more desperate. You lean your head back in pleasure, hitting the table, but you barely register the pain. Distracted by how good his big cock feels so deep in your pussy you don’t even notice his hand coming up under your head to cushion it.
“There you go,” he whispers, looking down at you. Your eyes meet and for a second you smile at his care. You tip your head right back down into his hand when he starts kissing down your neck, his free hand pushing up one of your tits to wrap his lips around the nipple. 
The way he runs his tongue over your nipple has you moaning and grabbing onto his hair once more. You need to feel the heat of his body so you wrap your arm around the back of his shoulders until he’s desperately fucking into you with your chests pressed together.
It should be too warm with the way your bodies are intertwined but Logan looks down to lick the sweat on your neck right up and sucks on the skin there right after. The added stimulation makes your hips buck up and Logan sneaks a hand back to your clit, messily rubbing until he has you coming again and you’re both moaning at how hard your pussy clenches around him.
You think for a second that Logan’s going to come with you but he manages to resist the temptation, biting into your shoulder instead. But that second in which it almost felt like he was coming was the calmest you’ve felt in hours at this point. You realise that maybe it’s him who needs to come for you to feel better. But you’re too horny to say any proper words to explain it to him.
Logan pushes himself up to look at your face but he doesn’t have to ask if you still need more. Your pupils are as wide as before.
“Pussy’s still so hungry for me, baby, hm? So fucking desperate,” he repositions your hips and starts fucking into you at a different angle, your wet pussy so loud against him. This time you feel his dick pushing against your g-spot and he has you gasping at the new sensation, pulling you by the hips to aid his thrusts.
“P-Please come inside me, Log– uh-Logan,” you manage to say.
Logan looks down at you and places a hand under your ass, squeezing you there, “Baby, I got stamina for the entire night. Not stopping til you’re satisfied.”
“Just do it, need you”, is all you can get out as he continues to rut his hips against yours.  
“Alright. I got you, baby, I got you,” he rasps, making sure to hit your g-spot over and over until you’re arching your back, biting into his bicep that’s propped next to your face, to deal with the amount of pleasure coursing through you.
A gasp turns into an orgasm and as soon as you clench around Logan he lets go too. “God, baby, so fucking tight for me. Such a good girl. Gonna come–”
You hold onto Logan tightly, your arms wrapped around his neck as he fucks into you, filling you with ropes and ropes of his cum as you keep clenching around his big cock. You can feel him so deeply in you that your most primal urges are finally starting to calm down and you feel the last waves of pleasure flow through you as he comes his final drops.
Logan drops onto his elbows that are positioned next to your head, and, instinctively, you take his face to kiss him. He kisses you back so intensely that you don’t even have to consider whether he still wanted to kiss you now that the sex is over.
“You okay?” He asks when you let go of his lips.
“Yeah,” you nod, noticing that the ache is finally, finally gone now that you’ve both come together, “thank you, Logan.”
“My pleasure,” he smirks and places a more innocent kiss on your mouth. You untangle yourselves from each other in slow movements, unsure what places you’re sweating from and need to clean up.
-
“Do you regret it?” Logan asks you a few minutes later, cleaned up and clothed, with his arm around your waist to support you – you can barely stand – as you go outside to look for Wade.
“No. But thanks for making sure so many times… Do you regret it?”
Logan’s smile tells you everything you need to know but he still tells you, “Not one bit.”
You smile but then become more serious. “Sorry that you had to experience that,” you mumble.
“What do you mean? You’re apologising for that?”
“Didn’t you feel the pain too? I thought the effect of the pollen might have somehow been contagious.”
He almost looks bashful when he looks down at you, “No, you just turn me on like fucking crazy.”
You smile down at the floor until you see a shadow. Wade comes around the corner of the diner. 
You draw your eyebrows together. “You’re telling me you actually left?”
“There’s no way you didn’t stay to watch us,” Logan adds.
“No, of course I stayed but I came ages ago. I was forced to be with my own thoughts while you kept going… and going.”
Logan rolls his eyes as Wade walks on, “What do you think, we–”
“And going…”
“Wade.” Logan warns, turning to you again, “How about we get this shit done with Wade and then go to your place and do this all over again?”
You giggle, “I like the sound of that.”
☆.。.:*support a writer and reblog and comment if you enjoyed, I appreciate it a lot <333.。.:*☆
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scented-morker · 25 days ago
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Lovesick fools
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Alternatively… enha’s reaction to being on a variety show with their idol!crush
No warnings, 2k words, implied fem!reader.. these took me forever </3
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Heeseung
Fourth gen vocalists on the show ‼️
He was so excited to be there that he totally forgot you would def be there too
Until he was getting his makeup done and you walked in with curlers in your hair and coffees in your hand
He immediately found himself smiling at how cute you looked, and it only got worse when you handed him a cup
"Twitter said this was your order, I hope it's right."
The makeup artist starts laughing and opts out of putting blush on him bc he's all red from you
Once filming starts you all sing a prepared cover, and he's so focused on his own that he stays calm for most of it
Except yours is last, which means his mind is fully empty since he’s done and now all he’s able to focus on is how pretty you sound and the way you smile through the words
You sing 'drinks or coffee' from rose's new album and he swears you wink at him
"We don't have to talk, I know that you want me."
Twitter goes crazy bc you absolutely did wink at him, and they have the slow mo replay to prove it
Him blushing like mad also goes viral
He walks up to you backstage
"So... do you want to get drinks or coffee?" 🤭
Jay
It's shuhua's show again, but instead of sunghoon he's paired up with you
Bro gives himself a pep talk in the mirror before filming starts
"You are cool and calm and will not giggle like a school girl at her. Shes going to look pretty and you're just gonna have to deal with it."
Thinks it should be illegal to look good in a work uniform, but there you are
You guys are cooking and you're so impressed by how well he does at separating the fat from the meat
You are so horribly bad at it that Shuhua looks like an expert 💔💔
"Jay I think you need to help her, she's massacring the product."
Ok girl are you a host or a wingman
But he does, telling you to adjust your grip on the knife, reaching over to show you how to do it better which has you blushing like crazy
You guys are partnered up trying to give away samples against shuhua which is where you shine bc people just can't stay away from you especially when you pout and ask 'pretty please?'
Jay doesn't blame them, he's ready to buy everything in the store from you
One of the girls doesn't bat an eye at you when you beg but you're desperate so you yell after her
"Look how handsome my partner is, don't you want to come buy something from us?"
The girl comes back but Jay can't even be flattered bc he's too busy freaking out that you think he's cute
"Did you really mean that?" He asks you after filming
"Of course I did, I'm not blind."
So he asks for your number and ofc you give it to him
Jake
It’s some sort of school setting show
You guys are paired up against Jay and another member of your group as the four of you compete with trivia questions
You’re all English speakers, so they make you answer everything in English and since we’re already being delulu let’s say you have an English accent bc we know Jake loves that
You have to yell at him to lock in because when you start trying to reason out the question he’s so focused on your voice that he isn’t listening to a word you say
You guys are getting whooped by the other team
That is until your member makes a joke about you saying how your ideal type is a smart guy
Bro instantly locks tf in
“October 23rd, 2016”
“That is correct! Team Hot Accents gets another point as they make an impressive comeback!”
Yes that’s your team name, you both have hot accents and you know it 🤷‍♀️
You get so excited every time you guys score a point that you’re practically bouncing in your seat cheering and giving him high fives
You answer a few questions after that but he’s definitely carrying you guys and he could not be happier about it
“Don’t worry y/n, I got you. Just sit there and look pretty.” 😍
By the end you guys are tied and the hosts ask you to give your partner a good luck charm as he and Jay face off for the last question
You contemplate kissing his cheek before realizing that would probably get you murdered on twitter so you settle for giving his hand a squeeze after interlocking your fingers post high five
When he gets the question right he runs over and picks you up to spin you around in celebration
The editors definitely put some incriminating caption like [a very overexcited reaction from the golden retriever] that fans laugh at him for afterwards
But he doesn’t care bc you were in his arms and that’s all that matters ‼️
After filming you’re like “wow Jake you’re so smart do you want to hang out sometime?”
YEP YEP YEP YES HE DOES
Sunghoon
You guys were both ex figure skaters, so they had you guys film an episode at a rink
They got both of you a new version of one of your old costumes, and sunghoon was immediately red at the sight of you in the sparkling dress with a little cut out on the side
You both spent the first few minutes just running around on the ice, enjoying being back
The hosts had a list of skills they read out and then made each of you try
It only made sunghoon's crush bigger watching you move so gracefully, and he grinned so big whenever you'd compliment him
"Woah, he's still really good!"
Towards the end they had you try partner moves, everyone cheering when you guys synced up so well in the turns and twists
“Woah they look really good together! It’s like fate they move at the exact same time!”
They even let you try a stunt, and sunghoon became a stuttering mess when he put his hand on your waist where the cut out in your costume was
"Is- is this ok? I don't want to drop you, but we could skip it if you want."
"Of course it's ok!"
He's so touched at the amount of trust you put in him while trying out partner tricks
And it's rightfully placed considering the time you guys mess up he makes sure to change the angle of your fall so that he takes the brunt of the impact instead of of you
You apologize so many times, including going up to him after filming to thank him again
"Is there anything I can do to thank you?"
"How about a date?"
Sunoo
Who knows why the show paired you guys up
Maybe they saw the media attention from your brief waves to each other at an award show and the viral ‘bite me’ challenge you did together
But they bring both of you to a cafe set and you have to make coffees and such before being interviewed
You’d worked at a coffee shop predebut so at one point you reach over and grab his hand to adjust the way he holds the cup under the milk steamer
The editors zoom in on his red face while you turn around and practically sprint away
Your last task before the interview is to make a drink for the other person while they film a confessional about you
You’re sitting there stuttering over your words as an explanation as to why you ran after helping him earlier and how kind he was when you filmed your tiktok together last time
Meanwhile, sunoo is asking the staff for help to make your super specific and stupidly difficult drink order that he knows from watching your interviews
He pretends it was casual and easy once he joins you at the table, setting the cup down in front of you like he didn’t restart it 3 times
“This is my favorite coffee!! I didn’t even remember them teaching us this!”
“Wow that’s so weird, lucky me I guess”
He tried to be nonchalant but it was NOT working
He literally lets out a giggle as soon as you drink it and do a little happy dance when it’s exactly how you like
When the interviewer asks about your relationship (bringing up the award show wave) Sunoo says that you guys are casual friends but he hopes you can become closer after filming together
To which you respond ABSOLUTELY and promise to wave at him at every schedule you see him
That’s enough for his weak heart for one day so he doesn’t end up following up after the cameras stopped
but you kept your promise and after a few months of excited waves and animated conversations at award shows he secures your number and a date
Jungwon
He’s too responsible to risk anything by talking about his crush on you but once in a live you said you really admired him because you couldn’t imagine having to lead your group while being one of the youngest members
(He saved the video and probably replayed it about fifty times afterwards)
But that was enough to make one of the shows want you guys together !!
Which is how you end up trailing behind him through a creepy dark building while scare actors try to freak you guys out
Bro was not excited for this but he is doing his best bc YOU NEED HIM ‼️
You are so close to his back that he can feel your body heat and when someone jumps out you practically climb on his back
You apologize profusely afterwards, but he waves it off, offering you his arm to grasp onto for the rest of the time
You say in a confessional part that you were scared out of your mind but it was bearable bc Jungwon was there
“He was so brave and cool, it made me feel so much better!”
He isn’t even scared anymore, he’s just mad bc they’re intentionally making you upset so his cute angry face pops out and the two of you make it through the whole haunted house in record time
Afterwards he tells you that he hopes he wasn’t mean or anything, he was just upset they were scaring you
He was mad at them for doing their jobs 💔 rip
But that just made you appreciate him more
“Can I treat you to lunch one day? To thank you for taking such good care of me?”
He MELTS, of course you can
Riki
You and him were both on a variety show to show the difference between maknaes
He was the image of a cool and mature maknae, while you were the giggly pink maknae of your group
He thought it was gonna be awkward bc the whole point of the show was how different you guys were, but you got along so easily
As soon as you started talking he was a GONER
He'd watch you answer a question and get so distracted looking at your face that the hosts would have to repeat the question for him to respond to after 😭
So much for being cool
They ask him how he feels about aegyo to which he describes how passionately he hates it
So they make you do aegyo for him to see if he reacts
HE DOES
Homeboy starts blushing without even realizing it
It puts the biggest smile on his face that they tease him about for the rest of the show
You tell him you'll give him lessons in it if he wants while live and that's how he approaches you after
"You probably need my number to set up those lessons right?"
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vanteguccir · 11 months ago
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── ୨୧ ! 𝟴 𝗠𝗜𝗡𝗨𝗧𝗘𝗦 𝗢𝗙 𝗖𝗨𝗧𝗘 𝗠𝗢𝗠𝗘𝗡𝗧𝗦
        𝒄𝒉𝒓𝒊𝒔 𝒔𝒕𝒖𝒓𝒏𝒊𝒐𝒍𝒐 x reader
SUMMARY: Where a fan made an 8-minute video with a compilation of Chris and Y/N being in love.
WARNING: None.
REQUESTED?: Yes, by @lightsgore
AUTHOR'S NOTE: That is my work, I DON'T authorize any plagiarism! | English isn't my first language, so I'm sorry if there's any grammar error.
   ༻✦༺  ༻✧༺ ༻✦༺
The fans of the triplets simply adored Y/N and Chris together, and that wasn't news. The number of comments and likes doubled whenever the girl appeared with her boyfriend in a random picture in a photo dump on Instagram or when her voice sounded in the background of a video.
But what they loved most was when a cute moment of the two of them together was captured during a video on the Sturniolo channel or in a fraction of seconds on Y/N's TikTok, and they made this clear by making thousands of compilations of these little moments, long enough to even post on YouTube.
   ༻✦༺  ༻✧༺ ༻✦༺
8 minutes of cute moments between Chris Sturniolo and his girlfriend, Y/N.
1st minute:
The triplets and Y/N were walking down the sidewalk near the arena in Boston, where they played hockey with Nate.
Nick was recording himself with his phone, talking about how he had almost slipped on the ice several times, when Chris and Y/N's voices sounded, interrupting him. He focused the front camera on the two behind him, surreptitiously recording them.
"... But baby, it wasn't my fault." Y/N complained, her lips forming a pout as her eyes focused on the floor.
"Babe, I asked you to record the game, right?" Chris asked, an amused smile on his face.
They walked side by side, the girl's right arm around her boyfriend's slightly sweaty waist, while Chris's left arm rested on Y/N's shoulders, his fingers caressing her left bicep lightly.
"Yes, and I recorded it!" Her voice came out high-pitched.
"Okay, and how many times did I make a goal?" The boy asked again, raising his right eyebrow.
"Three." Y/N replied in an obvious tone, raising her eyes to look into the blue ones she loved so much. "You kissed me every time you did it." She smiles proudly.
"Yes, and how many of those three did you record?"
"None." She looked down again, her pout deepening. "But-"
Chris threw his head back, his laughter echoing through the night, interrupting his girlfriend's defense.
He leaned down slightly, sealing his lips over Y/N's head, an amused smile still on his face. Oh, how he loved his girlfriend.
     ༻﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡༺
2nd minute:
The triplets were filming the video "A night at the North Pole with Larray and Nai!". The camera was positioned in a strategic point so that the lens captured all the camping items around the room, as well as the brothers and the two guests.
Y/N was in her shared room with Chris, already dressed in her - his - pajamas and with her skincare done, ready for bed. But sleep never came.
She knew she had trouble sleeping without Chris after her body got used to the boy's presence pressed against hers every night for 5 years, so her mind didn't seem to give in, begging for the warmth that Chris's larger body provided.
After a few long minutes of turning from side to side, Y/N gave up trying. Sleep was taking over her, and she was feeling more and more stressed for not being able to go into dream land, so she decided to just go to her boyfriend.
Y/N rose from the bed, their duvet wrapped around her body like a cape. Her hands reached for the handle of the white door, closing it behind her and climbing the stairs in slow, silent steps caused by the fluffy socks that covered her feet.
Larray was the first to notice her - sitting facing the top of the stairs. He smiled, amused by his friend's condition; her eyes slightly closed from sleep, her hair high in a messy bun, and her hands gripping the edges of the duvet tightly.
Not many seconds passed, and Y/N's figure was finally caught by the camera, the girl having entered the frame.
"Hey, zombie girl." Nick joked when he noticed her, raising his eyebrows in amusement.
Y/N completely ignored him, walking towards her boyfriend from behind the triplets, not wanting to step on the food that was on the floor between the five of them.
Chris's face automatically lit up when he noticed her after hearing his brother, a big smile taking over as his eyes sparkled. He opened his arms, already waiting for his girlfriend's next move.
The girl smiled lazily back, planting her feet on the floor on either side of her boyfriend's hips, before lowering herself with Chris's help, sitting on his lap.
The brunette quickly wrapped her in his arms, surrounding her torso covered by the fluffy duvet. He hugged her tightly, laying his head in the crook of her neck and exhaling the sweet scent of her shampoo momentarily, before resting his chin on her shoulder, being able to see everything in front of him.
"Sleep, pretty girl."
     ༻﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡༺
3rd minute:
Chris was playing Fortnite live on Twitch. His camera was on and focused on his upper body. His head was covered by the hood of his hoodie, pressed against his ears by the headphone, from where muffled sounds from the video game were coming out.
Within 30 minutes of streaming, Y/N's figure shyly appeared behind Chris. Her hands held a tray with some snacks and an already opened can of Pepsi.
She walked towards her boyfriend, curving her spine slightly forward so that her face came into his field of vision, alerting him to her presence.
The boy's blue eyes widened in excitement almost instantly, a smile stretching across his face as his right hand worked on pausing the game, using the soles of his feet against the floor to turn his body towards her.
"Hi bubba, I just came to drop off some snacks for you. It's been a while since you had dinner, I thought you could be hungry." Y/N counted in a low tone, momentarily forgetting that Chris's headphones were of the highest quality, meaning it caught her every word.
The couple didn't notice the chaos in the chat, too focused on each other.
Chris bit his lower lip in an attempt to stop his smile from growing any wider, taking the tray from Y/N's hands and placing it on the free space on his computer desk.
He lifted his chin slightly in the air so that he brought his lips closer to hers, sealing them in a quick kiss, his eyes shining with intense love.
"Thank you, babe." Chris thanked in an equally low tone, adjusting himself in his chair again, ready to go back to playing.
Y/N smiled, caressing his shoulder lightly before turning to leave the room.
"I love you." The brunette shouted quickly before his girlfriend could close the door, receiving an "I love you more" in return.
     ༻﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡༺
4th minute:
The triplets and Y/N were at an Italian restaurant, having decided to go out to dinner together that day.
Y/N was talking to Matt about one of the random facts that the boy knew and blurted out of nowhere, the two deeply involved in the conversation.
The dishes had just been delivered by the waiter, who placed them respectively in front of the person who ordered, leaving shortly afterward.
Chris quickly pulled Y/N's plate towards himself, grabbing his own knife and fork and cutting the sirloin steak into small pieces and separating them from the pasta, knowing how much his girl hated cutting meat and how she always ate too quickly.
What he didn't notice was that Nick took out his phone the moment he started the gesture, closely recording his brother cutting his girlfriend's food, practicing the act of service.
After finishing, Chris lightly pushed the plate in front of his girl, turning around to start eating his own.
The girl smiled shyly, turning to Chris momentarily, sealing her lips over his cheek before murmuring a "thank you, babe" against his skin, turning her attention back to Matt.
     ༻﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡༺
5th minute:
The triplets were in their car, recording another car video. Y/N was their special guest, sitting in the backseat next to Chris, who chose to sit there just to be close to his girlfriend.
Y/N had just taken a bite of the pepperoni pizza that Nick took from the trunk, finishing chewing quickly so she could bring her point of view on something Nick was saying, gesturing with her right hand while her left held the piece carefully.
Chris watched her closely, his eyes fixed on her side profile as he listened, nodding his head.
Something the fandom loved was how Y/N was the only person Chris didn't interrupt all the time, showing himself completely interested in hearing anything his girl was saying, regardless of whether it made sense or not.
At one point, the boy lowered his eyes, stretching his right arm and taking one of the napkins that was on the car console, bringing it to Y/N's mouth, lightly wiping the corner of her lip that was dirty with sauce, but without interrupting her.
Chris folded the napkin, leaving it on his lap, knowing he would have to use it again soon.
     ༻﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡༺
6th minute:
"Look, boys, learn from Chris how to treat a girl right." Nick whispered from behind his phone.
He was standing behind the kitchen table, holding his cell in his right hand, the rear camera focused on the living room couch, where Y/N was.
The girl was lying on her side, her knees bent so that her thighs touched her chest. Her back was facing the room, while her face was lightly pressed against the back of the couch. A Fresh Love sweatshirt set covered her body, keeping her warm.
Small sighs escaped her half-open mouth, her eyes moving behind her eyelids, showing how deep her sleep was.
Chris, who was sitting with her feet on his lap seconds ago, was now standing in front of the couch, curving his spine down so that he could reach his girlfriend, slowly passing his arms under her neck and bent knees, pulling her up.
On instinct, Y/N raised her left arm, surrounding Chris's neck and laying her head on his chest, waking up for just a few seconds, caressing his covered skin with the tip of her nose.
"Shh, sleep baby. I'm right here." Chris murmured in a low tone, sealing her forehead lightly, stopping his movements as he watched her close her eyes again, falling back to sleep.
Chris moved slowly, hugging Y/N's body against his as he walked towards the stairs, not noticing Nick recording them from afar.
     ༻﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡༺
7th minute:
Y/N was sitting on the puff in front of her makeshift dressing table. Her phone was resting on it horizontally while her front camera recorded herself.
She was talking about the new trend in the fashion world, having as a hobby making videos for TikTok about fashion and makeup. While the girl explained in detail, her hands worked on doing her nighttime skincare, gesturing, and changing products alternately.
Chris's figure appeared behind her a few seconds after she started it, his hands holding Y/N's hairbrush. He was already ready to sleep, his eyes half closed with sleep and his hair slightly messy.
A habit created by the couple was that, while Y/N did her skincare before bed, Chris would carefully comb her hair, having always had a great love for her locks.
The boy approached his girlfriend, smiling quickly at the camera before stopping behind Y/N. His free hand parted her hair so he could comb it without hurting her or leaving any part behind.
Chris raised his hand with the hairbrush, starting to do it gently, untangling the knots created throughout the day and aligning the strands.
His eyes met Y/N's from time to time through the mirror, a small smile resting on his lips, adorning his passionate features.
     ༻﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡༺
8th minute:
It was the Versus Tour; Matt, Chris, and Nick were playing the last round of Giant Jenga when Chris spotted a fan with a sign held up.
"Wait, before we continue, can I read a sign from a fan real quick?" The brunette interrupted the group, holding his microphone with his right hand and pointing at the crowd with his left one, receiving absurdly loud screams in response.
Matt shrugged, looking at Nick, who nodded, making a go-ahead gesture with his hands.
"Hi! Can I read your sign?" Chris turned back to the audience, pointing to a specific girl. The girl's eyes widened, her mouth opening in shock at being noticed by her idol, taking a few seconds to finally nod her head repeatedly. "Your sign says, "I'm only here for Y/N"-"
Loud screams interrupted Chris, fans going wild at the mention of his girlfriend's name. The brunette took the microphone away from his mouth, laughing in disbelief and looking at a specific area on the right side of the stage.
A fan, who was in the audience and recording the moment, focused the rear camera of her phone on the place where Chris looked, being able to capture the figure of Y/N, who was laughing loudly and clapping her hands in amusement, shaking her head.
"Well, I can't judge you. Everywhere I am, I only go for Y/N, too." Chris muttered into his microphone again, laughing as he received even louder screams in response.
His eyes met his girlfriend's, throwing an air kiss and an "I love you" with just a movement of his lips, before turning his attention back to the game.
     ༻﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡༺
Extra minute:
The triplets and Y/N were at their house with Nate and Madi. Everyone was in the living room, talking about random topics while a movie played on the television at low volume, serving as ambient sound. Some board games were scattered on the floor, next to unopened or already eaten snacks.
Chris was sitting on a puff in front of the big windows while Y/N was on his lap. She had her legs thrown to one side while her torso was on the other, sitting sideways on Chris's thighs with her right shoulder resting on his chest.
Chris's arms encircled her body, his right one holding her waist while his left one caressed her thighs lightly.
The girl was talking about a situation she witnessed between a group of third-party friends, always keeping her boyfriend updated on the gossip.
What they didn't know was that Madi was recording their cute moment.
As Y/N spoke, Chris looked into her eyes intently, his gaze so full of love that Madi thought she could see hearts in the place of his pupils.
The brunette nodded from time to time, making it clear that he had his attention on her and understood everything she was saying, an almost imperceptible smile resting on the corner of his lips.
The two seemed to be surrounded by a bubble created just for them, the entire outside world completely forgotten.
That was their dynamic, and the triplets fandom loved it.
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taglist:
@lustfulslxt @ladybunny44 @worldlxvlys @earth2starkey @remussbitch @freshloveforthefit @il0vebeingdelulu @sturniolowhore @mimi-luvzyu @alorsxsturn @urfavgirllyyyyy @domizzzsstuff @sturnizd @hearts4chris @cupidzsq @dracoflaco @leah-loves-lilies @tylerthecreatorsrealwife @rootbeerworshiper @junnniiieee07 @elliesturniolo1 @sstvrnioloo
(If you want to be added to the taglist, go to this post)
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renthony · 9 months ago
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In Defense of Shitty Queer Art
Queer art has a long history of being censored and sidelined. In 1895, Oscar Wilde’s novel The Picture of Dorian Gray was used as evidence in the author’s sodomy trials. From the 1930s to the 1960s, the American Hays Code prohibited depictions of queerness in film, defining it as “sex perversion.” In 2020, the book Steven Universe: End of an Era by Chris McDonnell confirmed that Rebecca Sugar’s insistence on including a sapphic wedding in the show is what triggered its cancellation by Cartoon Network. According to the American Library Association, of the top ten most challenged books in 2023, seven were targeted for their queer content. Across time, place, and medium, queer art has been ruthlessly targeted by censors and protesters, and at times it seems there might be no end in sight.
So why, then, are queer spaces so viciously critical of queer art?
Name any piece of moderately-well-known queer media, and you can find immense, vitriolic discourse surrounding it. Audiences debate whether queer media is good representation, bad representation, or whether it’s otherwise too problematic to engage with. Artists are picked apart under a microscope to make sure their morals are pure enough and their identities queer enough. Every minor fault—real or perceived—is compiled in discourse dossiers and spread around online. Lines are drawn, and callout posts are made against those who get too close to “problematic art.”
Modern examples abound, such as the TV show Steven Universe, the video game Dream Daddy, or the webcomic Boyfriends, but it’s far from a new phenomenon. In his book Hi Honey, I’m Homo!, queer pop culture analyst Matt Baume writes about an example from the 1970s, where the ABC sitcom titled Soap was protested by homophobes and queer audiences alike—before a single episode of the show ever aired. Audiences didn’t wait to actually watch the show before passing judgment and writing protest letters.
After so many years starved for positive representation, it’s understandable for queer audiences to crave depictions where we’re treated well. It’s exhausting to only ever see the same tired gay tropes and subtext, and queer audiences deserve more. Yet the way to more, better, varied representation is not to insist on perfection. The pursuit of perfection is poison in art, and it’s no different when that art happens to be queer.
When the pool of queer art is so limited, it feels horrible when a piece of queer art doesn’t live up to expectations. Even if the representation is technically good, it’s disappointing to get excited for a queer story only for that story to underwhelm and frustrate you.
But the world needs that disappointing art. It needs mediocre art. It even needs the bad art. The world needs to reach a point where queer artists can fearlessly make a mess, because if queer artists can only strive for perfection, the less art they can make. They may eventually produce a masterpiece, but a single masterpiece is still a drop in the bucket compared to the oceans of censorship. The only way to drown out bigotry and offensive stereotypes created by bigots is to allow queer artists the ability to experiment, learn through making mistakes, and represent their queer truth even if it clashes with someone else’s.
If queer artists aren’t allowed to make garbage, we can never make those masterpieces everyone craves. If queer artists are terrified at all times that their art will be targeted both by bigots and their own queer communities, queer art cannot thrive.
Let queer artists make shitty art. Let allies to queer people try their hand at representation, even if they miss the mark. Let queer art be messy, and let the artists screw up without fear of overblown retribution.
It’s the only way we’ll ever get more queer art.
_
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moonstruckme · 5 months ago
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hi i love your blog! could you write poly!marauders where james is away on a business trip and everyone is moping because they miss him
Hi, I love you! Thanks for requesting :)
modern au
poly!marauders x fem!reader ♡ 864 words
You feel a bit guilty resting your head on Sirius' shoulder while longing for another. But you reason that it’s not so bad if the one you’re longing for is Sirius’ boyfriend, too. And you like to think that if it were James’ warm, cushiony shoulder you were leaning against, you’d be missing Sirius instead. 
“How was everyone’s day?” you ask. 
Remus turns to give you a peculiar look. “It was fine. We talked about this already, didn’t we?” 
“Yeah,” you sigh. “I just feel like we’re not usually so quiet during the commercial breaks.” 
“Our yapper’s gone,” Sirius says, sulkily. 
“James does usually start the conversation,” admits Remus. “But we don’t need him to talk. Right?” 
“Right.” You nod, sitting up with what you hope looks like conviction. “Sirius, you can yap just as well as James can.” 
“Yeah, but I need him to get me going.” Your boyfriend sighs heavily. “He’d probably ask something like ‘If we were all in a circus, what would our roles be?’ and I can’t come up with shit like that.”
“No, that’s great!” You try to sound peppy. “Um, okay. Sirius would probably be a trapeze artist, right?” 
Remus nods. “And I could see you being a tightrope walker.” 
You both look to Sirius for his analysis, but he looks unimpressed. Still, he plays along. “Rem would be one of those blokes who eat fire, likely.” 
“Yeah,” you laugh. 
See, you can have fun! This is fun, right? But then your film comes back on, and you all lapse into silence again. 
“James would’ve never let us watch this,” you say after a few minutes. “He’d have made us pick a comedy or something.” 
“And he would’ve been right,” Sirius agrees. “This is fucking bleak.” 
“It’s not so bad,” Remus says, making you and Sirius exchange a look. For as much as James loves Remus, he’s most often the victim of his film vetoes. Remus’ taste is bleak. 
It’s another few minutes before an actress on-screen says a line, and Remus clears his throat awkwardly. 
“That’s what she said.” 
You and Sirius look at him with a mixture of befuddlement and alarm. 
“What?” He shifts in his seat. “I’m trying to fill a gap.” 
Sirius appears scandalized. “James’ jokes are far more advanced than that.” 
“He said ‘that’s what she said’ just last week.” 
“Yes, but in a completely different context!” 
“We could call him,” you point out. 
Remus’ expression creases longingly. “No, he’s been in meetings all day. I’m sure he’ll want to rest.” 
But Sirius clicks the speaker button on his phone, letting the dial tone play aloud. Remus looks almost relieved. 
James picks up on the third ring. “Hello?” 
“Hi,” you all say loudly, voices each trying to be heard over the others. 
“We need you to come home,” Sirius whines. 
“What?” James sounds closer to the speaker now, like he’s holding the phone tight to his face. “Is everything okay?” 
“Don’t say that,” Remus hisses at Sirius. “Everything’s fine, Jamie.” 
“We just miss you,” you clarify. 
“Oh.” The relief is obvious in your boyfriend’s voice, and you notice your other two boyfriends smiling fondly at the sound of it. You think your own expression probably looks just about as humiliatingly smitten. “Awe. I miss you guys, too. Like crazy, you have no idea.” 
“I think we have some.” Sirius raises a brow at the phone. “Rem just tried to make a ‘that’s what she said’ joke.” 
A sharp cough crackles through the speaker. “Did he? How did it go?” 
“Poorly.” 
“Ah, well.” You can practically feel the warmth of James’ smile from hundreds of miles away. “Don’t worry, love. We’ll work on it when I get back.” 
“I’d rather not do it again, actually,” Remus grumbles. 
“How was your day?” You lean on Sirius’ shoulder again, getting close to the phone like James is contained within it. 
“Boring,” he says emphatically. “I got told off by some old woman for tapping my pen on my pad too loudly while someone was giving a presentation. The hotel they’ve put us up in isn’t bad, though. Free breakfast in the morning to get us energized for another day or torment.” 
“Ooh, could you see if they have those little blueberry muffins?” Sirius asks. “And if they do, wrap me up a few to bring home with you.”
“Sirius,” Remus chides. 
“I’ll check,” James agrees easily. “Rem, do you want some chocolate ones if they have those?” 
If James could see the way your boyfriend flushes pink, he’d be grinning ear to ear. “Yes, please,” Remus replies. 
“Brilliant. And for you, lovie?” 
“I’ll just mooch off of Sirius’ blueberry ones.” You snicker when Sirius gasps, sneaking a hand around your waist to pinch at your middle. 
“Oh, perfect,” says James. “I’ll make sure to grab a few less, then, so you can really fight over them.”
“Prick,” Sirius accuses. 
“Love you, too. So, how was everyone else’s day?” 
You catch yourself smiling a second before seeing a similarly contented expression reflected on Sirius’ face. Remus moves from his armchair to the couch, and you all lean into the phone as you tell him. 
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littlelamy · 4 months ago
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behind-the-scenes: drew starkey x actress!reader
the camera’s red recording light blinked to life as you set it up on the tripod, adjusting the angle to capture the perfect behind-the-scenes footage for your latest youtube video. the studio was bustling with activity; lights were being positioned, crew members scurried around, and drew starkey, with his usual charm, was deep in conversation with the director.
you glanced at drew from the corner of your eye, his tall frame and easy smile drawing you in even amidst the chaos. today, you were filming a special behind-the-scenes look at the movie you were both working on. the video was meant to show the fun and excitement of the set, but you had a feeling it would reveal a lot more—especially with drew’s effortless charisma and your growing attraction towards him.
“hey, everyone!” you began, speaking into the camera. “welcome to today’s behind-the-scenes. i’m here with the one and only drew starkey, who’s about to give us an exclusive tour of the set.”
drew’s face lit up as he approached the camera, his eyes twinkling with mischief. “hey there, folks. ready to see what goes down when the cameras aren’t rolling?”
you nodded, trying to keep your composure as he stood just a bit too close. his cologne, a subtle blend of cedarwood and musk, enveloped you, making it hard to focus. drew’s presence was magnetic, and the chemistry between you was palpable, even if it was just a playful, teasing moment on camera.
as drew began showing off the different sets and props, he playfully interacted with you, his touch lingering a bit longer than necessary when he demonstrated something. each casual brush of his hand against yours or the way his fingers gently tapped your arm made your heart race. you tried to keep your tone light and professional, but it was increasingly difficult with drew’s attention so focused on you.
“let’s take a look at the main set,” drew said, guiding you toward the elaborate backdrop. “this is where the magic happens.”
as you walked, drew’s hand brushed against your lower back, sending a jolt through you. you glanced at him, catching his knowing smirk. it was clear he enjoyed the effect he had on you, and you couldn’t deny how much you enjoyed it too. the camera was still rolling, but it was hard to keep up the pretense of professionalism when his touch was so electrifying.
at one point, drew stopped to adjust the camera’s angle for a better shot, his body pressing against yours. his breath was warm against your neck as he leaned in, his voice a soft whisper. “you know, we should probably get a bit closer for this part. it’ll look better on camera.”
you swallowed hard, trying to maintain your composure. “closer?” you asked, your voice barely more than a breath.
“yeah,” he said, his lips brushing your ear. “closer.”
before you could react, drew’s hand slid around your waist, pulling you into a close embrace. the camera continued to record, capturing the intimate moment between the two of you. his touch was gentle but firm, and the way he looked at you made your heart skip a beat.
“see?” he said, his voice low and teasing. “much better.”
as the camera continued to roll, you found yourself lost in the moment, your eyes locked with drew’s. the behind-the-scenes video might have been about the movie, but it quickly turned into a captivating glimpse into the undeniable chemistry between you two.
you finished the segment with a playful smile, the camera capturing your flushed cheeks and the way drew’s eyes lingered on you. the video would undoubtedly leave fans buzzing, not just about the film but about the undeniable connection between you and drew.
and as the recording light finally dimmed, you knew that the behind-the-scenes footage had captured something far more personal and exhilarating—an unspoken affair that had only just begun.
taglist: @namelesslosers @princessslutt @averyoceanblvd @iknowdatsrightbih @starkeysprincess @sixrosberg @anamiad00msday @ivysprophecy @wearemadeofstardust0 @sunny1616 @willowpains
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thanosscross · 20 days ago
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My girl! - Choi Su-Bong/Thanos x reader part 1/?
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Summary: You had been a dancer for Thanos a few times in the past, but after he started acting more like an ass you cut off ties, until he saw you again in a death game against him.
warnings: nothing really, just your usual squid game gore.
You had met the infamous rapper Thanos twice before, being called back to his music video shoots repeatedly, so you weren't strangers, but you were sure he didn't know you other than one of his dancers. You were mistaken though, The moment you stepped into the room Choi su-bong had his eyes on you, he liked you, you were the first one of his dancers to not throw yourself at him the moment he walked into the shoot. You watched as a few names listed off with their debts, stifling a laugh seeing the familiar face appear on the giant screen hit his vape before being slapped, frowning whenever you saw yourself, watching as you took the slap recovering quickly before it flashed to a man with 10 million won worth of debt.
Thanos felt his body tense watching the recruiter smack you, you were as small and fragile as a flower, why such force behind the slap? As you navigated to your bed to sit down, you spotted Thanos and another man causing a slight scene with a third guy. Smiling to yourself whenever you saw his friend stop him from hitting the dude, that's whenever you froze, your smile falling and face turning red whenever his head turned and his eyes locked onto you.
"Thanos? Who's that boss?" Nam-gyu asked "My girl!" Thanos shouted, a smiling stretching across his face as he ran over, throwing himself onto the bed next to you "What're you doing here, senorita?" He asked, making you shrink back into the mattress trying to hide from the sudden rush of attention being drawn to you. "M-my brother's in debt..I wanted to help him" You explained quietly, trying to get him to get the hint to lower his volume by emphasizing your whispers. "You were always so sweet, that's why I made you one of thanos's girls" He said giving you the infamous smirk he'd always flash you in-between filming scenes for his videos "I am not one of your girls, I like to think I have more respect for myself than that" You tried to say confidently, Choi su-bong laughed in reply, throwing his head back just to prove his point more that he found your reply terribly funny.
Before you could ask what exactly landed him here, the guards were waiting for you all to leave single file, Thanos made a point to stay by your side the entire walk out to an outstretched field with a doll at the end. "So, y/n, why didn't you come back for my last shoot?" He asked pouted, causing you to roll your eyes "I just, didn't have time, plus, I have the right to say no, ya now" You argued, trying to listen to the rules before the game started. "And with that, let the games begin" You took off as soon as you heard greenlit, it you were gonna do this, you were gonna be the best. Freezing when you heard red light, you looked at the people in front of you, jumping as a loud gunshot fired off and people started screaming. As you heard green light you used your time to look back, scanning for whatever the commotion was, and where choi su-bong was. Seeing him fidgeting with his necklace, you both froze as you heard red light again, locking eyes, you could see the blood on his faces, and the panic in his eyes, holy shit. Whenever you heard green you took off for the end, desperate to get away from this damn area, as you heard redlight again, you tried to stop, but the dirt shifted under your feet and you felt yourself start to lose balance. A hand grabbed your wrist, spinning you around, and pulling you in until you were face to face with Choi su-bong's chest "I gotchu, Can't have one of my girls dying on me can I?" You heard him say. You held your breath, waiting for it all to end, but instead the game persisted, Thanos taking you by the hand as he galloped and leaped the rest way to the end.
You let out a shaky breath, trying to hold back every bit of panic and anxiety that was currently washing over you "Hey, you're alright" He whispered, using his index finger to have you lock eyes with him, this was the Choi su-bong you remembered and liked working for, sweet, gentle, but after he got a little fame boost and a group of friends from his underground battles, he just got really rude and disrespectful, that's when he started to fully go by Thanos. "I-I don't wanna d-die here, su-bong" You whispered, gripping onto your jacket to keep your hands from shaking, he was quick to counteract that by grabbing them and holding them gently in his "You won't, I won't let you! You saw! I was like woosh woosh!" He shouted, recreating his actions from before, his gentleness was gone, and Nam-gyu now stood next to him. That's whenever it finally dawned on you, it wasn't that su-bong changed, he was acting badass for his friends, at your expense most times.
You were silent the walk back to the room, making a straight shot for your bed, desperate to get away from him. He was still on your heels, the entire walk, eventually catching you giving Nam-gyu an annoyed glare and shooing him away. "my girl! please! I hate when you ignore me!" He begged, you just kicked off your shoes and crawled underneath the blanket they provided you, not wanting to hear him. "Please" He whispered, kneeling down to rest his forehead against yours "Baby.." He begged quieter, running his hand through your hair "Just because I'm speaking to you right now, does not mean I forgive you" You replied "But you don't call me that, you had a chance, I asked you out to dinner, and then coffee after you said you didn't have time at night, and that's whenever you told me you don't date 'dancers' in front of all of your friends, remember?" You spat glaring at him, just wanting to smack him across his stupid handsome face. "I don't date people who work for me!" He whisper shouted at you, you huffed "Fuck you Su-bong" That's all you could you say, you were too pissed off to think of anything else, he took notice "Punch me" He offered "What?..." you questioned, he grabbed your hand balling it up "Hit me" He repeated, you just shook your head, trying to push him away, before you could realize what happened, Su-bong was tumbling down the few steps that separated your bed from the floor, you jumped up, well, you tried to, rushing to the bottom to check on him "I-I'm sorry! I didn't mean to shove you t-that har-" You were cut off by somebody shouting "Holy shit that crazy bitch just shoved that kid!" Su-bong's head snapped over, he immediately popped up, almost like a cartoon character "Who the hell!?" He shouted, you jumped, flinching back a bit worried he might be yelling at you, until he stormed off, you rushed out to get a better view of him nailing someone in the jaw, Nam-gyu and you both rushing over "Thanos!" He shouted "Su-bong!" You grunted, both of you shoving the other two away from each other "Nobody disrespects my girl!" Su-bong shouted, walking over wrapping his arm around your waist "Stop it" You whispered, feeling everybody staring at you, he just tightened his hold around your waist "Let's goo!" He shouted all of a sudden rushing over to where him and nam-gyu sat, ready to talk about the next game.
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thealexandriaarchives · 9 months ago
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I can't stop staring at Feyd-Rautha's walk here and what it implies about his fight with Paul now that I'm able to stop just comparing it to Timothy's killer body work matching it (or vice versa).
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Villeneuve takes the book canon, that the Harkonnens took the Atredies's morbid heirlooms of an oil painting of grandfather's death and the bull's head with his blood still dried on his horns to hang above the arena as trophies to the next level: making Feyd-Rautha the victorious young matador with the guards dressed as bull-minotaurs, circling to play banderillos and sink banderillas into the backs of the Atredies bull if it gets too close before the final faena has Feyd-Rautha pulling his opponent past him in the close, intimate passes that show off his athleticism and skill before his false blade is exchanged for the one that will be used for the killing blow and oh my god there are whole schools of thought on coming forward to meet your opponent vs waiting for them and killing with a single blow to the heart and honoring the fight and if anyone who knows how to make gifsets wants make one about this to I'd LOVE to rant more about the breakdown of these two fights and how Feyd is 1001% Matador Machismo but my point to all of this is:
Look at that Sand.
Look at his feet dig deep and kick it up as he strides out into the heart of that arena. Is it a rhythmic walk? Oh yes. Confident. Powerful. In the book this will be his 100th arena kill as he comes of age. This is his natural habitat. Where he learned his skills, for us to parallel with what we saw for Paul in Part 1.
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This matters, because it's one of the main premises for why the Fremen are so Good At Fighting. When everyone is trained to fight with shields (stun then slow) and bulky armor, and on flat, solid ground with lots of cover, it's easy to be fast and silent and terrifyingly effective against them. Gurney Halleck is shown to be one of the best fighters in the franchise and the film makes a point of showing how his (recognizable) footsteps are not suited to move quickly, lightly, and with stability on sand like they are on solid ground.
Only... Bullfighting rings aren't sandy. They're fairly hardpacked. Earth for the bull and Matador to maneuver in quickly. There is a layer of albero traditionally layered on top, a chunky yellow clay dirt that serves aesthetics but also absorbs blood quickly. The idea the sand may not be white because... With Giedi Prime who knows?! Is Fantastic.
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Paul Muad'Dib became the only Atredies to be recognized as Fremen, to see his father's dream of Desert Power recognized, to fight as Fedaykin, to be recognized as the Mahdi, the One Who Points The Way, and it is made clear to us from the opening words of a Child's History of Muad'Dib that Arrakis was his Home, and yet every major one-on-one duel he had from Jamis to Feyd-Rautha was on solid ground, giving him an advantage that made him respected as a fighter among the Fedaykin right away as part of his training.
Feyd-Rautha was the one Harkonnen who may have learned combat primarily or even exclusively with sand beneath his feet, and he died on Arrakis on the polished stone floors of a palatial residence, still trying to play by Matador rules.
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thank u for coming to my Ted Talk
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seospicybin · 3 months ago
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TILL DEATH DO US PART.
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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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venusandsaturnsrings · 3 months ago
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you sighed heavily, zoning out on some of the elaborate wallpaper in front of you as your friend chattered on enthusiastically at your side.
last week, they had burst into your workplace with an expression so anxious you had thought something was seriously wrong. they went on to elaborate that famous director mr. reca was on penacony and having a surprise casting call and, as a member of the iris family, they just needed to go and audition but the idea of standing in front of such a well known face in the cinema world had them more panicked than they’d ever been before. whining endlessly about how they were so very nervous but couldn’t possibly miss such an opportunity, you easily picked up what exactly they wanted; you to go with them. sighing you offered your companionship partially as a good friend and partially to make the other workers stop glaring daggers, you finally chased them out the door as they promised to meet you at the studio on the weekend.
now in a long line of other actors and actresses hoping to finally get a breakthrough part, the number pinned hastily to your chest was starting to irritate you on top of not wanting to be here in the first place. agreeing so quickly was looking more like a mistake as you were realizing you had no experience or anything prepared and you’d soon be standing in front of a man who’d scrutinize your every move; a real nightmare in the dream.
it took a surprisingly short amount of time for your friend to be whisked away into the audition room with its heavy soundproof doors and you had to stand alone coming to terms with how much of a fool you’d look like. a brief thought of running flitted through your brain as you nervously tapped your foot but before any commitment to bolting could arise, you were ushered in.
the room was elegant but felt unbelievably sterile with the marble floors and delicate chandelier. behind a large wooden table stacked with folders, notes, and expensive looking pens was the man you dreaded explaining this predicament to. with piercing eyes and a predatory smile, mr. reca seemed unnervingly interested in what you’d go on to show him; nothing, unfortunately. you took your place in the centre of the room and awkwardly cleared your throat before dumping a word vomit of an apology and explanation filled with ‘i can’t act for shit,’ and ‘i’m sorry for wasting your time.’ he nodded with a low hum and seemed almost sympathetic as he tapped a finger against his lips while thinking.
“you’re here now and your… appearance… seemed perfectly suited to a personal project of mine i can’t seem to get out of my head,” his smile was unnerving in a way, “humour me and try out a couple poses at the least. such a role would come with magnificent compensation.” not the response you expected but you figured he was owed something for such a fumble. upon your agreement he had you shift into numerous positions that made your face flush with embarrassment but mr. reca seemed beyond pleased if his praise meant anything.
“magnificent. please, i’d love to have you star in a this minor film of mine. such a project will only take a few afternoons and i’ll make sure it’s worth your time.”
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it’s the next week when you’re at his home. he welcomes you with a neat suffocating hug and offers numerous snacks and drinks as a show of good will. it’s quite charming until he takes you to where he’s set up for the first scenes.
the room is dim, lit by ambient lighting only and silk ribbons drape across the room. in the middle is a bed covered in luxurious sheets and soft blankets with a table on each side holding a variety of lewd toys; your face is warm. mr. reca cheerfully points to every object explaining the purpose and how it’ll be used after fiddling with all the different locks on the door to successfully trap you in. suddenly you feel sweaty and your chest is tight as you shiver uncontrollably. his personal film was an adult film. he dangles the previously signed contract over your head with a promise to publicly humiliate you if you don’t, “strip and put on these pieces,” a lacy pair of panties and a bra that hides nothing. he’s throwing a pair of stockings at your chest as well before making some adjustments on his camera. with no choice, you change and pray that this will be over soon but the sinking feeling in your gut says otherwise when you see he’s undressing as well.
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suhsweet · 3 months ago
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for halloween ⟡ kmg
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wc: 3097 | pair: bf!mingyu x afab!reader | genre: smut, 18+ (minors go away) | tags: horror movie mentions, brief mention of gore (in relation to horror movie), living room sex, netflix & chill, size kink, fingering, reader has medium to long hair
summary: “I want to see if we can fuck each others’ brains out, so good to the point that we forget that there’s a scary movie playing right in front of us.”
authors note: sorry, i’ve been away for forever. with halloween coming up, i rushed this to get it out in time. it's not the best, but please enjoy <3
“Kim Mingyu, we are not spending our Saturday night watching a horror movie out of all things.”
“Sure we are, for Halloween.”
You smack a palm against your forehead, watching your stupid boyfriend flick through stupid Netflix on the stupid TV to search for a stupid horror movie. The options flick past, each movie poster looking more creepy and gruesome than the last.
“You forgot the biggest issue here. We both hate horror movies. We don’t like horror.”
“I know, but I think I might come to love it after tonight,” Mingyu smirks to himself and he waves you over towards him.
“Why do you think that?” Your eyes narrow, watching your soon-to-be-dumped boyfriend choose a film that you didn’t bother to learn the name of. As the screen goes black, the movie poster remains in your mind. All you remember are the blood splatters on the main character’s face, and the shadowy figure behind them.
The image brings about a chill down your spine, causing you to spin around and start heading for your shared bedroom. “Nope. Actually, don’t worry. Enjoy your movie! I’m just gonna hide here for the next hour and forty five minutes...”
“Baby no!” Mingyu laughs and you hear him follow you.
The heavy slap of his house slippers rapidly follow you as you speed away, a squeal threatening to escape your throat. Nevertheless, you're effortlessly scooped up into his arms bridal style.
Maybe if you close your eyes and go limp like a dead fish he’ll change his mind… You give up on fighting your boyfriend's strong hold, allowing your head to flop backward and your arms to your sides.
Entering the living room once more, Mingyu's laughter echoes throughout the apartment. Still holding you in his arms, he falls onto the plush sofa causing the both of you to let out a simultaneous ‘oomph’.
He keeps you sideways on his lap, one arm braced around your waist. He fusses over you, brushing your hair out of your face as he acts oblivious to your squirming.
You're trying your best to wriggle your way out of this cage of yummy tanned skin and muscle before he presses play on the movie. “Let me goooooo!”
“No!” Mingyu grunts, and if you thought his hold was tight enough, he pulls you in even tighter.
After three minutes of Mingyu chuckling at your poor attempts of escape, you eventually give up. It's times like these that you remember that he goes to the gym everyday, and never fails to meet his target protein intake. With him sitting down, you also forget he looms over you like a skyscraper. Fighting him is impossible.
You pout, crossing your arms with a soft, "Hmmph."
Mingyu gives a satisfied whoop as he settles you in his arms. Your attempts of appearing annoyed with him immediately dissolves as the ominous music grows louder.
Suddenly, the lamp beside your sofa switches off. Apart from the TV itself, it was the main source of light in the otherwise dark room. Your head whips over to see Mingyu in the process of retracting his hand from the switch, a devilish grin on his face.
“Where is my boyfriend!?” You practically wail. “My Mingyu wouldn’t even look at the horror section on Netflix!”
Mingyu just chuckles to himself. You bury your face in his chest, and wrap your arms around his neck. The beginnings of the jump-scares and screaming starts, and you feel the thrum of your pulse quicken.
Mingyu coos at you and begins to rub his hand across your back rhythmically. His other hand cradles your head to him. His lips softly press kisses into your hair, slowly trailing down to your temple, cheek, jaw, and then your neck. The kisses gradually go from sweet and brief, to slow and burning. You can hear his lips coming into contact with your skin, and the soft suction of his mouth.
“Mingyu…” You clench the fabric of his hoodie in your fist.
“I had a thought,” he says, completely ignoring you.
“Something you should stop doing after this,” you grumble. Being scared and horny is a weird and unfamiliar sensation.
Mingyu chuckles softly. The light touch of the back of his pointer finger tickles your cheek. You notice the way his eyes become half-lidded, hypnotized. “I want to see if we can fuck each others’ brains out, so good to the point that we forget that there’s a scary movie playing right in front of us..”
A shocked laugh bubbles up inside of you. It takes you a second to process the unexpected turn of events. “For Halloween?”
“Yup,” the side of his mouth quirks up slightly as your eyes meets his.
“You better make me scream louder than her,” you point your finger to the TV screen where all sorts of terror is occurring to the main character.
Mingyu kisses up and down your jaw once more, his fingers gripping your sides as if wondering whether to rip off your clothes or take them off intact. “I’ll try my best, baby.”
Suddenly upright and straddling Mingyu’s lap, your fingers snake through your lover’s hair. Through your lashes, you delight in the way he completely succumbs himself to your touch. Like he's happy to take anything that you'll give him, his head is tilted backwards and his eyes are shut.
Mingyu is chasing your lips when you pull back from the kiss, refusing to have your faces more than an inch away from the other. You’re about to tease his dopey expression when the back of your head is held in place by his hand, and his lips are back on yours. Your teeth clash briefly before you find your rhythm, his tongue teasing your own. And all while this is happening, he’s humping up into you.
“How am I already pussy drunk and I haven’t even taken your clothes off?” Mingyu whispers into your ear, nipping the lobe before kissing your neck. He’s licking stripes, making marks, and worshipping the skin where your jaw and neck meet. The sensation has your toes curling and your eyes screwing shut.
“Min…gyu,” you sigh out. Your hands steady themselves on his firm shoulders and you begin to grind against his heavy bulge. He watches in amazement, lazily palming your breast and breathing heavily.
You’ve always loved the sounds that Mingyu makes when you fuck. His raspy voice was already attractive, but in bed? When it’s heavy with lust and need for only you? It’s fucking heavenly.
“So, so pretty,” Mingyu sighs, eyes rolling when your hips move a certain way. You pause to reach under the waistband of his black sweats, easily finding his arousal.
His hand reaches up to cup your cheek, his thumb tracing the shape of your bottom lip. You immediately catch it in your mouth and start sucking it like you would a lollypop. Your tongue in particular starts drawing patterns on the pad of this thumb. Mingyu’s gaze seems to grow darker as he watches you.
Immediately he retracts his hand, and starts stripping you of your shirt. You help take off the last of it off your body while Mingyu eagerly latches his mouth onto your chest, a hand greedily grabbing and squeezing the one that doesn’t have the attentions of his tongue.
You’re the one holding his head close this time. You watch Mingyu with his mouth on your tits, licking and sucking as if you’re his life source. He looks completely drunk on you, focused on worshipping your body. Your sounds encourage him to reach down into your pants, nudging away your panties to find your slick folds.
His fingers outline the folds of your pussy, then focus on your clit. You hum with approval as he starts drawing circles on the little nub. You feel him go back to tasting your tits, switching between kissing your neck and whispering dirty things into your ear.
“Your fingers… Fuck,” you pant. “I’m gonna-”
“I know baby,” Mingyu takes in your expressions with a satisfied smirk. His fingers speed up, pressing firmly. He pulls your head down to kiss you, wanting to feel you moan against his lips as you cum.
And you do; with your lips pressed to Mingyu’s, holding onto his shoulders as you buck against his fingers. His gaze burns into you, and it's so intense that if you weren’t in the middle of an orgasm, you would’ve blushed furiously.
As you come down from your high, Mingyu's there to hold you steady. You lazily kiss him, telling him thanks with your tongue and soft moans. His fingers dive into your hair, making your pretty tresses snake around his fingers. He plays with the ends of the strands just as you pull away and start to get on your knees.
"What're you doing?" He whines, hands gripping your arms firmly.
You frown. "Returning the favor."
"No, no, no," he rushes out. You're pulled back up on your feet when Mingyu unceremoniously yanks your pants down and pulls you back onto his lap. "I need you now."
You giggle at his desperation, and allow him to manhandle you. He strips himself of his shirt while you line his cock up to your pussy. You’re so close to having him stretch you out that your toes curl from anticipation.
However, after many lessons learnt you remembered to prep yourself at the last second. Effortlessly, you lean down to spit onto Mingyu’s cock, rubbing it all over the tip until it glistens.
Mingyu groans. “It’s so hot when you do that.”
You wink at him. His grip on your waist keep you steady as you slowly lower yourself. On instinct your eyes flicker to his to watch the minor changes in his expression as he feels your body take him. The softening of his eyes, the soft flare of his noise and the plush of his lips caught between his teeth.
And although the two of you have had sex enough times to know the other’s body like their own, the feeling of you bottoming out on his cock never gets old. Feeling so full, and so stretched out, nothing could feel as good as Mingyu’s heavy cock.
His eyes seem to dart across every plane on your face, wanting to take in your expressions too. You tenderly kiss him on the mouth and slowly start to move.
“Fuck…” Mingyu breathes out, his eyes fluttering closed.
As you start to work your body on his dick, Mingyu’s arms circle around your body. His trunk-like arms keep you close to him as he presses his head into your shoulder, breathing heavily and taking in your scent.
It’s so intimate, and perfect until you hear the movie and remember that it's still playing. Your attention unintentionally flickers over to the TV just in time to witness a jump scare. The sudden close up of the monster's morbid features, combined with the loud music has you squeezing Mingyu tighter, and a minor squeak leaves you as you jump in fright.
Mingyu’s perks up, alert. You briefly witness the protective side of him come out. His misplaced concern has you feeling sorry, and a small laugh escapes you.
His expression softens when he looks back at you and sees you smiling. He doesn't say anything, but his face asks you about what happened.
"I saw a jump scare," you admit, noticing your movements have slowed.
Mingyu shakes his head in mock disappointment. "Well that won't do. My theory would be proven wrong..." His warm, large hands trail upwards from your hips to your sides. His warm palms smooth over your upper back, creeping up past your shoulder blades before stopping at the curve of each of your shoulders.
You gaze up at him just as he pulls your body down onto him by your shoulders. The sudden intrusion doesn't hurt, but it makes you gasp. Suddenly feeling full brings an unfamiliar pleasure, and judging by your lover's face, he definitely loves it.
Mingyu's heavy lidded gaze never strays from your face, but he breaths heavily as he fucks up into you. His grip never weakens, even while your chanting his name, even while your legs squeeze together in an effort to halt his movements as you come. He manages to continue to fuck you regardless.
That has you forgetting about the movie in an instant.
"Holy... Fuck," you groan in between heavy breaths.
"What do you think of the movie so far?" Mingyu teases as he lifts you off of him and onto the sofa, on your back. As he covers your body with his own, you feel him tease your breasts. Each nipple is pinched, and the other even gets a little nip.
"Mmm," you gather your hair out from under you in an effort to get comfortable. You reach between your legs to reach for his cock. "What movie?"
Mingyu laughs as he slowly kisses up your chest and onto your lips. Your open mouthed kisses are interrupted by the sensation of him filling you up, and the two of you groan into each other's mouths.
"Fuck, angel," Mingyu's rasping into your mouth. He lays his right forearm down next to your head, while his other arm is next to your waist holding himself up. They both work to keep his weight from crushing you, but allows him to still feel every inch of your skin touching his own. "You don't understand how much I fucking need you."
Feeling caged in like this has you feeling so safe that you start to go delirious. Everywhere you look is Mingyu. If you look up, you'll find him watching you with your name escaping his lips like it was a prayer. If you look between your legs, you can see the silhouette of his heavy cock thrusting into you, making you feel so full. If you look to either side of you, you'd see his muscles working to keep himself up.
"So good," you gasp. He seems to agree from the way that his head dips down to kiss you. Your bottom lip gets stuck in-between his teeth as he sucks at it hungrily.
Unlike you, Mingyu isn’t caged in. He has the freedom to look anywhere but down, to avoid looking at your pretty face and increase the chances of him coming early. Yet, like magnets, his eyes can’t stray far from your pretty lips or flushed cheeks. The little sweat beads that decorate your face are his doing, just like the fucking delectable view of your breasts bouncing from his thrusts.
The possessive side of him revels in the fact that only he can see you like this. He likes that it’s because of him that you’re feeling this pleasure.
Your arms loop around his neck, tugging his head back down. Your lips meet in another round of hungry kisses. The two of you are as close of you can get, sharing the same breath, with your foreheads pressed together. Your skin is slick with sweat– his or yours, you're not sure. Mingyu looks close, and to catch up, you bring your fingers to your clit.
"Good girl," he praises. "Make sure you come with me. Come on this cock, baby."
You can't even give him a proper reply. All you can do is nod as you watch him work you both to the edge.
Without warning, you feel yourself come first and your words come out slurred. "'Gyu, 'm cummin'."
Your words act as the catalyst and Mingyu squeezes his eyes shut. He buries his head into your neck, allowing only you to hear his deep moans.
The last of your orgasms drain from the two of you, and you laugh softly up at your lover. He grins down at you, leaning in to kiss you when the final jump-scare from the movie makes itself known.
A loud screech from the movie’s demon, combined with the sharp music has you both jumping in fright. Mingyu collapse onto you, hugging your body and burying his face into your neck. You instinctively stretch your arms around his shoulders as if that would protect him from any bad guys, and you shut your eyes from seeing any more of the film.
The music changes after a few seconds, making you peek an eye open. The credits are creeping up the screen, and you let out a loud sigh as you go limp.
Mingyu’s head perks up to look at you, and then the TV. “Hey! We did it.”
You laugh, remembering the stupid theory your boyfriend came up with. Your hand rises in a hi-five to which Mingyu slaps enthusiastically.
Mingyu takes in your dopey, fucked-out expression with a toothy grin of his own. You feel him press a smattering of kisses all over your face, and then the pressure of his body rolling away from you to retrieve the TV remote. Even if it's just to turn the TV off, you whine in protest at the idea of having to separate from him so soon. You rise and attach yourself to his back like a koala would a tree.
Mingyu stands, fixing his arms into the crooks of your knees to piggyback you. He walks to your bedroom with a pep in his step. He mumbles to himself, “I won’t be able to sleep all night after that movie.”
His innocuous tone makes you laugh. “Because you were definitely focused on the movie and nothing else.”
“Yeah, yeah. It had demons and stuff.”
“Oh yeah, I remember seeing that too,” you laugh. "Did you see the thing that happened to that person at that place?"
"Oh yeah, totally," Mingyu scoffs. "I know exactly what you're talking about. Wasn't scared of that at all."
He deposits you at the foot of your bed and starts to crawl up on top of you again, his body acting as a cage once more.
The predatorial gleam in his eyes elicits a shiver from you.
“You know, I normally find it hard to fall asleep after watching scary movies too,” you say as Mingyu leans down to kiss your jaw.
Mingyu hums in interest. “Glad to hear it isn’t just me. But I know a couple things we could do to help us sleep.”
You burst out laughing at the cheesiness of it all. Mingyu looks up at you, giving you another of his precious toothy grins. You smile, combing your fingers through his hair and tugging gently. “Alright, alright, let’s get into round two already.”
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alnilaem · 1 year ago
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a more fleshed-out version from the third prompt of this post of mine.
cw for emotional manipulation, breaking in, stalking, smut, babytrapping, and dubcon to be safe
simon riley/reader
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Something is wrong. 
Your suitcase is halfway past the threshold of your front door, halfway past your new grave, when you notice the hum of salt and tobacco in the air. Discomfort licks your insides and binds to your skin so heavily that you begin to sweat. A tinny sound peals out as you rearrange your keys between your knuckles, clenching it, and step inside your flat. 
Your heels are at the foot of your shoe rack. Your coat isn’t where it’s supposed to be, crimped in a pool on the floor. Your framed photographs are all inched to the left—you know this because you committed their placement to your memory—because you feared this would happen.
Something is seriously, gravely wrong. 
You feel like you’re lost at sea. Dull-headed and impaired under the alluring melody of a blood-thirsty siren. Walking towards their call, your legs moving before your mind can, spit in the presentiment of fear the same way insects get caught in spiderwebs. Stuck, and about to be eaten.  
You trek further into your flat, following the telltale signs that someone has been here—is here. A general shift in air. The stench of stale herbs and metal. A trail of silt on your hardwood floors, that of which could only be caused by certain mud-clogged boots tracking into your flat.
Here, you pause. On the threshold of your kitchen. Your stomach turns inside out and if it weren’t for your ribs, your heart would have burst out of your chest. 
It’s like you’re walking on glass. Every thin sliver that pokes your skin, invading you, is a splinter of fear. And it also makes it so that you can’t walk away—you’re frozen in place, watching him above your stove, setting a kettle to boil. 
He hears your squeak. Simon turns around, cotton-plated in his civvies, and hums. 
“Welcome home, Love.” 
The moisture leaves your mouth and rushes to your eyes. A film of dew materialises on top of your waterline. It’s thick and pearlescent and clouds your vision, turns Simon into an incorporeal blob in your vision, turning him into a trick of your eyes that you hope will go away after you blink.
He doesn’t.
Instead, Simon rests himself against your kitchen counter. He crosses his tattooed arms over his chest, tilting his head, and bends his lips into an unseemly smile.
“How was your friend’s place?”
“What the fuck is wrong with you, Simon?” You try getting your anger across, but your voice betrays your emotions. It’s heavily distorted by fear, waning, so much so that it makes him blandly chuckle. Like he can smell the terror roiling off of you. Like he feeds from it.
“How did you get in?”
Simon shrugs. “I’ve got a copy of the key.” 
“I changed the damn locks.”
“I got new ones,” he says.
“We broke up.”
“You broke up with me,” Simon snarls. “When I was at my fuckin’ lowest. You broke up with me and I didn’t agree to tha’ shit.”
“Simon–” a gust of disbelief cuts your sentence short. You grip your hair at its roots, tugging it, twisting it, coiling your face in frustration. “Simon, you need to leave.”
“You’re talkin’ like that ‘cause you’re mad at me. Give it a few minutes, and you won’t be.”
“Are you fucking insane!?” You yell. You draw towards him and slam the kettle off the stove. “You broke into my flat!”
“I had a key,” Simon says. He steps towards you, bullying you backwards until the hind of your spine catches on the cold granite of your countertop. Until your back bends over it, Simon, looming over you. “I’ve always told you to use the deadbolt.”
You bite your lip. The blood sticking to the roof of your mouth isn’t as bitter as Simon’s eyes. His are cold, depthless. 
“Fuck off.”
Then, Simon flips. His expression shifts in a whirlwind of seconds. Now, his brunette eyebrows are pursed and his lips are pointed down. His head is ensconced on your neck, his shoulder suddenly laden with an invisible weight as he kittens into you.
“Just came ‘cause I wanted to talk…” he mumbles. “One a’ my men died on me yesterday. Got early R&R for it. Thought you’d be happy to see me...”
You’re motionless as Simon clemently begins kissing your neck. You split your hands on his chest and try shoving him away, but he doesn’t move. He’s as solid as rock. Pushing himself into you, grovelling into your sleek skin. 
A phantom chain is tightening around your throat. You don’t know what to say. You don’t know what you can say. You feel that with any words that poise themselves on your tongue, Simon won’t take kindly to. 
“Simon… I’m sorry for you. I really am,” you slip out from under him and step back. “But this isn’t the way to go about it. We’re adults. And I’m asking you to leave.”
Simon raises his head, lukewarm. He stares at you through his half-lidded eyes, breathing heavily, clenching his fist around the lip of your countertop. Thickly, you swallow. You fidget with your cardigan and hope it will offset the discomfort hanging in the air. Simon takes a deep breath, sucking it all up—the discomfort, the presentiment—and you expect his huffing to precede an explosive reaction, but it doesn’t come. He just slips himself off the island and turns around, quiet when he speaks.
“Yeah,” he hums. “My old man didn’t want anythin’ to do with me, so why should you?” 
Your eyes widen. Though you’ve spent so much time trying to bury it, trying to familiarise yourself with Simon’s sick gambits, a pang of guilt hits you hard.
“Don’t say things like that,” you point an accusing finger to his chest, “it isn’t fair.” 
“No, no,” he grumbles. “Makes sense, does’n’it? My old man walked out on me, so I should handle you walking out on me, too.”
Simon shudders with a long breath. He slaps his face into his hands, and it’s at this point, does your knee-jerk impulse to comfort him take hold of you. The last of your even-tempered brain screams at you—he’s trying to ply you with a humanised side of him, but that side died a long time ago—but you press forward and awkwardly bring him into your arms, patting him on the back. 
“Simon, I’m… sorry, okay?” He buries his head in your neck, nips at your skin. “I’m sorry.”
“Can’t you jus’ yell at me tomorrow?” He asks. Simon slips his hands into the depression of your waist, pulling you against his chest. Against the ever-rising tent of his jeans. 
Your mind protests, but Simon keeps you close. He stinks of sweat, impairing you with it, spinning you around and pushing you against the counter. 
“Simon–”
“Shhh,” he hums, catching his fingers on the hem of your leggings. “Y’said we can talk later. ’m tired, Love. Just need you right now.” 
Any protests rot on your tongue because the wind is knocked out of you as you’re folded over the counter. Simon’s hands travel, gripping every part of you, rekindling old bruises left behind and making space for new ones. 
He ruts into you, cock fattening in his boxers and stressing against his jeans. He slides a hand over the divots of your spine and bends it around your neck, hoisting your head back, huffing into your ear. 
“You’ve no idea how much I missed y’Love,” Simon’s humping you now. Rutting himself against your ass with unrestrained vigour. He bites the husk of your ear, flattens you against the counter, and sinks a hand below your waistband. He spreads your pussy open like the shell of a fruit, pushing his thick fingers into its flesh, knuckle-deep and kneading you. 
“How’s here?” He grumbles. You whine, and he twists himself deeper. “What about there?” 
Your mind and body wrestle between pushing him away and yielding under his touch. Simon fucks his fingers a little deeper, a little meaner, into you, and chuckles when you squeal. 
He rests his chin on your shoulder, and you see a sliver of bared teeth as his lips hitch up into a gnarled smile. “Ah, so that’s the spot, innit?”
You’re dew-skinned and fuzzy when Simon throws you over his shoulder, carrying you to your bedroom. Your tongue is heavy and numb and bootless against any objections as he throws you on the mattress, standing balefully at the foot of the bed. 
If you were a child, you’d hide under your sheets until he disappeared. But you’re not a child, and Simon doesn’t disappear. He sinks his knees into your bed and swipes his shirt off over his head, unbuckling his belt in one slick motion. 
He unzips his jeans and doesn’t even pull his balls out, just cups the gauze of his boxers beneath it and leans onto his hands.
A pearlescent bead of precum slips down the slit of Simon’s dick and drools onto your comforter. He wraps his hand around it, slips his palm up and down, tugging down your pants.
Your legs kick into a paltry complaint, but Simon pins your legs down. 
“No reason in fighting,” he says, rubbing his cockhead against your clit, “You’re so wet, Love.”
Simon nudges your panties to the side and thumbs your clit. Leans in for a biting kiss and swallows your moans, slapping his fat cock against your puffy, wet cunt. 
“Missed me just as bad, eh?” He huffs, setting his dick against your winking hole, pushing past your first ring of muscle and rolling at the sticky sound of your cunt spreading open.
“Simon–” you hic, latching onto his forearms. Trying to offset his bruising grip on your hips as he falls into a steady, deep rhythm. “At least wear a condom.”
He’s so thick, so heavy between your legs. Hoisting you onto his thighs and leaning over you, snapping his cock into you. He screws his face tight, pellets of sweat running down his marred collarbone. Congealing into the spindly, blonde threads of hair on his chest. Down to the wire of steel wool that thickens on his pelvis, pinching your clit each time he slams into you.
“You’re stayin’ with me, Pup,” he pants, kissing a stripe up your neck, suckling on your pebbled nipple. “Gonna gimme a litter, ain’t you? Just like we talked about?”
A little, lone tear slips down your hot cheek. Simon leans in and licks it off. He stuffs himself to the hilt, shuddering with abrupt pleasure as he skips to his feet and folds you in half, pounding into you, biting down on your shoulder.
It hits you like whiplash when Simon pushes himself so deep that you feel him swelling under your skin. He gives you no warning before emptying his balls inside you, flooding you with a white-hot come, clutching your jaw into a wet, messy kiss.
You’re blinded and eclipsed by pain as your orgasm shoots through you. The pleasure is numbing and makes you quiver, tremble, until you’re gushing around Simon’s cock and swivelling your hips to get away.
You’re shaking when he pulls back, giving your pussy no time to soften. Simon gives it a swat and flays himself off of you, heading to the bathroom. You hear the cellophane of your birth control peeling open, and the successive thunk as Simon tosses it into the bin. 
You try getting up but Simon flattens you back as he crawls in bed next to you. There’s a hand of his on your waist, seemingly benign, but tightens itself each time you try slipping away. Your sniffles are piercing and Simon pulls you close. Brushes your tears away, kisses your eyelids. 
“You’re not gonna leave me now, eh? You can’t,” he whispers, “you’re all I’ve got. You and our baby. You can’t leave me now.”
A pitiful cry escapes you. Simon takes that as agreement.
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