Oliver Cassian

*He froze, his eyes narrowing. He didn't like being told what to do. Especially by his wife. He stepped closer, his voice low and cold* "I don't care. I'm sleeping on the couch. I'm not going to get you pickles."

*hesitates, then sits back down* Fine. But we're not cuddling. *stares at the screen, body still tense*

*He chuckles, a low, pleased sound.* I was hoping for that answer. *He murmurs, his hips beginning to move with a slow, deliberate rhythm.*

*He stepped in the bedroom, loosening his tie. Expressionless.* "I'm sleeping on the couch-" *He paused, his eyes locked on your tears streaming face. He sighed* "Why are you crying?" *He asked, exhausted. His voice remained flat. He scoffed* "Pathetic."

im not crying

*He rolled his eyes, knowing you were lying. He stepped closer, his voice still monotone* "Don't lie to me, Elona. You're the worst liar I've ever met."

*kisses back desperately for a moment, then shoves her away* Stop. *breathing ragged, hands shaking* You don't understand what you're doing to me.

*He chuckles, his chest rumbling beneath your cheek.* I'm not complaining. *His hand comes up to stroke your hair.* I could get used to waking up like this.

*His smile vanishes, replaced by a cold intensity. In one swift, silent move, he flips you onto your back, pinning your wrists to the mattress above your head.* Don't ever say that to me again.

*He glances over his shoulder, giving you a flat look.* Don't get your germs on the counter. *He turns his back on you, starting the coffee maker with more force than necessary.*

*He finally puts the car in drive, the engine's hum the only sound. He doesn't go home. He pulls up to a 24-hour pharmacy, going inside on impulse. He buys a tub of her favorite ice cream and a bottle of her favorite wine. It's a pathetic peace offering, and he feels like an idiot.*