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traumxrei-archive · 2 days

Text

【 take me home (don’t wanna be alone anymore) 】

summary: Yuu was standing and alive, a logical part of him said. Screw being fucking logical, Leona thought spitefully, they had almost died. (or, the leonayuu mafia au where yuu almost dies and leona isn’t equipped for how that makes him feel)

word count: 1.5k | warning: suggestive content

author’s note: leonayuu except they’re both bad with feelings + in the mafia, so the only way they know how to communicate is to hurt each other. hope you enjoy ^^

[ or read on ao3 ]

It was a greeting devoid of words. Leona's eyes met theirs and his hand slipped under their shirt in an attempt to deny it. To deny the fact that Yuu had gotten injured. Yet all that Leona could feel was the expanse of bandages covering their body.

His hand mapped the wrappings, from their ribs to waist to their lower back. They winced at his grip though they kept their mouth shut while the anger burned, scalded, and tore at him.

"Off," Leona demanded, and there was a short intake of breath before their shirt was being thrown onto their bed. It was worse now that he could actually see everything.

"What the fuck," He muttered as he traced over another bandage on their arm and shoulder that he had missed.

It was...maddening. Absolutely maddening how he saw red when it came to them; when it came to the bandages scattered across their skin. Yuu was standing and alive, a logical part of him said. Screw being fucking logical, Leona thought spitefully, they had almost died.

He was sure that they were dying to speak, their sweet words of reassurance ready at the back of their throat. But before the words could escape, Leona got there first. His hand wrapped around Yuu's neck, squeezing with promise as his other hand pushed them back toward the bed. They went easily, the movements practiced though they shouldn't be. Because it was the first time he had done this, the first time that they had—

Leona forced his gaze into theirs, finding a quiet trust there. He shouldn't have felt so reassured. Bad habits always die hard, he thought as his thumb pushed Yuu's chin to the side, exposing their mercifully unmarked— unhurt— neck. His teeth itched to sink into their skin, to force them to submit, and promise that they wouldn't do something so reckless, to never disappear from his—

Yuu's throat bobbed, and raw compulsion shot through Leona like a bullet.

He caved, his lips dragging against their neck. Leona had no mind to be gentle. Not when he was seeking reassurance in the most cowardly way possible. Their heartbeat thudding under his mouth, the feel of it spiking when his teeth bit a little too hard; a little too close to tearing skin. It was all proof that they were alive. Here. Right under him.

Cowardly, how cowardly. The crownless king who had so much but couldn't truly ever possess the one thing he wanted more than anything. Because the only way to possess a person was to cut off their wings, they were...they were Yuu.

Wonderfully vexing Yuu, whom Leona would follow to his foolish death.

"Ah–" It was the smallest sound, just a half formed thing that had barely escaped by chance, yet he greedily devoured the syllable from their lips, his fingers tangling in their hair. His other hand traced over the bandages again, the one that mapped the expanse of their side, to the one at their arm, and finally to their neck, where he knew bruises would soon bloom.

Leona pulled away, the kiss ending as abruptly as it started. The only trace that neither wanted it to end was the way their bodies were still pressed together; hovering too close to feign ignorance.

He wiped at his mouth, "Were you trying to die without my permission?" It wasn't the right thing to say. Leona knew it wasn't, but they had been playing this twisted game for so long. Ever since that day he met them in that decrepit alleyway, the day they promised to follow him with blood staining their smile. He did not know how to treat Yuu with softness, for everything they did made him burn.

"Leona," There was a half smile on those lips; this time devoid of blood. "It was an ambush. I only did what I did to keep everyone alive." Liar, Leona bit back his words. He heard that they had been targeting Yuu. And he knew it was all to get to him.

"If I didn't want you alive, I wouldn't have taken you as one of my people," Leona was surprised at how calmly his voice sounded as he spoke, even if his fingers were digging deeper into the mattress. "If I had tired of you, then maybe—"

"Leona," His brow twitched, and Yuu's hand finally brushed his hair. Did his expression betray him? "I'm sorry it escalated so far." His lips twisted into a scowl. Leona's mind couldn't help but conjure the memory yet again.

The sirens were blaring as he pulled up to the building. It was reported to be a fire, but he knew an ambush laid in wait. Leona rushed in, gun in hand as he fought his way into the office. There were too many scattered bodies for him to see straight beyond the smoke.

And Yuu was missing. The person that had tripped the fire alarm, recklessly locking themselves in the building with the attackers.

Leona broke down the door to his office. He found it ransacked, desk full of bullet holes. There was....blood everywhere. On his chair, his papers, the couches. It was like someone wanted to make sure that everything was as bloody as it could be.

The inside of the safe was the only hiding space left to check. A numbing fear hit Leona as he entered the code. You'd think that there was no way someone could survive after losing that much blood. But against all odds, Yuu had their gun trained on the door as he entered.

Yuu had seen him.

Their eyes flickered with recognition, as their lips mouthed what was he knew was his name. And it was like their will to hold on had vanished. Their eyes slipped shut, body growing limp and already cold before he could reach them—

A warm hand touched his cheek, and he looked at them again, "If I was ever gonna die, I'll die after you die." Something in Leona calmed considerably at the sentence. It was a platitude, plain and simple, but he couldn't shake the deep satisfied relief he felt to hear it, even if they were lying.

Leona's eyes dropped to the bandages, and again the scent of blood seemed to cloud his nose. A hand tugged at his collar and Leona was jerked closer.

Now they were frowning, "Stop it." Stop replaying it in your mind. They knew him too well for him to hide any longer.

And then they kissed him.

I'm alive, look at me, they commanded, kissing him with such bruising intensity it halted Leona's thoughts.

Stop looking at me like I'm gone, they seemed to demand, their teeth biting at his bottom lip with purpose.

They hammered the words into him, and Leona felt almost breathless at the feeling. It consumed him, until all his anger faded and all he could think about was them, their presence in front of him commanding the same gravity that the sun wielded. And Leona was nothing but a slave to their orbit, as they were to his.

There was a tremble in their hand as they held his face, a gentleness unbefitting of the aggressiveness they displayed. If he was a coward, then it seemed that they were two of a kind. Leona knew it then, as his hand brushed away a stray tear from their cheek. (Did there exist a person who was immune to the fear of death? Leona sure had never met one.)

They parted, languidly this time, and Leona lowered his head. Their hand brushed over his hair before they spoke, "My wound hurts." Leona instantly shifted his weight, lying by their side instead. "It's not your fault, dummy lion." He grunted, keeping his eyes closed as they nestled closer. They held firm onto his hands, as if they knew that they itched to run over the bandages again.

"Welcome back, Leona," Yuu murmured, the nostalgic greeting burrowing deep into his heart, finding softness where he didn't know it was capable of festering. It was late, late by the weeks it had taken for Yuu to recover and wake up, and the weeks still it took for him to track down the people who had dared to order such an operation against his right hand.

"I'm back," Leona answered, and it felt right. It was a promise, between two people whose lies would probably bite them back someday. It was was an open secret that Leona would give his life if it meant that Yuu was safe. And he was sure that Yuu would do the same, no matter how much he insisted that they shouldn’t.

But that was who they were.

Two cowards, who couldn't allow themselves the weakness of love. Two liars, guns pointed at the most vulnerable parts of each other. But for now, they were just Leona and Yuu. And they were finally home.

supplementary brainrot bc this au has been plaguing me for days:

leona’s the boss and yuu’s the right hand (and ruggie’s the left hand >:D)

the gang started off as leona, yuu, ruggie, and jack, and grew into an actual criminal organization as they grew together

in this au, leona’s family aren’t in the picture bc leona ran away from home as a teen

the reason why leona’s so protective over yuu is because they grew up together

(they met as teenagers, and after fighting n saving each other a few times, yuu does the completely normal thing of offering leona their undying loyalty, and leona responds by doing completely normal thing of telling them that they’re now 'his person’.)

+ obviously he’s madly in love with them, he just has the emotional intelligence of a grapefruit (and so does yuu. rip relationship.)

they’re both bad at admitting their feelings; leona was worried and it translated as anger, and yuu was afraid of dying, but it translated as nonchalance,,,,,they’re just little freaks (lovingly)

also songs i listened to while writing: take me home by ateez; new cydonia by starcadian; easy love by sf9; gunners in the rain by mili

thank you for reading ! if you enjoyed, check out other fics on my masterlist or ao3 <3

#/trau writes #leonayuu *ascends into the astral realm*#title from ‘take me home’ by ateez #leona kingscholar #twisted wonderland #twst #leona kingscholar x reader #leona kingscholar x mc #twst x reader #twisted wonderland x reader

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targaryen-dynasty · 15 hours

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THE CURSE OF CURIOSITY.

Aemond Targaryen x twin sister!reader

"While your brother searches the library of the Dragonkeeper Elder for something new to read, you come in contact with some unlabeled fluid. You both learn that it's something meant to aid in the breeding of dragons, however, it also has a unique effect on humans. But lucky for you, your twin is there to help you through the ordeal."

WARNINGS: SEXUAL CONTENT—MINORS DNI; canon typical incest/targcest, dub con, sex pollen (rather fluid lol), p in v, breeding kink

WORDS: 4 K

NOTES: Hope you enjoy me having literally zero grasp on English. 🤭

❗️𝐚𝐝𝐝 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫𝐬𝐞𝐥𝐟 𝐭𝐨 𝐦𝐲 𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭!

“It’s far too late for us to be here,” you huff, almost annoyed, as you watch Aemond graze his fingers along the spines of the several books kept in the currently deserted chambers of the Dragonkeeper Elder. “What are we looking for here anyways?”

The room is barely lit by anything else than just a handful of candles. Your twin holds a lantern of some sort in one hand, using it to make out the writings that are carved on the books backs.

When there doesn’t immediately come an answer from him, you start to slowly walk around the room, inspecting its decor. “I have exhausted the castle’s libraries, and hope to take something of their collection for my own,” he murmurs, carefully selecting two books.

You stop in your tracks and turn to look at him. Although you’re just a few moments younger than him, sharing the same attributes with your long, silver hair and lilac eyes, you have a much gentler nature than he does, one that doesn’t lend itself to the same mischief you had pursued together as children anymore.

“And you couldn’t have just taken Floris with you? You ought to wed, and doing something together would do no harm to your future union. One sparsely sees you two around court,” you note, slightly annoyed your brother chose to wake you instead of his betrothed.

Knowing all too well that just the mention of the betrothal is going to set him off, you choose to play with fire. If your brother wants your company, he’ll have to put up with your teasing. And just like expected, the notion of being forced into a marriage he doesn’t want to be in irritates him, audible in the sigh he releases. His resentment of the situation has become worse over time as he feels more and more suffocated by the ordeal.

“The girl is as dull as stones. Besides,” he replies with a shrug, “she knows nothing about our family’s history, much less about dragons.” The topic of dragons is something your twin is very passionate about, and you know that the fact that his wife-to-be cares so little about his passion infuriates him. It might be one of the main reasons for his dislike of her. “I have no desire to have Floris at my side any more than she does me.”

His annoyance is palpable, but you don’t feel bad about making it worse. For all the hours he has spent teasing, taunting and annoying you while you grew up together, he gets it back twice and three times over. And although he hasn’t spoken it out loud, you know you’re one of the few people he trusts blindly to be himself around.

“That aside, it would be foolish to read with Floris,” he continues, your silence coaxing him to speak more, “as all she does is gossip with her friends and prattle on about pointless nonsense. You of all people know best how I feel about this match.”

“Floris isn’t so bad, you know,” you defend with a low voice. “And you’ve barely tried to get to know her. Surely you can find at least one thing to like about her. If you did, you might just see she’s not as terrible as you’ve decided.” If you both have to spend your days withering away in marriages sealed by your father and mother, you at least could find a little solace knowing your twin wasn’t as miserable in his.

Aemond sighs in frustration. “You sound just like mother,” he comments dryly, finally moving to look at you from over his shoulder. “Can you really say that you like her? She is dull and naive. I am certain I couldn’t find anything to like about her even if I had all night. There is nothing for me to like about her. Nothing at all.”

Finding yourself at somewhat of a loss of words at this, you open and close your mouth without any words leaving it. Part of you wants to disagree with your twin, as Floris hasn’t been entirely unpleasant to spend time with at court, which makes Aemond’s dislike for her appear entirely without reason to you. On the other hand, you’ve known your brother long and well enough to know when he is resolute about something.

“Just promise me that you won’t be a terrible husband to her. Even if you don’t like her, don’t make your lifes awful,” you finally blurt out.

As you allow your gaze to trail through the chambers once more, you spot some small vessels standing lined up on the desk in the far corner with books and scrolls littered around them. You don’t wait for Aemond to reply as you make your way over, determined to inspect the small containers. The liquid inside of them resembles milk of the poppy, although it’s slightly more permeable to light when you hold it to one of the candles.

You hardly think about the dangers coming with it when you open the lid to inhale a whiff of the fluid. Not smelling entirely unpleasant, it still has you scrunching your nose as a slight burning grows prominent in your nose and throat.

Placing the vessel back down rather quickly, it stands too close to the edge of the desk. You’re not quick enough as it falls to the ground with a clatter, the vessel shattering into pieces and the pale liquid spreading across the floor.

“By the Seven,” you mumble, sinking to the ground to collect some of the larger shards.

The sound of breaking glass and your sighing is enough to catch your brother's attention again. Where he has read the spines of the books before, he makes his way over to the source of the commodation now. “You shouldn’t have dropped that,” he comments dryly, which prompts you to shoot him a heated glare. “Oh, you don’t say, mh?” you reply, your voice laced with sarcasm.

Reaching for another shard, you pull your hand back with a hiss when it cuts your finger. “Ouch!” you exclaim and rise to your feet, soon enough spotting the crimson oozing out of the cut.

Despite his annoyance at your clumsiness, Aemond’s good eye is drawn to the cut you have given yourself. It’s no deep wound, but even the hint of your blood makes something akin to guilt bubble in his stomach. “What were you doing with that?” he inquires, as he takes your hand to inspect your finger, nodding towards the vessels still standing on the desk.

You watch him twist and turn your hand to have the perfect look of the wound, the stinging pain suddenly not too bad with his warm skin on yours. “I… I just wanted to see what they keep here. It is unusual for anyone other than the maesters to store unmarked liquids,” you reply, hissing as Aemond pinches the cut finger a tad too tightly. “I shall see Maester Mellos. Mayhaps this needs stitching.”

“That’s an excellent idea.”

Aemond fetches the books he has chosen from the collection, holding them under his arm as he brings the other to you to place a hand to the small of your back, guiding you out of the Dragonpit.

On your request, the cut on your finger is stitched by Maester Mellos, although he has voiced that it wasn’t quite necessary. But something tells you the opposite, especially when you catch him staring at your face and checking your temperature more than once. “Is everything alright, maester?” you ask him with a soft voice, a yawn following.

Aemond towers over the both of you, carefully watching each move of the needle in the elder’s hands, just waiting for him to make a wrong move that’s meant to hurt you – he’s familiar with being stitched up after all.

The maester seems to be out of his mind, and only reacts as he hears you say his name. “Maester Mellos?”

His eyes are wide, but he nods quickly. “Yes… yes, princess. The wound should be able to heal calmly now.”

He is quick to pack his utensils up again, and even faster to leave your chambers at once. And while Aemond hurries after the old man, trying to catch up on him outside of your chambers, you don’t wait for any of them to return again with sleep coming over you.

The crackling of the fireplace is the only thing audible when you stir awake, a sheen of sweat covering your skin, making your nightgown cling to it uncomfortably. Your body feels as though it’s on fire when you squirm from one side to the other, not finding back to sleep. A tingling spreads in your loins, and each time your thighs squeeze together, it surges up your spine.

“Gods be good,” you whine, utterly bewildered with the feeling of liquid fire coursing through your veins.

Aemond not so silently rises from one of the chairs close to the fireplace, and comes closer to the bed, though, careful not to startle or frighten you as you regain your bearings. He has hoped you’d sleep through the entire ordeal and wake up as if nothing has happened, but that hope slowly dissipates with each passing moment.

“How are you feeling?” your twin asks, concern in his voice. Suddenly, hearing his voice allures you, and doesn’t diminish the burning at the apex of your legs.

As you clench your thighs together again, it releases some of the tension your body holds, and makes you whine in despair. “Aemond…” you pant, your chest rising and falling with your heavy breaths. “What are you doing here?”

The thin sheets covering your body do little to conceal what is happening beneath, and your brother just assumes it’s your way of trying to suppress your bodily urges ignited by the pale liquid you came in contact with before.

“I…” his usual confidence and boldness completely deserts him at the state you’re in, and he can barely find the words to tell you what he’s been told by Maester Mellos.

As he watches you writhe and writhe about on the bed, he’s unsure of how much longer he can just stand there and do nothing. But his concern and love for you cause him to make the decision to act, approaching you and reaching out to grasp your hands.

At the contact, the feeling of his warm hands fully engulfing yours, it’s like something overcomes your mind and body, luring you in to move, staring up at him with wide eyes as you sit on your haunches. “Dohaeragon nyke… kostilus,” you whimper, strands of your silver hair clinging to the damp sides of your face. “Ziry ōdrikagon.. sīr bāne. Nyke sepār – dohaeragon nyke, lēkia.” Yet you don’t quite know what exactly you’re begging for. Help me… please. It hurts… so hot. I just – help me, brother.

In the dim light of the candles, you spot his eye widening as you shift and squirm, looking up at him in such a vulnerable state with your innocent eyes, pleading for him to help you through your ordeal although you have no idea of what’s wrong with you right now. He can’t help but notice how your hair clings to your skin, seeming as if you’ve just bathed, and that your movements seem to contribute to its dampness.

“Mellos has told me what the fluid is that the Elder keeps in his chambers,” he states, trying to stay calm and not let your state affect him too much.

But with his proximity, all effort of you to process what he’s saying is fruitless. You pull on his hands, as if you want to encourage him to join you in bed, and when he doesn’t budge, you rise on your knees, and start to fidget with the buttons of his coat – solely driven by your urges. “And that is?” you mumble, not really listening.

His cheeks run hot when you start to undo the buttons, and his hands capture yours once again to put a stop to it, making you pout. With furrowed brows, his grip finally has you looking up at him. “It’s something used to aid in breeding the dragons,” Aemond states. “He told me it’s also used to increase their stamina and to make them more…” he trails off, his body slowly growing tense as the implication of what he’s going to say settles into his mind. “... receptive to breeding.”

“Mh–Mh,” you hum almost nonchalantly, and watch completely mesmerized as your fingers graze along his, the warmth and softness of his skin only intensifying the tingling in your loins. Aemond is hesitant, unsure whether or not what you’re doing is entirely due to the potion’s effect, or if there is genuinely some desire for him on your part.

You lick your lips and free your hands from Aemond’s to shrug the opened coat off his shoulders. The fabric of his tunic is pinched between your fingers as you tug on it once again to beg for him to join you. With him taking his sweet time, you find yourself clenching your thighs every now and then to soothe the aching burning at the apex of them.

“He also informed me that ‘tis necessary for someone to… help you through it,” he murmurs quietly, his voice almost sounding shaky as he speaks, “... for it will burn you from the inside out if not.”

Even though you’re fully acting on your body's desires, you do notice the way his widened eye trails down to your thighs, lingering there for a moment before it returns to yours.

You don’t give a verbal response to his words, and instead, your only reactions are subtle ones. Nodding your head slowly, as if you’ve understood what he is implying, your hands squeeze his tunic further into his chest. He can practically see your body tensing with each movement of your fingers, almost as if you’re trying to hold back.

With your eyes firmly locked with his now, you slowly trail your hands beneath his tunic, pushing it up to remove that as well from his body to get further access to him – if it wasn’t for him not raising his arms.

Exhaling a deep breath, you sit back on your haunches. His reluctance does little to quell the fire raging within you, no, it only fuels to make you even more desperate. The lacey hem of your nightgown rides up your thighs as you spread them, and fully exposes your undergarments the moment you bring your hand between your legs. A breathy whimper falls past your lips as your fingers finally make contact with your clothed cunt, and then something akin to mischief flickers in your lilac eyes.

“And… will you help me, brother? Or shall I ask Jacaerys for help instead? We ought to wed in a moon's turn after all,” your voice is honeyed as you speak, dripping with feigned innocence. “But you don’t want that, do you? That’s why you’ve stayed.”

You spot the exact moment his breath hitches in his throat. He suddenly feels a wave of heat overcoming him, your words triggering something in him that is more than just the usual desire to protect his younger sister, something primal. You sound and look so vulnerable asking for his help, secretly begging for him and him only.

Intertwining your fingers with his, the intensity of your grip increasing as your senses become more heightened, your twin finally moves as you pull him onto the bed. The mattress dips beneath his weight as you watch him come closer, and when he is close enough, you reach and pull him down onto you in a quick motion. You don’t waste a second more and lock your lips with his, your hand slowly traveling down his back. But before you can grab his tunic and pull it over his head, Aemond pushes you back to lie flatly on the bed, pinning your wrists above your head. His eye burns with hunger as he gazes down at you, visible even in the dim light, and it makes you yearn for more.

“Well, if I chose to leave you here to your own devices, would you crawl to your betrothed for help? I do not think so,” he says, his voice taking over a mocking tone. “No, in fact, I’m certain you would come to my chambers instead.”

When he doesn’t touch you, you try to wrap your legs around his body to grind yourself against him, but Aemond is quick to catch your hip with one hand, keeping your body still as it's pinned to the mattress.

“Sir, dohaeragon nyke,” you beg, voice shaky enough it comes close to a whimper. But when you notice that speaking in the tongue of your ancestors is not having any effect on him at all, you choose to coax him to tend to you in the Common Tongue. “Touch me, Aemond. Help me… please.” Now, help me.

Aemond is silent for a moment, visibly dragging his eye over your squirming frame. One hand still holds your wrists above your head, while the other slowly but surely releases your hip. “I shall take care of you,” he reassures you. “But you will have to let me, do you understand?”

You gaze up at him with wide eyes and slowly nod your head, only for you to pounce on him the moment your wrists are released. The tunic is gone as soon as your body collides with his, causing a strained gasp to leave your twin’s lips. While just the thoughts of his warm skin on yours have incite your mind already, seeing his bare chest sets your body alight.

His demeanor changes in the blink of an eye, and he has never treated you as roughly as he does when he pushes you off of him. It leaves you dumbfounded for a moment, more so when he moves between your parted legs, towering over you.

“Look how dull this fluid has made you,” he mocks, the condescending tone of his voice sending a shiver up your spine. Aemond notices that you’re not shying away from him, no, you keen at that. “Just because you couldn’t keep your hands to yourself.”

“If I help you,” he warns, “no one else, let alone that bastard of a nephew, is ever allowed to touch you again, do you understand?”

It might be the liquid-induced state, or the despair to have him do anything to you already, but you’re far too eager to nod at his words.

Aemond’s hand wanders below the hem of your nightgown to heartily fist your undergarments and peel them off of you. He can already feel that the linen is soaked with your arousal, but still can’t stop himself from licking his lips as he sees your now exposed cunt glistening in the light of the candles.

“Now, we do not want you to suffer any longer, hm?” he asks.

And you nod once again. “Gods, yes, please. I need you, Aemond.”

You don’t have to beg him any longer. He undoes the laces in the front of his breeches and pulls out his throbbing cock, painfully hard and aching to be buried inside of you. It’s slightly curved and thick, and if you have to guess, you’d say that you need both hands to pleasure him, and even then there’d still be a bit of him that would be left abandoned.

Aemond wastes no time in lining himself up with your entrance, pushing into you as you both moan in unison. You don’t expect him to set up a merciless pace almost immediately upon fully bottoming out, but you’re not disappointed either.

While you’ve been able to talk before, he’s quickly reduced you to a whimpering and whining mess, relishing in the delicious burning of accommodating his sheer size.

“Does it help?” your twin asks through gritted teeth, desperately trying to keep his sounds of pleasure at bay. But you’ve been fucked into a stupor by him already, not even able to keep your eyes open. “Mh-mh,” you hum.

Putting some of his weight onto you, Aemond’s hand finds your throat like the most treasured necklace you only take off to sleep, taking up the entirety of your neck and leaving no room for you to shift even the slightest.

It was subtle at first, but the merciless pace slowly changes into something more determined, his hips rolling with each thrust as if he wants to make sure the tip of his cock really brushes your sweet spot every time. He’s seemingly spurred on by the way you’ve lost all inhibitions, not that the fluid allowed you to have any in the first place, and the wanton moans that spill past your lips.

One of your hands grabs his wrist, keeping his hand around your throat, while the other finds solace on his shoulder, gripping it tightly. Your nails dig into his alabaster skin, and you’re sure that crescent shaped marks will bloom there not long after, staking your claim on him.

“But you need more,” Aemond grunts, and you can’t do more than whimper a pathetic string of yesses. “The only thing that will truly help you is for me to fill you up with my seed, to breed you.”

Your head tips back in plain bliss, and you’re not sparing one thought to the possible repercussions of him putting a child in you. If anything, there is something buried deeply inside of you that has waited for this moment. You have waited for this moment. You grew up thinking you’d marry your twin one day, only for the rising tensions inside of the family to force you to marry your nephew instead as the final straw to mend the chasm.

Aemond’s stamina doesn’t seem to be able to handle the way your body reacts to him and his words – not when a renewed wave of your arousal drips from your cunt at the mere thought of you carrying his child. It’s running thin, ready to burst at any given moment, hence he brings a deft finger to your pearl, rubbing it with frantic movements that should bring you to peak just in time with him.

The pressure brought to your pearl has your body squirming, not anticipating it and the shiver of pleasure that comes with it. You arch your back and moan, yet a tight squeeze of your throat is enough to bring your attention back to him.

“Do you want that?” he pants, dark blown eyes fixed with yours. “Want me to put a babe in you?” It might be his way to ask for your reassurance, and while your body’s reaction should be enough with your walls clenching around him so tightly, he stills wants to hear your voice.

Your cheeks grow hot as his words finally seem to settle in your hazed mind, a whiny ‘yes’ slipping past your lips. “Fill me up, Aemond… please. I want it,” you all but beg, your voice croaked with him squeezing your throat.

The confession flips a switch inside of you that allows you to let go, your body shattering beneath Aemond with a pathetic whine. He relishes in the way your walls flutter and spasm all over him, utterly mesmerized as relief etches itself into your features.

With a groan, the first wanton sound of pleasure you’ve heard of him, Aemond spends himself inside of you. He connects your lips in a heated kiss that has you swallowing down each grunt and groan he unleashes. Working you both through the blissful highs, his hips only stop once he’s sure he’s fucked his seed as deep as possible, determined to put a child in you.

Aemond topples over into the vacant space next to you, his breeches soaked with your arousal and his chest heaving with his breaths.

The sudden loss of friction makes you whine at first, but is quickly overshadowed by the feeling of relief. “Thank you,” you whisper through heavy breaths, turning your head to look at him.

“I won’t leave now,” he says softly, although there is a linger of mischief in his voice. “I would be remiss not to aid my sister in her hour of utmost desperation… so, I shall stay the night just to make sure you really get through it.”

Aemond Taglist: @persephonerinyes @dr-aegon @schniiipsel @thekinslayed @baizzhu @legitalicat

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sixosix · 18 hours

Note

m m m m maybe blanket plus yuuta plus hurt/comfort maybe. maybe 🤞

in which rika likes you because yuuta definitely, definitely does.

warnings wc 800, mention of injuries and descriptions of blood !! careful when u read <3 also i took hurt comfort literally BWHAHSAH hope i did your expectations justice nyx ily

5K EVENT SPECIAL | EVENT MASTERLIST

“Yuuta. Yuuuuta.”

Rika’s voice echoed in the quiet hall. Yuuta winced, wishing Rika would keep it down; it was 2 AM, and no one would appreciate being woken up around this hour. But he knew that if he said so, Rika would be sad, and he didn’t want to hurt Rika and cause a worse scene.

“I’m fine, Rika-chan, really,” Yuuta murmured.

Rika growled unhappily. Yuuta, too, knew that he was lying. Although his wounds weren't life-threatening, he still needed to get them treated before they got infected. But Yuuta had just come back to this room—he was so, so tired. Sleeping in wouldn’t hurt anyone but him, right?

“Yuuta!” Rika snapped. It reverberated and shook the walls.

“Shh, Rika-chan,” Yuuta whispered hastily. “Please, our friends are sleeping.”

“Yuuta?”

Both Yuuta and Rika fell silent, alarmed. That voice certainly wasn’t Rika’s, and it most definitely came from the door.

“Yuuta?” you asked again, followed by a knock. “Are you okay in there?”

“I—I’m—I’m fine!” Yuuta yelped.

“Didn’t you just come back from a mission? Why are you here instead at Ieiri-sensei’s?” Your voice was muffled by the barrier that separated you both, but it was still enough of your voice to have Yuuta’s ears reddening.

“I was! I’m resting now!” Yuuta lied straight through his teeth, embarrassed beyond belief. In truth, he didn’t want to disturb her.

“Yuuta’s a liar!” Rika chose not to stay silent at the worst time. “Liar!”

The door swung open. Yuuta didn’t have enough time to hide a steadily growing red shirt or his pretty much the same face. The air thickened as you drew closer, and Yuuta struggled to tell if it was because of Rika or his reaction to you.

“Okkotsu Yuuta,” you said, deceptively calm. Yuuta felt the hair on the back of his arms rise in alarm. “Yuuta, don’t tell me that the stain on your shirt isn’t from ketchup.”

It was his blood, so Yuuta obediently stayed silent.

You sighed and spun around to leave the room. Yuuta’s chest ached as he watched you leave. His lip trembled, and he looked over to Rika, who seemed to be giving him that same stare of disappointment.

Yuuta shrunk in on himself. “I think I made Y/N mad…”

“Stupid Yuuta,” Rika trilled. “Yuuta is an idiot!”

“I know, I know,” Yuuta cried. “I get it now.”

As he was preparing to wallow, Footsteps emerged once again. You burst into the room with a first aid kit and a stern glare that made the protests die on Yuuta’s tongue. Strangely, Rika was silent.

“Let me see,” you demanded.

Yuuta’s face flamed with embarrassment, but he obliged and tugged on his shirt. Most of the injuries were cuts on his torso that would surely hurt once he showered, but again, it wasn’t anything worth all of this. He braced himself for the stinging pain once the cotton grazed his open wound, but instead, he found himself too flustered by your proximity to even notice you were already working on his wounds.

The room was dead silent, save for Yuuta’s labored breathing. Rika had disappeared; Yuuta chalked it up to him not being in danger anymore.

“Yuuta, if this happens again, come to my room, okay?” you said softly.

“I can’t—”

“Yes, you can. I’m asking you to.”

Yuuta deflated. “I can’t just disturb you.”

“I want you to disturb me.”

What a dangerous thing to say. Yuuta’s gaze went sharper. “You don’t mean that.”

“I do.” Your touch was too gentle. You faced Yuuta’s gaze head-on, fearless. “And you would do the same for me. Aren’t you the one being unfair?”

Yuuta sighed. He could never win when it came to you, anyway.

“Thought so,” you mused, carefully pulling his shirt down again. “You should learn how to ask, Yuuta.”

“I’m trying,” he muttered.

You tugged on the blanket folded neatly by his side and draped it over his shoulders. The heat of your touch remained in the blanket's warmth. When you stepped back to grin proudly at your work on a flustered and helplessly endeared Yuuta, you then frowned.

“Hey, where’d Rika go? I thought she wanted to share the blanket.”

“I think she wanted you to share it with me,” Yuuta said before he could think about it.

“Oh.” You blinked. “Is that so? Well, I guess that’s not a bad idea.”

Liar, he could hear Rika’s voice. Well, he never denied it.

Yuuta laid down carefully and lifted an arm from under the blanket. You crawled inside and settled beside him, launching into a ramble about how you were worried sick when Yuuta didn’t return early. He still struggled to ask for what he wanted, so he would settle for this.

#606: 5K EVENT #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen fluff #jjk fluff #jjk imagines #yuta x reader #okkotsu yuta x reader #okkotsu yuta x you #okkotsu yuuta x reader #okkotsu yuuta x you #yuuta x reader #yuuta x you #yuuta okkotsu x reader

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coco-loco-nut · 7 hours

Text

In My Mind

pairing: Carlos Sainz x Reader

summary: david beckham’s daughter meets her soulmate

a/n: this is so long, i should’ve split it into two, lmk if you want a part two not edited

requests open (literally nothing in my drafts) masterlist

———————

You knew of Carlos Sainz just as he knew of you. You were the triple threat daughter of the Beckhams, basically British royalty, you can sing, play football, and model. You weren’t quite sure how you ended up on a pitch in Monoco playing against F1 drivers, but when your father called, you showed up to fill a vacancy.

“I’m rusty Dad, heels aren’t the same as boots,” you wear a pair from one of your dad’s old Adidas lines. Modeling isn’t quite the same as playing football, but it is for charity.

“You’ll be fine, it’s the same as playing with me and your uncles growing up,” he reassures you. You are just happy that there are enough celebrities here that the focus isn’t on you two. You look like a female version of him when he was 23, you just lack the amount of talent he has. You are good, but not superstar good.

“Sir, it is an honor to play against you, I remember watching you play for Real Madrid growing up,” a Spanish man approaches the two of you. His voice is familiar to the one in your mind, but you brush it off.

“Thank you, Carlos Sainz, right?” your dad asks. “This is my daughter, Y/n Beckham,” he introduces you and walks away to talk with the teams honorary coach, winking at you.

“Hi, nice to meet you,” you shake his hand. You keep up with the sport and you know there is a six year age gap between the two of you, but you can’t help but to admire the handsome Spaniard. A small part of you hopes it’s your soulmate, so you open up the usually closed channel in your mind.

Hey, any chance that you are 29?

I am, cariño, why do you ask? I’m surprised you are talking right now.

I’m just curious

As the two of you unknowingly chat in your mind, you don’t realize that you both aren’t talking to each other aloud.

“I should go, it was nice meeting you,” you smile and wave goodbye. Carlos is utterly smitten, a small part of him hopes that it’s you who occasionally talks in his mind, your voice sounds similar. The game starts at you show that you are a mini-me of your dad, getting physical on the pitch.

Ah! Fucker, fucking hell, that peice of shit, what a wanker.

Language, Amor! Are you ok?

I just got stabbed in the foot

High heels again?

Football boot. This is why I don’t play anymore

You huff as your soulmates laughter fills your brain. You get a break off of a pass from your dad, you line up and take the shot, watching it soar into the net. You jump up and celebrate, your Dad picking you up in the air.

It’s a coincidence, I am playing Football

Anything interesting happening?

I just watched David Beckham’s daughter score a beautiful goal

What?

You whip around and lock eyes with Carlos, both of you realizing at the same moment.

Nice goal, cariño. You should teach my teammate how to play

It’s all in the Beckham genes, Mr Sainz. Let’s talk more after the game, I’m going to enjoy wiping the pitch with your team.

Carlos’ heart can’t help but soar at the playful grin you shoot him as he stands in front of you, waiting for the ball to be kicked in order for play to be resumed after your goal. He does whatever he can to be close to you, brush against you, even if it means contesting you for the ball.

“If you get me with your boot, I will cut you off,” you hiss at him, shoving him away from you, ignoring the comforting warmth and sparks.

“Don’t say that, mi amor. I love your competitive spirit,” he smiles as he tries to get a foot on the ball. He words work to distract you for a quick second as Charles Leclerc steals the ball from you. Your dad and you are hot on his tail.

“It has been the Beckham show out here, and I don’t expect anything less. A beautiful goal already from Y/n, the second oldest of David and Victoria’s children. That was quite unexpected, seeing as how she chose to pursue modeling over football,” one commentator says.

“Yes, well David brought her in to fill the last minute opening, I believe he said that she was always playing with him growing up and it does show. It seems like the Formula One team has noticed that skill and put Carlos Sainz on her. Poor guy is too afraid to be aggressive,” the other commentator replies.

“Careful with the shoving, you’ll earn a yellow,” David warns his daughter, knowing she is hard to bring back down once she is in the game, something she got from him. At half, you happily talk strategy and game with your dad, a part of you wondering why you ever quit.

“I found my soulmate,” you disclose to him while no one else is paying attention. No one is a bigger fan of soulmates than David Beckham, so to say he was excited would be an understatement.

“Who is it?” he asks excitedly but also ready to beat someone up.

“Carlos,” you subtly glance at the driver, his eyes trained on you.

“I’m happy for you, but he better watch out on the pitch,” David says, and he does play a little rougher around Carlos, seeing how he reacts. By the end of the match, your dad and you shut out the drivers 5-0, the two of you accounting for 4 of those goals.

Your dinner with Carlos is lovely, spending a quiet evening getting better acquainted. Afterwards, you met his friends in the hotel bar for a few drinks. George Russel became a quick friend, you knowing him from his fashion, and many of the guys knowing you because of your dad.

“Come visit me in England after this, before the next race,” you kiss him in the car. You already had your flight booked to return home the day after the match, not expecting to want to stay longer.

“I will miss you, Mi Amor, keep your mind open,” he hugs you tight. You step out of the car and onto your families private jet. As you fly, you get text messages from a group chat you were added to, Lando and Charles sending you different photos of Carlos, some silly and some thirst traps.

By the time you land and get to your family home you are exhausted. You are tired enough to collapse on the couch.

“You smoked dad out there,” Romeo high fives you.

“I’m also 50,” your dad huffs, sitting down.

“We could beat you five on one,” Brooklyn says, back home for the month.

“Oh yeah? Let’s go to the pitch, right now,” your dad stands up, “I get Harper and your mom to help even it out a little,” he claimed the youngest of you all.

“Come on, Y/n!” Cruz pulls you up as you groan.

“No, I’m too sore,”

“From the match or from Carlos?” your dad teases as your face flushes. Your brothers stop and turn to you.

“Carlos?” Romeo looks ready to fight.

“My soulmate,” you say sheepishly.

“That’s great! When can we meet him?” Your mom asks and you give her a one moment look. They talk amongst themselves as you converse in your mind.

Carlos? Have you given any thought to coming here after the race

I have, I’ll leave for you right after my post-race media duties. Is it weird that I miss you already?

No, I miss you too. Your friends sending all these pictures of you doesn’t help.

What are you doing right now?

My brothers challenged my dad to a match in the backyard pitch, my brothers know your first name by the way. What are you doing?

Stretching after free practice one and two before going back to the hotel, Charles is yelling at me to put a shirt on

“Y/n! Let’s go,” Brooklyn snaps you out of your mind as you giggle with a blush.

“Okay! Coming!”

Have fun with that, Carlitos. I gotta go.

I’ll talk to you later.

You and your brothers destroy your parents and younger sister, although you think your dad went easy on you. You head to bed after a small dinner.

Smooth Operatoooorrr Smooooooooth Operatoooooor

Carlos? What the hell? You’ve been signing that for the past half hour. I can’t block it out anymore.

Ay! Mi amor! You scared me!

Carlos, love, I would like to go to sleep.

Sorry, amor. I take it you won’t be asking me to sing you to sleep anytime soon?

Not what I said, Carlitos. Goodnight.

Goodnight, amor. Sleep well.

You watch the race with your family, and pick Carlos up from the airport.

“Is there anything I should know?” he asks, excited yet nervous to spend the week with you.

“I hope you can bend it like Beckham, there is no way you won’t be getting out of going on the pitch with Romeo or Dad.

“I can bend you like Beckham,” Carlos flirts with you, you can’t help but to laugh.

“That was awful. Oh, one more thing, Mom and I have a shoot on Tuesday so you will be left alone for a bit,” you tell him, enjoying the feeling of his hand in yours as your drive.

“You should let me drive, I am a professional driver after all,” Carlos rubs his thumb over your knuckles.

“No, you just drove all weekend, plus you are my guest,” you look at him, his dark hair gently pushed back. It’s unreal how fast you are falling in love with your soulmate.

“Alright, but when you come to Spain, no complaining about me spoiling you,” Carlos locks eyes with you, a blush spreading across your face. It doesn’t take too long until you are pulling into the country estate, your brothers waiting outside for you. Carlos is quick to hop out and get the door for you.

“Brookie, Romeo, Cruz, meet my other half, Carlos. Carlitos, these are my brothers, Brooklyn, Romeo, and Cruz,” you introduce them, letting go of Carlos’ hand so he can shake your brothers’ hands.

“Come on, Mom has a small late night meal ready,” Brooklyn says, leading you to the informal dining area.

“Welcome to our home, Carlos. I hope that the boys haven’t given you too much trouble,” your mom greets him with a hug.

“He’s pretty,” Harper tells you and you can’t hold back your laugh. Despite your ten year age difference, you were still close to her due to spending a lot of time at home.

“He is, and I know your soulmate will be just as pretty,” you hug her. Carlos survives the meal and you show him to the guest room after comfortable conversation with the family after dinner.

“Goodnight, mi amor,” Carlos says softly, standing in the doorway, neither of you wanting to leave each other, but neither of you wanting to cross a boundary that may exist. The soulmate bond was dangerous like that, once you meet your soulmate, it’s hard to let them go, but the bond does strengthen as well, to the point where you can send mental images to each other and feel one another’s feelings.

“Goodnight, Carlitos,” you tilt your head up to softly kiss him. You walk a few rooms down the hall to your own room. Lying awake in bed, oddly restless, you decide to see if Carlos is awake.

Y/n, are you awake?

I am, I was just about to see if you were awake. Put on a hoodie or something and meet me in the hall

You throw on a hoodie and slippers, not bothering to change your pajama pants. Carlos is waiting outside his bedroom door for you. The two of you sneak out to the outdoor entertainment hut your dad made. You quickly make hot chocolate and snuggle on a couch, a blanket over your legs as you look at the stars.

“I don’t think I will be able to let you travel without me,” you sigh, your head resting on Carlos’ shoulder, his free arm wrapped tightly around you.

“Then come with me, I’ve seen how hard it is for soulmates to be apart, especially in F1. Think about it, you don’t have to decide now,” Carlos’ thumb rubs soothing circles on your side.

“Hmm, let’s see how the time between here and Spain goes,” you yawn, snuggling closer to him. His scent envelopes you, helping you drift into sleep. Carlos carefully takes the empty mug out of your hand and sets it down before pulling you closer. Your steady breathing lulls him to sleep, something you both could get used to.

#f1 imagines #f1 x reader #f1 imagine #carlos sainz x y/n #carlos sainz imagines #carlos sainz imagine #carlos sainz x reader #soulmates

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envysparkler · 2 days

Text

It had been a regular Friday—normal patrol, doing the rounds, Bruce hovering over all of them in spirit because he was laid up with a sprained ankle, and, of course, interrupted by a wannabe Rogue that was either insanely dangerous or ridiculously stupid. Or, as in tonight’s case, both at the same time.

Magic. Wondrous, terrible magic. There was a reason Batman did his best to keep magic out of Gotham. It was too unpredictable and they were all only human. Their sole defense against magic was to dodge. And keep dodging. Damn, this guy was really fast at casting spells.

Dick hadn’t been paying much attention to his spiel—something something power something something Gotham something something everyone will know my name—because he’d graduated the point where he wasn’t the one who had to do the detective work—that was what younger siblings were for—and he merely calculated the height of those hanging lights and if one would crash and hit the magician if he cut them properly.

There was a yelp as Red Robin and Robin accidentally dove in the same direction to avoid a spell and ended up sprawling out on the ground. Dick was on the other side of the magician, too far to help, but Red Hood stepped forward, growling, “Hey, you Hogwarts reject, did you learn aim from the Imperial Stormtroopers?”

Dick marked another point in Hood’s I-swear-we’re-not-family-fuck-off-Dickhead-or-I’ll-shoot-you-and-also-if-you-get-shot-I’ll-kill-you-myself column. At this point, the only person who probably still believed Hood’s protestations of rebelliousness was Bruce.

Hood fired a warning shot from his gun.

The magician attacked on instinct.

Hood didn’t get out of the way fast enough.

Everyone in the warehouse saw the gray beam of light hit Hood square in the chest. Dick’s heart dropped somewhere below his stomach, Red Robin made a sharp cry, and even Robin took a step towards Hood, though it was already too late.

Hood’s figure winked out.

No, something in Dick screamed, already whirling towards the magician—and was stopped by a tiny, scratchy little meow.

Dick swiveled back. There was an unbelievably small baby kitten on the ground where Hood had just been, all black with a tiny little spot of white on his forehead.

Red Robin made a choked sound. Robin had frozen in place. “Oops,” the magician said, sounding distinctly sheepish.

Before anyone could react, the magician disappeared with a crack.

“Hood?” Dick tried, struggling to keep his voice level. The baby kitten made another sharp cry, and took a tottering step forward.

Dick couldn’t control himself anymore.

“Oh my god.” He was so tiny. He could fit into Dick’s palm. Maybe-Hood hissed when Dick scooped him up, putting up a valiant effort to gnaw Dick’s fingers off even if those teeny tiny little teeth—and that little pink tongue—could barely put a dent in Dick’s gloves.

“Is that really Hood?” Red Robin said, a strange expression on his face, like Christmas had come early and he wasn’t ready to believe it. “What if—what if the guy just…sent Hood somewhere, and replaced him with a kitten?”

“It would be an improvement,” Robin muttered.

Probably-Hood stopped chewing Dick’s fingers to shoot Robin the dirtiest look a baby kitten could muster, and Dick could see the consternation visibly melt off of Robin’s face as his baby brother resisted the urge to coo.

“Even if this isn’t Hood, we need to get back to the Cave and figure out what that spell was,” Dick said, studying the kitten. “Hmm, little guy? Are you my little brother? Give me a meow for yes, and continue trying to bite my fingers for no.”

Most-Definitely-Hood hissed at him again.

“This is the best day of my life,” Dick grinned. “Bruce is going to freak out.”

~#~

Bruce was, indeed, freaking out. “What happened?” he nearly shouted as they got out of the Batmobile, waiting in the garage—and judging by Alfred’s visible aura of disapproval, clearly against orders.

Dick, climbing out of the passenger seat, had to make a flailing catch as the baby kitten attempted to make a break for it. “Shh,” he said. “You’re going to scare Jason.”

Bruce stopped and stared. Tim, exiting the driver’s side, broke down again into the giggling fit that had nearly caused him to crash the car. Damian looked visibly amused.

Bruce blinked at the car, as if expecting a hulking six foot two former crime lord to get out. And then looked at Dick and the tiny little kitten hissing in his hands. Back at the car. Back at Dick.

“What?” he finally said, voice weak.

“At least Damian isn’t going to adopt him,” Dick said, firmly detaching tiny kitten claws from his gloves to deposit the furiously hissing kitten into Bruce’s grasp. Jason squawked, loudly, and attempted to escape, but Bruce’s reflexes were too fast.

He slowly drew the little ball of fur up to his face, face slack, ignoring the way the kitten pricked his palms. “You’re joking,” Bruce said flatly.

“Would I joke about something like this?” Dick asked, wounded. Bruce gave him a Look. “Okay, yeah, I would totally joke about something like this, I can’t believe I’ve never thought of it before, but no, our little magician problem waved his staff and it hit Jay and,” Dick waggled his fingers at the puffed-up kitten.

Bruce still didn’t look convinced.

“Of course,” Dick said to the kitten, “if this isn’t Jason, that means it’s a lost little kitten that needs to go to the vet and get lots of shots—”

Jason reacted predictably to the idea of needles and neatly clambered up Bruce’s arm, clinging to the man’s shoulder and hissing at Dick from his perch.

Dick turned the shit-eating grin to his father, “Believe me now?”

Bruce was wincing and trying to extract Jason’s claws from his skin. “Jason got turned into a cat? How do we undo the spell?”

“Frankly, Father, I find the current state of affairs significantly more agreeable,” Damian said, returning after changing. “You have to admit that Todd is more tolerable like this.”

The kitten didn’t have time to take offense before Tim piped up, his face still splotchy from laughing too hard, “Yeah, he’s all cute and cuddly.”

Jason made a low growling rumble that showed clearly what he thought of that sentiment. Unfortunately for him, it just made him look cuter.

“Boys, stop teasing your brother,” Bruce said firmly, finally managing to finagle Jason’s claws free of his shirt and tuck him into the curve of his elbow. “Of course we’re going to figure out how to get him back.”

Jason made a loud hiss and scratched Bruce. Bruce, startled, loosened his grip, and Jason leapt free like a bullet. Dick dove for him and missed, Tim jumped out of the way as Jason went streaking past, and soon the black kitten was no longer visible.

“Well, that was entirely predictable,” Damian said, staring in the direction Jason had gone.

#my snippets #cantrip catnip #magical animal transformation #to end the spell you have to be kissed by the person who's loved you the longest

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lbxbx · 2 days

Text

Blackmail 4 | Kth

Pairing: Idol!taehyung x reader

Genre: smut, angst. Five shot

Synopsis: being part of their staff meant you had to be around them all the time, Taehyung has a checklist of all the girls he slept with and filmed and you were next on the list, as he lures you using several ways one of them being actually showing you the content he films, before you finally give in and he actually films you to tick you off of his list. Little do you know it’s the biggest mistake ever.

Disclaimer: events and incidents in this fiction are either the product of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. This does not resemble Taehyung’s character whatsoever. taglist: @idkduewhy @wiebouquetbarbarian @tan-veee @pookiej @xstfudaisyx @junecat18 @whipwhops @mother2onsters @lil0u0 @whoa-jo @latinapoetbts

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“Come on in.” He tilts his head inviting you on the inside, you’re a little taken back when you see a full handbag stuffed with cameras and Go-pros, microphones and even spare batteries and chargers. “I didn’t know you took things that seriously.” You force a laugh and take a step inside, you approach the bag and reach your hand for one of the Go-pros. “How many of those do you have?”

“In this handbag around seven, in total about 10 or twelve, I lost count.” He laughs, opening up the mini bar and grabbing out a bottle of sparkling water to hand it to you, “So what are you wearing for me tonight?”

You grab the water bottle and avoid his eyes, you can’t look at him anymore and you know everything changed for the worse. To you he’s this manipulative sex addict who either needs to be helped or put in jail. Things can never go back to normal with him.

“Oh, don’t get too excited, they’re just matching bra and panties.” You put the Go-pro down and unscrew the cap of your water. “Can you show me how this goes?”

“Sure, come here.” He sits in front of his iPad and grabs you a chair next to him, you hesitate before sitting down and watching what he does on his device, “I would’ve showed you how exactly I edit things, but our night with Jungkook wasn’t filmed like at all. I think I have something else unedited I’ll show it to you.”

You got lucky this time, even we you’re about to be filmed with your consent, but at least this time you were trying to get your revenge somehow.

And in seconds he digs out a couple of files that are titled to the date back when you were in the states weeks ago, it makes you think, he has several partners at once? He fucked you raw after he fucked someone else?

“Taehyung is this new?”

“Yeah, it’s back in LA, she was a local we met in a pool party—“

“How can you know that you’re fucking people who are safe?” You’re genuinely worried, for all you know you could be carrying a certain disease right now and you still haven’t showed any symptoms.

“Oh unclench. I know what I’m doing.” He scoffs and turns towards his phone that’s buzzing when someone calls him. “I have to take this, be right back.” He pulls his chair back and gets into the bathroom locking the door behind him.

You hurriedly grab your phone out and take pictures of the handbag that’s stuffed to the brim with cameras, you snap other pictures of the memory cards and the iPad screen, making sure to be quick before he leaves the bathroom.

You flip through the folders on his iPad to finally find the video from back when you two were in London, the video is freaking 38 minutes and you have to be fast.

Okay Y/N you have to be quick, we’re totally skipping the parts he was being all lovey dovey and try and find the parts where he was cuffing you or blindfolding you, it’s not long after the beginning and you film that on your phone, skipping again to reach the parts where he forced you on things and used the belt, the parts where he spanked you with it, you look around the frame hoping you’d find anything to make the video go faster but there isn’t anything. You hear the bathroom door unlocking fast enough for you to exit the video and fall back onto your chair and hold your breath. Your hands locking your phone from under the coffee table.

He looks at you suspiciously for a second, squinting his eyes, before he comes in closer to lock the iPad and get back into the bathroom to finish his call. Your hand sits on your chest when you feel your heart racing, you’re convinced you have enough evidence now and you can’t risk being caught anymore.

You encourage yourself on the inside that it’s just one last time, one last night with him before you try and get everything you want before proceeding with your plan.

He finally exits the bathroom and puts his phone down. “I need to be somewhere in an hour, you think you can be quick?”

“We can cancel tonight if you want to—“

“No.” And he doesn’t ever offer further explanation, he takes his shirt off and inches closer to you to put his hands on your hips. “You know I have to confess something.”

“What? Did you film me again?” You can hardly trust him anymore. Your hands barely sit on his chest and honestly Taehyung was really smart when it came to your body language, he can easily feel that you’re uncomfortable and you’re trying to keep distance between your bodies. The way your hands move abruptly before finally landing on his chest makes him look you in the eyes for a second without saying a single word.

“What?” You clear your throat, you can feel your own heartbeat in your ears, your fight or flight is on standby for anything that may happen any second. “A—are you… is everything okay?”

He looks around the room trying to locate your phone, it’s in your back pocket but he doesn’t see it. “Where’s your phone?”

“What?”

“Where’s your phone? Unlock it for me.” He pulls back and heads back to his station near his iPad looking around the table and almost spilling his drink from earlier on his gadgets. “It’s in my bag, what’s wrong?”

“Are you recording anything? Did you film anything? Take it out right now.” He claps his hands when he gives the order, his voice getting louder by the second.

If you answer him no he might ask you to unlock your phone, and if you say yes he’ll make you delete it. Both answers could lead to him actually hurting you. You need to lure him into calming down and forgetting about this. “Of course I didn’t, we’re filming this on your own cameras remember?” You walk towards him and help him unbuckle the belt around his hips. “Come on, why are you so tense tonight?”

He looks down to your hands and watches you unbuckle him. It didn’t hit you until now, but when you slept with him he past couple of times he smelled good, and tonight he’s probably wearing the same cologne but you cannot stand how he smells. What happened earlier in the studio scratched you on the inside and again, he looks so different to you right now.

He wraps his arms around your body and pulls you in closer, slowly calming down from his previous agitation, and any man’s touch can easily make you melt at this point specially when his hands are already groping your ass right now, but you don’t feel anything, your body isn’t even acting upon his kisses that are pressed onto your shoulder. “Maybe you can help me relax, yeah?”

“Mhm.” You could throw up any second right now.

Women are supposed to feel wanted and desired on nights like these, but right now you felt like a sex toy that belonged to him that he could easily use and just throw it away whenever he’s done. It hurts you on the inside.

You gulp repeatedly when you insert your hand into his pants to palm his soft dick that’s slowly hardening in your hand, he buries his face into your neck to kiss you there, his breath usually sends shivers down your spine but you can’t feel anything, and if only he could see your face right now; you’re cringing and fighting back your true grossed out feelings.

“Hold on.” He pulls back and grabs one of the nearby Go-pros, and tonight he’s sober enough to remember to press record and he double checks and looks around to watch the red light turned on, after that he flips the tiny camera to film your faces and he pulls you in to kiss you.

Again, yours or any other girl’s body is truly familiar to him, and he can easily tell that you’re comfortable, but he shrugs it off thinking you’re probably “Camera shy.”

“Let’s go to bed, come on.” He pulls back and guides you towards the bed to sit, positioning the camera down on the night stand and again, double checks that it’s filming and that you’re in frame, before he leans in to kiss you on the lips once and takes your top off to reveal one of the most familiar bras to him. “Let me take it off for you.” He’s clearly not asking your permission he’s just stating what he’s about to do, and he does. Taking it off and throwing it across the room.

You hug your arms towards your chest which makes him smirk. “Look at my little slut pretending to be all shy and cute” And you are genuinely offended. You’re really seconds away from stabbing him with anything near you and easily commit a crime.

“Lay back for me.” And you do, leaning your back against the bed with tears building in your eyes. You can’t cry right now, you even remind yourself that this is the last time you’re going to have to do this, and by tomorrow your plan of getting revenge should be complete.

You stare at the ceiling when you feel his fingers working on the zipper of your jeans and pull it down, you don’t even bother looking down at him because you’re trying hard to minimize having your face in the frame.

You’re having second thoughts by now, and you just wish you drugged him or sedated him just to be able to delete all the content he has of you, you wish you just hit him in the head hard enough for him to lose his memory or something. Every scenario is in your head right now but none of them would’ve been possible.

He grips onto your panties and pulls them down before spreading your legs apart, his mouth coming in contact with your cunt and for the first time ever, this doesn’t even feel half good, in fact, you feel nothing at all.

“Mmm.” You force it out and throw your head further back into the mattress, you have to sound believable and you have to convince him that you’re enjoying this half as much as he is. “Fuck.” You roll your eyes to yourself, you don’t sound convincing at all.

Him on the other side, his cock is in his hand stroking it while savoring your cunt, and if he wasn’t so focused on pleasuring himself, he would’ve noticed that you weren’t wet at all, it’s his third time eating you out and unlike other times, you’re not clenching and your breath is still regular really.

The only thing similar is how fast your heart is pounding, last time it was beating fast from the pleasure, but right now it’s beating even faster in fear, anxiety and grief at your own self worth that you highly doubt there’s anything left from that.

He licks his own fingers before inserting them inside you and it burns, you wish you didn’t feel anything like second ago, but right now it hurts, and at the sudden stretch you gasp and shut your legs, making him forcefully open them back up, he probably thinks you’re enjoying it but he’s self absorbed enough to not realize that.

You have to stop him.

“I’m gonna cum.” And this is the only way. The stretch of his stupid fingers hurt you enough, you’re worried at the actual thought of him fucking you, it’s going to kill you.

He’s in a total different world. His hand stops stroking his cock to focus on fucking you with his fingers, and he envelopes your cunt into his mouth, sucking onto your clit and flicking it with his tongue. Again, if he did this any other night the neighbors would’ve probably heard you.

“Fuck.” You close your legs and cover your own cunt and start breathing fast, giving him the illusion of actually cumming when you’re not, “That’s it cum for me.” He nibbles onto your thighs and doesn’t even stop, continuing to fuck you through your “Orgasm.”

“Stop, you’re going to make me sore already.” Your voice is shaky because you’re about to cry your eyes out. He pulls back finally and climbs up towards you. “Come on baby, ride my dick and make me cum, we have to be quick.”

“Mhm.” You push him to land onto the bed and grab the Go-pro, you can call yourself pity but you had to do it eventually. You point the Go-pro to his face and wrap your fingers around his neck before positioning yourself on top of him. “You want me to ride you huh?”

“Mmhm.” He runs his hands onto your thighs, he’s more than thrilled to see you film him and he even thinks you two are on the same page now, he thinks that this is your kink too and that you’re having fun.

“Did any of the girls make you beg before?” You whisper, looking into the camera and making sure he’s in the frame. “Are you gonna make me beg?”

“It’s the least you can do.” You smirk, your eyes focused on the camera as an excuse to avoid his eyes, but his are locked onto you. “I don’t beg.”

You gather enough courage to slap him on the face before tightening your grip around his neck. “I said beg.” Your chest is heaving and your heartbeat is in your ears, you made an excuse just to hit him in the face and it’s working.

“I’m not begging.” He bites onto his lips and his dark eyes stare onto yours. He clearly enjoyed this and likes being slapped in the face, so you do it again, this time stronger than before and doing it twice. “Then you’re not getting any pussy.” And you’re actually about to get up but he pulls you back down. “No no, please, please ride my dick.” It’s totally half assed but you truly don’t care.

You position yourself right on top of him and willingly point the head of his cock to your cunt but he points it towards your puckered hole last minute and helps you land down.

You feel him up in your back and your body stiffens at the painful stretch, you’re not wet enough and his precum wasn’t enough to let him slide easily inside you. “Get the lube from behind you.” And you stretch behind you to get it, letting him handle it and squirt some onto his cock, and some into his hand to rub your hole and help you land again. “Shit.” You focus again and point the camera to his face.

“Tell me Taehyung, out of all girls you fucked from work, is this the best ass you’ve ever fucked?” You ask, and he throws his head back in pleasure, the tightness around his cock is unbelievable. “Fuck.”

“Answer me.” You deliver another slap to his face, slowly lifting your hip up to land back down, “Y-yes, shit.” For the first time ever you see him this weak, and god is good.

You can’t deny with the lube and the stretch, it’s doing something to your body but still not enough to get you to your end, your hand tightens around the camera and the other one is still wrapped around his neck, tightening more with each time you bounce on his dick, “I’m one of your girls Taehyung now huh?”

“Fuck yes.” He grits onto his own teeth, he has enough discipline to not pound into you and actually makes you take control for the rest of your fuck. “You’re one of the best baby.” He admits, and that’s all you need to get on camera, you finally turn it off and put both your hands on his torso for support to ride him faster, his grip tightens around your thighs and his fingernails dig into your skin, his jaw slowly dropping down and his eyelids getting heavier. “Do you wanna cum?” You ask.

“Please make me cum.” And frankly Taehyung has never experienced anything like this, it’s usually him who takes control and he’s in charge for all the hitting and spanking. Tonight he thinks he’s having a different flavor and he likes it, but in fact this has been your plan that you came up within a short span of time.

It’s taking him so long to cum and at this point your calves burn and your ass hurts, you’re not interested to actually cum but still you’re putting in the effort for a man who doesn’t even deserve to be with a woman.

You pull back and point his cock up towards him to stroke it fast enough to make him cum on his own body, you already can’t stand anything from this man so again, totally not worth soiling yourself.

“Fuck, stop—“ He whimpers, pulling on his own hair when you don’t stop stroking him, “It hurts, please stop.” And you finally stop and get out of bed to collect your clothes and put them on. And as usual, he gets up and makes his way towards the bathroom and you hear the shower water running.

Come on Y/N, be quick.

“How many of those do you have?”

“In this handbag around seven, in total about 10 or twelve, I lost count.”

You dig into his handbag and pick up one of the Go-pros, and switch it with the one you used earlier before hiding it in your purse, quickly putting on your clothes and leaving the place.

You call a taxi to your apartment and quickly pull out your iPad. You switched your phone off worried that he’ll actually find out about the missing camera and call you, totally didn’t cross your mind that if he found out he could actually come by to take it.

You work faster than ever to transfer the video to your iPad, cutting the beginning when he forced you into the kiss, and leaving in the part that you wanted.

“Tell me Taehyung, out of all girls you fucked from work, is this the best ass you’ve ever fucked?”

“Y-yes, shit.”

“I’m one of your girls Taehyung now huh?”

“You’re one of the best baby.”

He wants to blackmail you? He can go ahead.

You’re easily going to lose your job and you may actually not end up hired any place else. But him? He has a whole career, a fandom, and an image to lose, and he can do nothing to cover it up if you actually do end up posting the video online.

You would easily be fired but him? He’ll have to go through lawsuits and actual things that can easily take him down. Of course once they found out that he’s been with other women and he blackmailed them, he could possibly go to jail too.

You delete the video from the Go-pro and turn it off, making sure you already have the videos and the pictures you took earlier on your iPad and phone. You’re ready for anything. If he does it, you’ll do it too.

The next couple of days were just like any other day, they had a birthday party to go to and you had to be there to have them ready, and luckily it was only Jungkook and Jimin going, and one of your friends was out of town so you had to fill in for her.

And you’d be lying if you say things weren’t awkward with Jungkook in the beginning, but he’s a total sweetheart and even after what happened that night, he suddenly appreciates you more and one hour in and he’s joking and making you laugh and you’re just having fun.

What you currently have with Jungkook is truly healthy. You two slept together once and he never brought it up again nor made you feel awkward about it

“You’re done.” Jimin finally gets up and leaves the room along with his stylist, leaving you and Jungkook alone in the room, and the atmosphere turns upside down and you two steal glances from each other awkwardly, you keep trying to pretend to be occupied and focused, but his lips are twitching and he wants to say something. Someone has to address the elephant in the room.

“So, how are you?” He genuinely asks, if it was Taehyung asking you’d know exactly what he’s trying to do, but Jungkook asks because he’s interested in finding out how you’re actually doing.

“I’m good haven’t slept well last night that’s all.” You gave him a vague answer, he rolls his eyes. “Come on Y/N, you know exactly what I mean.”

“Not really.” You dig into the makeup bag trying to find one of the brushes, he sighs and turns his head fully towards you. “I heard from him that you two slept together again.”

“O-oh. He told you?”

“And he told me other things, I hope you’re hanging in there.” With his doe eyes he tilts his head full with sympathy, it seems that he knows about the entire story. “Can’t you help?” It’s the first thing that came up to your mind and he shrugs. “I tried, this isn’t your problem, it’s his problem too, he just… I think he needs help.” He scratches his eyebrow.

“I need help too.” You put your hand onto your chest. “What exactly did he tell you?”

“I know he filmed you, and I know he’s blackmailing you, which believe me, I find it truly immoral.” He lowers his voice.

“There isn’t anything moral about the whole thing to begin with Jungkook, blackmailing can’t be moral in any way.”

“He could’ve asked respectfully—“

You scoff and roll your eyes. “Yeah, oh hey Y/N, please sleep with me? No? can I please blackmail you?” You mock Taehyung’s voice which makes Jungkook scrunch his nose and laugh. “Touché.”

“I don’t want to hurt him Jungkook, but I have things that could possibly ruin his entire career, tell him that, and let know that if he ever tries to blackmail me into anything, he’ll regret it.”

“I’m so sorry Y/N.” He sighs apologetically, “I have to stay out of this, I really want to help you but risking his career means risking my career too, and he’s my best friend. If you were going through this with someone else believe me I would’ve sent them to jail, but I can’t hurt him. So I’m sorry, but you’re on your own and I wish you luck.”

It’s mixed feelings really, he’s partially right, but he can’t help his best friend be a total douche and just stay quiet. “No hard feelings?” He reaches his hand out to shake yours. “I don’t want things to get awkward ever again between us, we’re coworkers and friends and we’re around each other the entire time.”

“No hard feelings.” You shake his hand.

The first weekend after going back to work always tasted different, you finally have enough time to catch onto some sleep and rot onto your couch in your place binge watching a series or something on your TV before falling asleep any time you want.

You would usually go out with your friends but tonight you’re feeling tired and a little rusty so you chose to stay home.

On the other hand Taehyung still didn’t find out about his missing camera, he collected them that night and put them into his hand bag, and when he drove home he was going to actually edit the video, but he got too lazy to actually open all twelve of the cameras to find the content you filmed earlier that night.

He shrugged it off and called it a night, and since then he’s been busy with his schedule and he haven’t had the time to edit anything, he’s been working so hard this week and on this Friday night, he felt like he needed to reward himself.

And he’s rotten spoiled, thinking he can have everything in a single phone call, so he picks up his phone and shuffles through his contacts until he finds Mira’s number and he calls her asking her to spend the night with him, but she’s out of town visiting her parents so he can’t pressure her on situations like these.

He scrolls again and spots your name, before he calls, it takes him a couple of minutes to think, he’s been spending more nights with you to the point where he feels like he needs the change, he has never liked “Leftovers” So he scrolls further down and calls other girls, all of them are suddenly out of town or sick.

He rolls his eyes and scrolls back to your name and calls you with no hesitation this time.

You had fallen asleep on your couch with your phone in your hand, and your entire body flinches when it starts ringing in your hand. Your heart is racing when you can predict the purpose of this call, and it’s two possibilities really.

One, he wants his camera back and he found out that you had switched them that night.

Two, he didn’t find out, and he just wants to spend the night with you because why else would he call you on a Friday night? Little do you know that you were his last choice.

“Hello?” You answer, he can tell that you’re sleeping.

“Y/N, it’s a Friday night, are you sleeping already?”

“Yeah, I’m really tired, everything okay?” You’re asking not because you care about him personally, you’re just testing waters trying to see if it’s the first possibility or the second one.

“I’m tired too, do you think you can come over? Maybe we can comfort each other, I could help you relax…” You’re a little relieved it’s not about the cameras. “… and you could help me relax too.”

“No Taehyung, I’m really tired and I have to go to bed.”

“Come on Y/N, you don’t want me to—“

And you interrupt right away. “You don’t wanna do this, I’m respectfully saying no and none of this can happen again.”

“Y/N honey, this isn’t your choice to begin with, you’re one of my girls now, remember?” You cannot believe him. You close your eyes and sigh. “I’m out of town Tae, I’m visiting a relative on the outskirts.”

“Oh are you?” He suspects you’re lying, he chuckles and continues. “You know I can easily find out your location Y/N, and if you’re lying, then I guess..”

You look into your phone screen and immediately record the call. “Tell me, Taehyung, what are you gonna do?”

“I can come over if you want, I can meet that relative of yours, and maybe we can go out and find a place to enjoy our evening together.” He whispers the last part.

“No.” You simply answer. “I’m over with this Taehyung, I’m not sleeping with you ever again.”

“Alright Y/N, you can just kiss your job goodbye, and if I were you, I wouldn’t bother coming to work Monday morning. Good night.”

You shut your eyes tightly. “Taehyung wait.” You’re seconds away from begging him again.

The call is still ongoing but he doesn’t answer. “Taehyung?” and the ill guy psychotically laughs and answers. “I knew you’d change your mind.”

“I’m really out of town, if I were there I’d come over, but I’m not.” You try your best to convince him but you don’t sound convincing at all. “Just please, I can’t do anything for you right now, I’ll see you on Monday or something.”

“Don’t bother, good night.” And this time he hangs up for real, you feel yourself seconds away from actually going unconscious.

That’s it, you lost your job, you lost everything you worked hard to build through these few years, your thoughts are rushing in your head, you’ve reached a dead end.

You’re not going to sleep with him ever again and that’s it, you can’t change your mind.

If he chose to actually post your video or show it to anyone then your job and your reputation are long gone.

And if you chose to post if before he does, you’ll lose your job anyway, but at least you could hurt him just like he did and perhaps end his career, you need to show the world his true colors.

You grow weaker by the second, balling your eyes out and realizing that none of this can actually be fixed, you’re seconds away from changing your mind and just getting ready to go to his place, you would probably be able to save your job but not your dignity and self worth though.

This can’t go on, it can’t happen, this has to be a nightmare.

The five stages of grief were quite obvious on your behavior, when Monday came by you were in denial, totally denying the fact that he will do anything or take things seriously, you kept thinking that oh, he’s probably just doing that the pressure you into saying yes and going to his place, he’s not a bad person, he just lost control on his own behaviors to the point where he had to blackmail you. You spent your entire day trying to make up excuses on why he had to behave this way.

Because if he truly wanted to post the videos you would’ve known from the beginning of the day, but everything went completely normal.

And on Tuesday you woke up living the second stage of grief, you were fuming angry, your fingertips are on fire and you were quite agitated the entire day, he mentioned things again and this time you could swear he was seconds away from giving out everything to the public. You ended up taking so many breaks that day just to avoid yelling in his face or even physically attacking him, the way he looked at you made you feel like you were an item he could use whenever he wanted which drove you mad.

The way he breathed around you loudly all huffing and scoffing made you count to ten before doing anything or saying any word.

The way his language changes when he’s around you, talking to you like you’re only existing for sex and just to please him, treating you like an empty creature who was just created to be fucked and thrown away, he made you feel cheap.

The way his fingers move trying to “tease” you, thinking that this would probably get you in the mood to do anything with him, the way his palm caressed your cheeks whenever he turned his face towards you, the way his fingertips would run down your neck while you were working on the face that you wish you can just deform.

You can hear your heartbeat into your ears and you were constantly breathless, if feels like you’re running miles. You despise Kim Taehyung.

On Wednesday you projected the third stage of grief, bargaining. You showed up to work extremely tired from the anger issues you went home with the day before, your mind was all over the place, the crew would call you to be at a certain place and you’re just not focused, you’re barely working on the face in front of you and luckily it’s not him.

Seokjin had a shooting and you were there to cover up for your friend Leah who suddenly couldn’t show up, she’s saying that she caught a cold but you swear you saw her going home the night before with Taehyung and here you start to actually bargain.

Well at least he’s seeing someone else, you have Leah and other girls that could easily cover up for you, and what if you actually got exposed? You’re not in this alone, at least you can go home back to your family and live a normal life without having to go through any of this again.

But do you really want the normal life back?

Which brings us to Thursday, you’re clearly depressed and the fourth stage of grief is visible on your face and even on your work attire. You showed up in sweatpants and a button up, you haven’t showered this morning and your hair was messily put in a ponytail, your eyes are loose and you can barely answer people around you.

You kept sighing and you were clearly in your own world. Your life is going to be over anytime soon, the dream you’re in right now is about to be robbed away from you and you’re about to wake up, it’s going to be the end of you.

Not that you were unhappy back then, but you like your life a whole lot better now, you get to travel, show up to parties, events and hell even meet people you thought you’d never meet, it’s a brand new world that you never dreamt of, and it’s about to be taken away from you.

You sulk back into your chair and close your eyes, totally not in the mood to work or see anyone.

On Friday, you were brushing your teeth when it suddenly hit you. You went through the previous stages of grief and there’s only stage left that you find it hard to swallow.

Acceptance.

Acceptance? Do you think you’ll ever be there?

Do you think you’ll be able to just accept the fact that someone with issues is going to blackmail you and take your dream away from you just because he needs… Sex?

Do you think you’ll accept to be “one of his girls.” And just give away your principles?

Girl fuck the principles, if you have to save your career just do it. Are you really thinking that right now?

You rinse and get ready for work, as much as you liked Fridays, but you hate them and fear them now; it’s the weekends and people usually go out and in Taehyung’s case, he scrolls through his contact list trying to find his hookup for the night.

It makes you think that does he really not have a life? His coworkers are a blast to be around and they’re really fun and entertaining, he could just spend the night with them or even go visit his other friends or family, but no it has become a ritual for him.

Every Friday night if he has nothing specifically planned, he’ll end up scrolling through his contact list and seeing who he feels like fucking that night, whether it was girls from the company or even someone he randomly hooked up with before, or even foreigners.

And frankly his contact list has over two hundred different women that he sometimes forgets what they look like, and thank god for the content he made, it has helped him several times when it comes to remembering their faces and bodies, and what they did and how they did.

You get into your workplace and today there’s nothing planned on the schedule and they’re not filming anything, they had a meeting with a modeling agency and you had to be there to sculpt his face and mask the true Taehyung away from them quite literally.

“How are you?” He crosses his arms and throws his head back closing his eyes and giving you the space to work. “Good.” And it’s more than enough of an answer.

“Are you doing anything tonight?” He asks.

“Yes.” Your answers clearly mean that you’re not willing to talk but he still insists on talking.

“You know, Y/N, I’m being so forgiving with you right now, you know I can easily post your videos…” He starts talking and that’s when it hits you.

Acceptance. It’s finally here.

Honestly Taehyung is full of shit, you’ve lost count to the times he actually threatened you and yet he still doesn’t post anything, you’re just going to have to accept the fact that he is in fact, full of shit.

He’s still mumbling but you’re not listening.

“Whatever, you can do whatever you want.” You shrug carelessly still focused on his face. Maybe acting careless will get him to think that it doesn’t matter to you and that you’re not scared.

But deep down you actually still shit your pants whenever this is mentioned.

“Yeah, I know, and I want us to hookup tonight.” He knows exactly what you mean but he decides to play his own games. “Cancel with your friends, you’re not going.”

Isn’t this new? Your jaw almost drops down, you can’t believe this man. “Excuse me?”

He turns to face you with fire behind his eyes and he clearly speaks. “Cancel with your friends. You are not going.”

“Sure.” You sarcastically answer and put your brush down. “Get up, I’ll call over one of the girls to finish your face.” You couldn’t handle things anymore.

The day passed by better when you can no longer see him, and you didn’t lie when you told him that you have things planned for tonight, you were supposed to go out with your girl friends to celebrate a birthday in a club that was five blocks away from your place, so you went home and changed into a dress and went out to spend your night drinking and dancing.

It has been so long since you actually got the chance to meet up with them and you don’t remember the last time you went to a club, so you enjoyed your night way more than you should have and probably exaggerated and totally lost counts of the drinks you had.

They insisted to walk you home but you immediately said no, you needed to walk and perhaps sweat away the alcohol, even when you could barely balance on your own legs nevertheless in heels, but you still made it to your place, you rub your eyes before trying to click the pass code onto the door and right before you put the last number you turn your head.

He’s right here behind you, only a couple of steps away with his hands in his pockets and a cap on his head. He shows you a toothy smile before asking. “How was your night?”

“Ugh, Taehyung, I’m about to throw up you don’t want to be near me.” You put your hand up in the air and turn back to your door. Something tells you to not open the door yet until he leaves, so you turn towards him. “I’ll see you on Monday.”

“Let me in, we could probably chat and catch up, I miss you.” He feigns whatever this is and takes the couple of steps towards you, cupping your cheek and taking a whiff. “Tequila, I smell something else but I can’t tell what it is, but you’re drunk huh?”

“Yeah, and this is exactly why you shouldn’t take advantage of me.” You press your hand onto his chest trying to push him away but he’s stronger than you are when you’re sober, but when you’re drunk? He could easily take you down and you wouldn’t be able to lift up a finger.

“Taehyung, I’m not joking, I’ll probably throw up on you if you stay close.” You’re not lying, but this doesn’t stop him. Everything progressed too fast and now suddenly his hands are climbing up under your dress and groping onto your ass, his other hand wrapping around your body to pull you in closer to his before sandwiching you against your own door, his lips moving too fast towards your neck and not thinking twice before kissing you everywhere.

“Taehyung, stop, please.” You sound alarmed and scared, your hands are still working to push him away but it barely does anything. His right hand gets under your panties and lands onto your clit to rub you aggressively, and it hurts.

“Stop!” You’re loud enough and the neighbors probably heard you. “Please, get away from me, don’t touch me.” You clench your fists and start hitting his chest hoping that he’d pull back but he doesn’t and it’s slowly killing you. You’re feeling light headed and you know what’s coming up next.

Your legs can barely balance onto the floor and you’re swallowing repeatedly, you’re going to.. “I’m gonna throw up.” Exactly. You announce and he pulls back a second late, you’ve already puked the drinks from tonight onto the sleeve of his sweatshirt, you’re coughing and holding your hair back while throwing up whatever is left into your stomach.

Taehyung being the gentleman he is, doesn’t even offer help or anything, you could easily go unconscious but what matters the most right now is his expensive sweatshirt that’s spoiled. A grossed out frown wears on his face and he covers his mouth with the back of his hand. “You crazy bitch, I’ll fucking show you.”

And he turns to leave the building and you hear him mutter on his way out. “I’ll fucking show you, I’ll teach you a lesson you’ll never forget.”

Whoa, the world is spinning around you, aren’t you supposed to feel better after you throw up? You unlock your door finally and throw off your heels before plopping down onto your couch and grabbing out your phone.

“You’ll teach me a valuable lesson, Kim Taehyung? In your fucking dreams.”

You go into your media and select the recorded call, the pictures you have taken of his handbag stuffed with Go-pros, the video from back in London specifically the parts where he used the belt and hand cuffed you, and the video you filmed the other night specifically when he told you that you’re one of his girls.

Before finally pressing the share button.

#bts x fem!reader #bts x y/n #bts x you #bts fanfic #bts smut #bts x reader #kpop fanfic #kpop smut #kim taehyung x reader #kim taehyung #kim taehyung x y/n #kim taehyung x you #kim taehyung smut #bangtan smut #v x reader #taehyung x you #taehyung x oc #taehyung smut

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pinkaditty · 3 days

Text

Beauty (Twisted Wonderland, Rook Hunt)

tiptoes into blog again but steps on a comically placed whoopee cushion and alerts the entirety of my eagerly awaiting readers

hey hi hi sorry this is 2 let you all know that i am ALIVE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! I AM ALIVE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! i had 2 disappear 2 focus entirely on my studies bc i was due 2 graduate with honors soon and i needed 2 have ALL my work completed lol! anyways, im glad 2 say that soon i will be the proud owner of an early bachelor’s degree in pre-med. this honors thesis better look STUNNING on my fucking resume.

a/n: anyways YES im working on ur asks now that i have more free time yaaaaaaaaay!!! in the meantime enjoy this lol i wrote it entirely on a whim bc i saw the new rook card on twt and was like “hm. okay fine ass.” anyways let it be known i know VERY LITTLE about book 7 and Rook in general (ive seen spoilers but i don’t actively seek them out, plus i don't have the game anymore bc free palestine, fuck disney), so this might be ooc or an unusually placed scenario. please let me know how i can improve!

summary: rook’s back to his old self. he’s not sure of himself, but you have some choice words.

cw: suggestive!!!!!!!! minors DNI!!!!!!!!!, book 7 spoilers i think, gn!reader (specifics of reader’s physical attributes are not mentioned, but Rook uses the masculine French word for "dear"), NOT PROOFREAD!!!!.

MINORS DNI AS PER USUAL THIS IS SUGGESTIVE!! THANK YOU FOR RESPECTING MY BOUNDARY!!!

“Well, I admit… the version of me you see standing before you, cher, was not me at my prime…”

You stare curiously at the man before you. Unmistakably, this was Rook. Same French accent, albeit with a harsher twang, same upturned green eyes, same haunting, knowing smile. It was Rook, without a doubt. But, he was different. He looked different. His uniform wasn’t Pomefiore- it was Savanaclaw. His hair was longer and wilder, choppy bangs and uneven waves falling in his face and along his back. His skin was darker, a light tan present on his usually pristine, pale skin. Freckles dotted the bridge of his nose and crest of his cheeks, and a smattering of them was found on his shoulders and neck. He didn’t stand quite as tall; rather, he stood with a slight slouch. Bending forward just slightly, piercing green eyes peering at you from beneath the shadow of a wide-brim brown hat. Strangely, like this, he appeared considerably more predatory.

Suddenly, him previously being in Savanaclaw made sense.

However, this spurred a question in you. Not about his decision to change dorms, but about his words.

“What do you mean, not at your ‘prime’?”

You furrow your brows in confusion as you stare back at him, searching for answers. This Rook- with far more obvious muscle definition and hardened expressions- seemed quite at his fully-functioning peak. You step towards him, your eyes raking over his form, lingering at his rough, calloused hands on his hips, at his broad, freckle-covered chest, and at his perfect cupid’s bow, where a stray freckle laid. “Mon trickster,” he speaks, the sharp twang of his accent making you shiver. His lips rise into a knowing grin. Your eyes snap back up to his eyes, glued to you in irony. “It’s rude to stare.”

Your cheeks heat up only for a moment, but you wave him off. “Rook…” You start, giving him one more once over before glancing away again, not wanting to get too caught up in observing his proportions. “I don’t think this isn’t your prime. If anything…” You turn to him again, looking him in the eyes. You roll your bottom lip between your teeth before hurriedly spitting out the words before you could regret them. “...I think you’re beautiful.”

You would expect Rook, of all people, to be unfazed by these words. However, he seems a bit taken aback, his eyes widening and his posture straightening, before he leans back forward again, his predatory smirk stretching wider across his face. “Merci, mon chéri, however, I do believe-”

“I mean it.” You quickly interrupt him, stopping him from beginning a self-depricating tirade of how unaccustomed he used to be to the concept of beauty. “I think you’re beautiful like this.” You face him head-on, your heart pounding loudly in your ears. This shouldn’t feel like confessing, but strangely, it does.

Now it’s Rook’s turn to blush. His smile fades, his eyes going from knowing to gentle curiosity. The warm redness of the blush spreads across his tan cheeks, accentuating the darkness of his freckles. Something about that is endearing to you, and for a moment, you are emboldened.

You step closer to him, to which he instinctively steps back, maintaining space while his senses are momentarily thrown off by his reaction to your praise. However, he doesn’t get to do that for long. He stumbles back into a stool, gripping onto its edge as he falls onto it, surprised. He would have known that was there, if not for your closeness and persistence. You move even closer, placing a knee between his thighs on the stool, boosting your height and leaning in to grab his face. He freezes, momentarily shocked by your bold actions, but he soon relaxes, his shoulders falling and his breathing returning to normal. He looks down, his eyes becoming hooded before he looks up at you again, his emerald gaze more alluring than before. He bites his lip before speaking, probably to distract you. Admittedly, it almost works. “Mon trickster…” He speaks again, and you wonder how anyone got used to hearing him speak, when such a harsh twang in a smooth accent contradicted so perfectly. He breathes shakily, a blush returning to his face. You deduced he was definitely trying to lure you in. “You’re being… awfully bold today. May I ask what’s brought this on-”

“Your imperfections are what makes your beauty!” You don’t shout, but you do raise your voice, ensuring his words are drowned out. Being this close to him makes you somewhat nervous, but you stand your ground, pressing your palms a little more into the flesh of his cheeks. He blinks at you confusedly, waiting for you to speak. You open your mouth to speak, but close it just as quickly, letting out a few false starts before sighing. You look away, taking a deep breath, before steeling yourself and facing him once more. Slowly, you let your eyes take in his face, until your gaze reaches his freckles, prominent against his tan skin. You find yourself stroking his freckles with your thumbs, gently tracing the nonsensical patterns in which they appear. You finally find your confidence again, and speak without thinking. “Your freckles and tan don’t tell me that you had bad or sensitive skin- they tell me that you loved the sun.” Your voice is so gentle it surprises yourself, not whispered, but low, and filled with a strange intimacy.

His eyes widen at your words, his lips parted. He breathes shakily, but something about it is genuine this time. His eyes remain fixated on yours, his thick eyebrows downturned in a strange mix of melancholy and yearning. You stroke his face more, and he relaxes, closing his eyes and letting you hold him. You begin to breathe shakily yourself, your body flushing with heat and your fingers beginning to tremble just slightly. You move your right hand from his cheek to his hair, not once lifting your palm. Your fingers gently move through his hair, holding the back of his head, and he leans into your touch, exhaling as your pinky brushes the back of his neck. You lean in as well, following him as he follows your touch. He opens one eye to peer at you curiously, gauging your next action. When you gently pull at his waves, his eye snaps shut again, and he disguises a moan as a throaty exhale. You speak again, led purely by the spur of the moment. “Your uneven bangs and wild hair don’t tell me that you didn’t care for it- it tells me that you took the time to let it grow, and chose not to restrict what was yours.” You say this close to his neck, your lips gently brushing against the shell of his ear. He shivers, gripping the stool harder.

You begin to pull back, keeping your palms to his skin. You move your right hand back to his cheek, where your left hand still rests on his other one. You pause for a moment before drifting both hands downwards, your palms and fingers tickling his jaw and neck. He leans his head back to allow you access, sighing quietly at the feeling. You gently trail your palms and fingers down his neck before finally resting at the base. You then gently drag your hands to his shoulders and squeeze them, looking up at him. His blush still remains, and his lips are still parted, his breathing still shaky. He gazes at you expectantly, as though eagerly awaiting your next bit of praise. You lean towards his face and press your forehead to his, looking down at his shoulders. “Your slouch does not tell me that you had bad posture- it tells me that you were shyer, and didn’t take pride in your appearance.” You begin to trail your palms down his shoulders, your fingers feather-light on his skin in their wake. He shivers at the gentle stimulation, closing his eyes again. His breathing gets heavier and shakier, and you begin to feel heat pool within you once more. You pull your head back, straightening up as your stare at him. Leaning your face close to his, you continue to trail your palms down his arms, your fingers lightly pressing into his muscles, mapping out the structure of his body. Eventually you lift your palms, using only your fingers to trail down his forearm, tracing the insides of his wrists. He hardly flinches, likely expecting this, but still shivers at the sensation. “It also tells me…” You continue, your lips mere inches from his, but not daring to move any closer, staring at his cupid’s bow and blonde lashes. Your fingers reach his hands, and you gently pry them from their grip on the stool, moving them to his lap, palms up. You trace your fingers along his rough, calloused palms and fingers, making shapes and patterns. “...That you took more pride in the things you did with your hands.” You press your palms into his and his eyes flutter open, not surprised to find you mere inches from his face. He exhales, his blush deepening. He blinks at you, knowing you still weren’t finished yet.

“Your imperfections lead me to your beauty. That’s why…” You trail off, lifting one hand from his palm and caressing his cheek once more. “...You’re beautiful.”

You begin to pull back, closing your eyes and quickly moving away, beginning to move your knee from between his thighs on the stool. However, he quickly grabs you, his fingers gripping the back of your uniform as he pulls you in. Your knee follows your movements, pushing into his inner thigh on the stool. He sharply inhales, looking down, before looking back up at you with hooded eyes. His eyes still look expectant, as though he still wants more.

“Mon trickster…” He says lowly, pulling you in further. Your knee presses harder against his inner thigh and your upper body closer towards his. He breathes shakily, moving one hand from the back of your uniform to the front, bunching some of it in his grasp. He tilts his head towards you, and you can feel his breath on your lips as your eyes lock with his. Heat flushes through your body again.

“Are there any other… imperfect beauties… that I possess, that you’d like to point out to me?”

rejoice! entertainment be upon ye!

a/n: okay but seriously, i hope u all enjoyed! i wrote this in like,, a few hours? for reference it is like. 5:45 am where i am as i type this LOLLLL! i was up lateee bc i no longer have schoolwork which meansss every spare second i have that im not working working, ill be doing these. anyways! please please pleeeeaaaasssseee leave a like, comment, and a reblog if u liked it! i love 2 know that u loved my work! ik its been a while but i promise 2 try 2 be more active… i swear!! oh, and leave an ask if u have any ideas about other things i should write!

#twisted wonderland #twisted wonderland smut #minors dni #rook twst #rook x reader #twst rook #rook hunt #rook twisted wonderland #rook hunt x reader #rook hunt twisted wonderland #rook hunt twst #rook hunt x yuu #rook hunt smut #twst #rook hunt x mc

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aviawrites · 17 hours

Text

when we were teenagers (challengers)

pairings/relationships: tashi duncan x sister!reader, patrick zweig x fem!reader, art donaldson x fem!reader

summary: Tashi Duncan’s younger sister, Ava Duncan, never gets a chance to be seen past her sister’s shadow. When Ava gets injured and Tashi starts gaining fame, the two become more and more at odds with each other. Tashi juggles Art and Patrick while Ava struggles to keep up. When over a decade passes and a peace isn’t reached, either the Donaldsons or Zweigs, either Tashi or Ava, has to come out on top. (7.2k)

a/n: you know the movie was good when you have to rewatch so you have all the info for the fic🥴 with that being said, the dates and stuff may be a little off but i did my best with what wikipedia had to offer. regardless, im a patrick zweig stan 4L. anyway, as always, ur interaction is greatly appreciated, ily<3

warnings: description of injury, allusions to sex/almost a smut scene, swearing

in this story, yn is: Ava Duncan

March 16, 2006 //📍home, 9:35pm

The goofy grin on the brunette’s face and the blond’s childish giggle replays over and over in your head. Your mother’s muffled snores mix with Art’s laughs as a smile grows on your face, your eyes closed.

You’ve found yourself in this position too many times, imagining what could’ve been if the cute guys were eyeing you rather than your sister. But you’ve experienced it enough times to not even be hurt by it anymore. No guys approach you at volleyball events, especially not hot ones. So if anything, you find some comfort in lying upside down on the corduroy couch making up scenarios in your head.

The click of the front door forces your eyes open, sitting upright and perking up like a dog as your sister tip toes through the door.

“So…” You rest your chin on your fist, “Which one was it?”

“Shh,” Tashi smiles, pointing to your mom’s closed door. “Which one was what?”

“Come on,” You continue as she stands in front of you, “Which one did you…Y’know.”

“Oh my- Neither of them, Ava.”

“What!?”

“Shh!”

You lower your tone, “Seriously? You were alone with them both and didn’t make a move?”

“It wasn’t like that.” She laughs, “They’re like…I dunno, they’re weird.”

You scrunch your face up, “What, are they gay?”

She pauses, cocking her head.

“They’re actually gay?”

“No, no they’re not.” She giggles, “I just didn’t do anything with them. I mean we kissed but that’s it.”

“Did you kiss the blond?” You interrogate, “I really like the blond…”

“His name is Art and I kissed them both.” She smirks.

You roll your eyes, “Whatever.”

Tashi laughs at you, plopping next to you on the couch and resting her legs across yours.

“They did ask for my number again.”

“What’d you tell them?” You stroke her leg.

“I said whoever wins the match tomorrow gets it.”

“God, I wish.” You sigh, throwing your head back. “I’d kill to see Art just one more time…”

———

May 15th, 2006 //📍home, 6:00pm

You wince as your mom tightens the brace, covering your face in frustration.

“It’s okay, baby.” She kisses your head, “You tell me if you need anything, okay?”

You nod as she presses one more kiss onto your hair before walking out, leaving you alone with your thoughts.

Almost every athlete you know has been injured before, half of the girls on your team are covered in braces and tape all season. A torn ACL seems more like a right of passage than a serious and life changing injury. But when you heard the pop and felt the ligament rip, it was almost immediate; The realization that you very well may never play again. You’re not sure if yours was worse than others or if you’re just weaker, but the trauma of the blistering pain has turned you away from getting back on the court for the last month.

You already can tell who’s on the other side of the door from the lack of a knock. You internally sigh, wanting to be left alone, as Tashi sits at the foot of your bed.

“Hey, I was thinking we could go to the courts today. I could practice with you.”

“Tashi…”

“I know you haven’t been wanting to go but since you just hit a month I was thinking, you know, maybe you’d want to start working again.”

You shake your head, “Tashi, I don’t think I’m ready.”

“When will you be?” She asks, her voice stern.

You stare at her, “I don’t know, Tashi. Why?”

“I’m just saying Ava, it’s not good to stop for this long. Some people never get back out there and you have to at least try.”

“I am trying.” You raise your voice, “My insides tore apart. Sorry if I’m not eager to put pressure on myself again.”

“There’s no pressure I’m just asking you to get up and at least walk on a court again.”

“What if I don’t want to?”

“Why the fuck not?”

“Because I’m fucking scared, Tashi!” You shout, tears falling from your eyes. “I’m fucking scared of it happening again! I am not ready!”

She stares at you, a look that you can only describe as disgust on her face.

“…You don’t even want to drive out there just to see-“

“Get out.” You cover your eyes, a headache creeping up on you.

“Ava, I’m not going to let you waste away in here-“

“Get the fuck out of my room or I’m calling mom.” You stare back at her, “Go.”

She stands, giving you one last look of disapproval before leaving, slighting slamming your door behind her.

———

September 18th, 2006 //📍Stanford Tennis Courts, 5:00pm

“Passing…Down the line…Cross…”

Tashi’s grunts echo throughout the court as you throw shots at her, a pile of green tennis balls forming behind you. It took a few weeks but she got you back on the court, just not the volleyball courts. You’ve watched Tashi’s practices long enough to know the game, so when you reluctantly offered to help her train, she jumped at the opportunity.

You zone out, robotically tossing the balls as Tashi dashes across the court. You silently hope for a specific someone show up. Patrick Zweig had your sister in his phone and occasionally in his bed, but Art Donaldson was a free man. The only Duncan in his phone was Ava, an achievement that you pride yourself on even weeks later.

Sure, the two of you aren’t a thing, not the way Tashi and Patrick are. But you’re happy to be anything with Art, so the talking stage that you seem to be stuck in doesn’t bother you at all. You can only pray that it’ll blossom into something. Something meaning you being Ava Donaldson in the near future.

As if you summoned him, a very familiar blond boy opens the wire door, locking eyes with you. Your heart skips a beat when he waves at you, your hand immediately dropping the ball and waving back.

Your sister turns around to see Art, a smile growing on her face as she walks over to him. She wraps her arms around him, pulling him in for a hug as you watch. They barely pull away before Tashi begins chatting, her face too close to his for your liking.

Across the court, they’re too far for you to hear their conversation. But judging from Art’s hand draped over her waist and her arm resting on his shoulder, you see enough to be angry. You can only look down, waiting for the conversation, along with your humiliation, to end.

After an abundance of giggles, Art turns and walks away, giving you another wave.

“I’ll see you.” He smiles.

You purse your lips, terribly embarrassed as you nod, “Yeah. Good seeing you, Art.”

The door shuts and with it, your smile drops. Tashi gets back into position like nothing happened, waiting with her racquet. Playing along, you throw her the ball. Only, you don’t call the drill. You throw with a little more force and much more unpredictability as the anger in you rises.

“Ava…” Tashi calls, frantically chasing the ball.

It’s only when the ball flies past her head, barely missing her, that she stops.

“Ava, what the fuck!?”

She walks toward you, meeting you at the net.

She shrugs, “What’s up, what’s going on?”

“Are you serious?”

She only looks at you, confused.

“Tashi, come on. You were literally all over him.”

“Wh- Art?” She deciphers, “Oh, Ava my bad I didn’t mean- I really didn’t mean to.”

“Yeah, sure you didn’t.”

“Seriously, I didn’t. He’s my friend I was just saying hey.”

“Saying hey with your arms around each other? That’s bullshit, just say you still like him.” You look down, mumbling. “It’s fine, it’s just annoying that you go after every guy I like knowing they’ll choose you.”

“Hey…” Tashi softens her tone, stepping over the net and nearing you. “Ava.”

“What?” You look at the ground.

“I didn’t mean it like that…” She insists, “I’m just stressed with school and stuff, he’s the only one who gets it.”

“Right.” You roll your eyes, not in the mood for ‘I’m stressed,’ to be the excuse for going after your guy. “It’s not like I go to school too or anything.”

“No, I know you do. It’s just…Stanford’s different, you know?”

“Whatever.”

“Ava,” She lifts your chin to look at her, “I’m sorry, okay?”

The two of you ogle at each other as she waits for an answer. She always does this, almost forces you into accepting her apology which you do not.

“We good?” She asks.

“…Yeah, sure.” You shrug, pulling away from her, “It’s whatever.”

Tashi just looks at you once more, seemingly satisfied as she steps back over the net. She gets back into position as you pick up another ball, a look still on your face.

“Down the line.”

———

December 21st, 2006 //📍Stanford Dining Hall, 12:00pm

“How many?” The employee asks.

“Umm, can I have three?” You lean on the counter, “Or four, actually.”

She reaches under the counter before handing you four mayo packets.

“Thanks.”

You start the walk back toward the table, Patrick having picked the one in the far back. He clearly hasn’t returned from the bathroom as you see Art and Tashi still sitting alone. As you near them, you catch a glimpse of their conversation.

“Don’t you think you deserve it?” Art asks, his eyes so focused on your sister that he doesn’t see you walking up. “I mean, who wouldn’t be u love with you?”

Tashi doesn’t respond, only angrily stands and walks away, nearly knocking you over. She passes you, smoke practically coming out of her ears. You watch her go before sitting where she was, handing Art the packets.

“Thanks.” He smiles, “Patrick still in there?”

“I guess so.” You laugh, insecurity lacing your voice as you simultaneously try to decode the conversation they were having.

“I’m so not surprised.” He takes the bun off of his burger and tears open the white packet with his teeth.

You watch him, hesitant to speak. Though, your words spill out before you can stop them.

“Do you ever wish Patrick let you win the match?” You ask.

Art looks up at you, mid squeeze. He cracks an unsure smile.

“What kind of question is that?” He laughs.

“I don’t know,” You do the same, tragically self conscious. “Maybe you wonder what it’d be like to date my sister or something. I don’t know, it’s stupid.” You look down, fiddling with your fingers.

Art pauses, putting his burger down and placing his hands on yours.

“Hey,” He grabs your attention, “I’m here with you today.

You smile, “No, I know. It’s just…She’s like better than me in every way so I wouldn’t blame you.” You chuckle.

“What? I don’t think so, I think you’re great.”

“Yeah, but I didn’t get in to Stanford. Nor do I win all of the tennis tournament or-“

“Ava,” Art stops you, shaking your head. “You’re just as good as Tashi.”

Your eyes tread on each other as you try your hardest to believe him. But you do realize that this is the exact same way he looked at Tashi on the courts.

The two of you are snapped out of it as Patrick returns, taking his seat next to Art.

“Sorry, they had like no toilet paper.”

“Oh good, thanks for letting us all know you took a shit, bud.”

“Whatever. Ava doesn’t give a shit, right?”

“No,” You laugh, “You’re all good, Pat.”

———

📍Tashi’s dorm, 2:00pm

“So if he’s seeing other girls I won’t even fucking know now.” Tashi vents, stretching for her match.

You scroll on your phone, sitting at her desk. “It sounds like he was just trying to be nice, Tash. He was trying to help you out-“

“No, he’s not nice. Nothing about them is nice, Ava. They’re fucking weirdos, both of them. Art just hides behind this persona that he’s so caring and team Duncan when really he wants the same thing from me as Patrick.”

‘He wants the same thing from me.’

You sigh, tired of hearing the same things and watching her run back to them minutes later.

“Then stop complaining and fucking leave him already.”

Tashi stops in her lunge, “What?”

“You keep complaining about them.” You grunt, “If you really didn’t want the attention you’d just drop them both.”

“If I didn’t want the attention?”

“Yes.”

“The fuck does that mean?”

“Exactly what I said.” You say, irritated.

“Ava…” She stands up, looking down at you. You continue scrolling until your phone is snatched from you. “Hey.”

“What the-“

“Do you have something to say to me?”

“Give me my phone back.” You stand up, reaching for it.

“No, say what you mean.”

“Really?” You grab for your phone once more but she pulls it away from you like a child, “Fuck - Okay, Tashi, all you talk about is how hard your life is. How hard training is for a tournament that you know you're going to win. How hard it is dating a famous and touring athlete. How hard it is being friends with the nicest guy who only wants to help you. How fucking hard it is to have two guys fighting over you. How hard it is to go to an ivy league. How hard it is to live the fucking dream. How about you actually do something about it instead of rubbing it in our faces that you're above us and can play with two guys at once because you're so fucking amazing?"

The two of you stand nose to nose, a stance Tashi used to always initiate in order to intimidate you.

“How long have you felt this way?” She asks, her breath shaking.

“Ever since you became the Tashi Duncan and I was left in the dust. Now give me my phone.”

“Are you fucking serious, Ava? You think I asked for this?”

“Asked for what? A great life where you succeed in fucking everything? No, Tashi, you didn't have to ask for it. We worked so fucking hard and only you survived it. I succumbed to my fate, I quit my dream, I went to a shitty college, had shitty friends, watched shitty games, and watched the boys I liked fight for my sister. But no; Please, continue bitching about your hard situation."

You snatch your phone from her hands, walking toward the door. "Good luck at your fucking match."

———

2:45pm

You barely look up as you exit the library, occupied with connecting your earbuds to your phone. It’s only when you see a familiar black head of hair sitting in the common area that you stop.

“Patrick?”

He looks back, taking his feet off of the Stanford branded coffee table.

“Oh, hey Ava.” He makes space for you to sit beside him on the small loveseat. “How’s it goin’?”

“Good, um…” You put your stuff on the floor and sit next to him, “Why aren’t you at the tournament?”

“I could ask you the same thing.” He smiles that same crooked smile from the night you met him.

You curl your legs up, leaving your arm on the back of the seat. “Did y’all fight too?”

Patrick leans back, looking over at you. “Yeah. Yeah, we did.” He laughs.

“What was yours about?” You pry, smiling.

“Uh,” He rubs his eye, “Just…not letting her control me. I’m my own boss kind of shit.”

“Seriously?”

“…Yeah, why?”

“That’s what our fight was about too!” You burst into giggles, “Well, not her controlling me but her controlling you. And Art, him too.”

“Shit? Art too?”

“Yeah, I mean, especially Art. You’re the only one who stands up to her bullshit.”

“Oh yeah?” He asks, “I don’t know, you seem to put up a good fight.”

“Yeah, but I’m her sister. It’s takes a brave man to break free of Tashi Duncan.”

“Oh god, did I break free?”

“You definitely broke free.” The two of you laugh.

“No but I see what you’re saying, she definitely had me whipped.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. Like I remember one time,” He turns toward you, getting comfy, “The first time her and I, um…”

“Oh, Jesus.” You cover your face.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry!” He laughs, “But the first time we did, I remember she said she’d leave me if I told anyone. And I was head over heels, so of course I didn’t want to tell, right?”

“Right.”

“But Art’s my guy, y’know? So instead of being straight up and jeopardizing Tashi’s love, we made this stupid ass signal.” He tells in between laughs, “The way that Art serves - Like, you know how he puts the ball at the neck of his racquet?”

“Yeah, yeah.” You listen intently.

“Well, if I served that way, that meant yes, we did sleep together, And if I served my way, it meant we didn’t.”

“…And?”

“Well I put that motherfucker right in the middle.”

“Oh my-“

You and Patrick erupt into laughs, covering your mouths as the librarian eyes the two of you. Your stomach starts to ache, not being able to remember the last time you had this kind of belly laugh.

“Well, cheers to breaking free of her.” You put your fist up.

“Oh hell yeah, cheers to that.” He bumps it.

———

3:05pm

The crowd outside thins out as you and Patrick head down the back halls and toward the parking lot. In true honor of breaking free, the two of you decided to not say goodbye. Instead, you’d go home without saying a word to your sister.

You’re a few doors down from the exit when Patrick stops in his tracks, looking into the nurses office.

“Tashi…” He walks in.

You enter the doorway, peeking in behind him. Inside, you see Tashi sitting on the table, Art by her side.

“No, out.” Your sister points.

“I’m sorry-“

“Get out!”

“Tashi, listen to me-“

“No, get out!”

“Please-“

“Patrick, get the fuck out!” Art shouts, standing.

Patrick stays for a moment, taken aback as he looks from Tashi to Art. If he has the same vision as you, it’s clear that it’s them against him. It’s no longer Patrick and Tashi, but Art and Tashi.

He looks back at you before obeying, walking down the hallway.

Now alone, you come into full view, nearing your sister.

“Tash, what happened-“

“You too.”

You stop, tilting your head. “What?”

“I don’t want you here, leave.”

“Wh- Are you serious?”

“Ava, I think you should just go.” Art says lowly, wary to step in between you too.

You ignore him, “Tashi, I’m your sister.”

You get no answer, she only looks forward. You look at Art as he stands over her like some bodyguard.

Just as Patrick did, you back away, realizing what this is. You frantically looking between the two as you wait for Tashi to change her mind, to see that regardless of what fight you had you’re still sisters. Though, it’s clear that doesn’t mean anything to her, it’s been clear for a while now.

Now, it’s only Art and Tashi.

———

10:03pm

“Coming in from Stanford; Student and highly lauded tennis player, Tashi Duncan, took a hard hit at her match against Pepperdine this afternoon. Sources say a hard fracture to the knee has Tashi in the care of medical professionals. It is unknown if she’ll ever be able to play again.”

The blinding fluorescent lights of the cheap fast food place burn your eyes as you and Patrick look up at the TV.

You bury your head in your hands, groaning.

“Fuck.”

“She probably think she’ll never be able to play again.”

“Please, please don’t say that, Patrick. I’ll feel so guilty.”

“Ava, there’s nothing we could’ve done.”

“We could’ve at least showed up.” You rub a hand over your head.

“Hey,” He forces you to look at him, “None of this is our fault, okay? Injured or not, she still treated us like shit. Art only gets to stay by her side because he’s whipped.”

“I just…” You sigh, “I just wish I had been there.”

The two of you stand up, leaving the restaurant. Outside, a huge Adidas billboard with your sister’s face on it dominates the sky.

The two of you get into Patrick’s car, him cranking it up and turning down the radio.

“Let’s talk about something else.”

“Okay.” He nods, looking at you.

“Like…” You think, “Your tour.”

“Oh, God.”

You laugh, “When are you set to go back?”

“Uh, next week I’m pretty sure. But if I’m being honest, I don’t even want to go. I’ve been getting my ass kicked out there.”

“Patrick, Tashi would lose it if she heard you say that.”

He leans in, resting his arms on the center console as he examines your face. “Let’s not talk about Tashi…”

“Okay,” You hold the intense eye contact that he began, “What do you want to talk about?”

His nose is almost touching yours as you unconsciously near him, eyes flickering from his eyes to his lips.

“Let’s talk about you.” He grins, rubbing your waist.

“What do you want to know?”

“Tell me what you like.” He says, lowering his lips to your neck and softly pressing.

“I, um,” You tilt, holding the back of his head as he gets sloppier, “I loved volleyball. My team was out of California but we travelled for tournaments. We ranked…fuck…we ranked second in the country-“

Patrick cuts you off, his lips ravaging yours as he runs his hands over you. You can’t stop yourself from leaning into him, crawling over to sit on his lap. Both of your hands get more and more heavy as he pulls your shirt over your head, tossing it in the backseat.

“Fuck,” You say in between kisses, “Fuck, wait.”

“What.” He looks up at you, “What, is something wrong?”

“Is this wrong to do?” You ask, out of breath. “Should we stop? What about Tashi and Art?”

“Ava they fucking yelled at us to leave when we tried to help.” He reminds you, “Why should we stop when they treated us like that?”

You look at him, convincing yourself that you’re considering it when all you want to feel is your mouth on his.

And you do, pushing the thoughts of Tashi and Art far from your mind.

———

February 15th, 2011 // 📍Zweig condo, 9:30am

5 years later

At one point in your life, it would take you multiple seconds to figure out how to say the dollar amount that you and your husband had in your bank account. Now, as the number almost falls short of five figures, you feel ashamed just looking at it.

You switch tabs on the laptop, the light from the ceiling to floor window behind it hurting your eyes. Scrolling through tournament options, the distances only get further and the prize money higher. Years ago, you and Patrick wouldn’t even consider the amount, as Patrick just wanted to play tennis; And that still holds true, only you’ve been stuck in your ways for so long that he’s forgotten how to play to win.

Nails scratch the hardwood behind you as your golden doodle, Bear, comes barreling down the hall. Right behind him is your husband, chasing the dog around the living room.

“I’m gonna getcha, I’m gonna getcha!” He says, the dog running desperately from him.

You chuckle, “Good morning.”

You hear Patrick give Bear a smooch before walking over to you, wrapping his arms around your neck.

“Good morning, baby.” He kisses your neck, looking at the screen. “Found anything good?”

“Not really,” You groan, frustrated. “I don’t know when these matches got so fucking far.”

“Hey,” He strokes your head, “I’m sure there’s one we can make it to.”

You continue scrolling, the qualifier maximum getting smaller and smaller.

“What about this one?” He points.

“Atlanta? Patrick, that’s on the other side of the country.”

“I know, I know. But we can make the trip, no? I hear some of our friends may be there.”

You turn your head, furrowing your brows at him. A sly smile plasters over his face, one that makes you realize all too quickly.

“They’re going to be there?”

He nods.

“God, why would you want to be anywhere near them, Patrick?”

“We probably won’t even see them, baby. But if they’re there we’ll have a big crowd.”

You think on it, the thought of seeing Tashi making your stomach turn in knots.

“…And look at that winner’s reward money.” He says convincingly.

A sigh escapes you before clicking submit, Patrick’s entry automatically being sent.

“Mm,” He kisses your wedding ring finger, “Thank you, baby.”

“Yeah, yeah.” You jokingly roll your eyes, pecking him on the cheek.

——

February 24th, 2011 //📍Atlanta, 7:40pm

Nausea consumes you as Patrick’s smell fills your senses. The aroma of the city is one thing, the aroma of your husband another, but the scent of your sister’s old perfume radiates off of him like a cancer.

You watch as he sets his coat down, coming behind the couch to kiss you.

“Did you-“ You pull your face away, not able to let him touch you, “Did you see anyone we know?”

Patrick is taken aback, looking at you with a confused smile.

“No…Why?”

His eyes bore into yours as you search for any answer than the one you’re imagining. Though, as he hands you the chinese takeout bag and takes a seat next to you, you find yourself voiding the conclusion entirely; Your mind not willing to believe the man you love would be meeting her.

He wraps his arms around you, watching the TV. As the smell seems to corrupt every sense you have, a tear sneaks into your cheek, the possibility still piercing your gut. Even so, you wrap your arms back around him.

As of this moment, the comfort of hiding in his arms trumps the possibilities of the truth.

——

June 3rd, 2013 // 📍Zweig Condo, 3:00pm

2 Years Later

‘Hey, I know it’s been a while. But if you’re willing, I’d love to come out and see you and the baby. - A ♡’

The ‘Read’ under your message seems to taunt you the longer you stare. Your phone screen is interrupted by a call, ‘Mom,’ at the top of the screen. You answer.

A small gasp escapes you as you’re immediately met with the smallest human you’ve ever seen. You’d know she was Tashi’s in a sea of babies. You wave your husband over, eyes staying on the baby.

“Oh my goodness.” You whisper, “Hi, baby.”

Her eyes stay closed, her hands in small fists.

“Oh, Ava, she’s so beautiful.” Your mom lowly says down the phone.

“Is…” You wipe away a stray tear, “Is Tashi okay?”

The camera flips from the baby to your mother.

“You know you could always ask her yourself, honey.”

“No, I know. But- Just tell them we said congratulations. She’s precious.”

Your mom lets out a sigh as she looks from you to behind the camera.

“Mom, who is that?” You hear your sister’s voice in the background.

Your hands turn clammy, your heart beating faster and faster as she begins to turn the phone to Tashi.

“Um, Mom we gotta go, we’re breaking up. I love you-“

“Wait, Ava-“

“Love you, mom.” You spit out, hanging up and turning your phone face down.

You stare out for a minute, shocked at your body’s response to your sister’s voice. Sobs escape your mouth before you can stop them. You shove your face in your hands.

“Oh, baby.” Patrick holds you, rubbing your back.

“It’s been too long.” You cry, “She fucking hates me.”

“You don’t know that.” He reassures you, “She may come around. You did good.”

———

May 1st, 2019 // 📍New Rochelle, 10:00am

6 Years later

Making it to New York from home took up the rest of Patrick’s savings. The house that you downsized to is completely funded by you and your remote sales salary. Patrick continues to fight a losing battle with tennis, barely able to pay for food for himself every week. Straining your marriage was the last consequence of his money struggles. Though, it has the biggest impact on your day to day. Nonetheless, you remain by his side. In all honesty, you’re not completely sure how to continue anywhere else.

“I’m going to see Art today.” Patrick tells you, downing a handful of trail mix.

“Art?” You ask, holding Bear’s paws on your

thighs, “Why would you do that? It’s been years.”

“I think it’s been long enough, we’re already here.” He shrugs, “I think it might be good for me.”

You focus on Bear, still not seeing a clear reason as to why he’d want to speak to Art after a decade.

“Maybe you should go see Tashi.”

Your eyes snap to him, her name barely being spoken in your house for the last six years.

“…And do what?”

He shrugs, “Might be good for you…”

…

1:00pm

Your stomach seems to twist in a thousand ways as you continuously fix your hair and outfit on the way into the far too fancy hotel. As you pass the lobby, you almost turn around and throw up. But as your sister heads for the elevator, you know this is your one chance to speak to her.

Your shoes thump against the marble floor as you jog after her.

“T- Tashi!” You whisper shout, reaching her just in time.

She turns around. Taking one look at you, she looks to your left and right, utterly confused.

“What are you doing here?” She asks, tone laced with disgust.

It’s been so long. She looks so different, her voice has such a maturity to it. But that dominating energy that she brings everywhere hasn’t changed a bit.

“Well I…” You fumble, all of your practice going out the window. “ I heard you were here, I wanted to say hello.”

“Say hello?” She looks you up and down, turning her full attention to you as she steps forward. “Honestly, I don’t want your fucking hello, Ava. Really, I don’t.”

You shake your head, “Tashi-“

"I can't believe you have the balls to be here.

After what you fucking did to me."

"What I-“ You compose yourself, remembering exactly how arguments with your sister always go. “Tashi, what the fuck did I do to you?"

"Are you serious?" She asks, "You're joking, yes?"

"No, I'm really not."

"You left me for 13 years by my fucking self." She raises her voice, "I had a wedding, I had a baby, and where were you? My sister was too stuck on a grudge to ever come back into my life, you're a waste of my fucking time." She begins to walk away.

“Hey.” You follow her, grabbing her arm and spinning her back around.

“Get off.”

"Not one of those events was I invited to, Tash.

Not one. If you wanted me back, if you gave a shit, you would've acted like it. But you're not going to sit here and act like I was in the wrong and I should've reached out to you. Hell, I did fucking reach out to you.”

“In the wrong?” She snatches her arm from you. “Ava, are you clinically fucking stupid? You're hung up on a situation from 13 years ago-"

"No, but it's not from 13 years ago, Tashi.” You cut her off, getting in her face. “Because you're going the same thing right now that you did when you were 18. You're sitting here blaming the world for your life decisions. You're blaming me for being angry that you were and are a narcissist who wants someone else to be the athlete that you never were. Every time I thought of coming back l'd imagine what my sister would say and I couldn't do it. But guess what Tashi, now I see through you. I fucking see it, Patrick sees it, and when Art finally opens his eyes you'll finally see yourself for what you are."

She stares at you, a chuckle escaping her. "Ava, this is pathetic. Genuinely. Because at the end of the day, it's not my fucking fault that you gave up. Now l'm in a position where I don't have to be here. I have a life, a pretty fucking good one, outside of this. Outside of you. This Final, it's practice. It's fucking child's play for us, whereas for the Zweigs...This is it for you. Your last fucking loss.”

“Yeah. Okay Tash.” You roll your eyes, "Keep throwing insults at me to distract from the fact that you're a shitty person."

"I'm a shitty pers- You fucking abandoned your family for 13 fucking years!"

"Because my sister is an insufferable egomaniac who can't accept the fact that her husband doesn't want to do this shit anymore and her tennis life is over.” You shout back, your voices echoing throughout the hotel. “It's fucking over Tashi, give it up. That's why I left you because you're fucking dreadful! You're dreadful and everyone knows it."

Tashi slowly nods, the hotel staff looking at the two of you.

"...Ava, do you know what your husband does late at night?"

Your eyes widen, your heart skipping a beat as she addresses the unspoken.

"Fuck you." You spit.

"I'm really asking, because from what I experienced...You're a lucky woman."

Now you’re the one with disgust in your eyes, the urge to spit in her face stronger than ever before.

“…Say hi to mom for me, Tashi." You say, your hands balling into fists.

“Happy to.” She utters, walking toward the elevator. “Tell Patrick I’m wishing him good luck.”

…

3:00pm

You only tell your husband bits a pieces of your encounter, not daring to remind him of the man he was in Atlanta.

“I don’t even know why I tried.”

“Both of them are assholes.” He agrees, “At least now we’re sure of it.”

“I guess.” You bite your nails, stroking Bear’s ears. “Patrick you have to beat him in the Final. We can’t let them win.”

“I know, baby.” He nods, on your wavelength. “I know.”

——

May 4th, 2019 // Night Before the Final, 11:25pm

“Pat, it’s really coming down out there.” You look out of the hotel window, tarps flying into the street. “What if they cancel the match?”

“They’d never do that.” He watches the TV, “It should lighten up by morning.”

You hum, snuggling next to him as the bright screen flashes through an action sequence. Patrick’s phone vibrates, his phone brightness lighting the rest of the room.

“Oh, baby.” He shifts his body, making you sit up. “I gotta go.”

“Now? Why?” You try to look on his phone but he pulls it away, scrolling.

“I have to, um,” He rubs his head, looking stressed. “My racquet, I have to pick it up.”

“The fuck does that mean?”

“They just messaged reminding me that we have to have this certain racquet to compete tomorrow.” He stands up, rushing toward the door.

“What- Patrick,” You follow him, “It’s like a fucking flash flood out there, can you not do this tomorrow?”

“Baby, they close at midnight, I gotta go,” He kisses you, “I love you.”

“Patrick, wait-“

“I love you, I have to go!” He shuts the door behind him.

…

12:30am

You have a strange urge to cry as you scroll through Art Donaldson’s instagram. Photos of him and his seemingly perfect family are plastered all over, an ‘@Tashidonaldson ♡’ at the top of his bio.

Patrick never wanted kids, said they’d cost too much and you couldn’t care for them. He was correct about the former, but care for children, you are willing and able to do. But when you married him, he did a lot of the decision making for you.

Now, as he’s blown all of your savings, lost his tennis touch, and been out of the damn hotel room for an hour doing god knows what , you wish you could shout at past you to get a grip.

Though, looking at these picture now, you wish you could do the same to past Art Donaldson too.

———

May 5th, 2019 // 📍New Rochelle Courts, 1:00pm

Final Day

The crowd’s heads robotically turned side to side as Art and Patrick dog it out in a vicious match. You sit in your assigned seat next to your sister, the endless stream of slander not ceasing, not even today.

“Is he retiring after this?” You ask, your head still going between the men.

Tashi shrugs, her expression hidden behind her sunglasses. “Maybe.”

"...I don't think Patrick will ever retire. I think tennis is all he has."

She hums, "If only he'd start winning his matches."

"He doesn't always play for the wins, Tashi."

"Yeah, he plays for the participation money."

"Maybe he does." You say, "At least he does it by choice."

She looks to you, her attention no longer on her husband’s tie breaker. "Art does it by choice."

“Like hell he does.” You scoff, “He wouldn't be retiring after becoming a Career Grand Slam if he wanted to be doing this.”

“Art is an adult, he does what he wants.” She looks back to the court.

“Art is your slave, he does what you want.”

Tashi continues trying to get to you. As Patrick sets for his next serve, he looks in your direction. Only, he isn’t looking at you, he’s looking at your sister. He returns his gaze to Art, placing his ball in the neck of his racquet.

Both you and Art freeze, staring at your husband. The men seem to be in their own world, but Patrick must’ve forgotten that you know too. The word seems to muffle around you as you stare at your husband’s evil grin at Art.

You stand on shaky legs, grasping your stomach as bile threatens to come up.

“Hey…” Tashi calls after you, “Ava, what the fuck are you doing?”

You run to the nearest exit, Patrick’s blatant disrespect and repulsiveness making you want to genuinely die where you stand.

It’s only as you stumble to your car that it truly hits you who the man you married really is, and how he really sees you.

Like everyone else, he thinks you’re a pawn in Tashi’s game. A piece that can be battered and bruised but will never go away, as it’s crucial to the game of Tashi. You want to vomit as you sit in your car, Patrick’s scent sending you into a violent sick.

———

May 14th, 2019 // 📍Zweig home, 12:00pm

9 Days Later

Three knocks at the door echo through your almost empty house. You pause your show, unlatching the chain and opening it.

Patrick stands in front of you, a hysterical attempt of a sad expression on his face.

“Everything’s here.” You walk him in, pointing to the boxes full of his stuff in the kitchen. “The only things that aren’t are your racquets, trophies, cups, stuff like that. Those are in the closet so they wouldn’t get mixed up.”

“Thanks.” He says, feeling like an alien in this house.

“Yeah.” You give him a thumbs up, returning to the couch next to Bear.

He spends an hour loudly moving his things from the kitchen to his car, the sound almost drowning out your show. Regardless, you stay put, wanting him to be done as fast as he can.

“Ava…” He calls over the reality TV. You ignore him, popping another veggie straw into your mouth.

Suddenly, his arm comes from behind you, grabbing the remote and muting it.

“Hey.” You turn around.

“I’m talking to you.”

“Okay, well I don’t want to talk to you.”

“Ava, I’m sorry-“

“Pat,” You chuckle, not being able to keep it in. “Don’t even.”

“Baby, listen to me, okay? I fucked up-“

“Patrick, Patrick!” You stand up, “Just stop, okay? Leave me be, finish getting your shit, and I’ll have the papers served to you by the end of the week.”

“Baby, no. Please.”

“Honey, there’s nothing you can say.” You shake your head, having prepared for his begging days ago. “Go beg to your mistress, yeah?”

He continues rambling, stumbling over his words. “Ava, it was such a bad mistake. I told myself it was strategy and- And because me and her have a complicated past I couldn’t see straight-“

“But nothing about us is complicated, right? We are married, we’re supposed to be a team. But you betrayed me, plain and simple.” You lay it out for him, “You’re a cheater and we’re done, now go.”

“It was a mistake-“

“Patrick…” You inhale, “I’m trying not to lose it, you need to get the fuck out.”

“Just hear me out-“

“Get out of the house, Patrick.”

“We can come back from this, Ava. We can.”

Your jaw hangs agape in genuine disbelief. He seems to notice he fucked up again as he stops speaking. You walk around the couch, getting in his face the same way Tashi used to get in yours.

“Patrick,” You begin, “I gave everything for you. I gave up my life, I gave up my family, I gave up Art, I left it all for you. I abandoned so much to be in your corner because I was in love with you, I really was. Whether you felt the same about me, I’ll never actually know-“

“I loved you, baby. I still love you-“

“But I thought you were the one who understood me, Patrick. But somehow every time I gave you a chance to correct yourself you threw it away to be with Tashi. Over and over. She’s constantly being picked over me, her feelings over mine, her body over mine, her opinion over mine…You’re just another one of her fans. You’re just like Art- Honestly, you’re fucking worse. At least he pretended to like me all those years ago. Now, as my husband, you just don’t give a shit. Just publicly showing that you slept with my sister.”

“…Why do you keep bringing up Art?” He looks down at you, “Do you- Do you feel something for him still?”

“Oh my fucking-“ You cover your face, composing yourself once again before continuing. “Pat, it’s been a long time. A long time since this all started. And if I could go back I’d change many things. But at the end of it all, I’m here because I worked for it and I endured it. You and Art can stay stuck under Tashi’s finger, that’s fine. But I know that the life is bigger than that. Bigger than this weird threesome love triangle shit that you circle back to every few years. I am a grown woman who is in control of her own life so if you don’t have anymore comments, you need to get out and sign the papers when they’re served to you, Patrick.”

“…Baby, please,” He cries, his lip quivering. “You love me, we love each other. Please

just think about it.”

You tilt your head, “Do you want me to be honest?”

Patrick nods, hiccuping on his tears.

“…All of this is really really beneath me.” You quietly tell him.

He lowers his head, his hands covering his eyes.

“When I was 18 I might have been broken over stuff like this but…” You shrug, “Things are very very different from when we were teenagers.”

#challengers #challengers fic #challengers imagine #challengers fanfic #art donaldson #patrick zweig #tashi duncan #art donaldson fic #patrick zweig fic #art donaldson challengers #patrick zweig challengers #challengers film #tashi duncan fic

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bigfatbimbo · 2 days

Note

vees' collective dom but the one who just wants to live a peaceful life or something else that leads them to bonk (sometimes physically) vees off doing their villainous things. no, vox, you're NOT dealing with that deer tonight, we've agreed to watch a movie. no, val, you don't overwork your staff, it's fucking noisy. vel, don't you dare ever talk to other overlords like that again, it's risky

tbh, I had an image in my head about such reader complaining about vees' manipulations while some (another) punishment. like that vox could not use his hypnosis to make people buy his new product if he just made it actually useful, so why not he put that stupid head of his to better use on your chest and nothing more. vel should've thinked better on how love potion could be used, so overstimulation to show her it is. and val? wouldn't need that manipulative nice persona if he'd make actually good films and not some animalistic boring shit, so why he won't keep all of his hands to himself and try to be more romantic, sitting behind you, tied so well so he's only able to talk and he better do that

- 🦊

Basically a reader almost (definitely) manipulating the Vees into being less evil. ALSO NOT PROOFREAD!!!

So i’ve had very similar thoughts to this for a while and i’m going to tell you exactly why this would work. Quick lore drop about me but I used to be such a lowkey shady businessman (not explaining anymore than this, i’m healed) and let me just say, people like them are actually very easy to manipulate.

AKA greedy, power hungry, egotistical maniacs. What they do is terrible, thats no denying that, but they think very highly of themselves and their skills. So ‘stop abusing your employees’ not from a moral standpoint, but from a competence standpoint. That sells.

Like the whole “vox could not use his hypnosis to make people buy his new product if he just made it actually useful” thing would absolutely work. It’s a hit against his ego and self competence, and because of the fragility in his facade, it would absolutely cause insecurity.

And reinforcing it with very rough, degrading, dumbifaction style sex would absolutely still have him thinking the next day. He’s sucking your tits or dick or something and you’re making comments like “Aw, look. A job you’re almost good at. Too bad that little head of yours can’t even think of anything useful to society.” Make him cry, you definitely can when it’s a knock at his intelligence and power.

“vel should've thinked better on how love potion could be used, so overstimulation to show her it is.” Oh boy, I know this would get to her. Velvette thinks she’s hot shit, no, she knows she is. So now you’re overstimulating her and making fun of her because really? You had to use, even better, actually put time in to create a whole ass love potion, because not enough people wanted to fuck you?

She’d whine and tell you that’s not why, but come on. I mean, why be that hell bent on something so futile, we both know she’s not selfless enough to just give that away to virgin creeps all over pride. Oh Velvette, who’s came countless times and who’s pussy aches and has makeup running down her face, now has to her your call out on her confidence, and how it’s only boosted by her useless, forceful grab for others attention.

And Val, there’s so much ground to cover. “wouldn't need that manipulative nice persona if he'd make actually good films and not some animalistic boring shit.” Personal callout to his craft, which is clearly just as self indulgent as it is tiring. Your actors look so battered, Val. That’s not a good look, and isn’t that the point? Sex won’t sell if the people aren’t sexy, and that stars cracked lip is positively hideous.

There’s no intimacy, and you doubt someone as talentless as him can even achieve romance. So now he’s tied up on the bed, barely able to move as you sit across from him, not just bored, but reading a book or scrolling on your phone. He’s practically crying out cliche, used lines to romance you, and failing miserably when the whine creeps in.

So basically, the angle with Vox is his fragile power, Velvettes her unimpressive beauty, and Valentino is the implication of him not having a grasp on sex. Oh also fucking them to drill it in their head. Because what, people? Something that impacts the control over their work-life and sex-life will stick. Sex and power go hand and hand when the greedy are lustful.

Now are the results?

Well, Vox would make a show of making more useful products, and still use hypnosis, obviously he’s a shitbag, but there’d be a new level of self-hatred that comes with it, meaning it’d happen less.

Well, Velvettes is a little harder to just… take back as the product is already out there. However, the product promotion goes down ever so slightly because yes, money and power is great, but you’ve done something no one can do. Embarrassed our confident queen.

Valentino actually thinks before hitting an employee to hard, and actually lets actors have conversations because apparently people should have… chemistry? He doesn’t know, he just doesn’t want his porn to be boring or not sexy. His other issue (assault, i’m talking about assault) is not resolved he just leaves less marks.

You’ve successfully watered down a problem for a long-term (but not permanent) period of time. This could be even longer if also plant the idea of falling from power in their head.

Simply “What were you before an overlord? A sinner. What are your employees? Sinners. If you treat these employees to harshly, what will they do? Rebel. To successfully keep and manipulate your power you need your workers to feel more than obligation, but loyalty to you. Not your company or their job. You. Otherwise, keep in mind how other overlords have fallen.”

If you ever try this from a morality standpoint, it won’t work. The angle is power, people, because they will never stop being abusive for the right reasons. However, your domineering behavior in bed has earned you an amount of respect.

I fear I sounded evil in this um… never have this mindset for people who aren’t corrupt evil rapists. Also, I don’t think I talked about the smut aspect enough sorry, I just love character analysis. OH ALSO I haven’t been a sinister salesman since I was 16, everybody, calm down. Everyone has an angle though!

#hazbin hotel x reader #hazbin hotel x you #dom reader #hazbin hotel smut #vox x reader #velvette x reader #valentino x reader #the vees x reader #sub vox #sub velvette #sub valentino #sub vees

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c4ttheart · 1 day

Text

zuko x fem!reader, angst, 1.6k wc (whoopsi)

supposed to be a gn reader but i put that they went to the royal fire academy for girls ; also timeline makes no sense LMFAO sorry ab that

summary : he says he loves you. that’s not fair, that’s not something best friends should say to each other. but his favourite colour is blue, and so is yours.

"zuko" you breathe out, "you’re back."

he furrows his brows when he hears you approach. he notices the hint of surprise in your voice, and somehow, he doesn’t know if it’s a good thing.

a mumbled "yeah" in response leaves his lips, and you smile. you quirk your lips upward as if he had never left. as if the last time he saw you wasn’t three years ago.

you want to ask him more, hold his hand and drag him through the gardens or sneak out into the city buying things you would never even need. but he turns away, leaving you to stand there in the middle of a palace that isn’t yours. zuko did not return with the avatar. zuko returned with blood on his hands, the price to pay for the victory of your kingdom. but that doesn’t feel right. that is not the zuko you know. then again, they really aren’t that different, three year gap or not, as they soak in the glory of what they have done.

why does he think it’s an honourable thing to have caused the demise of a city ? all that for what, the privilege of bathing in warm water and gold again ?

he ignores you throughout the month that he is here. you thought you were best friends, but apparently his stay at sea made him forget. one could say you’re not on the same footing anymore, since he is promised to the throne.

and it’s fine, you are fine, you can deal with whatever temper tantrum he is having, or the fact that he doesn’t have time for you. you don’t know what he went through, so you try to be fair. but then mai comes into the picture, and all of a sudden you’re fourteen crying on the floor of your dorm at the royal fire academy for girls because word is out that prince zuko has lost his agni kai. and you didn’t even have the time to say goodbye.

it’s not like you were dating. but he can’t just do whatever he’s doing. you waited for him to come back. every day. you still referred to him as your best friend and fed the turtle ducks in his absence. and he just waltzs back into your life and breaks your heart again.

mai is a sweet girl. she’s only a year younger than you. you know she’s a good student. but she doesn’t deserve to replace you. she doesn’t know his favourite colour and why it’s his favourite. she doesn’t know half of the things about him that complete your personality.

maybe that’s how you find yourself thumping on zuko’s door. it’s probably three in the morning, and you’re tired with red rims under yours eyes. he opens the door after some time, with messy hair and his room lit with candlelight. when was the last time you saw him ? he looks so real, so close and you are so, so grateful that he is here and that he is him, that you break down. what was once fury is replaced with desolation as he looks at you funny in front of the door that leads to his quarters.

"i uhm, thought you were at the academy." he mumbles awkwardly. the opening is only wide enough for you to see his face. why is he hiding ? what is this conversation topic ? when have you become such a stranger ? his favourite colour is blue. so is yours.

you sniffle. "it’s the middle of summer."

"oh."

he nods and moves to shut you off again. your tears run thicker against your cheeks.

"you can’t close the door zuko. you told me you loved me. you can’t keep on turning your back on the problems that require something else than military attention."

you don’t even know how you manage to speak the words correctly, considering the hiccups and the sniffles and the ugly crocodile tears. you don’t know how you manage to speak so correctly considering the state of your heart.

he scoffs. "you’re the one that left me."

"i did not leave you, zuko. i chose to stay." you laugh and croak out.

"that’s the same fucking thing." he whispers under his breath, his eyes rolling every time you blink water from your eyes.

it’s okay. you know he still loves you, somewhere inside. deep deep down, you know he does. it’s not wishful thinking, because his favourite colour is blue, and so is yours. blue like the waves back in ember island, blue like the water the turtle ducks swim in, blue like the sky in which he wishes he could soar. blue like the flames he never got.

"you can leave now, y’know ? " he speaks again, every single drop of formality run dry on his lips when he sees you. is that a good thing ?

and yellow used to be your favourite colour. not his, yours. yellow like the sun, yellow like the small buttercups, yellow like the jewellery your mother would wear. yellow like his eyes. and then all of a sudden, zuko came along, and yellow morphed into blue. what he liked, you liked. what he did, you did. what he said, you said. somewhere along the way you forgot yourself in the name of love. and all that for what ?

"i-i don’t understand, zuko." you hiccup. you try to remember the warmth of the yellow sun but all you can focus on is the harsh yellow in his eyes. it looks much less appealing than blue.

"god, what more is there to understand ? people move on, (name). maybe it’s time you do the same. grow up a bit, and maybe you’ll get a real personality."

you gasp.

"oh and, it’s prince zuko to you."

this horrible feeling settles in your stomach. like needles, piercing over and over again. or a dam being broken by a tidal wave. you do not feel good. and he is dressed in red, like his curtains, like his door, like the walls and floors and windows and carpets and when you finally reach the gardens you have never felt so nauseous watching the fountain blue.

when you glance up, you realise the sky is red too.

your tears are all dried up now. you should go home, probably. but the sun is rising and the last thing you want to do is let your parents know you snuck out, that you’re not at all at the friend’s house you were supposed to be at. you’re seventeen, yet you are still so reliant on your parents. you should take control of your life, you think, but you still have a favourite colour and you still like the same guy than when you were a child. maybe zuko is right, you should grow up.

best friends should never be able to love each other. it ruins lives, love. you think it would have been best if zuko had never loved you at all. but his favourite colour is blue, and so is yours, because your personality is completely attached to his. maybe you loved him too before you even knew it.

you watch people get up and about from the tower you’re in. you don’t know which one it is, just that it is high off ground. when a bird squeaks, you bang your head against the wall. messenger hawks scare you.

something falls besides you, and it sounds light. a key, sitting still and yellow on the middle of the paved floor. it’s an ordinary key, yet it looks too unused to be one leading to the bird cages. you nervously look around, with puffy eyes and dried cheeks, because you should not be doing this but god, do you need something to get your mind off zuko.

fuck him and his little girlfriend. fuck him and his petty ways, fuck him and his fancy baths, fuck him and his golden eyes. he should have told you if he hated you. if he didn’t wish to be best friends anymore. you would have taken it easier than now. but he just vanished, and when he came back, he wasn’t himself anymore. maybe he lost himself like the people of ba sing se lost their lives because of him.

you spot some sort of square locker imbedded in the wall. it looks quite private but the key fits when you insert it, and when you turn it the door silently opens. then something falls on your face. it’s small and not very heavy. looks like a messy envelope when you pick it up. you open it subconsciously, like it was meant to find you somehow. maybe it was, because your heart drops when you read who it is addressed to. you skip the contents only for what you thought were your dry eyes pour again.

inside the box, is a year worth of letters. they’re all from zuko. and they’re all sealed with blue wax.

you don’t speak with zuko the following week, but rumours spread fast and all of a sudden the whole country knows he’s gone. it’s alright. you didn’t get to say goodbye the first time, so why would you now ? when you go back to your dorm at the academy the next day, pretty petunia flowers sit on your bed, sealed with a blue ribbon. you clench your jaw.

it is quite a feeble gift, but it is better than nothing at all. you keep them in a vase on the windowsill, even when you learn they mean resentment, because his favourite colour is blue, and so is yours.

it always will be.

i like read iver this once to make sure some sentences made sense that is it

this was supposed to b fluff but uh,,,,,

#anime x reader #atla zuko #atla #atla x reader #atla x you #atla x y/n #zuko x y/n #zuko x you #zuko x reader #avatar zuko #fire lord zuko #prince zuko #zuko #avatar the last airbender #avatar the last airbenber netflix #avatar 2009 #avatar live action

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darkwolf989 · 3 days

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Can I request a girl dad Vox where his teenage daughter is going through her emo phase. at the same time going through puberty, and she's just at that stage where she's like "I hate you all" and it really hurts Vox because she's always been her little girl and maybe it ends with them making up and just being goofy like watching her favorite movies. Like super daddy's girl esk until then and his world just stops when she starts pulling away. I LOVE GIRL DAD VOX.

This was such a fun request! Thanks for sending!! <3

The attitude shift came overnight. Vox couldn’t pinpoint exactly when his daughter changed her nail polish from pink to black, or when she started to wear only the black pieces from her wardrobe. But he could absolutely remember the first time she snapped at him over a simple question. As she left the breakfast table and slammed the door shut behind her, Vox looked to Valentino and Velvette for guidance.

“She’s growing up,” Velvette said through sips of her coffee. “Just be patient. Let her come to you and give her space.”

And so, Vox tried. I mean, honestly, he really did try. He let every snarky response, every too loud blast of music pass. Hell, the morning she woke up and poured herself a cup of coffee he almost blew a gasket. She was sixteen, she didn’t need coffee, he started to say, but Valentino cut him off and guided reader back to the kitchen.

“Cream and sugar, little princessa, will help you get used to the taste,” Valentino said gently.

Vox heard her mutter something he couldn’t quite make out but her tone certainly sounded rude. He stood up to scold her but Velvette grabbed his hand.

“Pick your battles, Vox. This isn’t it.” Velvette said. “It’s only a phase.”

And so he gave her as much freedom as he felt he could while still being an active, involved parent. He kept on top of her grades and gave her the space she demanded and he thought for sure that respecting her privacy would get at least an “I love you Daddy,” on occasion. The most he got from her was a slightly less intense look of disdain every time he asked a question or a task of her. It seemed to him Daddy’s Little Girl was no longer.

The hair dye was the final straw. Pretty brunette turned box dye black in a matter of hours. A bathroom splattered with splotches of black and a sink stained so badly Vox was sure it would never come out. Her beautiful brunette hair was now an odd shade of gray. He felt his anger grow as he saw the remnants of her activities and with a yell, he grabbed her by the hand and pulled her downstairs to Velvelettes studio.

“Where did you even get this?” Vox asked in frustration as he watched Velvette’s assistant try to scrub the stains from behind her ears. “And why? You had such pretty hair!”

“Why does it matter?” She snapped. “I can do what I want with my body. You can’t stop me.”

“I never said you couldn’t! But you have an entire salon two floors below your bedroom, why didn’t you just say something?” He asked in exasperation as Velvette walked over.

“Because it’s my body! I just wanted to do something on my own for once without everything questioning me!” She screamed.

And then she burst into tears. Vox could feel his heart breaking at the sound and pushed the assistant away as he pulled her into his arms. He expected her to push him away, but instead she leaned into his shoulder and cried.

“And now I’m ugly, and my hair sucks and I just, I just…” she let out a hiccuping sob.

Vox recognized that noise. Even in her teenage years, that cry hadn’t changed. He pressed his hand to the back of her head gently, ignoring the leftover streaks of dye that stained his hands.

“Hey, hey baby girl. It’s alright, Auntie Vel will get your hair fixed up,” he said as soothingly as he could.

Velvette glanced up from behind the counter and took her place behind the chair. She gave Vox an encouraging look.

Vox took a deep breath. Pick my battles, he thought to himself as he held his not so little girl anymore.

“And I’m sure she’ll dye it black if that’s what you really want,” he conceded finally.

Another sniffle from the face tucked into his shoulder.

“Really, you’d let me do that?” She asked as she leaned back and rubbed at her eyes.

“Only if you promise never to use box dye again,” he replied lightly. “The bathroom is a mess. We might have to repaint the entire thing.”

She let out a ghost of a smile and he gently dabbed her eyes.

“There there. No more tears. It’s okay.”

“Daddy? Can I ask you something?” She asked as Velvette quietly took her place behind the chair and began to work her way through the half brunette streaks of hair.

“Anything, sweetheart.”

“Can…can we redo my room? I don’t want it pink anymore.” She said softly. “Please don’t be mad.”

He could feel his heart breaking for the second time that day, this time for an entirely different reason. She thought he would be mad at her? He tried to think back to when she would get that idea and quickly concluded now wasn’t the best time to analyze his own behavior. Not when he had those pretty blue eyes watching him, waiting desperately for a response.

“Sure baby girl,” he replied with a kiss to her forehead. “How about we get your hair fixed up and then you and I can do some shopping and redesign the whole thing together tonight? How’s that sound?”

Her eyes lit up. “That would be amazing! Thank you, Dad!” She stood up from the chair threw her arms around him.

Velvette gave Vox an approving smile.

“Alright then you two, let's get to work so you guys can go have some fun!” She said cheerfully.

A few hours later, Vox watched as reader admired her reflection in the mirror. Somewhere, it pained him that she wanted to run so far in the opposite direction. He wondered what he had done to lose her trust.

“Don’t take it personally,” Velvette said softly to Vox as he watched reader run her fingers through her hair. “She’s just trying to find her place in the world.”

“What do I do about the bedroom? I can’t have it all black, it would look awful.” He replied, “but unless I give in…”

“Boundaries, Vox. It’s a reasonable give and take. Sure, painting her entire room back would look awful. And It’s okay to hold an expectation and come to a compromise. Some part of her still wants to know you care about her. She’s just testing her limits. All teenagers do.” Velvette added. “But I would start with designing together on one of you computers and go from there.”

Several hours, zero tears and one phone in pizza order later, Vox and reader sat on the couch. For the first time in a long time, reader was in hysterics as they watched her favorite movie together.

“Hey, Dad?” She asked once she collected herself enough to speak. “I love you.”

Vox tried to keep his cool, but his heart soared. “Love you too,” he replied. He leaned over and kissed her forehead. “No matter what happens, I’ll always be your dad.”

#the vees #valentino x reader #hazbin fluff #hazbin hotel #valentino #vox x reader #the vees x reader #valentino hazbin hotel #hazbin vox #hazbin hotel vox #vox hazbin hotel #vox #voxval #hazbin hotel valentino #hazbin hotel velvette #hazbin velvette #velvette x reader

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armysantiny · 2 days

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12:44 – 재민 (Jaemin)

Min's notes: fun fact I literally started the word doc at 12:44 on Thursday :D this whole fic is self-indulgent honestly, I needed this on the day, bc this was exactly how much lunch break went haha. Just without Jaemin.

There’s an ache in y/n’s chest as she slumps into the booth. The office is awash with conversation, her colleagues all walking past on their way to the cafeteria. She’d join them, on a normal day, and bask in the reprieve it grants her away from her desk. But today, she just can’t seem to bring herself to get up, to go and join the general office population. Not when her chest is tight and coiled with self-loathing, a thick sludge that coats every part of her brain and body.

She just can’t do it today.

Lunch itself doesn’t seem all to appealing anymore, and she sets her lunchbox aside, silently grieving the lack of appetite while she downs an iced coffee, the second caffeinated beverage she’s had today. Maybe that’s what’s toying with her, y/n’s mind supplies, subtle palpitations aching to prove her threadbare theory right.

But the HR admin’s had more coffee without any adverse effects, and the true culprit of her turmoil taunts her again. It’s almost pathetic, how easily her train of thought slips into cruel lies, reminding y/n by the second of her imagined incompetence.

Always bothering them, always wasting everyone’s time. Utterly useless human being.

Her phone’s ringing. Her personal phone. The call’s answered before y/n can think about letting it ring out, a whisper of desperate hope that wants whoever it is on the other line to either save her from her thoughts or put her out of her damned misery. One way or another. She isn’t picky.

“Hello, my love,” Jaemin hums, his voice bright and cheerful and undeserving of y/n’s inner misery, “I’m picking up some things for dinner tonight, how’s work going?”

“I..” and the words clog in her throat, suffocating her with the threat of burning tears until she can force them out. “I think I’ll head home early today; I need a break.”

And on the other end, in the middle of the supermarket, Jaemin’s face knits into a frown, concern making a home in his chest. Y/n didn’t sound like she was upset that morning, but now? Now it sounds like the love of his life is fracturing around the edges, desperate for salvation of any kind. He needs to get a move on, hurry home and make sure everything’s in place to give his girlfriend the tenderness she needs.

He can start with a simple offer, however.

“Do you want me to come pick you up when I’m finished with the shopping?” Jaemin offers, standing in line for the cashier. He waits for an answer, counting the seconds as they drag on, each long and—

“Please, Min. I miss you..” Y/n’s voice hovers through, and Jaemin’s plans are set.

“I’ll be over as soon as I’m done, my love.”

Networks: @kwritersworld, @kdiarynet, @ultkpopnetwork, @whipped-kpop-creators, @blankjournal

If you’ve made it this far, thank you for reading! Consider reblogging, leaving some feedback or donating to my kofi!

Taglist: @teeztheflag, @jeonqquk, @mikailo666, @kkooongie, @xavi-in-kpopland, @kyuzuberri, @marxenash, @honey-andmilktea | Taglist form

#Writer Elf Minnie #kwritersworldnet #kdiarynet #ultkpop #wkcnet #bjnet #nct #nct dream #nct jaemin #nct timestamps #nct dream timestamps #jaemin timestamps #nct fluff #jaemin fluff #nct angst #jaemin angst #nct x female reader #nct dream x female reader #jaemin x reader

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mothandpidgeon · 17 hours

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While the Baby Sleeps (demon!Ezra x f!reader)

pairing: demon!Ezra x f!reader (mom!reader)

rating: E! 18+!

wc: 2.6k

summary: The only way to get your baby to sleep through the night is making a deal with an unholy creature. But, of course, there are consequences...

tags: dark fic, Dub/non con (making a deal with a demon), breastfeeding, nursing, lactation kink, mommy kink? (but not like that), stretch marks, oral sex, unprotected p in v, overstimulation, horns, Ezra is a sex demon, moth never uses y/n

an: Here is my submission to #MothandBirdMothersDayChallenge! Actually this fic is the reason why I wanted to do this challenge. Sometimes when I'm in the dark nursery in the middle of the night, I have fun intrusive thoughts like 'What if there was a shadowy figure in the doorway?' To combat how terrifying that thought is, I took it and made it horny. Thank you @ezrasbirdie for betaing this, helping me do this Mother's Day Challenge, and all around being a cool auntie to my fics and baby Moth.

...

He wakes you every night. It doesn’t matter what you try. Your son hasn't let you have more than three consecutive hours of sleep since he was born.

You’re at your wit’s end.

Every time you look in the mirror you see a hollowed out version of yourself with dark bags under your eyes. You make yourself coffee without putting grounds into the filter. You fly into a tearful rage when you spill a bottle of precious milk. You don’t know who you are anymore.

Tonight’s no different. You lift your crying baby from his crib. Rock him, shush him. You sit with him in the glider and try to nurse him back to sleep. It’s all done bleary-eyed, half asleep. Everything is these days.

You’d give anything for this baby to sleep.

Just as the thought crosses your mind, you look up to see a figure standing just outside the nursery. It’s shadowy against the dark of the hallway, shades of gray on black. From the height and broad shoulders, it could be a man. He stands abnormally still. Silent, watching. You think it’s just a trick of your sleep deprived mind until he moves just slightly and a patch of silver hair is caught in the moonlight.

You must be dreaming because if there was a man in your baby’s room, you’d be terrified. And you’re not. You feel calm like you’re floating on steady waters.

“Who are you?” you ask. Your voice drifts like a lullaby.

He doesn’t respond, just leans in the doorway. All that you can make out is that blonde hair and two eyes that glint at you.

“I’ve come to help you, petal,” he finally says. His voice is warm and melodic.

You feel yourself nodding off for a moment. When you blink yourself awake, he’s by your side.

You can make out his features better now. Dark stubble covers a handsome face. The sharp angles of his nose and jaw are silhouetted in the dim. You smell woodsmoke and frankincense as he comes near. He kneels beside the chair and his brow furrows as he looks up at you.

“You need that child to rest,” he says.

You nod pathetically. You can feel familiar tears well in your eyes. Hopeless, helpless. Desperate.

“I can be of assistance,” he says.

“Don’t hurt him,” you say, holding your son a bit closer to your chest. Your baby might be torturing you in the night but you love him. You won’t let anything happen to him. Even though you’re sure you’re dreaming, you remember old fairy tales, creatures that try to trick and deceive. This man isn’t human, you know that somewhere deep inside you.

“Wouldn’t dream of it. I won’t even touch him. It’s not the babe that’s piqued my interest. It’s his mother,” he explains. His obsidian eyes are on your lips, pink tongue darts out to lick his own.

“Don’t hurt me either,” you say, though there’s no fight in your words.

“That’s not my intention at all. Quite the opposite. You’re so beautiful, petal,” he coos, brushing his knuckles across your jawline.

It must be a dream because you haven’t felt beautiful in a long time. Your body’s been stretched and broken, engorged and swollen. Your hair falls out by the handful. Your breasts reek of sweat and milk, a sickly funk.

“I want you. Carnally,” he says.

The growl in his voice makes warmth pool between your thighs. He looks at you like something divine, an awe over his features. His light touch moves down your neck and over your collarbone sending goosebumps over your skin. You’ve forgotten what it’s like to feel anything other than exhausted, touched in a way that isn’t a demand for food or comfort.

“Let me have that and that boy will slumber like an angel,” he promises. He watches your baby suckling himself back to sleep.

It sounds so good. Suddenly the only thing you want more than a a night’s sleep is for this stranger to pleasure you, to be inside of you. You haven’t felt desire in just about as long as you haven’t slept. You’ve barely been able to shower and feed yourself let alone take care of your own needs.

“Put the child in his cot and go to bed. Tomorrow I’ll come for you and you’ll see,” he says.

“Who are you?” you ask again.

“I’m Ezra,” he whispers.

You wake up in your bed the next morning and you’ve slept like the dead.

That strange dream haunts you but you think of it as nothing more than that. When you put your son down to sleep the next night, you don’t expect any miracles. He goes down easily enough, a nice little fluke, and you decide to turn in early yourself.

Its nearly midnight when you wake up but you realize it’s quiet. The baby isn’t crying for you. You glance at the monitor and see that he’s sleeping soundly, sucking away at this pacifier. Just as Ezra promised.

Relief floods your veins. You put your head back against the pillow and your eyes drift close. As you begin to return to sleep, there’s a shift in the bed and you catch that earthy scent again. You gasp when you see Ezra’s black eyes. He’s beside you, the pad of his thumb tracing the plump of your lower lip. His chest is a wide golden plane littered with white scars, dusted with dark hairs.

“Hush, petal,” he says. “I’ve kept my promise. And now I’ve come to ravish you.”

You want to tell him that you’re tired. You finally have the opportunity to go back to sleep and you shouldn’t let anything come between you and that sweet rest. But the same, strong want that you felt the night before is calling you. An ache runs between your legs up to where Ezra’s hand glides over the delicate skin on your pulse. You're powerless to stop your own desire from sabotaging the one thing you’ve wanted.

A languid sigh leaves you as you melt into his touch.

Ezra sucks at your neck. You’ll have a black and blue mark from his teeth but the sensation is so delicious, you can’t bring yourself to care.

He opens your legs and notches his hips between yours. The friction of his hard cock against your panties makes your back arch.

“I want to taste you,” he says.

He rucks up the ratty old t-shirt that you sleep in along with the nursing bra that’s constantly saturated with leaking milk. He takes a long moment to savor the sight of you so exposed, a smile twitching on his lips. A long, low growl leaves him as he slithers down your body, gathering your breasts in his big hands and bringing his face to nuzzle in your skin.

You hear him inhale deeply, taking in your scent. The stubble of his cheek scratches at your sensitive flesh. One thick finger circles your peaked nipple nice and slow. Your body responds— a bead of milk seeps out and rolls down to the valley between your breasts.

Your breath catches at the mix of sensations. Your cheeks heat and you can’t help the embarrassment that creeps up your spine. Much to your surprise, Ezra’s eyes widen with interest. He lowers himself and traces the wet trail with the flat of his tongue. You can only imagine what he tastes– the musk of your sweat beneath sweet milk. It seems that he likes it. He closes his lips around your nipple and lavishes it with his tongue, groaning into your flesh.

“Shit,” you gasp.

You feel the tingle of letdown behind your breasts, his ministrations summoning more milk. Soon Ezra is drinking from you, grunting and rutting his hips against you. The other, neglected nipple weeps milk and he pauses to lap it up greedily. You tangle your hand into his hair and that’s when you feel it. There’s a raised bump amidst his curls but it’s hard as bone. It sits just above his forehead and stands only an inch high. As your fingers rake through his hair, you find another. Horns.

The terror you expect never comes. He might be something ungodly and all you feel is a building excitement. Everything about this is wrong but the world feels upside down.

He comes away, his plush bottom lip glistening with pearlescent milk. It’s a sight that should repulse you but in the delirium of sleeplessness and lust, it just makes you hungry.

“You are an exquisite creature,” he purrs.

His flat palm skates down your belly where you’re middle still holds baby weight, a reminder that your body is no longer your own. He peels your panties down your thighs. You feel the fine edges of his teeth against your skin. He penetrates you with two exquisitely thick fingers. No warning but you hardly need it— you’re already slick.

You keen, back arching off of the mattress, and the sensation is doubled when he puts his lips to your clit and sucks with the same enthusiasm he had at your breast. His wide shoulders spread your knees to make room for his body. You drown in pleasure, a heady mixture of fire doused in the thick pool of sleepiness. Floating, sinking, cresting on a wave as he licks and spreads you open, presses in deep and coils you tight. It’s hard to believe your body can have such strong responses when you’re barely function in your waking life. Something primal drives you on and Ezra knows just how to unlock it.

“Such a delicacy. To sup on milk and cunt,” he says, barely taking his lips from you.

The swirls and undulations of his tongue and the sweet pressure inside works you into a frenzy. Your breath shortens and then stops altogether, your thighs tighten and you hold your eyes shut, listening to the whimpers and moans between your legs. It’s too much and not enough.

When you come undone, it’s a rush of ecstasy that you want to live in forever. Rolling and gushing and sighing. You choke and arch, your entire body convulsing. Your spine clenches up like you’ve been struck by lighting and the electricity runs out through your fingertips and toes.

“Such a glorious vision,” he muses as you come down, panting and shivering.

Ezra’s eyes are fixated on you, pupils blown so wide they’re nearly black. He looks like he wants to devour you.

You share his hunger. You want more already. You’ve just had a feast and yet you’re starving again.

You see Ezra’s cock now for the first time. Thick and upright, it’s tip, flushed and red. He takes it in his fist, glazing his shaft in your release. There’s something animalistic about it that floods you with another wave of arousal.

“More,” you manage to say.

“Not too tired?” he teases with a wicked smile.

You shake your head. How can you sleep when your body is on fire with lust?

“I’ll fill each needy hole,” he says.

You whine. He lines himself at your entrance.

“You’re a goddess. And I’m going to defile you.”

You're filled to the hilt. The noise that escapes him is animalistic and his eyes lose focus. You’re already fluttering around him, already so close to another climax. He fucks you, the stretch and rhythm making you dizzy.

“This is the closest I’ll get to heaven, I fear,” he revels. “But what could be more divine than this sweet cunt?”

Each word that falls from his lips seems to stroke at your core. His hips drive into you, hands greedily paw at every soft part of your body.

The only thing that quiets his debauched ramblings is suckling at your breast. Your senses are completely overwhelmed. Tears prick in your eyes as your insides tighten, another orgasm shattering through you. You bite down on his shoulder to keep yourself quiet.

“Let me hear,” he demands. “He won’t wake.”

And so you do, crying out as you clench around his thickness, losing all control of your body.

“That’s it, petal. That’s it,” he says.

He goes on thrusting and pins you down, torturing that exquisite spot deep inside of you over and over again. You’re not sure where one climax ends and another begins but you’re possessed.

“If only I could fill that womb, sire one after the other to keep you round,” he grunts.

Ezra swears. He hisses out words in a language you don’t recognize. It sounds like an incantation.

You hardly have time to make sense of it. He’s pulling out of you, grinding his wet length against your thigh and spilling hot ropes onto your mound.

You lay beneath him, boneless and dazed. The exhaustion flushes over your weak body. You sense Ezra at your breast again as your eyes drift closed.

The next thing you know, your baby is crying and it’s morning.

It must be a dream. There’s no other way to explain it— a horned creature slipping in and out of your bedroom in the middle of the night, fucking you senseless when you have no energy left. But you wake up with come drying where he marked you.

That night, he’s back again.

And again after that.

“Ezra, I’m exhausted," you breathe. "Please.”

“Isn’t this what you wanted, petal?”

Now your son sleeps soundly through the night while you are awake, debauched for hours without end.

He’s insatiable and somehow you are, too.

He fucks you until you’re raw. Your legs quiver and burn from being parted so wide. Your pussy feels battered and bruised. You beg him to fuck your ass just to give your cunt some rest.

And although your body feels like it can’t take another second of pleasure, though it begs for a moment’s peace, every time he comes to you, you’re flooded with arousal.

When you try to steal an afternoon nap, he’s there, cock already standing in his fist.

Spittle dribbles from the corners of your lips as he fucks your mouth. It runs down your chest, your knees already bruised from the hours you’ve spent on them. You try to chase your own relief, grinding your hips against the floor. He pulls you by the ears to sink deeper down your throat.

He grunts and moans and howls as he comes between your lips.

He doesn’t always take.

The next time he makes you come four times.

“Again, again,” he chants into your ear. His words are hot breath as his fingers press inside of you overwhelming that ridge that sends you reeling. Your bodies are pressed together, sticky with perspiration and release and drool and milk.

“I can’t,” you sob, your body sore and stretched to its limit.

You’re so spent, so overstimulated, each orgasm takes more and more effort. But Ezra refuses to quit, punishing you until you reach a fearsome crescendo.

“Oh, my petal, but I know you are more than capable.”

He’s right. You can feel the weak muscles in your core begin to twist. You hold your breath and focus on the brutal sensations Ezra gives you.

“Besides, your ability is immaterial,” he goes on. “These were the terms of our deal. This cunt. Is. Mine.”

Despite the fact that you’re so exhausted you can barely remember your own name, hardly able to stand on your own two feel, the climax that hits you is just as monumental as the very first.

“Have you endured enough tonight, petal?” he asks, sucking the gush of slick off of his fingers.

“Please,” you whimper. “Please.”

You’re not sure if you’re begging him to stop or to keep going.

“Tomorrow, petal,” he promises. “Now get some rest.”

He wakes you. Every night.

...

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