#and his son was like in the card watching me too

[beanxiv]

HELP?? i was at costco running a few errands, and as i'm in line to checkout i look behind me and see this middle aged ginger white man (with a child) pointing his phone at me and as soon as i turned towards him he like kinds gasped and like his phone shot down and he started looking around

i dont wanna assume he was recording me but like?? i hope i dont end up on some weird ass website or something cus he looked so weird, the way he was looking at me and the way he reacted when i noticed him.. 😭😭

[hauntingblue]

Oden's prophecy of young pirates coming to save wano becoming yamato's hope for his freedom.... and him becoming oden because of it.... it's just so good... on the other side luffy taking ace's spot for liberating yamato... I think I hauve covid

[inbabylontheywept]

i did wrestling in middle school. on one hand, i was actually quite good at it, which was nice. being good at any sport was a new achievement for me. on the other hand, i was bi, and i was trying very hard not to notice that i was bi, and getting folded into knots by very kind, very muscular dorks made that task somewhat difficult.

adding fire to the problem was that my parents and my grandparents wanted to watch my matches, because they were very proud that their Gangly Nerd Son was actually Sporting, and they wanted to cheer me on. which would've been sweet and all, but if there are four people you do not want there during a key part of your Burgeoning Sexual Awakening, it is your mom and your dad and your grandma and your grandpa.

right? i mean, imagine some guy's got your head in his armpit, and you're going you know, old sweat smells bad, but fresh sweat has a sort of and then you make eye contact with your grandpa in the stands and you remember you're swearing spandex so if you pop a boner people aren't just going to be able to see the outline, they're going to be able to count the veins, and the only way you will be able to restore your family's honor after that would be by moving to siberia and renouncing joy, forever. that, or lift your entire body up by your kneck then twist 180 degrees without paralyzing yourself.

it’s a lot of pressure, is what i’m saying.

still it did motivate me to win my matches really fast. because i was so tall and skinny, i was stupidly good at the double leg takedown, and then once someone was knocked down, i'd just do the half nelson and kind of flip em over for the pin. then the ref would count to three and i’d win. EZPZ.

i had one match where that went great. won in the first ten seconds, sat back down, and prepared myself for a good hour or two of doing fuck all. didn't even feel bad the parents/grandparents were gonna be bored. the matches went up from me in 5 pound increments (i was in the 115 lbs division) and it was going great until we got to the 145 lbs division. the other school's wrestler stepped onto the mat, and she turned out to be a girl so our guy flipped, because for straight guys, wrestling a girl is not a pleasant experience.

i'm not entirely unsympathetic. my experience wrestling dudes was definitely a little traumatic. but also, i dealt. guy could've dealt too. instead, he refused to wrestle, and the coach went - fine. not even worth fighting over.

so he went to the 140 pounder, and that guy said, nosir, my mom said mormons can't wrestle girls. next guy down, 135 pounder, now he knew he could pull the same card and thus did. 130 pounder, 125, both tapped out. he got to the 120 guy, and that guy was catholic, but he said he was considering being mormon, and thus would have to pass. as a precaution.

coach blew up a little at that. he said "is there anyone - anyone - on this entire goddamn team that is willing to wrestle a girl?" and then he pointed at me and said "YOU. MAT. GO."

and i'll be real, if i'd been paying more attention, i'd have pulled the mormon card too, but i'd just been putting all that audio into a buffer file because i was reading, so i was halfway across the mat before i even processed what had been said and by then it was too late to turn back.

still i had a plan. and my plan - my beautiful, perfect plan - was to do what i'd always done. tackle, flip, pin, win. sit down. read. bore my family to death. move on.

i got the first part right. she was bigger than me, but she wasn't taller. just an incredibly stout woman. god built me like a snake with glasses, just as he built her like a combat cube. the problem was the half nelson. soon as she was down, i tried hooking my arm under hers from behind and for both genders, the defense for this move is just clamping your arms really fucking tight against your sides. if you're a guy, that's whatever, but if you're a girl - especially if you're god's chosen combat cube - that pins your opponents hand right against your boob.

so, i got the hook in, she clamped, my whole arm pressed against something soft, my coach was yelling THE HALF NELSON. BABYLON! JUST FINISH IT! FINISH THE HALF NELSON! and i was just trying to press hard enough to finish, when then my brain went

...oh.

and i flipped out. of course i flipped out. i like girls, and touching a boob is an elemental experience, and i was not ready. i was not prepared. i had not committed the sacred rites. i recoiled like i'd just brushed my arm against the surface of the sun, stood up, and backed away. nobody in the room knew why i'd given up. all they saw was me, right about to win, suddenly flailing around and scrambling. so everyone started screaming at me to just get the half nelson again, and i couldn't really yell back there's a fuckin' boob in the way and it was very distressing, and the only way i could think of to make them stop was just doing it over again the right way.

so i did.

i hunkered down and prepared myself for Wrasslin' Attempt #2: The Sequel.

i knocked her down again, EZPZ. i went for the half nelson again, but she knew what i was about to do so she super clamped, and i knew she was gonna super clamp, so i wound my arm back like a pop-eye cartoon punch before swinging my arm through the gap between her bicep and her side, but the amount of time i spent winding back super signalled what i was about to to do, which gave her time to clamp even harder, which somehow redirected the entire force of the popeye punch to the bottom of her bra.

it spat out a single boob the same way an action hero might spit out one single tooth after getting a solid crack across the jaw. as if to say:

*ptooie.* "that all you got?"

i did not actually see this. my experience was that first there was an arm, then there was a bit of boob, but i was braced, i was ready, forward at all costs, tatakae motherfuckers, and then the boob went away, and i didn't know where it went but my team, and the audience, and everyone who was in front of me, they all gasped like i just kicked them in the stomach. except for my coach. he was behind me, and thus one of the four people in the room who did not see the boob. now my mom, my dad, my grandma, and my grandpa, they all got flashed but nooooooo, coach thunderbutt was behind me, and he didn't see shit so he was still yelling NOOOOOO BABYLON WHAT ARE YOU DOING JUST FINISH THE NELSON! GO FOR THE KILL! BABYLON! BABYLON!

but i did not go for the kill. i stood up and she stuffed her boob back real fast, and we just kind of circled each other awkwardly until time ran out and i won on points. that's not technically allowed, but the ref had some mercy on me.

my coach did not.

i barely had time to sit down before he strode over to the bench to chew me out.

"babylon," he said, in that very calm way people get when they're too pissed to yell. "why didn't you pin?"

and i didn't know how to say well coach, i tried, but there was a boob, and it kept getting in the way, and my mom was watching, and so was my dad, and so was his dad, and his mom, and god (like bible god) and that's a can of worms because i'm pretty sure he was already mad at me, and i'm wearing spandex, and i think i might have to move to siberia, so instead i said

"i uh. i forgot how to do the half nelson."

which is actually impossible. forgetting how to do the half nelson is like forgetting how to swallow your spit.

and he looked at me, like i was the dumbest person in the entire world, and i looked through him like i'd just survived my 250th day in a trench at verdun, and he said: fine.

fine.

but we're all going to practice it for an hour tomorrow because you forgot.

and then he left.

and my buddies had the gall to be salty about it. i got so many comments saying "dude, why didn't you just tell him the truth?" and i said "you can if you care so damn much. you could've wrestled the girl too. maybe someone else should do the hard thing today."

but they didn't. so the next day, we did an hour of half nelson drills, and i spent a decent amount of time getting thrown around the mat, and it was pleasant in exactly the way that i hated and the year after that, to the surprise of everyone but myself, i quit wrestling and joined the trivia team.

and if you want more reasons to love my mom, my grandpa joked after the match that i might have to talk to my bishop about it, and my mom told him he would be allowed to make jokes after he stood in front of a crowd of 110 people in spandex underpants while wrestling a woman that was not his wife.

he paused for almost five seconds after that. then he said: aw. hell. sorry babylon.

and i'd have preferred my apology from god, but getting it from him was pretty good too.

[augustinewrites]

“do you not love me anymore?”

satoru’s (self-proclaimed) adorable pout is rendered ineffective when you refuse to look up from your work, typing away on your computer as his world absolutely crumbles.

“are you a worm?” you ask, wholly uninterested in his theatrics.

“no.”

“then of course i still love you.”

“then what the heck is this?!”

sighing, you finally lift your gaze to see your wallet open and laid out in front of you. “that’s what this is about?”

“you took my favourite picture of us out for megumi’s school photo!”

“that was not your favourite picture of us,” you argue. “you keep that in a locked folder on your phone.” 

(it’s your fault that he thinks of that photo now, having to utilise mental skills he’d learned during unnecessarily sexy sparring lessons in high school to will away the beginning of stiffness in his pants) 

“that’s not the point,” he says calmly, tapping a finger over megumi’s glaring face. “the point is that i’m losing top-billing in my girlfriend’s wallet to a snot-nosed brat with a crush.” 

“really? you’re competing with a seven year old?” 

“it’s not competing if i’m losing!”

“it’s puppy love, satoru,” you laugh, closing your wallet before he can see that his card is inside. “i don’t think he’s ever had someone - that wasn’t his sister - fussing over him.”

“no, he definitely has a crush on you,” your boyfriend insist, draping himself over your lap quite dramatically. “can we still disown him if the adoption papers haven’t gone through yet?”

“no one is disowning anyone,” you tell him, gently pushing back his bangs to plant a kiss on his forehead. “you’ll just have to learn to live with the competition.”

_____

you’re halfway through the show you’re watching when the front door swings open and satoru tumbles inside. “honey, i’m home! nanami almost killed me at the gym.”

“hey, there’s lunch in the fridge,” you call, eyes glued to the television. 

satoru, predictably, is unsatisfied with this. he grabs the mug that you’re holding and sets it on the coffee table, wrapping you in a sweaty hug and peppering your face with kisses. 

“let me love you!” he whines, his hair tickling your nose as he nuzzle his face into your neck.

“you can love me after you take a shower, cause you stink.” your tone is stern, but you can’t seem to fight the smile that grows on your face as he hugs you tighter. 

“this is all for your benefit,” he argues, finally releasing you just to pull the hem of his shirt up. you try to smother the heat rising to your face, but satoru notices, a self satisfied smirk on his lips as he pats his abs. “i’m letting nanami kill me at the gym for you.”

“you’re such a slut,” you mutter, wriggling out of his grasp and over to the opposite end of the couch. satoru relents, staying on his end as he recounts his (apparently) near-death experience at the gym.

it’s a few moments later when megumi saunters into the living room.

“megumi! come sit with me!”

the boy’s nose immediately wrinkles. “you stink.”

his full-force pout returns. “i do not!”

“do too.”

“do not—”

“do too,” megumi scoffs, plopping down next to you and resting his head against your arm. 

“so you’re gonna let him snuggle with you but not me? i’m tired and sore and—”

“and sweaty,” you finish. “go take a shower.” 

he glances down at the kid glued to your side, brows raised as he mouths, crush. 

you roll your eyes, thinking it wise to not engage in any banter in front of megumi. 

(but as your attention returns to the tv, what you don’t see is megumi’s own little smirk, directed right at satoru.

like father, like son.)

[sobbingscripter]

Tags: [mlw][mdni][fingering][passionate][ex!fwb][quiet reader][slight breeding kink][light choking][hair pulling][quiet sex][no nudity][nipple play][nipple sucking][promise of pregnancy][low-key right person; wrong time][not proofread because my beta reader's asleep]

"I have a fucking kid and you didn't think to tell me?!"

Dick's voice is low, frustration bleeding into his words and his fingertips dig into his palms, blunt nails leaving crescent indentations in the flesh as he stares down at you.

The worst part is, you look so fucking nonchalant about it too.

Sitting crossed legged on the couch, a mug of steaming hot chocolate cradled in your hands and a plate of cookies resting on the surface of the coffee table. The TV plays one of the older episodes of Keeping Up With The Kardashians, and God, the sight of you so relaxed while watching trashy TV makes Dick falter in his anger.

"How do you know he's yours or even mine?"

You speak, your voice soft and gentle, despite the way your eyes burn with annoyance at the fact that Dick's just.... Standing there, in your space, his suit clinging to him like a second skin in the way it always has.

Dick leans forward, his breath fanning across the surface of your face and he gives you the opportunity to see the stormy rage that swirls in brilliant blue irises, darkened by the sense of betrayal at the fact that you've kept his son from him for so long.

"Because he looks like me. He looks fucking just. Like. Me." Dick grits the words out like they're liquid sulphur, burning his throat on the way out.

Before he lets out a breath, dropping onto the seat beside you and he cards a gloved hand through his hair.

"And he told me I look.... Romani. And proceeded to call me a 'gypsy bastard'."

Your apartment looks different from when he was here last.

Warm, pale blue walls, a dark leather sofa and a bigger TV mounted on the wall. Fuzzy blue throw pillows and the bowl of fruity gummies on the coffee table is a fun new addition, just like the drawings that line the walls of the living room, and clutter on top of the fridge.

On each drawing, Dick can make out the scribbled out 'Mommy And Me', usually in a colour that has no match in the palette and he can't deny the heaviness in his heart when he reads that.

"Why didn't you tell me?" Dick speaks softly, hands moving to carefully remove the mask from his face, tossing it onto the coffee table and he grabs one of the throw pillows, resting it on his face.

You can practically smell his emotions.

Confused, hurt, betrayed. Frustration's a big one though, and you purse your lips.

"I didn't wanna have the 'is it mine' conversation."

You speak so softly, so sweetly and it reminds Dick of how much motherhood's softened you. It reminds him of the way that you'd have pushed him out the window for showing up unannounced, but instead, you're letting him sit on your couch, and you talk.

Not argue.

You just... Talk.

"I'd know he was mine." Dick murmurs. "We were... Exclusive."

The way Dick says it makes you feel like it was more than just occasional hookups, more than the odd movie date that ended with your ankles touching your ears.

The silence between you is comfortable.

The soft pitter-patter of raindrops dropping against your aluminium window, pot plants on the terrace watered so gently and the TV continues to play, although at a much softer pace.

Dick lowers the pillow, looking at you with big, almost teary blue eyes. Eyes framed by long, inky lashes, full brows and striking hues that make you feel like your breath is dying in your throat with every passing second.

"He's beautiful."

Dick's voice is soft.

"A little bit of an asshole, but he's beautiful."

Before you can answer, before you can even fathom properly what Dick's saying, you hear the crack of a door and the shuffle of tiny feet as Riot stumbles into the living room, fists balled and rubbing at his eyes.

"Mommy, my eye." He sniffles, continuing to scratch at his eye before you let out a quiet hum, your hands hooking underneath the little boy's armpits before you tug him onto your lap.

And you open his eye, the sclera just a bit red and you hum softly.

"Dickie, can you put on the light, please?"

Dick doesn't question the nickname, because it makes his heart swell in a way that has him internally screeching, even as he reaches for the overhead lamp and switches it on.

And your lips purse as you blow on Riot's eye, watching the way his lashes flutter and his eyelid twitches before a teary droplet plops down his cheek.

And you wipe it away, feeling the distinct strand of cat fur against the pad of your thumb.

"We don't even own a cat." You mumble, before using your index knuckle to wipe the watery eye.

"All better?" You muse softly and Riot nods his head, before glancing at Dick with sleepy eyes, lashes fluttering even as he clambers across your lap, and into Dick's.

And his tiny arms wrap around as much of Dick's midsection as he can, his chubby and rosy cheek pressed against Dick's chest.

And the man's expression crumples.

Brows twitch and eyes begin to sting as one of his long fingered hands move to rest on Riot's back, feeling the soft fabric of his pajamas through the glove. And Riot lets out a content sigh.

"Deadbeat gypsy." The words are muffled, but they're audible enough for Dick's lips to part in shock, brows raising before letting out a bark of laughter.

Before he glances at you.

"He's just like you." Dick murmurs, before watching as Riot climbs from his lap, and heading back to his bedroom, closing the door behind him.

There's a still silence in the air, only filled by the sound of Kim's voice and rain droplets crashing down outside before Dick clears his throat.

"My— uh...— my patrol ended early." He murmurs softly.

"Do you wanna watch a movie?"

The way you're slot under Dick's bicep, your head against his chest and your legs tossed across his lap makes him feel 4 seconds away from crashing out. Because God, you're so warm and so much softer.

Dick stares unabashedly at the way your plush thighs brush against his when you shift to make yourself comfortable, he feels the way heavier breasts push against his side as you snuggle closer, before ultimately decided to pull the quilt over the both of you.

Your eyes remain glued to the TV, occasionally letting out snorts of laughter as you watch Grown Ups for what you could guess would be the 60th time on your lifetime.

But you can feel Dick's eyes.

Following the curve of your face, watching the way your lashes fan out and watching the way breaths leave your soft, glossy lips. And before Dick can even fathom it, his arm behind you is shifting, hand moving to wrap around your neck, long fingers stretching effortlessly and he brushes his thumb along your pulse, the action causing your head to tilt up and you meet his gaze.

And Dick's lips are pressed against yours, his fingers twitching against your neck before leaving the column of your throat, instead, shifting until you're resting back against the sofa.

You can't refuse. Well shit, you don't want to refuse.

Dick's kissing you like he's dying tomorrow. Lips pressed against yours, his hips nestled between your thighs and his arm moving to support his weight, elbow braced on the armrest above your head, and his other hand cradling your face.

His thumb strokes along the soft skin of your cheek, his hips pushed against yours and his tongue brushing along yours, but his movements stutter when your thighs wrap around his waist, arms around his neck and bringing him down to deepen the kiss.

Dick swears he sees heaven when your fingers card through his hair in that way.

Starting right at the nape of his neck, before dragging those manicured nails, up up up, before they disappear beneath silky raven strands and he sighs into the kiss, before pulling away.

Dilated pupils, and heavy breaths are exchanged between the two of you, and Dick swallows hard.

"Is he a heavy sleeper?" Dick whispers softly, gaze darting towards the bedroom he saw Riot disappear into and you nod your head.

"He is but you're pretty loud." You tease softly and Dick pushes his hips into yours, his bulge prominent beneath his suit and you can feel the way his tip brushes against your clit, even through the layers of fabric between you.

Dick always could find it in record time.

"Fair point." Dick whispers softly, a breathy laugh slipping past his lips, just a bit reddened from the intense kiss and he speaks again.

"But you never were loud."

Two digits bully their way into your cunt, your shorts and panties tugged to the side and Dick's lips are pressed against yours, muffling any sound you could even think of letting escape from your lips.

His tongue is buried in your mouth, thumb rubbing sloppy circles against your throbbing clit and your nails dig into Dick's biceps when he prods at a particularly sensitive spot. Your lashes flutter, and you take a shaky breath when Dick's fingers curl, his glove abandoned on the surface of the coffee table, and Dick pulls away from you, a thin, glossy string of saliva between the two of you before it ultimately breaks.

Landing across your chin and he giggles.

The man fucking giggles, as he uses his free hand to wipe away the mess, before ultimately moving your hair out of your face, staring down at you with pretty, big eyes that look at you so adoringly.

"You're so pretty." Dick murmurs softly, pressing a peck to your lips as he stares at you.

And fuck, you are.

Pretty eyes fanned by long lashes, perfect eyebrows and rosy cheeks, wet and parted lips (both pairs), and a few strands of hair clings to the thin sweat on your forehead and Dick sighs softly.

You're perfectly spread out too.

Hands gripping at him like you're scared he'll disappear, thighs spread messily and your panties and shorts tugged aside. Gummy walls thrum around his digits, pulsing at the intrusion and all he does is he continues to tease your clit, the rough pad of his thumb circling the sensitive and swollen nub as he continues to look at you with those heart eyes.

"Can I take you out tomorrow?" Dick's question is unexpected but he can't lie and say he hasn't been thinking about it since he saw you.

Plush, squishy, and so soft.

And he'd do anything to see you pregnant.

To watch you move around in oversized shirts, a belly swollen and heavy breasts that he could tease because they're just so sensitive and pretty.

And God, he can't even imagine the way your perfect, plump pussy would look, nestled between even rounder thighs, clit completely hidden until he uses his thumbs to spread the lips.

Dick swallows.

Hard.

And he doesn't even notice that his fingers begin to move, curling and prodding, nudging at that little fleshy spot that has your toes curling in your mismatched socks and your nails dig into his forearms.

And Dick remembers just what a sight you are when you come.

Brows pinching into the cutest little frown, lips forming a little 'o' and that gasp that leaves you has him leaking in his suit and he's so glad it's dark.

"That's it, princess, come on my fingers." Dick coos softly. "Use my fingers to make your pretty pussy feel good."

Your eyes roll back, you hide your face in your shoulder and your body freezes, the only movement being the rhythmic spasm of your cunt around his fingers.

His stupidly long, incessant fingers that keep dragging out your orgasm even as you nod your head, a silent answer to his prior question.

And Dick gleams, dimples in his cheeks and brilliant blue eyes lighting up in a way that can only be described as cosmic.

Blue eyes flecked with silvery stars and the gleam of the moon, dilated pupils and pretty lashes and Dick nods.

"Okay." He breathes out. "We're gonna go to the museum, okay? He's a little artist so I think he'd like looking at the paintings?"

You nod meekly, chest still heaving even when you watch as Dick licks his fingers, cleaning them up like he's just licking syrup from his fingers. His long tongue swivels around his digits before he carefully tugs up the fabric of your T-shirt, exposing your torso to the cold air.

Perfect tits, dotted with pebbled nipples and Dick swallows.

He never thought he'd be someone to have a kid out of wedlock but fuck, is he happy to be your baby daddy.

"Come on, princess." Dick hums sweetly. "Let me worship those pretty fucking tits before I leave."

Dick leans down, breath fanning across your chest before his tongue drags along one of your sensitive nipples, and he watches the way your face screws up, biting your bottom lip to stifle any sounds.

And you look at Dick from beneath your lashes, bleary eyes and rosy lips and he groans low.

A rumble in his chest that has your needy pussy pushing out a trickle of slick.

"Keep looking at me like that and I'll get you pregnant again." His lips latch onto the sensitive nub, his free hand moving to palm your other breast, thumb brushing over your nipple.

"Fuck that, I'll get you pregnant anyway."

Taglist:

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[trivia-yandere]

The app is so dry. We miss you on here. I think it’s time for you to make a comeback. Do you have anything small like a snippet to just feed us

dry you say?

what are you willing to do?

After managing to dodge your property manager out of rent for two months, you're left in a vulnerable position when he finally comes looking for you.

word count: 4.973

warning: smut, light yandere tendancies nothing too crazy (yet), power imbalance, dirty talking, kissing, nipple sucking/rubbing, oral sex, dry humping, fingering,

“What are you willing to do?” Is exactly what was told to you, words you should’ve expected after 2 months now. You had managed to ignore all the phone calls and emails and dodge whenever your property manager came knocking on your door expecting his rent money. 

Today, however, you couldn’t. You woke up to banging on your front door. A loud, never-ending pound against the fragile door that your heart nearly leaps out of your chest. You wouldn’t have opened the door if you didn’t hear the man yell behind it - “If you don’t open, I’m using my key to come in.”

You leaped to your feet and towards your closet to put on a robe. Your hands were jittery and you didn’t want to see the property manager now; especially at 3 A.M. Weren't there rules on “quiet time”? Could he really be here at this time, banging on your door disturbing not only you, but your neighbors, as well? And even using his key to open your door at this time of night, as well, could be a lack of privacy and safety!

Your feet slam against the cold hardwood floor as you make your way out of your room and down the long hallway. He had since stopped knocking and now, as you get closer, you hear your doorknob jittering. He was going to come in and force you out if you didn’t answer.

Your hand wraps around the door knob and you force it open yourself. You squeeze it as you come face to face with the tall, young man. You swallow as your eyes reach his dark ones, a jolt in your stomach. Even underneath the dim hallway lights, Jungkook’s - the Property Manager and the owners youngest son - lip piercing sparkles. His eyes roam your face and then glances up to inside your apartment. “You haven’t packed yet.”

You bite your lip. Jungkook made you nervous. He was handsome, a man that belonged in a magazine or strutting down a runway. His face was sculpted perfectly from the Gods above. His physique is slim yet muscular and his arm is littered with so many tattoos that each time you get a glimpse of him, you find yourself counting them. 

“Jungkook-“

“It was hard getting in contact with you. Change your number?” Jungkook tilts his head at you. He proceeds to lean against your door frame, foot pressed between the door so you don't have the chance to close it on him. You weren’t going to regardless.

“No.” you murmur, defeated. You cross your arms over your chest, wanting to avoid his intense gaze. Half because you were embarrassed about being caught in this vulnerable situation and because Jungkook was far too attractive for you not to be flustered.

“You owe 2 months worth of rent.” Jungkook says slowly, as if he was talking to a child. “Cash, money order or card? There would be a charge if you use card.” Jungkook says. “But, if you wire it directly to me, I’ll cover the cost.”

You swallow and take a deep breath. You uncross your arms and hang your head. “I…I don’t have it.”

Jungkook knows this - it’s been close to 3 months. He had to watch the cameras on your floor just to get accustomed to your routine, and even then he never had the chance to catch you. 3 A.M. wasn’t ideal for either of you, but it’s what he had to do to get your attention. He didn’t want  to put an eviction notice on your door without having the chance to formally speak with you.

“You don’t.” Jungkook says. It isn’t a question, more of a statement. He then inhales deeply. “So…you plan on squatting here?” he tilts his head, watching you closely. He takes in your features - frightened and alarmed eyes that attempt to blink awake.

Jungkook waits for your answer to come and when it doesn't, he lets out a short snort. He doesn’t move from your doorway and instead decides to remain standing there, intense eyes on yours. He doesn’t blink and you can feel the hair on your skin rise ever so slowly.

“I…should have contacted you.” you murmur after a few uncomfortable moments. “I-”

“You got anything to drink?” Jungkook interrupts, his eyes finally blinking away from you and back inside your home. “I’m thirsty.”

You blink, a few seconds pass before you nod your head gently. “I got…milk?” you murmur. “Strawberry milk. Water.”

“Strawberry milk is fine.” Jungkook says and when neither of you move, he asks. “Can I come in?”

Your nerves don’t go away as you grab the small pouch of strawberry milk from your fridge and hand it to Jungkook. He’s seated at your breakfast table, his eyes noticing how vacant your fridge was from where he sat. A few bottles of water, some yogurts, milk pouches and other miscellaneous items inside.

You lean against the counter as Jungkook opens the milk pouch and begins to drink the milk. It’s silent - eerily so - as you await for Jungkook to say anything. You begin to go through your mind to think of anything to say to excuse your lack of rental payment.

“Jungkook-”

“Lost your job?” Jungkook questions. 

Your lips form into a line when Jungkook speaks up. He sits back into your chair and spreads his legs slightly. He watches you closely.

“Your fridge is kinda…bare.” Jungkook states. “And you’re late on rent. You haven’t paid the electric bill in the same amount of time as you haven’t paid rent so.” Jungkook mentally calculates it all. “You’re behind quite a lot. I’ve covered it.”

“C-Covered it?” you shake your head. “How-”

“I’ve paid for it.” Jungkook nods. “What’s going on, Y/N? I cannot help if you don’t speak with me.”

This is what you were attempting to avoid all this time. You thought you had time to get another job and pay back what you owed - only it wasn’t that easy. You applied to far too many jobs to not get a call back. You worked through what little savings you had until it was all gone and it left you here, ducking and dodging Jungkook until he ultimately found you.

At 3 A.M.

You inhale deeply and exhale with a defeated look. “I’m broke.” you murmur, as if he didn’t already know. “I lost my job a few months back and I’ve been trying to find another.”

Jungkook is silent, dark eyes looking your way as before, unblinking.

“I should’ve told you and…” your body warms with embarrassment. There wasn’t going back to the way it was before. Obviously, Jungkook was going to start the eviction process and you were going to be living out of your car.

“You don’t have any family.” 

Jungkook’s words catch you off guard. You tilt your head a bit, blinking at the man before he adds. “No emergency contacts. I’ve looked into your records.” he says. His foot gently begins to tap against the hardwood floor. “That’s weird.” he states. “Usually, we try to get a hold of any emergency contacts if we cannot get a hold of the renter.”

Makes sense, you think. You nod slowly. “Yeah, I’m…estranged from my family.” you admit. You could have found it weird that he would check, yet if you were in his position you are sure you would’ve, as well. “So it’s just me.”

Jungkook is unblinking again and his gaze causes a sense of unease to flow through you. You bite your bottom lip, your nerves causing your index finger and thumb to rub together.

“My father,” Jungkook begins and his voice catches you off guard. It’s been a full minute without anyone speaking. “has gone through the eviction process.”

Your throat swells and you’re unable to say anything. You suppose you should’ve known this was going to happen. Afterall, the show must go on. No one lived for free - not in this day and age.

“I guess I should begin to pack.” you mumble quietly, your head hanging a bit. You don’t want to look at Jungkook now - or at all. You were exhausted. Your mothers voice rings through your head - that you going to the city was a mistake. That you’d regret going and would find yourself back where you belonged.

That was years ago. You couldn’t return now; not after you’ve gone no contact.

“What are you willing to do?”

Jungkook’s voice, once again, surprises you. Slowly, your eyes lift from the ground to his face. You stand a bit straighter, swallowing the lump in your throat. “Excuse me?” you ask softly. “I…I’m not sure what to do. I…” you exhale a bit. “...I…can sell some things and-”

“That’s what you’re willing to do?”

Jungkook’s eyes are intense, you notice. They’re on you now, staring even deeper. His face is unreadable and there’s an uneasy feeling going through you. “What do you suggest I do?”

It’s a question you didn’t want to ask as there’s hundreds of things you could do. You could do what you suggest and sell your items - but that only meant you’d be in an apartment with nothing in it and still no steady income.

You could do what Jungkook’s father wants and it was to leave and live out of your car. You could still sell your stuff and keep the money until it holds you over.

Your head was beginning to hurt just thinking about it all.

The chair scraps against the hardwood floor as Jungkook stands. It only takes two steps until he’s directly in front of you. His eyes are casted down to look at you and you suddenly feel small - not entirely in size, but in power. You finally began to notice the glint in Jungkook’s eyes, something that isn’t innocent like you initially intended.

“Y/N,” Jungkook begins, raising a hand so that it settles onto your cheek. His hands are surprisingly soft for a man of his stature. It radiates warmth onto your skin and immediately you’re frozen. “what…are you willing to do?” he repeats,  his voice dropping to a whisper. 

It’s evident now that Jungkook was asking for something else entirely. Your skin litters with goosebumps when Jungkook’s thumb begins to slowly trace the outline of your lips.

“Jungkook…”

You aren’t aware your legs are shaking until you try to take a step back just to realize you’re already as far against the counter as you can be.

“Y/N.”

Your breathing hitches as Jungkook comes closer. “I can go. Just tell me.”

You blink a few times. You were in a tough position. If you told Jungkook to go, you might as well go packing. If you told him to stay…

That meant your dignity and self–respect would be gone.

“Tell me to go, Y/N.” Jungkook repeats. You can smell his cologne - an earthy scent mixed with citrus. “And I’ll go.” His thumb stops tracing your lips. “You’ll have 12 hours to leave.”

Your heart begins to beat at a rapid pace and slowly, your eyes widen. This was an ultimatum, you think. It was either do what he obviously wants you to do or leave.

It was unfortunate, you think, that this is what your life has come to. You think about your mother and her words. “When you’re down on your luck, you’d think about my words I’m telling you now.” Don’t go, she had said. Maybe you should have listened to her instead of chasing a fantasy of the big city. 

A shaky hand reaches up to lay upon Jungkook’s. He curled an eyebrow at your actions.

“You…offer this deal to everyone that cannot pay?” you cannot help but ask, pondering if you’re another woman on his long list of those who cannot pay their rent. 

“No.” Jungkook responds and that causes an even sharper pain to your heart. So you were the only one who couldn’t afford shit here. 

Great.

“I’m not forcing you to do anything you don’t want to do.” Jungkook states. Your hand is still above his but neither of you go to move. “My father isn’t a lenient man. I have to tell him something about the rent.”

You suppose you couldn’t be upset with Jungkook, right? He was a man and here was an opportunity presenting itself. He wasn’t forcing you into anything, just a suggestion without coming out and saying it. 

You exhale softly. It could be worse, right? Jungkook was young, attractive and fit. He was interested in something you had, hungry eyes roaming the bit of exposed skin you couldn’t fully shield behind a robe. 

“This place…” Jungkook begins. “...isn’t updated. Or worth staying in.” his eyes glances towards your sink, the faucet closed yet leaking a few droplets of water. “We have premium apartments available.”

“I cannot afford premium.” you scoff, lightly squeezing Jungkook’s hand. You have gotten a glance at the new renovations they’ve made on the top floors of your building. But your words rang true. The price was double what you were paying - or not paying - now.

Jungkook's eyes tell you what he doesn’t say, his previous words flowing through your mind. He was asking you yet again - what were you willing to do for a premium apartment?

You swallow, glancing a way for a moment. It was 3 A.M and everyone had to be asleep after Jungkook’s excessive banging. Maybe they wouldn’t even know it was him who was here now, right?

Why did you even care what others you never spoke to thought? They weren’t paying your rent.

Your hand squeezes around Jungkook’s and you remove it from your cheek. He doesn’t move and awaits your command. 

You’ve made your decision and there wasn’t any chance of going back now.

You lace your fingers with Jungkook’s and tug him towards you, your head lifting a bit so you could capture his lips with your own. Jungkook is only a bit shocked by your sudden actions, but he doesn’t show it. He deepens the kiss hungrily, a short groan trapped in his throat.

“How,” you say against his lips as Jungkook’s free hand places itself onto your waist. “long will this deal last?”

“As long as you need.” Jungkook responds quickly. Truthfully, it goes without saying, however long you and he keep doing this.

You’ve decided. There wasn’t any going back. Maybe this way, you could find the job you needed to afford living here and you could end whatever deal this was.

Your hand tugs onto Jungkooks, fingers still entangled, as you and he stroll down the hallway to your bedroom. It’s the most furnished out of your apartment as you spend the majority of your time here. Your lights are motion sensored and they’re dim upon entering. Your bed, unfinished, sits in the middle of the room while a large mirror is directly above it. Your t.v. is mounted across from your bed and it has since turned off on its own hours ago when you had fallen asleep. 

Jungkook notices the paintings on your walls, all done by you. He was an observant man, witnessing the paintbrushes inside your sink that’s being soaked in water and soap. You were an artist that was possibly new to the big city and currently struggling. A shame as the art he witnesses is amazing to him.

You let go of Jungkook’s hand and the action brings his attention back to you. Even in the dim light of your bedroom, he can see just how sweet and shy you were. Your fingers play with your robe until it’s sliding off of you slowly. You’re sporting a tank top and cotton panties; truly dressed for bed. But the sight excites him, nonetheless.

“You’re very cute.”

The compliment makes your body feel warm and you have the sudden feeling to cover yourself. You glance away. “Cute?” you murmur under your breath. 

“Yes.” Jungkook lets out a chuckle, stepping forward so he can place both hands onto your waist. Immediately, your eyes dart back to his and you’re stiff once more. “Are you an artist?”

An artist?

You place your hands onto Jungkook’s chest as he pushes you closer to him. He was radiating warmth that was unimaginable - but maybe you were far too flushed and embarrassed. 

“If you can call me that.” you scoff, glancing at your walls. “I do paint sometimes. I can’t imagine anyone actually buying them.”

“I would.” Jungkook’s breath flickers against your ear lobe. You swallow when you feel something warm and wet trace it. Your heart begins to pump faster. “What would you allow me to do?”

You squeeze your eyes shut at Jungkook’s words. It causes something in you to shift. “W-What do you want to do?”

“Cum on my tongue.” Jungkook responds, dirty words shooting straight to your core. “But…if you’re not comfortable with that…”

You don’t want to answer too quickly and show just how desperate you are, but the words Jungkook speaks to you causes your stomach to churn with anticipation. “I…I’d like that.”

Jungkook knew you would.

It happens entirely too fast. You won’t say too fast for your liking - Jungkook was the perfect man for the job. Red flags didn’t raise in your head like they should’ve when he pounded his fist onto your door at 3 A.M simply because he was someone you found attractive. When people think of monsters or those who would do harm, they think of hideous creatures, not model-like men like Jungkook.

Jungkook’s hands push you onto your bed and in an instant, his lips are on your neck. He peppers kisses on your neck, his hands roaming your body entirely. He grips and tugs at your thighs, your smooth skin causing a tingling feeling in the palm of his hand.

A moist and warmth sensation trails past from your neck to your collarbone, wasting no time in grazing sharp teeth against your delicate skin. You let out a short huff at the assertiveness Jungkook gives.

“You smell good.” Jungkook’s lips tickle your skin as he speaks. “Like…like tangerines and champagne.” Jungkook inhales your scent and it causes shivers to erupt throughout his body. “I always knew you would.”

The last sentence is one you didn’t hear.

Hands go beneath your tank top and begin to lift it upwards. Your back arches a bit once you feet Jungkook’s squeeze your flesh once more. You allow the tanktop to be pulled over your head this time, exposing yourself fully to the man.

“So pretty.” Jungkook murmurs, the same hands going to grip your breasts in his palms. He grunts, dark eyes becoming clouded with lust.

You release a soft squeeze when Jungkook twists your nipples between your index and middle finger, his eyes flickering up to see your reaction. “You like that?” he asks, though he knows you do. You’re biting your lips to suppress a moan. 

Jungkook decides he wants to hear those pretty moans he knows you have. He leans down to flicker his tongue against your hardened nipple, eyes looking up at your scrunched face. The tip of his tongue teasingly rounds around your nipple with his free hand twists and tugs at the other one.

Jungkook had wrapped both of your legs around his waist so you could feel just how hard his cock was for you. You couldn’t watch him while he does this. It was bad enough you were doing this with him. He was far too handsome for you to watch and now immediately crumble.

“Jungkook….” your own voice stutters into a short moan. 

“Hm?” Jungkook’s suckling onto your breast now, fully engrossed in them. They were so perky in his mouth that he cannot help but want to stay here forever. He sucks roughly and lets your nipple go with a quick pop. He then turns towards the other one and licks his lips. “Your tits are perfect.” he grumbles, bringing the nipple into his mouth so he can suck on this one until it was swollen and red like the other one.

You are relaxed now, your arms wrapping around the man and entangling your fingers into his dark, soft hair. You don’t want him to stop - the pleasure consuming you. You’re trembling in pleasure, Jungkook’s clothed cock rubbing firmling against your own clothed clit. The friction is unbearable and you want to feel him against you - all of him.

Jungkook thinks your tits are indeed perfect. Perfect enough for him to fuck his cock between them, so hard and rough that he cums all over them. He imagines the way his cum would cover your breast and nipples entirely and even then would he not wish to stop suckling on such perfect nipples.

Jungkook releases the bud with another pop, saliva coating your nipple entirely. He’s panting, lustful eyes even darker. “I wanna taste you.” Jungkook demands, one hand going towards your cotton panties and he tugs at it. “I know you’re wet, Y/N. You’ve been rubbing your pussy against my cock this entire time.”

You moan. Jungkook was the dominant type and he didn't wait for you to answer. He’s already tugging off your panties with one finger and throws it aside without a care. You were suddenly growing self- conscious. You don’t particularly think vagina’s are appealing but then again, you also weren’t a man. Especially not a starved one like Jungkook was now. 

“You have a pretty pussy.”

Starved indeed, you think. Your cheeks warm at his words. You glanced down at Jungkook between your legs, his doe-like eyes staring unblinking at you.

“I’m going to have you cumming all over me.”

Jungkook doesn’t wait any longer. His head dives between your legs, his tongue flat against your clit. Your back arches on impact and your thighs go to close, but you’re unable to. Jungkook’s already made his mark between your thighs and both of his hands are forcing them open.

Jungkook’s tongue laps between your folds, his head bobbing from side to side. He doesn’t come up for air once, nor does his tongue halt its aggressive assault onto your clit. The action itself is weird to you. You couldn’t even say you barely knew Jungkook, because that meant you knew him more than you actually did. You only ever saw the man in passing and yet, here he was. His lips between your legs, ravishing you as if it’s something he’d wanted for the longest.

And to Jungkook, it was - unbeknownst to you. His mouth was watering at the sight of you earlier in just a robe, little clothing underneath it. His eyes lingered on what skin you did show while you offered him the strawberry milk.

Your fingers find themselves in Jungkook’s hair and your throat lets out a struggle whine. Your stomach churns and your hips slowly begin to grind against his tongue, an action he finds entirely hot. His fingernails dig into the sensitive skin of your thigh as he makes no attempts to halt the act of pleasure. 

Jungkook leans back just a bit, his lips and chin glistening with your arousal. “You acted like you’ve never gotten eaten out before.” Jungkook says, the sound of his voice causing your eyes to blink open and look down at him.

Big mistake. Jungkook was already looking your way and when your eyes met his, you whined with a shake of your head.

“Not like this.” you sigh, your fingers relaxing the grip you had on his hair. It would be a shame if his hair thinned because of you.

Jungkook only chuckles, a sense of pride flowing through him. His tongue lays flat against your clit and he flickers it between your folds with such pressure that your fingers go back to gripping his hair. 

Jungkook was going to fuck you. No doubt about it. He had to know just how tight you were first - and he knew that you were. His right hand loosens and he goes to lean away from your throbbing clit. He lifts himself to face you. “I want you to cum all over me.”

Fuck.

Jungkook, without warning, forces his right hand towards you. He places two of his fingers right inside your mouth. You’re astonished by the sudden action, gasping when twirls them inside your mouth to coat his fingers with saliva.

“Good girl.” Jungkook winks your way, the pet name causing your walls to clench around nothing. You groaned.

Jungkook removes his fingers from inside your mouth and wastes no time in laying a hand onto your clit. His thumb twirls your clit slowly to test the waters, eyes flickering towards you. “Have you ever squirted?”

“You’re going to make me work for the apartment?” you murmur, not intending to say it aloud. But when you do, Jungkook snorts.

“It’s already yours.” Jungkook says, his fingers inching towards your hole. Tight as he imagined, not accustomed to him yet. That would be something he’d get you out of. “I think you’d look cute squirting all us.”

“Shut up.” you’re hot with humiliation and your legs shake a bit as Jungkook’s fingers go deeper and deeper in you. Your head lays back against your sheets and you huff.

Jungkook licks his lips, your juices hitting his taste buds once more. He thrusts his fingers in you until long fingers cannot go any deeper. The noises you make causes him to continue, thrusting them in and out. Each thrust is faster and a bit rougher than the last.

“Aaahh, you’re so wet.” Jungkook snickers. Your pussy is taking him so well and he cannot wait to fuck into you like he’s wanted. “I should’ve come to you sooner.” he says. “Look at how well your pussy is taking my fingers.”

You shouldn’t have listened to Jungkook. The sight is entirely too hot, his fingers dipping in and out of you, wetter and wetter after each thrust. You sink your teeth onto your bottom lip and suppress a groan.

“I-It feels good.” you stutter with a shake of your head. 

“Yeah? How good?” Jungkook responds.

“So good.” you squeeze around his fingers, eyes daring to close. Your hand reaches out and you touch his shirt to keep him close. “So so good.”

Your hand involuntarily brings Jungkook closer to you until his face is inches from yours. Your forehead places against his and you sigh out a moan.

“You look so cute when you’re fucked out, baby.” Jungkook comments and presses his lips against yours. You taste yourself and the experience has you moaning into the kiss, but deepening it. You were going to wrinkle his shirt, but you’re positive he doesn’t mind in the slightest. “Let’s see how many fingers you can handle.”’

Jungkook adds a third finger, his biceps flexing as he pounds them inside of you. You’re leaking into his palm and he wouldn’t have it any other way.

The kissing grows intense, your tongue fighting along his. It’s entirely filthy - you doing this with a man you barely know. Yet, you cannot bring yourself to care now. When it was all said and done you would regret your decision to whore yourself out for a place to stay.

Jungkook breaks the kiss first, his tongue trailing away from yours and instead his teeth biting onto your bottom lip, tugging it a bit. Your pussy continues to clench around his fingers, your thighs shaking and stomach churning. The familiar feeling is near - one that you typically feel upon pleasuring yourself.

“It’s okay, baby, let go.” Jungkook’s breath hits against your jaw. His lips are on your skin once more, littering your jaw and chin with possessive kisses that lingers. “Cum all over me like I know you can.”

Jungkook’s free hand roams the curve of your body encouragingly, his right plunging in and out of you. Your head hangs back and without a second thought, a squeal lets out from your throat - one that would be embarrassing if your vision wasn’t blurred with lust.

“Shit, shit, shit.” you can feel it coming - so does Jungkook. He hovers above you, eyes unblinking as you begin to cum. You were so pretty, he thinks. Pretty and adorable, innocent and to yourself. As many times as he’s watched you through the cameras go in and out of your apartment, never anyone with you. You were the perfect person, he thinks. Someone for him and just him.

Jungkook gives a final thrust just as you cum, your back arching. He doesn’t remove his fingers, enjoying the way the creamy white arousal coats his palm and he lets out a satisfied hum. He cannot wait to fuck you. Not now, as much as he would like that. But soon. “You’re exhausted.” he murmurs after a few moments. Slowly, he begins to remove his fingers from inside of you. “Get some rest.”

“Huh?” you say, chest rising and falling. “You aren’t…we aren’t-”

“I’m going to fuck you.” Jungkook says, words crude. “No doubt. Just not yet. You’re tired.” he says. “I woke you up late. Don’t ignore my calls tomorrow.”

You were tired, a sleepy sight leaving you. Your body lays limp onto your bed and even nodding to Jungkook to show him that you understood was far too exhausting to you. “Okay…” you say. “...thank you.”

Jungkook is silent.

“For…” you swallow. The conversation after the hookup is always the hardest - and most embarrassing. “...you know.”

It’s humiliating to say ‘for letting me fuck you for a place to stay’ but you’re positive he understands. 

Jungkook grins. “No problem.” he responds. “I’ll be by tomorrow, Y/N. I have the perfect apartment for you.” One where he could always keep a good eye on you.

part two

[tra1nchi]

Omg Imagine fucking your sons teacher so he won’t fail his classes🫣

Best dad ever reward,,MINORS DNI!! Top male reader,, Dilfy reader woah,, Degradation,, over desk,,

Your son was a hassle,, you wouldn't say he was a disappointed nor was he a burden but getting calls from the principal of his school multiple times a term was not something you enjoyed!!

He would always come up with bullshit excuses that he was only messing or that he didn't mean to!! But you knew better,,he was your own son!! You could obviously tell when he was lying,,

Getting called in by his teacher to have a one on one meeting,,showing up in your best clothing to show your sons teacher that you weren't some deadbeat dad that was condoning this kind of behaviour!!

What you didn't expect was that his teacher was cute,, his soft brown hair and clothing that seemed more suitable to a librarian then anything!! No wonder your son calls him a nerd,,

"Sir! I'm so sorry to call you here today!" The teachers voice was soft as he apologised,,motioning you to take a seat infront of him as he sipped at his learning themed cup,,

He waited patiently for you to take a seat and once you did,,he seemed almost too grateful for it,, "I called you in for..this" His tone was apologetic as he handed you your sons report card,,which was almost all Fs the whole way around!!

The teacher wasn't ready for how you'd react,,most parents would scream and shout while others would frown and seem close to tears but you,, you didn't do anything of the sort!! >□<

He was bent over your desk,, his ass up as he gripped onto the paperwork!! Your cock moving in and out of him with provision!! It was like you knew exactly where to hit eachtime!!

"Fine! Fine, I'll change everything to an A! Please just, Let me cum please..!" His whines were pathetic as they reverberated around the room, his eyes trembling as he tried to not focus on the pleasure your dick gave him!!

Forcing him to change your sons card while you were still inside!! Watching his shaky hands type in the computer and spanking his ass for every misspelled word!! >□<

[fastandcarlos]

Fred’s Baby Girl : ̗̀➛ Charles LeClerc

summary: after being photographed looking more than comfortable, the fans soon learn that fred isn’t the only vasseur that charles is fond of…

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liked by leclercgirl01, ferarriforthewin and 3,593 others

f1gossip: during the summer break, several photos have emerged of charles leclerc enjoying his holiday with the daughter of ferrari team principal fred vasseur. we’re uncertain if the pair were holidaying alone or with a group of friends, but either way they’re sure looking cosy 🏎️

731 comments

username1: watch them now try and convince us that they’re not dating 😂

username2: can’t wait to see fred’s reaction to this news…

username3: I did think yn was attending more races recently 🤔

username4: look at those smiles 🤩

username5: this was not on my bingo card for 2024

username6: I’m surprised how good they look together ngl

username7: can’t wait for charles to see fred after these pictures 😂

username8: I feel like fred is too soft for charles to be mad about this 🤨

username9: father fred and son charles era pending…

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liked by carlossainz55, landonorris and 583,018 others

ynvasseur: another lovely weekend supporting the best team in f1 and cheering on charles and carlos ❤️

31,472 comments

username10: not yn pretending that she was there for both of the boys 😂

username11: notice how it’s charles’ garage that she posts tho

landonorris: omg just give the fans what they want yn 😫

username12: yn just pretending like nothing is even happening rn

pierregasly: I refuse to believe that pr didn’t have to approve this post first with how noncommittal it is 😂

ynvasseur: @/pierregasly I’ve got no idea what you’re talking about 🤷🏻‍♀️

username13: I don’t blame you girl, who could resist charles leclerc 🔥

charles_leclerc: it was lovely to see you in the garage this weekend 🥺

username14: wonder how close of an eye fred is keeping on her this weekend 😉

scuderiaferrari: it’s always a pleasure to have you with us yn ❤️

username15: stop leaving us in suspense, we promise we’ll be happy for you!!

carlossainz55: it’s always a joy to have you there and annoy you yn 😝

ynvasseur: @/carlossainz55 you do such a good job of it too 🙃

username16: charles keeping his reply pg but he’s not convincing any of us 😂😂

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liked by charlesbbygirl, tifosi99 and 4,391 others

f1gossip: seemingly confirming their relationship, photos have been shared of charles and yn around the ferrari garage looking cosy together, not appearing to care who was around to see them, especially yn’s father fred!

519 comments

username17: how can these two people think they can convince us they’re single 😂

username18: poor carlos is officially the ferrari third wheel!

username19: that second photo makes me think he’s not seen fred yet 😂

username20: is anyone really sitting here thinking these two aren’t dating??

username21: I was at the paddock this weekend and every time I saw charles yn was right there with him too…

username22: can’t wait for boyfriend!charles to reappear once again!!

username23: they’re more than just cosy together ngl

username24: just me thinking this is sad how their privacy is getting completely invaded rn 🤯

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liked by charles_leclerc, georgerussell63 and 601,372 others

ynvasseur: did you really think the two of them wouldn’t still be the best of friends? oh, and congrats on the win too charles 😂❤️

58,381 comments

username25: forever my favourite principal and driver relationship 🥰

charles_leclerc: so happy you got to be there to see your first win of mine irl 💕

ynvasseur: @/charles_leclerc wouldn’t have missed it for the world 🫶🏻

username26: none of us ever thought fred would be anything other than your biggest fan ngl

pierregasly: do I now have to fight your dad too for the position of charles’ best friend???

username27: yn just confirming that fred gives them the green light like it’s no biggie ✅

georgerussell63: I never knew your dad had such a side like this in him 😂

ynvasseur: @/georgerussell63: he’s crazier than me I swear!!

username28: fred looks like such a proud dad 😭😭

carlossainz55: so glad I don’t have to listen to him moan about how scared he is to see your dad anymore 🤦🏻‍♂️

username29: where are you in all these photos we miss you with them!?

arthur_leclerc: now we’ve got fred’s approval I guess we can officially welcome you into the family 🤝

ynvasseur: @/arthur_leclerc can’t wait to meet you guys properly ❤️

username30: it’s funny to me that charles had to explain himself more to fred then any member of his actual family 😝

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liked by pierregasly, carlossainz55 and 2,038,363 others

charles_leclerc: who knew fred wasn’t actually the coolest vasseur after all 😂 turns out it’s this one who makes me feel like I’m really winning at life 💞

318,059 comments

username31: these two were simply made for each other 🥹

arthur_leclerc: so you can take her on all these holidays but not bother to bring her home to meet us??

charles_leclerc: @/arthur_leclerc we’ll be there soon enough, don’t worry!

username32: I might’ve just shed a tear or two reading that caption

lewishamilton: I’m already on the back foot and not even joined the team yet now 😂

carlossainz55: and I thought it was being my teammate that made you feel like you were winning at life 💔

username33: yn must be pretty cool to be considered even cooler than her dad 😂

danielricciardo: you’ve for a girlfriend?? you should’ve mentioned it 😱

username34: they’re both equally as awesome as the other imo!!

pierregasly: does this now make you an honorary vasseur for life?

username35: it’s not fair how one person really can have it all 😭

ynvasseur: for the record I’m better than my dad at everything 😉

charles_leclerc: @/ynvasseur let’s get you behind the wheel of an f1 car and put that to the test??

ynvasseur: @/charles_leclerc I’d like to take back my original statement 😂

˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊

liked by iamrebeccad, charles_leclerc and 601,372 others

ynvasseur: let’s be honest, he never really needed to impress my dad anyway 🥹

49,473 comments

charles_leclerc: fred told me he adored me and I’m never gonna shut up about it 🥰

ynvasseur: @/charles_leclerc I’d crack a joke but I think he actually might prefer you to me 😬

username36: we all know charles is the favourite child deep down ☺️

oscarpiastri: charles does not stop talking about how amazing your dad is btw

ynvasseur: @/oscarpiastri he’s only doing that to make sure he keeps my dad on side!!

username37: the relationship these two have is the sweetest 🥹

carlossainz55: can confirm that this was definitely the case!

username38: I feel like it won’t be long before yn is actually third wheeling fred and charles instead

maxverstappen1: everyone in the paddock knows no one loves charles more than your dad 😂

username39: if I didn’t adore these two before, I definitely do now they’re together too

landonorris: you deserve a medal for putting up with him yn 😂

username40: these captions are honestly gold 🔥

˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊

[timmydraker]

Tim Drake is a selkie.

No one outside of Janet Drake knows this, and she ensure it is kept a secret purely for the fact that if it gets out people will quickly realise that neither she nor Jack is a selkie themselves.

They would realise that Janet had an affair.

The man she had met on their trip overseas had gotten her pregnant and then vanished, seemingly disappearing into thin air.

It wasn’t until Tim was born that she was sure it was the other man’s child, if not for the distinctly black hair than the smooth pelt like band around his wrist.

His father had one similar and he refused to take it off.

The first time Tim transformed was luckily when Janet was still sure she wanted to be a mother and was bathing him at just four months old. When the little boy with bright blue eyes suddenly went quiet and then rolled over in the bath, she watched as he turned into a small baby seal.

Janet had screeched and backed up in shock, only to watch as the seal looked at her with big black eyes and seemingly start to cry before he shifted back into Tim.

The band around his wrist came off and was the perfect shape of the seals pelt from earlier, sitting in the tub like it hadn’t just shifted Janet’s entire life out of balance.

Naturally she hid the hide and made sure Tim never saw it again, especially when there were no more shifting incidents.

Tim was nine when he found it and well accustomed to his parents lying to him about a range of things, all varying in importance. They lied about when they would be home, about stocking the fridge, about being at his science fair…

But when Tim was sneaking into his mums closet to try find one of her spare credit cards, he found the pelt and something in him felt whole.

Tim had always felt like something wasn’t right about him. He felt like his very body was missing, or maybe his soul, and no matter what he did he couldn’t find a way to fill that gap. Being in water helped, so did showers and sunlight, though it was never enough.

It was why he started skating and stalking Batman and Robin, just to distract himself.

Photography worked best though.

Yet as he reached a tentative hand out to touch the pelt he swore he could feel himself being put back together like a puzzle.

Tim didn’t shift straight away, not when he was left stuck in the blissful feeling of his skin feeling right for the first time he could recall.

It was when he watched the pelt shift to wrap around his bare arm like a sleeve that he shifted.

The seal form he took wasn’t what he expected, but of course it wasn’t.

From then on Tim would spend every chance he got with the pelt, learning to control both the shifting of his skin and how to disguise the hide on his person. He usually kept it as some kind of band that covered his arm or waist, keeping it close to his hand at all times so he could check that it was safe.

He never wore it when his parents were home, just in case.

Naturally, he did research and learnt what he was as best he could.

By the time Janet realised he was taking the hide out of its hiding spot he was thirteen and almost finished his Robin training. He had kept it hidden from Batman if only because he was scared and not even sure if his mother really knew what it was, but when he came home to find her in his room he knew it was over.

She had held out her hand and said in the calmest voice she could, “hand it over, Timothy.”

Tim didn’t.

Janet had stood up and gripped his wrist, quickly finding the pelt around his arm and yanking it off of him.

Tim had cried, not out of physical pain but mental. It was like he was being put under some kind of spell and he found himself unable to move to snatch it back as Janet held the now pelt in a too tight grip.

“You will not touch this again, you hear me? I’m going to burn it.”

And she tried, she really did, but then Tim started to scream. The loud, echoing wails rang through the entire mansion until Jack rushed to his son and tried to figure out what the hell was wrong with him.

Janet only stopped when Jack started calling for her to call an ambulance and she came up with the badly damaged pelt to find her son seizing on the floor with his skin burning red.

Tim calmed down quickly once she put it under water, but he was still shaking and sobbing wildly.

He never found out how she managed to convince Jack to not call for an ambulance or to leave them alone, and Tim tried not to think about how little Jack had to care for him to accept so easily.

Janet had given him the pelt back and watched him sob as he held it to his chest and wailed.

The next trip they went on lasted seven months and in that time he spent as much as he could in his seal form to focus on healing his damaged skin.

It was still burnt, ugly scars covering the bottom and entire left side of his fur, but he learnt to maintain it.

After that he kept the pelt hidden under armour in the Robin uniform.

When Jason attacked him he cut the pelt through his armour, not knowing it was there. He managed to not cut it in half and in a twisted irony got right over where it wasn’t scarred.

Tim managed to hide it from Batman but at that point he was sure that Alfred suspected something.

Yet it wasn’t until Damian that anyone found out.

At that point Tim felt safe enough to have his pelt kept as a thick band around his wrist, out and open but only in the manner.

As much as he wanted to hate him, Tim couldn’t blame Damian when after a year and a half of him being there and the two working out a few differences and issues, he noticed. Tim hadn’t worn it visible since he first arrived and tried to kill Tim, but he had subconsciously felt safer around Damian and the boy was the best at spitting changes in others appearance.

“Oh.”

Bruce had looked up at Damian while Tim minded his business stirring his tea, “what’s up, chum?”

Damian pointed to Tim’s wrist, “I was not aware you were a Selkie, Drake. I apologise if I damaged you pelt in my attacks.”

Tim had tensed so badly that he was sure that Superman could hear his joints locking even though he was off planet.

Naturally Tim started to hyperventilate when Bruce asked with genuine confusion, “What?”

Tim bolted to his room as quickly as he could and shut the door before sliding down it and clutching his pelt-band to his chest with his free hand.

It could have been a few seconds or minutes, but it felt like a whole hour before Tim heard a knock at the door and the calm, gentle voice of Bruce talking through it.

“Tim? Can you open up for me please?”

Shaking his head even when the other couldn’t see, Tim let out a whimper and crawled quickly to the bathroom as his panic took over.

By the time he heard the door open he was in his preferred form of a half seal, his lower body only and the skin of his back shifted, and clutching his inhuman lower body.

Bruce came in and stared at him in shock for a bit before swallowing.

Coming to sit beside the tub, Bruce reached over and turned on the tap to let water begin to run into the tub.

Tim was grateful if not a little confused by the action and finally got the courage to look up at him.

Bruce looked awkward as hell, but was clearly trying if the small smile on his face was any evidence.

Reaching a big hand over, he held it palm up for Tim until the young man reached out to accept it and placed his own now damp hand in his.

“I… I don’t know what exactly you are, but I do know that you are my son. Damian seems to think I should know already and maybe I should, but not because you didn’t tell me. As much as it pains me to say it, I get why you wouldn’t trust me.”

Tim shook his head, “I trust you, Bruce. I just… the less people who know, the less likely I’ll loose my pelt again.”

Bruce frowned but said nothing about what that implied , though Tim knew he’d be asked about it later. It didn’t help that his lower half showed the most of his burn scars.

“I’m sorry, Tim. I can’t change what has been done, but I can promise you I will never, ever take you pelt form you. I don’t know ow exactly what it means, I’ve never heard of a selkie before, but Damian seemed to think it was important.”

Tim smiled even as he wondered how Damian knew what his pelt was.

Bruce gave his hand a squeeze, “He seemed to gain a lot more respect for you because of it.”

Damian spoke from where he was at the door, making Tim jump and Bruce inhale in a way that showed he was taken off guard, “Of course I have. Selkies are nearly extinct and Timothy had survived to almost nineteen without loosing his pelt.”

Tim fully shifted in his shock.

[lilacgaby]

˗ˏˋ🖍️crayons and connections

pairing: prohero!katsuki x nanny!reader

summary: after a harsh relationship he really didn't want another try at romance for a while. at least, not until he hired you. he thought he loved the way you cared for his kids, but you both knew it was something more.

tags: fem!reader, domestic au, use of pet names, no proofread, fluff, cursing, taking care of kids, a millisecond of angst i swear trust me, comfort

(a/n: i couldn't get this au out of my headdd)

wc: ~3k

katsuki was honestly sick of his wife.

she would nag him constantly, asking for his cards and attention without ever asking about him or how he was doing. everything was an argument now, most of their nights would eventually end up with him on the couch.

the only lights of his life were his newborn son and one year old daughter. he had adopted the 'staying for the kids' mindset, but her skipping out on their shared daughter's first birthday was his breaking point.

who knew 'i want a divorce' would be the happiest words he'd ever uttered such far? watching her cry and swear she'd be better feeding the hole of despair that had opened over their three year relationship, that had only really blossomed because she got pregnant.

he had made her sign a prenup, thankfully, so he got to keep the house. with a payment and some paperwork he was left with full custody of his kids in his house, to sleep in his bed for the first time in ages.

well, only because he hired you.

it was only natural that he needed a nanny, i mean he was gone for most of the day patrols. after taking some in for interviews, he eventually landed on you after some hours of questioning.

he was exhausted, some of these hags were terrifying, both in their practices and appearances. he relaxed a bit at the sight of you. you were really pretty.

"hi mr-- um bakugo was it?"

you and no idea who he was? it kind of hurt but would end up working out in his favor.

"yeah, just katsuki's fine."

"oh, okay! i'm [name], uh-- i have a couple years experience for babysitting and i worked as a nanny for some other families too--"

as you rambled about your past experience and why you were good for the job, katsuki's mind went elsewhere. you looked breathtaking just speaking there, he swore your hair was flowing in the wind and that the sun shone brighter around you.

not to mention you were really sweet, he had saw you making small talk to the hags earlier, which meant you really were a saint.

"so uh-- yeah that's all about me... uh, hello?"

"oh! yes? that was all really impressive [name]. so, would you be available from eight in the morning to about ten at night? those are my current patrol hours, and obviously you'd be compensated for this trial."

"yes, that's perfect for me! when can i start?"

"uh.. tomorrow?"

"okay!" you stuck out your hand, a small smile on your lips. "nice to meet you katsuki."

he shook your hand firmly and you bowed before leaving.

the next day you arrived earlier than anticipated, he was suited up in his heroes outfit, relishing in the moments where his kids were still asleep.

he heard a knock at the door and opened it. it was you, a tiny purse behind you. "hi katsuki! woah wait a minute.. are you like a hero?"

he shrugged his arms. "yeah, you know only like top three, nothing big."

he saw your eyes widen. "oh wow! sorry for not recognizing you, i don't really keep up with all that stuff-- but im sure you're really strong!"

he nodded, "hell yeah i am. anyways, come in."

you were greeted by a large family home. you were sure your apartment was the size of the kitchen alone. huge halls and grand staircases filled the space, lavish chandeliers all shaped as explosions hung from the ceiling. not to mention the crazy amount of trophies displayed.

the rocking chairs and baby blankets scattered about were seriously out of place, making you giggle a bit.

when he looked back at you, you immediately slapped your hand over your face. "something funny?"

"no, no it's just-- your house is so nice!"

"thank you? anyways, i'll take you up to their rooms now."

you followed behind him, even his kids had huge rooms. you were super kind of jealous.

he opened the door and waved you over to see a small, adorable baby boy sleeping in a cot. "this is kei, he's only eight months." he whispered. "he fusses a lot, but he loves music."

he closed the door slowly behind, and walked to the room straight across. a tiny toddler laid in a princess bed, the room drowning in all things pink. "this is kioko, she's a handful. she turned two a bit ago." he whispered, closing the door behind him to give you a basic rundown of the schedule.

"so, they normally wake up around eight. there's a lot of formula for kei in the kitchen, and kioko just likes cereal. kioko can and will play all day, but kei gets real sleepy."

you nodded along making mental notes of everything.

"they eat lunch around three, but a snack before then is fine. dinner is at seven and they go to sleep at eight."

"okay, i think i got it."

he nodded. "i think you do too. there's extra keys in the counter by the door. call my assistants if there are any emergencies, i wrote the number on the fridge."

you nodded again, "kay, i got it. you get going though, it's already eight twenty!"

"fuck. okay, i'll see you later."

"bye katsuki."

the door closed behind him and you were alone. you decided to start prepping a bottle. just as you finished, you heard the wails of a baby ring throughout the halls.

you walked up to the cot, speaking softly. "hi kei, i'm [name]." as you picked him up, he gurgled in confusion. "i'll be taking care of you from now on, let's go eat."

you kept him in your arms. he was looking up at you curiously, making you smile as he touched your face. as you walked to his sister's room, where sure enough she was awake too.

"hi kioko, im [name]. i'll be taking care of you, okay?" you said, reaching out a hand for her to shake it.

she grasped your hand. "okay. go eat?"

"yes, let's go eat. follow me, okay?" she followed after you sleepily, her blanket and stuffed animal in her arms as you led her to the kitchen.

you placed her brother in a high chair first, giving him his formula. "can i pick you up?" you asked her.

"up-up!" she said, raising her arms up in the air. you carried and placed her into one too. "so, what do you wanna eat?"

"cookie!" she pointed to an expensive cereal brand you'd never even seen before. "oh, okay."

you placed a bit in a tiny bowl, adding some milk. they ate relatively peacefully, were they really as crazy as katsuki said?

yes, yes they were. kioko was a ball of energy, walking any and everywhere. she wanted to play every single game known to mankind. it didn't help that hide and seek was hard in such a huge house.

kei clung to you. as you searched for her he never wanted to leave your side, he'd start sniffling when you even left his sight.

lunch and dinner were a blur, you made the food katsuki had told you to on the sticky notes he'd left around. you had a bit too, and man did these kids eat good.

kioko finally crashed, tugging on the back of your pants. "sleepy time." you were washing dishes, so you wiped your hand clean to ruffle her hair. "okay, go wait for me in your room."

you finished up, picked up kei from where he was sat by his activity cube, and walked over to kioko's room.

you read her a book, 'the giving tree.' she fell asleep halfway through, utterly tuckered out from the day. kei fell asleep against your chest, you went and laid him down in his cot.

you looked around the house, seeing the mess. you sighed. "let's do this."

the house was sparkling once you were done, a pot of coffee on the stove as you waited for katsuki to get back. you seriously didn't know how you were going to go back your one-bed apartment now that you've seen how the rich live.

the door sounded, it was katsuki. "hi katsuki! how was uh-- patrol?"

he was covered in soot and dirt from head to toe. you internally sobbed at your hours of mopping going to waste. "oh uh, it was good. caught some guys and shit."

"ah, that's cool!"

he looked around. "did my brats cause you any trouble?" he eyed how clean everything was, from the dishes to the floor.

"they're full of energy, but so cute it makes up for it."

he wore a soft smile. "yeah, they really are."

"you know, they both look exactly like you. it's cute."

he flushed slightly, "yeah?"

"mhm, oh! i had leftovers from earlier? if you wanted some."

"yeah, i'll eat them." she smiled and started to grab her things. "so, does this mean i pass?"

he smiled too. "yes,

yes you did."

days melted into months of your routine with kei and kioko. some days katsuki would come home early, letting you play games all together. you'd cook with him sometimes too, laughing at how precise he was about it.

everything got a bit real the second kei spoke his first word to you.

"mama."

you and kioko got so excited, recording a clip to send it to katsuki immediately.

the entire day you were so happy, treating the kids to a secret extra snack, and letting them beat their favorite baby popcorn.

a knock on the door was heard, you were feeding kei so you walked over to the door with him in hand. you thought it was odd, why would katsuki knock?

except it wasn't him, it was some woman. "uh.. who are you?"

"oh, so he thinks he can replace me so quickly? newsflash, bitch, i'm his ex wife."

"can you not curse in front of the kids?"

"i'll do whatever the fuck i want. you know why? because i'm actually connected to those kids. you're just playing mother, he'll dump you eventually."

she slammed the door behind her. "star her mama?" kioko asked behind you.

"yeah, stranger."

you had gotten a bit weird after that, acting weird about affection and things surrounding it. you didn't know why, but she really did make you question your role in their lives.

you weren't a mother, you were a nanny.

katsuki finally got fed up with your new, odd attitude. he questioned you with a look in his eye.

"why you been acting so weird?" he asked, his mouth full with food.

"huh? i don't know what you mean?"

he pointed his chopsticks at you. "you've been acting all weird 'round 'em. you don't like that they call you mom or something?"

"no! it's just.. don't you think it's weird?"

"no. i'm happy that they like you so much."

"you don't think i'm trying to replace their mom?"

"they never really had one in the first place. she was never around, so if she said some shit to you know she wasn't half the person you are."

"oh.."

"so she did come."

"yeah. she did."

"[name]. you are ten times the person she ever was. you're perfect without trying. actually, you do try. and that's why..

that's why we all love you."

you both turned red, which made you laugh. "thank you katsuki."

you reached out and held his hand.

"seriously, thank you."

he put a restraining order on his ex the next day, also going to get flowers for you as it was his day off.

you'd started to sleep over after that, the affection between the two of you growing gradually.

he gifted you a room in the house, fully furnished with about ten thousand dollars left in one of the drawers so 'you could decorate for yourself.'

that room went mostly unused though, as most nights you'd end up cuddled with katsuki in his bed.

the fridge was filled to the brim with photos by kioko, who'd love to draw all four of you as one big family.

katsuki even asked her for a small one, one that he now keeps in the back of his phone case for good luck.

he asked you out officially with kioko's help, her unwanted help that is.

she snuck out after bedtime where he was speaking to you on the couch, you in his arms as he was mustering up his courage--

"pleaseeee have a play date with daddy, pleasee?" she said, using her puppy eyes.

"we all love you a lot, but he loves you this much!" she spread out her arms to make a point, making you laugh.

"okay! okay, i already said yes kioko. go to sleep, okay?"

"yay!" she ran up to her room and you heard the door close.

"so.. about our playdate?"

he took you out to a fancy dinner of your choice, telling you to order whatever you'd like. his mom was babysitting so you two could relax.

he'd learned a lot about you from his kids, your favorite color, the music you liked, the way you like your eggs, but it was different to hear it from you.

he thought you were so gorgeous and kind, so sweet to him and the lights of his life. who was he kidding? over the last year you'd become a pillar of his life.

he enjoyed going home knowing you were there with his kids, you were there to hear about his stresses and support him.

he was happy to support you, to let you stay in his house. to let him pay for things for you, to let him make you smile.

one 'playdate' turned into multiple, you went out every other week.

he knew he had to do something, a grand gesture to show you just how much he loved you, how he wanted to continue building this perfect family of his forever.

he knew how much you treasured the opinions of his kids, he loved that about you.

so, he got them in on it. kioko and kei each held a gift for you, one of your favorite flowers and the other of your favorite perfumes.

you were at a seriously gorgeous park, streams the only noise you could hear for miles. you saw your two favorite kids sitting on the picnic blanket.

"kioko, kei?"

"mommy!" they ran up to you, kei handing you the bouquet of roses, and kioko handing you a vial of perfume.

"aw, thank you you two. where's your dad?"

"hes waiting for you! come come!"

"come!"

they guide you to a secluded area, with a natural arch of overgrown vines, where katsuki is waiting for you.

"katsuki?"

"[name]."

"what's all of this for?"

"you." he took your hands into his, looking deeply into you.

"you're important to me. you've.. you've become the thing i was missing. the thing i searched for in other people.

and, you've become that to the people i care about the most too.

so,"

he got down on one knee infront of you.

"will you marry me?"

the word yes escaped you before you even realized it. you tackled him into a hug, which prompted kei and kioko to join in.

everything was just so sweet from then on.

kioko was the flower girl at your wedding, kei was the ring holder.

your first kiss shared under the altar was magical, the memory of it forever engrained in your memories, and in your lips.

your honeymoon was bittersweet, as you missed your two headaches. but you and katsuki also enjoyed the private time alone with eachother, embracing and finding comfort in eachother's presence.

when you got home though, your picturesque family was about to have a new addition,

you were pregnant.

whilst everyone was debating whether or not you'd have a boy or girl, to everyone's surprise once you and katsuki cut the slice of cake open..

it had both colors.

you we're having twins.

as you looked over at katsuki, a shocked expression on his face, all you could do was laugh.

laugh because you couldn't have ever imagined a life this perfect for you.

but it was a wax-drawn line of fate that led you to katsuki,

and you'd always be thankful for it.

tag: @kovu-bunnbunn

[bee-wg]

PROLOGUE:

Our family isn’t too big. Ever since my grandparents moved to their cottage by the lake, It's just been the three of us. I don't even bring my teammates or friends home. And all the peacefulness is about to change. 

“Ahh Shit- Sorry!” the fumbling buffoon said. 

“Language, sweetheart. David! Could you help him pick it up? I'm tidying up the kitchen,” My mom replied. 

“Coming!” My dad sprints down the stairs. 

“Oh, Pumpkin, you're all grown up! Are you prepared for the semester?” Dad gestured to the culinary tools scattered across the floor. 

“Yes, of course. Sorry about the mess,” he replied. The “Pumpkin” in question is my cousin, Theo. He's about to attend a college in the city to study culinary arts… or something. And, of course, he’s sharing the room with me. Not for long, though. I have a few buddies who have invited me to share a room with them. They reek, but it's a necessary evil. 

“Jay,” my dad asked, nudging me, “Remember when you guys used to play house together every summer?” 

“Yes, then he bit me and we never talked again,” I deadpanned. 

“Oh come on, he was just a kid,” Dad retorted. 

No, he wasn't. He was a little demon that stole my pretend credit card. My hand still itches thinking about that vicious attack. 

I put down Theo’s luggage and bit back the argument. “I'll go back to the car to see what’s left.” 

“Alright bud, thanks for the help.”

“No problem.” He could probably thank me by asking what happened at football camp, but what do I know? It's not like we haven't talked about football the entire summer. We could be doing that right now, on the deck with some ice-cold beer. But the twinky little “Pumpkin” needs help, and I have the muscle for it. 

God, I wish the summer was over already.

***

“Hahahaha Exactly! I have never seen Chloé like that before.” Dad laughed.

“Right? Who knew mom had sass in her.”

Mom's competitiveness was kicked off by Theo's presence. The kitchen has basically been a war zone for the past two weeks.

Looking down at my watch, the light flashes on.

6 kilometres down, 5 more to go.

It’s been a while since I’ve had a good morning run with Dad like this one. The ocean breeze flowing past my hair and the faint rays of sunrise brought back some old memories. 

Regulating my breathing, we slowed down for a second.

“Damn, son - your stamina has gotten so much better this past year.”

“The football camp really made you put up 20 pounds of pure muscles too, I’m glad I recommended you there.” Dad beamed proudly at me.

“You’re not too bad yourself, for an aging old man.”

I still get the same rush every time he compliments me. It’s like a reassurance that I’m doing something right.

“Hahahaha, you won’t be saying that when you’re one foot in your 40s; it’s basically death by fossilization.”

Dad has always been modest with his body, but everyone who knows him either admires his body, wants him, or is jealous of him and I am the same. Ever since high school I’ve been inspired to be like him. Even with the 15 pounds of muscle I have over him, I’m still lacking in so many ways. He just has the confidence to own it.

“Want some water?”

“Oh, right, of course. Thanks.” I took over the ice-cold bottle.

“About that training camp, I should request the school board to have the team register next summer for the training course. High school kids these days don't care about sports as much no more.” Dad said

“Speaking of which, remember your friend Lancaster who got held back for two years?”

“Yeah, Avery. He used to scold me when I didn’t take the nutrition classes with him. Haven’t hung with him in a while though.”

“Well, he probably won’t scold anymore. The kid got too cocky after getting a full sports scholarship and gained 70 pounds of fat in the summer. The university probably revoked the funds. Hope he didn't take it too hard.”

“Shit, that’s awful. I didn’t expect it to be him out of anyone. He was a damn good receiver.”

We resumed the pace, avoiding some rogue cyclists on the way.

Crazy to think the weight could creep up on Avery Lancaster of all people. I should watch out for myself too. I have good genes from dad so it probably will never happen, but the new influx of delicious food from Theo and my mom’s little competition definitely doesn’t help. At least it keeps the brat out of my room.

“Dad, I think I’m not going to move in with Brad and the guys.”

“Why the sudden change of heart?” 

“Well first of all, as much as I love them, the guys stinks. Second of all, Theo is not as much of a blood-sucking gremlin as he was before. And I don’t think I’m ready to say goodbye to you guys.”

“Plus, How can I leave when the thing with mom just got interesting.”

“Staying for the family drama, huh?” He chuckled.

“We’re happy to have you for as long as you want, Jay. Truth be told, your mom has been crying about it for weeks. We’re both not ready to say goodbye too.”

“Tell you what, Chloe and Theo probably have some fancy lasagnas waiting for us back home; let's cut through the forest and head back early to celebrate.” He said, practically drooling.

“Lasagnas for breakfast?”

“Wait, You just want the Lasagnas. Don’t you?”

“Hahaha, Maybe.”

“Well, don’t get too drawn in, or you’ll end up as Hansel in the candy house.” 

He laughed like it was the funniest thing in the world.

That would be funny to imagine though, cause Dad is anything but a glutton.

Chapter 1 ->

[alltheirdamn]

My Kink is Karma | Joel Miller x f!reader

Summary: Your boyfriend breaks up with you, so you decide to get revenge... Rating: 18+ Explicit MDNI Word Count: 3k Warnings: no-outbreak AU, undefined age gap (pick your poison), teasing, revenge sex, unprotected piv sex, size!kink, daddy!kink, joel folds you like a pretzel, filthy language, pet names (sweetheart, daddy, good girl, etc.), orgasm, creampie, a touch of cuckholding i guess??, slight voyurism, heavy kissing, language... is that it? A/N: Y'all already know I get influenced all too easily when it comes to music... anyway, the song inspo is, of course, My Kink Is Karma

Masterlist | Ko-Fi

Stupid. So fucking stupid. 

Two years together, and he decides to break up with you? Granted, things were already on a downward slope, but over text? Seriously. Fucking asshole. You were cramming his shit into an all too-small cardboard box, huffing a slew of obscenities. Old t-shirts, bullshit birthday cards, photos… you didn’t want a single one. You should burn them all, but you wanted him hurt. You wanted him to stare at those memories and regret it all. 

Pulling up to his house—well, his dad’s house since he was a deadbeat without a place to stay—you hauled the box into both hands and staggered up the porch. You had put on what you considered your ‘revenge dress’: a flowy sundress that barely covered your ass. Yeah, I hope you regret this, you thought to yourself. Princess Diana would be looking down at you proud as fuck. 

Hoisting the box on your hip, you pounded on the front door, a scowl on your face. Jesus, the box was heavy as you balanced it in one arm. The door wrenched open, and you were ready to toss angry words in his face. 

His father, Joel, stood in the doorway, and you were quick to bite your tongue. Soft, brown eyes nestled under thick eyebrows gazed down at you. His lips twitched into a cautious smile, the plush pout covered by a dark mustache. Joel’s frame practically filled the doorway, and damn, was he always this attractive? 

“This is a surprise,” he stated. “Whatcha doin’ with all that stuff?”

You shoved it into his chest, your arms tired from holding its weight. 

“Your piece of shit son broke up with me,” you grumbled. 

Joel wrapped thick fingers around the edge of the box, his eyebrows furrowing together. Guess his son didn’t fill him in on his latest fuck up. Real shocker. 

“M’sorry to hear that. Y’wanna come in for a minute? I’ll get you some iced tea to cool down.”

“I don’t wanna impose on you. I figure I’m probably not welcomed here anymore.”

“You’re more than welcome here,” Joel argued. You didn’t miss how his eyes fluttered over your body, catching sight of your dress blowing upward in the breeze. 

Ohh…

“If you insist,” you said.

Joel nodded toward the doorway, letting you walk in first. He discarded the box by the front door and led the way to the kitchen. You kept yourself fixated on how his back flexed under his flannel, the muscles in his shoulders stretching across the fabric. If only his son had been this hot, maybe you would’ve had sex more often. 

You propped yourself on the kitchen barstool, swinging your legs beneath you as you watched Joel pour you a glass of sweet tea—typical Southern gentleman. After pouring himself a glass, Joel leaned against the counter, his muscular forearms braced against the edge. 

“So…” He drawled. “Y’been alright since the break-up?”

You rolled your eyes, bringing the glass to your lips. Joel’s dark eyes tracked the movement of your lips around the rim, and you rewarded him with a coy smile. It was enough to make him clear his throat and readjust his stance behind the coverage of the counter. 

“Oh, I’m great,” you smiled, licking your top teeth. “It’s always fun when your boyfriend breaks up with you over text. He didn’t even have the balls to do it in person.”

“He ain’t the brightest,” Joel commented. 

“No, he definitely isn’t.” 

Joel quirked a grin, and you quickly realized you were talking to your ex’s dad; you should hold back a bit. “Shit, sorry. That’s not nice of me.”

He shook his head, tipping his glass to his lips. Now, it was your turn to obsess over his mouth and how his plush bottom lip curved around the rim as he gulped down the liquid. You pressed your thighs together, attempting to quell the throbbing ache between your legs. 

“No need to be sorry,” Joel said. “You’re too sweet of a girl for a man like him.”

“Calling him a ‘man’ is generous of you,” you laughed sarcastically. “Barely got a few inches on him to call himself that.”

“No need to kick him while he’s down, sweetheart.”

“Respectfully, Mr. Miller, fuck him. I deserved better,” you argued. 

Joel’s jaw clenched, and you could almost see the wheels turn in his head. Stepping away from the counter, he strode to where you sat, towering over you with a flicker of lust behind his chocolate eyes. The lace thong barely covering your sex was already drenched just from the way he looked at you.

“What you’re sayin’ is that you deserve a real man,” he offered. 

You parted your legs just a few inches, but it was enough of an invitation for Joel to step forward and crowd your body. With his knee pressed to the apex of your sex and his hand braced against the back of your chair, you had nowhere to go. The thrill of it all was electrifying your veins. 

“I think I do,” you said defiantly. 

“Would that make y’feel better, sweetheart? Fuckin’ a real man?” He asked, his fingers twirling in your hair that hung over your shoulder. 

“God, yes,” you whined, biting your lip to stop yourself from moaning at his words. 

Joel leaned forward, a breath away from your lips. Were you seriously about to do this? Hell, it was too late now to even think twice. You wanted revenge, and here was the perfect opportunity. You craned your neck higher, waiting for him to close the gap. Joel only gave you a pitying smile, the silver strands in his beard glittering in the kitchen sunlight. 

“Naugty lil’ thing,” he taunted, grinning wide.

He didn’t give you a chance to respond. Joel crushed his lips to yours, his tongue prodding your mouth open wider. The moan you had been holding back slipped out at the same time he sank his teeth into your bottom lip. You reached up to tug at the soft curls atop his head, your nails scratching against his scalp. Joel groaned into your open mouth, his hand coming down to grip your bare thigh. 

“Gonna let your ex-boyfriend’s daddy fuck you, sweetheart? Gonna let me show y’what a real man is like?” Joel panted. 

“Please, Daddy,” you begged, the word slipping right off your tongue.

You pulled away embarrassed, your lips swollen and wet and your face burning a bright red. Joel didn’t seem phased at all by your little slip-up. In fact, he looked at you with even more hunger than before. Pupils blown wide and a smile brighter than the sun, you were so in over your head. Whatever he was promising, you knew you’d be in for a treat. 

“Jesus fuckin’ Christ, y’can’t be callin’ me that and expect me to go easy on you,” Joel said. 

“Then don’t go easy,” you insisted. “Show me what I’ve been missing out on, Daddy.”

Joel practically lost it as you repeated the word, his arms coming around your back to haul you up and out of the chair. You quickly wrapped your legs around his waist, hooking your heels together, and let him drag you away from the kitchen and into the living room. 

Your back hit the couch in seconds, the sundress on your body billowing onto the cushions. Joel hunched over your sprawled body, sucking marks down the column of your neck. Everything in your body hummed with pleasure, the growing need inside your stomach building. 

Joel dipped a hand under your dress, his fingers brushing up the lacy thong that stuck to your skin with arousal. You preened into his touch, lifting your hips to seek any sort of relief from the tension twisting inside your core.

“Damn, sweetheart,” Joel exhaled. “Y’already this wet for me? Fuckin’ soakin’ my hand, and I’ve barely touched you.”

“Mhmm,” you whispered, rolling your hips against his fingertips.

Joel pinched your lace-covered clit between his fingers, rolling the sensitive bud softly until you cried out. Your hands clung to his forearms, digging into the bulging veins hidden under the fabric of his button-up. God, revenge would taste so fucking sweet.

“S’alright,” he cooed. “Daddy’s gonna take real good care of you.”

It shocked you how fast Joel managed to yank your underwear off, tossing it halfway across the room before working at undoing his belt. Your eyes nearly fell out of your head when you saw his cock spring free from his boxers. His son was definitely not packing this kind of heat, and your sex clenched around nothing as the anticipation flowed through your veins. The shocked silence and wide-eyed stare you wore garnered a laugh from Joel.

“We’ll make it fit, sweetheart. You’re gonna take every inch of me like a good girl, aren’t you?” 

“Yes, Daddy,” you nodded, biting your lip.

Propping one leg on the couch, Joel gripped the back of your thighs and pinned them at either side of your head, nearly folding you in half. 

“Keep ‘em right here, y’understand?” 

You muttered a quick yes, settling your fingers around the backs of your knees. Joel gave his cock a few lazy strokes before lining the weeping head of it at your entrance. Brushing the tip through your silky folds, he pushed in an inch, grunting as you cried at the intrusion. Fuck, it hurt. 

“Tightest pussy I ever felt, sweetheart,” he groaned, sinking in another inch. 

The stretch of his cock inside you was unbearable, every part of him rubbing against your walls until you were filled completely. The moment Joel bottomed out, you lost all capacity to breathe correctly, your voice coming out in small whimpers and cries. 

“Fuck,” he hissed. “Just suckin’ me right in. God damn, y’feel like Heaven.”

“It’s so big, Daddy,” you moaned. 

“Takin’ it so well for me, sweetheart. Y’ready for more?”

You bobbed your head, your eyes falling to see where your bodies connected. The hair around Joel’s cock brushed over your swollen lips with each shallow thrust, his hips colliding with yours in a steady rhythm as you adjusted to his size.

“My son ever fuck you like this?” He growled. 

“No,” you exhaled shakily. 

“Didn’t think so.”

Then he was ramming into you…hard. Your sweaty fingers slipped off your legs, but Joel was quick to replace them with his own hands, molding you into the couch as he took you rough and fast. The room fell apart around you, leaving you crying out every time his cock shoved deeper inside you. You swore you felt him in your stomach, the thick girth of his cock stretching you beyond measure. 

“Fuckin’ take it, sweetheart,” he choked out. “Keep takin’ daddy’s cock. Lookin’ so pretty folded up under me.”

“Yes! Yes!” You shouted.

The weight of your breasts bounced with each onslaught of thrusts, your chest heaving for air as he stole it from you over and over again. Even with your ears muffled by your legs, the sound of your sex suctioning around his cock was unmistakable. Reaching between your bodies, you pressed your fingers against your clit, blindly searching for release as it trembled through your muscles. 

“Dirty fuckin’ girl,” Joel teased, glancing up at you.

He pinned you with a violent stare, his lips twisted up in a smirk, and a thin sheen of sweat coating his forehead. Christ, you were a fucking whore for this, but you loved it. You couldn’t give a damn about your ex when his dad was balls deep inside you. 

“Daddy, I’m so close,” you whimpered.

Your fingers were working twice as fast now, chasing that inescapable bloom of pleasure unwinding inside your core. You pulsated around his cock, sucking him in further as his thrusts grew ragged and out of sync. 

“Yeah, you are. Can feel this pretty pussy milkin’ my cock already.”

“Harder, Daddy. Need—fuck—need you deeper inside me.”

Joel tensed at your words, his movements slowing down—the exact opposite of what you begged for. He tilted his head over you, studying how your eyes welled with tears, and your lips trembled.

“Daddyyy,” you pleaded. 

He bent down over your body, his weight crushing into yours and plunging his dick as far as your core would let him. You cried out as he molded his mouth to yours, swallowing down every noise you tried to make. From this angle, you could feel Joel everywhere. The bruising hold of his fingers around your legs, the twitch of his cock against your cervix, the heat of his tongue intertwining over yours. 

Why hadn’t you considered dating older men from the start? This was ecstasy. 

Joel rocked his hips into you in a slow rhythm, the urgency having left his body and replaced now by determined movements only to bring you closer to the brink of release. You lapped at Joel’s tongue, sloppy wet sounds from your mouth mixing with the lewd noises of your bodies slapping together. 

“Oh, God! Oh, God!” You cried, the sound muffled against Joel’s lips. He buried his head into your neck, his teeth bearing down on your scorching skin. The precipice of release was at your fingertips, and you were toppling over. 

“That’s it,” Joel crooned. “Cum all over daddy’s cock. Wanna feel you chokin’ it when you come undone.”

Stars shot across the back of your eyelids, your orgasm ready to barrel through you. You heaved in a breath, anticipating the spiral ready to unfurl inside you when the sound of the front door opening paralyzed you. 

“Dad?” A voice called out.

Joel whipped his head toward the hallway, his cock throbbing inside you. You pinched his chin, dragging his face to meet your eyes. 

“Keep fucking me,” you demanded. “Let me be your good girl, Daddy.”

Joel’s lip parted, a protest on the tip of his tongue. You wordlessly shook your head, lifting your hips to meet his in a silent plea for more. This was the moment. This was your chance at revenge.

“S’gonna get me in trouble, sweetheart,” Joel hissed, assaulting you with another series of quick thrusts. 

You arched upward, your mouth brushing against his ear.

“I wanna cum for you,” you whispered. “Let’s show your son what it looks like to make a girl really orgasm.” 

“Jesus fuckin’ Christ,” Joel groaned.

You anchored Joel to your chest; your legs pressed into his shoulders as he drove his hips against yours over…and over… In the distance, you could hear your ex-boyfriend call out for Joel again, a hint of suspicion in his voice. Let him fucking listen to you; let him see what his dad was doing to you. You clawed at Joel’s back, your nails tearing into his shirt as your orgasm vibrated in your muscles. Right as the spark of adrenaline hit your veins, your ex came into view in the doorway, his eyes wide with horror. 

“Yes, Daddy!” You pleaded.

Everything inside you tensed up, your sex gripping around Joel’s cock until his movements strained above you. Joel groaned in your ear, your name falling off his tongue in choked syllables as he painted your insides with his release. As he slumped against your body, you peered up at your ex, a satisfied grin on your face. 

“What the fuck?” He seethed, standing motionless just feet away. 

“Your shit’s by the door!” You shouted at him. “Why don’t you take it upstairs? Your daddy and I are busy.”

Joel loosed a breath, chuckling softly in your neck. 

“You’re mean for that, sweetheart,” he mumbled. 

“Fucking your son’s ex-girlfriend seems a whole lot worse,” you whispered back, keeping your voice low enough for only him to hear. 

Peeking back over the back of the couch, you noticed the doorway empty, all signs of your ex gone from view. You tapped Joel’s shoulder lightly, urging him to unwind your limbs from above your head. You ached all over but in the best fucking way possible. Straightening his spine, Joel lowered your legs down and slowly pulled out of you. The warmth of his seed leaking from your entrance was a welcomed reminder of what you had done. Revenge tasted sweet but felt so much sweeter. 

You groaned as you stretched your legs, staring up at Joel with a wide smile. Despite the wreckage you caused, Joel smiled right back, and his eyes shifted from your red face down to your dripping sex. You squeezed your legs together, swinging them over the edge of the couch. 

“Shit,” you muttered. “Where the hell did you toss my underwear?”

“M’sure they’re ‘round here somewhere,” Joel shrugged, tucking his cock back into his jeans. 

“Well, if you find them, you can keep them.” 

Joel extended a hand, insisting on helping you to your feet, which you appreciated since your legs felt like jelly. Heavy footsteps shook the roof above you, no doubt from your ex, as he stormed through the house. You giggled at the thought, knowing you had just given him the best taste of karma. You glanced at Joel, seeing his wild curls sticking up at odd angles. 

“I should probably get going.”

“Leavin’ me with a whole lotta mess, sweetheart,” he huffed. 

You leaned into his solid frame, kissing his lips quickly. 

“I’m sure you’ll be just fine,” you smirked. “It’s him you might need to worry about.”

Joel swatted your ass, urging you out of the living room and toward the front door. You gave him a quick flutter of your fingers and said goodbye before skipping down the porch steps with his cum dripping down your inner thighs.

[hauntingblue]

I have connected two dots... yamato kaido and momo (and kinda shirahoshi with her top) have clouds above their shoulders... and luffy in gear fourth has them also.... I can see the signs

[hanniebaeee]

The Wedding Night

Hyunjin x fem!reader

Warnings: psychotic family rituals, use of weapons (guns, knives, crossbows), threats, some blood, chasing MDNI

Genre: established relationship, thriller/romance

Summary: You and Hyunjin get married, and on your wedding night, you play a deadly game with his eccentric family - his seven brothers.

a/n: Written after watching 'Ready or not'. The plot is not exactly the same, but very similar. I absolutely love horror thriller movies and this one has such a strange gothic vibe to it that I love hehe! Please feel free to skip if any of the warnings bother you. But also remember this is just a story! Thank you!

The storm outside the sprawling mansion mirrored the turbulence Hyunjin felt in his chest as he watched you adjust your dress. Hyunjin’s arms snaked around your waist from behind, his touch gentle. He pressed a lingering kiss to your neck, his lips warm against your skin.

“What's wrong Jinnie? You look nervous.” You said, you hand cupping his cheek as his eyes met yours in the mirror.

“No, I'm good…just don't feel like sharing you tonight,” he murmured, his voice low, sultry.

“It's tradition, right?” you asked, turning to face him.

His long, dark hair fell in soft waves, framing his face like he was a gothic prince from a fairy tale.

“Right. Tradition.” His gaze flicked to the clock above the fireplace. Just about half an hour to midnight.

“Hyunjin… what’s going on?” You were worried now. Hyunjin has been on the edge the whole day, and you'd thought that he was just nervous - it was his wedding after all.

But now? It was starting to get to you.

His hesitation sent a ripple of unease through you. His family had been off from the moment you met them. Apart from his mother and twin sister, Yeji, they were all men. His brothers - Jisung, Felix and Jeongin. His cousins - Chan, Minho, Chanbin and Seungmin.

They moved like shadows through the halls, their smiles never reaching their eyes. But none of that mattered because you loved Hyunjin. You married him knowing that he came with this… oddness.

And now, on the night of your wedding, they’d insisted on a "family tradition" - a game to welcome you into the fold.

Hyunjin’s hand cupped your face, his thumb brushing your cheek.

“I need you to trust me,” he said, his tone urgent. “No matter what happens tonight, I will keep you safe.”

Before you could ask what that meant, there was a knock on the door.

“It’s time.” Minho's voice came from the other side of the door, and Hyunjin’s grip on you tightened.

---

The family was gathered in the dimly lit dining room around a massive oak table, all still dressed in their elaborate, somewhat gothic outfits from the wedding. Hyunjin’s father sat at the head.

“Tradition binds us,” he said, his voice echoing through the room. “Tonight, the newest member of our family will prove their worth.”

Jeongin, Hyunjin's youngest sibling, placed an antique box before you, its surface etched with intricate symbols. Hyunjin's mother opened the box and inside, you found cards.

Are you playing cards?

Hyunjin’s hand found yours beneath the table, squeezing tightly. His expression was unreadable, but the tremor in his fingers betrayed his fear.

“Draw a card,” his father commanded.

You hesitated, your heart pounding as you glanced at Hyunjin before reaching into the box, and pulling out a card.

It bore a single word: Run.

Gasps rippled through the room. Yeji gave you a look that was borderline smothered with pity, and she looked away quickly. So did his mother.

“Oh, this will be fun,” Minho purred, his grin sharp.

Hyunjin shot to his feet, as he said “No. We’re not doing this.”

“Sit down, son,” his father growled, his tone laced with authority.

“She’s my wife!” Hyunjin said, his voice way too loud to be friendly, and you glanced around the room to find all eyes on you.

“And now, she’s the game,” Chan said, his smile chilling.

You didn’t have time to process what was happening before Hyunjin pulled you to your feet.

“Run,” he whispered urgently.

“What?”

“Run!”

He had pushed you out the door so hard that you nearly collided with the wall on the other side. But you did as you were told. You ran.

The manor was a labyrinth of dark twisted corridors and hallways as you fled. You could hear them behind you - their laughter, and the clang of metal.

What the hell was happening? What was this game?

You almost screamed as Hyunjin burst out through a door in front of you, his breathing ragged.

“We need to get you out-” he said, pulling you into a dimly lit hallway, but you yanked your hand back, making him stop on his tracks.

“Hyunjin, what the hell is going on?” you demanded, your voice shaking.

“Baby there's no time-”

“HYUNJIN, STOP FUCKING WITH ME!”

“My family… this tradition, it's been in my family for ages. Only the strongest gets to be part of it. To carry the bloodline forward. It's sick, I know. Baby you picked the wrong card. You picked the worst, oh God. ”

“Hyunjin, what the actual fuck are you saying right now?! What is this game?!”

“It's not a game…it's a hunt. And if you're caught before sunrise-”

You stared at him like he was actually insane. Like you couldn't believe the words that were coming out of his mouth.

“Babe, you -”

“I know!” He cupped your face, his dark eyes shining with desperation. “But I swear, I’ll get you out of this. I’ll die before I let them hurt you.”

Your heart pounded as you ran, your shoes kicked off long ago because it made way too much noise on the wooden floor. The distant, mocking laughter of Hyunjin’s brothers echoed through the halls, growing closer.

“I can hear you, sweetheart!” Jisung’s sing-song voice reverberated somewhere behind you, unsettlingly cheerful.

Hyunjin’s grip on your hand was iron-tight as he led you down a narrow, hidden staircase.

“They’ll split up soon,” he hissed. “It’s how they always do this - divide and conquer.”

“You've been part of this?” you asked, horrified.

Hyunjin hesitated, but said, “It doesn’t matter. What matters is keeping you alive.”

---

The first time you truly noticed Seungmin was at the wedding dinner. Quiet and poised, he seemed like the least likely person in the room to partake in the family’s macabre rituals. He had sipped his wine with a detached air, his sharp eyes watching everyone with an almost clinical curiosity.

So when you found yourself face-to-face with him during the game, it was… unsettling. Especially so, with Hyunjin not at your side - he'd taken a different route to take Chan off your path.

You were sprinting through the east wing’s library when his voice floated out from the shadows.

“You know,” he began, his tone casual like this was a normal conversation, “I root for you.”

Your heart stopped. He was there, perched casually in one of the high-backed chairs, legs crossed, holding a long rifle. And looking totally chill.

“Seungmin,” you breathed, backing away slowly. “I don’t want to hurt you-”

“Oh, I’m sure you don’t,” he interrupted, standing smoothly and taking a few steps towards you. “But I have a job to do, Y/N. Family obligations and all that.”

He raised the rifle, aiming it directly at you.

“Let’s make this quick. No hard feelings?”

You ducked just as the shot rang out, the bullet whizzing past your head and shattering the glass of an antique vase. You scrambled for cover behind a massive oak desk, your heart pounding so loudly it literally masked any other sounds in the room.

“Do you know why I like this game?” Seungmin’s voice floated closer as his footsteps echoed against the hardwood floor. “Strategy. Planning. Timing.”

You peeked around the desk just in time to see him reloading his rifle like a pro. Desperate, you scanned the room. Your eyes landed on a shelf of heavy leather-bound books.

“Seungmin!” you said, trying not to let the fear in you bleed into your voice as you carefully moved behind the shelf. “Can't we talk about this?”

“What's there to talk about?” he replied, circling toward you. “It's just survival of the fittest.”

Just as he turned the corner, you book one of the heavy books and threw it right at him. It hit him right in the chest and he looked surprised even though he pointed his rifle right at you. Ok, maybe a book at a time wont help.

Mustering all your strength, you shoved the entire bookcase toward him. It was quite the task but thankfully it toppled with a deafening crash - a cascade of books and wood slamming down where he stood.

For a moment, you thought you’d won. Just for a moment. But then, from beneath the wreckage, came his low laughter.

The rubble shifted as Seungmin emerged, his pristine shirt now streaked with dust and a thin cut tainting the flawless skin of his cheek. And he looked eerily calm.

“Well played,” he admitted, brushing himself off. “Very resourceful.”

Then, he lifted the rifle again. And just like that another shot rang out as you bolted for the door. You ducked into a side hallway, your bare feet slipping on the polished floors.

“Ah, sister-in-law, cowards die many times before their deaths; the valiant never taste of death but once.” Oh damn him and his damn calm voice that had the skin on the back of your neck prickling.

“Seriously?!” you yelled, running as fast as you could in your dress. “You’re quoting Julius Caesar right now?”

“Context is everything, don’t you think?” he called back, the sound of his footsteps growing louder.

He was close, really close and you glance around frantically for something you could use. And your eyes fell on a spear embedded on the wall.

Who used spears as wall decorations? Oh, rich people, apparently. Your hands fumbled as you yanked it off the clips holding it up.

You gripped it tightly, moving carefully until you found a little space in the wall. You waited, Seungmin's footsteps now way too close.

“Peek-a-boo,” he whispered, stepping in front of you, and before you could swing the spear at him, someone grabbed him.

You screamed, until you came face-to-face with your husband, who was now tackling Seungmin onto the ground.

“Oh my God,” You groaned, breathing heavily as another shot was fired, this time creating a hole on the ceiling.

“Run!! GO!” Hyunjin was shooing you away, and you did, straight for the window that was partially open, and not thinking twice before slipping right out.

It was so silent. The storm had reduced to a drizzle, and the moon was out. And there was no one around. Or so you thought.

You stumbled into the mansion’s greenhouse, hoping you could hide here till Hyunjin found his way to you. Your lungs burned, and your legs felt like they might give out.

The greenhouse was eerie with the moonlight streaming through the stained panes. The air smelled of damp earth and flowers.

You were catching your breath when you heard it: the unmistakable twang of a crossbow. A bolt shot past your head, embedding itself into a wooden post.

“Oh, damn, I missed,” came Felix’s deep voice, the sound somehow both casual and unhinged all at once.

“For fucks sake,” You muttered under your breath, turning around slowly.

Felix and Jeongin stood near the greenhouse entrance, their crossbows glinting menacingly in the moonlight.

“Hyung said to keep it clean,” Jeongin muttered, ready to fire.

Felix chuckled, stretching dramatically. You took a step back.

“Yeah, but where’s the fun in clean? Besides…” His sharp gaze landed on you as you pressed yourself further into the shadows. “She looks ready for some fun.”

Before you could even think about running, Felix raised his crossbow and fired. You dropped to the ground, the bolt whizzing past and snapping through a pot behind you.

“Nice move!” Felix called out, as if this were some casual game of tag.

“She’s scared,” Jeongin said, stepping closer. He was aiming at you now too, his aim steady. “They all panic eventually.”

Your heart raced as they moved closer, their steps slow and deliberate, like predators circling prey.

“Hyunjin did really well, finding you,” Felix mused, his tone flirty. “But I don’t think he told you everything, did he? Like how the odds of surviving this game are… slim.”

You gritted your teeth, your eyes darting around the greenhouse.

“Oh, she’s thinking,” Jeongin said with a grin. “What’s the plan, sister-in-law? Gonna throw a cactus at us?”

You didn’t wait for them to make the next move. Instead, you bolted deeper into the greenhouse, weaving through the labyrinth of plants and tables.

Another bolt zipped past your ear, shattering the glass on one of the panes.

“Stop running!” Jeongin called, his voice echoing through the space. “You’re just making it harder on yourself.”

“Let her run, Innie,” Felix drawled, his voice teasing. “We’ll still find you, love. We always win.”

You ducked behind a massive planter, your breath coming in short, panicked gasps. You could hear their footsteps closing in.

“You take left,” Felix said, his tone annoyingly confident.

“Got it,” Jeongin replied.

As they split up, you spotted your opportunity - a shelf lined with gardening supplies. Biting back your fear, you grabbed a metal rake.

Just then Jeongin appeared in front of you, grinning. And you've had just about enough of it, as you used the back of the rake, running it straight into his abdomen.

Jeongin looked thoroughly shocked as he lost his balance as fell back, the impact sending everything crashing down - pots, a bag of fertilizer - all of it raining down on Jeongin.

“Shit!” he yelled, his crossbow clattering to the floor as he tried to fend off the avalanche of gardening supplies.

Felix whipped around, his smirk vanishing as he realized what had happened. “Jeongin!”

Before he could react further, you grabbed the nearest object - a heavy watering can - and swung it at him. The impact caught him off guard, and he stumbled.

You didn’t wait for them to recover. Grabbing Jeongin’s fallen crossbow, you sprinted toward the greenhouse exit, your pulse pounding in your ears.

Behind you, Felix’s voice rang out, furious now, “Oh, you’re dead, Y/N! Do you hear me? Dead!”

“Can you help me, hyung?”Jeongin groaned, still half-buried under the pile of tools.

“You’re useless!” Felix snapped, though his irritation seemed directed more at himself than his younger brother.

As you burst out of the greenhouse and into the cool night air, you noticed that you'd ripped your beautiful dress. Now it hung awkwardly, and you felt a pang deep inside you. But you couldn’t help but let out a shaky laugh.

Somewhere in the distance, you heard Hyunjin calling your name.

“Hold on my love,” you whispered to yourself, gripping the stolen crossbow tighter. “I'm gonna fucking kill you.”

You were starting to think you might actually make it. You were trying to follow Hyunjin’s voice, but you knew stepping back into the house was a poor move. Because as you moved into the billiards room - you felt something was terribly off. Well, more off than the current situation.

The soft glow of a fireplace lit the room, casting shadows that danced across the green pool table. You leaned against it, catching your breath, but your grip on the crossbow was still tight.

And then, from behind you, came the sound of slow, deliberate clapping.

“Well, well, well. Look who’s made it this far,” a voice drawled, smooth and dripping with amusement.

You spun around, raising the crossbow instinctively, only to come face-to-face with Chan. He leaned casually against the doorframe, a sleek black pistol twirling lazily in his fingers. His shirt was slightly unbuttoned, and his dark eyes sparkled with mischief.

“Put that thing down, sweetheart,” he said, smirking. “You’ll hurt yourself.”

“Stay back,” you warned, keeping the crossbow aimed at him despite the tremble in your hands.

He raised his free hand in mock surrender, the pistol still balanced in his other.

“Whoa, easy there. I’m just here to chat. Family tradition and all, you know how it is.”

“Chat?” you scoffed. “You’re holding a gun.”

“And you’re holding a crossbow. We’re even.” Chan tilted his head, his grin widening.

He took a step closer, his gaze locked on yours.

“I have to admit, Y/N, you’ve done better than most. Usually, they don’t make it past Felix.”

You stepped back, your back hitting the pool table.

“But you…” he continued, his tone low, “…you’re different. Smart. Quick.”

Your grip on the crossbow tightened as you said, “If you think flirting is going to stop me from shooting you, you’re out of your mind.”

“Oh, sweetheart, I’m not trying to stop you.” Chan chuckled.

With a flick of his wrist, he aimed the pistol directly at your chest, his playful demeanor not faltering for a second.

“Let’s play a little game, hmm? I’ll put mine down if you put yours down.”

“Why would I trust you?” You swallowed hard.

“Because you don’t have much of a choice,” he replied smoothly, stepping closer. “And because I like you, Y/N. I almost want you to win.”

“Almost?”

“Well…” He shrugged, his smirk growing darker. “It’s nothing personal. Family is… family.”

Before he could get another word out, you grabbed the nearest billiard ball from the table and hurled it at him.

“Whoa!” Chan ducked, laughing as the ball narrowly missed his head and cracked against the wall behind him. “Feisty! I like that!”

You didn’t wait for him to recover. Grabbing a cue stick, you swung it at him, forcing him to stumble back.

Chan, ever the showman (or show off), twirled his pistol and aimed again. But you jabbed stick towards him and the shot went off, shattering a whiskey decanter on the bar.

“Damn it,” he muttered, sidestepping as you swung again. “That was expensive!”

“You’re insane!” you yelled, as he grabbed the stick mid swing and tossed it aside. But you moved again, using the crossbow to slap the pistol off his hand. It fell to the floor with a clatter, and skidded away from Chan's reach.

“You’re incredible my love,” he said, and now mere inches apart.

Chan grinned at you, unapologetically, his chest rising and falling with exertion, his eyes flicking to your lips before meeting your gaze again.

“You know,” he murmured, voice soft and teasing, “if things were different, I’d marry you myself.”

You glared at him aiming the crossbow at him, “Too bad you’re a lunatic.”

“Guilty as charged.” he said, raising his hands as you got ready to take a shot. “Not bad, Y/N. Not bad at all.”

He watched as you backed toward the door, keeping the crossbow trained on him.

“Tell your family I’m not dying tonight.” you said, and he just smiled, and it looked way too genuine for someone who was trying to kill you.

“Oh, they’ll figure it out,” he replied in an infuriatingly calm tone. “Don't miss me too much, ok?”

You snorted. “Not in a million years.”

“We’ll see about that, sweetheart. We’ll see.” Chan’s laugh followed you as you slipped out of the room, your heart pounding in your chest.

You hadn’t seen anyone for a while now. You sat hidden behind the kitchen counter, the crossbow still in your hands. You wondered where Hyunjin was. And even though you were so mad at him, you worried if he was safe.

Then you heard it.

The rhythmic tap-tap-tap of a blade dragging along the steel counters.

“Y/N…” Minho’s voice sang out, eerily calm and lilting.

Your stomach dropped as you froze in place, listening. It was such a shame really, when Hyunjin had first introduced you to his cousins, you'd thought Minho was absolutely gorgeous. His soft voice and his smile. Huh what a waste.

Tap-tap-tap.

“Come on, Y/N,” he called, his tone laced with mock sweetness. “Let’s not make this harder than it needs to be. You know how this ends.”

The blade scraped again, sending a metallic screech through the air.

Keep moving, you told yourself. Don’t freeze. You crept along the counter, your bare feet barely making a sound against the tiled floor.

Your breath hitched as you caught sight of him through the narrow gap between the counters. Minho was toying with a massive butcher’s knife, the blade glinting under the yellow lights. His dark hair fell into his eyes as he smiled, the kind of smile that sent shivers down your spine.

You stayed low, gripping the crossbow in your hand, though your palms were slick with sweat.

“I know you’re in here, Y/N,” Minho continued, his voice teasing.

He stopped suddenly, tilting his head like a predator sniffing the air. Then, with a flick of his wrist, he plunged the knife into the nearest wall, the sound of it sinking into wood reverberating through the room.

Your heart nearly stopped. He was close. Too close.

“You know what’s funny?” he mused, pulling the knife free and resuming his casual walk. “Hyunjin thinks he can save you. He really believes that. But I’m not so sure. You've got him wrapped around your finger haven't you? Making him fight us for you?”

You clenched your teeth, anger flaring in your chest. How dare he!

“He’s twice the man you’ll ever be,” you whispered under your breath, more to steady yourself than anything else.

Unfortunately, Minho heard. His steps halted abruptly.

“Oh?” he said softly. “You do have a mouth on you. Let’s see if you can back that up.”

You didn’t wait for him to find you. Taking a deep breath, you leapt out from your hiding spot, aiming the crossbow directly at him.

“Tsk, tsk,” Minho chided, lunging toward you with the knife. “Is that Innie's?”

You barely ducked in time, his blade slicing through the air where your neck had been moments before. Scrambling backward, you grabbed a cast-iron skillet from the counter and swung it at him.

The clang of metal meeting metal rang out as he deflected your attack with his knife, his grin widening. “Oh, this is fun!”

“Glad you’re enjoying yourself,” you snapped, dodging as he lunged again.

The two of you danced around the kitchen in a deadly game of cat and mouse. Minho was relentless, his movements fluid like that of a dancer, while you were running purely on adrenaline. And you hissed in pain as he managed to slice the knife over your arm, drawing blood.

Minho backed you into a corner as you lost focus on seeing blood, the knife glinting dangerously as he raised it.

“Any last words?” he asked, tilting his head with a mock pout.

You were almost ready to accept your fate when a head popped in through the door, and you nearly wanted to cry when you saw Hyunjin stepping in quietly, grabbing a pan from the counter.

“Yes actually,” you said, your voice shaking but defiant.

He raised an eyebrow. “Oh? Let’s hear it.”

“Watch out.”

Before he could react, Hyunjin had swung the pan right at him, catching the side of his head in a dull clang. The impact sent Minho staggering back and dropping his knife, looking absolutely pissed.

Hyunjin jumped at the opportunity to grab the knife from and used his other hand to grab you before pulling you out the door.

“See you later, butcher boy,” you taunted, hearing Minho’s laughter loud and clear as you two fled.

You both slowed down as you reached a dark quiet corridor, and Hyunjin dropped the knife, and cupped your face with his hands.

You froze, torn between throwing yourself into his arms and wanting to use that knife on him.

“Don’t you dare -” you started, but Hyunjin ignored your warning, pulling you into his chest so tightly you could barely breathe.

“Thank God,” he whispered against your hair, his voice thick with emotion. “You’re okay. I was so scared -”

You shoved him back with enough force to make him stumble, glaring at him with all the fury you could muster.

“Okay? Are you insane? Your family is trying to kill me, Hyunjin! You’re all insane! If I survive this, I’m going to kill you myself!”

He winced, running a hand through his disheveled hair.

“I know, baby, I know. I’m trying to fix it, I swear.” he said, his voice as soft as ever. Fuck, this man won't let you hate him.

“You better fix it faster,” you hissed, jabbing a finger into his chest. “Because if someone kills me tonight, I'm gonna haunt your sorry ass forever!”

Hyunjin’s lips quirked into a faint smile despite everything

“You’re terrifying when you’re angry. It’s… kind of hot.”

“Shut up!” Before you could say more, a low whistle interrupted you.

“Well, isn’t this touching,” Felix’s smooth voice cut through the hallway.

You and Hyunjin turned to see him casually strolling toward you, crossbow slung over one shoulder. His hair was wild, streaks of blood on his cheek, and yet he somehow still managed to look annoyingly composed.

Behind him, Jisung followed, twirling a machete in one hand and his grin? Unsettlingly cheerful.

“What do you think, Lix?” Jisung asked, glancing between you and Hyunjin. “Do we give them a few more minutes, or do we get this over with?”

Felix tilted his head, as if considering it.

“Hmm… I think we’ve waited long enough.” he said, his eyes fixed on you.

Hyunjin immediately stepped in front of you, shielding you with his body.

“Don’t even think about it.” he bit out.

“Hyunie,” Felix said, his voice taking on a wheedling tone. “You’ll let me have her won't you? I’m your favorite brother!”

Hyunjin’s jaw tightened, his tone dangerously low. “Felix, I swear to God-”

“That’s hurtful,” Jisung interjected, his grin faltering as he clutched his chest dramatically. “What about me? I’m your brother too, you know.”

This was getting absolutely crazy, when the loud, unmistakable click of a shotgun echoed through the hallway.

“Looks like we’re just in time,” Yeji’s voice rang out, dripping with sarcasm. “Are we talking about favorites?”

All four of you turned to see her standing at the end of the hall, her ponytail swaying as she cocked the shotgun. Behind her, Changbin appeared, hefting an axe with ease.

“Oh, come on.” Felix groaned audibly.

“Go away Yeji!” Jisung whined. “This was just getting good!”

Yeji smirked, aiming her gun right at Felix.

“Lixie, I told you if you tried to go after them, I’d take you out myself.” she scolded, as if Felix was a toddler.

Changbin grinned, resting the axe on Jisung’s shoulder. “And I’ll help.”

“Fine. Whatever. Is this a twin thing? Is that what this is?” Felix sighed dramatically, lowering his crossbow.

“Call it whatever you want.” Yeji said, her gun pressing against his chest. “Walk away, Lixie. I'd hate to choose between my brothers. And I'm sure you'd hate it more.”

“I doubt it,” Hyunjin muttered under his breath.

“You’re all such buzzkills,” Jisung complained, dragging his machete as he followed Felix, though he paused briefly to glance at Hyunjin. “And I am a good brother, you jerk.”

“Jisung!” Hyunjin barked, exasperated.

---

As Felix and Jisung disappeared down the corridor, Yeji and Changbin walked up to you.

Yeji reached out to take a look at the wound on your arm, but smiled and said, “You’re tougher than you look.”

“Yeah, she’s cool. Let’s keep her alive.” Changbin nodded, grinning.

“Uh… thanks?” You blinked at them, still trying to process the whirlwind of events.

Hyunjin sighed, pulling you close again. “I told you I’d keep you safe.”

You shot him a glare and said, “I still want to kill you.”

His lips twitched into a small smile, pressing a kiss to your temple. “I love you, baby.”

“I'm not saying it back.”

Yeji cleared her throat.

“Alright, lovebirds, let’s keep moving. I haven't seen Channie or Minho, so -” Yeji fell silent as you rounded a corner, and walked right into them.

Minho and Chan.

Both of them stood with smug grins plastered on their faces, completely relaxed, as though they hadn’t just spent the last few hours hunting you down.

“She really made it this far,” Chan said, his voice dripping with a playful menace, his beloved pistol back in his hand.

Minho’s eyes narrowed in amusement as he approached you. “Not bad, but I'm afraid this is where it ends, Y/N,” he said, his voice low and teasing.

You bristled, hating how amused they seemed.

“Are you seriously enjoying this?” you snapped, stepping toward Minho, as Hyunjin grabbed you back into his chest.

Minho cocked his head, his lips curving up into a smile.

“Oh, darling. I don’t know about the killing part. But yes I am enjoying watching you fight for your life.” His eyes flicked over to Hyunjin. “Both of you, really. It’s a beautiful thing to witness.”

Hyunjin held you tight so that you didn't do anything stupid.

Chan, on the other hand, was casually strolling toward you, eyes full of mischief.

“You know, Hyunjin,” he said with a chuckle. “You’ve got the perfect wife. She’s tough, strong-willed, and just as deadly as you are. But…”

Yeji had her gun aimed at Chan, and Changbin was ready to attack, when the first rays of sunlight broke through the grand windows, casting golden light over the hall.

It was dawn. The game was over.

Chan and Minho’s expressions shifted instantly. The tension drained from their faces, and their smiles, previously so sinister, softening.

“Well, shit,” Minho muttered, tossing the knife aside.

Chan let out a long breath, also dropping his weapon.

“Congratulations love, it's finally over.” he said with a smile so genuine, you were thoroughly confused. “You won.”

Hyunjin let out a sigh (or a sob) of relief, before he hugged you tighter and almost tackled you into a kiss. He couldn't speak at all, like he was processing it all. It was over.

Before you could say anything, the sound of more footsteps echoed through the corridor. You turned to see Seungmin, Jeongin, Felix and Jisung approaching, looking equally exhausted but with visible relief in their eyes.

“Oh thank god,” Jisung breathed, a grin breaking out across his face. “I know what we discussed, but I couldn't help but feel like one of you would break-”

“Well, everyone's still breathing. That’s a win.” Felix clapped his hands, clearly relieved.

Hyunjin stood there, quietly surveying the group around him. His brothers - his family - had all stepped back, looking less like the men who had been hunting you down for hours, and more like… well, like they’d just wrapped up an intense game of tag.

Felix gave him a quick wink, his ever-present cocky grin on his face as he nodded toward you and Hyunjin. But there was something in his eyes, something that only Hyunjin knew - they’d all been sparing you two.

Minho, standing just behind Felix, let out a soft laugh and patting him on the back.

“Welcome to the family, sister-in-law,” he said in his trademark deadpan voice.

“What the fuck is going on here?!” you blurted, the realization hitting you real hard. “You…you didn’t want to kill me? This whole time?”

Hyunjin’s eyes flicked over to Yeji, who was watching the exchange with a bemused expression.

She knew. She had to have known.

“They didn’t,” Yeji confirmed, her voice a soft whisper. “None of them did. This was all for show.”

Her eyes locked onto Hyunjin’s for a moment, giving him a smile. She stepped forward, taking your hand in hers.

“We had to make it look real. The elders would have interfered if they thought we weren't doing it right.” She said. "They have cameras everywhere."

You blinked, your head spinning as everything began to make sense.

“But… but why? You could've given us a hint-”

“We couldn't,” Minho interjected smoothly, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. “If we hadn’t done this right, the old man would’ve figured something was up. They don’t exactly trust Hyunjin, he's been the softie since day one. Or Yeji for that matter. But if we wanted to give you a chance, it had to be like this.”

You just looked at him with a blank look on your face and his eyes fell on your bleeding hand.

"And I'm sorry about that. Someone had to do it, and none of these pussies would-"

"MINHO!" Yeji hissed.

“And that's cos we wouldn't do it to Hyun...” Seungmin said, giving you a smile. “Besides, I was actually glad to finally have someone who had good taste in books, I wasn't gonna let you die-”

“Oh wow Seungmin, that was heart touching-” Hyunjin scoffed.

“Family…” You echoed, your voice shaky.

“Baby, I'm so sorry I dragged you into this. I knew the minute I told you the truth, you'd run for your life and I'd lose you forever. I… I never wanted you to go through this, baby. I will do anything it takes to win your trust again.”

You nodded, still not sure how you felt about all this.

“But you’re lucky, Hyunie.” Felix said, grinning at Hyunjin. “She’s a keeper. We'll be here for you both, always. No ones gonna do anything.”

“You're finally free, Hyunjin, take your girl and go live your life. You passed their fucking test. They won't come after you.” Yeji said, giving him a nod.

Hyunjin’s hand tightened on your shoulder, and he leaned in and pressed a kiss to your temple.

“You can walk out right now if you want, baby. I won't stop you. But if you decide to give me a chance, I need you to know that no matter what, I’ll always keep you safe.”

You nodded slowly, a knot in your chest loosening as you processed his words. The night had been a mess, yes, and you will probably never forget everything that has happened. But you also know Hyunjin was genuine.

“Let me sleep on it, maybe I'll give you a chance after all. If one of your siblings don't kill me in my sleep.”

Divider: @saradika-graphics

Tags: @moonchild9350 @velvetmoonlght @eastjonowhere @pixie-felix @sailor--sun

[emmyrosee]

His foot taps anxiously against the floor of the flower shop, eyes glazing over the beautiful bouquets and vibrant colors that splash under the fluorescent lights that crackle above his head. The smell of so many flowers is getting into his head, powdery and sweet, but the nausea brewing inside of him is not budging.

He messed up. He knows that.

He also knows he relies on the bet that you’ll accept flowers every time he messes up, which while seldom, happens more than he still would like.

You deserve the utmost love and respect. And he can’t stand that sometimes, he feels like he can’t give it to you and has to hope flowers will be enough for your trust again, like a bandaid on a scraped knee.

After this, he’ll run to the bakery for a pastry, wrapped in a little box, waiting for you to enjoy it-

What is he thinking, countless gifts won’t make up for it, for all he’s done. You’ll never forgive him, each bouquet and each slice of cake when he messes up surely is only driving you away, and he cards a hand through his blonde hair as he has a small, teeny freak out in front of the display.

He looks to the old man next to him who easily picks out a bouquet of assorted flowers with a predominantly purple color story. The old man sniffs them, and smiles, before sighing happily. He turns to Atsumu with small nod, “think she’ll like ‘em?”

Atsumu tenses up before offering the old man a small chuckle, “sure is one of the prettiest bouquets in here,” he encourages, and the man hums as he looks around the boquete for any imperfections in the petals. “She’ll be lucky to have them from ya, yessir.”

The man smiles, “no, son; I’m lucky to have her.” He sighs dreamily, “there isn’t enough bouquets in the world to show her how much she means to me.”

Atsumu freezes. For some reason, unbeknownst to him, a lump forms into his throat at the man’s words. He tries to swallow it thickly, keep his emotions at bay before he wails to this strange man about all the ways he’s hurt you over the years and how always, he’s never been able to fully forgive himself despite you assuring that you do.

This argument would be no different.

Atsumu nods his head in understanding, “I think you might be in the same boat as me,” he says, wondering if this man too, is making up for a mistake he made. If this man is trying to repent, and the first way to do it is to bring her flowers, a symbol of a love he’s determined to keep blooming, keep alive, keep beautiful.

But maybe, just maybe, he’s not relying on the fact that flowers are an apology, perhaps they’re being purchased just because, just to make you smile.

Perhaps Atsumu should start doing that for you. Just something nice.

Something to look forward to.

The man chuckles once more; it’s raspy, like perchance he’s one to indulge in a cigarette when the craving arises, but it’s comforting, and for the first time in hours, Atsumu feels a little more at ease.

“At least we’re in the boat, my friend,” the man says. Atsumu swallows thickly once more, but he flashes the man a comforted smile.

“You’re right. We sure are, sir.”

The man bows at the blonde, “you take care of yourself,” he says simply, before coolly turning to make his way to the registers. Atsumu looks back at the boquetes and grabs one that reminds him of you; bright and pristine, like bubbles on a warm day, a warm blanket at night. Like the movie you can repeat by heart by now, but he’ll still watch with you like it’s the first time.

He smiles, sniffles and blinks the sting in his waterline, thrilled to be in the boat with you.

[amorisxx]

Snickerdoodle pt. iv

pairing: Art Donaldson x reader, Patrick Zweig x reader, Tashi Duncan x reader summary: Art comes out of retirement to test out his coaching skills. Your relationship with him continues to spiral. warnings: smut 18+, cheating, divorce, rough sex, piv, marijuana use, slight angst, hastily proofread word count: 7.7K divider by @cafekitsune <3 prev part | next part

𝄃𝄃𝄂𝄂𝄀𝄁𝄃𝄂𝄂𝄃

Kaleb decides he wants to play tennis. Or that he wants to “get serious” about it. He’d done tennis camp every summer along with soccer camp, and he’d enjoyed it enough. But for some reason, he’s determined to be a tennis player now. You blame it on how much time he’s been spending around the Donaldson’s. Between the various play dates and carpooling, he and Lily have been attached at the hip.

The two of you are enjoying a quiet evening  on a weeknight when he brings it up. 

“Lily doesn’t really like tennis,” he tells you in between bites of mashed potatoes. 

“Well that’s okay. Sometimes our friends end up having different hobbies,” you say.

“Hm,” he puts his finger to his chin, “kinda like you and Mr. Art?”

“What do you mean?”

“Well he’s like the greatest tennis player ever,” he says, spreading his arms out wide. “But you’re terrible at tennis. And you guys are friends right?”

His assertion has you placing your fork down. “Okay, first of all, I’m not terrible at tennis. Secondly, it’s really not fair to compare me to a professional tennis player, K, he’s had years of practice.” Then, you reluctantly think of the last thing he said. About the two of you being friends. 

Images of Art kneeling above you in bed dance through your mind. You think of the last time you were with him. How he’d laid his cheek on your thigh while you threaded your fingers through his tufts of blonde hair. His gaze searing as he watched you in all your post-orgasmic bliss. Your chest was still heaving as you tried to recover.  

You clear your throat. 

“Yeah, um, I guess we are friends.” You avoid eye contact with Kaleb and pray he changes the subject. You don’t want to think about Art. 

Unfortunately, your son is too young to properly read the room. If he was, he’d see the way you’re clenching your fork in your fist. Or he would’ve realized by now that his mom is a harlot. Instead of calling you out on your immorality, he turns to you with express earnestness. “I wanna play tennis like Mr. Art,” he says definitively.

He then furrows his little eyebrows and asks you, “you think I can be as good as him one day?”

You smile, reach over to smooth your palm over his curls, and tug his ear. You say what every parent would. “I think you can do whatever you put your mind to, my little monkey.” 

He grins at you, dimple poking out.

After all, you’re almost certain this is just an eager phase prompted by Lily bringing Tashi to school for career day. Tashi mentioned to you that Kaleb was very eager to ask questions about her job. Apparently, he thought it was super cool that she “got to coach the best tennis players in the world.” You’re worried that before dinner is over he might ask you to put in a word with her about coaching him. 

Once you’ve finished eating, tucked Kaleb in, and tidied up the kitchen, you finally get to relax with a cup of lavender chamomile tea.

Before you settle into the refuge of your bed, you make a note to sign Kaleb up for club tennis. 

ᯓ

You’re at a gas station near Kaleb’s school when you realize your dumb credit card has a faulty chip. You grab your purse and lock the doors to your car, having been forced to go inside the store and pay for your gas the old fashioned way. 

The door shuts behind you with a ring of a bell. The unmistakable smell of fuel fills your nostrils as it mixes with stale coffee and the emblematic stench of small convenience stores. You grumble when you see there’s a short line. 

With a sigh, you take a detour down one of the narrow aisles to grab a pack of gum. You pick out a random pack of spearmint, but your inner child lingers on the yellow packaging of juicy fruit bubble gum sitting beside it. When you were little, your mom would’ve made you pick one or the other. Without a second thought, you pluck the yellow pack out from the shelf and head back towards the front. 

On your walk back, you glance out the windows, checking to make sure the pump you’re parked at is still number 5. 

The line is shorter now. There’s only two people. You think you recognize the dark head of the person standing at the counter. They’re digging through the back pocket of their jeans and pulling out a leather wallet when your cellphone dings. It’s an email notification from your boss. You read the subject header before dropping the phone back into your purse, hoping to avoid whatever stressor awaits you there for a couple more hours or so. When you look back up, you’re met with the face of the dark haired stranger. 

His eyes meet yours. Patrick Zweig sends you a mischievous smile of recognition as he saunters toward you. He snaps his fingers. “I know you.”

“Hi, Patrick,” you say through your tight smile. The last time you’d seen him, he tried to blackmail you into going out with him. If he wasn’t so attractive, you’d probably be repulsed by him. 

“Long time no see.” He pockets his package of Marlboros. “How you been?”

“Um just busy you know,” you hum. “You?” 

He nods. “Same, same.” He looks you over, smile growing wider when he meets your eyes after lingering on your cleavage. He doesn’t even attempt to be discreet. 

You scoff, rolling your eyes to the side.

Thankfully, the bald guy in front of you finishes up his transaction so you have an excuse to say “excuse me” to Patrick as you approach the register. You glance back when you hand your money to the bored cashier, catching one last glimpse of Patrick as he exits through the door. You nibble on the inside of your cheek, feeling the tiniest hint of disappointment. 

You accept your change and two packs of gum and make your way back to your car. Not wanting to waste any more time at this point, you toss the plastic bag into the passenger seat and hurry to pump your gas.  

You’re leaning against the trunk while the fuel fills your tank when you hear a small “hey.” 

You’re startled as Patrick approaches you again. You look around suspiciously. “Um are you stalking me?” 

“No.” He huffs out a laugh. “I was standing over there taking a smoke.” He points towards his beat up suv. You wonder why he doesn’t have a better car. You thought tennis players made money. “And I saw you. Didn’t get to say goodbye earlier.” 

You click your tongue. “Well, bye.” 

“Wait—I hope I didn’t rub you the wrong way last time.” He rubs his palm over the back of his neck. “I kind of have a fucked up sense of humor.” 

“It wasn’t the joke,” you supply. “It was more so you trying to blackmail me into going on a date with you.” 

He laughs. “Yeah, I don’t know why that didn’t work.” The grin he gives you sends a shiver down your spine. 

This time, you smirk, your gaze tracing the length of his body, from his Nikes to the curly wisps of hair flying in the wind. The gas pump clicks, signifying that your tank is full. You don’t remove it right away because you’re busy letting Patrick type his number into your phone. You wish you could say you played hard to get, but that would be a lie of monumental magnitude. 

You don’t actually intend to call him, content to let his number go forgotten in your phone. After all, what type of woman would get involved with the best friend of the man she’s having an affair with? 

Later on, when you’re having a glass of wine, mommy duties complete for the night, you pause on his number as you tap through your phone. You inhale, take a sip from your glass, and quickly save his contact before swiping out of the app. You can blame it on your being slightly tipsy when you notice that he’s saved as “for a rainy day.” 

ᯓ

It turns out that the tennis thing isn’t just a phase. You don’t mind of course. You’d always support your kid in whatever he pursued. The only issue is that Art fucking Donaldson thought it would be a good idea to train little Kaleb. As if you needed more reasons to be around the man. 

You’d told him that you didn’t think it was necessary because your son was only eight years old. Surely, he wouldn’t need a retired professional tennis player to train him. His tennis lessons at the local club would certainly suffice. Plus, you imagined he had more important things to attend to than give private lessons to a third grader. 

On a random weeknight, you’d gone to pick Kaleb up from a play date with Lily, hoping to grab him and get back home before the rain got any worse. Art had greeted you at the door, placing a hand on the small of your back. 

He decided to bring up the topic again. Even Tashi, who was usually busy with training of her own, chimed in, claiming it would be a good opportunity for Art to find real meaning in tennis again. Whatever that meant. Patrick, who you had been avoiding thinking about, once again inserted himself into a conversation, pointing out how young he and Art were when they first started playing tennis. According to him, it was never too early to learn how to properly hit a ball with a racket. 

ᯓ

The thought of Art spending time with Kaleb through tennis is an endearing one if you’re being honest with yourself. But you know you would have an intense fight on your hands should Chris find out. 

Ever since Art had stepped in with your ex at the fall festival, he’d harbored an attitude toward him. He’d gone as far as complaining about all the time Kaleb spent at his house, accusing you of trying to turn your son against him. If it weren’t for the court mandated visits, you’d have simply told Chris to go to hell. But in an attempt to maintain peace for your son’s sake, you reassured him that Kaleb only spent so much time around Art because Lily was his best friend. 

You asked him if it was worth destroying his son’s friendship. He conceded for the time being, but you’re sure if he found out about any extra tennis lessons, he’d blow a gasket. 

Ironically, you had never been offered the freedom to express such possessiveness. You had to be content each and every time your son stayed at his father’s new house with his new fiancée that you barely knew anything about. You handle some occasions better than others. 

This time, though, when you watch Kaleb go through the front door of their luxurious home, Spider-Man backpack affixed on his back, your stomach churns. Chris’ fiancée smiles and waves to you with her left hand. Bitterly, you think it’s a miracle she can even lift it with the large diamond wrapped around her finger. She places her hand on your son’s shoulder, pulling him into their home, as if she wasn’t the one that helped wreck yours. 

Maybe it’s the fact that this past week would’ve been your anniversary, but your shoulders shake with sobs throughout the entire drive home. You sniffle as you think about Kaleb building a life with his soon to be step-mom. You hope she treats him right, but, ultimately, you wish he didn’t have to know her at all. 

It doesn’t help that you aren’t able to bury your sorrows in Art’s chest or on his dick. He’d already told you about the gala he’d be attending that weekend for the Donaldson Foundation. You haven’t seen him since last weekend, and you ache to call him, but the thought makes you feel nauseous when you think about the wretched irony of seeking comfort in a married man. In a decision that’s almost homogeneously pathetic, you sit in your lonely driveway and send a “hey” to ‘for a rainy day.’

ᯓ

It doesn’t take long for Patrick to offer to come over. You send him your location as you pop open a bottle of wine. 

You reach for a glass, your eagerness causing you to apply too much force as you slam the glass down. It breaks under the pressure of your haste, immediately cracking at the stem. The inconvenience is too much for you. You curse before bringing the entire bottle up to your mouth. You take a swig, red liquid spilling out of the corner of your mouth. With a gasp, you wipe your mouth with the back of your hand. Pitifully, your vision starts to blur again as your eyes swell up with hot tears. You resort to sitting on the kitchen floor, taking the occasional drink, and wallowing in your despair. 

You’re propped against the cabinet, knees to your chest as you cradle the green tinted bottle of red wine like a toddler holding a stuffed animal, when you hear your doorbell ring. You stumble to your feet, dragging them as you move toward the door. When you swing the door open, Patrick is standing there with his hands in his pockets. He looks you over once, mumbling that you “look like shit” before stepping into your home as if he’d been there a thousand times. 

He lifts his eyebrows when he sees the neglected pieces of glass on your counter. He looks back at the bottle in your fist before groaning. “Please don’t tell me you’re an alcoholic.” 

You roll your eyes. “No, I’m just having a pretty shitty day.” 

“No shit,” he snorts. 

You send him a glare. “I don’t even know why I called you,” you say and rub your temples. 

“Because I’m obviously easy and you know it.” He smirks. 

It makes you laugh, your red, puffy eyes squinting back at him. 

Patrick eventually convinces you to smoke the joint he’d brought with him. You haven’t gotten high in years, and you find yourself mindlessly rambling about your life as you pass the joint back and forth to him. You’d stopped crying a while ago, your eyes now red because of the weed. 

You and Patrick are lounging on the floor of your living room. You’re dragging your fingers through the shag rug underneath you and leaning your head back on the sofa when you hear him laugh. He sounds like he’s far away, down through a tunnel, but when you turn your head, his face is right beside you. 

“What’s funny?” You grunt. 

He shakes his head. “S’nothing.” 

You frown and shove his bicep. “Tell me,” you say, scooting closer to him. “I hate feeling left out.” 

His smile falters for a second like he’s remembering something, but when you blink he’s sporting a melancholic grin. “It’s just—you kind of remind me a lot of Art.” His head falls to the side to really look at you. “I mean not like completely, and not really how he is now, but when you’re upset—it reminds me of when we were teenagers.” 

“I can’t tell if that’s a good thing or not,” you say. It comes out as a whisper. Your faces are so close that you don’t want to startle him. 

“Hm.” His eyes flicker to your lips. “Not a good or bad thing. Just a thing.” 

“That’s why you like me?” You mumble teasingly. “Because I remind you of your boyfriend?” 

He smirks, lips so close to yours you feel his breath fan them. “Who said I liked you?” 

“You don’t have to.” You’re just the slightest movement away from kissing him. If you tilt your head just the tiniest bit—

He lets out an almost imperceptible moan when he finally presses his lips to yours. It’s so quiet, you think you might’ve imagined it. It all happens incredibly fast, but feels like slow motion. Your head is fuzzy and your body is tingling as Patrick grabs your waist, hoisting you onto his lap. It takes you a moment to build momentum, your sensory overload working against you.

When you’re finally able to match his energy, the kiss is searing. He’s sucking your lip into his mouth like you’re already his, hands roaming everywhere he can get them. When he bites your bottom lip, you suck in a breath, giving him room to thrust his tongue into your mouth. You mewl at the way your mouths seem to fit together like velcro. Your toes curl and you tighten your fists into his dark locks when you feel his hot tongue traveling down your throat, leaving white hot bites that feel like being branded. His teeth sting and your cunt throbs as you impulsively rut against his length. 

Patrick rubs his large palm over your ass before abruptly smacking it, making you release an embarrassingly airy moan. His teeth tug on your earlobe. “You like that?” 

You only nod, wrapping your arms around his shoulders. 

“Hmm?” He mumbles, continuing to lave over the skin behind your ear. His hand comes down on your ass again, harder this time. 

You let out a pathetic squeal and slam your hips down against him in search of some kind of friction to relieve the ache between your legs. “Oh god—please fuck me—“

His mouth meets yours again. You can barely kiss him properly, panting about needing him to fuck you right now. 

He really is easy, you think, but it’s not like you have room to talk.

ᯓ

The first time Patrick Zweig sinks his cock into you, you’re on your knees, face pressed against your rug. The slam of his hips threaten to take your breath away as tears cling to your eyelashes. He’s rough, possessively grabbing your flesh with no regard for potential damage. When he experimentally grips your hair in his hand, tugging your head back gently, you see stars behind your clamped eyelids.

Patrick nearly whimpers at the way it makes you arch your back into his thrusts with increasing intensity. He groans something about you being a slut and fists your hair with less restraint. Your walls clench around him when he wraps his hand around your throat, pulling you to his chest. 

He grunts into your ear. “I knew you liked it rough, could tell from the first time I saw you.” 

The tears have started to spill now. Whether it’s from the humiliation or the utter ecstasy, you aren’t sure. All you know is that you almost sob when Patrick drags his tongue alongside your face, collecting the salty tears.

ᯓ

He buries himself inside you for a second time no more than twenty minutes after you’ve both cum. You gasp and claw at his back as his body presses you into your couch cushions.

You have to admit that Patrick knows how to fuck. Knows how to read your body, tapping into just the right frequency to get you off. 

It’s obvious that you’ve been craving this type of treatment from the way you’re responding to him. But you’re sure that he must have a sexual sixth sense because in the midst of fucking you wildly, he grabs your ankle that’s dangling by his ear, turns his head, and plants a sweet kiss to the bone. It makes you melt into the sofa. 

He leans down to shove his tongue into your open mouth. Softly pats your cheek, relishing in your cock drunk state. 

“Does he fuck you like this?” He murmurs into your neck.

You don’t have to ask who he’s talking about. 

“Huh?” He prods. 

You choke down a moan. “Better. He—“ You cry out when you feel him start rubbing harsh circles into your clit. “He fucks me better.” 

He huffs out a laugh through his smile, but his hips slam down harder as if he’s determined to change your answer. In less than a minute, you’re biting down on his shoulder when you feel another orgasm rack through your body. 

ᯓ

You take a longer break this time. Stopping to pour yourself a real glass of wine. One with its stem intact. Patrick lazily inhales from a cigarette as he watches you, with hooded eyes, attempt to hold a throw blanket over your bare torso. In contrast, he nonchalantly spreads his thighs over your couch, body on full display. 

His eyes leisurely meet yours. They shine prettily in the dim lighting of your home. His dark lashes flutter on each drag of his cig and it makes the corner of your mouth curve up when you take a sip. The lamps have cast a cozy shade of amber over the room. It blankets Patrick’s skin in a golden aura reminiscent of something being baked in an oven. 

Patrick reminds you of the gingerbread man, you think. It makes you press the tips of your fingers to your lips to stifle a giggle. 

He tilts his head at your odd behavior, but he assumes the weed must still be affecting you. 

Once you’ve placed your glass on the coffee table, and he’s put out his cigarette, Patrick is pulling you by the ankle, tossing your blanket to the side and kissing his way down your abdomen. 

You yelp when he captures one of your hard nipples in his mouth but let him press his hot kisses into your skin nonetheless. 

You end up cumming for the third time that night with his head buried between your legs. 

ᯓ

Patrick leaves while you’re asleep. 

When you wake up around 3am to an empty house, you think it’s for the best. You check your phone. You have a missed call from “a.d.” and a text from Patrick that says “had fun” with a winking emoji. You don’t respond to either, instead, opting to pad your bare feet to the bathroom. You desperately need a shower.

In the morning, you tidy up your home from the events of the night before, cringing at what took place on the terracotta colored sofa.

When the buzzing in your head doesn’t stop after cleaning your entire living room from top to bottom, you find yourself in the kitchen, pulling out ingredients to make chocolate chip cookies. 

You’re frantically kneading dough when the doorbell rings. You frown, not expecting company, but clean your hands as best you can as you make your way to open the door. Sometimes, your talkative neighbor, Mrs. Taylor, likes to come knocking on your door early in the mornings. 

You’re surprised to find that Art is standing on the other side with a latte and a bag containing a chocolate croissant. You assume it’s for you. He places his things down on the table by the door, the one that holds your catch all tray, and scoops you up into a hug. 

He groans into it, making you smile. “Hi,” you mumble into his chest. 

“Hi, pretty girl,” his voice comes out equally mumbled. “Missed you.” You can hear the grin in his tone. It makes your heart clench. 

You allow yourself to hold onto him, despite the ever present worry that you should be reining yourself in when it comes to him. He moves to let you go, grabbing your face in his palm and kissing the side of your head. You whine and lock your arms around his waist in protest. You inhale his scent, all warm and familiar. You’ve missed him. 

“Baby,” he laughs into your hair. You grunt, squeezing him tighter. “Okay, c’mere.” He pulls you into him, securely engulfing you in his arms. “I got you, I got you.” 

You eventually release him long enough to walk into your home. 

You’re relieved that you’d been overtaken by a cleaning spell this morning because you fear that Art might take one glance at your couch and figure out who had been here. That he’d smell him in the air. 

You’re afraid he might’ve detected it anyway when he freezes in the walkway separating your kitchen from the living room. You nibble on your lip as you try to search his body for any signs that he’s onto you. 

To your relief, Art is actually focused on the copious amounts of cookie dough you have on the counter of your kitchen island. He turns to you with the all knowing look of a father, his eyes creased with concern. “Oh no, what happened?” 

ᯓ

After a therapy session in which you decide to stop letting your ex influence your decisions from afar, you finally relent, allowing Art to begin practicing with Kaleb on their private tennis court. It seems like since you got involved with their family, that’s all you ever do, give in to everyone’s requests. In any other context, it would be disturbing, but the sight of Kaleb racing to the court with an oversized tennis bag fills you with joy. The bag threatens to pull him down, but his excitement keeps him upright as he makes a beeline for Art. 

You don’t know who’s more excited to see Art between the two of you. Your son’s tennis instructor waves at you from across the court. And you have to fight the rush that flows through you, threatening to cut off your oxygen, and give a simple wave in return. It makes you feel like a kid with a fervent crush. You could gag.

You remind yourself that you’re here for Kaleb. Not you.

You think that as long as you get to see him happy like that, you’d agree to anything. It’s a scary notion, but becoming a mom has made you aware of a lot of terrifying realities. 

ᯓ

It’s this maternal need to preserve your son’s happiness that leads you to another prolonged encounter with Tashi Duncan. She’d caught you when you were dropping him off for tennis lessons one day. Apparently, she had a free day. Lily was spending the day with her grandparents, and Patrick is, thankfully, nowhere to be found. You try to hide your relief when she tells you that. You don’t think you can face him right now. 

She insists you join her in their sunroom while the boys practice. You try to think of an excuse to turn her down, but you decide your karma from sleeping with her husband has built up too much to take the chance of tacking on more. So, when she offers to make you a cup of tea, you oblige and sink down into the fabric of a warm sofa.

When Tashi reappears, she sits down with a cup of steaming hot tea for the both of you. You thank her with a smile, letting your eyes trail over her figure. She looks ethereal. The sunlight pouring through the glass forms a halo of light around her, illuminating her like a Madonna painting. She has her hair pulled back into a low ponytail that causes her to have to tuck the loose strands behind her ear every now and then. The motion makes you take notice of her slim neck and the way her collarbones dip into her loose-fitted button down. Even dressed casually, she looks like a goddess. 

You feel your heart start to beat a little faster and reach to take a sip of your tea. You wonder how she knew that lavender chamomile was one of your favorites.

It’s only awkward for a moment because the two of you quickly fall into a conversation about what she’s missed now that Art has taken over attending the PTA meetings. That’s how you’d initially met her. She had actually been the one who you exchanged communication with about carpool and play dates. Art’s retirement allowed her to focus on tennis and other aspects of raising Lily that she preferred. You giggle when she admits that she never really liked those meetings anyway. You don’t tell her that you always had that inkling. 

When you mention that Cynthia is still advertising her knitting business at every single meeting, she sucks in a laugh before leaning toward you. She presses her lips together, holding in her giggle. “Guess what?”

You squint at her, your expression already anticipating a joke. “What?” You all but sputter out. 

“I’m probably responsible for like half the sales on her Etsy shop.” She says like she’s admitting to something top secret. It’s a lot like the expression Lily takes on when her and Kaleb are playing “secret agent.”

“Girl, what?” You didn’t think she’d be a fan of crocheted animal figures. 

“I ordered one for my mom for Mother’s Day,” she explains. “She fell in love with the thing I swear, thought it looked just like her little Yorkie, next thing you know she’s asking for the link to share with all her friends.” 

You’re snickering into your mug imagining Tashi unintentionally being Cynthia’s best saleswoman.

She smiles at you. “I’m serious. Apparently, amigurumi is the new thing. It’s gonna be flying off the shelves. That’s why I had to go ahead and put in my order.”

“Of course you know the official term.” You toss your head back. “What’s yours look like?” 

“It’s a little tabby cat,” she smiles wistfully. “Like the one I had growing up. Her name was Aphrodite.” 

It’s a fitting name.

You’re biting back a grin as you take a sip from your tea. You sigh at the taste. “How’d you know what type of tea I liked?” You ask absentmindedly. 

“Art mentioned it to me.” 

You freeze. “Art?” 

“Yeah he says you like to make it before bed. Now, he’s hooked on it.” 

All the blood in your body rushes to your head. You feel that unwelcome yet proverbial sinking in your gut. You think you might start projectile vomiting.

“Are you okay?”

You don’t respond. It’s hard to speak when you feel like you’re dangling upside down on a roller coaster.

“Wait… you didn’t think I knew did you?”

For some unintelligent reason, you decide to play stupid. Usually, in times of danger, humans resort to fight, flight, or freeze. You choose fucking idiot. “Knew what?”

“That you’re fucking my husband.” Tashi says quite unceremoniously.

“What—what do you mean?” You squeak out.

“Don’t.” She laughs. “I’ve known the whole time.” 

“How?” Your voice is shrinking smaller and smaller to your ears. The sound of Tashi’s voice, her pert laughter, drowning it out.

“Art tells me everything.”

“And you’re okay with it?” You attempt to ask though you can barely hear it.

You know your question reaches her ears because she shakes her head and tells you, “I suggested it.” 

Your eyes go wide. Her divulgence seems to propel you forward on your metaphorical roller coaster. In a snap, it brings you out of your stupor.

“I told Art that he should fuck you.” She says it like it’s nothing. Like it’s as simple as telling him to pick up some carry out on the way home. 

You’re confused, and your head is starting to hurt from the whiplash, and you wish this ride would end already. “I’m—I’m not sure I understand what’s going on here.”

“Okay, well, Art’s been attracted to you since the day he met you,” she says plainly. “But he’d never actually do anything about it because that’s just who he is. He needed that push—“

“That push?”

She nods. “He needed to know he could do it and everything would be fine. He’s still figuring out how to be open to stuff like this.” She explains, gestures vaguely in the air. “He’d never break up what seemed like a happy marriage, but when it was clear that your marriage was far from happy…well he started to warm up to the idea.”

“What do you mean far from happy?” The shock has you feeling unreasonably defensive.

“Clearly something was off. You never seemed happy with him. You’ve said it yourself that he was a dick.”

“Um—okay, well, I’d say something has to be off if you’re coaching your husband into sleeping with unsuspecting women.” You shoot back. Your gaze is sharp and accusatory.

She lets her eyes fall down to her lap, picking at little buds of lint being exposed by the sun’s glow. “You’re right, something was off between us,” she says like it’s something in the past. Like maybe they’re good now, but at one time they weren’t. “But Art knows how I feel about him.” Then, her gaze returns to you. “Something tells me your husband either didn’t know or didn’t care.”

Her comment strikes a nerve. Chris did know something was off, and she was right, he didn’t care. He made you feel like needing more from him made you selfish. As if the reminder of the vows he made to you was an affront to him. He knew you were unhappy. That you felt ignored. But he didn’t care. When you’d served him the divorce papers, you naively thought that he’d realize what he might lose, that he might beg for your forgiveness, promise to be better. Instead, you watched him sign the document in the same way he’d signed receipts for dinner before closing the tab and tucking the pen inside. 

You think you envy her. Because she has a husband that actually doesn’t want to leave her. 

“Hey.” She grabs your attention. Her voice softens when she sees your glassy eyes peering back at her. “I’m not judging you. I’m just trying to offer an explanation.” 

You work to swallow down the onslaught of emotions threatening to rise up like bile. You release a fractured noise from your throat, letting the revelation fully soak in. “So you really knew this whole time then? Or rather you orchestrated it?” 

“Okay, that’s a little extreme,” she says. “When we found out you were getting divorced, I mentioned to Art that he should pursue you. That’s all.” She shrugs. “I never knew if he’d actually do it or when he’d do it. All I know is that the first night he came home smelling like you, he fucked me like he did when I first agreed to be his tennis coach.” 

“Then, he was constantly meeting up with you or staying to talk after PTA meetings,” her fingers curl to form quotations around the word, talk. “But I knew what was up.” She bites her lip. “It was honestly kind of hot.” 

You frown. The thought of him sleeping with her immediately after being with you has your stomach in knots. The worst part is that you can’t stop wondering if he’d showered first. If he’d cleaned himself up or if he’d went straight to her, buried himself inside her, cock still sticky with your fluids. In a way, it’s like you had also been inside her. If you think about it long enough, you can imagine what it must feel like. So, you don’t think about it. Instead, you fix your gaze on the golden pothos plant sitting on top a table to your right. The tapping of your nail against the ceramic mug fills the silence. 

She gives you a questioning look. 

Ignoring the implications of what she just told you, you settle for the anger you’re feeling instead of dwelling on any confusing arousal. “Do you not realize how fucked up this is, Tashi?”

“Excuse me?” 

“Yeah! It’s fucked!” You throw your hands up. “I mean I’ve been running around feeling guilty, thinking I was a fucking homewrecker while the two of you get off on a cheating kink!”

She can tell you have more to say, so she leans back and lets you go on.

“I mean how could you do that? I was fucking depressed.”

She snorts. “Not so depressed that it ruined your libido. You two have been going at it like rabbits.” Her smirk makes your cheeks burn. 

You place your mug down onto the table. “Wow. You know what?” You’re on the edge of the couch now, body rigid. “You and Art can go fuck yourselves! This is seriously messed up.”

She raises her eyebrows. “As messed up as you fucking another woman’s husband?” 

Her words drip with mirth, and it pisses you off that the fiery look in her eyes is poking at a budding desire in your belly. “This is ridiculous,” you mumble to yourself. You’d rather focus all your energy on being outraged than interrogate why this is kind of turning you on. You’re about to stand up to leave when she places a hand on your arm.

“Are you seriously mad right now?” She asks you. 

An incredulous look takes over your face. “What do you think?” You spit out.

“Well, would you have preferred I not know?” She asks as if you’re the crazy one here.

“I—“ you squeeze your eyes shut, and try to gather your thoughts. “Obviously not, Tashi.” You glance up to the glass paned ceiling. “I just—it would’ve been nice to know what was really going on. I mean he never even told me that you knew.”

“Well, did you ask?” She asks simply. 

Did you? You think back to the past couple of months. The more you and Art hooked up, the more you avoided directly mentioning Tashi. He didn’t bring her up more than what was necessary, so you suspected he was actively trying to keep it from her. 

To be fair, he did mention a couple of times that he’d told Tashi you two were going to meet up for lunch, but you thought he must’ve been leaving out the activities that followed. And if she happened to call him while the two of you were together, he would casually tell her he was with you. You obviously assumed he was downplaying your friendship because there was no way Art would be so nonchalant about a mistress. But, apparently, the word mistress didn’t even apply to you. 

“I mean, I guess I didn’t.” You stammer. “But I feel like that was on him to bring it up to me.”

“Well that’s where you went wrong. Art can get in his own way sometimes.” A pensive expression works it’s way onto her face. “Or maybe part of him did kind of get off on feeling like he was sneaking around.” The thought seems to bring a small smile to her face. 

It still doesn’t make sense to you. You try to tamper down the sinking feeling that you’ve been nothing more than a pawn. “I just don’t understand why you two couldn’t proposition me like a normal couple looking for a third,” you say.

“Who said you were our third?” 

“Oh, so there’s other women you’ve sent Art to fuck?”

“No. I—I don’t just pimp out my husband, okay?”

You back down.

“We already have a…third I guess.”

You look at her with furrowed brows. 

“Patrick.” She answers.

“Patrick? Like Patrick Patrick?”

She nods.

You laugh cynically. You didn’t think this situation could get any worse.

“I know.” She sighs. “I know how it seems—”

“Was that part of the plan too?” You’re out of breath, chest heaving. 

She looks genuinely confused. “What are you talking about?” 

“Me and Patrick,” you blurt. 

“Wait a minute, you’re sleeping with Patrick?” She’s scooting closer to you. 

You shake your head. “It just happened once.” You think of how he’d shoved your face into the rug, fucking into you as he grunted out various obscenities. “I was high. I haven’t spoken to him since.”

She looks away for a moment, brows drawn together tightly. She’s piecing together what you’ve told her. 

“I—I didn’t know he was with you guys,” you try. 

She waves you off. “No, it’s not that.” She sits back. “I’m just not surprised that he wormed his way into your pants. He just couldn’t take that Art had something to himself.” She’s speaking to you, but her eyes are trained ahead. 

“So, you really didn’t set that up too?” You ask meekly. 

“God, no!” She says. “I had no idea.” 

You believe her. 

“Look I don’t care what type of weird shit you tennis players are into, if you guys have wild orgies or whatever. I just would’ve liked to have known that I wasn’t a hypocrite.”

“A hypocrite?”

You nod. “I mean I sit here and give my ex shit for cheating on me with that skinny ass whore from Modesto. Hell! That’s why I got so much fucking alimony.” You’re rambling now. “And, then, I go and let Art fucking Donaldson screw me and then send him back home to play loving father and husband like it’s nothing. God! And on top of it all, I also sleep with his best friend! I became the whore from Modesto.” 

Tashi’s watching you like you’re a kid experiencing big feelings.

“I felt like a home wrecker.” You sniff. “But apparently I’m actually not…because it was your idea, well only Art, not Patrick, and I—it’s all just fucking with my head.”

Tashi swallows. “I honestly thought you’d be relieved to find out.”

She looks at the frown on your face, takes in the way your plump bottom lip is jutting out. She reaches for your hand. “We’ve never really been the best at communicating. Me and Art. For the past year or so, we’ve gotten better at talking to each other, being honest about what we want, but we’re still working on doing that with other people I guess.” You let her thumb rub the back of your hand before you gently pull away. 

You grab your mug again. The handle is cold to the touch. 

“I promise we didn’t mean to fuck with you. Honestly, I think Art really likes you.” She offers you a small smile.

You look into your mug trying to still your reaction. You don’t care. 

Tashi’s gaze feels heavy on the side of your face as you feel her watching your expression. You start to fiddle with your watch. Checking for the time. Except your watch is too busy displaying your increased heart rate to offer the time. 

You sigh. 

She reaches out to you again, but this time she brings her hand up to your face, moving the curls falling down over your eyes. You let her nimble fingers caress your cheekbone before trailing down to your chin, guiding you to look at her. 

She gives you a steady, knowing smile. “You fell for him didn’t you?” 

Your cheeks go ablaze, and you try to look away from her. 

“Hey.” She grasps your chin in a firm, but gentle hold. “It’s okay.” She nods as if it’ll telepathically make you agree. 

You clear your throat. “I know you say that, but this is all new to me.” Your voice is slightly wobbly and you think you might cry. “I—I didn’t think it’d happen but it did. I thought I could get him out of my system but now,” you inhale and press two fingers against your neck, subconsciously trying to self-soothe. “Now, it’s like—it’s like I can’t stop.” Your voice comes out almost like a whisper. Like you’re afraid to admit the truth. 

And, really, you are afraid. You’re fucking terrified. 

You’re scared to fall in love with a man who already has one—two people in his life that he’s in love with. The last time you entrusted a man with your love, he was only meant to love you, and he couldn’t even give you that. 

What if you realize you’re absolutely enamored by Art Donaldson and he realizes the same thing Chris did? That there’s something about you that makes you unworthy of love. That the depth of you is as deep as your cunt goes and that’s it. 

What if he realizes that he already has what he needs in Tashi, even Patrick? What if they realize they actually aren’t willing to share?

You apparently voice the last bit aloud.

Tashi tilts her head, some of her strands have fallen loose again and she wears the prettiest pout on her lips. “Do you want me to prove it to you?” 

You gulp when her hand presses into your thigh, and she brings her face impossibly close to yours, forcing you to hold her gaze. “You want me to prove that I’m okay with it?” Her eyes flit between each one of yours with a level of seriousness you’d expect from someone like her. 

Her expression demands an answer, and so, you give a faint nod, transfixed on the woman in front of you. 

You gasp when you feel her mouth on yours. 

You learn that Tashi tastes sweet when she has her tongue in your mouth. You think you can taste the tartness of the lemon she’d sucked on earlier. It’s good, and you realize you’re fucked because you really like kissing her. 

Her tongue twirling around yours has you panting quietly, and you keen when you feel her manicured nails press into the nape of your neck. You haven’t kissed a woman since your last girlfriend in college, and you find you miss it. Something about it feels like drinking sweet tea on a hot summer day. Climbing into cool sheets at night when you’re bone tired. Or the feeling you get when you discover the song that you’re going to replay for the next week. 

It also makes you feel absurdly wet. 

The two of you work up a rhythm of pulling away for a breath before coming back together like magnets, letting your foreheads gently press together as you breathe deeply, thumbs caressing skin, eyelids fluttering. 

Your tongue is sweeping across Tashi’s lip, on a path to enter her mouth again, when you hear someone clear their throat. 

There’s an audible smack as you yank yourself from Tashi, eyes flying to the doorway of their sunroom. 

Art is standing there staring at you, gaze shifting from your face to the hand you still have placed on his wife’s neck. His jaw is clenched, and his bulge is painfully evident in his pants. 

𝄃𝄃𝄂𝄂𝄀𝄁𝄃𝄂𝄂𝄃

a/n: I've been waiting for this since the first post. Let me know how you feel about the reveal <3 as always, my asks are open!