#room as a child it had to be the way she liked it. even my body had to be the way she liked it dude the epilation thing shed laugh as i | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

amorisxx · 18 hours ago

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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

𝄃𝄃𝄂𝄂𝄀𝄁𝄃𝄂𝄂𝄃

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 of 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 into your neck, 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 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!

#art donaldson x reader #art donaldson #pta!Art x reader #art donaldson smut #tashi duncan #challengers 2024 #challengers fic #patrick zweig x reader #tashi duncan x reader #artashi x reader

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woofs-silly-ships · 3 days ago

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Oh. Oh holy hell

HEAVY WARNING FOR THE HAZBIN LEAKS. PLEASE FOR THE LOVE OF GOD DO NOT BE MAD AT ME IF YOU WILLINGLY CLICK ON THIS AND GET SPOILED.

Tw: Mentions of Poison/Angel Dust’s abuse, Aphobia (from Viv and Hazbin, not me. Frick Aphobes or any kind of queerphobe /srs)

This is almost certainly real and that makes me

I think I feel worse than when the Poison leaks happened

And that was bad

Yet I think this might be worse… because at least some survivors do relate to and find comfort in Poison and Angel as a whole. At least people knew he was suffering from and dealing with this abuse. This… people couldn’t have seen this coming.

Alastor and Rosie’s relationship was one of the few actually well written ones in this freaking show. And they just screwed it the hell up

Alastor being owned by/selling his soul to Lilith made so much sense. Of course Lilith would care about his child’s dream, of course she would hide him away in heaven after a (likely) bad fight with Vox, of course if he was in heaven nobody could find him, of course he’d be so fearful of the literal Queen of hell.

If Alastor is owned by Rosie, why the hell would he actually be genuinely comfortable around her as shown in season one? Rosie wouldn’t give a shit about the hotel as well, I’m sorry but like huh??? She has 0 relation to the founders or guests besides Al??? Also there’s no freaking way that Rosie would be able to hide Alastor IN HELL FOR 7 FREAKING YEARS AND AVOID ALL DETECTION. If Vox’s cameras didn’t catch him in a HEAVILY POPULATED TOWN, there’s literally no way some random diner didn’t catch a glimpse of him or something??? And Al is probably on the level below Rosie power wise, there’s no way he wouldn’t have rebelled at some point, even if he lost???

But yeah, I’m beating around the bush here. Elephant in the room time.

The whole song and animation and everything leans WAYYYY too into the aspect of Alastor being Rosie’s pet, and that creeps me out so much. Because it again feels fetishized. Way too reminiscent of pet play and such, which I already don’t like on its own but I’m not getting into that. I wouldn’t even have an issue with it if

1. Rosie was portrayed as an actual big bad and not “secretly silly”, same issue as Val

2. ALASTOR WASNT FREAKING ASEXUAL. AND ROSIE WAS LITERALLY THE ONE TO CONFIRM THAT IN CANON (the “ace in the hole” scene was one of my favorites and now it’s ruined for me. Of course.)

I know k!nky asexuals exist and are completely valid and yall are awesome, and I’d be fine seeing that represented if, you know, ALASTOR WASNT SHOWN TO BE FREAKING SEX REPULSED?? HAVE WE FORGOTTEN ABOUT THE FREAKING

^^^ THIS???

AND GOING BACK TO WHAT I SAID BEFORE: AT LEAST SURVIVORS WHO RELATE TO ANGEL KNEW THAT HE WAS A VICTIM LONG BEFORE THE RELEASE OF POISON AND S1. MANY FELT BETRAYED BY IT AND THATS VERY VERY VALID, BUT IT COULD HAVE BEEN FAR WORSE (as in, Addict could’ve never existed, Angel fans including survivors could’ve had no idea of what he was going through before being thrown into the mess that is Poison). THERE WAS ABSOLUTELY NO FORESHADOWING OF THIS WITH ALASTOR. IVE SEEN SO MANY ASEXUALS LOVE AND RELATE TO AL AND TAKE WHAT LITTLE REPRESENTATION THEY GET IN STRIDE, AND IM SO SCARED TO SEE THEM DEAL WITH THE FETISHIZATION OF THEIR SEXUALITY. THAT WILL HURT ME MORE THAN WHATEVER THE PLOT DOES. IF YOU ARE ASEXUAL AND RELATE TO AL THEN I AM SO FREAKING SORRY FOR YOU, ESPECIALLY IF THIS ENDS UP HURTING YOU AS MUCH AS IT DOES ME /GEN

ALSO, APPARENTLY VIV IS DOUBLJNG DOWN FROM POISON BECAUSE THERE’S SOME CHEERY UPBEAT AH MUSIC BEING SUNG ABOUT ALASTOR BASICALLY BEING CHAINED AND ABUSED FOR THE MAJORITY OF HIS AFTERLIFE AND ALSO BASICALLY BEING SHOVED INTO A PET-PLAY KINK LIKE THING AS AN UNWILLING AND UNCOMFORTABLE (AND ASEXUAL) PARTICIPANT

Urghhh, I’m sorry I just really needed to get that out. Posting this on my selfship blog since it’s more contained and I have 2 Hazbin f/os anyway

Since I’m here anyway, yeah my Hellaverse AU won’t have any of this crap. Alastor will be owned by either Lilith or Roo, whichever one makes more sense when S2 comes out and we see more of Lilith and see if Roo was scrapped or not. Right now he’s owned by Lilith in the AU and his relationship with Rosie is exactly like in S1: genuine and comfortable. I’m sorry but I’m not letting Vic’s awful plot direction here ruin one of the few good relationships in the show.

And I’m sorry if any of this is exaggerated by accident, I’m just, er, very passionate about minorities being disrespected this badly and this is kinda just me dumping my thoughts and rage into writing /gen

On a small but light note, the other clip is actually really cool!! Makes sense for Heaven to have Goitia as well as Hell, and as long as this bird doesn’t turn out Stolas then I’m pretty happy with this :D

#rant post #helluva critical #helluva critique #helluva criticism #hazbin critical #hazbin criticism #hazbin critique #hellaverse critical #hellaverse critique #hellaverse criticism #vivziepop critical #vivziepop criticism #vivziepop critique #cw vivziepop #tw vivziepop #tw aphobia #asexual #Hazbin leaks

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stardust-in-my-mind-blog · 23 hours ago

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on the cusp of my inner child walking into the sunset to give my inner teenager a quick hive five and wave her into the matrix I will say that this used to be the song that I had looping in my head all the time today at the bunny store the owner was frustrated and I was hyperfocused on that energy whenever she was in the room like I expected her to tell me to get out or accuse me of something and then I heard the hum of my heart who wanted to give her something to be frustrated about and let me tell you I really do understand now why someone says proudly when their caretakers were mostly dysfunctional and lost "I raised myself" I raised my daughter and myself like I wished I had been raised like she and my soul were twins in a way so alike but also completely separate people now I recognize in my son where I may have misunderstood him especially with my autism and ADHD I did the best with what I knew but learning about how I process information and how I used to shut him down for things he couldn't help that I am now experiencing I'm only glad that I have time to be better I have time to bridge the distance that I know I feel and have created by not understanding and now that I understand I can do so much better my son and I are so alike and he has my eyes there's this gentle spirit to him he's so calm and quiet most of the time and even I project weird things that happen in my head onto him and he looks at me with such confusion when I do and I apologize profusely because I hate when that happens to me and I hate that I accidently do it to him a look that says "what the fuck? do you even know me?!" there's this furious spirit that shows up when anyone pushes him too far and buddy that spirit is going to win the last thing he wants is to be held when he's overstimulated and when he says he needs space alone he means it and when he's calmed himself he'll show up again and we'll talk when I fucked up and apologize I know he truly forgives me and I'm not used to being forgiven sometimes it felt like I was never forgiven but he trusts me and I know he knows I'm doing the best that I can but I'll still prove it to him that he's worth understanding and knowing not just being guessed at anyways, he's the better version of me he hasn't had to survive like me but he has had to endure the chronic misunderstanding and dissmissal of a way of experiencing and communicating to this world in a sensitive and interesting way he's teaching me what middle schoolers actually worry about when they aren't playing mortal hide and seek with dysfunctional family and it's help me understand myself a lot and where I've gone wrong sometimes but I'll fix it I'll fix it now it's time for me to meet who I was in high school and she doesn't want peace she wants justice and I need to learn how to blend all this together and keep some compromises and actually say what's on my heart even if someone tells me it's not real because I don't think I'm taking hostages anymore you're on the ship or you're walking the plank hope you can swim but here's a quick life preserver while you're in the water waiting for someone to float by her first idea would have been to burn the entire ship so like I said compromise I'm so tired lmao

can’t emphasize enough how when you grew up in a toxic environment, being in the room with someone who’s angry or frustrated - even if it has nothing to do with you - is absolutely terrifying cuz you’ve been 1000% conditioned to assume frustration = all hell is going to break lose and be aimed directly at you

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kckt88 · 20 hours ago

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Scorched Hearts XIII

Summary:

'We loved with a love that was more than love - Edgar Allen Poe'

Despite the inital embarrasment of their reunion, Valaena seeks out her brothers and when time comes for Valaena to give birth Aemond is dealt a devestating blow.

Warning(s): Angst, Drama, Language, Uncle/Niece Incest, Kissing, Smut, P in V, Semi Public, Reuniting, Mention of Suicide, Time Skip, Pain, Blood, Child Birth, Complications.

AEMOND x O.C Niece

Word Count: 5186

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the House of The Dragon or Fire & Blood characters nor do I claim to own them. I do not own any of the images used.

Comments, likes, and reblogs are very much appreciated, do not copy/post to other sights without my permission.

Tag List - @jasminecosmic99 @kaelatargaryen @yesterdayfeelings-blog @immyowndefender @0eessirk8 @darylandbethfanforever9 @killua2dot0 @msassenach @xcharlottemikaelsonx @moonnicole

Valaena scrambled to gather the sheets around herself, her face flushed with embarrassment. “Didn’t anyone teach you to knock?” she sputtered; her voice thick with embarrassment.

Aemond howver lay there comfortably, a sly smirk pulling at his lips as he took in Jace and Luke’s mortified expressions.

Both young men quickly raised their hands to shield their faces, horror and embarrassment plain in their eyes.

Jace stammered, “We’re sorry, we didn’t expect—”

Aemond scoffed, his smirk growing wider. “Well, we do share chambers, nephew. What else would you expect us to be doing?” He raised an eyebrow, amusement in his voice. “Surely you have your own wife, so you know what goes on-or at least, I hope you do.”

Jace’s cheeks flushed even redder as he stuttered, “Th-that’s none of your business!”

Valaena lifted a hand, cutting through the rising tension. “Can we have this conversation at a more appropriate time, please? Preferably not while I’m naked and still seated upon my husbands-”

“-What?” asked Aemond feigning innocence.

“Are you seriously getting hard again?” whispered Valaena as she felt Aemond’s cock twitching and throbbing inside of her.

“I-I can’t help it” replied Aemond as he shifted slightly.

Valaena bit her lip to stifle the moan that threatened to spill forth as she felt Aemonds cock brushing against that sensitive spot inside her.

“My love. What’s wrong?” said Aemond smirking.

Valaena shot him a look, still holding the sheets tightly to her chest. “Please, can you two just- leave,” she managed to say, barely keeping her voice steady.

Jace and Luke backed out of the room in a flurry of mumbled apologies, their faces beet red as they hurried to close the door behind them.

As the door clicked shut, Aemond wasted no time. He sat up swiftly, his hands finding their way to Valaena’s back, pulling her close as he captured her lips in a fierce, unrestrained kiss.

Valaena resisted for a moment but then melted against him, her hands tangling in his silver hair as she kissed him back with equal fervour, all traces of embarrassment and distraction fading away.

Aemond’s gaze darkened with intent as he murmured, “Mine,” his voice low and reverberating, almost like a vow.

Gently but decisively, he manoeuvred Valaena onto her back, until she was lying beneath him.

He moved with practiced ease, resting his weight on one arm so he could look down at her, his silver hair falling like a curtain around his face, framing the intensity in his eye.

Valaena gave him a teasing smile, her hand sliding up his arm as she whispered, “Again?” Her words were playful, yet the glimmer in her eyes mirrored his desire.

“Need to fuck you like this-” mumbled Aemond as he curled his fingers round her thigh and moved her leg around his waist.

Then he bit her over her pulse point. Hard. She cried out and Aemond rumbled in approval at how loud she screamed for him.

“Such a good fucking girl.” His tongue licked where he had just bitten down. “You always make the sweetest sounds for me-”

Aemond loved biting her, he always had.

“Oooohh Aemond” whined Valaena.

“That’s my girl-” as he rocked his own hips into her, making them both hiss. “So, fucking good-all mine”

“I need more” whimpered Valaena.

As his pace picked up, she gripped his shoulders for dear life and moved with him, never taking her eyes from his singular gaze.

“Keep going,” She panted against him. “Just like that-just like that”

“You like that?”

“Yes-yes Aemond” replied Valaena.

“I fucking love you-” moaned Aemond, every thrust of his hips was forcing her further towards the headboard.

“Aemond-Oh, Gods!”

“Gonna spill my seed!-“ He rotated his hips as he spoke, his sweaty forehead against hers.

Valaena scrawled her nails down Aemond’s back hard enough to leave marks making him growl in approval and fuck her harder into the mattress, the headboard banging loudly against the wall.

“Mark me fucking harder” ordered Aemond as Valaena scored her nails down his back again.

“A-Aemond”

“So, fucking good for me-Oh, shit-yes-” moaned Aemond, his hips crashing into hers, babbling to himself and hitting all the right spots for her.

“Aemond I’m close-please-please” begged Valaena. She was so close, just a little more and she would be there.

“If you wasn’t with child already I’d put another babe on you” said Aemond against her lips as his thrusts started to become erratic.

“Aemond, yes-yes” screamed Valaena as her peak exploded.

“FUCK!” roared Aemond, the heat spreading across his abdomen as he exploded, spilling rope after rope of seed inside her.

“Oh shit – Aemond!” shouted Valaena as she clutched Aemond’s shoulders to ride the waves of pleasure that coursed through her body.

Aemond collapsed on top of her, and Valaena hugged his body tight.

“You are mine. Do you hear that?” whispered Aemond against her into her ear. “Everything about you.”

“Yours Aemond. Always yours”

Valaena found her brothers in the library, and they both immediately shot to their feet as she entered.

Luke’s face turned scarlet as he noticed the bite mark on her neck, and he quickly looked away.

“Did you really have to barge into my chambers like that?” Valaena asked.

Jace looked sheepish. “I’m sorry, but when mother sent a raven to Driftmark saying you were alive, we had to see it for ourselves. We couldn’t believe it.”

Valaena arched an eyebrow, a note of surprise in her voice. “Driftmark? What were you doing there?”

Jace looked away before responding. “I reside there now, as it’s heir. Luke didn’t want to stay in the Red Keep, so he’s there too, with Rhaena and their daughter-”

Valaena tilted her head, a new realization dawning on her. “Wait-you’re still the heir to Driftmark? I thought Mother would have named you heir to the Iron Throne”

Jace shook his head. “No. Even after even when we thought you were gone, Mother never named a new heir.”

Valaena’s eyes widened in shock. “Almost six years without officially naming a new heir?”

“Yes, the council kept pressuring her to name a new heir” Luke spoke up, glancing at his sister. “But she’s steadfastly refused.”

Valaena’s brow furrowed in confusion. “But Jace. You’re next in line. It should be you.”

Jace held up a hand. “I don’t want it. I’m content with my life on Driftmark with Baela and Laena”

Luke gave a small shrug. “Don’t look at me—I don’t want it either, you know what I’m like, if I board a ship I get green sick before I’ve even left the harbour”

Valaena looked between them, taken aback. “I honestly thought she would name someone else”

Jace’s expression softened as he looked at her. “She couldn’t bring herself to name a new heir because that would have meant that you were truly gone-even though we had a funeral for you, sometimes she liked to imagine that you were still out there somewhere”

Valaena stared at him, processing his words. “What?”

“She kept you alive in her heart,” Jace continued.

A deep pang of guilt mixed with a strange sense of wonder filled Valaena. “She refused to give up on me-”

Luke nodded, his voice barely a whisper. “Not for a single moment.”

“Most people thought she was crazy,” Jace admitted, his voice low. “The council, the lords of the realm, they all thought she had lost her mind, holding onto this belief that you were still out there somewhere. They called it denial, a womans weakness. They said she was clinging to a dream that would never come true.”

Luke shifted uncomfortably, his hands folding tightly in his lap. “They tried to pressure her into naming a new heir, telling her it was reckless to leave the realm without one. They said that the throne needed a clear successor”

Jace continued, his gaze firm. “But our mother? She refused to be swayed. She couldn’t bring herself to replace you. She couldn’t let go of the idea that one day, you’d return.”

“I bet you thought she’d lost it when you received the raven” said Valaena.

Luke nodded vigorously. “At first, we thought it couldn’t be true.”

“So, you come over here and barge into my chambers” muttered Valaena.

“We had to know if you really was alive” exclaimed Jace.

Valaena crossed her arms, a smirk on her lips. “Well, you certainly could’ve picked a better moment for a reunion.”

Jace laughed, breaking some of the tension. “I’ve really missed you, sister.”

Luke’s face softened, his voice dropping. “We thought we’d lost you forever.”

Valaena sighed, her expression warming as she opened her arms. “Come here-”

Both Jace and Luke moved toward her eagerly, enveloping her in a tight embrace. They stood there, tangled in one another’s arms, a bond reaffirmed.

Luke’s voice was a hushed whisper, filled with awe. “You’re here. You’re really here.”

Valaena smiled, squeezing them tightly. “Yes, I’m here.”

As they pulled back slightly, Jace’s eyes dropped to her stomach, widening as he noticed her rounded belly. “And you’re with child?”

Valaena smiled softly as she stepped back from them, resting a hand on her stomach. “My fourth.”

Luke gasped. “Your fourth?”

Jace grinned. “Gone nearly six years, and already four children? I suppose we know what you and our dear uncle were getting up to when everyone thought you were dead.”

Valaena scowled playfully. “Jacaerys!”

He held up his hands in surrender, laughing. “What?”

Luke, gentler, leaned in. “Tell us about your other children.”

Valaena’s expression softened as she began to describe them. “My oldest is my son, Rhaegar, then I have two daughters—Elaena and Daenys.”

Luke’s eyes lit up. “A nephew and two nieces?”

Valaena nodded with a smile. “Come with me,” she said, leading them out of the library and through the corridors toward Maegor’s Holdfast.

They stopped outside a door where Valaena pressed a finger to her lips, signalling them to be quiet.

Slowly, she opened it, revealing the soft moonlight casting a gentle glow over her sleeping son. “That’s Rhaegar,” she whispered.

Jace and Luke leaned in, their faces melting into smiles as they observed the small silver-haired boy.

Sapphyre, curled protectively beside him, briefly raised his head to curiously eye the newcomers, before he huffed and then settled back down.

“He has a dragon?” Jace whispered, impressed.

Valaena nodded. “He’s called Sapphyre.”

Luke noted, “He’s quite big for a hatchling.”

Valaena just smiled, then quietly closed the door and led them to the next room. Opening it with the same care, she gestured for them to look inside.

“This is Elaena,” she murmured, and then pointed to the cradle. “And here is Daenys.”

“Oh, gods she’s so beautiful” gasped Luke quietly as he gazed at Elaena who was fast asleep with her blankey firmly in her grasp.

Jace’s gaze softened as he noticed the dark hair of Daenys. “She has your colouring.”

“One of them had to take after me,” Valaena chuckled softly.

“They’re both so wonderful, sister,” Luke said, sincerity evident in his eyes.

“Thank you,” Valaena replied with a warm smile.

Jace’s attention shifted to the small dragons resting near the children. “And they have dragons too?”

Valaena nodded proudly. “Hūra belongs to Elaena, and Valerion to Daenys.”

Luke murmured, “The blood of the dragon runs thick.”

“Indeed, it does,” Valaena agreed, gently ushering her brothers out and closing the door softly behind her.

Jace yawned, stretching. “It’s getting late. Perhaps we should retire for the night and catch up more in the morning.”

Valaena raised an eyebrow. “Good idea. Just remember to knock next time before barging into my chambers.”

Luke let out an embarrassed laugh. “Oh, believe me, I’ll be knocking.”

Aemond stood on the balcony, his gaze fixed on Valaena as she wandered through the gardens with her brothers, Jace and Luke, laughing and talking eagerly.

A flicker of something dark passed over his face as he watched them. Arro approached from behind and paused beside him, observing quietly before breaking the silence.

“Why don’t you join them, my prince?”

Aemond’s eyes remained on Valaena as he replied, his tone edged with disdain. “I have no desire to talk to either of her bastard brothers.”

Arro tilted his head. “You don’t get along with them?”

“No,” Aemond said shortly. “I never really have.”

“Why is that?” Arro asked, genuinely curious.

Aemond’s gaze grew colder. “They used to tease me as a child, constantly making jokes at my expense.” He nodded toward the smaller of the two, who was gesturing animatedly as he spoke to Valaena. “The one talking to her now—Lucerys. He’s the one who carved out my eye.”

Arro’s eyes narrowed. “And he still breathes?”

Aemond let out a humourless laugh. “Not only does he breathe, but he also walked away without punishment.”

Arro’s brow furrowed. “How did it happen?”

Aemond leaned against the railing, his gaze lost in the memory. “It was just after I claimed Vhagar. I felt untouchable, dragon less no longer, I’d managed to claim the largest dragon in the world. Then they set upon me”.

Arro’s eyes darkened as he listened. Aemond’s voice grew colder. “Jace brought the knife, but I managed to disarm him. Then Lucerys picked it up and took my eye.”

Arro looked shocked. “And yet he went unpunished?”

Aemond’s mouth twisted bitterly. “Their mother, Rhaenyra, was my father’s favourite child. He cared more about the insult his grandsons received than about his own son’s suffering. He demanded we apologize—and show good will to one another”

Arro scoffed. “A fool’s notion.”

Aemond let out a low chuckle, his grip tightening on the railing. “So many times, I’ve imagined what it would feel like to take my dagger and hold that little strong bastard down and take his eye as he did mine.”

Arro considered him, impressed. “How do you restrain yourself from doing it?”

Aemond’s expression softened slightly as he looked back at his wife. “Valaena. Only because of my love for her, does her brother still have both of his eyes.”

Arro shook his head, admiring. “You’re a better man than me, my prince. In your place, I’d have carved both his eyes out by now.”

Aemond huffed a laugh, his gaze still following Valaena. “Don’t tempt me.”

Arro studied him a moment, then asked thoughtfully, “And what does Princess Valaena think about it?”

“She hates what Lucerys did to me. But he’s still her brother,” Aemond replied, sighing.

Arro nodded. “She has a big heart, but sometimes family can be the ones who hurt us the most.”

Aemond glanced at him, noting the bitterness in Arro’s tone. “You speak as if you have experience in such matters.”

Arro’s jaw tightened as he nodded. “My father was a very cruel man. He’d often hurt my mother, sometimes to the point she couldn’t bear it anymore and eventually, she took her own life.”

Aemond placed a hand on Arro’s shoulder, a gesture of sympathy. “I’m sorry, Arro.”

Arro nodded, his expression softening as he looked down. “I may not have been able to protect her then, but when I became a man, I gave her vengeance.”

Aemond’s hand tightened on Arro’s shoulder, a hint of respect in his gaze. “What was her name?”

A faint smile touched Arro’s lips. “Sura.”

Aemond nodded solemnly. “A beautiful name.”

“Thank you, my prince” Arro replied, gratitude evident in his eyes.

They stood in silence, side by side, bound by unspoken understanding and the weight of scars—old and new.

Months after Valaena and Aemond had returned and begun reestablishing themselves within the family, Rhaenyra announced plans for a grand celebration to be held at the Red Keep.

Not only would it honour their return, but it would also publicly reaffirm Valaena as heir to the Iron Throne and name Rhaegar as her successor.

Preparations for the festivities brought excitement to many—and tension to others.

As the strain finally boiled over one afternoon when Luke proposed a potential betrothal between his eldest daughter, Rhaella, and Rhaegar. Aemond's response was immediate and absolute.

“No,” he said flatly, his tone icy.

Luke raised an eyebrow. “What reason could you have to refuse my daughter? She has Targaryen and Velaryon blood-”

Aemond crossed his arms, glaring. “Because I do not wish to have my son tied to anyone from your line.”

Luke's face flushed with anger. “You mean to say my blood isn’t worthy? How dare you insult my daughter—”

Aemond took a step forward, his eye flashing with contempt. “If you think I’ll allow my son to marry the daughter of the whelp who left me scarred, then you are delusional.”

Harsh words were exchanged as the resentment came rushing to the surface. Insults turned quickly to raised voices, and before anyone could intervene, Aemond and Luke were upon each other, fists flying.

Aemond’s strength and focus quickly overwhelmed Luke, and he delivered a hard blow to his nose, causing it to break with a sickening crunch.

Guards and family rushed in to separate the two, pulling Aemond back as Luke, blood streaming from his nose, shot him a furious look.

Rhaenyra, who had arrived on the scene, looked between them with a mixture of anger and disappointment.

Valaena stepped forward, trying to ease the tension. “Perhaps we should wait until Rhaegar is older before we start discussing any potential matches. There’s no need to rush, and he should have a say in his future.”

The Queen nodded, calming at her daughter’s suggestion. “Very well,” Rhaenyra said, a hint of firmness still in her voice. “The matter of Rhaegar’s future bride will be left to another time. But as for the two of you,” she added, looking sternly between Aemond and Luke, “you will keep your distance from each other.”

Though both men gave a begrudging nod, they exchanged one last heated glance.

The throne room was alive with a rare grandeur, bustling with lords and ladies from every corner of the Seven Kingdoms, all gathered in honour of Valaena’s return and to reaffirm her as Rhaenyra’s heir.

Valaena stood proudly beside her mother, her expression serene as she clutched Rhaegar’s small hand.

Her son’s eyes, bright and curious, wandered over the crowd, while Aemond’s cool gaze swept protectively over his family.

Rhaenyra raised her hands, and the throne room hushed as she began to speak, her voice resounding with both pride and authority.

“Today, we celebrate the return of my daughter, Princess Valaena, and her husband Prince Aemond to our House. Let it be known to all that Princess Valaena is the rightful heir to the Iron Throne, and that her son, Prince Rhaegar, will one day wear the crown as King.”

The crowd erupted into cheers, banners lifted high as people bowed and bent their knees, showing loyalty to their Queen and her line.

Valaena glanced down at Rhaegar, who clutched her hand tighter, wide-eyed and thrilled by the sea of people honouring him.

But as the ceremony continued, Valaena felt a dull ache stirring low in her stomach, a sensation she’d initially dismissed as nerves.

Yet it grew with each passing moment, blossoming into something sharper and more insistent.

She winced, pressing a hand lightly against her belly, and Aemond’s gaze flicked toward her with concern, his sharp eye catching the hint of discomfort. He stepped closer, murmuring softly, “Are you well, Valaena?”

“Yes,” she said, though her voice was tight. “I’m fine.”

But as Rhaenyra continued, Valaena fought to keep her expression calm, her fingers clenching around Rhaegar’s hand as the ache became sharper, radiating from her lower back in waves.

Finally, Rhaenyra turned to her, her eyes bright with pride, beckoning her to step forward.

With a deep breath, Valaena nodded and released Rhaegar’s hand, stepping forward to accept her mother’s blessing as heir before all the realm.

She took one steadying breath, standing straight and proud, when suddenly the ache turned into a sharper, more insistent pain that left her breathless.

Helaena, who had been silent and watchful, stepped forward, her violet eyes going distant as she muttered, “White stained with crimson-”

Aemond, turned sharply to Helaena, confused. “What?” he asked, a trace of worry crossing his features.

Helaena took his hand, her expression sorrowful as she murmured, “I’m so sorry brother-”

At that moment, Valaena let out a pained whimper, as she clutched her stomach, gasping, “The babe-the babe is coming!”

Aemond’s face paled as he looked from Helaena to Valaena, whose breaths were now coming in shallow, laboured gasps.

Without hesitation, he wrapped an arm around her, steadying her as her knees began to tremble.

Rhaegar’s wide eyes darted between his mother and father, clearly unsettled by the sudden shift.

Rhaenyra quickly took control, motioning to the guards and advisors. “Clear the hall! Make way!” Her voice rang out, and the bustling lords and ladies quickly quieted, eyes widening as they watched the princess double over in pain.

Aemond swept Valaena up into his arms, the protective fury in his eye telling everyone to keep their distance as he carried her through the throne room.

Rhaenyra followed close behind, barking orders for grand Maester Gerardys and the midwives to be summoned at once.

As they moved briskly through the corridors, Valaena clung to Aemond, her breath ragged, trying to steady herself as the pain grew sharper.

Between contractions, she looked up at him, her face flushed with both agony and determination.

“Aemond it’s early-” she whispered, worry lacing her voice.

He brushed a strand of hair from her damp forehead, his voice soft but fiercely resolute. “I’m here, Valaena. I won’t leave your side. We’ll get through this, I swear it.”

When they reached her chambers, the midwives and Gerardys were already prepared, bustling around as they readied her bed.

Gently, Aemond placed her down, settling beside her and taking her hand as Rhaenyra took her other side.

As the pain intensified, Valaena’s grip on Aemond’s hand tightened, but his gaze never wavered.

He leaned close, murmuring words of encouragement, determined to be her anchor as the hours stretched on, and the labour intensified.

Valaena writhed, her body nearly giving in from exhaustion as labour dragged on with a relentless intensity.

Each wave of pain was stronger than the last, and her energy waned, but her determination refused to give out.

The pain was overwhelming, and when Gerardys announced that the babe was stuck, her heart sank.

"I will not have my daughter butchered," Rhaenyra’s voice cut through the room, fierce and unyielding.

Gerardys quickly shook his head. “I’m not suggesting such a thing, Your Grace. But perhaps if the princess could walk, it might encourage the babe to move,” he said gently.

Rhaenyra nodded and leaned close to Valaena, stroking her sweat-dampened hair. “Sweet girl, you need to try and walk.”

Valaena whimpered, her voice strained. “I-I don’t think I can-”

Aemond slipped his arm around her, his voice firm yet full of care. “Come on, we’ll help you.” He lifted her gently, wrapping her against him as she clung to his arm, while Rhaenyra took her other side.

Step by painful step, Valaena leaned into them, every inch of movement an ordeal.

Each new contraction made her shudder, and suddenly, she doubled over, a scream tearing from her throat. “I can feel the babe-it’s coming!”

Gerardys, already alert, waved them back to the bed. “Quickly, lay her down!”

With great care, they helped Valaena back onto the bed as Gerardys moved to examine her. He looked up with a glimmer of relief.

“The babe has moved,” he announced. “I can see the head.”

Aemond moved closer as he took a quick look between her legs, his voice full of wonder. “The babe has silver hair.”

Valaena huffed weakly, managing a slight smile. “Not-another one-”

Aemond took her hand and pressed a tender kiss to her forehead. “You’re doing wonderfully, love,” he murmured, his gaze steady and reassuring.

Rhaenyra held Valaena’s other hand tightly, her face a mixture of pride and concern. “Now, push, sweet girl.”

Taking a deep breath, Valaena bore down, her scream echoing around the room as the effort drained what little strength she had left.

Finally, she sagged back onto the bed, shaking her head. “I-I can’t do it anymore.”

Aemond exchanged a worried look with Rhaenyra, and he leaned closer to Valaena, brushing her damp hair from her face. His voice softened as he reminded her, “You are blood of the dragon. You can do this.”

Tears streamed down her cheeks as she whispered, “I can’t-”

Gazing into her eyes, Aemond took her hand firmly and spoke with quiet conviction, “Do you remember the vows we spoke in our place?”

She gasped, her breath catching as she whispered, “Y-Yes-I do-”

Aemond’s voice dropped to a gentle murmur as he began, “-Hen lanoti ānogar, Va sȳndroti vaedroma, Mēro perzot gīhoti, Elēdroma āirza sīr, Izulī amapā perzi.” (Blood of two, joined as one, Ghostly flame and song of shadows, Two hearts as embers).

With a shuddering breath, Valaena joined him, her voice strained but full of resolve. “P-Prumī l-lanti sēteksi, Hen jenȳ māzīlarion, Qēlossa ozundesi, Syndroro ono jēdo, Rȳ kīvia mazvestraksi.” (Forged in fourteen fires, A future promised in glass, The stars stand witness, The vow spoken through time, Of darkness and light).

Aemond smiled at her, a fierce pride shining in his eye. “Come on, love. Now push.”

Drawing strength from his words, Valaena gritted her teeth and pushed with every last reserve of her strength.

Her cries of pain filled the room, and then, at last, a wet squelch broke the silence, followed by the strong, loud cries of a newborn.

The maester’s voice rang out joyfully. “A boy.”

Valaena fell back, her body limp, but her face lit with a mixture of relief and joy as she looked at Aemond. His eye was alight with pride, and he leaned down, kissing her forehead once more.

“You did it,” he whispered, his voice thick with emotion as he brushed the tears from her cheek.

The joy that had filled the room only moments ago shattered when Valaena’s body suddenly convulsed, blood flooding the sheets beneath her.

Aemond’s heart stilled, his voice tight with horror as he gasped, “W-What’s going on?”

Gerardys thrust the crying babe into the arms of a nearby midwife and desperately worked to stanch the bleeding.

But Valaena’s face grew pale, her grip on Rhaenyra’s hand slackened, her breaths shallowing as her eyes rolled back.

“No,” Aemond whispered, stepping closer, panic spilling into his words. “No, Valaena. Don’t close your eyes!”

But Valaena didn’t respond. Her body went limp, and she lay unresponsive as Gerardys called for the others to clear the room, ushering Aemond and Rhaenyra out as he battled to save her life.

Outside, the minutes crept by with agonizing slowness. Aemond clenched his fists, feeling helpless, his every nerve frayed.

Rhaenyra, paced the corridor, twisting her rings as if the motion could chase away the growing fear in her eyes.

Finally, the door creaked open, and Gerardys appeared, dishevelled and splattered with blood.

“My Prince,” he began, his voice weary.

“Is-Is Valaena all right?” Aemond demanded, fear clawing at him.

“She’s Alive. I managed to stop the bleeding—”

“But?” Aemond’s voice broke as his heartbeat thundered in his chest.

Gerardys’ face softened with sorrow. “The traumatic birth and heavy blood loss has caused Princess Valaena to slip into a coma.”

Rhaenyra let out a strangled sob, pressing a hand to her mouth.

Aemond’s mind reeled. “W-What-What does that mean?”

“Sometimes, when the body endures extreme trauma, it may enter a state of deep unconsciousness—called a coma.” Gerardys paused, hesitant. “How long it will last, I cannot say. It may be days, weeks, or perhaps even longer. It depends entirely on how her body can heal.”

“So-she’s asleep?”

“In a way, yes,” Gerardys replied gently, “but the longer she remains unresponsive, the less likely it is that she will ever wake.”

Aemond’s breath shuddered. “N-Never wake. She’s just given birth to our son; we have other children. How am I supposed to cope without her?” Tears streamed down his face as his voice broke.

“I’m truly sorry, my Prince,” Gerardys murmured.

Aemond swallowed, clinging to the faintest hope. “C-Can I see her?”

Gerardys nodded and moved aside to allow Aemond to enter their chambers.

Inside, fresh bedding had been laid, and Valaena was reclined in a clean shift, her dark hair brushed back.

Her face was peaceful, as if she were only sleeping, though her skin was a ghastly pale, and her breathing was shallow.

Aemond collapsed at her bedside, taking her hand in his own, pressing it to his forehead as he broke down.

“Please, Valaena,” he whispered through choked sobs. “Please, don’t leave me.”

Meanwhile, Rhaenyra had retreated to the hallway, her heart aching as she leaned against the wall, whispering to herself in despair.

“You gave her back to me, please, don’t take her away again. I can’t lose her again.” She held a hand to her chest as she felt her composure begin to crumble.

In the silence, she felt strong arms wrap around her. Daemon’s familiar warmth enveloped her as she looked up, her tears spilling over.

“Not again, Daemon,” she sobbed, pressing her face into his shoulder. “I can’t do this again.”

Daemon stroked her back, his voice calm and steady. “Shh. It’ll be all right”

Daemon opened the door, his heart heavy as he stepped into the dimly lit chamber. His gaze fell on Aemond, who knelt beside Valaena’s bedside, clutching her pale, motionless hand.

Aemond’s shoulders shook, his voice soft and pleading as he pressed his forehead to her hand.

“Please, baby,” he choked, his words broken. “Please, come back to me. I-I can’t do this without you.” The tears streamed down his face. “We were supposed to die together, remember? Y-You promised me-that we would grow old and die at the exact same moment, holding hands-”

Daemon’s throat tightened, tears blurring his own vision as he took in Valaena’s still form. She looked so peaceful, as though she were merely asleep, but her face was pale, her body unmoving.

He hesitated, his heart aching as he reached out, his hand hovering above Aemond’s shoulder before finally resting there with a gentle squeeze.

Aemond looked up at him, his one eye red-rimmed and filled with despair.

He gazed at Daemon, and then, as though breaking, lurched forward, wrapping his arms around him as he sobbed, the grief pouring out in heaving, shuddering gasps.

Daemon, momentarily shocked, felt his own heart give way. He tightened his arms around Aemond, his hand resting on the back of Aemond’s head as he held him close.

Words escaped him; all he could do was let Aemond cry, his own tears slipping silently down his cheeks as he held the man who was, in that moment, no prince, nor rival, but simply a husband fearing the loss of his love.

Together, they knelt at Valaena’s side, united in the quiet grief and hope that she would come back to them.

TBC.

#house of the dragon #aemond targaryen #hotd aemond #aemond fanfiction #hotd fanfic #aemond fic #hotd fic #aemond one eye #aemond x oc #aemond #prince aemond #aemond x reader #aemond smut #aemond targaryen smut #prince aemond targaryen

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brainddeadd · 2 days ago

Note

we haven’t talked much about baby devils family besides her mom… so maybe she’s an only child also why she’s love the boys so much because she has never had siblings and what if she lost her dad a few years ago to cancer and it’s not something she really talks about only person on the devils that knows is luke so maybe when it was the cancer game it was really important to her and everyone found out about her dad

The Cancer Game

warnings: parental death

ok so.. my dad died and this is how i'd want my friends to react and how some of them did react..

if you've lost someone close to you, i am so sorry for your loss

The New Jersey Devils locker room was filled with the usual celebration buzz. They’d just pulled off a big win, and everyone was riding high on the thrill of it, the energy bouncing off the walls as teammates shouted and laughed. Normally, Y/N would have been in the thick of it, cracking jokes and soaking up the post-game excitement with her team. But tonight, she’d been different. She’d put on a brave face, even cheered a little in the locker room, but her heart wasn’t in it. Only Luke noticed the way her smile didn’t quite reach her eyes, the way she slipped out of the room as soon as she could without saying a word to anyone.

He’d seen her like this before, knew the kind of weight that could press down on her after certain games. The annual Cancer Awareness game, something that meant so much to the Devils organization and their fans, had an especially painful significance for her. A few years back, her dad had passed away after a long battle with cancer. It wasn’t something she talked about; she kept her emotions tucked away and rarely let them out, but this game always hit her hard. Luke was the only one who knew, and though she never said anything, he’d learned to recognize the signs.

The other guys hadn’t quite pieced it together yet, but they were noticing the change in her. Jack frowned as he watched her leave. “Did you guys see Y/N? She just left so quickly. I don’t think she even said goodbye.”

“Yeah, and she was barely talking all night,” Nico added, crossing his arms with a worried look. “She seemed…off. You think something’s wrong?”

Dawson, still buzzing from the win, looked back toward the door, his excitement dimming. “She didn’t even celebrate like usual. You think we should check on her?”

Luke glanced at them, a little torn. Y/N was private, and he didn’t want to betray her trust, but he also didn’t want her to be alone with this. With a slight nod, he said, “Yeah. I think we should.” He didn’t offer an explanation yet, but his face was serious, and the others picked up on it right away.

The group left together, the energy in the car shifting to something quieter and more solemn as they drove to Y/N’s place. They entered her apartment, hoping she’d be alright, but the scene they found tugged at their hearts.

Y/N was curled up on her couch, her face hidden in her hands, her shoulders shaking with silent sobs. Luke stepped forward first, his heart heavy as he saw his friend so vulnerable. He gently placed a hand on her shoulder before sitting next to her, pulling her into his side. She leaned into him, not saying anything, but letting him be there.

The others stood back, exchanging looks of uncertainty and sadness. They hadn’t seen her like this before and didn’t want to intrude, but they also couldn’t bear the idea of leaving her alone.

After a quiet moment, Jack finally spoke up. “Is…is she okay? What’s going on?” he asked softly, his voice filled with worry.

Luke took a breath, deciding to share what he knew in the hopes that they’d understand. “Her dad…he passed away from cancer a few years back. This game…this night…it’s a lot for her to handle. It brings back memories.”

There was a stunned silence as the reality of her pain sank in. Dawson looked down, feeling a pang of guilt for not realizing sooner. Nico’s expression softened, his eyes full of empathy as he took a step closer to her.

Jack’s face fell. He crouched down beside her, reaching out to place a gentle hand on her shoulder. “Y/N, I’m so sorry. You should’ve said something. You don’t have to go through this by yourself.”

Nico nodded, his voice gentle. “We’re family, Y/N. Whatever you need, we’re here. Always.” His words were soft, filled with the warmth of someone who understood what it meant to be part of a team that cared deeply for each other beyond just hockey.

Dawson gave her a supportive smile, his voice as warm as he could make it. “Yeah, we’re here for you. If you ever need to talk or even just want someone around to keep you company, don’t hesitate. We’ve got your back.”

Y/N looked up through red, tear-streaked eyes, managing a small, appreciative smile as she took in the scene. There they were—her teammates, her friends, her family—standing around her with faces full of concern and love. She hadn’t planned to let them see her like this, hadn’t planned to share the part of herself that was still so raw and aching. But here they were, offering her every bit of their support, not backing away from her sadness.

Luke’s arm tightened around her shoulders as he whispered, “You’re not alone. I’m here. We’re all here.”

Y/N felt her heart swell as Jack, Nico, and Dawson each moved closer, surrounding her with a warmth and presence that filled the room. They didn’t try to fix her pain or rush her through it; they simply sat with her, letting her know that she didn’t have to bear this alone. The weight of her grief felt a little lighter with them there, their quiet strength helping to carry her forward, reminding her that no matter how heavy the burden, she would never have to shoulder it by herself again.

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lvmoure · 2 days ago

Text

Jump Then Fall CS55

Pairings: Carlos Sainz x childhoodbff!reader

Summary: In which you loved him the moment you turned 7 years old. In which she fell first but he fell harder.

Warnings: none, pure fluff

Part 2 Part 3

You were only seven when it hit you for the first time: a fluttery feeling, soft and strange, but warm like a summer breeze. The source of this unexpected feeling was none other than Carlos Sainz, your best friend since you could remember. He was the boy who sat next to you in class, the one who chased you around the playground, and the one who always let you have the last cookie at lunch.

It was a sunny afternoon, the kind where the sunlight spilled across the playground in warm, lazy beams, illuminating everything in a golden hue. You and Carlos were at your favorite spot by the swings, taking turns seeing who could go the highest. Carlos grinned at you, his cheeks flushed from the thrill of the game, his laughter bright and unrestrained. You felt your heart race, pounding in a way that seemed strange and exciting all at once.

"Hey, are you even listening to me?" Carlos called out, waving his hand in front of your face. He was laughing, his eyes squinting with joy as the wind tossed his dark hair in every direction.

You snapped out of your thoughts, cheeks heating up as you stammered, "Of course I am! You were saying… uh, something about soccer?"

Carlos groaned, rolling his eyes dramatically. "I was talking about how we should form a team, and I was going to ask you to be my teammate. But now I'm not so sure, since you're off in dreamland!"

You felt your face warm even more, but you managed to laugh. "Fine, I'll be your teammate, but only if you promise to pass the ball sometimes!"

He laughed, pretending to consider your terms. "Deal," he said, reaching out his pinky. You linked yours with his, feeling a spark—a small, inexplicable jolt that made you freeze for just a second. But Carlos didn't seem to notice; he was already excitedly planning your imaginary soccer team's strategy.

As the two of you chattered away, you realized how much you loved moments like this. Little did you know, these small, simple moments would be the foundation of a love that would grow with you, one that would shape your every feeling for years to come.

Years passed, and the innocent feelings you had as a child grew complicated, layered with insecurities and fear of change. By the time you reached high school, Carlos was no longer just "that boy next to you." He had grown into someone everyone noticed, with his easy charm, his passion for sports, and the same unfiltered laugh that always made you feel like the only person in the room. It wasn't just the small things that made you realize you were in love with him; it was everything about him, the way he treated people, the way he never held back.

You watched him from across the cafeteria, trying not to be obvious. Carlos was surrounded by his friends, laughing and animated, and you could see why everyone liked him so much. But you kept your feelings locked away, never daring to say a word. You were terrified of what would happen if he knew—terrified of losing him, of the awkwardness that might come with a confession.

"Are you staring at Carlos again?" your friend teased, nudging you playfully.

You jolted, quickly looking down at your food, cheeks flaming. "No, I was… I was just lost in thought."

"Yeah, sure," she said with a smirk. "You've got it bad, and you know it."

You groaned, hiding your face. "I can’t tell him. It’d ruin everything."

"He’d probably be flattered," she said gently. "But I get it. Some things are scarier when it comes to best friends."

A part of you wanted to believe that maybe, just maybe, he might feel the same way. But you couldn't risk it. So you kept quiet, holding your feelings close and letting them simmer in silence. There were moments when he looked at you, really looked, and you'd find yourself wondering if he could see the way you felt. But every time, he'd just flash you a grin or make a joke, and you’d brush it off, convincing yourself that he couldn’t possibly feel the same.

You told yourself that being close to him as his friend was enough, even if it hurt sometimes to keep the truth hidden.

The day he introduced his girlfriend to you, it felt like the world was crashing down around you. You plastered on a smile, trying to ignore the way your heart seemed to shatter into a million pieces.

"Hey, this is Isabela," Carlos said with a bright smile, his arm slung casually around her shoulders. "Isn't she amazing?"

You forced a laugh, pushing down the wave of jealousy and sadness that threatened to spill out. "Yeah, she seems great," you managed, feeling like every word you spoke was a lie.

Isabela was everything you weren’t—confident, beautiful, and effortlessly charming. She seemed to know Carlos in ways that you didn’t, ways that you wished you could. You watched them together, the way he looked at her, and it tore you apart. But you stayed by his side, putting on a brave face and pretending that you were fine.

"Are you okay?" Carlos asked one day, noticing the sadness in your eyes.

You forced a smile. "Of course, I’m just tired."

He gave you a long, searching look, as if he could see through your mask. "You know you can tell me anything, right?"

But you couldn’t tell him this, not now. So you just nodded, hoping he’d never find out how deeply you were hurting.

Years passed, and one day, Carlos showed up at your door, his face pale and eyes rimmed red. Before he could even speak, you wrapped him in a hug, sensing the heartbreak he was carrying. Isabella had broken up with him, and he was devastated.

"I thought we had something real," he said, his voice breaking. "But she said she couldn’t handle it."

You held him close, soothing him with gentle words, even as your heart ached at the sight of his pain. Part of you felt relief—relief that he was no longer with her, that there might be a chance for you. But mostly, you just wanted to be there for him, to be the shoulder he could lean on.

"I’m here for you," you whispered, your hand running comfortingly over his back. "You’re going to get through this, Carlos. I promise."

He looked at you then, and for a moment, something seemed to shift in his gaze. But he was hurting too much to notice it, and you were too afraid to hope.

Months after the breakup, Carlos found himself looking at you in a way he hadn’t before. It was small things—like the way you laughed at his jokes, the way you always knew when he needed comfort, or the way you were just there, unwavering in your support. He began to realize that maybe, all this time, the person he was looking for had been right beside him.

He wanted to tell you. Wanted to confess that he felt something he couldn’t quite explain, something warm and soft that made his heart beat a little faster. But he held back, afraid that maybe he’d missed his chance, that his feelings would only complicate things.

For now, he decided, he’d admire you from afar, letting his feelings settle and hoping that one day, he’d find the courage to tell you.

Because love, he realized, was worth waiting for.

#carlos sainz #carlos sainz imagine #carlos sainz x reader #f1 fanfic #f1 imagine #f1 x reader #formula 1 #carlos sainz x female reader #carlos sainz x y/n #carlos sainz x you

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aliesbienish · 21 hours ago

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The idea was good, the execution not so much

Established Buddie x Reader, ft our fave Diaz Chris. You and Chris plan a surprise for the boys, it doesn't quite go to plan.

The house was quiet when Eddie and Buck arrived home from a 24 hour shift. Usually when they finished at a reasonable hour they came home to hustle and bustle. You and Chris generally had music playing as you cooked up a storm throughout the kitchen.

Instead it was almost eerie silent in their house, in fact if it wasn’t for your car parked in the driveway they’d assume no one was home.

Buck shrugged at Eddie as they made the way down the hallway, peering in doors as they passed. It wasn't till they opened the door to the living room that they found any signs of life. Twinkling fairy lights were hung across the walls, basking the room in a light golden glow. Soft instrumental music was playing gently from the speaker and the table was set for four.

"What's going on?" Eddie whispered to his partner, Buck for his part looking just as bewildered. "Where are they?"

Buck shook his head in confusion, making his way into the living room. He spotted you and Chris pretty quickly, both sunk into the sofa fast asleep. Eddie followed him over and both men couldn't help the grin when they saw their partner and son, clearly accidentally napping while waiting for the boys to come home.

"Hi mijo," Eddie whispered, gently pulling Chris from your embrace and into his arms. "Dad! Bucky! You're home," He whispered wiping the sleep from his eyes.

"Mom and I were supposed to surprise you, we didn't mean to fall asleep,"

"We can see that superman." Buck whispered, "What's the big surprise?"

"Ay dios mio," Eddie suddenly exclaimed, staring down at Chris in shock.

"What Eds?" Buck questioned.

"Look at Chris' shirt Ev,"

Chris grinned stretching out so Buck could read it properly. There sprawled across his tiny chest were the words 'BEST BIG BROTHER'.

"Oh my god," Buck gasped, mouth opening and closing but no other words coming out.

"Surprise," You whispered nervously, having woken up from your nap to Eddie's shout of shock. Both boys whipped around to face you, as you grinned sheepishly.

"Baby, is this true? It's not a prank right?" Buck whispered, placing his hand across your stomach like he already expected a big bump to be there.

"It is, I found out yesterday. Chris and I had a big plan to tell you both, there's even a bun sitting in the oven," When Evan got a look of concern on his face you followed up with "the oven is turned off, I promise."

"You're sure? About being pregnant I mean."

"Positive, literally." Handing over multiple tests to each of the boys, all with the same result. "Chris was actually the one who mentioned it, I may be slightly bias but I think our son is a genius,"

"So Amy from school, her Mom is pregnant too and she was talking about how she is feeling sick and getting tired more often." Chris chattered happily, "So then when Mom was like that the last week I thought that maybe she was."

"That's great superman," Buck said absentmindedly.

You couldn't help but notice that Eddie hadn't even spoken yet, and Buck's tone was making you worried. While you had discussed expanding your family before, it was always talked about in the vague future and the idea that maybe they weren't ready was chewing you up.

"Hey Chris honey, I think you should get the card we made for your dads! I think it's sitting in your bedroom." He excitedly agreed, giving you a short time to talk to your partners.

"I know this is a shock, but is this okay? It's sudden but I love you both soo much and.."

"Baby," Buck interrupted, wrapping you in his arms. "this is the greatest gift you could ever give me. I can't wait to have another child with you two, honestly I can't wait to see Chris as a big brother." You sighed in relief knowing at least one of your partners was on board.

"Eds?" Buck whispered while directing the other mans head up gently with his hand and gently placing a kiss on his forehead. You both noticed the tears in his eyes as he struggled for words.

"I am so so grateful to you [y/n], for allowing me the opportunity to get to be a dad to another child again. I love you more than words can express." Tears of happiness began to fall down your cheeks as he pressed a soft peck to your lips and place his hand gently on your belly.

"And Buck, I can't wait to watch you be a Dad to this baby. You are an amazing parent to Chris but I am honored to be a dad with you again to this baby, to get to watch you Buck, and you too [y/n], get to experience every little moment together. Between us and Chris this baby is going to be so loved and cherished,"

Buck and Eddie wrapped you between them in a hug, whispering words of excitement and joy. You only parted when Chris came back in the room, a grin on his face as he thrust the card towards Eddie and Buck.

"Here" he grinned, passing over the card with the front reading '10 reasons why going to the zoo will help me be a better big brother!'

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droaxa · 17 hours ago

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the villainesses scheme

✧ tags: yandere haikyuu male leads x villainess reader

✧ warnings: yandere behavior (later on), reader hits her head

✧ a/n: hi guys guess who’s back!! i love the isekai trope where the mc gets reborn a few years before their death and i needed to put my own lil’ twist on it! i’d love to turn this into something longer (like a series or something) so give me your thoughts!! my recent haikyuu obsession led to this one lol, inspired by: the male leads were stolen by an extra

You were a loser, well not exactly. You had a pretty stable job and a nice flat but lacked one major component in your life: friends. But it’s not like you were antisocial! Moving to a new city just a few months ago, you had been busy with moving in and didn’t exactly have enough time to make friends.

Besides you were preoccupied with your favorite web comic of all time: Flower of the Estate! A commoner girl that has three noble men falling for her? This girl really had some crazy cha(rizz)ma. You weren’t really into harem type stories but wow did it keep you coming back to see what happened.

It was another late night reading Flower of the Estate when you decided to head to the kitchen to get some snacks to keep you fueled. However, when you turned to retreat back you slipped on spilled water near the sink and hit your head on the granite counter! You mentally curse yourself for not cleaning it up as you drift into a deep slumber.

When you open your eyes and the lights blind you, quickly slapping a hand over your face you shoot up. Registering the soft plush beneath you you opened your eyes, when did you get in bed? Looking around your jaw drops, who the hell put you in a room like this! The whole room was illuminated by sunlight peaking behind the luxurious navy drapes and you gasped at the sheer size and extravagance of the bedroom. You were… in a castle?

Jumping off the bed you immediately fell to your knees with a thud. How long had you been out for that your legs were this weak? You push yourself up and stumble to the mirror on a vanity next to the bed. The satin fabric of your night gown fell to the ground, revealing the length that had been bunched up while you were sleeping.

In the mirror, the first thing you see is (e/c) eyes and a face eerily similar to yours. It was your face and body for sure but the state of it wasn’t, your hands were usually rough and your knees were scarred from playing as a child but now both were smooth and even. Then your eyes feel on a crest engraved onto the top of the vanity and your heart dropped.

The beautiful family crest of a black fox protected by two swords was a prevalent symbol in Flower of the Estate. It was the crest of the villainess. You, (y/n) Aleria, were the cruel villainess of the story, waking up here and looking like this had no other explanation. To see if it was true you quickly pushed the sleeve of your left arm up, on the wrist was a faint birthmark. A scar in the shape of a half moon, your fate was sealed. You fall back on the bed. ‘Shit.’

You were official the villainess of Flower of the Estate, who bullies the main character, get thrown out of high society, and then dies. You knew the path that the villainess followed and the actions she took, did that mean you could avoid facing the same death as her as well? The first mistake that she had committed that set her on the path of destruction was her bullying of the main character.

The villainess was notorious for her extravagant lifestyle and cruel manner, she didn’t have anyone close to her and the book never showed her point of view. You knew the basics about her but who was (y/n) — really? Was she really just jealous of the commoner girl that had managed to outshine her or was it deeper than that?

No matter why she behaved that way, you knew that following on her footsteps would only lead you to doom. You needed a game plan, plus you read enough reincarnation manga to know what basic things to avoid as the villainess.

Love Interests and Relations:

Tooru Oikawa - Childhood love (One sided) and (y/n)’s main obsession

Tobio Kageyama - Royal knight who pledged their loyalty to (y/n)

Ushijima Wakatoshi - Esteemed scholar who ended up being (y/n)’s tutor for a short period of time

Ok… this would a little harder than you thought. Why were all the love interests involved with the villainess anyway? Oikawa could be avoided easily enough, you just needed to distance yourself from him and considering that Oikawa was keen on getting rid of you. If you remembered correctly he was rather annoyed by the villainess who would cling to his side like a lost puppy. As for Ushijima, you knew that he would only be your tutor for a month, then leave your care to meet the main character who he would eventually fall in love with. Kageyama would be the hardest to get rid of compared to the other two, he would be around the villainesses the longest and somehow fall in love with her. However much like the others, he would fall in love with the female lead and leave (y/n) to be with her, withdrawing his pledge to be by her side.

Ugh. This is going to be a headache isn’t it?

#yandere #x reader #female reader #yandere x darling #yandere x reader #angst #yandere x y/n #yandere harem #yandere royalty #yandere haikyuu #yandere king #yandere duke #yandere haikyuu x reader #reincarnation #reincarnated reader

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summercreolefanfictioner · 2 days ago

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the scent wafts in, her name making him beg on his knees chap 5 || touya x fem!reader [modern au]

chapter summary: Touya takes a trip down memory lane, reliving all his days as a host and how it changed his world for the worse.

themes: mentions of prostitution, sex, SA, abuse, violence, etc. (YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED)

notes: this one really has heavy themes and I want you all to be aware of the warning cause yeah; oh btw this is fem! reader but all is written in 3rd POV so y/n will be referred to as "she/her"

masterlist

Touya knew about sex when he was a child, and no amount of porn and eavesdropping could make him discover this fact. It wasn't like he accidentally found a stash of porn magazines or DVDs in the house or he walked in on someone doing it. He knew about it when the adults were talking, specifically his grandparents (more like his mom's parents). They were talking about Rei having another child with Enji after Fuyumi, and that's when he heard the word he shouldn't have.

Sex.

He knew about that word when he was tasked to fill out his basic contact information, and what he knew about it was his gender. It took him a bit of searching on a random dictionary to understand what it really was, and he suddenly dropped the book as he covered his mouth in shock. The gasp he was about to let in suffocated him as he deduced things in his head and learned later on how the birth of Natsuo and Shouto changed a lot of things in his perspective.

Sex. Intercourse. Coitus. It was all a chore his parents did to bear an heir for the Endeavor Corp. But for his childish mind, they were trying to replace him, and it made him see red.

He wanted to say he was good enough to be like Enji, to be his successor. But no, Enji rejected the idea of him being the next CEO. For Enji, Touya was not good enough. He didn't need an heir who drives himself mad when he can't achieve perfection. He doesn't need an heir who shows weakness in his sleeve.

It ruined Touya that he couldn't look at relationships the same way as he entered puberty. Whenever he sees a few of his classmates dating or talking about "Hey, I stayed over at my girl's place when her parents were away" or "Well, I couldn't ignore her especially when she's being like that to me," it made him think: Relationships are a facade. Romance is a lie. Virginity is a concept they play to make themselves feel they attained innocence. Pleasure is just the side effect of it, but it's nothing.

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He was 22 when he agreed with the manager's suggestion to have side work as a host for a club at the Red District every Monday and Friday. Honestly, he half-expected a few customers to ask for a kiss on the first try or even a hug or basically any form of physical intimacy. Surprisingly, most of them only wanted male attention, someone to talk to when they get off work or when things get stressed out, or just a harmless, casual date because they couldn't find a man that would give them the treatment they wanted.

Another thing Touya learned: he didn't have to act like he was so nice like a Prince Charming like some of the hosts do. He was just naturally there, talking when he was supposed to talk and serving them drinks like the gentleman they thought him to be. So there were no hookups or casual sex or any bookings of hotel rooms afterward.

That was until he met his regular customers that things took a downturn for him.

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1. The one who's visibly disgusted by the man she would be marrying

Touya met her every Friday, and he already knew from the get-go that she was the typical rich daughter who went by her parents' bidding; someone who never touched bad things. Well, except that night. She decided to go to the Red District for the first time and heard about this secret host you can book. He had heard her family name somewhere, probably when he was still in high school since Enji and Rei would have the four of them attend important events. It only occurred to him then how popular she was with the way the other hosts were staring and whispering to themselves.

It was when the other hosts talked to him in the locker room and told him that she was hiding a lot from the media because apparently, she was marrying this famous celebrity producer who went after gravure models; that it was an arranged marriage and she obviously abhorred the fact that she was getting wed off to an old geezer.

When she talked to him about meeting up with her on a Saturday night at a booked hotel room, Touya already knew what she was up to. There was extra money involved, plus her promise that she wouldn't be booking his services after. The arrangement worked well with him, setting aside his personal feelings over the matter, as he had sex with her, making it seem like he knew the ropes when he clearly did not. Everything was all thanks to porn and all those gravure magazines he saw from his classmates in high school.

When she cried afterwards, something about being relieved that she didn't spend her first time with a perverted old man, that was when Touya's heart constricted with heaviness. He didn't understand what he felt back then, but after leaving the hotel, he spent away the last of his expenses drinking and smoking before returning to work like nothing.

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2. The one whose loneliness cannot be fulfilled by her own husband

He dreaded this one regular, and he wished he told the manager that he didn't want to entertain this woman. The first time she booked Touya, he thought she was just a regular customer who wanted nothing from him until she started placing her hand on his thigh one night, and a few nights after, she asked if they could meet outside. Touya was stressed over her and her silly antics, even though she was just asking him to eat lunch at her recommended fancy restaurants and stroll around town.

Well, it wasn't like she was overly clingy or demanding; it was the fact that Touya had no idea what she had under all that nice adult woman facade. It was only when they met up at a coffee shop that she told him about her circumstances. She said, "My husband and I cannot divorce, and he knew about this arrangement and didn't mind as long as no one knew. I also don't mind since he has been sleeping with other women for as long as I can remember." This irked Touya and reminded him of his parents' arranged marriage. He knew they didn't cheat on each other, but it made him think about how the media and paparazzi painted the Todoroki family as a loving family with toothy grins and blooming flowers.

What made this situation worse for Touya was how the woman decided he meet her every weekend at her shared house with her husband. Touya had already met the man, and he knew from one look that all he cared about was knowing who his wife was sleeping with and reminding him that the two of them were only to have a sexual relationship and nothing else (not like he was looking forward to moving things further with a client anyway).

They would always have sex in the guest room assigned for them, but sometimes the wife would take a risk and have them go all the way to the master's bedroom. She would reason out that it wasn't like her husband was so faithful not to bring women there inside since she caught them before in the said room. Touya learned she was insatiable as hell and would try a lot of her fantasies on him because her husband deprived her of trying out exciting things.

Their last sex was of Touya wrapping her legs around his hips as her back hit the bathroom wall and the hot shower poured down on them. After the high, Touya told her he wouldn't be entertaining her anymore since the risk of their arrangement was catching up on him.

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3. The one who wanted the boyfriend experience

This one was simple, and Touya kind of liked her because he was able to forget his shitty childhood and family issues. She basically became a friend in many ways, and her reason for hiring Touya was because she wanted the boyfriend experience, kind of like having a secret lover especially now that she had gone adulthood and wanted companionship. Touya wouldn't say it was fun being with her. It was just okay. She would ask him to hold hands or ruffle her hair or tell her the corniest shit that he had ever said (he was still embarrassed remembering it, but he managed to set aside his shame over her.)

It became apparent that something was amiss when she visited on a Friday night, displaying unease and nervousness, punctuating the air with sighs as he handed her the drink. He was about to speak when she blurted out, "There's a guy at work, and he said he saw me with you, and he confessed. He asked me if I wanted to date." Her face was beet red as she made a mess of her hair, probably remembering the said confession in her head. "Dabi-kun, what should I do?! Do you think I'm a good dating material?"

Touya wasn't in love with her, but the way things were happening, there was that familiar feeling again when he had sex for the first time with his first regular. That dark pit in his stomach prompted him to do something bad and run away instead of facing them properly. It was easier to drown everything

He placed the glass on the table and said, "Give it a try. You never know what might happen."

He never saw her after that, and he didn't take customers for a while. He spent his weekends drinking and smoking until he fell asleep.

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4. The one who struggles with a husband's cuckolding kink

Touya was weirded out by this customer because usually, it was only the woman who stayed in the room waiting for him as he served them one of his best alcohol concoctions. It was on a Monday night when he had a married couple as his client. Great. Before, it was often the wife who came in here. Now, they bring their husbands into the mix, he thought bitterly as he sat on the couch. At first, it was awkward with the way the wife was trying to lighten up the mood by telling fun stories as her husband drank and watched them from the corner. Honestly, Touya could not care. At least he was getting his usual drink. If this evening turned out shitty, then so be it.

Suddenly, the husband stood up and knelt traditionally (seiza-style), bowing before Touya as he begged, "Please have sex with my wife!"

The wife went to his side as Touya stopped midway from his drink, his mood worsening as he was yet again reminded of this one regular. However, this time he thinks it is different as the wife assures him there is no need for him to kneel and beg because she can do fine without sex, which the husband is opposed to. And the two went on to discuss his cuckolding kink, how he would only get turned on and have sex with her once he was done having sex with someone else.

Touya narrowed his eyes in disgust, leaning on the couch as his cold voice cut through the conversation.

"Aren't you two being rude?"

The couple were ashamed, bowing at him for their lack of respect and quickly explaining about the matter at hand. According to the couple, they've been having problems in the sex department because of the husband's cuckolding kink, something about getting turned on by the fantasy of his wife having sex with someone. Touya obviously groaned in disgust and was about to protest, dismissing their request and not wanting to partake in their weird shenanigan, something about the charade setting him off even further than before. The husband wanted him to have sex with his wife just so he could take her afterward. How revolting. Why did the manager let them in this place?

"This will only happen once, please!" The husband added. "We will make a formal contract." Then he gave him his business card. "You can call me if you change your mind."

Of course, Touya doesn't call him. He doesn't care. He will do the usual. Yeah, he tells himself this as he realizes he needs more stash of money so he can live for the next month (not like he was running out; he was just being careful.) So he finally succumbs to temptation and calls the man up, meeting them in a fancy restaurant as Touya read through the contents of the contract.

The contract was fair and just for all parties, though. For one, the husband will not watch or record Touya and his wife having sex or any act similar to the matter. It also indicated that this would only be a one-time thing between the three of them and Touya will be paid a hefty amount on the same day the act will commence. Touya also added a few things in the agreement, which included no BDSM or anything similar and that he would not be doing any acts that would "impregnate" the wife (since a few of his customers before liked the idea of breeding, and he didn't love it.)

When all was said and done, Touya got into the business and did everything like how he did before, masking all his emotions and pretending there was so much pleasure and thrill in embracing another man's wife when there wasn't. It was vile even, knowing that the husband was willing for his wife to be disrespected just so he could give her the love she deserved. The worst part? She liked touching him, hugging him close as he thrust even further, or kissing his lips like she owned him. Touya wanted to push her away and tell her, this was just sex and she was crossing some sort of boundary. Then again, she was a customer. It's not like he hadn't been paid to give a kiss before.

Afterwards, he took a shower and left without a word, carrying the check with a large sum as he headed to the bank that day. Touya slept that night convincing himself everything was a nightmare; a horrible shit he went through because he needed to survive.

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5. The one who likes sharing everything with her bestfriend

Touya had been hearing stories from other hosts about some customers booking them together and having awesome threesomes, that there was no greater feeling in the world than having more than one woman with you in bed. He wished he had the same sentiment because honestly, he doesn't find what's so fun about threesomes. It was tiring and disgusting beyond means, and he still couldn't fathom the fact of sharing a lover with another in bed. Gross. Gross. GROSS.

But he had to experience it because of two women; one, a sultry vixen who believes the world is in the palm of her hands, the other an alluring shadow of her own existence competing to be in the spotlight. The first one meets Touya every Monday and the other on Fridays, and he could see a recurring pattern in the way they both lead conversations. The vixen liked herself so much, and it was apparent. So apparent Touya could even bring a tall mirror and face it on her so she would brag about how this one guy tried to seduce him at the bar a few nights ago or when her co-worker's boyfriend tried to date her in secret. She would even mention being scouted as a model but rejected all offers as she wanted to be an IT developer.

On the other hand, her bestfriend was shy but nonetheless had this air of confidence. Touya could even remember how one of the staff members asked him about her because the guy genuinely was attracted to the way she was so elegant and dainty. Her posture screamed princess vibes as she held her glass of champagne and talked to Touya about her modeling job. Touya could even tolerate this one better than the other as she wasn't being a bitch when they have an actual conversation (because he swore he dreaded every Monday seeing her).

Until one time, the two of them asked him to have sex with each of them on different days as a part of his off-duty job. Touya was already guessing, "They're gonna invite me to a threesome soon" because the way they had sex with him was always "Did she do this to you?" or "Am I more fun than her?" like they were openly comparing themselves to each other to him. And he knew they talked about it. There was no doubt.

And they did. They invited him because they shared things with each other. Because they liked the same guys. They hated the same guys. They loved the same things. They also hated the same things. They're twins from different mothers, and Touya only wished that this whole shit would go down the drain and this would be the last he would have them, thrusting up and down as the two women ground their pussies on his shaft. Their throaty moans were getting mixed in, and he bit his lip to hide his moan because there was no way he liked this. He hated this. Hated everything with every fiber of his being.

After the whole stint, Touya finally handed in his resignation letter and left. He was tired of pleasing people; weary from all this nasty chore he had been doing for the sake of living in hell.

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Touya later learns that love and sex can coexist. When he encountered his (only) ex-girlfriend while working as a bartender at Shigaraki's bar, he found himself perplexed about how to navigate this new dynamic. They initially started as smoking buddies in the back of the building, exchanging crude jokes until they eventually exchanged phone numbers. He genuinely enjoyed spending time with her, but eventually, their connection faded into nothing.

Fun. It was what they only had next to nothing.

Her name was Ruka, and she had her long dark hair dyed blonde as she dressed in the same black outfits as him but feminine. She was all guts and foul curses, her red lips smirking teasingly. He knew from the moment they put a label on what they were that she would expect a lot from him as her boyfriend. Dates. Movies. Late-night talks. Smoking and drinking together. Hugging. Holding hands. Having sex. Touya tried his best to be the boyfriend she wanted even though he had zero idea of how to be one, and he believed at the time it was because they were dating. It turned out to him that he was simply repeating the same train of thought.

Dating is a chore. Sex is a chore. Relationships are nothing but a chore.

He was simply doing everything out of responsibility, not fully caring about himself or how Ruka would feel. He was a tad selfish that they fought a lot and he didn't swallow his pride or compromise even. He would go about his way proving his point and if he didn't, he would slam the door and leave for days, spending his nights at the bar and making it his new home. Ruka also held her pride so high she didn't even find him or apologize, and they would fall into this toxic pattern of seeing each other again after a few weeks then making out and having sex and brushing everything under the rug because emotions are getting into the way of their fun. There was no way they were ruining whatever this relationship was for a sappy one-on-one of calling each other out and promising to do better.

Touya didn't change, and he grew tired of being her dream boyfriend. He still leaves his clothes on the floor. He doesn't tell her where he went. He never goes the mile to update her. He drops by her space whenever he wanted to despite her telling him to just move in. He ghosts her and then comes back like nothing.

He was being pathetic, and she was being overbearing. She cries, thinking he will relent when he sees her tears. It doesn't change his mind though. He just gets worse. They would throw things at each other and curse. They would raise their middle fingers. They would throw hands and he'd give a punch in exchange for her slaps and hits.

Touya just left and never came back after.

------

"She was a lot different," Touya mentioned his girlfriend (the current one he thinks about so often) again to his therapist. "I know I told you this before, but the first time we did it, everything just made sense."

He didn't know how. He just felt it. It all came full circle. That morning had him almost running in fear, scared at the thought of going deeper with her because he knew he would hurt her. He will not give her whatever she wants. Those dreamy things from romance mangas? Those corny lines from romantic movies with sappy storylines? Consider them all trashed. There was no way he would give in.

But Touya will stay around. He knew to himself that he would die the moment this shit was all over; that she had changed her mind and wanted those romantic stints from the screens. But staying around didn't do it for him—especially for her. Just because he stayed around didn't mean he got what he wanted. He loved her, so, so much; yet she was sleeping with a man who's a figment of his own false identity. It was toying him upside down, especially with the way she looked at him with adoration and pure sincerity when he knew it wasn't really him.

"I want her to love me," he stressed out. "Only me."

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