twisted affairs ( duet 1)
- Reads 18
- Votes 2
- Parts 1
Ur husband is cheating on u with ur best friend. You know that and are planning revenge when you have gotten a message from an unknown number finding out you have a stalker only realizing it's your husband's enemy when going through his phone while his asleep.
While ur planning revenge your also sleeping with ur stalker/husband's enemy while developing feelings for him and not knowing how to express it.
Once ur husband decided he had enough of u and using you he told u he never loved you and openly declared his marriage with ur best friend little did he know that he was leaving with nothing not a single penny in his pocket
Public Domain
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THE DARKSIDE OF US
⚛⍣☾⍣⚛ ⚛ كُنا حَليفَين لَا يَتم كَسرُنا. حَتى كَسرنَا بعضنَا. بَدأَ الأمرُ بِضَحكَة. وإِنتَهَى بصَوتِ الرَصَاص. كُنا نُكمِلُ جُمَل بَعضِنا، فَبِتنا نُكمِلُ خُططَ القَضَاءِ عَلى بَعضِنا. طَرِيقٌ وَاحِد جَعلنَا نقفُ عَلى الجَانب الخَاطِئ مِن القِصَة. بَينَ الخِيانَة وَالدَم. ⚛ هَا اليَومَ نَحن خَصمَان..السِلاحُ بَيننَا وَ الذِكرَياتُ خَلفنَا. ⚛ لَكِن أوَلَيست أَسوَأ الحُروبْ ...هِي التِي يَخسَر فِيهَا القَلبْ؟.
𝐄𝐥𝐞𝐧𝐚 : 𝐇𝐢𝐬 𝐂𝐮𝐫𝐬𝐞𝐝 𝐀𝐦𝐨𝐮𝐫 ✧ |𝟏𝟖+| ✔
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He is my enemy-the man who shattered everything I once held dear. I should loathe the very sight of him, should recoil from the darkness in his eyes and the cruel smirk that taunts me at every turn. And I do. Or at least, I try. But the heart is a traitor. And mine? It's betraying me in the worst possible way. Every encounter is a battle: harsh words, lingering glances, electric tension that neither of us dares to name. He's the last person I should want... and the only one who makes me feel truly alive. As the line between hatred and desire begins to blur, I find myself trapped in a dangerous game-one where surrender could cost me everything. Including my soul. He's my rival. My weakness. My obsession. And I don't know how much longer I can resist.Complete
𝑵𝒐 𝑺𝒉𝒂𝒎𝒆 𝑱𝒖𝒔𝒕 𝑯𝒊𝒎
18+ content with sexuality and domestic violence and traumatizing experience _________________________ Life is not like a movie where we are born into a rich and perfect family, where our childhood feels like a fairy tale and everything we wish for magically appears in our hands. In films, parents never argue with us, never refuse us anything. Life flows smoothly, almost unreal. In those stories, when we become teenagers, we begin to "live." We go to night outs at friends' houses, attend loud house parties, wander into clubs, and return home late at night without anyone stopping us. We drive our own cars, free and fearless. One evening, we take the person we love on a long drive, the road stretching endlessly ahead of us. Under a sky scattered with countless stars, we stop the car somewhere quiet. The world becomes silent except for the sound of our breathing. We look at the person beside us, kiss them, and fall deeper in love in that moment. Years pass, and eventually we marry that same person. After all, we were always perfect in this imaginary story-so of course our parents approve without hesitation. After the wedding, we travel the world together, exploring new countries and chasing sunsets, living a life that seems endlessly joyful. Then one day, we decide it's time for a child. We imagine a small home far away from the chaos of cities, somewhere surrounded by nature. A garden blooms outside the house, and vegetables grow in the little farm we cultivate with our own hands. Every morning before leaving for work, we share a gentle kiss. And one day, many years later, we imagine ourselves growing old together, lying side by side on the same bed, taking our final breaths in each other's presence. But that is only what humans hope for - a beautiful, comforting illusionComplete
⚛⍣☾⍣⚛ ⚛ كُنا حَليفَين لَا يَتم كَسرُنا. حَتى كَسرنَا بعضنَا. بَدأَ الأمرُ بِضَحكَة. وإِنتَهَى بصَوتِ الرَصَاص. كُنا نُكمِلُ جُمَل بَعضِنا، فَبِتنا نُكمِلُ خُططَ القَضَاءِ عَلى بَعضِنا. طَرِيقٌ وَاحِد جَعلنَا نقفُ عَلى الجَانب الخَاطِئ مِن القِصَة. بَينَ الخِيانَة وَالدَم. ⚛ هَا اليَومَ نَحن خَصمَان..السِلاحُ بَيننَا وَ الذِكرَياتُ خَلفنَا. ⚛ لَكِن أوَلَيست أَسوَأ الحُروبْ ...هِي التِي يَخسَر فِيهَا القَلبْ؟.
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