#but I've only just worked up the courage

[emeraldblonde]

I tried to mod something and the good news is, it didn't crash the game. 🥳 The bad news is, not what I was looking for lmao.

Like, don't get me wrong. I've seen way worse (the stuff of nightmares) on a modding channel I've been teaching myself this stuff lately, so. It's not like I completely fucked this thing up or anything like that.

It's just... I still gotta ask though.

What went wrong here?

[best-enemies]

You know what I don't see people talking about enough? Catherine and Warrick. Yeah, they're good colleagues and friends but at the same time they have this insane chemistry that drives me up a fucking wall every time they share a moment. And they do feel an attraction to each other, as has been shown many times (Catherine being jealous when Warrick got married and wondering what could have been, that scene when she nearly falls and he catches her...). I know they had to follow the rules but god they had such a good relationship and worked so well together. I loved their scenes, including the platonic ones.

[graff-aganda]

I think I want to try to get better at giving comments to peoples art more, and just responding to peoples posts more... Or even just talking to people in general. 🤔

[honey-tongued-devil]

↞[arcane preference] founding out you were injured in crossfire↠

Since I've created a Bluesky profile and wrote my thesis on Arcane, I'll be posting both old and new drawings there as soon as the time comes. I'm taking advantage of this little space to promote my other social account. honey-tongued.bsky.social Also, I've received both comments and requests, but Tumblr decided I couldn’t post for a week (my internet connection is terrible). I want to let you know that I appreciate them, and I'll get to everything as soon as I can. So, feel free to leave comments, feedback, or requests!

Jayce: 

- This is the worst news he could receive: he's a scholar, he has no idea how to handle these situations, and, most of all, he's forced to confront his pride.  

- Not only was he unable to protect you now, but what if it happens again? Even if he's there, he wouldn't know what to do.  

- What if there's a next time? What if it doesn't turn out as well next time?  

- His self-sabotage leads him to distance himself from you for a few days, not because he doesn't want to be near you while you're hurting, but because he's ashamed of not being able to protect the person he loves.  

- On the bright side, for even just a second, he remembers the original purpose of his research: making the city safe, helping people.  

- But on the negative side, with no one to blame, more than ever, the people of Zaun appear to him as beasts, second-class humans who can't be redeemed in any way.  

- When he finally gathers the courage to see you again, he tries to make amends for everything: for not protecting you, for not being able to, for allowing someone to hurt you, and for not being there during your recovery.  

- He'll literally do anything to be forgiven: every morning you'll find breakfast in bed, if it's cold at night he'll prepare a warmer for your feet, and despite his squeamishness, he'll personally tend to your wounds, even if it makes him feel queasy.

Viktor:

- He tries to help you in every way possible, even ignoring his own pain.  

- He feels sadness, regrets that you went out alone and ended up in such a situation. He can't help but imagine the fear you must have felt, the confusion, and the loneliness when the guards intervened, and you woke up alone in the hospital.  

- He may be a scholar, but first and foremost he's a man with a moral code, and secondly, he's from Zaun: if he has any work, appointments, or lectures, he'll skip them all, maybe muttering a few insults in his thick accent at the most insistent people, and make up for it at night.  

- Plans, ideas, codes, anything – but he won't leave you alone unless you ask him to.  

- He takes care of you meticulously, respecting schedules, bringing you meals in bed, changing your bandages until your skin heals, and you're able to stand on your own again.  

- He doesn't mind helping you – as a chronically ill person who refuses others' help, he's learned to do everything on his own, and he's almost happy that his skills can be useful to someone else.

Ekko:

- Is it something totally normal in the lanes? Yes.  

- Does this stop Ekko from panicking? No.  

- He's the one who finds you and brings you to the others, but he doesn't want, nor can he afford, to be seen panicking. So, he swallows his despair and tries to act as normal as possible while ten other people rush to help you.  

- His face remains expressionless as the most skilled remove debris, clean the wound, stitch your torn flesh, and bandage you, but his foot keeps tapping the floor with force and speed, revealing his anxiety.  

- When the others insist that it's best you stay in the makeshift infirmary, he tries not to protest, but suddenly every moment of the day becomes an excuse to pass by: to bring you stolen sweets from Piltover, to tell you about some expedition, maybe even steal a kiss or fall asleep leaning against your mattress.  

- It's an overwhelming fear, but the fear of losing you makes him unable to think rationally, and all he feels is how much he misses you, even while you're right there with him.

Vander:

- A crossfire from the other side of the river was already a big enough provocation to alert him and prepare to defend the city or, if absolutely necessary, to strike back.  

- But you, as an accidental victim, are a huge problem.  

- He doesn’t have the heart to pull away from you, and when he does, he can’t help but feel frustrated, angry at himself, knowing he hasn’t been able to keep his city under control like he promised—to you, to Piltover, to everyone.  

- He’ll ask for your forgiveness by kissing the scarred skin every day, even if you insist it’s not his fault, and if you remember even one of the faces, he’ll go and handle the problem.  

- Not with violence, unless necessary, but it’s not about personal justice; rather, it’s about protecting the other citizens of the alleys too.  

- Even after you’ve healed, he’ll insist it’s absolutely necessary to carry you everywhere you need to go, claiming a very good doctor told him so.  

- And the memory of the scar will be tiny compared to all the marks Vander has left on you.  

Silco:

- Private justice is absolutely the first option, even though you were an accidental victim.  

- He’ll call all his goons and associates for a meeting while you’re still bedridden, to see if they’ve heard, seen, or been involved in any armed conflict, and if he doesn’t get a face or a name from them, he’ll turn to the brothel, the house of all information,  

- Until he finds who hurt you and makes sure they can’t do it again.  

- Silco isn’t fazed by blood or open wounds, but despite having enough experience to handle it himself, at least on the first day, he’ll take you to Singed to make sure you’re in the best condition.  

- In the following days, he’ll take care of you himself, but he has pride, a façade, and little emotional communication skills, so he won’t openly show how worried he is, relying entirely on the fact that you don’t know about the murder of your assailant and remember nothing of the visit to Singed.  

- But the only reason you heal so well and so quickly is that, even if he doesn’t know how to express it, all the love he feels is poured into the care he gives you.  

Jinx:

- Flashbacks. So many. Too many.  

- At some point, she’ll even convince herself that she’s the one who shot you, leading to a complete breakdown.  

- She punches her head, scratches herself without realizing it, her nose bleeds, and her eyes are bloodshot.  

- It takes her a while to convince herself that she wasn’t the one who shot you, even though the hallucinations overlap images of you with memories of her armed, creating waking nightmares that feel increasingly real.  

- As much as she’d like to ask her father for help, even just to give you a cleaner room, she feels responsible and is too scared that if she stays away from you, you’ll forget her. That’s why she sets up a little space for you and takes care of you herself, though not always painlessly.  

- She’s pulled bullets out of her own body more times than not after missions; what might seem like dangerous, delicate work to someone else is almost routine for her by now.  

- Once she has a suspicion of who might have done it, she’ll make sure they learn their lesson. 

 

Vi:

- Anger.  

- Why were you out alone? Why didn’t you leave as soon as you saw the crowd getting too big? Why were you in that area?  

- But her anger is just panic pouring out like a flood, the fear of not being able to protect the one she loves twists her stomach, making her feel like she might throw up, like she’s dying inside.  

- None of those questions mean she blames you, but she doesn’t know how to feel, what to think, or even what to do.  

- She’ll do everything to help you—bandaging you, cleaning your wounds, staying silent and giving her full attention to make up for not being there when you needed her, even though that’s not true.  

- And when the scar forms, she’ll kiss it every single day, every single night, like a little ritual between the two of you.  

Caitlyn:

- Safety first.  

- She’ll be the one to assess how bad the injury is, and if there are any foreign objects in your body, there’s a good chance she’ll try to handle it herself, even though at first it might seem a bit barbaric.  

- She’ll give you the guest room and call the family doctor to make sure you’re okay, that you don’t need anything else, and she’ll take care of what’s necessary, even teasing you a bit to hide her worry.  

- "A bullet in the leg from being caught in crossfire? Very vintage, I must say."  

- What you won’t know is that she’ll quietly increase security, not in an oppressive way, but just enough to make both you and the other citizens feel safer.  

- Her family won’t get involved directly, but they won’t stop her either. Sometimes Cassandra herself will make sure her daughter finds the tray to bring up to you, though she’ll never be too open about it.  

- The perfect rehabilitation? Long walks in the villa’s garden, so you can stop for some cookies or tea when you get tired.  

Mel:

- Flashbacks, but less personal than Jinx’s.  

- Her mother would call her weak if she knew how it kills her to see someone barely scratched by crossfire, and that realization soon turns into frustration, which then becomes anger.  

- She tries to stay calm, but her voice sounds like she’s scolding you, and then like she’s scolding the servants, or anyone else who crosses her path.  

- Two hours of lecture if you’re lucky—why you shouldn’t go out without a guard, why you shouldn’t put yourself in dangerous situations, why the enforcers are utterly useless and can’t find anyone responsible, even though the fight was so intense.  

- She’ll focus entirely on the bureaucratic side because little Mel was never taught how to deal with strong emotions, and she’s definitely feeling them now but can’t afford that vulnerability, even though she knows you’re safe.  

- She won’t take care of you herself, but she’ll always stay in the room. Not because she doesn’t want to, to be clear, but because she wants you to have the best care possible and prefers to leave it to a top professional rather than her inexperienced hands.  

- In return, she’ll triple the amount of affection and caresses—more to calm herself than you, but you won’t be the one to complain.  

Sevika:

- She needs a moment.  

- She knows she has to report to Silco that there was a firefight, that someone is threatening the people, but part of her just wants to grab those responsible and crush their heads with her bare hands, doing both you and her boss a favor. Yet, another part of her doesn’t want to leave you alone or take you with her.  

- She knows how to handle these things; she’s lost an arm, and Silco’s goons often come back in worse shape, which is why she’ll take care of you herself, in complete silence.  

- She’ll wait until you’re asleep to place a water bottle, a glass, some painkillers, and some bread on the nightstand next to your bed. And when she’s sure you’re fully asleep, she’ll leave a soft kiss on your forehead before putting on her cloak and heading out to the Last Drop.  

- There, she’ll release her anger in a brawl or two, talk to her boss, and search for the reason why she feels so awful at the bottom of her third glass of whiskey.  

[voids-ideas]

Ok I am going to do this simply because the first thing I will put here I NEED to do it and I have 0 motivation to do it even though it is EXTREMELY important

In fact, I think that's the reason why I don't want to do it... anyway

If this gets to 30 notes, I do that thing ✅️

50 notes, I call to ask if my doctor's appointment has been scheduled (I've been avoiding it for two weeks now) ✅️

100 notes, I go wash my shoes that have long needed washing and are just sitting there, existing, waiting for me to deign to wash them. ✅️

200 notes, I finish organizing my room (I organized it halfway and then left a bunch of things that still don't have a defined place) ✅️

500 notes, I use the things I have to bleach and color my hair. The only thing that has stopped me is the fear of doing it wrong or being too lazy to maintain it. ✅️

1k notes, I stop doing things that I know will trigger my chronic pain with the pure intention of confirming that the pain was indeed real (don't do this. 0 recommended) ✅️

5k notes, I try some new food without fear of wasting money by buying something I most likely won't like (my autism hates new foods) ✅️

10k notes, I wear my bi flag earrings in front of someone I wouldn't usually wear them with. I trust that they possibly wouldn't have a problem with me being bi, but I would never get up the courage to tell them anything ✔��� (I haven't, but that person was in my room next to where the earrings are. They were 0% hidden) ✅️

20k notes, wtf I have absolutely no idea. If it comes to this, ehhh... Honestly, I have no idea what I'm doing here. Do I promise to be honest in therapy and stop telling them that everything is perfect even though nothing has ever been perfect? Yeah, that probably works. Please don't go this far, I don't know how to do this. Maybe I should... but... it would be awful to learn it

April 2024: I stop procrastinating editing this post with the things I've already done. I WANT THE HAIR SO MUCH BUT IT'S SO DIFFICULT

May 2024: Red hair, red hair, red hair. I'M CROWLEY, RED HAIR!!!!!

[peachfairys]

started taking antidepressants ❤️ day 2 and i have a headache that won't go away no matter what i do. but i'm being so brave about it

[nikibogwater]

Actually while I'm thinking about it, I just wanna say that the more live-action remakes Disney shlups out like shoveled manure, the more amazed I am that Cinderella (2015) exists. It breaks literally every standard of Disney's LA remakes.

It's not a shot-for-shot remake of the original 1950 animated film, though it does include small references and homages to it, but only when such things can be incorporated organically into the story.

The creators understood and respected the cross-cultural significance of the Cinderella story. They didn't want to "fix" it, or add some wacky twist to it, they just wanted to make the best possible version of the Quintessential Cinderella that they could.

Everything that could be done practically was done practically. The carriage was a real, the horses pulling it were real, and all of the other animals (with the exception of the mice and lizards, since their performance was a lot more involved than the others') were real living animals, the lizard footman and goose carriage driver were wearing prosthetics instead of just having their animal features added in post, the Fairy Godmother's dress had little LED lights sewn into it so that it would actually glow for real, the ballroom set was built by hand and included real chandeliers with more than 2000 total candles that were all actually lit for the scene, and I could go on but you get the point.

There's a ton of attention paid to little details that make the world feel real and lived in. Ella's shoes are always a little scuffed and dirty. Her farm dress is faded and wrinkled. When she breaks down and runs away to the woods, she rides her horse bareback (which, once again, was a thing Lily James actually did, no stunt-double or editing in post), because not only is that something a country girl like her would know how to do, but it also makes sense that with as upset as she is, she wouldn't want to waste time with saddling the horse. When she's dancing with the prince, it's visually obvious that he is leading her and giving her cues because of course Ella wouldn't know the latest ballroom dances, and would need him to guide her through it.

Hey speaking of dancing, y'know what else this movie does that no other LA remake has been allowed to do (at least not to this extent)? ROMANCE. Land sakes alive, this is one of the most unabashedly and yet still tastefully romantic movies I've ever seen. Ella and Kit are just oozing romantic chemistry from the moment they lock eyes for the first time. It all comes down to the fact that these two characters both have the same core values of courage and kindness, which makes their admiration for each other feel grounded and believable. Richard Madden also really sells Kit's feelings for Ella with the way his eyes go all big and soft whenever he looks at her. And don't even get me started on Lily's performance as Ella. Her quiet awe that someone as powerful as the prince loves her. The timidity and fear that she's not really worthy of that. The selfless determination to protect him from her family's cruelty, even if it means she'll never see him again, I'm just-- *banging my fist against the table and screaming into a pillow*

Absolutely god-tier costume design. No notes, I think Sandy Powell's work speaks for itself. Btw, in case you were somehow still wondering, yes, Ella's ballgown is fully practical--those layers upon layers of dreamy silk skirts are real. CG was only used to brighten up the blue color to make her stand out from the crowd more.

Wicked stepmother was allowed to actually be wicked. The movie never tries to make you sympathize with Lady Tremaine, or shift the blame off to someone else. And her villainy is given an extra layer of depth with the reveal that she is a dark reflection of Ella. They've both lost people they loved, but where Ella refused to let her grief get in the way of kindness, Lady Tremaine became utterly consumed by it. She views the death of her first husband as a sort of twisted justification for pursuing all her worst impulses. She despises Ella for her ability to flourish even while enduring terrible suffering, for being everything Lady Tremaine was either unable or flat-out refused to be.

Also Cate Blanchet absolutely SLAYS in this role. Hands-down my favorite portrayal of the wicked stepmother character.

Anyways, TLDR: Cinderella (2015) is the only Disney live-action remake that can justify its own existence and that's because it actively defies everything the LA remakes are today.

[primofate]

Confessions Series - Part 2: Description [Genshin Impact Male Characters]

In a nutshell: He asks if you have your eyes set on someone. You start describing HIS features and watch for his reaction. (Hint: He likes you too)

Other works in this series: (Part 1 - Overheard)

Warnings: The usual, haven't written in a while, please forgive mistakes, bit of angst in Diluc (couldn't help it), I am a sleep deprived mother, some profanity, for some reason did not feel like writing Zhongli though he's one of my faves.

Characters: Aether, Albedo, Alhaitham, Ayato, Baizhu, Bennett, Chongyun, Cyno, Dainsleif, Diluc, Gaming, Heizou, Itto, Kaeya, Lyney, Neuvillette, Scaramouche, Tartaglia, Wriothesley, Xiao, gn!reader

Personal Favourites: Diluc, Wriothesley

Aether

"Yeah, I do," you start. "He's very selfless...He's always running around helping other people,"

Aether nods, intense gaze in his eyes while listening.

"Hmm...He has...a partner. Like a companion he always travels with..."

Aether's brows start to furrow and his head tilts the slightest bit. Paimon flying next to him has no clue who it is whatsoever.

"He's not originally from Teyvat...He's on a journey, you see..." this is where you start getting nervous

You see it click in Aether's head slowly, and his eyes start to widen the slightest bit

"Hey, that sounds an awful lot like you, traveller! Why have we never met this person before, Y/N?" Paimon asks and you only smile.

"P-Paimon," Aether glances at her and then back to you. It's silent for a moment. Paimon is super confused.

But Aether being Aether didn't want to get the wrong idea and racks up the courage to ask you one last question. "He's on a journey...to look for his twin sister?"

You smile the brightest smile you've ever given him. "Correct!"

"Ah...Well..." Aether starts to feel the heat on his cheeks. "That's..." he doesn't say anything else for a few seconds. "Don't get me wrong, I'm just...I'm happy!"

Is basically flustered when he realizes you've technically just confessed to him.

Albedo

"Simply put, I think he's dedicated to his craft," You shrug and smile

"...An admirable trait," he responds.

"He's frequently in Dragonspine. He spends a bit of time in his lab there," you decide to just go straight for the obvious.

Albedo pauses. "I...see..." Turns to you with a small smile "I wasn't aware that you were that fond of me,"

"Now you know," you simply say and try to play it off with a wave of your hand.

He chuckles under his breath and strides over to you while saying. "Well then, I suppose it's my turn to talk about the person I've set my eyes on,"

Proceeds to describe you accurately, down to your likes and dislikes. In his eyes, you seem like something so precious and you can't help but feel a bit embarrassed.

Alhaitham

"Hmm... Sort of," you explain. "He's a little...hard to reach,"

Alhaitham "...and you still pursue him?"

You laugh a bit "I'm hardly pursuing him, I'm just...observing. I like watching him, even though he has the most unreadable face I've seen,"

Alhaitham goes quiet for a moment. He catches on fast, he already has an idea but is cautious about what he says. "...I see," he doesn't ask anything else, but you continue to offer information.

"He likes reading. Really smart guy...but kind of no nonsense type. Very straight to the point," You begin to feel a little nervous so you pretend to read your own book with a small shrug.

The silence is deafening.

"I suspect that type of person will be hard to put up with," he suddenly says aloud and you chuckle in response.

"Possibly, but he seems to be putting up with me too...I guess?"

He suddenly closes his book and leans forward to pry the one in your hands away. He locks his gaze with you. "...'Putting up' is hardly the word I would use." his lips twitch the slightest bit before continuing. "He has little to no patience for other people...so if he keeps you around...perhaps it signals something else,"

"Something else...As in, I'm special?"

Again he quiets for a moment, before he stands up, chair scraping the floor. "...Precisely," he turns to start walking out of the library, waving a hand behind him. "I'll pick you up in the morning tomorrow,"

Ayato

"I do, but he's a very busy sort of man,"

Ayato "Is that so?" he pours tea for you.

"Quite. He's also a very important person,"

He hums and watches the billowing steam from the tea. "It sounds as if I might know this person," but he genuinely doesn't know it's him, he just thinks its another noble.

"...You most definitely know him. He has a sister. Lovely girl." This is where you avert your gaze from him in fear of him instantly connecting the dots.

He talks in pauses "A...sister..." His mind is starting to make connections but he can't be quite sure yet. So he prods further. "...Does she happen to have a vision?"

"A cryo vision holder, yes," you're biting the inside of your lip at this point. There's a moment of silence before you hear Ayato laughing rather gleefully, like he was amused by a story.

"I see." he ends with a chuckle. "I apologize for being so busy, Y/N," he smiles at you "I promise I'll do my best to arrange my priorities in order to spend more time with you,"

Baizhu

"He takes his job too seriously and can be quite reckless...Sometimes he even puts himself in danger,"

Changsheng catches on immediately. The snake had already known for a while. Baizhu was just being dense. "Oh here we go," the snake half whines.

Baizhu gives it a weird look before turning his attention back to you. "That does sound reckless,"

"I've told him a couple of times to think about himself too...but I guess he's just really passionate about his job,"

Baizhu sort of shrugs, "What IS his job?"

"...Well for starters he owns a pharmacy around town,"

To Baizhu the realization hits all too slowly. It's not that he was slow or dense, but he was having a hard time believing that it was him you were talking about, specially when you hadn't said it outfront.

"...You do realize I'm the only one who owns a pharmacy around town?" he asks, eyes piercing through you and awaiting your answer.

Changsheng is the one who answers for you. "Yes you ridiculous doctor, Y/N's pertaining to you!"

It's the first time you've seen him blush and he turns his head away when he does so. "I-I see, well...that's rather, unexpected...but not unwelcome,"

Clears his throat "Just give me a moment"

Changsheng would roll its eyes if it could.

Bennett

"Has a lot of energy...Sometimes I wonder where he gets all of it. I really like him for that though."

Deflates as soon as you start talking about your "crush". What kind of answer was he expecting anyway? That you had eyes for him?

"He has a bit of a...problem when it comes to luck," you continue

Bennett stops, you look at him and you can practically see the gears in his head starting to turn a little faster.

"Y-Y/N? Are you talking about..." then the gears suddenly stop. "Oh what am I saying, it can't be. Ahahaha! Let's go!" starts walking again as if nothing happened

Your jaw drops and you're forced to just DIRECTLY tell him you're talking about him.

"...Oh...Oh! F-For real?! Oh...Sorry... I just thought... there's no way! B-But, I'm really glad! Really!"

Chongyun

"Hmm...He's a little shy...but he's very responsible,"

Chongyun stares at you intently and nods as if taking notes.

"He doesn't like spicy stuff,"

Chongyun nods twice, eagerly.

"He's very dedicated in learning about thaumaturgy,"

Chongyun blanks out, brows furrow but still nods. Slowly.

"He's really good with a claymore too!"

Chongyun stops and stares at you, you see a hint of red gracing his cheeks "Y/N...You can't possibly be...talking about... m-m-m-"

Can't seem to say it, so you outright say that it is, in fact, him.

Combusts into a tomato red

Cyno

"How do I say this...He's a pretty strict guy." The two of you are playing Invokation TCG during this convo.

"Mmhmm..." Cyno is focused on his cards, frankly he doesn't give a craps ass who you're into. He didn't even know why he asked, he just dug himself a hole.

"...but he really only takes his work seriously. It's his job to be serious, I guess. I think that's what Matras need to do," he finished his turn and its yours now, though he's still studying his cards intently. Until you get to the Matra part.

"He's a Matra?" You rarely see a surprised face on Cyno so you focus your gaze on him. "Which one?" He further asks. Honestly he looks about to murder someone.

You blank out a bit at how intense his stare was, "Well...You know. That one, the one who's really into Invokation TCG,"

He immediately follows up without missing a beat "I don't know anyone else who's into--" then it clicks.

It was so damn silent for a good 10 seconds. You clear your throat, tear your eyes off him "Um, it's your turn,"

STILL doesn't budge until he finally goes back to his cards with a whisper, you can't really tell but he looks slightly bashful and you can barely, BARELY hear him "...If I win then we go on a date,"

"Okay, and if you lose?"

Cyno "...I'm not gunna lose,"

"See, I told you he's a really serious guy,"

Dainsleif

"I think he's a very dedicated person," you get lost in thought a little, thinking about him. "Whenever I look at him...Sometimes I feel as if there's a certain sadness in him... Perhaps he blames himself for not being able to protect his nation,"

He IMMEDIATELY knows. And he knows that you hurt for him too. How could he not?

"He searches for answers... I don't know for how long, I suppose a long, long time," you close your eyes, imagining how long he must have been wandering Teyvat.

You only open your eyes when you feel a hand brush against yours. He's looking straight at you, neither happy nor sad. "...You don't have to feel that way, for my circumstances,"

The brush against your hand disappears and reappears next to your cheek, his fingers gently resting on it "...Knowing that you feel that way, has taken away some of the burden that I shoulder,"

His gaze suddenly hardens and his voice drops to a whisper, "But please, just don't end up in the same way as everyone else,"

Diluc (I don't know why I end up writing a whole novel for this guy. I guess he's my OG favourite)

You pause for a moment, wondering how to describe Diluc. "...Sometimes... I feel as if I know a lot about him and yet... he's still far off in the distance,"

Diluc, rifling through paperwork, doesn't even look at you. "...That tells me nothing about him," there's a bit of bite in his statement.

You sigh a little, "I mean, simply said he's a hardworking man. He always has Mondstadt's best interests in mind...but he prefers to work alone,"

He's silent, but you can still hear the paper shuffling.

"....but people love him. They care for him. I suppose I understand why he keeps a distance but..." at this point you don't even realize that you're just rambling and staring into space. Sort of in a daze of thinking out loud. "...isn't it lonely? ...I suppose I shouldn't assume how he feels. Maybe he's fine with it...I just wonder how long till he sees us..." there's silence, no ruffle of papers, you're still just staring at the bookshelf and you continue in a monotone voice. "...or sees me,"

You blink, and all of a sudden its as if a magic spell is cast on you and you wake up to the reality that you've been rambling about him. You sit up straight "Oh," then turn to him with a careful smile. You don't think he knows what or who you're talking about anyway. "I better get going," you stand, "Jean must be waiting for me."

You leave, and he doesn't stop you.

You don't really think anything of it, feeling as if your whole monologue was very vague...but to your surprise he knocks at your door in the evening, there's a bit of rain falling.

"Diluc? You're drenche--"

"I see you,"

The determination in his voice lulls you to keep quiet and only stare up at him, wondering if he had more to say, but instead of saying something, he leans in, wrapping his arms around you and resting his forehead on your shoulder, as if he had been defeated.

You only welcome his embrace, and, for the first time in a long time. Diluc finally feels like he's home.

Gaming

"Passion!" You nod your head as you say it. "He knows what he wants to do and is incredibly dedicated to it!"

Gaming looks surprised, has no idea you're talking about him. "Huh! That's really cool!" He thinks he's the total opposite. "Wish I could be as dedicated as him."

You kind of laugh out loud and he raises his eyebrows and tilts his head. "What?"

"Gosh you really sell yourself short," you shake your head "Anyway, this guy, right, he kinda works two jobs," you put out your hand to count one and two "One, for the Secure Transport Agency and two, he's in a Wushou Troupe,"

Gaming instantly straightens his back and looks at you wide-eyed. You figure you had to be direct when it came to him otherwise he'd never get it with how modest he was.

"...You're...talking about...me?" You smile at him sympathetically.

"You know, Gaming, I wish you saw yourself the way others saw you. You're a great person,"

Big smile, but legit looks like he's about to cry. "Between the two of us? I think you're greater Y/N,"

Heizou

"...Honestly he's kind of a flirt," you raise your eyebrows at the fact and kind of question yourself why you like this kind of person. "Makes me wonder if he does that to everyone, you know?"

Heizou hums and puts his hand under his chin in a "thinking position"

"That's not enough evidence to go by. Perhaps we can investigate this guy together to see if he's worthy,"

You look at him, pursing your lips while musing and giving him a suspicious look. You're not sure if he's figured it out.

He's got no idea. I mean, it was a pretty general description. "Any distinguishing features?" he asks.

You look at him in a deadpan manner. "Red hair, I guess. And moles under his eyes,"

He looks back at you with a matching blank face.

Then breaks into a wide, close eyed grin. "I see! From experience, that person is truly trustworthy,"

You sigh a little, "Is he though?"

He chuckles heartily. "I promise you he is," offers you his hand with a genuine smile. "Let me show you,"

Itto

"Ummm... big, tall, strong looking guy. Intimidating at first look but he's actually a dork," you explain.

Itto crosses his arms above his chest with an unamused face. "Tch! No way! Ain't no one taller than me in Inazuma!" Then he looks smug again. "Anyway, keep goin'. What else?" Only asked you because he wants to see what your "type" is.

"...Popular? Nah... Infamous is the word, I think. He kinda gets into a lot of trouble,"

Itto raises a brow "You serious? Whaddyou want with someone like that?" as if he wasn't a troublemaker himself.

"I mean... He also loves life and somehow always sees the good side of things."

Itto "Eh... guess that's a good thing..." folds his arms behind his head and huffs.

This guy is never gunna get it so you drop more obvious hints. "He's an oni who has his own gang."

For a split second he looked like he was going to get it, and then... "WHAT?! There's another oni who wants to challenge the Arataki Gang?"

"That's not what I--"

punches his fist onto his palm "Lead the way Y/N, let me at 'em!"

"I'm talking about you!"

"Huh?"

"Itto, there's no other oni around town!" leave it to him to make you exasperated.

He quiets for a few seconds. "...But Y/N..."

You expectantly stare at him, curious what he was going to say about your confession.

"...Did you just call me a dork?"

Of course that's what he picks up on.

When he finally processes it though, he's stoked and on an all time high.

Kaeya

"...good at talking to people, and he knows it... Exudes charisma like he breathes air," You're saying this with a glare.

He chuckles and rests his head on his fist. "Why, pray tell, do you look angry when saying that?"

"Not angry..." you mumble under your breath, eyes trailing away from him. "Just... probably a lot of people like him,"

"And you don't like that?" He smirks. He totally knows.

"...No...Well...I'm okay with it... It's just... I think he's so much more than what he shows to others,"

That, he wasn't expecting. He actually feels genuinely touched.

"Sure he jokes around a lot...Is good at making people feel comfortable...but he's also kind...and you can always count on him," there's a faraway gaze in your eyes now, a small smile on your face. "To me, he's...a safe space."

Kaeya's smile drops. It looks like he's unhappy and you think that maybe you've made a mistake. Still...there's no way he knows that it's him, right? It was kinda vague...

You're about to stand and excuse yourself but he catches your wrist easily. "...You know..." he starts, meeting you eye to eye. He looks at you as if he's looking into your soul, his eyes the gentlest you've seen them.

"You make it so hard, not to fall deeper in love with you,"

Lyney (I have no idea how this ended up so dramatic)

"He isn't exactly a trickster...but he has a lot of tricks up his sleeve,"

Lyney "Oh?" Raises an eyebrow. Something kind of clicks in him, but he shakes it off. "The good kind or the bad kind?"

You stall a little, thinking of the answer, knowing that he's Fatui. "The...good...kind,"

"You don't sound very sure," he gives you a lopsided smile.

"It's complicated," you admit. "Regardless of the circumstances though, I think he's a great magician,"

You watch his face turn into surprise quite quickly, but he still looks and feels unsure of himself. "Oh, perhaps...I can learn a thing or two from him?"

Your smile turns forced and hard. He can't be serious? He STILL doesn't know, or...what?

"I...Well..." You don't know what to say next, but he seems to get the idea.

"Sorry, have I put you in a hard place? Ahaha..." Scratches the back of his head. "My apologies, I was just curious,"

This, for some reason, really puts you off and you feel as if you've been rejected, even though you technically had not outright told him that you're talking about him.

It seems silly for you to get upset, but you are. So you stand, and make a request of him. "Can we... just pretend this conversation didn't happen?" and you give him some sort of excuse that you need to run an errand or something, and you're off, leaving him feeling...guilty. But he doesn't know why. Or does he?

Lyney would look like the type of person who would be confident about himself. But, really, as a magician, he had to be 1000% sure about something before he went ahead with it, and so...that's where his doubt stemmed from.

Lynnette is really the one who knocks some sense into him. "...and you...let Y/N leave?" after hearing the story from him.

"Oh, Lyney... Regardless of what Y/N feels... For you, next to Freminet and I, is there someone else that you love dearly?"

That's how he ends up at your doorstep. Though you've seen his disappearing rose trick hundreds of times, he was the most sincere at that moment, when he says sorry that he didn't get the hint and to give him a chance.

Neuvillette

"Serious person. He seems to put his work first, above all else," you say. "I respect him a lot for that,"

Neuvillette is interested in what you say, but doesn't know at all that it's him. "He does sound quite respectable," he says while looking through some files.

"A long time ago he said that he feels like he's an outsider...but really I feel like there isn't anyone who knows Fontaine the way that he does,"

Neuvillette, moves the file he was reading downwards, just to look at you questioningly. "He's from Fontaine?" this was surprising to him.

"Well...he currently resides in Fontaine, yes," you nod.

"Ah," he answered curtly. "And I have never met him?" he asks.

"...He's very busy." you bite your lip, about to say something and you know that the next sentence is the point of no return. "He's the Iudex...so it's hard to catch him,"

You swear you can hear your heart hammering in your chest.

You see him put his files down and just stare at you with a sort of...unsure look.

His shoulders relax, he wasn't even aware he had been tense that whole time. "That... must have taken a lot of consideration and courage to say," he clears his throat.

You only nod your head slowly, moving your gaze away from him with an awkward smile. Hand absentmindedly grabbing a book and flipping through the pages...you had no idea what you were doing out of nervousness.

"I apologize...I'm unfamiliar with what to do in these kinds of situations... However," he pauses and seems to think carefully about what he was going to say next. "Please don't take it as a rejection. I'd be honored to navigate this with you, if you would so graciously have me,"

Scaramouche

"He's an asshole," you bite back a laugh.

He instantly knows.

"Actually he acts all tough only to give in to his inner-kind-of-agreeable-personality,"

He snorts

"What? Am I wrong?" you challenge him. You KNOW that he knows. The two of you have been hovering around each other for a while, and there's a certain closeness between the two of you. Though that line was never crossed.

He doesn't answer you back but prods you more. "Is that all? You like that he's an asshole? Are you some type of masochist?"

You almost laugh. "No, you moron. I'm saying he has a weird way of showing he cares. He's always biting my head about not being careful enough. But if he really didn't care he wouldn't be screaming at me, you know what I mean?"

Scaramouche grumbles something under his breath and crosses his arms, turning away from you.

"Say that again?" You ask, not hearing what he said.

"...I said, you're not as stupid as I thought you were," shrugs his concealed embarrassment off and turns back to you all nonchalant again. "Anyway, stop yapping and get going, we got things to do,"

Snatches your hand and starts pulling you to walk with him.

Tartaglia (I feel like this is ridiculously short but I also feel like Tartaglia would have known a LONG time ago if the two of you had the feels for each other)

"Oh man...Probably the most reckless man I know,"

Also knows. Instantly. But shuts his mouth just so he can listen to you talk about him, but it gets deep real quick.

"In my opinion he's a handsome guy. Real charming," you smirk the tiniest bit. "but I don't know if I can keep up with him, honestly. It's a little hard not knowing when he's going to come back...or if he's even gunna come back at all,"

You weren't going to hide the fact that you were scared shitless he didn't return from Fontaine for ages. You legitimately thought he had died.

Tartaglia stops you there, by suddenly cradling your cheek. "Y/N," he's wearing a pained expression. "I'm sorry,"

"Don't be, it's your job, right?" You reassure him, and shrug.

He sighs "Yes, but I'll promise this to you as I've promised my family," he smiles, the most confident smile you've seen on him. Even more confident than when he wields his blades. "I'll come back to you, I always will,"

Wriothesley

"Er... How do I say this... He kind of has some... big boss energy?"

"Oh?" he sips at his tea, glancing at you while he looks at today's paper. "So he's a bigshot?" he asks curiously.

"Somewhat, yes. Intimidating at first look, but...he just has a great sense of responsibility," you pick at the selection of cakes and cookies he has.

"Huh," he lets out in a quick huff. In the deepest, DEEPEST parts of his mind there is a NANOSECOND that he thinks its him but it gets erased so quickly he's not even sure that he had thought about it.

"Sounds like a good person... Any interesting, weird quirks?" he grins as he says this, yet again glancing at your expression.

Your lips tremble a bit at what you're about to say, because you're SURE he was going to get it once you say it. You gulp and feel the hairs at the back of your neck stand before you say out loud "He likes tea. I kind of wonder if it's an addiction," you can't meet his eyes.

He's looking at the paper he's reading but nothing.registers.in.his.brain.its.like.it.stopped.working.

You shift in the uncomfortable silence but he calmly folds up the newspaper and places it on his table. "...I'm inclined to ask, because it would be embarrassing if I got the wrong idea,"

"Mmhmm," you pop a cookie in your mouth to distract yourself.

"By any chance, are you...talking about me?"

"Mm," you nod your head, still not looking at him and glue your eyes on the cookies instead, out of embarrassment.

Suddenly chuckles. You brave a peek at him, now covering his eyes with a single hand, head tipped back to rest on his chair.

You're not sure if that's a good or bad thing.

"Sorry, no, it's just... I didn't think it would happen this way." Visibly takes in a big breath and sighs it out slowly. Seems to have regained his composure and is back to his confident self, smiling at you. "Thanks Y/N, I... don't think it's much of a secret that I enjoy your company too. I'm just a little embarrassed that you beat me to it...some big boss energy huh?"

Xiao

"...He takes on everything by himself. I worry about him," You look at the stars as you say this. Xiao doesn't say anything.

"But I'm glad that he's opening up a lot more now. It's great to see him among friends,"

Xiao has a feeling at this point, that its him you're talking about, but he still doesn't say anything and keeps his gaze in front of him rather than on you.

"Yes, the road in front of him is long but...he's also already come a long way," you sigh a little "The time of Rex Lapis has long gone, but he still sticks to his principles. I think his dedication is part of what I like about him,"

This is when he turns to you, blank look on his face, contemplating on what to do. When you turn to meet his gaze, its then that he decides to bridge the gap between the two of you, shoulder to shoulder, leaning in sideways to catch your lips in a chaste and rather shy kiss.

"You should give a bit of credit to yourself, for putting up with me all these years, Y/N,"

End!

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[ddejavvu]

mean!logan noticing you’re obsessed with his biceps so he makes you use them to get off one day >:)))

Greed - Logan Howlett x Reader

send me mean!logan requests!

contents/warnings: mean!logan, degradation, arm/bicep fucking, strength/power imbalance, don't like don't read

thank you to @hanasnx for helping me workshop some possible positions, even if mine differs slightly from indy's 2 examples i had to consult the arm kink professional for guidance

"'Wish you'd speak up for yourself," Logan grunts one day, voice free of criticism but scrutinizing all the same, "Would be a hell of a lot easier to get you off."

"What?" You blink bewilderedly at him, watching as he slings a wife beater over his head, the white fabric barely stretching to cover his broad chest.

"Every time I flex my arms in front of you, you get all crazy. You never say it," Logan stands at the foot of the bed, watching as you squirm, "But I always smell it."

"Your arms are nice." You supply weakly, throat suddenly dry and hollow, "I like them."

"I know." Logan laughs, a huff that's not mean but might as well be for the way it mortifies you, "Like I said, I can tell. But you never say anything, honey. Why's that?"

You detest the way his attention is fixated solely on you. It makes you writhe in your seat, it makes an ache throb between your legs while your brain desperately grasps at straws to figure out what to say.

"I dunno," Is the brilliant response you land on, and his chest rocks with a silent scoff.

"I know why," He prods, crossing his arms. The arms that you can't stop thinking about. "You think talking about what you like is dirty, and you think you're oh-so-pure. But I can smell you- you smell filthy. You're no saint. I've had you choking on my cock before, you're not fooling me. So what do you want?"

Your eyes fall to his arms without any thought behind the motion. He notices, of course, because he's studying you for any miniscule reaction.

"That's not enough." Logan growls, frustration tinging his gruff voice, and you're sure he's smelling the growing arousal between your thighs, "I said tell me."

"I- I want..." You falter, the words on the tip of your tongue but more raunchy than you'd ever be brave enough to voice.

"If you can't ask for it, you're not getting it." Logan decides, the muscles in his biceps flexing as he tightens the way they're crossed against his chest.

You consider abandoning ship. Seceding into silence, and letting Logan down as well as yourself. Taking the safe route.

But you're throbbing. You're aching, Logan's scrutiny combined with the look of his flexed arms is sending you into overdrive, and there's a steady heartbeat between your thighs that's begging for attention. It works the same way booze does, emboldening you, and you blurt out with courage never-before-seen, "I want to ride your arms."

He looks half impressed that you'd said anything at all, and half stunned that you'd said that much, that plainly.

His brows raise, bushy and angled to create a perfect arch.

"Wow. Pretty nasty stuff." He muses, faux-considerate as if he hadn't demanded a voice from you. Still, he doesn't move- so why had he asked?

You shift gently in your seat, but his eyes track your every move like a hunter.

"Well," He lingers in place, arms still crossed, the perfect eye-candy for you, "You gonna say please, or what?"

"Please," You blurt with burning cheeks, and he snickers at your eagerness.

"See? You're not so sweet." He advances, arms coming uncrossed to brace his weight on the bed, meaning thick cords of muscle strain against the confines of his skin, showcased as he crawls towards you, "You couldn't even remember to say please, just demanded to get off on me like I'm some toy."

"Logan, that's not-"

"Inconsiderate." He decides, eyes on your body instead of your face as he scans over your thinly-clad chest, "You're only in it for the sex, aren't you, you little minx?"

"Stop." You plead, feeling as dirty as his words imply. You're not- Logan is the love of your life, but you won't pretend you hate sex with him. But he's making you feel so dirty, like a fiend who wants nothing but his dick.

His hand trails between your thighs but it's different this time, and his fingers toy with your clit only as a prerequisite. You let him open you up, you let his fingers ease your muscles looser as his mouth eases your own loose. His tongue dips inside and licks you into submission, your brain activity lowering the more he kisses you. He soon snakes his arm between your legs, offering you up your real prize: the thick, muscular width of his bicep.

It's an awkward angle, you won't lie. But squeezing your thighs around his arm presses delicious friction against your clit, and the rocking of your hips is an instinct more than it is a thought-out motion.

Logan rests on his stomach on the bed, his arm stretched out in front of him to provide your seat. It means he has to crane upwards to see you, and you thank his supernatural strength for the way that he doesn't break a sweat as you rub yourself wantonly on his arm. His face is not exactly at your own level, which means you can't kiss him silly like you want to. But craning his neck upwards means that his face lands between your tits, and you feel the rough burn of his scruff against your skin as he nestles into your warm skin.

Logan is, perhaps, the ideal individual to suit your cravings for arm muscles. Not only does he have the perfect build, but his increased strength means that he's able to bare his bicep for you to get off on, even lifting it off of the bed to offer you increased friction. Perhaps a normal man would tire in seconds, but Logan- Logan could hold on longer than you.

Grinding against the plentiful mass of muscle in his bicep means that you're rutting up against him, and you have to spread your legs as far apart as possible to ensure that your cunt is met with the already-slickened surface of Logan's bare arm. You're making a mess despite still being in your pajamas, because the shorts you'd been sleeping in offer very little fabric to defend Logan's skin from your copious arousal.

Logan nips at a spot on your left breast, humming gruffly into your chest as you gasp slightly at the intrusion. It breaks your concentration and you have to grip harder at the sheets to fall back into your laborious rhythm.

"Not easy, hm? You've gotta work for it," Logan grunts, mouth moving against your chest as he takes a nipple into his mouth, "Nasty girl, 's a real workout to fuck this dirty, isn't it?"

"Logan, I- I'm not dirty," You whimper, tears beading in your eyes at his gruff accusations, "I'm not."

His laugh is more of a bark than anything, and he ducks his head away from your chest to point with his chin at the mess you're making on his arm.

"That's not dirty? You're dripping- you're making a real mess'a my arm, sweetheart. Dirty little cunt's drooling all over me."

The image of your slick coating Logan's arm, glistening against his muscles throws your pleasure into overdrive. Your orgasm rapidly approaches, the memory of his fingers inside of you only minutes before making up completely for the lack of penetration you get from his bicep. You squeeze your thighs even tighter around Logan's arm, pinning it to your cunt with an almost painful force as you hump against it desperately.

"You're fucking filthy." Logan hisses against your tits, taking one in between his teeth and biting, hard, "Humping my arm like a damn dog. Feel good, honey? Feel how strong I am?"

He flexes harder, tenses his muscles just that much more, and you feel them stiffen impossibly harder beneath your pussy. It's that and the way he mouths at your tits, growling such indecent accusations into their flushed warmth that sends you over the edge, a feeble cry escaping your lips as your hips begin trembling, twitching as you grind against his arm impossibly faster to fulfil your orgasm.

You're sure the bedsheets have suffered your release as much as Logan's arm has, but he's never seriously chided you for making a mess, and you're sure he won't this time. He groans himself as you ride through your orgasm on his arm and you realize only now as you come down from your high that he's been rutting against the mattress, cock still trapped in the confines of his sweatpants. If he hasn't managed to get off on the mattress you'll help him now, granting him access to all the slick warmth that his arm provided.

Now the pressure of his bicep is overstimulating as it presses constantly against your cunt and you ease off of it, giving Logan a prime view of your ruined, sensitive cunt as you whine at the sensitivity.

"Impressive," He hums, "Never thought I'd have you rubbing all over my arm like that."

"It's really strong. You're- you're really strong, Logan, it's nice."

"Yeah?" He grins, more of a smirk perhaps, as something sharp invades his eyes, "All that muscle gets you going? Knowing I'm stronger than you?"

"You are," Your breath shudders as you let it out, and he pushes up on his arms, one still covered in your slick release. He seems suddenly intent on showcasing that strength difference, muscles bulging as he crawls across the mattress to slot himself on top of your fucked-out form.

"I am." He agrees, mouth pressing hungrily to yours as the same arm you'd just got off on curls around your back and cements you to him, his hips already rutting against your own, "Wanna find out how much stronger I am?"

"Yes. Logan, yes, I-" He seizes your mouth in another kiss, cutting off your desperate pleas.

"Fucking try to move." He grunts, almost a growl with how guttural and gruff it sounds against the hollow of your parted lips as his other hand holds your hip firmly, almost crushingly in place, "I'll pin you down 'n hold you still, greedy girl."

[punkshort]

Thank you Anon for this request!

A Deeper Purpose

Pairing: Joel Miller x f!reader one-shot

Summary: Living in Jackson during the apocalypse doesn't do anything to curb your desire to have a child. The problem is, most of the men in town are unavailable... except for one.

Warnings: smut (18+ MDNI), unprotected piv sex, breeding kink (given the request, obv), language, friends to lovers, mentions of anxiety, infertility, pregnancy, angst, pining, alcohol

WC: 3.4K

dividers by @saradika-graphics

When you first asked him, he thought you were crazy.

He stared at you in complete disbelief, his gaze flickering down to the drink in your hand, trying to recall how many you had to propose something so insane. But it was only one.

"Are you fuckin' serious?"

"Mhmm," you said confidently. "I've thought about it for a long time. I want a baby and the men in this town are either taken or have the mental fortitude of a child," you joked nervously. "You're neither of those things. Besides... I trust you."

His eyes softened for a moment and he dropped his gaze to the table. You had known Joel for the better part of five years, and while at first he was brash and gruff, throughout countless patrols and fights against infected where you had to have each other's backs, you had grown rather close. Neither of you ever crossed the line past friendship, and you had never even thought about it until recently when your anxiety was keeping you up late at night, wondering if you would ever find a man and settle down to start a family.

It was a luxury in this life, to be sure. The population of Jackson wasn't very large, but in five years you had come to get a good read on most of its citizens. And you kept coming back to the same conclusion: the man for you was not there.

So after much thought and self-reflection, you worked up enough courage to get a drink with Joel after your route and ask him if he would be willing to give you a baby.

You followed up by telling him you would be solely responsible, that you would do all the work and he could be as involved in the child's life as much as he wanted to be, if at all, while he sat there dumbstruck.

Now he cleared his throat and scratched the back of his neck nervously as he weighed your proposal.

"Can I think 'bout it?" he finally asked.

"Oh, god, of course!" you exclaimed, eyes widening in surprise that he was considering it at all. "However much time you need."

But that was almost a month ago. Each day that passed you became more anxious, more impatient, and it was beginning to sour your mood.

On that particular day you were checking out the park rangers outpost hidden deep within the Wyoming forest. The building was up within the trees, providing the park rangers in the past a bird's eye view of the forest, and now it gives Jackson the same.

Joel was scribbling something in the log book while you strolled aimlessly around the cabin, opening and shutting drawers loudly, already knowing what was in them but just looking for something to do.

"Somethin' on your mind?" he mumbled over his shoulder, his focus still on the book.

"No," you said defensively, but when you angrily began to struggle with a window that refused to open, it became clear you were lying.

"Here, lemme help," he offered, dropping the pencil and walking to your side of the room.

"I'm fine, I don't need your help," you snapped, though you obviously did.

His hands gripped your shoulders and forcibly moved you out of the way before he took hold of the window and gave it a quick jerk, loosening the window in it's frame and finally allowing fresh air in.

He smirked at you and you rolled your eyes before breezing past him.

"This attitude 'bout the window or 'bout what you asked me?" he challenged, stopping you dead in your tracks. Slowly, you spun around, unsure what to say.

"The window," you finally answered, then shifted your weight and shrugged. "Okay, maybe a little of both."

"Mhmm," he said, advancing toward you. "Thought so."

"Well... have you thought about it or are you just trying to come up with a nice way to say no?"

He frowned and propped his hands on his hips. "Now why d'you think it's a no?"

"Because you haven't said a single word about it in a month," you told him like the answer was obvious.

"Well maybe the answer's yes but I don't know how to casually bring up into polite conversation that I'm ready to knock up my goddamn friend!" he argued.

You stared at him, jaw hanging open in disbelief.

"Wait, really?" you whispered.

He nodded and scrubbed his palms over his face. "Yeah, I mean... if you still wanna or... whatever," he grumbled.

The first time was bad, to put it mildly. Your kisses were all teeth, chins and noses bumped together awkwardly. You had hoped once you got down to it that it would have gotten better, but you were wrong. Your rhythms were all off, you hit your head on the end table, and Joel nearly fell off the couch at one point. Needless to say, you didn't come. It was a miracle he did by the end of it.

Afterwards, you both sat there, catching your breaths and wondering if you made a huge mistake.

No, it wasn't a mistake. It was always a means to an end. Ultimately, it didn't really matter if the sex was good or not, the end result would be the same.

Still...

"I'm not usually that bad," you finally said, breaking the thick silence. He groaned and tipped his head back to rest on the couch.

"Me either. I swear, I ain't lyin'. I never usually..." he trailed off, rubbing his chin, deep in thought. "We'll try again. Back home. In a bed. That's the problem. It's gotta be, right?"

"Yeah," you nodded, not fully believing him but at that point, what could it hurt?

The next time was the following day at your home. It was a little better than the first time, but not by much.

"It doesn't matter, Joel," you assured him, tugging your blanket over your chest.

"Matters to me," he said defensively. "I'm too in my head or somethin'. It's still weird, don't you think?"

"Yeah, it's weird," you agreed.

"It's too planned out. Maybe it's gotta be more natural. More... spontaneous."

"Yeah," you agreed.

A couple evenings later one of the other men on patrol was having a bonfire at his home and invited a handful of others, you and Joel included.

Ten or so people sat around a roaring fire, tossing back whiskey and playing cards or swapping war stories. The alcohol made you feel warm and relaxed, your limbs as loose as your tongue when you joked around with the others, joining in on the teasing when a seasoned patrolman admitted to shooting off a crossbow at a leaf that fell just a little too loudly in the woods.

Then you felt a hand on the small of your back and you turned, your eyes glassy and face warm from the booze and the laughs. Joel stood beside you looking just as at ease as you and he gave you a knowing look.

For once, you were on the same page. Neither of you said a word.

You made your excuses, said your goodbyes, and slipped into the night. It was quiet, the rest of the town asleep, so it was easy to hear Joel's voice carry over the wind a few minutes later when he announced his departure, your heart skipping an excited beat in your chest.

He didn't hurry to catch up with you and you were glad. It helped. The anticipation built up on the walk home, and for the first time you felt a warmth bloom between your legs. Your fingers shakily worked your front door when you heard his steps growing closer, the crunching of gravel growing louder and louder until your door swung open and the squeak of old wood under his boots as he walked up your stairs echoed in your ears.

You didn't bother to turn the lights on. His hands were on your waist instantly, kicking the door closed behind him as his mouth crashed against yours with a groan. All you could hear was your shared breath and the rustling of fabric, each of you working to strip the other of their clothes as quickly as possible.

Maybe it was the alcohol, or maybe it was the spontaneity of it. Whatever it was, it was better. Oh, so much better.

Somehow you had made it to your bed and you had never been more grateful to have a small ranch home in your life. When he first pushed inside, you moaned and arched your back off the mattress and his teeth gently grazed your collarbone, sending a wave of goosebumps over your skin. Instantly, you found a rhythm. Your hips rolled to meet his at the perfect time, his hands squeezed and pinched your breasts while his tongue invaded your mouth, only sliding down to cup your ass when he sensed it was becoming too much.

"More," you moaned into his mouth, heels digging into the backs of his thighs. He alternated between snapping and grinding his hips, the mix of sensations quickly bringing you over the edge.

You could feel the excitement in his body when he finally made you come. Like he was reenergized and focused, like he had finally accomplished what he set out to do.

"Come for me, Joel," you whispered in his ear before nipping at his earlobe. You could tell he was close by the way his muscles tensed and the deep groans emanating from his chest.

"Yeah? Want me to come in this tight little pussy?" he growled, the dirty talk sending a jolt of surprise through you. Before, he had been so quiet. This was new.

"Yeah," you whispered back, "want you to fuck a baby in me. I want everyone to see what you did to me."

He groaned so loudly you wondered if it could be heard from outside. His teeth sunk down into your shoulder when he came, muffled words being spoken into your skin as he shot thick ropes of his seed deep into your womb, only slowing when his legs began to shake and he collapsed on top of you with a huff.

"Fuck," he gasped, still trying to catch his breath on top of you. "That was..." he trailed off with a chuckle and you felt him swallow tightly. "That was much better."

"Yeah," you whispered, your eyes sliding shut as your fingers gently raked through his hair. You didn't even realize you were doing it or how intimate it seemed considering your arrangement, but he didn't seem to mind. In fact, he leaned into it a bit as he waited for his heartrate to slow.

Once he collected himself, he propped himself up on his hands and slowly eased out of you with a hiss.

"Can you hand me-"

"Yeah," he said, already knowing you were asking for the small, firm pillow you used last time to prop your hips up, and gave it to you. With a groan, he got to his feet and went to your bathroom while you tucked your knees against your chest, hoping you were getting the angle right.

When he emerged from the bathroom, he handed you a wet washcloth to use when you were done, then began to dress.

He glanced at your face, then your hips propped up in the air.

"You need anythin' else?"

"No, I think this'll do," you joked, and he chuckled before he stood.

"Alright then. See you tomorrow?"

"Yep," you said with a smile, then watched him as he left your bedroom and listened while he slid his boots back on and quietly shut the door behind him, leaving you all alone.

"Fuck, it better work this time," you muttered as you bounced up and down on Joel's lap, your hands digging into his shoulders for support as you slid up and down on his cock. His hands held your waist, guiding you while you rode him on his couch, his eyes transfixed on where you were connected.

"Gotta relax. I told you, it ain't gonna work if you stress yourself out," he replied, eyes still glued to the way his cock emerged from your clutch even wetter than before.

"It's been six months, Joel," you whined, but he shushed you by slanting his mouth over yours. He didn't want to admit it, but he didn't mind when you came to him each month with a look of dejection when your efforts inevitably failed. He felt bad for you, don't get him wrong, but he had grown very fond of the one week every month you found yourself wrapped around his cock.

His thumb found your clit and he felt you tense and your mind went blank. Perfect.

"'S'right," he murmured, watching your face go slack, "just turn off that pretty little head of yours for a minute and lemme take care of you."

You nodded, eyes sliding shut as your hips began to work faster, rolling and grinding down on him until your nails dug into his skin and you cried out his name. Fuck, he loved hearing that. It didn't take much more for him to come, his hands gripping your sides so tight, he was afraid he might leave bruises as he thrusted up into you, giving you every last drop of his release.

"Goddamn," he whispered, head falling back onto the couch as he panted for air.

"Shit," you gasped, voice a little cracked. "Shoulda finished with me laying down. It's gonna leak out when -"

Without a word, he wrapped his arms around you and, still plugging you with his cock, twisted around so you were laying flat on the couch and he was hovering above you.

"Better?"

"Much," you giggled, playing with a stray curl over his ear. You gazed warmly at one another, neither of you saying a word as your pulse slowed and his cock softened.

"Thank you for doing this for me, Joel," you whispered, your eyes drifting all over his face, taking in every little detail.

He nodded and swallowed then forced himself to look away. If he didn't, he was worried you would see too much.

He slid out of you and grabbed a pillow, handing it to you blindly before standing and strolling to his bathroom. After he cleaned up, he leaned over his sink, hands curled around the cracked vanity, and stared at his reflection in the mirror with a pit in his stomach.

How did he let this happen?

He should have known. The morning before you came over, he had a bad feeling. Like something had shifted in the air, something had changed without his permission and it left an empty feeling in his chest.

The overly excited knock on his door as he sipped his coffee almost made him want to pretend he wasn't home, that you weren't about to bounce into his kitchen holding two white sticks with a huge grin plastered across your face. But he didn't, and you did.

Either he really sold his reaction to your news well or you were too elated to notice his heart being ripped from his chest.

It was over. You were pregnant, and you no longer needed him. You would no longer come by every month and keep his bed warm. You would no longer share breakfast with him or talk to him about the books you were reading. He would go back to being utterly and completely alone.

It took a good month or two, but he adjusted back to his normal life. You still did patrol runs with him, which he protested, but when you finally began to show around five months, you agreed to stop and found a different job in town, instead.

That made his chest crack back open. Now he hardly ever saw you. It was bad enough he didn't get to be with you, taste you, fuck you anymore, but now he didn't even get to hear your voice. Occasionally he would see you in the dining hall or in the street and you would always talk to him, but it wasn't the same. Meanwhile, you walked around Jackson with his child growing in your belly, your shirts straining against the swell of your womb, the life he put inside you blooming before everyone's eyes. And all he wanted to do was claim you, right there in the center of town for everyone to see. For everyone to look in awe at what the two of you had created together.

One evening he was sitting alone in front of his fire, sipping whiskey and staring blankly into the flames. He had a decent life, considering the circumstances. So why couldn't he just be happy?

Then a rap came at his door. Urgent and loud. He placed his tumbler down and quickly went to open it, surprised to find you waiting on the other side.

"Hey," you said breathlessly, one hand over your round stomach. His eyes dropped down to take you in before he met your gaze again.

"Are you alright?"

"Yeah," you replied with a look on your face that told him you didn't realize he would obviously panic about your wellbeing at this point in your pregnancy. "Sorry, I just - can I come in?"

"Yeah, 'course," he said, stepping aside to open the door wider. You toed off your boots and shrugged off your jacket, allowing him to take it from you and hang it up before you wandered into his living room. Your eyes fell on his abandoned glass and you smiled.

"I miss drinking," you said longingly. He grinned and, leaving the whiskey where it was so as not to tempt you, sat on the couch.

"What're you doin' here so late? Is the baby okay?"

"Yeah," you nodded, tearing your eyes away from the glass and sitting down near him on the sofa. "Baby's good. I just was thinking about you and I wanted to see you."

He perked up at that, he couldn't help himself. "Oh, yeah?"

You grinned and bit your lip shyly before looking away. "I miss you, I guess."

A smile spread wide across his face. "Aw, how sweet."

You swatted an arm out to smack him on the shoulder and he laughed, his heart finally feeling like it was mending a bit.

"Jerk," you muttered, and he laughed again.

"I missed you, too," he finally admitted, his cheeks rosy from the fire and the whiskey as he gazed at you, the reflection from the flames making your skin glow. Maybe it was that pregnancy glow that everyone used to talk about. Or maybe you always glowed and he just never allowed himself to notice until it was too late.

He watched your throat work, swallowing dryly while your fingers fidgeted in your lap and he realized you were nervous.

"What if I told you I missed you as more than just friends?" you whispered, your eyes pinned to the floor, unwilling or unable to meet his gaze.

His breath caught in his throat. Surely, he must have misheard you. But then you finally turned to look at him, tears welling in your eyes, and his heart lurched in his chest.

"What if I told you I'm in love with you?" he bravely whispered back.

Your eyebrows pinched together and your face crumpled before you reached forward, curling your arms around his neck and pulling him close, your lips pressing together earnestly before opening your mouth and letting his tongue lick behind your teeth.

He wasn't sure how you both made it upstairs and into his bed. He couldn't remember peeling your clothes off, one by one, revealing more and more of your changing body to him for the first time. But he did remember seeing your bare, swollen belly underneath him while his hand slowly slid across your skin in wonder. And then he felt it. A little flutter. A little jolt. And he looked up at you in surprise.

"She's kicking," you explained, and his eyes fell back to your stomach.

"She?"

You nodded, placing your hand over his lovingly. "I think it's a girl."

He smiled as tears began to cloud his vision, then bent forward to press a kiss against your stomach, letting his lips linger so hopefully his unborn daughter could feel him there and feel the love he had for her.

You had to pull him away by his shoulders, the both of you laughing softly, unable to believe how much things had changed in just a year.

Because not only were you a couple months away from finally being a mother, but you also realized you were very, very wrong all those months ago.

The man for you was, in fact, right there all along.

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[star-sim]

boy's night ☆ riki nishimura

☆ summary: riki had no game, no rizz, which was why he employed the help of his six friends to text you. warning: having seven boys on the phone trying to text a girl does not give good results! ☆ genre: fluff, all enhypen members make an appearance, boys being boys, very stupid, it's getting rizzy in here but clearly i have negative game ☆ warning(s)? no just silliness :3 ☆ word count: 1.7k words

"Oh my god, she texted me!" was the sentence that completely destroyed Jake Sim's house.

Tonight, Riki was having a sleepover at Jake's house. It was supposed to be a chill night, a night in which Riki could bask in his friends' presence before they went off to college again.

There were many perks to being the youngest in his friend group. It seemed like Heeseung, Jay, and Jake forever saw him as their baby, after all, when they all met as children, Riki was a snotty little four year-old, constantly tattling on the older boys. Regardless, it was nearly impossible for them to not fuss over him, constantly asking if he ate yet or if he needed help. Sunghoon teased the ever-living shit out of Riki, sure, but the older boy never hesitated to take Riki's side whenever there was an argument. Sunoo and Jungwon were closest to Riki in age, but that didn't stop them from watching over him closely, like mother cats stalking their cubs.

Though, there was one thing that Riki had to admit that he hated about being the youngest: he was the most inexperienced.

Whenever his friends got their 'firsts,' he was always too young to care. It seemed like all his friends got to experience their first crushes and heartbreaks almost simultaneously, only for them to not be there when Riki had his.

Even when he was now a senior in high school, he had absolutely no idea how to talk to girls.

He'd heard all the stories about Heeseung and his antics at college, all the flirting tips that Jake liked to give out to Sunghoon and Jay, and all the crazed texts that Sunoo and Jungwon sent as they went through relationships.

Even so, Riki had never experienced teenage love for himself.

Enter: You.

You were the cute girl that sat in front of him in his Macroeconomics class. If it wasn't for the fact that Riki absolutely hated Macro, he would blame the fact that you were just so pretty that he couldn't bring himself to focus on the lecture about the New York Stock Exchange.

Initially, Riki had no intention of pursuing you.

You were cute, obviously, but hearing you talk to your partner in class was enough for him. Plus, it wasn't like Riki had any experience— even if he wanted to talk to you, he had no idea how to!

Except, thanks to his nosy friends, your name had been discussed what felt like a million times by the end of the week.

"So... [Name], eh?" was the first thing Sunghoon said as Riki's camera turned on during their weekly weekend FaceTime calls.

"This is so exciting, Riki," Heeseung said as he joined the call.

"Wait, how do you know her again?" Sunoo's voice cut in. "Sorry, my Wi-Fi is bad. You said you know her from Macro?"

With a little more prying, his friends managed to get a middle-school level confession out of Riki.

"I-I just think she's really pretty, and like, she's really smart," Riki huffed, "I don't think she likes me like that— I've never even spoken to her! Like, I can't talk to women, I straight up am a mess and the other day—oh my god— she looked at me and I think I almost passed out. What do I do? I actually cannot do thi—

".... But you think she's pretty, right?"

And that's how Riki managed to get your phone number. With the help of his friends (that felt more like them feeding into his delusions), he worked up the courage to stutter out a simple question.

And when you smiled, nodding enthusiastically as you typed your contact into his phone, Riki felt his soul leave his body.

So, it wasn’t hard to imagine the havoc that engulfed Jake Sim's house (the place of the sleepover) as Riki's phone pinged, your contact name showing up.

It was already late at night, so the boys were raiding Jake's pantry to get midnight snacks. 

The moment that Riki announced that you had just, in fact, texted him first, everyone stopped in their tracks.

"Oh shit!" Jay shouted as he jumped over Jake's sofa, bowl of cereal still in hand.

The sound of crashing as Heeseung knocked over the ramen cups, as well as cutlery dropping abruptly and cabinets slamming filled the house.

"Oi, don't mess up my kitchen!" Jake yelled as his feet pounded against his stairs, scrambling so fast that he practically glided downstairs. After Jungwon spilled milk on his shirt, he was half-way through putting on a new shirt as he clambered down.

"What did she—" Sunoo pushed Jay out of the way, knocking the older boy over as he plopped down next to Riki on the living room carpet and peeked over his shoulder— "What did she say?!"

Within seconds, all six of his friends were huddled around Riki, pushing each other out of the way to catch a glimpse of what you said.

"Move your fatass head!"

"I can't see!"

As his friends argued, Riki stared at his phone, chewing on his bottom lip. His heart was pounding in his chest. He only saw the notification, and didn't see what you said yet.

What if you said something crazy, like "I just found out about that one time in first grade when you peed yourself at the playground" even though Riki and all his friends agreed to never speak of that incident again?! Or, what if you confessed your everlasting love for him in a long paragraph?

His head was spinning.

"Wait, did you open the message yet?!" Jungwon abruptly yelled into Riki's ear.

"No..." Riki answered slowly, watching the way all of his friends' once tense faces soften with relief.

"Oh my god," Jake sighed in relief.

"Phhhhheeewww!" Heeseung said dramatically.

"Why?" Riki frowned. "What's wrong with opening the message?"

"[Name] can see if you read her message if you open it," Sunghoon said matter-of-factly. 

"Why is that a bad thing?"

All of his friends groaned.

They taught him a trick: swipe just enough so that he could see the message, but not enough that the system marks it as read.

Hey, was all you said, much to Riki's relief.

"What do I say?" Riki asked, clutching his phone. His eyes flickered to his friends as he sucked his bottom lip under his teeth pensively. "How do I respond to this?"

"Just say 'hey' back!" Jay blurted.

"No!" Heeseung shook his head profusely. "Anything but that!"

"Why not? You want him to say haiiii instead?" Sunghoon nudged the older boy.

"No, no, no!" Jungwon reached across to smack Sunghoon's knee. "All of you are wrong."

Jungwon turned to Riki. "Just respond with an emoji."

They all groaned loudly.

"Okay, anything but a goddamn emoji!"

Riki ended up typing out a simple hey in response. He had to make Sunoo press send for him, squeezing his eyes shut. Riki immediately shut his phone off, placing it face down.

"I don't want to see if she responds or not!" Riki moaned. 

Within a minute or two, his phone pinged again.

"She responded!"

Even though you only asked, How was your day?, the entire house was once again invigorated. The boys shrieked, whooping and hitting Riki's shoulder, so loud that the house probably shook.

"Oh my god, it's happening!"

"Ouuuuu, she wants you, Riki!"

"Everyone shut the fuck up, it's time to lock in, oh my god it's actually happening—"

And just as everyone settled back down, ready to give Riki their mind-blowing advice, his phone dinged again.

[Attachment: 1 photo]. It was a silly picture of you, one of those cute ones that showed your eyes, clearly taken on the spot. 

"OHHHHHHHHHH!"

"Shewantsyousobadohmygo—"

According to Jake, if a girl sends you a picture of herself, no matter how silly or cute it is, she is head over heels for you.

"One message at a time!" Jay yelled over Jake's shoulder as they tried to figure out how to respond. "You need to answer her question first and then respond to the picture!"

"No! Don't respond to the picture!" Sunghoon, who was all the way in the guest bathroom, yelled from behind the bathroom door, his voice both booming and muffled. "She'll think you're weird!"

"I agree," Sunoo said.

"I agree," Jungwon mocked him in a nasally voice, earning a slap to the shoulder. "Just heart the picture!"

But their arguing fell upon deaf ears.

"Riki, what are you doing?!"

Riki was on his own, his heart beating at the tip of his fingers.

I hung out with my friends today and it was fun, how was yours? was his first response. Pressing on the picture, he responded, You look cute.

When Riki glanced over at his friends, they were sprawled across the floor, crying aloud dramatically.

"It's over."

"You're insane."

"Fumbled."

Riki threw a pillow at them. "I didn't fumble— Oh shoot, she's typing!"

The house was once again filled with screaming and crashing as they scampered to Riki's side.

You typed for a few moments. Everyone was at the edge of their seat, simply begging to see how you'd respond. But then, you stopped.

"Good game, guys."

"100% over."

Riki chewed on his thumb, his eyes glued to his phone screen. Did he creep you out? Was it weird for him to say that you looked cute? Did he fuck up?

But then you finally replied.

My day was just filled with homework, very boring, you replied. Maybe if I spent it with you it would have been more fun.

Oh.

My.

God.

Riki's hands shook as he typed back another response, completely ignoring the complete and utter disaster around him. He didn't know what came over him. He wouldn't say any of the things that he typed out loud, let alone to your face. It was like he was possessed by some spirit that gave him the courage to type. Without even noticing it, his heart was palpitating in his chest, his entire face, neck, and ears covered in a red shade.

I'm free tomorrow, he typed. 

"RIKI WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU—"

Okay, you simply responded. 12PM. The Block. Let's have fun.

"D-Did she just ask you out?"

Riki glanced at this phone, then at his friends, who stared at him with eyes as wide as saucers and their jaws dropped to the floor, then back at his phone. He blinked. "Yeah."

"Yes?!"

Riki blinked again. "Yeah."

.

.

.

And then it hit him.

"Oh my god, [Name] asked me out...!"

[malereadermaniac]

Love hate - Toji x Male Reader

Mention of sex but no smut! word count: 550 m!reader (no genitalia mentioned) / FDNI

Your back was literally killing... along with your thighs and your legs, your neck, and the most evident pain was in your ass

You sat up in whatever bed you were in, thin covers being the only thing keeping your naked body from being on display (or so you thought)

You rubbed your eyes and sighed, trying to wake up to get some sense of where you even were - getting drunk enough to fuck some rando and sleep round his was a little unusual for you

You look around the room.... and you recognise it? You'd never been in it, but the room felt familiar for whatever reason

The real moment if truth came when you worked up the courage to look next to you, to the large presence you could feel weighing down the left side of the bed

Fuck right off... not this dickhead!

Your gasp must've been loud cause you woke Toji right up, the massive hunk of muscles yawning and then putting his arms behind his head; flexing his muscles and pits even more

"Mornin' sexy~" he mumbles and chuckles groggily at your disgusted expression

"Why the fuck am I in your bed..."

"Why wouldn't you be? You were so desperate to get in it last night~" the man teases, making you look away in embarrassment

Toji then takes a moment to admire his handy-work, eyeing your back and neck up and down with a smirk

You notice this and ask him what the fuck he's looking at, to which he just chuckles, forcing you to get up out of the bed to look in the mirror

Not only to you see your neck lightly bruised with choke marks and lovebites, your niples with bite marks surrounding them, your back completely covered in lovebites and hickeys - but also, you noticed that you were completely naked as you'd thought you were

Around your waist were Toji's very loose, black boxers which he'd probably been wearing the night before

You blushed at the sight and at the sound of that cocky bastard chuckling at you - why the fuck were you in this cunts briefs!?

It was common knowledge that the two of you hated each other (more so you hated Toji because to others, it was evident his teasing and small bullying was flirtatious)

So what possessed you to SLEEP with him..

Probably the massive thing you had for the muscular DILF which you swore to never think about, but came out from the insane amount you had drank the night before...

The taller man made his way behind you, slinking his arms around your waist and resting his head on top of yours

"I've been waiting for this for so long, you don't even know" Toji mumbles, looking into your eyes through the mirror; to which you look away with a pout

But you couldn't bring yourself to move away from the really sexy man... You just stayed in his arms for a moment until he made the next move

With ease, Toji lifted you up with only one arm, making his way back to his comfortable bed

The rest of the morning was spent either spooning or with your limbs tangled together

Maybe you don't hate this dickhead that much...

[v6quewrlds]

LOVE DROUGHT, JOE BURROW.

pairing⠀⁎⠀joe burrow x oc [chelsea brooks]. word count⠀⁎⠀26k.

summary⠀⁎⠀chelsea's life appears perfect. a beautiful home, a great job, and a valuable last name. leaving behind her life in atlanta to come to cincinnati presents new opportunities and new challenges in her marriage. the biggest challenge comes in the form of the handsome neighbor next door, every married inch of him.

author's note⠀⁎⠀don't do this ???? lmao. should really be named "joe and chelsea have an affair", happy ending! we love happy endings. i might have a part two in me, we'll see. takes place over a year give or take. this takes place in an alternate universe where joe never transferred to lsu/didn't go to the nfl, joe's "backstory" is entirely made up lmao, joe is 36, chelsea is 34, longest thing i've ever written in my life lol sorry? warnings⠀⁎⠀don't like it? don't read it <3 don't let your husband stop you from meeting your soulmate <3, infidelity, literally everyone in this story has questionable behaviors, several mentions of masturbation, mirror sex, infidelity as dirty talk?, booty calls.

Chelsea Brooks stepped out of her sleek black Mercedes, her Nike sneakers crunching the autumn leaves against the concrete driveway. She took a deep breath of the crisp, Cincinnati air, feeling the chilly breeze caress her cheeks. The house she and her husband, Terrence, had just bought was a beautiful monstrosity of stone and glass, a stark contrast to the warm, cozy homes of her Atlanta roots. She surveyed the quiet neighborhood, noting the perfectly manicured lawns and the welcoming porches that seemed to whisper tales of family gatherings and long summer nights.

Her husband, Terrence, was already inside, unpacking boxes filled with their lives from their old home. He was a neurosurgeon, a man of precision and order, and Chelsea knew that the chaos of moving would only add to his stress. But she couldn't help feeling a twinge of excitement as she approached the front door. The house was a symbol of their success, a testament to their hard work and their families' legacies. As she stepped into the foyer, she heard the distant sound of Terrence's voice, muffled by the walls that now stood between them.

The house was cool and unfamiliar, smelling faintly of paint and new carpets. The echoes of their footsteps made it seem like a cavernous museum rather than a home filled with love and laughter. The grandeur of their new abode was a stark reminder of the expectations that had been placed upon them since childhood. Chelsea and Terrence had worked their asses off to maintain the status quo, to be the poster children for "love" and "excellence". But as she looked around, she couldn't shake the feeling that something was missing. It was as if their lives had been painted by numbers and they hadn't had the courage to scribble outside the lines.

"Terrence, where are you?" Chelsea called out, her voice echoing through the vast, empty space.

Terrence emerged from the depths of their future dining room, sweat beading on his brow. "In here, baby. I'm just getting the last of the china unpacked. Your momma's gonna love that we finally have our own china cabinet."

Chelsea couldn't help but smile at his attempt to lighten the mood. It was true, their parents had been thrilled with their move to Cincinnati. It was a step up for both their careers and a chance to rub elbows with the upper echelon of society. But for Chelsea, the move had brought a sense of suffocation. She was an entertainment lawyer, used to the fast-paced, glitzy world of celebrities and sports stars in Atlanta. Here, she felt like a fish out of water.

"I brought lunch," Chelsea announced, holding up a bag from the deli they passed on the drive in. She set it down on the marble kitchen countertop and opened it, revealing hot sandwiches and a side of chips. "I know how you hate eating cold food, so I figured I'd be nice and get you something warm."

Terrence looked up from the box he was unpacking, his eyes lighting up. "You're a lifesaver, baby," he said, stepping over to give her a quick smile. His hand lingered on the small of her back, a gesture that was somehow both casual and possessive. "How was your first day at the firm?"

Chelsea shrugged, trying to keep the doubt out of her voice. "It was great. Met some interesting people. The office is nice, but it's going to take some getting used to." She handed him a sandwich and watched as he took a bite, his eyes closing briefly in satisfaction. "It's not Atlanta, that's for sure," she added, unable to hide the wistfulness that crept into her tone.

Terrence looked at her, his expression softening. "I know it's a change, but it's for a good reason. I'm making more money, saving more lives... we're in this together." He took another bite, then paused. "What do you think about the neighborhood? They got some crazy-ass houses around here."

Chelsea nodded, trying to muster some enthusiasm. "Yeah, it's nice. You saw the fuckin' three-story McMansion next door? I ran into the retired couple who own it, the Chens. They had their grandkids over, screaming and playing in the yard. It was cute." She took a bite of her cold sandwich, savoring the flavor of the turkey and avocado.

Terrence chuckled. "I'm sure it'll be quieter when they're not around." He wiped his mouth with a napkin. "Speaking of neighbors, I've heard the couple on the other side are pretty cool. The wife owns that fancy ass restaurant downtown. We should pop over there and introduce ourselves."

"Gianna Mora?" Chelsea's eyes widened. "The celebrity chef from that travel show? Are you for real, she's our neighbor?"

"That's the most excited I seen you all week," Terrence said with a laugh, his eyes sparkling at the mention of their famous neighbor.

"Well, it's not every day you live next to a celebrity chef," Chelsea replied, her curiosity piqued. "I've seen her show a few times. She seems really down-to-earth."

Terrence nodded in agreement. "Yeah, she's got that whole 'girl next door' vibe going on. Her and her husband, they seem like good people." He took another bite of his sandwich, his voice muffled slightly. "I think I saw him out jogging this morning. He got to be pushing six-four, 220 pounds, easy."

Chelsea felt a twinge of curiosity about the mysterious neighbor, Joe Burrow. She had heard Gianna's name often in the entertainment circles, but never knew much about her husband. The idea of a quiet, introverted man being married to a vibrant, outgoing celebrity was entertaining. She imagined him as a silent supporter, the rock that kept Gianna grounded amidst her culinary stardom.

The sound of the doorbell cut through her thoughts, and Chelsea wiped her hands on a spare napkin before walking over to answer it. She was surprised to find Gianna on the other side, her bouncy, jet black hair pulled back in a ponytail, a warm smile on her face. "Hey, I hope you guys aren't too busy," she said, her eyes scanning the still-boxed living room. "I just wanted to stop by and introduce myself properly. I'm Gianna."

Chelsea stepped aside, gesturing for Gianna to come in. "Of course, we've been meaning to do the same," she said, feeling a little guilty for not taking the initiative. "I'm Chelsea, and this is my husband, Terrence."

Gianna's smile grew as she stepped inside, her heels clicking against the hardwood floor. "It's so nice to meet you both," she said, her midwestern accent adding a layer of charm to her already bubbly personality. "I figured you guys might need a break from all the unpacking. Plus, I wanted to invite you over for dinner tonight. My husband Joe will be home from his business trip, and I love any excuse to mess around in the kitchen."

Terrence wiped his hands on his pants, setting down his half-eaten sandwich. "That's incredibly kind of you, Gianna. We'd love to come over."

Gianna's smile widened. "Perfect. How does eight o'clock sound?"

"We'll be there," Terrence said, flashing his most charming smile. "Looking forward to tasting some of that famous cooking of yours."

Gianna's eyes twinkled with excitement. "It won't be anything too fancy," she said, her cheeks flushing slightly. "Just a little welcome dinner for the new kids on the block." She handed Chelsea a business card with the address of her restaurant. "And if you're ever in the mood for something special, feel free to stop by the restaurant. I can always whip something up for you."

"Thanks for the invite, Gianna," Chelsea said, her eyes flicking to the paper before setting it down on the counter. "I'm sure it'll be amazing. We'll see you tonight."

As the door closed behind Gianna, Terrence turned to her. "You okay with this?" he asked, his eyes searching hers. "I know you've had a long week."

Chelsea nodded, swallowing the last bite of her sandwich. "Yeah, I'm fine. It'll be nice to get to know our neighbors."

Terrence leaned in closer, his voice dropping to a whisper. "And maybe get a little gossip on the local celeb scene," he teased, wiggling his eyebrows playfully.

Chelsea couldn't help but roll her eyes. "You just want to get closer to her recipes," she said, tossing a napkin at him. "But sure, let's get ready. I need to find something to wear that doesn't look like I just rolled out of a moving van."

"Wait, baby, hold on," Terrence called out, reaching for her hand as she moved to stand up. "I think we have to christen the house, don't you?"

Chelsea sighed, the weight of his words not lost on her. She knew what he wanted, and while the timing was less than ideal, she also knew it would be a quick and easy way to keep him satisfied. She nodded, a forced smile playing on her lips as she let him pull her back down to the couch. He kissed her, his hands moving to the zipper of her skirt. It was a dance they had performed countless times before, a routine that lacked the passion it once had.

As they undressed each other, Chelsea couldn't help but feel a pang of longing. Terrence was still the same romantic he had been in college, but that was precisely the problem. He had stayed the same while she had grown into a woman who craved more. More excitement, more adventure, more everything. But she pushed her thoughts aside as she focused on the task at hand, trying to find some semblance of satisfaction in their lovemaking.

Terrence, oblivious to her inner turmoil, whispered sweet nothings in her ear as he kissed along her neck. Chelsea closed her eyes, willing herself to feel something, anything, other than the coldness that had settled in her chest. She let out a moan, hoping to convince herself more than him, and he took it as an encouragement to go harder. The couch creaked under their weight as they moved in a rhythm that had become all too familiar.

Afterwards, Chelsea stood in the bathroom, staring at her reflection in the mirror. Her makeup was smudged, and she looked tired. She quickly cleaned herself up and slipped into the shower, letting the hot water wash away the feeling of emptiness that lingered. When she emerged, she found Terrence getting dressed for the dinner, his eyes lighting up at the sight of her.

"You look amazing," Terrence said, his eyes appreciating her figure as she stepped out of the bathroom. "Like you just stepped out of a magazine."

Chelsea forced a smile, wrapping a towel around her body. "Thanks, T," she said, her voice lacking its usual enthusiasm. She had chosen a simple black dress that hugged her curves in all the right places. It was a classic choice, one that she knew would make her look put together without trying too hard. She didn't bother with the lingerie Terrence typically encouraged her to slip on; it was just for show tonight.

They arrived at Gianna and Joe's home promptly at eight, the warm glow of lights spilling out from the windows. The scent of something delicious wafted from the kitchen, making Chelsea's stomach rumble. Terrence knocked on the door, and after a moment, it swung open to reveal Joe. He was dressed casually in a button-down shirt and jeans, his hair slightly ruffled as if hastily blow-dried.

"Welcome, welcome," he said, his eyes lingering on Chelsea a beat too long before looking at Terrence. "I'm glad you could make it. I'm Joe Burrow." He shook Terrence's hand firmly and then offered his hand to Chelsea. She took it, feeling a spark of something unfamiliar jolt through her at the touch. The two men exchanged a bottle of Terrence's homemade apple cider, as Chelsea attempted to moderate her heartbeat.

Gianna emerged from the kitchen, a vision in a flowy red dress that hugged her petite frame. She had a warm smile that seemed to light up the room, and her eyes were bright with excitement as she greeted them. "Come in, come in," she said, her accent a delightful blend of her midwestern roots and her PR training. "I hope you're hungry, I made some pozole rojo that I've been dying to share with someone other than Joe."

The four of them settled around the dinner table, the conversation flowing easily. Chelsea found herself drawn to Joe's deep blue eyes and the way his muscles flexed under his shirt as he reached for the bread. He was handsome in a way that was almost old fashioned, like a 1940s movie star who'd stepped out of the screen into their modern lives. And there was something about the way he talked, the quiet confidence in his voice, that made her want to lean in closer, to hear every word he said.

Terrence and Gianna talked about their work, the challenges of balancing their demanding careers with their personal lives. Chelsea listened, nodding along, but her mind kept drifting back to Joe. She could feel the tension between them, a palpable force that seemed to thicken the air in the room. It was as if they were the only two people there, and everyone else was just a blurry backdrop to their clandestine attraction.

Dinner was a delightful array of flavors and textures, each bite a testament to Gianna's culinary talents. But Chelsea had to admit, she was having a hard time focusing on the food. Her focus kept wandering to Joe, the way his strong hands moved as he reached for a tortilla, the way his voice rumbled in his chest when he laughed. She took a sip of the wine from the winery Gianna and Joe owned, trying to keep her cool. The conversation turned to their hometowns, and Chelsea talked about growing up in the bustling streets of Atlanta, the vibrant culture and the endless energy that had shaped her into who she was today. Joe spoke of his small-town upbringing, his voice filled with a hint of nostalgia that made Chelsea's heart ache.

Terrence excused himself to take a work call, leaving Chelsea, Gianna, and Joe to continue the evening. Chelsea felt a strange sense of relief, as if she had been waiting for this moment all night. The conversation grew more intimate, the three of them sharing stories of their college days and their early careers. Chelsea found herself laughing at Joe's tales of his college football days, his face lighting up with the memories. Gianna, ever the gracious host, listened intently, her eyes shimmering with pride.

As the wine bottle grew empty, Joe suggested they move to the living room, where a crackling fire and comfortable couches beckoned. Chelsea agreed, feeling the warmth of the alcohol spreading through her body, loosening her inhibitions. She across from Gianna whose head rested against Joe's broad shoulder, his wedding ring glistening as he rested his left hand over the back of the couch. Terrence joined them, his eyes glazed over with the fatigue of a doctor's schedule.

The conversation took a turn to their respective careers and how they had met their spouses. Chelsea and Terrence talked about their college romance, their paths diverging and then converging again in the world of law and medicine. Gianna shared her journey from culinary school to opening her own restaurant, which Joe had supported her through every step of the way. It was clear that Joe and Gianna had a strong bond, built on respect and a shared history. Yet, as the night grew late, Chelsea couldn't shake the feeling that Joe's eyes kept straying to her.

When Terrence finally stood up, yawning and checking his watch, Chelsea felt a jolt of disappointment. She didn't want the evening to end, not yet. But she knew she couldn't ask him to stay. "We should get going," Terrence said, "It's been a long day and I've got an early surgery tomorrow."

"Let's exchange numbers," Chelsea suggested, standing up and smoothing her skirt. "We should get together again once we're all settled in."

Gianna beamed, and the two women exchanged numbers while Joe quietly observed. Chelsea felt his gaze on her as she said goodbye, the intensity of it making her heart race. They stepped out into the cool Cincinnati night, the stars glinting in the sky above their heads. Terrence walked them down the sidewalk to their home, his hand resting protectively on the small of Chelsea's back.

The next few weeks saw Chelsea and Joe's paths crossing more often than not. They'd wave from their respective lawns as they mowed the grass or tended to their flowers. They'd bump into each other while out at their mailboxes, exchanging pleasantries and small talk. Yet, the charged energy between them grew with each encounter, the unspoken desire thickening like the humidity in the air before a summer storm.

Work kept both Chelsea and Joe busy, allowing their attraction to simmer under the surface of their daily lives. Yet, every time their eyes met, the electricity was undeniable. Chelsea found herself looking forward to these casual meetings, her heart fluttering as she anticipated their next encounter.

Chelsea closed out a huge contract with a professional basketball player about two months after moving to Cincinnati, feeling a high she hadn't experienced in weeks. As she pulled into the driveway, her heart skipped a beat at the sight of Terrence's car in the garage. He was rarely home before dark. She bounced into the house, her heels echoing through the grand entryway, and found him in the living room, surrounded by the last of their cardboard boxes. "Surprise," he said, his eyes lighting up with excitement. "I took the afternoon off. I thought we could finally get this place in order."

Their relationship had been chilly since the move, but Chelsea felt a spark of hope at his gesture. They worked side by side, unpacking and rearranging furniture, and when the last box was empty, they collapsed onto the couch, laughing and sweaty. It was the most relaxed she'd been around him in months, and Chelsea allowed herself to feel a flicker of affection for him.

"Thank you for helping me today," she said, leaning into his side.

Terrence grinned, his eyes meeting hers briefly before returning to the TV. "No problem. It's what we do for each other."

But as the days rolled into weeks, the spark didn't catch. The routine of their marriage resumed its monotonous cycle, and Chelsea found herself looking out the window, watching Joe jog past her house in the early mornings. His tall, muscular frame was a stark contrast to Terrence's slim build, and she couldn't help but wonder what it would be like to feel those arms around her instead.

"I'm all packed, Chels," Terrence called out from their bedroom, interrupting her thoughts. "Don't wait up for me tonight, I've got a full surgical schedule and an even longer flight. I'll be back in a week." He kissed her on the forehead and she nodded. Terrence would be attending a medical conference in London, leaving Chelsea to hold down the fort and entertain her best friend flying in from Atlanta for the weekend.

Chelsea watched Terrence's taillights disappear into the early morning sunlight, feeling a strange mix of relief and dread. The house was quiet, almost too quiet without his constant presence. She had the weekend to herself, but she knew the silence would only amplify her thoughts of Joe. But with her best friend, Jasmine, arriving that evening, she had no time to wallow in her illicit desires.

With a deep breath, Chelsea turned her focus to the impending weekend. She had plans to take Jasmine to all the local hotspots, including Gianna's restaurant. As they unpacked her luggage, Chelsea's phone buzzed with a message from Gianna, supportive of Chelsea's suggestion they all grab dinner together the following night at the restaurant.

That evening, as Chelsea and Jasmine lounged on the plush couch with a bottle of wine, both Terrence and Joe were the furthest thing from her mind. They laughed and reminisced about their old antics, filling the air with nostalgia. Chelsea had missed this, the genuine connection with someone who knew her before she became Mrs. Brooks, the high-powered, ultra-successful attorney. Jasmine was a reminder of the wild, carefree woman Chelsea used to be before the expectations of her family and marriage had tamed her spirit.

The next night, Chelsea and Jasmine got dressed to the nines for dinner at Gianna's restaurant. The scent of garlic and spices wafted from the kitchen, tantalizing their senses. As they waited for their table, Joe strolled in, looking as suave as ever in a tailored suit. Chelsea felt a jolt of electricity at the sight of him, and she knew that she hadn't been able to shake the attraction she'd felt that first night. She introduced Jasmine and the two of them chatted for a bit before Gianna whisked them away to show off the kitchen.

Jasmine leaned in to whisper, "Damn, girl, your neighbor is fine."

Chelsea rolled her eyes, "Really? I didn't notice."

The evening passed in a delightful blur of exquisite food and lively conversation. Gianna regaled them with tales from her show, and Joe shared stories from his corporate world. Despite their different backgrounds, Chelsea found herself drawn into Joe's world, his quiet confidence and sharp wit a refreshing change from Terrence's stoic nature. She couldn't help but feel a twinge of something she hadn't felt in a long time—desire.

As they said their goodnights, Joe's hand grazed Chelsea's arm, sending a shiver down her spine. She knew she was playing with fire, but she couldn't resist the allure of the flame. The following day, as Chelsea pulled out of the driveway to drive Jasmine back to the airport, she saw Joe outside, dressed in a suit again, presumably heading off to work. He waved and she felt her cheeks warm, the memory of his touch still lingering on her skin.

Days turned into weeks, and the tension between Chelsea and Joe grew thicker than the humid Cincinnati air. They saw each other in passing, exchanging polite smiles and lingering stares, but not much else. Chelsea threw herself into her work, burying her thoughts in contracts and negotiations, but Joe's magnetic presence was never far from her mind.

One sweltering afternoon, as Chelsea returned from a particularly grueling day at the office, she spotted Joe in his backyard, sweat glistening on his forehead as he tended to the garden. Her eyes lingered on his broad shoulders and strong hands. Before she could convince herself otherwise, she found herself walking over, her high heels sinking into the soft grass.

"I didn't know Mr. CFO had a green thumb," Chelsea called out, her voice carrying over the fence that separated their properties.

Joe looked up, a smirk playing on his lips as he wiped his forehead with the back of his hand. "It's one of the few things that keeps me sane," he responded, straightening up to give her a better view of his body. His white dry-fit pulled taut across his broad chest. "Gigi likes to grow her own herbs and somehow, I got roped into it."

Chelsea stepped closer, the heat from the sun matching the warmth that spread through her body. "I can see the appeal," she said, her eyes raking over his muscular physique. "It's therapeutic."

Joe nodded, his gaze lingering on her figure. "It's a good distraction," he said, the double meaning clear in his voice.

"I could use a distraction," Chelsea admitted, her voice low and sultry. She stepped back from the fence, work bag in hand. "It was nice to see you. Happy gardening."

Another five weeks passed, and Chelsea found herself getting ready for the annual fundraising gala for her firm. The event was a mix of high-profile clients and potential new business connections, so the pressure to make a good impression was high. As she slipped into her form-fitting black gown, she couldn't help the sinking disappointment flood through her when Terrence called to say he had to cover an emergency surgery. He'd miss the gala, leaving her to attend alone.

The hotel ballroom was a whirlwind of glitz and glamour, the air thick with ambition and expensive cologne. Chelsea felt both out of place and completely at home as she mingled with the city's elite. She had hoped to use the evening to put Joe out of her mind, but she couldn't shake the feeling that she was being watched.

Sure enough, when she turned to grab a glass of champagne from the waiter, she saw him standing by the bar, looking every inch the powerful CFO he was. His eyes met hers, and she felt a jolt of electricity shoot through her body. They hadn't talked since the day she saw him in the garden, but the heat was as potent as ever.

"Joe," she said, trying to sound casual. "I didn't know you were coming tonight."

He approached her, his smile wry. "Gianna had a last-minute filming gig," he said, holding up his own glass. "I thought I'd come to support a good cause. I didn't realize this was your firm?"

Chelsea felt her heart race as she took a sip of the bubbly. "It's a small world," she murmured, her eyes darting around the room. "But I should probably go mingle."

Joe leaned in, his breath hot against her ear. "Or you could stay here and mingle with me," he suggested, his hand brushing against her bare back.

Chelsea's skin prickled with desire, and she knew she was playing with fire. "I shouldn't," she whispered, trying to pull away. But Joe's touch was like a magnet, drawing her back in.

"Why not?" he challenged, his voice low and seductive. "We're just two adults enjoying a bit of conversation." His hand slid down to the small of her back, pulling her closer. The heat of his palm seemed to burn through the fabric of her dress.

Chelsea's resolve was slipping. The room felt too warm, the noise of the party a distant buzz. "Because we're both married," she said, her voice trembling slightly, "to two great people who don't deserve to be hurt."

Joe's expression grew serious, his hand lingering on her back. "You're right," he said, "but we're also two people with needs." His thumb traced small circles on her skin, sending shivers down her spine. "Needs that aren't being met."

Confusion flickered in Chelsea's eyes, the conflict between her desires and her conscience playing out on her features. "Gigi's drop-dead gorgeous," she said, her voice barely above a whisper, "and Terrence... he's a good guy. Why isn't that enough?" She practically scoffed at the thought as if scolding herself for being unfulfilled.

Joe's gaze grew intense. "It's not about what's enough," he replied, his hand sliding lower to rest just above the curve of her ass. "It's about what we want." His voice was a low rumble that seemed to resonate deep within her. "And I know what I want."

Their conversation was interrupted by a colleague of Chelsea's, breaking the tension like a knife through hot butter. She was torn, part of her relieved for the interruption, the other part craving Joe's touch. As she was dragged away to schmooze with potential clients, she could feel his eyes on her, watching her every move. The evening grew longer, the conversations more forced, and she found herself counting down the minutes until she could be alone with her thoughts.

When the event finally wound down, Chelsea made her escape to the hotel's lobby, her heels clicking against the marble floor. She was about to call for a ride home when Joe appeared beside her, his hand on her elbow. "Let me take you home," he offered, his voice thick with intent.

Her heart pounded in her chest as she weighed the consequences of her decision. With a deep breath, she nodded. They made their way to his car, the cool night air doing little to calm her racing thoughts. The drive was filled with tense silence, their eyes meeting every time they stopped at a red light. The anticipation was palpable, a silent crescendo building between them.

When they arrived at her house, Joe's hand lingered on the gear shift. "Thank you," she murmured, her voice thick with unspoken desire. He turned to her, his eyes searching hers.

"Chelsea," he began, his voice gruff with want.

With a surge of control, Chelsea moved to open the passenger door. "Thank you for the ride, Joe," she said, trying to keep her voice even. "I should get inside. I'm exhausted."

He nodded slowly, the tension in the car thick as they both knew what they were walking away from. "Alright," he said, his eyes never leaving hers. "I'll see you around?"

"Sure," she replied, her voice a soft sigh. "See you around."

The door clicked shut, and Joe waited until she was safely inside before driving away. Chelsea leaned against the door, her hand on her racing heart, feeling the weight of the evening's events pressing down on her. She knew she was playing with fire, but she couldn't deny the excitement that danced within her.

Her body felt heavy as she climbed the stairs to her bedroom, the memory of Joe's touch still electric on her skin. She slipped out of her dress and into her silk nightgown, her mind replaying the night's events in a dizzying loop. As she slid between the cool sheets, she couldn't shake the feeling of Joe's eyes on her, his touch, his voice. Her hand traveled down her body, tracing the same paths he had earlier. Her breath grew ragged as she reached her own release, moaning his name out loud into the darkness, the syllables falling off her tongue as if destined.

The next day, she found herself unable to concentrate at work, her thoughts consumed by Joe. The office felt stifling, and she couldn't help but wonder if he was feeling the same. She found her eyes darting to her phone, waiting for a message that never came. It was as if the universe knew she was teetering on the edge, and it was holding its breath.

When she got home, she was surprised to find a bouquet of flowers on her doorstep with a note that simply read, "All my best." She knew immediately they were from Joe, and the gesture sent a shiver down her spine. She brought them inside, placing them on the kitchen counter, and stared at them for what felt like hours, the scent of roses filling the room.

They kept running into each other, the tension growing with every passing encounter. They exchanged glances that spoke volumes, but neither made a move. The weight of their secret grew heavier with each shared smile, each lingering touch. It was a dance they both knew could end in disaster, but the music was too tempting to resist.

The next time she spoke to him was a Saturday afternoon in May. Terrence was out playing golf with colleagues, and she had spent the day cleaning from top to bottom. The house was finally starting to feel like home, but she couldn't ignore the emptiness that echoed through the halls. The sun cast a gorgeous glow over the neighborhood as she stepped outside to get some fresh air. She exchanged her usual business attire for a pair of shorts and a simple tank top, her freshly pressed hair pulled into a high ponytail.

As she sat on the porch swing, the sound of faint grunts and huffed counting from Joe's backyard caught her attention. Curious, she slid her sunglasses down the bridge of her nose to get a better look. She found him shirtless, a sheen of sweat glistening on his broad chest and shoulders as he worked through a set of push-ups. Chelsea couldn't help but admire the play of muscles beneath his skin, her gaze lingering longer than she intended.

Their eyes met, and Joe paused mid-push-up, a smirk playing on his lips as he held his hover over the shaded pavement effortlessly. He didn't bother getting up, instead continuing his workout, clearly enjoying the attention. She felt the heat creep into her cheeks and turned away, looking down as she pretended to examine the fence. The sound of his footsteps grew closer until he was standing on the other side, just a few wooden slats separating them.

"You know, I could use a spotter," he called over with a laugh, his voice low and teasing. "Or are you just here to admire the view?"

Chelsea rolled her eyes, though she couldn't hide her own smirk. "I wouldn't dare interrupt your workout routine, Mr. Burrow," she quipped, trying to sound more casual than she felt.

"Joe," he corrected, his voice dropping an octave. "And I could use the company."

The air thickened between them, charged with unspoken desire. Chelsea felt her heart quicken. She knew she should go inside, maintain the facade of a contented wife. But she didn't move. Instead, she found herself saying, "I make a kick-ass iced tea, if you're thirsty."

Joe's grin widened, and without missing a beat, he responded, "I'm parched. I'll be right over."

The moment Joe stepped into her kitchen, the air grew electric. Chelsea poured two tall glasses of iced tea, her hands shaking slightly as she handed him one. They clinked their glasses together in a silent toast, and she took a sip, the sweetness and coolness providing a brief respite from the heat building inside her. He drank deeply, watching her over the rim, his eyes never leaving hers. The silence stretched out, a taut thread ready to snap at the slightest provocation.

"Your house is beautiful," Joe said finally, breaking the silence as he scanned the open-plan living room. "I don't think I've seen it all put together yet."

"Thank you," Chelsea replied, her eyes following the trail of condensation down the side of her glass. "It's still a work in progress, not 100% what I want, but it's coming together." She took a deep breath, trying to ignore the way his presence seemed to fill the space, making the house feel both smaller and more alive than it had in months.

They made small talk as they walked around the house, Joe nodding and making the occasional comment about the decor, though his eyes never strayed from hers for long. The conversation grew more intimate as they sat down in the living room, the tension between them palpable. Chelsea's eyes flicked to the clock on the mantle, reminding her that she had a few hours before Terrence was due home.

"So, what's been keeping you busy?" Joe asked, setting his glass down on the coffee table.

"Coaster, please," Chelsea said with a smile, gesturing to the spot where his glass was leaving a ring. Joe's eyes followed her gesture and he chuckled, placing it on the provided coaster. "I got thrown into an image rights case last minute," she continued. "I've been in and out of court most days, so not much time for anything else."

"Sounds hectic," Joe said, leaning back into the couch, his muscular arms flexing under the fabric of his shirt. "But I'm sure you're crushing it."

"I try," Chelsea said, sipping her tea, her gaze lingering on the way his biceps bulged. "But sometimes, I wish I could just take a break from it all."

Joe leaned closer, his eyes searching hers. "What would you do if you could?"

Her breath hitched. "I don't know," she murmured. "Maybe just escape."

Joe set his glass aside and shifted closer, his knee brushing hers. "Where would you go?"

"Somewhere tropical," she said, observing the brown drink in her hand. "White sand beaches, clear water, and zero cell service. Terrence gets so antsy when he's away from work, I doubt he'd even come with me." She lifted her eyes to find Joe studying her, his expression unreadable.

"You deserve a break," he said, his voice dropping an octave. "Someone should take care of you."

The words hung in the air, and Chelsea's heart raced at the implication. She swallowed hard, trying to keep her composure. "I'm sure you're busy too, with the winery and your work."

Joe leaned back, a knowing smile playing on his lips. "Yeah, it's been a grind. But sometimes, you need to make time for what's important." His hand hovered over her thigh, and she felt the warmth of his touch pressing into her skin. She didn't move away.

The room grew quiet, filled only with the faint hum of the AC and the distant sound of a lawnmower outside. Chelsea's skin prickled with anticipation as Joe's hand slid closer to her, the fabric of her shorts the only barrier. She took another sip of tea, the ice cubes clinking against the glass, the sound amplified in the tense silence.

"What do you think is important?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

Joe's hand stilled, his thumb tracing lazy circles on her thigh. "Well, I think taking care of yourself is pretty high on the list." His eyes never left hers, the intensity of his gaze making her feel both exposed and desired. "And maybe," he paused, his smile growing, "finding someone who enjoys taking care of you too."

Chelsea's breathing grew shallower, her eyes flicking to his hand, then back to his face. She knew what he was implying, and it was both thrilling and terrifying. "We're married, Joe," she reminded him, her voice strained.

Joe shrugged, his thumb continuing its tantalizing dance. "Doesn't mean we can't take care of each other."

Chelsea's resolve was wavering, the heat of his touch spreading through her like wildfire. She set her glass down on a duplicate coaster, her hand trembling slightly. "Joe..." she began, unsure of what to say next.

He leaned in even closer, his breath warm against her ear. "No one has to know," he whispered. "We can keep it our little secret." His hand inched higher, and she could feel the heat of his palm through the material of her shorts. "Tell me you don't want this."

Her eyes fluttered shut, and for a brief moment, she allowed herself to imagine a life where she could be with Joe, free from the shackles of her unfulfilling marriage. But reality crashed back down on her, and she took a deep breath, steeling herself. "We can't," she said firmly, moving his hand away. "We're married to other people, and we have to respect that."

Joe leaned back, his smile fading into a more serious expression. "I know," he said, his voice softer. "But I also know that sometimes, you need more than what you have."

Chelsea sighed, unable to deny the truth of his words. "Fuck," she whispered, feeling the weight of the unspoken agreement between them. They sat there for a moment, the air thick with unspoken desires.

Then she leaned in, her lips a breath away from his. "Fuck me," she murmured, her voice thick with need. "Here. Now."

Joe didn't need any more encouragement. He stood, pulling Chelsea to her feet, their bodies colliding in a frenzied kiss. His hands roamed her body, and she moaned into his mouth, feeling alive in a way she hadn't in years. They stumbled through the living room, knocking over a vase in their haste. Chelsea didn't care. All she could focus on was the heat of Joe's touch and the promise of the pleasure he offered.

They fell onto the couch, a tangle of limbs and need. Joe's hands were everywhere, pulling her tank top over her head and unhooking her bra with deft fingers. Chelsea's own hands were equally busy, her nails trailed down his back, feeling the power beneath his shirt. They were like starving lovers, desperate to devour each other, their clothes flying off in a frenzy of passion.

The couch creaked under their weight as Joe positioned himself over her, his erection pressing against her thigh. She wrapped her legs around him, urging him closer. His kisses grew more demanding as he kissed a trail down her neck, making her arch her back in response. His teeth grazed the sensitive skin of her collarbone, eliciting a gasp. The feel of his stubble against her skin was exhilarating, opposing the sleek smoothness she was used to with Terrence.

Chelsea reached down and fumbled with his athletic shorts, her heart racing. The fabric slid down his hips, revealing his hardened length concealed under his boxer briefs. She took him in her hand, stroking him gently. Joe groaned, his eyes closing as he felt her touch. His own hand found her center, and she was wet and ready for him. He teased her with his fingers, exploring her folds and finding her clit. She moaned, pushing herself into his hand, eager for more.

With a growl, Joe kissed her again, his tongue claiming her mouth as he entered her. Chelsea's eyes widened with pleasure, her body responding to him in ways it hadn't for Terrence in so long. He began to move, his thrusts deep and powerful. The couch protested with every movement, but the sound was lost in their muffled cries and gasps. Chelsea's breasts bounced with the rhythm, her nipples tight and sensitive. Joe's eyes were locked on hers, the intensity in them making her feel like the only woman in the world.

The room spun as Chelsea moaned out at the feeling of the stretch. She raked her nails down his back, urging him on. He responded, his strokes growing more erratic and his breathing more ragged. The friction between them was electric, each movement sending shockwaves of pleasure through her body. She willed him closer, pulling her into her sweet heat, as if wanting to embed his skin onto hers.

"Wait, do you have a condom?" Chelsea managed to ask breathlessly, the realization hitting her like a cold shower. Joe paused, looking surprised for a moment before nodding and reaching for his discarded pants. He fished out a foil packet from his wallet and tore it open with his teeth, sliding it onto himself with an efficiency that spoke of experience.

She couldn't bring herself to think too hard about the implications of Joe carrying a condom at the ready. Instead, she focused on the feeling of him sheathing himself and sinking back into her. The sensation was exquisite, filling a void she hadn't even realized existed. They moved together, their bodies syncing in a way she had thought was reserved for movies and romance novels. The passion between them was intoxicating, the air thick with desire.

Sweat glistened on their skin as Joe picked up the pace. Chelsea's moans grew louder, and she could feel herself teetering on the edge of a climax she hadn't experienced in years. Her eyes squeezed shut as the pleasure built, her toes curling into the plush rug beneath them. When it finally crashed over her, she called out his name, her voice echoing in the quiet room. Joe followed shortly after, his hips stuttering as he emptied himself into the latex barrier.

Chelsea's body felt like jelly as Joe pulled out and they both lay panting on the couch, their clothes in disarray. The moment of passion hovered over them like a cloud, leaving a heavy silence in its wake. Chelsea's mind raced as she stared at the ceiling, trying to comprehend what they had just done. The weight of their actions settled on her shoulders, but she couldn't deny the satisfaction that coursed through her veins.

They both knew they had crossed a line, and the guilt began to creep in. Chelsea sat up, smoothing her hair before reaching down to pull her underwear back up her shapely legs. She searched Joe's eyes for a sign of what was to come, but all she found was a mirror to her own tumultuous emotions. He stood and offered her his hand, helping her to her feet. They were silent as they redressed, the sound of fabric rustling and their hearts beating loudly in the quiet.

A notification pinged, echoing through the tense space. Chelsea's phone vibrated on the coffee table, and she reached for it almost instinctively. It was a message from Terrence, checking in on her evening. The irony wasn't lost on her as she typed out a quick response, playing the role of the devoted wife. Joe leaned against the arm of the couch, watching her with a mix of satisfaction and something else she couldn't quite place. His gaze was intense, his eyes dark with lust that hadn't fully subsided.

"We should probably talk," Joe said, his voice low and serious, breaking the silence that had enveloped the room.

Chelsea's head shook from side to side, her mind racing with the gravity of their actions. "What is there to talk about?" she replied, her voice thick with emotion. "We both know this can't go anywhere. We are married, Joe."

Joe's eyes searched hers for understanding. "I know, Chelsea. But I can't ignore this connection. And I don't think you can either."

"But we have to," Chelsea insisted, her voice trembling as she tried to convince herself more than him. She knew the rules of their social circles, the expectations of their families. A scandal like this would ruin everything they'd worked so hard to build. She stepped away, creating a physical distance between them as she tried to reconstruct the walls she'd allowed to crumble.

"I don't know what your marriage is like," Joe began, his voice gentle yet firm, "but I know mine hasn't been the same in a long time." His eyes searched hers, looking for a flicker of understanding. "And something tells me you're not exactly thrilled with yours either."

Chelsea's heart thudded in her chest as she took in his words. The truth in them resonated deep within her, making it difficult to maintain her stance. She knew he wasn't wrong, but admitting it aloud was another matter entirely. "It's complicated," she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper. "I can't just throw away everything I have with Terrence."

Joe nodded, his expression understanding. "I'm not asking you to," he assured her. "But I'm also not going to pretend that what just happened didn't mean something." He took a step closer, his hand reaching out to gently brush her palm to her warm cheek. "I want to see you again, Chelsea. I want to explore this—whatever it is—between us."

The warmth of his touch sent a shiver down her spine, and for a brief moment, she allowed herself to lean into it. She closed her eyes, feeling the weight of their situation pressing down on her. When she opened them, she found Joe's gaze still fixed on her, filled with a determination that she hadn't seen before. "Joe, we can't," she said, her voice a barely-there whisper. "This isn't right."

"I know," Joe replied, his thumb tracing the curve of her cheekbone. "But sometimes, things that aren't right feel incredibly right." His hand dropped, and he took a step back, giving her the space she needed to breathe. "Look, I'm not asking you to leave Terrence or for us to run away together. But we both know we can't keep pretending we don't feel something. If we can find a way to do this without hurting anyone, I think we owe it to ourselves to see where it goes."

Chelsea took a deep breath, her mind racing. The thought of being with Joe, of feeling alive again in a way she hadn't in years, was tempting beyond measure. But she was also a woman of integrity, and the thought of deceiving her husband and new friend was unbearable. She searched Joe's eyes, looking for any hint of doubt or insincerity. What she found instead was a man who was lost, just as she was, seeking solace in a connection that transcended their stagnant marriages.

"I think you should leave," Chelsea said finally, her voice trembling with the effort it took to keep her emotions in check. "I'm sorry, Joe, but we can't do this again. It's not fair to either of them."

Joe nodded, his expression a mix of understanding and disappointment. He leaned in and placed a gentle kiss on her forehead. "Okay," he murmured, "but you know where to find me if you change your mind." With a sigh, he pulled back, collected himself, and walked out the door. For a moment she watched him go, the ache in her chest growing with every step he took.

The days that followed were a tumultuous blend of guilt and longing. Chelsea threw herself into her work, burying herself in contracts and negotiations to keep her mind off Joe. But every time she saw his car pull into the driveway next door, her resolve wavered. The memory of their illicit encounter burned into her every thought, tempting her to abandon caution and explore the depths of their shared desire.

Terrence was increasingly more absent, a side effect of his new position that required frequent travel and long hours. Chelsea's mind wandered to Joe during the lonely nights, the quiet house a punishing reminder of the void in her life. Her fantasies grew more daring with each passing day, and she found herself craving the thrill of their clandestine meeting. She could practically smell Joe's cologne still. It was dark, musky, and filled her with a hunger that she had never felt with Terrence.

Work proved to be the only respite from the chaotic whirlwind of emotions Chelsea felt. Each day at the office was a battle to keep her thoughts from drifting to Joe, the way his eyes had lit up when they talked, the warmth of his touch, and the raw passion that had overtaken them that night. Her interactions with Gianna had become that much more painful, knowing she was hiding such a massive secret from her friend. The weight of their affair grew heavier with every shared smile or casual wave between their houses.

Chelsea couldn't help the scoff that escaped her as she read through the loophole-ridden contract displayed on her computer screen. The office had been buzzing as usual, the Monday morning rush bringing in a wave of new cases and clients. With Terrence being so busy with his new role, she had logged more hours in, catching the attention of a senior partner at the firm. He had, not so subtly, hinted at a promotion to junior partner on the horizon if she kept up her current pace.

So she dove head first into her work, the pile of legal documents becoming a welcome distraction from the tempest of guilt and desire that swirled within her. Her days grew longer, her nights lonelier, and with each passing hour, the walls she had built around her heart began to crumble.

Months ago she had known things with Terrence had grown stale, but now, with Joe's presence a constant reminder of what she was missing, the cracks in their marriage had become a chasm. The weight of her secret grew heavier with every encounter, yet she couldn't bring herself to confess.

Part of her knew that she was reluctant to confess because she was holding onto a bit of hope that things would change. That the infatuation she once held for the older, charming medical student would return. That the man who had swept her off her feet and promised her the world would remember that they had once been each other's everything. But with each passing day, she realized that hope was fading into the shadows of her reality.

If she was being honest with herself, the most disheartening part of her marriage was the fact that she couldn't tell if Terrence had noticed the change in her. His work kept him away more and more, and when he was home, it was as if he couldn't be bothered to see her, blind to the tumultuous emotions she wrestled with.

Maybe it hurt her so much because she knew he wasn't entirely oblivious. There were moments when she'd catch him looking at her with a hint of longing in his eyes, as if he knew she was slipping away but was too proud to ask why. There were others still when he would attempt to reconnect with her, hinting at their former passion with gentle touches and whispers. But it was only ever through sex that he seemed to try to bridge the gap between them, and even that had grown mechanical and forced.

The ringing of the office phone cut through her focus and Chelsea found herself eager to escape the claustrophobic walls of her thoughts. The caller ID revealed the incoming call from the reception's desk. "This is Chelsea Brooks," she answered in her professional tone, hoping it was a new client or an emergency that could occupy her mind and free her from the spiraling thoughts of her personal life.

The receptionist's voice was smooth, unknowing even, "Mrs. Brooks, there's a Mr. Joe Burrow here to see you. He said it's important and that he won't take up much of your time."

Chelsea's heart skipped a beat. She had told Joe to stay away, yet here he was, barging into her workplace like he had every right to be there. "Tell him I'm busy," she instructed firmly, trying to keep her cool.

The receptionist's voice returned a moment later, "Mr. Burrow insists it's urgent, Mrs. Brooks. He says he'll wait if you're busy."

Chelsea sighed, her hand tightening around the phone. She couldn't risk a scene at work. Not with Joe. "Send him in," she said, resigned to the inevitable.

Joe entered her office with the same confidence he had that day in her kitchen, his tall frame and broad shoulders seemingly swallowing the space. He closed the door behind him and leaned against it, his eyes locking onto hers with an intensity that made her squirm in her chair. His tailored suit hugged his body in all the right places, reminding her of the power she felt when he was inside her.

"I need to talk to you," he said, his voice a low rumble that sent shivers down her spine.

Chelsea took a deep breath, her mind racing with a hundred different ways to tell him that this couldn't continue. She had to end it before it destroyed everything she had worked so hard to build. "Joe, what are you doing here?" she asked, trying to keep the tremor from her voice.

He stepped closer to her desk, his eyes glued to hers. "Chelsea, I can't stop thinking about you," he said, his voice a mix of frustration and need.

Her chest tightened. She knew she should be firm, but the raw desire in his words made it difficult. "Joe, we agreed..." she started, but he cut her off.

"I know what we agreed," he said, his voice gruff with passion. "But I can't help it. When I see you with Terrence, it kills me. You deserve more than what he's giving you."

Chelsea felt the heat of his words, the truth of them burning through her resolve like a hot knife through butter. She swallowed hard, trying to find the right words to respond. "What about Gianna? Do you think this is what she deserves? For you to be here, showing up at my office, telling me you can't stop thinking about me?"

Joe took a step closer, his hands gripping the edge of the desk. "Gianna and I have our own issues, Chelsea. You know that. And I don't expect you to fix them. But I can't ignore what we have either. I can't let this go without knowing if there's something more to it."

Chelsea felt the weight of his gaze, the warmth of his body invading her space. The smell of his cologne, so different from Terrence's, was intoxicating. She wanted to lean into it, to let him take her again. But she knew she couldn't. Not here. Not now. "Joe, please," she whispered, her voice a plea for sanity. "Don't make it harder on me than it already is."

He stepped back, his expression softening. "I'm sorry," he said, his voice a mix of regret and apology. "I didn't mean to pressure you. I just..." He trailed off, his hand raking through his hair. "I miss you."

Chelsea's eyes searched his, looking for any sign of insincerity, but all she saw was raw need. She stood up, the need to keep distance between them overwhelming. "Miss me?" she repeated, her voice barely a whisper. "Joe, we can't. We're married to other people."

Joe stepped closer, his hand reaching out to her. "I know, I know," he murmured, his voice thick with emotion. "But we can't ignore this either." His hand grazed her arm, sending a jolt of electricity through her body. "I need to feel you again, Chelsea."

Her eyes searched his, looking for any sign of doubt or regret, but all she found was a deep, burning passion that mirrored her own. The room felt smaller, the air charged with a tension that was palpable. The sound of her own breathing was loud in her ears, her pulse racing with every beat.

"You don't have to give me an answer right now. But Gianna's in Europe filming for the rest of the week, and I'd like to talk, really talk, over dinner. Just us," Joe said, his voice low and urgent. "Swing by around 8, I'll cook. It'll just be us, no expectations, no pressure."

Chelsea hesitated, Joe's gaze holding hers. The room seemed to spin around them, and for a moment, it was as if they were the only two people in the world. She knew she should say no, that she should put a stop to this dangerous dance before it spiraled out of control. But the memory of his touch, the way he made her feel alive, was too strong.

As she opened her mouth to speak, Joe stepped back, giving her space. "Think about it," he said gently. "I'll be waiting for you, whether you come tonight or not."

The rest of the day was a blur for Chelsea. Her mind raced with thoughts of Joe, their passionate encounters, and the life she had built with Terrence. She tried to focus on work, but her mind kept wandering. She knew that going to Joe's tonight was playing with fire, but she also knew that she was already burned. The flame between them had never truly been extinguished, and she was drawn to it like a moth to a candle.

When 8 PM rolled around, Chelsea found herself standing in front of Joe's house, her hand hovering over the doorbell. She took a deep breath, trying to calm her racing heart. This was wrong, she thought. But then she remembered the emptiness she felt in her marriage, the lack of connection with Terrence, and the way Joe looked at her - like she was the only person in the world that mattered. She pushed the button and waited, her heart hammering in her chest. No going back now.

Joe answered the door, looking surprised yet pleased to see her. He was dressed casually, his shirt sleeves rolled up, exposing his muscular forearms. Chelsea felt a warmth spread through her body as she took in the sight of him. "I wasn't sure you'd come," he said, stepping aside to let her in. The house was filled with the aroma of something delicious cooking, and Chelsea's stomach rumbled in response.

They sat in the cozy dining room, the candlelight flickering across their faces. The dinner was simple yet exquisite, a far cry from the fancy meals they'd shared before. As they ate, Chelsea felt a sense of ease she hadn't experienced in months, a comfort that was intoxicating. The conversation flowed effortlessly, touching on their hopes, fears, and the paths that had led them to this moment.

For the first time in a long time, she laughed—truly laughed—at a man's jokes. The candlelight danced in Joe's eyes as he told her a story from his college days when he played quarterback for the Ohio State University before giving it all up to support Gianna's culinary dreams. But as the night grew later, the conversation grew heavier, and the weight of their situation settled on the room.

"Why do you stay with him?" Joe asked, his voice low and intense. The question hung in the air like the last note of a heartbreaking melody. Chelsea looked down at her plate, her appetite lost amidst the swirl of emotions. She knew he was referring to Terrence, but the question was more about her than her husband. She took a sip of wine, buying time to formulate a response.

"Because it's what's expected," she finally said, her voice barely above a whisper. "My family, Terrence's family... they've all imposed their idea of what our marriage should look like to be perfect." She paused, looking into Joe's eyes, searching for understanding. "And what we have... on paper, it is perfect. Successful careers, a beautiful home, the potential to have beautiful, intelligent children." She paused again, her voice thickening with emotion. "When I first met him, I just knew that we'd be here. I knew that I had to marry him. Because he was exactly what was expected of me, you know? From a good family, studying to be a neurosurgeon, it was all so destined. I couldn't say no."

Joe reached across the table, placing his hand on hers. His touch sent a jolt through her, a reminder of the passion that had been missing from her life for so long. "I gave up a lot to marry Gianna. My dreams, my career... all for her restaurant. With the show, it's like we're back in high school again. Everyone loves us, everyone thinks we're the perfect couple." He squeezed her hand gently. "But it's all just an act. I can't remember the last time we talked about anything real. Anything that wasn't about the restaurant or her show."

Chelsea felt a pang of guilt, recognizing the echo of her own discontent in Joe's words. "So why do you stay?" she asked, repeating his question from earlier.

Joe's gaze drifted to the floor, his thumb rubbing absentmindedly at the skin on her hand. "Honestly, I don't know what the alternative is," he said, his voice thick with unspoken pain. "We broke up for a year when we were in college because of my football dreams, and she was so angry with me. Our moms, they were devastated. They’ve had our lives planned out since we started dating in high school."

Chelsea nodded, her own heart aching for him.

"I've spent my whole adult life making Gianna happy," Joe continued, his eyes returning to meet hers. "I gave up football. I make appearances on her show. I work in finance because it helps keep her restaurant afloat. And now..." He trailed off, his voice heavy with the weight of his thoughts. "Some days I can't even tell if we're together because we truly love each other or because we're afraid of what everyone else would say."

Chelsea felt a knot in her stomach tighten. She knew the feeling all too well. Her own marriage had become a performance, a dance of appearances and expectations. "It's like you're trapped with no way out," she murmured, her voice filled with a sadness she hadn't realized she felt.

They sat in silence for a long moment, the weight of their confessions hanging in the air. Chelsea knew that she should pull her hand away, stand up, and leave. But she didn't. Instead, she leaned closer to Joe, her heart pounding in her chest.

"You wanna know something really fucked up?" Chelsea said, her voice laced with a mix of anger and desperation. Joe nodded, his eyes never leaving hers. "Sometimes, when I'm with Terrence, all I can think about is you. How you make me feel, the way you touch me, the way you look at me." She took a deep breath, her chest rising and falling. "And then I hate myself for it. I'm supposed to love him, to only think about him, to only want him. But I can't."

Joe leaned in closer, his eyes searching hers. "You don't have to justify how you feel, Chelsea," he murmured. "Gigi and I have been married for 11 years, and I feel like she barely knows me. But when you showed up on my doorstep, it was like the wind got knocked out of me. You're all I think about."

Their faces were so close that Chelsea could feel the warmth of his breath. "I don't want to hurt anyone," she whispered, her eyes filling with tears. "But I don't know how to stop wanting this."

Joe reached up and brushed a tear from her cheek with his thumb. "We don't have to decide anything right now," he said softly. "But we can't keep pretending."

Their eyes held for a moment longer before Joe leaned in and kissed her, gentle but urgent. Chelsea's body responded immediately, her hand curling into his shirt as she pulled him closer. The kiss grew deeper, their tongues dancing together as the heat between them ignited once more.

"Damn," Joe hissed under his breath, his hands holding Chelsea's face in his hands. His thumbs traced the line of her jaw as they broke the kiss, both of them panting. "I want you so badly."

"I know," she replied, her voice a ragged whisper. "This sucks."

They sat in silence for a moment, the weight of their confessions thick in the air. Chelsea's heart pounded in her chest, the guilt she'd been feeling for months now mixed with something new—relief. It felt like a dam had burst, releasing all the pent-up emotion she'd been holding onto.

"So what do we do now?" Joe asked, his voice hoarse.

Chelsea looked at him, her eyes filled with confusion and desire. "I don't know," she replied honestly. "I guess we have to figure out where this goes. If we can keep it just between us. Just for the time being."

Joe nodded, understanding the gravity of their situation. "Okay," he said. "But I need to tell you something." He took a deep breath, his gaze intense. "I'm falling for you, Chelsea. I'm falling for you so hard, I'm gonna do something stupid if I can't have you."

Chelsea's stomach flipped. She didn't know what to say. Her heart raced, torn between the love she had for Terrence and the fiery passion she felt for Joe. She took a moment, looking into his eyes, searching for answers. Finally, she spoke. "So have me."

The words hung in the air, and Joe leaned in again, capturing her mouth in a fierce kiss. His hands roamed down her body, pulling her closer until she was straddling him on the dining room chair. Chelsea moaned into his mouth, the sound echoing through the quiet house. They were lost in each other, their bodies moving in a dance of passion that had been building for so long.

As they kissed, their hands explored, pulling at clothes and unbuckling belts. The air was electric with tension, and the smell of their arousal filled the room. They managed to undress, Joe again reaching into his back pocket to retrieve a condom. They didn't bother moving to the couch this time; the chair was as good as anywhere. Chelsea wrapped her legs around him, and Joe pushed into her, both moaning desperately into each other's mouths.

The sex was raw and unbridled, fueled by their months of repressed desire. Each thrust sent waves of pleasure through Chelsea's body, and she could feel Joe's need growing more intense with every second. They moved together, their bodies in perfect sync, as if they'd been doing this for years. Joe gripped her hips tightly, guiding her movements, her hands tugged at his dark blonde hair, her nails digging into his scalp. There should have been a hint of shame in the way they were acting, but all Chelsea felt was a fierce craving that only Joe could satisfy.

The chair creaked under their weight, a symphony of passionate sounds that filled the room. Chelsea's moans grew louder, and she threw her head back, her breasts bouncing with each movement. Joe's eyes locked onto hers, and she felt a mix of power and vulnerability. They were risking everything for this fleeting moment, but neither of them could bring themselves to care. The pleasure was too intense, too all-consuming.

As their pace grew frantic, Chelsea felt the familiar tightness in her core that signaled an approaching climax. She bit down on Joe's shoulder to muffle her cries, her nails digging deeper into his skin. He grunted in response, his hands pressing harsh marks into her skin, as if he was trying to imprint every detail of this moment into his mind. The tension grew, coiling tightly inside her until she couldn't hold back any longer. She came hard, her body shuddering around him, and Joe followed soon after, burying his face in her neck and groaning out his release.

They remained intertwined, panting and trembling, for several moments. Unlike the first time, however, Chelsea allowed herself to bask in the afterglow. Joe's arms were strong and warm around her, his chest rising and falling in a rhythm that soothed her racing heart. She leaned into him, her cheek pressed against his shoulder, feeling the sticky warmth of their combined sweat. The guilt was still there, lurking at the edges of her mind, but it was dulled by the overwhelming sense of satisfaction.

Joe eventually pulled out, and they both stood, his hands reaching for her in an effort to redress her, his touch gentle yet still searing into her skin. Chelsea felt a strange mix of emotions: excitement, fear, and a deep-seated longing for more of what they had just shared. She allowed him to fix her clothes, her eyes watching his strong features, searching for any sign of regret or hesitation. But Joe's gaze remained steady, filled with a tenderness that she hadn't seen from Terrence in a long time.

"Thank you," Chelsea murmured as Joe tucked her shirt back into her pants, his hands lingering for a brief moment longer than necessary. The words felt strange in her mouth, a blend of gratitude and apology for what they had just done. He nodded, his thumb brushing over her bottom lip before dropping away.

They stepped out of the dining room, the air thick with their combined scents of arousal and the faint aroma of their lunch. Joe walked her to the door, his hand resting on the small of her back. As he opened it, Chelsea took a deep breath, trying to compose herself. The sun had set, casting a soft glow over the neighborhood. The sight of the quiet, suburban street was a stark contrast to the tumultuous emotions raging within her.

"Wait," Joe said suddenly, his hand on her arm as she stepped onto the porch. "Come here. Gimme a kiss."

Chelsea's heart skipped a beat, but she couldn't resist. She leaned in, her body colliding with his, and kissed him with the same passion that had just consumed them. It was a kiss that spoke of all the things they hadn't yet said out loud—their magnetism, their fear, and the understanding that there was no going back.

As they parted, Joe whispered, "I'll see you soon, okay?" His words sent a shiver down her spine, and she nodded, not trusting her voice to respond. With one final squeeze of her hand, he stepped back, allowing her to leave. Chelsea walked home, her mind racing with thoughts of Joe and what had just transpired. She knew that she couldn't continue down this path without consequences, but she couldn't shake the feeling that she was already lost in it.

That evening, as Terrence returned from work, Chelsea tried to slip back into her position, fixing dinner and asking about his day. But every time she glanced at him, she saw Joe's face, heard his voice, felt his touch. The guilt was a heavy weight that she couldn't ignore, and she wondered if it would ever get easier. Terrence seemed oblivious, his eyes lighting up when she asked him about his surgeries and consultations, hoping it would keep him talking, and keep her from thinking about the man next door.

The next two months passed in a blur of work, stolen moments, secret lunch dates, and heated exchanges between Chelsea and Joe. Each time they saw each other, the tension grew thicker, a palpable electricity that neither could ignore. Chelsea found herself looking forward to the nights when Terrence was at the hospital, the quiet house providing the perfect cover for their clandestine meetings. They tried to keep things casual, but every touch, every whispered word, felt like a declaration of something much deeper.

One evening, as the sun dipped below the horizon, casting a warm glow over the neighborhood, Chelsea received a text from Joe. "Can you come over?" it read. She felt a thrill of excitement and a stab of guilt. She knew she should say no, that she needed to end this before it spun further out of control, but she couldn't bring herself to do it. Terrence was away, again, off to San Francisco for a medical conference, leaving her with an empty house and an empty bed.

Chelsea slipped into something less than business casual, opting for a short, floral sundress that hugged her curves in all the right places. She knew Joe liked it—he had told her so the last time they were together. With a quick spritz of perfume and a final look in the mirror, she stepped out of her house and into the mild summer evening. The air was thick with the scent of freshly cut grass and the distant sound of the Chen's grandchildren running around in their backyard. She walked over to Joe's, her heart racing with every step.

When she arrived, he greeted her at the door with a smoldering look that sent her stomach into a frenzy. His tie was loosened, the first two buttons of his shirt undone, showing a hint of the warm skin she had come to yearn for when she was away from him. "You look gorgeous," he murmured, pulling her into a kiss that was anything but friendly. Chelsea melted into him, letting his arms wrap around her and his hands roam her body. They stumbled into the living room, their kisses growing more desperate, as if they hadn't seen each other in years rather than mere days.

The dinner they had planned remained untouched, forgotten in the face of their overwhelming need for each other. They made their way upstairs, shedding their clothes along the way, leaving a trail of fabric that whispered their secrets through the quiet house. In the guest bedroom, Joe's large hands turned her around to face the mirror, pressing her against him as he kissed her neck. Chelsea could see their reflection, their bodies entwined, and the desire in their eyes as Joe's hands cupped her breasts, teasing her already hard nipples.

"I love watching you," Joe growled in her ear as his teeth grazed the sensitive skin of her neck. Chelsea's breath hitched as his hands slid down her waist and around to the zipper of her dress. She felt the heat of his arousal pressing against her, and she knew that she wanted him just as badly. They had been playing this dangerous game for months now, and the thrill of it had only grown stronger.

"You're so down bad, Joey," Chelsea teased, her voice breathless as she reached behind her to run her fingers through his hair. He smirked in the mirror, his eyes dark with need. The room was dimly lit, casting a warm glow over their bodies.

"Call me that again," Joe responded playfully, his hand slipping down to her ass and giving it a firm squeeze. Chelsea giggled, the sound a stark contrast to the heavy lust in the air.

"Joey?" Chelsea repeated with a grin, watching his expression in the mirror. "Is that what you want, baby?" She could feel his body tense with every word, his grip tightening slightly. "Want me to call you cute little names?"

"Chelsea," Joe groaned, his voice strained with restraint as he shook his head, blue eyes squeezing shut in concentration. "What do you want to call me?"

Chelsea leaned back into him, her eyes locked on their reflection. "Joey. Baby. Mine." The last word was a whisper, but it held the weight of their unspoken truth. He audibly swallowed, his hands moving to unzip her dress, letting it pool at her feet. She stepped out of it, leaving her in nothing but a matching set of skimpy, lace lingerie.

"Want me to be yours?" Joe murmured into her ear, his breath hot against her skin.

She giggled, spinning around to face him. "I want a lot of things," she said, her voice low and seductive. She reached up and wrapped her arms around his neck, pulling him down for a deep, lingering kiss. His hands slid over her body, exploring every inch of her soft curves, as they kissed with an urgency that had been building for months.

The room was filled with the sound of their breathless whispers and the rustling of clothing as they undressed each other. The tension was palpable, a heady mix of excitement and guilt that only made the moment feel more forbidden and exhilarating. They tumbled onto the bed, their bodies entangled as they explored each other with hungry kisses and roaming hands. Chelsea felt alive in a way she hadn't in years, her skin tingling with every touch from Joe's rough, calloused hands.

"Get on your stomach, face the mirror, baby," Joe ordered, his voice thick with desire. Chelsea's heart skipped a beat as she obeyed, the coolness of the silk sheets against her skin making her shiver. Joe's strong hands gripped her hips, positioning her just right so that she could see their reflection in the full-length mirror. He slid into her from behind, their eyes locking as he began to thrust, slow and deep.

One hand steadied himself on the curve where her back met her ass, the other hand gripping the plush of her hip. She felt exposed, vulnerable, and completely owned in the best way possible. Each thrust was a declaration of his possession, a silent shout of possession echoing in the quiet room. Her cheek pressed into the cool silk as she watched their reflection. He looked so commanding, so powerful, and she looked blissed out of her mind. Her eyes met his in the mirror, the blue of his burning into hers, and she could see the raw hunger there. It was thrilling and terrifying all at once.

"Tell me you want this," Joe murmured in her ear, his breath hot and uneven. "Say it."

"I want this," Chelsea whispered, the words escaping her in a rush. "I want you."

Joe's eyes darkened, a smoldering intensity in his gaze that made Chelsea's knees wobble. He leaned over her, a thumb reaching underneath to tease her clit as he whispered, "Say it louder."

With a gasp, Chelsea's voice grew stronger, "I want you, Joe."

The room seemed to vibrate with the weight of her admission, the words echoing through the silent house like a confession whispered in a hallowed space. Joe's hand slipped away from her throbbing core, his touch replaced by the coolness of the air. He leaned back on his heels, pulling Chelsea up with him so she was fully exposed in front of the mirror, her body quivering with need. He wrapped his arms around her waist, his chest pressing against her back as he kissed her neck, his teeth grazing her skin. She could feel his arousal leaking into the condom, warming her insides as he pushed into her, setting a rhythm that mirrored the erratic beat of her heart.

Their eyes locked in the reflection, a silent dance of passion and power that neither could deny. Chelsea's hands gripped his forearms as Joe's hands roamed her body, teasing her nipples, pressing into her needy clit. Her moans grew louder, filling the room as Joe's strokes grew more demanding. She felt the tension coiling in her belly, her orgasm approaching, unstoppable and exhilarating.

"Fuck," she breathed, her voice a mix of pleasure and surprise. "You make me feel so good, baby. So, so good."

Joe's grip tightened on her hips, his movements growing more erratic as he neared his own release. "You're fuckin' everything to me, Chelsea," he grunted, his voice strained. "Look at yourself. Look at us."

Chelsea's eyes remained glued to the mirror, watching Joe's face contort with pleasure as he claimed her body. His words sent a shiver down her spine, a mix of euphoria and trepidation. This wasn't just a casual fling anymore; it was love wrapped in a dark, illicit embrace. They climaxed together, their bodies trembling and skin slick with sweat.

They collapsed onto the bed, both trying to catch their breaths, their hearts beating in a chaotic symphony. The silence was deafening, filled with the weight of their shared secret. Joe leaned back, his chest heaving, and for a moment, Chelsea allowed herself to believe that this was real, that they could somehow make this work.

"How do you manage to do that?" Chelsea panted, rolling onto her side to face Joe. "Every single time."

Joe smirked, tracing a finger along her jawline. "It's all you, darling," he said, his voice smoky. "You do this to me. You come around me and suddenly I'm like a man who hasn't had water in days."

Chelsea's eyes searched his, looking for a hint of regret or doubt, but she only found hunger and adoration. It was intoxicating, a feeling she hadn't experienced with Terrence in a long time. The guilt of their infidelity was a constant presence, but in the throes of passion, it was a distant echo. They lay there, their bodies entwined, basking in the aftermath of their love-making. The scent of their desire lingered in the air, a tangible reminder of their connection.

They tore away from each other reluctantly, Chelsea needing to make a quick run to pick up dinner before Terrence returned from his shift. As she slipped into her clothes, Joe watched her with a sense of longing that made her heart ache. They'd agreed to keep this between them, but the cracks in their façade were starting to show.

"I'll text you later," Chelsea murmured, kissing him softly before slipping out the door. The pout on his lips almost drew her back in, his blue eyes clouded over with sadness as she left. She stepped into the cool evening air, trying to ignore the feeling that she was leaving a part of herself behind.

Her mind raced as she drove to a local Italian spot. How had it come to this? She'd never been the type to cheat, had never even thought about it. Yet here she was, carrying the weight of a love affair she didn't know how to end. Her phone buzzed with a message from Joe, a simple "I miss you already," that sent a warmth through her chest she hadn't felt in years. She replied with, "I'll see you soon. Promise," and forced herself to focus on the mundane task of picking up dinner.

When she got home, Terrence was already there, the smell of antiseptic lingering. He greeted her with a squeeze to her arm and took the bag of food from her hand. As they sat down to eat, that pesky sense of apathy spread through her chest. She didn't want to be here, with him, going through the motions of a loveless marriage. Her thoughts drifted back to Joe, and she felt a pang of regret for what she'd left behind.

"Did you hear me?" Terrence's voice pulled Chelsea back to reality. He was looking at her expectantly, a question hanging in the air. She realized she'd been lost in thought, her eyes glazed over, staring into the distance.

"I'm sorry, what did you say?" she replied, snapping out of her Joe-induced trance.

Terrence raised an eyebrow, looking at her with a mix of concern and annoyance. "I don't know why I bother sometimes," he muttered under his breath. "I said I might be promoted to head of the Neurosurgery department. It's longer hours, but that's why we moved here. So we can both achieve our dreams."

Chelsea's eyebrows furrowed, an unsavory sense of irony coating her tongue as she responded, "More hours? Terrence you worked 90 hours last week, how many more can you possibly take on?"

"It's what I have to do to be the best," he said, noticing the weariness in her voice. "What about you? Any big cases coming up?"

"Don't change the subject on me, Terrence. How effective could you possibly be when you're working almost 100 hours a week?" Chelsea retorted, her voice laced with a hint of exasperation. She had been trying to bring this up for months, but he always had a new excuse or a new goal to pursue. She was never her husband's priority.

Terrence sighed heavily, his eyes searching hers for a brief moment before he turned away to grab a beer from the fridge. "You know I have to make my mark," he said, his back to her. "It takes hard work to be the best."

Chelsea felt a knot form in her stomach as she watched him, the coldness in her marriage starkly highlighted against the heat of her secret affair with Joe. "Yeah, I know," she murmured, trying to push down the resentment bubbling up. "But you're never home. You don't eat well, you don't sleep enough, and you're always stressed. That's not good for you and it's not good for your patients. What's the point of being the best if you can't even enjoy it?"

Terrence paused, his hand hovering over the fridge handle. He looked at her, his expression unreadable. "You don't get it, do you, Chelsea?" he said finally. "This isn't just about me. It's about our legacy, what we leave behind."

Chelsea rolled her eyes, feeling a surge of anger. "Oh, please. Legacy, huh? You know what our legacy is looking like right now? A tired, burnt-out doctor with a lonely, lawyer wife. Is that really what you want?" Terrence didn't answer, instead popping the cap on his beer and taking a long gulp.

"Does everything have to be about you, Chelsea?" Terrence said, his voice tight with frustration. "If you had a real, life or death job, maybe you'd understand. But you go drinking with celebrities and throw parties when someone signs their name on a dotted line. You don't know what real work is, Chelsea."

The room grew colder with each word, and Chelsea felt a sting of anger. She had worked hard to get where she was in the field, and she wasn't about to let him belittle her. "I'll tell you what's real work," she shot back, her voice rising. "It's trying to keep a marriage afloat when my husband is more in love with his career than he is with me. It's real work pretending to be satisfied with a man who can't even bother to make time for me! It's real work covering for you when your mother calls me every afternoon asking why you haven't spoken to her in a month!"

Terrence slammed the beer bottle on the counter, the sound echoing through the kitchen. "You think this is easy for me?" he yelled. "I'm trying to make a difference here, trying to be more than just another man with a fancy title! I'm doing this for you, Chelsea. For us!"

Chelsea's eyes narrowed, and she stepped closer to him. "Don't you dare say you're doing this for us. You're doing this for yourself and your ego! You haven't thought of me since we left our honeymoon. As a matter of fact, Terrence, tell me something. What's the name of my firm?"

Terrence's jaw tightened as he stared at her, unable to answer. The silence between them was deafening.

Chelsea took a deep breath, her chest heaving as her eyes began to cloud with tears. "Do you know what's pathetic?" she whispered, her voice shaking with emotion. "It's that I can't even be mad at you for not knowing the name of my firm. Because I've become so used to being second best in your eyes. I've accepted that your work comes first. That your success has to come at the cost of our marriage."

Terrence looked at her, his expression a mix of shock and pain. "Chelsea," he started, reaching out to touch her arm.

"Don't," she said, jerking away. "Don't touch me." She turned away from him, her eyes landing on the fridge, where their wedding photo stared back at her. They looked so happy then, so full of hope and promise. Now, it felt like a lie.

Terrence's silence was deafening as he took in her words. He knew she was unhappy, but he had always thought it was just a phase. That her passion would return once the dust of their new life in Cincinnati had settled. But now, hearing it laid out so starkly, he was forced to confront the truth.

"Chelsea," he finally managed, his voice thick with regret. "You know I love you. You're everything to me."

"No, I'm not, Terrence." she said firmly, her voice steadying. "If I was, you'd know what I do for a living. You'd know that my work isn't 'drinking with celebrities', you'd know that I was just going through the motions. That every day feels like I'm drowning in a sea of your ambition."

He took a step towards her, but she held up her hand. "Don't. You don't get to fix this with your charm. This isn't just about tonight."

Terrence stopped in his tracks, the weight of his wife's words sinking in. "If that's what you think of me, what could I possibly do to change your mind, huh? After everything I've given you?"

Chelsea faced him, her eyes glistening with unshed tears. "I'm not doing this with you, Terrence. After a full day of drinking with celebrities, I'm exhausted." Her voice dripped with sarcasm as she turned on her heels and stomped out of the kitchen, leaving Terrence standing there, feeling more lost than ever before.

The days that followed were tense and fraught with unspoken tension. Terrence tried to make amends, bringing her flowers—notably, the wrong ones—and making grand romantic gestures, but Chelsea remained distant, her heart and mind elsewhere. Her thoughts swirled with Joe's touch, his whispers, and the way he looked at her—like she was the only person in the world that mattered. At work, she threw herself into her cases, finding refuge in the cutthroat world where the only battles she could control were the ones she waged on paper.

When Terrence announced that Joe invited him, and a few of the other guys in the neighborhood, to go golfing the next weekend, Chelsea couldn't even bring herself to care.

The day of the golf trip dawned bright and early. Terrence was practically bouncing out the door, eager to bond with his new neighbor and escape the suffocating silence that had settled over their marriage. Chelsea watched him go with a mix of resentment and relief. As the door clicked shut behind him, she felt the weight of their unresolved issues crash down on her, but she quickly shoved the thoughts aside, focusing instead on her plans to spend the day with her friends, popcorn and wine.

The green of the gold course stretched out before them, the crisp spring air carrying the faint scent of freshly trimmed grass. Terrence felt a strange sense of relief as he swung his club, sending the small white ball soaring into the sky. The conversation between the men was light, mostly about their jobs and the neighborhood gossip. Joe was completely carefree, his Cartier sunglasses reflecting the sun's rays. Terrence couldn't help but feel a twinge of envy at how relaxed he looked, especially knowing that Joe's job required so much less of him than his own demanding career.

"Chelsea's been on my ass about my hours this past week," Terrence complained, taking a sip from his water bottle as they approached the next hole. "It's like she thinks I don't give a shit about our marriage."

Joe's grip tightened around his golf club, a smug smile playing on his lips. "Well, you know what they say, work is the best form of birth control," he quipped, watching Terrence's face fall. "But in all seriousness, man, marriage isn't easy. Sometimes you've got to make sacrifices for the girl you love."

Terrence nodded, his mind racing with thoughts of Chelsea. "Yeah, I know. I just... I don't know. The last time we had sex, she straight up couldn't orgasm. It's like she's not even into it anymore." He took a swing, the ball soaring through the air in a perfect arc before landing on the green.

Bryan, one of the other golfers, chuckled cruelly. "Maybe she's taking care of herself, man." The lewd remark hung in the air, gaining a few snickers from the group.

Terrence shook his head grumbling, "Chelsea? Nah, she's too... I don't know, too classy for that." He took a deep breath and downed the rest of his water, reaching in the cooler for a beer instead.

Joe felt a strange mix of guilt and triumph at Terrence's words. "Classy or not, everyone has needs," he said, trying to keep his voice neutral. Inside, his mind reeled with the memory of Chelsea's cries of pleasure just a few nights ago. He knew all too well the passion she kept hidden from her husband.

"See, if that was me, Chelsea wouldn't be able to think about leaving the bedroom. They'd have to do a wellness check on her to see if she was alright," Chris, another one of the golfers, chimed in, slapping Terrence on the back.

Terrence's eyes narrowed slightly, the conversation suddenly taking a turn he wasn't expecting. "I know, I know." He took a sip of his beer. "We used to be like that when Chelsea was in college." He chuckled, but Joe didn't miss the hint of sadness in his voice. It was the same sadness Chelsea had confessed to feeling in their own relationship.

"Maybe it's just stress," Joe offered, trying to keep his tone light despite the dark thoughts swirling in his head. "The move, the new job, all that can really mess with someone's head." He knew it wasn't just stress. He had felt it in her touch, heard it in her moans when they were together. The desperation and craving for something more.

"Personally, I don't think I've ever seen you even think about tapping that ass," Bryan, one of Terrence's golfing buddies, chimed in, nudging Terrence with a laugh. "Not even a kiss. Terrence, you gotta do better."

Joe's jaw clenched, the comment hitting too close to home. He shot a warning glare at Bryan, who shrugged it off, oblivious to the tension he had just stirred up. Chris, the more foul-mouthed of the two spoke up again, "I'm telling you, if she was mine, she'd be begging for it every night."

Terrence's smile didn't quite reach his eyes as he replied, "Alright, alright. Remember this is my wife we're talkin' about? Joe, you got any advice? Gianna's always skipping around all happy, I'm sure you've got some moves."

Joe's heart thumped in his chest. He felt like he was being goaded, and his mind raced with the desire to reveal all. Instead, he took a deep breath and replied, "Nah, man. I've only ever been with Gianna long-term, so I wouldn't know what to tell you." The lie tasted bitter on his tongue, but he knew the truth was too explosive to share.

The golf game continued, but Joe's mind was elsewhere. He couldn't help but think of the times Chelsea had whispered sweet nothings in his ear, her nails digging into his skin as she climaxed. The way she looked at him with a mix of adoration and hunger was something Terrence would never know. Despite the guilt, Joe felt alive in a way he hadn't in years.

Back at the office, Chelsea was busy wrapping up a case when her phone buzzed with a text from Joe. "You have fans," it read. She raised an eyebrow, not quite understanding the context. He followed up with a, "Your husband's golf buddies talked about you a lot today." A chill ran down her spine, and she felt a strange mix of anger and arousal. She texted back, "What did they say?"

Joe's response was succinct. "Doesn't matter. They'll never get to hear your pretty voice moan for my cock." The possessive undertone was unmistakable, sending a jolt of excitement through Chelsea's body. She quickly put her phone away, trying to compose herself before her colleagues noticed her flustered state. She was torn between the thrill of Joe's claim and the fear of their secret being exposed.

Chelsea stepped out of her downtown office building, the cool breeze of Cincinnati's early autumn brushing against her cheeks. The scent of freshly baked bread from the bakery across the street filled her nose, momentarily distracting her from the mountain of work emails waiting for her attention. She took a deep breath, letting the aroma mingle with the exhaust from the passing cars. It was a peculiar blend, but somehow Cincinnati was starting to feel more and more like home.

Though she was sure Joe had a lot to do with that, Chelsea couldn't ignore the comfort she felt when she thought of the city now. The two of them had been sneaking around for nearly five months, finding moments of stolen intimacy amidst their chaotic schedules. They had become experts at choosing the most discreet locations, the quietest times of the day, and the most unassuming town cars to keep their affair under wraps. As she walked towards their usual spot, a cozy Italian restaurant tucked away from prying eyes, Chelsea felt her heart race in anticipation of their lunch date.

Once a week, Chelsea and Joe met for lunch at the Italian restaurant. The hostess knew them by name and always reserved the same booth at the back, the one with the slightly faded red velvet seats that had seen better days but somehow added to the intimate charm of their secret rendezvous. The restaurant was typically empty this time of day, with a disinterested college student working the register and a tired-looking, middle aged chef peeking out from the kitchen. A soft murmur of Italian jazz would play, providing a backdrop to their stolen conversations. By this point, Chelsea knew the rotation of songs almost by heart.

Joe was already waiting, his tall frame bent slightly over the menu he always pretended to need to read. He was stubborn, alternating between his usual Margherita pizza and the chicken parmesan sandwich, but Chelsea knew he had it all memorized by heart. She slid into the booth opposite him, her eyes lingering on the strong line of his jaw, the way his tie was just loose enough to show a hint of the collarbone she was sure had a fading love bite where the bone met his shoulder.

"Hey, you," Joe said, looking up with a smile that never failed to make her stomach flutter.

Chelsea returned his smile, sliding the menu aside as she delicately placed her purse on the seat beside her. "Hi," she whispered, her voice soft and warm. "How was your morning?"

Joe leaned back, his eyes scanning the room to ensure no one of importance was within earshot. "The same as always," he replied with a hint of weariness. "Just trying to keep up with the numbers and the egos."

Chelsea nodded sympathetically. She knew the type; the kind of people who thought the world revolved around their next big deal or their latest acquisition. "Wish I could make it easier for you," she said, reaching across the table to squeeze his hand. Her wedding band felt heavy on her left ring finger, a constant reminder of the life she had chosen, or rather, the one that had chosen her.

Joe took her hand in his, giving it a gentle squeeze. "You do," he said, his voice filled with genuine appreciation. "More than you know."

Their conversation today was different from their usual lightness. There was a weight in the air, a heaviness that neither of them could shake off. It was as if the walls of their secret hideaway had grown thin, threatening to expose them at any moment. Chelsea felt a knot form in her stomach as she wondered if Joe was feeling the same way she was: trapped in a life that didn't quite fit.

"I've been thinking," Joe began, his eyes searching hers. "About us, I mean."

The words hung in the air like a question unasked. Chelsea felt the knot in her stomach tighten. "What about us?" she prodded, her voice steady despite the tumult in her chest.

Joe took a deep breath, his thumb tracing circles on the back of her hand. "I can't help but wonder if things might've been different if we had waited, if we hadn't married so young." His eyes searched hers, looking for a glimmer of agreement or a spark of hope. "It's funny, I feel like a dumbass whenever I think that if I had just waited, I could've found you."

Chelsea felt the air thicken as the gravity of his words settled between them. The what-ifs of life had always been a silent companion to their secret affair, but today, they were speaking louder than ever. "I know," she murmured, her eyes dropping to the table. "I've been thinking about that too."

The waiter arrived, a young man with a crooked smile and a notepad at the ready. They ordered their usual, the routine comforting in its predictability. As he retreated, Joe leaned in closer, his voice a low rumble. "Did I tell you much about my family?"

Chelsea tilted her head, trying to recall any details beyond the fact that he had worked hard to support them. "Not really," she said, intrigued.

Joe's eyes took on a distant look as he spoke about his childhood in a small town in southeastern Ohio. His parents had been high school sweethearts, just like he and Gianna, but they had struggled to make ends meet. His father had coached at the junior college while his mother held down two jobs to keep their heads above water. He had two older brothers, both of whom had moved away to escape the shadow of their hometown's limitations.

"They had big dreams for me," Joe said, his voice thick with emotion. "They pushed me to do better, to be better."

Chelsea nodded, understanding the unspoken burden of parental expectations all too well. "And football was your way out?"

Joe's smile was bittersweet. "Yeah, it was. I was okay at it. Nothing special, I had a couple of offers but I didn't want to be too far from my parents or Gianna. So I chose Ohio State, thinking I'd keep playing, maybe make it to the NFL." His eyes grew darker with the memory. "But Gianna was already set on becoming a chef, and she had this opportunity in New York to work under a big name. I couldn't ask her to wait for me."

Their food arrived, the warm scents of cheese and marinara sauce briefly interrupting the flow of their conversation. They picked at their plates, the tension between them palpable. Chelsea listened intently, her heart aching for the sacrifices Joe had made. Her own family had mapped out her life from birth: the right schools, the right job, the right husband. Terrence had been the perfect package, but she had never felt like she had made the choice.

"So what happened?" she asked softly.

Joe took a bite of his pizza, the cheese stretching like an elastic band before breaking with a satisfying snap. "I quit football," he said, swallowing before continuing. "I figured if I couldn't have it all, I'd focus on making sure Gianna got what she wanted. I transferred to NYU to be with her. That's when I started getting serious about finance. I figured if I couldn't throw a ball for a living, I might as well find another way to make some real money."

The bitterness in his tone was unmistakable. Chelsea reached across the table, her hand resting gently on his forearm. "It wasn't a complete loss," she said, trying to ease the tension. "Look at you now, CFO of a Fortune 500 company. I'm sure your family's proud of you."

Joe nodded, but his eyes remained clouded. "They are," he admitted. "But it's not the same. I gave up something I loved for… for what? A marriage that feels more like a business deal every day?" He took a deep breath, his gaze drifting to the window where passersby walked in pairs, oblivious to the turmoil inside the restaurant. "Gianna's always been the star, you know? And I've just… I've just been her plus-one, the guy who writes the checks and makes sure she's happy."

Chelsea's heart twisted at the raw honesty in Joe's voice. She knew all too well the feeling of being an accessory to someone else's ambition. "You said you retired both yours and Gianna's parents, right? That's a big deal, Joe," she offered, trying to remind him of his worth beyond his marriage.

He nodded, taking another bite of his sandwich. "It is," he said, his voice devoid of the pride she knew should accompany such an achievement. "But it's like… I don't know. Like I've spent my whole life doing what everyone else wanted, and now…" His voice trailed off as he took a sip of his water, the ice cubes clinking against the glass. "I just don't know if I have anything left for myself."

Chelsea felt a pang of guilt for her part in adding to Joe's burdens. "What about you?" he asked, his gaze back on her. "What would you have done if you weren't married to Terrence?"

She took a moment to consider the question, the weight of the words sitting heavily on her tongue. "I don't think I've ever really considered any alternative, honestly," she said, her eyes meeting his. "My parents had my life mapped out for me from the day I was born. They picked out everything. The perfect name, the perfect schools, the perfect career, and of course, the perfect husband. If it wasn't Terrence, it would've been someone just like him."

Joe leaned back, his expression thoughtful. "You were pretty young when the two of you got seriou-"

"I was a sophomore in undergrad," Chelsea interrupted, the words spilling out like a confession. "Terrence was in medical school, already the golden boy of our families. He was charming, ambitious, same frat as my Dad, everything my parents wanted for me. They didn't even blink an eye when he proposed on my birthday less than a year after we met. It was like they had been waiting for it."

Joe nodded, understanding the weight of familial expectations. "And do you think you'd have chosen differently?" His eyes searched hers, looking for a glimmer of regret or perhaps a hint of a road not taken.

Chelsea's gaze fell to the breadsticks on the table, her mind racing back to those college days filled with hope and promise. "I don't know," she said finally. "Maybe. But by the time I realized I didn't love him the way they wanted me to, it was too late. I was standing at the altar, reciting vows I didn't even believe in. Just holding my breath, hoping someone would stand up and shout their objections."

Joe reached across the table and took her hand, giving it a comforting squeeze. "You can't change the past," he said gently. "But you can decide what you want for the future."

Chelsea nodded, her eyes filling with unshed tears. "I know," she said, her voice wavering. "It's just hard to imagine a life without Terrence, without the life my parents worked so hard to set up for me. Anytime I try to imagine something different, it feels like I'm betraying them, like I'm throwing it all away."

Joe squeezed her hand tighter. "What do you think you'd be doing if you weren't married to Terrence?"

Chelsea took a deep breath, her mind racing with possibilities. "I'd probably still be in law," she said after a moment. "But maybe I'd be dabbling in politics, like I always talked about in college. Or maybe I'd start my own firm, one that focused on helping people who couldn't afford representation."

Joe's eyes lit up with genuine interest. Pausing to think as he observed the way Chelsea's eyes sparkled with the thought of a life untethered from her current reality.

"What about you?" Chelsea asked, eager to shift the focus. "What would you be doing if you weren't married to Gianna?"

Joe's gaze grew distant, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. "I'd probably still be in finance," he said. "But I'd be traveling more, see the world." He chuckled, a sound that was a rare treat in their secret meetups. "But more importantly, I'd be taking chances, you know? Investing in little start-ups with potential instead of playing it safe."

Their conversation grew quieter, their food forgotten as they shared more of themselves than they ever had before. The walls of the restaurant seemed to close in around them, insulating them from the outside world and the lives they had left at the door.

"Joe," Chelsea began, her voice barely a whisper. "What do you want from this?" She searched his eyes, desperate for an answer that could give her clarity in the chaos of their situation.

Joe took a moment to consider, his thumb still tracing circles on her hand. "I want to be happy," he said finally. "I want what everyone wants, I guess. To love and be loved in return. To feel like I'm living my own life."

The words hung in the air like a confession, and for a moment, Chelsea felt like she could see right through to his soul. "What does that mean for us?" she asked, her voice barely audible above the clinking of silverware and the muffled conversations of other patrons.

Joe took a deep breath, his grip on her hand tightening. "I don't know," he admitted. "But I don't want you to feel trapped, Chelsea. I want you to be able to explore those things you've always talked about. If we can help each other find happiness, maybe that's enough for now."

Chelsea felt a tear slip down her cheek. "It's just…" she began, her voice cracking. "I've never felt like I could disappoint my family. They've given me so much, and I owe them so much."

Joe leaned in, his voice gentle. "But what about what you owe to yourself?"

Chelsea's eyes searched his, finding a reflection of the same yearning she felt. "I just don't know how to do that without letting them down," she confessed. "My identity is so tied up in being the successful daughter, the perfect wife. What happens when I'm just… Chelsea?"

Joe's smile was kind, understanding. "You're more than that already," he said. "But I get it. Sometimes it feels like we're all just playing roles, huh?"

The waiter refilled their water glasses, oblivious to the gravity of the conversation happening in the dimly lit corner booth. Chelsea nodded, taking a sip to gather her thoughts. "To this day, I slip up and forget that I'm 'Mrs. Brooks' and not 'Miss Hayes'." She chuckled sadly. "It's like I'm watching someone who looks like me live a life I didn't choose."

Joe leaned in closer, his voice low and earnest. "I was just Joey Burrow, the kid who could throw a football pretty good. But then I became 'Gianna's husband' and I wonder if I lost myself in that transition." His eyes searched hers, looking for understanding. "I know we can't change who we are or where we come from, but maybe we can start making choices that feel more like us."

Chelsea nodded slowly, the weight of his words sinking in. "It's just…" she began, her voice trailing off. "What if we make the wrong choice?"

Joe's expression grew solemn. "There's no way to know," he said. "But I'd rather live with the regret of a risk taken than the regret of a life never lived. Gianna and I haven't been happy for a long time. I keep telling myself it's for the sake of stability, for Gianna's brand, but the truth is, I've been living for her happiness, not my own." He took a deep breath, his eyes never leaving hers. "I'm tired of pretending."

Chelsea felt a lump form in her throat. The honesty in Joe's voice was stark and raw, mirroring her own thoughts. "Terrence still doesn't know what it is I do all day," she said, her voice a mere whisper. "He's so caught up in his own world, he doesn't see me. I'm just another trophy for him to show off to his colleagues and family."

Joe nodded, his gaze never wavering from hers. "We both know what it's like to be someone else's accessory." He took another deep breath, as if bracing himself for what he was about to say next. "But I'm not going to lie to you, Chels. Being with you…it's the first time in a long time I've felt like myself again. It's refreshing. You're refreshing."

Chelsea felt a warmth spread through her chest, a warmth that had nothing to do with the room's temperature. "I feel the same way," she confessed.

"Then maybe," Joe began, his voice hopeful, "we could start making choices that lead to us being happy. Together."

Chelsea's heart skipped a beat, the implication of his words sinking in. The thought of being with Joe, openly and without fear of judgment, was both terrifying and exhilarating. She took a moment to process, her mind racing with the consequences and the potential joy that could come from such a choice.

"I've been holding off on saying this," Joe continued, reaching for his water after he quickly glanced at his watch. "But I love you. I know it's crazy, given the circumstances, but I think I have for a while now."

Chelsea's breath caught in her throat. Love? That was a word she hadn't dared to entertain in the context of their affair. She felt the weight of their secret pressing down on her, the fear of the consequences of admitting such a powerful emotion. But when she looked into Joe's eyes, she saw something that she hadn't seen in a very long time: genuine affection, untainted by duty or expectation.

"Joe," she said, her voice barely audible over the soft jazz playing in the background. "That's… I'm not sure how to respond to that."

Joe nodded, understanding the gravity of his confession. "You don't have to say it back," he said quickly. "I just wanted you to know. I need you to know that this isn't just about the physical stuff for me. You're more than that. You're the only one who gets it, who gets me."

The air grew thick with the unspoken words hanging between them. Chelsea felt the weight of his love like a warm blanket, comforting yet suffocating. She had never allowed herself to believe that someone could love her beyond her status or her marriage to Terrence. But Joe was different; he saw the real her, the woman buried beneath the layers of expectations and responsibilities.

"I… I love you too, Joe. I didn't know how to say it," Chelsea admitted, her voice trembling. The words felt strange on her lips, but also incredibly right. For the first time in years, she didn't feel like she was lying to herself or to someone else. "But I'm sure I do. You feel right."

Joe's smile grew, a warm light in the dim restaurant. He reached across the table and took both of her hands in his. "I know we're in a tough spot, Chelsea," he said, his voice earnest. "But I want us to find a way to be happy together. To build a life that's ours, not anyone else's."

Her eyes searched his, looking for any sign of doubt or hesitation. But all she saw was a man who had found something precious in her, something she hadn't realized she had lost until she saw it reflected in his gaze. Casting a quick glance around the empty restaurant, Chelsea leaned in, cupping Joe's face in her hands to kiss him. It was a soft, lingering kiss filled with a promise of a future she had never dared to dream of.

When they finally pulled apart, the silence was deafening. The realization of their confession settled over them like a warm blanket, both comforting and suffocating. "I need to get back to the office," Joe said, his voice husky with emotion.

Chelsea nodded, her eyes still locked on his. "Me too," she said, the gravity of their conversation still weighing heavily on her. They both knew that their lunch break was over, but the world outside the restaurant felt foreign and daunting.

They gathered their things and Joe helped her with her coat, his hand lingering for a moment longer than necessary on her arm. As they stepped out into the cold Cincinnati afternoon, the reality of their situation crashed down on them like a wave. They walked side by side, their hands brushing but not quite touching, the air between them charged with a tension that was no longer just sexual.

"I'll see you next week," Joe said, his voice a mix of hope and resignation. "It's about seven days too long, but I'll take what I can get."

Chelsea nodded, a small smile playing on her lips. "Seven days," she echoed, the number feeling both endless and insignificant. They stood outside the restaurant, the chilly breeze a stark contrast to the warmth they had shared inside.

"Yeah," Joe said, his eyes searching hers. "You'll text me when you get back to the firm?"

"I will," Chelsea promised, her hand reaching for her phone to ensure it was still there. The cold air stung her cheeks, reminding her of the world waiting outside their bubble. "And Joe…" she called out as he started to walk away. He turned back to her, the wind ruffling his dirty blonde hair. "Thank you."

Joe stopped in his tracks, his breath puffing out from his lips as he mouthed, "I love you," before turning back around. Chelsea watched him disappear into the crowd of people, feeling a pang of something akin to teenaged infatuation. As she walked towards her office, she couldn't shake the feeling that their lunch had irrevocably changed things. The weight of their confessions hung heavy in the air, a secret they both now had to carry.

The next month, Chelsea was whisked off to a work trip in Dayton. Her job required her to be there for a few days, and as much as she tried to focus on her work, her mind kept wandering back to Joe. She missed the way he touched her, the way he looked at her, the way he made her feel alive again. On the second night of her trip, she found herself in her hotel room, alone with nothing but room service and a bottle of wine for company. The silence was deafening, and she couldn't ignore the ache between her legs that Joe so effortlessly satisfied.

Manicured fingertips reached for her phone, tapping on Joe's contact with a sense of urgency. "Miss me?" he answered, his voice deep and smooth, like a fine whiskey. Chelsea bit her lip, her heart racing as she whispered into the phone, "I need to see you."

"Aren't you in Dayton this week?" Joe's voice held a hint of surprise.

"And?" Chelsea challenged, biting at her bottom lip. She could almost see the heave of his chest as he sighed through the phone. Suppressing a giggle, she waited for his response.

"Goddammit, Chelsea," Joe murmured, his voice thick with desire. "Send me the address, I'll be there in 45."

"Joey, it's an hour drive," Chelsea protested, her voice a blend of excitement and caution.

"I'll do it in 40, don't argue with me," Joe said firmly, his tone leaving no room for negotiation. "Just send me the damn address before I lose my mind."

The anticipation grew as Chelsea sent him the details, her heart hammering in her chest like a drumline. She took a quick shower to wash off the day's stress and slipped into a lazy pair of Calvin Kleins. The minutes ticked by like hours until finally, she heard the door to her hotel room click open. She took a deep breath and turned to face him, her eyes widening at the sight of Joe in a crisp suit, looking like a man on a mission.

"I came straight from work," Joe said, shutting the door behind him with a gentle click. He dropped his briefcase and shrugged off his suit jacket, revealing his broad shoulders and the muscular physique Chelsea craved. She stepped into his arms, and he kissed her deeply, his tongue exploring her mouth as if he'd been starving for her taste. Their kiss was desperate, hungry, and filled with the kind of passion that could never be contained within their marriages.

The room was suffocating with the scent of their desire as they tugged at each other's clothes, needing to feel skin on skin. Joe's hands were everywhere, tracing the contours of Chelsea's body with a familiarity that sent shivers down her spine. They stumbled backward to the bed, tearing away the barriers between them, leaving a trail of fabric scattered across the floor.

"So fuckin' needy for me, begging me to drive an hour just to fuck you?" Joe whispered in her ear as he pulled her closer, his hands cupping her ass as she wrapped her legs around his waist. Chelsea felt a thrill of arousal at his words, biting her lip to hold back a moan. He carried her to the bed and tossed her down onto the soft hotel comforter. He stepped back and took a moment to admire her, his eyes raking over her naked body as if she were a feast laid out just for him.

"Bless me," Chelsea murmured, her eyes locked on Joe's as he undid his tie with purposeful strokes. She watched as each button of his shirt came undone, revealing his chest, his abs, the V of muscle that pointed down to the bulge in his trousers. He stepped closer, kicking off his shoes and dropping his pants. He was already hard for her, and the sight made her wetter.

"You're so beautiful," Joe said, his voice thick with desire. He climbed onto the bed and claimed her mouth again, his hands roaming her body with a possessiveness that made her feel alive. He kissed her neck, her breasts, her stomach, and Chelsea arched her back, eager for his touch. His mouth found her clit, and she gasped as he flicked his tongue against it, sending waves of pleasure through her body.

Joe's skilled hands worked their magic as he brought her to the edge, her moans growing louder with each stroke. Chelsea's fingers tangled in his hair, urging him on, her hips bucking against his mouth. She felt herself falling apart, her orgasm building like a crescendo. And when it hit, she screamed his name, her body convulsing with pleasure.

He slid up her body and claimed her mouth in a bruising kiss, the taste of her own desire on his lips. Chelsea wrapped her legs around his waist, guiding him into her. He filled her completely, stretching her with his thickness. They moved together in a rhythm that was both familiar and new, a dance of passion and need that transcended their marriages. The sounds of their skin slapping together melded with their gasps and moans, echoing in the quiet hotel room.

It was uninhibited, raw, and absolutely everything Chelsea had been craving. With every thrust, Joe seemed to claim a piece of her she hadn't realized she had been holding back. She clawed at his back, her nails digging in as she matched his intensity. They moved as one, their breaths mingling in the air, their hearts beating a tempo of pure desire. The room was filled with the scent of their passion, the heat from their bodies raising the temperature of the space.

"I think you enjoy this too much," Joe murmured, his breath hot against Chelsea's ear as he drove into her.

"You think?" she quipped, her voice thick with sarcasm.

He smirked, his blue eyes piercing hers. "I know."

The truth of his words stung, but she didn't refute them. Instead, she pushed him down onto the bed, climbing on top of him and taking control. She set the pace now, her hips rolling and grinding against him, drawing out every delicious sensation. Joe's hands found her breasts, teasing and playing as she rode him, their eyes locked in a silent challenge.

"What? You want me to feel guilty about enjoying this?" Chelsea challenged, her voice low and husky as she rocked her hips against Joe's. "Want me to feel guilty—fuck, yes—about the way you get me so wet, so hot, so—" she gasped as he sank his teeth into the soft skin of her neck, "—so fucking desperate to feel you inside me?"

Joe's eyes darkened at her words, his grip on her hips tightening. "I could never ask you to feel guilty about that, baby. I know he isn't giving you what you need."

Chelsea moaned at his words, her hips moving faster as she neared another peak. "And her?" she panted, needing to hear him acknowledge it. "You ever fuck her like this?"

Joe's expression grew serious. "No, never." He reached up to cup her face, his thumb tracing the curve of her cheek. "I haven't touched her in months, baby. Not since I first saw you."

The confession sent a thrill through Chelsea's body, and she leaned down to kiss him hard, her tongue slipping into his mouth as she rode him with a newfound urgency. The truth was a heady aphrodisiac, making her feel even more alive and desired. She didn't want to think about the consequences or the pain they were causing. Right now, all that mattered was Joe's cock filling her up and the sound of their skin slapping together.

"I love you, Joey," Chelsea murmured against his lips, the words slipping out as he began to buck up into her.

He stilled beneath her, his eyes searching hers. "You can't just drop that shit, Chelsea," he breathed, his eyes fluttering shut as he attempted to hold off his climax. "You know what that does to me."

Chelsea felt a surge of power, her heart racing as she leaned back slightly to look down at him. "You're all I think about. I love you." Her words were like a drug, pushing him closer to the edge. He groaned, his hands clutching her hips, and she knew she had him.

"Fuck," Joe growled, his eyes snapping open. "I love you too. So much it scares me." His hands tightened on her hips, guiding her movements as he began to thrust up into her. The room was filled with their desperate moans and gasps, their bodies moving in a symphony of passion that neither of them had ever felt before.

Their lovemaking grew more intense, the emotions bubbling up inside of them fueling the fire between them. They were no longer just two people caught in a moment of passion; they were two souls confessing their love in the most primal of ways. Chelsea felt her orgasm building, her entire body tightening around Joe as he pushed her closer and closer to the brink.

"Chelsea," he moaned, his voice thick with lust and love. She could feel his cock pulsing inside her, and she knew he was close too. "Come for me," he demanded, his voice low and commanding. It was all she needed. With a cry that was equal parts pleasure and pain, she shuddered around him, her muscles clenching as she came hard.

Joe watched her, his own climax following close behind, his eyes never leaving hers. They held onto each other tightly as they rode the waves of pleasure, their breathing heavy and erratic. When it was over, Chelsea collapsed on top of him, her body feeling boneless and satisfied. They lay there for a moment, their hearts pounding in unison, their limbs tangled together.

"Joe," she whispered, her voice filled with wonder. He wrapped his arms around her, holding her close as he kissed her forehead. "I know," he murmured, understanding the unspoken question in her eyes. They had crossed a line that couldn't be uncrossed, and now they had to deal with the consequences.

The silence was heavy as they both thought about the future of their affair. The hotel room felt like a sanctuary, a bubble where the outside world couldn't touch them. But reality waited just beyond the door, and they both knew it couldn't last forever.

Joe pulled her closer, his thumb brushing against her cheek. "I know it's not my place to say, but maybe it's time to think about what you really want," he murmured. "You deserve to be happy, Chelsea. If you want something different, if you want more from your marriage, you should take it. Whether it's with me or not, I just want you to be happy."

Chelsea's eyes searched his, finding a genuine concern that she hadn't seen in a long time from Terrence. She knew Joe was right, but the weight of expectations and the fear of losing what she had built was too much. She leaned her forehead against his, whispering, "If I pull the trigger, everything changes. Our families, our reputations, our lives."

"But if you don't," Joe countered, "are you just going to keep living like this?" His voice was soft, but the question hit hard. Chelsea felt a knot form in her stomach, acknowledging the truth in his words.

She looked up at him, her eyes filled with a mix of love, fear, and indecision. "I don't know what's going to happen," she admitted. "But I can't keep lying to them, Joe. And I can't keep lying to myself. I love you, but I'm terrified."

Joe kissed her gently. "I know, and I'm scared too. But we can't keep going on like this. We need to make a choice." He held her tightly, feeling her warmth, her heart racing against his chest. The silence between them was heavy, filled with the unspoken truth of what lay ahead.

The Dayton trip came and went, leaving Chelsea fluttering from room to room, preparing her home for her parents' first visit to Cincinnati. She was a tornado of emotions, trying to keep her thoughts from drifting back to Joe and the love they'd confessed in that hotel room. She knew she needed to keep up appearances, especially with her mother's keen eye for detail.

The doorbell chimed, pulling her out of her reverie, and she took a deep breath, pasting on a smile before opening the door. Her parents swept in, her mother's arms wide as she greeted her with a tight hug. "Look at you, living the dream," she said, her voice filled with pride. Chelsea's father nodded in approval, shaking Terrence's hand firmly.

The four of them sat down for dinner, the tension palpable as they made small talk. When the doorbell rang, Chelsea's heart skipped a beat. She excused herself, expecting it to be a delivery or a neighbor. To her shock, it was Gianna and Joe. The celebrity chef was holding a bottle of wine, her perfectly manicured hand outstretched. "I saw your parents flew in. Thought we'd pop by," she said, her smile bright and genuine. Chelsea managed to keep her cool, inviting them inside.

Joe's gaze lingered on Chelsea, a silent apology in his eyes. She knew he could feel the electricity between them, the secret they shared threatening to crackle into the open. Terrence was oblivious, chuckling at something Joe said about golf as they settled into the living room. Naturally, Gianna dazzled everyone with stories of her latest television appearances and culinary adventures. Chelsea's parents were delightfully entertained, nodding along and sharing their own tales with their daughter's neighbors.

As the evening progressed, Chelsea's mother stood, requesting her daughter join her in the kitchen for a brief moment. None the wiser, Chelsea followed, trying to play it cool despite the knowledge that Joe was likely watching her leave.

In the kitchen, her mother's eyes searched hers, a stern look replacing her earlier smile. "I hope you know what you're doing, Chelsea," she whispered, the clinking of glasses from the living room a stark contrast to the gravity of her words.

Chelsea's heart skipped a beat. "Momma? What are you talking about?" she replied, feigning ignorance as she reached for a glass of water to steady her nerves.

Her mother leaned in closer, her voice low. "I've never seen you look at a man like that before, not even Terrence, the man who's supposed to be your husband. What are you doing with that man, baby?"

Chelsea froze, attempting to collect herself before responding. "Momma, I don't know what you think you saw, but nothing is happening. He's just a neighbor." She took a sip of water, trying to ease the dryness in her mouth.

Her mother's gaze was unwavering. "Chelsea, I've been married to your father for thirty-five years. I know love when I see it and I know lust when I see it. And let me tell you, honey, you don't got either one of those for Terrence." She paused, giving her daughter a moment to absorb her words before continuing. "And compared to the way you look at Joseph, I don't think you ever have."

The room grew still, the air thick with accusation and truth. Chelsea felt the heat rising in her cheeks but she kept her composure. "Momma, you're reading too much into it," she replied, trying to lighten the mood with a forced smile. "Nothing to worry about."

Her mother's expression softened, but the knowing glint in her eye didn't fade. "Look, baby," she said, taking Chelsea's hand, "I'm not judging you. But I am your mother, and I know you. I want you to be happy. And if that means making some hard choices, then maybe it's time for you to consider what truly makes you happy. I know I have put a lot of pressure on you to find a good man, to marry well, and I'm sorry. I really am. But that doesn't mean you should settle for someone who doesn't take care of you."

Chelsea felt the weight of her mother's words, and she couldn't help but look over at Joe, who was chuckling at a story Gianna was telling. His eyes caught hers briefly, and she saw a hint of understanding in them, as if he knew what she was feeling. She turned back to her mother, unsure of what to say. "Momma, I'm okay. Really. Terrence is a good man. We're just going through a rough patch, that's all. Don't worry about me."

Her mother squeezed her hand gently. "Chelsea, I'm not worried about you. I'm worried about you wasting your life on a man who doesn't make you feel like the way you should." She took a deep breath. "Your father and I, we have our problems, but we always make sure to keep the spark alive. And let me tell you, the way you look at Joseph? That's a spark that could light up the whole damn neighborhood."

Her mother pulled her into a tight hug, whispering into her ear, "Just remember, baby, you deserve to be happy. And if that happiness isn't with Terrence, then maybe it's with someone else. I will always be proud of you, no matter what." With a knowing smile, she released her and returned to the dinner table. Chelsea felt a mix of relief and fear wash over her. It wasn't the first time her mother had hinted at her dissatisfaction with Terrence, but it was the first time she'd ever suggested that Chelsea's eye had wandered.

The evening ended with polite goodbyes and promises of future visits. As Joe and Gianna left, Joe gave Chelsea one last lingering look that sent shivers down her spine. Terrence, blissfully unaware of the tension, collapsed into bed, falling asleep almost instantly. But as Chelsea lay in bed, her thoughts were consumed by Joe's words and her mother's warning. Was she really just going through a phase, or had she found something real? And if so, was it worth risking everything for?

The following days were a blur of work, social engagements, and secret glances. Chelsea and Joe danced around each other, the air thick with unspoken desires and fears. They didn't dare to text or call, not with their spouses so close by, but the silence between them was deafening. It was during one particularly stressful workday that Chelsea decided she needed to get out of the office. She drove aimlessly, her mind racing until she found herself parked outside Joe's office building.

Her heart pounding, she waited until she saw him emerge, his tall frame cutting a stark contrast against the grey concrete. He looked surprised when he saw her, but there was something in his eyes that told her he'd been expecting this. They decided to grab a quick lunch at a nearby café, choosing a secluded booth in the back. The conversation was stilted at first, filled with awkward pauses and forced laughter, but eventually, the dam broke. They talked about their marriages, their dreams, their fears, and their longing for something more. Chelsea felt as though she was peeling back layers of herself she hadn't realized were there, revealing parts she'd kept hidden even from her own husband.

"I hired a divorce attorney," Joe announced, his voice low and serious. "I can't keep pretending anymore, Chelsea."

Her eyes widened, and she took a sip of her iced tea, the condensation on the glass slipping over her fingers. "Okay," she breathed out. "Okay."

They sat in silence for a moment, the weight of his words hanging in the air like a thick fog. Chelsea felt a rush of emotions—relief, excitement, fear, and guilt. She knew that she felt the same way, that she couldn't continue living a lie, but the prospect of the truth coming to light was terrifying. She took a deep breath and leaned in, her eyes finding Joe's.

"Look, I don't expect you to leave Terrence today, or even a month from now," Joe said, his gaze focused on hers. "But I want you to know that I'm serious about this. I haven't seen Gianna in weeks, and when I do, it's for appearances only. Even if we weren't doing this," he gestured between them, "I would've ended it because neither of us is happy and I know she's just waiting for me to take the first step."

Chelsea's stomach twisted into knots. The thought of leaving Terrence and the life she'd built with him was overwhelming. Yet, she felt a spark of hope that maybe, just maybe, she could have the love she craved with Joe. She nodded slowly, her eyes never leaving his. "I'll think about it," she murmured.

They finished their lunch in near silence, the conversation drifting back to work and the mundane. It was a strange dance of normalcy in the face of a revelation that could shatter their worlds. When the check came, Joe reached for it, his hand brushing hers. The electricity that passed between them was undeniable. As they stood to leave, Chelsea felt a strange mix of excitement and dread.

They both retreated back to their own offices as the day wound down. As Chelsea drove back home, every red light, every stop sign, felt like a countdown to a moment that would change everything. When she pulled into her driveway, the house was dark. Terrence was still at the hospital. She took a deep breath, trying to calm her racing thoughts.

Once inside, she poured herself a glass of wine and sat on the couch, the same couch where she and Joe had first given into temptation. She couldn’t deny the thrill that coursed through her at the memory. But she knew that if she acted on Joe’s confession, she would be crossing a line from which there was no returning. The weight of their shared secret grew heavier by the second.

Her phone buzzed with a text from Joe, "You okay?"

Chelsea took a sip of wine, the liquid doing little to soothe her nerves. She responded, "Yeah, just processing."

Joe's reply was almost instant, "We don't have to rush into anything. I just needed you to know where I stand."

The gravity of Joe's words sank in. Chelsea knew that once they made this move, there would be no going back. The walls of her marriage, which had felt so stifling, now felt like a cocoon protecting her from the inevitable storm that lay ahead. But as she sat there, feeling the warmth of the wine spread through her, she knew she didn't want to be protected anymore. She wanted the raw, unfiltered passion that Joe brought to her life.

The next night, Chelsea had resolved to break the news to Terrence. She waited for him to come home from a short day of consultations, her heart racing as she heard his footsteps through the front door. She took a deep breath as she opened the door, a bit miffed but not surprised when he completely brushed past her, heading for their drinks cart without so much as a hello. He was always like this after a day of dealing with patients and their families—distant, cold.

"Terrence, can we talk?" she called out, her voice echoing through their grand foyer. He didn’t respond immediately, taking his sweet time to fix himself a whiskey on the rocks before finally walking into the living room and reaching for the TV remote. Chelsea bit her lip, steeling herself for the conversation she’d been dreading. She’d picked out her words carefully, rehearsing the speech in her mind a hundred times. But now, with him so disconnected, it was harder than she thought.

He took a sip, his eyes never leaving the flickering screen. "What is it, Chelsea?"

Chelsea took a step closer to him, her heart hammering in her chest. "I have to tell you something. It's important."

"Yeah, okay," Terrence said distractedly, his gaze still glued to the TV.

Chelsea took a deep breath, feeling a knot tighten in her stomach. "Terrence, I've been thinking a lot about us."

He finally tore his eyes away from the TV, looking at her with a mix of irritation and curiosity. "Chelsea, what is it?" The words were choppy, as if he had to force them out.

"I'm having an affair with Joe," Chelsea blurted out, the words leaving her mouth before she could second-guess herself. Terrence froze, the glass of whiskey halfway to his lips. For a moment, the room was silent, the only sound the low volume from the TV. His eyes grew wide, and his grip on the glass tightened.

"What the fuck did you just say?" Terrence's voice was low, a warning growl. He set the drink down hard on the coffee table, the ice clinking against the glass.

Chelsea swallowed, her throat dry. "I've been seeing Joe. We've been having an affair."

Terrence's face contorted into a mask of rage and disbelief. He took a step towards her, his hands curling into fists at his sides. "You what? How could you do this to me?"

"I'm sorry, Terrence," Chelsea said, her voice trembling as she took a step back.

"You're sorry? That's all you have to say?" Terrence's voice was a thunderstorm, his eyes flashing with anger. He took another step closer to her, and she could almost feel the heat of his rage. "How long has this been going on?"

"It just happened," Chelsea lied, her voice shaking. "I'm filing for divorce."

Terrence's eyes narrowed. "Don't you dare do this to me, Chelsea." He stepped closer, his towering frame looming over her. "We had an agreement, a promise to each other and our families."

"I know, but I can't help how I feel," she replied, her voice barely above a whisper. "I'm not happy anymore, Terrence."

"You're not happy?" Terrence's voice was incredulous. "So you go fuck your married neighbor? Do you hear yourself?"

Chelsea flinched at the harshness of his words, but she stood her ground. "It's not just that, Terrence. We've been drifting apart for a while now. We're not the same people we were when we met in college."

"You think I don't know that?" Terrence snapped, his fists clenching and unclenching at his sides. "Does Gianna know that you fucked her husband?"

Chelsea felt a pang of guilt stab at her. "I don't know, Terrence. That's on Joe to tell her."

Terrence took another step towards her, his breath hot on her face. "You're unbelievable. You're going to ruin everything we've built together."

Chelsea's eyes filled with tears. "I know, but I can't keep living like this. I need more than just a good last name and a nice house."

Terrence's expression softened slightly, but the anger was still a palpable force between them. "What do you want from me, Chelsea? What could I possibly do to fix this?"

"It's not about fixing, Terrence," she said, her voice firm but filled with sadness. "It's about accepting that we're not right for each other anymore."

Terrence's eyes searched hers, looking for any hint of doubt or regret. Finding none, he sighed heavily. "I don't know what to say. I just... I don't get it."

"You don't have to," Chelsea replied, wiping away the tears that had begun to trickle down her cheeks. "I just need you to understand that I'm walking away. I don't expect you to be okay with it, but I need you to respect my decision."

The silence between them grew thick, each one of Terrence's breaths seemingly louder than the last. Finally, he spoke again, his voice quieter, more measured. "What now, Chelsea? What's your plan?"

She took a deep breath, steeling herself for the inevitable. "I'm going to file for divorce. I booked a room at Marriott Downtown for a few days. I need some space to think."

Terrence's face fell, his eyes glassy with unshed tears. "And Joe? What about him?"

"What about him?" Chelsea challenged, her voice laced with defensiveness. "He's going to leave Gianna. He loves me."

Terrence scoffed. "Love? You think this is love? You're throwing away our marriage for a quick fuck and a few moments of excitement? That's not love, Chelsea."

Chelsea's eyes flashed with anger. "You don't get to define love for me, Terrence. You don't get to tell me what I feel. Even if Joe doesn't leave Gianna, I need to find myself again. This isn't just about sex. It's about connection and what I need to be happy."

Terrence stepped back, his chest rising and falling rapidly. "I can't believe this is happening." He turned away from her, his hand rubbing at his forehead. "Go to the Marriott, whatever. Just do me a favor and break the news to our parents yourself. Tell them what the fuck you did, yeah?"

With that, he stormed out of the living room, slamming the bedroom door shut behind him. Chelsea stood there, trembling, her heart racing in her chest. She had never seen Terrence like this before—so raw, so broken. The reality of what she had done began to sink in, and she felt the weight of their crumbling marriage pressing down on her. She picked up her phone, staring at the screen, Joe's contact staring back at her but she couldn't bring herself to press the call button.

Instead, she turned and walked out the front door, the cool night air hitting her like a slap in the face. The quietness of the neighborhood was eerie, a stark contrast to the tumultuous storm brewing in her soul. She wandered the streets, her thoughts racing. Was this love? Was she being selfish? Would she regret this? But with each step, she felt a sense of relief, as if she were shedding a heavy burden she had been carrying for too long.

The drive was a blur of streetlights and the occasional passing car. She couldn't shake the feeling that she was driving away from everything she had ever known and into the unknown. Her mind was racing with the consequences of her actions, the potential for scandal, and the pain she knew she had caused Terrence. Yet, as she pulled into the Marriott parking lot, she felt a strange sense of liberation. For the first time in years, she was making a decision solely for herself.

In the hotel room, Chelsea took a deep breath and picked up the phone, her hand shaking. She dialed Joe's number, the anticipation building with each ring. When he finally answered, she could hear the tension in his voice. "Hey," she whispered, "I did it. Terrence knows."

There was a heavy pause on the other end, and then Joe exhaled. It was a deep, relieved sigh, one that told her everything she needed to know about his reaction. "Are you okay?" he asked, his voice gentle and concerned.

"Honestly, yeah," she replied truthfully, "I think I've been holding this in for so long that it feels like a weight has been lifted. What about you?"

Joe took a moment before speaking, "It was weird, she didn't fight with me. Just said 'okay' and asked me to leave," Despite the tension in his voice, Chelsea couldn't miss the hint of relief. "But it's the right thing to do, I know it is."

"What's going to happen now?" she asked, her heart racing.

"I could come see you?" Joe suggested tentatively, "We could talk about it in person."

Chelsea felt a warm rush of excitement at the thought. "Okay," she murmured, "I'll be waiting." She hung up the phone and paced the room, trying to calm her racing thoughts. When Joe finally arrived, the tension between them was palpable. He looked tired, his eyes carrying the weight of the day's revelations. His arms were warm, strong, and comforting as he pulled her into an embrace.

"I'm sorry," she said, her voice muffled against his chest. "I didn't mean for it to go down like that."

Joe held her tighter, his breath warm against her hair. "It's okay," he murmured, "This is on me too. We both knew this wasn't going to be easy." He led her to the bed, his hand never leaving hers, and they sat down. The silence stretched out, thick and heavy with unspoken words.

"I want you to know that I'm all in," Joe said, his voice firm but gentle, breaking the silence. "Whatever happens next, I'm here for you. Romantically or otherwise."

Chelsea looked up at him, her eyes searching his for any signs of doubt. All she found was a fierce determination that mirrored her own. "I'm all in too," she whispered, her heart swelling with emotion.

They lay down together, their bodies fitting perfectly. Chelsea felt a sense of peace that she hadn't felt in years. Joe kissed her forehead, her cheek, her neck, before capturing her lips in a gentle, yet urgent kiss. The kiss grew deeper, more passionate, as their bodies began to move in sync. They made love slowly, savoring each touch, each caress, as if it were the first and last time. Their moans filled the quiet hotel room, echoing off the walls in sweet surrender.

Afterwards, they lay entwined, the silence between them no longer filled with tension but a quiet understanding. "On the bright side," Chelsea spoke up, a small smile playing on her lips, "I don't mind taking you to a firm event. Terrence never gave me the chance to introduce him to my coworkers."

Joe chuckled, the sound rumbling through his chest. "I guess that'll be our first official appearance together, huh?" He stroked her arm lightly, his thumb tracing circles on her skin. "I can't wait to tell the world you're all mine. That you chose me over all the other eligible married men out there."

"Stupid," Chelsea muttered, narrowing her eyes as Joe laughed at his own joke. "But true," she conceded with a smile, snuggling closer to him. "I can't wait to kiss you in public. Without hiding."

Joe's eyes grew serious as he pulled her closer. "We'll do it right," he promised. "I'll introduce you to my colleagues, my friends, my family. And we'll tell them the truth—that we're together because we love each other, no more guilt, no more anxiety."

The warmth of Joe's embrace washed over Chelsea like a gentle summer rain, soothing her raw emotions. She nodded, feeling the weight of her decision settle into her bones. As they lay together, the silence was punctuated only by their synchronized breaths and the muffled sounds of the bustling city outside. The reality of their newfound freedom both thrilling and terrifying.

[rkvriki]

˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆ enhypen obliviously in love

hi.......lmfao i keep disappearing i swear i'm alive but my isnpo has been going down the drain but i got this cute lil idea also to take a break of all the smutty things i've been posting lolz... anyways hope you enjoy this one !

make sure to leave feedback and reblog! my requests are closed and my talk box is always open so lets talk!

WARNINGS ! none really i think?? this is just not my best work im sorry </3 word count: 1.9k a/n: sorry that some of them, mainly hee's, are smaller than others, my brain isn't functioning and i had a writer's block during this and if it's not goo it's bc i quite forced myself to write this bc i wanted to post sth :(

୨୧ LEE HEESEUNG ! - trying to hold your hand and failing

you and heeseung met through mutual friends in your first year of college and you became almost inseparable ever since then. in the beginning of it, you would only be together when the whole group was, but as time went by and you both started feeling more than just platonic feelings you two started hanging out alone as well. it was usual for heeseung to walk you to your apartment after classes and today was no different. you two walked side by side, the sun almost setting behind you. it was mostly quiet except for the background chatting and the small talk you two would make about something you saw. you could feel heeseung’s hand brushing against yours from time to time and you were internally cursing him out for not holding your hand already. after a few moments of silence, you heard heeseung sigh as he gained courage to hold your hand. his hand got closer to yours but- oh! a light post came between you two. needless to say heeseung was a blushing mess while you laughed at him.

୨୧ PARK JONGSEONG ! - confronting you about it

anyone had to be really blind to not notice the romantic connection there was between you and jay. it was so obvious you were both in love with each other, it was almost painful how one of the sides didn’t notice. that side being you. it’s not like you didn’t like jay romantically, because you do. a lot. but you felt like he just saw you as a best friend he tends to protect a lot. jay didn’t really show it, but he gets really frustrated when he tries to make a move on you in a subtle way, only for you to put him in the friend zone, but it’s all unintentional. every time someone tells you “jay totally likes you.” you’re quick to dismiss them because he would never see you like that. even though you’re the one saying it, it breaks you inside. until one day, you’re both in a diner, sharing fries and a milkshake and you can see jay fidgeting nervously and bouncing his leg repeatedly. “you’re restless, what’s going on?” you ask him, worried. jay sighs heavily and props his elbows on the table, staring at you with a serious expression. “look, i don’t know if i should just give up, because at this point you have to be pretending not to know.” he says “T-to know what?” he laughs at that. “that i like you, dummy.”

୨୧ SIM JAEYUN ! - tries to kiss you and fails

as childhood friends you and jake were always expected to end up dating by your fellow family members. you would always brush off any comments about you two (deep down you wish they were true) while jake just smiled like a fool while looking at you. it was no surprise when jake told his friends he liked you. it wasn’t hard to notice how he felt about you, seen the way he looks at you with glimmering eyes as he took in every word you say. he has never really tried to hide how he felt about you. he wasn’t ashamed of it and couldn’t wait for the moment you realized he liked you, because deep down he knew you felt like him too. it’s funny to him how he’s always making flirty comments and giving you kind of romantic presents and still you just thought he was playing his role as your best friend. but still, even though it was all funny and entertaining to watch, jake was tired of waiting and he decided to just directly show you how he feels. so that’s how you find yourself sitting in the park bench with him as layla plays around. jake takes a quiet deep breath as his hand comes up to brush your hair from your face, making you face him. he takes that as an opportunity to lean down. you, thinking he was gonna whisper something, turned your face to the side, making him bump his head against you. he starts laughing at you, making you confused. “you can’t really see it, can you?”

୨୧ PARK SUNGHOON ! - misunderstanding gone right ?

no one who knew you two understood how in hell you and sunghoon weren’t a couple. it was so obvious you both liked each other but still none of you seemed to do anything about it. you two were your class’s representatives so you two were almost always together and it wasn’t too hard to notice the lingering touches or stares you shared. but something the other students didn’t know was that you two had actually talked about your “feelings”. one day sunghoon almost overheard you telling your friend you liked him. “you like me?” he had asked “no! no, i don’t like you, sunghoon.” you answered trying to play it off. he nodded, his lips pursing. “good, then because i’m in love with someone else.”. it was something along those lines and you two had never talked about it again, but the tension never left. it felt heavy on you and it was painful to spend time alone with sunghoon so you settled that you were gonna tell him the truth. “remember that day you asked me if i liked you?” he hummed as he stopped in his tracks. “well, i lied. i like you, actually. i don’t want things to get awkward because you don’t feel the same but i needed to be honest.” his eyes widened as he stared at you like you were crazy. “are you kidding me? i only said i didn’t like you because you said you didn’t like me.” you gasped and pointed an accusing finger at him “why did you lie then? you said you were in love-” “hey! don’t put the blame on me now you lied too.” “well, we still can fix it right?” you said laughing making him do the same.

୨୧ KIM SUNOO ! - “PFT! who would ever like me?”

you and sunoo weren’t the closest people ever but you two spent a lot of time together since pretty much all of your friends were mutual. still, that fact didn’t stop you from developing a silly crush on him that quickly turned into something more serious the more you got to know him in the very few times the two of you were left alone after a group hangout. no one knew about it except for your best friend. you never told sunoo, not because you were afraid of rejection or him being rude because with how sweet his personality is, he would’ve rejected you in such a friendly manner it would make you think he’s reciprocating the feelings, but because no one like him would ever like you, he was way out of your league. so, confessing was definitely out of question, no matter how much your best friend would insist you would simply not do it. but in reality, it wasn’t really like that. one day you were hanging out with sunoo and your best friend at a cat cafe when suddenly in the conversation you said something along the words of “who would ever like?” and bold sunoo, was not afraid to hide his sincere feelings and answered with “i do.” he smiled while you looked up blushing furiously. your best friend laughing maniacally. “w-what?” sunoo chuckled at your reaction. “i thought i made it quite obvious that i liked you, silly.”  oh! who would’ve guessed!

୨୧ YANG JUNGWON ! - heard you liked “someone else”

you and jungwon had met each other in sophomore year of highschool and it was safe to say there was a connection instantly that was more than just a platonic one. you two quickly became attached at the hip. if jungwon said he was going somewhere it was sure that you would be here two, if you were being invited somewhere they could already expect the “can jungwon come along?” question, and vice-versa. it wasn’t strange when people came up to either you or him and asked if you were dating each other and it honestly shocked everyone when you both would always answer no to it, even your own girlfriends found your “friendship” strange. they did not find the idea of a boy-girl friendship weird or impossible to exist but they just couldn’t see your dynamic as friends so it was bound for them to question you. you heard the question so many times you decided to just tell them “fine! yes, i like him so, what?” you saw their shocked faces but they weren’t looking at you. you looked behind you seeing jungwon behind you. when you locked eyes he was quick to turn his back and walk away making you panic. a few days have gone by after that and you decided you needed to talk to him. “i’m sorry i didn’t tell you sooner. i didn’t want things to get ruined by this.” jungwon stared at you “who even is tha guy?” he asked making you look at him as if he had three heads. “what?” you asked “what what?” “jungwon the guy is literally you, i thought that was settled already.” jungwon stayed silent before laughing like a maniac. “if you’re here to make fun of me you can-” jungwon shut you off with a kiss, making you relaize where things went wrong.

୨୧ NISHIMURA RIKI ! - i don’t even know how to word this one

let’s settle one thing. you two knew you both liked each other. romantically. you just don’t bother on labelling it or directly showing it to each other. everyone around you found your dynamic honestly weird but to you two it was more simple than people put it to be. it all started when you were really oblivious about ni-ki’s feelings for you so he decided to hint that he liked you more than a friend. like one time you were walking to his house and he just shoot “you look cute.” but you didn’t quite hear what he said, distracted by a dog “what did you say?” he sighed “i said you look like a fruit.” “riki that does not make sense, but whatever you say.” and he started gradually getting bolder. “i can’t get this song out of my head.” you told him during class “i can’t get you out of my head.” oh! that was new information for you “thanks…?” at this point you were acting dumb for him and he couldn’t take it anymore so he got even more straightforward. during one of your daily walks you were rambling about a flower you saw on the way and he just let you talk as his hand sneakily grabbed yours, making you stop talking and falter in your steps “what?” he asked as if it was nothing “n-nothing!” he smiled as he kept walking along with you. after that day he noticed a change. a good one. and that’s when he realized you had realized so he decided to just get to the point “is it weird if i kiss you?” he asked when you were eating lunch in the school garden. you put your drink down and turned to look at him. “honestly, riki? yes. do i care? no.” so with that he grabbed your face, kissing you as he smiled against your lips.

[thepencilnerd]

a series of firsts

When you ask Chishiya for a simple favor, neither of you are prepared for what follows. tldr: you ask Chishiya to teach you how to kiss.

genre/notes: fluff, borderline smut, ooc-ish!Chishiya x fem!reader

rating: mature (smut implied but not explicit)

word count: 2k

You weren't sure when you had worked up the courage to ask Chishiya such an outrageous favor. Maybe it was the late nights spent together, both of you perched on the worn-out couch, his arm thrown lazily along the backrest, fingers sometimes brushing against your shoulders in a way that sent shivers down your spine. Or maybe it was those fleeting moments when his gaze lingered on your lips, and you couldn’t help but think – wish, even – that he wanted this too.

It was a quiet evening, and you could feel your heart pounding in your chest as you glanced up at him, his calm expression giving you just enough confidence to take a leap of faith.

“Chishiya,” you started, your voice barely above a whisper, as you fiddled with the hem of your shirt. “Can you teach me how to kiss?”

His eyes flicked up to meet yours, the smallest lift of his brow the only sign of his surprise. For a long second, you thought he might laugh or brush it off as a joke. Instead, he tilted his head to the side, the hint of a smile tugging at the corner of his lips.

“You want me to be your first kiss?” he asked, his voice soft yet edged with curiosity.

You punched his shoulder playfully, trying to mask your nerves. “Maybe I just want more practice! What makes you think I haven't kissed anyone?”

Chishiya chuckled, the smile on his face growing. “I know you better than anyone,” he said, his tone teasing but laced with a warmth that made your heart flutter.

You nodded, a blush creeping up your cheeks, unable to meet his gaze for too long. It felt ridiculous, embarrassing, but this was Chishiya – the person you trusted most. There had always been something there between you two, something neither of you dared address until now.

You decided to distract yourself from the growing tension, a teasing smile forming on your lips. "Actually, I've kissed a few people, you know. There was Niragi..."

Chishiya's lips twitched, his response immediate. "Too boring."

You rolled your eyes, continuing, "And then there was Kanato."

"Too short," Chishiya replied dryly, his tone making it clear he wasn't impressed.

"Okay, but what about Yuki? She was—"

"Too much of a know-it-all," Chishiya cut in, shaking his head slightly.

You huffed, crossing your arms over your chest. "You just have something to say about everyone, don't you?"

Chishiya gave you a small, amused smile, his gaze softening. "I just know you better than anyone." You pressed your lips together and averted your eyes. 

As the tension hung between you, his gaze softened, and he slowly shifted closer.

“Okay,” he said, and that one word held so many layers. Your eyes widened at his answer, his expression colored with acceptance, understanding, and a promise that this moment would stay between the two of you.

You felt him move closer, his presence warm, the scent of him familiar and comforting. He paused, his eyes meeting yours, and his voice came out in a soft whisper, "Can I touch you?"

You nodded, your breath catching as his hand found its way to your cheek, gently tilting your head towards him. He studied you, his eyes soft, searching yours for hesitation. When he found none, he leaned in, and you closed your eyes, letting the world slip away until it was just him.

His lips met yours softly at first, a brush of warmth that sent a shiver down your spine. He was gentle, deliberate, as though he wanted you to savor every second. Your heart pounded, nerves giving way to an all-consuming warmth as your hands instinctively found the front of his shirt, clinging to him.

Chishiya was careful, patient – letting you find your rhythm. His lips moved against yours, slowly coaxing you to respond. It was sweet at first, like a promise, a reassurance that there was no rush. And then, slowly, you felt the shift. His other hand moved to your waist, pulling you closer, his fingers splayed against your back. The kiss deepened, and a soft sigh escaped you, surprising even yourself.

It was like a spark ignited, and suddenly the air between you two changed. What started out as slow and explorative quickly grew more intense, the hesitancy fading as you both gave in to the want that had simmered for so long.

You pulled away slightly, your breath shaky as you looked into his eyes. "Chishiya, what... what do I do?" you asked, breathless.

“You’re doing amazing,” he sighed with a gentle smile, his thumb brushing your cheek. "Put your hands here," he said, guiding your hands to rest on his shoulders. You followed his lead, feeling the warmth of his skin through the fabric, grounding yourself in the closeness. Slowly, your fingers began to drift, brushing against the side of his neck, feeling the soft skin beneath your touch. He shivered slightly at the sensation, and you hesitated for a moment before your hands came up to gently caress his face, your fingers tracing along his jawline, feeling every detail.

"And what about... my tongue?" you whispered, feeling the blush deepen on your cheeks.

He leaned in, his lips brushing against yours before he spoke. "Follow my lead," he murmured, his voice low and comforting. He tilted his head slightly, and then he demonstrated, his tongue gently parting your lips, coaxing yours to respond. His hand slipped behind your neck, fingers threading into your hair as he deepened the kiss, moving slowly to let you mirror him.

You hesitated for a moment, then tentatively moved your tongue against his, feeling a rush of warmth as he responded with a quiet hum of approval. His hand guided you closer, his lips moving more insistently now, urging you to follow his rhythm. Your fingers tightened around his shirt, the fabric bunching between your knuckles, and you felt him smile slightly against your lips, as if proud of how quickly you were catching on.

His teeth grazed your bottom lip, a gentle nip that made you gasp against his mouth, and his hand slipped lower, cupping your jaw tenderly as if grounding you in the moment. Your heart pounded, heat pooling in your chest as you clung to him, feeling the intensity build between you.

Chishiya’s breath was shaky as he pulled away for just a moment, his forehead resting against yours, his eyes still closed as he whispered, “Is this okay?”

You nodded, unable to find words, your cheeks flushed and your lips tingling. It was more than okay – it was everything you had imagined and more. You leaned in, capturing his lips again, and he responded immediately, a quiet groan escaping him as he pulled you impossibly closer, your bodies pressed together as though to make up for lost time.

His kisses became more urgent, his lips parting against yours, his tongue brushing yours in a way that sent sparks down your spine. You were lost in it, in him – his warmth, the way he held you as if you were the most important thing in his world. You could feel his heartbeat against yours, a steady reminder that this was real, that it was Chishiya who was here with you, giving in to what you both had kept hidden for so long.

And in that moment, you didn’t care about anything else. Not the nerves that had gnawed at you before, not the fear of what this could mean. All that mattered was the warmth of his body pressed against yours, the feeling of his heartbeat steady beneath your palms. The way his fingers threaded into your hair, his lips moving with a desperation that spoke of everything neither of you had ever said. He kissed you like you were the air he needed to breathe, like letting go was simply not an option. His hands began to wander, one sliding down your back, pressing you closer, while the other moved to your waist, his fingers slipping beneath the hem of your shirt, brushing against the bare skin of your side.

A shiver ran through you, the sensation of his touch both electrifying and comforting. He pulled back just slightly, his lips hovering over yours as he looked into your eyes, his gaze dark and filled with emotion. "Do you want to keep going?" he murmured, his voice barely audible, yet filled with a raw intensity that made your heart skip a beat.

You swallowed, nodding, your breath catching as you whispered, "Yes." His lips curved into a small smile, and he leaned in, capturing your lips once more, his kisses growing more heated, more insistent. His hand traveled up your side, fingers grazing your skin, leaving a trail of warmth in their wake. You felt your own hands move, sliding up his neck, your fingers brushing through his hair, tugging him closer.

The world seemed to narrow to just this – his touch, his breath, his body against yours. The way his hand slipped under your shirt, his fingers splaying across your back, pulling you impossibly closer. You could feel his heart pounding against your chest, each beat echoing the intensity of the moment. His lips left yours, trailing along your jaw, down to the sensitive skin of your neck, and you tilted your head, giving him better access, a soft sigh escaping you.

His breath was hot against your skin, his lips gentle yet possessive as he pressed open-mouthed kisses along your neck, his teeth grazing just enough to send shivers down your spine. Your hands tightened in his hair, your body arching into his touch, the warmth between you growing, consuming.

He whispered your name, the sound sending a thrill through you, and then his voice came again, softer, more vulnerable. "You have no idea, do you?" he murmured, his lips brushing against your skin between words. "How long I've wanted this... wanted you."

Your breath hitched, your heart pounding at the confession. You pulled back slightly, just enough to look into his eyes, and you saw it there – the emotion he'd kept hidden for so long. The walls he always put up were gone, leaving nothing but raw honesty. "Chishiya..." you whispered, your voice trembling.

He cupped your face in his hands, his thumbs brushing your cheeks. "I tried to pretend I didn't care, that I could just be your friend. But I can't. I need you... more than anything." His eyes searched yours, a mixture of fear and hope in his gaze. "Tell me you feel the same."

You nodded, tears welling in your eyes as you whispered, "I do. I've always felt the same." A smile broke across his face, and he leaned in, capturing your lips in a kiss that was filled with everything he'd kept locked away – all the love, the longing, the need. It was intense, consuming, and you kissed him back with everything you had, your heart swelling with the overwhelming truth of it all: you loved him, and you always had.

His hands roamed down your body, his fingers tracing the curve of your waist before slipping beneath your shirt, the touch searing against your bare skin. You gasped into his mouth, the sensation both thrilling and comforting as he pulled you closer, as though trying to erase any distance between you. His lips left yours, trailing down your jaw to your neck, where he pressed kisses that were both gentle and possessive, each one drawing a soft moan from your lips.

Chishiya's breath was ragged against your skin, his voice a whisper. "I want you," he murmured, the words sending a shiver down your spine. His hands moved upwards, brushing against your ribs, his thumbs skimming the edge of your bra. He paused, his eyes meeting yours, seeking permission, and you nodded, your heart pounding.

He kissed you again, deeper this time, his hands exploring with a tenderness that made your heart ache. Your own hands moved over his chest, feeling the defined muscles beneath his shirt, before slipping it up, your fingers grazing the warmth of his skin. He broke the kiss just long enough to pull his shirt over his head, tossing it aside before his lips found yours again, more urgent now, more desperate.

You felt his skin against yours, the heat of him enveloping you as his hands moved to your back, unclasping your bra with practiced ease. He pulled away slightly, his forehead resting against yours as he whispered, "You're perfect," his eyes filled with adoration. He slipped your bra off, his gaze never leaving yours, and you could feel the intensity of his desire, the way he looked at you as if you were the only thing that mattered.

His lips found yours once more, his hands now exploring every inch of your bare skin, his touch setting your nerves alight. You were lost in him, in the way he made you feel, every kiss, every caress pushing you further into a haze of warmth and need. His mouth moved down your neck, his teeth grazing your collarbone before he pressed hot, open-mouthed kisses along your chest, his hands holding you as if you were something precious, something he never wanted to let go.

His hands moved lower, tracing every curve, his fingers brushing the waistband of your pants as his lips continued their journey down your body. You arched into him, a soft moan escaping as he paused, his gaze meeting yours again, his eyes filled with an unspoken question. You nodded, your breath coming in shallow gasps, and he gave a small, tender smile before continuing, his hands slipping beneath the fabric, sliding them off slowly, deliberately, his gaze never leaving yours.

His touch was everywhere, his lips following the path his hands traced, leaving you trembling beneath him. The intimacy of it all, the way he looked at you with so much care, made your heart swell, the love and desire blending into something overwhelming. He murmured your name, his voice thick with emotion, and you responded with a whisper of his, your fingers threading through his hair, pulling him closer, needing him in every possible way.

Chishiya's movements were slow, careful, his hands and lips guiding you through every sensation, until there was nothing else – just the two of you, together, everything else fading away. His breath mingled with yours, his body moving with yours as he brought you closer, each touch and kiss filled with a promise, an unspoken vow that this moment was yours, and he was yours, completely.

Afterward, as you both lay tangled together, breaths mingling and hearts still pounding, Chishiya looked at you with a smirk tugging at his lips. "I dropped so many hints, and you missed every single one," he teased, his voice soft but laced with amusement.

You let out a laugh, nudging his side playfully. "You were just as bad!" 

He raised an eyebrow, feigning innocence. "Elaborate?"

You rolled your eyes, a playful grin on your face as you propped yourself up on your elbows. "Like that time I kept asking you to help me study for that class I already had an A in, just because I wanted an excuse to spend time with you. Kuina walked in and saw us sitting way too close, and she said, 'If this is your idea of tutoring, Chishiya, you’re not even trying to be subtle.' And you just smirked like it was nothing!"

Chishiya's smile softened, his fingers brushing a strand of hair away from your face. "Maybe I was just waiting for you to say something first."

You shook your head, a smile tugging at your lips. "And here I thought you were supposed to be the genius."

Chishiya smirked, tilting his head slightly. "What about when I made sure we ended up paired together for every group project? Or that time I walked you home in the rain and conveniently 'forgot' my umbrella so you'd have to share yours?"

A flush crept your cheeks. "You did that on purpose?"

"Of course," he said with a soft chuckle, his tone teasing but his gaze warm. Pulling your closer, his lips brushed your forehead. "I guess we were both pretty clueless." He paused, his gaze meeting yours, sincerity shining in his eyes. "But I'm glad we finally figured it out."

You smiled, your heart swelling with affection. "Me too."

And as you lay there, wrapped in each other's arms, you knew that whatever came next, you would face it together–no more doubts, no more hesitations, just the two of you.

[lemurchick]

Every year on the tourist island of Borkum in Germany, locals organize a celebration called Klaasohm, the purpose of which is to beat women.

On December 5, unmarried male members of the prestigious association “Boys of Borkum” wear huge, up to a meter high, masks decorated with horns, fur and feathers. First there is a ritual fight in a closed hall, where only those born on the island are allowed. Photos and videos of the fight are forbidden.

The winner chooses his assistants and they scatter around the island hunting for women. Any woman who gets in their way will be beaten, I'm not kidding, with cow horns in which grain is poured for additional weight. Bruises remain for weeks. It's fun for men, and pain and humiliation for women.

This brutal tradition is believed to date back to the days of the whalers. They would return to their homes in the fall and beat their wives, reminding them who was in charge of the household. The custom has survived to this day, but outsiders are not told about it: the male population of the island does not want it to become known. Only about 5,000 people live on the island, and those who break the conspiracy of silence will face public condemnation and stigma. But some find the courage to speak out anonymously on social media:

Many islanders hate the festival and are forced to keep their mouths shut because of social pressure.

"As a Borkum native, I have been telling people for years that this actually still exists on the island and no one wants to believe me."

"Everyone has to participate, and those who don't want to, too. They're afraid they'll get hurt if they speak out."

"This island is a big village. I think everyone here knows how communities like this work. If you speak out against it, the whole town will talk about you, you will be ignored and sometimes persecuted. I've seen what it's like for people who have been ostracized. Many people are afraid, which is why this festival is not publicly criticized. The journalists will leave, but you'll still have a reputation as a traitor."

Defenders of the tradition argue that in order to avoid being beaten, women simply need to stay out of the house. However, there are many accounts of men letting the masked participants into houses and apartments or even pushing women out into the street.

For many years, information about the barbaric custom did not leak out. In 2018, journalists tried to report on Klaasohm, but they were literally kicked off the island. This year, however, almost all of Germany's leading media outlets covered what was happening on the island.

Faced with nationwide criticism, the mayor issued a statement emphasizing that “in order for Klaasohm to remain an important holiday and festival that shapes the identity of the people of Borkum, awareness must be kept low. It has always been the task of the association to maintain silence around this tradition. Please be respectful and do not spread the word.”

Borkum's Equal Opportunities Commissioner supported the statement, and the police noted that no woman has contacted law enforcement in the past five years. Perhaps this is because police officers, doctors, court officials and teachers are heavily involved in the festival and women realize that there is no point in coming for help from someone who held you down yesterday, subjecting you to beatings.

The statement from the Mayor's office only added fuel to the fire and within a day the Young Men of Borkum Association issued a new message:

"We categorically distance ourselves from any form of violence against women and apologize for what has happened in the past."

They also noted that the festival “is more than just a celebration - it is a living expression of our community and an integral part of life in Borkum. It is a time when the whole island comes together.”

As we know, nothing brings men together like hunting women.

(translated from russian channel (the author lives in Germany) Damn Ambivalence )

German Sources: video: Das Schweigen der Insel - Wenn Borkum Klaasohm feiert (https://www.ardmediathek.de/video/panorama-die-reporter/das-schweigen-der-insel-wenn-borkum-klaasohm-feiert/ndr/Y3JpZDovL25kci5kZS8xMzExXzIwMjQtMTEtMjYtMjEtMTU) Hei kummt Klaasohm! (https://www.mare.de/hei-kummt-klaasohm-content-446?srsltid=AfmBOooQQfoiSEBEKzBp1VL0M4ZXkMh_bo3jlfz-vy7IUJOjfxmDLfTS)

Wirbel um „Klaasohm“: Wird Frauen auf Borkum der Hintern versohlt? (https://www.rnd.de/wissen/klaasohm-skandal-auf-borkum-maskierte-maenner-jagen-frauen-tradition-oder-problem-44QIIXJFZNB4JNI4L6LWUNUFSM.html)

Wie ist das Klaasohm-Fest auf Borkum wirklich? (https://www.stadt-borkum.de/index.php?object=tx,3480.5.1&ModID=7&FID=3480.34396.1)

Der Klaasohm – Brauchtum auf Borkum (https://www.dein-niedersachsen.de/regionen/klaasohm/)

Klaasohm-Fest auf Borkum künftig ohne Schläge? (https://www.ndr.de/fernsehen/sendungen/panorama/aktuell/Borkum-Frauen-Schlagen-bei-Klaasohm-soll-abgeschafft-werden,klaasohm106.html)