#my elbow is chilly

[loregoddess]

oh I am going to need to figure out ho to sew patches sooner than later, I've worn out the poor elbow section of my favorite hoodie and it is becoming the "can wear t-shirts again" weather which means I can't ignore the utterly worn section by wearing a long or 3/4 sleeve shirt instead

[xoamiiren]

MOONSTRUCK , ⋆｡°✩ 𓈒𓈒 crazy over you

𖥔 PRECIS. In which, sunghoon’s feelings for you start to feel like more than he can handle… PAIRING. smitten!sunghoon x tipsy!reader GENRE. fluff, suggestive WARNINGS. skinship, mild kissing, mentions of drinking

authors note ୨୧ I have nothing to say. get into it hoon!

─────────

You were… tipsy. Sunghoon knew that much. The proof was in the flush that colored your cheeks, a vivid contrast against your bonze-toned skin.

Despite the alcohol in both your systems, it didn’t take away from the fact that his mind was reeling.

The two of you had been in attendance for Jake’s birthday trip. A small , cozy gathering at his grandparent’s lakehouse for the weekend.

After a day filled with laughter, games, and a few drinks, the group had winded down for the night.

It was late, and you and Sunghoon were the last ones still awake, sitting on the porch talking under a shared fluffy blanket. It was nice… comforting. Just the two you, sharing quiet laughs and whispered stories under the stars.

But, Sunghoon couldn’t defy the nagging urge at the back of his mind to tell you. Tell you he was in love with you, so in love that it hurt.

It had started to get chilly, and with the others already asleep, you had both decided to move inside to a guest room with two twin beds—it was the only available space left.

Too relaxed to worry about where else to go, you agreed to take up the two beds, facing each other with drowsy eyes and lingering smiles.

As time passed, still laying in silence, Sunghoon couldn’t help but begin to toss and turn with the intention of sleep. The silence that was strangely comforting before, had started to become deafening, heavy with unspoken words.

Finally, Sunghoon rolled over to face you, his breath catching as he took in the sight of you blinking slowly, eyes glazed over yet intensely focused on him.

“You know…” His voice broke the silence, low and hesitant, almost drowned by the pounding of his own heart.

“Hm?” Your eyebrows arched, your gaze still locked on his, those large, innocent eyes piercing through the darkness.

“It’s… it’s nothing.” The courage he had mustered slipped away like sand through his fingers.

“What…?” your voice was soft, the edges frayed with weariness.

“I… really, it’s nothing.”

The silence returned, thicker this time, a suffocating blanket that wrapped around you both.

“Can you sleep now…? Are you sleepy…?” he murmured, voice hushed as though even in the solitude, someone might overhear.

“Mm…” you nodded, pushing yourself up to a sitting position, rubbing your eyes with a pout that made his heart tighten.

“I think I’ll sleep there.”

Sunghoon’s heart skipped a beat, then raced ahead as you slipped from your bed and into his own with a graceful clumsiness that only you could achieve.

When you landed with a soft thud, your noses were mere inches apart, your hushed giggles mingling with his own chuckles as you adjusted yourself under the covers, and rolled over so your back was pressing against his chest.

Warmth flooded Sunghoon’s senses, as if the bed weren’t already small enough. He prayed you could feel the frantic rhythm of his heartbeat against your back…

Feel how fast it was racing. How honest would that be?

You were so warm…

“Use my arm as a pillow…” he offered, his voice barely a whisper as you lifted your head to rest on his arm.

“Why…?” you asked, your voice a breathy murmur.

“So we can be closer…” he answered, the words tumbling out in a rush, his heart still pounding.

You stayed like that, the quiet punctuated only by the sound of your breathing, soft and steady. You shifted again, clearly in discomfort, and a breathy chuckle escaped Sunghoon’s lips.

“Why didn’t you bring your pillow over…?” he teased, propping himself up on one elbow to look down at you.

You glanced dismissively at the abandoned pillow on your abandoned bed before your gaze snapped back to him, piercing him to the core.

Your glassy eyes glittered under the moonlight streaming in through the window, long lashes casting delicate shadows on your flushed cheeks as you blinked slowly.

You were… breathtaking. Sunghoon’s heart constricted painfully at the sight of you.

Slowly, you reached up to smooth down your own bedhead, and without thinking, Sunghoon followed suit, tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear with trembling fingers.

Your eyes never wavered from his, tracing his every feature, studying him with an intensity that left him breathless.

What were you thinking? He could never tell, and as of right now… he was desperate.

You blinked slowly, your lips parting as you finally broke the thickening silence.

“Is this… not a good idea?” your voice was soft, laced with innocence yet tinged with a challenge, your doe eyes searching his own for an answer.

“No…” His voice was hoarse, his throat dry, but he kept his gaze steady on yours.

“It’s good.” He added, pulling the comforter snugly around you both.

“Hm?” you hummed, your eyebrows lifting ever so slightly in curiosity.

“It’s definitely good…” he repeated, his words barely more than a breath.

You smiled then, a fleeting, gentle curve of your lips before your expression softened once more, your eyes large and unblinking.

Sunghoon fought to contain himself, the air between them thick with tension, every innocent thought he tried to hold onto slipping away. God, you were divine.

So pretty, it hurt.

You pulled the covers tighter around your chest, your hands disappearing beneath them. Just then, Sunghoon could feel your cool, slender fingers intertwining with his.

The touch seemed almost electric, almost overwhelming, as you slowly and carefully guided his hand down the length of your body, the soft fabric of your sleep shirt barely a barrier to the heat of your skin, which felt like a burn the moment you guided his hand beneath it.

His heart thundered in his chest, anticipation and desire warring within him, but he never broke eye contact.

Your gaze dared him, testing his resolve with a demure boldness that sent shivers down his spine.

His breath caught as your hand guided his lower, fingers brushing the waistband of your shorts. He watched your expression shift ever so subtly, your lips falling open the slightest bit more, your eyes darkening with something he couldn’t quite name, and yet the innocence remained.

Your head tilted back faintly, almost in a pleading nod when he pressed his fingers down to apply pressure, his palm settling on your lower belly. 

Feeling the warmth of your skin beneath his touch, the tension in the air was almost unbearable.

Finally, Sunghoon tore his gaze from yours, letting out a shaky breath as his head fell back onto the pillow you now shared, his hand slipping from your grasp.

You watched him, silent, your chest rising and falling with a matching intensity.

You were nervous, scared…? Excited?

Sunghoon raked a hand through his hair, a pained laugh escaping his lips as he groaned in frustration, draping a heavy arm across your waist.

“(Y/n)…” he whispered, your name like a prayer on his lips.

The bashful grin on his face failed to go away, he could feel the warmth of a fresh blush dancing across his cheeks and up to the tips of his ears.

You said nothing, simply turning your head away and closing your eyes, seeking solace in sleep, an escape from the tension threatening to suffocate you both.

Sunghoon lay still, staring into the dimness of the room, his mind a whirlwind of thoughts.

He tugged at the covers, fidgeting restlessly, squeezing his eyes shut in a desperate bid for sleep.

But the racing of his heart wouldn’t let him rest.

He sat up once more, needing air, needing water, needing…

And then, your eyes fluttered open as you looked up at him again. Without a word, you grabbed his chin, pulling him down into a kiss that stole his breath away.

Sunghoon’s heart nearly exploded, a small sound of surprise catching in his throat as he melted into the kiss, your soft hum of pleasure reverberating through him.

Suddenly you shifted, and it was Sunghoon lying on his back, your lips never leaving his until you broke away, straddling him with careful, deliberate movements, as if afraid of causing him harm.

His heart swelled with emotion as he gazed up at you, completely captivated by the girl who had just turned his world upside down.

“Did I keep you waiting…?” you whisper, expression filled with worry despite your rose dusted cheeks.

“So long… I waited so long.”, Sunghoon teased, squeezing the soft flesh of your thighs as you giggled softly and captured his lips again.

[enzstr]

Stars and Secrets | K. Bakugo

note: just had my graduation party yesterday aaaa im so glad its over now (⁠＾⁠∇⁠＾⁠)⁠ﾉ

The night was quiet, the city lights flickering in the distance as you and Katsuki sat on the rooftop of his apartment building. A thick blanket was spread out beneath you, and the chilly air was kept at bay by the large hoodie he’d insisted you borrow.

“Quit fidgeting,” Katsuki muttered, lying on his back with one arm behind his head.

“I’m not fidgeting,” you replied, though you adjusted your position for the third time.

He snorted but didn’t say anything, his gaze fixed on the stars above. It wasn’t often that you both had a quiet evening to yourselves, and Katsuki had surprised you earlier by dragging you up here after dinner, a thermos of hot chocolate tucked under his arm.

Now, the warmth of the drink lingered on your hands as you leaned back, stealing a glance at him. His face was relaxed, the usual sharp edges of his expression softened by the calm of the night.

“Katsuki?” you asked quietly, breaking the silence.

“Hm?”

“Why’d you bring me up here?”

He turned his head slightly, one red eye peering at you. “Do I need a reason?”

“No, but you usually have one,” you teased, smiling softly.

He sighed, sitting up and resting his elbows on his knees. “You’ve been all over the place lately. Work, training, runnin’ around like an idiot. Figured you needed to breathe for a minute.”

Your chest tightened at the simple honesty in his words. “You’re too good to me, you know that?”

“Someone’s gotta be,” he muttered, rubbing the back of his neck.

You reached out, resting a hand on his arm. “Thank you, Katsuki. Really.”

“Yeah, yeah,” he grumbled, though the corner of his mouth twitched upward. He lay back down, tugging you down with him so your head rested on his shoulder.

For a moment, neither of you spoke, the world around you fading into a peaceful hum.

“Y’know,” he said suddenly, his voice quieter than usual, “I’m not good at this kinda stuff. But I… care about you. A lot.”

You blinked, turning your head to look at him. His eyes were focused on the sky, his cheeks dusted pink in the moonlight.

A smile broke across your face as you snuggled closer, your hand slipping into his. “You’re better at it than you think, Katsuki.”

He grunted, squeezing your hand lightly. “Don’t push it.”

You laughed softly, the sound blending into the stillness of the night. And as you lay there under the stars, wrapped in his warmth and his quiet, unspoken love, you realized there was nowhere else you’d rather be.

enzstr © 2024. please don't steal, modify or copy my writing on any other platforms!

[familyvideostevie]

all of it still matters

joel miller x fem!reader | 2.4k

you get sick and, much to joel's chagrin, refuse to take it easy.

jackson!joel, fem!reader, fluff, fainting, ellie and her dog that i invented for some reason, kind of plotless but who cares! it's all about love in the end, anyway.

a/n: welcome back to our lovebirds from just and just as. be gentle, please. it's been a while.

--

The sky is a brilliant orange. Golden hour, they used to call it.

It's probably a little too cold to be sitting on the front porch but you can't help it on an evening like this. You tug a fraying flannel of Joel's tighter around your shoulders. It's worn at the elbows and he reminds you that he'll fix it if you release it from your clutches but somehow that never happens. The journal he made you is open on your lap, almost full. You've taken care to write down not only your memories but the stories he and Tommy tell about their lives before, the day-to-day of Jackson, the jokes Ellie is particularly proud of. She recently recounted a birthday trip to a museum, laughing as she told you about pushing Joel into the water.

You take a sip of your pine tea. It's chilly through the whole day, now, and soon the morning frost will be snow. Winter was hard for a long, long time, but now it's comfortable. It means lights up in town, children throwing snowballs, community meals and dances. It means warm nights under your blankets with the furnace of a man you sleep next to, soft salve on chapped hands, a slowing down of the Infected sightings.

And it means Joel chopping wood. He should be doing it in the back yard -- usually does -- but this evening he's finishing up the trunk pieces Jesse left by the steps. A big tree had gone down at the edge of the town clearing and everyone got a few pieces once they'd split it up. Joel will no doubt give Ellie at least half of what he cuts.

The benefit of him doing it out front is you get to watch. His back is to you, but you can see the way his sleeves are rolled up, the damp hair curling over the collar. The exhale when he brings the axe down, the flex of his shoulder blades when he tugs it free of the stump. You could watch him do anything.

As if hearing your train of thought, Joel wedges the axe in the chopping block and turns to face you. He runs a hand through his hair, silver strands catching the orange light, and huffs.

"Enjoyin' yourself?" he says.

You grin at him. "I'd say so."

Two things happen at once. A headache blooms without warning at your temple, sharp enough that you wince and press your fingertips to the skin there. Joel notices and takes a step towards you but then a dog barks and his attention is drawn down the street.

"Naledi!" Ellie yells, jogging up the street after her dog. "Come on, we've talked about this!"

Joel glances back at you but you smile at him, ignoring the blooming pain in your skull. Naledi -- named after one of those characters from Ellie's comics -- runs right up to Joel and noses at his knee until he pets her. The animal loves him. You don't blame her.

"Jesus," Ellie says once she reaches the steps up to the house, panting. "She can run." She looks at the yard and scowls. "Aw, shit, Joel. Did you finish all the wood?"

Joel, one hand scratching behind Naledi's ears, levels her with an unimpressed look.

"Ain't gonna chop itself," he drawls. "Last thing we need is you holdin' an axe."

"Rude," she gasps. "You steal my dog and make fun of me. Are you hearing this?"

Ellie looks at you in mock outrage, cheeks pink from the cold. She's not a teenager anymore, but falls back into it so easily when Joel teases her. It's a treat to witness.

"I don't know, Joel, you've seen her --" You stand in the middle of your sentence and the words stop coming because your vision swims. Black spots dance across the yard and you pitch forward to brace yourself on the railing.

"Oh, fuck," Ellie says. Joel is up the porch and next to you in a blink, arm around your waist to steady you.

"You okay?" he asks, low and serious.

The spots disappear and you take some deep breaths. "I -- stood up too fast, I think."

Joel remains in your space for a few more seconds. Naledi barks, watching the whole thing with a tilted head from the grass below.

"Ellie," Joel says. "You wanna finish up the wood? I think we're gonna go inside."

"Totally," she replies. "Yeah, uh, go lie down, or something. We've got this."

Joel ushers you into the house and sits you down in the kitchen. The sun no longer peaks over the mountains so he flicks on the overhead lights, which make you groan. He's back by your side immediately, tipping your head up with a knuckle on your chin so he can look at you.

"Think you might've caught somethin'," he says. "Bout that time of year." He presses the back of his hand to your forehead and frowns.

You circle his wrist and tug his hand down. "Just tired," you say. "The overnight patrol is catching up with me."

"Hmm." Joel leaves you be and starts to fix you something to eat. You know better than to argue and, frankly, you don't have the energy to make something yourself. He sets some buttered toast in front of you and leans on the island to watch you take a small bite.

"Something to say?" you manage through a mouthful of bread.

He shrugs. "You should go to bed early." It's barely sunset but it sounds like a good idea. "You going to be okay to work tomorrow?"

Your shift at the stables with Ellie. Pretty easy, as far as labor goes. A good night's sleep should make it bearable. "Yeah, it's just mucking stalls."

"Hmm," he says again. You know what that means -- he's thinking, he's decided, he's preparing, but he'll let you reach the same conclusion in your own time. He won't force you into anything, never does, but he most certainly has an opinion.

You change the subject. "Did you grab my journal?" Joel nods and pulls it from his back pocket to set on the table next to your toast. You take another bite to appease him.

"Almost done with that thing," he says. "Gonna need another one."

"If only I knew someone who made them," you tease. That gets a gruff laugh out of him.

"What you writin' about today?"

"You, Tommy, and motorcycles." Tommy had told you all about the famed birthday ride at the last family dinner. Everyone had heard the story but you, so their voices overlapped about a hundred times as they fought to be the one to explain.

Joel chuckles. "You ever been on one?"

You take one more bite of your toast and push the plate away. He's on it in a second, taking it over to the sink.

"No," you reply. "I don't even know the last time I saw a working one. Just stripped metal out in the wild."

"Think you'd like it," he says. "Good way to see things. Bit of an adrenaline rush."

"Yeah, because there's a shortage of that these days."

The joke falls flat and your eyelids start to droop so you don't see Joel's reaction anyway. Your head throbs.

"Bed," Joel says, softly. Hands on your shoulders, rubbing up and down your arms. "C'mon."

He ushers you up, hand on your back on the staircase. He waits while you brush your teeth and helps you into an old shirt and threadbare pants with a gentle touch.

When you're settled under the covers he perches on the edge of the bed and lays his hand on your forehead once again. A frown makes its way back onto his face and he checks your cheeks, your neck.

"I'm just tired, Joel," you mumble. "It's alright."

"Hmm." He kisses the inside of your wrist lightly and stands. "Gonna go check on Ellie, alright? I'll be back soon."

You fight to keep your eyes open and fail.

__

You feel like shit in the morning. Your head is pounding, your body aching. But you've had worse -- you've had broken bones and bruised ribs. You've been sick, you've been tired, you've been scared. This is nothing compared to life and death. You can muck a few stalls with a headache.

Joel isn't here -- a note on the counter says he got called to fix someone's sink and that he thinks you should stay home. You ignore it and head to the stables, taking deep breaths and walking slow.

Ellie shows up not long after you arrive and finds you leaning on your pitchfork in one of the stalls. Your stomach is churning but you're upright, still.

"You look like shit," she says.

"Thanks, kid," you grumble. "Where's your dog?"

"Dina's taking her on the trails today." They've been training Naledi to smell and track Infected.

You sway a little and make some noise of assent.

"Dude, are you sure you should be here today?"

If you leave now, she'll have to do the stalls herself. "I -- let me do a few more. I'm fine. It's alright."

She gives you a look she almost certainly learned from Joel but doesn't argue.

You are fine...for a little while. Ellie seems content to let you work in silence but you feel her eyes on you as you shovel shit and old hay. Just one more, you tell yourself. Then you'll go home and lie down. One more turns into two turns into three until you're scooping a big pile of straw and the spots dance across your vision again.

"Oh," you say with a gasp, and reach out for the wall, for something, anything to lean on. But your hand finds only air and then you're tipping, tipping, and you hear Ellie's Oh shit! and then --

Nothing.

No, I caught her before her head hit the ground. Are you on your back? Wait til she wakes to move her. Sounds like Esther. God, it smells like shit in here. Someone's hand on your forehead. He's coming --

You blink a few times and the roof of the barn comes into view. A groan makes its way up your throat without permission.

"Fuck," you say. "What --"

"Jesus," Ellie exhales. She's on her knees on one side of you, tugging at her fingers. "God, why did you come to work today?"

"I--"

"Where is she?" Joel's voice echoes through the barn and you try to get up on your elbows when you see him. The sudden movement makes your head pound again and hands on your shoulders help steady you. You're blinking into Joel's face, his creased brow and frown deepening as he kneels next to you.

A warm, weathered palm cups your cheek and his gaze catalogs the scene. He does this a lot -- takes in as many details as he can and makes a quick choice on how to proceed. It's a well-honed ability, one that's kept him alive this long. It's kept you and Ellie alive, and countless others in his company, too. Knowing how bad something is, and whether or not you can fix it.

He huffs, some of the tension melting from his face. "Just tired my ass," he mutters. "How're you feelin'?"

"Guess I fainted," you say weakly.

Ellie snorts. "No shit."

"Guess so," Joel echoes. "You wanna get up?" You nod. He does most of the work, arm around your waist as you stand and sway and end up tucked into his side.

"Surprised your knees work this well," you mutter. He makes a low noise in his throat and squeezes your side but otherwise ignores you.

"Think we're gonna go home, if that's alright," he says. You realize the crowd is a little bigger than you thought. Ellie, Esther, and some of the younger boys who work the horses stand nearby. Your head pounds too much for you to be properly embarrassed. You'll have to thank Ellie later for keeping an eye on you but for now, you let Joel lead you out of the stables without waiting for a reply.

Joel walks you home slowly.

"Did someone come get you?" you murmur. He nods.

"Kid said you fainted," he says. "I see you ignored my suggestion this mornin'."

"Yeah, but if I stayed in bed you wouldn't get to be a knight in shining armor."

There is a small voice in the back of your head that reminds you how bad it can be to be sick in this world. You've all seen it -- sickness takes a few people every year, a handful in bad ones. This is probably just the flu. You know that and Joel knows that. And even that can be dangerous, but you're here with the one man in the world who could defeat pretty much anything. Joel, who will keep you safe, who will see you through it. You really, truly believe that. And you want him to believe it, too.

"How polite of you," he says.

Your boot catches on the ground and you stumble a little. Joel slows you to a stop.

"I'm fine," you remind him. "Just sick, I guess." He huffs but you start walking again. "You really looked worried back there, you know."

"Yeah, well." You reach the stairs up to your house. He tightens his hold on you, practically taking all of your weight as you go up them one at a time. "Was worried you fell into some horse shit. Smell up the whole damn house."

That gets a laugh out of you. He gets you up the porch, across the threshold.

"You gonna listen to me this time?" he asks, sitting you down on the entryway bench. "Stay home, rest up?"

"I'll think about it," you sigh. "You gonna take care of me, Dr. Miller?"

He kneels in front of you to take off your boots and smirks. How many times have you done this? Peeling off each other's boots after a long day. When one of you is sick, when one of you is hurt. Your head is pounding and you almost certainly have a fever but Joel's gentle hands and familiar smirk sets you at ease. You're going to be doing this forever.

"C'mon," he says. "You know I'll take care of you."

He tucks your boots under the bench and puts his palms on your thighs. You lean forward to kiss him and miss by a mile, lips landing at the corner of his mouth.

"My head hurts," you say against his cheek. "I love you."

Joel sighs. "I know, baby," he murmurs. "I got you."

He does.

[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.

[frost-queen]

My mortal flaw // part 2 (Reader x Zuko)

Requested by: @ficsmoothie Forever tag:@missmelodramatic, @merlin-dahlia, @alex--awesome--22, @elllie-does-the-posts, @floatlosers, @merlieve, @queen-of-books, @glimmering-darling-dolly @denkisclown, @wildieflower, @meyocoko, @bubblybrianna, @justanothercoco, @subjecta13-thefangirl, @m-rae23, @harleyquinnswifeyfrfr, @swampthing07, @melsunshine, @panhoeofmanyfandoms, @venomsvl, @the-uncoordinated-house-cat, @rosecentury,  @imagines-by-her,  @evilcr0ne, @vviolynn, @iixchloee, @cherrysxuya, @zhochikennugget

Summary: If there was one person you hated the most it was Commander Zhao. When Zhao kills the moon spirit, it takes a drastic toll on you. Being on the brink of dying in the arms of the fire prince. [series]

You felt the ominous atmosphere, the moment he stepped foot on the ship. A certain chill catching your bones. It wasn’t that chilly tonight, but you still shivered. The ominous approach of his footsteps. Heavy and hard on the ship’s deck. The ship had gone silent. Holding in a breath. All of the soldiers lined up. At the very end Zuko with you by his side. Iroh a bit behind Zuko’s right shoulder. You took a deep breath when he came in vision. Standing across on the other end.

A thick smirk on his face. His walk sturdy and a bit too much air. He never gave the soldiers any of his contact. His gaze was fixated on the prince and you. You let your gaze briefly shoot over to Zuko. His posture firm as you saw him brace himself. His chest slightly puffing up as he kept his hands behind his back. His expression emotionless. Turning your gaze back to the front, he was almost near.

He might have been a fire bender, but he gave you the chills. He came to a stop before Zuko and you. – “My prince.” – he addressed with a small bow, one hand on his chest. His gaze then shifted to you. – “Water princess.” – he spoke, making you almost roll your eyes at him. The way he showed it made it seem like he had little respect for you.

“Commander Zhao.” – Zuko spoke drawing his attention back to him. – “You will the address the princess formally.” – he insisted upon. Zhao forced his mouth to smile. – “Princess Y/n.” – he said bowing his head just a bit. – “Commander Zhao.”  - you said bowing, hands holding your elbows inside your sleeves. A moment of silence fell, making you glance over at Zuko. Iroh cleared his throat. – “Shall we head inside Commander Zhao?” – Iroh offered, gesturing at the cabin.

Iroh took the lead, guiding Zhao inside. Zuko and you behind him. Zuko paused allowing you to enter first. You gave him a smile, showing him your gratitude. Zuko moved behind you, following you inside the cabin. You had come a long way since Kyoshi Island, but you weren’t fully there. Zuko’s walls had crumbled just a bit around you. Just enough to appreciate your presence more.

You didn’t expect him to cling onto you like dew to a flower. That he would be a totally different man or suddenly declare his love for you, if he even had that. No it was more an understanding. A common agreement on both parties. Nothing was going to chance this union.

Iroh and Zhao were already in the quarter when you walked in with Zuko. Zuko came standing by the map on the table. You went to Iroh, standing beside him. – “What news.” – Zuko started looking firmly at the map. Zhao cleared his throat. – “Perhaps the princess should leave the room.” – Zhao stated looking behind Zuko to you. Zuko lifted his head up, bringing his fingers closer to his palm on the table. – “The princess stays!” – he declared with a glare.

“My prince.” – Zhao started, his expression bitter like swallowing a sour apple down. – “All this talk of war, might not be something for a girl to attend.” -  Zhao let out, clearing wanting you out of the room. – “Y/n stays!” – Zuko made clear, slamming his fist against the table. – “I have no secrets for her.” – he finished looking angered at Zhao. – “Is that so?” – Zhao spoke a hint of surprise in his voice. Perhaps some mockery too.

“Forgive me my prince, but I do not believe your princess would be an asset to the room.” – Zhao slipped out, looking rather foul at you. Zuko clenched his hand, getting frustrated with him. – “She stays!” – he outed loud.

It wasn’t hard to read the room. Commander Zhao disliked you for one reason only. The reason you were a water tribe girl. If you were a girl from the fire nation, he might have belittled you too, but with less grudge. You sighed soft, getting in motion. – “I’ll leave since you are insisting.” – you said making Zuko turn around to you. – “But…” – he started. He had been keeping his foot down, insisting on your presence in the room. So hearing you give up, confused him.

“I know when I am unwanted.” – you replied loud enough for Zhao to hear. Stepping up to Zuko, you wanted a private moment with him. – “Be firm.” – you whispered to him. Letting your gaze go from Zuko with admiration to Zhao with anger. Zuko swayed his head a bit to the side, moving his hand to yours.

“Stay…” – he whispered almost breathlessly when you slipped through his fingers, already leaving the room. Zuko’s gaze met up with Iroh. Commander Zhao to his back. Iroh showed Zuko to be strong, to not show emotion with a simple expression. Zuko took a deep breath before turning back to Zhao. – “Now let’s talk.” – he said firm, pressing his palms on the table.

You were on deck, hand under your chin as you let the water from the ocean move up and down with your hand. A stream of water getting stretched out from the ocean and back down. Just mindless bending to pass the time. Commander Zhao felt like a bad omen to you. You didn’t care much for the little respect he had towards you. You did care how he could subtly belittle Zuko.

Acting as if he was higher in rank and Zuko but a foot soldier. A part of you was glad you weren’t in that room with him. You hated looking at his stupid face. On the other hand, you wanted to be in that room to make sure he wouldn’t make Zuko a fool. Kyoshi Island made you look differently upon Zuko. With more respect as to say. It sure made the union between the two of you bond.

Something you never thought was possible. You’d always hoped Zuko would melt some walls down with you. At least enough for him to respect you and perhaps if you could dream for him to show affection in any way. Even if it meant the littlest of meanings. You wanted him to be happy with you, even though you were never his choice.

The water splashed down as you heard their voices. It made you turned around, standing up straight. Commander Zhao stomped towards the railing to leave your ship. Not seeing Iroh or Zuko near him, you rushed back inside. The door swung open as you were panting with worry. You only had to look at Zuko, knowing Zhao had gotten under his skin once more. – “What happened?” – you asked with concern, going over to Zuko.

You reached your hand out to his arm. Your fingers could touch his arm but for a second before he flipped his arm up. – “Get out!” – he shouted loud with anger. It startled you, but you staid. Zuko grunted loud, brazing. – “I was only…” – you began as he cut you off with blazing fire in the room. You felt the warmth tickle your skin. – “I don’t need your pathetic sympathy!” – Zuko answered rudely.

“Zuko!” – you shouted back getting up in his face. – “I am not Zhao!” – you grabbed him by his suit. – “Damn well remember that!” – your gaze staring coldly back at him. Your little outburst made him swallow in shock. Never had he seen you counterstrike so hard against him. You let go of him with a shove. Iroh was impressed by you, tempering Zuko’s temper so easily. Zuko blinked confused, calmed down in a matter of seconds.

Taking a deep breath, you calmed down as well. – “Don’t let Zhao get under your skin. He’s not worth it.” – you told Zuko. Zuko nodded. You wanted to leave again when Zuko grabbed for your wrist, making you stop. Startled, you looked down at his hand around your wrist. Your eyes met as Zuko looked away. His grip faltered as he let go of you.

He proceeded to do as if what he had done was of no significance. You bent through your knees as a curtsy to him before leaving the room once more. – “Don’t.” – Zuko said out loud. – “I wasn’t going to say anything.” – Iroh answered innocently. – “You were thinking it.” – Zuko added with a sigh. – “All I wish to say is don’t push her away nephew. You’ll regret it.” – Iroh replied wisely. He then bowed his head to Zuko, taking his leave. Iroh found you on the deck, asking if you wanted to join him for tea. You accepted, drinking some tea under the moonlight with him.

---------------------------------

“Remember your fire breath.” – Iroh said to Zuko. Zuko took a deep breath to show him. – “Princess Y/n.” – Iroh said making you nod determined at him. Iroh nodded back. You jumped off the railing into the water. Before your feet touched the water, it turned to ice underneath you. You whistled loud for Zuko to join you. He gave his uncle one last hug before he jumped over the railing too.

Landing hard on the ice platform, you had created. He sunk to his knees from the impact as you helped him up by his elbow. Taking a firm stand, you started swaying your hands around you. The ice platform got in motion as you bend the movement of the water. The ice platform making a way through the ice cold water to get to the Northern water tribe. Zuko had his fists up, ready to fire at anyone trying to attack. His gaze fell on you, seeing you bend the water so gracefully yet with strength.

Above your head you saw balls of fire being launched at the water tribe. Your hatred for Zhao, Admiral now, growing more.  – “There is a secret entrance underneath the water.” – Zuko let out, keeping an eye out for it. You felt the movement of the water in your bones, feeling connected to it.

“There.” – you told him bending the platform over to it. The platform came to a stop as Zuko exhaled deep, a bit of flame coming out of his mouth. You came standing by his side. – “You don’t have to do this.” – he told you. – “Together.” – you reminded him holding your hand out to him. Zuko stared at your hand, then up to your warm smile. He clasped his hand in yours without a word. Both of you jumped into the water. The cold giving you a brief shock. You let go of Zuko’s hand underwater to swim. Dive and swim closer to the entrance.

Zuko emerged first, gasping loud for air. – “Y/n?” – he said looking around. You hadn’t emerged yet as he slightly started to panic. Your head came above, taking a soft breath. – “Here.” – you said as he sighed relieved. Zuko and you swam to the edge, having found a way into the Northern water tribe. Zuko helped you out of the water.

Your eye fell upon the moon high above. – “Y/n.” – Zuko called out waiting for you to join him. – “Y/n let’s go!”  -  he ordered seeing you waste time by staring at the moon. Hesitantly you came in motion, joining his side. – “I just want the Avatar.” – Zuko said to remind you. The two of you found a way outside. In shock, you stared at the chaos. Fire everywhere. The water tribe, your kin, fighting with every might against the roaring flames.

It pained your heart to see it come to this. Zhao had lost his mind. Zuko noticed you were captivated by it. He knew your heart would be bleeding from seeing this. He returned to you, grabbing you by your wrist. – “Don’t look.” – he said pulling you away. A ball of fire clashed into an ice structure above. It made some brocks of ice crumble down. You bended them away before they could crush Zuko and you.

Zuko gave you a complimenting look before going his way. You remained outside, making sure no one would follow him. The moon caught your eye again as you felt like it was trying to say something. A warning before the storm. It made you swallow nervously, unaware of what was happening down in the sacred pond.

“Zhao!” – Iroh called out with anger. – “Whatever you do to that spirit, I will unleash on you tenfold!” – Zhao laid on the ground, holding the moon spirit under his grip. He grinned, chuckling even. With trembling cheeks, he drove the blade into the moon spirit. The moon disappeared, leaving the world in a gloomy view.

You stood outside, gasping loud as suddenly the moon was gone. Your hands felt weird as you couldn’t bend anymore. Looking at your trembling hands, you couldn’t figure out what had happened. You gasped hearing fire benders come in sight. They pointed at you, firing a blast at you. Now defenceless, you couldn’t do much. You were able to deflect one or two from moving out of the way, but the third one hit you. A blast of fire hitting you in the chest.

The pain was excruciating as it send you down. It had knocked you off balance. Getting slowly up, your side felt heavily bruised. There was another blast as you couldn’t out run it. It made you cry out, falling back into the snow. Clutching your side, it felt wet. Looking at your hand, you saw it was blooded. – “Zu…Zuko…” – you forced out, dragging yourself forwards into the snow. You had lost sight of Zuko a while ago. You remained still, hoping they would presume you were dead and move on.

Trying hard not to tremble, you waited till the sounds died out. Although it wasn’t easy in this chaos. Water benders that could bend no more, falling down. Struck by fire. Your breathing became shallow as you forced yourself up. Knees weak as they could barely hold you up. Weakened and bleeding, you shuffled forwards, pushing yourself forwards. – “Zuko…Zuko…” – you would whisper in search for him.

Zuko panted loud as he came outside. His first reaction was to look around for you. – “Y/n?” – he said suddenly noticing the moon was gone. The world turned grim. He saw water benders around him try to bend with no success. His eyes widened, knowing it must happen to you as well. – “Y/n!” – he called out, running to look for you. You found your way to a bridge, shivering as you tried to keep your eyes open.

Another person came running towards you as it made you look. They came to a sudden stop in shock. Your expression hardened. – “Zhao!” – you said bitter. Zhao stared in shock at you, till he saw how weakened you were. He straightened his posture with a chuckle. You wanted to wipe that smirk off his face. Moving your hands forwards you expected him to be hit by water. Yet nothing came.

Remembering again, you turned your hand to you, shaking with realization. Zhao laughed loud at your vulnerability. – “What’s the matter princess, can’t bend?” – Zhao mocked. – “Don’t worry.” – he said taking a stand. – “I still can.” – he finished punching fire at you. The impact made you fall back, crying in pain. You pulled yourself back up with every might of you. You weren’t going to let him win easily.

“You can’t win from me.” – he said teasingly. You took a stand with buckling knees and trembling hands. The side of your dress already stained with blood. Zhao readied himself to fire at you again, when he got interrupted by another blast of fire. – “Zhao!” – turning your head a bit, you saw Zuko come in sight. – “You took everything from me!” – he shouted bending more fire at him. Zhao got knocked back.

Zuko put all his anger into his bending, overwhelming Zhao with fire. Zhao crawled up to the side of the bridge, leaning against it. Worn out. – “Zu…Zuko…” – you said, drawing his attention to you. Zuko’s eyes widened seeing the state of you. Your knees gave in, making you collapse. Zuko caught you before your body could hit the ground. Zhao wanted to get up as he got hit by fire, the wall of the bridge, collapsing as he got blasted through it.

Iroh had a murderous look in his eye, his hands still in position. Zuko looked with concern at you. – “How… who did…” – he asked looking at the blood on your dress. He placed his hand against your cheek, to stop you from trembling. – “Y/n.” – Zuko said, his gaze soft, eyes glossy. – “Y/n.” – he repeated when you weren’t giving him much reaction.

“Y/n.” – he said more desperate as the pain reflected in his eyes. He looked down at your chest, seeing it barely move, hinting your breathing was dimming out. – “No, no no no no, Y/n!” – he called out panicking. – “Y/n!” – his eyes teary now. He panted out a breath, desperate to get a reaction out of you. – “Y/n!” – he called out again, shaking your shoulder. – “No! no!” – he cried out followed by a scream of agony. Iroh lowered his head in respect, grieving for his nephew. – “Please… Y/n please… don’t leave me yet…” – he said letting his forehead lean against yours.

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry Y/n.” – he sobbed out. – “Come back to me.” – his voice cracked a bit as a tear fell on your cheek. He shakily pressed his lips onto your forehead. – “I am not done with you. You still haven’t scolded me enough.” – he said in the hopes it would break a reaction out of you. – “Please Y/n… I…I… damn it!” – he cursed out. – “You cannot make me care for you and leave me like this!” – he outed in pain.

“So you care.” – you muttered weakly with a cough. Zuko’s eyes widened, looking down at you. You slowly opened your eyes, giving him a faint smile. Zuko grabbed your cheek, forcing his lips down on you. Your eyes widened more. His kiss was tender and soft. – “Look what you made me do Y/n.” – he said with a smile through his tears.

It made you chuckle out a laugh, only to be reminded of your pain once more. – “Uncle!” – Zuko called out. Iroh came running over, helping you up. Zuko picked you up in his arms, as you were still too weak to walk. – “We need to get to the ship now!” – he ordered. His uncle nodded firm. – “I’ll clear the way.” – he said not taking his task lightly.

---------------------------------------------

Read more of my fics on my Masterlists!

[stevieschrodinger]

The stone wall is chilly at Eddie's back, but he relishes the relief it offers in the stuffy hall. Every brazier is lit, a hog turning over in the massive fireplace. The queen is entertaining again, dignitaries and minor neighboring royals visiting to celebrate another successful season. Plentiful crops. Peace. All that sort of stuff.

"He's here you know, I've seen him," Chrissy sidles up to him. She's done something to the skirts of her maids outfit, twisted them up somehow to the point of being vaguely indecent. She only does it to tease the Queen; everyone in the hall knows if they lay so much as a fingertip on their Queens beloved paramour they're likely to loose an arm. A punishment no doubt delivered by sir Steven, the queens favored knight.

"Of course he's here, our royal highness wouldn't be in public without his protection."

Chrissy hums, "you going to go find him?"

Eddie shrugs, "maybe?"

"Not after another kiss?"

Eddie rolls his eyes, "it isn't like that and it wasn't...he was very gentlemanly." And he was, it was so chaste, as soft as a butterflies wing. And then Steve had left and now Eddie is...uncertain.

"Bet you wish he wasn't though," Chrissy's tone is lewd.

"Easy for you to say, we can't all be the Queens bed warmer."

"Slattern."

"Sow."

They watch the crowed absently for a while, making merry, doing no doubt irreparable damage to the wine cellar.

"You have a feeling about him though," Chrissy idles. Wheedling.

"He can always see me," Eddie admits.

"What, always?"

"Well...he knows I'm there, somehow. Like he can sense me."

She turns to him, gesturing Eddie up and down, "what, even when you're all the way invisible?"

Eddie nods, "and when I'm a bird...he can tell, somehow."

"Really?" Chrissy leans in like Eddie's just revealed the most interesting thing ever, "but you look just like every other scraggly crow-"

"Excuse you-"

"Okay, so slightly above average plumage but not...discernible. I've seen you as birds loads of times, but it's not like I could pick you out of a crowed."

"He can."

"Huh. Well can't you just...cast a spell or something to find out-"

Eddie sighs deeply, "Chris-"

She raises her hands defensively, "I know I know 'My magic only affects myself an inanimate objects,'" Chrissy recites in what is an unfortunately accurate caricature of Eddie.

They're silent again, Chrissy nudging Eddie with a lethal elbow when Steve appears on the dais, checking in with Queen Robin. He's beautiful. No helmet tonight, and he's got the fancy armor on, in deference to the event no doubt. He has to look the part as head of the Queens Guard. He's so shiny.

Eddie sighs, lovelorn and pathetic.

"If you're going to do something you better do it soon, his parents have him betrothed to some noble someones daughter."

Eddie swallows thickly, "and it would be very sensible of him to pursue that. Pretty wife will produce pretty kids and they can live on their no doubt very pretty dowry. It's a good match, both of their stations would benefit."

"Eddie...you are the kingdoms wizard, the only magic user at court...you're not nobody." Eddie shrugs. "What if I told you...what if I told you I definitely know it's not what he wants."

Eddie drags his eyes away from where Steve is standing, scanning the room like a holy beacon of protection. "And how would you know that exactly."

Chrissy shrugs a shoulder demurely, "they are best friends. They talk to each other. And then Robin talks to me."

Eddie scoffs, "if that's what you call it."

Chrissy elbows him again, "look just...talk to him, okay?" She squeezes Eddie's arm through his robe before she moves away.

"I know it's you," Steve says into the darkness, the same way he always does.

Eddie, briefly, debates remaining hidden. He likes the cool air out here on the balcony, and his seat on the wall is comfortable. He lets himself reappear, despite his misgivings. Even though he's sitting right next to where Steve is leaning, Steve doesn't startle. Steve never startles.

Everyone else does.

"Having a good night?" Eddie asks, keeping his eyes out on the view, the horizon, the stars.

The leather straps that hold Steve's shiny armor shift quietly as he shrugs. Steve's always very quiet, everything about his armor well oiled and well cared for, "not sure yet."

That peaks Eddie's attention, and he turns, "what will be the decider?"

Steve smiles, beautiful, perfect, his hair flopping over his forehead, "if I'm about to get another kiss or not."

Eddie turns away, huffing, "heard there's a wedding in the offing."

"Not if I get a better offer."

Eddie huffs again, Steve's hands are warm where they come to rest on his shoulders, warm through Eddie's woolen cloak, warm against the chill of the late evening. Eddie swallows thickly, reaching up, and Steve tangles their fingers together where they rest on Eddie's shoulder.

There's a soft kiss to Eddie's curls.

"Your parents going to cause trouble?"

"They can try. I don't know if you knew this but my best friend is the actual Queen."

Eddie doesn't want to laugh, he doesn't want to give Steve the satisfaction, but it slips out regardless. Eddie starts to turn, swinging his legs over the wall, letting Steve help him to slide the rest of the way, robes catching on the stone.

"Come here, my little blackbird."

"Actually I'm a crow-"

Steve shuts him up with a kiss.

[thisapplepielife]

Written for @steddieholidaydrabbles.

Playing Chicken

Prompt Day 6: Chill | Word Count: 1000 | Rating: M | CW: Sexual Content | Tags: Post S4, Eddie Munson Lives, Dry Humping, Making a Move, Getting Together, Eddie Just Needed to Borrow a Jacket

"It's chilly, wear one of mine," Steve says, and Eddie pauses at the front door.

Steve opens the hall closet and starts digging around. Pulling out jacket after jacket, more jackets than Eddie's probably owned in his entire lifetime.

"How many jackets do you think I'll need to wear at once?" Eddie asks, as Steve dumps at least twenty jackets over his arms. It's a heavy pile and he can barely see Steve over it.

"Two, usually. Just. I know you're picky. I don't know what is cool enough for you to wear," Steve says.

"Cool?" Eddie asks, laughing at the mere idea of Steve Harrington thinking he's cool. Eddie is not cool. Eddie's a freak. Eddie was wanted for a satanic murder spree he didn't commit. But cool? No way. 

Steve waves his hands around Eddie's torso, as if that's all the explanation needed.

"King Steve, the most popular guy to ever grace the halls of Hawkins High, thinks I'm cool?"

"Shut up, you're definitely cool."

Eddie isn't convinced of that, but he dumps the jackets on the staircase before he dislocates his elbows. He's not cool, but he is double-jointed.

He looks at the options available.

A brightly colored windbreaker, in teal and purple. Hard pass. An acid wash jean jacket that looks like it might belong to Steve's mother.

"Oh, that's Robin's," Steve says, picking it up and throwing it over his shoulder.

Three Members Only jackets in various neutral shades. Maybe. The bomber jacket from The War Zone. No fucking thanks. A bright blue satiny number that has a horseshoe on the front and Colts emblazoned across the back. Sports. Definitely not.

Oh, leather. And Eddie pulls on the black shoulder, only to discover it's got striped sleeves and bull on the chest. More sports. No. A down jacket. Ugly.

And then, buried in the mix, is Steve's letterman jacket. Green and white. Harrington stitched onto the back.

Eddie picks it up and holds it out between them.

Steve laughs, and moves to take it.

"Now, now, Harrington. I haven't made my decision yet."

Steve rolls his eyes, "Like you're gonna wear my letterman jacket in public."

"I might. It was offered."

"I also offered you my mom's windbreaker. You gonna wear that, too?"

"Maybe," Eddie says, picking up the offending windbreaker, shrugging it over his shoulders. It's tight, and Eddie's sure it looks ridiculous.

"Oh, that's the one," Steve says sarcastically, arms crossed over his chest.

It isn't and he has to wrestle himself back out of it, and afterwards, he snags the letterman jacket and slides it on. 

Eddie starts to laugh, but it dies in throat, as he sees the change in mood cross Steve's eyes. Eddie's freezes, a little scared. Then, he realizes what he's actually seeing. It's not anger.

It's arousal.

Holy shit.

Eddie turns, flaunting the back of the jacket towards Steve again. For science. 

Steve has squeezed both his hands into balled up fists.

"Problem?" Eddie asks, and Steve looks rigid. Uncomfortable. 

"No," Steve snaps, "That what you're wearing?"

"Maybe," Eddie says with a teasing lilt.

"Great, fantastic," Steve says, grabbing a handful of the other jackets, and starts hanging them back up.

There's tension in his body, and Eddie reaches forward and squeezes his shoulder. 

"Eddie," Steve warns, not turning around, "don't."

"What if I want to?" Eddie asks and Steve is even more still than he was before.

Steve ignores him.

Eddie pushes over the remaining jackets, sits on the stairs, lounging back, legs spread. He's teasing Steve. Getting his goat. 

But Steve's not laughing.

Steve leans down over Eddie, hands on either side of his shoulders, trapping him. Face close. Too close. They're playing chicken.

"Then I'm gonna enjoy it," Steve says, making a predatory move towards Eddie, brushing some of the jackets to the floor. Eddie instinctively scoots back, but knows he has nowhere to go. He's stuck.

Even if he wants to flee.

He keeps leaning backwards, but that just makes him more horizontal against the steps and Steve keeps closing the distance. 

Eddie feels too warm. From the letterman jacket he's now acutely aware he's wearing, from Steve being so fucking close, his body heat radiating. Eddie's caught between a rock and a hard place.

Hot, bothered and bewildered. 

"Do you really want to?" Steve asks, and Eddie isn't totally sure what Steve's asking. 

Wear the jacket? Run away? Fuck?

He thinks it's the latter.

He hopes it's the latter.

So, Eddie nods.

"Good," Steve says, pushing all the way into Eddie's personal space. Pressing his lips to Eddie's. 

Holy fucking shit.

Eddie's stunned, flabbergasted.

Steve slides his hand under the jacket, running his hand firmly along Eddie's ribs, before splaying his palm in the middle of Eddie's back, right where the embroidered Harrington was pressed between Eddie's shoulders. 

Steve's hovering over him, which is a good, because if he pressed any closer he'd find out just how much Eddie's appreciating this turn of events.

Of course, it's as if Steve can read his mind, because he presses down then, and Eddie's embarrassed for the two seconds it takes him to realize Steve's just as hard as he is.

Steve's kissing him, rutting against him in a slow, steady roll. Eddie moans into the kiss, unbelieving that this is happening. Steve breaks free, immediately burying his face in Eddie's neck. 

"It's fucking hot," he whispers, lips grazing skin, "knowing my name's on your back."

And Eddie wants him to see it.

He wiggles, shimmying, until he can roll onto his front. It's uncomfortable, his dick pressed against the staircase, face in the carpet. He's gonna get rug burn across his face like this, so he grabs the closest jacket and balls it up under his head.

Steve presses down, his hard cock rocking against Eddie's ass. Hand braced between Eddie's shoulder blades on top of the Harrington patch, and he says, "You're mine now, Munson."

For once, Eddie has no desire to argue.

If you want to write your own, or see more entries for this challenge, pop on over to @steddieholidaydrabbles and follow along with the fun! 🐔

[thoughtssvt]

orange peeling boyfriends - the orange peel theory

nanami, geto, gojo, fushiguro, itadori

nanami

"i feel like having an orange," you whisper as you clung to his side, fingers raking through his hair.

"would you like me to peel you one, darling?" he turns his complete attention to you, immediately getting up after you nodded. "one or two?" he'd call as he slipped into the kitchen. he'd come back with the orange slices on a small plate, rejoining you on the couch, arm thrown over your shoulders. "they're sweet today," he'd say after swallowing, always testing the fruit so you'd never taste a note of sour, bringing the half bitten slice to your lips for you to try. he'd continue to feed you once you nodded in approval of the citrus.

geto

"i feel like having an orange, would you like one, love?" he'd turn to you, subconsciously patting his belly, the wide sleeves of his kimono providing a chilly wind. "but we did get a good bunch of fruit yesterday... perhaps you'd like a fruit bowl?" he hummed thoughtfully, the side of his index finger scratching his chin. "that's what i'll do, then." he'd decided, patting your knee before he heaved himself off the couch. after a few moments a mixture of sweet fragrances filled the air and not long after that did he reappear with an appetizing arrangement of cut and peeled fruit.

gojo

"i feel like an orange..." you'd say out of nowhere, the two of you sharing the bed as you silently scrolled on your phones.

"...i feel like a pineapple... do you think i should change my hairstyle when i have my blindfold on?" he whispered back thoughtfully, pout moving in every direction as he considered the conversation only for you to fall into a fit of giggles.

"no, no, i want an orange. i just don't want to peel it." you cackle.

"ohhh, gotcha, gotcha. coming right up, babe," he'd slip out of bed, pressing a kiss to your forehead as he retrieved some oranges.

fushiguro

he made it a habit to peel you an orange whenever he went to get himself one. it was like clockwork especially in the winter time. in between breakfast and lunch, lunch and dinner. he'd silently disappear when you two were together, you wouldn't even notice until a small plate would appear in front of you, each slice already separated for you. all throughout the seasom the smell of citrus would linger on his finger tips, the skin a light stain of orange, but it was worth it if he could help prevent you from becoming sick.

itadori

"i really want an orange :(" you texted him while you and the group were out, wanting a little sweetness after a shared meal, the dessert stalls not really catching your attention. you didn't notice when he'd slipped away until he was face to face with you, a bag of oranges hanging from his elbow as he intricately peeled an orange, the skin coming off in one spiraling piece.

"one orange for my love," he said cheerfully as he ripped the citrus in half before handing it to you. "let me know if you want another. the auntie at the stall told me i picked the sweetest ones," he hummed gleefully.

A/N : this was really fun and super cute T^T if there are any other characters you'd like to see please let me know ^-^

j‹𝟹

jjk men x reader masterlist

oranges divider by firefly-graphics

orange line divider by hitobaby

[luveline]

HI!!! so i am obsessed with your reader x coworker james first kiss fic. can we maybe get something about what came after? like how were the interactions the day or week after, how did they behave around each other, did james tell the boys or was he too nervous?

—you and James maintain a facade that Remus sees through

James wheels his chair to be as far from you as possible. He leans back, turns his monitor. Through the gap, he has a perfect window of your face without it being obvious that he’s staring. Well, sort of. 

Stop staring. 

James reads Remus’ slack message in surprise. He glances at you, finds you still snacking on chocolate covered somethings less covertly than you mean to be, and decides to grace his friend with a message back. 

Nope 

James, Remus messages. 

I’m not really staring 

You’re staring. She can definitely tell 

James looks back to you, hoping to prove Remus wrong, but you’re staring straight at him. He has the instinct to look away and the sense not to, charmed into grinning when you squint at him, your mock suspiciousness adorable. 

“James,” Remus says, clearing his throat. 

James pulls his gaze away reluctantly. “What?” 

“Can you answer my email?” 

The email isn’t an email, but another slack message. Are you serious right now? You couldn’t be more obvious if you tried 

James flicks a pen lid at him. “Obvious about what?” he mouths. 

You get up and stretch, tactically failing to meet anyone’s eyes as you pick up your empty glass of water and leave. 

“James, what’s going on?” 

“What ever could you mean, my love?” 

Remus rolls his chair toward. “Don’t flirt with me. I’m serious, what the hell is going on with you? You’re supposed to hate the girl.” 

“Hate is such a strong word.”

“Well, you’re being a bit much no matter what.” 

James bites his cheek in a hurry to straighten up. “You think so?” 

Remus just stares at him.

James has done a fantastic job at keeping your kiss a secret. He doesn’t know how, mind you —you kissed him, you kissed him, you asked if you could and you kissed him like a sweetheart with the softest mouth he’s ever had the fortune to feel pressed against his own. 

Since your kiss, he’s been feeling weirdly poetic. He totally gets all those Carol Ann Duffy poems they made him read at school now. 

One day without telling anybody is impressive, at least to his own standards. “I know what I’m doing,” he says. 

Remus frowns. “I’d love to be informed on what exactly that is.” 

“Certain events have transpired and convinced me that I was quite wrong to have judged our girl so harshly.”

“Certain events?” 

“I’m allowed some mystery,” James says, before smiling so hard it makes him squint and his cheeks apple. He rubs at his face roughly in an attempt to move forward, but he remembers the way your kiss had melded from soft and shy to hungry. Fuck, he loved it. He needs another one. He has no idea how to get it. “Ugh, I’m gonna go get my lunch from the fridge.” 

“Sure you are. Alright, well, I’m gonna find Sirius and maybe he can convince you to start acting normal again.”

James goes to the kitchen first but abandons his charade when you aren’t there. He grabs his lunch, tucking it under his arm as he makes his way through to the break room. You’re thankfully, blissfully, sitting by the open window with a shop-bought salad. 

He nods at the chair across from you. “Can I sit?” 

“Yes.” 

“That’s all you're eating?” he asks. A little tray of salad is hardly enough to keep you going until the end of the day. “I have gyoza chilli noodle soup, it’s amazing.” 

“You’re gonna eat it cold?” you ask. 

He leans forward, elbows on the table, holding your gaze. “No, but I’m busy right now.” He needs time to look you over. Every time he realises how pretty you are is like another beat of his capering pulse. 

“Don’t harass me.” 

“I’m not harassing you.” 

“What would you call this?” You stab a few pieces of lettuce onto your fork. “I can’t have much more for dinner, I just had half a packet of chocolate covered strawberries.” 

“Don’t say that, like some snacks and a salad are more than you’re allowed. Here, I'll warm this up and you can share. You’ll really like it, the gyoza are amazing.” 

“So what, you’re gonna take care of me now?” you ask. You’re teasing, but there’s a slight edge of bitterness to it like you believe what you’re saying. James is swift to set that right, though he stays speaking in tongues with you.

“I’ve been trying to.” James can hear footsteps at the doorway, and besides, you’re right, he’s being too nice. He sucks in an unbothered breath. “Whatever, loser, stick to your sad salad.” 

Your eyes widen. “I don’t want your cold soup, you idiot.” 

Sirius and Remus filter in with one of your coworkers just behind them. “I thought you said he was being weird?” Sirius asks. “He seems pretty normal to me.” 

Remus sighs forlornly, prompting a side hug from his boyfriend as he shepherds him to the table where you and James are sitting.

“He’s always being weird,” you say. 

James kicks your foot gently. You pick through your salad with a poorly concealed smile. 

[crushmeeren]

UH UH UH UH UH

COULD YOU LIKE MAKE A ONESHOT OF HINATA AND A PREGNANT!READER? LIKE HINATA WATCHES US FEED OUR BABY AND HES LIKE "ooooo I wanna taste" AND UHM YEAH? IDK- IM SORRY IM NEW TO YOUR BLOG PLEASE IGNORE IF ITS OUT OF YOUR BOUNDARIES-

I absolutely CAN write this for you friend. It’s on the shorter side and I sort of rushed writing it, but nonetheless I hope you enjoy! 𖦆

ᡣ𐭩ྀིྀི Master List Link ᡣ𐭩ྀིྀི

All characters aged up/18+.

⋆ FEM READER ⋆

It’s on a Saturday night when Shouyou finds himself unable to stop staring at you. To be fair, he always gawks at you, but tonight he would insist it’s different.

It’s been at least three months since you’d given birth to your baby boy and in the spirit of complete honesty, neither of you had wanted to touch sex with a ten foot pole since you were given the green light.

Being new parents is, for lack of a better word, exhausting. It’s bone achingly tiring and at this point you can’t even remember what it means to be turned on.

As the two of you relax side by side in your bed this evening, you’re preoccupied with nursing your son, Reno. You’ve lifted your shirt up to dangle around your neck and out of the way, freeing your breasts and making your nipples turn to pebbles due to the chilly air circulating the room.

Shouyou had been resting his head on the headboard, craning his neck to watch you with tender adoration as you nourish Reno.

He leers at the way your tits bounce gently against your chest as you get situated, shorts becoming a bit too snug the more you move around. The fullness of your squishy breasts and the soft tone of your voice when you speak to Reno suddenly has an all too familiar warmth rushing through his belly. The same lust that caused you to end up with Reno in the first place.

Shouyou shifts in place, cock jumping when he starts to get the powerful impulse to get his own taste of your tits. It’s as if the previous three months have built up an insurmountable tension inside of him, itching to be released and his veins start to pulse with arousal.

The breast that’s not currently being ravaged by a little monster begins to leak a few drops of ivory milk, and Shouyou has to bite his fingers and squeeze his toes together to keep from moaning as it trails down the swell of your tit.

“Sho?” You wave a hand in front of his face.

A flush burrows into his cheeks and his eyes flit up to meet yours, his expression somehow sheepish and coy simultaneously.

“Sorry baby, you just look stupid hot right now. I can’t stop thinking about taking a taste myself. I want to lick it off.” He pouts playfully. “Why does Reno get to have you all to himself?” Shouyou whines. Your head tilts back briefly in laughter as you maneuver your son up to burp him.

“Well he’s a baby for one.”

Reno babbles happily over your shoulder and Shouyou can’t help but grin widely and rub the little one’s back in soothing circular motions.

“Well yeah, but I don’t hear you saying no to it being my turn next,” he teases, reaching up a sneaky hand to grip a handful of your breast and squeeze. You bat his hand away and rise from the bed, letting your shirt fall back down into place.

“I’m putting Reno down in his room and then I’m gonna ride you, sound good Sho?” You speak as casually as if you’re talking about the weather and Shouyou vibrates in place, elbows getting caught in his shirt in his rush to strip naked.

Upon return you raise an eyebrow when you spot your husband stretched out lazily on the bed. He beams at you, one arm folded behind his head and his already stiff cock resting on his lower belly. He circles his shaft and teasingly tugs on his cock a few times.

The sight makes your pussy clench around nothing and you waste no time discarding your own clothes on the way to the bed. Once you crawl onto the bed and up to your other half, it’s like remembering how to ride a bike. A muscle reflex that’s come back to life.

Sinking down slowly onto Shouyou’s cock and bouncing in his lap reminds you of the first time you ever slept with him. The pleasure blisters through your limbs, heat rushing down your spine and you’re convinced you could cum from the stretch of his cock alone.

When he leans up and sucks your nipple into his mouth, you wail his name. You dig your nails into the back of his skull and throw your head back as milk flows freely across his tongue.

Your husband moans against you, swallowing a mouthful yet never letting go as he grips your waist, digs his heels into the mattress and snaps his hips upwards in frantic movements. You stay suspended in air over his lap and let him work you over in a way he only knows how.

In what must be less than five minutes, he’s dragging you over the edge. Your mouth drops open in a silent scream and your pussy sucks in his cock like it never wants to let go. Shouyou thrusts a handful of times and then yanks you down into his lap, grinding up against your ass. He releases your nipple with a pop and his cock jerks while he fills you to the brim with a throaty moan of your name.

It takes a couple of moments of quiet panting, your forehead resting on his before you half heartedly punch him in the shoulder.

“Ow! What was that for??” Shouyou rubs his shoulder dramatically and leans back to pout at you.

“That’s for not pulling out! I swear Shouyou, if we just made another baby I’m never having sex with you again!”

Shouyou’s eyes crinkle and he laughs. Then, he laughs even harder when you smush his face with your palm and push until he falls flat on his back. Your expression pinches as you stand, the sticky cum trailing down your inner thighs grossing you out.

Your husband snickers, wiggling his eyebrows at you and you flip him off, muttering under your breath as you make your way to the bathroom to get clean.

Reno chooses then to live up to his nickname of little demon and lets out an ear piercing scream. Shouyou calls out that he’s got it and jerkily tugs on his previously discarded pair of shorts before speed walking to Reno’s room.

As much as he wishes for you to get pregnant again, he knows now is not the time. One baby is complete chaos and he’s reminded of that even more when he strides into his son’s room where he’s currently wailing loudly enough to burst an eardrum.

Oh well, he can always try again.

[kenyummy]

DREAM ꒰⚘݄꒱ ISAGI ,, CHIGIRI

SYNOPSIS : what do the blue lock boys dream about when they're away from you, training to be the greatest striker?

note: hi! its been a minute since i posted anything and erm. hi. hi.... i might post obey me stuff soon lollllseerrsss. anyways. this is just isagi and chigiri dreaming about you awwww cuteee. nagi and shidou ver coming soon and uhhh yep. shidou will be having a slightly moist dream. what can i say.

isagi yoichi

Snow flutters all around Isagi, landing on his clothes and leaving fluffy white on his hair. He's standing under a streetlight, dim in the night sky that is lit by the crescent moon, and stars dot the sky like sparkling tears.

Isagi looks around, caught in the chilly winter air. The frost nips at his cheeks and turns his nose a cherry red, but it doesn't bother him. What does bother him, is his confusion. Where is he? Where's Blue Lock? And most of all...

Why is he holding a bouquet of flowers? He usually bought some for his mom on his way home from school on special occasions, but as far as his memory recalls, today is just a regular old day, and this place looks nothing like his path home.

He pulls his scarf up further his face so that his whole chin and lower facial area are covered. He turns his head around, and without a sense of direction to go—he stays still, standing on the concrete pathway. The grey of the path is covered in a large sheet of snow, that Isagi's leather shoes thankfully don't let sink in. These are his nice shoes... what sort of day is this?

He's never been more confused.

But he doesn't have time to dwell on this mystery, because a bright figure is suddenly bounding over-calling out his name with grunts and stumbles and such in such a loving voice—it could only be one person.

"[name]?" Isagi calls out, looking to where you're running—or trying to, anyway—over, heels clashing into the snow with satisfying crunches. Isagi suddenly finds himself and rushes over to you before you fall over your feet.

He grabs ahold of your upper arms instinctively to stabilise you, and there, you look up at him from your hunched, slightly bent down position, and he doesn't think you've ever looked so pretty. You're wearing bold, obvious makeup compared to your usual natural style, but it compliments your facial features well and makes you glow even more than usual.

Even under the dark night sky, Isagi thought you shined brighter than anything else here.

You smile, a toothy grin that makes his heart bump in his chest, "Hi."

He swallows, cheeks stretching out and eyes squinted into crescent moon shapes, in a breathy voice, he says "Hi."

Your eyes suddenly dart downwards, to the item he's holding under his elbow. Your eyes widen, and for a second, he thinks he's done something wrong—until you smile even wider.

He doesn't think about the bouquet he's holding under your arm before you point it out, a bright grin etched over your previous one of discomfort, "Did you get these for me? You remembered that these were my favourites!"

Isagi pauses, following your eyes towards the thing you're staring at—the bouquet he holds next to him. He blinks at you before the realisation suddenly hits him, and his ears feel burning hot. "Oh. Right, yeah..." He has no idea why he even has these, but if you want them, then you could certainly have them. "These are for you."

His voice falls smoother than he expected, and dimples dot his cheeks. He holds them out, and you don't waste any time in taking them from his grasp and holding them close to your chest. You look like you can barely contain your grin—and the way you look down at them makes the bouquet feel like the most special thing in the world.

You suddenly lurch forward, flowers still clutched tightly in your palm when you wrap your arms around his torso, digging your face into his (chest/shoulder, depending on your height), and he can feel how fast your heart is beating in your chest.

"Thank you, Yoichi... this date only started, and I was even late... but it's already the most amazing one I've ever been on."

Your lashes flutter against your cheek when you close your eyes, and all Isagi can focus on right now is the feeling of you clutched tightly in his arms, wearing cute winter clothing, and feeling your heart drum next to his.

This feeling... is perfect.

He doesn't even have time to dwell on the fact that he is here, on a date with you, before your lips come into contact with the smooth, fair skin of his cheek, in a short, sweet kiss. His cheeks bloom into a fiery colour, and Isagi wonders if he can still blame it on the cold at this point.

He can feel the residue of the lipstick you left behind, but he almost doesn't want to wipe it away. A symbol of you left on him... doesn't seem too bad. You giggle, fingers trailing his face and the way you look into his eyes so deeply, so dizzyingly hot, makes his stomach twist.

You're smiling. He's breathing heavily. Isagi can feel each light puff of air escape your lips onto his, and at this moment, he's never felt more alive—not with his heart threatening to beat out of his chest, and his mind flourishing with bright sparks. You lean closer, lips pouted out slightly...

"ISAGI!"

Isagi lurches forward, off his pillow and he breathes heavily, chest rising and falling in a panicked motion. There, instead of you with cute winter clothes, stands Bachira, clad in... nothing.

Isagi groans, lowering his vision so that he doesn't have the chance to see Bachira while he's naked as the day he was born, "Agh... Dude, put some clothes on..."

"Okie dokie! But don't fall asleep again, okay? Ego nearly shocked you awake!" Bachira giggles before he bounds out of the room on his heels, skipping towards another room. Isagi doesn't care to watch, rubbing his forehead with his palm.

That dream... I can't help but feel a little disappointed...

His cheeks feel hot when he thinks about it, and he looks up at the ceiling with a thoughtful expression. I wonder... if she likes those flowers?

chigiri hyoma

Chigiri Hyoma is currently laid down in a comfy bed, with soft white sheets fallen over his body and a book in his hand. Reading glasses slide down his nose, but he doesn't pay it any mind, not with the dim light that enchants your face in a warm glow.

You're lying right next to him, peacefully sleeping with light, inaudible breaths. Chigiri has a book in his hand and is sitting in the pale candlelight, but he's not reading at all—if so, at a ridiculously slow pace. He can't stop staring at you. You somehow look more ethereal than before, with such a calm expression.

He wonders what you're dreaming about.

Maybe it's... about him.

He shakes his head, and it almost feels weird when his bangs don't fall over his eyes—then, he feels for them and finds they're clipped back with a My Melody hairclip. No. He shouldn't feel...

A strangled groan catches his attention, and he looks down at you once again, you're stretching your arms out, groaning as you awake from your slumber. Chigiri smiles, snapping his book shut after he inserts his mark, and places it on the bedside table. He adjusts himself so that he's sitting comfortably, and when his shuffling catches your attention, he says, "Morning, sleeping beauty."

You whine when his lithe finger is against your nose, pressing down, and you look up at him with a pout, "I think you're the beauty here."

That makes Chigiri laugh, a lovely sound echoing from his lips. He reaches backwards and fiddles with the claw clip holding his hair backwards for a second, "Well, I can't say you're wrong." He successfully manages to un-do his clipped hairstyle, and his bright red locks fall over his shoulders in a graceful manner-something that makes you stare.

"Yeah, I'm not." You snort, shuffling closer to him. "Cuddle me," you demand.

He playfully rolls his eyes—after spending so long with Chigiri, he was sure you could read him like an open book—but still follows through with your order, slipping down from where he lying against the bedrest. "So demanding."

He snuggles into the warm sheets, and the light that shines through the crack of the blinds into your eye is covered by his head. You smile in contentment as he wraps his arms around you and brings you even closer—you didn't think it was possible.

"Yeah, but you always listen to me." You coo, shoving your face into the crook of his neck and sighing against his fair skin. Chigiri doesn't let you catch him smiling, a hand resting atop your hair and stroking lightly.

"Guess so." He leans his face down and presses his cheek against your head—you can feel the light kiss of his lips against your scalp. "Maybe I should stop."

You remove your face away from his collarbones to give him a shocked, mildly offended look, which makes him snicker, "What?! No way! If you stop listening, then we'll never cuddle again."

Chigiri sighs, hand moving downwards to wrap lightly around your upper thigh, "That's a tough threat, babe."

The pet name feels so natural, spilling out of his lips like he's said a hundred times before. You push back on his shoulder lightly. "And that means nothing like this anymore. You gotta listen to me, Hyoma, otherwise... our whole dynamic gets thrown off."

This time—he can't help the smile that spreads across his lips so sweetly, his other hand touching your jaw lightly, cupping it in his grasp, "Yeah. I'll always listen to you. Can't not listen. You're too pretty when you demand what you want." He leans down and presses a featherlight kiss on the bridge of your nose.

The giggle that escapes your lips is nothing short of heavenly.

You smile, "Whatever, you sap." You move your head back so it is buried in its original spot, and the warmth that spreads across your cheeks feels like burning hot lava on his skin—but strangely, Chigiri doesn't really mind.

This feeling, this love has never come so easy to Chigiri—but he assumes you've always come easy to him.

Even as his eyes flutter open, and no longer is he in a warm, candlelit room, but rather the cold dorms of Blue Lock—his heart still flutters in his chest, his cheeks still burn bright, and his smile does not drop.

© KENYUMMY 2024

[theostrophywife]

the crush theory.

pairing: lorenzo berkshire x reader.

song inspiration: london boy by taylor swift.

author’s note: this is just a cute indulgent coffee shop! au with my sweetheart enzo. majorly inspired by all the boyfriend vibes louis has been serving with miss olivia lately. let’s not even talk about the ass grab with his big hands and rings…🫣

Enzo Berkshire never quite managed to master the language of love. 

Despite being a polyglot and a linguistics major, romance remained a complete mystery to him. It wasn't like he could craft a conjugation chart to help him not make a fool of himself in front of the girl of his dreams. When it came to matters of the heart, Enzo often found himself at a loss for words. Perhaps that was the reason why he never mustered up the courage to speak to you. 

Until that one fateful fall morning. 

The kiss of autumn arrived on campus a few weeks into the semester, freeing the city from the grips of the summer heat and bringing with it the changing of leaves and the distinct scent of cinnamon and apples. Enzo shoved his hands into the pockets of his burnt orange corduroy trousers and savored the sound of the jewel toned leaves crunching underneath his loafers. As the wind picked up, he wrapped his chunky knit cardigan tighter around himself to shield against the chilly breeze. 

The ivy covered brick buildings and cobblestone streets faded into the background as he walked past the quad. Deja Brew, the little hole in the wall cafe that Enzo frequented, greeted him like an old friend. The coffee shop was located on the outskirts of campus and was only a short walk from his dorm, which made it the ideal place to conduct his tutoring sessions. Not only was it convenient, but the cozy and quiet ambience provided the perfect setting for Enzo to teach his fellow struggling students. 

As time went on, the choice of location became less about convenience and more about catching a glimpse of you—the surly barista that worked the morning shift. For the past few months, Enzo developed a rather embarrassing crush on you. There was something about your scowl and no bullshit attitude that drew him to you like a moth to a flame. Though in his case, Enzo was perfectly content to hover a safe distance from the proverbial light of your fancy French cigarette lest he get burned. 

Upon first glance, anyone would have been intimidated by you. With your faded band tees, ripped jeans, and scuffed leather boots, Enzo was well aware that a girl like you would never be interested in a bloke who's wardrobe consisted of sweaters with elbow patches, floral print button downs, and neatly pressed pleated trousers. Needless to say, you were way too cool for him. 

Enzo was resigned to merely admiring you from afar, but fate seemed to have other ideas. The bell above the door tinkled softly as he made his way into Deja Brew only to stop dead in his tracks when he spotted you at the register. Usually, you were behind the bar manning the espresso machine during the early morning rush, but not today.

Today, you were front and center. 

Part of him considered walking out the door, but given the fact that the shop was nearly empty, a hasty exit would definitely not go unnoticed. Enzo had no choice but to suck it up and approach the register with resignation. The minute he opened his mouth, he was sure he’d muck things up. 

Enzo swallowed thickly and pushed his round framed glasses further up the bridge of his nose; a nervous habit he developed when he was younger. The erratic beat of his heart echoed in Enzo’s ears as his gaze flickered up to your face, expecting to be greeted with a frown. To his surprise, your lips curved into a small smile once you spotted him. 

“Lemon balm tea with two pumps of peach syrup and a dollop of honey, right?” 

Enzo blinked at the melodious sound of your voice, nearly missing the fact that you’d recited his exact order, which shouldn’t have been surprising given the fact that you’ve been making it for him for months. Still, he couldn’t help but feel a little warm inside as you looked at him expectantly. He stared in stunned silence for a moment. 

You furrowed your brow in doubt. “Did I get that wrong?” 

“No, no, it’s right. It’s great. It’s perfect—“ Enzo cleared his throat, mentally kicking himself for rambling. “I’m just surprised that you remembered it.” 

“Of course I remember it, you’re one of my regulars. I’d be a pretty shit barista if I forgot your order.” You cocked your head, tapping your lips thoughtfully. “Speaking of which, do you want your croissant warmed up, Lorenzo?” 

“You know my name?” 

Enzo hadn’t meant to sound so starstruck, but hearing his name come out of your mouth made his heart skip a beat.

“And your social security number too,” you deadpanned. Enzo’s eyes widened, which made you chuckle. “I’m just having a laugh. I promise I won’t commit identity theft against you. Unless you piss me off.” 

You accompanied the statement with a cheeky wink, which only made Enzo even more nervous. 

"Don't look so nervous, peach. I swear I don't bite."

“Right. Sure. Of course,” he stammered. “The tea and the croissant sounds good, Y/N.” The realization that you’ve never told him your name came a beat too late. “It’s on your chest. The name tag, I mean. I wasn’t just staring at your chest. Though I’m sure it’s very nice. Bloody hell, I’ll stop talking now.” 

Enzo cringed at himself, but eased when you laughed. “You’re a strange bloke, Lorenzo.” You said as you began making his drink. “But I’ve got to admit, it’s oddly charming.” 

He chuckled, trying to hide the flush coloring his cheeks. “That seems to be my sweet spot.” 

"As sweet as peaches," you retorted as you added two pumps of peach syrup into his tea. "You'll have to excuse the fruit references. Before I knew your name, I referred to you solely as the peach guy."

"Is that good or bad?"

Enzo hiked his backpack over his shoulder and meandered down the end of the counter where you were topping off his tea with a dollop of honey. You swirled it into a heart pattern before sliding the warm cup into a sleeve. 

"Well, I've never met anyone who's preferred drink could constitute as a dessert, so it's certainly something. You're an enigma, Lorenzo," you said thoughtfully. "Though I think I like peach better. You don't really strike me as a Lorenzo."

“You can call me Enzo. I prefer it over my full name. It sounds so stuffy.” 

“We certainly can’t have that,” you said with a smirk. “Enzo. I like it. It’s rather becoming. Not stuffy at all.” He chuckled as you handed him a brown bag. "I might still call you peach from time to time. Force of habit. You understand, right?"

"Of course," Enzo replied. "El loro viejo no aprende a hablar."

"You kiss your mum with that mouth, peach?"

Enzo flushed. "It's Spanish for the old parrot does not learn to talk. Basically their equivalent of you can't teach an old dog new tricks." He shifted his weight onto his other foot. "What I'm trying to say is, I don't mind if you call me peach or Enzo or whatever else you'd like."

"You're giving me way too much freedom, Enzo. I intend on taking full advantage." You winked as you slid his drink over to him. “Enjoy your croissant. I put a little something extra in there for you.” 

Enzo peered into the bag and saw an extra pastry wrapped in black cellophane next to his croissant. The brownie didn’t look like any of the ones behind the counter, which meant that it was probably homemade. Strange, he wouldn’t have pegged you for a baker. 

“Oh, you really don’t have to—” 

“Nonsense,” you countered, waving off his protests. “Really, you’d be doing me a favor. It’s an experimental recipe of mine, which makes you my guinea pig. As payment, I expect a full report on the brownie tomorrow morning. Don’t hold back either, peach. I want a brutally honest review.”

“I’m sure it’ll be great,” Enzo said in reassurance. “In any case, your guinea pig will take ample notes.” 

“That would be much appreciated,” you said with a serious nod. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Enzo-not-Lorenzo.”

Enzo couldn’t help but grin. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Y/N.” 

Enzo rubbed his temples, willing the headache forming behind his eyes to vanish. Unfortunately for him, his last tutoring session with Flint seemed to have left a permanent mark. While Enzo usually enjoyed teaching French, Marcus was proving to be a rather difficult case. Not only was Flint unwilling to do the work, the knobhead also spent the entire session leering at you instead of studying the conjugation chart that Enzo poured his blood, sweat, and tears on. 

“Merlin, I have no idea how you deal with rich, smarmy arseholes all day.” 

Enzo looked up to find you seated across the table, sliding a sandwich, a fruit cup, and a bag of crisps towards him without missing a beat. He hadn’t even realized it was already an hour past lunch until his stomach grumbled at the sight of food.

“One could argue that I’m also a rich, smarmy arsehole,” Enzo countered, picking up a grape and popping it into his mouth with a slight smile. “Yet you seem to have no problems dealing with me.” 

“Yes, well, everyone knows I’m just using you for your body. Specifically, your taste buds.” Enzo shook his head in amusement before taking a bite out of the sandwich. Peanut butter and jelly, his favorite. “Besides, how else am I supposed to learn new insults in different languages if I hadn’t met you? Speaking of which, I believe I’m completely justified in saying that Flint is a total gehirnverweigerer.”

“Marcus isn’t so bad. He just needs a bit of a push,” Enzo replied rather unconvincingly. 

“If by a push you mean my boot against his arse, then I wholeheartedly agree.” 

“The French have this saying, petit à petit, l’oiseau fait son nid. In English, it roughly translates to: little by little, the bird builds its nest.” 

“Except Flint isn’t a bird, he’s a twat,” you deadpanned. “The bloke was too busy staring at my arse to even pick up a lick of French. To think, you even made this cute little chart and everything. You have the patience of a saint, Enz.” 

“One of us has to,” Enzo replied as he tore open the bag of wotsits. “Given your proclivity to violence.” 

“Don’t make me take your crisps away, Lorenzo.” 

Shielding his wotsits from your vengeful wrath, Enzo flashed you a saccharine smile. For good measure, he even batted his pretty honey eyes at you. The audacity. “Have I ever told you that you’re my favorite person in the whole entire world?” 

You rolled your eyes fondly. “Flattery will get you everywhere, Berkshire. Now finish your lunch or else I’ll be very cross with you.” 

Enzo smiled to himself, wondering at the fact you were complete strangers until a few weeks ago. Ever since you gifted him with the best brownie he’s ever tasted in his entire life, he became your designated taste tester. Every morning, Enzo would start his day off with his usual lemon tea and whatever new pastry recipe you had chosen to tackle that week. Between the scones and muffins, Enzo learned that you intended on opening your own bakery after uni. Hence, his very important role of reviewing your recipes. 

Granted, Enzo didn’t know how much of a help he actually was given the fact that he thought everything you made was amazing. Still, the novelty of finding a fresh pastry in his bag with a handwritten note from you never failed to brighten his morning. Especially since you signed each one with a crimson kiss print that made him blush every time he laid his eyes upon it. It was safe to say his crush had only gotten worse the more he got to know you. 

As you settled behind the counter to help with the afternoon rush, Enzo attempted to get some work done before classes started for the day. With finals fast approaching, he was caught up on making sure he had everything in order. It wasn’t until Enzo heard a familiar voice when he finally tore his gaze away from his laptop screen. 

Enzo froze as he watched one of his best mates saunter up to the counter. Even from his seat by the window, he could tell that Mattheo was flirting with you. In hindsight, his friend seemed exactly like the type of guy you would go for. The broody bad boy who probably listened to all the obscure bands that you often talked to him about. As Mattheo directed his smoldering gaze at you, Enzo thought he might be violently ill. 

Squinting across the coffee shop, Enzo angrily shoved his hands into the pockets of his trousers in an attempt to keep himself from strangling his curly headed friend. 

In a tone that was at least an octave deeper than his regular voice, Mattheo drawled a question at you. “What’s good here?” 

You stared at him pointedly before waving a hand towards the menu. “There’s coffee, there’s pastries. It’s really not rocket science.”

The deadpan delivery combined with the utterly unenthused expression on your face nearly made Enzo snort out loud. It might’ve been an arsehole move to rejoice at Mattheo’s fumble, but he found it immensely satisfying that you seemed to be immune to the infamous Riddle charm. 

“A bit feisty today aren’t we, love? I just wanted to see what the pretty lady behind the counter recommends.” 

Enzo watched in amusement as you slipped on your signature scowl, the one that made him fall for you in the first place. “The pretty lady recommends that you stop holding up the line so she can get to the other customers who actually know what they want.” 

Hiding his smirk, Enzo feigned surprise as a dejected Mattheo plopped down across from him. “Merlin, that was brutal. Is the barista always this mean? I complimented her pins and she stared at me like I’d grown an extra head.” 

“Y/N isn’t really a people person,” Enzo supplied. 

“No shit, Berkshire.” Mattheo tapped his fingers on the counter. “Let’s just get to class before I embarrass myself any further.”

“That’s probably for the best,” replied Enzo. 

Ignoring Mattheo’s glare, Enzo packed up his laptop and put his tray away. He followed his mate through the throng of people, which had thinned out once more. They were a few steps away from the door when you called out his name. With a raised brow, you held out a pink box. Enzo smiled sheepishly in return. He couldn’t believe he’d almost forgotten the dessert of the day. 

“One lemon berry scone. Less tart, per your critique last week.” He took the box from your hands, blushing furiously when your fingers brushed against his. “Have a good class, peach.” 

“Thanks, Y/N. I’ll have your full report ready tomorrow.” 

“You better.” Enzo nearly dropped the box when you winked at him. “Later, Berkshire.” 

Smiling to himself, Enzo came face to face with a gaping Mattheo. “For Salazar’s sake, it’s like I don’t even exist.” He muttered before breaking out into a grin. “No wonder my moves had no effect. Mate, she obviously fancies you.” 

Enzo’s cheeks immediately heated as he pushed out into the quad. “What? No. Y/N and I are just really good friends.” 

“Now I understand why you come here so often,” Mattheo remarked. “If the mean hot barista plied me with baked goods and called me peach, I’d be coming here every day.” 

“It's an inside joke about my drink order..." Enzo tried to explain. "The point is, Y/N isn’t mean. She’s actually really nice.” 

“Yeah, because she likes you.” 

“No, she doesn’t.”

“Does too.” Mattheo countered. “Why else would she bake you a scone?” 

“She wants to own a bakery someday. Obviously, that means she needs someone to test her recipes out on,” Enzo explained. “It’s how we became friends.” 

“Right,” Mattheo said with a shit eating grin. “Friends.” 

Enzo rolled his eyes. “Can we just please get to class?” 

“Whatever you say, peach.” 

“I have a theory,” Mattheo announced. 

Enzo sighed, rubbing his eyes. “Not this again, mate.” 

The rest of their friends perked up, abandoning their laptop screens and textbooks in favor of the newest piece of gossip. The little corner of the library that their group had claimed was fairly quiet, which was supposed to be optimal for revising, but Mattheo couldn’t seem to let his conspiracy theory go. He'd been badgering Enzo about it for a week.

“Berkshire here refuses to believe me, but I have it on good authority that Y/N has a crush on him. 

“Y/N,” Theo started, “You mean his mean barista friend? She’s proper fit.” 

“Don’t call her fit,” Enzo replied rather defensively. 

“A little touchy there, Berkshire.” Regulus said with a chuckle. “Is that jealousy I sense?” 

“For the millionth time, Y/N and I are just friends.” 

“Is that the same friend that makes all those tasty pastries for you?” Draco asked with a raised brow. “I’ve seen the cute little notes she leaves for you posted all around your dorm. With the adorable kiss prints and hearts. Seems to me like Mattheo’s right. Y/N’s sweet on you, cousin.” 

“Do me a favour and stop being a snooping twat, cousin.” Enzo retorted with a frown. “Y/N’s just being nice. It’s what friends do.”

“None of my mates have ever gone out of their way to bake me a bloody thing,” Blaise declared in feigned offense as he wrapped an arm around Pansy. 

“Yes, well, none of your mates even know where the oven is located, let alone how to operate it,” replied his girlfriend. Pansy smiled at Enzo. “Besides, I think their friendship is sweet.” 

“Thanks, Pans.” 

“So you don’t fancy Y/N?” Theo asked. Enzo opened his mouth then closed it. He was well aware that his friend was baiting him, but he refused to fall into Theo’s trap. 

“Like I said, we’re friends.” 

“In that case, you wouldn’t mind if I asked for her number, right?” 

As a matter of fact, Enzo did fucking mind. He minded very much. Too much, probably. But he couldn’t very well say that out loud. Instead, he masked his scowl and returned his attention to revising. 

“Knock yourself out, mate.” 

Theo smirked. “Alright then, let’s go.” 

“Go where?” Enzo asked disinterestedly, flipping through his study sheet for Latin. 

“To Deja Brew,” Theo replied smugly. “We all need a study break, anyways.” 

“You want to go there? Right now?” With each question, Enzo’s death grip tightened on his notes. “To ask for Y/N’s number?” 

“That shouldn’t be a problem, right? In fact, maybe you could introduce us.” 

Enzo would rather walk on hot coals. “I think I'll pass. I've already seen her turn Mattheo down and that was brutal enough as it is. I don’t need an encore.”

“Riddle’s probably not her type.” 

Mattheo frowned, crossing his arms. “I’m everyone’s type.” 

Theo chuckled. “Apparently not hers. Perhaps she’d prefer a handsome Italian, no?” 

Mattheo rolled his eyes. “In your dreams, Nott.” 

“Now I’m intrigued,” exclaimed Blaise. “I’d never miss an opportunity to witness Theodore get humbled. Are you sure you’re ready for a woman like Y/N, Nott?” 

“Please,” Theo scoffed. “I was born ready.” 

Against his will, Enzo found himself at Deja Brew ten minutes later. In his usual corner by the window, he brooded like a petulant child. This was a horrible, terrible, and idiotic idea. All he wanted to do was revise and now his study session had been hijacked just so he could watch Theo flirt with the girl he fancied. 

“You know, you can put a stop to this any time you’d like,” Mattheo said in a sing-songy voice. “Just admit that my theory is right. Y/N has a crush on you and I’m willing to bet that the feeling is mutual. Isn’t it, Berkshire?” 

Enzo crossed his arms, rolling his eyes. Instead of giving into Mattheo’s childish pursuits, he opened his laptop and pretended to be immersed with Russian translations. 

“Have it your way, Enzo.” Regulus declared, nodding towards the register. “Nott’s about to give us a show.” 

As irritated as he was with his friends, Enzo couldn’t tear his gaze away. Theo marched up to the counter with swagger and confidence, slipping on his signature smirk. You looked up from your phone screen, giving the tall and lanky boy a sweeping gaze. The unenthused expression on your face screamed that you weren’t at all impressed.

“Y/N, is it?” Theo drawled, squinting at the nametag pinned to your apron. “A pretty name for a pretty lady.” 

“Thanks,” you deadpanned. “My parents gave it to me. Now what can I get started for you?” 

“Aren’t you going to ask me for my name?” 

“I know who you are,” you replied dismissively. “One of Enzo’s friends, right? I heard about your little stunt in the fountain. You know, December’s not really a smart time to go skinny dipping.” Theo flushed as your eyes trailed down to his crotch. “Certain parts shrivel in the cold, Nott.” 

“I assure you, my parts were perfectly intact.” 

“That’s not what Katie Bell said,” you countered, tapping your lips thoughtfully. “I believe I heard something about shrinkage.” Theo opened and closed his mouth like a fish out of water. “I’ll tell you what, Theodore. Why don’t I fix you up a cappuccino? It’ll help keep you and your parts warm and cozy.” 

Enzo bit his lip to keep himself from bursting into laughter. The rest of his friends snickered as they watched a dejected Theo return to the table. 

Regulus snorted as he sat back down in defeat. “Merlin, that was hard to watch. Absolutely brutal, really.” 

Theo glared at Regulus in response. “I’d like to see you do better, Black.” 

Regulus winked. “Watch and learn, boys.” 

The older boy had about as much luck as Theo. Though the attempts had put him in a foul mood at first, Enzo was absolutely elated as he watched you turn down his friends. Regulus received an eye roll while Draco reeled from the head to toe once-over that humbled the absolute hell out of him. 

“It’s useless,” his cousin mumbled. “She hates everyone.” 

“Or maybe Y/N just doesn’t appreciate random blokes chatting her up while she’s trying to do her job,” Pansy said with an eye roll. 

“Oh bloody hell, here she comes.” Regulus muttered under his breath. “I don’t think my ego can take another hit.” 

The boys cowered as you came closer, but you didn’t pay them any mind. Instead, you set a fresh mug of tea and a lemon scone down in front of Enzo. 

“Last one, I promise. It’s finally perfect this time.” 

“You said that the last three times,” Enzo said with a chuckle. “They were all brilliant, by the way. Not that you listen to my well crafted reviews.” 

“You say that about everything I make, Enz. Honestly, a girl bakes you a couple of treats and suddenly I’m the best thing since sliced bread.” 

“I’m just being honest,” he replied with a shrug. “You couldn’t bake a single bad pastry if you tried.” 

“I’d like to try a pastry,” Mattheo interjected. 

You tore your attention away from Enzo. The smile that you reserved for him transformed into a scowl, your entire body language turning stern. “I’m sorry. Who are you again?” 

“Riddle,” Mattheo supplied. “Mattheo Riddle.” 

“Right,” you said slowly, as if speaking to a small child. “My pastries aren’t for sale. You’re more than welcome to try the day-old brownie behind the counter though. If you can manage to chew through it.” 

Mattheo sputtered, but you paid no mind to his aghast expression. Enzo fought the urge to kiss you right then and there. 

“Closing again tonight?” he asked, ignoring the blatant stares from the rest of his friends. 

“Unfortunately. Diggory bailed again. Probably too busy snogging Cho to come in for his shift,” you said with an eye roll. 

“Leave those lovebirds alone,” Enzo quipped back. “They’re in their honeymoon phase.” 

“I can’t for the life of me understand how they aren’t sick of each other by now.” 

“That’s because you’re a mean old grump.” You glared at him, which only made Enzo smile. “Luckily for you, that doesn’t deter me. I’ll come keep you company if you want. I promise to be way more entertaining than Cedric.” 

“It’s not a hard task to accomplish, but I’ll take you up on it nonetheless.” 

“I thought you might say that,” he said with a small smile. “I’ll meet you back here after my last class. Pad Thai tonight?” 

You nodded and grinned back. “This is why you’re my favorite, peach.” 

The boys gaped as you ruffled his hair in parting. They waited until you were out of earshot before launching into a tirade. 

“What the bloody hell was that?”

“Just friends my arse.”

“I can’t believe she actually smiled at you!” 

“It’s strange how treating Y/N like an actual human being instead of pestering her while she’s trying to work yields such positive results,” Pansy retorted. “I think you all need to start following Enzo’s example. Clearly he’s had more success than you lot.” 

Blaise patted Enzo on the back. “Mate, you might be the most oblivious bloke in all of Britain, but you’d have to be an absolute knobhead not to see what’s right in front of you.” 

He hummed in response, glancing up at the exact same time that your gaze met his from across the room. You winked, making him blush furiously. Merlin, you were pretty. It was honestly unfair. Maybe Zabini was onto something.

When it came to you, even Enzo had to agree that he was a total and absolute knobhead.

Later that night, Enzo helped you clear the plates and mugs as the last customers trickled out of Deja Brew. The soft sounds of your perfectly curated playlist trickled over the speakers as you flipped the sign to closed. He watched with a small smile as you hopped up onto the counter and beckoned him over. The fairy lights twinkled above the ceiling, illuminating your smile as Enzo took his place next to you. 

The sight of you grinning up at him tugged at his heartstrings. There were coffee stains on your jeans and apron, your thick hair was falling out of its braid, and a cold bowl of Pad Thai awaited in your lap and yet he’d never seen anything more beautiful in his life. 

“Aren’t you glad Cedric bailed?” Enzo teased, knocking his shoulder with yours. “Now you get to enjoy cold noodles with your favorite person.” 

You chuckled, nudging him back. “I suppose this is nicer than listening to Diggory ramble on about Quidditch. It’s always bludger this, bludger that. I honestly considered bludgeoning him myself.” 

“To be fair, the man could merely breathe and you’d still find a way to be annoyed by it.” 

“No one needs to inhale that much oxygen.”

“I rest my case, you mean old grump.” 

You rolled your eyes affectionately. “You know, if anyone else called me that I’d poke their eye out with a fork.” Enzo chuckled as you stabbed into your bowl of noodles. “Besides, I have every right to be grumpy. It’s been a long day. Thanks to your incessant little friends.” 

“I’m sorry about the guys,” he said earnestly. “I tried to talk them out of flirting with you, but they’ve got this crazy theory.” 

“Oh?” You asked, raising a brow. “What’s the theory, then?” 

Enzo flushed, avoiding your gaze. “They uh…” He cleared his throat and stared at his shoes. “They think you fancy me.” 

“Hmm,” you hummed thoughtfully. “Maybe they’re not idiots after all. Your friends are right. I do fancy you.” 

White noise rushed through his ears. Enzo’s mouth fell open as he met your gaze. Surely, he hadn’t heard you correctly. 

“You alright there, peach?” 

“You…” Enzo trailed off, his voice tinged with disbelief. “You like me?” 

You chuckled. “I have for a bit. Thanks for finally noticing.” 

“How?” Enzo muttered. “What?” He cocked his head, trying to search for the proper words. “Why?” 

At the moment, it appeared that one syllable words were the full extent of his vocabulary. All those languages in his head and yet he couldn’t form a single coherent sentence. 

“Enz, I know your drink order by heart,” you explained softly. “I make you cupcakes and muffins. I write you notes every day. I thought I made myself pretty obvious.” 

“Gods,” he breathed, silently reprimanding himself. “I really am the most oblivious bloke in Britain.” Enzo licked his lips, turning over to look at you. “I just thought you were being nice.” 

“Lorenzo, when have I ever been nice to anyone?” 

“I am a bloody idiot.” 

“You never made a move, so I just thought you didn’t see me that way. Which is fine, by the way. I don’t mind being friends.” 

Enzo turned so fast he nearly smacked into the register. “Are you kidding? I’ve had a crush on you for months. You’re the best part of my day. Waking up and knowing that I get to see you every morning is the only thing that gets me out of bed.”

“Why didn’t you ever say anything?”

“Because,” he stated matter-of-factly. “You’re out of my league. You’re smart and funny and not to mention way too cool. Honestly, I thought you’d go for someone like Mattheo or Theo or literally anyone else but me. Someone a little more…” he trailed off, waving a hand over you. 

“Scary?” 

“No! Well, yes. Someone more confident and intimidating.” 

“Bad boys aren’t really my type.”

He scrunched his eyebrows together in confusion. “They’re not?” 

“No,” you said, setting down your food and turning over to face him. “My type is a nerdy linguistics major who teaches me how to curse in six different languages and who makes cute little conjugation charts and orders drinks that should quite frankly classify as a dessert.” 

Enzo’s smile grew wider. "I like you too, you know. A lot. Like, embarrassingly so. With your grumpy little scowl and all black wardrobe and dry humor. I like all of it."

You beamed as Enzo leaned closer, tracing your lips like he was trying to commit the curves of your smile to his memory. His heart pounded in his chest as your eyes flickered up to meet his.

"Then kiss me like you mean it, Enzo."

Despite your confidence, the air left your lungs as soon as Enzo cradled your face in his hands. The twinkling lights made his brown eyes shimmer like pools of honey in the dark. The tension stretched between you as he leaned in closer, his lips brushing yours ever so gently. They briefly closed around yours—tasting, testing, taunting. Then the dam broke free.

Enzo pressed you closer and kissed you like his life depended on it. You smiled against his lips, melting into his touch as he tilted your head back for more. Butterflies erupted in your stomach as Enzo sighed into your mouth, his lips molding perfectly against yours. The once shy and experimental kisses turned needy and passionate, making you feel slightly lightheaded. Enzo savored your soft sighs, kissing you over and over again to elicit more.

It wasn't until you felt like the air had been depleted from your lungs when he finally relented. He pressed his forehead against yours, noses brushing as you both grinned at each other. It felt right to be this close. It felt like you were made to do this all along. Enzo brushed his thumb over your cheek, looking dazed as he pulled back to look at you. 

“It’s about time, Berkshire.” 

“Hey,” Enzo grumbled, pecking at your lips. “You can’t blame me. I couldn’t even look at you without blushing and making a fool of myself. You’re so intimidating.” 

“Not so scary now, am I?” 

“Oh no, I’m still terrified of you. But I’ve also seen you cry during the Notebook, so I know that deep down inside, you’re just a big softie.” 

You started to protest, but Enzo just leaned in and kissed you again. With his lips pressed against yours, you couldn’t even remember what you were about to say. As he pulled you into his lap, you heard cheers coming from outside. Behind the glass window, his friends were cheering and wolf-whistling rather obnoxiously on the street. 

Enzo responded by flicking them off and kissing you even harder, pressing your bodies together as you giggled. He hauled you to your feet, his arms circling around your waist as he dipped you for a better angle. Your back hit the counter as you raised to your tiptoes, winding your arms around his neck and mussing up his hair as you arched for more. The hollering only grew more incessant when Enzo grabbed your ass and squeezed. The groan that escaped from his mouth made you dizzy with desire.

If one kiss could elicit such a response out of you, it was almost scary to think what else Enzo had in his arsenal. A cheeky little smile curved against his lips as though he knew exactly what you were thinking. You basked under the warmth of his gaze, feeling flushed and flustered. That pretty face had you entirely fooled. Enzo was far from innocent.

“Gods, I really fucking fancy you.”

With a smile, you kissed the tip of his nose. “I really fucking fancy you too, peach.” 

Despite the many languages in Enzo's arsenal, no phrase or saying could convey how he felt better than his lips against yours. Maybe he hadn't quite mastered the language of love, but he had a feeling that you'd be more than willing to teach him.

[stsgooo]

Clumsiness.

✩࿐ summary: maomao notices that the eunuch's behavior is odd recently. she's set on discovering the root of the cause.

warning(s): idiots in love, slight angst, mentions of bullying, fluffy, maomao pov. wc; 3.1k

pairing(s): jinshi/fem!reader

a/n: binge watched all of tad last night and wanted to write smth for jinshi just because i have my weaknesses. i don't know exactly what this is except random rambles. anywayyy, i haven't read the manga yet so please no spoilers :3

m.list ao3

THERE'S VARIOUS THINGS THAT MAOMAO SIMPLY DOESN'T CARE FOR. The uncomfortable mornings where it's too chilly, the work she catches after one of the servants loves her ideas, and idle chatter that comes with silence. However, the thing she doesn't care for the most is when Eunuch Jinshi decides to make his random and surprise appearances.

It usually brought trouble and a headache for her. His smiles and violet eyes staring into her very soul. She never looked forward to them as it always accompanied some random job in another part of the palace she simple didn't like. Or he would ask of her some impossible task that not even the gods could grant him. Maomao could do without Jinshi's behavior.

However, she could easily recognize when he wasn't acting himself. On this day particularly, she was especially aware of Jinshi's lack of excitement.

She was called and pulled aside from her duty's in the Jade Pavilion to report to Jinshi's quarters. She was quick and made little pause in her stride over. A simple routine that they both silently agreed to. He would call and she would make her way over as quickly as possible.

It was when she arrived, she realized things were not to routine.

Jinshi was laying face flat against his desk, unmoving except for his breathing. Usually, he'd be sat up, smirk on his lips, and his legs crossed as he regarded her smugly. But now, it was like she wasn't even in the room as he made small groaning sounds of disdain, his fingers tangled into his tresses as he gripped his scalp.

He was definitely not acting like himself from the bat.

"Xiaomao, thank you for coming on such short notice." Gaoshun greeted her with a small bow, offering her a sympathetic glance as he turned his attention to Jinshi. "Jinshi-sama had a matter he'd like you to take care of."

Maomao raised her eyebrows, eyes cutting back to Jinshi who remained unmoved. Is he going to present the matter himself? She thought, watching as Gaoshun inched closer, nudging the younger man's shoulder with his elbow. He seems quite the mess.

"Apothecary," Jinshi's voice was muffled as he spoke, his head still tucked into his arms. Maomao looked to Gaoshun who just sighed heavily, ducking his head. "A servant from the Garnet Pavilion has fallen ill, I'd like for you to help her feel better."

"What's her symptoms?" Maomao asked, eyes watching the pathetic man flatly.

He tensed, his head moving to peek at her from between his arms. "I fear this is more a matter of the mind."

She frowned. "I can't cure the mind, Jinshi-sama."

He finally pushed himself to sit up, an indignant pout on his lips. "I thought you could do anything." He retorted smartly.

"I never said that."

Honestly, this man asked too much of her too quickly. It was enough that he asked her to solve murders of high ranking military officials, but it felt a little much to ask her to cure some girl's mental ailments. A random girl who had probably contributed to the near death of Lady Lihua at that. Maomao already felt a vague frustration fill her at the thought. Maybe it was one of the girls she had the pleasure intimidating.

She was going to decline when she spotted the look in his eyes. Not the flirtatious or rather perverted glint it usually had, but a desperate one.

"Can you at least try?" He almost sounded defeated, his shoulders hunched and eye bags heavy.

Maomao still felt the overwhelming urge to give him a hard time. "Try what, exactly?"

He released a frustrated grumble, fingers pinching the bridge of his nose. "Maybe lend an ear, or offer some type of comfort? Anything that will possibly ease her nerves." He waved a flippant hand around, eyebrows knitted together. "It's making me wo... it's making Lady Lihua unsettled."

Maomao couldn't help the interest that came with his unspoken words. He was worried? It wasn't uncommon, nor did it seem that he would hide his concern for others. But the mere fact that he had corrected himself and tried to cover it up, piqued her curiosity and interest.

Either way, she had no choice.

Maomao tucked her hands into her sleeves, bowing. "I can make an attempt. Now, if you'll excuse me." She turned away, barely missing Jinshi's hopeful and beaming expression. She was about to exit when she happened to glance towards the sitting area, where a tea set sat, broken and contents seeping into the floor. Her eyebrows raised. "You'll carpet is going to stain."

She paid no mind to the loud groan and thud of Jinshi's head as she exited.

It took Maomao a while to find the girl that had Jinshi worried and she had learned quite a bit about the worrisome girl while on her search.

She had been in the palace for a long time, since she was a young child. Her work had mostly consisted of cleaning clothes and mending. Until she had caught the attention of Lady Lihua a few months ago while she was in recovery. Supposedly, she had started to bring an arrangement of flowers whenever she brought clothes. The kindness hadn't gone unnoticed. She had supposedly been accepted into Lady Lihua's personal servants. Much to the chagrin of the other servants.

It didn't take a genius to detect the disdain and disgust in the servants voices when Maomao had inquired about her.

She talks to herself more than anyone else, stated one with an eyeroll.

Her routine is more important than Lady Lihua's wishes. Our poor lady. Mourned another.

She's so on edge, it's really easy to get her worked up. It's not our fault if she breaks something. Snapped another.

General consensus, this servant was a problem.

However, it was what Lady Lihua said herself that caught Maomao's attention.

She had stumbled across the concubine during her search, the woman flanked by two of her servants. She looked to enjoying a pleasant day and appeared slightly happy to see Maomao, going as far to inquire what she was doing over in her pavilion. When Maomao informed her of her task, she was interested to see the small pinch between her brow.

Ah, Y/N, I haven't seen her much today. I sent her to help with mending clothes. She's kind, just... I hope.... Well, I hope you can find her and bring her back. Lady Lihua offered little else to guide Maomao, but she could see the vague concern, the worry in the woman's eyes. She also saw that disgust in her companions eyes.

Who exactly was this servant?

Maomao found herself in the washing area. It was mostly silent, most of the girls either having dinner, or in bed. She made her way to the back where one of the few stragglers sat alone, sniffling as she scrubbed away at a stained robe...

A robe that looked oddly similar to Jinshi's.

In all honesty, she wasn't sure how to approach this. As she spotted the red shamed cheeks and the tears that silently and boldly made their way down the woman's cheeks, Maomao usually had something psychical to cure. An aliment that weighed heavily on their health, that was life or death. She could make a medicine for that. A drink, a food, a cream-- something that would satisfy the monster resting in someone's body.

The mind, though, the mind simply was a territory that Maomao never touched. Much too difficult, much too complicated, it was unknown territory. She couldn't see things from their point of view.

Just try lending an ear.

Maomao cleared her throat, feeling a speck of sympathy as she watched the girl tense, head snapping over to stare back with wide eyes. "Hi, are you the servant from the Garnet Pavilion?"

If possible, her eyes widened more, her hands clutching the robe to her chest. "Y-Yes..." she uttered, watching Maomao closely. "You're that apothecary everyone's been talking about..."

Not a question, but an observation.

Said apothecary nodded in return, "Yes."

The girl shook her head, "I'm not injured! I swear, I-I was foolish and if I was injured, then I would surely deserve it!" Her face was a deep crimson, her lips trembling, and eyes watering. It was obvious she was attempting desperately to push down the tears, but failing miserably. "I-I'm quite alright!"

"You don't look it." Maomao responded back flatly. "Jinshi-sama sent me."

The girl looked appalled, her back straightening and the tears falling freely now. "J-Jinshi?!" She exclaimed, clutching the stained robe against her chest, aghast and sickly looking as she panted. "O-Oh, I've done it now. I've humiliated myself! I'm going to be punished! Jinshi didn't deserve that! I'm so sorry."

Maomao blinked at her, eyebrows raised high at the reaction. She didn't entirely blame the girl for reacting so brashly at the mention of Jinshi. She would probably do the same if she was having a horrible day and he'd been brought up. Possibly the only person she wouldn't want to hear about as she's actively in the throes of a breakdown of some sort.

She walked forward, sitting down beside her as the girl seemed to continue her one sided conversation with herself. Her eyes wide and unrelenting as she stared at the ground below. Maomao watched her with a dent between her brow, vaguely fascinated by the panic and mostly disturbed by the anger towards herself. The mini glare not directed to anyone except herself.

She'd seen women be harsh on themselves. Seen what it could do to a person. Maomao could see it in the girl beside her now. The edge of a line that she wasn't sure if she should cross.

"I-I just...." The poor girl trailed off, her hands falling back to her lap as she stared at the robe. "I'm so clumsy.... and terribly embarrassing.... and I-I was just trying to pour some tea, then...oh, how pathetic."

"It was an accident, wasn't it?" Maomao asked softly, watching the girl's reaction closely.

She seemed to remember Maomao was with her, blinking, her face growing a shade darker. "What?"

"Whatever you did, it was an accident, wasn't it?" She repeated.

The girl clenched her jaw, looking away once again. "It's always an accident. I never do anything right. The Emperor is bound to notice and then I'll be punished because I'm so--"

"Jinshi-sama didn't send me to punish you or to check if you should be." The girl blinked, staring at her with wide eyes now. Maomao could see the barely concealed shock in her eyes, the way she seemed to relax slightly. The apothecary sighed heavily, turning her attention elsewhere. "He doesn't seem the type to punish anyone for a little mistake. Especially, when he's the same..."

The last part was uttered to herself and the girl didn't seem to pick it up as she pressed her lips together. A contemplative look on her expression. "I-I know, but.... still, I feel so guilty. I've put such a heavy burden onto Jinshi, convincing Lihua-sama to take me in... to not complain too harshly... I never wanted this..."

Maomao wouldn't even try to understand the broken speech, instead her mind was focused on that little slip. Jinshi convinced Lady Lihua to take this girl in? A extreme kindness. A extreme kindness that would allow this girl to make mistakes, to try her hardest and fail, and not suffer extreme consequences. Maomao couldn't help the suspicious kick in her chest. As she stared at the rambling girl. Why would Jinshi do that for her as an eunuch? How did he have that type of pull? Or, more correctly, what did he have over Lady Lihua to pull something like this off?

Her attention diverted to the robe and she huffed-- it's was Jinshi's. She was the cause of the tea mess. The cause of Jinshi's red face, his low mood, and the worry on his face.

Could he, perhaps..... Oh, what a development for a eunuch.

"Are they cruel to you?" Maomao cut into her rambles once again.

"Who?"

"The other servants. They can be cruel."

There was a prolonged silence. Maomao didn't dare interfere or break with the concentration. Her thoughts were wild and she was trying to grasp one that would benefit exactly what the apothecary was searching for. A string of thought that was sensical and helpful.

"Yes... so cruel," her lips wobbled again, she sniffled and tried to push the emotions away. "I didn't even do anything and they were so cruel. I tried telling Jinshi, but he's done... done so much for me, I can't throw that away. I can't take advantage of his kindness."

"Even if it was kindness now, how is feeling like this any type of comfort? Or kindness?" Maomao stood up, waving a hand. "You don't have to feel like this. Like you have to suffer for his feelings. If you're close, tell him that you liked your prior job, or ask for another."

The girl blinked slowly, lazily, a new exhaustion in her eyes as she regarded the other. "W-What's your name?"

She straightened. "Maomao." She bowed.

The girl stood, her hands tucked into her sleeves, she bowed in return. "Thank you, Maomao. It's been my pleasure to meet you."

Things seemed to return to normal, the routine was back in place, and Maomao hadn't been tasked with taking care of crying servants. Her conversation with Jinshi afterwards had been short and straight to the point.

Did you speak with her? Jinshi had been sitting at his desk pleasantly, ignoring the overwrought expression on Gaoshun's face.

Yes. Maomao had answered, eyeing Gaoshun oddly as he shook his head.

Jinshi perked up, And? What did she say?

I believe she's going to speak to you directly when she has the chance, Jinshi-sama. She informed him instantly.

Jinshi had beamed in a way that made Maomao weary, watching as he happily threw himself from his chair and up, already walking towards the door. Well, I'll just find her myself! Thank you, Apothecary!

She didn't get to say anything in return as he vanished around the door. Gaoshun offered his sympathies before running to follow the man out.

Maomao was just glad to have things back to normal. That's what she thought about as she approached Jinshi's quarters. Normalcy was welcomed and her heart was happy to return to things she knew. Medicine and the frolicking in the mini patches of growth she could take herbs from. Things were normal.

As Maomao approached, she was skeptical to enter as she heard a crash.

Okay, maybe not entirely normal.

She knocked on the door, hoping to hear that Jinshi was busy, but the door was opened and Gaoshun stood there with a thin smile.

"Xiaomao, thank you for coming." He bowed and stepped aside to let her inside.

When Maomao entered, she was half tempted to turn back around and leave.

Jinshi's face was stuck in a frozen state of shock, a crimson shade and his jaw dropped. He was sitting on the couch and his hands were up. In front of him, on her knees, was Y/N, frantically rubbing at his robe while apologizing profusely. She didn't sound like she was crying, but still sounded extremely embarrassed.

"I'm so sorry, Jinshi! My shoes are a tad big-- No, I'm not making an excuse!" She frantically tried to explain, pulling back to stare up at Jinshi with wide eyes. He remained unmoved, just making small noises of distress. "Jinshi, are you alright...?"

"I-I..I..." Jinshi just blinked at the wall across from him.

Maomao turned to Gaoshun, expression flat, "Can I come back later?"

Gaoshun looked ready to respond when Y/N spun around, her expression pulled up with delight and a beaming smile on her face. "Maomao!" She left Jinshi to his shock to wrap her arms around the younger girl (by one year). A tight hug that was unrelenting and conveying her exact emotions of pure elation. "My savior!"

Savior? Maomao thought as she blinked, arms stuck at her side. What is she even doing here?

She pulled back, placing her hands on her shoulder's, squeezing. "Thank you so much, Maomao! If it weren't for you, I wouldn't be blessed!" She continued on with her delight.

"Blessed?" Maomao audibly questioned, eyebrows furrowed and raised.

She nodded in response, smiling happily as she clutched onto Maomao's hands. "Yes! You gave me the confidence to tell Jinshi about my unhappiness! He's allowing me to work at his attending maid." She informed gracefully, sounding more happy and carefree than she had in the washing area the weeks prior.

Maomao wouldn't admit it, but it made her lips twitch upwards.

Y/N suddenly paled, turning back around. "Oh, Jinshi, I'll get something to clean up with!" And she darted out the room before Jinshi could give any type of response.

Maomao turned her attention to Jinshi with a tilted head, finding great amusement in his embarrassment. "You must be really fond of her if you gave her a job here." She observed.

If possible, Jinshi's complexion darkened further, his posture straightening. "Pardon?" He squawked, eyes wide as they stared at the younger girl.

She didn't understand why he was acting like she had said something scandalous. It wasn't uncommon for someone to grow fond of another's presence. Even if they were stripped of their manhood and promised to the Emperor for life. Y/N was kind enough and Maomao assumed they were friends of some kind to have Jinshi calling in favors of some kind.

Still... his reaction...

"You two seem like good friends." Maomao clarified.

A weight seemed to lift of his shoulders as he leaned back into the couch. "Yes, I suppose we are." His voice was a mere utter, soft and distant. It appeared that he was contemplating something forgotten or something that he often thought about but pushed into the back of his mind.

Y/N reentered with a cloth and small basin of water. She returned to Jinshi's side who stared at her with a blush and wide eyes. The attention he gave her was close and unwavering. No type of falter and no distraction that could possibly take away his attention. She appeared completely oblivious as she scrubbed away at the stain on his robe resting on his thigh.

Maomao narrowed her eyes on the glitter in Jinshi's eye, ready to make a comment, when Gaoshun placed a hand on her shoulder. "I'll inform you of the favor, Xiaomao." And he tugged her away.

However, Maomao thought endlessly about the expression on Jinshi's face. The kindness he exhibited for the girl much too clumsy for her own good. The tenderness he regarded her with. It was almost as if... Well, that couldn't be right.

It was almost as if Jinshi liked Y/N. In a more than friendly way.

Maomao scoffed at the thought, laying down in her bed. Her pa always said she was too speculative. Much too whimsical.

The man was an eunuch after all.

[rebelliousmuse]

Camera Malfunction – C.B.

For the Sam and Colby fans.

Warning: oral (female receiving), unprotected sex (use condoms).

------------------------------------------------------

"What's up guys, it's Sam and Colby!" the boys boomed, a mischievous glint in their eyes.

Colby continued "And today, we're dragging y/n and Kris along on another terrifying adventure!" The camera cut to you in the back, holding some ghost hunting equipment. A shiver ran down your spine as the imposing iron gates of Blackwood Manor loomed into view.

"Guys," you said, "This place already feels creepy."

Sam snorted. "It's just an old house."

Colby nudged you with his elbow. "Yeah, y/n. Besides, even if there are ghosts, they probably wouldn't mess with someone as awesome as you." You rolled your eyes, a playful smile tugging at your lips.

Inside, the mansion was a labyrinth of dusty hallways and old portraits. Their guide, Mr. Grimshaw, started talking about a brutal family massacre that had stained the very walls.

"They say the spirits here are restless," Mr. Grimshaw rasped, his voice echoing in the cavernous hall. "They leave scratches on visitors, sometimes they also push or pull their hair."

You rubbed your arms, goosebumps erupting. "Okay, maybe it is a little chilly in here," you mumbled, pulling your well-worn XPLR hoodie out of your backpack.

"Good call, y/n!" Sam said, winking at the camera. "Don't want the viewers to think you're a coward, right?"

"Exactly," you said, throwing your arms wide and giving the camera a mock-heroic pose. "shopxplr.com, where comfort meets courage. Go shop, guys!"

Sam and Colby erupted in cheers. Mr. Grimshaw, however, remained stoic.

After all the story about the place was told, the investigation started. The camera cut back to Sam; a mischievous grin plastered on his face. "Alright guys," he said, "Let's see if we can stir up some of those spirits!"

The EMF reader in Colby's hand whined, the light jumping wildly to red.

"Whoa, guys," Kris said, her voice barely a whisper. "This is intense."

Across the room, Sam held the spirit box device. The screen flickered rapidly, displaying fragmented words: "Alone... helpless... betrayed..." Then, a new word materialized, loud and clear: "SAM."

Sam's eyes widened, his jaw dropping. He whipped the camera towards him. "Did that just say..."

You cut him off, your voice surprisingly steady. "Alright, guys. Looks like things are getting a little too personal." You scanned the darkened hallway.

"We should split up," Colby suggested. "Even better, let the spirits choose the groups."

Colby pulled more equipment from his bag, "Good idea," Sam agreed. "We'll leave one piece of equipment behind each one of us. Whichever two go off, go together".

Kris agreed "Sounds like a plan."

With a shared look of determination, you each placed your chosen equipment on the dusty floor. You opted for the music box, setting it down carefully. The silence stretched, thick with anticipation.

Kris spoke, her voice cracking slightly, "Hey, Luke, could you choose two people to go together so we split up?"

Before she could even finish her sentence, a sombre melody erupted from the music box behind you. You flinched, instinctively covering your face with a groan.

"Oh my god, did you see that?" Sam exclaimed, practically leaping across the room. He pointed at your device, the music box going crazy. "Okay, thank you, that seems clear enough," he continued, his voice a mix of nervous excitement and genuine gratitude. "Could you choose another one, buddy?"

Another agonizing silence stretched on. You peeked through your fingers, watching the other three devices. Then, a faint flicker of light caught your eye. Across the room, Colby's EMF rope lit up.

"Looks like we have our teams!" Kris announced, a nervous smile tugging at Colby’s lips.

Each pair grabbed their ghost hunting equipment, an EMF reader, a spirit box and a camera with a light. Sam and Kris got ready, casting nervous glances towards the door of the basement.

"Basement for us then," Kris said, her voice echoing in the dusty hall.

You and Colby exchanged a look. "Second floor sounds good," you replied, grabbing some equipment and taking the lead towards the stairs. The grand staircase creaked ominously with each step.

Reaching the top floor, you found yourself facing a long hallway lined with closed doors. Colby turned to you, a hesitant smile playing on his lips.

"Which room do you think we should go to first?" he asked.

"Honestly," you mumbled, "I think the kids' room would be a good starting point. The parents' room... well, that's where the bloodiest murder happened, according to Mr. Grimshaw. Maybe we should save that for last?"

Your voice trailed off as you realized you hadn't been paying attention to what you were saying. Instead, your mind was replaying Colby's smile, the way his shirt fit his broad shoulders a little too well tonight.

You reached a door adorned with faded cartoon whales. This had to be the kids' room.

As you pushed the door open, you saw a dusty rocking horse sat frozen in the corner, and a faded floral wallpaper peeled from the walls. You set down the camera and switched on the spirit box.

Suddenly, a clear, childish voice filled the room. "Hi" it said, sending a shiver down your spine.

You began talking to the spirit, obtaining more story. It turned out to be a little girl named Lily, her voice filled with innocence. As you spoke, another voice joined in, deeper and slightly hesitant. It was her brother, William. Together, they painted a picture of a happy childhood cut tragically short.

You documented everything. The sadness of their story mingled with the guilt of being distracted by Colby. You kept asking yourself, 'How can I be thinking about him when these poor kids are trapped here?'

The conversation eventually finished, leaving a heavy silence in the room. It was time to move on. Pushing aside the lingering sadness of the children's story, you forced yourself to focus. There were other rooms to investigate.

Eventually, you reached the parents' room, the centre of the tragedy. The air in the room hung heavy. You stepped on the carpet, fumbling with the familiar weight of the camera.

Colby was beside you, setting up the spirit box. As you reached for the EMF, your hand brushed against his arm, sending electricity through you. You stumbled and before you could react, Colby was there. His hands shot out, instinctively grabbing you by the waist to stop your fall. The sudden contact sent a wave of warmth through you. You could feel the heat of his body through his shirt. “You okay?” he asked.

"Yes, I'm fine, sorry," your answer nervously. You turned around, and your breath hitched. His eyes were on you, a soft smile playing on his lips. His touch remained on your waist.

You felt yourself blushing. The thrilling tension of the investigation was replaced by a nervous flutter in your stomach.

His gaze held yours. A low chuckle rumbled in his chest. "We should get this done already," he said, his voice husky and close.

"We should," you breathed back, your voice barely a whisper. But instead of pulling away, you surprised yourself by reaching out. Your hand, trembling slightly, landed on his chest. Your fingers grazed the fabric of his shirt. You traced a slow path down. Colby's gaze dropped from yours, lingering on your lips. A flicker of surprise, quickly overtaken by a hesitant smile, danced across his face.

You mirrored his gaze. The weight of his touch, the intensity of his stare, it was too much for you to resist.

In that charged silence, you leaned in, a slow, deliberate movement. Colby met you halfway. Then, hesitantly at first, your lips met. It was a soft brush, but in a moment, the kiss deepened.

Your hands moved instinctively, one cupping Colby's face, the other threading through his hair. He pulled you closer. The distant hum of the spirit box seemed to fade away, replaced by the frantic drumming of your hearts.

The world dissolved into a blur of heat and sensation. You were breathless, tangled in the sheets of the dusty parent's bed.

Colby hovered above you. His touch was everywhere, a gentle yet insistent exploration. Buttons popped open; clothes slipped away. You mirrored his movements, clumsy with desire.

Thank God you hadn't started recording yet, the thought flashed through your mind even as it faded into insignificance. The only thing that mattered was the press of Colby's body against yours, the warmth of his skin against yours.

He trailed kisses down your neck, his lips lingered on the sensitive skin of your collarbone, sending a gasp escaping your lips.

As Colby's kisses traced a path down your abdomen, a shiver ran down your spine with each touch. You closed your eyes, a silent prayer forming in your mind – that Sam and Kris were engrossed in their investigation, that you could have a few more minutes with Colby.

The silence in the room was broken only by the ragged rhythm of your breath. Colby paused, his gaze flickering to your face, searching for your reaction.

With a gentle motion, he removed the last layer of fabric separating your bodies, tossing your panties on the floor. The cool air sent goosebumps erupting across your skin, momentarily grounding you in reality. But then, his hands found your thighs as he separated your them and placed his head between them. His grip was firm yet gentle, a possessiveness that both surprised and excited you.

Colby's touch was exquisite, sending waves of pleasure through your skin. His tongue danced across your sensitive clit. A gasp escaped your lips, a mixture of surprise and delight. You arched your back instinctively.

Low guttural sounds escaping his lips as he explored further. His fingers joined, the intoxicating feeling of his touch.

As his fingers went deeper, massaging that gummy spot, a sharp gasp escaped your lips, leaving you breathless and trembling in his arms.

"Fuck, baby," he murmured, his voice husky and low. "I could eat you out all day." He started making his way to your mouth, leaving a trail of kisses through your body. Your lips meeting his in a slow kiss. Your hands roamed over his body, tracing the contours of his muscles.

His hand cupped your face. "We don't have too much time," you whispered.

A flicker of amusement danced across his face. "Should we stop?" he suggested, his voice a husky murmur against your skin.

You shook your head, "No," you breathed, your voice barely audible. "Fuck me, now." He smirked slyly, giving you a short kiss while grabbing his hard cock on his right hand, positioning himself on your entrance.

Colby entered you slowly, letting you adjust to his size. You gasped as he held your gaze with his jaw clenched.

A low growl rumbled in his chest as he began to move. Your moans escaped your lips involuntarily. The sound wasn't lost on Colby.

"Faster, Colby," you whispered, your voice rough with a need you couldn't deny.

He responded instantly, his movements mirroring your growing desire. The sound of skin slapping against skin was a counterpoint to the gasps escaping your lips.

With each thrust, you felt yourself reaching the edge. "Oh my god," you breathed, the words punctuated by moans that begged for release. "C-colb-y, I'm g-gonna..."

"Cum for me, baby," he whispered. "Show me how good I make you feel."

You arched your back, surrendering to the wave of pleasure that threatened to consume you. A choked cry escaped your lips as you reached your climax, the world dissolving around you. Colby collapsed beside you, his chest moving up and down as he caught his breath.

A distant creak of floorboards sent a jolt through you. "Did you hear that?" you whispered.

"Sounds like Sam and Kris," he confirmed, his voice low and gravelly. "They must be done with their investigation."

Scrambling out of bed, you reached for your discarded clothes, pulling them on with shaking hands. Colby mirrored your movements, his movements more controlled but a flicker of urgency in his eyes.

The room looked different, the messy the bed, the misplaced throw pillows, it all screamed sex. Desperate to create a semblance of normalcy, you darted around the room, straightening the covers, smoothing them.

"The spirit box!" you hissed, remembering the abandoned equipment in your haste. You snatched it up.

"What are we going to say?" Colby asked, his voice barely a whisper.

"I don't know," you confessed, "We just need to come up with something believable." The creaking of floorboards grew louder.

Just as you were about to blurt out the first excuse that came to mind, the bedroom door swung open, revealing Sam and Kris.

"Hey, you guys done in here?" Sam inquired.

"Uh, yeah," Colby stammered, stepping forward with a forced smile. "We were just wrapping things up." His voice betrayed a hint of nervousness.

"Good," Kris said, "How was the investigation?"

Colby launched into a detailed account, telling the stories the children had shared and details about other spirits communication.

Kris's gaze shifted towards you. "What about this room?" she asked.

Your throat constricted. You stole a glance at Colby, a silent plea for help. He met your gaze, a flicker of reassurance passing between you.

"Well..." you began, "The camera started malfunctioning here," you blurted out, desperate to buy some time. "It didn't start recording anything."

A collective gasp filled the room. Sam's eyes widened in disbelief. "No way!" he exclaimed, his voice laced with shock.

Kris raised an eyebrow. "Interesting. Maybe we should try again," she suggested, a hint of excitement creeping into her voice.

Colby seized the opportunity. "Yeah, sure," he said, his voice regaining its earlier confidence. "Maybe we should do an Estes method here. I offer myself."

The suggestion hung in the air. Was it the best idea, volunteering himself for potential spirit interaction after their encounter? You fought down a wave of anxiety.

Sam seemed excited by the suggestion. "Cool, let's start so we can wrap this up already," he said, shivering slightly. "It's getting too cold and dark in this creepy house."

[moonsaver]

Warning: yan!jiaoqiu x reader, hints/implications of cannibalism and drugs.

Note: its 1.3k words, which is surprising considering i dont usually write that much. Anyways i tried to incorporate a different kind of horror feeling into this work. Hope you guys like it.

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Jiaoqiu lives up to his name. Medicinal chef, although one part is hidden, and he willfully lives up to the other half. But both seem to work in cognition when he meets you.

There you are – where he always hopes you'll be. A small twitch of his ear, the flurry of his tail. His eyes creak open ever so slightly to behold your silhouette in the golden frame of his irises. 

There you are – where you always will be, he hopes. Or rather, he wills.

Jiaoqiu has taken a rather different approach when it comes to medicines, and food.

The chilli sizzles in the oil, loud and crackling in short bursts through the growing warm air surrounding his workspace, his tender hands working swiftly through the assortment of spices. But really, he wouldn't need much, especially considering the chillis he's going to be using. Although, he changes his mind, going back over to dutifully sprinkle in a few spices anyway. At least, he does this for you.

Quiet, ever so silent. Curt responses. Flitting eyes. You're a curious little thing. Well, it doesn't matter how brooding or moody you may be. To him, you're interesting. To any sly fox, interesting means plaything. He's learned how to really risk the delicate balance of spice and flavour. And he's also sure how to deal with bitterness.

Strangely enough - you seem to like it. The bitterness slowly but surely pierces through the food, seeping into your mouth like poison. He's sure to take inspiration, but for now, he watches with a closed eye smile. A smile you're always too familiar with, ever since he's started making things special for you.

His chin placed delicately on the palm of his hand, elbow slightly straining the smooth wood underneath, as his hand gently fans away the ghat of the chili, still wafting in the air, making a few people cough in the distance. “Do you like it?” He asks, often. “I've added just what you might like”, “you'll keep coming back”, and, “my, aren't I seeing you too often?”

...

You don't know what's gotten into you. Dazed, but also hypervigilant at the same time. You think you're losing your mind – the reality you were so grounded in, losing your footing, the dissonance of your mind pushing you far into the cacophony of distressed thoughts, until his calm voice snaps you of it.

“Hm? Perhaps my new recipe will help soothe you. If the feeling persists.. meet me after hours.”

You take another bite, another walk back home, and another episode of hyperventilation. You breathe in, eyes flitting to the mirror you can't seem to reach – or rather you can't seem to keep yourself standing despite your fearful heart lurching in your chest.

And as per Jiaoqiu's predictions, you do meet him after hours. But you can't tell with the blend of reality and your hallucinations. You're not sure if it's the moon, but you're sure Jiaoqiu stares down at you, silver and gold melding into your delicate vision.

—--

Jiaoqiu has many characters of a cat than he does of a fox

Or rather, you say that because you probably haven't interacted with a fox before.

All the times you were sick and bedridden, Jiaoqiu made it almost his personal mission to look after you. He wouldn't be around for too long, thankfully. Long hours at work or the other. But he comes back and makes the best soup you could ever have, especially with your illness.

But you find the meat makes your body slightly reactive, at least when you're sick. Jiaoqiu brushes it off and insists you eat regardless.

His cheek rubs against your shoulder when you wake up, telling you how dearly he missed you. You yawn, eyes still closed and heavy from sleep while you wake up, but you can notice the slight grazing of his pointed teeth on your skin. 

You watch as he dutifully grinds up herbs and other malleable herbs into the mortar. He grew them himself, he tells you. It's simply better to alter and enhance them when you can get your hands on them, he tells you.

That's a beautiful flower, you tell him. His dutiful hands temporarily withhold in the air above the mortar, the soft stem bent and almost breaking in his fingers. He chuckles softly. You've been tasting it for a while in your food now, he informs you. You hum as he grinds it into the powdery mixture. Was that the source of bitterness?

-

Jiaoqiu has a taste for many peculiar things. But he also has a taste for humans. Or, more or less, just you.

Ever since you've become a regular, Jiaoqiu has been eager to offer you a sneak peek into the kitchen. He sits you down for the milder part of the cooking process, chatting away with you as he waits for one or the other thing to marinate, rise, or separate. His hand not so subtly itching to yours over the countertop, forcing your hand to slip into his glove. When you whine or complain about the constriction of the material, Jiaoqiu only responds with a quiet smile, his ears twitching the slightest bit. 

Sometimes, he lets you look around the kitchen, with sanitary limitations, of course. You eye the meat that looks a bit too red, or the one with a few too many strings in it to be written off as normal. You gaze at the blood seeping into the water. Myoglobin, he tells you. But you think your eyes are keener than that.

He feeds you well, isn't hesitant to add in a few extra medicinal herbs to your food, serves you the special tea he prepares only for momentous occasions.

And the best meat he finds.

Its a beautiful red, in his opinion. You stare as the knife cuts through the meat, the strings loosening and tearing. The blood– myoglobin, he corrects you, taints his hands, ungloved. Its far easier to determine the cleanliness without gloves. They tend to give you a false sense of it. He tells you.

You watch, the smell of the raw meat making you scrunch your nose the slightest bit. He chuckles fondly when he sees that on your face.

He finds you to be one of the people he's met, that he's taken a liking to. As for the one that he considers distasteful.. well, he's sure he can find some use of them. Especially if you dislike them, too.

-

You're sure something is wrong.

The soups make you dizzy, your body bursts into hives, your heart rate goes up. Something in it is causing you severe distress, but you can't understand what exactly it might be. You've staved away from his shop for a while. 

Until one day – Jiaoqiu senses your hesitation. His smile is no longer on his face, despite his closed eyes. He quietly allows you to inspect the kitchen after hours, his back turned to you, grinding, crushing, snapping the herbs into the mortar. You especially eye the red meat he stores away, and this time he doesn't tell you off. He continues to grind the herbs, shuffling through a few cabinets for them, before continuing. You've insisted on calling it blood and not myoglobin. Because you can taste it in your food.

He tells you, you're hallucinating. It's a side effect of your sickness he's had to help ward off lately. But you're sure he's wrong. He hums, and continues quietly. The darkness of the kitchen only illuminated by scarce yellow lighting, and the sterile, white glow of the fridge as you continue staring at it. Your eyes wander at the various meats before–

You spot something behind it.

His meats are sourced from various animals, with smaller organs, incomparable to the size of humans.

Was this animal mutated? Or simply particularly large?

You gently kneel down, hearing Jiaoqiu snapping the stem of a flower and continue grinding the herbs, your eyes settled fiercely onto the incomprehensible.. thing.

Your shaking hand reaches out, the coldness of the fridge making you shiver, although it's not exactly the cold, is it?

Your fingers touch the strange surface of the unidentifiable meat. Pericardium. Your fingers reach further and gently grasp it. It's about the size of your fist.

You breathe out, your heart thudding in the quiet of your mind as you stare at the one in your hands.

…

Has it always been this quiet?

You look back and are met with Jiaoqiu's golden eyes.

His default smile returns to his face, but this time, his golden eyes are staring directly at you.

You should have stayed out of his kitchen. Who knows what he'd been feeding you?

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