#oc appearance survey

[amethyst-halo]

ive been kinda zelda brained so i made some more ocs! siblings that research things

[birdiewritessometimes]

ellooo I love your writing smm and I was hoping I could request a Mattheo riddle or Theo Nott x hufflepuff reader (which ever you decide) I feel like you can create a cute fluffy story with either of them being so soft for the reader (or whatever direction you want to take this towards)ㅤ ᵕ̈

Magical Matchmaker

A/N: Hii! Thank you so much for reading my writing and liking it <3 I’m sorry for the wait, I actually started this one before you sent in the request and it fit perfectly together. I’m sorry you had to wait so long for it though but I hope I’m making up for it in length! I shit you not, Archie is based on my cat and he loved toe bean massage! Also I promise I don’t hate Draco he’s just a perfect character to show how the slytherin boys values people I guess. Also, also, Slytherin boys + astronomy tower = <3 Btw its always Cormac who is an annoying ass…

Archie is my first cute little oc, he might make appearances later on in other stories since i love him so much <3

Pairing: Mattheo Riddle x Hufflepuff!reader

Themes/warnings: Fluff, fighting, blood, smoking, that’s all I could think of, please let me know if there’s more

Word count: 7500-ish

Please do not copy or translate my work!

The soft rumble of the train could be heard as you walked through the train corridor. You were holding your cat, Archimedes, in your arms. The black cat was comfortably asleep as you searched the compartments for your friends, Hannah Abbott and Megan Jones. The train had just left the station around five minutes ago, yet you can’t seem to find your friends anywhere. Archimedes awoke when you stopped at one compartment to peer inside for your friends. Inside sat a group of boys, known for starting fights, talking back to teachers and just being trouble in general, most students were wary of them. They were in your year, all in Slytherin. In your time at Hogwarts, you had managed to stay clear of their radar. That all came to change the moment Archimedes jumped out of your arms and sneaked into the loud boys’ compartment. Your blood ran cold when you saw him jump up in one of the boys’ lap. You prepared yourself to go in there to apologise but you stopped when you saw how the curly haired boy gently petted Archimedes’ head, a smile on his face.

“Oi, where did that cat come from?” One of the boys, you recognised him as Blaise Zabini, he was known as a flirt, asked. The boy who held your cat in his lap was Mattheo Riddle, he was known as the intimidating, scary boy most people feared. The other two boys were Theodore Nott, the quiet one, and Lorenzo Berkshire, the sweet one in the group. You saw how Lorenzo leaned over to pet Archimedes.

“He is so cute.” He said as he also petted your cat. You saw how Mattheo swatted his hand away a playful frown on his face.

“Hey, he came to me, back of Enzo.” You heard him mutter irritably before continuing to pet Archimedes’ head gently. The scene in front of you made you smile; it almost made you forget who you were staring at. They looked so innocent as they surveyed Archimedes. Mattheo had a soft smile on his face while Lorenzo had a mischievous one, continuously trying to pet him. Theodore was chuckling at the scene while Blaise was grinning widely. Realising the situation you gently knocked on the door before sliding it open so you could stand in the doorway. All four boys snapped their eyes towards you, tearing their eyes from your cat. You cleared your throat awkwardly.

“Hi, uh, I’m sorry, Archimedes, my cat sneaked in here…” You trailed off, feeling more awkward by the second as they just stared at you, Mattheo still petting your very content cat’s head.

“Y/n, right? I didn’t know you had a cat.” Theodore cleared his throat, his eyebrows furrowed. You let out an awkward chuckle, the whole situation made you feel out of place. Like you had intruded and, in some way, you suppose you did. But you didn’t want to lose Archimedes on the train, he was a pain to find again, since he was deaf.

“Yep, since first year.” You confirmed, you could feel an amused smile make its way to your face at the awkward situation. They were looking at you like they have never seen you before, or like you were some sort of alien. Your eyes travelled to the curly haired boy who you’re your cat. He looked like he would rather die than to let you have Archimedes back.

“Y/n? You’re a Hufflepuff right?” Lorenzo asked, giving you a kind smile, probably trying to ease the weird atmosphere, which you returned.

“Yep, also since first year.” You chuckled, making him chuckle too. You saw that the rest of the group smiled at you too, except for Mattheo.

“How do we know you’re telling the truth that he really is yours?” Mattheo asked suspiciously, you let out a chuckle again at him. His eyebrow shifted upwards as he gave you a suspecting look. You nodded at your cat’s collar.

“Check his collar, his name, my name and my address are on there.” You said, now feeling amused at the situation. It seemed like Mattheo was trying to stall giving him back to you. You saw how Mattheo gently checked the tag on Archimedes’ collar, a frown on his face.

“Archimedes, y/n l/n, 71 The Green, London.” He mumbled, a sulking look on his face, this made you let out a giggle. Deciding to tune in with your kindness, that Hufflepuffs valued so much, you decided to let him cuddle Archimedes for the train ride.

“You’re welcome to cuddle him if you’d like, but do you mind if I sit then? I don’t want to lose him.” You said, but you realised your mistake as the words left your mouth. Mattheos eyebrows shot up in a questioning manner.

“No, wait, I didn’t mean that I don’t trust you with him, it’s just that he is, uh, deaf, so I don’t want to leave him on the train.” You rambled, feeling more embarrassed by the second. Mattheo’s face went back to normal, as he didn’t bother to answer you. You saw how Lorenzo and Theodore made space for you to sit next to them, to which you smiled and sat down. You saw how Mattheo lifted your cat, so they were face to face, Archimedes purring loudly.

“So, you’re deaf huh? And you have a silly name.” He muttered to your cat.

“Hey, my son doesn’t have a silly name! It’s cute.” You said defiantly, crossing your arms over your chest. This made the group chuckle and Mattheo to look past Archimedes and at you, an eyebrow raised in mock questioning.

“Damn, I didn’t know that you were a MILF, y/n.” Blaise said, a smirk on his face.

“Yeah- wait- I- no, what?” You stuttered out, completely taken aback by his comment. Mattheo let your cat back down on his lap before he whacked Blaise over the back of the head with a loud ‘smack’.

“Behave.” He muttered irritably.

“Don’t mind Blaise, his mum dropped him on his head when he was a baby.” Theodore mumbled from beside Lorenzo on the stuffy train seat that you now shared. You gave him a grateful smile as a reply before letting out a short laugh at his comment.

“Where did the name Archimedes come from anyways?” Mattheo asked nonchalantly, the question made a blush rise on your cheeks.

“Oh, my favourite film when I was little was the muggle film about king Arthur, it’s called the sword in the stone. Well, Merlin���s owl was called Archimedes in the movie, and I thought it was cute.” You explained which earned you a chuckle from the group.

“So not even like from the famous muggle guy? But like from a film?” Lorenzo said, a teasing tone in his voice. The question made you let out an embarrassed chuckle.

“Well, I was never into maths when I was little, just magic I guess, I failed maths every year I had to take it in muggle school.” You shrugged, not even thinking about the confession you just made.

“So, you’re muggleborn?” Theodore asked lightly, but the question was loaded, considering what some people, mostly Slytherins, thought about muggleborns. You felt slightly nervous due to the fact that you know whose son sat in front of you. Now you have never heard him utter as much as one bad word against muggleborns, but he did surround himself with pureblood wizards.

“Uh, yeah, that a problem?” You asked, suspicion in your voice at the question. Theodore must have realised his mistake because his eyes widened in panic.

“Wait, no, of course not, we don’t care, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean the question like that.” He apologised.

“Don’t worry, we’re not like Malfoy, we don’t care who your family is.” Lorenzo added, a gentle smile on his face. You looked at Blaise and Mattheo who nodded, a gentle expression on Mattheo’s face. It took you aback at first before a small smile broke out on your face.

“Good, because I think we will see a lot more of each other.” You said, brightness back in your voice. The boys gave you a look of confusion.

“Because Archimedes obviously likes you.” You said as a matter of fact, an answer to their questioning looks. They let out a chuckle and hummed in agreement. The boys then started talking about their summers on the ride back to school. They discussed what they did during summer and the excitement for the quidditch season to begin. At one point Blaise asked you to switch places, Lorenzo and Theodore was going to show him pictures from the national quidditch match that they went to during the summer. As you sat next to Mattheo you could feel his cologne hit your nose, he smelled rich with a hint of cigarettes and mint. Archimedes was asleep on his lap, but when you sat down your cat stretched out, so he was laying on his side and had one paw on your leg. With a small smile you massaged his paw. You heard Mattheo let out a chuckle making you look up at him. He was looking at your cat, amusement in his eyes.

“He is really something isn’t he?” He muttered as he stroked the sleek black fur on Archimedes side. His silver rings contrasting against the dark fur on your cat.

“He is the best.” You answered softly as your eyes shifted from his face to his warm brown eyes. You had never really realised how attractive he was before. But when he had this soft half smile on his face and that soft look in his eyes when he looked at Archimedes made you realise why half the female population at school have or at least have had a crush on him. His eyes snapped to yours as you were studying his face. A crease appeared between his eyebrows as he surveyed you.

“You’re not scared of me.” It wasn’t a question. His statement made you smile, because if someone asked you how you felt about Mattheo before this you would’ve said that he made you nervous at least. But now he didn’t. You shook your head at his question.

“Why, should I be?” You asked in a teasing voice. You saw a teasing smile, an actual full smile, make its way onto his face.

“I don’t think so, but then that wouldn’t go with the whole 'scary aura' I have going on.” He answered with a small chuckle. He did quotation marks around the two words most of the student body used to describe him. You could feel a grin break out on your face at his smile.

“So, he can smile.” You teased, what gave you the confidence you don’t know, maybe it was the relaxed atmosphere in his group of friends or was it just the fact that he smiled at you. It was a testament to the fact that he wasn’t always scary or serious.

“Shut up.” He muttered as he tried to supress his smile, but to no avail.

“Oh, I’m afraid I can’t do that. You’ll notice if you get to know me that I am a yapper, I yap about everything.” You beamed up at him. He let out a chuckle at that.

“Really, about everything huh?” He asked, a smirk on his face to which you let out a small laugh.

“Yeah, everything, like the fact that cats are obviously so much better than owls, and that quidditch is a weird sport and that my favourite colour is copper, that my favourite condiment is ketchup, and, oh you’re laughing at me, but I can go on all night.” You giggled as Mattheo let out a chuckle at your ramble.

“Wait, you think quidditch is weird?” He realised what you had rambled about, you nodded at his question.

“Why?” he asked, a puzzled look on his face. The two of you were so engrossed in your conversation that you stopped noticing what the others talked about, they had switched their topic to the two of you.

“What do you recon? I think he likes her.” Blaise muttered to Lorenzo who was sitting in the middle.

“She obviously likes him, look at how she is looking at him.” Lorenzo added.

“Do you think the cat knows something about this, I mean he led her to him in the first place?” Theodore asked suspiciously. At that moment Archimedes lifted his head from Mattheo’s hand, just as if he had heard him, and blinked slowly at the three boys on the seat opposite him.

“No fucking way.” Blaise said to which Lorenzo and Theodore nodded stunned.

“What’s not weird about quidditch?” You asked at the same time as the conversation between the other took place.

“What’s weird about it?” Mattheo countered.

“It’s a sport you play on broomsticks, it has no time limit, you beat balls at each other, come on Mattheo, you have to admit that that’s weird.” You gestured as you tried to get your point across.

“Oh, I think that’s perfectly normal.” He argued which made you let out a laugh.

“You’re only saying that for the arguments sake.” You said with a laugh, Mattheo let out a laugh of his own at this.

“Are we having our first argument as friends?” He asked, a teasing note in his voice.

“Hmm, I don’t know, are we friends?” You teased back. Mattheo reacted to this by placing his hand over where his heart is, in mock hurt.

“You wound me, love.” You felt a blush rise to your cheeks in record time at the nickname.

“I- uh, what?” You let out in your flustered state as your eyes shifted from his to your cat that still laid in his lap. You felt a finger poke your cheek.

“You’re cute when you blush, princess.” He said, really stressing the princess-part. You swatted his finger away, despite your flustered state.

“Oh, shut up Mattheo.” You laughed and what you didn’t see, but the three boys opposite you in the compartment noticed was the gentle smile on Mattheo’s face as he watched you laugh. It was softer than it usually was. The cold stare and frown that his face usually consisted of were replaced by a soft smile and gentle eyes. The same look he had when he saw Archimedes for the first time just hours ago. Time went by quickly on the Hogwarts express and before you knew it you found yourself on the platform moving along with the boys towards the carriages. As you walked, Archimedes in your arms once again, you tried looking for your two friends. You couldn’t see them anywhere on the platform. You felt an arm around your body as you walked, you looked to the side and found Mattheo by your side, leading you through the crowd to follow his friends.

“Come on, you can find your friends at the castle, when there isn’t that much chaos.” He muttered in your ear. You felt the blush rise to your cheeks once again, this time because of his proximity. Before you knew it you reached the carriages and you felt Mattheo’s warm hand on your back as you climbed up the small steps, Archimedes still in your arms. You felt hot, despite the cold evening air that swept around you.

“You okay y/n?” Theodore asked when he saw your face. The carriage started moving towards the castle after Mattheo had entered.

“Yeah, you look a bit red, are you cold?” Lorenzo asked, genuine concern on his face. If he only knew that you were feeling everything but cold. You dared to take a peak at Mattheo who was wearing a small smirk on his face.

“Yeah, I’m fine.” You cleared your throat and directed a grateful smile at Theodore and Lorenzo before directing a glare at Mattheo, who sent you a wink in return. The rest of the ride up to the castle consisted of the boys talking loudly with each other. Playful insults and banter were thrown around along with the occasional joke which made the atmosphere lively and fun. As the carriage came to a stop before the entrance the boys all got out. When it was your turn you saw that Mattheo was standing by the entrance, ready to help you down. You sent him a grateful smile but before you could even as much as take a step down, he had grabbed you around the waist and swiftly lifted you down to the ground leaving you speechless. You could hear how the others tried to keep in their laughter as they saw your stunned face.

“I- they- they should call you the flirty one, not Blaise!” You let out when you came back to your senses, this was the thing that made the others burst out laughing, Mattheo full on grinning at you.

“What? I’m just being friendly.” Mattheo said innocently making you roll your eyes playfully.

“Oh, shut up, darling.” You said the pet name sarcastically before you slowly started to make your way into the castle, leaving the boys outside.

“See you later, love!” Mattheo shouted after you, a grin on his face, his friends still chuckling. When you entered the castle, you let Archimedes go to do some exploring, knowing that he will always be in your bed by night. You entered the great hall and saw the usual enchanted ceiling that hovered over the four house tables. The Hufflepuff one was one of the tables in the middle, next to the Slytherin table on the left and the Ravenclaw table on the right. Right next to the Ravenclaw table was the Gryffindor table. You found your friends; they were seated in the middle of the table. You ran over to them with excitement as they stood up and embraced you in a group hug. Hannah was on the Hufflepuff quidditch team as you and Megan chose to focus more on your academics. Not that Hannah wasn’t good in school, she was brilliant, she just chose to focus more on sports. The three of you sat down and caught up with each other, about how your summers were and what subjects you were excited about. After the sorting you talked, laughed and ate with your friends, completely forgetting to fill them in on your train ride here. With your bellies full you and your friends made your way down to the Hufflepuff common room and to your dorms. You were quiet with tiredness as you got ready for bed. You were out before your head even hit the pillow, Archimedes comfortably asleep on the extra pillow on your bed by your head.

The first day back went by quickly and before you knew it you were doing your homework in the great hall with Hannah and Megan as you waited for dinner. Archimedes were sitting on the bench next to you, extremely interested in the movements of your quill. You were working on an essay for defence against the dark arts, two rolls of parchment on how to identify and protect yourself from a kelpie, a water demon who looks like a horse. While you were thinking of how to write your next paragraph you looked up from your work. Your eyes searched the room, like they seemed to do automatically since you’ve been back, until they met the copper brown eyes of Mattheo. You have found yourself looking for him in every room you entered since you met him. You sat there looking at each other for a moment. You sent him a soft smile, which he replied with one of his soft looks. You felt a blush rise to your cheek as you broke your eye contact, just after you saw the slight smirk on his face. It seemed like Archimedes noticed Mattheo too, because with a sound that sounded like a pigeon he jumped off the bench and dashed over to Mattheo and his friends. You smiled when you saw how your cat head butted Mattheo’s arm, begging for attention. You saw how Mattheo smiled and lifted your cat up on the table so he could pet him easier while he talked to his friends. Archimedes looked at you for a long while before curling up in front of Mattheo.

Over the next couple of days you noticed that whenever Mattheo was close by Archimedes would run to him, begging for attention. All while staring at you. You assumed it was because he really liked the boy, but you couldn’t lie, it hurt a little that the cat you nursed since he was a kitten chose a boy he had just met over you. It was Friday night, after dinner, you were relaxing in your dorm when your cat tried to get you to follow him, so you did. Archimedes was walking hurriedly along the corridors of the castle. He was leading you up multiple stairs, through passageways and along corridors. Soon enough you found yourself at the foot of the stairs that led up to the astronomy tower. You looked suspiciously at your cat who had started to climb the stairs.

“Archie, are you sure about this? It feels like you’re trying to trick me.” You muttered but started to walk up the stairs anyway. You followed your cat up the stairs in silence but when you neared the top Archimedes started running up the stairs.

“Archie, wait!” You shouted, as if he could hear you. When you reached the top of the stairs you stopped. There was Mattheo standing by the rail, curls windswept, looking cozy in a sweater and your cat was stroking his body along his legs. Mattheo was smoking a cigarette as he looked at your cat stunned, before shifting his eyes to you.

“How did he know I was here?” He asked you, confusion in his voice. You looked at him bewildered.

“I have no idea; he dragged me out of my dorm for this.” You said, confusion in your voice too. Mattheo beckoned you to come closer and your body moved before you could think.

“Could you hold this for me?” He asked as he stuck his cigarette out for you to hold. You took it awkwardly and held it between your index and thumb as Mattheo removed his sweatshirt. You saw how he folded up the material and placed it by the castle wall. In an instant Archimedes was lying on it, looking extremely content. You felt a soft smile form on your face when you watched how the boy cared for your cat.

“You didn’t have to do that.” You said softly as you stared at the boy in front of you. He let out a chuckle as he took his cigarette back.

“I take it that you don’t know that your cat seems to be obsessed with my sweaters, I’ve found him in my sweatshirt drawer like three times this week.” He said with a chuckle. You let out a startled laugh

“What? No, I didn’t know, I’m so sorry Mattheo, I don’t know what has gotten into him.” You said apologetically. Mattheo waved your apology away.

“Don’t worry about it, I’m quite fond of him.” He admitted.

“Yeah, I’ve noticed…” You muttered, reminded of the fact that your cat seemed to have a new favourite person. Mattheo raised an eyebrow as he took a drag of his cigarette, a silent question in the air.

“It’s just, he seems to be obsessed with you, and it hurts because I was the one who fed him with a bottle when he was a kitten.” You let out with a pout. Mattheo let out a laugh before throwing his arm over your shoulders, dragging you into him. You didn’t register what was happening as he squeezed you, sort of like a half hug, but with your face in his chest. His warmth surrounded you along with the scent of his cologne mixed with the smoke from the cigarette.

“I’m sure he loves you the most, you’re still his mum you know.” Mattheo said softly, his arm still around your shoulders, holding you close. You looked up at him with big eyes, he had a small smirk on his handsome face as he took another drag of the cigarette. Your eyes travelled down to his hand and then down his exposed arm. That’s when you noticed the goosebumps on his skin and your eyes snapped back to his.

“Is the reason why you’re holding me like this because you’re cold?” You asked suspiciously. Mattheo let out a startled chuckle.

“What, no? You looked cold, so I thought you would like a hug.” He said, his voice slightly higher than his usual smooth voice.

“Liar!” You said, a laugh escaping you as you pointed an accusing finger at him. He put out his cigarette, tossing the butt over the railing before letting both of his hands find your waist inside the zip up hoodie you were wearing while letting out a chuckle.

“I’m not! Now you seemed to enjoy this last time.” He said, his voice smooth as he looked straight in your eyes. He was obviously hinting at when he ‘helped’ you down from the carriage, you were determined to not fold this time.

“Don’t try to deflect this to me, Mattheo.” You said, a grin on your face, you saw how a smile appeared on his face too. Your hands found their place on his chest as the two of you stood there, smiling at each other. If you thought about it, it was kind of weird, you had only known each other for a week, but then again you have been classmates since first year so maybe it wasn’t that weird that you now stood here, in his embrace, staring up in his beautiful copper-like eyes.

“You know, Theo said something that sounded something along the ramblings of a mad man the other day when we found Archimedes in my room.” He said lowly, careful not to ruin the moment.

“What did he say?” You breathed out.

“He said that your cat was trying to get us together.” He mumbled, his eyes flicking from your eyes to your lips briefly. Your breath got caught in your throat for a moment, before his eyes met yours again.

“You’re right, he did sound like a mad man.” You mumbled back, your own eyes wandering his beautiful face. Because if you had to describe him with one word it had to be beautiful. Your eyes wandered from his eyes to the scar on his nose, to his pink lips, to his jaw, back to his eyes, paying extra attention to the scar that ran across his eyebrow. You felt breathless as the wind carried his cologne to your nose, the smell of cigarettes intensified from the one he just had. You felt how his hand traced shapes on your back, right over the fabric of your sleepshirt and you thought your brain stopped working for a moment.

“Theo didn’t sound like a mad man, Theo was right.” The voice of none other than Theodore broke the spell between the two of you, both of you jumped back, as if you were burned, “Please tell me that you guys saw that?” Theo asked Lorenzo and Blaise who was standing beside him at the top of the stairs.

“Yep.” Lorenzo said.

“Clear as day.” Blaise added before looking around, “And look, Archimedes is here, what a coincidence.” He added sarcastically.

“You guys sound very paranoid; he is just a normal cat.” You said with a laugh, after you had collected yourself from what ever had been going on with you and Mattheo. You leaned against the cold railing on the astronomy tower.

“You don’t think it’s a little weird how obsessed he is with Mattheo?” Lorenzo asked, an eyebrow raised.

“Hey, what do I know, maybe he likes his energy, or I don’t know, his cologne maybe, it is good by the way,” you added, nodding to Mattheo who chuckled, “or he is just a weird cat who makes weird decisions.” You shrugged. The three boys looked at you for a moment in silence.

“Nah!” They all let out making you giggle.

“So, you would rather believe that he is some magical matchmaker?” You asked, disbelief mixed with amusement laced your voice. You heard Mattheo chuckle from beside you. The response consisted of various agreeing mumbles.

“So, what were you two doing before we came here?” Blaise asked while wiggling his eyebrows at the two of you. You felt a blush rise to your cheeks in embarrassment, because what were you doing? What would’ve happened if you weren’t interrupted? The thoughts made your blush intensify.

“I- we- we were, uh… oh look at the time, I got to get to bed, we have class tomorrow.” You rambled while going to pick up Archimedes and get out of there, the embarrassment filling you up. You heard chuckles and when you turned to walk away you came face to chest with Mattheo.

“Now where are you going, princess?” He asked, a teasing smirk on his face.

“Uh, to bed?” It came out like a question more than an answer.

“I bet Mattheo would die to join her.” You heard Blaise mutter to the others who burst out in quiet laughter. If Mattheo heard him, he didn’t let on. You bit your lower lip, as an attempt to stifle the embarrassment but also the giddiness you were feeling.

“Darling, it’s Friday, we don’t have class tomorrow.” He said slowly, his smirk growing into a whole grin when he saw that it dawned on you. You heard the others chuckling loudly at you, making you send a glare at them. They stopped laughing as they put their hands up in mock surrender. You nodded at Mattheo and put Archimedes down on Mattheo’s sweatshirt again. You ended up staying with them for a while, after the embarrassment subdued. You noticed that if you weren’t counting Mattheo, you had the most in common with Theo. Despite him thinking that your cat was some magical match maker. They were all really funny and you were really grateful for being able to see this side of them. You and Theo would gang up on Mattheo, poking fun at him through the night, Enzo and Blaise joining in from time to time. After a couple of hours, you started to feel tired, Archimedes had moved from the spot in Mattheo’s sweater to your lap, making you feel loved by your cat again. Mattheo bumped your shoulder when you stifled your like 10th yawn for the evening. You looked at him with a small smile before looking around at the others.

“I’m sorry boys, I’m too tired,” you yawned, “I’m going to bed.” You said with a sleepy smile on your face. They nodded understandingly. You stood up, Archimedes was asleep in your arms, like usual. The boys all said their various ‘good nights’ to you, but Mattheo rose to his feet and followed you to the stairs. You stopped at the top of the stairs.

“You don’t have to walk me back, I’ll manage.” You smiled at the boy before you as you placed what you thought to be a grateful hand on his arm. Mattheo looked like he wanted to say something, balling his hand into a fist before releasing it again and again. You furrowed your eyebrows in concern.

“Are you okay, Mattheo?” You asked gently. He let out a breath before looking you directly in the eye.

“Yeah,” he let out another breath, “just get back safe, okay?” He said before letting his hand brush a strand of hair behind your ear. His hand rested on the side of you neck before he leaned in and placed a soft kiss on your forehead, right by your hairline. You think your brain stopped working and your heart went into overdrive. You stared at him with wide eyes, a blush dusting your cheeks from his actions. He was watching you intently for any sign of discomfort. His large, warm hand, calloused from quidditch, was still resting on the side of your neck. He could no doubt feel your rapid pulse. You let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding when you finally came to it. You gave him a small smile.

“Yeah, good night.” You let out softly, the smile still on your face. You noticed that a similar smile made its way onto his face as well as he muttered a ‘good night’ back before you started to descend the stairs and make your way back to your dorm. You fell asleep thinking of him, Archimedes sleeping soundly on the pillow next to you. Over the next couple of weeks you realised that the feelings you had for Mattheo weren’t exactly as platonic as you thought they were in the beginning. You had started to hang out with the notorious boys more. You realised that you had developed a crush on the boy one night when the two of you were hanging out in the astronomy tower. The others hadn’t shown up yet, Archimedes were sleeping on the extra sweater Mattheo had brought for him, and you were sitting next to each other, shoulders touching, as he smoked his cigarette. You were joking about Cormac McLaggen, the older Gryffindor had a pompous air about him which the two of you found hilarious.

“And he thinks he’s so much better than everyone, god, I hate him.” Mattheo laughed to which you were laughing along.

“Also, that he totally turns into a douche if you reject him.” You gossiped.

“Really?” Mattheo asked in disbelief.

“Yeah, he asked my friend Megan out last year, she very politely declined, and he called her a bitch and stormed off.” You explained. You saw how Mattheo looked at you with a look between disbelief and irritation.

“He is such a tool, I wish I had a reason to kick his ass.” Mattheo muttered irritably. You let out a chuckle and turned your body fully to him, grabbing his face between your hands, slightly squishing it. His face made you let out a giggle.

“Hey, no need to fight him when you’re already better than him.” You giggled before letting go of his face. You saw a small smile on his face before he took another drag of his cigarette. This was the moment you realised, you liked him more than a friend. Little did you know that about a week after this Mattheo had gotten a reason to kick Cormac’s ass. You were walking with Hannah and Megan to lunch, it was a Friday, now early November. The castle was chilly, and the grounds wet from all the rain. Hufflepuff had beaten Ravenclaw in the first quidditch match a couple of weeks ago. Archimedes had found you while you were walking, and you had scoped your cat up in your arms. When you rounded a corner and into another corridor Cormac stopped you.

“Hi, y/n, do you have a second?” He had asked.

“Yeah,” you turned to your friends, “I’ll see you guys in lunch.” You told them, you assumed he wanted help with herbology, since you had a particular knack for the subject. You turned to Cormac with a smile but before you could say anything Archimedes leapt out of your arms and dashed around the corner you just came from.

“How can I help you, Cormac?” You asked kindly, even if you’d just made fun of him with Mattheo some time ago. He stepped closer to you, closer than comfortable. His strong, overpowering cologne hit your nose, almost making you sneeze.

“What do you say, how about a date? I can take you to Hogsmeade before taking you back to my dorm.” He wiggled his eyebrows. You tried your best not to make a face at his sleazy attempt at asking you out on a date.

“No, I’m sorry Cormac-”

“Come on, it will be worth your while, I’ve heard I’m a very good date.” He pressed on, stepping even closer to you, making your take a step back.

“She said no.” The voice of Mattheo startled you. He was staring Cormac down, his look dangerous. By his feet was no other than Archimedes. You scoped you cat up agian as you shifted your attention back to the tense situation before you. Mattheo looked scary, almost dangerous like this. His fist clenched, his eyes focused on Cormac, like he was some prey, he was clenching and unclenching his jaw.

“Look man,” Cormac lightly clapped Mattheo on his arm before continuing, “this has nothing to do with you, so how about you move along, huh?” what a brave man, you thought because Mattheo’s whole face darkened at this.

“What’s so hard to understand about the word ‘no’?” Mattheo asked, his voice cold and hard. You heard footsteps round the corner and cast a quick look behind you. It was Blaise, Theo and Enzo. It made you feel a bit better. You gently placed a hand on Mattheo’s arm, trying to diffuse the tense situation.

“Come on, Mattheo, let’s just go.” You said softly before turning to Cormac, “I’m sorry, but I’m not interested.” You said with the kindest voice you could muster. Then you heard it, it made your blood run cold. Cormac had muttered something under his breath right before straightening up. Mattheo heard it too.

“What did you say?” He asked, anger clear in his voice. Cormac, who wasn’t known for his superior intellect, repeated what he said, louder this time.

“Whatever, who wants a mudblood anyways.” He said, a smug smirk on his face. You felt tears prickle in the corner of your eyes. You hadn’t been called that in a long time. You felt a hand grab your arm, pulling you away from Mattheo, it was Theo. Tears were slipping down your cheeks silently. He rubbed your back in a comforting manner.

“You’re okay, come here, I’m sure Mattheo don’t want you to see this.” He said gently while leading you around the corner and placed himself in your way. The last thing you had seen was how Mattheo had frozen, presumably in anger. Then you heard a thud and a sickening crack. Someone had punched someone. Your eyes widened in panic as you looked up at Theo. Archimedes tried stroking your hand with his head to give you some comfort. Theo looked out from behind the corner.

“Don’t worry y/n, Mattheo is fine, he usually is.” Theo said, reassuringly while you could hear thuds and grunts repeatedly. You felt sick to your stomach with worry, and you tried to comfort yourself by hugging Archimedes closer, he made his usual pigeon sound before he headbutted your face in affection, also effectively drying your tears in the process. Theo let out a small chuckle.

“Will you believe me now that he is some magical match maker? He came and found us and led us here.” You knew Theo just tried to get your mind of the fight that was happening on the other side of the wall, but you let him.

“He did?” You asked softly as you looked into the yellow eyes of your cat.

“Yeah, he sounded panicked as well, I’ve never heard him meow so loud before.” Theo said also looking at your cat. Before you could talk further about the subject the thuds and groans had stopped and Mattheo came around the corner, a frantic look in his eyes. Your eyes searched his frame for injuries, a small cut on his lip and one larger on his eyebrow. He grabbed your face gently, his knuckles bloody and bruised.

“Are you okay, love? Did he hurt you?” He asked, worry evident in his voice. You saw in the corner of your eye how Theo slowly backed away and went around the corner, presumably joining Enzo and Blaise to give you some privacy. You looked at Mattheo a small frown on your face.

“You’re hurt.” You said softly to which Mattheo let out a huff like chuckle.

“That’s not what I asked, darling, are you hurt?” He asked, his voice gentle, but stressing the ‘you’. You shook your head as an answer to his question.

“But you are.” You said, stubbornly, “and is Cormac…” You trailed off.

“I’m fine and he is fine, well, bruised, but fine I guess.” He said, finally giving in. You let out a breath of relief.

“Let’s clean you up.” You said softly before dragging him into the girl’s bathroom that was just down the corridor.

“You know this is the girl’s bathroom, right?” He said suspiciously as you wetted some paper to clean up his cuts.

“Yeah, and I’m a girl.” You said as if it was obvious. Archimedes, who you had let down to wet the paper was sitting and watching the two of you on one of the sinks. Mattheo let out a chuckle. You gently dabbed at the cut in his eyebrow. Your other hand was resting on his shoulder. You felt his hands rest on your waist, just like that time in the astronomy tower. Your eyes looked over his face as you cleaned his cut.

“That was a very stupid thing to do, Mattheo.” You mumbled softly, you felt how he let out a huff like chuckle again, the sound echoing on the tiled walls of the bathroom.

“No one will ever get away with calling you shit like that. Now he and everyone else know that you’re off limits.” He muttered, some anger still left in his voice. You stopped what you were doing and looked, really looked, at him. His jaw was still tense, those copper-brown eyes that you liked so much still had shadows in them. You put down the damp paper on the edge of the sink before gently cupping his face in your hands.

“Hey, I’m fine, you’re fine, mostly. Thank you, for what you did, I just don’t like seeing you hurt.” You said softly, your thumbs gently stroking his cheekbones. His eyes immediately softened as they met yours. His hands squeezed your waist in an affectionate manner, the butterflies in your stomach running wild. He was looking at you intently, his Bambi eyes scanning your face, quickly stopping at your lips before returning to your eyes.

“To be honest I saw red the moment I saw him so close to you but when he said that,” He paused, closing his eyes as if he was remembering something painful, “I wanted to rip him apart. I don’t think I have a right to say you’re off limits to others, you’re not even mine, but I couldn’t stop myself from threaten him to stay away.” You had no idea where his honesty came from, but his admission made a gentle smile appear on your face.

“What?” He asked, when he saw your smile. You felt brave enough to snake your hands around his neck as you stood on the tips of your toes.

“But I am yours Mattheo, I’ve been for a while.” You mumbled lowly your own eyes flickering to his pink lips, the bottom one having a cut from the fight that had just happened.

“What?” He breathed out, his hands squeezing your waist once again as he simultaneously pulled you closer, so that you were flush against him. You nodded, a big smile on your face.

“Fuck, princess, you can’t just say shit like that and not expect me to kiss you.” He muttered, his face now considerably closer. You could feel his warm breath on your skin, you could count each individual eye-lash on his eyes from how close you were.

“Maybe I want you to.” You muttered before you closed the gap between the two of you. He kissed you back immediately. The kiss was slow and passionate and tasted slightly like iron as your hands gently raked through his hair. His hands ran over your back and waist, exploring every curve before finding their place low on your hips. His lips were soft and gentle as he tried to convey every feeling he had towards you through the kiss. You gently pulled on his hair, earing a groan from him, making you smile into the kiss. Finally, you had to break apart for air, but your faces stayed close.

“Does this mean I get to threaten people to stay away from you?” You asked teasingly, once you caught your breath from the kiss. Mattheo let out a chuckle before nodding. But before either of you could say or do anything else, the familiar sound of Archimedes could be heard. He walked over to you and headbutted both of you in affection. You let out a chuckle.

“You know what, I recon Theo was right about him.” Mattheo said with a chuckle before kissing you again.

[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.

[damneddamsy]

second sight | cregan stark x oc (part ii)

a/n: such a cute chapter seriously, kooky Claere tries very hard to fit in and nearly succeeds

Cregan Stark felt an unexpected warmth stir within him as he stood at the cold threshold of Claere’s chambers that morning. She hadn’t noticed him yet, past her table overcrowded with steaming choices for her finicky appetite, her attention fixed on her slumbering dragon outside the frosted window. It was the first time, in weeks, he had seen Claere appear so... alive. Always, she remained untouched by the glow of the fires or the company of others. Yet here, framed by the muted sunshine, she was no longer the spirit of assumptions, but something more tangible—more real.

Her ivory hair, neatly brushed and woven into elegant braids, glinted in the soft morning light. A rare flush graced her ashen cheeks, lending an unexpected warmth to her pallor, while her lips, usually discoloured, now hinted at a shocking vibrancy. Her thickset leather gown, tailored to fit, cinched snugly to her form, warding off the biting winter chill. One could question her sanity or wisdom—but never the timeless beauty that clung to her like a second skin, untouchable and undeniable.

"Leave us," Cregan announced, breaking the quiet spell that lingered in the room.

The subtle command had Claere's handmaidens hurrying to obey, scurrying as they retreated from the room. Only one remained—the worried young girl who had raised her concerns to him—hesitating for a breath as she passed him.

"My lady is yet to break her fast, my lord," she mentioned before slipping away, casting a fleeting glance at Claere as though she feared leaving her alone.

Cregan’s gaze wavered on the closed door before shifting back to his wife. Claere’s violet eyes met his unflinchingly, but there was something delicate beneath the surface, a thread of tension woven through the air between them.

He divested his weighted fur cloaks and sword, then turned his attention to the table. He surveyed the spread before him—an abundance of food, more than enough to feed a small army. Golden loaves of bread, platters of roasted meats, a tray brimming with two hot pies, and rich, steaming pots of chicken porridge adorned the surface. Yet, despite the lavish display, it all felt strangely hollow.

His brow furrowed as he took in the untouched offerings. “This is more than enough for a feast,” he said to her, casting a sidelong glance. “Yet you’ve chosen to starve yourself.”

She was gaunt enough, pale enough—he could not bear the thought of her fading further into herself. Claere did not spare him another look or a reply, tucking her knees under her chin and continuing to stare blankly at the grey skies beyond.

"Come, try this. The venison is one of my favourites, the best you’ll ever taste," he attempted, his voice quieter than he intended, as if speaking too loudly would shatter the fragile silence between them.

He skewered slices of the tender meat and placed them on her plate. "Especially rare this season. Smoked to perfection."

It was met with nothing. She didn’t move, didn’t even blink. It was like talking to a marble statue. Cregan’s tolerance waned, but his determination remained. He tried again.

"Perhaps some fruits from the capital?" His eager eyes flickered over her pale frame. She had grown up surrounded by the opulence of King’s Landing, maybe something from her past would awaken her hunger.

At last, a response—her gaze shifted, just barely, in his direction.

"Apples, cranberries. Oranges from Dorne," he murmured to himself, unaware.

That caught her. Her violet eyes brightened, if only for a second. Her head turned ever so slightly, just enough to show she had heard him. It was a faint glimmer of interest, the smallest shift in her otherwise impassive demeanour. Cregan seized the moment.

"Yes. Blood oranges, all the way from Sunspear," he continued, his voice gentle, as though coaxing her from some distant reverie. He reached for the bowl of oranges, their vibrant colour standing out amidst the endless grey.

"Sweet and ripe." He peeled one slowly, letting the tangy scent of citrus fill the room. "The taste of sunshine, I hear," he remarked, cutting into the orange and setting a few slices on her plate beside the untouched venison.

For a moment, the room held its breath.

He sat beside her, not prodding further, allowing the zest of the fruit to permeate through the chill in the air. It waited as a peace offering between the two of them. Although his hands itched to reach out, to grab her, shake her, force her to acknowledge the danger of her disinterest, he held back, knowing that force was not what she needed. Not now. He would start slow; small.

The moments stretched on, though his patient gaze never left her.

Then, slowly, almost unnoticeably, Claere reached forward. Her fingers touched one of the slices, and she brought it to her lips. The smallest trickle of juice touched the corner of her mouth, and something unspoken shifted between them. Another followed and another, until the orange slices disappeared.

Cregan said nothing, only watched, as though witnessing some small, hard-won victory. He reached for a second orange, peeling it with care, and setting the fresh slices in front of her.

"I don’t eat meat," Claere said suddenly, her voice clear as day, shattering the silence.

He blinked. For a moment, the absurdity of it all struck him. This was Claere Velaryon—the mysterious princess they all feared, who, in their minds, feasted on flesh like some beast from old Valyrian folklore. The one who terrified even her own attendants.

And here she was, delicately picking at oranges, refusing meat, no more grotesque than a rose bracing against the cold.

It hit him then—why she had not eaten a morsel at their wedding feast, why she never showed face at suppers, why she had been refusing to eat all this time. She wasn’t what they claimed, made of stone and shadows. She was simply, achingly, human.

Cregan stifled an amused grin, the irony too sharp to ignore. "Duly noted," he murmured, glancing at the untouched venison beside her. "I’ll take that."

He took her plate and switched his empty one with it. He managed to fill it with natural foods on the table—bread, butter, and fruits. Certainly, Northerners depended on their beef and mutton rather than daily grains. Anything hot and juicy to bear the brunt of the cold.

Whilst silently biting into a slice of buttered bread, Claere continued to scrutinize her drowsing dragon through the windowpane. Luna could’ve been mistaken for a snowy cliff by the treeline, her silver scales tough enough to brook the battering breezes outside. It should have been awake by now, trilling for Claere to come join her. Yet, peculiarly, the she-dragon continued to doze through the day.

Cregan followed her gaze, a frown tugging at his features. "Did you fly too far last night?" His concern edged through his voice. "It's been asleep too long."

Just then, Luna unfurled her leathern wings, flapping away the snow before digging her snout back into the earth. Steam sizzled off her throat and belly, a spot of the everlasting fire she harboured.

Claere took her time to respond, her voice almost proud. "She is overfed."

He scoffed under his breath. "That beast could swallow half the North, and still—"

"I took her out to hunt, my lord," she interjected, her tone soft but deliberate. "Just this morning."

His hand froze mid-motion, tightening ever so slightly around the knife as her words settled in.

"You took her to hunt," he repeated, glancing at her once he’d wrestled his wrath back under control.

She nodded, matter-of-fact, as though she were recounting an uneventful ride instead of defying his explicit orders. To Cregan, it was a quiet betrayal.

"You flew alone? Down to Castle Black?" His voice dipped into treacherous waters, barely containing his growing irritation.

"We only rode a little past Last Hearth, never crossed the Wall," she responded patiently, her tone so measured it made his irritation feel misplaced. "Luna caught some wild boars there. I reckon she’ll be sated for a few days."

Her calm, composed words felt like a blade twisting in his side. The frustration simmered beneath the surface, no longer containable. He leaned back, tossing the half-sliced apple onto the table with a heavy thud, the act punctuating the helplessness he felt. There was no forcing her, no bending her will—just standing by, powerless, as she made decisions he could neither influence nor control.

"Have I defied you, my lord?" she asked abruptly, her violet eyes watching him closely, an unexpected spark of interest flickering within them.

Claere held his gaze, unblinking, unperturbed by the smoldering in his eyes. There was no trace of fear, no hesitation—just that infuriating calm that always seemed to shield her from his concerns, as though the dangers of the world brushed past her without consequence.

He inhaled sharply, shaking his head as if to dispel the misplaced rage bubbling up. She hadn’t crossed the Wall; she hadn’t endangered herself, not in the way he feared. She had simply done as she had always done—navigating the wilds with a certainty that unnerved him.

He sighed despite his frustration. "No, you have not."

He reached for a cluster of cranberries, carefully plucking them from the vine and placing them onto her plate, trying to make the gesture feel routine, almost tender.

"You are the Lady of Winterfell," he continued. "You have as much right to defiance as I do."

She studied the crooked smile tugging at his lips, her brows drawn in thought, as though she couldn’t quite decipher the mystery before her.

"Do I not repel you?" she asked quietly, her voice betraying the faintest trace of genuine curiosity.

Cregan furrowed his brow, caught off guard by her question. "Whatever made you think that?"

Her fingers touched her chest as if pointing out the obvious. "You think me mad. The way the others do."

Realization softened his expression. "If that were true, I would not be here." He paused, his gaze more intent now. "Just as the moon is to the night, you are, to me. Distant, yet always prevalent. I have come to be curious."

A slight frown creased her forehead. "Curious?"

"About everything," he said, the softness of his smile deepening. "I want to know everything."

The silence between them grew thick, loaded with things unsaid. She wasn’t accustomed to being seen this way—not with such intent. For so long, she'd been surrounded by whispers and wary glances, all feeding into the myth of her coldness, her distance. But now, here was Cregan Stark, looking at her not with suspicion, but with inquisitiveness. That simple admission seemed to unnerve her.

"You want to know everything?" she echoed, disbelief threading through her voice.

He leaned in slightly, the firelight casting flickering shadows on his face. "Yes."

Her gaze dropped to the plate of fruit he had arranged with such care. Her fingers toyed with the edge of a piece of bread as if contemplating whether to trust him with whatever weighed on her mind.

"There is not much to know," she murmured. "Everything is plain in sight."

His smile returned, warmer this time. "Then you're not as impervious as you appear."

Her lips parted as if she were about to say something, but hesitation froze the words in her throat. For a brief moment, it seemed she was on the cusp of revealing something that had been buried for far too long. But just as quickly, the moment passed. She closed her mouth and turned her gaze away, her hands folding neatly in her lap, retreating back into herself.

Cregan watched the subtle shift, the way her posture tightened ever so slightly, the way her eyes retreated into that familiar, distant place. He had nudged the door open, but only a crack. It wasn’t enough to draw her fully into the light, but it was something. A start.

"You don’t have to tell me everything right away," he said gently, his voice shaking with laughter. "It will take time. And I will be here until then."

She looked at him then, a faint expression—almost like fondness—ghosting across her features. There was a tenderness in her eyes, nonetheless guarded, yet undeniably present. She gave a small nod, her voice quiet and uncertain.

"Perhaps one day, my lord," she promised.

It wasn’t much, but it was enough.

Her gaze drifted back toward the window, back to Luna, her sleeping dragon. She seemed lost again, caught in her daydreams, her thoughts wandering far beyond the walls of Winterfell. Cregan leaned back in his chair, watching her in silence, his gaze tracing the curve of her face and her breath's steady rise and fall. Luna and Claere, both wrapped in an ancient mystery he was only beginning to understand.

The barriers between them had not yet fallen, but a door had been opened, however slightly. For now, that was enough.

For the first time since their marriage, Cregan allowed himself to believe—perhaps, just perhaps—there could be something more than the looming noose of duty between them. Something honest. Something soft.

X

As winter’s dawn closed in, Cregan’s quiet affections for his wife burgeoned like an arrow loosed from a bow, swift and certain. As she was known to the people of Winterfell, Lady Stark remained the same distant figure veiled in cold beauty, a foreign wife to their lord, a creature of dragon lore. She made no effort to blend into their world, and they met her aloofness with cautious smiles and bowed heads, unsure whether to approach or retreat. Claere drifted through the castle like a morning mist, silent, elusive, always keeping to the shadows, never quite a part of Winterfell’s daily rhythm.

But unlike the rest, Cregan began to take notice. Rather, it was incredible to watch unfold.

Beneath the layers of distance and impassion, there was another side to her, subtle and easy to overlook if one wasn’t paying attention. Claere was still unfamiliar, avoiding scrutiny and taken by the darkness, yet she had begun to tend to her littler assignments as a lady of the keep. It wasn’t grand or overt—there were no loud declarations or public displays of command—but she moved with purpose.

She listened more than she spoke, and when she did, her words were often strange, riddles of foresight that left the common folk wary. To the unsure blacksmith, who sought her blessing for a new forge, she meekly said to him—"Strike iron before the bell tolls twice. On the third, the flames will consume more than metal."

Whispers continued to follow her wherever she went: the dragon witch, the phantom of King’s Landing. Still, Claere remained unfazed. She attended her duties with modest accuracy, stitching herself into the rhythm of Northern life, even if it repudiated her.

Gradually, some saw her walking the cold halls, her footfalls deliberate, attending to the tasks that had once been left to the servants. Lord Stark had heard whispers of her wanderings of late—through the kitchens in the early hours, startling the cooks who were not accustomed to their lady appearing so near the hearth. She frequented the stables, her pale eyes watchful of the stablehands, though she never interfered. Most strangely, she had taken to visiting the kennels where the pups—the direwolf cubs born just before the first snowfall—played.

It was an odd sight to behold: Lady Claere, who rarely engaged with the people of the keep, standing among the yapping pups. She never knelt to pet them, never extended a hand to ruffle their fur. Instead, she would watch, as if the simple act of being near them was enough to quiet her mind. The small, wriggling wolves nipped at her skirts, tugging with playful insistence, but she remained still, observing them. Understanding them.

"They are quite fond of you, my lady," the kennel master remarked one day, eyeing the scene with amusement.

Claere glanced down at the pups nipping at her fur-lined cloak, her expression unreadable. "Then why do they attack me so?" she asked, her voice lilting with dry bemusement.

The kennel master chuckled, tossing scraps of meat at her feet. The pups immediately abandoned her skirts, their attention fully captured by the morsels. They tumbled over one another, growling and yipping as they fought for the food.

"I hope that answers your question, my lady," he said, his grin widening.

She looked at the scramble of bodies and fur, her lips pressed in a thin line, as though she was still unsure.

And on the rarest of occasions, Cregan would find her by the ancient weirwood tree in the godswood, her hands clasped to her chest, staring into the carved face of the old gods. The white bark seemed to cast her in a radiance, a lone figure amidst the snow-covered branches. Her eyes, those pale violet eyes, seemed lost in thought, as though she communed with the far beyond, elsewhere.

Likewise, her deeds—those small, almost invisible deeds—spoke volumes. Cregan had once found a handkerchief waiting for him in his study after a particularly gruelling day. The little fabric was sloppily stitched, the pale blue thread forming what he could only assume was meant to be a dragon—Claere's touch, unmistakable. Despite the uneven embroidery, he carried it with him always, tucked close to his chest beneath his leather coat of plates. It was the smallest of gestures, but to him, it was the great deal of effort she had put in for him.

But formality, he decided, did nothing for them.

One night, he summoned all the courage he had left, sweeping into her chambers with a boldness that surprised even him. He found her sitting near the hearth, her slender fingers too close to the flames, seeking heat from the piercing frost that had begun to seep into Winterfell's very bones.

"I would like to," Cregan began, his voice betraying a touch of nervousness beneath its usual strength, "sleep here tonight."

She turned to him, startled, her violet eyes dashing briefly to the bed. She blinked, slowly understanding the meaning behind his words.

Her lips parted, and she spoke with faint surprise. "You desire an heir."

Cregan's heart lurched in his chest, his eyes widening in shock. "No. No, princess," he half-laughed, quickly stepping forward, his voice dropping to a gentler tone. "You mistake me. I want no such thing from you."

She remained quiet, her gaze searching his face for meaning. "You do not?"

"I do, of course. In time, yes. Heirs." He scratched his jaw nervously. "I implied that I merely..." He hesitated, struggling to find the right words. His hand moved toward her, hovering in the space between them before finally resting gently upon her cold hand.

"I simply want to be close to you. No titles or expectations. You and I."

Claere stared at his hand on hers, the firelight dancing across her face, her expression caught somewhere between bewilderment and awareness. She had never imagined such a request from him. To her, as preached by her mother, marriage had always been about duty, obligation, and the future of his line.

"You mean to sleep here," she repeated, her voice softer now, doubtful.

"Aye, I do," Cregan replied, his hand still resting over hers, warm against the cold of the room. "I would like to be with you, as we are. If that would please you."

Her eyes flickered with something he couldn't quite place—an emotion she rarely showed. Vulnerability, perhaps. She nodded slowly, her gaze dropping to the flames.

"Very well," she whispered.

Then on, he cherished those quiet nights spent by her side, even while she remained true to her unstinting oddities. For all that surrounded her, she had, in her own way, become his constant.

The gentle strumming of her harp in the dead of the night became Cregan's personal lullabies, even if was hair-raising to the rest of them. He found her wandering through the corridors in the small hours, her movements slow, as though she drifted through her dreams. It should've unsettled him—the sight of his wife, half-asleep and roaming as if the world outside fell to nothing at her feet. Whenever the night sky beckoned her, she would climb the ramparts, sprawling herself across the ancient stone, her hands and eyes tracing the constellations. Sometimes, in the earliest hours of dawn, he would wake to find her already gone, Luna’s shadow a fleeting blur in the sky as she took flight.

"The court grows restless, my lord," the maester had said cautiously one time, his voice a quiet murmur as they stood in the Great Hall. "They believe Lady Claere's patterns... worry the people. A lady shouldn’t wander alone, especially not at such hours."

Cregan's rubbed at his brow, frustrated. "What would you have me do? Chain her to her chambers? Berate her like a child?"

"They mean no harm, my lord," he continued, trying to tread carefully. "You appease her too much. Her place is—"

"Her place," Cregan interrupted, his tone final, "is wherever she chooses to be."

He couldn’t bring himself to curb the parts of her that made her who she was. She wrought no trouble to anyone. Besides, stopping her could bring about dire consequences he knew little about.

One evening, after hearing her footsteps echo along the parapet walls, he quietly followed. Of course, for a dragonrider, such a height would not bother her, but his heart raced faster at the reflection of slippery death. Claere was already there, gazing up at the stars with a look of quiet reverence. He carefully lay beside her, trying to see the sky as she did, wondering what enigmas it held for her.

"Do you see them?" Claere asked, not turning to face him.

Cregan followed her gaze, his breath clouding in the crisp cold air. "Their radiance comes to nought with your presence," he said in all honesty.

Her eyes still fixed on the heavens, simply nodded, offering no smile, no warmth—just that silent acknowledgement that always seemed to deflate him.

"Untouched," she told him, an awed confession, "since I first laid eyes on them. Even in King's Landing and Dragonstone. Here. Yet they tell me a distinct story every night. Of old, of the things yet to come."

Cregan found himself leaning closer on his elbow, her calm conviction tugging at his control. It was easier to touch her nowadays, never past a soft squeeze of her palm or shoulder, but nevertheless, he basked in her liberties to him.

He traced her hairline by her temple, tucking a curl behind her ear. He was afraid she was going to melt right through his fingertips, vanish into steam.

"What do they say to you tonight?" he asked.

"Iā gēlenka qogron," she replied, her Valyrian tongue as smooth as the silks she wore, getting across his skin like a breathy caress.

He shook his head. "I can't understand your language."

"A silver lining."

For the first time in a while, she looked at him, a faint smile playing at her eyes, like two streaks of comets in the night. An elfish smile spread on his lips, his soul wrecked and decimated at the mere sight of it. A softness that she allowed just for him.

The aforesaid silver lining came on two fronts, both owed to his good wife, though neither understood immediately.

The first glimmer of change came as Claere sat by his feet one evening, quietly weaving another garland of winter roses upon a vine. He wondered what significance it was to her, why she had taken a liking to such an absurd, sweet thing. It was rare in these parts, yet she always had a throng of them every fortnight.

Instinctually, he reached out to gently touch the back of her head, brushing his fingers down the silvery hair that was left loose from her plaits. That gesture was enough to impart the warmth from the chill around them. Then, without turning to him, she spoke softly; suddenly.

“You could grow things here. Even in the cold.”

Cregan frowned, tilting his head slightly. “What do you mean?”

She did not answer right away, her fingers hesitating on loops of the vines, thinking. "Like these roses. They rise out of the ice."

He flickered his gaze to the withered flowers in her pale hands.

“The hot spring beneath the castle,” she sounded off. “It could heat the glass. Protect the plants.”

“Glass?” he asked, perplexed, trying to piece together her words.

She saw her nod, turning her head just enough to catch the slope of her nose and bow of her murmuring lips. Such a distracting sight.

“A house of glass. With the heat from below and light from above, you could grow food. Even in the blackest winters.”

Cregan sat back, stroking his lip, unsure if she was speaking in riddles again or if there was some truth hidden in her quiet musings. A glass house? In Winterfell? He mulled over her words long after the conversation ended, unseeingly staring at her sleep, wondering if she saw something he didn’t, or if it was simply another of her cryptic thoughts, floating like a wisp of fog, impossible to catch.

Days passed before the idea began to take shape in his mind, the pieces coming together as he considered the hot springs that ran beneath the castle, the ancient warmth that had always been a part of Winterfell. The more he thought about it, the more her words made sense—elusive at first, yes, but not impossible.

“She has clever foresight beyond her years, my lord,” one of the builders remarked when Cregan indistinctly shared the concept, the man’s eyes widening at the simplicity of it. The Glass Gardens, so it was named.

“To grow fresh produce in hard frost… it could change everything. But it will take great labour, and the men—”

"Insignificant," he interrupted, anticipating the instant objections. "Use every muscle we have, builders and stewards alike. Stop at nothing. Winter is coming."

X

A heavy silence draped the great hall as the Lord and Lady of Winterfell sat together at the head of the long table, their presence commanding every eye in the space. The low light of the hearth flashed, candles careened, casting long shadows against the weathered stone walls, the flickers dancing across Cregan’s gruff yet relaxed features and Claere’s hypnotic beauty.

The hall was teeming with people, the sounds of clinking plates and jovial laughs—lords of vassal houses, bannermen, and their ladies—but not a soul dared to question their sights. They watched, breath held, as the husband and wife dined in quiet harmony after weeks of isolation. Yet, the silence wasn’t strained. There was something subtle between them, implicit but unmistakable, a warmth that didn’t need words to be discerned.

Claere, shrouded in a grey fur-lined cloak, a gift from Cregan, picked at the peas on her plate. To those watching, she remained in her customary quietude, never quite fitting into their climate. But Cregan saw something else. He could sense the effort in her posture: the way she held herself more present tonight, despite her usual evasive manner. She wasn’t quite comfortable, but she was trying. And he was prepared to help.

Cregan’s watchful grey eyes, sharp as winter but softening with each glance, rushed often to his wife. Though she barely touched her food, he noticed her little, doubtful movements—the way her fingers skimmed the rim of her goblet, the way her eyes lounged on the stagnating hearth, her mind a million miles away.

He tore a piece of bread and placed it on her plate, a routine gesture between them now. He gently squeezed her hand over the table, bringing her back to reality.

"You must eat something," he murmured, meant for her ears alone. There was no force in his words, only a gentle concern from his growing care.

Claere’s violet eyes flickered toward him, surprised at first, but she didn’t resist. She took a small nibble of the bread and sipped the spiced broth, hesitant under the weight of so many eyes upon her. Yet, when she met Cregan’s gaze, just for a heartbeat, something shifted. An unassuming smile tugged at his lips, softening the edges of his usually stern features.

The tension in the hall, once thick with curiosity and judgment, began to ease. The subtle exchanges between the lord and his lady had not gone unnoticed by their audience. How his smile grew when she looked at him, a rare sight for those who knew him.

It wasn’t until a shift in the crowd drew the noble couple's attention—an approaching woman with two small children clutching at her skirts—that the atmosphere around them began to change.

In their small hands, they carried something bright—gleaming in the candlelight like polished stones. As they came closer, Cregan's brow furrowed in confusion. The sight of what they carried made him lean forward, his voice low with disbelief. He couldn’t believe his eyes.

“Bless me. Are those...?” he drawled out in wonder.

The woman’s hands shook slightly as she stepped forward, her eyes darting nervously between Cregan and Claere.

“Lord Stark,” she stammered, her voice trembling. She strained a pleading gaze at Claere. “This is too generous of a gift, my lady. We cannot accept this."

In her hands, and those of her children, were dragon eggs from Luna's most recent clutch—small, vibrant, coloured crimson and green. The sight of them made the hall grow quieter as if the very air had thinned with the enormity of the gesture. The children, however, clutched the eggs to their chests, unwilling to part with them. Their small hands curled protectively around the gleaming shells, eyes wide with the wonder of it.

Claere’s gaze flicked to the children, and then to the mother. "They earned them."

"They are unaware of what these symbolise to your bloodline," the mother refused. "Dragon eggs don't belong in the hands of people like us."

“Are you to refuse gratuity from your lady?” she said, with the quiet authority that left no room for argument. Claere regarded the children with a measured gaze, her expression still cool.

"They are gifts for your family. I owe the little ones a keepsake for their bravery today."

"Bravery?" Cregan questioned.

"We helped her locate Luna's clutch, m'lord," the young girl confessed in a mumble.

"And Lady Stark let us keep some of them," the young boy finished. "We found five so far."

"Two out of five is scarcely anything," Claere subdued the stressed mother. "I have plenty to spare."

The children, despite their mother’s soft pleas, clung tighter to the eggs, their fingers wrapped around them as though the treasures belonged to them alone. The mother’s face flushed with embarrassment, her hands trembling as she tried to gently pry the eggs from her children’s grasp.

“But, my lady, this is—”

Claere’s attention had already drifted to her plate. Her expression tightened for a brief moment, something unspeakable crossing her features—a subtle unease she hid from the hall, but not from Cregan. Ever observant, caught the unease settling into her posture, the slight tightening of her fingers around her goblet. He saw the far-off look in her eyes, and his heart sank.

Claere, at that moment, glanced down at the eggs in their small hands, and her gaze seemed to shift—becoming distant, as though she were looking far beyond the walls of Winterfell. Her eyes briefly lingered on the older boy, trained right through him, a flicker of foreboding.

Sensing this, Cregan squeezed Claere's thigh to summon her attention. When he did, he gave her the most infinitesimal shake of his head, searching her eyes. For a quiet moment, she remained frozen in place, still cold-eyed, as if deliberating some far-off future.

But then, with the smallest exhale, she relented. The tension in her shoulders melted, and her gaze gentled. Turning back to the woman, Claere’s voice was soothing now, in a way that almost made her seem more benevolent.

“Your son will grow strong,” she said, softly touching the boy's head. “He will see many winters, and live long." Then she nodded at the girl. "So will she. Great things await in their morrows."

The woman’s eyes filled with gratitude, her children clutching their eggs close as they looked up at her in awe. She bowed deeply, her voice cracking with emotion.

“Thank you, milady, truly," she said profusely. "Thank you.”

As the woman and her children backed away into the crowd, their wide-eyed wonder a stark contrast to the stunned silence that had settled over the hall, Cregan relaxed into his chair, his gaze still fixed on Claere.

He was the perfect blend of amusement and concern. “You mislike lying," he claimed.

Claere, still staring after the departing family, shook her head, her expression contemplative. “No,” she said, her tone almost introspective. “I do not care for it. The truth is simpler.”

Cregan arched a brow, the corner of his mouth lifting in a teasing smile as he sipped his ale. “You avoided the truth."

"Akin to deceit."

He set down his mug with a sigh. "Fair enough. Whatever did you see?"

Her eyes tightened, toying at her sleeves as if thinking over revealing this to him. "The boy will live long... but he will be sentenced to takeing the black for assault. His path is laid."

Cregan absorbed her words, and the dinner noises got louder. He rubbed a hand down his mouth, nodding to himself.

"That boy's future is his to shape," he relieved, his eyes locking on hers. "No sense in weighing down tomorrow with troubles that haven’t come. Perhaps knowing less will allow him to make other choices."

She quirked a side of her lips to an imperceptible smile, a shared understanding evolving between them. "Perhaps."

He gently caressed the back of her head. "Maybe don’t make this a habit. I don’t fancy sharing my ale with a doom-monger every night."

Her laugh surprised him. It was soft, barely more than a breath, like a secret that had slipped free—genuine, and entirely unexpected. Cregan blinked, caught off guard. He hadn’t realized how much he wanted to hear it.

"You laughed," he noticed breathily.

Claere paused, her brows drawing together as though she hadn’t noticed it herself. “Did I?”

He nodded, still watching her, his eyes softening. “Aye, you did. A sound like that could warm even these old stones."

She looked down at her lap as if trying to recall the moment herself. Her fingers resumed their nervous picking at her sleeves, but there was a faint flush on her pale cheeks, a subtle shift in her usual guarded demeanour.

“I suppose I did,” she murmured, almost to herself.

Cregan leaned closer, nudging her arm, gentle but teasing. “Well, don’t stop now. I think I'm rather fond of it.”

Claere’s thin lips graced a vague curve, so sweet and humble, though she quickly turned her gaze away from him, her fingers smoothing the fabric of her dress.

Gently, unable to stop himself, he reached out, cupping the side of her pale cheek. This time, she did not flinch or shy away. Instead, she closed her eyes, allowing herself to lean into his touch, indulging in the warmth of his hand, even if just for a fleeting moment.

For Cregan, it was another crushing triumph. For Claere, it was the first time she permitted herself to feel something other than the cold isolation that had surrounded her since arriving at Winterfell. And for those watching, it was a glimpse of an undue union slowly becoming more than mere duty.

There it was: Cregan's second silver lining, with far less fanfare and more consequential than the first. A quiet tempest of affection began taking root in the frozen North, thawing what had once seemed unreachable—the first warmth of spring after a long winter.

X

[onlyswan]

summary: in which you always get what you want and jungkook is dying to kiss you.

> idol!jungkook x reader / fluff!! a pinch of angst / word count: 5.5k

> content/warnings: jimin cameo!!, a photobooth, oc gets a little hot & bothered bcs jk is a menace lol (they both are <3), touches a biiit on toxic relationships but this is pure fluff and yearning :p (the ex oc mentions is the same as the one mentioned in the first meeting drabble)

> songs: bad - wave to earth / just like magic - ariana grande

> in which masterlist!

note: just a sweet and silly drabble of jungkook being hopelessly whipped for oc before they even became official *to intensify the seven mv brainrot* no i didn’t plan this 🥲 + hehe this was only a week before the first kiss :p reblogs and feedback are much appreciated !! <3

—

“you really came!”

you run towards jungkook with a wide smile that reaches your eyes. the bag hanging on your shoulder swings and strikes your hip due to your excitement, but you could care less about the clinking of coins when there’s a bright star leaning on a lamp post, smiling back at you.

you stand before him as he straightens himself up, puffs of a fleeting cloud appearing as you pant lightly. “dummy, it’s so late. i told you to go to bed. aren’t you tired?”

“exactly, it’s so late.” he emphasizes your words to scold you, concern dripping from the tone of his soft voice. “of course i had to come.”

he tips his head to the side, sparkling eyes drinking you in as if he didn’t just see you the other night.

“you’re so adorable today.”

“thanks. is it because of this?” you happily scrunch your nose at the compliment, tugging at the strings of the brown knitted ear warmers wrapped around your head.

it is near midnight. drowning in the warmth of his bed to flee the freezing season, jungkook should be comfortably resting at home. however, he just had to look for your name in his contact list despite being absolutely knackered… and somehow he ended up here, because if he has been trading his sleep for work all these years, then he can also trade it any day to spend his midnights with you.

an endeared grin spreads on his face, rosy cheeks numb from the cold. “hm, teddy bear.”

a gust of silence passes by as your inquiring eyes survey the white plastic bag hanging from his hand, the company logo stamped in the middle of it familiar since childhood.

“what’s that? are you sick?”

“me?” he points at himself in confusion, shaking his head. “i’m not, though?”

“then why do you have-”

“ahhh- ah!” his face lights up as he is reminded of the other reason he came to you. he slaps his forehead with a chuckle. “i almost forgot.”

jungkook, although still a little shy around you, tries his best to initiate eye-contact when either one of you speaks to avoid giving off the impression that his mind is someplace else when you’re together. however, the mission becomes difficult when you meet his gaze wide-eyed, and he is… breathless.

“you haven’t been feeling well so… uhm, i got you vitamins and more medicine, just incase. here.”

your heart feels like it’s been wrapped in a cozy blanket meant to thaw the winter that has overstayed its welcome, spreading warmth and giddy sparks all the way to the tips of your fingers. you’re relieved that you wore gloves today; he didn’t get electrified when you took the thoughtful gift from his cold hand.

“really? even vitamins?”

the original plan was only to take a peek, but a word written in bold and colorful letters prompts you to bring out the cough medicine for a better look.

oh, jungkook.

you quickly slide it back inside the bag, a laugh accidentally slipping from your mouth. you press your lips into a thin line to suppress the rest of them bubbling in your chest.

“yah, why are you suddenly laughing? did i buy the wrong one?” he questions, nervous about his suspicions being correct.

he follows up with a matter-of-fact tone.

“you said you only like syrup when you have a cough, because it’s soothing.”

“it’s so sweet that you remembered that but…” you giggle, eyes watering as your body quakes with the intensity of it. the image of the packaging flashes in your mind, and you sniffle. “this is for babies.”

“but syrup is really for kids? are they not?”

his doe eyes are shining not with condescension but genuine innocence, and it makes this a whole lot funnier for you.

“yeah, i mean…” you pause as a puzzling realization washes over you.

oh my god, does this mean that this entire time… he’s been thinking that you gulp down bottles of cherry-flavored cough syrup for two-year-old’s? and he didn’t question that? at all?

“i guess you’re right. but they also have one for adults. i was drinking that.”

“huh, that’s what they gave me. and i just assumed-” he gestures at the medicine you’re grasping in your hands before he freezes.

with the clear view of it, he finally discerns how silly of a mistake he has made.

“i must be out of my mind today!”

he breaks out into a fit of laughter, putting a hand over his aching belly.

it’s a sound that has been evoking an inexplicable joy in you since the first time you heard it; a sound that you often miss lately. you still need to remind yourself not to stare at him for too long, scared that he’d be able to read these thoughts from a simple look at your face.

“still, it’s pink. and i bet that tastes better?”

you nod your head in agreement, pulling out the medicine once more to study the directions of use. “with the dropper and everything, i bet it’s a better experience.”

“shit, it- it even has a dropper?”

“i told you! it’s for babies!”

“babies?! no, no. this isn’t it. this won’t do.” he furiously shakes his head as he waves his hand in disapproval, crossing the distance between you to seize your wrist. “let’s go- come with me. let’s go back to the pharmacy. i’ll exchange it for the right one.”

“nope.” you refuse his demands with a smirk, stubbornly breaking away from his grip. “i don’t want to. i’ll keep this.”

“____, come on!”

“but you already gave it to m- jungkook!” you squeal when he makes a move to steal the item from your hands.

out of reflex, you hide them from him behind yourself. and unsurprisingly, that doesn’t deter jungkook’s endless supply of friskiness. he chases you as he reaches for your back, and you carelessly stumble multiple steps backwards to escape him. whimpering at the unexpected impact, you finally reach a dead-end, trapped between a wall and the boy who’s been making your winter a little less blue. your forehead lands on his chest, defeated, and he keeps you steady with a secure hold of your arms.

a harmony of breathy giggles imbues the silence of the deserted sidewalk.

“what are you even going to do with it? you can’t drink it anyway!”

you lift up your head with a drawn-out whine.

you can’t give him an answer.

to be honest, you’re just as clueless as jungkook is.

“ehhh?” he mimics the sound you made with an amused expression painted on his face. you’re too damn adorable for your own good, and it’s doing very dangerous things to his heart. “will you? are you a baby?”

the rhetorical question is a bait that you choose to bite.

“not really, but i can be your baby.” you shrug, melting him with a coquettish smile.

“ah, i see… is that term of endearment your type? you want to be mine?”

his teasing grin puts his dimples on display, and you desperately want to run back into your apartment just to spend a full minute screaming into your pillow. you’re thoroughly convinced that you’ve never felt more attracted to a person than you are to jungkook. this is bad news. you don’t know to what lengths you’re willing to go so that he could stay in your life for as long as you want. it’s terrifying and exhilarating.

“just to set the record straight, you want me to be yours.”

“and if i do? then what…? are you confident you can handle me?”

every nerve connected to your heart is a wire most alive when you yearn to bare it for another.

“try me.”

his hazy eyes falls to your lips and he goes a little crazier than he was the other night. it’s infuriating that you manage to make them look so soft and so inviting despite the frigid air. it’s dizzying, how his face is only inches away from yours and as always, you smell so sweet, just right. he wonders if you taste the same.

jungkook is dying to kiss you.

the thought has been plaguing his mind, haunting his dreams both day and night. he keeps screaming at himself to just fucking do it, but as much as he is impulsive, he doesn’t want to be the guy who catches you off guard. he doesn’t want you confusing your feelings for him with adrenaline. he wants the moment to feel right. he wants you to see that he’s sincere, and he’s nothing like those bastards who took you for granted…

selfishly, he wants this to be something real, co-existing with the fear of pushing you into a tornado of chaos that is his life.

his heart is pounding violently, he’s afraid it might jump through his sweater. the right moment feels like it could be right now, and he knows you feel it too. he observes your breathing getting heavier, and one of your restless hands has freed itself to grab a fistful of his sleeve.

your lips slightly part, and he doesn’t know if it’s the anticipation, or you did it on purpose to rile him up. he figures his jimin-hyung is right; he would be a fool if he allowed you to slip out of his hands. but truth be told, he’s the one wrapped around your finger.

fuck, fuck, fuck. he is doomed.

a pin drops and he is doomed.

his ringtone rattles the silence and slices through the tension between you. disappointment flashes across your face, and you visibly flinch at its loudness. you’ve grown to despise the incessant noise of telephone calls since moving to your apartment, one of your pet peeves jungkook is yet to hear about. panicked and irritated, he scrambles to dish out the vibrating device from the depth of his pocket.

“it’s… it’s my manager. but it’s fine, i’ll handle it.” he informs you quietly as he rejects the call, opting to send a text explaining his whereabouts.

a pang of guilt shoots through your heart.

“you can go home, it’s okay… i can take care of myself.”

“mhm-hm.” he shakes his head, still busy typing away. then, out of nowhere, he looks at you to properly plead. “don’t send me home yet.”

your eyes flicker to watch a piece of ice fall on his shoulder, white contrasting the black fabric of his jacket. another one lands on your hand, and then your collarbone. the stinging coldness, another thing that makes you flinch tonight. you look up to face the snowfall fiercely coming down, and it seems that the heaven opened up the sky to scold two lovesick teenagers tangled in a modern-day dalliance.

goddamn it, you curse.

“are you kidding me?” you grunt in frustration, eyebrows sharpening your previously dazed eyes.

jungkook barely manages to tap the deliver button before you begin dragging him to the roofed entrance of your apartment building.

“stay here. i’ll just grab an umbrella real quick.”

“okay.”

once he confirms that you’re out of sight, he releases a loud sigh, exasperatedly kicking a non-existent ball on the cemented floor.

“fuck! fuck! why? why do i move so slow? ah- they can’t just kill the mood like that. why-” he squeezes his eyes shut, pinching his nose bridge and putting a hand over his hip, so upset he can’t even speak straight. “we almost… shit, this is driving me insane… she hates me. she must hate me right now. i’m done for.”

—

the aggressive slam of the front door rings throughout your apartment, and you’re about ninety-nine percent certain you disturbed the sleep of a neighbor or two.

“then what?” you grumble to yourself, followed by a desperate cry. “then kiss me! do i really have to do everything myself?”

after grabbing the biggest umbrella you own from the basket you have beside your coat rack, you head to the kitchen where you leave behind what jungkook bought you.

eventually, your overthinking leads you to a bitter conclusion.

“does he not want something more? is he playing with me?!”

and if it was any other person, you’d be fine with that but… your gaze lands on the bottles of vitamins and cough medicine, and you sigh to regulate the accelerated beating of your heart.

“but i think i can finally do this right.”

your voice comes out above a whisper, and the verbal declaration alone fuels the hope in you.

you’re confused whether it’s a sign of luck or childishness. maybe the compensation for being well-acquainted with loss, or good karma if you decide to push it some more… but you always get what you want. despite the blood, sweat, and tears; even during the instances that you do give up, the universe somehow finds a way to arrange matters in your favor.

except you don’t want to give up on this just yet, and you don’t intend to just stand around waiting for the universe work its slow burn magic.

because you look out your bedroom window, and jungkook is squatting on the floor with his head in his hands, looking distraught as if he just lost the lottery and he was only a digit off.

you might be unsure about your label, but he sure wanted to kiss you pinned up against that wall.

—

jungkook casually steals glances from you every now and then. you’ve been softly humming to christmas songs as the ice underneath your feet crunches with every step you take, influenced by the heavy snowfall despite the holidays being long gone.

when you came back, he thought you’d be giving him the cold shoulder, reminiscent of when you got pissed off at a hair stylist not even a week ago (that day, he learned that you’re grumpy when sick, grumpier when jealous). but instead, you lent him a white fuzzy scarf to keep him warm.

“where are we going?” he asks, unaware of your destination.

he’s just been following your lead for the past five minutes or so. he only knows that you’re going someplace that will satisfy your midnight cravings, as you mentioned over the phone earlier.

“i haven’t told you?” you wince. “just mcdonald’s. i’m craving their fries… hmmm, and chocolate sundae.”

“sundae? but you have a cough.”

“i’m all better now! that’s why i’m getting it!” you keen with excitement.

except jungkook is worried. at home and at work, he has many people fussing over him when he’s not feeling well. most of the time, you only have yourself to rely on. he doesn’t like thinking about your past boyfriends, but he hopes that they took care of you when you would get sick. as for the future, he hopes that he’s there.

he perks up when he sees the pharmacy store he’s been thoughtfully scanning both sides of the streets for, recognizing the lightbox signage. “let’s stop here. i’ll buy you your adult syrup.”

“jungkook,” you giggle airily, pulling at his jacket to motion him not to go near it. “i just told you that i’m not sick anymore.”

“it’s better to be prepared.” he reasons.

the snowfall has ceased. he transfers the umbrella to his other side, freeing his hand to hold yours and tug you along with him. he childishly pretends to not hear your protests.

he’s not showing it, but he must be embarrassed about earlier. you can’t help but to smile from ear to ear, watching his back as you’re left a few steps behind, the two of you tied together by his warm and protective grip of your hand.

“jungkook,”

your voice is calmer and quieter. he whips his head back, concerned eyes twinkling from the blaring headlights on the road.

“i’m thirsty.”

—

you’re blissfully unaware of jungkook falling in love with you from the opposite side of the table.

thoroughly engrossed with the movie-like scene outside the glass wall, you’re clutching an apple juice box in both hands, plastic straw stuck between your lips as you take baby sips. he probably sounds like a broken record, but there’s something different in the air tonight, and you’re twice as pretty in his eyes.

“i can sue you for that, you know?”

he drops his phone in shock. he chases it in pure panic as it clashes with the table before tumbling down to his lap. when he puts it down, the screen is already black, a desperate attempt of hiding the raw evidence of his offense. he smiles back at you sheepishly, cheeks and ears flushed after being caught red-handed.

“aren’t i cute? you already made it your lockscreen, haven’t you?” you tease, eyes flickering up to him as you begin stabbing at the chocolate sundae with the little plastic spoon to mix it.

“made what my lockscreen? no, i didn’t!” he strongly denies, holding up his phone to show it to you.

“plain black, really? what happened to gureumie?”

you send him a look of distaste.

“just makes me believe i’m really your lockscreen and you change it to something random before you come see me.” you say in a sing-song voice, shivering with delight after you lick your spoon clean of the sugary treat.

“don’t start. yours is your class schedule!” he retorts with a laugh, which goes up in volume when you slap his hand away for attempting to steal from your fries.

you scowl at him with a displeased pout, dipping a fry into the sundae before popping it in your mouth. “get away. i’m hungrier because you took so long.”

the effect of having your cravings satisfied is instantaneous. it was absolute hell, being sick, albeit it was only a cough accompanied by fatigue. it’s simply no fun being an adult and having no one enter your room every two hours to check up on you. for the first time in the past week, your brain is completely flooded with happy chemicals, and you feel like a little kid kicking their feet with glee.

“it’s not my fault! they had to do something to the ice cream machine… i-i think it stopped working.” jungkook stutters, stuffing his mouth full with a spoonful of his strawberry sundae.

of course, it’s the ice cream machine. it’s always the ice cream machine.

with a gasp, you weakly slam the empty juice box on the table. “wow, i almost didn’t get what i came here for.”

“but you did. ‘cause you’re with your lucky charm.” jungkook cheekily winks at you, and you long to kiss that stupid grin off his face.

—

“holy shit, he’s kneeling down now. kook, he’s begging- look-”

jungkook is convinced he has never seen your eyes this big. he looks at you dumbfoundedly, cheeks full as he chews a huge bite of his burger. you release a sigh, reaching over to turn his face to the side.

outside, just a few feet away at the opposite direction his body is facing, he discovers an angry tear-stained woman sitting on a bench and a man crying on his knees infront of her.

he swallows, tilting his head. huh, so this is what you were watching earlier when you didn’t notice him arrive with the food. funnily enough, this isn’t considered an unusual occurence in such a populated city.

“i knew it. he’s cheating, he’s definitely cheating.” you squint at the scene, shooting daggers in your mind. you rely on muscle memory as you continue to munch and dip your fries in the sundae without bothering to look anymore.

they were still arguing when you gave jungkook your undivided attention, but the shift in the atmosphere captured your interest again when your peripheral vision caught him on the ground.

“how do you know?”

“he panicked and snatched his phone away when she touched it. that’s why they started fighting.”

a sick feeling in your gut deflects your eyes away from the forlorn couple, the salt and the sugar in your food starting to taste bland on your tongue. on the other hand, it seems that it’s jungkook’s turn to be absorbed in them.

“oh, that makes sense.” he mutters under his breath, eyebrows furrowing as he frowns. “seriously, i’ll never understand cheaters. why… would you go out of your way to hurt a person who’s special to you?”

and because of that, his food are left to be unsupervised. with the hopes of resparking your appetite by stealing a taste of something you haven’t had in over a year, you scoop up a small bite of his strawberry sundae.

“that person isn’t special anymore, or maybe they never were in the first place.”

“but if you’re loved by that person, even if you don’t feel the same way anymore, shouldn’t they still be special to you in some ways?”

he returns to his previous position, and the passion written in his eyes like constellations makes you want to believe that maybe the world isn’t a lost cause. it’s a breath of fresh air — the new point of view clear as day infront of you. jungkook is your best friend, it dawns on you then and there.

a best friend who sends you pictures of the sky. a best friend who won’t let you roam the midnight streets with melancholy. a best friend you want to kiss and hold hands with.

“they should, but they’re horny assholes who don’t think about stuff like that.”

“ah, then what a shame.” he chuckles with a scornful shake of his head, finally going back to devouring his burger.

it’s silent for a few beats.

right now, you like the strawberry flavor more than the chocolate. it tastes better than you remember. it’s rekindling an old flame.

“are you that type of boyfriend? who gives out their password?” your voice is rife with interest as you casually steal another spoonful of jungkook’s dessert.

“of course, i don’t mind. i have nothing to hide. i just have the most random photos, and like a thousand voice memos… but… how do i say it?” he pauses to organize his thoughts, eyes pointing towards ceiling. “uhm, it can get uncomfortable, and hurtful… if they always thoroughly check everything. i don’t know…”

“no, i get that. my ex was doubtful of me all the time and it was tiring. giving reassurance is important, but so is having boundaries… never forget that, understand?”

you radiate with so much tenderness, he finds it so easy to listen to every word that you say. but since you already understand the importance of balancing those two things, can he just forget about it and admire your face?

“is that why you broke up with him?”

you pucker your lips in thought, playfully twirling the plastic spoon between your fingers.

“i guess so? he… he just sees me as a bad person. and i was starting to believe that i am.” you decide to put it lightly, scoffing when the mortifying memories of him floods your mind. “when i had that epiphany, i broke up with him right away. we just weren’t good for each other.”

jungkook utters your name, mellow and sweet, like a serenade.

you’re reminded that he sings for a living.

“hmm?”

“i don’t know what happened between you but… when i say you’re a good person, i’m really being sincere.”

during the fall, talking about your past relationship made your heart feel unbearably heavy.

but tonight, it’s winter. jungkook holds out his little spoon to feed you a bite of his strawberry sundae, and you accept it without thinking.

uh-oh.

you peer up to him shyly.

“and because you were so kind to me the first time we met, i don’t mind you being a thief.” he fondly strokes your hair, and you squeeze your eyes shut as your body vibrates with giggles. “aigoo, you eat so well. good job, ____.”

—

“where you are taking me? this isn’t the way home!”

jungkook has an arm around swung over your shoulder, gluing you to his side as you walk together. the last time you checked the time, it was 1:27am. the stores you brush past are already lights off, locked up, and the sidewalk is mostly dead and quiet.

“i really like taking photos, you know?” he grins, sounding thrilled, and you glance at him with suspicion in your eyes.

“i’m very much aware. and so?”

you yawn not long after, leaning some of your weight on him as tiredness seeps into your overused muscles. you’re awfully sleepy, and cold. you can hear your bed calling out your name from kilometers away.

“so we’ll take some together.”

from a distance, you immediately recognize the famous photobooth only several buildings away from the noisy night life of the long rows of bars and nightclubs.

you feel your knees go weaker.

oh, you’re in very serious trouble.

—

curse jeon jungkook.

curse him and his muscular thighs.

“sit here?” he pats his lap as an invitation, looking up to your motionless figure still standing infront of the closed curtain. “or do you want me to stand behind the chair?”

curse him and his intoxicating perfume and his arm wrapped around your waist.

“four photos and… we’ll print… two copies.” he thinks out loud, face so close to yours as he taps on the screen infront.

curse the stupid person who decided to only put one small stool in this small photobooth.

you won’t dare to make it obvious, but your heart is doing somersaults. you realize how arrogant you were for whining about him not kissing you yet, because here you are trying your hardest not to squirm as you’re sat across his lap.

unconsciously, you embrace the scarf he took off close to your chest.

it’s… been quite a long, torturous while of being deprived of physical touch. and you like jungkook. you like jungkook so much that despite hating cramped spaces, you flash the camera a sweet smile while playfully squishing his pouty face in your hand.

“oh, oh, that’s right!”

a yellow lightbulb appears above his head. he bounces his legs to capture your attention, his arms tightening around your waist to prevent you from falling off.

you cross your thighs to subtly squeeze them together, a poor attempt at putting out the fiery tingles spreading throughout your body. you swallow thickly. he needs to fucking sit still. your self-control is running thin.

“act angry at me and i’ll put it as the first picture, okay?”

“huh? why?”

“so i’ll always remember that you got annoyed at me for dragging you here.”

“and i’m still annoyed!” you slap his chest with a frown, glaring at him exactly as he imagined you would.

his mischievous grin stays when he faces the camera, winking and throwing up a peace sign as the flash goes off.

when the timer starts again, he rushes to reach for the floor, sticking his hand in the paper bag from the pharmacy.

“for the next one- stay still-”

you’re completely clueless. your vision remains fixed on him until he reveals a bunch of pink ribbon hairclips on his big palm.

“where did you get these?” you blink at him.

he only shushes you as he removes the earwarmers from your head, thoughtfully fixing your hair before carefully adorning it with the ribbons as fast as he can.

“the ice cream machine wasn’t broken, was it?”

“shhh, we’re running out of time.” he rebukes you to mask his bashfulness, teeth sinking in his bottom lip as he focuses on arranging the ribbons symetrically.

“are these mine?”

“yours.” he confirms absentmindedly. he backs up to inspect his work, but he only ends up thinking to himself is it right for someone to be this beautiful?

the time runs out before you can deem yourself ready. the camera captures jungkook trying to tame your baby hairs, and you, watching him with a faint smile of affection.

“what do we do now?”

he shrugs. “let’s do whatever we want.”

“wow, i can finally do what i want?” you reply sarcastically. “i thought you were prepared for this.”

“three seconds!”

since you’re already smiling in the other two photos, you figure that it’s your turn to pout in the last.

the number ‘1’ appears on the screen, and you feel him pull you closer than you’ve ever been.

curse jeon jungkook.

curse him and his hand on your neck and his soft lips pressed to your cheek.

—

“you’re sneaky.”

“you’re one to talk.” jungkook replies, and you roll your eyes.

he chuckles to himself as he scans his copy of the photostrip under the street lamp beside the photobooth. on the other hand, your back is resting against it, your arms crossed over your chest. you take a fleeting glance at him, secretly smiling to yourself because he looks so happy.

yours is tucked in between the pages of the book inside your bag.

later. you can look at it later when you’re a little more sane and the ghost of his lips stops lingering on your skin.

“i don’t just let myself get kissed for free. don’t you know that?” you heave a dramatic sigh, feigning annoyance. “but since you bought me new clips,”

you turn your cheek to stare at him, but you instantly break the eye contact when you see how he looks like an excited puppy when he’s amused by you.

“…i’ll let this pass.”

“i think i just found the motivation to make more money today.”

you crack up at his words. “shut up!”

god, you’re getting swayed by his antics. he has too much hidden underneath his sleeve. you need to up your game.

a breeze sweeps across the earth, and you sniffle as you stuff your hands in your pockets. it’s getting colder and your battery is draining rapidly as the clock ticks. you die a little inside when you think about the consequences of your late-night adventure. there has to be time for you to squeeze in a nap between school and work, right? right? unbeknownst to you, jungkook takes notice of your weary state. he crosses the distance between you to wrap the ear warmers around your head.

“tsk, you’re going to catch a cold.” he whispers, loosely tying the straps under your chin. he reaches for a ribbon, but then pauses to ask for permission. “do you want to take off these now, so you won’t fall asleep on them? these are kind of sharp.”

“stop taking such good care of me.” you say half-jokingly, starting to remove them on your own. “i might get used to it.”

this upsets jungkook, it seems.

his lips are in a permanent pout as he answers, eyebrows knitting together. “what’s wrong with that?”

you only shake your head with a vague smile.

—

JK :

4:11am

[sent four photos]

credit GCF if you post on insta

got it?

you’re welcome !!!

4:13am

hehe you must be sleeping now right?

you better be !

4:18am

the truth is i’m a bit shy to tell you this in person but ... thank you for being someone i can spend time with comfortably and for always making me smile. i really like you a lot .. i mean that sincerely too

sweet dreams ____ :)

—

“goodnight, jungkook.”

you stood on your toes to kiss his cheek, painstakingly chaste yet sinfully calculated. he was left all alone in the empty hallway of your apartment floor, too stunned to remember and return your scarf.

it is not the first time you did that, but his mind is reeling like crazy tonight — the corner of his lips is still stained with the graze of your lips.

a rhythmic knock snaps him out of the electrifying memory.

“jungkook-ah,” a freshly-awoken jimin raspily croaks out while he rubs his blurry eyes. “did you bring home anything?”

is this becoming a routine now? him visiting at an ungodly hour in the morning; jungkook sitting up without a word to retrieve the snacks from under his bed.

“thank you.”

he receives an appreciative pat on the back before jimin grabs one of the diamond-shaped biscuits you earnestly made a whole tray of, enough to go around for seven people. he nibbles on it as he flops down on the mattress, planning to sleep here some more until it’s time to prepare for work.

however, his drowsiness gets pushed to the back burner when the photostrip beside the maknae’s pillow attracts his attention.

“yo, jungkook! is this from tonight?”

“hyung! be quiet!” jungkook whisper-shouts.

“the staff didn’t mention a photobooth to me. is this a secret?” the late-night visitor whispers back to humor him.

the bed creaks as he chases the printed memories from jimin’s grasp, who seems to have gained enough energy to tease him, heartily giggling as he rolls away to the edge of the bed.

“yah, you’re so cute together?!”

jungkook’s bunny teeth pop out as he’s unable to resist a satisfied beam at the flattering remark. damn right, they do.

pulling out a pillow from behind him, he playfully hits jimin with the huge bundle of cotton. “hyung, finish eating and go back to sleep. we have that thing later, remember?”

“you’re hurting my feelings. what happened to telling your hyung about your crush?”

—

“wait a second- i’m still confused. you sprinted to the fashion boutique before ordering?” jimin flips over to lie down on his stomach, speech muffled by the biscuit between his lips.

“they close at midnight, so i had to run there first.” jungkook explains as he reseals the tupperware. weirdly, he only feels the ache in his body now that he’s talking about it. “they really like things like that.”

“you’ve told me. so how long do you plan on keeping that in here?”

his gaze lands on the paper bag labelled ‘CHANEL’ on the other side of the room, and he makes a pained expression, still agonizing over whether he should give it to you or not.

“but don’t you think it’s too much? maybe i should save it for their birthday.”

“be honest with me. do they even know you’re courting them?”

—

taglist in the reblogs! send an ask/dm if you want to be added (or removed) :D

—

[valaenatargaryensdragon]

A Dragon's Wedding

pairing: Fanon!Halaena Targaryen x Male OC

summary: The wedding of Helaena and Rhaegal is finally here. And so is the wedding night.

Word count: 5,5K

Warnings: Fluff, incest, mention of alcohol, mention of blood, smut, P in V, Fingering, Cunnilingus, Slight breeding kink

Masterlist 1

Masterlist 2

The air in Rhaegal's chamber was charged with anticipation. The grand stone walls of Dragonstone cast a cool, muted light on the scene within. Rhaegal Targaryen, the soldier prince, stood before a polished mirror, his mismatched eyes capturing a flicker of excitement he would never admit to anyone.

One eye was a striking amethyst, inherited from the Targaryen line; the other, a piercing shade of blue, a unique feature shared with his mother. His tall, lean figure bore the marks of a warrior, a testament to his years of rigorous training. Silverlight, his sword, hung proudly on his belt, a symbol of his skill and valor.

As he stood in front of the mirror, Rhaegal's platinum-blonde hair cascaded down to just below his shoulders, its shimmering strands the color of dragonfire. He had chosen to leave it loose, refusing the intricate braids and embellishments favoured by others on this momentous occasion.

In the corner of the room, his chosen servant, a trusted figure who had been by his side through countless battles, worked diligently to fasten the intricate clasps of his royal wedding attire. Rhaegal's preference for privacy was clear; he had allowed only this one male servant to assist him in this most intimate of moments.

Rhaegal maintained his stoic demeanour, his face an unreadable mask. He was a soldier prince, after all, and emotions were best kept hidden, especially on a day as significant as this.

As the servant carefully adjusted the royal cloak bearing the Targaryen sigil on his shoulders, Rhaegal couldn't help but steal a glance at the ornate wedding attire laid out on the bed. It was resplendent in shades of crimson and black, meant for a princess of House Targaryen. Today, Helaena would become his wife, his partner in the intricate dance of politics and power.

While excitement bubbled beneath his stoicism, he held onto the discipline that had guided him through countless battles. Rhaegal Targaryen was ready, but he allowed no one, not even his future bride, to see the depth of emotion that lay beneath the surface.

And so, as he prepared to embark on this new chapter of his life, the soldier prince stood tall, a symbol of strength and composure, ready to face whatever challenges and triumphs lay ahead in his union with Princess Helaena Targaryen.

The room was filled with a quiet sense of purpose as Rhaegal's servant finished fastening the last clasp on his royal attire. The cloak, bearing the Targaryen sigil, lay perfectly across his broad shoulders.

Rhaegal, with his platinum-blonde hair framing his strong, chiseled features, surveyed his reflection in the mirror one last time. He nodded, satisfied with his appearance, though his mismatched eyes held a hint of apprehension.

"Thank you," he said to the servant, his voice measured and controlled. The servant bowed respectfully and exited the room, leaving Rhaegal alone with his thoughts.

With practiced precision, Rhaegal slid Silverlight into its ornate scabbard, feeling the familiar weight of his sword. It was a companion he had trusted on countless battlefields, and today, it symbolized his readiness for the intricate political battles of the Targaryen court.

As he turned away from the mirror, his gaze landed on the wedding attire laid out for Helaena, a resplendent vision of crimson and black. The sight reminded him of the significant role they were to play in the intricate dance of the Targaryen dynasty.

Rhaegal's stoic facade remained firmly in place, but deep within, he couldn't deny a surge of anticipation. He knew that today marked the beginning of a new chapter in his life—one that held both challenges and triumphs. His marriage to Princess Helaena was a political alliance, but he couldn't help but wonder what the future held for them as husband and wife.

With one last glance at the mirror, he took a deep breath, his resolve unwavering. Today, he would stand before gods and men, pledging himself to Helaena, a princess of House Targaryen. As the soldier prince, he understood the importance of the union, and he was determined to fulfill his duty with honor and dedication.

Rhaegal exited the chamber, his steps steady and measured. The ceremony awaited, and he would face it with the same composure that had guided him through battles and challenges in the past. The soldier prince was ready for the next chapter of his life, even if the depth of his emotions remained hidden beneath his stoic exterior.

As Rhaegal stood ready, the weight of tradition and duty pressed upon his shoulders. His mismatched eyes, one amethyst and the other blue, held a depth of determination as he prepared to marry Princess Helaena Targaryen, a union that would bind two Valyrian souls together.

But Rhaegal was adamant that their marriage would honor their Valyrian heritage. They were dragons, descendants of the old Valyria, and their union deserved to be celebrated in the ancient Valyrian way.

In the chambers where Helaena awaited, a sense of quiet reverence filled the air. The ceremony would be performed before the crowd in the Throne room, a sacred place that had witnessed countless Targaryen unions.

Rhaegal, in his resplendent attire, made his way to the Throne room, where the room buzzed with excitement from the guests who were probably witnessing a Valyrian wedding for the first time. The quiet murmurs of guests could be heard as they gathered, eager to witness the Valyrian wedding.

As the ceremony began, the Valyrian words of binding echoed through the air, resonating with centuries of tradition. Rhaegal and Helaena exchanged vows in the ancient tongue, their words carrying the weight of their house and their legacy.

The hushed gathering of Targaryen family and trusted allies watched in awe as the Valyrian wedding ceremony unfolded. The air was filled with the weight of tradition, and the Valyrian words of binding echoed through the Throne room.

The Valyrian ceremony continued with the offering of ancient Valyrian symbols—a silver chalice filled with the purest Dragonstone wine and a dragon's egg, symbolising the fire and blood that flowed through their veins. As the sun's rays filtered through the leaves, casting a warm glow over the couple, they each took a sip of the wine and touched the dragon's egg, a powerful symbol of their bond and destiny.

Rhaegal and Princess Helaena Targaryen, their amethyst and sapphire eyes reflecting the ancient lineage of Valyria, exchanged vows in the venerable tongue of their forefathers. Their words carried the resonance of centuries of Targaryen history, binding them together in a union that was as enduring as the Valyrian steel their house prized.

With half of Westeros as their witnesses, they sealed their vows with a kiss, a symbol of their commitment and love. The Targaryen sigil, a crimson dragon on a black field, was emblazoned on their garments, a testament to their shared heritage

With the blessing of the measter, the Valyrian ceremony was complete, and Rhaegal couldn't help but feel a profound connection to Helaena as they stood together before gods and men.

But they were mindful of the complexities of their world, where the Green Queen held sway. To honor both their Valyrian heritage and the political realities of their time, Rhaegal and Helaena decided to host a second ceremony, a Seven wedding, for the benefit of the Green Queen and her court.

After the Valyrian ceremony, the couple, still resplendent in their regal attire, where the Seven wedding was to take place was the same as the Valyrian Wedding.

Rhaegal's eyes, held a subtle blend of tradition and compromise. He understood the necessity of diplomacy in their world, and so he would entertain the Green Queen with grace and dignity.

The Seven wedding unfolded with the grandeur and opulence that was expected in the Targaryen court, pleasing the Green Queen and her supporters.

Through the day, Rhaegal and Helaena navigated the delicate balance between honoring their Valyrian roots and appeasing the political forces at play. It was a testament to their adaptability and strength as a couple, bound not only by love but also by the intricate web of Targaryen politics.

As the sun dipped below the horizon, casting a warm, orange glow over Dragonstone, Rhaegal and Helaena, united in both Valyrian and Green ceremonies, faced the future as husband and wife. Their love, their traditions, and their compromises were the foundation upon which their journey would unfold, a testament to the complexities of their world and their enduring commitment to each other.

The Throne Room of the Red Keep was transformed into a grand banquet hall, its towering iron throne overshadowed by the opulence of the occasion. The long, feasting tables were adorned with rich crimson and black banners, the colors of House Targaryen, and dragon motifs adorned the walls.

Rhaegal Targaryen, resplendent in his crimson and black attire, did not leave the side of his new wife, Princess Helaena Targaryen. She was a vision of Valyrian beauty, her flowing gown as ethereal as dragonfire, her eyes shimmering with joy.

The guests, an assembly of Targaryen kin, noble lords, and ladies from various houses, gathered to celebrate the union of the soldier prince and the princess. The atmosphere was filled with excitement and anticipation as they enjoyed the lavish feast.

As the evening progressed, Rhaegal led Helaena to the center of the Throne Room, where a space had been cleared for dancing. The couple stood together, their eyes locked, lost in the moment as they prepared for their first dance as husband and wife.

The soft strains of a Valyrian melody filled the air, and they began to move gracefully across the polished floor, their movements synchronised as if they had been dancing together their entire lives. The Throne Room seemed to fade away, leaving only Rhaegal and Helaena in their world of shared happiness.

As they danced, their connection deepened, and Helaena couldn't help but blush whenever their eyes met. Rhaegal, always composed and stoic, found himself enchanted by her beauty and grace. He whispered words of affection and love, meant for her ears alone, as they swayed to the music.

Slowly, other couples joined them on the dance floor, celebrating their union and the joyous occasion. The Throne Room came alive with the revelry of lords and ladies, their laughter and merriment echoing off the stone walls.

Rhaegal and Helaena continued to dance, their love and unity on display for all to see. In that moment, surrounded by the grandeur of the Red Keep and the warmth of their guests, they knew that their union was a cause for celebration, a testament to the enduring strength of House Targaryen.

As the night wore on and the feast continued, Rhaegal and Helaena remained inseparable, their bond deepening with each passing moment. Their Valyrian wedding had marked the beginning of their journey as husband and wife, and the celebration in the Throne Room was a testament to their love and the joy it brought to those around them.

In the Throne Room of the Red Keep, Rhaegal Targaryen and Princess Helaena Targaryen took to the center of the polished floor, bathed in the soft, flickering glow of dragon-themed candles. Their eyes locked, and they began to dance to the enchanting strains of a Valyrian melody.

Amid the grandeur of the Throne Room, Rhaegal leaned in, his voice a tender whisper that only she could hear over the music.

"You look radiant tonight, my love," he murmured. "Every star in the sky must be jealous of your beauty."

Helaena blushed, her smile brightening. Their movements were graceful, their bodies swaying in perfect harmony as they danced.

"And you, Rhaegal, are the most dashing soldier prince to ever grace the Red Keep," she replied with a fondness in her voice.

As they twirled, Rhaegal continued to whisper, his words filled with humour and love.

"Do you remember the time we met in the courtyard, and you tripped over your own gown?" he reminisced. "I thought you were trying to impress me with a dance move."

Helaena giggled, her laughter like a melodic tune. "You caught me before I could fall flat on my face."

Their laughter mingled with the music as they danced, their worries and the weight of their roles momentarily forgotten.

"Of course, I couldn't let you face that humiliation alone," Rhaegal chuckled. "It's a soldier prince's duty to save princesses from tripping mishaps."

Helaena's eyes sparkled as she remembered that day. "And you did so gallantly."

Their banter continued, Rhaegal ensuring that their minds were focused on the joy of the moment, not the expectations of their wedding night.

"And speaking of duties, my love," he said softly, "let's not think about the wedding night just yet. Tonight, we celebrate our union with joy and merriment."

Helaena nodded in agreement, her gaze locked onto his. "Agreed, Rhaegal. Let's savour this moment and the love we share."

As they danced, their whispered jokes and words of love created a bubble of happiness around them. The Throne Room seemed to fade away, leaving only the soldier prince and the princess in their world of shared laughter, love, and celebration.

Amid the splendour of the Throne Room, Rhaegal and Helaena's dance continued, their steps perfectly synchronised to the Valyrian melody that filled the air. Their eyes remained locked, and the world seemed to fade away as they danced together.

Rhaegal's voice, soft and filled with devotion, found its way into the quiet moments between the notes of the music.

"I promise you, Helaena," he whispered, his gaze unwavering, "I will protect you until the end of my days."

Helaena's heart swelled with emotion at his words. She knew what he meant, though the name went unspoken. It was a vow of love and commitment that extended beyond the dance, beyond the festivities of this night.

In that moment, she felt safe in his arms, secure in the knowledge that Rhaegal would always stand by her side. She smiled, her eyes shining with unspoken gratitude.

Their dance continued, and Helaena chose not to mention the looming uncertainties that hung in the air. She knew that with her father's passing, the realm teetered on the brink of war, a reality that could not be ignored. But tonight was for celebration, for love, and for the promise they held in their hearts.

As they moved gracefully across the floor, their unspoken understanding and the bond they shared deepened. It was a testament to the strength of their love and their willingness to face an uncertain future together.

In the midst of the joy and laughter that surrounded them, Rhaegal and Helaena's dance carried with it the weight of their unspoken vows and the unbreakable bond that would carry them through whatever challenges lay ahead.

As the hours of celebration unfolded in the Throne Room of the Red Keep, revelry and merriment filled the air. The festivities seemed endless, but the joyful atmosphere took an unexpected turn when Aegon, fueled by the excesses of wine, made a brash announcement.

"It's time for the bedding ceremony!" Aegon declared, his voice slurred with drunkenness.

The revellers, caught off guard, erupted into cheers and laughter, as was the tradition in many Westerosi weddings. However, the atmosphere quickly shifted when some of the more enthusiastic guests began to approach Rhaegal and Helaena, intent on taking part in the customary undressing of the bride.

Rhaegal, ever protective of his new wife, swiftly pulled Helaena away from the advancing guests. With determination in his mismatched eyes, he guided her through the maze of well-wishers and out of the Throne Room.

They arrived at the chamber they were to share from that night on, a haven of privacy away from the revelry. Rhaegal's stance was unwavering, and his voice held a firm edge.

"No one will enter this room," he declared to anyone who dared to approach. "I'll cut off the balls of anyone who attempts to step across this threshold without our consent."

His words were a stark reminder of his authority and his determination to protect Helaena's dignity and their shared moment. The threats hung in the air, a clear warning to those who might seek to invade their privacy.

Inside the room, Rhaegal closed the door behind them, creating a barrier against the world outside. He turned to Helaena, his expression softening.

"No one will intrude on our union," he assured her, his voice gentle. "We decide when and how our wedding night unfolds."

Their love and respect for each other were evident in that moment, as they stood united against the expectations and pressures of tradition. Together, they were ready to face whatever challenges lay ahead as husband and wife, on their terms, in their own time.

In the dimly lit chamber, Rhaegal and Helaena stood facing each other, the weight of the evening's events still hanging in the air. Helaena, poised to undress as per tradition, hesitated at the threshold of their new life together.

But Rhaegal, ever considerate and attuned to her emotions, gently placed a hand on her arm, stopping her.

"We don't need to do anything tonight," he murmured, his mismatched eyes filled with understanding and love.

Helaena, overcome with emotions, felt a surge of gratitude and affection for her husband. In that tender moment, she leaned forward and kissed him straight on the lips. Their kiss was a sweet, heartfelt embrace, a testament to the depth of their connection and the love that had blossomed between them.

As they pulled away from the kiss, their eyes locked once more, and Rhaegal's hand gently cupped her cheek. In that moment, they understood that their love would guide them through the complexities of their world, and their wedding night, as significant as it was, could wait for a time when their hearts were ready.

In each other's arms, they found solace and comfort, a sanctuary of love and understanding. As they prepared to embark on the journey of marriage, they knew that their bond would be the foundation upon which they built their life together, a testament to the enduring strength of their love.

Much to Rhaegal's surprise Helaena deepened the kiss, her hand reaching up to touch his cheek, fingers moving through the very little stubble he let grow. Her lips were so soft and tasted of strawberries from the tarts he watched her eat happily during the feast.

"Hel, we don't have to" Rhaegal tried assuring her again. She smiled pulling away a little. Rhaegal thought she would stop then but what surprised him when she began undoing the bodice of her dress.

"But I want to" She muttered, blushing furiously. Seeing the tremble in her hands, Rhaegal reached over taking both of her hands into his and pulled them up to kiss them both.

"Alright, but do tell me to stop when you feel uncomfortable or in pain or just simply want to stop" Rhaegal did not proceed from there until she gave him a nod.

Rhaegal leaned down claiming her lips gently, not wanting to overwhelm her anymore. He let go of her hands to wrap them around her waist instead and pulled her closer to his body. Helaena's hand moved to hold his muscular biceps as she tried to imitate the way his lips moved and kiss him back.

Rhaegal with careful movement began removing Helaena's heavy wedding dress, one piece at a time until she was left only in her linen. He groaned at the sight of her perky nipples peaking through the white fabric. A small spot was also present at the front of her linen showing her arousal.

"You look delicious, dōna vaokses" Sweet spider. Rhaegal murmured with his gruff voice. Helaena clenched her thighs at the sound of his voice, at the nickname he had given her, sweet spider? Her favorite insect? It was too much.

"Kepus" Uncle. Helaena whispered her plea. Rhaegal smiled sweetly down at her. He crouched down slightly to place his hands behind her thighs before standing up again straight. Helaena squealed a little as he pulled her up with him, her legs moved to wrap around his waist for support and her arms wrapped around his shoulders. She blushed when she heard laughter behind the door, people were listening in on them.

"Ignore them, dōna vaokses" Rhaegal whispered. Helaena nodded slightly and looked down at him instead of the door. She leaned down and captured his lips with her own missing the feeling of his lips.

Rhaegal moved towards the bed and gently moved to kneel on it before laying her on her back on it. He remained on top of her. His hands moved down to feel her thighs pulling them off his waist, his hands grabbing at them, kneading the flesh wanting to feel more of her soft skin.

His lips trailed down to her neck, placing gentle kisses, she deserved nothing but kindness, she was a gentle soul. She deserved nothing but the best.

Helaena's breathing picked up as Rhaegal trailed down to kiss down to the neckline of her linen. A gasp tore through her lips when his fingers ripped the edges and ripped it right down the middle. Rhaegal chuckled at her reaction and looked up watching her face. Her eyes looked dazed almost. Her fingers ran through his loose hair, playing with the strands before grabbing a fist of it gently and pushed his head closer to her flesh.

Rhaegal obeyed and resumed kissing down to her breasts. They were perfect, she was perfect, that was all Rhaegal could think of. His lips trailed around her right breast before taking her nipple into his mouth. She moaned arching her back wanting to shove more of the flesh into his mouth. His hand moved up her bare stomach to grab the other breast and give it some attention.

"Kepus" Helaena whimpered. Her hand trailed down to his shoulder pulling him closer, frowning when she realised he was fully clothes still.

"Too much clothes" She whispered. Rhaegal let go of her tit with a pop. He sat up on his knees and began unbuttoning his shirt. Helaena watched with hooded eyes as Rhaegal shed one piece of clothing after the other.

"Gevie" Beautiful. She stated, sitting up to run her fingers from his shoulder to his belly, where it was littered with scars he gained through the years.

"You think so, dōna vaokses?" Rhaegal asked with a teasing smile. Helaena noticed that she had spoke out loud, blushed furiously. Rhaegal claimed her lips in a second pushing her back to lay fully on her back again.

"You are much much more Gevie, sweet Helaena" Rhaegal muttered against her lips. He slowly slid down littering kisses in his wake. Helaena's head fell back when he reached her breasts again.

He gave them the loved they deserved, kissing, kneading and littered them with bruises for people to see tomorrow, he will make sure she will wear one of his many gifts, a dress with a low neckline to show his marks off. So men would back away and never even think about coming near his wife ever.

His lips continued down to her belly, he pushed his tongue in her belly button teasing her. Helaena moaned, her fingers grabbing at his hair when he wet a sensitive spot she did not know was sensitive in the first place. Rhaegal smirked in victory and moved on.

He kneeled down on the floor, face to face with her crying cunny. He pushed her knees apart to show more of her beauty. Helaena's breath hitched in her throat, raising her head to watch his reaction.

Rhaegal winked at her before diving in. His tongue licked a long strip up her slit. Helaena's head fell back again on the mattress, she has never touched that area before, having been warned many times by her mother before.

Rhaegal found her swollen pearl with ease, it was just very swollen and ready to be devoured. He sucked at it earning a loud moan from Helaena. He moved down prodding at her hole with the wet muscle of his tongue.

"Kepus" Helaena begged. She sounded so sweet, she sounded so desperate. Rhaegal did not make her wait and pushed his tongue inside of her. Moaning at the taste of her cunt, the vibrations sent shockwaves through Helaena's body.

"You taste so sweet" Rhaegal complimented. He moved one of his fingers to touch her whole. Her whole body tensed at the feeling.

Rhaegal shushed her before slowly moving his finger inside of her. Tongue toying with her pearl to ease the discomfort. Helaena's grip on his head tightened but she did not protest. Rhaegal waited for her to stop him but after a couple of minutes it was obvious she was not going to.

"Good Vaokses" Spider. Rhaegal praised, he wiggled his finger inside of her in search of the rough spot all women had but not all men found.

The second he touched it Helaena's whole body jerked in shock. She has never felt such pleasure before in her life. Rhaegal slowly pushed a second finger inside testing the waters. Helaena's legs tried to close around him but his free hand pushed her leg open and she forced the second one open.

His tongue resumed it's torture on her pearl, he wanted this experience to be as pleasant as possible for her as it will be for him. His cock was throbbing but he did not touch it, no he wanted it to last and he will try as hard as possible to make it last.

"Helaena" He muttered against her pearl. Helaena's body jerked with the vibrations of his voice. Her breathing grew even more shallow.

"So full" She whimpered. A buzzing like feeling started taking over senses. Rhaegal smirked victorious as she orgasmed on his tongue and fingers not even knowing what was happening.

"So good" She cried, her back arched off the bed. Rhaegal's ear buzzed with anticipation he could barely hear the cheering outside of the room.

"Good Vaokses" Rhaegal pulled away from her cunt and climbed on top of her. Helaena looked at him with eyes full of love. He couldn't help but kiss her, she was just so beautiful. She moaned when she tasted herself on his lips.

"Ready?" He asked her. Her eyes trailed down to his throbbing length, eyes widened at the sight. She gulped but nodded her head either way.

"Tell me to stop if you want me to" He reminded her. Helaena took a deep breath and nodded.

Rhaegal groaned as he grabbed the base of his cock, he was sensitive even to his own touch after refusing himself pleasure for so long. He placed the tip on her pearl rubbing it slightly, moaning slightly at the feeling of her flesh on him. Helaena placed her hands on his shoulders preparing herself mentally.

After gathering enough of her wetness to cover his entire length he began pushing in the tip. Helaena groaned at the feeling, his fingers were nowhere near as big as his cock, even just the tip. He pushed himself inside of her inch by inch. Groaning when she latched her teeth to the flesh of his shoulder, but he did not dare complain because she was in much more pain than him.

"Uncomfortable" She whimpered. "So full" Rhaegal stopped all movement once he was full sheathed inside of her tight virgin cunt. He wanted to cry out with pleasure at the feeling but held himself back.

"Fuck" Came the word out of his mouth involuntary. Helaena nodded slowly giving him permission to continue. Rhaegal let out a loud moan by accident when he pulled out and pushed back. Helaena tensed when she heard the cheering yet again but soon forgot all about it with the rocking of Rhaegal's hips.

"More" She begged, eyes growing teary with pleasure. Rhaegal obeyed her, he was like a puppet now, he was fully cunt drunk, he was her slave and she knew nothing of how to control him. If she asked him to kill the whole world, he would mount Vyraxes and burn the world for her.

"Fuck, tightest cunt I've ever fucked" He groaned in her ear. Helaena's moans grew in volume, her arms pulling him closer, in search of his lips to silence herself.

Rhaegal lost full control at the taste of her lips, his hips went from rocking to fully slamming against hers. His hips snapped with no rhythm except lust desire.

Rhaegal swished his spit inside of his mouth before pushing it inside of her mouth. Helaena moaned not expecting to find spit swapping attractive but her body spasmed with the pleasure of it.

"Close" She whimpered against his lips. Rhaegal watched her face contract with pleasure. Her legs began shaking by his sides, her hands holding fists of his hair or flesh, eyes rolling back.

"Come on dōna vaokses, come on my cock" Rhaegal encouraged. Helaena cried loudly, body shaking, head falling back. Her cries turned to screams of pleasure, she wanted to stay in this moment forever.

"I'm gonna fill you up to the brim, you will be dripping my cum for weeks" Rhaegal growled. Helaena wanted nothing else, she found nothing else more desirable.

"Fill me up, kepus, give me a child, kepus" She cried. Rhaegal had half a mind to cover her mouth so no one would hear, those words were for his ears alone but then he wanted the entire world to hear, he wanted them to know who she belonged to.

"You want my child?" Rhaegal teased. One of his hands trailed down between their bodied finding her pearl. He tweaked it with care and love. Helaena let out a surprised scream, a scream Rhaegal was more than happy to go deaf listening to.

"Yes let me make you a kepa, kepus" Father, uncle. Helaena cried. Her beautiful curly platinum hair was around her head like a halo and Rhaegal wished for their children to have her hair shade instead of his. Hers was more beautiful, despite the little difference.

"Kepus" She begged, body spasming with a third orgasm. The tightness of her walls threw Rhaegal over the edge. He let out a deep growl as he spilled himself inside of her, painting her walls white. He hoped his cum would take and make them a beautiful child.

"Kepus" Helaena whispered. The cheering outside grew in volume when they could no longer hear their moans or the bed banging against the wall.

"Shhh, dōna vaokses" Rhaegal shushed her. He kissed her forehead as he pulled out of her red and swollen cunt. Helaena sniffled a little at the movement. Rhaegal moved to help her out of the shredded linen she wore still. There on the bottom was her innocence blood.

Rhaegal caring not for modesty walked over to the door and opened it a smidge to keep Helaena's naked form hidden, behind the door stood a group of men from other houses including Aegon, the queen and a smirking Daemon and maester.

"Leave" Rhaegal ordered throwing the linen in the face of the maester who pulled it away with disgust. The crowd cheered at the sight of the blood, not like Rhaegal's sweaty face and wet hair was enough proof of what was happening behind the door or the noises and moans.

"I said leave!" Rhaegal yelled when no one moved. The crowd still cheering did not grow disheartened but moved to leave the couple. The queen stayed a little longer trying to look into the room but Rhaegal slammed the door in her face after saying quickly "She is alright".

As Rhaegal retreated to their shared bed, the soft glow of candlelight casting a warm ambience in their chamber, they settled in, their hearts still racing from the emotions of the day. Helaena, exhausted and on the verge of sleep, welcomed Rhaegal's comforting presence.

Rhaegal curled up beside her, his arms wrapping around her as they lay in each other's embrace. He pressed a gentle kiss to her temple, his lips barely grazing her skin.

"Rest now, my love," he whispered, his voice a soothing lullaby in the quiet of the night. "Close your eyes, and let the dreams carry you away."

Helaena's eyes fluttered closed, her body relaxing against his. She listened to the cadence of his voice, feeling safe and cherished in his arms.

Rhaegal continued to whisper, his words filled with promises of a bright future, a future where their children would be silver-haired like them, beautiful like her, smart and intelligent like her, and strong like him. His hands moved gently across her stomach, his touch a silent prayer for the children they hoped to bring into the world.

"You and I," he murmured, "we will build a life filled with love, laughter, and the pitter-patter of little feet. Our family will be a testament to the love we share, a legacy of House Targaryen."

As he spoke, the weight of the day's events seemed to lift, replaced by the anticipation of the life they would create together. In the quiet of the night, their hearts beat in unison, and the promise of a future filled with love and family guided them into the realm of dreams.

Wrapped in each other's arms, they embarked on this new chapter of their lives, their hearts full of hope and love, ready to face whatever challenges lay ahead.

[aylacavebear]

Soulmates? Yeah, right, pft. - Ch. 16

When you turn sixteen, and your soulmate's name doesn’t appear anywhere on your body that you can find, you figure you had to be the only person on the planet who didn’t have one. Most of the town shuns you, so you stick close to family. Your Aunt Ellen raised you after your parents died in a car crash when you were two, but what happens when the Winchesters return to town and buried secrets begin to come to light?

Pairing: Mechanic Dean Winchester x OC Reader/You

Word Count: 3374

Warnings: Angst, suspense, emotional situations, The Tension is Growing, Fluff. (You might need the tissues for this one.)

A/N: This is my non-Supernatural fic I'm attempting. Please let me know what you think, as I always love hearing from my readers.

----------------------------------------- Chapter - 16

The sound of heavy footsteps echoed through the hallways as Dean, Benny, and Crowley rushed towards your room; spurred on by Dean’s sudden burst of intuition, he knew you were in trouble. One moment, he had been standing in the study with the others, and the next, a sense of foreboding had taken hold of him, driving him to take off toward your room for no apparent reason.

His heart pounded in his chest, a wild, desperate rhythm that matched the flurry of his thoughts. Worry and concert sent adrenaline coursing through every nerve in his body, propelling him forward. Dean was the first to reach your door, throwing it open in a panic. 

The sight that greeted him—the empty bed and the curtains swaying slightly in the breeze from an open window—sent a chill down his spine. It was as though the world had suddenly gone cold and dark, the air thick with the absence of you.

“Damn it!” Dean cursed, running a hand through his hair in frustration. His eyes darted around the room, taking in every detail, every shadow, every flicker of movement, searching for any sign of where you might have been taken or by whom. The sheets were rumpled, and a pillow lay on the floor, but other than that, the room looked untouched.

Crowley appeared behind him, his expression grim as he surveyed the room. “They were quick,” he muttered, moving to the window and looking out at the grounds. He knew he should have anticipated something like this; the other men on the grounds had only been a distraction to keep the hounds and his security occupied while the real threat made its move. 

“Sir, you’ll want to see this,” Ketch stated, now standing in the doorway, his expression unreadable.

Dean tore his gaze away from the room and followed Ketch, a sense of dread settling in his stomach. He could feel his pulse racing, his hands trembling slightly as he walked down the hallway. Each step felt like an eternity, the air thick with tension and unspoken fears. He could still feel you, so he knew you were alive, but that wasn’t what he was worried about most.

The three followed Ketch back down to the main room, then to a side room where there were three other men, their faces illuminated by the glow of computer monitors. They were all watching the footage, their eyes glued to the screen as they went through the recordings. 

“I didn’t think he’d send his best, but I should have,” Ketch told them, pausing one of the recordings from outside your room.

On the screen, it wasn’t just one man; it was a strike team, led by Asmodeus, the Vaught family’s tactical security lead. Alastair was there too, with two others, Ramiel and Dagon. It was the best the Vaughts had. Dean’s jaw tightened as he watched the footage, his eyes narrowing with a mixture of anger and fear. The precision with which they moved, the seamless coordination of their attack—it made his blood boil. His hands clenched into fists at his side, his knuckles turning white as he struggled to keep his emotions in check.

They’d come in through the window while you had been in the study, then hid in the shadows, waiting. The alarm linked to the window had never gone off. Once you sat down on your bed, Alastair approached you silently and, with a swift, practiced motion, injected something into your neck that knocked you out instantly. They then lifted you gently, as if handling a fragile doll, and slipped back out the window.

“Olivia has already been taken into custody and is being questioned,” Ketch informed Crowley, his tone cold and efficient. “I’ve also already sent out two security teams to retrieve your guests from earlier.”

“Good. Now, to make a phone call,” Crowley replied, his voice calm but tinged with a steel-like determination. He was pleased at how quickly his security team had gotten the job done. His next focus was to get his informant to find you before the end of the following day.

Meanwhile, on the other side of town…

You woke up in a dimly lit room, your head throbbing and your body aching from where you had been roughly handled, or perhaps it was whatever you’d been injected with. You weren’t quite sure. The smell of dampness and decay filled the air, making it difficult to breathe. As you tried to get up, you realized your hands were bound tightly behind your back to the chair, and your legs were tied to the chair at your ankles, restricting your movement. Panic rose in your chest like a wave, but you fought to stay calm.

For a moment, you thought about calling out but decided to stay silent, listening instead. The sound of dripping water echoed somewhere in the distance, a steady, rhythmic plink that seemed to amplify the silence around you. Your vision was still a bit blurry from whatever had been used on you to knock you out, but you could still make out the faint outlines of the room around you. It reminded you of an old abandoned brick building. No light came in through the broken or nonexistent windows, and you let out a sigh of relief that it was still nighttime.

As you shifted a little in the chair, the ropes dug into your wrists, and you winced slightly at the burn against your skin. Your mind raced with thoughts of how you could escape your new predicament. You didn’t even have your phone on you and were still in your pajamas, which only added to your vulnerability. As your vision cleared up, you took in more details of wherever you’d been taken.

It was clear that it had been planned. To your left, you saw a desk with a small lamp on it, casting a dim, flickering light across several pieces of paper strewn across it. The immediate area around the chair you were tied to had been completely cleared of any and all debris—not even a tiny shard of glass or metal could be seen on the floor. The door on the wall on the far side of the room was closed, but you couldn't tell if it was locked.

The nightmare you’d had back at the bunker taunted your thoughts, only making your heart pound harder in your chest. Now you were worried about Dean and whether or not he was safe or if the Vaughts had gotten him too. You forced yourself to take slow, deep breaths, reminding yourself that you were more level-headed than this and could figure it out, slowly calming yourself down.

Back at Crowley’s Mansion…

In one of Crolwey’s lavish sitting rooms, Ellen, Sam, John, Mary, Bobby, and Jody were gathered. Each of them was tense; Ellen paced the room, her fists clenched, while Sam leaned against the wall, arms folded tightly. John stood beside Mary, their faces a mix of worry and annoyance. Bobby and Jody sat on the edge of their seats, their eyes darting toward the door each time someone passed by.

When Crowley, Dean, Benny, and Ketch entered, the atmosphere became even more charged. Ellen immediately moved and confronted Crowley, her eyes blazing with anger. “You were supposed to keep her safe!” she exclaimed, her voice shaking with fury.

Crowley met her gaze, unperturbed. “Relax, I’m handling it,” he replied cooly, his tone dismissive.

Ellen’s face flushed with anger. “Handling it? She’s been kidnapped, and you’re telling us to relax?” She took another step toward Crowley, her voice rising. “If anything happens to her—”

“Ellen,” Dean interjected, his voice strained but gentle, trying to calm her down. “Crowley made some calls. We have to be patient, even if it’s killing me too.” 

Sam pushed off the wall, his voice firm but tinged with frustration. “Patience? We’re supposed to sit here and wait while she’s out there with the Vaughts?”

Jody nodded in agreement, her eyes dark with worry. “We can’t just sit around and do nothing. We need to take action.” Crowley raised his hands, a gesture meant to placate them. “I assure you, we’re doing everything we can. The police and FBI have been notified, and my contacts are on the lookout.”

Ketch moved to the window, his gaze fixed on the grounds outside, watching as the shadows danced in the moonlight. He berated himself silently for not being more prepared for something like this. He wasn’t happy at the fact that Crowley had left finding you to someone he wasn’t too keen on trusting.

Unable to shake his worry, Dean walked over to the whiskey and poured himself a glass, his hand shaking slightly as he lifted it to his lips. Even with the distance between you, he could feel you—feel your fear and confusion, and it tore at him. He took a deep drink, hoping the alcohol would settle his nerves and dull the connection he felt with you. But nothing could ease the sense of dread gnawing at his heart.

Mary, noticing Dean’s distress as only a mother could, moved closer to him and placed a gentle hand on his arm. “We’ll find her, Dean,” she said softly, her voice filled with conviction. “We won’t stop until she’s back with us.” Dean nodded, his jaw clenched as he struggled to maintain his composure. “I know, Mom. I just… I should have told her a month ago, and maybe things would be different.” His voice broke slightly, and he took another deep drink of the whiskey, his eyes glistening with unshed tears he refused to let fall.

“We’ll find her, son. We’re not gonna let the Vaughts get away with this.” John added, his voice gruff but supportive.

Crowley glanced down at his phone, seeing a text come in. A pleased smile found its way to his lips—It was subtle, a mere twitch of his mouth—but it was enough to give away his satisfaction. He stayed quiet, though, knowing that the news was not yet conclusive, but it was a lead nonetheless.

Back in the Abandoned Warehouse…

You had continued to struggle against the ropes, binding your hands behind the chair. Each movement tore at the skin of your wrists, but the sting of pain was a small price to pay for the hope of freedom. The fear that had initially gripped you was slowly draining away, replaced by a fierce sense of determination.

You gritted your teeth and pulled harder against the binding, your frustration and annoyance fueling your efforts.

I can’t just sit here and wait to be rescued. I have to find a way out of this.

With each tug and twist of your wrists, you swore you felt the ropes loosening, ever so slightly. The room around you was silent except for the distant sound of the dripping water, a reminder of the isolation and danger you were in. But you refused to let despair take hold. Instead, you focused on the task at hand, using your anger and frustration as a source of strength.

Suddenly, the sound of muffled footsteps pulled your attention toward the door on the far side of the room. Your heart raced as fear and anticipation flooded back in a rush. You glanced at the door, then quickly returned your focus to the ropes, working frantically to loosen them.

What if it’s them coming back? I have to get out of here.

The footsteps grew louder, then stopped just outside the door. You held your breath, your eyes fixed on the door, but it didn’t just open. Whoever was on the other side was picking the lock, and you furrowed your brow with confusion for a moment. Then, the door began to creak slowly open as a figure stepped into the room.

“Hey, princess,” a female voice drawled from the shadows. The figure stepped forward, revealing a woman with dark, wild hair and a mischievous grin. She wore a leather jacket and black boots, her eyes sparkling with a mix of amusement and determination.

You had no idea who she was or even why she was there, and all you could do was stare at her, confused. She quickly approached you and pulled a dagger from her boot. “You got yourself in quite the mess,” she commented sarcastically as she cut the ropes holding you to that chair.

You barely had time to process what was happening. The moment she had the ropes cut, she grabbed your hand and began leading you quickly to the door. Your mind was racing with questions, but there was clearly no time to ask them. She seemed very insistent on getting both of you out of there, quickly.

“Who—” you started to say, but she cut you off with a sharp look.

“Not now. We need to move,” she said, her voice low and urgent. 

You quickly went to the desk and scanned the papers sitting there. There has to be something useful, or it wouldn’t be here. The woman followed you, only giving you enough time to grab one piece of paper before she grabbed your hand and led you out of the room. You did manage to shove it into your pocket as the dimly lit hallway came into view. Her grip on your hand was firm, guiding you through the dimly lit corridors of the abandoned building.

Being barefoot wasn’t helping, and you winced as you stepped on the debris scattered across the floor. The pain of small cuts and bruises on the bottoms of your feet was a reminder of the urgency of the situation.  As you made your way through the building, you could hear distant voices and the sound of footsteps approaching.

We have to hurry, you thought, fear and adrenaline driving you forward.

She practically dragged you over to a sleek black car parked nearby. “Get in, we don’t have much time,” she told you quickly, worry laced in her words as she slid into the driver’s seat.

You scrambled into the passenger seat, your heart pounding in your chest. She had the car started before you even got the door closed behind you. “Buckled up,” she said, her tone leaving no room for argument.

As you fumbled with the seatbelt, she pulled the car out of the empty parking lot, the tires screeching as she accelerated down the street. You glanced back at the warehouse, half-expecting to see your captors chasing after you. The city lights blurred past the windows as the woman navigated the streets with practiced ease, her eyes focused on the road.

“Who are you?” you finally managed to ask, your voice still trembling slightly from the adrenaline coursing through your veins.

She glanced at you, a hint of a smile playing on her lips. “Name’s Meg. Crowley called in a favor. You must be pretty important.” Meg replied, her tone laced with a touch of amusement. “He doesn’t cash in a favor for just anyone.” She returned her attention to the road, her grip on the steering wheel tight, her demeanor calm and composed.

You nodded, still trying to process everything that had happened. “Thank you. Do you know if Dean is safe?” you said softly, your voice filled with genuine gratitude but also laced with worry.

Meg’s expression turned serious, her eyes flicking toward you briefly. “I was only told about you. Crowley didn’t give me any other details,” she answered plainly, her focus returning to the road and the cars around her.

Your mark burned, not realizing it was your connection to Dean, but you didn’t press the topic further. You looked out the side window, watching the city lights flicker and fade into the distance. She’d gotten you out of that place, and for that, you truly were grateful. But now, your thoughts kept drifting back to Dean and the nightmare from the bunker.

What else is he keeping from me? The question lingered in your mind, gnawing at you like an unsolved mystery.

Meg stayed silent during the drive, the car filled with the soft hum of the engine and the distant sounds of the city. She didn’t even turn on the radio. Your gaze was fixed on the passing scenery, but your thoughts were focused elsewhere, trying to piece together the missing parts of the puzzle. It was like a car just waiting for the battery to be connected—the answers were so close, but you couldn’t seem to grasp them.

The sudden stop of the car jolted you from your thoughts, bringing your focus back to the present. You found yourself at the familiar wrought iron gates of Crowley’s estate. Four guards were posted at the gate, their eyes scanning the area as Meg approached.

They recognized the car and quickly waved it through once the gates opened. As the car passed through, you couldn’t help but feel a sense of relief wash over you. You were safe, at least for the moment.

Meg parked near the steps and killed the engine. “Let’s go, princess,” she said, her tone light but urgent, as if there was more going on than you were aware of.

You nodded, your movements still a bit stiff from the ordeal, and slipped out of her car. Meg joined you only moments later, her posture relaxed yet alert as she scanned the area one last time. The sky was just starting to lighten with the early hints of dawn, casting a soft glow over the estate as the two of you ascended the steps. 

Before you could reach the doors, they burst open, and Dean rushed out, taking the steps two at a time. Relief and worry were etched across his face, his eyes searching for any sign of injury or distress. Without a word, he pulled you into a tight embrace, holding you close as if he were afraid to let go.

“I thought I lost you,” he whispered, his voice thick with emotion. The relief in his voice was palpable, and at that moment, he decided he was going to tell you everything: no more secrets and no more waiting.

You wrapped your arms around him, resting your head against his chest. His heartbeat was steady and strong, a reassuring rhythm that helped ground you. “I’m okay,” you murmured, your voice muffled against his shirt. “Meg saved me.”

Dean glanced over at the woman, recognizing the name but not her, before pulling back slightly. His hands rested on your shoulders as he looked into your eyes, searching for any signs of distress. “I’m sorry,” he said, his voice rough with emotion. “I should have told you everything from the start. No more secrets, I promise.”

You let out a sigh of relief, thankful he’d finally fill in the missing pieces of the puzzle that had been your life. Meg had already headed inside, leaving the two of you alone on the steps. The early morning light cast a soft glow around you, and the quiet of the moment felt almost sacred. 

As Dean reached down to take your hand, you winced slightly, which caused him to frown with concern. He gently lifted your hands, inspecting the cuts and irritated skin from where you had struggled against the ropes. “Let’s get these cleaned up,” he told you softly, his voice filled with a tenderness that made your heart ache.

Without warning, Dean scooped you up into his arms, cradling you against his chest. You let out a surprised squeal, followed by a chuckle. “You could have warned me,” you teased, already feeling far more relaxed, knowing that he was safe and that they hadn’t gotten him too.

Your squeal had brought a small, relieved smile to Dean’s lips. Having you in his arms finally soothed the storm that had been raging through him since you’d been taken. “I’ve got you,” he whispered, his eyes softening as he looked at you. “I’m not letting anything happen to you.” Dean didn’t care if you chose to reject him after, but first, he was going to tend to your wounds—wounds he felt he could have prevented if he’d been upfront from the beginning.

----------------------------------------- Chapter 17

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[ghostchems]

sacred blasphemy - catholic priest!copia x f!oc

chapter one: blood!

in another world, copia has become a catholic priest after being drawn to it during his childhood in an orphanage. he is content with his life, finally feeling grounded and like he belongs -- until a new face in his flock captures his attention.

author’s note: this is the project i’ve been talking about for the past few weeks! eventual smut, my friends, but nothing too spicy here. this story came about because a lot of fic i’ve read and also written have the papas as the seducers, the ones who draw “innocent” people to join the satanic church with their charm and sexiness so i thought what if i did it the other way around. about 4k words. ao3 link!

The young boy stood motionless in the schoolyard, his arms wrapped tightly around his chest in a protective embrace. He remained there, a still figure amidst the bustling playground, his heart pounding with anticipation. Time seemed to slow as he waited, knowing full well what was coming but powerless to stop it.

Suddenly, the air was split by the unmistakable sound of rubber against skin. A dodgeball, thrown with cruel precision, struck the boy squarely in the face. The impact was immediate and intense, causing his nose to erupt with blood. As it trickled down his face, a strange sense of relief washed over him. The nuns, alerted by the commotion, rushed to his aid, their habits fluttering as they escorted him swiftly to the infirmary. Despite the pain and the metallic taste of blood in his mouth, the boy felt a small spark of triumph. His plan had worked – he had successfully escaped the dreaded dodgeball game, just as he had hoped.

He found solace in the quiet sanctuary of the infirmary. The gentle care he received there was a balm to his battered spirit. The nun tended to his injury with practiced hands and he felt a sense of peace wash over him. Seeking further comfort, he reached for the Bible that lay nearby. It really should have been his by now. He opened its well-worn pages. The ancient words spoke to him, offering wisdom and solace in equal measure. He immersed himself in the sacred text, allowing its timeless messages to soothe his troubled mind and provide a temporary escape from the harsh realities of his daily life.

Every trip to the infirmary ended with wondering when this would all be over. When he would be free of this place. The thought both terrified and excited him. The infirmary, with its antiseptic smell and quiet atmosphere, had become a strange sort of sanctuary. Here, at least, he was safe from the chaos of the playground and the cruel taunts of his fellow orphans. he'd always felt like an outsider, never quite fitting in anywhere. His appearance didn’t help. He was a gangly child, oddly proportioned child and his eye certainly didn’t make people want to be friends with him.

But he knew he couldn't stay here forever. Sooner or later, he would have to face the world outside these walls. He turned another page of the Bible, his eyes scanning the words without really reading them.

***

This has been a long time coming for the priest.

He surveyed the parking lot as members began to arrive for mass, a content smile on his face.

Copia's journey to this moment had been a long and winding one. The sense of displacement he felt as a child led him to seek solace in faith, eventually finding his calling in the priesthood. The path hadn't been easy - there were moments of doubt, struggle, and loneliness that echoed his childhood experiences. But now, standing before his congregation, he felt a sense of peace and belonging he'd long yearned for, a stark contrast to his rootless beginnings.

As more people filed into the church, some stopping to shake his hand, Copia reflected on how far he'd come. The hardships of his past had shaped and guided him here. He felt settled, grounded in a way he never had before. This small church, this community—it was home. Though it had taken some getting used to on their part. He was the strange priest with the ghostly white eye. The one who sometimes had dark circles around his eyes, rumored to be from any number of things. Definitely not your typical priest. His appearance had initially raised eyebrows and sparked whispers among the congregation. Some had even questioned whether he was fit to lead their church in the wake of beloved Father Acosta’s retirement. But Copia's genuine compassion and unwavering dedication to his flock had gradually won them over. Very gradually. Still, he couldn't help but notice the occasional curious glance or startled reaction from newcomers, though that wasn't very often.

He shook the thoughts off, focusing on the message he was about to deliver. Copia was excited to share his homily today, having worked on it for the last few days. The message he had prepared felt particularly poignant, addressing themes of acceptance and unity within the community, drawing inspiration from Ephesians 4:2-3: "Be completely humble and gentle; be patient, bearing with one another in love. Make every effort to keep the unity of the Spirit through the bond of peace." He hoped his words would resonate with the congregation and foster a sense of belonging for all members - a belonging that he would gladly provide after being deprived of it for so long in his own life. The irony wasn't lost on him; the outsider now creating a space of inclusion for others.

“Father Copia!”

Copia spun around at the sound of his name, a warm smile spreading across his face as he recognized the pair approaching him. Mark, a single father who had become a regular at the church, was gently guiding his daughter Maisie forward.

"Ah, good morning, Mark! And hello there, Maisie," Copia greeted them, his voice softening as he addressed the shy little girl. Maisie, usually hesitant to make eye contact, was clutching something in her small hands.

"Go on, sweetheart," Mark encouraged, giving her a gentle nudge. "Show Father Copia what you made."

With a deep breath, Maisie stepped forward and held out a piece of paper. Copia knelt down to her level, his mismatched eyes twinkling with curiosity. "What's this, little one?"

Maisie's voice was barely above a whisper. "I... I drew you, Father."

Copia carefully took the offered drawing, his heart swelling with emotion as he examined it. There in bright crayon strokes, was an unmistakable portrait of himself. Maisie had captured every detail - his black cassock, his graying brown hair, and most notably, his distinctive eyes. One was scribbled a deep green, while the other was left white.

"M-Maisie," Copia breathed, genuinely touched. "This is beautiful. Th-thank you so much." He looked up at the girl, who was now beaming with pride. "This is, ehm… this really is me."

Mark chuckled, resting a hand on his daughter's shoulder. "She's been working on it all week. Wouldn't let me see it until it was finished."

Copia stood, still holding the drawing carefully, almost unable to tear his eyes away. “This is going straight to my office. I'll treasure it always, piccolina." The little girl's shy smile grew wider, and Copia felt a warmth spread through his chest. He was so touched by Maisie's gesture that he felt a lump forming in his throat. He tried to mask it with a cough, urging them to get to their pews. "Thank you again," he managed, his voice slightly rough. "Please, take your seats. We'll be starting soon." As Mark and Maisie moved away, Copia took a moment to compose himself, touched by the unexpected kindness. He carefully folded the picture and tucked it into his pocket.

The last few congregants entered the church with Copia watching, taking a deep breath to center himself. The moment had arrived. With a final glance at the sky—a calming ritual he'd long practiced—he turned and strode towards the entrance. His mind was already racing with anticipation. He could feel the weight of his responsibility, the trust his congregation had placed in him. As he stepped into the church, the familiar scent of incense and old wood enveloped him, grounding him in the present moment. Even so, the chasuble always felt heavy on his shoulders. It was green today — to represent the 17th Sunday in Ordinary Time. He let it drape over him, heavy yet calming. Copia took his place at the altar, ready to begin the service.

His eyes swept over the congregation. The familiar faces of his flock brought comfort, but a new presence caught his attention. A nun he hadn't seen before sat in one of the back pews, her head bowed in prayer. Something about her struck him as... different, though he couldn't quite place why. His gaze lingered on her as the words to his introduction fell effortlessly from his lips until a sudden, sharp pain flared behind his left eye — his white eye. The sensation was entirely new, a stinging that made him blink rapidly. Copia faltered for a moment, taken aback. He'd never experienced anything like it before, especially not during a mass.

He recovered quickly, his hands flying into motion as he continued his sermon. His fingers danced through the air, emphasizing key points with dramatic gestures. The congregation seemed to lean in, captivated by his animated delivery. His Italian heritage shone through in every sweeping motion and expressive flick of the wrist.

"And so, my dear brothers and sisters," Copia proclaimed, his hands spread wide, "we must remember that our faith is not just words, but actions." He brought his palms together. "It is in our deeds that we truly show our love for God and our fellow man." As he spoke, Copia found his natural rhythm, his earlier discomfort fading into the background. His hands continued to paint pictures in the air, bringing his message to life with each gesture.

Throughout the service, Copia found his gaze drawn back to the mysterious nun. Her posture, the way she held herself during the hymns, it all seemed slightly off-kilter for a woman of the cloth. He shook off the feeling, chiding himself for being distracted during mass. As a priest, his focus should be solely on the service and his congregation. Yet, there was something undeniably intriguing about this newcomer. Copia silently admonished himself, refocusing his attention on the sacred rituals at hand. He took a deep breath, centering himself in the familiar rhythms of the mass.

When it came time for communion, Copia's heart rate inexplicably quickened as the line of parishioners moved forward. The new nun approached and he felt an odd tension in the air. She raised her head, and their eyes met. Copia's breath caught in his throat. Her eyes were a striking shade of blue, almost luminous in the church's dim lighting.

"The body of Christ," Copia intoned, his voice steady despite his inner turmoil.

"Amen," the nun replied, her voice a low, melodious whisper that sent an unexpected shiver down Copia's spine. To his surprise, she opened her mouth instead of raising her cupped hands as most parishioners did. He exhaled slowly, steeling himself, momentarily thrown by this deviation from the usual practice.

He placed the communion wafer on her tongue, his finger brushed it ever so slightly. A jolt of... something... passed between them, leaving Copia momentarily stunned. The nun's lips curled into the faintest of smiles as she turned away, leaving Copia almost shattered. Shaking himself mentally, he continued with the communion, but his thoughts kept drifting back to those piercing blue eyes and that enigmatic smile.

The last of the parishioners returned to their seats, Copia moved back to the altar, a place of safety for him. He carefully cleaned the sacred vessels, his movements deliberate and reverent. The familiar ritual helped to calm him, pushing away the lingering thoughts of the nun. He felt like he was in autopilot for the rest of Mass, not his favorite feeling in the world but he was at least able to get through it. He raised his hands, inviting the congregation to stand for the prayer after communion. “Let us pray," he intoned, his voice carrying through the church. He recited the prayer, asking for God's continued blessings and grace upon those who had received the Eucharist.

After the prayer, Copia shared his usual weekly announcements with the congregation. He reminded them about the upcoming parish potluck and called for volunteers for the food bank drive. The attentive parishioners responded with nods and murmurs of agreement. These community events and opportunities to give back were truly Copia's favorite aspects of his role—even more so than having an audience for his sermons. Such initiatives held a special place in his heart; after all, he'd benefited greatly from them during his own upbringing.

Finally, it was time for the Concluding Rite. Copia spread his arms wide, his voice warm as he spoke the familiar words: "The Lord be with you." The congregation responded in unison, "And with your spirit." He then gave the final blessing, making the sign of the cross over his flock. Mass drew to a close, members began filing out of their pews and Copia felt a mixture of relief and lingering unease. The service had gone well, despite the unexpected distraction. Yet as he watched the congregation file out, his eyes couldn't help but search for a glimpse of blue eyes and a nun's habit among the departing crowd.

He lingered in the pull for a moment longer then made his way into the crowd, exchanging warm greetings and engaging in light conversation. He found himself particularly drawn into a chat with Margot, a cherished elderly parishioner who never missed a Sunday service.

"Father Copia," Margot beamed, her eyes twinkling with excitement, "I can't wait for the potluck! I'm planning to bring my famous lemon tarts. Everyone always seems to enjoy them so."

Copia's face lit up at the mention of Margot's renowned dessert. "Ah, your lemon tarts are truly a blessing, Margot. I'm looking forward to them myself." He leaned in conspiratorially, "I'm thinking of making pasta for the event. I, eheh, got the new Martha Stewart cookbook and..."

Their pleasant exchange was interrupted by a gentle tap on Copia's shoulder. He turned to find Sister Laura, one of the regular nuns, standing beside the mysterious newcomer he had noticed earlier.

"Father," Sister Laura began, her voice warm but formal, "I'd like to introduce you to our newest member, Sister Veronica."

Copia's breath caught in his throat as his eyes met those striking blue ones once again. Sister Veronica offered a small, shy smile. He took her in, trying to be discreet. She was petite, with wisps of dark hair escaping from beneath her habit. Her posture seemed self-protective, arms wrapped around herself. Copia couldn't help but notice how her blue eyes sparkled with an inner light, a contrast against her pale skin. He quickly averted his gaze, reminding himself of his position and the impropriety of such thoughts.

"It's a pleasure to meet you, Father Copia," Sister Veronica said, her voice carrying the same melodious quality he remembered from communion.

Copia reached out to shake her hand as he felt a familiar stirring within him - a temptation he had grappled with before. The touch of her hand sent a jolt through him, reminiscent of their earlier encounter during communion.

"Welcome to our parish, Sister Veronica," Copia managed, his voice steady the discomfort that warred inside him. "I hope you'll find a home here with us."

Sister Veronica's smile widened, her eyes crinkling at the corners. "Thank you, Father. I already feel welcomed." She glanced around the church, her gaze lingering on the ornate stained glass windows. "It's a beautiful parish you have here."

Copia nodded, his eyes following her gaze. "Indeed, we are blessed with such beauty. Perhaps… I could, eh, give you a tour sometime, show you some of the hidden treasures?" The words left his mouth before he could stop them, and he felt a flush creep up his neck. Sister Veronica's eyes widened slightly, a hint of something unreadable flickering in their depths.

Sister Laura, sensing the tension, cleared her throat softly. "Father, perhaps you could tell Sister Veronica about our upcoming potluck? I'm sure she'd love to contribute."

Copia blinked, grateful for the interruption. "Ah, yes, of course," he replied, his voice a touch higher than usual. "We'd be delighted to have you join us, Sister Veronica. It's a wonderful opportunity to meet the congregation."

Sister Veronica nodded, her blue eyes sparkling with interest. "That sounds lovely, Father. Perhaps I could bring my grandmother's secret recipe for cannoli?" She glanced at Sister Laura, who nodded approvingly. Copia felt a flutter in his chest at the mention of the Italian dessert, one of his favorites.

"That's perfect, Sister Veronica," Copia said, his tone polite but brief. "I look forward to trying it." He nodded to both nuns. "If you'll excuse me, I have some matters to attend to. Sister Laura can help you with any other questions."

With that, Copia turned and walked briskly towards his office, his mind spinning with frantic thoughts of what he was feeling. In almost a blink of an eye, he had arrived, quickly seeking the solace. He leaned against the closed door, his heart racing. A panicked laugh escaped his lips, echoing in the silence of his office. "Why?" he whispered to himself, running a hand through his hair. "Why do I feel this way?"

The image of Sister Veronica's piercing blue eyes flashed in his mind, causing a shiver to run down his spine. He shook his head vigorously, trying to dispel the thoughts. This wasn't right. He was a man of the cloth, dedicated to his faith and his congregation. These feelings... they were inappropriate, forbidden even.

Copia pushed himself away from the door and paced the small confines of his office. His hands fidgeted restlessly, a nervous habit he'd never quite shaken. "Get a hold of yourself," he muttered, his Italian accent thickening with his distress. He paused by his desk, his eyes falling on the worn Bible that always sat there. Guilt washed over him in waves. Copia sank into his chair, burying his face in his hands. He needed to pray, to seek guidance and strength. But for the first time in a long while, he felt off kilter.

Copia shook his head, trying to dismiss the worry. He reached into his pocket, pulling out a folded piece of paper - Maisie’s drawing. A deep sigh fell from his lips.

This was why he had chosen this path. This was his purpose - to guide, to protect, to be a beacon of hope for those who needed it most. The innocence and trust reflected in that simple drawing grounded him, reminding him of his vows and responsibilities.

"I will stay the path," Copia whispered to himself, his resolve strengthening despite the lingering worry about his eye. With renewed determination, he clasped his hands together and bowed his head in prayer, seeking the guidance he so desperately needed - not just for his spiritual dilemma, but now also for this unexpected physical concern.

As Copia he began, a sudden, sharp pain lanced through his eye. He winced, his hand instinctively reaching up to touch the affected area. The world around him began to blur, his vision swimming in and out of focus. Panic rose in his chest as he struggled to make sense of the plan.

He felt a warm trickle from his nose. Copia lowered his hand, his eyes widening in shock as he saw the crimson stain on his fingers. Blood. He was bleeding. In a daze, he fumbled for a tissue, his movements clumsy and uncoordinated. He pressed the cloth to his nose, his gaze fell upon the drawing in front of him. His entire body went rigid, a mix of anger and despair welling up inside. Droplets of blood had fallen onto the paper, marring the innocent crayon strokes with stark red splatters. Copia stared at the ruined drawing, his heart sinking. With trembling hands, he carefully folded the bloodstained paper and tucked it into his pocket.

More blood spilled from his nose, splattering on his desk. Panic ripped through him, his head feeling light and heart thundering in his chest. He stumbled to his feet, his vision still blurry, and rushed out of his office towards the restroom.

He collided with someone on the way because of course he did. Looking up, his heart skipped a beat as he recognized Sister Veronica's concerned face. The sight of her caused another surge of anxiety, and to his horror, he felt a fresh gush of blood from his nose.

"Father Copia!" Sister Veronica exclaimed, her blue eyes widening with alarm. "O-oh goodness! Here, let me help you."

He wanted to protest, to tell her he had it handled but the words refused to leave him. Sister Veronica gently guided him to a nearby alcove, away from prying eyes and he followed silently. She produced a clean handkerchief from her pocket and began to dab at the blood on his face with a tenderness that made Copia's heart race even faster.

"Tilt your head forward slightly," she instructed softly, her warm fingers on his chin sending an involuntary shiver through him. "It'll help stop the bleeding." Copia complied, feeling a mixture of gratitude and unease at her proximity. The scent of her - a subtle mix of incense and something floral - filled his senses, making it hard for him to focus on anything else.

"Thank you, Sister," he managed to mumble, his voice muffled by the handkerchief. "I... I don't know what came over me."

Sister Veronica's eyes met his, filled with genuine concern. "It's alright, Father. These things happen. Just take deep breaths. Are you feeling any better?"

Copia nodded slightly, acutely aware of her gentle touch as she continued to tend to him. The bleeding seemed to be slowing and he was grateful. He took a deep breath and a wave of nostalgia washed over him. The gentle care and the clean scent of the handkerchief transported him back to his childhood days in the infirmary. He remembered the kind nuns who had cared for him then, their soft hands and soothing voices a balm to his young, troubled soul. The memory brought a bittersweet ache to his chest.

"It's... it's been a rather strange day for me," Copia finally spoke up, his voice slightly shaky. He met Sister Veronica's concerned gaze, feeling a mix of vulnerability and unease. "I apologize for troubling you with this, Sister."

Sister Veronica's expression softened, a gentle smile gracing her lips. "There's no need to apologize, Father. We all have our difficult days. Is there anything else I can do to help?"

Copia felt a warmth spread through his chest at her kindness, even as he struggled with the conflicting emotions her presence stirred within him. He shook his head slightly, careful not to dislodge the handkerchief. "Your assistance has, eh, been more than enough, Sister. Thank you." Copia gave a deep sigh. "I'll make sure this is spotless when I return it to you, Sister." He tugged at the handkerchief.

Sister Veronica shook her head gently, her blue eyes warm. "Please, keep it, Father. Consider it a small token of welcome to your parish."

"Thank you again, Sister," he whispered, raising his hand to hold the handkerchief to his nose. As their fingers brushed, Copia felt a familiar jolt course through him.

Sister Veronica's expression softened further. "I'm here if you need any assistance, Father. Please don't hesitate to ask." She lingered for perhaps a moment too long, then turned to leave, her footsteps echoing softly in the hallway.

As Copia watched her retreating figure, he felt a twinge in his chest - a mixture of gratitude, confusion, and something else he dared not name. He took a deep breath, relieved to find that the blood flow had finally stopped.

Lowering the handkerchief, Copia leaned against the wall.

A strange day indeed.

[starogeorgina]

Twin flames

Warning: Swearing, age gap

Pairing: Daemon Targaryen × Targaryen OC

1.01

Notes: Viserys and Alicent’s children have been aged up to be aged 20+

Tears trickle down your face as you try to stifle a sob with the sleeve of your dress. The satin material covering your wrists appears darker than the rest due to your dampening it by wiping your eyes. If you weren’t in the library, you would have ripped the sapphire dress to shreds. Like most of your clothing, your husband had it specially made to match the gem in his eye, rubbing salt on the wound that was your sham marriage.

It was moments like these that you wished time could stop, at least for a few moments, to fully decompress the events that had taken place within the last twenty-four hours.

The previous night, you’d laid awake waiting for Aemond to return from riding on Vhagar, and when he eventually did, he couldn’t bring himself to look at you. It was a telltale sign he’d been with his whore; not that you cared much about who he stuck his cock into; it was simply because you had an agreement that on his part he’d failed to keep.

“You’re never going to put a babe in me, are you?”

His silence was the answer he was too much of a coward to say out loud. Not having a child after four years of marriage made you a failure in the eyes of your family, not that your mother would ever believe it was due to your brother not wanting to consummate the marriage; of course the problem must have lay with you. There were many nights you thought about going to your other brother's chamber, you knew Aegon wouldn’t refuse to fuck you. The following morning, things got worse. Your uncle Daemon arrived from Dragonstone to visit his brother, your father, King Visery, and his mere presence had put Aemond in a more foul mood than normal. A lord from some house you’d never heard of before was stupid enough to question Rhaenyra’s son's heritage in front of the rogue prince, resulting in his being fed to Caraxes.

It was bittersweet seeing your uncle being so overprotective of your eldest sister and her sons when your own husband was most likely making you the butt of his own jokes.

Deciding you needed a distraction from thinking about the Lord being burned alive, your mother's shaming, and your husband's rejection, you survey the dusty books until you find one of your favorite historical books. 𝒜𝑒𝑔𝑜𝓃 𝐼'𝓈 𝒲𝒶𝓇𝓈 𝑜𝒻 𝒞𝑜𝓃𝓆𝓊𝑒𝓈𝓉. Sighing, you go to the chair in the darkest part of the library and begin to read.

—

“Isn’t it a bit late for reading Adele?”

Getting a fright, you almost leap from the chair. One hand rests on your racing heart while the other grips the book tightly. Frowning, you look over your shoulder to see your uncle staring down at you with an unreadable expression on his face. Still startled, you only manage to speak one word, “what?”

“Is it not Adele?”

Of course, he didn’t even know your name. You look back down at your book and say, “No, it is not.”

“I’m just jesting with you,” Daemon says, coming to the other side of the chair. He crouches down so he is level with you. “I’m very aware of who you are, Princess Adela. I’ve heard many things about you over the years; the tales of your beauty have not been exaggerated.”

You keep your head lowered so he’s unable to see the blush spreading across your cheeks. “Thank you.”

A few moments of silence pass before the prince speaks again. “You’ve been crying,” he says, “do you wish to share your troubles with me?”

“Troubles aren’t something I share so freely, uncle.”

Suddenly he cups your face gently, and his thumb brushes your bottom lip from the left to the right, only stopping when it reaches the corner of your lip, gently touching the scar that runs down to the bottom of your chin. “It is wise to keep your own counsel, but tell me, what fate awaited the fool who dared lay a hand on you?”

You shudder at the memory. A phantom pain forms in the scar on your face and the hidden one on your forearm. You had heard many stories about your uncle's adventures in life, your favorite being the battle of the stepstones, so naturally you felt embarrassed to admit it was your own brother who hurt you by accident during a stupid argument.

You clear your throat. “You were right, uncle; it is rather late for reading. I bid you goodnight.”

“Would you like me to escort you back to your chambers?”

“No, but thank you for the offer. Perhaps I’ll see you tomorrow.”

You leave the library feeling slightly flushed and head towards your bedchamber, hoping the knights and servants who surveyed the halls didn’t see how red your cheeks were. Daemon was more handsome than you remembered, and although he had only touched your face to get a better look at your scar, goosebumps still prickled across your body.

You need to find yourself another distraction before you let your mind wander too far.

—

𝘗𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘤𝘦 𝘋𝘢𝘦𝘮𝘰𝘯 𝘸𝘢𝘴𝘯’𝘵 𝘢 𝘮𝘢𝘯 𝘸𝘩𝘰 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘦𝘢𝘴𝘪𝘭𝘺 𝘴𝘩𝘢𝘬𝘦𝘯, 𝘣𝘶𝘵 𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘭𝘦𝘧𝘵 𝘧𝘦𝘦𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘢 𝘧𝘰𝘰𝘭 𝘢𝘵 𝘩𝘰𝘸 𝘩𝘦’𝘥 𝘢𝘱𝘱𝘳𝘰𝘢𝘤𝘩𝘦𝘥 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘯𝘪𝘦𝘤𝘦 𝘢 𝘧𝘦𝘸 𝘩𝘰𝘶𝘳𝘴 𝘱𝘳𝘪𝘰𝘳, 𝘸𝘩𝘪𝘤𝘩 𝘪𝘴 𝘩𝘰𝘸 𝘩𝘦 𝘧𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘥 𝘩𝘪𝘮𝘴𝘦𝘭𝘧 𝘴𝘸𝘪𝘨𝘨𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘣𝘢𝘤𝘬 𝘢𝘭𝘦 𝘪𝘯 𝘢 𝘴𝘤𝘳𝘶𝘧𝘧𝘺 𝘣𝘢𝘳 𝘪𝘯 𝘧𝘭𝘦𝘢 𝘣𝘰𝘵𝘵𝘰𝘮. 𝘞𝘩𝘦𝘯 𝘩𝘦 𝘯𝘰𝘵𝘪𝘤𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘤𝘢𝘳 𝘰𝘯 𝘈𝘥𝘦𝘭𝘢’𝘴 𝘧𝘢𝘤𝘦, 𝘢 𝘧𝘪𝘦𝘳𝘺 𝘪𝘯𝘴𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘤𝘵 𝘬𝘪𝘤𝘬𝘦𝘥 𝘪𝘯; 𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘢𝘯𝘵𝘦𝘥 𝘯𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘮𝘰𝘳𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘯 𝘵𝘰 𝘴𝘭𝘢𝘺 𝘸𝘩𝘰𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳 𝘩𝘶𝘳𝘵 𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘥𝘢𝘳𝘬 𝘴𝘪��𝘵𝘦𝘳. ����𝘦 𝘤𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥𝘯’𝘵 𝘶𝘯𝘥𝘦𝘳𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘸𝘩𝘺 𝘩𝘦 𝘧𝘦𝘭𝘵 𝘴𝘰 𝘱𝘳𝘰𝘵𝘦𝘤𝘵𝘪𝘷𝘦 𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘳 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘨𝘪𝘳𝘭 𝘩𝘦 𝘩𝘢𝘳𝘥𝘭𝘺 𝘬𝘯𝘦𝘸, 𝘣𝘶𝘵 𝘵𝘰𝘶𝘤𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘧𝘢𝘤𝘦 𝘮𝘶𝘴𝘵 𝘩𝘢𝘷𝘦 𝘮𝘢𝘥𝘦 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘯𝘪𝘦𝘤𝘦 𝘶𝘯𝘤𝘰𝘮𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘵𝘢𝘣𝘭𝘦 𝘣𝘦𝘤𝘢𝘶𝘴𝘦 𝘩𝘦 𝘯𝘰𝘵𝘪𝘤𝘦𝘥 𝘩𝘰𝘸 𝘴𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘲𝘶𝘪𝘳𝘮𝘦𝘥.

𝘏𝘦 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘪𝘯𝘵𝘳𝘪𝘨𝘶𝘦𝘥 𝘣𝘺 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘮𝘢𝘯𝘺 𝘵𝘢𝘭𝘦𝘴 𝘩𝘦 𝘩𝘢𝘥 𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘥 𝘧𝘳𝘰𝘮 𝘷𝘢𝘳𝘪𝘰𝘶𝘴 𝘮𝘦𝘯 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘸𝘩𝘰𝘮 𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘰𝘤𝘪𝘢𝘭𝘪𝘴𝘦𝘥; 𝘮𝘰𝘴𝘵𝘭𝘺, 𝘩𝘦’𝘥 𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘥 𝘴𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘢𝘴 𝘦𝘲𝘶𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘺 𝘣𝘦𝘢𝘶𝘵𝘪𝘧𝘶𝘭, 𝘱𝘰𝘴𝘴𝘦𝘴𝘴𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘢 𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘥𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘵𝘦𝘥 𝘯𝘢𝘵𝘶𝘳𝘦 𝘢𝘴 𝘴𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘴𝘢𝘥. 𝘞𝘩𝘪𝘤𝘩 𝘶𝘯𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘵𝘶𝘯𝘢𝘵𝘦𝘭𝘺 𝘴𝘦𝘦𝘮𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘰 𝘣𝘦 𝘵𝘳𝘶𝘦. 𝘐𝘵 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘢 𝘵𝘳𝘶𝘦 𝘵𝘳𝘢𝘨𝘦𝘥𝘺 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘢 𝘛𝘢𝘳𝘨𝘢𝘳𝘺𝘦𝘯 𝘵𝘰 𝘧𝘦𝘦𝘭 𝘴𝘰 𝘢𝘭𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘪𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘭𝘥.

𝘝𝘪𝘴𝘦𝘳𝘺𝘴 𝘩𝘢𝘥 𝘮𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯𝘦𝘥 𝘩𝘦 𝘢𝘭𝘸𝘢𝘺𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘰𝘶𝘨𝘩𝘵 𝘰𝘧 𝘉𝘢𝘭𝘦𝘳𝘪𝘰𝘯 𝘸𝘩𝘦𝘯𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳 𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘢𝘸 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘨𝘦𝘴𝘵 𝘤𝘩𝘪𝘭𝘥 𝘳𝘪𝘥𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘪𝘳 𝘥𝘳𝘢𝘨𝘰𝘯, 𝘣𝘶𝘵 𝘋𝘢𝘦𝘮𝘰𝘯 𝘥𝘪𝘥𝘯’𝘵 𝘱𝘳𝘺 𝘪𝘯𝘵𝘰 𝘸𝘩𝘪𝘤𝘩 𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘈𝘥𝘦𝘭𝘢 𝘤𝘭𝘢𝘪𝘮𝘦𝘥. 𝘛𝘩𝘦 𝘮𝘰𝘮𝘦𝘯𝘵 𝘩𝘦 𝘢𝘴𝘬𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘰𝘰 𝘮𝘢𝘯𝘺 𝘲𝘶𝘦𝘴𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯𝘴, 𝘝𝘪𝘴𝘦𝘳𝘺𝘴 𝘸𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥 𝘣𝘦𝘤𝘰𝘮𝘦 𝘴𝘶𝘴𝘱𝘪𝘤𝘪𝘰𝘶𝘴 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘫𝘶𝘮𝘱 𝘵𝘰 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘳𝘰𝘯𝘨 𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘤𝘭𝘶𝘴𝘪𝘰𝘯. 𝘋𝘢𝘦𝘮𝘰𝘯’𝘴 𝘳𝘦𝘭𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯𝘴𝘩𝘪𝘱 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘣𝘳𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘩𝘢𝘴 𝘳𝘦𝘮𝘢𝘪𝘯𝘦𝘥 𝘴𝘵𝘳𝘢𝘪𝘯𝘦𝘥 𝘢𝘧𝘵𝘦𝘳 𝘧𝘢𝘭𝘴𝘦 𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘦𝘨𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯𝘴 𝘰𝘧 𝘩𝘪𝘮 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘙𝘩𝘢𝘦𝘯𝘺𝘳𝘢 𝘣𝘦𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘴𝘱𝘰𝘵𝘵𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘰𝘨𝘦𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘪𝘯 𝘢 𝘣𝘳𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘭 𝘴𝘱𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘳𝘰𝘶𝘨𝘩 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘬𝘦𝘦𝘱.

𝘏𝘦 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘰𝘯𝘭𝘺 𝘤𝘶𝘳𝘪𝘰𝘶𝘴 𝘢𝘣𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘯𝘪𝘦𝘤𝘦 𝘴𝘪𝘯𝘤𝘦 𝘪𝘵 𝘩𝘢𝘥 𝘣𝘦𝘦𝘯 𝘤𝘭𝘢𝘪𝘮𝘦𝘥 𝘴𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘰𝘯𝘭𝘺 𝘤𝘩𝘪𝘭𝘥 𝘰𝘧 𝘈𝘭𝘪𝘤𝘦𝘯𝘵’𝘴 𝘸𝘩𝘰 𝘸𝘢𝘴𝘯’𝘵 𝘢 𝘵𝘰𝘵𝘢𝘭 𝘤𝘶𝘯𝘵.

𝘈𝘭𝘵𝘩𝘰𝘶𝘨𝘩 𝘩𝘦 𝘥𝘪𝘥𝘯’𝘵 𝘩𝘢𝘷𝘦 𝘢𝘯 𝘰𝘱𝘪𝘯𝘪𝘰𝘯 𝘰𝘯 𝘗𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘤𝘦𝘴𝘴 𝘏𝘦𝘭𝘢𝘦𝘯𝘢, 𝘩𝘦 𝘥𝘦𝘴𝘱𝘪𝘴𝘦𝘥 𝘈𝘦𝘨𝘰𝘯 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘈𝘦𝘮𝘰𝘯𝘥 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘪𝘳 𝘤𝘳𝘶𝘦𝘭 𝘵𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘵𝘮𝘦𝘯𝘵 𝘰𝘧 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘥𝘢𝘶𝘨𝘩𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘴 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘙𝘩𝘢𝘦𝘯𝘺𝘳𝘢’𝘴 𝘴𝘰𝘯𝘴. 𝘗𝘦𝘳𝘩𝘢𝘱𝘴 𝘈𝘥𝘦𝘭𝘢 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘥𝘪𝘧𝘧𝘦𝘳𝘦𝘯𝘵 𝘣𝘦𝘤𝘢𝘶𝘴𝘦 𝘴𝘩𝘦 𝘨𝘳𝘦𝘸 𝘶𝘱 𝘪𝘯 𝘖𝘭𝘥𝘵𝘰𝘸𝘯, 𝘢𝘸𝘢𝘺 𝘧𝘳𝘰𝘮 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘱𝘰𝘪𝘴𝘰𝘯𝘰𝘶𝘴 𝘴𝘯𝘢𝘬𝘦𝘴 𝘪𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘬𝘦𝘦𝘱. 𝘏𝘦 𝘩𝘢𝘥 𝘰𝘣𝘴𝘦𝘳𝘷𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘱𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘤𝘦𝘴𝘴 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘳𝘢𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘢𝘳𝘵𝘪𝘴𝘵𝘪𝘤; 𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘢𝘵𝘤𝘩𝘦𝘥 𝘧𝘳𝘰𝘮 𝘢 𝘥𝘪𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘯𝘤𝘦 𝘢𝘴 𝘴𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘢𝘵 𝘩𝘢𝘱𝘱𝘪𝘭𝘺 𝘥𝘳𝘢𝘸𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘪𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘨𝘢𝘳𝘥𝘦𝘯𝘴 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘮𝘢𝘪𝘯𝘭𝘺 𝘬𝘦𝘱𝘵 𝘵𝘰 𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘴𝘦𝘭𝘧 𝘸𝘩𝘦𝘯𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳 𝘴𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘢𝘱𝘱𝘳𝘰𝘢𝘤𝘩𝘦𝘥 𝘣𝘺 𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘴. 𝘏𝘦 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘤𝘳𝘢𝘷𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘰 𝘬𝘯𝘰𝘸 𝘮𝘰𝘳𝘦. 𝘏𝘪𝘴 𝘣𝘳𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘩𝘢𝘥 𝘢𝘭𝘴𝘰 𝘱𝘳𝘰𝘶𝘥𝘭𝘺 𝘮𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯𝘦𝘥 𝘩𝘰𝘸 𝘮𝘶𝘤𝘩 𝘤𝘩𝘢𝘳𝘪𝘵𝘺 𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘬 𝘈𝘥𝘦𝘭𝘢 𝘥𝘰𝘦𝘴 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘱𝘰𝘰𝘳, 𝘰𝘧𝘵𝘦𝘯 𝘨𝘪𝘷𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘮𝘰𝘯𝘦𝘺 𝘵𝘰 𝘱𝘦𝘰𝘱𝘭𝘦 𝘪𝘯 𝘯𝘦𝘦𝘥 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘷𝘪𝘴𝘪𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘰𝘳𝘱𝘩𝘢𝘯𝘢𝘨𝘦𝘴.

“𝘔𝘺 𝘗𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘤𝘦!” 𝘈 𝘮𝘢𝘯 𝘤𝘩𝘦𝘦𝘳𝘧𝘶𝘭𝘭𝘺 𝘴𝘢𝘺𝘴 𝘣𝘦𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘦 𝘴𝘭𝘢𝘱𝘱𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘋𝘢𝘦𝘮𝘰𝘯 𝘰𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘣𝘢𝘤𝘬 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘯 𝘴𝘪𝘵𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘥𝘰𝘸𝘯 𝘣𝘦𝘴𝘪𝘥𝘦 𝘩𝘪𝘮, 𝘴𝘱𝘪𝘭𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘮𝘶𝘤𝘩 𝘰𝘧 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘥𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘬 𝘢𝘴 𝘩𝘦 𝘥𝘪𝘥. “𝘐𝘵’𝘴 𝘣𝘦𝘦𝘯 𝘧𝘢𝘳 𝘵𝘰𝘰 𝘭𝘰𝘯𝘨, 𝘮𝘺 𝘧𝘳𝘪𝘦𝘯𝘥, 𝘧𝘢𝘳 𝘵𝘰𝘰 𝘭𝘰𝘯𝘨.”

“𝘐𝘯𝘥𝘦𝘦𝘥 𝘪𝘵 𝘩𝘢𝘴,” 𝘋𝘢𝘦𝘮𝘰𝘯 𝘯𝘰𝘥𝘴. 𝘗𝘰𝘶𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘩𝘪𝘮𝘴𝘦𝘭𝘧 𝘢𝘯𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘥𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘬 𝘸𝘩𝘪𝘭𝘦 𝘵𝘳𝘺𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘰 𝘳𝘦𝘮𝘦𝘮𝘣𝘦𝘳 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘮𝘢𝘯 𝘩𝘦 𝘰𝘯𝘤𝘦 𝘥𝘳𝘢𝘯𝘬 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘳𝘦𝘨𝘶𝘭𝘢𝘳𝘭𝘺. 𝘙𝘦𝘮𝘶𝘴? 𝘙𝘪𝘤𝘩𝘢𝘳𝘥? 𝘞𝘩𝘰 𝘬𝘯𝘦𝘸.

𝘓𝘰𝘴𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘪𝘯𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘦𝘴𝘵 𝘪𝘯 𝘸𝘩𝘢𝘵𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘮𝘢𝘯 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘴𝘢𝘺𝘪𝘯𝘨, 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘱𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘤𝘦'𝘴 𝘦𝘺𝘦𝘴 𝘵𝘳𝘢𝘷𝘦𝘭𝘭𝘦𝘥 𝘢𝘤𝘳𝘰𝘴𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘳𝘰𝘰𝘮, 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘰𝘧 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘤𝘰𝘳𝘯𝘦𝘳 𝘰𝘧 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘦𝘺𝘦 𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘱𝘰𝘵𝘵𝘦𝘥 𝘢 𝘣𝘰𝘺 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘢 𝘴𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘭𝘦 𝘴𝘵𝘳𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘰𝘧 𝘭𝘰𝘯𝘨 𝘴𝘪𝘭𝘷𝘦𝘳 𝘩𝘢𝘪𝘳 𝘧𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘰𝘧 𝘢 𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘥𝘰𝘸𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘪𝘳 𝘣𝘢𝘤𝘬 𝘥𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘣𝘺 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘥𝘰𝘰𝘳𝘸𝘢𝘺, 𝘭𝘢𝘶𝘨𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘰𝘧 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘣𝘢𝘳 𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘧𝘧 𝘸𝘩𝘪𝘭𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘺 𝘤𝘩𝘦𝘦𝘳𝘦𝘥 𝘰𝘯 𝘢 𝘣𝘢𝘳𝘮𝘢𝘪𝘥 𝘸𝘩𝘰 𝘴𝘵𝘰𝘰𝘥 𝘶𝘱𝘰𝘯 𝘢 𝘵𝘢𝘣𝘭𝘦 𝘴𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘪𝘯𝘨. 𝘑𝘶𝘥𝘨𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘣𝘺 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘪𝘳 𝘤𝘭𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘴, 𝘩𝘦 𝘱𝘳𝘦𝘴𝘶𝘮𝘦𝘥 𝘪𝘵 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘢 𝘮𝘢𝘭𝘦 𝘸𝘩𝘰 𝘮𝘰𝘴𝘵 𝘭𝘪𝘬𝘦𝘭𝘺 𝘭𝘪𝘷𝘦𝘥 𝘪𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘵𝘳𝘦𝘦𝘵𝘴. 𝘛𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘢 𝘴𝘵𝘳𝘢𝘯𝘨𝘦 𝘴𝘦𝘯𝘴𝘦 𝘰𝘧 𝘧𝘢𝘮𝘪𝘭𝘪𝘢𝘳𝘪𝘵𝘺 𝘢𝘣𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘣𝘰𝘺. 𝘋𝘢𝘦𝘮𝘰𝘯 𝘰𝘣𝘴𝘦𝘳𝘷𝘦𝘴 𝘧𝘳𝘰𝘮 𝘢 𝘥𝘪𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘯𝘤𝘦; 𝘱𝘦𝘳𝘩𝘢𝘱𝘴 𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘣𝘢𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘳𝘥𝘪𝘴𝘦𝘥 𝘣𝘺 𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘰𝘧 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘯𝘦𝘱𝘩𝘦𝘸𝘴. 𝘏𝘦 𝘴𝘭𝘢𝘮𝘴 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘤𝘶𝘱 𝘥𝘰𝘸𝘯 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘧𝘰𝘭𝘭𝘰𝘸𝘴 𝘢𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘱𝘦𝘳𝘴𝘰𝘯 𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘷𝘦𝘴; 𝘪𝘵’𝘴 𝘯𝘰𝘵 𝘶𝘯𝘵𝘪𝘭 𝘩𝘦’𝘴 𝘰𝘶𝘵𝘴𝘪𝘥𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘩𝘦 𝘯𝘰𝘵𝘪𝘤𝘦𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘣𝘰𝘺 𝘳𝘶𝘯𝘯𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘢𝘸𝘢𝘺.

𝘍𝘰𝘳 𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦 𝘶𝘯𝘬𝘯𝘰𝘸𝘯 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘴𝘰𝘯, 𝘋𝘢𝘦𝘮𝘰𝘯 𝘱𝘶𝘭𝘭𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘩𝘰𝘰𝘥 𝘰𝘧 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘤𝘭𝘰𝘢𝘬 𝘶𝘱 𝘵𝘰 𝘤𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘳 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘧𝘢𝘤𝘦 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘣𝘦𝘨𝘪𝘯𝘴 𝘵𝘰 𝘤𝘩𝘢𝘴𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘣𝘰𝘺. 𝘐𝘵’𝘴 𝘯𝘰𝘵 𝘶𝘯𝘵𝘪𝘭 𝘩𝘦’𝘴 𝘤𝘭𝘰𝘴𝘦 𝘦𝘯𝘰𝘶𝘨𝘩 𝘵𝘰 𝘨𝘳𝘢𝘣 𝘩𝘪𝘮 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘩𝘦 𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘴 𝘢 𝘨𝘪𝘨𝘨𝘭𝘦 𝘦𝘴𝘤𝘢𝘱𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘪𝘳 𝘭𝘪𝘱𝘴. 𝘐𝘵’𝘴 𝘢 𝘨𝘪𝘳𝘭. 𝘐𝘯 𝘢 𝘥𝘢𝘳𝘬 𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘦𝘺, 𝘩𝘦 𝘨𝘳𝘢𝘣𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘮 𝘣𝘺 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘩𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥𝘦𝘳 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘱𝘪𝘯𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘮 𝘢𝘨𝘢𝘪𝘯𝘴𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘢𝘭𝘭. 𝘏𝘪𝘴 𝘭𝘪𝘱𝘴 𝘱𝘢𝘳𝘵𝘦𝘥 𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳 𝘴𝘰 𝘴𝘭𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵𝘭𝘺 𝘸𝘩𝘦𝘯 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘯𝘪𝘦𝘤𝘦 𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘳𝘦𝘥 𝘣𝘢𝘤𝘬 𝘶𝘱 𝘢𝘵 𝘩𝘪𝘮, 𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘭𝘪𝘭𝘢𝘤 𝘦𝘺𝘦𝘴 𝘩𝘢𝘻𝘺 𝘧𝘳𝘰𝘮 𝘸𝘩𝘢𝘵𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳 𝘥𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘬 𝘴𝘩𝘦 𝘩𝘢𝘥 𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘴𝘶𝘮𝘦𝘥.

“𝘚𝘰 𝘮𝘶𝘤𝘩 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘴𝘦𝘦𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘵𝘰𝘮𝘰𝘳𝘳𝘰𝘸, 𝘶𝘯𝘤𝘭𝘦.”

𝘏𝘪𝘴 𝘨𝘳𝘪𝘱 𝘵𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵𝘦𝘯𝘴. “𝘞𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘢𝘳𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘥𝘰𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦? 𝘐𝘵’𝘴 𝘧𝘢𝘳 𝘵𝘰𝘰 𝘥𝘢𝘯𝘨𝘦𝘳𝘰𝘶𝘴 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘵𝘰 𝘣𝘦 𝘢𝘭𝘰𝘯𝘦.”

“𝘐 𝘤𝘢𝘮𝘦 𝘵𝘰 𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘳 𝘛𝘦𝘴𝘴𝘢 𝘴𝘪𝘯𝘨. 𝘚𝘩𝘦 𝘥𝘰𝘦𝘴 𝘩𝘢𝘷𝘦 𝘢 𝘵𝘳𝘶𝘭𝘺 𝘢𝘯𝘨𝘦𝘭𝘪𝘤 𝘷𝘰𝘪𝘤𝘦.”

“𝘛𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘴𝘩𝘦 𝘥𝘰𝘦𝘴,” 𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘢𝘺𝘴, 𝘤𝘭𝘪𝘤𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘵𝘰𝘯𝘨𝘶𝘦 𝘢𝘴 𝘩𝘦 𝘭𝘰𝘰𝘴𝘦𝘯𝘴 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘨𝘳𝘪𝘱 𝘰𝘯 𝘈𝘥𝘦𝘭𝘢’𝘴 𝘴𝘩𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥𝘦𝘳. 𝘞𝘩𝘦𝘯 𝘢𝘯𝘨𝘳𝘺 𝘺𝘦𝘭𝘭𝘴 𝘤𝘰𝘮𝘦 𝘧𝘳𝘰𝘮 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘪𝘥𝘦 𝘰𝘧 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘦𝘺, 𝘩𝘦 𝘭𝘰𝘰𝘬𝘴 𝘶𝘱 𝘵𝘰 𝘴𝘦𝘦 𝘮𝘦𝘯 𝘧𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨. 𝘚𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨, 𝘩𝘦 𝘱𝘭𝘢𝘤𝘦𝘴 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘩𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘰𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘮𝘪𝘥𝘥𝘭𝘦 𝘰𝘧 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘯𝘪𝘦𝘤𝘦'𝘴 𝘣𝘢𝘤𝘬 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘴𝘢𝘺𝘴, “𝘐 𝘣𝘦𝘭𝘪𝘦𝘷𝘦 𝘪𝘵’𝘴 𝘵𝘪𝘮𝘦 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘶𝘴 𝘵𝘰 𝘳𝘦𝘵𝘶𝘳𝘯 𝘵𝘰 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘬𝘦𝘦𝘱. 𝘖𝘯 𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘸𝘢𝘺 𝘣𝘢𝘤𝘬, 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘤𝘢𝘯 𝘦𝘯𝘭𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵𝘦𝘯 𝘮𝘦 𝘰𝘯 𝘸𝘩𝘺 𝘢 𝘴𝘸𝘦𝘦𝘵 𝘨𝘪𝘳𝘭 𝘭𝘪𝘬𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳𝘴𝘦𝘭𝘧 𝘪𝘴 𝘪𝘯 𝘢 𝘧𝘪𝘭𝘵𝘩𝘺 𝘱𝘭𝘢𝘤𝘦 𝘭𝘪𝘬𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴.”

[call-sign-shark]

Folie à Deux

Summary: The Darkling x OC (Grishaverse) || Amos x Heaven (PB)

Five short blurbs in the mental hospital, where none of these troubled souls thought they would find love. Part I here: Happiness Therapy.

Content: tooth-rotting fluff, fun, mention of self harm, mention of crimes, sexual innuendo for the last one.

1: The Chess Game

Alone in their usual corner, the tall darkness and the killer doll were gathered around a chessboard set on a wobbly little table.

“Let me guess,” Amos drawled, resting his chin on his hand as his eyes surveyed the board first and the seraphic white-haired woman after. “You’ve never played chess.”

Heaven shifted in her seat, her pale hair falling over her face as she did. A little growl escaped from her lips. “No,” she finally admitted, one hand sliding her white locks behind her ear while the other was busy moving her pawn forward hesitantly. “But how hard can it be, uh?”

“To be fair…” Amos smirked, amused by the childish pout on her face, which offered a striking contrast with all the cuts she had on her arms. “Very”. Contrary to her, his hands moved with easiness — long fingers sliding his pieces across the board. The white creature furrowed her brows further, her icy eyes squinting at the black and white tiles like they held the secrets of the universe. Or rather, as if the rules would appear on them and bring her some understanding.

“That’s a terrible move,” Amos said when she reached for a bishop.

“How do you know?” she shot back, her voice defiant and her little but surprisingly sharp canine teeth flashing at him. She was started to become slightly irked by his little teasing remarks — Of course she didn’t know how to play! It was some kind of rich kids and nepobabies game, she argued with herself.

Amos leaned back, his black iris gleaming with amusement and a bit of lust, for the danger she exuded never failed to make him weak. “Because I’m going to destroy you in three moves.” He still said bluntly, his little smirk deepening and charming crow feet appearing at the corner of his eyes.

“Is that a challenge?” Heaven narrowed her eyes at him.

Amos grinned. “Oh, it’s a promise.”

Three moves later, her king was cornered and his prophecy was fulfilled. The killer doll groaned, collapsing back against her chair with a pout. “This game is stupid.”

“Not stupid,” Amos corrected. “Strategic.”

She glared at him but the little gleam that was twinkling in the frozen desert of her eyes was playful. “What’s the strategy? Annoy your opponent until they quit?”

“Exactly.” He retorted with a grin, resting his strong and warm hand softly on hers.

2: The Snowball Incident

The hospital courtyard was covered with a thick blanket of snow, frosty flakes still lazily swirling in the crisp air around them. Despite the freezing temperatures, patients were still allowed outside for fresh air with the supervision of nurses who looked both far too cold and tired to intervene in any mischief. Amos was standing beside the killer doll, watching her as she tilted her head back to catch snowflakes on her tongue.

“Childish,” he teased, stuffing his hands into his pockets. But his eyes, burning and piercing, remained fixed on the wet flesh of her tongue.

“You’re just jealous you didn’t think of it first,” she shot back, her diaphanous cheeks now pink from the cold.

Her reply only made the tall, dark-haired man scoffed. “I’m a man of sophistication. I don’t do things like—”

A snowball hit him square in the chest. A perfect shot with the precision of a sniper. Heaven froze, her eyes wide, clearly surprised at her own boldness.

Amos stared down at the snowy mark on his long black coat, then back at her, his lips twitching. “Did you just—”

Before he could finish, another snowball hit him at the exact same place. Then a second he managed to dodge before it hit his face.

“Alright, Lavey,” he said, and, not wasting time, the tall darkness crouched to scoop up his own handful of snow. “You want a war? You’ve got one.”

The next ten minutes were a blur of laughter, poorly aimed snowballs and challenging kisses. By the time the nurses called them back inside, Heaven’s long white hair was soaked and Amos’ coat too — which didn’t stop them from smiling brighter than they had in years.

3: Morning Rituals

Mornings were the worst, whether in isolation or in her casual bedroom. The bright lights and the endless monotony of routines always got on her nerves — so much she was certain it would be the death of her one day. Or the death of them, if she ended up snapping. However, Amos had a way of making them bearable.

Every morning, as they lined up for breakfast, he would greet her with some new absurdity. Some random, accurate but weird knowledge about something.

“Did you know,” he started one morning, leaning back against the wall as he usually did, “that penguins propose with rocks?”

At first Heaven didn’t know if it was another piece of informations or if, this time, his new meds were a tad bit too strong. “What?” She asked, blinking.

“It’s true,” he said, completely deadpan. “The male finds the smoothest rock he can and gives it to the female. If she accepts, they’re mates for life. Because they have one true love.” He added, making sure she knew his mind was clear.

“Why do you know this?” She asked, amused.

“I read it somewhere,” he said with a shrug. “Anyway, if I ever find the right rock, I’ll let you know.”

She laughed and for the rest of the day, she couldn’t stop thinking about penguins.

The day he left, Amos slid something in her pocket. It was a smooth and polished stone.

4: Dangerous

The common room was usually quiet for most of the patients had learnt to keep their distance. Some of them nervously glanced at the twisted lovers, not daring go close to the couch as if it had been proclaimed their throne.

Amos was sprawled out, his long legs taking up most of the space, while Heaven sat cross-legged beside him, tracing lazy patterns on the back of his hand with her fingertips. The pleasant sensation sent shivers down his spine.

“You ever notice how they look at us?” He asked, his voice low and his foot nervously moving — he was clearly annoyed by something.

She glanced up, her fingers pausing mid-pattern. “You mean like we’re about to snap and murder everyone?” Heaven suggested, one eyebrow raised.

“Hmm,” He nodded.

The crazy angel simply shrugged, “Well, you did disfigure someone and you are prone to ultra violent fits. And I… you know, the murder thing”

Her lack of compassion surprisingly managed to soothe his concerns and snatched a soft laugh from his lips before he leaned back on the couch and made a quick movement with his hand to silently tell Heaven to keep caressing him, “Fair point.”

She didn’t do as he wished. Instead, she grinned mischievously and lifted his hand to press it to her chest, right over her heart. “Feel that?”

Even surprised, his smirk deepened. “Your heartbeat?”

“Yeah,” she said, the hypnotizing lilt of her voice blending in a mix of playfulness and sincerity. “Totally normal. See? Not planning a murder right now.”

Amos chuckled but didn’t pull his hand away. Instead, he turned her hand over and gently pressed his smooth lips to her frail and bruised wrists, “Not quite normal. It started beating faster when you felt my lips…” He whispered, his void-black eyes locking onto hers. Her shivers were so intense he felt the goosebumps on her skin, “And what about me? Am I dangerous?”

Her heart skipped a beat: it wasn’t even a question, he was undoubtedly dangerous. Charming. Intense. Unpredictable. All these things that she only found in herself until now. Heaven tilted her head, pretending to consider.

“Yes you are. But I don’t think you’d hurt me.”

“Never,” he said softly, his voice barely above a whisper and the predatory gleam in his black iris turned into the purest form of affection and devotion.

5: Folie À Deux

Nightly visits were strictly forbidden but Amos had a knack for bending rules. When he entered the room, grinning like a kid sneaking into a candy store, she couldn’t believe it.

“They’ll kill us if they catch us,” she whispered, even though the slight curl of her lips fleshy betrayed her excitement.

“Correction,” Amos said, “They’ll kill me. You’re too charming for them to stay mad at.”

“You’re insane,” she muttered, her breath stopping for a moment when his hands found her waist in a firm grip.

“Yeah, and so you are. But you’re smiling, so I’d say it’s worth it.”

“Don’t be sill—“

“Do you want me to leave?” he interrupted, his voice gentle but firm. His smile faltered for a moment, his dark eyes looking at her with something different: raw and unfiltered emotions. He wasn’t joking anymore because he realized how madly in love with that crazy doll he was.

Heaven hesitated but only for a fleeting a moment before she shook her head. “No.”

That was all he needed. Right after, his lips found hers. Hesitantly at first, as if he was testing the waters — or still hesitating on giving in to her, knowing full well he'd give her the key to destroy him if. Knowing he was taking the risk of letting her break his heart. But when she melted into him, sinking in his arms with hers wrapped around his neck, the kiss deepened. It wasn’t rushed or desperate like their torrid quick fuck, but slow, deliberate. Not only they were savoring every moment, but they swore a silent oath: no matter what will happen in this life or the others, it will always be him and her.

Amos guided her backward toward the small bed, his hands on her waist keeping her steady. Until the backs of her knees hit the edge, she let herself fall on the mattress, pulling him with her.

In this Folie a Deux, he wasn’t the Darkling and she wasn’t the White Devil. Just two broken souls learning to breathe again. And suddenly, both the shadows and the voices didn’t feel so heavy anymore.

Peaky Blinders taglist: @justrainandcoffee @cillmequick @mischievouslittlecreature @evita-shelby @lunarubra @peakyswritings @jjovin3221 @shelbydelrey @zablife

Shadow and Bone taglist: @lunawants , @emtaz-art, @lightinbug, @kmc1989, @thepassionatereader

[moonlightequin1]

TWISTED WONDERLAND YUME/OC-SHIP FAN SURVEY: "the most popular characters to yume/self-ship/oc ship with" ✨

Hey Twisties! I decided to create a detailed Twisted Wonderland survey to see who are the most popular characters to yume/oc-ship with in the international side of Twisted Wonderland's fandom!

This fansurvey will end at the start of TWST JP's 4th anniversary which is March 18, 2024! So go ahead and throw in your submissions! FEEL FREE TO REBLOG AND SHARE THIS WITH YOUR FRIENDS!

‼️ WARNING HEADS UP‼️

If you are a TWST EN only player, please read the intro of the form since this will include SPOILER characters who have appeared! There WILL BE name-drops. Even if the form is long, please read everything before submitting.

[frogskelton]

Part 1 (maybe)

I should not of marked that survey for a week, didn’t know I could just mess a if whenever. But anyway, if another if that gets for votes than the mal and Alejandro one, I’ll prob make that too.

But like, I luv fanon Mal, like he’s so silly and goofy (where he writes oc x shadow the hedgehog.)

Another thing, forgot to mention in the Alejandro all star redesign post, I think it is such a waste that he never appears as a robot in roti except for the one moment where they show the cast in ep 1. Like he can just be muhahah and silly evil, being Chris petty assistant who might be trying to push him in the toxic waste. It also would of made him being revealed as the robot as all the most satisfying. If it were up to me he would be a reoccurring character in roti cause extra drama by being petty and had a moment where it was revealed in the final, or if that might distract from the final conflict, then the semi finale.

[theelizamanelli]

Tengoku

Reina Iyashi wants a normal, mundane existence until Satoru Gojo takes a special interest in her uncanny ability to bring people back to life (or so Itadori says) and offers her a job as his assistant at Jujutsu High. Tags: 18+, satoru gojo x female oc, boss x assistant, golden retriever x black cat, forced proximity, slow burn, romance, smut, fingering, dom/sub tendencies link to all chapters link to ao3

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Note to reader: you're welcome.

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Chapter Twelve

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The young girl slid the door closed, the opening dwindled as Gojo grinned - shooting Reina an encouraging thumbs up before disappearing. 

Her face hardened, she took a few steps backwards and leaned against the wall. The girl stood at the door - steadfast, piercing Reina with a dutiful stare as if to convey a warning: don’t try anything.

She crossed her arms with a sigh, closing her eyes. Gojo had been requested by a Jujutsu “Higher Up”, as he called them, to discuss his recent work. Reina was unsure what it was in reference to but from what she had gathered of this executive group - it was unlikely to be in Gojo’s favor. 

Peering at the girl, she observed her eyes shine as she flicked her blue hair over her shoulder. Reina scrunched her face, wondering what could have possibly happened to render that reaction.

“Kasumi?” called out a weathered voice from inside, the girl straightened - sliding the door open before entering.

“Gakuganji-sensei?” she responded, placing her hands behind her back.

Reina took a step forward, attempting to survey the room. An elderly man clad in a nagajuban sat directly across from Gojo, leaning forward slightly with a look of irritation on his face.

“Could you please get Satoru and I some tea?” he requested, not removing his eyes from Gojo who sat reclined - an arm draped over the back of the couch.

Kasumi bowed before exiting, she closed the door with a click before shaking her head in excitement - her feet tapping back and forth.

Reina shot her a look of confusion before leaning back against the wall. She returned quickly with a tray containing two cups and a teapot. Entering the room again, Reina tilted her head to the side - Gojo appeared as calm as before. 

Reina nodded in confirmation, returning to her relaxed position as Kasumi resumed her rigid stance. 

A silence spread between the two, Reina furrowed her brows, “Yes?” she inquired impatiently.

The girl’s eyes widened in response, “What?” she asked, looking around. “I didn’t say anything.” 

“You want to, though,” she uncrossed her arms and took a step towards her. She gestured with her hands to get on with it. 

“Are you really Satoru Gojo’s assistant?” she whispered.

Reina rolled her eyes, “That’s what you wanted to ask me?”

——————————————————————————————————

Satoru Gojo

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“What a waste of time, accepting good citizen awards and rescuing local pets,” Gakuganji spat, shaking his head at Satoru.

He stared at his nails, his legs crossed - bouncing lightly, “There are worse ways to spend my days,” he responded.

“There are also better ones,” he stated, taking a sip of his tea. “I highly recommend using your talents to achieve more fruitful goals.”

“You’ve said this before,” Satoru turned his head towards the door with a sigh. “Honestly, old man, I really don’t care.”

“You should take care to mind your tone when addressing your elders, boy,” Gakuganji warned, setting his cup down. “It is insolent, narcissistic, and destructive Jujutsu Sorcerers like you th-”. 

At the volume increase, the door roughly slid open hitting the frame with a thwack. 

“I’ve heard enough,” stated Reina, stepping into the room. 

Directing her attention to Gakuganji, she pointed a finger at his face, “You should take care to mind your words to the man who has sacrificed his life for the good of the people.”

“Excuse me?” he sputtered in response, standing to his feet. 

Satoru quickly straightened, positioning himself next to Reina who hadn’t moved - her finger still pointing in his direction. He softly put his hand on hers, guiding it towards her side.

“You heard her, old man.” Satoru directed Reina out of the room, though it was clear she had more to say. He pushed her lower back slightly to inch her further into the hallway before turning back.

“You’ll regret that!” rumbled Gakuganji.

Holding onto the door as he leaned through the opening, Satoru responded, “I’m trembling,” before strutting back to Reina. 

They exited the building, she rambled the entire way to Jujutsu High. Satoru occasionally caught a few words: “heinous”, “disrespectful”, “ungrateful” chief among them.

He slid his hands into his pockets, leaning his head to look at the sky - a slow smile spreading across his face. He had to admit that a low, warm feeling had spread through him at the sight of Reina’s defense. 

One that went straight to a place that made the back of his neck hot. 

——————————————————————————————————

The shop filled quickly, the clinking of glasses and sizzling of the teppanyaki floating through the air. 

“That’s a stupid plan and you know it, Itadori!” Kugisaki yelled, a piece of fish hanging from her chopsticks as she waved it in his face.

“Oh, come on! It’s not so bad!” He replied, excitedly recounting an option for how to exorcize the curse they were investigating that night. It was their first independent mission, and it was apparent that they were determined to perform well.

Fushiguro shoveled rice into his mouth, chiming in occasionally to provide an additional strategy. 

Reina observed the interaction fondly, laughing at how animated Kugisaki and Itadori would get - pulling Fushiguro into the dramatics.

Gojo intervened, grabbing Fushiguro by the neck to pull him into a side hug - earning him a sideways glare. He laughed in response, rubbing his face against his hair. 

Itadori sat to the left of Reina, she leaned over and muttered, “They are rather close, aren’t they?”

“Fushiguro doesn’t have any parents. I guess Gojo-sensei is the closest thing,” Itadori whispered in response with a shrug.

Leaning back, Reina observed the two - noting that Fushiguro would often act annoyed but the moment the antics ended he would look at Gojo with a fondness in his eyes. 

She smiled softly, taking a contemplative sip of her drink 

“You like Gojo-sensei, don’t you?” whispered Kugisaki from her opposite side.

Reina choked, coughing before wiping her mouth, “What?” she responded - her voice squeaking. 

“That’s what I thought,” she replied thoughtfully, returning to her food.

Standing outside of the restaurant, Gojo encouraged them to do their best and sent them off with a light-hearted “Don’t embarrass me.”

Itadori, Fushiguro, and Kugisaki pierced him with a steel stare, pumping their hands into the air with a “We won’t let you down!”

They began down the street - intermittently waving back to Gojo who dramatically returned their gesture. 

Reina caught herself laughing at the interaction. He was a good sensei, despite his idiotic tendencies. She reasoned that though he didn’t need it, he deserved to hear praise - when earned and within reason. 

“You’re a good teacher,” she mumbled, placing a hand on the back of her neck as she looked out into the street. “It’s obvious your students love you.” 

Gojo faltered momentarily, his eyes roaming over the pink coating her cheeks. 

“Be careful, Iyashi, this sounds dangerously close to you liking me,” Gojo responded, arching an eyebrow - a grin crossing his lips.

“Just trying to get you into a good mood before I request a raise,” replied Reina, dropping her arm to her side as she stared at him indignantly.

He chuckled, “Well, in that case - we have a job to do.”

——————————————————————————————————

“What are we doing?” asked Reina. The two were crouching behind a bush, Gojo peering over the top of the shrubs. 

He shushed her before responding in a whisper, “It may be their first mission by themselves but I would be the worst sensei ever if I let them fail.”

Reina rolled her eyes, resting her chin in her hand as she balanced her elbow on the top of her thigh. The next thirty minutes were spent following the three at a distance, ducking behind poles or flattening themselves to the sidewalk.

They slid into an alley, walking slowly - the three were on the other side of the wall, investigating the bridge. This meant the two were safe from their eyes for now.

“The great Satoru Gojo watching over his students like a mother hen,” she clucked with a grin. “I wonder what your fan club will think.”

He paused, straightening himself in an exaggerated manner, “They will recognize how paternal and thoughtful I am.”

Reina shook her head, starting for the end of the alleyway.

Gojo quickly pushed Reina against the wall, her cheek pressed against the brick.

“What ar-” She started but was quickly cut off with a gentle cover of his hand over her lips.

Itadori’s voice slipped through the air, a quick padding of sneakers on concrete slowly faded. 

Gojo made no effort to remove himself from behind Reina, his hand dropping from her mouth to softly grab her chin. She could feel her heartbeat pound in her ears. 

“He’s gone, Gojo,” Reina whispered, her voice uncertain. “You can move now.”

“Do you want me to move, Iyashi?” He whispered in a low voice. A shiver traveled down her spine. Her breath hitched as his other hand slowly slid from her hip to the top of her thigh. 

He leaned forward, his lips pressing to her ear, “Have you been thinking about me in that office of yours?” Her eyes fluttered closed. “Touching yourself?”

Her head felt light, her breathing quickened. She wanted desperately to tell him yes, to beg for him to touch her but she couldn’t find the words - her pride getting the best of her.

“You know, I wanted nothing more than to slip that pretty little dress off in the back of that town car,” He lightly rubbed his thumb on her thigh. “And it would have taken one word of encouragement for me to have taken you in that inn.”

Reina breathed hard, her fingernails digging into the brick. Gojo re-adjusted, his mouth now pressed to the opposite ear. 

“You’ve given me such a hard time. Being this pretty.” He kissed her softly on the nape of her neck. “And this flustered. With all your praise. Your sweet teases. I only have so much restraint.”

A moan threatened to escape her mouth, she swallowed it with a hum.

Gojo slipped his hand from her chin to her throat, squeezing lightly, “You’d be such a good girl for me, Iyashi. Wouldn’t you?”

Reina’s eyes rolled back, she pressed her ass into his groin - arching. 

He chuckled, leaning back to slide his fingers from her neck slowly down her spine, “I can tell how desperate you are to be touched.”

Gojo tightened his hands on her hips, pressing himself roughly into her with a groan. He slid his hand to her front, caressing her inner thigh. 

“I could make you feel so good,” he purred. “Is that what you want?”

Reina whimpered at his words, opening her legs wider.

Leaning forward, his hot breath on her ear, “I want to hear you, Iyashi.”

“Please, Gojo,” she whined. 

Gojo slid his fingers under her skirt, drawing soft patterns along her underwear. His other hand massaged her thigh, slowly moving towards her ass.

“Exactly what I thought,” He murmured. “Such a good girl.” 

His finger slowly slipped underneath the fabric, sliding into her wetness.

Gojo groaned, “All of that for me?”

Reina moaned in response, pressing her skirt into his groin. 

He grinded against her, “Is this what you want?” 

Reina nodded, her cheek brushing against the brick. He swiped a finger over her clit - eliciting a gasp.

“Your words,” he softly reminded, rubbing slow circles. 

“Y-yes, yes.” Reina’s eyelids fluttered, her head dizzy.

Gojo slid a hand up her side until he reached the nape of her neck, grabbing a fistful of her hair - pulling her back to where she could see his blindfold. “I’m savoring every second of this, Iyashi.” 

“Until I’m done taking what I want,” he pressed a soft kiss to her shoulder. “And then - when you’re begging for it - I’ll give it to you,”

Reina bit her lower lip, her orgasm building at the sound of his words. She was frantic for more contact, one hand pressed to the brick and the other reaching back for Gojo. Reina gripped his pants, pulling him to her.

“Just like that, Iyashi,” He groaned. “I want you desperate.”

His pace quickened, he let go of her hair for a second to lift the blindfold before returning his grip.

“Look at me,” he demanded. “I want to watch.”

Reina broke the moment her eyes met his, her breathy moans filling the air, “F-fuck.”

Her knees buckled slightly, Gojo let go of her hair to grab her hip - steadying her. 

“Gojo-sensei?” Itadori called from the other side of the alley, jogging in their direction.

Reina straightened up quickly, turning in the opposite direction. 

“Is that you?” he smiled, oblivious to Reina’s unusual actions. “Did you follow us?”

Gojo raised his hand in a wave, “Yuji! What kind of a sensei would I be if I wasn’t ready to help if you needed me?” he asked, touching his hand to his chest. “How did it go?”

Itadori recounted the mission as Kugisaki and Fushiguro meandered in their direction. The excited murmurs of the two building as Reina smoothed her skirt and joined the conversation.

The four walked ahead, Kugisaki pushing Itadori playfully as Gojo conversed with Fushiguro. Reina trailed behind, her legs unsteady - she fought to walk a straight line. The back of her neck burned, she pressed her hand to it in an attempt to cool down.

Lifting her chin, she watched as Gojo broke from the rest - lingering close to her. She sucked in a breath as he turned her way.

He lifted his fingers to his lips, sucking them into his mouth.

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chapter thirteen

[paradox-valleyy]

Lost and Found

Pre-canon rdr2 x Teen!fem!oc

Prologue | Chapter 1 | Chapter 2

Word count: 2,5 k

Notes: Gangs first appearance 😋

The days had rolled by, and Jolene had spent nearly all the money she’d earned from Dr. Avery. She knew she should have stretched it out longer, maybe saved a few coins for the harder days, but the temptation had been too much. Johnson’s store, with its shelves of chocolate bars, canned peaches, and sweet candies, had been too good to resist. For once, she’d paid for what she took, and Johnson had been grateful, giving her a nod of approval when she laid down her coins.

But now, Jolene was out of money again, her stomach already grumbling as the night crept in. She wandered toward the saloon, hoping to make a bit of coin the only way she knew how. As she pushed through the saloon doors, the place was packed, the usual smoky haze and noise rolling over him. Townsfolk were leaning unsteadily against the bar, drunk and laughing. A table was set up for poker, while other men sat with half-empty bottles, chatting loudly with friends or staring dully into their drinks. Around the room, the women who worked the saloon fluttered about, eyeing men with practiced sweetness.

Jolene had learned a thing or two from those women. They were tough, and they’d seen enough to know a hard-luck case when they spotted one. They were kind to her, in their way. When she approached one of them, offering a boyish compliment and a downcast look, the sympathy worked like a charm. A few of them reached into their pouches or aprons, handing over coins with knowing smiles.

“Here, darlin’. Don’t go spendin’ it all in one place,” one of them teased, slipping her a few more coins.

By the time Jolene had collected a grand total of two dollars and thirty-two cents, she thanked them and slipped to a quiet corner, surveying the room. She scanned the crowd, sizing up which man might have a bit more cash on him than others. That’s when she spotted two men by the bar, a pair she hadn’t seen around town before. A rare sight.

The first was an older man, maybe in his fifties, with sharp, well-defined features and steel-gray hair. He was lean, almost wiry and his eyes were soft but, missed nothing around him. The other, perhaps in his forties, was more solidly built with black hair, a thick mustache, a red vest, and a pair of gold rings on his fingers, that set him apart from the usual townsfolk.

They leaned against the bar, talking and occasionally laughing, drinking whiskey with the ease of men who were no strangers to saloons. It was clear from their clothes and their confident air that they were new here. And new men in town often meant new money.

Jolene waited, watching as they drank and slowly became more relaxed. A half-hour passed, and the whiskey was taking effect; they were speaking louder, their laughter coming easier. Deciding the moment was right, Jolene slid through the crowd, lifting a stray wallet from another patron along the way before slipping toward the black-haired man in the red vest. She reached for the pocket, fingers brushing the edge of a wallet.

She was just about to pull it free when a drunken voice bellowed from across the room, “Joel, you goddamn thief! Where’s my wallet?”

The shout was enough to freeze the saloon. Jolene’s heart leapt to her throat as she turned, only to find the black-haired man’s gaze fixed on her, realizing all at once what was happening.

With her hand still inside the man’s pocket, Jolene did the only thing she could think of—she yanked the wallet free and bolted. She dashed toward the back door, hearing the uproar behind her, chairs scraping as people got to their feet. Jolene didn’t dare look back, but she could hear three sets of footsteps close on her heels.

As she hit the door and spilled into the alley, she cursed under her breath, feeling the frantic burn of adrenaline in her veins. She raced toward the stable, hoping she could cut through, jump the fence, and vanish into the dark before any of them could keep up.

Just as she approached the fence, she risked a glance over her shoulder to see who was chasing her. That second was all it took—her foot caught on a loose plank in the dirt, and she went sprawling face-first onto the ground, her nose slamming into the dirt and gravel. Pain shot through her face as she tried to push herself up, but rough hands grabbed her by the shoulder and spun her around.

The first man, the one who’d shouted, William, was a burly townsman, red-faced with a mixture of anger and whiskey. His fist came down hard, catching Jolene on the jaw and sending fresh pain jolting through her.

“Give me back my damn wallet!” the man demanded, voice slurred with drink. Jolene, holding back a grimace, pulled the wallet from her pocket and handed it over, too dazed to argue.

The man looked like he might throw another punch, but a hand grabbed his shoulder, pulling him back. “That’s enough,” came a calm, measured voice. “You got your wallet. There’s no need to beat up the boy.”

The man cursed, spat in Jolene’s face, and staggered back toward the saloon. Jolene coughed, tasting blood, and rubbed her jaw as she looked up to see her unexpected saviors: the two men from the bar.

The black-haired man studied her, looking her up and down. “You make a habit of lifting wallets around here?”

Jolene glared back, feeling defiant despite the ache in her jaw. “Only when I’m hungry,” she muttered, reluctantly holding out the man’s own wallet.

The man took it back, flipping it open and checking the contents with a casual glance. “How old are you?” he asked, a trace of curiosity in his voice.

Jolene spat some of the blood from her mouth, her voice bitter. “Twelve, I think.” She lied.

The two men exchanged a look, something in their expressions shifting. The older one with the gray hair, whose gaze was soft, finally spoke. “So, no family, then? You’re an orphan?”

Jolene said nothing, just held their gazes with a challenging glare. They didn’t need to know her life story.

The black-haired man sighed, tucking the wallet back into his coat. “Relax, kid. We’re not here to hurt you. Just maybe don’t try to pick our pockets again.”

A flash of frustration crossed Jolene’s face, but she couldn’t hold back a smirk. “If that drunk hadn’t yelled my name, you wouldn’t have even noticed.”

The two men laughed at that, surprising Jolene. The black-haired man seemed amused, giving her a nod. “Fair point,” he said, still chuckling.

It fell quiet for a moment, and then the black-haired man extended a hand. “Dutch van der Linde,” he said. He tilted his head toward his companion. “And this here’s Hosea Matthews.”

Jolene, feeling awkward, gave a slight nod and took Dutch’s hand, letting the man pull her up and muttering, “Joel.” She looked away, scuffing the dirt with her shoe, but Dutch only laughed softly.

“Figured as much from the way that fellow hollered your name back there,” Dutch said with a wry grin. “So, Joel, you from here?”

“No. I live… nowhere, really. Just here and there. I sleep where I can find a place, and sometimes when people start recognizin’ my face too much, I move on.”

Dutch and Hosea exchanged another glance, nodding slightly. There was a flicker of understanding between them, as though they’d seen this before.

After a pause, Dutch’s eyes glinted with an idea. “Well, tell you what, Joel. How about we go back to the saloon? I’ll buy you a meal—on the condition you talk a bit more. Maybe even tell us about this town and its… characters.”

Jolene hesitated, sizing them up. She knew these men weren’t ordinary travelers. Outlaws, she guessed, but something about them felt different. They didn’t strike her as the type to waste their time on pickpocketing coins; they were the kind who’d hold up a bank and take every last cent if it suited them. But for tonight, the promise of a meal outweighed her caution.

“Fine,” she said, her stomach growling at the thought. “But I don’t talk about everyone. Only the ones that don’t kick me when I’m down.”

Dutch grinned, satisfied, and clapped a hand on her shoulder. “Fair enough, Joel. Let’s get you something to eat.”

With that, they headed back toward the saloon, where the noise, the smoke, and the night awaited them.

Jolene was devouring the steaming bowl of stew Dutch had bought her, each spoonful a rare treat after days of stale bread and dried meat. Bits of stew clung to her chin as she talked, eagerly spilling all she knew about the town between bites. Dutch and Hosea sat across from her, leaning in, their faces attentive, but their eyes watchful.

“There’s this one guy, Mr. Finch,” Jolene began, the name dripping from her mouth with a note of contempt. “Filthy rich, at least for around here. They say he’s got a few hundred thousand stashed away, mostly from cattle deals and a mining venture he sold off a few years back. His house is out a ways from town, all by itself.” Jolene paused to take a bite, savoring the taste before continuing. “He’s got a wife, but she’s strange. Never leaves the house, never talks. I only see her starin’ out the window, big eyes watchin’ like she’s afraid of somethin’. Folks say she was pregnant three times, but each time the baby didn’t make it.”

Dutch exchanged a glance with Hosea, a silent message passing between them. Jolene didn’t notice, too wrapped up in recounting the local gossip. She lowered her voice as she continued, not wanting others nearby to overhear.

“Mr. Finch? He thinks he’s better than everybody here,” Jolene muttered, scowling. “But he keeps the bank full and gives plenty to the church, so no one says nothin’ against him. Everybody just goes along with it.” She stuffed another spoonful in her mouth, chewing with a mix of satisfaction and frustration.

Dutch leaned back in his chair, his hands relaxed on the table, a calm smile on his face. “Interesting fella, this Finch,” he said, more to himself than to Jolene. “And what about the bank, kid? How much is in there most of the time?”

Jolene swallowed. “Pretty full, mostly,” she said with a sly grin. “People here don’t trust carryin’ too much cash around, so they all keep it there. Not that it does ’em much good, but that’s how it is.”

She glanced up, seeing Hosea and Dutch watching her closely, and feeling bold, she continued, “The sheriff here, he’s a real piece of shit. Was married four times, if you can believe it. Every one of ’em left him, ran out or worse. Last wife… well, she up and killed herself. He don’t work with bounty hunters neither, likes to keep things his way. And when he catches me takin’ something, he doesn’t hold back with his fists.” Jolene clenched her jaw, her anger visible despite the bruise already turning purple on her face.

Jolene finally set her spoon down, wiping her face with the back of her hand, and looked directly at Dutch and Hosea. “Why you want to know all this anyway? You two thieves or somethin’?” She grinned a little, though her eyes held genuine curiosity.

Dutch smiled, unruffled by the question, and leaned forward, his voice soft yet edged with humor. “Let’s just say we’re travelers, and we like to get a feel for the towns we come through. Easier to make friends that way, you know?”

Hosea, leaning back with a faint smirk, added, “Sometimes the less someone thinks they know about us, the better.” He raised an eyebrow at Jolene, who was looking at him with her head cocked slightly, not fully understanding but sensing the undercurrent.

Jolene’s fingers toyed with the spoon, glancing between them. These weren’t ordinary men; that much she’d already guessed. They had a way about them, a calmness she hadn’t seen in others, like they were used to being in control. Despite her best efforts to appear tough, the interest on her face was clear.

Dutch’s gaze softened as he took in the girl’s bruised form and scarred forehead. “Look, Joel,” he said, keeping his tone gentle but steady. “You seem like you’re good at gettin’ by, finding your way in a world that ain’t exactly kind. Hosea and I? We know a thing or two about that life too.”

Jolene’s eyes flickered with interest, and she crossed her arms, leaning back. “So you are thieves,” she said, as if confirming her own suspicions.

Dutch only chuckled. “We’re… liberators,” he said with a grin. “We take from people who wouldn’t miss it and don’t care about folks like us.”

“Or you,” Hosea added, with a hint of sympathy in his voice. He eyed the bruise on Jolene’s jaw, the lingering evidence of the rough life she was accustomed to.

Jolene took a long breath, weighing her next words. Part of her wanted to ask what they had planned, whether they’d bring her along or show her their way of doing things. But another part, the part that had survived on her own up until now, held her back, cautious.

Instead, she muttered, “Well, whatever you’re doin’, just don’t think this town’s easy pickin’s. Folks here are nosy, and they don’t take kindly to strangers who don’t fit in.” She glanced away, pretending to brush dirt from her shirt.

Dutch and Hosea shared a quick, amused glance, appreciating the girl’s quiet warning.

Dutch reached into his coat, pulling out a few coins. He tossed them onto the table, the clink of metal catching Jolene’s attention. “Here,” he said, nodding toward the money. “Enough for another meal or two. Think of it as payment for the… insight.”

Jolene looked at the coins, hesitant. She didn’t like taking charity, but she also knew enough to recognize an opportunity when she saw one. She snatched them up with a muttered “Thanks.”

Dutch rose from the table, straightening his coat. Hosea followed suit, giving Jolene a nod. “Well, kid, stay out of trouble—least till we’re gone,” Hosea said with a grin.

As they turned to leave, Jolene called out, surprising herself. “If you need me again, I’m usually around town.”

Dutch paused, a thoughtful smile crossing his face as he exchanged a glance with Hosea. “Alright” he said, looking back at Jolene with a spark of interest in his eyes.

Dutch considered her words, his mind already working. “Good to know. Thanks, Joel.”

With a final nod, Dutch and Hosea turned and headed down the stairs, leaving Jolene alone. She sat back, absently rubbing her bruised jaw as she thought over their conversation, a faint thrill of excitement mixed with a sliver of worry.

She didn’t know what Dutch and Hosea planned to do in this town, but she had a feeling things were about to get a lot more interesting.

[angstywaifu]

The Lost Sister - Part 39

Synopsis: Xaden is known as an only child due to his sister who 'died' during the Rebellion. Little do they know she didn't die and has been so close this entire time.

Garrick Tavis x OC (Ophelia Riorson)

The Lost Sister Masterlist | Masterlist

Minutes later we’re all stood with our dragons on the ridgeline, surveying what awaits us below. There was a high chance none of us would walk out of here, but we couldn’t leave those people down there to die. Leadership wanted to test our loyalty, see where we really stood. Which apparently was flying to Eltuval and leaving everyone here to die. If that’s how they wanted me to prove my loyalty to a cause that hide the truth and lied to it’s people then fuck them. We we’re trained to fight and protect our people, not let them die.

”Promise me you’ll run if this starts going south.” Garrick says quietly from behind me, somehow approaching without me noticing.

”You know I can’t do that.” I say as I turn my head to look at him. “If today is the day I meet Malek, then today is that day. I’m not running. And I know you aren’t either.”

He nods slowly. “But at least one of us could survive this.”

”And then what? I go back to Basgiath where they’ll lock me away or kill me? No thank you.” I say as I turn back to the town below us. “We can do this.”

Out of the corner of my eyes I catch the look he gives me. He doesn’t think we can make it out of this. At least not all of us. If two can level a whole city… What could four do? I honestly didn’t want to find out, my hand tightening around the dagger’s Xaden had given to me as we left the garrison. And even if we did survive…. what would await us back at Basgiath? Another thing I didn’t want to find out. But depending how this went, those we’re our options. And I felt like either way I wasn’t surviving.

”I hope you’re right.” He says solemnly as he looks at me.

”I hope so to.” I say quietly.

We have to go little one. Mealladh informs me as the others start to mount up.

Garrick must receive the same information from Chradh, nodding his head slightly before turning to me. Both of us look at each other, not sure what to say to each other. Neither of us wanting to say goodbye, because we don’t want this to be goodbye. But there’s a chance it could be. There’s a chance this could be. Garrick pulls a small box from a pocket on his jacket, shoving it into my hands before pulling me into a quick and deep kiss as our dragons huff behind us.

”Just in case something happens…. hold onto this for me. And if I don’t make it….” He whispers against my lips.

”No. You will make it.” I tell him sternly as I grip onto the box.

I try and fail to shove the box back into his hands before he turns and mounts Chradh. Leaving me to safely place the box in the pocket of my flight jacket, before I turn and mount Mealladh. She wastes no time, and as soon as I’m seated and secure she launches into the air as Chradh and Fuil follow us as we dip into a deep dive down into the valley. My eyes scan the perimeter, looking for anything we could use to our advantage. Below us the screams of people fill my ears as they try and rush to safety beyond the outpost gates.

Have the others found anything yet? I ask Mealladh as we soar past a tower which I’m pretty sure has a venin stationed on top.

Not yet. Mealladh informs me solemnly.

We needed to find something fast. The venin we’re already proving their strength. Most of the town already in ruin. And who knew when that Wyvern we had spotted would return. As if on queue two Wyvern appear over the tree line, one heading for Violet and Tairn, the other heading straight for us. I’m hit with a wave of familiarity as I see the Wyvern properly for the first time. It’s colour is almost identical to most of Mealladh, the only exception to being the red tips to her wings, tail and horns, as well as the bright white alone her back. But if you weren’t looking at how many legs she had and just saw her fly above, she could almost be mistaken for the Wyvern heading straight for us. Mealladh throws us into another drop as the Wyvern skims past us, the heat of it’s flames narrowly missing us as I see blue light up the sky above me. I turn to see it disappear beyond the tree line again. Clearly I wasn’t it’s focus right now.

Soleil and Fuil have found a mine entrance we can evacuate everyone out. Mealladh informs me as we do another loop of the outpost.

Get me close to the ground, I’ll help them get everyone out.

She gets us as low as she can, banking as I time my jump perfectly, rolling to break my fall as I land on the ground. Around me everything is in chaos. People are rushing everywhere, trying to get their loved ones and get out. Debris lines the street from the various buildings the venin have already attacked or destroyed. I look up to see Garrick and Bodhi further up the street directing everyone down to me, towards the mine entrance. To my right the street is in chaos, these people not knowing where to head for safety.

”Down here!” I yell out to them, the ones closest to me looking at me as I point towards the mine where Liam and Soleil are ushering people in as quickly as they can.

I run further into the street, shoving through the crowd as best I can, trying to get more people to follow the rest. But between the screaming, the roars of the dragons and Wyvern they barely hear me. A stray bolt of lightening not helping as it hits a nearby building, showering us in debris. I need more people to help me direct them to safety. But everyone else is too focused on getting to their own safety to help. Wait. I don’t need more people. Not real people anyway. I close my eyes and focus as I reach out with my mind as I’m hit with the over whelming feeling of panic and fear. I imagine the street is lined with other riders, all yelling and telling them to head to the old mine shaft where it’s safe. Immediately I feel a slight dip in the panic of those around me. The slight bit of hope that there’s a way out not too far away. I open my eyes to see the townspeople helping each other. Directing those they can along with the fake riders I’ve called upon. Good, we can get them to safety. I rush down more streets, helping those who have fallen or gotten injured along the way. Passing them onto other townspeople who can help them get to that mine. Before long the streets start to empty as they all make their way down.

Soleil and Fuil are dead. Mealladh’s grim voice speaks in my head. You need to get off the ground and back to me.

What happened? I ask, as I come to a stop in the middle of the street.

Venin draw power from the ground. One of them started channelling and killed them. I need you to get somewhere I can land little one. There’s another one not far from you. I can’t have you meeting the same fate.

Where? Where is it? I demand.

I need to make sure Garrick is safe. If it’s near him.

Mealladh goes silent, clearly hearing my thoughts.

Tell me it’s not near him! I yell down the bond as panic sets in.

I can’t do that little one.

I immediately break into a run as I shove my shield up, heading back towards the street I’d seen him on when I’d first landed. But when I get there he’s nowhere to be seen. Bodhi also missing. I look back down the the mine to see the ground drained of its colour. That must be where the Venin had drawn power. It’s as if it drained the life out of everything. I need to find him and fast.

I turn back to where I had seen them both earlier, running up the street that heads towards the centre of the outpost. Above me Tairn flies over head, trying to get the attention of the Wyvern heading towards where I’m running. The direction I am certain Garrick and Bodhi are. Finally I make it to the centre of outpost, and right in the centre is Garrick. His daggers gripped tightly in his hands as he faces off against the Venin standing in the middle of the rubble that use to be the tower. It’s attention shifts to me, and I feel my magic flair in response as his red eyes meet mine.

The same feeling I’d had when we crossed the border of the wards coming back. Almost as if responding to the Venin in front of me. Garrick follows it’s gaze, his eyes widening as he see’s me standing there. And that’s all it takes for the Venin to make it’s move. Their hand directing the Wyvern soaring over us to head right for Garrick.

It feels as if everything slows down as I watch two Wyvern bank towards us. Towards Garrick. Their mouths opening just like a Dragon’s before it unleashes it’s fire. And I know just like a Dragon’s there is no surviving it. I reach out as if I can pull or push him out of harms way, out of the danger that is fast approaching. Reaching for that part of my signet that can. But instead I feel something else. Something else rushes through me, a cold dead feeling rushing through me instead. It almost feels like…

Death.

This is what I imagine death would feel like. The cold, dead feeling rushing up through me from the ground before it ripples out through my hands, extending towards the Wyverns behind Garrick. It almost looks like smoke… no shadows as it leaves my body and traverses over the centre of the outpost. Just as I see the blue glow ignite in the back of their throats, the shadow passes around Garrick and meets it mark on the Wyverns. Instantly the Wyverns howl in pain as their bodies start to shrivel up as they drop to the ground. Their bodies disintegrating into a cloud of dust as they meet the ground.

The venin turns to me, their red eyes wide with shock as they stare at my shaking hands. Just like I am. What was that? What had I done? The cold, dead feeling still lingering in my body. Almost as if it had drained the life out of me as well. And I think it has. Something isn’t right. Something is very wrong. The cold feeling getting worse by the second. Before a burning feeling starts in my stomach. I lurch forward as I start coughing uncontrollably. Something wet hitting my hand as I go to stifle it. As I remove my shaking hand from my mouth, I look down to see my hand is covered in blood. My body going finally giving into the cold and dead feeling that has consumed me as I fall into darkness.

”OPHELIA!”

@riorgail @going-through-shit @fw-gt @bbkissme99 @xceafh @leptitlu @came-to-laugh-but-cried @onthewaytotimbuktu @daardyrnitta @lovemesomevesey @mxtokko @krowiathemythologynerd @callsign-blue @1islessthan3books @side-angel @wolfbc97 @just-an-ace-elf

[shiorihyugawrites]

The Devil's Bride

Aurora Jaeger, Eren's long-lost childhood friend, was taken from him when they were children. After years of suffering under Marleyan control, Aurora is reunited with Eren while he’s undercover in Marley, igniting a bond neither of them expected. Despite her gentle nature, Aurora breaks her vow of pacifism to save Eren’s life, solidifying their deep connection. Secretly married before the Raid on Liberio, Aurora is swept into Eren's world of chaos and destruction. As the Scouts learn of her existence, tensions rise on the airship home. Mikasa’s heart shatters, and Levi demands answers. And Eren will stop at nothing to protect the only light left in his dark world—his bride, Aurora.

In this journey of love, loyalty, and war, Aurora must reconcile her innocent heart with the brutal reality of the man she loves, while Eren faces the truth of what he’s become. (Eren x OC)

Chapter Twenty Two

In the heart of a secluded stronghold hidden underneath Queen Historia’s farm, the Jaegerists had gathered in a vast assembly hall. The air was thick with anticipation, a mixture of tension and exhilaration as hundreds of loyal soldiers — members of the Survey Corps, the Garrison, and the Military Police — stood shoulder to shoulder, awaiting the appearance of the man they believed would bring them salvation.

It had been mere days since the Premier’s unexpected death and Eren’s dramatic escape from his cell. Word spread quickly about his impending takeover, and soon, the ranks of the Jaegerists swelled beyond anything anyone had anticipated. The room was filled with faces marked by resolve, their eyes burning with unwavering loyalty to Eren Jaeger, the man they believed was the last hope for their island.

Floch stood at the edge of the crowd, nodding in approval as he observed the assembled soldiers. He, more than anyone, understood the lengths to which these people would go to follow Eren. Every person here was ready to stand beside him, fight for him, and die for him if necessary. Behind Floch stood Historia, silent but poised, her expression unreadable as she waited for Eren to address his followers.

Finally, a ripple of movement went through the crowd as Eren emerged from the shadows. The hall fell into a tense silence as he stepped forward, his expression intense, his green eyes sharp as they surveyed his followers. Eren was dressed in his signature black hooded jacket, his posture tall and authoritative. He seemed both larger than life and deeply grounded, his aura commanding every eye in the room to remain fixated on him.

He raised a hand, and the crowd immediately straightened, their breaths held as they waited for his words. Eren’s voice was calm but carried an edge of steel, his words resonating throughout the room.

“Today marks the beginning of our true liberation,” he began, his tone low but forceful. “For too long, Paradis has been backed into a corner, left to fend for itself against a world that would sooner see us crushed than give us a chance to defend our own lives. But we are not defenseless. We have the power to fight, and we have the will to take control of our destiny.”

The room was silent, each Jaegerist leaning in to absorb his every word, their loyalty and conviction deepening with each sentence.

“I am committed to securing a future for us — for all of you, your families, for the future generations of Paradis,” Eren continued, his voice growing stronger, his presence becoming almost magnetic. “But this won’t come without sacrifices. We have one weapon strong enough to deter the entire world: the Rumbling. And I intend to use it to its full potential.”

A murmur went through the crowd, a mixture of awe and approval rippling among them. They knew that only Eren had the courage and determination to go to such lengths. Only he was willing to bear the weight of the Rumbling and ensure that Paradis could survive without fear of annihilation.

“But there is something else,” Eren said, his voice softening slightly as he glanced to his side, where Aurora stood, her face calm but her eyes reflecting a mix of emotions.

Eren extended a hand, motioning for Aurora to step forward. The crowd watched intently as she took her place beside him, her platinum hair gleaming under the dim lights, her delicate features exuding a quiet strength that, for those who looked closely, mirrored Eren’s own resolve. Her presence brought a new level of curiosity to the room, as whispers began to spread through the crowd.

Eren’s voice cut through the murmurs. “This is Aurora Jaeger. My wife.” His words were clear, direct, and resolute, and they left the Jaegerists stunned, their gazes shifting between Eren and Aurora.

“She has been with me, through everything,” Eren continued, his tone tinged with a fierce protectiveness. “She’s risked her life, sacrificed everything, just as I have. And just as you stand by my side, she has stood by mine.”

Aurora’s eyes softened as she looked up at Eren, a subtle smile on her lips. Though the eyes of hundreds of people were on her, she felt safe beside him, his presence a source of strength she could draw upon. She knew the importance of this moment, the symbolic weight of being introduced to Eren’s followers as his wife.

Eren’s gaze swept over the crowd, and his expression hardened. “Aurora is to be protected at all costs. Her safety is paramount. I expect each and every one of you to ensure she is never put in harm’s way. Consider it your highest priority — as important as the mission itself.”

The room held a charged silence, each Jaegerist processing the weight of his command. To protect Aurora was to honor Eren’s wishes, to solidify their loyalty to him in the most tangible way possible.

Historia, standing near the front, raised a fist, her face alight with fervor. “For Eren! For Aurora! For Paradis!” she called, her voice echoing through the hall.

The rest of the crowd echoed his cry, their voices swelling in unison, creating a wave of energy that filled the room. “For Eren! For Aurora! For Paradis!”

Eren watched them, a grim satisfaction settling in his chest as he saw the unwavering determination in the faces of his followers. He knew these people were ready to fight for the future he envisioned — a future he could only secure by unleashing the Rumbling and destroying any threat to Paradis.

Aurora glanced over at Eren, her eyes meeting his, her expression a mix of pride and trepidation. She had never seen him like this — standing as a leader, commanding hundreds of loyal soldiers who would do anything he asked of them. Yet despite her apprehension, she felt an unshakable pride in him, in the vision he was fighting to protect.

Eren placed a hand on her shoulder, grounding her with his touch. He leaned close, his voice low enough for only her to hear. “You’re safe here. They’ll protect you with their lives.”

Aurora nodded, her voice equally soft. “I trust you, Eren. I know you’ll do everything you can to keep us safe.”

Eren’s eyes softened, a rare vulnerability breaking through his fierce exterior as he looked at her. “I’ll do more than that. I’ll make sure no one ever touches a hair on your head.”

As the Jaegerists watched their leader with his wife by his side, they felt a renewed sense of purpose. This wasn’t just about securing the safety of Paradis — it was about preserving the lives of those they cared for, ensuring that they could finally live without fear of invasion or destruction. And with Eren at the helm, they believed they had a leader who would stop at nothing to make that dream a reality.

With one final look at his followers, Eren stepped back, his gaze sweeping across the room, and spoke in a voice that reverberated through every person present. “We are the Jaegerists. We are the shield and sword of Paradis. And together, we will build a future where we can finally live as free people. If we win, we live. If we lose, we die. If we don't fight, we can't win! We must fight!”

The Jaegerists erupted into a roar of approval, their voices united in loyalty and conviction. For Eren, for Aurora, and for the island they called home — they would lay down their lives, just as he would for them.

Aurora watched the crowd, her heart swelling with a mixture of hope and apprehension. She knew that the road ahead would be paved with bloodshed, with sacrifices beyond what she could yet comprehend. But standing beside Eren, feeling his strength and love for her, she knew she was ready to face whatever lay ahead.

…

The following day under the quiet shadows of Historia's farm, Eren sat with Floch and a few handpicked Jaegerists, discussing their next moves and the delicate matter of deflecting blame for the Premier’s death. Eren’s expression was stony, his jaw set with a grim resolve as he revealed the decision he had made.

“We need a fall guy,” he said, his voice carrying the weight of finality. “Someone loyal. Someone willing to take the blame for Zachary’s death.”

Floch’s eyes flickered, understanding the implications immediately. He leaned forward, nodding with a calculating look. “I think I know just the person. Young, dedicated, and a recent convert to our cause. He won’t question it.” Floch’s words were steady, but there was a certain unease hidden in his eyes.

Eren’s gaze bore into Floch. “Make it happen. I want this behind us by tomorrow.”

Floch’s lips tightened, and he nodded, fully understanding the burden placed on him. He would handle it. It was a necessary sacrifice, a step closer to the goal Eren had committed himself to, and by extension, one Floch had sworn to follow.

Once the others had dispersed to put Eren’s plan into motion, Aurora came forward quietly from the nearby doorway, her face pale but set with determination. She had overheard the conversation, and the reality of the sacrifice Eren was making weighed heavily on her. She bit her lip, her gaze drifting to the floor before meeting Eren’s.

“Eren… you’re really going to frame someone for this?” she asked softly, guilt gnawing at her. She knew it was her own hand, her own concoction, that had led to the Premier’s death, and the thought of someone else taking the blame made her heart ache with shame.

Eren placed a reassuring hand on her shoulder, his expression softening slightly. “Aurora,” he said, his voice firm yet tender, “this isn’t on you anymore. We’re too close to our goal to let this setback ruin everything. What happened was necessary, but we can’t afford for you to be implicated.”

She looked at him, uncertainty in her eyes, but she knew Eren wouldn’t be swayed. His love for her was absolute, and his willingness to protect her, even at the cost of another’s life, was unwavering. She managed a small nod, though the guilt still lingered heavily in her heart.

As they stood in silence, Floch approached again, his footsteps deliberate as he observed the pair. His expression was unreadable, but Aurora could feel his lingering gaze. She had noticed his scrutiny before — a watchfulness that unsettled her. Despite his outward respect for her and Eren’s relationship, there was something cold and cautious about the way he looked at her.

“Floch,” Eren said, breaking the silence, “we’re counting on you. Make sure this stays under control.”

Floch nodded curtly, his eyes drifting back to Aurora, and he hesitated for a moment before speaking. “Of course, Eren. I’ll make sure no one suspects anything. But…” He looked directly at Aurora, his tone carefully neutral. “You know, Mrs. Jaeger, I’ve come to understand that you’re not quite as… helpless as you might appear.”

Aurora’s expression stiffened, a hint of unease in her gaze. She didn’t respond immediately, and Eren’s own demeanor shifted, his protective instincts flaring as he stepped slightly in front of her.

“What are you getting at, Floch?” Eren asked, his voice a touch colder.

Floch held up his hands, a faint smirk pulling at the corner of his mouth. “Nothing disrespectful, Eren. I’m just acknowledging that Aurora here is… quite resourceful. I mean, it takes a certain kind of person to concoct a poison as potent as the one that took down Zachary.”

Aurora’s jaw tightened, and she took a steadying breath, maintaining her composure. “You don’t know me, Floch,” she replied, her voice level but edged with a quiet intensity. “You might think you understand what I’m capable of, but you don’t.”

Floch’s smirk faded slightly, his gaze sharpening as he studied her, but he kept his silence, unwilling to push further. His doubts lingered, but he could sense that pressing this issue would not end well for him. If there was one thing he understood, it was that Eren’s loyalty to Aurora was unbreakable — a line he dared not cross.

“I’ll make sure everything goes according to plan,” Floch said finally, his tone respectful but cautious. “And I’ll leave you both to your business.”

As he turned and walked away, Aurora let out a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding, her tension visibly easing. She looked at Eren, a mixture of frustration and vulnerability in her eyes.

“He doesn’t trust me,” she murmured, her gaze dropping.

Eren reached for her hand, his grip firm and reassuring. “He doesn’t need to trust you,” he replied, his voice soft but resolute. “I trust you. And that’s all that matters.”

Aurora managed a small, grateful smile, her heart steadying as she held onto Eren’s words. In his presence, she felt protected and understood, even if the rest of the world looked at her with suspicion. Still, the lingering guilt remained, a weight she couldn’t easily shake.

“What if… what if this gets out of hand?” she whispered, her voice barely audible. “What if they find out the truth?”

Eren’s gaze hardened, and he pulled her close, his hands resting on her shoulders. “They won’t. I’ll make sure of it. And even if they did… I would never let them hurt you.”

Aurora leaned into him, feeling the strength of his conviction, and she closed her eyes, letting the warmth of his embrace soothe her. In this moment, her fears faded, and she allowed herself to trust in Eren’s words, to believe that he would protect her, no matter the cost.

As night settled over the stronghold, Eren’s orders were quietly executed. The scout recruit — a young man loyal to the Jaegerists and utterly devoted to Eren’s cause — was positioned as the fall guy for the Premier’s murder. The plan was seamless, each detail meticulously orchestrated to ensure the blame would fall entirely on him. The next morning, rumors began to circulate, whispers of the supposed killer’s capture spreading throughout Paradis, satisfying the military police’s demand for justice and quelling any further investigation.

But even as the plan succeeded, Aurora’s heart remained troubled, the weight of the secret gnawing at her. She would stay by Eren’s side, no matter what, but she couldn’t help but wonder what the future held — for them, for their child, and for the people of Paradis.

…

The next day, Eren stood before the gathered Jaegerists, his sharp gaze sweeping across the ranks that had grown day by day. Floch stood at his side, while Historia, with her calm presence and quiet strength, observed from a step behind. Beside Eren, Aurora appeared composed, though a touch of apprehension flickered in her eyes. She knew what today meant—the Jaegerists’ movement was no longer just whispers in darkened hallways. Today, they would rally under Eren’s command in plain view, challenging the very foundation of Paradis’s current military leadership.

“We’re here to change the fate of this island,” Eren began, his voice low and deliberate. “To break free from the cycle that’s kept us caged, and to create a world where our children won’t grow up as prey for enemies who only want us dead. The old ways of trust and submission haven’t worked, and it’s up to us now to secure our future.”

The soldiers in the room, the Jaegerists, nodded in agreement, murmuring their assent. They looked to Eren with hope and fierce determination, but Eren’s mind was momentarily elsewhere. He couldn’t shake the image of his old friends—Armin, Mikasa, Jean, Connie, Sasha, and even Hange and Levi. They had seen the world outside the walls, lived with people who, while once considered their enemies, had shown them kindness. Eren knew they probably heard of his plans for the Rumbling by now since he revealed them to his followers and would question his decision to bring destruction to the world, but he didn’t care anymore if they knew. He had his army now. 

“Historia,” Eren continued, turning to her. “The people will listen to you. They trust you—they see you as their queen, the one who freed them from the chains of tyranny.” He met her gaze, a look of trust passing between them. “I need you to show them why this is the only way. Rally them to our side, so they’ll understand that this isn’t just about us—this is about the survival of every last person on Paradis.”

Historia nodded solemnly. She knew the weight of what he was asking. “I’ll do it, Eren,” she said quietly. “They deserve to know what’s at stake. But we have to be ready for resistance. Not everyone will understand… not at first.”

Floch, with his usual fervor, added, “Once the people are behind us, the military will have no choice but to stand down. Every day, more soldiers join our cause. They know Eren is the only one willing to take the necessary steps to secure our future.”

As they continued their discussion, Eren’s attention drifted again, the faces of his friends flashing before his eyes. He knew that once the Jaegerists had full control, his friends would be the ones left standing in opposition. They, unlike the others, had seen the beauty of the world beyond Paradis when they all went to Marley for the summit for the Subjects of Ymir. They had laughed and shared meals with people from other lands. He remembered that night in the refugee camp, when they’d met Ramzi, the pickpocket boy, and glimpsed lives just as fragile and oppressed as their own, and Ramzi’s grandfather had invited them all into their camp for a night of celebration.

But for Eren, those memories only hardened his resolve. He couldn’t be swayed by moments of kindness, not when he had seen what awaited them if they did nothing. He would not allow the beauty they saw to blind him from the horrors he knew lay beyond.

“Eren,” Aurora’s gentle voice pulled him from his thoughts, grounding him back in the present. She placed a hand on his arm, her gaze steady and supportive. She knew the burdens he carried, and she trusted him. “Are you ready?”

He nodded, squeezing her hand. “I am.”

Just then, a Jaegerist approached and saluted sharply. “Eren, Commander Hange, Captain Levi, and several scouts have arrived.”

Eren’s jaw tightened, his gaze sharpening as he looked at Historia, Floch, and Aurora. The confrontation he had anticipated was here.

“It’s time,” Eren said. “Let’s meet them.”

Eren, Aurora, Floch, and Historia stepped out of the farmhouse, moving toward the growing crowd of soldiers gathered in the clearing. The Jaegerists, loyal and unwavering, formed a protective line around their leaders, a united wall of defiance against anyone who dared challenge Eren’s authority. The sun had started to descend, casting a golden glow across the tense scene, yet the air was thick with an unspoken threat, the kind that left a prickling sensation crawling across everyone’s skin.

Standing opposite them, Levi, Hange, Armin, Mikasa, Jean, Connie, Sasha, and a handful of other scouts were frozen in shock, their faces pale as they took in the sheer number of Jaegerists surrounding Eren. The reality of what they were up against became painfully clear as they glanced over the rows of soldiers, realizing that the Jaegerists easily dwarfed any one military regiment. They were organized, prepared, and they were prepared to die for Eren Jaeger.

Levi’s sharp eyes darted over each Jaegerist, assessing their stances, gauging their commitment. He knew he could cut through a crowd, but he wasn’t reckless enough to think he could take on hundreds without sustaining serious damage. He clenched his fists, frustration rippling through him, though his face remained as composed as ever.

Hange took a step forward, trying to catch Eren’s eye. “Eren!” she called out, her voice echoing through the stillness. “What do you think you’re doing? You’ve formed an army under our noses!.”

Eren held her gaze, his face unreadable. He walked forward with Aurora at his side, her hand interwoven with his. He was calm, unperturbed by the accusing eyes trained on him, yet his presence held a weight that was impossible to ignore.

“We’re here to secure our future, Hange,” he replied steadily. “One where we’re not begging for scraps of freedom. I’m done waiting for the world to spare us out of kindness.”

Levi’s stare was colder than ice, his narrowed gaze zeroing in on Aurora. “And you, Mrs. Jaeger,” he said, his voice low and brimming with suspicion, “do you expect us to believe you’re innocent in all this? A mere ‘young recruit’ killing the Premier?” His tone dripped with doubt. “We’re not fools.”

Aurora met his gaze, a flicker of guilt flashing across her features before she forced herself to stand tall. She’d prepared herself for this. Eren had assured her that whatever suspicions Levi and Hange had, they wouldn’t be able to pin anything on her without evidence. Still, she could feel the weight of their distrust, and it wasn’t easy to keep her composure under Levi’s cold scrutiny.

“Believe what you want, Captain Levi,” Aurora replied, her tone firm though her voice held a hint of quiet remorse. “But I would never do anything to harm Eren’s cause. My loyalty is to him, just as yours was to humanity.” Her hand clenched around Eren’s, her silent message clear—she was with him, whatever it took.

Hange looked back and forth between them, her expression hardening. “You’re aligning yourself with someone who’s tearing this island apart, Aurora. And you’re not just risking your life; you’re risking all of ours.”

Floch stepped forward, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth as he folded his arms, addressing the scouts with a smug confidence. “The world has betrayed us time and time again,” he declared. “Eren’s the only one willing to do what’s necessary, and you all know it. This isn’t about ideals or dreams anymore—this is survival.”

Armin looked at Eren, his expression torn. He’d never imagined this—his best friend, the person he’d looked up to and believed in, standing against them, commanding an army of his own. “Eren… this isn’t who you are,” Armin said, his voice barely a whisper. “We can find another way. We can end this without destroying everything we’ve fought for.”

Eren’s gaze softened briefly as he looked at Armin. He didn’t want to hurt him, didn’t want to see the anguish etched on his friend’s face. But he also knew that Armin didn’t fully grasp the depths of the threat they faced. “Armin,” he said quietly, “I’ve seen too much to sit by and hope for peace. The world won’t change on its own. If we don’t act, we’ll be crushed.”

Mikasa stepped forward, her expression a mix of betrayal and pain. “Eren,” she murmured, her voice cracking, “I don’t understand how you could do this… How you could turn on everything we’ve believed in, everything we were fighting for together.”

Eren’s face remained impassive, though a flicker of sorrow crossed his eyes as he looked at Mikasa. He wished things could be different, wished he could explain it in a way she’d understand. But he knew she’d never see things his way. “Mikasa… this was never about us against the world. This is about saving what we have left.”

Jean clenched his fists, his anger boiling over. “And how is leading a cult of Jaegerists going to help that? You’ve gone off the deep end, Eren. You’re not saving us—you’re dragging us all down with you!”

Floch’s smirk widened as he stepped between them, his voice dripping with mockery. “You all just don’t get it, do you? The old ways failed. Eren’s taking control, and you’re either with us or against us. There’s no room for half-measures.”

Levi’s hand drifted to his blade, his eyes narrowing as he surveyed the growing crowd of Jaegerists, their glares now focused on the scouts. He could feel the tension rising, and he knew a single wrong move could spark an all-out conflict. Still, his focus remained on Eren. “Is this what you wanted, Eren?” he asked, his voice cold. “To divide us? To throw away every bond we’ve fought to protect?”

Eren’s eyes flickered, a glimmer of regret showing just briefly before he hardened his resolve. “All I wanted was freedom, Captain. I wanted a life where we didn’t have to live in fear. If that means I have to become the enemy to secure that future, then so be it.”

Historia, who had been standing quietly beside Eren, finally stepped forward, her voice soft but steady. “This isn’t about division, Captain Levi. It’s about making sure our people have a future. Eren may be leading this movement, but he’s not the only one who believes in this cause. I believe in it too.”

Her words sent a shock through the scouts, especially Armin, who stared at her in disbelief. “Historia… I never thought you’d stand behind this.”

She met his gaze, her expression unyielding. “I’m not blind to the consequences, Armin. But I refuse to stand by and watch as my people are led to slaughter. This is about survival.”

Connie, who had been silent until now, looked between Eren and Historia, his face a mixture of anger and confusion. “You’re talking about survival, but this… this feels like betrayal. You’re turning on the very people who’ve protected you.”

Eren let out a heavy sigh, his eyes dark with determination. “I didn’t turn on anyone. I chose the only path I could see to protect the people I love.”

Aurora looked up at Eren, her heart aching at the weight he bore. She reached out and took his hand, her grip reassuring. She understood his pain, even if she couldn’t fully grasp the enormity of his plans. He was willing to risk everything for her, for their future, and she would stand by him no matter what.

Hange took a step back, her gaze weary. “If this is truly the path you’re choosing, then I don’t know if we can follow you anymore, Eren.” Her voice cracked with sadness as she looked at him, a friend who had once been a beacon of hope, now standing as a force of fear.

Eren remained silent, the weight of her words settling on him. He knew he couldn’t turn back, couldn’t falter. Not now.

Levi’s eyes were cold and sharp as he looked from Eren to Aurora, then back to the Jaegerists gathered around them. “Then it seems we’re at an impasse.” He glanced at Hange and the others, his voice carrying an air of finality. “We’ll step back for now. But don’t think this is over.”

The scouts turned to leave, their steps heavy with the knowledge that a line had been drawn, and they were on opposing sides. As they walked away, Eren watched them go, a strange mixture of sorrow and resolve etched on his face.

Historia placed a hand on his shoulder, grounding him. “They’ll understand someday, Eren. Maybe not now, but someday.”

Eren nodded, though his gaze remained fixed on the retreating figures of his friends. He didn’t know if they’d ever understand, but he couldn’t allow himself to hope for that. He had made his choice, and he would carry it through—whatever the cost.

…

Levi stormed into the scout headquarters, his jaw clenched and his fists tight by his sides, every step radiating a barely controlled fury. The scouts followed behind him, silent and uneasy, acutely aware of the gravity of the situation they were facing. Levi had seen countless betrayals, unimaginable horrors, and lost comrades, but this—this betrayal by Eren and the Jaegerists—cut deep, almost like a wound too fresh to be acknowledged.

The moment they reached the briefing room, Levi turned sharply to face the scouts, his eyes flashing. “Half of the Survey Corps—gone,” he hissed, pacing in a tight circle. “Jaegerists. I’d expect a few defectors, maybe. But half of our damn regiment?”

Hange, who was leaning against the wall with her arms crossed, let out a frustrated sigh. “It’s the same with the other regiments. The Garrison, the Military Police... Even Commander Pyxis was watching everything unfold with a strange sense of resignation. Eren didn’t just start a rebellion; he’s practically built an empire from within.”

Mikasa and Armin, standing side by side, exchanged a worried look. Mikasa’s fists clenched at her sides, her knuckles turning white as she tried to make sense of everything. She didn’t want to believe that Eren could do this, could turn on everything they’d once stood for.

“Captain, there must be another way to reach him,” Armin pleaded, his voice soft but insistent. “If we can just talk to him, get him alone and away from… all of them.” He paused, choosing his words carefully. “Aurora… maybe she’s been influencing him, maybe even manipulating him.”

Levi shook his head, his expression hard and unyielding. “Armin, this isn’t just about who Eren’s listening to. He’s made his choice all on his own. He escaped from his cell, nearly killed the two of you, and he doesn’t give a damn about any of us anymore. His loyalty is to his own twisted version of freedom and to Aurora. Nothing more.”

Jean, who had been quiet up until now, cleared his throat. “Levi’s right, Armin. Look at what he did in Liberio. He didn’t just destroy their military; he purposely leveled civilian homes and slaughtered innocents. And Aurora…” He shook his head, unable to hide the disgust in his voice. “She killed Premier Zachary and walked away without a shred of guilt. They’re both two psychopaths who are too far gone.”

Hange pushed off from the wall, rubbing her temples. “The Premier’s murder… we can’t ignore that, either. I knew Eren could be ruthless, but this…?” Her voice trailed off, laden with sadness and betrayal.

Connie’s face twisted with frustration, the internal conflict evident in his expression. “Eren’s always been willing to go to extreme lengths, sure. But he was our friend. There has to be something worth saving in him.”

Levi’s gaze shifted to Connie, hard and unflinching. “We don’t have the luxury of clinging to that ‘something’ anymore. Eren has his own army now. Hundreds of Jaegerists, ready to follow him to the ends of the earth. He’s got Floch, Historia, and even his damned wife rallying people to his side.” He spat the words with a vehemence that underscored his deep resentment. “If we don’t act now, he’ll tear down everything we’ve fought to protect.”

Armin looked down, wrestling with the turmoil brewing inside him. “So… you’re saying we have to kill him?” The weight of the question seemed to crush him as he forced himself to meet Levi’s gaze.

Levi’s face was unreadable as he took a steadying breath. “I don’t want it to come to that, but if that’s what it takes to stop him from slaughtering the world, then yes. We have no choice.” His tone was cold and final. “We feed him to someone we can trust.”

Mikasa’s face turned pale, her eyes widening with shock. “Captain, you can’t… we can’t just kill Eren. He’s not a monster! He’s still our friend! If we just—”

“Mikasa.” Levi’s voice was sharp, cutting through her protests with a tone that demanded attention. “You saw what he did in Liberio, what he almost did to Armin and you when he broke out. This isn’t about friendship anymore. Eren is a threat. A threat to everyone on this island.”

Jean stepped forward, his voice bitter but resolute. “Eren’s only thinking of himself, Mikasa. Whatever he’s doing, it’s not for Paradis or for us, it’s for himself and Aurora. That’s it. If we don’t stop him, he’ll destroy everything we’ve worked to protect.”

Mikasa’s fists clenched tighter, her nails digging into her palms as she struggled to hold back her frustration. She understood what they were saying, could see the truth in their words, but accepting it felt like betrayal. “But he’s still Eren… if we just had more time—”

“We’re out of time,” Levi snapped, his voice colder than ever. “Eren’s not invincible. He won’t have his Jaegerist army around him every second. If I have to cut off his head myself, I will. Then we’ll have someone else take his power, someone who isn’t hell-bent on genocide.”

Armin took a shaky breath, glancing at Mikasa, whose expression was etched with pain. “But who would we give it to?”

Levi’s face darkened, a hint of frustration flashing in his eyes. “Someone who isn’t planning to tear down the world, that’s all I care about. We’ll figure out the details later, but right now, we need to find an opportunity. One slip, one moment, and we take him down. If he wants to be the devil, then we’ll deal with him like one.”

Hange, arms crossed, looked away, her jaw clenched. She’d always believed in Eren’s potential, in his spirit to fight against injustice. But now… she wasn’t sure what remained of the boy she once knew. “Levi… I hate this. But if we don’t act, the blood that’s spilled will be on our hands too.”

Connie and Sasha exchanged troubled glances, the weight of Levi’s words pressing down on them, hardening their resolve. They couldn’t stand by and watch as their friend became something unrecognizable, someone willing to destroy the world for his own vision of freedom.

But in the back of the room, Armin and Mikasa stood in silence, grappling with the reality of what Levi had just proposed. For Mikasa, the idea of harming Eren felt like tearing out a part of herself, a betrayal that went beyond words. Yet the haunted look in her eyes betrayed her growing fear—that they might not have any other choice.

Levi surveyed them all, his gaze steely and unwavering. “We move forward with this plan. We’ll find a way to end this, whatever it takes. Eren’s made his choice. Now we have to make ours.”

…

Meanwhile back at Historia’s farm, Eren stood in the center of the dimly lit room, a mixture of urgency and frustration etched into his expression as he went over plans with Floch and Historia. They were painfully aware that the threat to their mission wasn’t just Marley or the outside world. Levi and the others, the very people he once fought beside, were now just as much a danger. And Levi… Levi was the most formidable threat of all.

“He’s not just another soldier,” Eren said, his voice low and laced with intensity. “Levi’s fought more Titans than anyone. I’ve seen him take down more Titans in minutes than most can manage in their lifetime. It doesn’t matter if he’s alone—if he comes after me, he’ll be a problem, especially if he knows about the War Hammer Titan’s weaknesses.”

Floch nodded grimly. “We can overwhelm him with numbers. If it’s all the Jaegerists against one, he’ll lose eventually. But at what cost?” He hesitated, his face clouding. “He’d take down dozens, maybe hundreds, before we even have a chance to stop him. It’d be bloody, a massacre.”

Historia frowned, her brows knitting together. “We need to think this through. Levi’s not the kind of person we can outsmart with brute force. It’ll require a strategy, something more than just throwing soldiers at him.”

They fell silent, each of them wrestling with the realization that they were preparing to go up against someone who, in a way, had become almost mythical within the ranks. Levi Ackerman wasn’t just another soldier; he was Humanity’s Strongest, an unstoppable force. Eren clenched his fists, his frustration mounting as the weight of the situation sank in.

That’s when Aurora, who had been quietly listening at the edge of the room, took a step forward. All eyes turned to her, surprise flashing across their faces. She’d been listening, calculating, assessing. Now, she spoke, her voice steady and firm.

“I can handle Captain Levi,” she said simply, her gaze unwavering as she looked directly at Eren.

The room fell into a stunned silence. Floch’s jaw dropped slightly, his eyes widening in disbelief. Historia’s mouth parted as though she wanted to respond, but words failed her. And Eren… Eren looked as if he’d just heard the most ludicrous, impossible statement.

“Aurora…” Eren’s voice was low, almost a growl. “No. Absolutely not.”

Aurora didn’t back down. Her gaze was fierce, a fire in her eyes that none of them had seen before. “Listen to me, Eren. Levi’s a threat—a direct threat to you and everything we’re trying to accomplish. If we don’t neutralize him, he’ll come for you eventually. I know you don’t want to risk lives… but that’s exactly why I’m offering.”

Floch broke in, his voice laced with incredulity. “Aurora, I don’t mean any disrespect, but… we’re talking about Captain Levi here. Humanity’s Strongest Soldier. Do you really think you can—”

“Yes, I do,” she interrupted, her tone fierce and unyielding. “Levi might be stronger and faster than I am, but strength isn’t the only thing that matters. I know what I’m capable of. I’ve spent years under the worst conditions, forced to survive on wit alone. I have a plan. Levi might be the strongest, but he’s not infallible.”

Eren’s hands clenched into fists at his sides, his frustration bubbling over. “Aurora, I am not letting you go after him. Levi isn’t someone who’ll hesitate. If he sees you as a threat, he won’t care if you’re pregnant. He’ll kill you.”

Aurora stepped closer to him, her voice softening but remaining resolute. “And I won’t let him take you from me. You’re everything to me, Eren. If I have to do this to keep you safe, then I will.”

Eren’s heart twisted at her words, at the intensity of her conviction. She’d already shown him how far she was willing to go, the lengths she’d go to protect him, but this—this was different. “Aurora… if he even suspects what you’re planning, he’ll strike before you get the chance.”

She placed a hand on his arm, looking up at him with a mix of determination and reassurance. “Trust me, Eren. I have thought this through. I wouldn’t risk it if I didn’t believe I could succeed. Levi’s a soldier, a warrior, but I… I know how to think in ways he might not expect. I can outwit him.”

Floch, still reeling, finally found his voice. “You’re serious about this. You’re really going to go up against Captain Levi?”

She turned her gaze to Floch, and for a moment, her expression was unreadable, a hint of something fierce and dangerous flickering in her eyes. “Yes. If it means protecting Eren and our future, I’ll do whatever it takes.”

Historia, who had been watching quietly, finally spoke, her voice laced with a mix of admiration and concern. “Aurora… I understand your loyalty, but this is a tremendous risk. Are you absolutely sure?”

Aurora met Historia’s gaze, nodding. “Yes. I know what I’m doing.”

Eren took a deep breath, his voice tight with emotion. “Aurora, this isn’t just about Levi. This is about you, our baby and the life we’re building. I can’t… I won’t let you throw yourself into danger for my sake.”

Aurora’s expression softened as she reached up, cupping his face gently. “Eren, I made a vow when we married. I chose to be with you, to stand by you no matter the cost. This is my choice, and I’m not backing down.”

Eren’s heart thundered in his chest, torn between the fierce love he felt for her and the instinct to keep her safe at all costs. But he could see it in her eyes, the determination, the unbreakable resolve. She wasn’t asking for permission; she was making a decision.

Finally, he nodded, albeit reluctantly. “If this is what you’re set on… then I trust you. But please, Aurora, don’t take unnecessary risks. I need you safe.”

She smiled, her fingers brushing gently across his cheek. “I promise, Eren. I’ll do what needs to be done, but I won’t risk myself needlessly. I’ll be back for you.”

Floch’s gaze shifted between them, still shaken by what he’d just heard. But beneath his initial shock, there was a flicker of something else—an understanding that Eren and Aurora were more alike than he’d realized. Both were willing to cross unimaginable lines for each other, to do whatever it took to achieve their vision of freedom and protection.

As Aurora pulled away, a sense of calm settled over her, a quiet strength radiating from within. She was ready. Levi might be Humanity’s Strongest Soldier, but she was driven by something deeper, something Levi would never understand.

Eren watched her go, his chest tight with a mix of fear and pride. He knew Aurora was capable, knew she was determined, but he couldn’t shake the gnawing worry that this plan might cost them more than they anticipated.

But if there was one thing he knew, it was that Aurora, his wife, would do everything in her power to protect him, just as he would for her.

~

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