#tales from the deli

[lazywitchling]

Y’all. I woke up this morning without a buttcrack-of-dawn alarm, got up naturally by about 7:30, went downstairs, made a cup of tea, sat on the couch in the sun near the cat, and read the newspaper.

And promptly cried about how normal it was.

[esonetwork]

The Deli Man Ziggy Gruber | Tales From Hollywoodland

New Post has been published on https://esonetwork.com/the-deli-man-ziggy-gruber-tales-from-hollywoodland/

The Deli Man Ziggy Gruber | Tales From Hollywoodland

In this episode of “Tales from Hollywoodland,” Ziggy Gruber of Kenny & Ziggy’s New York Delicatessen shares his deli expertise and experiences. The hosts, Julian Schlossberg, Arthur E. Friedman, and Stephen Jay Rubin, delve into the history of delis and Ziggy’s personal journey in the business. They discuss Ziggy’s time in Los Angeles, his move to Houston, and the celebrities who’ve visited his deli. The episode also touches on the 2014 documentary “The Deli Man,” which spotlights Ziggy’s dedication to deli culture.

Links

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Tales From Hollywoodland on YouTube https://www.youtube.com/channel/UCdLX2kbwHqdn47FNN6vVN7Q 

Kenny and Ziggy’s New York Delicatessen  https://www.kennyandziggys.com/ 

We want to hear from you! Feedback is always welcome. Please write to us at  talesfromhollywoodland@gmail.com and why not subscribe and rate the show on Apple Podcast, Spotify, iHeartRadio, PlayerFM, YouTube, Pandora, Amazon Music, Audible, and wherever fine podcasts are found. 

#ZiggyGruberinterview #TheDeliMan #Kenny&Ziggys #TalesFromHollywoodland #jewishcuisinediscussion #Delicatessenculture #NewYorkdelistories #JewishAmericanheritage #Delifoodtraditions #ZiggyGruberconversation #Delicuisineexploration #Delicultureinsights #Hollywoodfoodscene #Delibusinessanecdotes #Hollywoodfoodhistory #Jewishfoodculture #Hollywoodcelebrityinterviews #Foodindustrytrends #StevenJayRubin #Podcast #ArthurFriedman #JulianSchlossberg #ZiggyGruber

[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.

[darsynia]

Forgiven: Candor | CEO Steve/f!Reader series part 2

MCU MASTERLIST | STEVE ROGERS MASTERLIST | Ro Roll

Summary: Your first lunch date with your company’s CEO-turned-construction-hottie has netted you an invitation to a fancy gala. You’re falling head over budget heels for this guy, but getting to know him turns out to be more charming and more complicated than you expected. Words/Warnings: 2,900 / none

Written for @buck-star's Fluffy Winter Event with the prompt CEO, a sequel to the 'Ro Roll' story Forgiven. A third story in the series is mostly written (and smutty). gif by @tay-swifts

Quick note: this one's less of a romp than the first, but I'd say where the first fic is about physical attraction, this is about emotional attraction--and part III is both!

Excerpt:

Tonight’s plan is unconventional. The gala he’s invited you to is the last event of a conference for tech companies, and he was one of the keynote speakers for their final wrap-up. Rogers told you he couldn’t miss the networking for the ninety minutes between that and the start of the gala, so you’ll be arriving separately.

Honestly, if it were anyone else, you’d have tried to beg off. You’ll have to show up dressed to the sevens (the nines are way beyond your price range) and find him in a sea of very important people and other hangers-on. It’s a recipe for a fairy tale either way--either you’ll see each other across a crowded room or someone’s rich stepsister will cut you to verbal shreds. The only way to make that image to go away is picturing Rogers acting like a storybook hero vanquishing all your villains. 

Candor

Sharing a meal with Steve Rogers feels like it shouldn’t be this easy. 

It helps that you’d passed a vintage movie theater playing The Mark of Zorro from 1940 on your way to the deli. You’d expressed surprise that the franchise started that long ago, prompting a discussion about the notable parts of each version the other hadn’t seen (Rogers: Just her hair left to cover everything?!). Now you’re both sharing anecdotes from your late teens over some seriously delicious sandwiches, him telling you about his co-founder Barnes, and you sharing about growing up with your sister Jennie. 

Rogers’ easygoing charisma makes it far too easy to forget that he actually runs the company you work for, especially when he’s laughing. It’s only when he holds out a hand to interrupt the story of your sister’s first catastrophic job interview that his business side kicks in.

The counter is only a few feet away from your table, and he leans over, intently listening. That’s when you hear it-- the soft, frightened voice of a young woman defending herself against a furious male voice.

Rogers shoots to his feet, striding over with the remaining bites of his sandwich in his hand. The manager steps over right away, his frown fading away when he sees the tall, well-dressed man at the counter.

“What can I do for you, sir?”

“I want you to observe OSHA standards, to say nothing of human decency,” Rogers says evenly. The manager presses his hands together in a blatantly fawning apology, but it’s too late. In an ever-increasing tone, your lunch companion lists out three different violations. At least one customer leaves nervously before Rogers adds a strong suggestion that the manager treat his young female employees with more respect. “I have rarely seen the same employee more than twice in the two months you’ve been open, and I hope for your sake it’s because they know their rights,” he says sternly. “Your food is good. Your management is going to run the place into the ground.”

There’s something about his voice of command that completely stomps the manager’s bravado. Seconds later, the employee who’d been yelled at comes out of the back room with a light jacket on and a purse, her face blotchy from crying. You offer her a tissue from your bag and clean up the rest of the table, which works out well when Rogers steps close and asks if you’re ready to head out. Once outside, he spots the young woman walking nearby.

“Give me a second,” he tells you, jogging over to her before she can cross the street. They have a short exchange while you wait, and you can see him give the woman a business card.

When Rogers comes back, you’re both quiet until he opens his car door for you and settles in on his side.

“That was a good thing you did.”

Rogers sighs. “I try not to throw my weight around. I’ve been watching conditions there deteriorate for weeks, and I guess that was the last straw.”

“You offered her a job, didn’t you?”

He turns and smiles, and the brightness of it reminds you of the way sunlight spills into the lobby at Star Industries.

“You’re going to spill that all down the front of you!” Marcia frets as you wobble your way to the door after work. The takeout container you’re precariously balancing is your peace offering to your sister, since you have a date on Couch Potato Movie Night.

“Don’t worry, I won’t be wearing this for long!” you say in an attempt to reassure your coworker.

“TMI!” the older woman says, playfully putting her hands over her ears.

“No, no no no--” The words cut off as you nearly bobble the styrofoam in a bid to whirl around in protest. “Doesn’t everyone change into comfy clothes after work? See you tomorrow!” 

It’s a total obfuscation, but Marcia isn’t able to object before you escape through the rotating doors. 

You won’t actually be wearing ‘comfy clothes,’ mostly because the black ensemble you’re planning to wear on your date has more exposed back than anything you’d ever worn in public before. The truth is, you look and feel great in it-- but comfy it is not. You haven’t worn it in a while (barring the try-on you did two days ago), and you’re already looking forward to the way the skirt flutters around your ankles. Its style is as close to the red dress from Only You as you could find, and you’re pretty sure Marisa Tomei would approve.

You’re hoping Steve Rogers approves, too.

Tonight’s plan is unconventional. The gala he’s invited you to is the last event of a conference for tech companies, and he was one of the keynote speakers for their final wrap-up. Rogers told you he couldn’t miss the networking for the ninety minutes between that and the start of the gala, so you’ll be arriving separately.

Honestly, if it were anyone else, you’d have tried to beg off. You’ll have to show up dressed to the sevens (the nines are way beyond your price range) and find him in a sea of very important people and other hangers-on. It’s a recipe for a fairy tale either way--either you’ll see each other across a crowded room or someone’s rich stepsister will cut you to verbal shreds. The only way to make that image to go away is picturing Rogers acting like a storybook hero vanquishing all your villains. 

You exit your taxi a block away from the venue, amused and diverted by the mental image of your CEO date wearing medieval armor and wielding a sword and shield. The night is warm for early fall, with a light breeze that pleasingly swirls around your skirt and filmy shoulder wrap. You’re left wishing you could wander through Central Park with him, looking at the first leaf changes instead of feeling out of place at the event.

As you walk, you ponder what a modern-day heroic Steve Rogers would look like. This version can definitely wield his power like a weapon, offering that young deli worker a better job or calling on his fellow manufacturers to use more sustainable materials, something Star Industries recently made news for. You’re preoccupied in coming up with a shield analogue for him when you approach your destination.

“Excuse me, miss?” a familiar-sounding voice says. You lift your head to see that it’s Rogers.

“Oh! I didn’t at all expect you to meet me out--”

“I couldn’t take it in there anymore. Place is full of opportunists who think I’m naive for not taking more advantage of our disabled clients,” he says roughly, stripping off his suit jacket as he speaks. “It seems they thought I was faking nice for the past few years. I’m sorry to disappoint.”

“You could never be disappointing!” The words come out before you can vet them, but even if you had, you’d have said them anyway. He throws his blazer over his arm and looks at you with what you can only describe as professional exhaustion. You suspect more went on in that conference than he’s willing to say, and that makes you want to be more honest with him, for some reason. “There were two things going on in my mind on my way over here, would you like to hear them?”

His tone is guarded. “All right.”

“First I was picturing you as a kind of medieval warrior on a mission to fight the kind of villains you just described--”

“No pressure or anything,” Rogers murmurs. 

“The other thing was wishing that I could take a walk with you through Central Park. The leaves are starting to change, there’s a nice breeze--what do you think?”

“I think you shouldn’t lift me up as some kind of hero,” he finally says, “--but I would very much like that.” Rogers holds out his arm for you, not unlike the way you pictured him leading you around the gala. 

As you take it, you decide to go ahead and say, “What would Barnes say about whether you’re a hero?”

“He’d call me a punk with delusions of grandeur, but he’s the one who turned down the position of CEO,” Rogers says, but though his tone is amused, his expression doesn’t really show it.

It’s information you’re not sure is even public, so you focus on keeping up with his big strides as you make your way to the Park. Everything about his body language tells you that there’s a lot going on under the surface, that he might be close to coming unraveled. There’s no good way to say, ‘it’s okay to be quiet if you need to be.’ All you can do is stay quiet and hope he feels supported. The resulting silence isn’t comfortable, but it’s not awkward either--and after what he’d said about the population of the party he left behind, the twilight beauty of the park has to be an improvement.

A gust of wind finally changes the contemplative mood when it blows your shoulder wrap up onto his chest and into his face.

“Crap, I’m sorry,” you rush to say, fighting with the thing to make it stay put. Through your fussing, he stands with his hands out, a small smile haunting his face. It’s the first one you’ve seen from him today, and you decide to comment on it to test the waters. “I can’t help but be nosy and notice you don’t seem much like yourself tonight.”

Rogers’ body language closes up and his facial expression tightens, but he nods. “I’ve had to button up for the conference. I guess it’s just harder to shrug it off, tonight.”

It suddenly occurs to you that you don’t really know him very well, and you’ve walked yourself into a semi-private section of the park with him, at night. At the same time, you still recognize the man you ogled as he sweated and worked in the foyer of his own building as ‘just one of the guys.’ 

Hadn’t you hated a job so much your sister said it ate you alive?

“I can’t pretend to know what it’s like to hold a position at your level,” you say, in the world’s greatest understatement, “What I do know is that you made a decision to protect me from having to deal with something that clearly made you miserable. It sounds like those people were judging you as a bad leader because you want what’s best for your company and its clients. For the record, I think standing up against that is plenty heroic.”

Rogers looks down at his feet for a second, letting out a quick breath before meeting your eyes again, this time with a wistful kind of smile on his face. “It’s nice to know there are people who still see that kind of idealism in me. Thank you.”

“That’s the most polite ‘I disagree’ I think I’ve ever heard,” you retort. “Just to pile on, I also get the impression that you lied to me earlier.”

Now you have his full attention, blue eyes capturing yours with a laser focus you imagine is even more intimidating to a direct subordinate. “Oh?” Clipped, doubtful.

You could love this man, but you have the distinct feeling that he’s having some sort of crisis you’re not privy to. As such, you could be helping here, or you could be making it very easy to leave you on the curb needing a new job.

He’s worth the try.

“You said Barnes turned down CEO. I think you took the job so he didn’t have to.”

The two of you look at each other steadily for a long minute, the tension of your possible mistake ramping up inside you until he strides over, nearly chest to chest.

“You’re right,” he says, almost breathless. He lifts his hand as if to touch your face, his eyebrows quirking up in a silent question. You nod, captivated by the battle he’s clearly fighting with himself. You hope you’ve earned the faith you can see reflected in his eyes.

He slides his fingertips along your cheek and into your hairline with the kind of gentleness a girl can only dream of, and then he kisses you, stealing away all other conscious thought. You sway forward, catching yourself on his chest and then clutching at his lapel when he angles his head. His lips are reverent but hungry, just on the edge of desperate, and as it goes on, your heart spirals away toward the abyss of yes, please, forever.

When he lifts his head, he’s finally smiling in a way you recognize, and holy shit it feels so much like a triumph that you’re probably in big trouble with this guy.

“How about a do-over?” he asks, offering you his arm again. The happiness in his eyes makes you impish.

“Of the kiss, or…”

With both hands framing your face, Steve takes thirty seconds to methodically ruin you for every other man on the planet. Afterwards, he bends down to pick up his jacket from the ground, slings it over his arm like nothing momentous has just happened, and then holds his other arm out just as he’d done earlier in the night.

“You’re an overachiever, you know that, right?” you say, taking his arm. He’s a few other things, but you feel certain there will be time to work on those.

“It’s chronic,” he says. “Shall we?”

The next half hour goes exactly as you’d originally pictured when you walked past the park the first time. Easy conversation, beautiful surroundings, and more sparks flying between you than a welder’s convention. He calls ahead for a car to meet up at a specific corner, and you end up having to borrow his suit jacket by the time you get there. He makes you promise to call him ‘Steve’ before he hands it over.

“Thank you for a perfect evening,” you whisper to him after he gets in the back seat with you. “For your sake I’ll try to remember the best parts, so I can recreate them when I wake up and it’s this morning again.”

“Does that mean you’ll meet me at the same time tomorrow, in that dress, so I can take you to dinner?”

Even your swoons are swooning. You manage to say, “I could never say no to an invitation that smooth!” 

Steve reaches over and squeezes your hand. “You can always say no. It’s important to me for you to know that.”

He sounds so serious that you pull your joined hands up to briefly kiss the back of his. “There’s a story behind that, isn’t there?” As you say this, your conscience stabs you. Hadn’t you dreamed of a rich man to sweep you off your feet? Would he feel betrayed by that??

“Don’t worry about that. Just know I was starting to feel… How do I put it,” Steve says, sweeping his thumb across the back of your hand. “Don’t take this the wrong way--”

“I’m not going to steal Willy Wonka’s secrets, so you can forget about asking,” you quip.

Steve throws back his head in laughter, his hand tightening on yours almost painfully before he lets go. “I was starting to forget what it was like not to be surrounded by people who want something, even if all they want is to say ‘yes.’ That’s one of the few things money can’t buy.”

“Observation changes the results--or in this case, money does,” you say, nodding. “Well, I’m going to take that as a compliment.” The car stops, and for the first time after a long day, you are disappointed to see you’re in front of your apartment.

He unbuckles and leans over to give you a brief but searing kiss. “It’s a compliment.” 

Steve gets out of the car, and for a brief moment you’re confused until he opens your door like a gentleman. It’s impossible not to be charmed. Once he’s helped you out and onto the sidewalk, you wish you could keep his suit jacket, if only so you can use it to prove none of this was a dream. 

“See you tomorrow?” he asks, then says, “Wait. I know you just well enough to suspect you want to prove you’ll say no to me.” You burst out laughing and nod. “All right then: do you want to stay home tomorrow?”

You grin. “No.”

“Good. Let’s push back by an hour, for a better reservation. Seven?”

“Yes.”

“See you then.”

Because your life is not a romance novel but a comedy, you walk in the door of your apartment two hours earlier than promised, your stomach growling in outraged hunger.

“What are you doing home already? Was that your stomach? Didn’t you eat?” your sister asks as you take your shoes off. “Well?” Jennie demands, when you silently head toward the kitchen to warm up some leftovers. “You’re not going to tell me, are you?” she realizes aloud.

“No,” you tell her, an indelible grin on your face.

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[ellieswyfe]

Hood eren tales PT 2

(hood #eren) being ur man ur mann 😜🫶🏾

warnings: oral (m received), fingering, daddy kink, i dunnoo what else this is just pure porn 😭 (MDNII!!)

mood song (GO STREAM DELI 🤍icespicee)

hood eren who even though he spoils you, does not put up with a bad attitude. every time you're mad or upset it puts him ina funk and he just doesn't like it.

hood eren who regardless of your attitude, takes you to your favorite mall with your friends on the weekend, hoping you were just having a shitty week.

hood eren who once more spoils you and your friends, taking you out for hibachi and letting you spend your time hanging around the mall, but he soon regrets this decision when you stop infront of your FAV designer store.

hood eren who makes A LOT of money from selling and has bought you plenty of designer in the past, calmly watches as you and your friends go into the store and end up absolutely RAVING over a pink handbag (https://t.ly/handbag) with the company logo embroidered all over it.

hood eren who as your friends explore the store, watches as you stay by his side begging for him to buy you the bag. (so you can brag later)

hood eren who refuses to buy you the new louie bag, after a week of giving him major side eye and sucking your teeth. he says he doesn't think you deserve it cause of that "nasty ass attitude." "no princess, i'll buy you the bag when you learn some manners." or "daddy said not right now chill."

hood eren who notices how you talk about him to your friends while waking off. he knew that your spoildness got bad but not THIS bad. he’s quick to drive your friends home so he can deal with that attitude.

hood eren who when you get home, comforts you when your eyes get watery and you start with the sniffles but stands strong on his words. "c'mere." he motions you over so he can pick you up and start rubbing you down. he knows just exactly what you need.

hood eren who lets his baby suck him off as an apology. when he pulls it out the tip hits his belly already angry, flushed red, and leaking pre. he lets you start off slow. sucking the tip and kissing his down his shaft. but when he realizes you're stalling, he works his length down your throat admiring your cute whines and occasional gags.

hood eren who throws his head back and moans as you suck the absolute soul outta him “oooh b-baby fuuuuck”, pulling your head down as he thrusts his length into your mouth causing tears to form in your eyes.

hood eren who spurts ropes of cum down ur throat as he finishes in your mouth. then after, pulls you up to kiss you, still tasting the nutty, salty taste of his cum in your mouth, which instantly gets him hard again.(how romantic)

hood eren who pulls off your shorts and slowly peels back your panties to reveal your puffy pussy lips and hard clit. he's so smooth with his work, placing you on the bed and letting you ramble on, that you don't even notice till he eases one of his long thick fingers in your pussy.

hood eren who fingers that creamy pussy enough to have you gushing but not cum. “renn baby please lemme cummm,” you moan out fully resting your body against his chest as his nimble fingers work on pleasuring you. “aht aht ma whats my name? thought it was fuck me?” and “keep them legs open or you wont be cumming atall”

hood eren who shoves his length in your pussy and sets a brutal pace. “ooh pa slow downn i said im sorryy,” you cry. clapping, smacking, and wet sounds echo off the walls and your pretty sure your neighbors hate you by now. “you gone be a good girl nd stop acting up?” eren questions, “yess- daddy i swear i will…” you moan, juices running down your legs and half brain dead now.

hood eren who knows your lying (your definitely gonna up again) but enjoys putting his pretty girl in her place even if she ends up getting what she wants anyways…

hood eren who after he's done tearing up that pussy, buys the special edition louie bag you wanted (it was in his cart the whole time)

______________________________________________

this is my first time writing a semi full smut!? so proud of myself 🥲

LMK FOR A PRT 3…shld i do a few on connie?? 🤭

[yearningagain]

it's enough (to make a girl blush): chapter two

HELLO!!! welcome to chapter two! i'm amazed at the traction that this has gained with just the first chapter, and it's giving me so much motivation to continue this!

i've also decided to open up my ask box for suggestions for rambles and ficlets, so please shoot me a message if you feel so inclined!

and of course a huge thank you to @kayleeofcamelot for betaing and helping me so much!! without further ado!

also on ao3!

total wc: 2.6k | wc: 1.4k | rating: e (18+) | pairing: steddie | cw: none | tags: a/b/o, alpha eddie munson, omega steve harrington, modern au, baker steve, famous eddie, getting together, gay eddie, bi steve, soulmates/true mates/scent mates, side buckingham

part one | part three

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

Steve loved Robin more than he thought he could love anyone. She was the peanut butter to his jelly, the rock to his roll, the yin to his yang. He doesn't know how he managed as long as he did before meeting her, and he frankly doesn't know what he would do without her now. 

That being said, sometimes she does make Steve want to give himself another concussion. 

Lunch at the deli had been uneventful. They had eaten their sandwiches while nestled in the window booth in the back corner, turned to look out onto the streets of Chicago. Most of their conversation was driven by judgmental comments about passerby’s, ranging from jabs about interesting color choices on someone's tracksuit to monologues about wearing a faux fur coat with cheetah print leggings (“It’s the principle, Rob! You wouldn’t get it”).

After finishing their meals, the pair made their way across the street to the record store. Upon entry, Steve was surrounded by deep earthy scents, old vinyl and incense mingled with the fresh flowers growing in pots littered about. And that brought them to their current situation.

Robin was making a complete and utter fool out of herself. She was bright red in the face, and Steve couldn’t tell if it was from pure mortification or her complete lack of breathing for the past five minutes. As soon as a little blonde omega, introduced as Chrissy, emerged from the shelves to greet them and show them around, the alpha had not been able to stop her mouth from running and running. Now, normally in these situations, Steve would insert himself into Robin's one sided conversation and slow her down, purely to rescue the other person from being roped into a woven tale of at least six subjects at once. But after one look at Chrissy, and the adoration and attentiveness in her expression, he decided to leave it be. 

At the back corner of the shop was a small gathering of armchairs, a loveseat, and a small wooden coffee table. Plopping down into the comfiest looking chair, leaving the girls to their own devices, Steve pulled out his phone to start tackling the sea of messages he had received during the night. 

Dusty

12:58 AM: STEVE

STEVEN

12:59 AM: STEVEN HARRINGTON

STEVEN LOUISE HARRINGTON

1:01 AM: do you even love me anymore

1:08 AM: if i were dying i'd be dead by now

1:14 AM: ☠️☠️🩸🩸

1:27 AM: okay whatever goodnight steven text me when you’re  alive again ig 🙄

11:39 AM: Jesus Christ kid

That’s not even my name

11:40 AM: Did you die?

11:41 AM: no

11:41 AM: So what was so important?

11:43 AM: before i say anything i want to remind you that  i know all of your secrets and also you love me sooo much  and you’re the best babysitter ever and you owe me for  letting my mom hire you at the shop

11:44 AM: Dustin. What did you do.

11:44 AM: nothing!

i didn’t do anything i swear on my mother

11:45 AM: Okay…

So…?

11:46 AM: my favorite band is playing here next month but its an 18+ show

mom would never come with me, she’d have a heart attack i think

so i need you to take me

11:48 AM: i can pay for your ticket if you want!

11:50 AM: steve?

A loud crash echoed from within the shop, followed by an extremely disheveled Robin popping her head into the nook. "I need your help."

—

Leaving the girls was both the best and worst decision Steve could have made. 

In the ten minutes of inattentiveness, the alpha had managed to talk for seven of them consecutively. After realizing she had been talking herself in circles, she tried to reign it in, which ultimately ended in her accidental confession of attraction towards Chrissy. That then led to a kiss-turned-make-out, in which Robin had tried to push the shorter girl against a wall for more leverage. However, blinded by her circumstances, she pushed the omega into one of the shelves, effectively knocking it and its contents to the ground. They were old antique shelves that had been modified with basket-drawers to store records and other miscellaneous objects, they were heavy . 

Steve would be upset, but the dark blush and lovesick smile never quite left Robin's face. 

With that mess dealt with, he was finally able to respond to Dustin. He shot a quick 'Sure. Just LMK the deets ' text and slid his phone back into his pocket. Chrissy led them both back to the nook, bustling about and making sure they were comfortable.

"Steve, I am so incredibly sorry about that! Please sit here, let me go grab something and I'll be right back!" She dashed off down a small hallway towards the back of the building.

Steve shook his head at Robin, sighing loudly. "Couldn't keep it in your pants?"

The alpha huffed and looked away. She huffed again, this time more of a sniff. And then again. 

"Steve, are you fucking with me or something?"

Furrowing his eyebrows, he followed suit in her actions by taking his own sniff of the air. "What? What's going on?"

She continues sniffing, seemingly following the scent. Standing from her spot on the loveseat, laser focused on tracking, she walks right over to Steve.

"Your scent, it's changing. I knew it was different this morning! I know what you smell like, dingus. And you don't smell like you anymore. Well, okay, you still smell like you! But it's like you're roasting apples in the woods on a camping trip. And you've always smelled like apples, so I'm glad that's the same, but now it's different. Has anything weird happened lately? Have you felt different at all? Do you have a fever?" Her curiosity morphs into concern and she starts placing her hands over the omegas face, seeing if she can tell the temperature. "I've never been good at this. Should we go to the doctor? Do we need an ambulance? Shit, did you get poisoned?"

Steve grabbed her hands firmly, guiding them to his chest and taking a deep breath. "Breathe. I'm not dying, Robs. I think I'd know if I was." He takes a few more measured breaths, pulling her down into his lap for a hug. 

After he was sure she was calm, he relaxed his grip, but didn't let go. "I was actually meaning to ask you about something. Nothing bad, I promise! I just... I had this really weird dream last night and I woke up convinced it had actually happened. I was so convinced there would be physical proof, but there wasn't any. But I could smell the alpha in my dream. Have you ever had a dream where you could smell the other people?"

Robin looked at him calculatingly, a crease forming in her brow at the thought. "No, never. I didn't think it was a thing that happened."

"Exactly. I could smell him, birdie. I could feel him. It was real . Until it wasn't. I woke up heartbroken. For no real reason." He sighed once more, lowering his gaze to his fingers rested in his lap.

"Okay, I am so sorry once again, and I had no intention to eavesdrop whatsoever, but I want to help." Chrissy emerged from the hallway with a plate of mini cupcakes, a sheepish expression. 

Steve waved her off. "It's all good. If you don't think I'm crazy, I don't mind suggestions."

She set the plate of cupcakes onto the coffee table and sat down on the loveseat. Robin quickly scrambled off of Steve to sit next to the other omega, shooting him an apologetic glance. 

"So, basically, I read this book once, out of pure curiosity, that was about fate and the universe and all that. It had a whole section about how, years and years ago, alphas and omegas were randomly going through what seemed to be second presentations. It started with scent changes, and apparently a lot of people experienced some sort of initial mental connection. These changes were way less severe, and oftentimes not noticeable until a random heat or rut was triggered. When that would happen, it was always a pair at a time, one alpha and one omega. The moment they would smell the other for the first time is the moment their respective presentations would complete. They'd come out the other side bonded and, most often, pupped. Their bodies were preparing."

Steve stared at Chrissy, mouth agape. "Preparing for what, exactly?"

"Their soulmate!"

[beautification-tales]

The Hard Hat

A Caption Tale

Kara entered the construction zone in her gray kitten heels. The cacophony of metal clanging against metal and the growling engines of machinery filled the air. She squinted against the dust that danced in the beams of the setting sun, feeling out of place amidst the hard hats and heavy boots. "Excuse me, can I help you?”

Kara turned to see a burly man in a yellow vest, a hard hat perched on top of his sweaty forehead. "I'm looking for the foreman," she called over the din. "I have an appointment."

The worker nodded, wiping his dirty hand on his even dirtier jeans before extending it to her. "That'd be me," he said with a smile that was surprisingly gentle amidst the chaos. "Jackson."

Kara took his hand firmly, feeling the calloused skin against her own. "Kara," she replied, raising her voice to be heard. "I'm here about the new office development."

“Of course ma’am. We just need you to put a hard hat on.” He grabbed one from the side of his toolbox and handed it to her. Kara smiled as she looked around the site and took notes. The air was thick with the scent of fresh concrete and diesel fumes, but she felt oddly alive amidst the chaos. She slipped the hat over her perfectly styled hair.

“Whoa looking good mama!” A whistle pierced the air, and Kara’s cheeks flushed as she spun around to face the culprit. A young worker in a tight-fitting T-shirt had stopped his hammering to leer at her. She rolled her eyes and followed Jackson’s lead as he marched over, his boots echoing with authority.

“Back to work, Tom,” Jackson bellowed, his gentle smile replaced by a stern look. The young man’s grin disappeared, and he hastily turned back to his task, mumbling an apology. Kara felt a strange mix of gratitude and annoyance—gratitude for the protection but annoyed that she had to be protected in the first place.

“Damn who’s this fine piece of ass?” Another whistle, this one closer, made Kara’s grip tighten around her notepad. She ignored it, focusing on the blueprints spread out before her on the makeshift table, her eyes scanning the lines and numbers as if they could shield her from the leers.

“You’re going to need some safety googles in this section ma’am. Can’t have you getting dust in those pretty eyes,” Jackson said, handing her a pair. Kara took them with a smile of thanks, slipping them over her face. Jackson smiled as he noticed her lips had a fuller look with wet lip gloss applied. Kara licked her lips with a confused face. “Why am I wearing lip gloss?” She thought as she followed Jackson.

“Oh mama, I’ve been a bad boy!” The lewd remark was accompanied by a wink from a worker as he strutted past. Kara’s jaw clenched, and she felt a flash of anger. She decided she would say something about it. “You are definitely deserving of a good spanking then naughty boy.” She replied her voice dripping with sensuality. The worker froze in his tracks, his eyes wide as he processed the unexpected response. A chuckle rumbled from Jackson’s chest, and the tension around them lightened.

Kara looked down in embarrassment, confused on what possessed her to talk like that. Kara felt warm as her scalp began to itch under her hard hat. Jackson grinned as he watched her scratch her head. “Are you feeling ok ma’am? Apologies about my workers, they tend to get raunchy around the fairer sex.”

Kara nodded, swallowing hard. “Yeah they probably need to release all that pent up energy with a real good time.” Jackson raised an eyebrow at her statement. “What do you mean ma’am?” Kara placed her hands on her hips and swayed to one side. “I’m talking about giving them something to enjoy.” Kara didn’t understand why she was acting so differently but she also couldn’t stop herself.

She pulled out her cell phone and played “Deli” by Ice Spice. Kara felt her body move on its own. Her hips swayed to the beat as she began to dance in the dusty construction zone. The workers stopped what they were doing, their eyes glued to her as she strutted closer to the group of men. They stared in a mix of shock and awe as she dropped her notepad and began to twerk, her pants shaking with her legs and ass. The music blared through the speakers of her phone.

Jackson put his hand in his pocket to adjust himself as he watched her dance. Kara put a hand on her hard hat as her pants morphed into fishnet stockings. They were loose as her heels grew taller and black. The blue shirt melted down her body resting on her hips and exposed her chest and bra. She smiled as she noticed more eyes were upon her. She felt so wet as she let go letting the music guide her.

Kara’s eyes rolled back as her yellow vest shrunk but her body grew. Her flat ass billowed out and began to clap as she twerked more proficiently with the music. The workers whistled and applauded as her curves increased with her skill. Jackson motioned one of the workers to hand him a chair as he sat down.

Kara slowly walked up to him and sat and grinded on him. She could feel her breasts expanding as her thighs got thicker stretching her stockings. She turned her head and could see Jackson’s face contort in approval. She turned her head forward as she felt his bulge get bigger and bigger. Kara bucked her hips wildly as Jackson grunted in glee.

Suddenly the music stopped, and Kara’s head snapped up. The workers had formed a circle around her, their expressions a mix of shock and lust. The foreman looked at her with newfound respect and desire. She felt a thrill run through her body as she realized she had the power to control the room. She slid off the chair and sauntered over to the group of men, her newly enhanced body moving with a confidence she had never felt before.

She went over to her phone and played Latto.

“Who’s Next?”

[jerzwriter]

Thank you to @alj4890 for this ask from this list! I have two down, and one to go! lol

Story: Open Heart (About a year after Book 3) Category: AU - One Off Trope: There's only one bed... Characters: Tobias Carrick x Casey MacTavish (F!MC) Rating: Teen Words: 2,500 Summary: It's de ja vu all over again for Casey when she and Tobias check into a beachside resort for a medical conference, only to find the reservation was for one room only. They decide it's not that bad until they open the door to the room, and yep... there is only one bed. Tobias comes up with a solution, but will it work?

A/N: This is not part of my Tobias x Casey HC - in this story, they're merely colleagues attending a conference together in Santa Barbara.

Participating in @choicesjunechallenge2024 Hotel - “It’s quite the conundrum, isn’t it?”

The ascent to the 40th floor of the seafront hotel was unusually tense. Standing side by side, the silence between Tobias and Casey grew increasingly uncomfortable with each passing floor. Casey's gaze remained fixed on the elevator doors, recalling the events that brought them to this moment.

“It looks like your room was upgraded!” The desk clerk beamed. “You’re going to love it! The views from our top floor are breathtaking!”

“That’s wonderful,” Casey smiled. “But there should be an s at the end of room. The reservation was made for two rooms."

A crease formed between the young man’s eyes as he tapped away on his keyboard and Casey grew more concerned the longer he remained silent. “Dr. MacTavish, correct?”

“Yes.”

“I’m sorry,” He apologized, turning his computer screen toward her. “But your reservation states one room only.”

Casey exhaled deeply. She had certainly been in this predicament before and had no desire to endure it again.

“That’s fine. Mistakes happen. Now, if you could just get us another room....”

“I’d love to, but we are fully booked this week. With two conventions in town, pretty much every hotel in the area is booked solid.”

“You have to be kidding me,” she groaned.

“I wish I were. I could make some calls? Perhaps one of our sister properties a few towns away has something? We could arrange to have them shuttle you....”  

“No, no,” Casey grumbled. “My colleague and I are presenting at the conference. We can't risk being delayed. We'll have to make do."

She spotted Tobias as soon as she turned from the front desk. It wasn’t difficult; the man had already amassed a small audience who watched the handsome doctor tell his tales with rapt attention. Casey rolled her eyes, she knew this story, and it was full of hyperbole, but who was she to deny him his moment. She noted how captivated some of those listening were and considered asking any if they'd switch rooms with her. She was sure there would be takers, but somehow, the idea left her queasy, and she had no idea why.  

Tobias turned toward her with his alluring smile that turned most to mush. She never denied that the man was extremely handsome, not from the first time they met at that deli years ago. But she never fell for his charm. Mere mortals were putty in Dr. Carrick’s hands, but Casey was no mere mortal. Just not happening, she muttered to herself as she approached.

“There she is,” he beamed as she neared him. “It’s the woman of the hour!”

“The woman of the hour?” She asked with a raised brow. “Hardly.”

“You’re right,” he winked. “She’s the woman of the whole damn week. Allow me to introduce Dr. MacTavish.”

Casey nodded politely, shook the required hands, and, after some small talk, announced she was off to find her room. She studied her colleague suspiciously as his fan club dissipated, and he caught her red-handed.

“Watcha looking at MacTavish?” he teased.

“You. I’m trying to figure out why you were building me up. We’re one of six panelists here to speak about a joint discovery that doesn’t exactly make me the woman of the week.”

“Depends on who you ask,” he said with more sincerity than she had anticipated. “I think you’re woman of the week material every week. Besides, everyone already knows I’m amazing. I’m not about to have them think my cohort is anything less than stellar as well.”

“Mmmhh. You’re a real gentleman,” she groaned as his eyes fell to the keycard in her hand.

“So, did you get our rooms squared away?”

“About that,” she sighed, explaining the situation. “But on an up note, they say we have an incredible view.”

Tobias rocked back and forth on his feet, a shit-eating grin on his face.

“What?” She snapped.

“If you wanted to get me alone in a bedroom, Case, all you had to do was ask.”  

His smile drifted when she punched his shoulder. She packed quite a punch! And while Tobias wasn’t about to admit it, that made her even more enticing in his book.

“Stop before I have to fill out an HR report. Remember, this is a business trip. You still have to adhere to all those rules you learned in sexual harassment training!”

“Aw, come on,” he snickered, picking up one of Casey’s bags. “You never held me to those rules back in Boston, you're going to do it here in beautiful Santa Barbara?”

He wasn’t exactly wrong; the two of them struck up a quick rapport when he joined the diagnostic team. And anyone who had seen them together at Donahue’s would tell you that flirtatious banter was certainly their thing. 

“Yeah, but I don’t have to share a room with you back in Boston.”

“You could,” he winked as they stepped onto the elevator.

“You’re incorrigible!”

But as the elevator climbed and the weight of the situation sank in, even Tobias turned somber. With just ten floors remaining, they had gone silent. Words weren't uttered as they walked down the plush, carpeted hall either. But as Casey reached for the key card, Tobias's hand closed around her wrist.

“Look,” he stated. “I know we were joking, but is this all right with you? If sharing a room makes you uncomfortable, I’ll look for a room elsewhere.”

“We don’t have a choice. Every room within a fifteen-mile radius is booked.”

“There’s always a way, and if you’re uncomfortable.... what?” he asked, noticing Casey's smirk.

“Dr. Carrick, have you already spotted someone you’d like to shack up with for the week? Because it would leave me with the room all to myself."

“No!” he shot back, taking offense. “You know, I’m not as bad as people say. I mean, I’m bad... just not... that bad.”  

“It was a joke,” she giggled, slipping the key in the slot. “And it's fine. We’re grown-ups, we’re colleagues, and we’re friends. We can make this work.”

Confidence overtook them as Casey swung the door to the posh room open, but a single glance around shattered that instantly. The room was absolutely beautiful, but one issue loomed large: one bed.

“Uhh, you sure about that, kid?”

“You’ve got to be kidding me?” Casey snapped.

“Yeah. This totally doesn’t feel like the movies.” He grumbled.

“No, it doesn't! This is quite the conundrum, isn't it?” Casey sighed, “We cannot share a bed for a freaking week!”

“It’s OK,” he said, phoning the front desk. “I’ll ask for a foldaway bed. The hotel screwed this up; it's the least they can do.”

“And who gets to sleep on a crappy foldaway bed for a week?”

“You,” he grinned. “You’re not going to make an old man sleep on that thing, are you? You’re young; you can bounce back. I can’t.”

“Tobias!”

“I’m joking! How about we alternate nights?”

“Fine,” Casey replied. “You take care of that, I’m going to the bathroom.”

When she returned, Tobias was standing by the window, mesmerized by the sun setting over the Pacific Ocean. Shades of purple and pink painted the sky, and palm trees swayed gently in the breeze, creating a scene straight out of a postcard.

“Wow,” she said, now standing at Tobias’s side. “Do we really have to present at this thing? Because I’d be happy to stay here and stare at this all week.”

“Me too,” he smiled. “It is quite a sight, and that’s the good news.”

 “And the bad?” She cringed.

“They’re out of folding beds.”

“Jesus!”

“It’s all right. I’ve already taken care of it.”

“How?”

He pulled his phone from his pocket, waving it excitedly in front of her. “Amazon, baby! I ordered a deluxe air mattress; it’ll be here in the morning. We just have to get through one night. Think you can handle it?”

“We'll survive one night,” Casey agreed. “After all, some people can sleep in the same bed as you and resist you!”

He had a hundred lines ready to go. Normally, this would be the moment for a joke or a touch of flirtation. But Casey was his friend and colleague, someone he respected deeply. The last thing he wanted to do was add to her discomfort.

“I’m sure there are extra pillows in the closet. We can put them down in the center of the bed.”

“The bed isn’t that big. If we do that, one of us will end up on the floor for sure. We can make do, but....”

“But?”

“If you tell anyone about this, I swear to God, I’ll start the most vicious rumors about you!”  

“Oh yeah?” he challenged, a twinkle in his eyes. “Like what?”

“Like you wear pink bunny slippers!”

He grabbed his chest and let out an exaggerated gasp. “You’ve gone through my luggage!

“Fine! I’ll tell them you sleep in nightgowns that are straight out of the Golden Girls.”

“Kinky!” He growled to Casey’s chagrin.

“Oh, forget it,” she laughed. “There is no embarrassing you!”

“Sure there is; you just have to try harder!”

~~~~~

Several hours later, Casey left dinner early, figuring it would be less awkward to shower while Tobias was still mingling with other conference attendees downstairs. She was right; by the time he returned to the room, she was clean and comfortably reading in bed, dressed in her old sweats. The pajamas could wait until tomorrow when they had separate places to sleep.

Tobias stood at the door, almost sheepish. “You heading to bed soon?”

She looked up from the book in her hands. “After I read a bit.”

“All right,” he kicked off his shoes. “I’ll take a quick shower and stay out of your hair.”

Fifteen minutes later, he stepped back into their room. Although he promised to stay out of her hair, he clearly had no problem occupying her thoughts. Did he really need to be shirtless? As much as Casey wanted to scold him, doing so would have forced him to put on a shirt—and she didn't want that. Mesmerized by his pecs and arms, everything was going fine until he caught her in the act.

Shit! She said to herself. Boosting Tobias’s already exorbitant ego had not been on her bingo card, but it was too late to change that now.

“Something wrong?” he smirked as Casey desperately looked for an off-ramp.

“Uh, you, uh, don’t sleep like that, do you?”

“Usually,” he shrugged. “So I didn’t bring any shirts suitable for sleeping in. I’d ask you for one of yours, but I’m sure it wouldn’t fit!”

Casey snapped her fingers and jumped out of bed with a relieved smile. “You’re in luck! She insisted, rifling through her luggage. “Here!”

She extended her hand, holding out a rumpled pink T-shirt adorned with fluffy white sheep and silver sparkles. It would have looked commonplace in a five-year-old's room, but here?

“What is that?”

“It’s a T-shirt, dummy. It’s a 2X, so I use it as a nightshirt, but it will more than fit you.”

Tobias looked at her disdain as Casey beamed with satisfaction. He took the offensive article of clothing and slipped it over his head.

“You tell anyone about this, and I’ll never speak to you again!”

“No one hears about any of this,” she laughed, hopping back into bed to continue her reading.

Tobias grabbed his book and slipped into bed beside her, sure to keep a respectable space between them. After some time, the silence became too loud, and he asked what she was reading.

“Private Guns, Public Health," she replied, holding the book in his direction.

The little crinkle between his eyes indicated he needed more information.

“It’s about gun violence in the United States and how treating it as a public health issue would be invaluable in protecting lives.”

Tobias raised a brow.

“What?” Casey demanded. “We’re doctors. Saving lives is what we do; it makes sense to be knowledgeable about these issues.”

“I completely agree, but... before bed.”

Casey slammed her book shut. “So, what are you reading?”

He lifted his book with a very large peach emoji against a yellow background on its cover. “Butts: A Backstory.”

“What?” He grinned as Casey broke out laughing.

“Oh, nothing. I guess you're taking light reading to new levels.”

“It’s not what it appears to be... yeah, it’s a look at the history of... butts... but it’s bigger than that.”

Casey roared with laughter once again as Tobias dragged a hand down his face.

“Poor choice of words. It delves into deeper issues like race, control, liberation, and how they impact our feelings and perceptions about ourselves and others.”

“Oh, but you mock me for reading something heavy before bed?” she teased.

“Listen, you,” he said, flipping to his side. “Be nice to me; you’re supposed to respect your elders.”

“Oh, shut up,” she said, rolling onto her side to face him. “You act like you’re old enough to be my father, and that’s far from the truth.”

“Hey! I could have been a very active ten-year-old,” he chuckled.

They broke into a fit of giggles. When their laughter stopped, they found themselves gazing into each other's eyes.

“You know, I’ve never thanked you," he smiled.

“Thanked me? For what?”

“For believing in me... for not taking the negative shit people said about me as gospel, and taking the time to get to know me for yourself. For being a friend when I joined the team because, in the beginning, you were my only friend there.”

“You don’t have to thank me," she blushed. "I mean, you did sort of save my life; I’m kind of indebted to you, you know?”

“Nah,” he smiled. "It's more than that, and you know it”

Noticing their proximity, a blush spread across Casey's cheeks, and she nervously pulled back.

“Time for bed,” she announced.

Uncertain about the emotions coursing through him, Tobias quickly agreed.

“Yeah, good idea," he mumbled as they both rolled over close to the edge of the bed, their eyes wide open. Sleep would eventually come, but not without much effort.

When the alarm went off the following morning, both let out a groan. Neither of them were morning people, and the idea of waking was less than appealing. But when they opened their eyes, Tobias's arm was wrapped around Casey, who was happily nestled as the big spoon to his little spoon. Both lay frozen, petrified over what they should do next when Tobias jerked his arm back apologetically.

“I’m... I’m so sorry, Casey,” he stuttered. "I absolutely did that in my sleep. It wasn’t intentional at all. I....”

"Stop," she ordered as she grabbed his hand and placed it back where she found it upon waking. "It's OK," she whispered. "I... I kind of like it."

“You do?" He asked, more than a little stunned. He was quick to hold her closer when she replied with a nod and a smile.

“Good," he said with a smile. "Because I like it too.”

Casey rolled over, remaining in his embrace. They gazed at each other intently, uncertain of who initiated their first kiss. It was tender, tentative... each ensuring it was welcomed by the other. When it became clear that it was, they kissed again, this time unleashing the passion they had both denied for far too long.

"Can I tell you a secret?" Tobias grinned as he pulled away.

"Of course," Casey beamed.

"I've been wanting to do that for a long, long time."

Casey reached up and placed a peck on his lips with a smile.

"I'll let you in on a secret, too. So have I."

"So... what do we do with this?" Tobias asked.

"I don't know," she replied, running a finger across his chest. "Why don't we kiss again and see where it goes from there."

"I like that," he growled as their lips came crashing together.

An hour later, they stepped out of the room, not a hair out of place and the picture of professionalism. They nearly tripped over the box that had been placed in front of their door.

"The air mattress!" Casey laughed.

Tobias nudged it into the room with his foot, his gaze warming as he looked at her. "Will we be needing that?"

Casey adjusted his tie, leaning up to kiss him as his arms wrapped around her.

"I think we can return it," she replied with a smile.

"Good answer," he grinned, taking her hand and leading her towards the elevator. "Good answer."

The air mattress did not return to Boston with them, but as they stepped off their plane in Boston, it was evident they had returned with something new.

@choicesficwriterscreations @openheartfanfics

Tagging others separately.

[jtargaryen18]

One Night With You ~ Pt 2

One Night With You ~ A Halloween Tale in 3 Parts

Masterlist

Read Part 1

Words: 3.1k

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Neighbor reader

Warnings: A little language, references to the sound of people having sex, masturbation.

Disclaimer: The author of this work claims no ownership of characters aside from the reader, and any original secondary characters mentioned. This work is not intended for those under the age of 18 due to explicit sexual content in the third act. By reading this work or any works on my blog (jtargaryen18), you agree that you are at least 18 years of age. I don’t consent to having my work reposted or translated.

Summary: For @iheartsebstan who was my very first follower here on Tumblr and one I adore. 💕 It’s all about a chance encounter and how it can make everything in your life so much better.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

October 30th

You’d left work and darted into the market on the way home. Tomorrow was Halloween and you needed candy for that because they did trick-or-treat in your building each year. You also wanted to grab something for your dinner since you were on your own tonight. You grabbed a sub from the deli, a pint of ice cream. You were all set.

“Hey, there,” a familiar voice came from behind you.

You froze. Bucky.

“Hi,” you said turning around. Your heart sped up. “How are you?”

“Good,” he said, unleashing a smile on you. “How are you?”

You nodded, next in line for the cashier. Bucky followed the line of your gaze to the items on the counter next to you.

“Candy,” he said. “That’s a good idea. I remember getting a text about the trick-or-treat tomorrow night. Hang on.”

Bucky darted back into the store, way too quickly for your liking because the man’s ass and thighs were exquisite. He was back in a flash, carrying a huge bag of mixed candy and getting in line directly behind you. It had you grinning.

“What? Is it too much?” he asked, nodding to the candy, those stormy eyes warm.

“Better safe than sorry,” you told him. “I know what to do if I run out of candy.”

Why was he looking at you like that? Did he do this a lot? It was hard to put words together to form a sentence with him smiling at you.

Bucky nodded to your wrapped sub. “Is that dinner?”

You nodded.

“Invitation is still open,” he said. “I could make you dinner.”

Your heart fluttered at that and no way you were making the same mistake twice. Taking a deep breath, you said, “Okay.”

His brows shot up, those stormy blue eyes widened. “Yes?”

“Yes,” you said.

“To dinner? Tonight?”

Did he have to be gorgeous and adorable?

“Yes,” you told him.

“Okay.” He looked like his mind was going a mile a minute. “Hold on.”

He grabbed a shopping basket and darted back into the store while the cashier checked you out. You’d just finishing paying for your groceries when he re-emerged, carrying the candy and a basket full of items.

You shook your head. “Don’t go to all this trouble for me, Bucky” you told him.

“It’s no trouble.” The cashier checked him out. She was really checking him out. Again, he carried a paper sack of groceries with his left arm and oddly, he wore a black glove on that hand. His other hand was bare.

The two of you were off, heading back to your apartment building. You went into your apartment to drop off your things and freshen up. You were just about to knock on his door when he pulled it open.

That smile. It froze you for a moment.

You followed him into his apartment to the kitchen table where he had a small metal device, a bottle of olive oil, and a shiny ball of yellow dough. He laughed at what must have been a look of confusion on your face.

“I’m making pasta,” he told you, grinning. “It’s not really something I make for myself.”

Crossing your arms over your chest, you shook your head. “That’s why you asked me over, huh? To make pasta?” you teased.

“It goes better with someone to help,” Bucky explained. “You’ll see why.”

A few minutes later, you did see why. You were standing there while Bucky ran the dough through the pasta maker over and over again, making it thinner and longer. It had to be ten feet long now and you stood on the other side of the table, holding the slack up as he worked.

You loved watching him work. He’d removed his jacket and the dark flannel shirt he wore stretched across the muscled wall of his chest in a way that made it hard not to stare. The glossy locks of his dark hair just reached his shoulder. His right hand was bare. He wore a medical glove over the other one. You stopped yourself before you said anything. He probably lost his hand or arm in an accident and the last thing you wanted to do was make it awkward.

Once the pasta was to his liking, he collected it from you, motioning to a bottle of wine on the counter behind you. You opened it and poured each of you a glass while he proceeded to assemble mushroom ravioli like a Michelin-starred chef.

“Do you cook?” he finally asked as he worked at the stove on the filling.

“Not much,” you told him. “I can make a few simple things. I’ve never really tried going beyond that.”

“Your boyfriend doesn’t cook for you?” Bucky asked as he continued. He wasn’t making eye contact as he finished the raviolis, so it was less intimidating.

“To be fair, I’ve never really had any guy cook me dinner,” you said. “Until now… And I don’t know that I’d call Denny a boyfriend. It’s more of a casual thing.”

Bucky did stop there to meet your gaze. “Are you happy?”

Don’t ask me that. Don’t look at me like that with those smoky blue eyes.

Taking a drink of your wine, you shrugged. “It is what it is.”

“You know I would have gotten you flowers,” he said with his back turned to you. “But you work at the flower shop so…”

You had to laugh at that. “You’re here making me dinner. And you thought about flowers?”

“That’s the way you should be treated,” he mused.

“Denny missed that memo.” The wine you drank on an empty stomach went to your head. “Maybe I should get an official boyfriend.”

“Do you want one?” He gazed at you over his shoulder, a slight grin there. His eyes were soft, sincere.

“Let me see how good the ravioli is first,” you told him with a smile.

Bucky had a light-hearted laugh that had your heart clenching in your chest.

You cleared the small kitchen table and set it for dinner, asking him where things were. His apartment wasn’t any nicer than yours. But it was warm, welcoming. Or maybe it was just him.

He peeled off the medical glove before putting the final touches on the dinner he made. You saw the dark metal hand under it, precise threads of gold adorned it.

“It doesn’t bother you, does it?” Bucky held up the hand.

You shook your head. “Of course not. What happened? If you don’t mind my asking.”

Surprise lit up those blue eyes. Were people normally rude to him about it?

“I was in the army,” he explained. “Lost it in an accident.”

You nodded. “Thank you for your service.”

Now that you were watching, you saw that hand wasn’t just a prosthetic. It seemed to function just like a regular hand. It had you wondering if he’d been a war hero to have something like that, so technologically advanced.

As he served you both and you took your seat, met his gaze squarely. “It doesn’t bother me.” You nodded to his hand.

The meal was delicious, and it had been fun helping him put it together. Unlike what you normally did with Denny, there was no TV on. Looking around, you didn’t see one. The two of you talked over dinner. Good conversation, good food. You talked about the flower shop and working there. He asked where you were from, about your family.

Bucky honestly made you feel seen, valued. It was different. The saying “if it seems too good to be true…” floated through your head a couple of times. What if he was too good? What if he was a serial killer or…

After dinner, you helped clear the table. You intended to do dishes; it was only fair. He cut you off, telling you to bring the wine to the living room. You took a seat on the couch, enjoying your second –third? —glass of wine. He joined you on the couch. You’d poured another glass for him, but his focus was on you.

“Was dinner okay?” he asked, grinning. He’d angled himself so he was facing you on the couch, his good arm draped over the back of the couch. After a moment, you realized he was carefully playing with the hoop earring you wore. His touch was delicate, nice.

“It was delicious,” you told him. And that was true. “I wish I could cook like that.”

“You can,” he said. “I could teach you a few things.”

The wine and your frustrated libido had your body taking the comment an entirely different way. Down, girl. He’s offering to teach you to cook.

But that would mean more time together, right?

Your phone hummed in your pocket, and you pulled it out to see a text from Denny. It was terse for him. He just cryptically said he was on his way to your place and that the two of you “needed to talk.”

What was this about?

“Everything okay?” Bucky asked, drawing your attention back to him.

“Yes,” you told him, shoving your phone back in your pocket and rising from the couch.

“It’s him.” It wasn’t a question.

“It is.” And the evening had gone so well. Did Denny really need to fuck it up? I could just text back and tell him to fuck off. That’s what your head told you to do. Your heart was drumming out a guilty tune. “I’m so sorry to be leaving so quickly. I really am. He’s just on his way to my place and apparently, we need to talk. I have no idea what’s going on.”

Bucky rose from the couch, towering over you and only a few inches away. You could read the disappointment on his face. But he was still smiling, his good hand smoothed over your hair as you stood in the peaceful quiet of his living room.

You really wanted to stay.

 “I’ve really enjoyed this evening,” he told you. “I’d love to do it again sometime.”

You’d been holding your breath, fully expecting to say something like “call me when you break up with your boyfriend.” But he didn’t.

“I would too,” you assured him. “Let me go deal with this.”

“So trick-or treat tomorrow?” Bucky offered, gaze down at you.

You nodded. You liked that idea.

“Thank you,” you told him, pressing a kiss to his cheek. “Goodnight.”

The line had been meant to mark your exit. He didn’t say anything until you got to the door.

“I’m here if you need anything,” he told you. “Okay?”

That had you smiling. “Okay.”

You’d just made it into your apartment when someone pounded on it, had you jumping where you stood. You were frustrated because you were having such a good evening and here was Denny all upset. Why? You had no idea.

When you opened the door, you found Denny there. If he hadn’t texted you with “we need to talk” you might have thought he had another fight with his sister. But this time, his source of tension appeared to be you.

“One of my friends saw you walking up the street with another guy.” He just got straight to the point.

“I was,” you admitted. “He’s my neighbor.”

Anger flashed in his dark eyes. “That’s it? That’s all you’ve got to say?”

“Denny, I should be allowed to talk to my neighbor,” you pointed out. “And it was your idea for us to be non-committal.” You put air quotes on non-committal. “I don’t understand why you’re upset.”

His ire seemed to fade at that, and he scrubbed a hand over his mouth and chin. “You didn’t tell me your fucking neighbor was the Winter Soldier.”

Wait. What?

Denny rolled his eyes at you. “Bucky Barnes, Captain America’s best friend, world famous assassin. Ring any bells?”

You just stared at him as you considered what he was saying. You’d never heard the term “Winter Soldier” before. But Bucky Barnes? His metal hand. Now it all made sense.

I had dinner with Bucky Barnes? And he’s interested in me?

Denny knew you well enough to realize correctly that you didn’t know. Slowly, the tension in his face eased. Shaking his head, he smiled.

“You didn’t know,” he said. “Okay, because Derek said you walked in here together.” Denny looked around. “And he’s not here so…”

Yeah, he’d wanted a no-strings relationship but the minute he thought you were trading up for Bucky Barnes, he’s upset?

“No, he’s not here,” you told him. Angry.

You were pissed that Denny ruined what had possibly been the best date you’d ever had. And come to find out your neighbor was an Avenger with a past shrouded in mystery…

Blowing out an exhale, Denny smiled, moving closer. “Sorry, I lost my cool,” he said. “I just… never mind.”

When he started kissing you, you played along. He corralled you toward your bedroom. You went along but with the realization it was the very last time.

Tonight showed you two important things. One, after having dinner with Bucky next door, you realized you wanted a different type of relationship. You wanted to have dinners like you’d had this evening and to have the other person in the relationship actually talk to you like Bucky did, to want to know who you are.

And two, Denny was going to be so upset when you ended things in the morning. He’d accuse you of ending things to pursue Bucky Barnes. And you were.

If you ended things now, you’d be in for hours of fighting, and you had work the next morning. If you ended things on the way out, you had a good reason that you couldn’t stay and say more.

As Denny undressed you and urged you toward your bed, you weren’t thinking about sex with him. You were thinking about Bucky and hoping that you hadn’t allowed Denny to totally ruin your chances with him.

***

Bucky sat on his couch, his head in hands. He didn’t understand. He didn’t understand at all.

Yeah, okay, he’d followed you from the flower shop and “accidentally” ran into you. Sam suggested it as a way to talk to you again without seeming too eager.

Honestly, Bucky didn’t care if he seemed eager. He was. He’d been on a few dates since he slowly got back into the world. None of them had been like you. It had been so easy with you.

Denny had texted you and ended the evening way sooner than he wanted. Bucky would have happily talked to you for hours. Instead, you got that text and went running back to your apartment. Back to him. He thought your cryptic mentions of Denny were a sign that you weren’t happy in that relationship. That maybe he had a chance.

Maybe you’d just been playing him.

Still, Bucky had been trained to read people. You were interested in him. It wasn’t artifice. He would have picked up on it. Something else was going on here.

Denny arrived and started shouting at you about walking with the “Winter Soldier,” the persona he was working so hard to bury. It hadn’t taken him long to figure out that you hadn’t recognized him during dinner. Bucky was surprised but pleased. You didn’t have preconceived notions. He could tell you at the right time about who he was and who he had been.

But no. Denny ruined that. He ruined dinner. And now, the final insult, they were in there having sex and he got to listen to it fucking again. Had dinner with him been that bad? He thought he made a good impression, that you were as interested in him as he was you.

It was times like this when he wished he could drink to take the edge off.

While he wasn’t trying to listen, he did notice one thing. This time, he could hear your breathing, but you made no other sounds. No moans, no gasps of pleasure. Once again, no release.

What did you get out of that relationship?

Bucky went to bed early, hoping to escape into sleep. They were done by then and he was grateful. Still, he couldn’t fall asleep. His mind was going 70 miles an hour.

A few minutes later, he heard moving around. Your tread. You couldn’t sleep either. You went into the bathroom, running a bath for yourself. The sounds of water were soothing. Bucky loved long baths in the tub. What he wouldn’t give to be in the tub with you right now.

The vision in his mind of you in your tub, buried under piles of scented bubbles helped him relax. The sounds of water sloshing with your movements were pleasant.

Until he heard the water perpetually moving, a cadence that was increasing in speed.

Bucky huffed in frustration, dragging a hand through his hair.

You’ve got to be kidding.

You were pleasuring yourself in the tub, trying to find the release that the selfish bastard in your bed couldn’t be bothered to give you. Instantly, Bucky was hard as a rock. He slept naked so it was easy to slide his good hand under the covers to wrap around his aching cock.

Matching his rhythm to yours, he worked himself, picturing your small hand wrapped around him, your mouth, your pussy. Your pussy. Bucky gasped for breath. What would working himself into that be like? You were petite. How long would it take him to reach the end of you? Could you even take all of him?

The thought drove him insane as his movements sped up to match yours. You had to be getting close. Were you picturing him as you fought for release? Bucky hoped so.

It was that tiny moan you allowed to escape, it was a raw, authentic sound that had him shooting off, gasping as the white stream of his come spurted over his abs, his thighs. Bucky lost himself to it because it was good, coming with you…

Grabbing his discarded boxers from the floor, he cleaned himself, savoring the rare moment of pleasure, peace. It pushed his longing higher, his desire for you. You would be that good for him, he just knew it. And he could treat you right, the way a gorgeous young dame like you should be treated.

Bucky just hoped he still had a shot somehow.

It was quiet in your bathroom as he settled down, thinking he could sleep now. And he did. He fell into a deep enough sleep that he didn’t hear you crying in your bath.

@valsworldofcreativity @21stcenturywitchcraft @coconutqueen21 @bval-1 @caffiend-queen @sadlittlecountess @candy-and-writing @capsicle-shield @chaoticfiretaconerd @chrisevansgirl @chris-evans-indian-fanfic @coldmuffinbanditshoe @daughterofthenight117 @hv-chw3 @iheartsebstan @imanuglywombat @just-one-ordinary-fangirl @justrae9903 @lokislastlove @mariaenchanted @maxwelllee2020 @nekoannie-chan @nerdwholikesword @notyourtypicalrose @optimistic-dinosaur-nacho @peaceinourtime82 @rainbowkisses31 @rayofdawnworld @richonne4life @rissysthoughts-blog @saiyanprincessswanie @scarletsoldier21-blog @shygirl-00 @supernaturaldean67 @sweater-daddiesdumbdork @team-iron-wannabe-man @titty-teetee @tonib666 @villanellev @vitamingummies @what-is-your-plan-today @what-is-your-wish @xoxabs88xox @rosalynshields @naturalthrone22 @marvelovernfan @gotnofucks @eralen @kawairinrin @bluemusickid @geminievans1 @daughterofthenight117 @sunmoonandbuckyrecs @jesevans @kandis-mom @salvatoreitmeanssaviour @kmc1989 @curiousandjoyous @marvelouslyme96

[jacquesthepigeon]

Adrien's held back by the premise. 'Reverse fairy tale' he's the 'princess' perfect in his castle meant to be saved by Marinette the 'knight'.

This isn't me speculating, this is in the show bible. They honestly sat down and said 'hey if we change their crotch accessories it'll be so progressive. That's all gender roles and toxic patriarchy boil down to right? The configuration of your nether deli.'

So you have your useless emotional little princess Adrien who is both perfect and perfectly useless and the strong put upon Marinette who must protect him from the mean world amd his own sense of agency (he's just too emotional to be trusted with the truth!). She plows through the world and it hends to her will because knight etc etc.

This isn't Marinette salt, this is salting the people who say down and said 'Yeah this is totally a good story to tell.'

See, while I can see how that’s a factor, I don’t think that’s the Big problem. There have been plenty of princesses that still have agency and an active role in their stories despite their “damsel in distress” status. The issue with Adrien is that he’s Perfect and Must Be Protected At All Costs and It’s The Rest Of The World That Is Wrong. By this I mean that when they came up with these core characteristics, they doomed him to stagnation. He can’t face any challenges without risking alterations to his worldview and by extension his Perfect Cinnamon Roll status. From the moment they decided to make his dad the villain, he was guaranteed to never get a completely happy ending but because he is So Good and Can’t Handle That, they decided to ignore the most logical plot to follow with him and made him nothing more than a space filler in his own story.

It doesn’t matter if maribug is his knight in shining armor, he can’t even acknowledge the evil dragon exists.

[ronearoundblindly]

Sneak Peek!!!

excerpt from Part II: Reasons (see previous or series) a Steve Rogers x villain!Reader tale

Summary: Steve's convinced your first (and only) move will be ordering Bucky to kill your enemy. He has no clue...

Warnings for mentions of injury (minor) and brainwashing/manipulation (technically). WC ~400

Steve rests his head on the chilly glass and pinches his eyes shut. He’ll take a minute, review the money trail, and then interview the doctor. It seems a miracle that man was able to go home to his wife and sleep, even with security inside the room, down every hall, surrounding the house…Steve wouldn’t do it; he can’t even keep his eyes closed long enough for the dry sting to subside.

How could he be so stupid?

You weren’t staring at him from across the room; you were watching your mark, waiting for an opening. Sadly, it occurs to Steve that if he’d just let you inject Avani, his friend would be fine, here by his side, and safe.

You are the threat, not Bucky, but that’s a hard distinction. If anyone else sees James Barnes—who is the stealth assassin Winter Soldier, as far as they know—they’ll shoot. No questions. Steve has to find him first. He has to get to you first.

Bucky is compromised, but Steve won’t let it come to that. He can’t let Buck kill for you.

“Feel better?” You twirl in the chair as soon as the motel bathroom door opens, steam billowing out.

Winter’s face is shadowed, pointed to the floor.

“Or…at least, okay? Here—“ you offer the seat next to you at the tiny table “—sit. Eat. Let me—I’ve got bandages for your knuckles.”

“Will heal,” he grunts, sitting easily but with stiff posture, “fast.”

You let out a heavy breath, muttering, “makes one of us.”

The soldier reaches out for the file in front of you, but your hand pins it down.

“No. Food first, and palm up here.” You wait for him to flip open the takeout container then blot antiseptic on the split skin. “Does that hurt?”

He shakes his head, focus on the meal before him. His mission is very simple, but he’s thorough. You knew he would be.

Several months ago, an article was published about Bucky Barnes’ affinity for this one particular deli in Brooklyn, a third-generation shop. It listed his usual order.

You’ve made sure the bread isn’t soggy. You kept the spicy mustard on the side.

He makes a strange face, looking around for your portion.

“Not hungry,” you assure him, “I’m rarely hungry.” You secure the bandage like boxing wraps and spin the file around.

“Eat your food—” The command is soft, encouraging “—while I tell you about your mission.”

a/n: Hope you guys still give a hoot about this tale, but I'm determined to complete in-progress fics probably for the rest of the calendar year... Sooooooooo much has to fit into this chapter that it's taking me forever to work it all out. I don't want it to be a play-by-play and boring explanation of her plan, but it can't be confusing either. The balance is getting there though. Thank you for your patience!

@supraveng @1950schick @patzammit @whiskeytangofoxtrot555 @yiiiikesmish @ashesofblackroses @bucky-fricking-barnes-reads @fallinallinmendes @deandreamernp @marvelmenwhore @happinessinthebeing @before-we-get-started @sjsmith56 @esposadomd

[lazywitchling]

So.

I think…

I think I’m just gonna.

Not go back to work.

Just… not go. Anymore.

[heyidkyay]

Who can say no to bridezilla? |

Part Three

Just gonna say this now, this story actually has a mind of its own. I started part three and got carried away with the ending so expect a fourth, maybe even fifth part😬

So beyond grateful to everyone who showed the last two parts any love, it means a lot!! Hope you enjoy this next bit too:)

Summary: With no date to your sister's wedding, what are you to do? No worries though, she's already got it covered, well, sort of...

Masterlist

^found this picture and couldn't not use it

--

The party was now practically in full swing, but all I could really do was watch on from the sidelines. That guilt from earlier was still very much eating away at me, only now it had been accompanied by the sudden stress of my extremely complicated feelings towards Matty.

My sister had somehow managed to successfully avoid me since our previous conversation, dipping and diving amongst the throng of guests to evade my piercing stare. And I’d tried to keep my mind off of it all, really I had, but it was only proving to grow harder as the night went on.

“Here you are, my lady.” Came Matty’s sarky voice from over my shoulder as he handed me another tall glass. “Vodka coke, as promised.”

I smiled in appreciation as he dropped into the seat beside me, “Thank you. Was there much of a queue?”

Matty wrinkled his nose and shook his head. “Nah, just got caught up chatting with your nana. Has plenty of stories to tell, that one.”

I choked a little on the sip I’d just taken and immediately snapped my head back towards the bar, where, sure enough, my nana was still sat. She gave a knowing little wave and wink when she spotted me and I raised an eyebrow in turn. 

“Everything she’s ever told you is a lie.” I declared wholeheartedly, knowing first hand just how little filter the woman held. 

I’d grown up having to bare witness to it, after all. At family get-togethers, during every Christmas party, at the plethora of weddings… And now that I was older, I’d come to quickly realise that it wasn’t the fact that she was oblivious to what she was doing or saying really, she simply just did not give a single fuck. She said what came to mind, and no one could tell her differently. 

Headstrong was a word often used to describe her, a big gossip too- but to me, she honestly was the definition of stubborn to a fault. I loved that about her though. Albeit having said that, I also tended to get the brunt of it whenever she’d decide to spin a tale or two about my spotted past. 

Nana really was the best of the best, and I’d defend her to the grave, but she was also the biggest shit-stirrer I’d ever met. Knew it too. 

Matty snorted, his eyebrows raised in delight. “Well, that was a reaction and a half.”

I narrowed my eyes at him, “What did she tell you?”

He hummed, deciding to drag it out as he necked a fair bit of his wine.

“Healy.” I demanded, giving him an unimpressed stare.

Matty laughed and rolled his eyes, but he was wearing a shit-eating grin when he tugged his chair in closer to mine. God, he smelt good. 

I had to refocus my attention though when his eyes met mine, shimmering with mirth.

“Might’ve mentioned the time you shit yourself stood in the deli queue at Asda’s.” 

My eyes widened on their own accord, and I had to place my drink down to make sure that I didn’t down it then and there. That woman.

He’d said it with so much confidence too, and used this little shrug that told me he was far too thrilled with the newfound information he'd been gifted.

“I was four!”

Matty scoffed at my argument, apparently pleased with the fact that he could get me all wound up so quickly. 

“Also told me about that time you showed up to your cousin’s birthday party completely plastered, thinking no one would be none the wiser. Think she mentioned that he’d just turned four that day, too.”

I groaned, recalling that very day clearly in the forefront of my mind and slapped a hand over my face to hide my sudden humiliation. I swivelled round in my chair to send the woman in question a well deserved glare, which she paid no mind to. Of course.  

“I can’t believe her. The smarmy cow.”

I turned back upon hearing Matty’s heightened laughter and pouted. 

“Don’t laugh, you dickhead! I was mortified afterwards. I thought I’d played it off so well! Proper chuffed with myself that next morning. Only to then get a few choice words off my uncle that same afternoon.” I pursed my lips at the reminder. “Turns out tricking a bunch of kids into swearing like a couple of sailors is only funny when you’re hammered or have an actual sense of humour. Mum wasn’t too impressed either.” 

“Nana was though.” Matty countered with a delighted little chuckle. I rolled my eyes.

“Nana’s a gossip.” I responded in kind. “Who should know by now that what goes around comes around!”

I yelled that last part over my shoulder, and chose to ignore the strange looks I garnered in favour of throwing a knowing look at the woman in question. 

“I’m near seventy-four, dollface! No hide nor hair off of my back what you tell people as long as you let ‘em know I was havin’ a good time!” Nana called back in that strong Yorkshire accent of hers. She raised her glass in cheers.

I couldn’t help my breathy chuckle, and neither could Matty as it would seem, who was still laughing happily away beside me.

“Should’ve known she’d’ve put her hearing aids in.” I shook my head in complete levity, toying with a small smile, “Doesn’t want to miss a single thing said in a place like this, but ask her where she put the tele remote during a run of Corrie, well…”

“Fucking love your family.” Matty grinned at me, and I watched with baited breath as he just continued to glance around the rest of the venue as though he’d said nothing of the sort at all.

I inhaled quietly once his attention was then captured by someone he knew in passing, and shook off the strange feeling I’d felt as I finally downed the rest of that drink. 

—

“Hann! Hann, mate!” Matty called over the shitty dubstep remix that was currently playing. I was just behind him, giggling at the sight he made. He’d no care in the world for anyone who was currently stood in his way as he waved haphazardly, wanting to garner the attention of his best mate.

We’d actually spent the better part of our time stood waiting in line for the buffet just shitting all over the DJ’s set, both claiming that we could’ve done a much fucking better job with just a Spotify playlist on hand. 

But you win some, you lose some, I supposed. Though, I’d still be lording it over Adam’s head for the rest of forever- he was meant to be some sort of hotshot musician from what little I knew of his job, and he’d actually paid for this knobhead to spin a couple of early 2000’s records at his reception party and call it a day. 

I was still chuckling away at the thought when I noticed the man in question wandering over to us with a big, fuck-off grin on his face.

“Mate!” Adam greeted cheerily as he tugged Matty into a one armed hug, pulling me along with the pair of them too, seeing as I was still holding onto Matty’s hand.

Matty had only taken it as we were parting our way through the crowds, but I realised now, that neither one of us had yet to let go.

Adam seemed to realise it then too, if the way his eyes travelled between our intertwined hands and my surprised face was anything to go by. Though, I noted that Matty stayed blissfully unaware in his slight tipsy state. 

Thankfully Adam was mature enough to leave it be. For now, I could only suppose. Knowing that my sister would probably be the first one he’d let know. Oh, how I was looking forward to that conversation.

“Both having a good time?” Adam asked us as I let myself be roped into a hug from him as well.

“Been great, man.” Matty answered with a grin, pulling my hand with his again as he further exaggerated his point. “Can’t believe you’ve actually gone and done it! Locked that shit down, Hann. Don’t know whether to congratulate or console you.”

Adam’s mouth quirked to the left as he watched his mate with an indulgent expression. “Don’t be a wanker. Just let me enjoy this one night before you start getting all jealous on me.”

“Jealous? Ha, funny one, mate.” Matty retorted in good jest.

I rolled my eyes at the pair of them before I looked towards my new brother-in-law. “I’m gonna choose to offer my congrats here, but remember that if you upset my sister, I’ll do more than just hurt you.”

“Ooh, tell me more.” Matty said in a teasing tone, whilst Adam opted to ignore my date, simply raising his hands up at me to feign surrender.

“Wouldn’t dare.” He assured with a fond smile.

“Holding you to it.”

It was then that two more grown men came barrelling over- I say grown, but in reality it was like watching a bunch of ginormous kids kicking and scuffling with each other to get the first turn on the swing-set as they all embraced one another. I couldn’t hide my amusement.

“And who’s this beauty?” The one with the buzzcut encouraged, only noticing me when he’d slung an arm around Matty’s neck.

I looked him over then as I smiled at his compliment, I could see why he felt so confident in his approach, he was a right stunner. From the rolled up sleeves of his shirt which exposed the many tattoos that dotted his arms, to the slight smirk his pouty lips held as he watched me.

“This is y/n, y/s/n’s older sister.” Adam introduced us with a tilt of his chin, “And y/n, that idiot over there with the big gob is George, the bearded one's Ross.”

“I like it. Very manly.” I said, gesturing to Ross’s beard. Matty’s face twisted slightly when Ross smiled back at me with an appreciative nod, but before he could get a word in edge ways, George was speaking again, half-dangling over Matty to get a better look at me. 

“We’ve met the once before, haven’t we? ‘Round Hann’s that one New Years, no?”

My face brightened at the sudden realisation, “Ah, yeah! You’re the weirdo who pulled out every pot in y/s/n’s kitchen to recreate that old Beach Boys song.”

Matty snorted beside me, whilst Adam laughed at the vivid memory.

“And if I recall, you also got so shitfaced that night that you actually ended up putting yourself to bed before the clock’s even struck twelve.”

My date and his friends all cackled at that, but George made a slight hissing sound as he inhaled sharply, holding a hand over his heart. 

“Way to humiliate me there, cupcake, could’ve just left them with the knowledge of my sick rendition of I Get Around, but you had to go and start a war.”

I grinned in retort as I shrugged, “Learn to hold your drink better and I wouldn’t have to show you up, babe.”

George smirked, eyeing me closer now.

“Oi, no, no, no. You can fuck right off! She’s my date tonight, G.” Matty informed the drummer, elbowing the giant to shrug him off his shoulder. 

George relented with a soft chuckle and sly smile. “Is that so? Reckon you’d have a ton more fun with me though.”

Adam shook his head, chuckling, whilst Matty and George started to scuffle.

My eyes widened briefly when they nearly went headfirst into the dessert table, but luckily they were quickly saved by Ross who redirected them onto the dance floor.

“Are they always like this?” I found myself asking Adam, watching as the trio interrupted a group of younger girls with all their pissing about. It was like looking at the live adaptation of a human bowling ball.

“Yeah.” Was all he offered, which made me laugh, and we both continued to watch the free show from the sidelines.

“Go on, Matty. Defend my honour!” I hollered over towards them, unable to help myself, and was rewarded with the sight of my date popping back up out of the brawl he’d created like a meerkat, wearing a comical grin.

I winced slightly when a strong arm tugged him right back down though.

“Someone should film this.” I overheard someone murmur somewhere off to my right, and I was quick to agree before the voice continued, “Imagine how much The Sun would give for an all inclusive on this.”

I frowned, confused, but continued to listen as best I could whilst I watched.

“Oh yeah, I can already see the headlines.” Came another excited voice, this one chuckling as they prattled off, “Matty Healy ruins guitarist’s wedding! Jealousy or just another downward drug spiral?”

Anger blew through me at that, and although I was bewildered by what they were saying, I couldn’t stop myself from immediately jumping to Matty's defence.

“What did you just say?”

The person in question was some guy I didn’t recognise, but he looked rather surprised by my sudden appearance. He fish mouthed for a moment before he just scoffed out a small laugh.

“No, go on.” I goaded with a narrow eyed stare, “I’m sure everyone here's desperate to hear what you have to say now.”

He rolled his eyes at me which only proved to aggravate me further. I was about to take another step forwards when a gentle hand took my shoulder.

“What’s happening here?” Came Adam’s familiar voice and I watched in satisfaction as the idiot before me stuttered slightly.

“Just making a joke, man.”

“Is that what you call it then?” I spat back, feeling Adam’s grip falter a little. “‘Cause it didn’t sound too funny to me.”

“What'd he say?” Adam attempted to intervene.

“Something about an article, or whatever. Wanting to make some money off of the lads just messing about.” I told Adam, still staring the twat down. “Made it out like Matty was off his head on something.”

Adam looked almost as pissed as I was in that moment, but then the man himself arrived, with George, Ross, and my sister trailing just behind. Matty seemed to have sobered up a bit at the sudden seriousness that must’ve overcome the rest of the party, as he came to a standstill by me, using his body to shield me somewhat from the opposing man.

“What’s gone on?” He demanded, eyes hard.

“Nothing.” The guy claimed, shrugging the whole thing off, but Matty was having none of it.

“Come off it, mate. You look stupid enough to start on my girl, but don’t lie straight to my face when I can see you’ve upset her.” Matty derided, then he turned to me, voice strikingly much softer. “Tell me what’s been said please, darling.”

I swallowed, surprised by the subdued attention Matty was now giving me, as well as how he’d chosen to handle the idiot.

I quickly recovered though, my anger still simmering beneath the surface. “I didn’t understand much of it, but he was spouting some nasty shit about you.”

Matty’s brow furrowed but he looked to Adam when the groom leant in nearer. “Tabloids and crap, claiming he could make a quick quid.”

“Shit stirring, you mean.” I said, scowling at the guy who’d drawn up quite the crowd. “Tried to make it seem like you were ruining Adam’s big day, spouting shit about how you were jealous, high or whatever.”

Matty merely chuckled, amused by it all, and I really should’ve known he’d react like that.

“Ad?” My sister called out then, pushing through the sea of onlookers to understand just what was going on. I instantly felt bad for having made a scene.

“I’m so sorry, y/s/n.”

She shook her head at me, waving my worries away as she took her husband’s hand. She looked back to him again.

“Just someone being an arse, babe.” Adam spoke and pulled her into his side to comfort her before he nodded over towards Ross. “Mate, grab that security guard for us.”

Ross did so, whilst George and, surprisingly, Jamie had the same idea to usher the fucker out. 

“Take Thing Two with you whilst you’re at it, Jim.” I added, jerking my head over to where the lad’s friend had shied away from the commotion. He winced at the sudden attention I’d attracted.

My cousin dipped his head once at me and squeezed my shoulder in passing as he hauled the guy and his mate outside the venue with George.

Matty drew me in near, his careful hand in mine. “You alright? Got pretty wound up there, sweetheart.”

I exhaled and tried let go of whatever anger I had left, but my body was still trembling slightly with adrenaline as I nodded at him. Matty soothed that thought with a gentle caress up my arms, ducking his head to catch my eye.

He raised a brow.

I gifted him a small smile as I softly shook my head, biting the inside of my cheek when he tucked a strand of hair behind my ear. “Yeah, yeah, I'm sorry. He just really pissed me off.”

“Don’t have to get all riled up on my account, darling. Had a lot worse said, trust me.”

I frowned, “I couldn’t not say anything, Matty, he was being a right prick towards you.”

My chest tightened at the fond, albeit exasperated, smile Matty gave me then. “I appreciate it, but I’d rather have you enjoying yourself than occupying your time with twats like that, yeah? Ain’t worth it.”

I knew he was right, but it still didn’t sit right with me. “You don’t deserve that though, not with how hard you’ve worked, with how hard you’re still trying.”

Because he was. Recovery was a fucking hard road. And I only knew about it due to the fact that he'd been pretty open about it all with me- proud of the fact too, of how far he’d come since then. To hear someone just slag him off like that, it irritated me beyond belief, especially when it was said as some sort of sick joke, without him around to even defend himself.

“You’re lovely, you know that?” Matty commented then with an endeared little grin that threw me so off guard I felt like I’d been pulled through a blackhole. But before I could do or say anything, Matty was wrapping up the scene. “Alright, you fuckers! Party’s over- or well, party’s back on, I guess. So you can all sod off and stick your noses elsewhere now.”

I snorted out an ugly sort of laugh that had my sister’s brows raising before she merely chuckled. “Should’ve known that something like this was bound to happen. Surprised it held off as long as it did actually, especially with you around.”

I narrowed my eyes at her but did end up giving her a sheepish sort of smile. “I said I was sorry.”

She laughed again, rolling her eyes. “Yeah, and you can make it up to me by getting your arse out on that dance floor, alright? Don’t think that I haven’t noticed you avoiding it.”

“Avoiding it?” Matty asked, glancing between the two of us, “What do you mean?”

“She means to say that I’m shit at dancing. Like, beyond bad." I tell him myself, wanting to just quickly sweep it under the rug. "It’s why I’ve not gotten up yet.”

Matty, being his dramatic self, let his mouth drop wide open. I rolled my eyes at the theatrics before I pressed my knuckle under his chin to shut it back up again.

“I don’t believe you.” He said.

I furrowed my brow with a faint chuckle. “What is there to not believe? Don’t for one second think that you can get me to prove that I’m a shitty dancer, Matty.”

The man simply smiled at me, and he looked so smug when he clasped my wrists and begun to lead me towards the dance floor.

“No, Matty.” I deadpanned. “There's no way I’m dancing.”

“We’ll see.”

I gave him a humourless look. “No, we won’t. There's not a chance in hell.”

By that point we’d already made it onto the borders of the dance floor, where everyone else had seemingly wandered back towards after the argument had been doused out. Matty was still grinning as he bopped his head up and down, taking turns to move my stiff arms back and forth. It only brightened when the DJ finally put on a decent tune, increasing his enthusiasm by a tenfold.

“Come on, don’t be that person.” He drawled, taking the piss now. “You know you want to.”

I attempted to send him another dirty look, but it was overshadowed by the tiny lilt my mouth made, giving me away.

“Ah, see! Knew you loved it.”

I threw my head back lightly and groaned, unable to hide my smile now as I laughed more freely, letting him move us in whatever way he pleased. And it wasn’t half bad once I let myself get pretty into it, deciding to just say ‘fuck it’ and enjoy a dance for once. 

Matty wasn’t too shabby a dancer either. In all honesty, he really did look so effortless dancing across from me, the way he pranced about, hips moving madly, as though his soul purpose was to simply perform. I loved watching him.

That reminded me— but as I went to ask my unanticipated question, the song changed. Or slowed, rather. 

I was a little surprised at first when Matty’s arms encircled me to wind themselves around my waist, but I just followed his lead, lifting my hands to rest on his shoulders.

Everyone else around us seemed to be doing the same thing, or something of the sort, and I watched as a few more couples got up to join us.

I smiled past Matty’s ear at the sight of my sister and Adam, who, in that moment, couldn’t have looked more in love. And then at my pops who was twirling my nana about without a care in the world, his smile making him look twenty years younger. 

I let myself rest my cheek against the jut of Matty’s shoulder to simply take in the entire day. A gentle smile limned my lips.

“Thank you for today.” I muttered softly as the chorus started, “I’ve had the best time.”

I felt Matty’s hold tighten around me slightly as he pulled us closer during a turn.

“What, even with that arsehole from earlier?” He joked quietly into my ear and I chuckled.

“What was up with that anyway?” I couldn't help but ask him, pulling away to look at his face. I watched as he blinked, wearing a significant look on his face that I couldn’t quite place. 

“You really don’t know?” Matty said, though he’d phrased it less like a question and more like a revelation. More to himself, than me. He shook his head faintly as surprise worked its way across his features. “Honestly thought you’d clocked on when I first turned up.”

“Clocked onto what?” I questioned, more confused now than I was before. Mostly by his reaction.

“Just my job, really.” He replied, and for the first time he looked a little abashed. It threw me a bit. “I’m in a band.”

Ah, well that made a bit more sense. The lingering looks. The pointed lenses. The whispers and pointing. The obvious gawking I’d tried not to ponder too much on. And then what the lad from earlier had said about The Sun Newspaper. Realising that now made the situation all the more worse in my head. 

I questioned, internally, whether it changed anything.

I mean, it was like Matty had said, it was just his job. But whilst most worked the usual nine to five, he had this big, interesting job that probably took him all over the globe.

It was a little daunting, in truth. And I couldn’t help but wonder why he’d agreed to this whole facade in the first place, knowing he definitely had his pick of the lot. Whether that was generally speaking, because everyone could easily see that he was a charmer, but also from the dozens of girls he probably had dying for his attention.

“A band…” I prolonged.

He hummed, eyes picking apart my reaction.

I quirked my lip, brightening slightly, “Is it a big one?”

He wore a wry smile then, and his squinted brown eyes flickered between both of mine.

“Massive.”

I just had to laugh then, and so as I shook my head, I pulled him in closer, fingertips finding the hair at the nape of his neck.

“Don’t think you can be that famous- I’ve never even heard of you.” I commented playfully, though it was mostly the truth. I say mostly because if they were as big as those boys had made them out to be, then I figured I’d had to have heard a song or two of theirs in passing.

Matty heightened his reaction- like always, as I’d come to quickly realise- and gasped, not loud enough to be overheard, just so that it would make me laugh and roll my eyes. He smiled when I did. 

“I’m hurt. Well, and truly, hurt.”

“Reckon you’ll get over it, rockstar.”

“And if I don’t?” He quipped, an eyebrow raised in retaliation.

I pretended to mull it over. “Then you’d best find some groupie to boost that ego of yours.”

“Why are you so nasty to me?”

I laughed loudly at that, too loudly actually, and had to quickly duck my head to hide my face in Matty’s chest when people’s heads darted towards the sudden noise.

“Are they still looking?” I questioned after a moment passed, my voice muffled by the man’s tailored suit jacket.

“Yeah, they’re all pointing and laughing too.”

I shook my head at him and felt the soft rumble of his chuckle from where my forehead was now pressed to his chest. 

When I poked my head back out, I flashed him a bashful smile and had to actually make the effort not to let my gaze linger too long on his mouth or his eyes. Instead, I let myself survey the surrounding crowd.

My mum was on the dance floor now, I found, scolding and rolling her eyes at Jamie, who seemed to have two left feet and was galloping them around the dance floor.

George wasn’t too far away either, dancing the night away with Gracie, my overly-enthusiastic six year old niece. He winked when he caught me looking and mouthed the words, ‘You’ve pulled, cupcake!’.

I bit my lip to conceal my sudden amusement then mouthed back, ‘Fuck off!’.

He just cackled and little Gracie started rattling away again, regaining his focus.

Adam, it appeared, had whisked my sister off somewhere, because they were no longer anywhere in sight. I only hoped that they’d found a decent place to shag because porcelain did your arse no favours when you were getting railed against the nearest bathroom sink.

“What’re you thinking about?” Matty asked, drawing me back to the present by pinching my hip. I tugged on the ends of his hair in retort. He just smirked, “Careful, sweetheart, I quite like that.”

“You’re insufferable.” I snickered, but answered his question when I looked back at him. “Honestly?”

He nodded.

“Was just thinking about the last time I had sex in a bathroom.”

Matty visibly fought down a giant grin at that. 

“That bad of a date, am I? Or are you just hoping I’ll offer up the chance to improve?”

I gaped a bit, not having expected him to be so forward, but then again, I couldn’t really blame him when I’d started it. 

“Keep on wishing there, Healy. You’d be so lucky.” I scoffed with a sarky sort of smile.

He looked me up and down slowly as he hummed his appraisal. “Doubt I'd say no.”

I rolled my eyes at him and tugged again at the ends of his hair. Harder this time.

“Ow. Kinky.”

I had to swat him then, because even as I laughed I couldn’t let him get away with it.

When I’d calmed somewhat and found Matty to still be staring at me with that humoured grin of his, I gently shook my head.

“I just meant that-”, then I exhaled a small chuckle, “I merely noticed that the newly weds had disappeared and took a wild guess on what their current whereabouts might be.”

“Ah, I see.” I watched as Matty’s eyes trailed the rest of the room. “Reckon they’re going at it 'round the back.”

With a snort, I couldn't help but ask, “Why’d you say that?”

He shrugged, “Fire exit door over there by the DJ booth leads out there- be my first choice after seeing the queue to the toilets.”

I glanced back and found that he was correct, a line of seven or so people were all waiting to use the bathroom and the slit in the tent was discreet enough to slip out of unseen. It was also close enough to where the couple had just been seen dancing.

“Hm, and if I were to drop a certain kind of hint? Where would you head to next.” What could I say? I was intrigued.

“Chapel.” He said without a second thought.

I raised my brows at him. “Really?”

He hummed, linking his hands behind my back to bring us that much closer. And grinned, “Reckon it could be sexy- could play at being a nun... Or I could be your choir boy-”

I cut him off right there with a hand to his mouth.

I rebuked him with a small shake of my head but couldn’t hold back my amusement. “You’re actually so bad, you know that? Almost as bad as nana.”

Matty unwound his hands so that he could pull mine away from his lips, but he didn’t let go afterwards, simply held them together against his chest. And if I concentrated hard enough, I could just about feel the rhythm of his heartbeat.

“No one outranks your nana.” Matty assured me, “That woman’s got a hell of a vocabulary on her.”

Lightly laughing, I looked down at our paired hands, at how Matty’s thumb kept running over the back of my own and I wondered whether he felt it too.

“Oi, Healy!” Someone called out, breaking the moment, “I thought that was you!”

And just like that, as I looked up and caught sight of the goddess of a girl headed straight towards us, I knew that I’d just let myself get far too caught up in the moment.

Part Four>

[duhragonball]

Just out of curiosity, who was your favorite character in part 1 of Chainsaw Man?

I'm gonna go with Makima, since she's basically the straw that stirs the drink.

I think the main problem with CSM part 1 is that a lot of the main cast is sort of just... there. A lot of Denji's coworkers will show up, do a few things, and then get massacred. The ones that stick around for a while can be difficult to keep track of. Even some of the cooler villains just sort of fizzle out as the plot passes them by. Part 2 might improve upon this. As I understand it, some Part 1 folks do come back for Part 2, so that seems like a good sign.

But as far as Part 1 goes, it's really just Denji and Makima. Everything else is just window dressing, diversions that get eliminated one by one as the plot reveals that it was only ever about Denji and Makima and no one else. I'm not saying Power and the rest were bad characters, but you could swap out any of them with others and the story isn't affected much.

Part of the reason I read CSM was because I was intrigued by the Makima design. I'd see images of this lady in fan art or cosplay or whatever, and she looks fairly ordinary except for the hypno eye thing. It's a great design, one that draws my attention and makes me wonder what her deal is. And when I read the comic to find out, the answer is complex and interesting enough to satisfy my curiosity.

These days I've been going through my comic book collection, trying to read old books that I've bought but never actually read, and a lot of them aren't that great. I'm currently in the middle of Showcase, a DC Comics anthology book that ran from 1993 to 1996. Some of the features are good, but most of them aren't, because they star forgettable characters in short, formulaic stories. This week I've read three different tales where a hero in a slump gets a kick in the pants. Aqualad assumes the new identity Tempest, the Golden Age Green Lantern becomes Sentinel, and Arion... well, I think he keeps his name, but he stops moping around a deli and decides to get back in the game. And all three of these tales involve the heroes regaining their resolve thanks to the manipulations of a wizard.

As it turns out, I think the Showcase series probably wasn't the best way to present all these minor super-heroes, because all it does is expose just how trite and boring their stories are. Worse, by sandwiching them between two other superhero features, you just expose how same-y they all are. No one seemed too concerned about making these characters stand out.

Well, I guess that's why I was eager to read Chainsaw Man but I left so many unread comics gather proverbial dust for so long. If it was just Denji carving up bad guys with his chainsaw head, it'd get old really fast. Makima added a counterbalance to the story that made the whole thing work. Somewhere along the way you begin to realize how insidious this all is, and yet Denji's way too simple a hero to fix it, so what can he do? And yet it all works out in a very satisfying way. Makima may have manipulated everyone else, but I got what I wanted out of her.

[penna-nomen]

Snippet

Thanks @twisted-tales-told for the tag! I'm slowly getting caught up on tags.

Here's a snippet from my next Caffrey Conversation series story. This is the one inspired by Ocean's 8.

As soon as Sara entered the room, she dropped the deli take-out bag on one of the chairs. Food no longer mattered, not in the presence of the dress.

Spread across half of the table, the dress was an evening gown in sky blue. The bodice was covered with blue beads and crystals that caught the light enticingly. An over skirt of wispy chiffon was connected to the garment with combinations of more beads and crystals in a design that made her think of the waterlilies in a Monet painting.

“Tell me about the case,” she demanded. “Whatever it is, I want to be part of it.”

[thebirdandthebee]

Easy As

A Carmen Berzatto Universe

A/N: Another request from the inbox - though I think this has been on everyone’s mind for a while! Let me know your guesses at gender ;)

Vanessa Monaghan is the breath of fresh air that Carmen had been gasping for.

Chapter 28: Sous

It was earlier than they planned – about six months earlier. Vanessa would be walking at her graduation ceremony in three months, and by then, she’d be six months along.

She didn’t care if it was earlier than planned. Frankly she was more impressed than anything – she’d only gotten her IUD taken out a few months ago. Her gynecologist warned it could take six months to a year for her cycle to regulate again and they had been using condoms in the mean time.

She hadn’t even necessarily gotten off of her IUD with the intention of getting pregnant, but to help with cramps that had been getting worse over the last year or so.

But there it was, looking right back at her as she stared down the little Clear Blue test. Pregnant.

It took a few days for it to really sink in – and about six more tests along with a trip to her gyno to confirm.

Sure, they’d been talking about having babies for years, but it was something else entirely to actually be pregnant.

She wanted to tell Carmen in a cute way – not just blurt it out over dinner one night.

But she didn’t know how. She didn’t want it to be tacky, she wanted it to be sweet – maybe use something they could hold onto as the baby got older.

After a week of thinking it through and work-shopping a couple of items on Etsy, she had a solution. Tracking down a vintage baby Levi denim jacket wasn’t easy, but with enough money, anything was possible.  Six days later, she got the jacket back from an artist based in Chicago that had artfully stitched Sous Chef across the top back panel of the jacket. It was perfect, and she cried as she clutched it to her chest after opening the box up on campus.

She couldn’t risk Carmen finding it before it was time.

But the time had finally come. It had been nearly four weeks since she found out and she was bursting at the seams to finally tell him. Nerves shook her hands as she wrapped up the little jacket in plain brown wrapping paper, tying off the box with white ribbon.

She’d text Carmen that she’d pull together dinner that night. He’d been helping Natalie and Pete with the fence in their backyard for a few hours that afternoon and she’d prepared a big cheese board, salads and sandwiches for dinner – something that they ended up eating most nights.

She was just plating up the spring mix as Carmen walked through the door. She figured she’d save the gift for after dinner. She was starving after all, and didn’t think they’d get around to eating after she told him the big news.

“Mrs. Berzatto?” Carmen called out, hearing the tell-tale thunk of his shoe against the back of the entry closet.

“You hungry?” Vanessa called back, cracking open a ginger ale and leaning back against the kitchen counter. “I found the last bit of our jalapeno spread in the deli drawer.”

Carmen’s arms appeared around her waist, hugging her back against him.

In that moment, she realized she couldn’t eat more than half of what she’d plated up for dinner. No deli meat, no soft cheeses, no smoked salmon. She didn’t know all the rules, but she knew some of them. God she couldn’t eat sushi for nearly six more months?

She wondered if he could feel her little bump – did she even have a bump?

Oh my god she was pregnant.

“Starving,” He replied, kissing her neck gently.

“How are Nat and Pete?” She asked, hugging her arms against him.

“Enjoying their newly fixed fence,” Carmen said, rocking her gently back and forth. “Lily and Maxie were out with the babysitter, so didn’t get to see ‘em.”  Vanessa could feel his frown against her skin. Max was Nat and Pete’s rainbow baby after their miscarriage before Lily turned two. At fourteen months, he was a little monster that Carmen was absolutely obsessed with.

“They’re coming over this weekend,” she reminded gently. “Then we can give them the water table.”

“They’re gonna love it,” Carmen’s frown turned upside down.

Vanessa spun in his hold, taking in his beautiful features.

“Come on, handsome, there’s a salad out there calling my name,” she greeted him once again with a soft kiss.

“God I’m starving,” he said, squeezing her sides in his hand. “After dinner maybe we can walk down to Jeni’s for dessert?”

“That sounds like a magnificent idea,” Vanessa agreed. It was another sweltering late summer in Chicago and their air conditioning had been working overtime all week.

They shared dinner at the dining table, Vanessa’s feet in Carmen’s lap as he told her about his day. She’d been studying away for final projects and she could feel the shift in their life coming – a welcome, exciting shift. Maybe Carmen could feel it, too.

“You not hungry?” Carmen asked, noticing she’d barely picked at the cheeseboard and left most of her sandwich on her plate.

“I ate a big, heavy lunch today and for some reason this salad is the only thing calling my name,” she explained way. He didn’t blink twice and happily picked up her sandwich to put on his plate.

“I already know what flavor you’re going to get,” Carmen said as their hands swung between them, looking up at the board of flavors at Jeni’s.

“I think I’m going to change it up this time,” Vanessa replied.

“No gooey butter cake?” He asked. His wife was a severe creature of habit.

“Something about Savannah buttermint is really doing it for me this time,” she said, “will you get me two scoops?” Carmen shrugged, reaching the counter to order and grabbing his own scoop of salted caramel.

The noises Vanessa was making as they trekked back to their apartment were downright unholy.

“Good then?” Carmen asked with a laugh.

“Fuck Carmen, this ice cream is getting me wet,” she replied, only half-joking. Carmen honked out a laugh at her words.

“Wait, let me try,” he insisted, reaching his spoon over.

“Don’t you dare,” she pulled away, twisting her body so he couldn’t reach it.

“Vanessa!” He laughed, “you got two scoops, let me get a little nibble,” he said, only halfway sounding like a petulant child.

“I’m not sharing!” She said, shoveling another big bite into her mouth.

“C’mere,” he lured her in, sealing his mouth over hers in a kiss, getting all the flavor of the Savannah buttermint. “Wow, that is good,” he commented, proud to see he could still make his wife blush.

“Come on, I have a little something for you at home,” she teased out, piquing his interest.

“For me?” He asked, brows raised.

Vanessa finished her treat in the same time as Carmen, dropping their used cups in the garbage before she grabbed her perfectly wrapped package from their bedroom.

“Baby, what did you get me?” He asked, happily taking the box as she settled herself in his lap on the couch.

“I think you’ll like it,” she replied, “I love it,” she added quietly.

Carmen gave her an inquisitive look as he pulled the white ribbon, tearing the brown wrapping paper. Lifting the white tissue paper, he tossed the lid to the ground, revealing the little jacket.

“Ness?” He asked, holding it up in its entirety. It was impossibly small, and he heart lurched at the sight of it. She pushed the box to the ground as he turned it over, revealing the embroidery.

She could see Carmen’s brain stop working all together.

“Nessa?” He asked again, mouth agape and blue eyes wide. “Sous Chef?” He asked mostly to himself. “Ness is this for –“” His brain flipped around the babies they knew, Rosie, Lily, Max – they were all too big for this. “Vanessa are you pregnant?” He finally formed a full thought.

“Check the pocket,” she smiled serenely. Carmen reached in to pull out the infamous blue-capped test.

Pregnant.

“Are you kidding me?” He asked, looking absolutely shocked. “Vanessa please don’t tell me this is a joke,” he all but pleaded.

“It’s not a joke,” excited tears bubbled up to the surface. “I’m pregnant – went to the doctor and everything.”

“Ness – I” Carmen’s face morphed into pure joy, his lashes dark and slick with tears. He wrapped her up in the biggest hug he could, wanting to hold onto this moment forever in case it was another dream. “We’re having a baby,” he breathed in disbelief.

“We’re having a baby,” she laughed, nervous and excited giggles leaving her lips.

“You’re pregnant!” He exclaimed, “holy shit, Ness, it’s happening!” he pushed his hair back, holding his forehead underneath his palm.

“It’s happening!” She agreed.

“When,” he breathed in again, “when?” He implored.

“Valentine’s Day,” she giggled.

“Valentine’s Day?” He gaped, still in pure disbelief.

“Our little valentine,” she repeated, tears now flowing down her cheeks.

“So you’re – you’re almost three months?” He asked.

“Next week I’ll be out of my first trimester,” she replied, “happy birthday.” Carmen would turn thirty-two next week.

Carmen leaned forward, kissing her soundly, his hand sliding up her back to cradle her head in his palms.

“I love you so much,” he shook his head. “We’ve got to build a nursery.”

Vanessa laughed at his thought process, stroking the back of his neck gently.

“We have so much time,” she insisted.

“Ness it’s going to fly by,” he replied. “We can get painters out here next week.”

“And what color are we painting, huh?” She asked with a tilt of her head. “Should we find out?”

Carmen froze. They were either going to have a baby boy or a baby girl and even now, with just two options, it seemed like a universe of possibilities.

“I want to find out,” he said, eyes almost desperate. “I don’t think I can wait till February to know.”

“I want out find out, too,” Vanessa agreed. “It’s been killing me to walk by all the baby boutiques and not buying anything,” Carmen laughed at her honesty.

An hour later, they were laying in bed, Carmen’s head resting gently on Vanessa’s stomach.

“It’s the size of a cherry right now,” Vanessa said, combing her fingers through Carmen’s hair. He was due for a haircut, but she loved it long and shaggy in the summer.

“A cherry,” he repeated, marveling. “A little rainier,” he commented. “I think she’s more like a little maraschino,” Vanessa replied.

“You think it’s a girl?” He asked, hand resting gently below her belly button.

“I have no idea,” she said honestly. “It’s fun to picture it.”

Carmen nuzzled against her, feeling like he was positively floating.

“Thank you,” he said, lifting his head to look Vanessa in the eye.

“Well my love, I really couldn’t do it without you,” Vanessa smiled. “I’m impressed honestly, my gynecologist was impressed, too.” Carmen laughed softly, placing his head back down against the warmth of her body.

“How are we ever supposed to sleep again?” Carmen asked, “I’m too excited to sleep.”

“Baby I think our days of sleep are officially over,” Vanessa admitted.

Carmen began to run through it all in his head. He’d never put anything before his baby. He knew that some adjustments would be on the horizon, because he wouldn’t give up a single minute with his growing family.