#white noise is too harsh to my ears | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

sevarchive · 27 days ago

Text

♡ pages between us ──

જ⁀➴ a rin itoshi story. 5.6k words

synopsis: in which a boy who forgot how to speak meets a not-so-quiet girl who never needed words to understand him.

a/n: this piece was written for a ticket from the ask roulette carnival! visit their original ticket here!

the first thing to go was rin’s voice.

at first, there was just the high-pitched ringing in his ears. everything felt tilted, slightly off, like gravity had given up trying to hold things in place.

he tried to speak. maybe his brother’s name, but nothing came out.

his hands were still clenched around the steering wheel. pale, shaking. the horn was blaring, low and broken, a droning sound that made his chest feel tight. the dashboard lights flickered dimly. the world felt stuck.

he turned his head to the passenger seat.

sae wasn’t moving.

he couldn’t remember what they were fighting about. something trivial. soccer. their parents. the way sae always acted like rin would never catch up. it had ended with shouting. harsh, ugly words. sae yelling. rin yelling louder.

then the headlights. then the noise. tires. screams. a sound like the sky splitting open.

then the silence.

it didn’t end when the car stopped spinning. it followed him into the ambulance, into the hospital room with white walls and beeping monitors. it lingered beneath the voices of strangers trying to wake him up. it echoed in his ears even when everything else had gone still.

rin lay there, staring at the ceiling, unable to move, unable to speak. every time someone said his name, it felt like they were talking to someone else. someone who hadn't made his brother stop breathing.

the silence wasn’t empty. it was heavy. dense. like it knew what he had done.

the doctors called it trauma-induced mutism. a form of psychological shutdown. his parents asked if it would go away. the therapist gave him a notebook and said writing could be another form of communication. like speaking without sound.

but rin didn’t write. he didn’t speak. he didn’t cry.

at the funeral, people told him he was lucky to be alive. that he had been spared for a reason.

he didn’t feel spared.

his mother clutched him so tightly he felt like he might stop breathing. his father didn’t say much. just stood behind him, jaw clenched, as if he might shatter if he opened his mouth.

rin sat in the front row, numb in an unfamiliar suit, staring at his shoes while the priest talked about peace and closure. the words fell flat.

they buried his brother in the middle of spring. the flowers on the casket were bright and fresh. too alive.

rin kept his mouth shut.

because whatever he had to say no longer mattered.

days blurred together.

the hospital room never changed, same sterile walls, same clock that ticked too loudly. people still came and went. some with words too soft, others with eyes too careful. rin said nothing. not when they asked how he was, not when they asked if he could try.

then she walked in.

and she did not whisper.

“okay,” she said, standing in the doorway, scanning the small, quiet room.

“are you the emotionally constipated soccer prodigy?”

rin looked up, only slightly, just enough to glare.

she grinned like she’d just won a bet. “bingo.”

then, with a casual shrug, she added, “i’m y/n, by the way. your new tutor-slash-babysitter, apparently. but in my defense, i’m technically still a student too.”

she tapped her hospital ID lightly. “i’m training here for my psych rotation. we’re the same age, so don’t worry. i won’t start lecturing you like some crusty professor.”

she dropped something onto the table between them.

another notebook.

not a clinical one. not the same blank white pages the therapist had offered. this one was already worn, the cover bent at the corner, decorated with a sticker of a sleeping fox curled around a moon.

he stared.

“i’m also excellent at one-sided conversations,” she added, flipping through her own notes. “and sarcasm. and snack bribery. i’m basically overqualified.”

still, rin didn’t move.

she dug something out of her bag, a small paper bag of convenience store gummies. she tossed it onto the table in front of him.

“first offering. if you don’t like strawberry, we’re gonna have a problem.”

no response.

she didn’t seem fazed.

“anyway. i heard you’re not talking, which is fine. i talk enough for both of us.”

she slid the notebook toward him.

“i figured if words don’t come out of your mouth, maybe they’ll come out of your hand.”

rin blinked slowly.

she blinked back, exaggerated. then made a clicking sound and pointed two fingers at her eyes.

“don’t think i didn’t see that. that was 0.2 seconds of eye contact. we're bonding already.”

for the first time in months, something tugged at the edge of rin’s mouth.

it wasn’t a smile.

but it was dangerously close.

before she left that day, she leaned over the table then flipped the notebook to the first page and scribbled something down.

“there,” she said proudly, setting the pen beside. “homework.”

she stood up and slung her bag over one shoulder with dramatic flair. the pins on her tote clinked together, one of them shaped like a jellybean.

“you don’t have to write back,” she added, pointing at him as she walked backwards toward the door,

“just... write whatever you want. or don’t. i’ll still come back tomorrow.”

she gave him a casual salute, then winked.

“see you, grim.”

then she was gone.

later afternoon, rin reached for the notebook, just curious enough to crack the cover. at the top of the page, written in bubbly letters, she had asked:

"what’s one thing you miss, even if you pretend you don’t?"

beneath it, she’d drawn a list with checkboxes:

☐ talking ☐ soccer ☐ late-night snacks ☐ your favorite hoodie before your mom shrank it in the wash ☐ someone you don’t know how to talk about ☐ all of the above ☐ none of the above ☐ …you’ll tell me one day?

next to it was a tiny doodle of her with cartoon sparkles in her eyes and a speech bubble that read:

“i promise not to laugh. unless it’s something funny. then i can’t help it.”

he didn’t even look up when he slid the notebook back across the table.

y/n opened it the next day, probably expecting a sarcastic retort or a ridiculous drawing.

instead, she found the quietest answer of all, one that said everything and nothing at once.

her fingers lingered on the page for a second. then she smiled. just a little.

then she suddenly reached into her bag and pulled out a small folder, flipping through until she found what she was looking for: a stapled packet labeled expressive therapy prompts – selective mutism intervention.

“okay, so,” she began, setting the folder down between them,

“let’s try something light. just a few questions. you don’t have to write full sentences, just whatever comes naturally.”

she gave him a reassuring look. “these are meant to help you reconnect with how you feel, not trap you in it. deal?”

rin said nothing, but his gaze dropped to the notebook. his pen was already in hand.

y/n leaned forward slightly, folding her arms on the table.

“all right. first question,” she said clearly.

“what’s one environment or space that makes you feel safe, or made you feel safe in the past?”

she watched him carefull, not rushing, not filling the silence.

he paused, then scribbled:

"the roof at night. when no one’s around."

y/n tilted her head, smile thoughtful. “mm. i like that. you seem like a rooftop kind of guy. quiet. open air. no one asking you questions.”

he didn’t react.

but he hadn’t closed the notebook either.

she took a breath, then continued gently.

“second question.”

“what’s one object or item that brings you comfort? something you kept, or still keep close.”

rin hesitated, then wrote, slower this time:

"my old cleats. i still clean them even though i can’t use them."

y/n blinked once, then murmured, “that’s… really specific. and really honest. thanks for that.”

she didn’t overdo the praise.

across from her, rin didn’t shift or shrink back like he sometimes did. he kept the pen resting in his hand, fingers still curled around it like he hadn’t decided whether to keep going or not.

it was subtle, but noticeable.

a few minutes ago, she wasn’t sure if he’d even pick up the pen. but now he had answered more questions, both personal, both intentional.

the tension in his shoulders had softened. he hadn’t looked at her directly, but his responses came quicker now, like he wasn’t overthinking them anymore. it was the kind of progress she didn’t want to scare off by naming out loud.

so instead, she turned the page in her notebook slowly, keeping her voice gentle, almost conversational.

“okay,” she said, glancing at the final prompt, “last one.”

she gave him a small, almost apologetic smile.

“this one’s a bit deeper, so… answer only if you feel okay doing that.”

she hesitated, then read it clearly:

“what’s a childhood memory that still feels warm when you think about it?”

that was when rin froze. his pen hovered over the paper. his shoulders, which had begun to loosen, tensed all at once. he stared at the question like it had struck him across the face.

y/n immediately picked up on it.

“hey,” she said gently. “it’s okay. we don’t have to answer that one today.”

no response.

she waited a beat longer, then slowly reached over and turned the notebook toward herself, flipping it closed with care.

“you did more than enough. most people don’t realize how much energy it takes to just… try. to sit in a room like this and let someone ask questions that brush too close to old bruises.”

she reached into her coat pocket, pulled out a folded piece of paper, and set it gently on the edge of the desk beside his notebook.

“that’s my number,” she said, almost offhandedly, but her voice was softer now.

“not for emergencies or anything dramatic. just… in case. if there’s something you want to say when it’s too late in the day, or if the quiet feels a little too loud.”

she tucked her hands into her sleeves, the way she always did when she wasn’t sure if she’d said too much.

“you don’t have to use it. no pressure. just thought maybe it’s easier to carry someone’s voice in your pocket than across a table.”

she gave him one last look, not waiting for a reaction, just leaving the offer where it belonged.

“see you tomorrow, rin.”

then she turned and walked out the door, her footsteps soft, her presence lingering long after she’d gone.

one night, long after visiting hours had ended and the halls had gone still, rin jolted awake in a cold sweat.

his chest heaved like something heavy had been dropped into it. his breath came in short, panicked gasps that scraped his throat raw. for a moment, he couldn’t tell if the blood in his mouth was real or just memory. if the sirens were ringing now, or if they were echoing from the past.

he saw the headlights.

he saw sae’s face.

he pressed both palms to his ears and curled into himself, squeezing his eyes shut. but the crash kept happening. over and over. a looping reel that played behind his eyes.

he tried to steady his breath. the way the therapist taught him. inhale for four. hold. exhale for four.

but it didn’t work.

his hands reached for the call button, hovering, then pulling back. he didn’t want to see another nurse he didn’t know. didn’t want their practiced sympathy or distant voices telling him to take deep breaths. he needed,

he grabbed the small scrap of paper from the drawer beside his bed. her number was still there.

for a full minute, he just stared at it. then his fingers moved, uncertain, as he picked up his phone.

1:42 am[rin]: sorry[rin]: i know it’s late[rin]: i’m not okay.

he didn’t expect her to reply. not at that hour. not when she had a life outside this sterile building and a role she wasn’t obligated to carry home.

but two minutes later, his screen lit up.

1:44 am[y/n]: what happened?[y/n]: wait i’m coming.

she didn’t ask what happened. she didn’t make him explain.

fifteen minutes later, she was at his door in a hoodie and pajama pants, hair tied messily on top of her head, eyes wide and searching.

“rin,” she whispered, stepping inside, her voice steady despite her obvious worry. “hey. you texted me. that’s good.”

he didn’t say anything, just sat stiffly on the bed, notebook untouched beside him.

she came closer and crouched down, carefully so she didn’t startle him. “you don’t have to tell me what it was. but i’m here, okay? i’m here now.”

and she was. just like always.

he pressed the notebook into her hands. his handwriting was messier this time.

“the crash. again. it won’t stop.”

her gaze softened, and she reached up to squeeze his hand. “nightmares are cruel like that,” she said.

“they drag you back when you’re finally learning to move forward.”

she didn’t let go.

“you want to stay up for a bit?” she offered. “i don’t really feel like sleeping either.”

he nodded, faintly.

she smiled. “okay. well… we could read something. or i could awkwardly narrate your favorite manga aloud.”

he took the pen and scribbled something short.

“movie?”

her brows lifted. “movie. sure. something quiet? comforting? ghibli?”

he paused.

then slowly wrote:

“horror.”

y/n stared at the word like it had personally betrayed her.

“oh, absolutely not,” she said, scandalized. “i may be training in psychology, but i draw the line at watching demonic children crawl out of wells at 2 a.m.”

he raised an eyebrow, as if to say, coward.

she squinted at him. “fine. but i’m bringing the chair close to the bed so i can throw myself across the room if anything jumps out.”

that night, they watched the shining on his tablet.

rin sat against the pillows, arms crossed, stone-faced as always.

y/n, on the other hand, flinched at every creaking floorboard in the movie. at some point, when the twins appeared in the hallway, she let out a very undignified squeak and grabbed the edge of his blanket.

“you know,” she muttered through clenched teeth, “the fact that you enjoy this explains so much about your personality.”

halfway through, she was curled up on the chair with her knees pulled close and her head tilted toward his side of the bed, so close her shoulder brushed his every time she moved.

at one point, he heard her breathing slow. her head dipped slightly.

she had fallen asleep, right there, in a flimsy chair, in a cold hospital room, next to a boy who hadn’t spoken a word in months.

rin looked down at the hand still resting near his blanket.

and for the first time in a long while, he felt steady.

like someone had reached into the chaos of his night and held it still.

quietly, without thinking, he picked up the notebook and wrote just two words on the top of a clean page.

“thank you.”

then he set it on her lap before letting his eyes close, too.

that was the first night he slept without dreaming of blood.

the days blurred into weeks, but the change between them was unmistakable.

they no longer kept to the rigid format of sessions. sometimes she asked him questions, but most of the time they just… talked. or rather, she talked. he wrote. and slowly, his responses became longer. more thoughtful. more personal.

he started opening about things no one had asked him about in months. and she listened. without trying to fix him. without pretending she understood exactly.

he’d find himself noticing her more, in quieter ways. the way she always carried two pens, one of which always ran out of ink. how she talked with her hands, dramatically, like she was narrating a stage play only she could see. how she laughed before her jokes landed, as if daring him not to find them funny.

sometimes she brought her own stories to fill the silence. about her family. her dog that once swallowed an entire sock and lived. the boy who broke her heart in high school by dating her and her friend. her dreams of becoming a full-fledged therapist.

one afternoon, as the sky began to turn gold through the hospital windows, rin passed her a folded note with a simple sentence.

“the beach helps. always has.”

she looked up.

“yeah?” she asked, brows raised.

he nodded once.

“it’s not far,” she said, tapping her lip in thought. “i can pull some strings.”

two weeks later, they sat side by side on the sand.

it was late in the day, the beach mostly empty. the waves rolled in slow and steady, and the air tasted like salt and sun-warmed driftwood. y/n had brought a picnic blanket and convenience store snacks.

“it’s nice,” she said softly, pulling her knees to her chest. “i get why this helps.”

he didn’t write anything at first. then he tapped her arm with the pen and showed her a line:

“it reminds me of my brother.”

she paused, her breath catching, but didn’t look away.

“was this your place? you used to come here?”

he nodded.

she waited a few seconds, then asked, “what would you tell him, if you could?”

he stared at the waves a long time before writing anything.

“i was angry. but i never hated him.” “i wish i hadn’t wasted so much time trying to be louder than him.” “i miss when we were just kids.”

y/n didn’t say anything right away. she reached into the bag and quietly handed him a strawberry-flavored rice cracker.

“thank you,” she murmured. “for letting me know him a little.”

they sat like that for a while, watching the sky deepen into a slow, bruised blue.

eventually, she asked, “when you get discharged, what’s the first thing you’re gonna do?”

rin looked up. the question surprised him more than it should’ve.

she waited, chewing on a piece of dried mango.

he finally wrote:

“sleep in my own bed.”

then a pause.

“then eat real ochazuke.”

“solid priorities,” she grinned. “you’re living the dream.”

she laughed, looking out over the water, wind tossing her hair slightly. “you’ll make it out of here. i know it.”

and he believed her.

she stretched her arms over her head, then dropped them into her lap with a satisfied sigh. “you know what you owe me when you’re free?”

he tilted his head.

“a movie,” she declared. “not on your tiny little tablet. a real one. in a real theater. stale popcorn. teenagers making out behind us.”

he raised a brow, clearly unimpressed by the cinematic vision.

“and not just any movie,” she added dramatically. “we’re watching the new final destination. opening night. i want to scream so loud i get banned from the building.”

rin blinked at her. slowly reached for the notebook.

“sounds like torture for you.”

“exactly,” she beamed. “ but we're bonding through fear. it’s clinically proven.”

he rolled his eyes, but she swore there was the barest smile tugging at his mouth.

then he paused and scribbled another line, showing it to her with deliberate calm.

“so… you’re asking me out.”

y/n froze.

her brain short-circuited for a second too long.

“i-no—i mean—not like that—!” she stammered, face warming instantly. “it’s not a date-date, obviously. i mean, unless you—no! that’s not what i meant. it’s just—friendly horror-based exposure therapy. very professional.”

rin stared, amused.

she groaned into her hands. “god. why do you only choose to be smug when i walk right into things?”

he offered the notebook again, one simple word:

“yes.”

she peeked through her fingers, still flustered.

“…yes what?”

“to the movie.”

rin gave her a dry look, but there was the faintest twitch at the corner of his mouth.

she smirked in triumph and passed him the notebook.

their fingers brushed.

and neither of them moved.

the touch was light—barely there—but it lingered longer than it needed to.

her eyes flicked to where their hands touched, then up to meet his gaze. her cheeks were already turning pink.

his ears were, too.

the first time it happened, it had been quick. an accident. easy to pretend it meant nothing.

but this time, he didn’t pull away.

this time, he let his fingers settle lightly over hers. just enough to say this is on purpose.

she blinked once, visibly flustered—but didn’t let go.

instead, she smiled, quiet and a little shy, and gave his hand the gentlest squeeze.

a beat passed.

then another.

he held on.

and even though neither of them said a word, both of them knew—something had shifted. something soft and new.

he started writing to her when she wasn’t around.

not because he had anything urgent to say, but because the words felt safer on paper, where they couldn’t ruin anything.

they were never long. just quiet thoughts that came to him between sessions, or late at night when the wind outside his window reminded him of the sea.

you make it feel less like i’m drowning.your laugh lives in my chest.i think i’m falling in love with you.

sometimes, he folded the page in half. sometimes, he tore it out entirely, crumpled it, and tossed it toward the trash can with more force than necessary.

he told himself it didn’t matter. that it was just a passing thing. a side effect of proximity. a crush born of gratitude and shared silence.

but the truth was, she lingered.

in the quiet moments. in the way he started sitting up straighter when he knew she was coming. in the small, ridiculous way he started checking his hair in the reflection of the window.

once, she left behind a pen in his room. it didn’t even work. but he kept it in his drawer anyway.

that was the thing with her.

she didn’t try to fix him. she just stayed long enough for him to want to fix himself.

they filled pages the next day. more drawings than words. she doodled herself dramatically fainting from stress. he added a cartoonish ghost of himself rolling his eyes.

then, halfway through a game of notebook tic-tac-toe, she asked without looking up,

“hey. what’s something no one’s ever told you, but you wish they had?”

the pen in his hand stilled.

his breath caught, just for a moment. he didn’t answer. didn’t move.

she noticed immediately.

her voice softened. “too much?”

he nodded once.

“okay,” she said, quiet and easy. “we’ll save the deep trauma dump for next week.”

her smile was gentle. and he could feel his chest tighten again, but not in the painful way.

in the terrifying, i think i could love her way.

and maybe he already did.

so later, when she left the room and the silence returned, he opened the notebook to a fresh page. his handwriting was slower this time. careful.

if i could speak again, the first thing i’d want to say is your name.just once.just to see what it sounds like when i mean it.

he stared at the words for a long time.

then folded the page in half.

and tucked it deep into his drawer, next to the broken pen she left behind.

the week before his discharge, something in the air had started to change. it was like the world outside the hospital was beginning to tug at him, quietly reminding him that his time there was almost up.

y/n noticed it too.

so when she showed up that afternoon, she didn’t bring the notebook. no worksheets. no therapy scripts.

just two bottled drinks, a hoodie slung over her arm, and a quiet smile.

“c’mon. let’s take a walk.”

y/n glanced over at him, arms folded loosely across her chest. “you nervous?” she asked gently.

rin shook his head.

she raised a brow. “liar.”

his lips twitched, just slightly.

“i would be,” she said, looking ahead again. “it’s weird, right? you wait so long to get out, but when it’s actually close... it kind of sneaks up on you.”

he nodded once.

they passed under the shade of a broad-leafed tree, and she slowed her pace.

“i’ve been thinking about something,” she said after a beat. “this is probably selfish to ask, but...”

she glanced at him again, eyes soft. “when you leave, what’s the one thing you think you’ll miss the most?”

rin stopped walking.

the breeze tugged at the edge of her cardigan.

he reached into his hoodie pocket, pulling out the familiar pen and small notepad she had given him weeks ago for when the full one got too heavy to carry.

he scribbled something down, then handed it to her.

y/n took it carefully. read the two words.

“you. always.”

she froze.

for a moment, she didn’t say anything, just stared at the handwriting, her breath caught somewhere in her chest.

then her voice came, soft and shaking just a little.

“i wasn’t ready for that.” she looked up at him. “you mean it?”

he held her gaze and gave the smallest nod.

she tucked the paper gently into her sleeve like it was something sacred. then nudged him lightly with her shoulder. “that’s really unfair, y’know.”

he tilted his head.

“now i’m gonna miss you too much.”

he opened his mouth, slow and careful. not like the others. not like the hoarse attempts with therapists or the strained syllables in nightmares.

his throat moved. his lips parted.

“y—”

the sound caught low in his chest, rough and raw. her name. maybe something more.

but she didn’t hear it.

because just as the sound left him, the shout came:

“wait—is that rin itoshi?”

rin froze.

the moment snapped in half.

voices. a crowd. phones already raised. questions ricocheting through the space like stones thrown too fast.

“holy crap, it’s really him—” “rin! when are you playing again?” “are you joining the national team?” “say something!” “do you even still play soccer?”

the wind shifted, and so did the air between them.

y/n’s smile dropped in an instant. she turned, placing herself slightly in front of him as the noise rushed in.

“please give us space,” she said, firm but calm. “this is a medical facility. he’s not taking questions.”

but the voices didn’t stop. the crowd swelled. someone stepped too close, a camera nearly clipped her shoulder. she stumbled back, arms out to balance herself.

“rin?” she called out, trying to see him through the sea of movement.

his heart lurched. she was too far. too exposed. he pushed through, elbowing between shoulders and phones, but the noise swallowed his footsteps.

“y/n!”

her eyes scanned frantically.

and then, she turned the wrong way.

rin heard the screech of tires. the awful, final thud. the sharp collective gasp of a crowd realizing they had pushed too hard.

then silence.

crushing, absolute silence.

he didn’t remember running. just that one moment he was among strangers, and the next he was kneeling in the street.

blood smeared the asphalt beneath her head.

rin’s vision tunneled. it felt like looking at a photograph from a nightmare he’d never woken from. something twisted and wrong, like his brain refused to accept the image in front of him. she wasn’t supposed to look like that. not her. not the only person who had ever reached him where no one else could.

her chest was rising—barely.

“i—i lost you in the crowd,” she whispered, voice fragile, cracking. “i was trying to—come back.”

“no.”

she blinked, slowly, as if hearing it pulled her back for a moment.

his voice was broken, dry, guttural, torn from a throat that had forgotten how to speak.

"don't go," rin rasped, voice cracking like it had been clawed from the depths of his throat.

“n-not you,” he gasped, the words barely forming. “p-please... not—n-not you.”

his fingers trembled as they brushed her cheek. too cold, too still. he blinked, once, twice, like he could undo what he was seeing. but she wasn’t blinking back. she wasn’t moving.

“i—i n-never said it,” he choked, chest heaving. “i sh-should’ve said it. g-god, why didn’t i...”

he leaned over her, forehead to hers, tears slipping freely now, soaking into her hair like confessions he couldn’t take back.

“i-i can talk now,” he whispered, brokenly. “c-can you hear me? i’m s-speaking. i’m finally—i’m finally speaking, a-and you’re not—”

his throat clenched tight. “d-don’t leave me, too. not like him. n-not like this. i c-can’t—i can’t do this again—”

the words poured out now, wild and cracked, falling faster than the tears that soaked her hair.

“p-please—jus’… jus’ come back—‘m sorry—so sorry—d-didn’t mean—don’t go, don’t—please—please—”

his voice cracked, crumbling mid-word, everything slurring into a tangle of breath and panic.

“’m here, i’m right here, s-stay—don’t… don’t close your eyes, d-don’t fade, please—please—”

his hands were shaking. his breath hitched with every sob, body curling inward like he could fold himself into her, keep her warm, keep her here.

“y-you said… y-you said i c-could still get better,” he whimpered. “said we’d w-watch the movie, r-remember? the t-theatre, n-not the tablet… y-you said…”

his words buckled. he tried again.

“i—i haven’t even g-gotten the popcorn yet, you c-can’t… you can’t leave now—”

he buried his face in her shoulder, voice muffled, breaking.

“i don’t… i don’t have anyone else,” he sobbed. “n-not anymore. n-not my brother. n-not you. y-you were it. y-you were all i had—”

his fingers tightened around hers, desperate.

“i d-don’t know how t-to be here without you. i d-don’t know how to s-speak if you’re not listening—”

his cries twisted into something small and shaking, lips brushing her temple like a final plea.

“i-i love you,” he whispered again, barely audible, like a child. “i l-love you, please, please, come back—i’ll be better, i p-promise—please…”

but her hand had already gone limp.

the sobs overtook him. incoherent mumbles spilled from his lips like prayers, like bargains, like a child too late to stop the storm.

he had waited so long to speak. and now, every word tasted like blood.

then rin broke.

the sound that left him was raw, less a scream, more a soul being torn apart at the seams. he hadn’t cried like this when sae left. not when their family fell apart. not when he woke up in a hospital bed with silence buried in his throat.

he collapsed over her, arms wrapped tightly around her limp frame, sobbing like a child who had finally realized that no one was coming to save him.

but she had come. she had always come.

until now.

now, he was alone again—with a voice too late to matter, and a body that remembered the shape of hers like an ache.

they had taken sae. now they had taken her too.

and this time, he had no silence left to hide behind.

rin itoshi’s voice had returned, but the only person who ever deserved to hear it was already gone.

it had been months since she died. longer since he touched the notebook.

but today, he needed to.

the pages were worn now, corners frayed from being turned too often. some ink had smudged where water once hit the page. maybe rain. maybe tears. he didn’t remember.

what he did remember was the first assignment she ever gave him.

he found it easily, tucked near the front. her familiar handwriting stared back at him:

“what’s one thing you miss, even if you pretend you don’t?”

beneath it, the list she’d drawn in careful, lopsided checkboxes:

he was supposed to answer that.

he was supposed to tell her.

she waited for it, smiled through it, gave him all the time in the world, until time ran out.

just like it had with sae.

the two people he loved most in the world. the only two who had ever looked at him and didn’t see a project to fix, or a failure to mourn—just him. and rin never said it in time.

he thought he'd spent his whole life convincing himself silence was safer. that if he never said the words, they couldn’t be taken from him. but he was wrong. because now they were both gone.

and he was still here. still breathing. still waking up every morning in a bed too cold, in a world too loud, carrying a voice that had returned just a moment too late.

the new final destination movie came out three months ago. he never watched it. he never even looked at the poster.

he has a new therapist now. a new team. new routines. a new voice, rough around the edges, stitched back together from ash and memory. he speaks sometimes. not because he wants to. because he knows how.

everyone calls it progress. they smile when he answers questions. nod when he holds a conversation. like he should be proud of it. like this broken version of him is worth celebrating.

but no one asks why he speaks again. no one asks for whom he ever wanted to get better.

no one knows that there was once a girl who sat across from him, fearless in the face of his silence. who laughed in hospital hallways and slipped him drawings instead of diagnoses. who never asked for anything except for him to try. and made the trying feel like something worth doing.

now she’s just a footnote in a file. a car accident near the gates. caught in the noise of a crowd that never cared about him. swallowed up by the consequences of a voice he didn’t even want anymore.

and the cruelest part? she hadn’t wanted anything from him.

all she’d ever wanted… was to help him speak.

and now, every word he says feels like betrayal.

he stared at the page until his eyes stung. so instead, he picked up the pen.

he didn’t draw. he didn’t write a letter. he didn’t even look at the list again.

he just placed a checkmark beside one box.

☑ …you’ll tell me one day?

and beneath it, in small, cracked handwriting, he wrote:

“i was too late.”

he closed the notebook.

he sat there for a long time after that, the pen slipping from his fingers, the silence stretching impossibly wide.

everyone kept telling him how strong he was for surviving. but surviving meant waking up without them. surviving meant remembering the way her hands went still in his, and how his brother’s eyes never closed.

and for the first time in months, he cried.

not for her death. but for her absence in his future.

for every moment he had yet to live— without the one person he was finally ready to live it with.

જ⁀➴ © sevarchive ✦ masterlist ; like/reblogs are appreciated ꣑ৎ

#sevarchive ۶ৎ #theaskroulette #blue lock #bllk #bllk x reader #blue lock angst #blue lock fluff #blue lock au #rin itoshi #rin itoshi x you #blue lock rin #bluelock #itoshi rin #rin itoshi x reader #itoshi sae blue lock #blue lock sae #bllk sae #itoshi sae

229 notes · View notes

avonnimimi · 7 months ago

Text

❀·°∗✧🌸✧∗°·❀

Tease

━━━━━♡━━━━━━━━━━♡━━━━━

an: i think this might have been a bit rushed, it was incomplete in my drafts and I just decided to finish it for ya ;) i feel like the pics don’t match the aesthetic of this but it’s wtv. MEN AND MINORS DNI

content: Vi has a penis (wanted to try smth different), phone sex, dom!vi, mean!vi, name calling, nudes, breeding, cursing. lmk if i missed anything!

━━━━━♡━━━━━━━━━━♡━━━━━

You weren’t usually a tease. Sure, Vi always teased you, but this time, you wanted to turn the tables. Your friends were always talking about the stuff they’d send their husbands at work, risqué pictures, flirty texts, whatever it took to leave them a mess. And, of course, you wanted to see that side of Vi. You wanted to know what she’d be like if you pushed her just a little too far.

You knew she had a big meeting today. She’d told you this morning, her tone calm but firm as she kissed your forehead before leaving. “Don’t distract me today, baby,” she’d said with a small smile. “I really need to focus.” Not mean, not harsh, just focused. And yet, that only made it more tempting.

You slipped into your white lingerie, the one she loved. It was delicate, soft against your skin, hugging your body just right. You stood in front of the mirror, hesitating for only a moment before snapping a few pictures, angling yourself to show just enough to drive her crazy.

Your heart pounded as you hit send. And then… you waited.

Minutes turned into hours. You changed back into your normal clothes, went out for errands, tried to distract yourself, but the anticipation gnawed at you. Maybe she was too busy. Maybe she wasn’t going to say anything at all. You started to feel a little embarrassed. But then your phone rang.

It was her.

You answered immediately, trying to hide the nervous flutter in your chest. “Hi, baby!” you said, your voice light and cheerful.

There was silence on the other end for a moment. Then you heard it, a soft, wet squelching noise. Your heart skipped a beat as the familiar sound registered in your head.

“Baby,” Vi’s voice came through, breathy and ragged. “Fuck, those pictures. They were amazing. Got my cock so swollen for you, mama.”

Your cheeks burned, heat spreading through your body as you heard her, really heard her. Her voice was shaky, desperate, like she was barely holding herself together. And the sounds… the wet, rhythmic strokes of her hand working her cock filled the line, obscene and raw.

“Th-thank you,” you stammered, your voice catching in your throat. You didn’t expect her to sound like this, so needy and wrecked. She wasn’t teasing you or playing it cool. She was falling apart, and you could hear it in every whimper, every sharp hitch of her breath.

“Fuck,” she groaned, her voice breaking. “Put me in such a tough spot, baby. Sitting through that meeting with my cock this hard, trying not to think about you. About how you’d look bent over my desk, wearing that fucking lingerie.” She let out a low, desperate whine that sent a shiver down your spine. “God, I can’t stop thinking about you. You’ve got me so fucked up.”

You didn’t say anything, your lips parted as you listened to her unravel. You’d never heard her like this, so shameless, so absolutely desperate for relief. “Wanna stuff up that slutty pussy so good,” She groans. Every wet stroke of her hand was loud in your ear, her breath coming faster and faster as she chased her release.

“Baby,” she whimpered, her voice cracking. “I wish I was there. Wish I could bury my cock in you, feel you squeezing me so fucking tight. I’d let you ride me—fuck, I’d let you do anything you wanted to me. Just want to feel you, mama. Need you so bad.”

Your thighs clenched instinctively, but you didn’t dare move. You listened intently, your heart pounding as she whimpered your name, her voice trembling with need.

“I’m close,” she panted, her strokes getting faster. You could hear how messy it was, the slick, obscene sounds of her cock leaking as she fucked into her hand like a man possessed. “Fuck, I’m gonna cum. Baby, I—fuck, I can’t—”

She let out a choked groan, the sound raw and guttural as she came. You could hear everything, the way her strokes slowed, the wet noises of her cock spilling over her hand, her breathing uneven and shaky as she came down.

For a moment, there was nothing but the sound of her catching her breath. Then she let out a soft laugh, her voice still hoarse. “Goddamn, baby,” she murmured, her tone warm and affectionate now. “You’re gonna kill me one day, you know that?”

You smiled to yourself, your heart still racing. “I didn’t mean to distract you that much,” you teased, even though you absolutely did.

Vi chuckled, the sound soft and low. “You’re lucky I love you,” she said, her voice still tinged with exhaustion. “But don’t touch yourself, okay? I want you to wait for me. Gonna take care of you properly when I get home.”

“Okay,” you said sweetly, even though you already knew you weren’t going to listen.

After you hung up, the silence in the room felt deafening. Your body was buzzing, your skin hot, your panties soaked from just listening to her. You bit your lip, glancing at the clock. She wouldn’t be home for hours.

You sat back on the couch, your hand already sliding down between your legs. “Sorry, Vi,” you whispered to yourself, your fingers slipping beneath the waistband of your panties. “I can’t wait.”

You closed your eyes, her voice still fresh in your mind, the way she whimpered, the wet sound of her stroking herself, the way she’d called your name like it was the only thing keeping her sane. It didn’t take long before you were trembling, your fingers working you over as you replayed the call in your head.

When you came, it was with her name on your lips, your body arching as the pleasure crashed over you. You lay there for a moment afterward, your chest rising and falling as you caught your breath. Guilt prickled at the edges of your mind, but you couldn’t bring yourself to care.

She didn’t have to know.

The key turning in the lock announced Vi’s arrival, earlier than anticipated. A wave of panic mixed with lingering arousal washed over you. You smoothed your clothes, attempting a casual facade, but Vi’s knowing gaze saw through the charade. A predatory smile curved her lips.

“Hey, baby,” she purred, her voice thick with unspoken promises. The closing door clicked shut, amplifying the sudden silence. The air thrummed with a thick tension.

“Hi,” you managed, your voice betraying a nervous tremor. Your heart hammered against your ribs.

Vi advanced, her movements deliberate and predatory. Her fingers traced your jawline, sending shivers down your spine. “Did you miss me?” she whispered, her thumb brushing your lower lip.

You nodded, the lie catching in your throat. “Of course.”

“Good,” she breathed, her eyes darkening. “Because I missed you too.” Her hand tightened possessively on your thigh. “Did you touch yourself while I was gone?”

Your hesitation, the averted gaze, was all the confirmation she needed. Vi’s grip intensified, her fingers digging into your flesh. “Don’t lie to me,” she growled, her voice low and menacing. “I can smell it on you. Hear it in your voice. Feel the dampness already clinging to my fingers.”

Your breath hitched, your body betraying your deceit. Vi’s eyes gleamed with a predatory triumph. “You’re so wet for me,” she murmured, her hand sliding higher, pushing your skirt up with impatient fingers. “You were thinking about me, weren’t you? Imagining what I’d do to you when I got home.”

You nodded softly. “You couldn’t wait for me to stuff you up real good,”

Before you could respond, she shoved you back against the couch, her body a heavy weight pinning you down. “Gonna give this little cunt what she wants.” she growled, her teeth nipping at your neck, leaving a trail of fiery kisses down to your collarbone.

Her hand delved between your legs, her fingers finding your slick folds. You gasped, arching into her touch despite the fear coiling in your stomach. “Vi,” you whimpered, a plea lost in the rising tide of sensation.

“Quiet,” she commanded, her long fingers pumping into you, curling so nicely in your sopping hole. “You don’t get to talk now. You just get to feel.”

Her fingers plunged deep, exploring your wet heat. “Soaked,” she murmured against your ear, her breath hot and ragged. “Just for me.” You cried out, your body bucking beneath her.

She leaned back, her eyes burning into yours. “You like that, don’t you?” she whispered, a cruel smile twisting her lips. “You like being used.”

Tears pricked your eyes, but the undeniable thrill spiraling through you couldn’t be ignored. Vi saw it, the flicker of desire in your gaze, and her smile widened.

She withdrew her fingers with a slick, obscene pop. You whimpered at the loss, your body thrumming with a desperate need. Vi reached down, unbuckling her belt with a sharp, metallic click. Her cock sprung out, tip angry and leaking precum. “Gonna nut in this cunt.” she growled, her voice thick with possessiveness.

She yanked your legs apart, roughly aligning herself with your entrance. You braced yourself, your heart a frantic drum against your ribs. Then, with a brutal thrust, she buried herself deep inside you.

You cried out, the feeling of her filling you, stretching you, overwhelming your senses. She lets out a loud groan, “God I love this pussy, so fucking creamy,” She began to move, her thrusts hard and fast, each one a punishing blow. The couch creaked beneath the frantic rhythm of their bodies. “You’re so tight,” she groaned, her voice strained with pleasure. “So fucking perfect.”

Her thick cock kissing your cervix so good you swore you saw stars, your cunt squelching, basically talking to Vi. Clit swollen, glistening with your juices.

She slammed into you again and again, her hips a blur of motion. The room spun around you, a dizzying vortex of sensation. You could feel her building, the tension coiling tight in her core.

Vi begins to whine, you clench harshly around her, “fuckkkkk yes princess just like that.” Her eyes roll back. “I’m gonna cum,” she growled. “I’m gonna cum inside this pretty fucking pussy.”

And with one final, savage thrust, she did. You felt her release flood you, hot and thick, pulsing deep within you. She collapsed on top of you, her breath coming in ragged gasps, her weight a welcome pressure.

You lay there, entangled, your body still thrumming with the aftershocks of her possession.

—————————————————————————

this is my original post, please don’t repost, translate, or plagiarize my work ;)

©️avonnimimi 2024

#lesbian #wlw blog #wlw mood #wlw post #18+ mdni #gxg #wlw #violet arcane #vi arcane smut #vi x you #vi x reader #vi arcane #arcane imagine #arcane #arcane smut

456 notes · View notes

valentine-cafe · 8 months ago

Note

Can I please get a macchiato? [amab reader]

thinking about buying alessio a cute pair of lace lingere and him getting all shy while getting fucked in it...mmm...

˖⁺. “ dolled-up, filled-up ! ” :

﹙ top male reader x bttm mercenary antihero bf ﹚.𖹭 ݁

. . . alessio 781 x male reader !! 🍓 : ﹙ mercenary ˖ antihero ˖ bad boy esque ˖ enigma character ﹚

he's always been so cocky and yet now that you have him all dolled up and pretty - he's getting shy.

﹙ cws ﹚: explicit content ˖ lingerie ˖ edging ˖ penetrative sex ˖ nipple play ˖ rough sex ˖ hand job ˖ creampie ˖ multiple orgasms ˖ mirror sex | wc : 2k

﹙ receipts ﹚: whoever requested this I am giving you my first born child !! top that top! DOM THAT DOM!

꒰ other treats : guidelines ˖ m.list ˖ characters ˖ our lore ꒱

Leather is his signature, and yet lace makes him a masterpiece.

Your hands trail over the canvas. Eager to touch. Grip. Feel him. Dig you nails in and create beautiful red lines over his fair, olive skin.

“Such a pretty boy. . .” your croon to his ear is met with a low grunt. Nothing of contempt. The pink on his helix told you all that you needed to know. The shivers that vibrated against your palms too. And those emerald eyes staring back at you from the mirror he faces? Oh, they spoke thousands.

The black lace feels perfect against his skin. Looks even better on him. Both in reality and reflection. You run your fingers over his hips and trace them to his thighs. Trailing them into the slip of the garter you simply had to buy with. You stretch it away from his skin - before allowing it to smack back into his muscular thigh.

You nurse the noise that he makes. Your hand quickly slips between his legs and palms at his leaking cock. Slow. Purposeful. Easing that perfect sound into a long-winded whimper.

“Querido. . .”

“I know baby. I know.”

Your free hand finds his jaw. Tightens and yanks so that he stares at the beautiful piece of art your eyes hungrily rove over. “Look at yourself. Watch as I do this to you, Alessio.”

His name on your lips always has him elated, but this made him dizzy. Makes him weakly buck up into your hand that devilishly strokes along his pulsing nerves. You make sure to shove the soft fabric off so that you an see the way his tip throbs. Pink and begging for your thumb to swirl around mercilessly.

You wet your lips at the curve that his back takes. Your hips keenly following by grinding your wet dick up against his ass. Wanting another go at fucking him raw.

“Need this baby?” Your hiss elicits a whine. With a rough shake of your hand on his jaw - you shove your thumb past his lips and roughly pad down on his tongue.

“Said fucking watch yourself.”

His eyes flutter at the rough treatment. If only to cross when you slip back in. Your groan mixes with his series of moans and you buck your hips up to sink further into his tight rim. It mattered not how much he took your cock. He always clamps like a needy little slut.

Instead of the harsh skin-slapping that filled the room prior, you bite on your tongue and force your thrusts to slow. Ease your dick into his gummy walls. Retreat. Fill again. Till your balls tap at his ass gently and he’s whining about you being deep.

Or going slow. You’re not sure yet.

“That feel good baby? Yeah?” Huffs meet his ear. You stutter your hips against the plush of his ass and grin at the moans that fall from him. His large hands grip at the edges of the mirror and he bends slightly. Steering his hips back into your cock and giving you the perfect angle to bury your hand into his messy black hair.

You so desperately want to fuck him until he’s drooling again. Have him bounce on your cock so you paint his insides and thighs white. But this time you want to adore the lace on him. Trail your fingers over the black fabric and feel the way it frames his body so perfectly. Enhancing some of the beauty spots along his sides. Riding up his waist with each thrust back into you. An invite to grip and yank him back against you, if you do say so yourself.

“So gorgeous. God. Do you have any idea?”

He whines at you. You just so manage to hear the low mutter. The soft shut up. So you curl your fingers into his tousled strands and jerk his face to the mirror properly again. Resuming your harsh treatment with hard. Yet slow thrusts. So that at the very least his plush flesh claps with each smack of your hips. Tempered. Punishing.

“Oh no. You’re not getting away from this.” You grunt through clenched teeth. Just like he’s clenching around your dick. Begging to be filled again most probably. As though your slick isn’t still staining his thighs from earlier. “You’re gonna watch. Gonna see what a pretty lil’ toy you are for me.”

The restraint bubbles away. You start fucking him a bit faster. The wet squelching fills the room quicker. So do his moans that catch in his throat or whine out when his mouth falls open and his face scrunches up.

“A-Am - Am - hhh - or fuck -!”

“Say it. Fucking say it.”

The growl comes from deep with you. Rough like the way you start humping his ass. The way you start slamming at an angle - against that one bundle. So that Alessio can’t even buck back into you properly. All he can do is take it. Like he’s good for; in that pretty lingerie of his.

Your mouth finds his ear. Clamping teeth as you speed your thrusts. Cramming your hips into his and using another hand to shove his legs together. So that he’s squished, pressured — all the more to add to the intensity. “Want you to say you’re a pretty little toy. Pretty little whore.”

“I-I - I-hhh - m- ah! Fuck - po-por f-ffff-fuck please-”

The whining caught in his throat is so endearing. You bark a breathless laugh into his ear and yank him back. Stumbling through your bedroom floor and shoving the mercenary onto the bed. Hands gripping at his forearms as you squish him onto his stomach. Rail him from behind until tears squeeze out of his emerald eyes and his moans turn into drooling words.

You know how stubborn he is. Know that you have to force compliments down his throat. The same way your forcing your dick into his thigh ass. Mercilessly slapping. Addicted to the lewd sounds of his ever-taking hole. The slop of your cum all over his thighs. His own on his abdomen. The sheets.

It’s such a mess. And still - he’s the most beautiful thing that you’ve seen. Something you are ready to drill into his head. Even if it takes all night of you pulling and twisting him. Fucking him full so that he’s crying. He’ll repeat your words. Even if he has to sob it while you are pounding him ball-deep.

“A-Am- Amoor-ciiitttooo -! No - N-No puedo -” ( “I can’t-” )

Liar. He always could. He proves it with the way that his little hole spasms around you when you shove him onto his back and bully your way back into him. Fucking every inch in until he’s stuffed full and arching because of it.

“Yes you - hah - yes you can baby. You can. Look at me.”

Your hand reaches down to caress his tear-stained face. You abruptly slam into him. Cram your hips against his and jostle him further up the sheets. Wrecking the bed like you’re wrecking his trembling body. This position allows you to see just how much he’s creamed himself all over. The sticky substance clings onto the material pooling around his waist.

The sight has you groaning. Your hips stutter to shallow. Fuck him full repeatedly while also grinding into that spot hat has his eyes threatening to roll back again.

Your hand takes a quick detour to roughly tug at the trap of the lingerie. Gentleness be damned. You’ll buy him a new one. Buy him five. Ten - as many as he wants. Anything if it meant getting him to squirm beneath you like this.

Skilled fingers brush the fabric away and you give one of your favourite parts of him some love. Tugging at his nipple piercings before hurling a small wad of spit. So that you can swirl your thumb around the sensitive bud and watch as he crumbles even more.

Your name on his lips is so broken. So pitiful. You simple have to dip your head down and suck on his nipples. All while your hips make bruises on his. Pounding his poor little ass into the sheets until he’s crying out all sorts of phrases in his mother-tongues you can’t eve decipher.

“N-No p-pueeedddoo! D-Dios - ah- Por dios - e-es t-aaan profundo -hngh!” ( “I can’t - oh god - it’s too deep.” )

As if you knew what he was saying, you try to bury yourself deeper. Grip at his thighs and fuck into him with your own desperation. A desperation to claim. To pleasure. To remind. You force yourself away from his nipples slathered in your saliva to instead crane your head over his. Shut your eyes, crease your brows and focus all your strength into fucking his poor hole raw.

“Goood baby I - hngh - fuuckk you’re too fuckin’ pretty -”

His moans sound odd suddenly. You let your gaze fall to investigate. If only to be met with the sight of his head flicked to the side. The back of his knuckles covering the lower half of his face. The mere gesture warms your hearts — to think. The cocky bastard. Your flirty charmer of a boyfriend. Shy over being called pretty and fucked in a lingerie.

It’s such a pitiful sight. Such an endearing one. Your hand returns to brush some of his messy strands back. Before clicking your tongue and drawing out your thrusts again. Slowing them so that you might piston him in that way that shakes his body and slams the headboard into the wall.

“Did I say you could do that?” You snatch his wrist and pin it firmly. Giving a harsh squeeze to remind it to stay there. Before you reach up to cup at Alessio’s reddened face. So that you might tilt it up and pour your loving gaze down into his teary ones.

“You still haven’t said it. Please. Baby please.”

Your pleading combined with your thrusts shallowing once more. Rolling and fucking him just right. There was no denying you this time. Not when you looked down at him as though he was every star in the fucking universe.

“I-I’m - I hah -”

“You can do it. Come on. Say you’re my pretty boy.”

To motivate, your slip a grip under his thigh so that you can toss his leg over your shoulder. Invade his space further. Bring your warm bodies together so that you can make him cum again. You’re not sure how long you might last either. But one thing’s for sure. You’re using his body through the night.

His teary eyes meet yours. His hand weakly reaches to cling onto your bicep - and at last, he rasps out in a trembling voice: “I’m . . . I-I’mmm - fuck -” he gasps at your little spank to his ass.

“I’m your pretty - your p-pretty boy youur prettyy boy - ah!”

You have to reward him by cramming your hips into his. Snatch at his cock and pump him until he’s creaming all over again. The sobs that leave his lips as he tosses his head back into the sheets makes all the strain in your muscles worth it.

No - the sight of him laying there. In that black lingerie that has nothing on his beauty - taking it like your good, pretty boy. That is what makes everything worth it.

﹙ taglist. ﹚: | get tagged for specific posts

﹙ tip jar. ﹚: like our work? consider suporting us 𖹭

#﹙ cupcake rush. ﹚: alessio 781 𖹭 ݁#x male reader #monster boyfriend #teratophillia #smut #monster fucker #terato #male reader #x reader #reader insert #mercenary x reader #immortal x reader #antihero x reader #oc x reader #original character x reader #monster smut #alessio 781 #asterism

494 notes · View notes

enhas-pov · 9 months ago

Text

ghostface

summary: at the beginning of reader beomgyu’s relationship, there was a masked killer on the loose known as “ghostface”. reader started noticing how her boyfriend was never with her when the killings occurred, leaving her to wonder why beomgyu was acting so odd.

warnings: yandere, cursing, knives, smut, unprotected sex, creampie, degrading, kissing, toxic(?), abusive(ish..?), dom!gyu, sub!reader, etc..

word count: 2.7k

note: i was supposed to post this in october for halloween.. sorry :3

════════════════════════

"g-gyu.. too fast!" i yelped, feeling beomgyu’s hand at the back of my head before he buried my face deeper into the pillows as he was pounding into me from the back. he ignored me, using his other hand to grab me by my waist before thrusting into me deeper, harder and faster. the sound of skin slapping filled the room and i could feel him splitting me open with his big cock. i squirmed around uncomfortably which only earned me a harsh slap on my ass cheek from him, "stay fucking still.." he groaned as he threw his head back in pleasure. i shrieked at the stinging pain his slap left on my cheek which was now completely red.

"i-i can’t.." i was barley able to get any words out from being too fucked out on his dick. "f-fuck.. yeah you can. come on baby, t-take it" i could only whimper in response when his fingers dug even deeper into my skin, definitely leaving bruises. he leaned down, pressing his chest against my back which only lead to his member sliding into me even deeper as his tip kissed my cervix. i whined, his lips brushing agsinst my ear before he bit down on my earlobe. "you gonna milk my cock, hm?" he whispered into my ear. "mhm!" i mumbled, repeatedly nodding my head. he kissed my cheek before leaning back, creating a space between us again.

"g-go on then" he grabbed my ass cheeks and spread them apart so he could watch himself sliding in and out of me. i let out a cry once i felt the wave of pleasure crashing over me, my legs starting to shake at the feeling of beomgyu still going and never stopping, "shit.. just like that". my vision started getting blurry at the overstimulation, "b-beomie?-" i suddenly let out a silent scream when he brought his hand to my clit and started circling it. i was so sensitive after my recent orgasm, i couldn’t stop myself from trying to get off his dick. "w’ere you going baby?" he pulled me back with a harsh thrust causing me to let out a mix of moans and cries.

his thrusts only got faster as he got closer to his high, "shit shit shit-" beomgyu groaned just for a second before shooting his sticky load deep into my pussy. "fuck.." his thrusts got sloppier while he painted my walls white with his fluids. i suddenly got this weird feeling that i wasn’t familiar with, "beomgyu.." i mumbled. "hm?" he hummed, still thrusting into me but at a slow pace. "f-feels like im gonna pee.." he cursed under his breath at my words, "let go for me" he said, biting down on his lower lip. i let out a soft moan when clear liquid spurted out of my pussy, beomgyu groaning at the sight. "that’s it baby.. squirt all over my dick"

i was quick to fall asleep after beomgyu and i had sex, and it was during the middle of the night when i woke up to strange noises. "gyu..?" i mumbled tiredly while i rubbed my eyes. "sorry, did i wake you?" when i opened my eyes to look up at him, i saw him fully dressed in all black. "mhm.. are you going somewhere?" something else about beomgyu was that he would leave a lot during the night which i found extremely odd. "yeah but dont worry ‘bout it, ill be back" he approached me, gently grabbing my chin before pressing his lips against mine. after that he simply just walked out, maybe im thinking too much about it. its probably nothing..

i decided not to worry about it and tried going back to sleep, but i was unsuccessful. i sleep better when beomgyu is next to me so i thought that was the problem. i decided to scroll through my phone while waiting for him, and everything was going fine until i came across a news article that had just been released minutes ago. "the infamous serial killer known as ghostface has struck again, claiming a new victim just moments ago. the local authorities reported that the victim, a man in their 20s was found on the side of the street, and the police confirmed the victim had suffered from multiple stab wounds. "we are doing everything we can to keep our community safe" said the detective. we encourage everyone to stay indoors and report any suspicious activity"

wait.. the victim cant be beomgyu right? a man in their 20s got killed just right after he left the house? i felt my heart begin to race as i started panicking, please dont let it be him.. just as i was about to call him i heard the front door opening. i felt relieved knowing beomgyu was alive and had gotten back home safely. i got out from bed and started making my way out of the bedroom, “beomgyu? i was so worried, they said that a man in their 20s got killed by ghostface and-“ i suddenly froze in my tracks at the sight in front of me—the front door wide open with no sign of beomgyu anywhere.

my heart started racing again, i was sure i had locked the door.. unless beomgyu had left it open when he left? shit. my breath sharpened as i pressed my back against the wall, my heart was pounding so loudly i was sure i could hear it. the house was completely silent until i started hearing the sound of the floor creaking, hoping that it was beomgyus footsteps i was listening to. suddenly out of the darkness, a tall figure dressed in all black and wearing a white mask stepped inside through the front door. it was ghostface. his head turned slowly towards me, and i covered my mouth to stop a scream from escaping my throat.

i slowly started moving my body towards the kitchen before i quickly made a run for it. the second i slipped into the kitchen i started looking for a weapon, something to defend myself with. my fingers trembled as i reached for a kitchen knife, clutching onto it as i braced myself. the cold metal pressed tightly against my grip but just as i turned around he was stood right there. ghostface was standing in the doorway, blocking the exit for me. his mask tilted to the side as if he was amused of me trying to defend myself from him. he then stepped forward, the knife in his hand shining under the kitchen light.

"p-please leave me alone!" i pleaded, begging for my life as my voice shook. he didnt respond, only taking slow steps towards me before he finally cornered me against the counter. i brought the knife i was holding out, the tip of it against his chest as i shut my eyes closed and looked away. suddenly, i felt a cold hand run over my thigh and i shivered at his touch. i looked up at ghostface with my teary eyes, still pressing my knife against his chest. he brought the knife he was holding between his fingers before twirling it around, and it only made me even more nervous and scared than i already was. why wasnt he killing me? he slowly brought the knife up to my face, tears starting to fall from my eyes out of fear.

why wasnt i making a move? i had the knife pressed against his chest, i could easily stab him if i wanted to. i just couldnt bring myself to take someones life.. he took the dull end of the knife, dragging it down along the side of my face. i shivered at the cold metal feeling against my skin as he kept on dragging the knife further down until it reached my thigh. i wasnt wearing anything but a pair of panties and beomgyus t-shirt that was thankfully covering my underwear. the knife grazed my skin as he moved it towards my inner thigh, and i felt nothing but scared and disgusted. "s-stop.." i whispered uncomfortably.

ghostface suddenly let out a chuckle—a chuckle that sounded oddly familiar. i froze as my heart skipped a beat. i furrowed my eyebrows at him, it couldnt be.. slowly, he reached up and pulled his mask off, revealing beomgyus face underneath. his messy hair fell over his once-soft eyes that were now darkened, a twisted smile tugging at his lips. "b-beomgyu..?" i lowered the knife i had held against his chest, but he only pressed his deeper into my thigh. i let out a whimper at the feeling of it, "you had no idea it was me, did you? my dumb baby.." he brought his other hand up to my face in an attempt to stroke my cheek, but i flinched and tried moving away from his touch.

he only gripped my chin tightly as he forced me to look him in the eyes. "whats the matter, hm?" he asked, leaning in close until the tip of his nose was touching mine. "y-you’re.. you’re a murderer!" i spat in his face before i attempted to get away from him by moving my body around like an animal, only he grabbed my body with his hands--trying his best to stop me from attempting to get away from him. "you better fucking stop doing that.. i wouldnt want to hurt you" he growled at me, his hands digging into my skin as he tightened his grip on my body. i knew i wasnt gonna be able to get away from him, he was too strong. i stopped fighting, "please.. i dont want to die.." i sobbed as tears began falling down my face again.

i could tell he was fighting back a smile, hes sick.. he brought his hand up to my face and wiped my tears away with his thumb, "what a crybaby.. i wont kill you" he leaned in with his lips close to my ear, "unless you give me a reason to" he chuckled. with his hand still on my cheek, i grabbed a hold of his wrist and dug my teeth into his skin. it definitely caught him off guard, he yelled out in pain as blood started to run down his wrist. i took the opportunity to push him to the side and make a run for it. i ran all the way to the bedroom before locking the door behind me, and just seconds after he started banging on the door. "open the fucking door ___!" he shouted, and i jumped at the sound of his voice.

i started sobbing uncontrollably as i tried to get the window to open, but my hands were shaking too much. there wasnt any other way out and i knew i was fucked when beomgyu started breaking the door down. "b-beomgyu im sorry! im sorry.. please dont h-hurt me, im sorry!" i choked on my own tears as i kept on apologizing, hoping he would have a change of heart. suddenly, he stopped trying to get through the door, "you’re sorry? hm, baby?" he asked me, his voice trembling with rage. "y-yes! im really sorry beomie.. please.." i was begging for my life at this point, praying that my own boyfriend wouldnt kill me.

"its alright.. just open the door for me, yeah?" his voice shifted, turning the sound of his voice from fear into safety. i sniffled, hesitating for a second before i made my way towards the door slowly. i placed my hand on the door knob, "just- dont hurt me please.." i murmured. "i would never hurt you, okay? i love you so much ___, im sorry if i scared you. just open the door and let me make it up to you" he sounded pretty convincing.. maybe he wasnt going to hurt me. maybe he really does love me. "okay.." i mumbled. i turned the door knob, opening the door just a little before taking a peek. beomgyu was stood there without his ghost face mask and no knife in his hand.

he looked at me with pleading eyes, "please let me in" he begged softly. i opened the door fully and decided to let him in. he walked past me after i closed the door behind him, "i didnt mean to hurt you gyu.. i was just scared.." i lowered my head in shame, feeling bad for hurting my boyfriend. "scared of me?" there it was again. the chilling sound of his voice that sent shivers down my spine. i looked up at him, and there he was, smiling creepily down at me. "b-beomgyu.." i backed away slowly until my back hit the bedroom door. i quickly tried reaching for the door knob, but beomgyu grabbed my hands and pinned them above my head. i let out a whimper at the way he slammed my hands against the door.

"y-you said you wouldnt hurt me..!" my voice trembled with fear. "i wasnt planning on it.." he said, tilting his head down at me. "but you gave me no choice" he suddenly grabbed my face in his hands, squishing my cheeks together. "you look so pretty when you cry-" he shut his eyes when i spat in his face. he let out a chuckle, letting go of my face to wipe my spit off of his. he looked me dead in the eye as my whole body shook, "fucking bitch" he spat, grabbing a hold of my waist before throwing me onto the bed. i sat up quickly after my back hit the mattress, i backed away until i was sat against the headboard, "get away from me!" i yelled at him, using my legs to kick him away when he attempted to get on top of me.

"why would i ever want to get away from my own girlfriend, hm?" he said, his voice low and possesive as he stood by the edge of the bed, watching my scared figure. "i-im not your girlfriend anymore.." i mumbled. beomgyu’s face dropped instantly, his head tilted just slightly—his eyes turning dark and disturbing. "what’d you say?" he asked, his voice chilling. i didnt feel like repeating myself, only because i didnt want him to get really mad at me.. i shook my head, "nothing.." my voice barley sounded like a whisper. he tried getting on top of me again, and this time when i tried kicking my legs, he only grabbed them and pulled my whole body down towards him.

"s-stop!" i yelled at him, all though he only clamped his hand over my mouth with a force that made me whimper against his hand. "you belong to me. you hear that?!" he shouted in my face, loud enough for me to flinch. when i did nothing but start crying again, he rolled his eyes at me. "i said.." he removed his hand from my mouth and tapped my cheek repeatedly with light slaps. "you hear that?" he repeated, looking me dead in the eye. i nodded slightly, "y-yes.." i hiccuped. he hummed, leaning in and placing small kisses all over my cheek before moving towards my ear, "you’re all mine.." he whispered in my ear before burying his nose in my hair, "you can never leave me.." he mumbled against me.

he leaned away from my hair and leaned against my face instead, the tip of his nose touching mine. "say it." he growled at me. i sniffled, my whole body trembling when he tried pulling me even closer to him. "i-im yours.." i mumbled, my voice shaky. "and?" he raised his eyebrows. "a-and im.. im never gonna leave you, gyu.." my voice sounded tearful as i spoke, and beomgyu noticed. "still scared baby?" he asked, brushing his lips against mine. i shook my head, but the tears falling from my eyes threw it away. "shhh.." he stroked my hair, "let me show you how much i love you.. you were loving it last night"

396 notes · View notes

hibiskissess · 2 months ago

Text

Lonesome Love

*ੈ✩‧₊˚

Summary: You’re about to leave Twisted Wonderland but both Malleus and Leona have yet to tell you their true feelings. Who’s affection will you accept?

╰┈➤ Part 1 (here!) | Part 2 (Leona Route) | Part 2 (Malleus Route)

It had been over a whole year since you were sent into Twisted Wonderland and taken away from your old life.

As the time stretched longer with each month, you were beginning to lose hope that Crowley or yourself would ever truly find a way for you to return home.

So when he called you to his office during class, you had simply assumed that Grim had done something while you weren’t looking and gotten in trouble. Instead, Crowley told you the great news of how he finally found a way back, stirring a cocktail of both happiness and regret inside of you.

Sure, you were happy that you could finally go back home and see your family and friends, but you had also grown a family here too.

Your feet felt heavy as you left the headmage’s office. A week- thats all the time you had before you’d be sent home. Only a week to say goodbye to everyone that had helped and cared for you during your time here.

❀。• *₊°。

Leona found out you were leaving from an offhand comment Ruggie left while walking to lunch.

“Who’re you gonna nap on now? Better not expect me to do it.” Ruggie teased, his eyes meeting Leona’s.

Leona’s eyebrows inched closer together, judging the other student’s words. “Huh? What’re you on about?” he questioned, his tail swiping slowly behind him.

“Haven’t you heard? The prefects going home soon. Finally found a way outta here.” Ruggie quirked his head to the side, “You seriously didn’t know? I thought for sure they’d tell you, considering how close you two are.” he smirked, gaging Leona’s reaction.

“Knock it off.” Leona curtly responded, cutting the conversation short.

Why didn’t you tell him? Out of everyone, surely, wouldn’t you have told him? Maybe your relationship just wasn’t what he thought it was.

Leona’s heart felt heavy in his chest during the remainder of his walk to the cafeteria. The one person who viewed him as more than a waste of space for simply being born too late. The one person who treated him more than just a shadow. The comfort he had yearned for after countless years had finally be bestowed upon him, and now it was being taken from his grasp before it was ever truly his.

Leona’s hands stuffed his pockets, begrudgingly walking to the cafeteria.

Seriously, what was he going to do? Here he was, thinking he had played his cards right and courted you enough to make a real move. But the harsh truth was always there to remind him- things weren’t mean to work out for him. His work would never pay off.

The rest of his idle chatter with Ruggie felt like white noise. While it wasn’t intentional, the news from Ruggie shook Leona more than he would ever admit out loud.

°•. ✿ .•°

Leona bathed in the sunlight peering down from the glass enclosure of the greenhouse, his eyes feeling heavy. That was until his ears twitched, hearing a distinct set of footsteps that he knows all too well.

“Herbivore.” he calls, “Come here.”

Despite the obvious curtness in his tone, you knew him well enough to hear the underlying softness in his beckoning.

You sat beside him, heart feeling sorrowful. This would be one of your last times here together, wouldn’t it?

A slow sigh dragged out your worries, leaving you to focus on the moment instead.

“…I wanted to tell you that I’m going back home in five days. Your company has really meant a lot for me during my time here, and I just wanted to thank you.”

A box emerged from your pocket, being offered to Leona with an unsure look.

“I hope you like it. It might not be up to par with your princely standards.” you jest, hoping to lighten up the somber mood.

Inside the velvety box was a golden bangle. It glistened in the sun, almost as if it was sunlight itself- like how you were the sun that shown through his seemingly endless twilight of self loathing.

“I saw it while I was out in town a few weeks ago and thought of you. I didn’t know when it would be the best time to give you it, so I thought now was better than never.”

Silence washed over the both of you, causing you to feel more hesitant about even giving it to him. “You don’t have to wear it, y’know. I just thought you’d…“

You stopped yourself short once you saw his expression.

Just for a moment, even if it was just a split second, you saw the look of sorrow emerge onto his features. Just as quickly as it appeared, his heartache faded away as he smirked causally as if your sentiment hadn’t phased him in the slightest.

“You don’t have to worry about that. I’ll keep it.” he assured. “You know I’m not one for grand gestures. I’ll appreciate it regardless.”

He bit back the rest of his sentence— ’especially if it’s from you.’

‧͙⁺˚*･༓☾ ｡･ﾟﾟ

The black velvet of the night’s sky was disturbed by the alluring glow of the moon lighting Leona’s room. He laid on his bed, thumb absentmindedly stroking the bangle he received earlier that day.

He had to do something. It couldn’t end like this. For once in his life, he had the control to keep something as his. However, the opportunity was slipping through his fingers like grains of sand. If he didn’t act hastily, then he would continue to be alone. The only person who had made him feel at home, like he belonged somewhere, was leaving for good.

He had to do something. He didn’t know what, but anything would be better than nothing. Anything to keep his love besides him no matter what. No matter how much wealth or fortune he possesses, nothing would matter if he was left without you; you who were worth more to him in his heart than any gold or money.

Worry began to slither itself into his mind- what if it lead to nothing, just as all of his efforts had in the past? He wasn’t meant to have a happy ending, he was meant to stay buried in the shadows.

But was that really true?

You had shown him otherwise. You showed him he could be loved, how he could still be cherished despite being second-born. Even if it lead to nothing, he had to at least try. Just this once.

.·:*¨¨*☆

Your nightly walks with Malleus had grown into something of a heartwarming tradition. Even after you learned who he really was, even after he overblotted, you still treated him like he was normal. Like you weren’t scared of him just casually looking your way.

That simple normalcy caused you to sneak into his heart. He thought he would always be alone; sure, he would have Silver, Sebek, and other people there to guard him, but thats all they were really there to do. Guard him because he was the future ruler of Briar Valley.

You met Malleus outside, the midnight’s gentle breeze tousling both his and your hair. A gentle hand came up to your face, brushing away stray hairs obscuring your features.

“Child of Man,” he started, “I’ve appreciated the time we’ve spent in eachother’s company. You brought light to the desolate place of Ramshackle Dorm just as how you have to myself. I wish you well in your future endeavors.”

His hand intertwined with yours, its bigger size engulfing your manus. His adoring eyes met yours, any other words of his getting caught in his throat. Once you left, it would be just him again. No one to understand him in the way you did so lovingly.

“I’ll miss you too. You’ve really done a lot for me while I was here.” you smiled.

“…I was meaning to ask you something before I left.” you broke the silence, your eyes meeting his.

“Oh? And what might it be?” the fae inquired.

“I was wondering if you could check up on Grim occasionally. I think he might be lonely with me gone, but he’ll try to hide it. Just… get him tuna every so often. He’ll warm up to you, trust me.”

Even now, when everything you had known for the past year was being pulled away from you, you were still caring for others. Malleus’ heart clenched, wishing that you could stay, wishing that you could stay here with him.

“I’ll do my best to provide. Don’t worry about your companion in your absence.” he tried his best to assure.

You grinned back at him once more, a tenderhearted expression painted on your visage. What he would do to keep you looking at him like that for eternity.

As the two of you adjourned for one of the last times, Malleus disappeared with a flash of green light. He paced around his dormitory room, being uncharacteristically panicked.

He knew he shouldn’t let his emotions get the better of him- he was the crown prince, after all. The epitome of refinement and dignity. However, that meant nothing when it came to you. You, who broke down the walls around his heart. You, who was just a simple human, was making the most powerful fae’s heart blaze with a desire for your affection.

The door to Malleus’ room creaked open, showing just enough to see who had disturbed him.

“You should be sleeping, you know. It’s quite late.”

Malleus pouted, looking over at the door. “Lilia, do not treat me as if I’m a child.” However, he couldn’t deny that it was late. But isn’t it in his nature as a nocturnal fae to crave for the night’s comfort?

Lilia shrugged, smiling ever so casually. “Okay, okay.” he accepted Malleus’ request reluctantly.

The air shifted as Lilia walked closer to him, his tone more serious than before. “Malleus, you need to understand something. Fate comes with a delicate balance, as our endings are already written in the stars. If you chose to dip one end of the scale into your favor, will the world ever end up the way it was meant to?” he inquired, “The choice of whether or not you want to claim the prize of the winner is up to you. Just make up your mind before the opportunity slips away, becoming just another memory.”

Lilia knew all too well what was happening deep inside of Malleus’ heart. After all, he had known Malleus for his whole life, along with knowing his parents. If Malleus weren’t to act on his infatuation now, his heart wouldn’t be able to heal no matter how many millenniums passed.

┊┊❁ཻུ۪۪♡ ͎. ｡˚ 　　° — choose who you’ll accept:

╰┈➤ Leona or Malleus

#twst #twisted wonderland #twst wonderland #malleus draconia #malleus x reader #malleus draconia x reader #leona kingscholar #leona kingscholar x reader #leona x reader #twst malleus #twst leona #i really hope you cant tell i have a bias towards malleus #this is my first fic like this so i hope you guys like it <3

159 notes · View notes

mihii-i · 5 months ago

Text

swim.

Pairings: mizu x fem!reader

CW: sfw, female reader, misogynistic views, bc edo japan ueee, mention of abuse cause that’s what taigen’s fuckass dad did, he/him used for mizu in some dialogue, mention of prostitution, taigen being a moron, storyline dragged on for a few more days longer than usual, taigen doesnt meet mizu after the four fangs fight so storyline change, soft mizu ueee, slight violence, mizu ily please come home our kids don’t have names they’re all just named fuckface and numbered 1 through 4, not proofread.

A/N: I was listening to swim while writing my this so I’m making the title and scattering a few references here and there. Now playing: Swim - Chase Atlantic. @nomnai sorry I couldn’t directly respond to the request tumblr was being dumb :( 🕯️

Your memory was all too clear.

The familiar briny odor of fish stinging your nostrils as your father’s sharp tongue continued to loop in a disturbing resonance over and over in the back of your mind, teeth gritting at the mere thought of his demands echoing against your skull. His face was frightening to say the least, you were surprised at how exactly you kept on your unfazed expression in that moment, sure that tears threatened to spill out as his venomous tone rang in your ears.

—

Thumb gently tracing along the cool rim of the cup, your eyes flickered downwards into your lap to cast out into the body of cerulean water outstretched past you in a swish of warm waves below the glinting, pale light of the sun. Filtering out your father’s harsh reprimands blowing against your face, you merely fixed your attention on the wooden teacup fit between your palms, stroking it in gentle motions along the smoothed out ridges as you caught sight of your reflection in the powdery green of the tea. Not a drop drank from the cup.

“For gods sake (Name)…I don’t know how many times I must plead you to be wed! Do you know how shameful it is for me to have an unmarried daughter especially at your age!?”

A soft huff lifted off your chest as you breathed through your nose in silence, averting your gaze from your father as you continued to regard the bitter way he spat as nothing more than white noise drowned by the kicks of fish swimming about, splashing each speck of water onto the land nearby.

“…Father? With all due respect, I’d prefer not to-“

The fury in his voice cutting you off was enough to make you truncate your words almost immediately in a halt.

“Useless girl. You have but one job, and it is to marry to a decent man, the one who was willing to marry you! Your brother is setting his foot down into greatness, and here you are as a worthless child who hasn’t even accomplished the simplest of what I ask!”

You nearly flinched at the mere rage your father displayed right in front of you, face twisted in displeasure as the heel of his heel violently dug into the flimsy wood of a crate, splinters of oak and shreds of uncut bark splaying across the space around you. This wasn’t exactly a new occurrence that unfolded before you. Your father had lost his temper countless times for years, often taking out on you or Taigen in a physical manner.

It was quite a horrific sight to behold now that you thought back on it…the overwhelming stench of cod reeking from the callouses of his knuckles, outlining against his skin as he balled it up into a fist as a means to inflict blooming, purple bruises onto his own flesh and blood. Often times, Taigen was the one subject to your father’s relentless bearings, due to him being older and the only son. Frequently, your elder brother emerged from your miniscule home with a small limp dragging one of his limbs down, brushing it off whenever you questioned the purple patches littered along the light tan of his arm.

Your eyes split open almost as soon as you closed them, apprehensive at the familiar touch brushing along your collarbone. You were certain your father had left so who-

“Our old man giving you trouble again?” Taigen’s voice came out in a quiet laugh as he knelt down beside you, looking down at your lap to catch sight of the untouched cup still brimmed with tea. “It’s cold now, idiot. You should drink it.” You only rolled your eyes in response to his snarky comment, passing along the teacup to him, to which he subconsciously accepted without a second thought, a habit for him at this point to pick up after you in a way.

“You know..he’s right. You should be married by now. I mean I’m not gonna be around forever since I’m marrying Akemi, so I can’t carry out what you need, and you’ll need another man in your life apart from your own brother.” Taigen’s voice dimmed with each word he uttered, lips downturned as they tugged deeper into a stern frown. To which you retorted in an almost snappy voice.

“What good is marriage if I don’t even know him? I’ll have everything I want but at what cost? Having to please him every night? Endure his beatings like I have with our father for as long as I love now?”

Taigen could only muster up a sigh as his hand rested on his hip, running along the frail sheathe of the katana, cloaking the blade.

“Suit yourself. I’ve already become great. It’s you who’s the failure right now.”

—

Firmly tightening your fingers into your scalp, your eyes darted in each piled corner of the city, ankles draped deep in the thick blanket of crystal snow swallowing up your feet with each step you took to trudge along in a drawn out path. Apprehension was but a natural response to the situation at hand, the malice of thoughts that swirled in your head biting along any semblance of sanity you had maintained throughout this hellish life you were forced to endure. Thinking about your father’s outburst to your rejection of marriage at the mere familiar scent of cod from the markets? You seriously couldn’t escape the filth that you had been plunged in all your life.

Strangely enough, you were grateful Taigen had brought you with him to Kyoto, intending on meeting with both Akemi and her father—whom he served under. Thinking back, you couldn’t exactly help but remember the thin layer of sweat showered along your throat in the cold weather from the guard eyeing you up and down, inspecting Taigen’s travel pass precisely before letting you both pass through. Yet considering that you never got to travel, it was indeed a new experience for you to land upon, stepping foot in a different part of Japan other than Kohama or the areas near it.

The frosted notes of cool air seeped onto your tongue, slipping through the openings of your chapped lips while you pushed past the traffic of people crowding the city. Your eyes lingered onto Taigen’s form, walking side by side with Daichi Tokunobu’s daughter herself, laughing with their arms hooked into one another’s in a tight coil. Seriously. You couldn’t fathom how your own brother was able to elevate himself to such heights. First climbing his way up to greatness down the long, rocky path of a samurai, and now being engaged to the lord’s daughter?

He truly was great. Worked himself from the bottom up.

And you were a failure.

You were..

“Excuse me.”

The sudden low voice abruptly halting your train of thought, resonating behind you in an intimidating, yet strangely smooth voice vibrating against his throat. You reclined your neck over, cheek squished to your shoulder as you glanced over at the tall man behind you, a cloak bunched up over his shoulders as his orange glasses shielded his eyes in a near opaque tint. Blinking in confusion, you studied him up and down, taking note of his rather odd appearance as you briefly tensed up at a stranger suddenly coming up behind you in surprise.

Was he here to hurt you? Would it be best to run? Would-

“Do you have any information on the whereabouts of the Shindo dojo?”

Well, now you know that he was probably just lost.

Your mouth hung dry as you scrambled to compose yourself from the presumptive accusations you directed toward him in haste, stumbling over your words with each sentence you tried to sputter out. Drawing in a breath, you breathed out in a shaky voice, finally responding despite the sheer embarrassment gnawing away at you right now, pleading you to just bury yourself into the snow and never come out.

“A-Ah..no I don’t. Sorry..”

He let out a hum of what you could only infer to be disappointment, alongside a small nod as his head lowered in a brief apology for taking up your time. A small strand of raven hair strung down left of his forehead, glasses tipped to the bridge of his nose in a small click from the weight of the lenses shifting down. Eyes gently rising open, your breath caught in your throat at the glimpse caught, the man’s irises piercing into you menacingly as the cool blue drowned you in your own blood from the sheer shock coursing through you.

It was hard to help. Especially after what many have told you. You couldn’t help that you were a bit frightened by his eyes, an unnatural hint of color that nobody ever held from the taboo nature of the color stemming from those who were barred from ever stepping foot past the closed borders of the nation. Drawing in a breath, you eased yourself that he was harmless, forcing yourself to lock your eyes onto his for atleast a little while. Honestly, it wasn’t particularly the color that frightened you…simply the pure hate stirred behind them, engulfing anything in sight in a tempest of hate.

It reminded you of a creature your father used to tell you about.

What was it’s name again? Right. An onryō.

Of course, you didn’t dare to mention that to the stranger, only staring off in shock as he pivoted away until the view of his back became smaller and smaller in the distance. Just being at a loss for words at the peculiar encounter, you ran your index finger along the smooth lids of your eye, pressing it in to shove away the exhaustion creeping up on you so early in the day. Perhaps it would be best to eat and then rest for the day, Kyoto certainly has quite a few inns around, and you’d just wait for Taigen to return with his princess.

—

“God, Taigen. You look like shit.” You mumbled under your breath, yet still loud enough for him to hear as his knelt form tensed in his aggravated state beside you. It was a widespread rumor all across Kyoto now, one that passed around like wildfire, and became well known to the supposed ‘massacre’ that had occurred within the Shindo dojo. Taigen’s weakened state alongside the clean cut of his hair shredded off his head only confirmed the ongoing rumors, which in turn tore down his pride shamefully, his marriage into the Tokunobu clan now null and void.

A low rumble, nearly identical to the grinding of stone burned in Taigen’s throat, his teeth grit and scraping against one another as he was unable to maintain even an ounce of poise at the implications of his dignity being torn away. Not only did this rogue samurai shatter the streak of wins he had worn himself to work towards, but he had also left Taigen with his life—a humiliating way to finish the battle as he now wallowed in his shame among many. A dishonor that he was left to live after a battle rather than dying with even an ounce of honor preserved.

“That damned demon. Why didn’t he just kill me?”

You spat in annoyance at his endless rambling about the devilish nature of his opponent. Despite feeling sorry for your brother in the state of humiliation he was drowned in, you couldn’t help but slump against a nearby wall at his constant strings of rage spewed out.

“I shouldn’t even dare to show my face around Japan anymore. Perhaps I should just kill myself now.” Taigen hissed, the bitter resignation in his tone nearly making you drop your attitude toward him.

“Well don’t. You could-“

“I don’t need you thinking what’s best for me, (Name)!”

You paused, eyes wide at his enraged reply.

“Taigen. Even if you see no meaning in living, who the hell is gonna look after me after? Our father certainly won’t, and some random men might try to take advantage of me. Is that what you want?”

“Let them then.” Taigen replied, his voice laced with nothing but pure hatred.

“W-What..?”

“I said let them! I’m the one who’s great! You’re just a failure who couldn’t even do the simple task of getting married! At this point, just sell yourself in a brothel if you have nothing better to do. No sister of mine orders me what to do, understood?”

You choked up your next words, head in a whirlwind of disdain as you seethed with anger. Impossible to believe your brother was so far gone that he wished a dreadful life upon his younger sister.

No matter now. Let him have what he deserves.

Unable to even process how quickly he exited the room, you sat there in silence with nothing but your own thoughts, the ambience of the room being nothing but the violent winds swirling outside. Atleast you had some peace and quiet away from him, attempting to push aside the hurtful words that Taigen had seared into your chest earlier. It wasn’t all wrong was it? You couldn’t even marry a man your father wanted, such a simple request that was your only obligation in life. And what were you afraid of? A loveless marriage? Silly girl..people never marry for love.

A sigh of resignation exited your lips as you reminisced on the eventful day, now crowned by nightfall. Perhaps you truly had no purpose in life. Considering there was no reason to be here any longer, wandering alone might be the best option for you, as you had utterly failed as a daughter, and as a woman.

In the depths of your crumbled life, there was no other alternative. The water was only getting colder, and there was no way back up out of what you had dug yourself into through countless refusals.

—

“Can’t sleep?”

Mizu’s voice snapped you out of your daze, your gaze shifting over to her laying on her side next to you, her weight burdened onto the arm she was laying atop. You shook your head, groggily batting your lashes as you positioned yourself closer to her, earning a quiet hum of approval from her. The rugged, yet soft fabric of her kimono grazed your hand in the wake of her touch, providing a sliver of warmth in protection from the sting of cold.

Within the span of a day or two, you found yourself stumble into the same blue eyed man—well, woman, from what you recently found out—that you had encountered back in Kyoto. Despite dismissively brushing you off upon your initial run in with her, Mizu eventually found herself uncharacteristically basking in the pleasure of your company, opening up a bit more to you and growing somewhat attached, yet remaining closed off.

As to how you had ended up here, you had wandered aimlessly from Kyoto ever since you pondered upon your relevance in life. Taigen was probably worried sick about you, unable to find you anywhere in the flooding crowds of the city. Fate had definitely laid out a path for you to run into the strange samurai, especially when you stopped before a waterfall to quench your thirst in the overtaking darkness of night. Only to stumble upon a familar set of blue eyes fixed on you apprehensively, the tip of the blade pointed directly toward your throat at a thankfully safe distance. And maybe something else that..weren’t her eyes which you shouldn’t have looked down at. At least a woman saw her first before Ringo followed suit moments later, eyes fixed on both of you in shock before catching sight of Mizu’s nude body in surprise.

Despite her despising the presence of you and Ringo constantly tailing her, she found herself oddly drawn to you, even quicker than she warmed up even a little to Ringo. It was perplexing, how could she take longer to accept a kind and polite man who was willing to help, yet soften at the presence of a snarky woman with a flippant attitude which many have found unbecoming of a ‘future wife.’

Mizu’s arm lazily draped over the curve of your waist, her thumb tracing the wave where your hips reside in gentle circles. She sucked in a breath as you nuzzled closer to her side, the pressure straining the stitches of her wound scarred along her body, a quiet groan hitching out of her throat as you pushed yourself a bit too close.

“Sorry..”

“It’s fine.” Mizu assured you, voice still stern, yet not annoyed or anything of the sort. The recent few days with her were honestly better than anything that you had been put through in the hell of a life that had its iron grip on you back in Kohama. Hand resting atop hers, you notice how Mizu finally mustered up the courage to whisper out a couple words, her skin pressed against yours as your fingertips ran along the calloused roughness of her palm, worn down from the countless years of ironwork and brutal training.

“Did you ever think I was a monster?”

“Hm? Why would I do that?”

“Isn’t it obvious?” She sneered, gesturing to her own eyes peeking up at you from a low angle. Only the water beholded such a unique tint which she had dusted along the cloudy exhaustion of her irises, the stress lines stemming from the corner of her eyes only defining the little pools of water you could drown in. Or rather, swim in. You did want to give a piece of yourself for her trust, keep her comfortable around you for the sake of…hell, you didn’t know. You just..kind of cared about her.

Was this a sort of sisterly bond you had formed with her? You didn’t exactly have many interactions with other women growing up after all.

No, it couldn’t possibly be that. Maybe something a little more.

Suddenly, an abrupt crunch echoed in the rustling bushes of the clearing, the warm fire flickering rapidly in alarm while Mizu immediately jolted up. Her hand almost immediately flew down to grip her katana tightly, head spinning around in a hyper aware state of her surroundings in the rising anticipation building up within her. You followed suit, eyes darting back in forth in an attempt to catch someone in your periphery within the clearing while the rustling endlessly persisted, gradually taking on footsteps in tandem.

The minute the figure burst through the bushes, your jaw hung open at the sight of your brother skidding to a halt, hand on his blade as well as he stood before Mizu in rage. Taigen’s expression fell dark at the sight of you shifting behind Mizu, the familar sight of his sister flooding him with an overtake of confusion rather than joy. Especially on seeing her huddling behind the very man who had humiliated him and stripped away his honor. Taigen felt sick at the sight of you clinging onto Mizu like some source of protection, swallowing back a lump in his throat as his gaze stabbed through Mizu’s straight into her deadpan eyes.

“What are you doing with him?” Taigen seethed, his shoulders rising and falling from the sight of Mizu beside you alone. The overwhelming urge to just draw his blade and stab her eyes out screamed at him, wanting to just sever Mizu’s head and present it before his lord as a means to restore his marriage and such. However, that would put him on the same level as this demon, his intrusive throughts followed up by a scoff as he sized her tall stature up and down.

“I just left. I didn’t want to get married so..”

“Do you know what this man did to me?!”

“Enlighten me, Taigen.”

Taigen’s fists balled up as he recounted the memory, his shortened hair tickling his neck serving as a source to that memory plaguing him like a pest.

“He’s the one that destroyed my honor! Ruined my life, and me!”

Your eyebrows raised in slight surprise as you looked over at Mizu, who was only unamused by Taigen’s incessant whining. You weren’t even upset, more so applauding Mizu for humbling your mess of a brother.

“Oh, he cut off your chignon? Wait- don’t tell me Akemi left you cause of your ugly bald spo-“

“It was because he didn’t kill me!”

Mizu’s gaze only flickered back and forth between this ridiculous conversation, a quizzical look etched onto her features as her eyebrows furrowed to confirm this sudden revalation.

“He’s your brother?”

You nodded, almost ashamed for his violent behavior toward Mizu as your fingers dug unto the fabric clothed along her shoulder.

“Unfortunately. Sorry about him.”

“Hey. Do you know how worried sick I’ve been about you in Kyoto?! Pacing back and forth only to find you involved with this stray dog?”

“Really? I thought I was a burden to you, and I should just sell myself into a brothel.” You remarked, referencing his earlier words and causing him to stumble within his thoughts.

“Look. I was frustrated, alright? But that gives you no excuse to hang around this fucking-!”

“Shut up..please. I don’t like you talking about him like that.”

Mizu’s lips barely curved up into a tiny smile for a brief moment, leaving as quick as it appeared. Her heart warmed within her bound chest at your words with an unfamiliar wash of newfound fondness ignited within her, the waves of the raging storm within her subsiding to a cool, shallow wave, lapping at the shore in tranquility rather than the usual disdain and violence she held within her. For once in her life after quite some time, she withheld that anger bubbling within her, giving way to the gentle embrace of the praises you kept within you about her rolling off your tongue like fine silk.

—

“You know, you picked a ridiculous master. But you take good care of him.” Taigen remarked towards Ringo as the rice ball rested in his hand, his teeth digging into the snack before swallowing the bite he chewed down. He turned his attention to you, the three of you trailing behind Mizu on horseback, engaging in a conversation which was mostly just Taigen speaking ill of Mizu. “And you, my dear younger sister with awful taste in men. What do you see in him that makes him worth traveling behind, huh?”

You simply cast an annoyed stare in his direction, unamused with his remarks turning passive aggressive when you attempted to reason with him to cease his verbal onslaughts toward Mizu.

“Maybe I just like him because he’s nice to be around, ever thought of that?”

“He’s a half breed piece of shit who only charges in like an idiotic-!”

“Taigen.”

He bit back his words at your reminder, grumbling to himself in annoyance as his head snapped back foward to keep note of Mizu’s direction. Not wanting to hear his comments, you simply hitched your horse to catch up to Mizu, pacing side by side with her as she fixed her gaze on you with a sweet smile. Hm, you liked her smile. And you’re glad she’s been doing it more often recently.

“Is he giving you trouble again?”

“No. Just how we always were as kids.”

“..I knew him as a kid too.”

You looked over, surprised as the comment she made in a low, unfeeling voice, stringing more information out of her as you begged her to elaborate silently.

“How come?”

“He chased and threw rocks at me as a child. Sometimes even beat me.” She revealed, her voice seemingly quiet and neutral, yet accompanied by a small somber hint from the way she visibly swallowed upon recalling the memory.

“Wow..he sucked that much? I’ll…be sure to berate him over it then.”

Mizu let out a small chuckle in response, finger twitching as you caught notice of her hand brushing over the head of her horse in your direction, yet retracting it. Exhaling at the gesture, you extended your arm over her horse, your free hand still maneuvering your own horse as you steered a bit closer to her. Your hand finally drifted over atop hers, gently clasping your fingers between the gaps of her fingers. It was clear what you wanted to do—wanting her to let down her walls in front of you, trust you with her heart which you’d cradle between your cusped hands the utmost care.

You wanted to drown in the ocean which was the tempestuous flood raging about in the depths of her mind and soul, running your palm against the familiar concept of water from where you were raised. Rather, embracing the waters swallowing you up in the pit of the blue oceanic embrace.

You wanted her to let you in her ocean.

And perhaps this one time, she was okay with that.

A/N: OH MY GOD I AM SO FRUSTRATED @nomnai SORRY I COULDNT DO YOUR REQUEST WITHOUT SCREENSHOTTING BECAUSE TUMBLR IS BEING AN ABSOLUTE WHORE AND IT KEEPS SAYING “erm actually ur ask doesn’t work so haha” EVERY SINGLE TIME BUT IT WOKED ON BROWSERR AND I HATE BROWSER SO FUCK YOU TUMBLR

Anyway I did NOT feel like writing nsfw today and I have a headache and I want the fucking Amazon blue eye samurai shirt also thanks for specifying OUR wife I cannot not deal with these greedy hos thank yew

hey I made something for this fic

209 notes · View notes

v6quewrlds · 4 months ago

Text

LOVE DROUGHT II, JOE BURROW.

pairing⠀⁎⠀joe burrow x oc [chelsea brooks]. word count⠀⁎⠀19.3k.

summary⠀⁎⠀after coming clean about their affair, chelsea and joe are looking forward to their new lives together. there's a few things they have to address first.

author's note⠀⁎⠀chelsea needs to take a deep breath & chill, happy ending :) warnings⠀⁎⠀18+ mdni, slut shaming, smut, oral (m. & f. receiving), overstimulation

There was an old saying about perfectionism being the enemy of progress, an elusive ideal that stifled compassion and growth. Chelsea remembered being a teenager, hearing her father scoff at the television when the saying fell off the lips of a political candidate. He grumbled about the world going soft, "Good enough ain't good enough," he insisted, his Georgia drawl thick with disdain, lips curled around a cigar. She didn't think too hard about it then, simply internalizing his words, making them a mantra, a shield to ward off failure.

For the first 30 years of her life, Chelsea had lived by that mantra. She'd become a successful entertainment lawyer, a trophy wife to a neurosurgeon, and the proud owner of a sprawling estate in an affluent neighborhood. But in the quiet moments, when she allowed herself to breathe, it all felt hollow. It was as if the very foundation of her life was a meticulously crafted lie, painted in shades of 'should' instead of 'want'.

For decades she attempted to reconcile her ambition with the expectations placed upon her. She'd studied hard, dressed the part, spoke when spoken to, diminished her desires, all to live up to the expectations of everyone but herself. At 34-years-old she was faced with the realization that her perfection still wasn't perfect enough. Her marriage fell apart and she resented every knee-length dress, every perfectly placed smile, and every decision made with her family's legacy in mind.

The irony of the situation was not lost on Chelsea as she found herself in a perfectly pristine hotel room. The walls were a stark white, unblemished by the fingerprints of time. She took a deep breath, her eyes scanning the space, feeling the weight of their shared secrets dissipate into the stale hotel air.

The chilling realization that her father was utterly wrong settled into Chelsea's bones. Perfectionism was the enemy of progress; an ugly, anxious enemy that whispered doubt in the quiet moments of the night. Her heart raced as she thought about the future she had just bought herself, the one filled with whispers and side-eyes at parties, the one where she had to explain why she left a perfectly good man for the thrill of something new. But as she lay in Joe's arms, she felt something she hadn't in a long time: imperfect.

Joe snored in his sleep, a soft noise barely audible until Chelsea pressed her ear to his chest. His heart was a steady drum, a comforting rhythm that had become a lullaby to her own tumultuous thoughts. She pushed herself up and out of bed, her feet landing softly on the plush carpet. The hotel room was quiet, save for the distant hum of the city outside. She grabbed her phone, the screen illuminating her face with a harsh blue light. The time read 2 AM, but sleep felt like a distant memory.

Their hotel room was dressed in black, distant lights from the city outside painting shadows on the walls. Chelsea stood in front of the window, her silhouette dark with the reflection of the streetlights, her mind racing with the evening's potential for drama.

"You okay?" Joe asked, his voice rumbly with sleep as he wrapped an arm around her waist.

Chelsea nodded, but didn't turn around. "Just thinking."

"About what?" He hummed, low and lazy, his breath ghosting over her bare shoulder.

"Everything," she replied, her voice thick with anticipation. "How my colleagues will look at me, what they'll say about me behind my back. I took my ring off," she held up her bare hand, the absence of her wedding band leaving a noticeable difference in color. "But that doesn't change who I was. Who I am."

Joe's grip tightened, pulling her closer so she could feel the warmth of his chest against her back. "You're you," he said firmly. "And I'm proud of you, no matter what anyone else thinks."

With a deep breath, Chelsea turned to face him, her eyes meeting his in the dim light. She nodded, a frown still tugging at her lips. "I know. I'm just..." she sighed, shoulders slumping. "My father hasn't spoken to me since I told him I was leaving Terrence. He thinks I'm throwing away everything we've worked for."

Joe's eyes searched hers, filled with understanding. "Your dad's old school," he said gently. "He'll come around. When he sees how much happier you are, he'll get it."

"That's sweet of you to hope so," she mused bitterly. "The last time I disappointed him, he skipped out on my graduation to golf with his buddies."

Joe's eyebrows furrowed, and he pulled Chelsea closer. "You never told me that," he said, his voice filled with genuine concern.

"It's not a secret or anything," she replied with a shrug, trying to brush off the pain of that memory. "It's just one of those things that I don't like to think about. He blamed me for it, still does. If you ask him, I'm the one who took that experience away from him. I don't even remember what I did. But that feeling... it's stuck with me."

Joe kissed the top of her head, his arms tightening around her. "I'm sorry." His voice was a gentle rumble. "I wish I could take all that pain away."

"You do, Joe," she whispered. "Just by being here, I swear you do. But I have to learn how to stand on my own two feet, stop looking for approval from people who don't understand me." She took a deep breath, steeling herself. "You should go back to bed, it's 2 in the morning."

Joe nodded, his eyes filled with understanding, and kissed her forehead before heading back to the bedroom. Chelsea took one last look at the quiet streets outside before closing the curtains.

Every Wednesday, Joe made the two-hour, or so, drive down to see his parents. It was a ritual that had been ingrained in him since he was in college at Ohio State, a way to maintain a connection to his roots, to the people who had raised him, and to the simpler times of his past. With his brothers engrossed in their own lives, thousands of miles away, Joe had become the de facto caretaker of their aging parents. And despite his own life being in upheaval, the routine remained unchanged.

For the last eleven years of his life, those afternoon trips included brief check-ins with Gianna's parents as well. She didn't typically accompany him on his weekly visits, a fact Joe knew deeply affected them, though they'd never admit it out loud. By all accounts, he was a perfect son-in-law—respectful, successful, and dedicated to his family—it was a comfortable role to play, one that didn't require much deviation from his own nature. But now, as he pulled into the driveway of his parents' modest suburban home, he felt a new kind of anxiety.

It had been a week since he and Gianna called it quits—quite amicably, to his surprise. If he was being honest, it struck him as odd how quickly she settled into a chilling acceptance after hearing him admit to his infidelity. She'd been stoic, almost cold, as she calmly requested he leave, her brown eyes cold and distant. It spoke to a level of detachment that Joe hadn't begun to understand. He knew he'd hurt her, but the absence of tears, the lack of shouting, left him feeling as though he hadn't hurt her at all. Maybe it was shock, or maybe their marriage had been over for a long time, and they'd both been too comfortable to admit it.

He shut off the engine to his Land Rover, rolling his shoulders to ease the tension that had been building during the drive. The house was quiet as he let himself in, the scent of his mother's famous lasagna wafting from the kitchen.

"Ma, I'm home," Joe called out, his voice echoing through the hallways.

"In the kitchen, sweetheart," his mother's voice sang out.

Joe stepped in, his stomach rumbling at the mouthwatering aroma of garlic and tomato sauce. Robin bustled around the kitchen, her pristine blonde hair tied back in a neat bun. She looked up from her work, a smile breaking out on her round face as she spotted him. "Oh, Joey," she greeted, arms opening wide for a hug.

He embraced her, feeling the warmth of her love wrap around him like a blanket. "How are you, Ma?"

"Better now that you're here," she said, her eyes scanning him with concern. "You look tired. Did you get any sleep last night?"

Joe forced a smile. "Some. Thanks for worrying." He leaned against the counter, watching her stir the pot with a practiced hand. "Is Dad home? I've been meaning to talk to you both."

"He's in the attic. We finally took the Halloween stuff down," his mother said, her eyes not leaving the bubbling sauce. "But he'll be down in a bit."

Joe nodded, his stomach twisting with nerves. This was going to be the first time he'd break the news to them, and he wasn't looking forward to it. He knew they'd be disappointed, maybe even a little ashamed. But he owed it to them to be honest.

The door to the attic creaked open, and Joe's dad descended the stairs, a dusty box in his hands. Jimmy was rosy-cheeked, a soft-spoken man from Mississippi with a gentle smile. "I found some of your old baseball trophies," he said, setting the box down. "Thought you might want 'em."

Joe took a deep breath, feeling the weight of his impending confession. "Thanks, Dad," he said, "but I actually need to talk to you guys." He took a seat at the kitchen table, his mother's eyes flicking to his, a hint of worry creasing her brow.

"What's going on, Joe?" his dad asked, setting down the box and taking a seat across from him. His eyes took note of the tan line adorning his son's left ring finger, and his gaze grew solemn, having anticipated this moment for years.

"It's about Gianna and I," Joe began, his voice steady despite the tremor in his hands. "We've decided to get a divorce."

The kitchen, once filled with the comforting aroma of his mother's cooking, grew tense, the air thick with the weight of his words. His parents exchanged glances, a silent conversation passing between them, before his mother spoke, her voice gentle. "Oh, Joe, we're so sorry to hear that." Her hand reached out to cover his, the warmth and love in her touch a stark contrast to the cold reality of his situation.

His father, usually a stoic man, cleared his throat. "Would you like to talk about it?" His eyes searched Joe's, looking for a hint of what was really going on beneath the surface.

Joe took a deep breath. "It's complicated," he admitted. "I was unfaithful." He watched as his mother's eyes filled with shock and sadness, while his father's jaw tightened. "I know it's not an excuse, but we've been growing apart for a long time. And then I met Chelsea..."

His father's expression grew stern. "Is she the reason for all of this?"

Joe shook his head, feeling the burden of his actions pressing down on him. "No, she's not 'the reason'. This was my choice, my mistake. I just... there's a lot of pain here, Dad, and I'm trying to figure out how to live with it." His father's expression softened slightly, but the disapproval remained. "I know you're disappointed in me, and I don't blame you. But I need you two to understand that I've filed for divorce, and that's it."

His mother's grip on his hand tightened. "What about... Chelsea, is that her name?" she asked, her voice tentative. "Is she going to be a part of your life now?"

Joe nodded, his throat tightening. "Yeah, she is." He took a deep breath. "We're going to see where it goes."

His father leaned back in his chair, his eyes reflecting a mix of emotions. "Well, Joe," he said, his voice gruff, "you know we're here for you. But you've got a mess to clean up, son. Don't go rushing into anything without thinking it through."

Joe nodded solemnly, understanding the gravity of the situation. "I know, Dad. I'm not planning to." He paused, swallowing the lump in his throat. "But I do love her. And I wanted to have this conversation with you guys first before... before it goes public."

His mother reached out and touched his cheek gently. "We just want you to be happy, Joe," she said, her eyes misting over. "But you need to consider the consequences, not just for yourself, but for Chelsea and Gianna too. They're both going to be scrutinized, publicly and privately, because of your actions."

Joe nodded, feeling the weight of her words. He had been so wrapped up in his own pain and desires that he had not fully considered the ripple effect of their choices. "I know," he murmured, "and I'll do whatever it takes to protect both of them."

His father sighed, leaning forward. "Is it too soon to meet her? Your mother's right, we don't want to jump into anything. But if you're serious, we need to know what we're getting into."

Joe felt a wave of relief. It wasn't the outright rejection he had feared. "We're taking it slow," he assured them. "But I do want you to meet her. Soon. I'll ask her to come for dinner once things are a bit more settled."

"Sounds like a plan," his mother said with a gentle smile. "I can't say I'm surprised that you two are going your separate ways." Jimmy nodded solemnly, "I knew something was off when you didn't bring her to the last family gathering."

Joe's heart sank a bit at the realization that his family had noticed the strain in his marriage before he had been willing to admit it to himself. "I'm sorry," he said, looking down at his hands.

His mother reached across the table, her hand warm on his arm. "Don't apologize," she said firmly. "You're human, Joe. You make mistakes. What's important is that you learn from them and own up to them."

Joe nodded, his eyes brimming with gratitude. "I know," he said, his voice thick. "But it's hard not to feel like a complete fuck-up. I gave up everything for my marriage and yet, here I am. Divorced at 36."

"You're not a failure," his father said, his voice firm but not unkind. "You're a man who realized he wasn't happy and had the courage to change his life. That takes guts."

Joe looked up, surprised at the support from his usually stoic father. It was a side of him he hadn't seen often, and it made him feel a bit more hopeful about the future. "Thanks, Dad," he murmured, feeling a lump form in his throat.

"But Joe," his father continued, "You have to be ready for the whispers, the judgments. You're not just any man, you're Joseph Burrow, you're our son, an executive, Gianna's ex-husband. Your choices will have consequences."

Joe nodded, understanding the gravity of his decision. "I know, Dad. But I've never felt like this before. With Chelsea, it's... different."

"Love is a powerful force, son," his mother said softly, taking his hand. "But it's not just about feelings. It's about actions, and the ripples they create. We're here for you, but you must be prepared for what's to come."

Joe nodded solemnly, knowing that the road ahead would be fraught with challenges. Despite the comfort of his family's understanding, the thought of facing the judgment of their social circles was daunting.

The first instance of judgment came sooner than expected. A week later, Joe found himself at a high-profile gala with Chelsea on his arm, her emerald-green dress hugging her curves and her eyes sparkling with excitement. She had insisted on taking him, eager to finally have a date she could proudly introduce to her colleagues. As they mingled among the glitz and glamour, whispers and side-long glances followed them like shadows. It was clear that news had spread.

In the year since Chelsea had joined the firm's roster of junior partners, Terrence had never once accompanied her to any work events. The glitz and glamour of her job was something he'd always found tedious, preferring the sterile halls of the hospital to the fake smiles and forced conversations at galas. The casual insult of "day drinking with celebrities" always came to mind when she stood lonely at the bar, nursing a Manhattan on her own just to show her face. Her colleagues were aware she was married, her sparkling diamond ring serving as a constant reminder that she was off-limits. But tonight, as she stood in a stunning emerald dress next to Joe, matching bare ring fingers, the puzzled faces of her colleagues spoke volumes.

To their credit, most of them hid it well. Between polite greetings and questions about Joe's athletic past, the whispers grew quieter as the evening progressed. Chelsea felt like a spectacle, her heart racing with every sideways glance. The weight of their secret hung in the air, a heavy burden that grew heavier with each passing minute. She knew that Joe was feeling it too; she could see the tension in the way he held his shoulders, the tightness around his eyes. But he played the part of the charming dinner date flawlessly, making small talk and laughing at the right moments, all while keeping a protective arm around her waist.

She knew she was being paranoid, but every whispered word seemed to be about them. She could almost hear the murmurs of "neurosurgeon" and "divorce" as they circulated through the room. The atmosphere grew stifling, and she could feel herself retreating into the cocoon of insecurity that seemed to be an undesirable, familiar companion. She took a sip of her wine, trying to keep a smile plastered on her face while they mingled, charms working overtime.

"You okay?" Joe whispered into her ear, his breath warm against her skin.

She could only allow a tight-lipped nod, eyes scanning the room for a friendly face. "I'm fine," she murmured, shifting uncomfortably in her dress. The evening was a sea of judgmental glances and knowing nods from the older partners, each one feeling like a knife twisting in her gut.

Joe squeezed her hand gently. "You're doing great, babe."

Chelsea didn't respond, her eyes lingering on a group of her colleagues who had just exchanged a look in her direction. She felt like a specimen under a microscope, their gazes dissecting her every move. Her heart hammered in her chest, and she took another gulp of wine, hoping it would dull the ache.

Suddenly, the music grew louder, and the conversations around them swelled into a cacophony. Chelsea could feel herself shrinking by the minute, her pulse racing, the walls closing in on her. "I think we should go," she whispered, her voice trembling slightly. "I can't—"

Joe nodded, his eyes full of understanding. "Okay, we can go," he said, cutting off her sentence. His hand on her waist guided her through the crowd, the murmurs and glances of their colleagues following them like a shadow. The cool night air hit Chelsea's face like a slap, bringing her back to reality as they stepped out of the grand hotel.

She was fidgety, uncharacteristically so, as they waited for the valet to bring Joe's car around. He could feel the tension radiating off her, her body stiff against his. "Chelsea, it's okay. They're just people, they'll get over it," Joe tried to comfort her, his voice low and steady.

She didn't respond. Lips tightly pressed together, Chelsea stared into the distance, her eyes glazed over with unshed tears. The valet pulled up, and Joe opened the door for her, his hand lingering on the small of her back as she slid into the seat. He knew her well enough to recognize the signs of an impending breakdown.

The drive back to her temporary apartment was filled with tension. Chelsea's silence was deafening, and Joe felt his heart racing, wondering if he had made a mistake by accompanying her tonight. They had both known it would be tough, but he had hoped the excitement of their new life together would outweigh the judgmental stares, outweigh the whispers.

When they finally arrived, Chelsea bolted from the car before Joe could even turn off the engine. He followed her through the lobby, her heels clacking against the marble as she rushed inside. The elevator opened for them, and she stepped in, her eyes avoiding his. The ride up to their floor was uncomfortably silent, the air thick with unspoken accusations and hurt feelings.

Once inside her apartment, she let out a frustrated sigh and kicked off her shoes, her eyes brimming with tears. "I can't do this," she said, her voice shaking. "I can't be the other woman, Joe. It's not who I am. I've worked too hard to build this career, to have people look at me like that."

Joe stepped closer, his own emotions a tempestuous sea. "You're not the other woman, Chelsea," he said, his voice firm. "You're the woman I love. And I'm not asking you to hide or be someone you're not. But we can't change who we are or what's happened. All we can do is move forward together."

If she heard him, she didn't process his words. She stormed off to the bathroom, the undecorated walls echoing her pain. Joe knew better than to follow her immediately. He took a deep breath, loosening his tie, and leaned against the wall. His jacket of his suit felt like it was suffocating him, a symbol of the expectations he had failed to meet.

The bathroom door remained closed, but Chelsea's sobs echoed through the barrier. The sound pierced through the walls, resonating with Joe's own guilt. He had promised her a life without the shackles of their past, but here they were, entangled in the mess of their choices. He knew their relationship would be scrutinized, but he didn't anticipate the impact it would have on her self-worth.

He took off his shoes and wandered into the living room, his eyes scanning the boxes that still littered the floor. Their whirlwind romance had led to a hasty move-in, Chelsea surrendering the territory of her home to Terrence, choosing to start fresh in a studio downtown, just a few minutes from her firm. It was smaller than she had grown used to since college, having already been married to Terrence by the time she entered law school a decade ago. Joe had no intention of moving in anytime soon. Instead, he was quietly searching for the perfect place for them to start over whenever they were ready.

The sound of her sobs coming to a slow stop brought him back to reality. He took a deep breath and approached the bathroom door, gently knocking. "Chelsea?" he called out, his voice low and soothing. "You okay?"

There was a moment of silence before she opened the door, silent tears still glistening on her cheeks. She stepped into his embrace, allowing him to hold her close as she cried. "I'm sorry," she murmured against his chest, "I just... can you help me out of my dress, I can't reach the zipper."

Joe nodded, his heart heavy with the burden of her pain. He unzipped her dress and helped her step out of it, his gentle touch a stark contrast to the harsh reality they were now facing. "Let's get you into something more comfortable," he murmured, guiding her to the bed.

Chelsea slipped into a pair of soft pajamas, her body still trembling from the evening's events. She sat down on the edge of the bed, staring at her hands. "I'm sorry, I look like a mess," she sighed, wiping at the stray mascara that had smeared under her eyes.

Joe sat beside her, his own emotions a tangled web of love, guilt, and fear. "You don't have to apologize for being upset," he said, taking her hand in his. "What happened tonight isn't on you. We knew this would be tough."

Chelsea nodded, her eyes brimming with unshed tears. "I just can't shake the feeling that I've ruined everything I've worked so hard for," she whispered. "My colleagues, my reputation..."

Joe squeezed her hand. "You haven't ruined anything, Chelsea. You've made a choice to be happy. That's not a crime." He paused, pulling her face to rest against his shoulder. "But I understand how you feel. We'll get through this together, I promise."

They sat in silence for a while, the quiet of the night wrapping around them like a blanket. Chelsea felt the weight of Joe's words, and gradually, the tears subsided. "I need you to do something for me, and I don't want you to take this the wrong way," she said finally.

"Anything," Joe responded, his voice a gentle rumble against her ear.

Chelsea took a deep breath. "I need to be alone tonight. Just for a little while. To think, to process everything."

He could feel his heart sink as she pulled away from him, the warmth of her body leaving a cold emptiness in its place. "Okay," Joe said, his voice tight. "If that's what you need." His eyes searched hers, looking for a hint of doubt, but all he saw was determination. He kissed her forehead, his lips lingering for a moment before he stood up and began to dress.

As he walked to the door, Chelsea's voice stopped him. "Thank you," she said softly. "I'm sorry."

Joe turned, his eyes full of unspoken words. "You don't have to apologize," he replied, untrusting of his own words to say much more. With one last look, he stepped out into the hallway and closed the door behind him.

The click of the lock was like a gunshot in the quiet, and Chelsea felt the finality of their conversation resonate through her. She lay back on the bed, staring at the ceiling, her mind racing with thoughts of her new life with Joe, her career, and the inevitable whispers that would follow their every move. The walls of her apartment felt like they were closing in, and she realized she had never felt so exposed and alone in such a crowded city.

That sad insistence that she had worked too hard to be reduced to a stereotype, to be seen as just another woman who couldn't keep her husband, haunted her. It was a narrative that she had always feared, and now, it was knocking at the door of her newfound happiness with Joe. Her career was her sanctuary, the one place where she felt in control, but now, she wondered if it would ever be the same. Would her colleagues look at her with pity or contempt? Would they whisper behind her back about the scandalous affair that had ended her marriage?

She figured it was symbolic of her new freedom that she was now requesting Joe to stay away, after fighting so hard to break free from Terrence's embrace. But she needed the solitude to sort through the chaos in her head. She needed to come to terms with the fact that their love story was no fairy tale; it was messy, filled with infidelity and heartbreak.

As much as she tried to ignore it, they had hurt people. Terrence's heart was shattered, and even though Joe had promised her that Gianna knew about his infidelity and had accepted it, Chelsea couldn't shake the guilt that clung to her like a second skin. She knew that their relationship would be under a microscope, scrutinized by everyone they knew, and possibly even by strangers who knew more about them than Chelsea would like. But this feeling, this one she had when Joe held her, the way he looked at her, it was like nothing she had ever felt with Terrence. It was raw, it was real, and it was terrifying.

The next morning, the sun peeked through the blinds of her apartment, casting a warm glow on the cold reality of the day ahead. Chelsea checked her phone, expecting a message from Joe, but there was nothing. She told herself that he was probably just giving her space, but the doubt began to creep in. Maybe he had changed his mind. Maybe he realized that he couldn't handle the drama that came with her. She took a deep breath and pushed the thoughts aside, focusing on the tasks at hand.

After a quick breakfast, she headed to work with a determination to keep her personal life from affecting her professional one. She knew the whispers would start eventually, but she was ready to face them with her head held high. As she walked through the gleaming lobby of her law firm, she couldn't help but feel like an imposter. Her heart raced, anticipating the judgmental glances and hushed conversations that would surely follow. But to her surprise, the day went by without incident. Her colleagues were either too polite or too busy to cast her in the role she feared most.

By the time she found the strength to send Joe a text, the sun had set and the city lights twinkled like distant stars.

Missed you today.

She typed. Her thumb hesitates over the send button. She took a deep breath and sent the text, startling when he responded almost immediately.

Couldn't stop thinking about you.

How are you feeling?

Her heart fluttered at his words.

Better.

She replied, deciding to keep the day's events to herself for now.

How about you?

Decent.

Joe responded.

Just dealing with the usual.

Miss you too.

She bit her lip nervously, thumbs hovering over the screen.

Do you want to come over tonight?

She finally asked, craving his comfort.

Dinner? We can talk.

Joe's response was swift.

I'd love to.

Give me an hour to wrap up here, and I'll be on my way.

Relief flooded Chelsea.

Perfect.

She replied with a smile.

I'll make something special.

We'll make something special.

He corrected her words. She could practically hear the smile in his voice, the slow drawl of that Midwestern ease dripping like honey from his pink lips.

I'll grab some wine on the way?

Sounds perfect.

She responded, her shoulders relaxing at the thought of a cozy evening in.

As she waited for Joe, Chelsea bustled around her apartment, setting the table with her best dishes and lighting candles to cast a warm glow over the space. She felt nervous, like a teenager before her first date, unsure of what the future held. Clammy hands smoothed down her matching loungewear set, a simple gray number that whispered sophistication and comfort. She had spent hours agonizing over the menu, finally settling on a roast chicken with herb-crusted potatoes and a side of greens—simple but delicious.

The door buzzer rang, and she took a deep breath before striding over to let Joe in. He looked as handsome as ever in his work slacks and a white button-down shirt, his arms laden with a bouquet of roses and a bottle of wine. The sight of him made her stomach flip-flop with excitement and anticipation. "You didn't have to," she said, taking the wine and setting it on the counter.

"I know," he replied, kissing her cheek. "But it's not every day I get to have a cozy night-in with my girlfriend."

The word 'girlfriend' hung in the air, a sweet promise of normalcy amidst the chaos of their situation. Chelsea took a moment to savor it, attempting to suppress the shy smile that tugged at her lips. Strong, capable hands found hers, pulling her into his chest as he whispered, "I was worried about you last night."

Her heart melted into his embrace, the warmth of his body seeping into hers. "I just needed some time to think," she murmured. "I'm sorry for worrying you."

"Don't be," he said, his voice a gentle rumble. "I know this isn't easy for either of us." He brushed a lock of hair from her face, his eyes searching hers. "But I'm here, and I'm not going anywhere. When I said I was gonna be here for you, I meant that shit. You won't be able to get rid of me now, even if you tried."

They both laughed, the tension easing slightly. Chelsea felt the warmth of Joe's affection seep into her, filling the cracks that had formed in her heart. She took a step back, taking in the sight of him in her kitchen. "So?" she asked, changing the subject. "Girlfriend, huh? That's a big step for a man who's still technically married."

Joe's smile grew more earnest. "Yeah, it is," he agreed, placing the wine on the counter. "But I'm not letting you go, not now." He took her hands in his again, squeezing them gently. "And I'm going to make sure everyone knows it." He pressed a soft kiss to the back of her hand, those ocean blue eyes of his engulfing her in a sea of warmth.

"Well, let's not rush into any grand announcements just yet," Chelsea said, trying to keep her voice light, though her heart raced at his words. "I want to enjoy this, us, without thinking about what's next."

Joe nodded, understanding in his eyes. He knew she needed time to process everything, to feel secure in their newfound love before they faced the outside world. He kissed her forehead gently. "Okay, baby. We'll take it slow. But remember, I'm not going anywhere. You need comfort, I'm there. You need to talk, I'll listen."

Chelsea nodded as she swallowed back tears—happy tears this time. Warmth spread through her chest, simmering soft and slow, bubbling over with a decadence she hadn't felt in a long time. She leaned into Joe, feeling the solidity of him, the rhythm of his heart beating a steady drum against her. For a moment, everything was perfect.

Warmth spread to her face as he nudged her chin up to meet his eyes. Then he was leaning down, kissing her, and the whole world fell away. The taste of him was familiar yet new, a heady mix of comfort and excitement. His hands were everywhere—cupping her face, tracing her spine, pulling her by the waist.

He pulled away first, laughing softly as she followed his lips with a pout. "I'm starving," he murmured in that soft, gruff voice of his that never failed to make her insides melt. "What are you in the mood for?"

"I've got a chicken in the oven, do you mind starting on the potatoes? I'll get the greens going," Chelsea suggested, ignoring the flutter of her heart from the mundane domesticity of the evening.

Joe nodded, a small smile playing on his lips as he set the roses down onto the counter, turning to wash his hands in the kitchen sink. "Hand me a knife," he said, rolling up his sleeves. Chelsea handed it to him, watching as he effortlessly peeled and chopped the potatoes with a confidence she had never seen him have in the kitchen before. It was a strange sight, seeing this powerful, in-control man in her space, doing something so ordinary.

"You're staring, babe," Joe said, catching her gaze with a teasing smile.

"Sorry," Chelsea said, meeting his gaze before paling away. "It's just... you look so at home."

Joe paused in his task, looking up at her with a knowing smile. "Does it make you feel warm and fuzzy? Seeing me all domesticated?"

Chelsea couldn't help but laugh at his teasing tone. "It's just... I'm not used to seeing you like this. It's kind of hot, actually," she admitted, watching his muscles flex as he worked, white button-up rolled to his elbows.

"You should see me fold laundry," Joe said with a wink, making her laugh harder.

The rest of the evening passed by in a blur of laughter, the smell of roasting chicken and simmering greens filling the air. Chelsea felt a sense of peace she hadn't experienced in a long time as they worked together in the kitchen. The conversation was light, but the connection was deep. They sat down to eat at her small dining table, the candles she lit flickering across their faces, casting a warm glow on their makeshift dinner for two.

As Joe told a story about sneaking out to his first high school party, Chelsea couldn't help but remember her first impression of him when they first met over a year ago: Old Hollywood handsome.

Crystal blue eyes, a strong jaw, and a charming smile had been the first things she noticed. Followed by the way he carried himself—so confident and self-assured, unflappable despite the difficult decisions he had been forced to make. Now, as she watched him laugh at his own antics, she realized she had fallen in love with the man behind the mask. His vulnerability was intoxicating, a stark contrast to the stoic exterior he was most comfortable presenting to the world.

They finished their meal, and Chelsea cleared the plates, placing them in the sink with a gentle clank. She turned to find Joe's eyes on her, a softness that she hadn't seen before. "Thank you," he said, his voice sincere. "For giving me this... this normalcy."

Chelsea felt her cheeks warm. "It's nothing," she said, shrugging off the praise. "We're just having dinner, like everyone else."

Joe stood up and wrapped his arms around her waist from behind, his chin resting on her shoulder. "But not everyone has you," he murmured, his breath tickling her neck. "I'm really lucky." Gentle hands moved her hair to the side, his face dipping down to kiss her neck.

Chelsea's heart fluttered, and she leaned into his embrace, feeling his warmth and love surround her. She closed her eyes, letting the comfort of his arms wash over her. "I know it's not going to be easy," she whispered, "but I want this. I want us."

Joe's hands tightened around her waist. "I know, baby," he said, his voice low and earnest. "We'll figure it out. I promise."

She turned in his arms, her eyes searching his. "I love you," she said, soft and assured. The words felt right, like a puzzle piece that had finally clicked into place. He didn't respond right away, smiling slightly as he studied her.

"I love you too," Joe finally said, his voice thick with emotion. It was a declaration that seemed to hang in the air, weighty and real. He leaned in and kissed her, and she melted into him, feeling the warmth of his love wrap around her all over again. Their kiss grew deeper, more passionate, as the intensity of their confession grew.

Breaking apart, Joe kissed her nose, both of her cheeks, her chin, the corner of her mouth, before settling on her lips once more. They stood there, wrapped in each other's arms, basking in the glow of their confession. Chelsea felt the warmth spread, humming with satisfaction as he lifted her up, carrying her to her bedroom.

Chelsea fell back against the bedsheets with a sigh, feeling the heat of Joe's body pressed against hers. Her legs spread willingly as his hand trailed up her thigh, teasing the edge of her panties. He kissed her neck, his teeth grazing her skin as she arched her back, urging him closer. The sound of his zipper echoed through the room, and she felt him push inside her, filling the emptiness that had plagued her for so long.

Whimpers and moans pressed through their lips, the headboard beginning to thump rhythmically against the wall. The world outside faded away, leaving only Joe and Chelsea, lost in the sanctity of their love.

Her head tilted back, allowing him access to her neck as he attached his lips to her burning skin. His hands roamed her body, re-exploring every curve and line, as if trying to commit her to memory. The feeling of his skin against hers was electric, setting her nerves alight with each caress. Chelsea's breath hitched as Joe's hand slipped down to her clit, whimpering almost helplessly as he coaxed her on in that drawl of his.

"Jesus, Chelsea," Joe groaned, his movements becoming more urgent. "You're so fucking beautiful."

Chelsea's eyes fluttered shut as she felt Joe's hand tighten on her hip, his other hand still playing with her clit, his fingers moving in perfect rhythm with his thrusts. She could feel her orgasm approaching, a wave of pleasure that seemed to come from everywhere and nowhere at once. She grabbed his shoulders, her nails digging into his skin as she held on tightly.

"I'm gonna come," she panted, her voice barely above a whisper.

Joe groaned, his eyes never leaving hers as he picked up the pace. "Come for me, baby," he murmured, his own climax building.

The wave broke, and Chelsea whimpered out, her body convulsing as the orgasm washed over her. She felt Joe's grip tighten even more, his own release following closely behind. They collapsed onto the bed, both panting and sweaty, their hearts racing in sync.

After a few moments, Joe pulled out and rolled onto his back, taking Chelsea with him. She laid her head on his chest, listening to the steady beat of his heart, feeling the warmth of his body against hers. He wrapped an arm around her, his fingers soothing small circles into her skin as he sighed contentedly. Chelsea laid a peck to his collarbone before rising out of bed to clean herself up. He followed after her, taking silent turns in the bathroom, the easy domesticity from earlier bleeding into this moment of post-coital bliss. His hand brushing past her waist, her back leaning against his chest, it all felt so natural.

"Are you staying the night?" fell from her lips as his arms wrapped around her. Chelsea allowed her shoulders to relax, exhaling with a deep sigh.

He nodded in the mirror, his reflection showing a gentle smile. "If that's what you want, of course," he said, kissing the bit of skin that peeked out from underneath the collar of the t-shirt she threw on during her stumble to the bathroom.

"It's what I want," she whispered, turning to face him. She searched his eyes, looking for any sign of hesitation, but found only love and reassurance. Joe pulled her closer, his warmth seeping into her as they stood in the bathroom's soft glow. "Stay," she whispered, eyes fluttering closed as he kissed her again.

They curled up in bed, the cool sheets wrapping around their sweat-slicked bodies. Chelsea felt the tension of the day melt away with each of Joe's gentle strokes on her back. As the night grew deeper, their whispers grew softer, until all that remained was the steady rhythm of their breathing.

Dissolution. That was what Joe and Gianna had agreed to: a mutual decision, a signed separation agreement, and a dissolution petition. It was supposed to be simple, they both thought. But as the days dragged into weeks and the weeks into months, it became clear that nothing about their unraveling marriage was straightforward.

Joe glanced at his watch, his leg anxiously bouncing up and down as he waited for Gianna to walk through the door. They had arranged to meet with their respective lawyers today to finalize the details of their divorce. It had been five months since Joe last saw Gianna. The celebrity chef had thrown herself into work, bouncing from show to show, flying around the world to add to her culinary repertoire. To the untrained eye, it seemed benign, but to Joe and the murmurs of worry his parents echoed from their brief conversations with Gianna's parents, it was clear she was running from something. But Joe couldn't blame her.

"We've been waiting for 10 minutes," his lawyer, Audrey, said with a sigh, checking her own watch. "Any indication she'll show up?"

Joe nodded. "Yeah, she'll be here. She's just... it's Gianna. She'll be here."

Dalton, a gruff redheaded man with a perpetual five o'clock shadow, stepped back into the room, tucking his phone back into his pocket. "I can't reach her. Maybe she's stuck in traffic?"

Joe's stomach knotted. It wasn't like Gianna to be this unprofessional. The silence was suffocating, broken only by the ticking of the clock and the occasional cough from Audrey. Just as he resolved to attempt to call her, she came stumbling in. All of a sudden, Joe was reliving every moment of their relationship. The way she looked when she was stressed, the way her eyes searched the room for something to anchor her when she was overwhelmed. But today, there was something else, the realization that eleven years of marriage were coming to an end in this cold conference room.

There were three things most people immediately understood about Gianna. The first was her magnetism, a vibrant energy that drew people in and spun them around, leaving them dizzy with elation in her wake. The second was her easy collectedness. Joe couldn't remember ever seeing her frazzled, she was always punctual, easygoing with a bright smile. The third was her beauty, a beauty that was both effortless and deliberate. So when she stumbled into the conference room, her cheeks flushed and her hair a wild mess, Joe knew something was seriously wrong.

"Sorry! Sorry, I overslept," Gianna gushed, her breathing ragged as she took her seat across the table from Joe. She looked flustered, her full, dark curls disheveled in a way that made Joe's heart ache. The sight of her, so obviously distressed, brought a rush of memories and emotions that he had been trying so hard to keep at bay.

Her lawyer, Dalton, cleared his throat, looking equally surprised by her demeanor. "Well, let's get started, shall we?" He shuffled his papers, glancing between Joe and Gianna with a practiced neutrality.

Joe's heart was racing, his mind trying to piece together the puzzle of her sudden erratic behavior. "You okay?" he whispered, leaning in slightly.

Gianna took a deep breath, her eyes flicking to him briefly before focusing on her clasped hands in her lap. "Yeah, I'm fine," she murmured, a hint of irritation in her voice. "Just flew in late."

The meeting began, the lawyers exchanging pleasantries before diving into the nitty-gritty of their assets and the terms of their separation. The split was easy enough: Joe would get the winery, and Gianna would keep the restaurant. Joe would remain an investor in her merchandising line, ensuring she had financial support without them being entangled in each other's finances. But as the discussion grew more intense, Gianna's agitation grew palpable. She fidgeted in her chair, her eyes darting around the room as if searching for an escape.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, the lawyers concluded their initial points. "If there's nothing else," Dalton began, but was quickly interrupted by Gianna. "Wait, there's something I need to say." She took a deep breath, her knuckles white as she gripped the armrests.

Joe leaned forward, his stomach twisting into a knot. Whatever it was, it wasn't good.

"Joe," Gianna started, her voice shaky, "I need to tell you something. Can we speak outside for a moment?"

Joe nodded, his curiosity and concern piqued. They stepped into the hallway, the silence stretching like a tightrope between them. She took a deep breath, her eyes avoiding his gaze. "I've been writing a memoir," she blurted out, the words hanging in the air like shrapnel. "My agent says it's going to be big. It's about... everything. Our marriage, my career, being in the public eye."

Joe felt the blood drain from his face. "Does it include...us?" he asked, his voice a whisper.

Gianna looked up at him, her eyes brimming with tears. "Yes," she said, her voice barely above a whisper. "I couldn't write about my life without including you. But Joe, I want you to know, I haven't been totally honest with you. There's things I talk about in the book... things I've done that you don't know about."

The confession hung heavy in the air, and Gianna looked away. Joe's expression remained stoic, a wall she couldn't penetrate. "What things?" he asked, his voice deceptively calm.

"I was unfaithful too," she admitted, her voice trembling. "It was before...before everything with you and Chelsea. But it's in there. It's part of my story."

Joe felt the world tilt on its axis. "What?" he asked, his voice hoarse with disbelief.

Gianna nodded, her eyes pleading for understanding. "I know it's a lot to take in," she said, her voice shaking. "But I had to tell you before it all comes out. Before it's too late and you're blindsided. I'm sorry you had to find out this way."

Joe felt the blood drain from his face, his mind racing. "When? How long?" he managed to ask, his voice barely above a whisper.

"Up until a week before you came clean," Gianna replied, her voice heavy with regret. "It was with a producer from the network. We met on my trip to Patras. I thought it was a one-time thing but it kept happening, and I couldn't stop seeing him."

Joe felt his stomach churn, the room spinning around him. He would be lying if he said he wasn't expecting something like this, but the actuality of it was like a sledgehammer to his chest. That trip to Patras, Greece took place nearly three years ago, right when he had started to feel the cracks in their marriage. For years he had held onto the idea that their issues were solely his fault, that he had been the one to pull away. He forced himself to believe that if he had just been a better husband, their marriage could have been saved. Now, as he sat across from the woman he had shared his life with, the truth was laid bare—they were both guilty of the same sins.

"Fuck," he cursed under his breath. "Why didn't you tell me?" His voice was tight, a mix of disbelief and betrayal.

"Because I was scared," she whispered, her eyes brimming with unshed tears. "Scared of losing you, scared of losing everything we had built together. And when I found out about you and Chelsea, I thought maybe it was the writing on the wall. It felt like a get out of jail free card, a way to atone for my mistakes."

Joe stared at her, his expression a tumult of emotions. "You lied to me. You fucked around and didn't even have the guts to tell me?" The anger in his voice was palpable, the room seemingly closing in around them. "Is that why you were acting so weird when I told you?"

Gianna's shoulders slumped. "Yeah, I knew that it would be hypocritical, but I didn't know how to tell you. I thought if you found out, it would be easier if it was part of a larger story, one that showed us both as imperfect."

Joe began to pace before her. "So you're going to air all of our dirty laundry in this book? For what? Closure?" His voice grew louder, the anger bubbling over. "When was the last time you saw your parents? Did you think about what this will do to them?"

Gianna looked down at her hands, twisting her wedding ring around her finger. "I'm sorry, Joe," she said, her voice breaking. "But I had to tell the truth. I owe it to myself, to us, to everyone who's ever believed in us."

Joe's eyes searched hers, trying to find some semblance of the woman he had once loved. "What about your career?" he asked, his voice softer now. "I can take the fallout, but your restaurant... your show... this could ruin everything you've worked for."

Gianna sniffled, looking up at him with a glimmer of hope. "Maybe it's time for a new chapter," she said, her voice shaky. "Maybe this is the push I need to finally be honest with everyone, including myself."

Joe nodded, his throat tight with emotion. "If that's what you truly want, I'll support you," he managed to say, his voice cracking. "We should head back." He didn't wait for her to acknowledge him, simply turning around and walking back to the conference room, shoulders stiff, jaw set. The lawyers looked at them with a mix of exhaustion and curiosity.

As they signed papers, Joe felt as if he was trudging through fog. The words on the documents blurred together, his mind racing with the revelations of the day. The weight of their shared secrets had shifted the foundation of their marriage, leaving him dizzy and disoriented.

Their lawyers' voices grew distant as Joe and Gianna exchanged glances, both lost in their own world of regret and recrimination. The room was cold, the silence punctuated only by the scratch of pens and the occasional clearing of a throat.

And then it was done. The lawyers exchanged polite nods and the papers were filed away. Joe felt a strange mix of relief and dread as he walked out of the office. The reality of their divorce was now etched in legal ink, a stark reminder of the life they had built together, now being dismantled. The penthouse he kept in the city felt empty as he rode the elevator up to it, the echoes of their past laughter and arguments haunting the walls.

Gianna had been surprisingly calm, her eyes never quite meeting his as she signed her name, line by line, sealing the fate of their marriage. Her secret had been the catalyst for their unraveling, but Joe couldn't help but wonder if it had been festering beneath the surface all along. They had been two people playing roles, living in a house of cards that had finally collapsed under the weight of their own truths.

He closed the door behind him, jaw clenched tight as he took in the stray boxes and half-empty rooms. The penthouse had become a reflection of his own life: cold and empty. He grabbed a bottle of beer from the fridge, his hand trembling slightly as he twisted off the cap. The cool liquid washed down his throat, but did little to ease the turmoil in his chest.

He missed when life was simpler. When the biggest challenge was deciding what to watch on Netflix rather than navigating the treacherous waters of a failed marriage being presented to him in a new light. He missed being the diligent husband, the provider, the man who had it all figured out. But as he took a long swig of his beer, he knew that wasn't who he was anymore. He was a man in love with another woman, a man who had chosen to break free from a stagnant life that had slipped away from him without his knowledge.

He figured the most upsetting part was that he couldn't even bring himself to be angry. He was just tired. Tired of the lies, the deceit, the feeling that he had been living a lie. The penthouse that had once been a symbol of his success now felt like a prison cell, each room holding a memory that had been tainted by their infidelities.

He needed to get out of there, to clear his head. Without bothering to change, Joe grabbed his keys and headed for the elevator. The night air was crisp, a stark contrast to the suffocating atmosphere of the penthouse. He got into his car and drove aimlessly, letting the streets of Cincinnati guide him. The lights seemed to blend together until he found himself turning into Chelsea's complex.

She wasn't home yet, the time on his dashboard read 5:15 PM. He knew she would be back soon, probably from some meeting or dinner with her colleagues. His chilled beer dripped condensation into the cupholder as he leaned back in his seat. The silence outside was pierced only by the distant hum of traffic and the occasional chirp of a bird.

He couldn't tell how much time had passed before Chelsea was knocking on his window, concern etched on her beautiful face. He rolled it down, the smell of her perfume wafting into the car. She looked tired, but the sight of her washed peace over him like a gentle wave. She slid into the passenger seat, her eyes searching his for answers.

"How did it go?" she asked, her voice tentative. He leaned over, his lips lingering against hers as he took in the warmth of her presence. Her featherlight touch brushed through the hairs at the nape of his neck, gentle eyes holding his gaze.

Joe took a deep breath, his heart racing as he spoke. "It's done," he said, his voice barely above a whisper. "Gianna and I are...we're officially divorced."

Chelsea's eyes searched his, looking for any sign of pain or doubt. "How do you feel?" she asked, her voice gentle and soothing.

Joe took another deep breath, trying to gather his thoughts. "She told me something today," he began, his voice still heavy with the weight of their conversation. "Something that I didn't know." He paused, looking at Chelsea with a mix of confusion and regret. "Gianna had an affair too."

The silence in the car grew thick, Chelsea's eyes widening in shock. "What?" she managed to ask, her voice barely above a whisper. "Are you serious?"

Joe nodded, his expression a storm of emotions. "Yeah," he said, his voice ragged. "She's writing a memoir. It's all in there—her affair, our divorce, the whole mess. She's going to tell the world." He took a long pull from his beer, his hand trembling slightly. "It's like we're characters in some tragic ass love story."

Chelsea reached over to squeeze his hand. "Oh, baby," she said, her voice soothing, "I'm sorry. Did she give you details?"

Joe's grip tightened around the bottle. "Yeah," he said, his jaw clenched. "It lasted almost three years. Some producer guy she met on one of her shows. She claims it ended a week before she found out about us."

Chelsea felt the weight of his words. "Three years? And you didn't know?"

Joe shrugged, his eyes on the road ahead. "Guess I didn't want to see it," he admitted, his voice heavy with regret. "But it's over now. Just gotta wait for your divorce to finalize, and then we can start fresh."

"Is there anything I can do?" Chelsea offered, her voice filled with genuine concern. "Booze, a rage room..." she trailed off, biting her lip before whispering, "a blowjob?" suggestively.

Joe chuckled darkly. "That’s sweet, but I'm not sure anything can fix this shit right now." He took a deep breath and glanced at her. "I do have a few things to ask you, though."

Chelsea leaned in, her eyes searching his. "You know I'd do anything for you," she whispered, her hand still playing with his hair. A soft dusking of pink spread across the bridge of his nose as the effects of the alcohol and her touch soothed his nerves.

"I know," Joe murmured, his voice thick with emotion. "You're so good to me." His voice dropped, eyes flicking down to her lips before he pressed a series of gentle kisses along her neck. "Thank you for sticking by me through all of this. Being so sweet and understanding. I’m so lucky I get to love you."

"Focus," she laughed, gently pushing him away. "What did you want to ask me?"

Joe took a deep breath, his gaze lingering on her lips before meeting her eyes. "Three things. I want us to go on a real date. You know, not one of those 'we're just friends who happen to be at the same place at the same time' dates. A real, honest-to-god date where we can be together without hiding."

Chelsea felt a thrill run through her. It had been so long since she'd felt that giddy excitement of early romance. "I'd love that," she said, smiling up at him. "Where do you want to take me?"

"Somewhere simple," Joe said, his eyes lighting up at the thought. "Somewhere we can just be ourselves without worrying about running into someone we know." He took her hand, his thumb tracing circles against her palm. "Secondly, I want you to meet my parents."

Chelsea's heart skipped a beat. "Your parents?"

"Yeah," Joe said, his grip on her hand tightening slightly. "I know your parents are still processing everything, so if it's too painful or weird for you, we can wait. But they want to meet you, and I think it's important we start building a life together."

Earnest blue eyes searched hers for any sign of hesitation. Chelsea took a deep breath, her heart racing with excitement and a hint of trepidation. "Okay, let's do it," she said, smiling up at him. "I'll work on my parents, see if they'll be open to meeting you."

"Great," Joe said, his eyes lighting up with relief. "And the third thing is... I know it's a little soon, but I'm looking for a place. A smaller place, something that feels like it could be ours. Away from the city, maybe? What do you think?"

Chelsea's heart fluttered at the thought. A home together, free of the shadows of their past lives. "That sounds amazing," she said, her voice filled with excitement. "I'm tired of these high rises, anyway. Somewhere cozy, with a yard, maybe?"

Joe nodded enthusiastically. "Exactly. Somewhere we can build memories. Maybe even get a cat," he teased.

Chelsea laughed, the tension in the room dissipating. "A cat, huh? I thought you'd be a dog person," she said, her smile wide and playful.

"Nah," Joe said, his grin growing, "I've always had a soft spot for cats. They're low maintenance, like me."

Chelsea rolled her eyes. "Sure, if that's what you call leaving your socks everywhere and forgetting to take out the trash," she teased, her voice light and teasing.

Joe chuckled. "Hey, I'm not that bad." He leaned in closer, his breath warm against her cheek. "But seriously, I want to find a place where we can start fresh." His voice grew softer. "A place where we can be ourselves without worrying about what anyone else thinks."

Chelsea's heart fluttered at the thought. "That sounds perfect," she said, her voice filled with longing. "Something new, just for us."

"We can start looking whenever you're ready," Joe said, bringing her knuckles up to his lips and kissing them gently. "But for now, you should probably get out of here. I know you had a long day, I just wanted to see you."

She leaned in to give him a quick kiss, but Joe pulled her closer, deepening it. When they parted, she was left feeling both breathless and slightly dizzy. "Come upstairs," she whispered, her voice filled with want. "At the very least, you're buzzed from the beer, right?"

Joe grinned, his eyes darkening with lust. "I'm definitely buzzed," he said, pulling her in for another kiss. "But I also don't want to keep you up all night."

Chelsea laughed, the tension of the day dissipating. "All night? That's a bold claim." She responded, the two of them exiting his car before her hand was in his, leading him to the elevator. "I only had a blowjob in mind."

Joe raised an eyebrow, his smile growing wicked. "Is that all?" He playfully nudged her into the elevator and pressed the button to her floor. The doors slid shut with a gentle 'ping', and they were left alone in the intimate space. Chelsea's heart raced as Joe stepped closer, their kisses growing more urgent as the elevator ascended.

When they reached her floor, they stumbled out into the hallway, barely breaking apart. Chelsea fumbled with her keys, eager to get him inside. As she unlocked the door, she felt Joe's hands on her hips, his breath hot against her neck. "I want to feel you," he murmured, his voice low and needy.

Chelsea couldn't tell up from down as she straddled Joe in her sparsely furnished living room. She felt herself melt into his arms, kisses feverish and needy. Her hands roamed his broad chest, feeling the muscles beneath his shirt, tracing the lines of his shoulders. His scent filled her, a heady mix of cologne and something uniquely him that made her stomach flip.

She moaned under his touch, her hips grinding down into his, guided by a need for desperate, passionate that had been simmering for weeks. Their clothes fell away, a tangle of fabric on the floor, leaving them bare and vulnerable in the soft light of the evening. Joe's teeth nipped at her neck, sending shivers down her spine, and she gasped, her nails digging into his shoulders.

"Blowjob," she reminded him between kisses, her voice breathless and playful. Joe chuckled, his hands sliding down to her waist, "Is that really what you want right now?"

Her eyes locked onto his, a spark of challenge in their depths. "Just relax," she whispered, her voice thick with desire. He grinned, leaning back to give her space. Chelsea slid down his body, her mouth watering at the sight of him already hard and ready. She slipped his boxers off, taking his length into her warm, wet mouth. Joe's head fell back, a groan escaping his lips as she began to suck and tease him. Her tongue swirled around the tip, her hands gripping the base of his shaft. His hips began to thrust slightly, urging her on as she took him deeper.

Her lashes fluttered as her eyes lifted to meet his gaze, a teasing laugh erupting from her as she pulled back to kitten lick his tip. "Don't look at me like that," he groaned, his hands finding their way to her hair, guiding her movements. Chelsea took him back in, her eyes never leaving his, indulging in the way his chest heaved with every intake of breath. His thighs tensed and his breath hitched as she picked up the pace, her hand stroking in time with her mouth.

She licked a slow stripe up his shaft, smiling when she felt the vein pulse under her tongue. His hands tightened in her hair as she took him in again, deeper this time, her cheeks hollowing with effort. Chelsea savored the moan that vibrated through him as he hit the back of her throat, feeling his thighs quiver with restraint.

"Fuck, Chels, just like that," Joe groaned, his eyes half-closed as he watched her work her magic. The sight of her mouth wrapped around him was more than he could handle. He could feel his orgasm building, the pressure mounting with every stroke of her tongue.

Chelsea looked up at him, a glint in her eye, and took him out of her mouth with a wet pop. "You like that?" she teased, stroking him gently with her hand.

"Fuck, yes," Joe managed, his voice strained. "Don't stop."

With a wicked grin, Chelsea took him back into her mouth, her hand working in tandem with her lips, her tongue swirling around the tip of his cock. She could feel him getting closer, his hips starting to thrust in a rhythm she knew so well. She took him deeper, her eyes watering slightly as she fought her gag reflex. Joe's groans grew louder, more desperate, until finally, with a strangled whine, he came. She swallowed, her eyes stuck on his, watching the pleasure wash over his face.

He collapsed back onto the couch, panting. "Fuck, Chelsea," he breathed, his voice hoarse.

"Feel better?" she asked, her thumb gently wiping at the corner of her mouth.

"Mm," Joe nodded, still trying to catch his breath. "So much better." He reached for her, pulling her into his lap. "Let me return the favor, make you feel good," he murmured, his eyes dark with desire.

"As much as I'd love that," she began, hands holding Joe's jaw steady as he groaned with anticipation, "I have some work to finish up. We picked up a new client at the firm."

Joe leaned back into the couch, his expression a mix of understanding and disappointment. "I can be quick," he offered with a mischievous grin, his hands sliding up her thighs, fingers slipping under the hem of her panties.

"As tempting as that is," Chelsea said, placing her hand over his before shifting them to a more appropriate spot, "I have to get this done. But I promise I'll make it up to you." She kissed him lightly before she slid off his lap, walking away with a sway that made Joe's eyes follow her movements as she collected her clothes.

Joe couldn't help the smirk that played on his lips. He watched her pull on her skirt and blouse, her professional armor back in place, smiling when she handed him his discarded boxers. "I could order in," he offered, standing to dress himself.

"Sounds perfect," Chelsea said, her eyes lighting up at the idea of not having to cook. She grabbed her laptop and settled at the dining table, a warm buzz of arousal still lingering. As she worked, she could feel Joe's eyes on her, his desire not entirely sated. She focused on the screen, trying to push her thoughts back to the legal documents in front of her.

The aroma of Szechuan takeout filled the air as the delivery arrived, and they sat together, their legs intertwined under the table. The candles cast a soft glow over their dinner, creating an intimate atmosphere despite the chaos of the day. They talked about their plans for the weekend—a hike in the nearby mountains, a movie marathon, and maybe even looking at some small houses in the area.

Chelsea felt a sense of contentment she hadn't experienced in a long time. Despite the turmoil that had led them to this point, she knew that Joe was the right choice for her. He understood her, accepted her flaws, and was willing to fight for their love. By the time she curled into him, his bare skin warm and comforting against hers, eyes struggling to stay open, she could feel the earlier tension in his body dissipating.

For as long as Chelsea could remember, she feared her parents. Lee and Shayla Washington had high expectations for their only child. They had groomed her to marry a man of equal social standing, one who could provide a life of luxury and prestige. Terrence Brooks had been their dream son-in-law—handsome, successful, and an MD at that. Joe wasn't far off from their vision—a very successful CFO, but the stigma of his previous marriage to a celebrity, chef or otherwise, was something she wasn't sure they would be able to shake.

The ringtone of the outgoing call to her mother filled Chelsea with dread. She knew the conversation that was about to unfold would not be an easy one. She had rehearsed her words over and over, trying to find the right balance between honesty and respect. Her heels clicked against the floor as she paced back and forth, waiting for the line to connect. Instead of using her hour lunch break to grab something to eat, she found herself hiding in her office, the door locked firmly behind her.

"Hello?" her mother's voice was sharp, almost as if she knew what was coming.

"Hey, Momma," Chelsea began, her voice a little shaky. "How are y'all doing?"

"We're fine, honey." Her mother's tone was measured, hinting at the unspoken question of why she was calling during the workday.

Chelsea took a deep breath, her heart hammering against her chest. "I know we haven't spoken much since I told you and Daddy about Terrence and I," she said carefully, trying to keep her voice steady. "But I'd like for us to sit down and talk about it."

Her mother's sigh was heavy with disappointment. "Chelsea, darling, I'm not the one who needs convincing. I saw the way you and Joe looked at each other. I knew you and Terrence were going through something, so I wasn't surprised when you told us."

The words hit Chelsea like a ton of bricks. She had hoped to ease her mother into the conversation, but it seemed the woman was already a step ahead. "What do you mean, 'the way we looked at each other'?" she asked, her voice laced with a hint of accusation.

Her mother's tone was gentle, almost pitying. "You can't hide love, Chelsea."

The revelation stung, but Chelsea pushed ahead, "Well, I want you and Dad to formally meet Joe. He's important to me, and I want all of us to have an honest conversation."

Her mother was silent for a moment before she spoke, her voice measured as she repeated herself, "Chelsea, I'm not the one you need to convince." She paused, the line crackling with unspoken words. "You need to speak to your father. He's the one who's having a hard time with this. He loved Terrence like a son."

Chelsea felt a twinge of anxiety. Her father had always been the strict one, the one who had high expectations for his only child. She knew that his disapproval would cut deeper than her mother's gentle disappointment. "Okay, I'll call him," she said, swiping at a tear that had escaped her eye.

"Your daddy loves you, baby," her mother assured her, "and he'll come around. Just talk to him. He misses you."

Her mother's words hung in the air, a faint echo of hope in the face of an impending storm. Chelsea nodded, trying to believe her. After they said their goodbyes, she sat at her desk, staring at the phone. The conversation with her father had been inevitable, but she had been avoiding it. She took a deep breath, her hand trembling as she dialed his number.

"Hey, Dad," she began, her voice small and tentative. Her heart was racing as the line connected, the silence stretching out like a tightrope between them.

"Chelsea," he greeted, gruffly. "Been a while. Nice to hear from you."

Her stomach flipped. She didn't know how to start, so she took the plunge. "Dad, I know you're upset, and I understand that. But, I had to make a decision for my own happiness. Terrence and I are getting a divorce. End of story." She paused, waiting for his reaction.

The silence was deafening. Chelsea could hear his breathing, slow and deliberate, as if he were trying to keep his temper in check. "Chelsea, you are my only child. But, I love you too much to allow you to believe your happiness is more important than your legacy," her father finally said, his voice tight with emotion.

Her chest constricted. "Dad, I love you too. And I've never wanted to disappoint you. But I can't live my life trying to make you proud if it means being miserable."

"You think cheating on your husband and moving in with another man is going to make you happy?" His words were like knives, slicing through the phone line and into her heart. "After everything we've built, you're going to throw it away for this... this infatuation?"

Chelsea took a deep breath, her grip tightening on the phone. "This is much deeper than Terrence and Joe, Dad. Every single second of my life has been about your dreams, living up to what you and Mom have told me I should be. And for 34 years of my life, I have been perfect. The perfect daughter, the perfect student, the perfect wife. Yet, all it's gotten me is a hollow marriage and a reflection that I don't recognize."

Her father's voice grew softer. "I never meant for you to feel trapped. We just wanted you to have the best life, to marry someone who could provide for you."

"Dad," Chelsea said, her voice trembling. "I need more than just material security. I need to be with someone who values me for more than my pedigree or the status of my last name. I know you love Terrence but he wasn't the right fit for me. Not if I'm being honest with myself."

Her father's silence on the other end was deafening. She could almost hear the gears turning in his mind, trying to process the information she had just laid out for him. "It's that neighbor we met in August, isn't it?" he finally asked.

"It's him," Chelsea replied, her voice firm. "I want you to officially meet him, Dad. His name is Joe. He's a business executive for a tech company, he's kind, he's smart, and he makes me happy. I know it's not what you pictured, but I think you'll like him."

Her father's sigh was heavy and long. "I don't know what to say, Chelsea. This is all so... unexpected."

"If you're worried he's not good enough for me, let me figure that out on my own," Chelsea said, her voice gaining strength. "But if you care about my happiness, then give him a chance."

"Alright," he finally conceded. "Your mother seems to like him. I'll hold off on judging until I get to know him better. But Chelsea, promise me you're doing this for the right reasons."

Chelsea felt a weight lift off her chest. "I am, Dad. I promise. I just want to be happy. That's all I've ever wanted."

Her father's voice softened. "Okay. I know I raised you to be strong. I just want the best for you, you know that."

"Thank you, Dad," Chelsea said, feeling a mix of relief and apprehension. She knew the conversation was far from over, but at least she had planted the seed of acceptance. After they hung up, she released a deep breath and flopped down onto her chair, the tension draining from her body. She stared at the wall, contemplating her next move.

A knock on the door pulled her from her thoughts, and she glanced at her watch, realizing she had lost track of time. Her lunch break was over, and the pile of paperwork on her desk beckoned. With a sigh, she rose to her feet and straightened her skirt before opening the door.

It was one of the more experienced senior partners, an older woman from Columbus named Jaclynn, with a cup of coffee and a concerned expression. "You okay?" she asked, handing her the cup. "You've had the door closed for ages."

"Yeah," Chelsea said, taking the coffee gratefully. "Just had a long call with my dad."

Jaclynn's eyebrows furrowed. "Is everything all right? You've been a bit preoccupied since you rushed out of the gala early."

Chelsea nodded, taking a sip of the hot liquid. "It's a very long story, unfortunately. But I appreciate you checking in on me." Jaclynn's eyes searched hers, and Chelsea knew she wasn't ready to let it go.

"Would you like to talk about it?" she offered, her voice gentle. "I've been through a divorce myself. It's not easy, especially with the work we do, and the personality you need to do it. It's hard feeling like you've failed at something."

Chelsea hesitated, weighing the pros and cons of confiding in a colleague. But something in Jaclynn's eyes made her feel safe, and she found herself spilling the details of her tumultuous year and a half—the move-in, her failed marriage, Joe, and the gala fiasco. Jaclynn listened intently, her expression shifting from surprise to empathy.

"Wow, Chelsea," Jaclynn said, her eyes wide with astonishment once Chelsea had finished her story. "I had no idea you've been going through all that." She leaned in, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper, "But honestly, all I can tell you is to do what makes you happy. Fuck what everyone else thinks. You've been an amazing addition to the firm, and I've seen firsthand how hard you work. Don't let anyone's judgy stares bring you down."

The genuine support from an unexpected corner of the office was like a warm embrace, and Chelsea felt a weight lift from her shoulders. She laughed, a real laugh, for the first time in what felt like an eternity. "Thanks, Jaclynn. I needed to hear that."

Jaclynn offered a knowing smile. "And just remember, everyone's got their own shit to deal with. They're probably more concerned with keeping their own secrets than judging yours."

Chelsea nodded, feeling a sense of camaraderie she hadn't experienced in the office before. "You're right. Thank you, really."

Jaclynn stood, collecting her things. "Listen, I know it's tough, but you've got this. And if you ever need anything, I'm here." She gave Chelsea's arm a squeeze before heading back to her office.

The squeaky wheels of the metal shopping part echoed down the aisle, the fluorescent lights casting a harsh glow on Joe's stoic face as he navigated the supermarket. Chelsea, a few aisles over, was engrossed in reading the labels on various organic snacks. Taking advantage of a rare, mutual day off, they decided to go grocery shopping together. Embracing the mundane breathed casual intimacy into their relationship, the stress of their jobs momentarily forgotten in search of the perfect avocado.

As Joe rounded the corner with a cart of protein bars and almond milk, in search of Chelsea, his eyes widened. There, in the produce section, was Terrence Brooks, a pair of glasses on the strong bridge of his nose. His own cart carried a reasonable representation of the food pyramid, all organic choices, just like Chelsea. Joe paused, considering his options—turn around, avoid the confrontation, or face the man whose life he had irrevocably changed. But as the universe had a way of doing, Terrence looked up and noticed him, his eyebrows shot up.

For a brief moment, the air grew thick with tension, as if the very molecules of the supermarket were straining under the weight of the unspoken words. Then, with a heavy exhale, Terrence pushed his cart forward, a grim determination etched in his features. Chelsea, blissfully unaware of the impending collision, turned the corner and her eyes widened, freezing her in place. She had hoped to avoid this moment for a while longer, but it seemed fate had other plans.

"Terrence," Chelsea called out, her voice a mix of surprise and resignation. Terrence stopped, his grip on the cart tightening. The three of them faced each other, Joe and Chelsea on one side, Terrence on the other, a frozen tableau of a life that once was.

Terrence took a step forward, his eyes still locked on Joe's. "Chelsea," he said, his voice tight. Chelsea swallowed hard, glancing at Joe, whose eyes never left Terrence's. "What are you doing here?" Terrence demanded, his jaw clenched.

Joe suppressed a scoff, his hands rising in a placating gesture. "Just grocery shopping," he said evenly. "Didn't expect to run into you, man."

"Clearly," Terrence spat, his eyes flitting to the groceries in Joe's cart. "Couldn't leave that to your assistant?"

Joe felt a flare of anger but kept his voice calm. "I can handle my own shopping, thanks."

Terrence's gaze flicked to Chelsea, his expression a toxic mix of pain and anger. "So, this is it then," he said, his voice low. "You're just going to flaunt this in my face?"

Chelsea took a step towards Terrence, her voice firm. "Terrence, this isn't the place for this."

Terrence's eyes narrowed, his grip on the shopping cart tightening. "You're damn right it's not," he spat. "I can't believe you have the audacity to show your face around here with him."

Joe stepped in, his voice calm but firm. "Terrence, we're all just trying to move on. No need to make this more difficult than it already is."

Terrence's gaze remained on Chelsea. "You think you can just replace me?" he hissed, the words cutting through the air like a knife. "Eight years, Chelsea. Eight years of marriage and this is what you do to me?"

Chelsea took a deep breath, trying to keep her voice steady. "I am just grocery shopping, Terrence. You're the one making a scene." She glanced around, noticing the curious stares of other shoppers.

Terrence's eyes searched hers, desperation and anger battling for dominance. Then he scoffed, shaking his head. "You're pathetic," he murmured, low and bitter.

Chelsea felt a sting of hurt, but she knew better than to engage. She stepped closer to Joe, her hand finding its way into his. "Let's go," she whispered, tugging him gently. "It's not worth it."

But Joe didn't budge. He stared at Terrence, his eyes filled with a mix of pity and resolve. "Terrence," he said calmly, "you're hurt, and I get it. But that's not my problem anymore. Chelsea's happy with me, and if you really cared about her, you'd accept that."

"You want me to accept this? I lost my wife because of your mid-life crisis, and you want me to accept that?" Terrence's voice grew harsher, the aisle around them growing quieter as other shoppers pretended not to listen. Chelsea cringed, feeling the eyes on them. "We were perfectly fine until you came along with your happiness bullshit."

"Terrence, that's enough," Chelsea said firmly, her grip on Joe's hand tightening. "You're embarrassing yourself. Just turn around and walk away."

"You want to lecture me about embarrassing yourself?" Terrence laughed. "Chelsea, you couldn't keep your legs closed, and now you expect me to just move on? To accept that this... this man is fucking my wife?" He spat the words out, the corner of his lip pulling into a snarl.

Joe's eyes flashed with anger, and he took a step forward. "Watch your mouth, Terrence."

Terrence stepped closer, their carts almost touching. "Or what?" he challenged. "You'll tell me how you did it? How you took her from me? Give me tips so I can go out and steal someone else's wife too?"

Chelsea's face grew hot, a mix of humiliation and anger simmering within her. She didn't need this, not here, not now. The eyes of the other shoppers burned into her skin like hot embers, and she wished the floor would just open up and swallow them whole. She hated that Terrence had the power to do this to her, to make her feel small and dirty. She hated that Terrence could bring this side out of Joe, that he should be the one to protect her "dignity" as if she was the only one who had been imperfect in their marriages.

Joe's hand shot out, grabbing Terrence's shoulder. "I said watch your mouth," he warned, his voice low and menacing. "You don't get to talk about her like that."

Terrence shrugged off Joe's grip, his eyes flashing with rage. "Or what, you'll hit me in front of all these people? Tryna son me in the produce aisle, huh?"

"Joe," Chelsea snapped, her voice like ice. "Let's go. Now." With a final glare in Terrence's direction, she turned to leave, choosing to walk away from the confrontation. Her hand slipped away from Joe's, reaching for the cart handle instead and stalking off towards the check-out.

Joe watched her retreat, his jaw clenched, before turning back to Terrence. "If I ever hear you speak to her like that again, we're gonna have a problem." He took a step back, collecting himself with a purse of his lips. "Take care of yourself, man. I hate to see you so angry."

He nodded stiffly, unable to form words. Joe took the cue and followed Chelsea's path, leaving Terrence in the wake of their tension. As he approached the checkout, he took in the sight of Chelsea's shoulders stiff with anger, her eyes fixed straight ahead. Joe felt his own anger dissipate into a heavy sadness as he squeezed her shoulder. "You okay?"

Chelsea shrugged Joe's hand off her shoulder, the tremble in her voice giving away the turmoil within. "Fine," she said, her tone betraying the practiced smile gracing her features. She didn't dare look at him, afraid that if she did, she would shatter into a million pieces right there in the supermarket. Before Joe could press further, she turned to greet the cashier and began to unload their groceries onto the conveyor belt.

The cashier's eyes flicked between them, the tension palpable enough to cut through the plastic bags. The silence grew heavier with every item scanned, and Joe felt a knot forming in his stomach. He nervously gnawed at his lower lip, trying to find the right words to say, but they remained elusive. The confrontation with Terrence had left a bitter taste in the air, one that not even the sweet scent of their fresh strawberries could mask.

Chelsea paid, tapping her card against the reader with more force than necessary. The cashier handed her the receipt, and she stuffed it into her purse without looking at it. They walked in silence to the parking lot, the cool air doing little to ease the heat of her embarrassment. Joe opened the trunk and started loading the bags, his movements careful and deliberate as Chelsea made her away around to the passenger seat.

The drive to Chelsea's apartment was tense, the silence between them thick and oppressive. She stared out the window, watching the blur of the cityscape pass by as Joe gripped the steering wheel, his knuckles white with restraint. She knew he was waiting for her to say something, anything to bridge the chasm that had opened between them. But she was at a loss for words, her mind racing with the echoes of Terrence's venomous words. Joe's posturing didn't help to ease her humiliation; it only served to highlight the mess she had made of her life.

When they pulled into the parking garage, Joe turned off the engine but made no move to get out. Chelsea kept her eyes focused on her lap, playing with the hem of her shirt, avoiding his gaze. "Chelsea," he started, his voice tentative, "I'm sorry about what happened back there."

She took a deep breath, steeling herself. "I don't need you to protect me," Chelsea said, her voice low. "I fucked up, Joe. I know that. But I don't need you fighting my battles."

Joe's expression softened as he reached out to take her hand. "I know you're strong," he said, "but I can't just stand there and let someone talk to you like that."

Chelsea sighed, finally meeting his gaze. "I didn't ask you to defend me, Joe. I can handle Terrence." She pulled her hand away, her fingers massaging the bridge of her nose. "Am I upset that he spoke to me like that? Of course. But I know what we did was wrong, and I can't blame him for feeling betrayed."

Joe nodded, his grip on the steering wheel tightening slightly. "But he's got no right to drag you through the mud like that," he insisted, his voice a low growl. "You didn't deserve that."

"What if I do? I did something wrong," Chelsea murmured, her eyes focused on the dark dashboard. "I don't think I stopped to consider how he might feel when we started..." she trailed off, taking in a short breath before she continued. "I was so caught up in us, in this fantasy that we built together."

Joe's mind blanked, his hands flexing and curling into a tense ball. He knew Chelsea had been wrestling with her guilt, but hearing her doubt their relationship was like a punch to the gut. He took a moment to gather his thoughts before responding, his voice tight with restrained emotion. "Chelsea, you're not to blame for someone else's choices. Terrence's anger is his own burden to bear, not yours."

Chelsea remained silent, lost in her thoughts. The weight of the situation pressed down on them as Joe's eyes grazed over her side profile. His chest felt heavy with the burden of her guilt. He knew that their love had come at a cost, but he never wanted her to feel like she was the villain.

"Look," she started, "I know you're right. It's just complicated, you know? I had a life with Terrence, a life that people expected us to have. And now..." Her voice trailed off, the words caught in the back of her throat. "I bear a lot of responsibility for how he feels. I mean, I cheated on him, Joe. For six months I lied to him. That's not love. That's not fair."

Joe couldn't help the flash of frustration that crossed his face. He took a deep breath, trying to keep his voice steady. "Chelsea, carrying all this guilt isn't going to change anything. You made a mistake, yes, but you're not the only one who made 'bad' choices. Terrence isn't blameless here either." He paused, searching for the right words. "If today's encounter with him showed you anything, it should be that he's not innocent. The way he spoke to you, the lack of regard for your autonomy even during your marriage... that's not the behavior of a saint. You left him for a reason. That's all that should matter now."

Her gaze remained fixed out the car window, the setting sun casting a warm glow on her profile. "I know," she murmured. "But that's what's so irritating about it. I know that he didn't love me the way I needed, that I deserve to be happy, but... it's just hard to shake off the power that he had over me for so long."

Joe reached over and took her hand, giving it a gentle squeeze. "I'm not going to pretend like this should be easy for you. But if you're having second-thoughts, regrets, or whatever, you can tell me. I'm here."

Chelsea took a deep breath, her eyes swimming with her pooling tears. "No regrets, I promise. I want this with you. His words just stung, I guess. I can't believe he would say that about me in public."

Joe nodded, his jaw tightening. "You're worth so much more than what he thinks of you," he said, his voice steady. "He's in pain, and he's lashing out. It's not about you; it's about his pride which has always been more important to him than you."

Chelsea turned to look at him, her eyes revealing all her vulnerability. "I wish I wasn't so stuck in my head. This is supposed to be a fresh start, but all I can think about is what everyone else is saying."

Joe brought her hand to his lips, kissing it softly. "We're going to get through this. Together." He paused, his eyes searching hers. "I want to know every thought, every fear, every doubt. No more secrets, no more guilt."

Her chest tightened at his words, and she nodded. "Okay." Joe broke the silence that settled over them with a gentle smile. "Did I tell you about the house I've been eyeing?" he asked, changing the subject to something more uplifting.

Chelsea's eyes lit up, eager to escape the shadow of the confrontation. "No, you haven't," she said, sitting up a bit.

"Let's get the groceries inside, and I'll show you the pictures," Joe said, reaching for the handle of his door.

Chelsea couldn't remember the last time she was this nervous. So nervous she could feel the sweat beads forming at the base of her spine. She had cycled through four or five outfits, anxiously adjusting and readjusting the pale yellow dress that currently clung to her body. The fabric was soft and cottony, an appropriate length and neckline she hoped would be welcoming yet respectful. It was her mother's favorite color, and she hoped it would give Joe's parents the right image of her. She took one last look in the mirror, her heart racing like it was the first day of law school all over again, and took a deep breath.

"You look stunning," Joe said, his eyes sweeping over her as she stepped into the bathroom. He was already dressed in a well-tailored suit, his tie perfectly knotted. Chelsea felt a warmth spread through her, his compliment soothing her nerves a bit.

She looked up to find a black velvet box in Joe's hand, her eyes widening in shock. "What's this?" she whispered, her voice barely audible over the hammering of her heart in her ears.

"Babe," he laughed heartily, stepping closer to her. "It's not what you think. Just a little something to make you feel special tonight." He opened the box to reveal a gorgeous drop diamond necklace that glittered under the soft glow of the room's lights. "You mentioned you liked this shape at the gala. I thought meeting my folks might be a little less nerve-wracking with something to boost your confidence."

Her eyes lit up like the diamond, a mix of surprise and gratitude. "Joe, it's beautiful," she said, taking the necklace and feeling the coolness of the metal against her fingertips. She turned, allowing him space to fasten it around her neck. The weight of the jewel rested comfortably on her collarbone, a symbol of his care and affection. "Thank you," she murmured, leaning in for a kiss.

"Just be yourself, babe," Joe whispered as they pulled away, his hand gently squeezing her waist. "They're going to love you."

"I wish I could reassure you my parents are going to love you," she sighed, wrapping her arms around him, "but I really don't know what to expect."

Joe held her tight in return. "I know," he whispered. "But they're going to see how much I care for you, and hopefully, that'll be enough."

"I love you," she whispered. "I don't say it enough, but I do. Whatever happens tonight, I want you to know that."

Joe kissed her forehead, his eyes full of love. "I know," he said. "And I love you too."

They chose a restaurant that was a blend of their worlds—upscale yet relaxed, a place where their parents could meet on neutral ground. As they waited for the others to arrive, Chelsea's palms grew damp with nerves, her heart hammering in her chest like a drum. She looked up at Joe, his hand resting reassuringly on her thigh beneath the table, and took a deep breath.

His parents, Robin and Jimmy arrived first, wide-eyed as if still out of place within their son's affluence. Robin was kind enough, blue eyes that matched Joe's sparkling with curiosity as she took in every detail of Chelsea's appearance. Jimmy, however, had a stern look that could cut through steel, his handshake firm and his greeting brusque. They sat down, the tension thick as a winter fog, and Chelsea found her mouth suddenly dry.

She tried to remember what Joe had told her about them. That they were salt of the earth, hardworking folks who had raised their son with strong morals. She could only hope they would see beyond the scandalous nature of their relationship to the genuine love that existed between them.

Her parents arrived just as Robin and Jimmy found their seats, her mother's designer handbag clutched tightly to her side, her father's face unreadable. Chelsea's heart skipped a beat as she watched Joe stand up, a smile plastered on his face, extending his hand to her father first.

"Sir," Joe said, his voice steady, "It's a pleasure to have you."

Her father took Joe's hand, his grip firm, his eyes assessing. "Joe," he replied curtly, nodding towards Chelsea.

Chelsea's mother, ever the socialite, offered her cheek for Joe to kiss, which he did with grace, his eyes warm but guarded. Chelsea watched her mother's expression, looking for any sign of disapproval, but all she saw was the tiniest hint of pride. Her father embraced her, his hug tight and sincere. "You okay?" he whispered in her ear. She nodded, her eyes filling with tears she hadn't realized were there.

The dinner was a delicate dance of small talk and probing questions, Joe's charm weaving in and out of the conversation like a maestro conducting an orchestra. Her parents were impressed, she could tell, but the undercurrent of tension remained. They talked about their careers, their shared love of charity, and their plans for the future, which seemed to ease the tension slightly.

"So, I guess we should talk about the elephant in the room?" Robin laughed awkwardly, reaching forward to take a sip of her white wine.

Chelsea's heart raced. This was it—the moment she had been dreading. She took a deep breath, looking at Joe who gave her a reassuring nod. "I know this is a tough situation," she began, her voice quivering slightly. "And I'm sure finding out about our divorces was shocking, but we have every intention of making this work."

Joe's parents exchanged a look that she couldn't quite read. Jimmy spoke up first, "How long were you with your ex-husband?" His tone was pointed, but Chelsea sensed a hint of curiosity behind the question.

"Thirteen years," she exhaled, meeting her mother's soft gaze across the table. "We met my sophomore year of college, got married after my first year in law school."

Robin leaned in, her eyes shrewd. "And what changed? What made you decide to leave him?"

Chelsea took a sip of her water, buying time to collect her thoughts. She could feel Joe gently squeeze her thigh, a silent promise of support. "Well, we weren't right for each other to put it nicely," she said finally. "I realized I wasn't living my life for me. I was living it for everyone else—for Terrence, for our families, for the image we had built. Even if Joe hadn't been in the picture, I don't think we would've been married much longer."

Her mother's eyes darted between them, noting the proximity between the two of them. "And Joe?" she asked softly. "What about your marriage to your ex?"

Joe took a moment before responding, his hand still on Chelsea's thigh, a silent declaration. "We had been together since high school, married for eleven years," he hesitated, casting a glance towards his parents who both sat quietly observing; heads cocked in interest. "I gave up a lot of myself to stay in our marriage. And I reached a point where I had to face the truth, that I wasn't truly happy. I'm not trying to justify my actions, but I couldn't keep pretending."

"And how did Chelsea fit into that?" Her father spoke up gruffly, his arms crossed over his chest.

Joe swallowed hard, his thumb stroking the smoothness of Chelsea's skin. "I think we found each other when we both needed a change. When we were at our lowest, we saw something in each other that we hadn't seen in anyone else before. And we fell in love." He looked into Chelsea's eyes, the honesty in his words resonating through the room. "I know that doesn't make what we did right, but it's the truth. And I'll never apologize for finding happiness, especially not when it's with Chelsea. I want to give her the world, and I know she feels the same about me."

Chelsea could feel her heart melt at Joe's earnest words. Under his gaze, the busy hum of the restaurant faded away. She reached up to touch his face, her hand lingering on the freshly shaved skin of his jaw. "Thank you," she whispered, finding his lips in a kiss filled with hope and promise.

As she pulled away she could recognize a glimmer of softness in her father's eyes, something she hadn't seen in a long time. Her mother, on the other hand, boldly smiled. "Well, Joe," she said, placing her napkin on her plate, "you've got a way with words. I can see why my Chelsea is so smitten."

Joe felt his cheeks warm, but he returned the smile with confidence. "Thank you. Sometimes the heart just knows what it needs." He reached for his wine glass, taking a sip to ease the nerves that were still simmering beneath the surface.

"Speaking of hearts," Jimmy leaned in, his voice even, "have you two talked about your future? Remarriage, maybe? Neither one of you have children, right?"

Joe's grip on his wine glass tightened. "Well, we're taking things one step at a time," he said, glancing at Chelsea, who nodded in agreement. "If getting married is in the cards, we'll make sure it's for the right reasons at the right time."

"The last thing either of us want to do is jump into another marriage without being sure," Chelsea said, her voice steady. She took Joe's hand in hers, giving it a reassuring squeeze. "But Joe's been incredible. You've raised an amazing man, and I'm lucky to share a piece of him."

Robin's gaze softened, and she leaned back in her chair. "Well, I can see you both love each other," she said with a small smile. "That's what matters in the end." Chelsea's father nodded quietly, his expression unreadable.

The rest of dinner passed in a blur of small talk and forced laughter, the undercurrent of tension never fully dissipating. Chelsea was pleasantly surprised when her mother suggested a toast to "new beginnings," raising her glass with a knowing look that seemed to envelop the entire table. They clinked glasses, a solemn reminder of the hurdles ahead. As the evening drew to a close, they found themselves waiting on the curb for valet to bring their cars around.

Out of the corner of Chelsea's eye, she could see Joe pull their fathers to the side, their heads bent in a hushed conversation. She hoped Joe could find the right words to win her father over, to show that he was serious about her and their future together. Meanwhile, her mother and Robin chatted amicably, a small victory in itself.

Her thoughts were interrupted by the valet pulling up in their parents' cars. She watched Joe and her father part ways with a firm handshake and a nod. Was that a good sign? She couldn't be sure, but she felt a glimmer of hope. They said their goodbyes, Joe's hand lingering on her waist, guiding her to the passenger seat of his sleek sedan.

As they pulled away from the restaurant, the silence grew heavier. The smaller the restaurant shrunk in the rearview mirror, the easier she could breathe. "How do you feel? Talk to me." She opened the conversation, needing to break the tension. Her hand reached for his, grasping it tightly.

Joe's grip was firm and reassuring. "I feel... pretty good about it," he said after a moment. "They're just trying to wrap their heads around it. Your dad's tough, but he loves you. We had a good conversation. Your mom seems to like me, though."

"Yeah, she called my bullshit when they came down to visit last year," Chelsea said with a small laugh, recalling her mother's intuition. "She's always been the one to read me like a book."

They drove in comfortable silence for a while, the city lights twinkling outside the car windows like distant stars. When they reached the penthouse, Chelsea could feel her nerves start to tingle, a soft smile gracing her lips as she thought about the future.

"My parents loved you," Joe murmured softly once they reached the bedroom, his arms finding their way around her waist. His lips found her exposed shoulder, left hand moving to shift the strap of her dress aside.

"You said they would," she hummed back, eyes glued to their reflection in the mirror. He didn't respond right away, focusing his attention on the soft skin of her neck as his kisses grew more urgent. She shivered slightly under his touch, the weight of the evening's events seeming to dissipate as he pressed himself against her.

"I meant what I said earlier." His voice was soft, barely above a whisper. One hand squeezed at her hip, the other trailing up the length of her torso to cup her clothed breast. "I want to give you the world..." his teeth nipped at the column of her neck, "make you the center of my universe..." she sighed under his touch, "get on my knees and thank whatever gods are listening that you chose me." She moaned, bracing herself against the bathroom counter as Joe's hips ground against hers.

"Joe," she breathed, her body responding to his every touch. The fabric of her dress fell away as his hands unzipped and slid it down her body, leaving her in just her black lace lingerie. He kissed her neck, his teeth grazing her sensitive skin, and she shivered with desire.

The bathroom light cast a warm glow, reflecting off the marble fixtures and gleaming surfaces. Joe's eyes darkened with lust as he took in the sight of her, his own passion mirrored in hers. He reached around to unclasp her bra, letting it fall to the floor with a dull thud. She turned to face him, her lips finding his in a desperate, hungry kiss as his hands roamed over her bare skin. Chelsea's fingers fumbled with the buttons of his shirt, her urgency building with every touch.

They stumbled into the bedroom, a tangle of limbs and fabric. The floorboards creaked beneath their weight as Joe laid her down, his mouth moving down her body, kissing and licking a trail of fire. Chelsea arched her back, her breath hitching in anticipation. He paused, looking up at her with a question in his eyes, and she nodded, needing him as much as he needed her.

Joe slid her panties off with a gentle tug, revealing her wetness. He took a moment to admire her, his eyes lingering on her most intimate parts before he leaned down, his tongue teasing her clit. She gasped, her hips bucking involuntarily. His mouth worked her slowly, savoring every taste and sound she made until she was panting with need. Chelsea's hands found his hair, her nails digging in as she tried to control the sensations overtaking her.

Her thighs settled over his broad shoulders as he buried his face between them, his breath tickling her skin. The room was filled with the sounds of her heavy breaths and the occasional groan from Joe as he pleasured her. Chelsea's eyes rolled back, and she whispered his name over and over again, her body shaking as she approached climax. The sensation grew until it was all she could focus on, the world around them fading away into a sea of pleasure.

When she finally came, it was like a wave crashing over her, leaving her breathless and trembling. Joe didn't stop, his mouth moving lower, his tongue sliding into her. She gripped the bedsheets tightly, her body writhing under his touch. Each stroke brought a new wave of sensation, and she felt herself losing control.

"God - Joe, fuck," Chelsea panted, her legs trembling around his neck. He chuckled against her, his hands gripping her hips to hold her steady. She felt a warmth spread through her body, her eyes fluttering as they rolled back in her head. Her chest heaved as she squirmed against him, unable to think or breathe or do anything but feel.

Joe pulled back, his fingers finding her folds and gently sliding into her. She gasped, her body tightening around him. "You're so wet," he murmured, his voice thick with lust. Chelsea couldn't find the words to respond, her brain too overwhelmed with sensation. He began to move, his strokes slow and deliberate, and she watched him, his eyes locked on hers, as if he were trying to read every thought, every feeling that passed through her.

"Gimme another one," Joe whispered, his voice husky with need. Chelsea's body responded instinctively, arching up to meet his touch. Her orgasm had barely subsided, but she was already on the edge again. He slid in a second finger, curving them to hit just the right spot, and she moaned, her eyes closing. The room was a blur of shadows and soft light, her gasps and whimpers echoing off the walls.

He watched her face, the way her cheeks flushed and her eyes rolled back. It was like watching a masterpiece come to life under his fingertips. He leaned in, his thumb brushing against her clit, and she let out a sigh, her hips stuttering under his touch. He felt the tightening of her muscles around his hand, the clench of her inner walls. It was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen, this woman, his woman, lost in pleasure because of him.

"So beautiful, baby. Just breathe," Joe murmured, his eyes never leaving hers. Chelsea took a deep breath, trying to focus as the sensations grew more intense. His thumb circled her clit, and she felt her body tighten even further. With a final, desperate moan, she came again, her back arching off the bed.

Joe watched her, his own arousal evident in his eyes. He kissed her stomach, her breasts, her neck, before finally claiming her mouth again. His hands roamed over her body, exploring every curve and angle, memorizing her. He slid into her, the sensation of their bodies joined making them both gasp.

She was sensitive, so Joe went slow, letting her body adjust to the new sensation of him inside her. They moved together, finding a rhythm that felt like home. The world outside melted away, and all that mattered was the heat between their bodies and the need to devour each other whole. They kissed, their breaths mingling, as their hips danced.

His tongue traced a line up the center of her throat, pressing kisses to her jaw and cheekbones. Chelsea felt a renewed surge of energy, her body responding to the tenderness in his touch. Their movements grew more urgent, the passion between them igniting like a wildfire. The room was filled with the sound of their muffled moans and the slap of their bodies coming together. The bed rocked beneath them, the headboard thumping against the wall in a steady rhythm.

"Love this, the way we fit," he murmured, his hips moving in a slow, steady rhythm that had her gripping the sheets. She wrapped her legs around his waist, drawing him closer, needing him to fill her completely. His eyes never left hers as he reached the peak of their shared passion, his breathing heavy and erratic.

With a final, deep thrust, Joe groaned her name, his eyes rolling back in ecstasy. Chelsea felt her own orgasm crest, her body spasming around him as she cried out. They held onto each other tightly, their hearts beating in unison, the room spinning around them. She couldn't distinguish up from down, her thoughts an unyielding swirl of pleasure and love.

Afterward, they lay entwined, their breathing slowly returning to normal. Chelsea's heart was still racing, her body feeling both exhausted and alive. Joe's chest was warm and solid beneath her cheek, his heart thumping a steady, comforting beat. She had never felt so connected to someone before, so herself, so perfect.

#&. cassie writes.#joe burrow #joe burrow fanfic #joe burrow x oc #joe burrow fan fic #joe burrow imagine #joe burrow smut #joe burrow fic #joe burrow x black!oc #joe burrow x black oc

287 notes · View notes