#you smell nice marry me
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Baby, It's Cold Outside
Yu Jimin (Karina) x Male Reader
Tags: ball sucking, big tits worship, body bang, creampie, dirty talk, footjob, lube, married man, riding and grinding, snow, titfucking
Word count: 4820
It was a very cold day as the winter got harsher. You definitely didn't want to go outside today. However, you started hearing some unusual noises in your backyard, finding a pretty girl playing in the snow.
"What are you doing outside in this cold weather? You're going to freeze," you said to the girl. "Sorry, my manager's car broke down, and I can't go back to my dorm, so I decided to kill some time playing in the snow," Karina answered. "Come inside; you must be freezing," you said to her. "Thank you," Karina replied.
"I'm going to prepare some hot drinks for you," you said to Karina. "You're so kind," she said, taking some of her heavy gear out as she went inside. You went to the kitchen to make a hot chocolate for Karina, wondering how such a pretty girl ended up right by your house.
Karina drank the hot chocolate you offered her. "Thank you once again," she said. "How can I pay you?" she asked. "There is no need to; I decided to protect you from the cold; it's all on me," you answered her. "Okay, fine, but what if I want to pay you anyway?" Karina asked. "What do you mean?" you asked her.
"I mean this," Karina started taking off her clothing until she was just wearing her bra and then flashed you her big and saggy tits. "I think you're going to like them; everybody seems to," she said, very confident of her assets.
"What the fuck are you doing?" you asked her, very confused by the scene but deep in your head agreeing with her; she indeed got such perfect tits. "Come on, do you wanna taste them?" Karina asked, getting up from the table and putting them right beside your mouth. You hesitated at first, but those milky melons are like magnets; you can't resist them for long.
You rested your face in Karina's left boob, much to her enjoyment. But it didn't take long for you to start sucking them like a newborn baby getting fed by his mother. Karina looked down and enjoyed the way you worshipped them, pushing her right boob as well. You closed your eyes and felt them hit you softly. "Nice and slow," she said as you felt the texture and smell of it while putting your face right between her big tits.
You softly kissed Karina's nipples. "Calm down, you're moving too fast," she said, prompting you to open your eyes. She then slowly drove them to your mouth, grabbing both her boobs and rubbing them in your face. You sniffed them, amazed by how good she smelled. You started kissing them right by their areola. "There you go," Karina said, approving it and bringing her tits together so you could play with both. Your kisses got louder and louder, and soon you were tonguing her nipples too.
"Slow down," Karina said as you tried to grope her boobs. "Just let me guide you," she continued, moving her boobs up and down your face before burying it right in the middle of her melons and using them to suffocate you, hitting the side of your face with them. "You're doing well," she said, kissing you as she tried to take it slow again, but this time, you jumped over her and grabbed her massive milkers, sucking them and slapping her nipples with your tongue, making her moan for the first time. you moved from tit to tit, leading to more moans and laughs as you slapped them together and then sucked them using no hands, making her saggy boobs stretch and then popping them out of your mouth, making sounds resembling a ballon.
"Yes," Karina approved of your moves as you kept worshipping her big tits; you slapped them against your face and then motorboated her boobs. Karina decided to pump the brakes a bit and pushed away from you, but you just kept going, stretching her arms and hitting her boobs, making her smile while doing so. She started taking her bottom clothes off one by one until she showed you her sexy ass, which you spanked as soon as it got in your sight and then slowly took her panties down while you slapped her tits.
You stared at Karina's naked body from top to bottom, amazed by how hot it was. She truly felt like a specimen from another planet, a superhuman. Pretty face, big tits, a perfect slim waist, and honey thighs, she got everything.
Karina guided you to the living room, sitting on your couch and spreading her legs for you, showing off her pink pussy in full display, massaging it and teasing you. "Hmmm, I can't wait for you to smash it. I knew the moment I saw you in the snow that you got a big cock, you were already hard for me in that freezing cold weather," she said. "I won't be going home until you put every inch of that thick cock in me, and fill me up" she continued.
Damn, you wondered how she noticed that. But Karina quickly got up and closed her legs. "Now, you're gonna tell me where your bedroom is, and I'm gonna fuck the shit out of you," she said.
You loved Karina's boldness, quickly driving her to your bedroom. As soon as you two got there, she shoved you in your bed and quickly stripped you of any clothing. You were wearing a lot of them, but Karina was so fast they were all gone in less than 30 seconds. She crawled on top of the bed and kissed you while already grabbing your massive, throbbing erection. You two stayed sharing kisses for a bit, but you quickly tried to move down her body, licking her tits and grabbing her ass, to which she countered by grabbing your shaft even harder.
"I can feel it getting harder and harder for me," Karina talked dirty to you. "Your balls are so nice to touch; I hope they are full of cum; my pussy needs it," she continued as she massaged them and touched the tip of your cock with her nipples. As she did it, you dove into them and gave them a little bit. "Fucking bite that nipple," she said as you worshipped her tits again and spanked her ass. "Hmmm baby, yes, put your hands all over me," Karina said with a big smile on her face.
Karina quickly regained control, climbing on top of you and rubbing your shaft against her big tits, You spanked her ass as she kissed you, but it was difficult to contain her appetite. "Oh my God, you're so fucking hard," she said, spitting on your cock and touching the tip of it in her tits. "Fuckkkk, is it all for me?" she asked, looking at your massive cock. "Yes, all yours," you confirmed.
"Oh my gosh," Karina said as she stroked your cock, very impressed with its size; she played with your cock. "I just love feeling every inch in my hands, squeezing and stroking it," she said as she played with your foreskin. "I just want to put it in my mouth so bad," she continued, spitting on your cock again.
"Hmmm, I love feeling it on my chest," Karina said as she moved your shaft between her tits, quickly unveiling her best weapon as she started titfucking it. "I just love the way it slides up and down my big tits, nice and slow," she says. "You like the way it fucks those pretty tits too?" you asked her. "Of course," she answered.
"Oh my God, the way my tits press, it is so good," Karina says as she kisses you and then starts moving very fast. "I just love that feeling; let me rub it right on my nipple," she says as she keeps teasing your shaft with her big tits. You pour some lube on them to help her slide them better, which she approves. "Oh perfect, cover them in that," she says.
"Sensitive right there?" Karina asks as she finds different ways to move your cock between her tits each time. "Fuck, I just love playing with them," she says. "Oh shit, keep moving like that," you say as your foreskin keeps popping in and out as Karina bounces her tits and kisses you. "So good, right? Those big, fat tits wrapped around that cock," she asks, moving her tits faster and paying special attention to the tip.
"Let me rub it on my nipple," Karina says. Then she lets you grab her tits as she keeps moving them. "That cock feels so good between my tits, but I have other ways to tease it," she says, licking the tip of your cock and coughing on it. "My mouth wants to taste that cock so bad, oh yeah," she says, deepthroating your cock. "Oh, it feels so good when it touches the back of my throat. I love worshipping that cock," she says, taking it deeper in her mouth and spitting all over it.
"My mouth is watering for that cock; I can't wait for you to use it to fuck the shit out of me," Karina says. You push her head further down your shaft as she gags on it before moving to worshipping your balls. "Keep going, keep that dick wet," you say. "Yes, I will, baby," she replies. "Come here and fuck my face," she continues.
You grab Karina's pretty face and start thrusting hard against it, making her cough all over your dick. After that, she goes back to jerking your cock off and rubs her feet on your body before moving them around your cock and starting a footjob alongside a handjob. "Hmmm, my spit made that cock so slippery," she says with a big smile on her face.
Karina uses her feet to worship your cock. "That's so fucking hot; I can feel your cock enjoying it," she says, increasing the speed of her footjob and touching her toes to your balls before you grab them and keep them moving. "Perfect, keep stroking yourself with my feet," she says.
"Oh, this cock is gonna stretch me out so well," Karina says as she prepares to finally climb on top of it. "Nice and slow, yeah, ahhhh," she says as she puts it deep in her pussy from the start. "I wanna feel that whole cock in me," she says as you spread her ass, and she moves really slowly on that dick, getting herself acclimated with every inch of it. "Nice and deep in that pussy, I want every inch," Karina says.
Slowly, Karina picks up the pace, her big tits starting to bounce in front of you. "Oh God, your cock feels amazing," she says. "I love those hands in my ass," she continues as you grab them for extra grip. "You like it when I bounce on that cock?" she asks as she finally moves fast. "Yes," you answer.
"Fuck, it's so big in my pussy," Karina says as she starts shaking her ass faster, before coming to a sudden stop after a few squats. "I love grinding on that big cock," she says. "My pussy is feeling so stretched out," she continues.
Karina squats on your cock as you just watch her big tits bounce faster and faster and her moan harder and harder. "Oh yes, please," she says. You push your dick up her cunt. "Just like that, stretch my little pussy," she begs. "Perfect, I love how your balls hit my asshole," she says.
Truly, very few girls can spice things up in bed the way Karina does. You love the way she just bounces on your cock with hard squats and creams all over your cock. "That big cock makes me cum so hard; let me grind on it a bit," Karina says as she pauses her bouncing for a perfectly timed slowdown that allows her to feel every inch for longer. "My pussy is so fucking wet with this cock all the way deep inside me," she says.
"You like how I bounce on that big cock?" Karina asks. She can tell you do by the way you spank her ass as soon as she asks it. Her pussy starts queefing as she feels over the moon with your cock shaping her walls all the way deep into her cervix. She lets you pump it up a bit. "Harder, harder, right there, don't stop, don't stop," she says as your balls hit her ass cheeks.
"I need to taste it," Karina says as she climbs out of your cock to suck it. "Oh my God, that cock is so fucking hard," she continues as you feel exhausted already just by her little ride, and she keeps going with all the energy in the world, licking the tip of it like crazy and bobbing her head on it. "Oh shit," you say, trying to match her sucking with a couple of lazy thrusts that soon get fast enough to make her gag. But Karina is relentless and stays choking on your cock even with your hard pushes.
"Hey, baby, do you want to worship that pussy you just fucked?" Karina asks. "Come here," she says, lying on the bed and spreading her legs. You promptly attend to her request, diving hard inside her queefing cunt while massaging her big tits. "Such a good view of that pink pussy and amazing body, ahhhhh," Karina says as she moans. "Just fucking suck that clit, rub your face on me," she says, grabbing it as she grinds her cunt on it and squirts a bit. You quickly go crazy, moving faster and faster over her folds to match her grinding. "OH MY GOD, FUCK, OH YEAH, suck that pussy," Karina screams and moans as you only increase your speed.
"Oh my God, I'm gonna cum in your face," Karina announces as her legs shake and she squirts a fountain on your face. "Oh baby, you make me cum so hard," Karina says. "You know what? you should get a reward for that. I need that dick so fucking bad in me, put it back in my pussy as your reward," she commands.
You fuck Karina in missionary position, her spreading more lube to make it easier for you to hit deep in her pussy. "OH MY GOD, IT'S SO DEEP," she screams as your cock bulges under her belly and you muffle her moans with your thumb while she massages that clit. "Stretch my fucking cunt like that," she says just as you grope her tits. Karina spreads her pussy lips open, her legs trembling again over her head.
"MAKE ME CUM, MAKE ME CUM, MAKE ME CUM AGAIN, KEEP GOING, AHHHHH," Karina says as she creams all over your cock. Your body gets. "Just spread my fucking pussy open like that, oh yeah," Karina moans like crazy as you massage her pussy and tits at the same time. You increase your speed, pinning Karina's left leg against her left tit while letting her right boob freely bounce. "FUCK. FUCK. FUCK, GIVE ME MORE; THAT'S SO MUCH COCK FOR ME. FUCK, FUCK, FUCK," she moans like a good slut, smiling as she gets pounded harder and harder at each minute. "OH YEAH, RIGHT THERE, RIGHT THERE, FUCK YEAH, FUCK YEAH, AHHHHHH, MAKE ME CUM RIGHT NOW, AHHHHHH," Karina keeps moaning as your thursts keep speeding up, her big tits completely pinned to her long and thicc legs, her cunt completely spread out as you bang her body the way it should be fuck. "Bottom out inside of me," Karina moans as you hit her cervix and orgasms again.
Karina lies on her side as she lets you slide into her pussy in a spooning position, you teasing her entrance before going in. "Ohhh, work that cock in there," she begs as you stretch her pussy out slowly and suck her tits up top, pouring some lube in her still-tight hole even after all that pounding. "Spread the shit out of me, please," she demands as the lube keeps pouring on your slippery cock.
"Perfect, I can feel every inch; that's so good," she says as you take a slower, more passionate approach to digging deeper in her pussy while also paying lots of attention to kissing her neck and sucking and groping her boobs. "Nice and deep," Karina commands as she gets herself over the moon. "I love the way you suck my tits while going super deep," she says.
"Holy shit, I'm so fucking wet; I want you to fuck me harder. please, don't fucking stop," Karina commands as you increase the pace and grope her boobs harder. "Keep going, fuck me harder, AHHHHHH," Karina begs and gets it as you hit her cunt at full speed. "SPREAD MY PUSSY OPEN HOLY FUCK," she screams as you pound her and make her boobs bounce like pinballs. "FASTER, FASTER," she keeps asking and you oblige, just destroying that sexy pink pussy at will while she moans and screams. "AHHHH, AHHHHH, AHHHHH, AHHHHH, PLEASE DON'T STOP" she keeps screaming.
"I love the way you fuck my brains out," Karina says, putting her legs up and massaging your shoulders while you keep pounding her. "Turn around; I want to see that sexy ass and make those big tits bounce," you tell her. "Oh yeah," she says, immediately following as she gets herself on all fours, you massage her ass before grabbing her waist and pounding her pussy again. Karina turns around. "Let me see that big fucking dick going inside me," she says, spreading her pussy once again.
"Look how I spread my little fucking hole for you, baby," Karina says. You react and spank her ass, only making her happier. "Keep going, baby, hit that sexy ass," she says, flaunting it while her massive udders freely bounce now. She covers her ass with your lube, making it very slippery. "Rub that shit in my ass, make me shine even more than I already do," she orders. You increase the speed, making Karina moan sexily. "Take that whole fucking dick in my—oh my god, make my ass bounce, yes," she says as you grab her even harder than before. "Keep going, make those big fat tits bounce, AHHHHH," she orders, getting interrupted by another hit in her ass that makes her scream. This slut is truly untamed as she starts bouncing her ass on all fours on your cock. "I just love being fucked like that," she says.
Karina reaches to massage her clit as your cock keeps pounding her pink pussy from behind, her tits getting bouncier than ever. "Oh yeah, just fucking drill my pussy, hit me like that, oh yeah, make me cum, please, fucking destroy me, put that whole dick in me, fuck me like a slut, FUCK, FUCK, FUCK." She keeps talking even as you tie her arms behind her back in a futile attempt to tame this big tit bitch. You try to show your strength by fucking Karina as hard as you can, but that only makes the smile in her face bigger and bigger, she's truly a superhuman creature, more explosive than a supernova, capable of causing whiplash even to the strongest guy. She burns it up, spices it up and leaves nothing behind, a next level force of nature.
"Fuck, just destroy me, work that cock in there, don't be shy, baby, hit me hard and deep, spread me wide open, ohhhh, I love that cock," Karina says in the middle of a lot of smiling. You spank her ass, but it's just futile. "You keep spanking me because that sexy ass can't stop bouncing hard on your cock, poor baby," she answers. She may be the one taking the pounding, but she's the one toying with you. "Look at those fucking balls; I can feel all that cum building up, ready to explode in my perfect pussy," she says.
"You like how that big cock slides in and out of me?" Karina asks. "You like how it stretches my little pussy? Oh fuck," she continues. "Keep going, stretch me out, please, take it deep, put every inch in there, just like that, keep spreading my ass, don't take your hands off me," she keeps saying with a huge smile on her face.
"Damn it, you're such a fucking slut. I should have never let you inside my house, you big tit bitch," you say to her as Karins starts shaking her ass up and down your cock while it stays deep in her pussy. "Oh baby, come on, it was very cold out there, but as soon as I got inside I lit up the entire house, you knew from the beginning, you always wanted me, I saw the way you looked at my big tits when I was laying in the snow, guys stare at them like you did every time I enter any room," she answers, smiling once again to you.
"Oh my God, I love being stuffed by that fucking dick," Karina says as you two have been fucking in the same position for a while now. Maybe it's time to switch it up. You slow down, enjoying a last few thrusts in her cunt from behind while you spread her ass and she fingers her clit. "Fuck, my clit is so sensitive; you hit it so hard. I wanna cum again so fucking bad, make me do it, please, FUCKKKKKK", Karina says. "KEEP IN THERE, DON'T PULL IT OUT UNTIL I CUM,," Karina says, covering your cock full of her juices and laughing like a mad girl while her already very red asscheeks shake.
"Put that cock back in my mouth," Karina orders as she spits all over your dick and tastes her juices. You look at her amazing body while she slurps your shaft in her mouth. "Your cock tastes so good, hmmm," she says. "Soon you're gonna put this back inside me, make me cum again and again because I want it," she says, licking your balls and allowing you to have a perfect view of her ass. No matter how much you see of her body, it always amazes you how perfect it is from head to toe. If you were one of those mythological authors, you would definitely say Karina is the goddess of fertility with those big, saggy tits and hot body.
"Let me put that pussy in your face," Karina says as she facesits you and gives you a 69 while grinding her cunt on your mouth and covering your cock full of spit as she chokes on it without using her hands, and your tongue massages her throbbing pussy. "Ohhh yeah, let me shake my fucking pussy on you," she says as she moves her body sideways, now in a standing-up position that makes her saggy boobs drop down quite a lot while she reaches to stroke your cock.
"Tell me you want to put your cock back in me," Karina says. "I do," you promptly answer as she sits back on top of you, allowing you to suck her tits like a baby while she grinds her asscheeks on your shaft. "Hmmm, look at the way your cock likes being wrapped around my ass, just like it does to my big tits," she says. "You know, I was gonna let you fuck my ass too, but you were a bad boy, called me a slut, which I know I am, but you can't say it," she says while pouring more lube on your cock for an easier rubdown. "Because of that you're going to be facing more punishment, I'll sit that pussy on that big dick and bounce on it until your balls explode," she continues as she jerks your cock off and then inserts it back in her pussy.
"HOLY FUCK, it stretches me out so good; it feels so good in me," Karina says as she puts every single inch of that dick inside her pussy, the hood of her clit landing right where your balls are positioned. "Work that cock in there, please," she commands as you start pushing your shaft up her pussy. "I want every inch; go nice and deep," Karina says as she spreads. "Oh God, I feel so full," Karina says as you pump it up and down her pussy. "Go deep, go deep, please, ahhhhh, yesss, hmmm," she moans as your balls now hit her clit nonstop and you grope her tits, making her smile a lot.
"OH MY GOD, THAT COCK IS SO BIG," Karina screams. "HARDER, HARDER, AHHHHH, JUST GO FUCKING CRAZY IN THAT PUSSY!" she keeps pushing, trying to bounce a bit herself as it gets deeper and deeper in her cunt. "I love how it hits all the way in the back of my pussy, yes, yes, AHHHHH, PLEASSE, FUCKKK, GO DEEPER AND DEEPER IN ME, FUCK YEAH, USE THAT FUCKING SLUTTY PUSSY" she keeps moaning and rubbing her clit as you keep pounding. "I love watching my titties bounce while you fuck me," she continues as she pinches her clit while your cock piunds her and you grope her saggy bouncy tits.
"Spank my ass and let me take that fucking dick," Karina says as you clap her cheeks with your hips hitting it nonstop. "Oh, it's so fucking slippery," Karina says as your big cock keeps sliding in and out of her pussy with ease. "Give me all that fucking dick, oh God," Karina moans as you pound her harder and harder and suck her big bouncy tits, before slowing down and letting her bounce on your cock by herself as she does her squats on your cock. "Ohhh, look at my pussy just gripping the whole fucking thing," she says.
Karina clings on to your body, pressing her big chest against yours while her pussy is queefing. "Oh, I love to ride that big fucking dick, deeper and deeper each time in my pussy," she says. Her squatting only gets faster the more you spank her butt, her pussy completely obliterating your cock at each bounce. Now she's the one spanking her own ass, getting crazier and crazier and smiling each time your cock reaches the furthest depths of her pussy. "I love the way you stretch my little fucking hole; you stretch me so nice, I want to keep this dick in me all day, make my pussy sore as it pounds me like a good slut," she says.
You pull out your cock a bit and slap your tip on Karina's clit, but she's so needy at this point she can't stay a single second. Karina now bounces like a mad girl. "YES, YES, YES, GIVE ME THAT FUCKING DICK RIGHT NOW, OH YEAH, FUCK ME REALLY HARD," she screams. She's ready to make you cum at any second as her bounces get faster and faster. "I want to get this dick so fucking hard it can't stop cumming all over my pussy," she bluntly shows her intentions.
"I want you to cum in me; I want you to put your load in me, please," Karina commands. "Oh, that big cock just stretches my pussy perfectly, oh god," she says. "I want to feel that hot cum in me, my pussy is gonna make that big cock cum soon," she continues as she grinds on your cock and you suck her big tits. "You want me to grind on that cock until you cum?" Karina asks. "Yes," you answer. "Then put every last drop in me," she says.
As soon as she says these words, you promptly unload in her pussy, spreading her pussy as your cum leaks out of her pink hole. "Let me taste some of this yummy cum," Karina says as it falls on your body and she licks it, while also licking your shaft. "Hmmm, still sensitive?" she asks as your balls are completely drained and you collapse on the bed, but Karina keeps going, slurping all that cum that fell into your abs. "Hmmm, it tastes so good," she says, giving a little kiss and lick to the tip of your cock as a way to thank you. "I can never get enough of this cock," she says.
Karina leaves the room as you remain on the bed completely naked. The next thing you see when waking up is your wife. Karina had put all her clothes back, except one, which she left on the kitchen table and gave the evidence your wife needed.
"Whose bra is this?" your wife asks.
"It's yours; I bought it for Christmas," you lie to her.
"Cut the crap; my tits are not that big," she answers.
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Curly Mouthwashing headcannons
Romantic
Pre-crash Curly:
He is just so sweet
Curly is a very nice guy, but with you it's just deadly how nice he is
He's not one for PDA. Captain and all, gotta keep a professional look, y'know?
But whenever you two are alone, I like to think he likes to have his arms loosely wrapped around your hips and his head resting on your stomach
His favorite places to rest his head are on your stomach and chest
Yes ladies, gentlemen, and lades, he doesn't mind those weird noises everyone's stomach makes. And he doesn't mind hearing your heartbeat hammer out of your chest
But I imagine that Curly has a big thing for smells
The captain woke up with a groan, sighing and taking his first conscious breath of the day. His senses are flooded with the smell of you all around him, making his brain numb as he smiled and leaned further into you to drown in the smell.
Smell like vanilla and this can will literally die
He seems like he loves smells like vanilla and lemon
But he loves the way you practically swallow him while with your eyes
The way you look at him with such love and adoration, and not just because he's the captain
It makes him swoon every time
Fantasizes about marrying you and starting a family, but wouldn't push for it first. He wants to wait for you to be ready
You're his sweetheart and he loves you so much
Post-crash curly:
He wishes you didn't have to see him like this.
He feels like the shell of who he once was
Not the strong captain you loved, but rather a failure who can't do anything to help anyone. Not even himself.
Whenever you come and spend time with him, his eye looks to you in yearning
He yearns to hold you like he once did. Yearns to talk to you like he once did
He wants nothing more than to call you beautiful and compliment the same outfit you wear every day
He wants to lay against your stomach or your chest
The only sense of familiarity in your dynamic is your scent flooding his senses and your eyes.
How can you still look at him that way??
How could you see a man and not a monster?
He was partially to blame for this, after all. He failed everyone and was paying the consequences.
But you looked at him with such love..
It killed him when he saw you at that table.
Platonic
Pre-crash Curly:
Kind smiles and fist bumps all day long
He offers help whenever he can, wanting to make sure you were comfortable. You were friends after all and his responsibility
You got a problem? Hes there to listen
He just.. can't do anything about it
He doesn't have much of a backbone, and you learn that quick.
You two grew close. Maybe even closer than him and Jimmy were
But after what happened with Anya..
You couldn't even look at him anymore due to his negligence
Looking at him made you sick. He was a good friend but a horrible captain
"look, I just- I don't know what you expect me to do about this." He says with a tired sigh, exhausted from the work of a captain and the never ending piling issues. He watched as your eyes narrowed in his direction as if he was as awful as Jimmy, but before he could speak, you walked off with a scoff.
Post-crash curly:
He feels humiliated, same as with romantic
But your eyes don't feel welcoming.
He feels nothing but pity but a sense of the feeling that he deserved this in your eyes
Every time you see him, you're quiet
He wishes he could talk to break the ice
He always was the ice breaker.. but not anymore. Not unless you counted the noises of choking and gargling on your own blood and vomit.
But he always felt a sense of emptiness when you finally left
He failed you. And he failed everybody else.
He just hoped you would forgive him
And that this wouldn't hurt
Thanks for reading!!
#i recently got into mouthwashing if it wasnt obvious#i have an oc for it and everything#hehe#mouthwashing curly#mouthwashing curly x reader#mouthwashing x reader#mouthwashing#captain curly x reader#captain curly#captain curly mouthwashing#mouthwashing captain curly#curly x reader#curly mouthwashing#curly headcannons#mouthwashing headcanon#mouthwashing horror game
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AU where Yuu is a neighboring dragon princess who Malleus is absolutely charmed by.
🦇: "WHAT? What do you mean you asked her to marry you?!"
🐉: "Well, I could not help but be swept off my feet at the sight of her. What with her sitting in the garden I've taken great care to tend to, reading a book with such a beautiful smile on her face... Before I could help myself, I told her..."
🦇: "Told her what?"
🐉: "That I would be willing to resolve our kind's population crisis with her if only she would agree to have me as her husband."
🦇: "Malleus you've met her twice. What is wrong with you? I bet she slapped you in the face."
🐉: "She did no such thing! In fact she stood in front of me-- quite so elegantly, mind you,"
🦇: "And?"
🐉: "And before I knew it, her face was so close to mine,"
🦇: "That worked?! And then?"
🐉: "Lilia, she smelled like berries and lilies. Her eyes were like a crystalline bloom of--"
🦇: "My goodness, boy, I don't need the details! Get on with it!"
🐉: "I could feel her breath on my skin,"
🦇: "And?! By the seven, what happened next?!"
🐉: "And then she started sniffing me."
🦇: "... Sniffing?"
🐉: "And asked whether I'd been drinking."
🦇: "..."
🐉: "..."
🦇: "HAHAHAHAHHA"
🐉: "Lilia! This is no laughing matter! I do not understand why she did not just answer with a yes or a no! What am I supposed to tell grandmother if she asks me how our courtship is going?"
🦇: "The next time you meet the princess-- ow, my stomach hurts-- just ask her what her favorite book is. Don't you dare tell her again that you want to breed with her!"
🐉: "But how will I know when to announce to the kingdom that we will be marrying, if all we do is talk about our favorite books?"
🦇: "When she tells you she'd be willing to resolve your kind's population crisis with you, of course!"
🐉: "What if she doesn't ever say that in the next ten years or so? That is not exactly a phrase as common as 'the weather is nice today'."
🦇: "This boy, I swear..."
🦇: "When she starts letting you in her room and on her bed, then you'll know she wants you, too."
🐉: "I see..."
🐉: "Then I must ask permission to enter her room posthaste."
🦇: "Yes... Wait. No. Boy, BOY, GET BACK HERE!"
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Honor Among Thieves
Pairing: Mob!Bucky x Reader
Summary: Marrying Brooklyn’s most dangerous man was easy. Divorcing him proves to be a bit harder—particularly when you’re pregnant with his child.
Warnings: 18+. Unprotected p-in-v. Oral (f!receiving). Breeding kink. Hurt/Comfort/We-Almost-Just-Died-Sex. Morning sickness. Manslaughter. Brief coerced kissing. Beefy, mob boss Bucky is a possessive expectant father who just wants to make sure he knocked you up properly
Descriptions of violence throughout
Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4
“You know exactly what you’re doing.”
Bucky’s words reverberated like a shotgun’s report, skimming across two dozen feet of marble, glass, and stainless steel before reaching your ears on the opposite end of the room. He was standing at the threshold of the kitchen, and your back was turned to him. Lucky thing, too, or else he would’ve seen the smile threatening to tug at both ends of your lips—effectively blowing your cover.
“Really, I don’t have the slightest idea, Barnes,” you told him, and it took everything in you not to laugh. Having just narrowly preserved your composure, you continued, “You keep me locked in this prison all day and expect me not to find ways to entertain myself? Well, this is all it is.”
Like hell it was, you could already hear in Bucky’s head. Feeling him eye you up and down from the archway, take his first steps into the room, loosen his tie, most likely.
“Prison?” You registered a low scoff, and his voice was already so much closer than it’d been five seconds ago.
Your husband was striding as quickly as his smooth, dark, tailored suit would allow, and he was undressing as he walked. You could hear the clothes coming off but pretended not to notice. Instead staring more intently at the crab bisque simmering on the stove before you, you licked the spoon you were holding and hummed a little.
“Yes,” you answered, simply, “Prison.”
Bucky was by your side in no time at all. Up close, he smelled like rosemary, oakmoss, and gunpowder.
“Well, this is news to me,” he said. He dragged out the middle syllables of his words longer than was necessary, likely to make his move sidling up closer to you. The last sound had scarcely died in his throat more than a second or two before you felt an arm loop around your back. A hand coming to rest on your hip, then his voice, again:
“See, I never knew they built ‘prisons’ up in first-class penthouse apartments in Brooklyn. Must be pretty nice.”
Bucky stepped behind you, and you were half-certain the black suit jacket he’d come home wearing was fully removed. Again, you pretended not to see, or care.
“It’s a metaphor, James.” But your voice wavered.
“A metaphor?” Bucky’s head sank into the soft groove between your neck and your shoulder, and he kissed it.
“Yes.”
Your mouth made a sound more akin to a breath than a real, enunciated word, and you knew Bucky felt it too. He sensed this headstrong, no-bullshit façade of yours was sure to come crumbling apart any second, and each new brush of his hands and lips would be making it happen. Knowing this, he wasn’t in a rush to get the rest of his clothes off. He did, however, start to toy with yours.
“Tell me more. Am I really holding you hostage, doll?”
You took a ladle and started to stir, trying to stay cool. Meanwhile, your husband tugged gently on your dress.
“Hostage, housewife, same thing,” you muttered, low.
For once, it was Bucky’s turn to break character, as he laughed. It was short-lived and sweet, and he pressed another kiss to the skin of your neck, as if in apology.
“Right, right. I forgot. You were forced to marry me.”
“Right,” you shook your head, just slightly emboldened by the way you’d made him crack, if only for a moment, “I’m forced to marry you, move into this horrific little shanty in Brooklyn”—gesturing to the multi-million dollar apartment surrounding you both—“and then you leave me here, all by myself, with nothing to do while you go play Godfather with your mobster friends. It’s not fair.”
By the tail end of that last sentence, you and Bucky both were already grinning a little, coming to terms with just how ridiculous it sounded when you phrased it like that. Still, your husband seemed game to keep the bit going.
“Now that’s just not true,” he said, tone all faux offense.
You felt the soft snap of a ribbon coming undone, and in a second realized it was the satin bow holding the back of your dress together. The fabric loosened, and Bucky’s hands slid down your sides, over your front—of course.
“I didn’t leave you ‘by yourself’ at all, doll,” he said, and suddenly, his palms were fanning out, over something, “Gave you this baby to keep you company, didn’t I?”
The ‘something’ he was touching now was your belly. All soft and smooth and protruding out in a perfect little globe beneath your dress, no bigger than when he’d left for work that morning. Bucky treated the bump like it was a novelty all the same—like he was seeing it for the first time and couldn’t believe he was actually the one responsible for making it get like that. It had gotten to be a hobby of his, nearly, just how much he loved watching it grow. He had his fingers splayed out across your tummy virtually every chance he could get, and that didn’t stop whether you were out in public or sharing a moment in the comfort of home; he couldn’t get enough.
Which was why Bucky was right when he’d said you knew exactly what you were doing when he came home that day. You knew just the kind of effect that wearing a tight, white dress while cooking dinner would have on him, and you hoped it would rile him up just like this: with his hands roaming over every inch of your body, making soft, sweet circles along the swell of your belly, and kissing your neck again and again. Biting some, too. Getting so worked up he was all but gnawing at the skin as he drank in your scent and got lost to pure instinct.
If it wasn’t clear that Bucky had had a breeding kink before, you saw it written plain as day across his face every morning and night since he’d first learned you were pregnant. Like all the life force within him was just a byproduct of the knowledge that you were his—and this baby, growing bigger each day, was a mix of you both.
You hated to say it, but fatherhood suited your assassin-trained, mob-heading, bloodlusting husband better than anyone could have predicted in a million years or more.
Presently, Bucky flipped you around and sank to his knees. He slid you over to the counterspace area, away from the stove, and made sure to flip each knob to ‘off’ to make sure there wasn’t a chance you’d get burned. You cast one last look at the crab bisque and knew at once your hard work would have to be put on the back burner for now, because Bucky wasn’t hungry for that.
Still, you kicked a foot in soft, muted protest when you felt him slide his hands up your legs, under your dress, and start to reach for your panties. You let out a breath.
“I spent two hours perfecting the seasoning on that, Barnes,” you chided him, gently and without much admonition in your voice as you pointed to the soup, “You say you want a good little housewife but won’t even leave me un-fucked long enough to try any food I make!”
“And I’m very sorry about that, Mrs. Barnes,” Bucky replied, head disappearing beneath your skirt so he could take your underwear off with his teeth instead.
But, much like your reproach, your husband’s strained apology held less than half of its professed sincerity. Your blue cotton panties were discarded in a second, your hips pushed back against the cool white marble behind it, and Bucky, almost too cheekily, brought his head back up from underneath your dress just to steal a quick look at your belly, then up at you. He was smiling.
“Anything you make tastes amazing, honey. Daddy just needs to eat a little something beforehand, that okay?”
He already knew what you’d say. The sweet, shit-eating grin hovering over your lower half knew all that and more. Bucky just loved to tease, taking the hem of your dress between his index and thumb, and rubbing all the more tenderly, murmuring again, ‘That alright with you, pretty girl?’ and ‘My wife likes getting tonguefucked in the kitchen, doesn’t she?’ while his breaths spread over you.
You nodded that you did. Momentarily forgetting the three-course meal you’d had planned for him since early that morning, you let your knees fall limply apart from one another, and Bucky’s broad form filled the space in between. The fabric of your dress was snug, especially so over your belly. Your husband pushed the material up your hips and let it rest just high enough to expose your warmth to him. Angling your hips back the slightest bit, trailing his fingers up your thighs and inside them, gently, Bucky let out a low groan against your body, and you could feel the vibrations of it travel up your spine.
“I really am mean for keeping you here all day, aren’t I?” he teased, sliding the tips of his fingers between your glistening folds and watching you jolt in response.
“So— so mean. Bucky, please.”
Your voice was far more hoarse than circumstances would seem to beget; your husband had just eaten you out that morning. Nevertheless, your hand was trembling as it reached for his head. Your pull was taut and dire. While your fingers threaded in through his hair and your body opened itself more and more for him, you could feel that kind smile, even if you couldn’t see it. Frankly, the swelling of eight-and-a-half months made it difficult to see much of anything below the waist, but Bucky made sure to let you know he was there. By holding your hand, skimming his lips against your skin, starting, just then, to sink his fingers in toward the heat of your body, and softly pulling his face away so he could look up at you.
“Baby?” he breathed.
Your eyes locked with his as he slid two fingers inside you. The stretch alone was enough to put your brain on the fritz, but, fighting the first shockwaves of pleasure:
“Y-Yeah?”
He withdrew. Pressed them back in and let out a grunt.
“I need you to do something for me.”
You couldn’t fathom what that might be, but you nodded anyway. ‘Anything’ was what you managed to choke out.
“And you might not like it, doll.”
Your eyes widened some.
“O— O-Okay, what?”
Bucky’s fingers curled inside you, and a short, sharp streak of dizzying pleasure pulsed through your body. Your knees felt weak, and your mind even worse, but with what little resolve you had left, you were able to keep your eyes entirely open and fastened to his. A look that struck you as almost bittersweet crossed your husband’s features, and you saw his gaze soften again.
“I need you to wake up,” he said, calmly.
“What?”
Your toes curled tight underneath you, and the warmth between your legs leapt up to over a thousand degrees.
“Melaya, I need you to wake up.”
At the same time, your blood ran cold in your veins. Surely, you couldn’t be hearing him right if the voice he used was so gruff and low—and laden with a Russian lilt.
“Bucky? What— What do you mean?”
But you knew. Or suspected something of it anyway.
Now the sound from your own throat was hardly one that you recognized as yours, so shrill and high and strange—what could he mean by that? Why was he watching you in that way? Your husband wasn’t smiling so brightly anymore, and the once-gratifying conflagration between your legs had grown to an almost scorching degree, no longer nice, generous, or pleasurable in the slightest.
“We need you to wake up now, honey. Right now.”
His tone, too, was distorted. Grating.
“Bucky, I-I don’t underst—”
“WAKE UP!”
“WAKE UP!”
Natasha shook you hard, and it hurt.
She didn’t mean for it to. She just needed you up and out of bed, and you’d been asleep for almost fourteen hours.
You started at the fifth or sixth shake, nearly punching yourself in the face when you tried yanking a set of covers up and over your head and discovered, shortly, that there was none. You were splayed out on a bed in an as-yet unfamiliar home—Steve’s new place—and, while you slept, you’d kicked all of the blankets you’d been given the night before off your body and onto the floor.
Your eyes were wide as saucers as they darted to Nat’s.
There was no need to say what had happened—she knew these dreams were getting worse by the day.
It’d been a week since you fled your Brooklyn apartment in an all-out terror. A week since a senseless, short-sighted idea on your part had led to the discovery that your husband was once part of a HYDRA sleeper cell whose activation phrase turned him into an agent of total destruction at will. A week since you’d seen a half dozen bodies litter your living room floor, more still being bludgeoned by the so-called ‘Winter Soldier,’ as Bucky had formerly been known. A week since you’d sobbed in Natasha’s arms and begged her not to let you go back. A week since you’d been obliged to hide out in Steve Rogers’ new bachelor pad upstate, because, frankly, there was nowhere else you could safely live until this whole ordeal with Bucky was settled—if it ever would be.
A full week since you’d learned you were pregnant, too.
As far as you knew, your husband was wholly unaware of this fact, and of Steve’s most recent real estate purchase up in Buffalo, and you’d been existing in a semi-serene and largely dissociated state for the past seven days.
Your gaze adjusted to the light, and you blinked up at Nat, feeling damp in just about every place on your body. You looked down and found yourself drenched in sweat.
“Hydrate. Please.”
It wasn’t so much a request as it was a standing order: Nat holding out a glass of water and instructing you to drink. Though your first instinct was to make a face and shake your head—you’d found that any new fluids in your body this early in the morning would only get thrown back up when you made your first frantic trip to the toilet—you accepted it anyway. You drank three big gulps to appease the woman standing next to the bed, then wiped your mouth with the back of your hand and smiled
“I’m gonna go puke now,” you said.
“Aim for inside the toilet bowl if you can,” Steve called out from the doorway. By the look on his face, you’d been doing a pretty shit job of aiming vomit lately.
“My bad, Rogers.”
You had a hand on your stomach, slowly easing back up into a seated position, when you heard something being flung across the room, followed by a ‘HEY!’ and a crash.
“Your aim sucks, too, Romanoff,” Steve griped, loudly, “And I was kidding. She can puke wherever she wants.”
By the door, a hefty hardcover book lay open on the floor. Apparently Nat’s options for projectiles had been limited.
“All good, Rogers,” you offered anyway. Fighting a smirk.
You were starting to stand, and your head felt as if you’d just taken your first steps off a rocking boat. Your other hand jumped to your mouth, and you muttered, ‘Fuck’ before brushing past Nat and her outstretched arms.
She held your hair while Steve retrieved the glass of water, as well as a towel. The unsightly first trimester ritual proceeded as it had for all of the last week, with Nat rubbing circles in your back and Steve making well-meaning but completely useless live commentary like, ‘Babies are a real pain in the ass, aren’t they?’ At the conclusion of each new stupid remark, Natasha would shoot a dirty look his way, but you never let her shoo him away. Through no conscious choice of your own, Steve had become something of a comfort blanket over the course of the past chaotic days. At the very least, you two were no longer at each other’s throats flinging accusations and exorbitantly-priced tumblers in the other’s direction, which was a marked improvement from where you were the day after you and Bucky’s wedding.
At length, you lifted your head from the toilet, and he daubed at your cheek with the towel—mostly just trying to wipe off spit and your own queasy-looking expression. He succeeded in clearing away just the former, but you forced a smile all the same, then shared it with Natasha.
Nat couldn’t smile back. In fact, the grimace on her face only etched even deeper, and her forehead creased.
“This is a horrible time to be asking you this, I know—”
“Nat, please.” Steve groaned.
Nat, what? There wasn’t a lot more that could catch you off guard after all the shit you’d come to see that week. Still, Nat’s breaths were both measured and slow, and you could see she was chewing on the inside of her cheek like she wasn’t quite sure how best to phrase her words. This, coming from one of the most astute legal minds this side of the Hudson River, gave you pause.
“Ask anything. I’m pretty numb, if you haven’t noticed.” You rapped on the side of your head for comedic effect, but neither Natasha nor Steve laughed or cracked a grin.
“How do you feel about filing for divorce tomorrow?”
At the sound of Nat’s words, you felt the bile jump back up your throat. You knew there wasn’t enough food or fluid to make much of anything now, but all the same, you craned your neck back over the toilet and retched. When nothing came out, as expected, you turned back.
“What?”
Natasha looked a little ill herself, but still, she continued.
“How do you feel about just…fast-tracking a divorce from him and taking off new? We’ll talk assets later.”
Assets? Fast-track? Divorce? What the fuck?
“What the fuck, Nat?” you repeated as much out loud.
It normally wasn’t your thing to be so blunt with her, but the inquiry certainly seemed to invite some extra candor. You swiped at your mouth for any excess spit that might’ve trickled out, crudely, and in a second, Steve was handing you the towel. Then helping you to your feet, holding your arm and lower back in a grip you could feel was secure. You were unsteady on your legs, so he and Natasha guided you over to the sink, where you could regain your bearings and freshen up a bit. Sneaking a look at your reflection in the mirror was a bad idea; your face was sallow, and the rest of your body had every appearance of being horribly weak, for lack of a better word. You caught a glimpse of a gash sitting just above your left temple and immediately looked away. Stupidly, you hoped Steve and Nat hadn’t seen it.
“He did that to you,” Nat said without missing a beat.
You winced, and you washed your hands, not looking up.
“I thought you said it wasn’t him. Soldat, you told me.” And for a second, your eyes flickered to Steve, whose expression was a touch more sympathetic, if not visibly discomfited now. Like he didn’t want to speak for once.
He did, anyway: “Doesn’t matter if it was Winter or him, really. Point is he hurt you while trying to protect y—”
“And yet, you asked me to forgive him just last week for killing my dad in the same type of rage,” you replied, and instantly regretted the accusatory tone you’d taken on.
Your anger was misdirected at Steve. It wasn’t his fault for sharing the truth about your husband’s—his best friend’s—past when you’d asked him. These were queries you’d made, helping to form justifications for your own decision to stay after what had happened in Madripoor. Obviously, Steve would be biased to help support his friend in a time of need. But now things were different; Bucky had never been activated as soldat and ended up hurting someone he’d loved before. Steve was free to change his mind after seeing that happen and urge you to leave, or at least reconsider, your marriage to Bucky.
The second look you gave him attempted to convey as much, a bit more apologetic as he and Natasha led the way out of the bathroom. Steve smiled and held your arm again, though you probably didn’t need it. You walked downstairs to the kitchen together. Over by the toaster, Sam was inspecting a charred bagel with a scowl
“Rogers, you really need to ditch this shit,” he said, gesturing to the rusted metal contraption that appeared to be from 1918, and had just burnt two bagels to a crisp.
“It was a gift from a friend, piss off,” Steve replied, grinning a little. Reaching for the blackened bread roll and even going so far as to take a bite, crunching loudly.
“Did your friend happen to fight in World War II?” Nat asked. She lent one look to the archaic machine but said nothing further, opting instead to take a seat at the kitchen table, where a sea of papers was strewn about.
Then, to you, “Come. Sit.”
Somewhere in your tentative stroll from where you stood to where she sat, and in the middle of the men’s toaster bickering, Sam called out that he’d have bacon and eggs ready in a second. Steve offered up his singed sesame bagel in the interim, and you told him no thanks. With a still slightly throbbing skull and a nauseous gait, you took the chair next to Nat’s and looked down at her papers.
Honestly, you thought your present condition might warrant some leeway when it came to holding off on the heavy-hitting topics first thing, but, to your surprise, Natasha slid a crisp white packet over almost instantly.
“Nat, what the fuck?” you groaned for the second time.
“Read it. Give it a second to digest, then we can—”
“No!” you cut in, pushing the packet back to her with a little more force than you’d meant, “I-I can’t. Not now.”
On the very first page, in bold and capitalized typeface, there was printed a brief string of words you’d never wanted—or thought you would ever need—to see:
‘VERIFIED COMPLAINT: ACTION FOR DIVORCE’
“It’s just the petition. No harm in taking a look,” Nat said.
You could hear a faintly gentler tone in her voice, even as you shook your head and looked away from the papers.
“I don’t want to. I can’t do this right now.” You kept shaking your head for a couple seconds after, turning your gaze instead to the bay window of Steve’s kitchen.
A nice, sprawling yard stretched as far as you could see. In the distance, a fuzzy white horizon was punctuated the slightest bit by the outline of a wood fence, but apart from that, the land was empty. The lot was secluded. Happy and effervescent in a nearly cloudless sky, the midmorning sun cast its rays without so much as the threat of a storm’s hinderance. You fixed your eyes on the clear expanse above and silently wished it would rain.
Before more than a minute or two had passed like that, Sam was approaching the table with two platters. Steve balanced four more by himself, watching the sway of one plate of scrambled eggs in his arms with a wary look before setting each one of the dishes on the table.
“Bon appétit,” Steve said, butchering his French just about as badly as Sam had the bagels. You and Nat thanked them both anyway and started clearing off the table, pushing papers away in favor of steaming plates. Sam and Steve sat down, and all of you began to eat.
While you dutifully piled on each scoop of eggs, bacon, sausage links, biscuits, gravy, and grits—far more than you knew you could feasibly consume—you wished again for a rainstorm, and maybe a quiet breakfast. One that wasn’t marred by talks of legal separation and lengthy battles in court, if you could help it at all. To this end, and perhaps against your body’s best interest, you shoveled two supersized spoonfuls of egg in your mouth, so that if Nat tried reviving those subjects again, you could put off the conversation by simply continuing to chew. You felt your stomach turn inside you but, stubbornly, ate more.
You had just swallowed it all, about to make way for a warm, flaky buttermilk biscuit, when a sound cut in, and your belly flipped again. Your teeth had barely sunk into the bread a second when Nat set her own food aside, then used two fingers to push something toward you.
“Just skim it. Let me explain what the process can be,” she said, tapping her index on the first line and meeting your eyes as if to plead. She had to have known she’d be met with resistance—from you, of course, but also Steve. She raised a defensive hand to him before he even cut in:
“Come the fuck on, Nat. Will you give her a break?”
“I’m saying this for her sake! I’m doing it for her.”
“And throwing divorce papers in her face over breakfast is really the best way of going about it? Is that for her?”
Sam swallowed whatever he’d been chewing on, glanced down at the top paper, and seemed to brace himself.
“Guys, is now really the right time—” he started.
“That’s what I’m saying!” Steve barked over him.
Natasha ignored the plainly disdainful look from the latter, lifted her hand off the paperwork and instead trained her gaze solely on you. Just like she had in Zurich. Focusing intently on your face, ignoring whatever Steve or Sam were saying in the moment, she turned to you and found your expression was stale. Unmoving. Frankly, half of what was running through your mind right then was how badly you wanted to puke again. As if the eggs had turned rotten in your gut the second they reached their destination in your GI tract, you felt a heavy, oppressive fog of nausea taking shape between your ears, and you just wanted everyone to stop talking.
Sam and Steve continued on without a hitch, agreeing vaguely but also appearing to bicker over other things, like when was the most appropriate time to have this conversation. Natasha was leaning in, reaching for your hand this time, and you knew she meant well. You would bet any large sum of money there wasn’t a malicious bone in her body, and she was doing this for your benefit. All the same, you were grateful when the front door swung back on its hinges, and a new person walked in. Nat, Sam, and Steve all suspended their conversations.
“Hey, wh—” the blissfully unaware, semi-stranger began.
“Sharon!” Steve cried, “Would you tell Romanoff she’s being a goddamn pest with no sense of boundaries?”
Sharon halted at the threshold of the house, skating a look between Nat and Steve at first, then Steve and Sam, then just at you. The look didn’t linger for long, and before you knew it, she was setting down a fistful of grocery bags and twisting her mouth into a frown.
“Will you shut up, Steve?” was her only response.
Sam rose from his chair and pointed as if to say, ‘Yeah, that’ before joining her in the foyer to help carry in the Wegmans bags. Natasha leaned back in her chair with a vaguely pleased look, and Steve just rolled his eyes. He slapped his palm overtop the stack of divorce papers still laying before you and, seemingly undeterred, continued,
“Do you think it’s fair for her to force divorce papers on this poor soul—” pointing to you, the poor soul, apparently, “—when it’s been a week since she left?”
Sharon started handing off the frozen stuff first, sliding a box of Stouffer’s across the counter to Sam, who then deposited it in the freezer. These exchanges took place in relatively quick succession, with Sharon only chancing a look toward the kitchen table once or twice as they did.
“I think she should do whatever the hell she wants,” she said, “And I think their divorce is none of our business.”
Fair enough take. One that you could respect, at the very least, even if you weren’t certain she particularly cared for you at all. You reckoned she had no reason to, and on the whole, appeared to be a pretty reserved person.
You wanted to add a word in her defense, reiterate to Steve that he didn’t have to go to bat for you, the poor, defenseless soul, right now. Instead of being able to speak, though, you felt an upsurge of something heavy in your throat. You clamped a hand to your mouth again, cheeks flushing with the heady sensation and also out of embarrassment, then pushed your chair back and stood.
“I— gotta—” you stammered, just audible to the table, through the wall your fingers had made over your lips.
You sprinted up the stairs without another word.
The first trimester ritual repeated, and ten minutes later, you re-emerged from the bathroom feeling two big spoonfuls of scrambled eggs lighter and still none the happier, healthier, or wiser. You took a peek in the full-length mirror at the other end of the room and discerned from a distance of ten feet that you looked like dogshit.
You flopped down on the bed face-first, heedless of the pool of sweat that still encompassed roughly half of it, and let out a weak, muffled breath into the sheets. Someone had been gracious enough to replace all the blankets and pillows you’d kicked off last night. When you heard a knock on the door, it sounded a lot like Nat’s.
You rolled to the side, eyes screwed shut in frustration.
“If you’ve come to tell me my marriage is a fucking dumpsterfire, I agree completely, Natasha. I’m dumb.”
A little huff of a half-laugh sounded from the doorway. You opened your eyes and saw Sharon standing there.
Up close, she looked a little paler than you’d remembered seeing her last in Switzerland. Soft beads of perspiration dotted her neckline from what had likely been a hot and arduous journey walking up the driveway with all the food, and presently, she seemed tired. She wore a simple gingham blouse that had her eyes shining with vibrance, though, and both hands, you noticed, were full—she had a mug in one and a spoon in the other. She smiled kindly.
“The mob tends to have that effect,” she said, strolling in. Setting the mug on the nightstand and easing the spoon into it, stirring, “Don’t be too hard on yourself.”
You had no idea what all she knew about your marriage. You weren’t so sure you could extricate yourself from all the blame of having the thing go up in flames in four short weeks. Nevertheless, you smiled back and offered up something good-humored in return, like, well, I’m not exactly winning wife of the fucking year anytime soon.
Again, Sharon chuckled. It was small. She leaned back against the nearest armchair and, pointing to the cup she’d left to rest on the nightstand, said in a soft voice,
“Give that a minute. It’s hot.”
You glanced over and saw a little string that you guessed was attached to a teabag sitting at the bottom of the mug. The drink smelled like chamomile, maybe. You sat up, readjusted your pyjama top, then slid your socked feet underneath you so you could scoot closer to the edge of the bed. On a deeper inhale, you decided the tea was definitely chamomile. And too hot, as Sharon said.
“Thank you,” you told her.
“It’s not poisoned, I promise,” she replied. Letting out that funny little chuckle of hers—one too low to be considered a full laugh, but very close—and then, seeming to realize what she said might’ve sounded off, “Like— I heard what happened with Schröder. Him trying to drug you after the wedding and all…that. I— I’m sorry.”
Bad time to be making jokes, she appeared to chastise herself, but you just nodded along with the faintest grin.
“It’s OK. I’d pay money to be knocked the fuck out now.”
You grinned bigger, and she smiled too.
“It should make you sleepier, if you wanted to nap.”
You replied that you would, in fact, love to be unconscious right now if it meant not having to put up with all this bullshit morning sickness, and you slowly reached for the mug. Sharon stood up, and while you took your first sips, she fluffed the pillows behind you.
She was right. The tea felt like a hug. You settled under the covers and brought the cup to your lips once more, taking two big draughts before setting the drink aside. Yeah, that shit’ll put you right out, no drugs needed. You sank even further under the sheets and watched Sharon hover between the bed and the doorway, looking around as if trying to find something to do—some way to make herself feel more useful, if you had to guess from the pensive look in her eyes. Finally, she settled closer to the door and gave you one, fairly sanguine look. The warmth of your drink had already begun to nestle inside your weary bones, and your eyelids felt heavier. Still, you tried to return the sunny look before getting fully settled.
“Thanks again, Sharon. I appreciate it.”
“Yeah, of course.”
She started to leave. In fact, she’d already made it three-fourths out of the room when something stopped her in her tracks. She turned back to you, and you looked up.
“This…probably doesn’t mean a whole lot coming from me, but—whatever you decide to do with Bucky…is okay. We’ll support you, whether you choose to raise this baby with him or do…whatever it is you want to do. Don’t let Nat or Steve or Sam or anybody tell you differently. It’s your choice, y’know, whether you wanna stay married…”
Sharon trailed off, and somewhere inside, you could tell she meant to finish with words like, ‘…even if you didn’t get to make the choice to get married in the first place.’ You appreciated it. You beamed with just your head poking out from over the covers and thanked her again.
And, before she left, for the second time, she stopped. She walked over to the nightstand and bent slightly at the waist, just enough to set something small down. You turned to the side and saw a vial—a minuscule tube—on the surface. Your eyes widened, realizing what it was.
“Sam picked it up in Madripoor. He said Steve had given this to you…to, uh, give to Schröder, and I thought you should have it back,” she said, pausing, “Just in case.”
You eyed the little vial of poison on the nightstand and nodded, still not completely understanding. Your head throbbed, your stomach was still turning, churning. Your brain was about ten blinks away from logging off entirely and drifting to sleep. All you could do, then, was repeat what Sharon had said as you exchanged one final look.
“Just in case.”
Your eyes closed, and you fell asleep very soon after.
You couldn’t have been out for more than an hour; you were sure of it. However, the next time you glanced over at the clock on the bedside table, you saw it read 11:04.
P.M.
Shit.
SHIT.
That chamomille tea was no fucking joke.
Just as your thoughts drifted back to Sharon, the conversation you’d shared, the drink she’d given you, the poison she’d left behind for you to keep, you heard her voice all over again—and now, not just in your own head.
Presently, she was standing over your bed again, though the room was much darker this time around. She pressed a finger to her lips, hey, please, please, be quiet, alright? At first you wanted to make a sharp and strangled sound. A cry for help? You weren’t sure. Didn’t know. Couldn’t see very much of the woman at all, except for the outline of her face from the moonlight streaming in through the window. She stared and ‘shh’ed’ some more.
And you were contemplating yelling out a loud obscenity in response to it when next she cut in, markedly gentler:
“Keep it quick. Nat and the guys will be back in thirty.”
You blinked hard into the darkness and waited for your vision, or else your still-missing voice, to return. It didn’t. You just stared back, eyelids going up and down and up and down like a goddamn idiot gone sluggish off one too many Quaaludes, and it was several seconds more before she gestured behind her, into the shadows.
You tensed under the covers, chock-full of terror. You squinted, and shrank, and might’ve nearly pissed yourself were it not for the intervening force of a face.
A familiar face.
Bucky’s face.
You leapt up from the bed, displacing each one of Sharon’s cool and careful warnings from your mind all at once. You didn’t mean to, and as soon as she’d shushed you again, you shut your mouth. Fell still. Sharon slipped out of the room, reminding you both, again, that you had to be quiet, and you had to be quick. Then it was just you and Bucky. Silence and slightly less than five feet of space between you two. Then, shortly, no space to spare at all, as you ran to meet each for a hug a second later.
Your head struck his chest, and it was hard. That, alongside the python’s squeeze he wrapped around your body, hugging you to him in the tightest embrace imaginable, had your mind reeling, skull pulsing just a bit. You pulled back and stood smiling up at Bucky, whose eyes were wide, drinking the sight of you in.
‘Are you hurt?’ were his first words.
You shook your head that you weren’t, still unable to talk.
“Why are you— Who— who brought you— I didn’t—”
It seemed Bucky was equally hard-pressed to form a sentence himself, while his eyes were roaming wildly, all over you. Looking for bumps or bruises or cuts, whatever the wound might have been. He stumbled to the lamp and flicked it on. You tilted your head left, reflexively.
“I’m fine, Bucky,” you said. Sudden and swift, “I’m good.”
But you didn’t move your head too far to the right, either, for fear he might see the cut above your temple—the one soldat had caused when he’d pushed you to the floor, trying to protect you from a threat he couldn’t see.
As it was, your husband seemed to be too much in shock to see anything else apart from what stood immediately in front of him. He hugged you again. He kissed the crown of your head. He constricted your body so tight in his arms you felt a pressure start to build behind your eyes, and suddenly you weren’t so much pulling away as you were wrenching your body from him. When you met Bucky’s gaze again, the sweet blue irises were glossy.
“Nat wouldn’t say where you were, just that you were safe and needed to be…be alone for a while, but I—” He stopped, and it was as if he couldn’t even finish with the words, because his breath was stuck in his throat and his eyes were stinging too much. He looked down, briefly.
You wanted to reach for his hand but hesitated. He took yours a second later, holding extra tight as he continued:
“I thought I’d— thought you might’ve…left. I don’t know. I hadn’t been able to sleep, and then she— Sharon, she called me tonight, said you were here, so— so—”
You felt a pang of guilt holding his gaze, seeing how all the hurt that had come to accumulate behind those eyes over the last week went spilling, at length, into emotions he was either too overcome or sleep-deprived to express. The weight of this suffocated him, made him extra quick to speak his mind but slow to make sense of just about anything that was coming out of his mouth. He stopped, sucked in a breath, then pinched your hand in his, and you didn’t know what to do. You had no idea what to say.
“I was scared, Bucky.”
It sounded pathetic coming out of your mouth. Your husband nodded as though you’d just said the most profound thing in the world. His knuckles went white from just how hard he was gripping your hand, his head bobbed along in agreement, and for a moment, you winced to think that he might hug you again. Instead, the fingers tangled between yours just made a tighter knot.
“I know. I’m sorry. I’m sorry,” he said.
“You scared me,” you added, voice wavering.
Your left hand was going numb. You didn’t want to give him pause—possibly hurt his feelings—by freeing your touch from his, but that grip was brutal. Deathly rigid and unforgiving. Thoughts of Brooklyn and Madripoor came flooding back; Bucky was so much stronger than he realized. His tone, in contrast, was dulcet and soft.
“I didn’t know I’d get like that. I should’ve told you, doll.”
“I shouldn’t have tried the activation in the first place.”
You shouldn’t have tried digging into Bucky’s past all. When all there seemed to be at every turn was a brand new way for him to hurt you, or the people you loved, maybe there came a time when you had to stop asking questions altogether. Maybe that was what his mother and all the women who’d gone before her had known to do, what you had been too stupid to see all along. There was no knowing these men at all, only taking them as they were and learning to cope with what they became.
Bucky shook his head.
“No, doll, it’s not on you,” he murmured low. Still forceful
Thankfully, he released your hand to cup your cheeks, and he kissed your forehead. You felt your pulse in your palm, throbbing from where he’d held it. When he let go the second time, his expression was considerably softer.
“Listen, I’ll take you home, we can talk things over. As long as I know you’re safe, it doesn’t have to— to—”
Hey. He was already halfway toward the door before he realized you weren’t following him. He turned and gestured forward. He beckoned you, brows drawing in.
“Baby? C’mon.”
You didn’t budge.
Your feet were rooted in place, as though cemented to the floor. No matter how much you wanted to appease him, go along with whatever he asked, you couldn’t. You shook your head, and Bucky tilted his own, confused.
“Baby?”
“I’m leaving, Bucky.”
You couldn’t hear your own words slipping out between your teeth, only the blood rushing through your ears. Bucky stopped and turned to face you completely.
“What?”
“I’m leaving.”
“What— what do you mean, ‘you’re leaving’?”
“I want a divorce.”
That part you did hear yourself. You wished you hadn’t.
You wished you hadn’t seen the light break off from Bucky’s eyes, expression going limp the instant your words registered with him. You nearly wished you hadn’t said them at all, seeing just how far his face fell and how hurt he looked by them—but quietly, from somewhere more rational-headed inside yourself, there was a voice reminding the rest of you that it needed to be done. You couldn’t keep pretending like this wasn’t what had had to come next. What you’d been skirting with Nat all day and hadn’t been able to bring yourself to admit before now.
Your husband still didn’t seem to be computing it fully. He walked closer to you, and his gait was unsteady.
“Divorce?”
Your vision was bleary; you hadn’t even realized tears had begun to brim at your waterline as you watched him.
“It’s what we need, Bucky,” you could barely get it out.
“I don’t,” he shot back, not missing a beat, “I don’t.”
“It’s what I need.”
“You don’t mean that.”
His voice was hoarse, face shifting from lax incredulity to one of a wince—screwed up in a way that said he felt ill. You shook your head but couldn’t look away from him.
“You don’t mean that,” he repeated.
“It’s what I want,” you pressed on, just as sick yourself.
“You said what you wanted was me.” Again, Bucky’s voice splintered, and you could feel the pain in it.
“You said you wouldn’t hurt me, Bucky.”
Gritting your teeth, unsure where else to fix your stare on his face but those eyes—while your own betrayed their feelings too easily, fraught with wet, rolling tears—you shouldn’t have been surprised when his went wider.
“What are you talking about?”
The question was short, sharp, and biting, spoken with such haste as might be mistaken for anger, but the eyes softened his look at once. The anguish painting them now as he stared back at you were a proof, beyond a doubt, that it was betrayal, not rage, which steered him. He turned, and it was as if he couldn’t see a thing but you; his elbow clipped the lamp and knocked it over, but still, he just stared. In turn, the ceramic appliance rolled onto its side, toppled the mug and the vial beside it, and all three went crashing to the floor. Bucky didn’t blink.
“Wh—” he started again, but you didn’t hear the rest.
You remembered Sharon. Heard a flash of her last admonition in your head—be quiet, be quick—and without thinking, you fell to your knees. You tried retrieving what pieces of chipped lamp and shattered mug you could, quickly. You spotted the small vial on the floor and shoved it in a pocket. Your hands swept over the broken pieces without any real idea of what you were doing—all except needing to clean Bucky’s mess—and then swiftly, stupidly, you tried picking it up by yourself.
Of course, a shard cut you. The little slit that was left in its wake could have been no wider than a fraction of an inch, but still, it bled. You looked down at the cut, just then starting to sprout red from left to right along the side of your palm, when a new sight crossed your vision. It was fast, too. All but thoughtless in the way it broke in, gripping your hand in his, and yanking you to your feet. Bucky hadn’t seen that you’d cut yourself, it seemed, and, out of instinct, had grabbed your hand to help you up. As before, his grasp was like a vice, and his thumb pressed right inside the lacerated flesh, sending a whole new maelstrom of pain shooting up your wrist and arm. Now, as then, he was heedless of his strength and his sheer, brute force, that he didn’t even see the effect of his grip. He just held on, held you, tighter, tighter, and—
“STOP!” you shrieked.
You shoved him off. Pried his touch off your palm and gripped your forearm in your other hand and pored over the sight, seeing the gash almost doubled in size from just where Bucky’s finger had sunk into the fresh wound. You let out a sharp, muffled cry through lips that tried to stay closed—remembering Sharon again. You shook your head, clenched your jaw, and tore off the other direction.
And when your husband reached out, eyes wide with their own shock and apologies, ‘Baby, fuck, I’m so sorr—’ you threw him off again. With your non-bleeding palm, you thrust your hand against his chest and pushed hard:
“Don’t touch me!”
When he reached for you again, as if by force of habit, you held up a defensive arm and sobbed out, ‘Stop!’
‘Don’t touch me, don’t—don’t—don’t fucking touch me.’
You screamed it. You didn’t mean to. Thinking only vaguely of the need to be quiet, and almost entirely on the stabbing pain in your hand, the imprint of Bucky’s touch on your body, and the blood trickling down your forearm, you darted into the bathroom and threw the door closed behind you. You locked it. You meant to.
Twenty minutes might as well have been twenty years in Bucky Barnes’ mind. In a moment like this, following yet another supreme fuck up on his part, he felt powerless. He had had to fight the instinct to barge into the next room over with every fiber of his being, and, making fists by his sides and pacing the floor and hating himself was all that seemed capable of occupying his mind just then.
He’d knocked on the bathroom door at least ten times. He’d been ignored each time, no matter the duration.
He still had your blood on his thumb, and it made him ill.
You said you wouldn’t hurt me, Bucky.
While he uncurled his hand from a fist just long enough to stare at the streaks of red stretched over his finger, he heard those words replay over and over again in his head. He’d said it—swore it—himself, and still your blood was turning a cool, dark, dry shade of crimson on his thumb.
This wasn’t how he’d meant for any of this to go. Still, notwithstanding his best intentions, none of it mattered. He’d seen a sincere look of fear in your eyes looking up at him, and nothing in the world would change what he’d done, or who he was. He’d caused you pain tonight, last week—though his memory of that was still so hazy and dark he hardly knew what else had happened, even now—and above all, he’d failed you as a husband, a protector.
You were likely curled up in a ball by the bathroom sink, cowering in fear because of him. The thought sent another tidal wave of nausea thrumming through his skull, a lump in his throat growing larger alongside it, and before he knew what he was doing, Bucky was striding back to the bathroom door. He banged his fist against it.
“Honey?”
No answer.
“Baby, please open the door.”
More silence.
The moment brought to mind a memory from the night you two had been married. How you’d fled to the en-suite bathroom and locked yourself in it; how Bucky had rattled the whole doorframe with the force of his knocks, demanding you come out. He’d hardly known you then. You hardly knew him now. The realization of this made the weight in his throat all the more excruciating as he stood, and, wincing with pain, Bucky kept knocking.
“I’m sorry, honey, I’m so sorry.”
Pleading now. His voice was hoarse all over again.
Had he been the slightest bit more desperate and reckless, he might’ve been tempted to muscle through, kick the door in with his boot. But Bucky knew better. He could already guess how much that action would terrify you now, while tending to an injury that he himself had inadvertently made worse. Barreling inside would be neither romantic nor sweet, just sinking what may then be a lethal dose of salt in the deeper, metaphorical wound. He refrained. Instead of continuing to knock, he dropped his forehead to the door and closed his eyes.
“Please believe me, baby,” he tried again.
He’d said it so quietly he feared you might not hear it. Then, a little bit louder, ‘Please, please believe me.’
No sound to be heard inside but running water.
“You mean everything to me, doll.”
By now, his voice was clogged with pain, teetering on the brink of agony as he rested his hands on the door, and willed you to open it. Say something to him. Anything.
“I’d never mean to hurt you. Not in a million years.”
For a moment, he heard nothing more. Just how desperately he needed to hear a voice in reply could not be overstated. Craving a new sound worse than oxygen in his lungs. At first, when he heard something other than himself nearby, it nearly knocked him back with joy.
A voice right next to his ear, “But you did, didn’t you?”
The joy lasted less than a second.
The voice beside him was low. And close. Not coming from the other side of the bathroom door, as he might’ve reasonably expected from you, and not even in the tone of a female’s voice, as he might’ve seen, were Sharon to have appeared by his side. This new voice was deep, and masculine, and in his ear now, chuckling some as a gloved hand pressed the barrel of a gun to his temple.
Bucky didn’t blink.
You stepped outside not wanting to see him.
The bleeding had long since stopped, thanks to the aid of a cool, damp washcloth and a few minutes’ pressure, but even once it ceased, your legs were reluctant to carry you back. You dreaded the thought of having to resume your conversation with Bucky—of having to look him in the eye and tell him all over again that it wasn’t safe for you to be married to him. But you didn’t have much of a choice now, either. This wasn’t your honeymoon, where you could stay locked in the bathroom, try climbing out a window, and hope for the best like you’d done before. You had the man’s child inside you, for fuck’s sake.
That uncomfortable subject and at least a dozen more were already swarming your brain as you made your way out of the bathroom. You’d taken a few extra squares of toilet paper to press into the cut, were looking down at it with a tense, uncertain gaze as you ventured out, when you were obliged to stop just a few steps into the room.
“Hi, honey.”
It wasn’t Bucky.
Your eyes snapped up to the source of the voice in an instant, and, on seeing you were right—that it wasn’t Bucky but a gaunt, grinning blond with a gun to your husband’s head—you almost screamed at the sight.
You’d wanted to scream, anyway. It would’ve been the sane thing to do, and one that nobody could’ve blamed you for in the moment, you reckoned, but strangely the sound never came. You just stared at the two, eyes wide and jaw slightly more lax as your lips made an ‘o’. Bile jumped up in your throat. You wished it would choke you.
‘Please. Don’t.’ was all you could get out.
Johann Schröder’s smile stretched wider.
“Don’t what?”
The question was clearly meant to be derisive, rhetorical. Still, with your fingers trembling, you tried answering:
“Don’t hurt h—”
“Why?”
You watched the gun sink deeper against your husband’s face, and he flinched. Your stomach clenched inside you.
“Why shouldn’t I hurt him, hon? Seems like he’s gotten pretty damn good at doing it to you,” Schröder sneered.
His words stung. The grin didn’t flinch. And, as if to punctuate his sentence, or else remind your husband that he was tied to a chair and entirely at his mercy now, Schröder struck Bucky in the face with the butt of his gun. If an onlooker hadn’t known better, they might’ve mistaken you for the one who’d been hit, though—at last, you unleashed that scream, and you reached out for Bucky, hands open and pathetic and desperate to help.
“Think it hurt as bad as your hand?” Schröder hummed.
Your feet were stumbling forward, “He didn’t mean—”
Another resounding thud against Bucky’s skull, this time hard enough to split his lip in half. If he’d grimaced in the slightest, you would’ve seen the teeth smeared with blood. But, true to form, James Barnes didn’t wince. He hadn’t even seemed to acknowledge the blow as it landed. Just stared at you and, with eyes as hollow and deadened and faintly pleading as you’d ever seen them before, manifested their silent apology to yours—again.
“Bet he didn’t mean to hurt anyone as the Winter Soldier, either. Still couldn’t have felt too good for all the folks he butchered, though.” At that, Schröder’s sick amusement morphed into a laugh, and he was taking Bucky’s collar in his other hand. Shaking him lightly while he spoke.
“Couldn’t have felt all that great for your dad, I bet.”
The diversion turned to you, all toothy smiles and mocking eyes. He didn’t care. He let you stagger another step toward the two of them, even try to get your hands close to Bucky. But when you’d drawn too close, he stopped you cold. Not thinking much else in the moment, you made a move to push Schröder’s arm away, hard, and were shortly rewarded with a shove of your own. He knocked you sideways onto the bed, and you landed on the hand you’d hurt. Before you could let out so much as a sound yourself, Bucky’s voice tore in:
“Schröder.”
Schröder turned. He raised his Ruger to your husband’s head again, as casually as if he’d asked him for the time.
“Yes?”
“Don’t touch her.”
Schröder turned to you. Though he didn’t move the Ruger again, he did point his finger at your form, haplessly curled into itself amidst the covers and pillows.
“Why? Saving all the rough stuff for later, are we?”
You cowered as his free hand reached for you, and just as your husband’s eyes went wide and a vein nearly tore through his skin from how hard it protruded, you cried,
“What do you want?!”
Schröder stopped. He brought his hand to a halt just south of your thigh—and then he dropped his weight on the bed beside you. He gestured indistinctly, almost disbelievingly, toward Bucky. The latter appeared near-apoplectic, nails raking down either arm of the chair.
“What do I want?” Schröder quipped, incredulous, “What do you want, doll? To stay married to him?”
And you knew he’d intended the question to be hurtful; you knew it by the glint in his eye, the goading tone of voice and the look he’d flitted to Bucky—nondescript and yet saying a world more than words could ever convey. He knew what had gone on between you, had likely heard your last conversation in its entirety, and was now using it against you. Mostly to taunt, then to injure your husband with truths he hadn’t yet uncovered himself.
Schröder’s eyes were shining with sadistic delight as he took your hand in his. He didn’t waste another second.
“No, no, that isn’t what you want at all, is it?”
Ignoring the screech of Bucky’s restraints as he tried to lunge out of his chair. Hearing him curse when he failed.
“—you said you’re leaving him, right?”
Schröder slid the thin, glistening ring off the hand he’d been holding before you could even think to stop him.
“—said you want a divorce, is that it?”
Then his grin got so big and conceited and enlivened by the sight of pain working its way onto Bucky’s face that any good sense you’d had left inside you was abandoned in a blink. You didn’t hesitate, or else try and make a pass to retrieve your ring—you just hit the man in the face.
Your fist was small, and his chin was hard. You knew before you ever threw the punch that it’d probably hurt you more than him, but you did it anyway. It succeeded, at the very least, in catching Schröder by surprise and swiftly pissing him off. Seeing this and feeling a bit bolder, you were somehow able to dodge his hands when he lurched for you again. Inside, your own anger flared.
“Why the fuck do you care?” you spat.
You found momentary respite in the corner of the bed, sliding back against a wall that would only protect you for so long. As soon as Schröder regained his bearings, he had you back in his sights and his grasp just as quick.
He dragged you back. He pulled you up. He dug the tips of his fingers so hard into your side that you thought the flesh might tear in two across your ribs. But it didn’t. Crescent-like indentations did leave their mark in a grisly set of five, though. You felt the sting of it as Schröder loosened his grip, then sucked his next breath through his teeth as if calming himself. Your gaze only hardened.
“I care,” he said, once he’d completed this slow inhale. He replaced his touch by pinching your face in one hand and bringing it up to his, expression more like a snarl. Then, raising the gun to your face in his other hand, “because I made a deal with your father. Remember?”
You did. Your head jerked back by force of instinct, but he held it. From every direction, then, you had nothing to hear but the sound of your own pulse thrumming a fast, panicked tempo in your skull. You tasted blood in your mouth without a drop on your tongue. And, had that deafening fear and revulsion been anything less, you likely would’ve heard something else beneath it all.
Would’ve felt it, if you weren’t already so numb: Schröder’s hand sliding its way down your body, diamond ring still stuck to the tip of his index finger. You sensed it as though seeing yourself from another perspective—watching his hand trail lower, lower, lower until something in Bucky split in two and he bellowed:
“SCHRÖDER—”
He said something more after that; you were sure of it. You just couldn’t hear him, or see him, or discern much of anything else but your own racing heart as the man who’d just beat your husband twice and lifted a gun to your head proceeded to press his touch to your belly. Almost conscientious and gentle as he lowered it.
“Was this part of the deal, too, doll?”
Your eyes widened. Realizing—then feeling fear seize you completely. Forgetting the metal at your temple and shaking your head with a force, but slow enough that your husband wouldn’t see it. Meanwhile, across from you both, Bucky seemed more than sufficiently occupied by his own blinding rage—he spit a glob of blood to the floor and, with his teeth bared again, swore he’d kill him.
Over and over and over again, oaths of taking Schröder’s life and making it gruesome and painful and slow filled your ears, but none of it stuck, for either you or Schröder. Instead, your maniacal captor just smiled, leaning in.
“I said, was this part of the deal, Mrs. Barnes?”
The heel of his palm sank into your stomach, and as the shock of his first words began to fade, a pain replaced it. His hand made an impressive demonstration of flattening and forcing itself so hard against the skin that a flurry of stars cropped up in your eyes, and you cried:
“Stop! I-It wasn’t— just— just stop. Stop.”
“Stop? Was it part of the deal or not?”
Schröder bore down even harder.
“It just happened!” you keened. Unsure why you felt compelled to answer for what had gone on at all—addressing the baby in this awful, oblique way—though reckoning it had something to do with the pressure he was applying to your stomach. You tried to squirm back.
But your stuttering pulse and your pleading gaze and the ache in your stomach proved to be all too much for any real progress to be made. You’d scarcely moved off an inch before he drove his palm deeper, and with the agony of a body about to rupture beneath it, a shriek clawed out of your throat. Your mouth fell open, and for once, you couldn’t curtail the pain, or fear. Schröder’s hand had just forced the noise from your mouth, along with some mindless, broken pleas to stop pushing, it hurts, please, please, when the face above yours only brightened. Schröder’s cruel, snide mouth flashed a smile above you, and before you could whine again—
He kissed you.
It couldn’t have lasted for more than a second.
Still, the moment seemed to stretch indefinitely. And felt perverse. So deeply nauseating and unsettling to every last nerve, muscle, tendon, and bone in your body that the response it evoked could be nothing less than visceral. You didn’t need to think at all to shove him off. Whatever might’ve given you pause with a loaded gun to your head was forgotten in a second, and soon enough, you weren’t alone in letting your reproach be known.
It started off with a crack, then a harsh, crude splintering of wood. A violent rift, from what you could hear of it, and when you turned your head, your suspicions were confirmed: Bucky had snapped half the arm of his chair away from the seat, and his right hand was almost freed.
Whatever barrier he faced in being bound more than four times over with rope seemed immaterial to him now. He could strain as hard as he pleased—feel the coarse synthetic fibers dig into his flesh and leave streaks of red, if not break the skin itself—and any pain, as before, hardly appeared to register with your husband at all. He just muscled through it, thrusting his wrist even harder. The whole force of this movement rocked the chair on its legs, and just when you sensed it might collapse beneath his weight, you felt Schröder stand up. The man didn’t need to move too far or do much else other than drop his hold on you and flip his gun to point it at Bucky instead.
Even when he had, though, Bucky didn’t flinch. His hands were in fists and his drive was like a machine’s—he tried forcing his way out of the right hand’s restraints, and the second the wood gave way, he was shoving it off.
Blind to the firearm Schröder was holding, or his words:
“Stay where you are, Barnes.”
Bucky was just then shaking off the rope that had been loosened by the break in the wood, jaw still tight as ever.
“You’ve got three other limbs to free, my friend, just—”
Schröder was still speaking when you saw his finger slip to the trigger, and it seemed to you it was itching to pull.
“James, stop!”
That plea came from you. More of a strangled cry, really—no more pleasant for either man to hear than it was for your throat to shriek. It did, however, stop Bucky cold. Your husband paused just long enough to meet your gaze. And in it, you saw, at least, that he was all there, if not enraged. But not soldat, or anyone else but himself.
You sighed in relief, despite what seeing two red rivers seeping out of Bucky’s mouth might otherwise provoke.
It was him. You might’ve smiled if another hadn’t cut in.
Schröder seized Bucky’s wrist. With it, you saw his hand just as mangled and bloodied as his lips. Knuckles cracked, slit, and soon to be littered with bruises of every shade, he shocked you again by how calmly he took it. Even when Schröder sank a thumb inside a big, gaping crater of a flesh wound he’d found on the back of his hand, your husband didn’t blink; he just looked at you.
‘I’m sorry.’
When the barrel of the gun returned to his head—this time, at the rear, as Schröder had circled back around the half-broken chair and was leaning over him—you could see the apology lodged in his eyes on full display.
“For safekeeping.” The man wielding the gun seemed almost pleased as he dropped your ring inside the breast pocket of your husband’s shirt, before patting it gently:
“Now where were we?”
A beat. Bucky’s right hand twitched beside him, but evidently, he knew better than to move in that moment.
“Right, right—” Schröder pretended to be remembering, tapping steel to Bucky’s skull, “She’s leaving, isn’t she?”
More silence.
You wanted to speak, beg Schröder for mercy, anything.
“Do you know why that is, Bucky?”
But before you could utter even a word of protest, the voice pressed on. Schröder was leaning in his ear.
“—what you did to her?”
The baby. Brooklyn. All the bloodshed that had ensued last week, leaving your husband completely in the dark. Of course, he couldn’t remember. He hadn’t been himself, and was scarcely more able to control his actions as the Winter Soldier than he could in a dream.
To your horror, Schröder reached down for Bucky’s hand, and, still holding the gun to him with the other, lifted it.
Pointed it.
Pushed it closer to you.
“C’mon, Buck. You don’t want me touching her, right? Why don’t you feel for yourself what she’s been hiding?”
Your blood turned to ice. You’d never felt so immobile—paralyzed—in your life, but seeing the hands drift closer and closer and feeling defenseless to their course, your body went numb. Your limbs grew heavier than lead.
And when you felt the smug, smiling blond guide your husband’s touch toward your head, you understood it all.
You were perched at the edge of the bed a foot away. Schröder was nudging Bucky forward in his chair, urging him to reach out and tilt her chin a little, go on, that’s it. And neither one of you had a choice, so he touched you. His fingers, directed by someone else, were obliged to brush the skin of your chin, your jaw, your cheek, and your brow, before finally settling above your left temple.
Your husband felt the cut—touched the stitches.
You winced, but not from any physical pain. It was Bucky’s face as the tips of his fingers skimmed the wound. The look of chagrin that crossed his eyes. Then bewilderment. Fear, as plain as anyone could see it— was he the cause of that? Had the hurt been from him?
You couldn’t bear to answer him, so you looked away. It was Schröder, again, who had all the power to speak.
“Can’t remember pushing her down?” he said, tone dark, “Making her split her head open on the bedside table because soldat didn’t know his own strength—only that he had to keep her safe—and sensed a threat outside?”
Bucky shook his head. His face was grave.
Schröder kept making him prod the skin.
“It’s bruised here, too. You feel it?”
Your husband did, and you thought it might break him. So tender and forlorn were the eyes, raking over every spot where a touch, his touch, had left you hurt before.
If nothing else could bring you back to your senses, the wounded look in Bucky’s gaze was sure to get it done.
You hardly thought again, just croaked: ‘It’s not his fault.’
Schröder’s hand then descended your neck, your torso.
As if he hadn’t heard you at all—
“You already saw what happened to her hand.”
—and forcing Bucky’s touch lower still.
“But what about here?”
Your breath hitched in your throat when you felt your husband’s hand come to rest on your stomach.
It was like a fire had ignited in your lower half, and nothing close to the soft, pleasurable kind. Not the flutter felt in anticipation of a touch from your husband, not the desirous sort. In fact, you dreaded it now; seeing Schröder over his shoulder, urging him closer, making him flatten his big, broad, scorching palm over your belly.
What should’ve been the ecstatic scene you’d conjured in your mind at least a hundred times since marrying him—the picture of domestic bliss as you said it, smiling, I’m pregnant—was now nothing short of torture. Choice all but stripped from you here, forced to emerge inside this terrible place, you found yourself needing to shrink back, shake your head, look to Schröder’s stubborn, unyielding gaze and beg him not to make you do this now. Not now.
Not here, with Bucky’s skin a shade of glacial white and his eyes going wide, taking on a look you’d never seen.
“What do you—”
He stared hard at the hand on your belly, but it didn’t last for long. As if realization were trying to seep in, he couldn’t meet it. His eyes flitted back to your face.
“Baby, what’s—” he tried again, stammering.
“—right, that’s it, Mr. Barnes.” That was Schröder.
Satisfied in the suspense of the moment keeping your husband still, he lifted his hand from Bucky’s and snapped, that’s it, and clapped him over the shoulder.
Congratulating him before the truth had even sunk in.
“A baby, that’s right! You’re going to be a father, Buck.”
And how far was the look on Bucky’s face from the one you’d dreamed before. The lips you’d envisioned in a smile now twisting bleakly, parting slightly, and the eyes you’d once hoped to be bright and elated only staring back with rings of red enveloping the irises. Whatever tears formed at his waterline were decidedly not of joy.
Only guilt.
“You did it.”
Desperation.
More moisture in his eyes as his hand started to tremble across your stomach, voice hoarse and soft, “Is it true?”
You didn’t need to nod. You just watched him, let your own eyes fill with the worst, stinging tears you had felt in your life, and from the silence that followed, Bucky knew.
As if the life beneath his palm were something dear, but still too much for him to comprehend, he shook his head. He stroked his thumb over the cotton of your pyjamas and tried inching closer, as much as his restraints would allow him. Then, with words that were audibly strained, but always gentle, he lowered his voice—as if to keep the communication between you two, despite your position:
“I love you.”
His hand was still on your belly as he said it. He reached up to cup your face. Even lower than before, “I’m sorry.”
I’m sorry.
That much was evident from every look he’d given you tonight. Every move he made a de facto apology, all actions in the vein of atonement, it couldn’t possibly escape your mind or his that he knew he’d done wrong. It was only a matter of accepting this—maybe coming to terms with the fact that your life wasn’t safe in his hands—for the guilt plaguing Bucky to multiply. Paralyze him.
There was no better time for Schröder to strike. Just as the anguish had flooded Bucky’s face completely, and his hand had had to lower itself from want of strength, a sound split the air. Bucky was so lost in his thoughts that it didn’t even register at first, but the impact was real, and it was harsh: Schröder punched him squarely in the jaw. The next, swift snap was his nasal bone taking a blow, and breaking beneath it. Blood breezed down and into his mouth. Feeling warm, his lips and chin doused in a second, he sensed nothing else. He might’ve groaned.
He caught another swift right hook, and his mind went blank. Nothing of substance threatened to materialize between his ears, save for the rush of blood through and from his skull and the dim recognition of something ugly.
Something horrific.
He couldn’t protect you.
His body was as much an idle waste as it was a danger. Useless now, as he was tied to this chair, and a risk to your well-being even if he weren’t. The hazard was him.
Schröder hit him again, and Bucky realized that the ringing he’d heard in his ears was your screaming.
“I’m doing her a favor,” Schröder spat before shoving him back in the chair, almost knocking it sideways.
The blond advanced with ease. His knuckles were drenched in blood; none of it was his. When he reached for Bucky again, the resistance was slight, and a simple, firm grip on the collar was all that was needed to drag his frame to sit straight. Bucky was barely upright for a second before the next—and worst—blow struck his face. His whole head rang with it, reeling, but still, he could make out the words as they were spoken to him.
“She’ll never be safe with you, Barnes. Never—” and at the last, Schröder lowered his gun. Started to loosen the rope from Bucky’s left arm, “—I could free you now, and you still wouldn’t get within an inch of what you want.”
He nudged the rope away and let it fall to the floor. Bucky lifted his hand, but the effort was in vain. No sooner had a finger of his stirred than Schröder was delivering a kick to the chair and letting it splinter. Topple. Skitter a half-foot across the hardwood floor with Bucky’s ankles still bound to it, before finally, gracelessly, breaking apart.
Bucky was on the floor, blinking through a stream of blood and a sea of muddied thoughts when Schröder kicked the chair again. The rope slackened some more.
“Her own father knew as much, so he made me a deal to take her off of your hands. Settle his debts the way he should’ve done the first time around,” Schröder said, and now his tone was lower. Lethal as it ever was, and stern.
“I know how much you hate to lose your playthings, Buck, but this one’s better off with me, I promise.”
And, as if to emphasize his point, Schröder turned and reached for you. Bucky’s own hands were slow, fumbling in fits and bursts to get the rope unwound from his ankles, but they were determined. He just couldn’t get the bleeding to stop, the ringing to subside, or his brain, in its concussed state, to let him move with a little more agility. He’d been hit too many times. He could barely lift his head off his shoulders and hold it straight, so he was forced to stay where he was, keep at his task, and listen.
“You’re weak when you’re not soldat.”
Using his knuckles, Schröder brushed the blood that was evidently all Bucky’s across your cheek, and you flinched.
“When you make the switch, still…you’re inhuman.”
Then he tilted your head, making you show them both the mutilated, stitched-up flesh above your temple. Again, you tried to slink away, but his touch was firm.
“Don’t you think your bride deserves better than that? Your child? Forced to live in fear of that thing you are?”
Blood coursed down Bucky’s face, and his lips were curled apart in a grimace, mouth hanging slightly ajar. His eyes fixed their look on you. The rope was undone.
He’d just started to try and stand when the edge of his vision blurred. He felt the lacerations in his face pulse as one, and with it, half his sight went skewed to the left. Schröder couldn’t help but crack a smile seeing him stumble, pitch back, and barely catch himself on the bedside table. When he stood, he was mostly hunched.
“Look at you, Buck. You can’t try and save her like this,” Schröder taunted, drawing you closer, “So stop trying.”
The man’s hand was like ice holding your face. The grip grew tighter when he saw your husband limping your way, and before either one of you could move, the index of Schröder’s other hand had slid down to the trigger. He didn’t wait to give another warning before he did it—just pointed the gun and fired one shot over Bucky’s head.
His aim was good. The bullet missed your husband by less than an inch. The gun had gone off by your ear, and immediately, you seized the side of your head as a sharp, searing pain cropped up. Your skull was still ringing when you heard the thing discharge again, and you realized it had been aimed at Bucky’s neck. He’d ventured another step, and Schröder had fired a second round to graze the top of his shoulder. Crimson bloomed through his shirt.
Bucky should’ve stumbled again. He might’ve staggered back with a grunt of pain, lifted a quick, reflexive hand to feel the wound, but the sense of it all was slow to reach him. The moments that passed him were delayed just the same, as if the world around him were distorted—the fibers of time tugged and stretched before his eyes—and he could hardly keep himself straight. When he got another look down the barrel of the gun, he didn’t blink. Couldn’t see, really. It was all misshapen sights and sounds and a dim recognition that his mind was in a fog.
Somewhere from within that mist, he heard, faintly:
“I’ll go— I’ll go— I’ll go with you, I’ll go— just stop.”
Schröder turned to you, and the smile that he wore was cruel, but Bucky wasn’t able to make out the expression.
All he could see then, to the faintest extent, was you—your face, gripped hard in another man’s hand, eyes pleading and wet with tears, and a slightly slack jaw.
“Leave him for me?” Schröder repeated, sneering.
You nodded. Blinked. Rolled your tongue along the inside of your cheek before pulling it back and biting down once. There was a hint of a wince in your eyes, but, from what Bucky could tell, it vanished just as fast as it came.
Your lips parted again. Your eyes widened a little.
“So the girl has some fucking sense.” That was Schröder.
He’d had his weapon re-holstered and your face firmly seized in both of his hands in no more than a second.
What came next surprised no one, though the sensations of disgust and rage were as quick to turn a stomach as the shock would have done. Schröder bent down and, having pulled your face closer to his, kissed you again.
Schröder’s mouth was glistening with a grin and Bucky’s own blood—smeared all over your face from how hard he’d been holding you—when he looked up and turned.
“Sensible and sweet, isn’t she? Tastes like it, too.”
Bucky saw nothing but red. It wasn’t just blood crowding his vision now but violence and rancor and outright hatred, stirring his limbs to start moving again when the rest of his body was plainly too battered to venture an inch in that condition. He staggered again, watched you again, and had made it almost halfway across the room when another sight slowed him, if only for a moment.
Schröder’s lips were back on yours, as if to mock him, but what startled him, really, was the way you’d opened your mouth. You couldn’t mean it. Clearly. Schröder was gripping your jaw, forcing it open—it had to be—and he was coaxing your tongue out from inside and weaving it with his. Once more, time moved like molasses, and that was all your husband had had to see: you kissing him back, gripping his arm through the thick, black tactical gear, and still parting your lips more and more for him. Like you needed a touch, or something, worse than ever.
That stalled Bucky, though he was nowhere close to stopping now. Briefly preoccupied, and seemingly shocked as well that you’d accepted the kiss so eagerly this time, Schröder didn’t see the approach. If he had, he likely would’ve turned and made a move for his Ruger, but as it was, he had only to blink—and there was Bucky.
He hit him with a force that was blinding, directly to the side of his head so hard that he’d had no choice but to separate from you. Schröder was stunned one second and on the floor in the next. Bucky threw him there, kicked him down, and, wavering for only a moment to cock back the shoulder that’d been shot, he ignored the pain and punched the man again. And again. And again.
There was a callousness, an indolence, and an ease with which he was able to inflict the pain, that much was evident. What didn’t seem so natural, at least in Bucky’s mind, was the weight that was in his hands: Schröder’s body felt limp before he’d even landed the second blow.
The pressure grew heavier and heavier in his hands the harder, and more frequently, he delivered each hit, but for now, he didn’t care. Bucky kept on punching until the face beneath him was gnarled and bloody, and his own fist, too, slashed every which way with more cuts than he was able to count. He would’ve kept going—could’ve ignored the stabbing pain in his shoulder for as long as it would take to ensure the man was dead—but as it was, he refused to ignore the voice he heard. It was yours.
Muffled now, as your body was bent to the side and your head drooped lower still. Your voice was soft but clear:
“Bucky, please, stop.”
He did.
He dropped the man’s collar from his hands as soon as he’d heard you say it, and he turned away as if nothing had transpired behind him at all. His focus was on you.
“Baby—”
To his surprise, he watched you spit on the floor.
Your face was grim and almost sick, and you spit again.
The look grew even worse, and afterward, you didn’t waste a second more; you stood and left the room.
Bucky was stunned at first, and his instinct had been to follow. Then he heard a rattling sound beside him. He glanced down and paled, seeing Schröder there.
His face had turned blue much sooner than Bucky had expected—and not from any bruising but a lack of oxygen in his lungs. He was choking, foaming slightly at the mouth while he gasped for air. Surely, it hadn’t been the hits that caused it. The whites of Schröder’s eyes were as conspicuous as he’d ever seen them. Desperate.
Bucky swiftly got the sense that the life of his former captor was lost, and frankly, he didn’t care enough to watch him die. He left what remained of Schröder’s form to continue writhing on the floor, choking and sputtering for a breath that would never come, and went after you.
Downstairs, he found you hunched over the kitchen sink—spitting, retching, and trembling, too, but breathing.
You let the water from the faucet fill your mouth, and you rinsed again. You winced as something stuck your cheek.
Bucky drew closer, quickly, and when he was right by your side, he saw you spit a shard of glass into the sink. He looked over to the counter, and he spotted three more
They were minuscule, really. Nothing quite the size to leave a wound too deep, but sharp enough to cut your lips, your tongue, or the insides of your cheeks. When Bucky leaned in, he saw droplets of red joining the flow of the water beneath it. You coughed over and over again
“Don’t,” you croaked, seeing Bucky reach for the glass.
Before he could reply: “It’s the poison. From Madripoor.”
Your husband’s blood went cold in his veins. He didn’t touch the glass, but he did press closer to you, feeling his insides churn as the cogs started to turn in his head.
The vial of poison you’d been given to slip in Schröder’s drink at the Foxy Den—how the hell had you gotten it back? Why would you think you needed it, if he— but no, that couldn’t be the case. There wasn’t a shot you just—
“—put it in your mouth?” Bucky couldn’t curb the fear in his voice. He reached for you and spun you to face him.
“Did it kill him?”
Your eyes were wide for entirely different reasons. Bucky couldn’t believe what he was seeing; his mouth was dry.
“I didn’t want to kiss him,” you went on, voice shaking a little, “I didn’t— I just— I couldn’t get him the poison any other way. I knew he’d kiss me again, and when he did—”
“I know,” Bucky said. He smoothed the hair from your face, shaking his head. Feeling his stomach clench with fear and dread as he hurried to get a look in your mouth.
You’d snuck the vial inside your cheek, then crushed it between your teeth before Schröder had kissed you. You’d all but forced him to swallow the poison, shoving your tongue down his throat, but what of the stuff that remained? The rough, trembling fingers of Bucky’s hand were trying to pry your lips apart as gently as they could, ensure all the serum was out, but at present, you wouldn’t let him. You pushed back gently, though not too far to prevent your own touch from roaming his shoulder.
“The bullet—” you started.
“Barely nicked me,” Bucky cut in, “Baby, I need to see—”
That you’re safe. That you won’t be hurt in any way. He couldn’t finish the thought himself, having seen what the poison did to Schröder. Instead, he just held you closer and fought the lump that was starting to form in his throat. Adrenaline had worked well enough to clear his mind of the haze, but the rest of him was all high-strung.
Your clothes clung to you both, wet with blood and sweat. Your breaths were fast. Your expressions were feral, eyes no calmer as they scanned over the other’s form and soaked in every trace of what had happened. Bucky in his formalwear and you in something close to a chemise—like your honeymoon night all over again—you each got a glimpse of the gore ornamenting yourselves and let the room fall quiet, if only for a minute or two.
Your husband was the one to break the silence, at length, with cracked and grisly hands sliding down to your hips.
“You’re okay?”
His touch shifted you back in place to sit on the counter.
“I’m alright.”
You wanted to say more; assure him, in a voice as sedate as you could manage, that this wasn’t his fault. Whether he would believe a word of what you said was a separate question, but, at any rate, it didn’t matter. The next thing you knew, Bucky was slotting himself in the space between your legs and pulling you into his arms.
In spite of himself and all the wounds, he held you tight.
“You’re alright,” he repeated.
His face sank into the crook of your neck, and you felt his muscles contract again—pulling you closer—as he drew a shaky breath against your skin. You hugged him back.
“Are you?” Your voice was small.
In a blink, Bucky resurfaced. He lifted his head from your neck and, still holding you, hadn’t seemed to have heard.
“The baby,” he said quickly.
He stepped back. Lowered his gaze and his hands to trail over your hips and near your stomach, and he stared, as if trying to make sense of something dire. His blue eyes were wide, and they assumed such a look of panic that you feared a blood vessel might actually burst in one.
After all the great lengths he’d gone to, ensuring you were safe and taking extra precautions, on the off-chance you might be pregnant, here you were.
And there he went, sliding his touch lower and lower again until his hand was pressed into your belly, and the gaze you’d once thought soft before had all but melted into tenderness—delicacy. Complete, loving unreserve.
When his eyes met yours a second time, they were shiny.
Wet with the only kind of tears you’d want to see in them.
“You’re really…” he started, just to taper off, blinking.
And then his cheeks were dotted with the tiny, round droplets, and he’d finally ventured a smile for the first time in what seemed like ages and you couldn’t keep from reaching for him. The second you’d lifted your arms you were back in his, lips and nose smushed against the front of his stained white button-up and breathing deep.
Or trying to, anyway. Bucky had you squeezed so tight to his chest you had nothing but his shirt to inhale at first. You didn’t mind, and when he pulled away a moment later, you realized that your eyes, too, were filling up quick. You had to steel yourself against a maelstrom of emotions that threatened to emerge—the aftermath of a half-dozen traumas laid bare over the last hour—but the longer you were here, and the more your husband stared at you like that, the quicker your courage was depleted. In the span of five seconds, your senses were shot to hell. All you could think was what you could feel, and all you felt was Bucky: his arms and his hands and the raw, blistering heat between your bodies. The rest was noise.
It surprised you both when you kissed him. Physically, your mouth and his were hardly up to do it, injured as they were, but the impulse was strong, and it flowed between you. As soon as your lips latched onto his, Bucky was holding your face, molding his body to yours without so much as a second thought, and the mouth you met was sturdy. Hungry in the way it kissed back.
A string of words from Schröder flashed in your mind—‘Never be safe’—and you grit your teeth together, snagging the cusp of Bucky’s lower lip as you did it. He groaned. Before you could even try to apologize, though, he was gripping your face harder in his hands and coaxing your mouth open with his tongue. His front was still flush with yours, and your legs were starting to wind around his hips. Your husband nudged you back against the cabinets, and from the force of that push, you felt it.
Felt him.
Surely, it had had to take two very fucked up individuals to get all hot and bothered from a bloodbath that had just taken place; but, again, here you were—together.
And there you went, grinding your lower half with his.
“Doll?” Bucky broke out, word slurred just a little.
For a second, you thought he was going to stop you. Your eyes scanned his, and you were already planning to apologize for being so horny, it must just be the—
“You know I love you, right?” he breathed.
You blinked. You were about to nod, when you felt the bulge in his slacks start to rub against your barely-clothed heat, and something akin to a shockwave coursed through your frame. It couldn’t be helped. A monsoon of hyper-sensitized pleasure trembled over the skin in a way you’d never felt it before, and suddenly you were letting out a moan: a muffled cry of, ‘Yes, I-I know.’
Your husband swallowed and stared, slightly taken aback by the reaction his erection had produced. He’d never felt that either. At least from what he could remember.
The truth was that he’d never had a pregnant wife before—someone whose body was now extraordinarily responsive to his touch, nearly aching for him.
When you scooted your butt to the edge of the counter and dug your heels in the backs of his legs, humping him, almost, he got the idea. Bucky swallowed again.
“I love you too, I— I—” you started, already out of breath, “I just really need you to fuck me. Can you— please—”
Bucky didn’t need to be asked once, much less twice. He already had his belt, button, and zip undone before you could even look down, and then your own pyjama shorts were sliding off too. The counter was cool against your skin, but your husband’s warmth was more than enough to compensate for the loss. You smiled again, sheepish.
“It’s just…hormones,” you said, quieter toward the end.
You weren’t sure why you felt so ashamed to simply say, ‘James, I’ve been damn near insane with desire ever since you put a baby in me. Can you give me five more?’ But you did. You felt your cheeks start to heat as your lower half was left exposed to the air, and Bucky slipped his hand down between your legs, practically groaning:
“Honey, you’re soaked.”
There wasn’t one iota of shame in his tone.
He was more than happy to find you drenched beneath his touch. He had a smile on his face and a warmth bleeding from every fingertip as he caressed that soft, tender spot. You didn’t need to tell him what was on your mind, either. He sensed something was making you shy, and rather than have you say it aloud, he just touched you gentler, stroked the skin more affectionately, and tilted his head so only you could hear him, quiet as ever:
“That’s my girl. Feeling good for me?”
You felt your heartbeat between your thighs.
“My baby,” Bucky went on, voice dulcet and slow.
Your body was trembling at the edge, waiting. Impatient.
“My wife,” he said that with a smile, into your neck.
He lowered you onto his length, and you whined.
“Mother of my child.” The smile got bigger.
You couldn’t see it, but you could feel it. Feeling him slide inside the most precious, wet, pliable part of you, stretching you out, you couldn’t help the sounds you made. You felt full in a whole new way; the groan Bucky let out when you were impaled down to the base of his cock said he shared the feeling. He throbbed inside you.
“You’re—fuck.” Bucky’s words broke off at the sensation.
Your walls were as slick as ever, your body delicate, rolling your hips to the first gentle thrusts that his shaft carved inside. Neither one of you could last long like this.
Still, at the threat of sublime pleasure, you felt fear, briefly: Schröder’s implacable stare—and the thousands more like him in HYDRA. You couldn’t help but grip Bucky tighter, willing these thoughts away with the rhythm of your body over his. Feeling him fill you up, fuck you with quick, deliberate thrusts and hold you, ‘That’s it, take what you need, sweet girl, you’re okay.’
You wished you were. You wanted to be. With every stab of Bucky’s hips, you hoped this would be the last night you ever feared for you or your child’s life, but deep down, you knew that wasn’t true. This was everything your husband’s varied ‘enterprises’ entailed, and a life with him meant never knowing a day without it—fear.
The head of Bucky’s cock grazed an especially sensitive ridge in your walls, and you whimpered into his shoulder.
You smelled blood.
He pushed you back against the counter and pounded harder, breaths heavy and labored and gruff as he spoke:
“You’re okay, baby, it’s alright.”
Your mind tried clinging to that thought, nodding along as if to convince yourself. The pleasure grew stronger, and your body was hot. Everything was heightened. Bucky couldn’t keep his eyes or his lips or his rough, bloodied touch from roaming you wherever he could reach, and he kept rutting his hips, assuring you gently, again and again, that it was all okay. He was right here.
The pleasure from the depths of your body was beyond your control—you couldn’t help it when the band inside of you snapped. You held Bucky closer and you moaned, more desperate and needy and soaking for him, taking something from him, and knowing the bliss you felt would only steal the dark thoughts for a moment or two.
Bucky’s eyes said it just the same. He couldn’t keep stuffing you full, feeling his pleasure hit its peak, and finally painting your insides without sharing that look.
You were less than halfway down from your highs when you felt him go still, panting fast, then hold your face.
“I love you.”
It was desperate. Hoping for something.
“I love you, too,” you told him, and you meant it.
But there was more. Both of you knew there was more.
“I can’t be married to you, Bucky.”
You didn’t know why it had to come out now, but the emotions were there—his gaze had all but drawn it out.
Still sheathed inside you, your husband tensed. He looked as if he might try and shake his head, but the movement was stalled by his own momentary shock. He’d known the words were coming, but the sound of you saying them now wasn’t any less jarring to hear. Before he could reply, you found yourself cutting back in:
“Not now, at least. We need some…time. To think.”
You weren’t sure what you were saying, just that your lips were moving and every new word was hurting him more.
“Even with Schröder gone, there are so many…dangers for both—or, all—of us, and I don’t know…I just can’t—”
—imagine bringing a child into a world like this. Like his.
You didn’t need to say it.
The pain in Bucky’s eyes already communicated as much, and the conviction in your own only convinced him that you’d meant it—and what you said was the truth. You couldn’t stay in a marriage that wasn’t safe.
Just as you opened your mouth to say something more, the man surprised you when he squeezed your hand.
Nodding, almost imperceptibly, in front of you.
“I can wait,” he said, “Whenever you’re ready, doll.”
His voice was hoarse, words strained from the lump in his throat as he spoke, but the message was sincere.
“Whenever you feel safe,” he added, softly.
You wanted to hold him again. Like before, your eyes began to well with something stinging and harsh, but the look you’d fixed on him was filled with nothing but love. You would’ve reached for him then, if he hadn’t moved his hand to his pocket. He felt around inside it, briefly.
Then Bucky retrieved your wedding ring.
Holding you up against him, pressed snugly into the counter with your legs still wrapped around his lower half, he pinched the silver band between his forefinger and thumb and held it up to you. It glistened in the light.
“The next time you wear it, I want it to be because you chose to marry me. Not for anything, or anyone, else.”
Nothing arranged, no game, no being forced to stay.
You nodded and had to blink through a layer of tears.
Bucky’s thumb traced the moisture, cupping your cheek in one of his hands. He’d had to keep blinking himself, and before you could reach for him, he kissed you.
“I really hope you marry me again one day, Mrs. Barnes.”
You smiled, having parted but still holding on.
“I think I would like that, too. One day.”
The next thing you heard was a sound at the front door: what sounded like a crash. Half a dozen sets of feet stumbling inside, crowding the foyer, making a loud, frantic clamor that you and Bucky knew only too well. The two of you scrambled to get your clothes back on as Steve, Nat, Sam, and Sharon all seemed to yell at once.
You had one hell of a story to tell them.
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#bucky barnes smut#mob!bucky#bucky barnes x reader#bucky barnes x you#mob!bucky barnes#mafia bucky barnes#bucky barnes#bucky barnes fanfiction#bucky barnes fic#marvel#mcu#marvel smut#marvel x reader#james buchanan barnes#james bucky barnes#mafia!bucky
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Hangovers and Hickeys
Pairing: Spencer Reid x Reader
WC: no idea rn lmao probably like 700
A/N: some Spence content before the new year (on the western calendar). Hope you all get to enjoy the day!
“Good morning sunshine.”
You winced at the sheer volume of his voice. “If I could, id shove you off of the roof Derek Morgan.”
“Fun night?”
You snorted and finally lifted your head off of the desk. “You should be a profiler.”
That caused Derek to laugh, which made you wince and close your eyes. The sunglasses perched on your nose were supposed to be helping. They weren’t.
“That’s a nice hickey you got there.”
You grunted in response and tried to adjust your sweater collar so it would cover the hickey you missed this morning when you didn’t look in the mirror. You had basically rolled out of bed, and into your car to make sure you got to work on time.
“Who gave it to you?” “Why don’t you use your super duper profiling skills to deduce it or whatever Sherlock shit you wanna do.”
Derek snorted and shook his head. ”or you could just….tell me.”
“Don’t worry about it Derek.” You grumbled.
When Derek realized he wasn’t going to get any answers out of you about it, he decided he was going to change tactics.
“Moving on from Boy Wonder?” It was no secret that you had a crush on a certain nerdy doctor. And so Derek tried to use this knowledge to his advantage.
You crossed your arms and just raised your eyebrows. “I’m not dignifying that with a response,”
“Pretty sure that was my answer.” He chuckled, sitting down in his chair and swiveling to look at you.
When you decided to just ignore Derek, and face your desk, he piped up again. “Where is he anyways?” “No idea.”
It was like he was waiting for his cue from you. Spencer pushed open the doors to the bull pen and strolled in. He had his purple scarf around his neck, over his new coat that Henry (JJ) had gotten him for Christmas. It was a beautiful grey pea coat that kept him warm during these freezing winter months. Spender was carrying a tray with two coffees on it and what seemed like a bag from McDonalds, which seemed to be for you, since he was headed in your direction.
The smell of the food caused you to groan with joy and smile at the man walking towards you.
“My knight in shining armor.” You muttered as he placed the whole tray in front of you. You placed a kiss on his cheek hasilty, causing him to blush a little.
“I got hashbrowns from both McDonald’s and Dunkin’, a little smorgasbord of grease for your pallet.” He whispered before taking one of the cups out of the tray.
“I’m going to marry you Doctor Spencer Reid.” You muttered, digging into the bag and pulling out one of the McDonald’s hash browns and biting into it. The groan you let out leaned a little on the pornographic side, which made Derek raise his eyebrows at the sound you let out, and then at tinge of pink on Spencer’s cheeks.
You continued eating, clueless about the silent interrogation happening to your left, enjoying every single bite and sip of your hangover cure.
“Derek I can hear you thinking and it’s making my head throb.”
Derek’s eyes snapped back to you, as your figure swiveled in the chair to face him, casually munching on some of the fries, in a completely different mood then from two minutes ago before Spencer had walked in the room.
“Sorry your highness. I’m just curious as to why Boy Genius here is bringing you hangover cures.”
“Well it’s his fault I’m this fucked up so he owes me.” You grumbled, swiveling around in your chair to face your desk. You pulled your lap top out of your canvas bag and started to set up for your work day.
“Wha-how is it his fault.”
That’s when Spencer turned bright red and tried to change the conversation, or at least get out of it. “I—well it’s not…I….hotch is…”
Spencer basically ran across the bullpen and up the stairs to Hotch’s office, avoiding the conversation he almost just had.
“I don’t think you wanna know.” You smirked and bit into the muffin from Dunks that Spencer had got you, not looking at the man behind you.
“I’m starting to think that too.” His eyes narrowed and he looked between where Spencer had run off to, and you.
Something was going on between the two of you, and Derek Morgan was going to figure it out.
#x reader#spencer reid x fem!reader#spencer reid x reader#spencer reid x y/n#spencer reid x you#spencer reid fanfiction#spencer reid fanfic#spencer reid angst#spencer reid imagine#spencer reid x reader fluff#spencer reid x reader angst#dr spencer reid x reader#spencer reid#spencer reid fluff#spencer reid x self insert#criminal minds fanfiction#Spencer reid x y/n angst#Dr Spencer reid x dr!reader#spencer reid x gn!reader#spencer reid x male reader#spencer reid masterlist#criminal minds x reader#criminal minds fanfic
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I know this page now is filled with Mafia König, and Monster König, and Slasher König, but it was revealed to me in a dream- Executioner König. Apparently, (though I don't have a source) given that the profession often met with isolation, which obviously made it hard to find a bride. Some executioners if they weren't married already, could pardon a woman prisoner if she agreed to marry him. Now enter, all in white, Reader that has commited an unspecified crime. It's still enough to be on death row for it. But Konig, seeing her, just can't let such a pretty thing die. He's lonely, and not getting any younger....
Cut to Reader confused later in life how her life from stealing or conning went to cooking potatoes and warming his bed at night while he's busy ripping someone's intestines out.
(plus fucking Reader in a pillory as a treat)
You prayed every night. They gave you a week before the execution - threw you in a cold basement, dampened your feet in water, and waited until you begged for the sentence to come faster. They couldn't - the royal executioner was out on the road from another city, and they couldn't have a royal maid to be killed by some commoner. You thought you'd have time to let them know how you didn't do what you did - how you were innocent all along if only crime for protecting yourself. No one listened, of course. The royal executioner has cold hands, and you can almost feel them preparing for the torture. This is what he is going to do, you think - put you in a pillory, slowly rip you from inside out. A fitting punishment is to dump your common blood so everyone can see just how much of a filth you are. Konig knows he has a right to you - a royal maid, probably framed. Maybe you are guilty- but he looked at your wide eyes and tear-stained face, and he didn't really care. You have soft legs and nice hips, a body that even prisoner's rags couldn't hide. You'd give him nice, fat babies - about a litter of them, poor bastard living with their father's profession. Daughters never get married, and sons get themselves wives in a similar fashion. Konig draps a hand over your thighs, under the rags - you're filthy, but he never minded. Can clean you up after, make you a wife. Honest woman, getting clean with his cock lodged deep in your cunt. He always liked girls from the royal district - clean, fresh, looking small like dolls on their fast legs. Like deers in the forest, except that he can now get himself one. Like catching a forest nymph. You don't even whimper as he drags a hand over your pussy, fingering you slowly - learned his way with brothel girls, always too nervous to actually do something, but also too horny not to. No one would be with an executioner willingly, so he would fuck you until heaven and the crown would forgive you and then would put a nice ring on your finger. Drag you to his house and made you his made - and his princess, too. Would buy you a dozen little goose feather pillows and a soft blanket from a foreign merchant so your body would forget the cold and the depth of the dungeon. He knows you'd be a good housewife because you managed to work in a castle - he doesn't care if it was the lower quarters if you only worked with other servants. He calls you a princess in bed and gets expensive cuts of lamb to cook. You burn your first one, roasting it too much, not knowing how to deal with meat if it's not made from scraps - and he ate it anyway, nuzzling his face into your breasts later as if asking for seconds. Puts a baby in you two months after the wedding. Haggles with merchants for soothing herbs and tortures 5 people per day for a bigger cut of what was in their pockets. Gets you a really nice bracelet out of some poor merchanting bastard, and you wore it like a shackle, your hands still trembling lightly when embracing him. The smell of your hair makes him forget about blood, and he clings to your body like a dog whenever he is home. Konig couldn't be happier.
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i know we just met, but i love you
synopsis: love at first sight with the tokyo revengers men.
characters: manjiro 'mikey' sano, takashi mitsuya, chifuyu matsuno
genre: fluff
warnings: none (i think...?)
masterlist.
manjiro 'mikey' sano
"ken-chinnnn" the leader of the toman whined at his taller friend. draken rolled his eyes in response, "no mikey, drop it."
"come onnnn-" the said man pouted exaggeratedly, "what did i do wrong?"
"nothing." the delinquent replied taking his wallet out of the pocket of his jacket, "you just don't need to eat twenty-five taiyaki."
"sorry to bother you but there are a lot of people who are waiting take their orders so if you could-" daiki, as it was written on his name tag, tried to cut them off from behind the counter.
for the past ten minutes, the two delinquents were arguing about their order. draken wanted to buy mikey five taiyaki, while mikey wanted his friend to buy him twenty-five of them.
draken turned his head to the cashier, "yeah, so five taiyaki and-"
"twenty-five taiyaki." "damn you-"
"hurry up! unlike other people, some of us have important things to do!" a customer yelled from the back of the line.
manjiro snapped his head to the back of the line, narrowing his eyes at the older man who had just yelled at him. "see now you're making people angry, mikey. 'm not gonna spend ¥5,272 on snacks."
"i need to eat a lot if i want to be taller!"
"for the last time. you won't get taller! you are at your maximum height!"
"alright! i'm not going through this again." a soft voice cut both of them before they could start the same argument they had 2 minutes ago. "daiki, i'll pay for their order- just make his goddamn snacks, please."
when manjiro turned to look at the person who 'saved his life', he felt like he has just died and miraculously came back to life as he made eye contact with you.
you were... pretty.
his eyes were set on you, taking in every single detail he could as if he was scared to forget how you look the second he'll look away.
"thank you, but that's not necessary!" draken politely thanked you as you grabbed your fidelity card of the small shop.
"don't worry about it! after all, those fidelity points have to be used for something." you waved him off, looking back at daiki, "could you also add my regular oder with that, please daiki?"
"o-of course, (y/n)!" the young worker quickly tapped your oder in the computer, a red hue covering his cheeks when you smiled at him.
"mikey, what do you say?" draken looked at his friend, hinting him to thank you, but his words fell into deaf ears as mikey kept looking at you like you hung the moon and stars in the sky.
"mikey?" He nudged the said man's shoulder trying to snap him out of his thoughts, only to be ignored once more.
the tall blond dropped the smile as he turned to his friend hitting the side of his head, finally snapping him out of his thoughts, "mikey!"
"um? what?" mikey barely glanced at draken when he responded, his heartbeat increasing when you looked back at him with your receipt in hand.
"i said, what do you say to the girl who just bought you your snacks?" he replied, glancing between the two of you clearly wondering why his friend was acting weird all of the sudden.
"marry me."
ken ryuguji never whipped his head to look at his friend so fast in his life. What the hell did he just said?!
you felt your face warm up at his words, chuckling as you walk past him, placing your hand on his shoulder, "do you ask every girl who buys you snacks to marry you?"
manjiro felt like he was in heaven when you stood closer to him. how can someone be so pretty and be so nice and smell so good and be so pretty at the same time.
"what?" toman's leader came back down to earth when you handed him the box filled of taiyaki. "did i say that out loud?" manjiro mumbled, frowning to himself. before looking back at you, just to see you making your way outside. "hey- wait!"
he tossed the snacks at draken jogging to meet you outside of the shop. "w-wait!"
you turned to look at him, the soft summer breeze sweating through your hair, leaving your face completely out in the open, "yes?"
"you're (y/n), right?" he asked remembering how the cashier called you when you were ordering, "i'm mikey..." he wanted to say something else but the words got caught in his throat when you smiled at him.
"nice to meet you, mikey" you replied before your eyes drifted behind him to the small group of guys that were looking at the two of you intensely, the 'ken-chin' guy from earlier standing with them. "i think your friends are waiting for you"
manjiro glanced back to see his best friends looking at them with knowing looks on their faces, "never mind them- this is- you are more important."
you looked away from him, his intense eye contact making your face feel warm, "you really know how to talk to girls you know?"
"thank you for earlier... the snacks and all..."
"that was 2 months worth of fidelity points- you better eat every single one of those taiyaki" you playfully warned the gang leader.
"don't worry about that..!" mikey replied knowing damn well that he will inhale those snacks. "can i walk you home? it's going to get dark soon- wouldn't want my wife to get attacked or something!"
wife?!
you suppress a smile at his words, "of course, wouldn't want it to get dark at 2 pm, and then get attacked by who knows what next to a bakery."
"exactly! let's go, wifey!"
takashi mitsuya
"what did you say you're brother's name was?" you asked the crying girl in front of you.
"...t- taka-shi" the small girl sobbed in your shoulder as you gently patted her head.
"alright and what's your name?" you gently asked as you scanned the area trying to find someone who looked like they had just lost their child.
"i- i- i'm mana"
"you have a really pretty name, you know?" you smiled fondly at the girl as you whipped the tears of her face with your thumbs.
"really?"
"heck yeah! it's a badass name!" you felt relief wash over you when you saw a smile spread across the kid's face, "i'm (y/n) and i'm gonna help you find your brother alright?"
"thank you..." she mumbled quietly.
"you're going to hop on my shoulders and tell me when you see your brother okay?" the girl looked up at you with stars in her eyes, you pulled mana on your shoulder, her small hands on your head.
you walked for a good 15 minutes before mana tapped your head with on hand while the other pointed toward an unknown man in the crowd of person, "they're there! that's draken!"
draken? wasn't her brother's name takashi? you wondered as you put mana to the ground your hand grabbing hers just in case she got lost again.
"mana!" a little girl's voice called out as you arrived next to the very tall guy with a dragon tattoo on his head. the small girl that looked very similar to mana hugged tightly the younger girl.
"mitsuya! ' found her" the tall guy called out for someone else behind him. the 'mitsuya' guy appeared from behind the 'draken' guy not long after he called out from him. the purple haired teen practically attacked his sister with a hug, sighing in relief.
"don't ever do that again, mana." he gently scaled his younger sister, "you could've gotten lost and we would've been really sad, al-?"
"it's fine! (y/n) helped me find you!" she pointed her finger at her. mitsuya ruffled his sister's hair, before straightening up to thank the person that help his mini-him, "thank you so mu..."
he felt like the world had stopped moving. like it was only the two of them in the middle of the festival. takashi mitsuya was in a trance. he was simply mesmerized by the sight of you.
"it's no problem, really! " you softly smiled at him, "your sister is a real angel-"
anything else you said after wasn't even registered but the delinquent in front of you. he was usually so good at this- talking to people was what he did best so... why couldn't he utter a single word for you.
his cheeks were red, his palm were sweaty, why was he anxious?- he was hanging on everything you did. even if he felt like he had forgotten how to speak, your voice felt like melody to his ears.
he snapped out of his trance when someone nudge his shoulder. mitsuya glanced at draken beside him, suddenly remembering that they weren't alone and that you were talking to him.
you looked at him with a puzzled look, "are you alright?
your question made him overthink about everything that happened in the last 2 minutes of your meeting. Did he look like a creep?
"i- i- great."
the hell was that takashi? he cursed himself.
darken cleared his throat, holding back his laugh. he brought his fist to his mouth faking coughs as he muttered a small, "real smooth, mitsuya".
you chuckled at his friend's comment, making mitsuya straighten up, you pulled out your hand for him to shake.
"let's start over, alright? i'm (y/n)... you're takashi right?"
draken stepped up clearly expecting his friend to be to lost in space to answer you, "he prefers mitsuya-"
"takashi's fine!" the said man interjected, as he quickly grabbed your hand to shake it, sending one of his pretty smile in your direction.
"i-"
"are you going to marry my brother?" he couldn't catch a break could he? luna asked you with big eyes.
you chuckled softly at her words, "how about this... i will give my number to your brother. then we'll go out to eat something to talk about marriage alright?"
"yes!" the girl tightly hugged your leg as you said that.
"does that sound like a plan to you, takashi?" yes!
mitsuya hurriedly started to look in his pocket for a pen, when draken pulled one out of his pocket with a piece of paper and handed it to the purple haired boy, "there you go, casanova"
takashi handed you the paper and the pen, before you wrote your name with your phone number on it.
"see y'a soon, taka! bye, mana don't get lost again alright?"
as soon as you were out of sight takashi turned to draken with a stern look, "not a word about this, alright?"
"you're crazy!" draken crackled putting his hand in his pocket, "i'm going to tell everyone!"
"draken!"
"as your wingman i feel like it's my responsibility-"
"no it is not!"
chifuyu matsuno
"hurry up, chifuyu!" takemichi yelled at his friend. they couldn't be late. not for that.
"how come you are slow as hell during a fight, yet you sprint your life on a sunday at 8 am?" the blond joked as he calmly walked behind takemichi with not a care in the world.
"come on! we're gonna be late!" he repeated hurriedly before stopping abruptly while looking around him.
"late to what?" chifuyu yawned, before looking at his friend, who stood there looking around, up and down as if his brain had finally snapped, "you alright?"
"alright stand here and don't move." takemichi moved the delinquent around so that he would stand in the middle of a park- an empty park.
"did you finally snapped or...?" he asked when the time traveler started to back away from him, "are you going to kill me? is this really how it's gonna end-"
"watch out!"
a voice yelled, but it was too late.
a ball directly hit his face, knocking chifuyu to the dirty ground, his eyes closing due to the shock.
it took him a couple of seconds before finally opening his eyes again, only to realize that he was in heaven. the prettiest girl he had ever seen in his life held his head in her hands, her index and middle finger pressed against the front of his neck just below his jaw- making sure that his heart was still beating.
"oh- thank god! you're not dead!"
"are you an angel?" chifuyu mumbled placing his hand on top of yours- making sure you were real, "am i in heaven?"
you let a breathy chuckle at his words, "you're cute- but no you're not dead... i kicked a ball in your face- unintentionally of course!"
his eyes finally focused on you, remembering what had happened. he blinked a couple of time, his eyes scanning your face- a pretty girl's face... so close to his face with her hands on his face and his hands on her hand-
what?!
chifuyu's face became as red a tomato straitening his posture to apologize for touching you without your authorization, "i'm so sorry-"
his head came in contact with your head, making you pull back immediately from the blond. "ow! i told you i didn't do it on purpose!" you groan holding your head with your hands.
chifuyu gasped in horror at his own clumsiness as he placed a hand on the back of your head. hopping that the coldness of it would help you a little, "i'm sorry! i swear i didn't mean it! please hit me again so that we're even!"
...what? now why would he say that?
"what? what's wrong with you?! do you get turn on by getting hit or something?!"
chifuyu panically looked around to search takemichi so that he could help him. when he finally spotted him, hiding behind the swings, the time traveler was smiling proudly with his two thumbs up in the air.
his action making him recall a conversation the two of them had a couple of weeks earlier.
"so... am i married in the future?" chifuyu asked takemichi as he bit down the sandwich he made himself for lunch.
takemichi raised his brows at the question, "yeah-"
"really?!" the blond gasped, with heart in his eyes, "do i know her?! no wait- that'll ruin the surprise- is she pretty?! no wait- of course she's pretty you idiot!"
the time traveler chuckled at his friend's words, rubbing the back of his neck, "do you want me to tell you how you met?"
"no! it has to be a surprise!" chifuyu refused, "wait am i going to meet her soon? is that why you said that?! takemichi?! answer!"
"nah- like you said it has to be a surprise~"
"takemichi!"
"if it makes you feel better- you embarrassed yourself in front of her"
"how would that make me feel better?!"
that sneaky bastard.
"i'm sorry! i don't know how to talk to pretty girls..." chifuyu mumbled looking to the ground, but his face snapped back at you when he realize what he had just say, your eyes round at his words, "i- i mean not that don't know how to talk you! wait- not that you're not pretty! you are pretty- beautiful even! but that is not the point! i don't need you to hit me! just please don't think i hurt you on purpose- i don't hit pretty girls! no wait- i don't hit girls at all! but you being beautifully-pretty is just a plus you know! an-"
you smacked your hand on his mouth, stopping his rambling, the butterflies in your stomach flying way to much due to his words. "please stop-! you're too cute..."
takemichi titled his head at the scene in front of him, clearly not remembering that part of the story your older self told him in the future about how chifuyu and her had met-
but... mission failed successfully... i guess?
ⓒarmxnh
#tokyo revengers x reader#tokyo revengers#chifuyu x reader#chifuyu matsuno#takashi x reader#takashi mitsuya#manjiro x reader#mikey x reader#manjiro sano#armxnh writes ♡
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𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐟𝐚𝐮𝐥𝐭, 𝐣𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞 | 𝐚𝐚𝐫𝐨𝐧 𝐡𝐨𝐭𝐜𝐡𝐧𝐞𝐫
When someone hurts you, you and Aaron both need time to get better, and to put things right. fem, 8k
cw canon typical violence, graphic scenes and imagery of assault/battery, recovery, mentions of being sick, issues eating. established relationship, lots of angst and comfort, hotch being vulnerable, jack being sweet
˚‧꒰ა ✮ ໒꒱‧˚
You lay backward over the luxurious stretch of the couch and sigh as your spine gives a sharp crick. Your head feels heavy after a long shower, your arms ache from a day at work, but the feeling of soft cotton on your legs deters any moping.
I hope these are more comfortable, his note read, a white post it note stuck to a boutique bag. You wrap an arm around your waist remembering how Aaron’s message had made you feel: spoiled, and considered.
You’d mentioned in passing that all your pyjamas are old and rough as a consequence, thought nothing of it, and promptly forgot about the conversation entirely.
When Aaron finally comes home tonight, you’re going to give him a proper thank you. You can imagine his reaction to such a thing, his smile as he says it’s no problem, his eyes shuttering closed as you press a kiss to his cheek. You hadn’t realised how prevalent affection would become in your life after meeting him, but everything he does inspires love. Awful, soft, marshmallowy love where he looks at you and you want to sit in his lap.
You slide your phone up your chest lazily and click the button on the side to light the display. Aaron hasn’t claimed to know when he’ll be home tonight. All he’d said was to let yourself in.
It’s odd but not the worst thing in the world to be alone in his apartment. There’s less and less free space each time you visit as Jack begins to outgrow his and his fathers lodgings, but there’s never a stain or bad smell, the Hotchner apartment feels homey. You’re excited whenever you’re invited to spend the night with them.
Maybe some time soon he’ll ask you to move in, or better, to marry him. You’re not a hundred percent sure how you feel about marriage, about being someone’s wife, but there’s a great well of pleasure to be found in the idea that Aaron would want to marry you. He makes you feel loved already in a hundred different ways but the ring might be nice, like a symbol to signify how much you mean to him.
You rest your hand across your eyes. It’s silly to think of. Sillier to want so soon. You’ve been together for just under a year, and you have no false hopes about rushing into the future, but it’s certainly a future you want with him (and with Jack, too). He’s taking things slowly for a hundred different reasons but he loves you, and gifts like your new pyjamas cement that. He really listens to you.
Your phone rings a moment later.
You smile at the screen. It’s nice to be in love with someone who loves you too.
“Hey,” Aaron says when you answer, his voice warm even through the phone, “I didn’t think you’d answer.”
“How come?” You sit up with a little start.
“It’s getting late, honey. I called Jess and Jack was already gone.” He doesn’t say anything further.
“Are you okay?”
“I wanted to hear your voice, I think.”
“Well, where are you?” You struggle to envision him speaking saccharinely like this where his colleagues could hear him. He’s nice to you often, but he’s a reserved man.
“I’m just,” —a crunching sound of metal, the trunk of his car closing— “about to get in the car. I’ll be home before ten. Can I have you until then?”
“I don’t see any reason to say no. But do you think you could come home a little faster? I have a crick in my neck.”
“And you want me to fix that?”
“You always fix my neck.”
“How have you done it?” There’s a sound you assume to be the car door closing, but you can’t hear anything beyond that.
“I have bad posture.”
“You have perfect posture.”
“No, it’s quite bad.”
He laughs loudly. It took some time to draw the humour from him but he isn’t as stony as you’d think, and for a while he didn’t have much worth laughing for, anyways. Whenever you hear it, you try to prompt it twice.
“You don’t have to lie to me, Aaron, it’s just like when you said my weird rash wasn’t weird.”
He laughs again, to your pleasure. “It wasn’t weird, it was a heat rash, I promise. You act like you’ve never seen heat rash.”
“One of us goes to hot cities all the time and one of us lives permanently in Virginia.”
“What are you talking about? Virginia’s far from cold. You’re being argumentative, I can see your smile in my head. I’m never going to fix your crick if you keep acting like that.”
“No, don’t be like that,” you laugh, tipping back into the cushions. “You’re always such a sore loser.”
“What did I lose?”
You can tell from his tone that you’ve promised yourself one of those hugs that borders on a straight jacket tightness, his face tucked into your neck as he asks you to repeat yourself. What did I lose? he’ll ask again, kissing your chin, the line of your jaw. Tell me clearly.
“It hurts,” you say honestly, “please don’t be mad. I really need one.”
“I’m not mad… I’m going under the overpass, my signal might cut out.”
“Okie dokie. Hey, did you eat? I can make you something for when you get home. I got groceries.”
“I’m not hungry, but you can make yourself hot cocoa, and I’ll drink it when I get there,” he says.
“Or I could make us both some?”
“It’s much more fun if I drink yours before you can, honey. You know that—”
You pause in the quiet, then hear a quick beeping. You pull your phone from your ear and find the call disconnected.
Cruel overpass, you think.
Sure he’ll call you back, you take your phone into his kitchen and set about finding all the things you’ll need for hot cocoa. One mug, because you should hate when he forces you to share, but you love the feeling of his fingers on yours as he takes it and the thankful kiss he dots on your cheek.
The kettle is uncomplicated. You toy with the stovetop, set the kettle on the burner, and let the temperature rise. It begins whistling lightly a mere thirty seconds later.
You click your phone on again. He’ll have passed through the tunnel now and will be calling you back any minute. You stare at the phone, hoping to summon him, slouched over the counter with the tin of cocoa powder by your fingers. The kettle whines with growing heat, but cool air kisses your back.
Goosebumps rise. Up and down the lengths of your arms, the back of your neck—
A sudden chill.
The lack of air comes before the hand, the pain a rush, a burst to be away from. Leather on your neck creaking without sympathy as a hand tightens and drags your body back against something hard.
Not Aaron. Your scream comes strangled under cruel fingers as you fight to move forward again, straight for the burner, the kettle shoved across the burner grate and exploding with scalding water, heat of the burner kissing your chest— you scream, only it’s worse than a scream, sound from the deepest part of you forcing itself past the heat at your neck as you try to fling yourself away from the pain.
You fall with a hard clout. “Stay still!” comes out enraged against the back of your neck. You drop to your knees, the pain lighting flaring up your chest, your gaze frantic as you search for a flame that isn’t there. You’re not on fire, you’re crawling and then scampering up into a standing position when the heavy weight drops itself on you again and smashes your face into the floor.
All your fight leaves you. Your ears ring. Your panic wanes but the pain stays alert in your mouth.
A hand grabs you by the back of the head and drives your face into the ground. It’s like light in your eyes and your nose, the brunt of it, the crack of your bone and the hot trickle of blood that swiftly follows. You gurgle in pain, spluttering and gagging against the linoleum, waiting for Aaron to turn you over and say sorry. It’s an accident.
Blood drains from your nose in spurts to match your racing pulse, so much blood you can see your eyes reflected in the dark stretch of it. Water drips down the front of the stove, your breath aches and begs, and your attacker takes a measured breath.
He flips you over. You can’t slide away, there’s nothing left in you, your head a second body as he raises something.
Your phone rings on the counter.
“Please, don’t,” you plead with a sob.
You pass out as the pain connects. Just as quickly as it started, your body takes the reins.
—
There’s a strange darkness waiting for you. Like waking before your alarm and stealing those last minutes, body aching, not wanting to get up and face the day. Aaron gets up early every morning, sometimes as early as four AM, and whenever you get up with him your eyes hurt for hours.
Nothing, nothing, nothing.
Hey, hey, I think your boyfriend’s coming.
What will he make of my handiwork?
You didn’t stay awake long enough for that one, did you? But you’re waking up now.
The pain is enough to wake you up again, a hot drag down the side of you to your hip and in. You aren’t aware of the sounds you make, but you can hear them. Your panicked squealing as the heat presses further and further in. Your crying, and your whispering, “Stop, stop.”
“There’s handsome,” the dark voice says. “I’ve gotta go hide somewhere, does he carry after hours? I think I’ll find out.”
“Oh,” you say, feeling sickly. You attempt to curl into yourself, when did you turn onto your back? “No,” you mumble, lips wet with something hot.
“Honey?” a voice asks.
“Honey,” you repeat, woozy again, darkness falling in all over again, where it stays.
Honey, are you in here?
—
The window behind Aaron’s shoulder is cold. Rain patters fast like floods, thunder occasionally chewing through clouds, and Jack Hotchner cries sluggish tears into his dad’s shoulder.
Aaron has his eyes closed. They’ve been at this for a while. “Shh, shh shh, buddy,” he says softly, patting the bottom of Jack’s back. He’d sway him back and forth if his arms weren’t about to fall off.
Jack squirms closer, no room left between them.
“I know it’s scary,” Aaron says.
Jack just cries. This approach of quiet support isn’t working; Jack isn’t a baby that needs to be put to sleep, he’s a panicking little kid, and Aaron needs to change gears. He ushers him away from his chest and crosses his arm behind Jack’s back. Careful, he shifts Jack’s weight to free his other arm and brings his fingers up to the silky brown hair dropping onto Jack’s forehead.
“She’s okay,” Aaron says, stroking Jack’s hair. His little forehead is clammy. “She’s not hurting. I know it looks scary, honey, but… she’s just resting.”
Jack looks him in the eyes. “Her face.”
“I know.” He nods emphatically. “It’s hard to see. Blood isn’t nice. You don’t have to see her again today, not if it’s too scary.”
Jack lifts a hand to Aaron’s face. Clumsy but with clear attempts to be careful, he wipes at the skin under Aaron’s eye. Aaron bites back a smile.
“I look tired,” he says.
“Yeah.” Jack brings his hand back to wipe his eyes. He sobs as he does it. Aaron can’t describe the ache it gives him to see it.
“Buddy, I’ll do it. Let me wipe your face. I can do it.”
Jack drops his hands. Aaron turns his hand and wipes the smudge of Jack’s tears from hot cheeks, testing the waters with a little smile.
“I couldn’t see you under all those tears.”
Jack does a little smile back. “Yes you can.”
“I couldn’t! But now I’ve wiped all your face I can see you again. You’re handsome, did we know that?”
Jack giggles. He sniffles, and he presses his palm to Aaron’s neck. “I don’t want her to be sad, dad.”
“She’s going to be sad, because something scary happened, but it’s okay. I’m gonna take care of her.”
Aaron would offer to take him home, but they can’t go home. They may not go home for a long time —the team is still trying to work out how someone made it into the apartment without alerting the building’s security or Aaron’s internal system. And then escaped again without Aaron’s notice. Until then, Aaron has to make a decision about a safe house, for himself, Jack, and Jess, though she's extremely unreceptive to the idea.
Aaron has to look after Jack, and he needs to take care of you.
“What do you think, bud?” he asks, cupping Jack’s head in his hand. “Do you want to go home?”
“You said I can give her a hug.”
“If it’s too scary, we don’t have to. I don’t want you to get upset again.”
“I’m not scared. I want to give her the hug,” he says.
Aaron pulls him in for a hug of his own. “Okay, buddy. Just try to think of it like this. She’s where she needs to be to get better. Everybody here is looking after her. She’ll be okay soon.”
Aaron looks over Jack’s head down the hospital hallway. It’s a quiet ward, and here between the main ward doors and the hallway that leads down to the individual rooms there’s complete silence. Night is approaching quickly again, and with it comes Aaron’s panic. Your head turned into a puddle, your face lax of expression in the dark. He can’t stop finding the women he loves bloody and on their backs.
“Ready?” he murmurs. “Can you walk with me? My arms are tired.”
“Yeah.”
Aaron puts Jack down gently onto his feet. He neatens his hair, chucking him under the chin as he goes to see his smile. He’s so pretty, like Haley was, with shiny eyes. He’s a beautiful kid. Aaron takes his hand and together they make their way down the hallway to your room.
You’re sleeping.
Aaron herds Jack through the door and to the plastic covered chair by your side, where he lifts him up and sits him down. He stays between you both. Jack isn’t scared of you, just the blood, but he wants to show Jack that he’s going to protect him from anything he needs protecting from. He also desperately wants to touch you, and reassure himself that you’re still breathing.
He looks for your hand. Your pinky finger is splinted, but he can take it with care, give the palm of it a squeeze.
The blood matted in your hair has finally been washed away after a turbulent day, as well as the staining that marred your face. Your nose is broken, and looks it, the bruises so fierce your eyes have turned puffy and your top lip has inflamed. There are second degree burns in multiple places but most affectedly on your chest. There’s a stab wound at your hip, allegedly done with a small blade. It nicked your small intestine. The bandages laid over you are a lump under your hospital gown.
Aaron looks at you, and he feels a passionate disdain for himself. He wishes he could… be someone else. Someone who doesn’t have such a deep connection to a job that hurts the people around him, over and over. Haley used to say he was obsessed with being the hero, but this doesn’t feel heroic.
“Do you wanna give her your cuddle?” he asks softly.
Jack stays sitting.
He’ll have to give it to you himself. Careful, Aaron leans down over your prone body and presses a half kiss to your ear, the only place that won’t hurt.
You have an IV drip going into your arm, painkillers, an ECG monitor to the left. The room is white but busy, you’re a burst of colour against it all, your cuts and bruises, the evidence of violence he can’t remove. Aaron’s tired. He perches on the gap of bed by your leg and holds your hand, turning to Jack, who watches with a frown.
“She’s sleeping,” Aaron says.
“When can she come home?”
“In a few days.” He feels the pad of your hand, terrified of your broken finger but needing to hold a part of you.
“Why is she sleeping all day?”
Traumatic experiences are exhausting. “I think she might want to be alone, so she sleeps.”
“Should we go?”
Aaron shakes his head. “I think we should stay. When she wakes up again she’ll be happy to see us, because we’re not strangers.”
“We’re family,” Jack says. He’d liked that, when the nurse asked you how Aaron was related to you. Family only.
“We’re her family,” Aaron agrees.
If he somehow miraculously fell out of love with you, you’d still be family to them. You’ve given so much of your heart since you met them. Aaron wants everything you have to give.
You wake in a slow, slow upheaval. It takes effort on your part, the opening of sore eyes, the dreary decision to face your pain. Your hand jumps in his but relaxes when he shushes you, your slimmer fingers stilling under his rubbing thumb. For a split second, you keep your gaze half-lidded, jaw soft, like you’ve been indulging in a stolen nap.
Then your breath catches and you screw your eyes tightly.
“You’re okay,” he says, quietly, and not as lightly as he means to, “you’re okay, you’re okay, you’re okay,” in quick succession.
“Hurts,” you say, and gasp, a whine stuck in your throat.
He doesn’t know what to do. Jack shouldn’t watch this but he can’t leave you alone. “It’s okay,” he says, holding your wrist to stop it climbing up your bruised face.
You were worse the first time you woke up. Catatonic, then sobbing. You mumble and whimper now, pain threading goosebumps down your arms.
“It hurts too much,” you say. A sob falls out of you like you’ve been ripped open.
Aaron doesn’t think, but an instinct sparks. The pain, to hit you right out of the gate like this, to make you say something like that when you’ve always always made your problems small, must be torture. It must feel new and sudden all over again.
Aaron checks that Jack is alright and leaves the room. He looks down one hallway and then the other, but there’s no nurse around —he races to the reception desk and begs the two nurses there for help with you, “She’s in intense pain,” he says, grasping the desk.
The nurse he’s more familiar with clears her throat. “Mr. Hotchner, she’s already had enough motrin for two people at your request, she really shouldn’t need–”
“Pain is just as important to treat as the injury.”
A second nurse puts her salad down with raised brows. “Do you want to overdose her?”
“Excuse me?”
Aaron has always seen himself as a gentleman, but the argument that ensues is tricky to navigate while remaining respectful, and he’s no closer to better treatment for you by the end of it. He gives each nurse a disapproving glower and takes his phone from his pocket, turning on the spot, ready to call whoever it is he needs to call for a second opinion. He’s not gonna listen to you cry when there’s no need.
He pushes the door open with the phone still clutched in his other hand. Jack’s climbed onto your bed. He cuddles your face, sitting by your pillows and bent over you protectively.
Aaron lets out a breath.
“It’s okay,” he says, his arm behind your head and his arm on your shoulder. “W’gonna take care of you.”
“I know,” you say, crying without sound, shaking under his arms.
His cheek smushes against your forehead. Your eyes are closed and your face braced for contact Jack doesn’t make, careful not to hurt you as he rubs his cheek into your skin. Your blankets are falling off of you from the squirming and your bruises shine with tears in the light, but Jack has calmed you down some.
Aaron shouldn’t have left Jack with you. He’s been so scatterbrained since he found you when he should be the opposite, but Jack is doing better than Aaron managed alone.
“I’m sorry for crying,” you say slowly. “I’m hurting, but it’s not bad. I’m okay.”
“That’s good. You have a big scratch on your face, and bruises.”
“I know.”
“Dad says you have a bruise on your tummy too.”
“I got lots of bruises, but it’s okay. Don’t worry about me.” You bring your hand up injured and uncaring to rub his leg. “You’re being a really brave boy, thank you.”
A tear rolls down your cheek.
“It’s teamwork,” Jack says. “I hug you and you hug me.”
“Is that what you want? You want a hug?”
“I want to go home,” he says, hugging you harder.
You grasp his arm loosely where it’s just under your chin. “Jack, can you move your arm?” you whisper.
Your breath comes quickly, but Jack moves his arm away from your bruised neck and you try to calm yourself down.
Aaron jolts himself back into action. “Sweetheart,” he says, rushing to sit Jack back and give you more space. “Are you okay?”
“I’m fine.”
He watches. Not sure what to say. Not sure saying anything is wise. You squint at him through your lashes, eyes opening slowly, your mouth a line pressed hard to stop from crying.
“I think it's time for Jack to go home,” he suggests gently.
“Yeah,” you say, eyes swimming with tears.
“No.” Jack squeezes your head again, to your panic.
“Jack, buddy, please don’t touch her neck,” Aaron says, grabbing Jack from your pillow.
He erupts into tears again. Frantic and vying for you, Aaron tries to calm him and he kicks against his chest, tears turning to disgruntled sobs at not getting what he wants. You wince, pressing your face completely into the pillow.
Aaron carries Jack from your room, phone in hand.
—
Is she breathing? Can she talk?
I don’t– I don’t know, I don’t– She’s breathing. Honey, can you hear me? I don’t know what to stop. I don’t know where it’s all coming from.
Where’s the worst of the blood?
It’s everywhere.
Abdominal? Chest?
I can’t tell. I can’t tell.
Mr. Hotchner, you can’t panic. Does she have a chest wound?
Yes. Yes, but–
Is she conscious? How’s her pulse? Be ready to start chest compressions.
Honey, can you hear me?
Your name said clearly.
“Hey, can you hear me?”
“Yes,” you murmur.
“If you need a minute, that’s okay.”
You cover your mouth with your hand. Emily Prentiss has a soft voice like your boyfriend’s when she wants to have it. She’s never spoken to you like this, none of his colleagues have, but since the incident, everybody treats you like you’re made of glass.
Cognitive interviews are meant to happen immediately after an accident, but you weren’t up for company. Aaron promised this would be on your terms, that Emily is the most practised, and that she’s reaped the most information from them than the rest of the team. So far, it’s worked to drag bad memories to the surface.
“Maybe we should start from the beginning.”
There isn’t a beginning. There’s just conversation. Aaron’s hand on your heart and his shaky voice, so unlike him.
“Okay.”
Emily reaches for your hand. She smiles, and her nice features get nicer. That’s another thing they all share, good looks. “Okay. What did you notice, in the kitchen? It’ll help if you close your eyes,” she reminds you.
You close your eyes.
“What stuck out?”
“Nothing,” you murmur. “I’ve been in there lots of times, and nothing ever changes.”
“Nothing? Not even the drawings on the fridge?”
“Jack’s particular about his best work, even if I think they should all be on display.”
Emily’s voice turns to a shard of itself. “What did you do? Can you take me through it step by step? Make yourself a cup of hot chocolate.”
“I never got that far.”
“What did you do?”
“I filled the kettle.”
“What kettle?”
You don’t understand the need for specificity, but you answer. “Aaron got it for me, when he… he told me he loved me, and when we got home he’d bought me a kettle and a bunch of stuff to make my being there easier. The kettle, because… he said something about superheated water. How the microwave can be dangerous, and this would be easier than a pan.”
“Alright. Okay, and what did you do after that?”
“I put the kettle on the stove.” You lit the burner, and heat kissed your palm, and suddenly the room had felt cold. “I got goosebumps.”
“When?”
“The kettle started to whistle, and it was cold.”
“And then–”
“Then he grabbed me.”
“Yeah,” Emily says softly.
You touch your nose. “I tried… He didn’t feel like a person. He didn’t feel like someone I was fighting, it was just painful.”
“Like he was quick on his feet?”
“He was silent. I didn’t hear him until I made him fall.”
“How big did he feel?”
Your stomach churns. Big. He’d felt big.
Where’s the worst of the blood?
“He said he was going to hide,” you remember.
“He said that? He said ‘hide’?
“Yeah. And he asked me if Aaron carries after hours.”
“When was this?”
It’s a headache. You try to remember more, because that’s what they need right now. If you ever want to go home, if you want Jack to go home, you need to remember more. The BAU are good, but nobody can make a map out of slivers.
“That was at the end,” you say.
“After he stabbed you?”
You wince. “Yes. After.”
“You’re doing so good,” she praises, “I just want to fill in the gaps.”
“I can’t remember. I was unconscious.”
“When Hotch found you?”
“No, before.”
“Before?” she asks.
You’re sick of sitting there with your eyes closed. Sick of your hands shaking with nowhere to hide them, and sick of feeling sick, your nausea as present as the stinging pain of your burned wrist against your sleeve each time you move.
You open your eyes and look around the conference room for something interesting. How nice would it be to think of something else for a few minutes?
“He called it handiwork when he cut me. Asked if I thought Aaron would like it,” you say, bordering monotonous as your gaze fizzles, unfocused, across the room.
“Okay, Y/N. Okay. I know you’re tired.” She reaches for your hands to squeeze at the same time. “You did really well. Any details at all are details we can use to find him.”
You’re not in the mood for talking anymore. Tears burn your eyes, waiting for a blink to set them loose.
“I want to see Aaron,” you confess quietly.
“I’ll find him for you.” Emily stands but bends, the dark of her hair a contrast to her pale face. She’s lovely, and her hand is gentle on yours. “Are you okay? Can I get you something to eat?”
So Aaron’s not keeping that to himself. “I want to see him, please.”
“Yeah. Okay.”
This is a horrible room. It’s not their fault, but the big white board is tacked with bad photos of grisly cases —currently your own. You stare at a photograph of your blood in the kitchen and don’t know what to do. Should you look away? You hadn’t realised you bled so much.
You turn your chair toward the door. Emily looks back as she leaves and smiles at you softly, but your eyes are already moving to the smaller dry erase board by the doorway. It’s ‘Hotch’s turn to clean up on Thursdays. How strange that they make the boss clean the conference room.
You can picture him picking up coffee cups and wiping down the table. You can always picture Aaron.
You can see him hovering over you, his hand pressed to the bloody mess of your hip to stop the blood.
“It’s okay,” you whisper to yourself, wanting to break from the memory, following Aaron’s example. “It’s okay, it’s okay, it’s okay.” You repeat it into your hands, head tilting down. You sink until your knuckles touch your knees.
That’s all he says when you panic. He’ll say it over and over again until you can breathe right. I have you, I have you, you’re okay.
He’s much quieter this time. You hear his footsteps, his familiar gait, your head pounding too hard to move. Aaron makes a sound between a sigh and a hum, like he’s saying a sorry hello as he kneels in front of you. His hand takes your face, rubs softly over your ear.
“My head’s just hurting,” you murmur.
He doesn’t respond. You sit together for some time as your mind races with bad memories, your fear a rush of goosebumps down the lengths of your arms and thighs. It’s hard not to think about what happened, mostly because you’re still a walking bruise, your stitches sting when you move, the blisters on your chest ache, all of it inescapable. But it’s your anxiety that plagues you most. You’re in a constant state of dread.
You had no idea someone could hurt you as badly as they had until it happened, and now you’re desperate not to be hurt again.
“You have to look after me,” you say eventually, throat sore with how awful it feels to say.
“Yes, I do.”
“Please don’t let me get hurt again.”
Total silence. You sniffle at his lack of an answer, only slightly comforted by his hands at your wrists now, pulling them from your face. “Let’s sit up,” he says, standing himself. “Come on, let’s sit up. You shouldn’t be putting so much pressure on your abdomen.”
You lean back and everything aches like a stretch after a long run or a bad night’s sleep.
Aaron pulls a chair next to yours. When he sits, your knees are pressed in between one another’s thighs, so close he could hug you. You might need one. He’s given you a ridiculous amount of them each day, some for him and some for you.
He has with him a takeout box and a bottle of water.
“Here,” he says, popping the seal of the drink. “Three sips.”
You feel like crying, but you drink. He opens the takeout box to reveal a normal looking sandwich already cut into two halves, but he takes a plastic knife from his pocket, peels away the wrapping, and cuts the sandwich again into quarters.
“I’m gonna be sick,” you say.
“No, you’re not. You won’t be.” He presses the sandwich flat with his hands and holds it to you until you take it. “Please, Y/N. You only have to eat what you can.”
“I don’t want it.”
“Please.”
“Did Emily tell you about my interview?”
He reaches for your thigh. Mildly unlike him when you aren’t at home. You assume it to be a tether for your sake. “No. Is there something you think I should know?”
“I don’t want to say it again.”
“Then you don’t have to. Someone will tell me when I get back.”
You pinch the fluffy bread in your hands, eyeing wearily at the wet insides. “Can I come with you?”
“You’re having trouble in the cognitive interviews, you won’t want to hear what we have to say.”
You split the sandwich in half again, watching as salad and mayonnaise ooze from the bread.
“If you don’t eat, you won’t get better,” he says, a touch stern.
“I can’t eat when you won’t let me come with you.”
“I’m not the only person capable of protecting you. I…” He circles your wrist before you can make a mess. “Can you please eat it?”
You take a bite to appease him, your stomach roiling, food wet and cold on your tongue. You eat the whole quarter queasily, a lump at the back of your throat begging you to stop.
Aaron takes an empty hand and rubs it tenderly. “Thank you,” he says, that rubbing turned more forceful, his hand journeying to your elbow and back again.
It’s sweet how attuned he is to your needing his touch, but mortifying. This entire experience had been embarrassing from start to end. Couldn’t defend yourself, can’t get to grips with it, and can’t keep anything down. Aaron looks at you and your bruises and you wonder if he’s seeing you with blood matted in your hair, or hearing you beg for him to get you something stronger. All you’d wanted was a sedative.
“I’m far from the only person capable of protecting you,” he says.
“You saved me,” you say. You mean it in every sense of the world.
“…This is my fault.”
“I want to be with you,” you say honestly. “I don’t feel okay by myself right now, I just need you, or I feel so sick I wish that I died.” The anxiety is marrow deep.
Aaron looks gutted. “Don’t say that.” His hand goes back to yours, back to tenderness. “I know you're scared.”
“Then why won’t you listen?” you ask weakly.
“I’m listening to you,” he says, his tone a dulcet, pleasing softness you’ve never ever heard before, “I need you to be safe, and I need Jack to be safe, and I can’t do that while he’s still out there.” His brows pinch together, agonised. “I’m sorry you’re scared. I didn’t protect you. But I won’t let anything happen to you again.
“I love you. Please believe that I’m doing what’s best for you right now.”
You turn your head away. He cups your cheek regardless.
“I love you,” he says again.
“I know.”
“No, I love you.”
He’s saying sorry.
“I love you,” you mumble back.
“How are you feeling? Is anything hurting more? Weeping?”
Your eyes are heavy at his touch. “You only looked at me a couple of hours ago.”
“Alright. Can I kiss you? I need to go.”
You don’t answer. Aaron kisses your chin, your jawline, the type of roving, teasing kisses he’d give as he squeezed your sides, only he doesn’t squeeze you, he can’t without hurting you. His hand hesitates just above your deepest wound.
His bright kiss works to spark a modicum of life back into you. Not a lot, but enough. It was likely his intention, some quick prodding kisses to remind you of something happy between you both.
You curl your fingers over his hand and turn your face for a chaste peck. He smiles, the curve of his lips evident and relieving against yours.
“Someone will take you back to the safe house, okay? Give Jack a kiss for me,” he says.
You nod. Aaron strokes your cheek.
—
Your assailant could have killed you while you were vulnerable, but he didn’t. “He assumes he’ll have another chance,” Emily surmises.
“That’s cocky,” JJ mutters.
“It’s telling,” Aaron says. “But he won’t.”
The coaching has been extensive. You, sick, a breath from tears and hurting, your shoulders in his hands and his grip too tight. If someone tells you I’m dead, you wait. If Morgan tells you I’m dead, you ask Rossi. If he says I’m dead, you ask Emily. You can’t believe the first thing someone says. No one is going to move you from this safe house to another without seeing me first. If I do get hurt, you and Jack will be moved separately. You will always get my confirmation before you’re moved.
I’m not gullible, you’d said, wincing at his sharp tone.
It’s not about that. People will lie, and they will lie well. They will talk their way into the house if you let them. You can’t let them.
I won’t.
He’s racing against a countdown, because no matter what he says, what you know, or how many agents wait outside your house, sometimes it’s a force of will.
Foyet didn’t need much more than that.
He admittedly feels on surer footing knowing where you are. The decision to guard you without putting you in WITSEC is aching and scary but better, too. He knows where you are. He can be there in ten minutes. No guessing games, but no hiding for you either.
Your dread is taking over everything you do. Today’s the first day since you came home almost two weeks ago that you could function without a live-in nurse or Jess there to look after Jack, and already he’s worried, because he’d convinced you total honesty was what’s best for the both of you, and so your texts are candid.
One an hour for his sake, more if you're up to it.
Threw up my beta blockers. Jack misses you, he wants to make you a Lego boat and fishing rod, but I’m not sure how to do it. Please make sure you eat dinner.
Your next message makes him smile, thankfully. I’m kidding about the dinner thing. Ha. I had one of those gels you got for me, and Jack wants fries, so I’m making waffle fries.
He texts back quickly. Eat dinner. Please tell Jack I miss him too, and don’t worry about the boat, he’ll work it out. Then, feeling awful, he adds, I love you
Aaron should go home. He’d feel better if he knew he was there to help you keep your medication down, but if he leaves… He knows his team will give you everything they have, but he has more. He can fix this.
He can’t fix this, god, his head hurts badly. You’re covered in cuts and bruises and burns and he thinks he can make up for that? You’ve been brutalised. Aaron can’t believe this is happening again.
He rubs his brow.
“You okay?” Emily asks.
When he looks up, JJ is gone.
“I’m fine.”
“It’s okay if you’re not.”
He’s not fine, but he knows what she’s asking. “I’m okay enough to do this,” he says.
It’s hard not to confuse you with memory, your hurting similar to his own, your situation one that he’s already lived. Haley will haunt him for life. It doesn’t usually feel as punishing as he fears he deserves: he gets to remember the best parts of her everyday. He sees her in Jack all the time. He sees her in you, occasionally —you’ll touch his hair or rub his arm like she would’ve done, and it doesn’t make him miss her any more than he does, he’s not in the business of wishing you weren’t yourself, he loves you, but he remembers her. Aaron remembers how he failed her every day.
He can’t fail you, too.
“Is it ever easy?” Emily asks.
Aaron looks around for a bottle of water. “Is what?”
“Being in love.”
He thinks about it. “I must make it look hard.”
She laughs softly. “Sometimes, yeah.”
Maybe that’s not fair, then, to you. For him to make it seem difficult to love you. To fail to correct Emily when she asks.
He chooses his words carefully. “Loving her is the easiest thing in the world. But… I continue to work a job I know makes me hard to love in return.” And that puts you in danger.
It doesn’t feel wrong to be sincere. Perhaps it’s easier with Emily. She saw so much of him during Foyet, and she’s family, truly. He can tell her how intense it’s felt.
“Well, it doesn’t seem hard for her,” Emily says.
He shakes his head.
She continues regardless, “Even during her cognitive, she mentioned the first time you told her you loved her. When it was over she wanted to see you over anything else.”
But I put her here, he wants to say. Or doesn’t want to say at all, but instead knows with surety.
“She can’t eat if I’m not home,” he says. What a thing to do to someone. “It’s my fault.”
Emily smiles, hair slipping off of her shoulder as her expression turns to playfulness. “I think you’re seeing it all wrong. Something bad happened to her, and you’re so safe to her that you make it better when you’re with her. That’s not fault, Hotch. Just love.”
He turns his attention back to the board without another word.
—
When the day comes, when they find the man who hurt you, you’re sitting at home with Jack Hotchner in your lap. You’re laughing at his laughing, cartoon fish on the TV, and Aaron’s got a gun in his hand fifty miles away. You both giggle, nearly in hysterics as the safe house living room glows pink and red, Jack’s favourite character swimming hurriedly across the screen, as Aaron negotiates the arrest.
Usually capable of mediation, Aaron finds his patience completely unravelled. He offers the UnSub two choices: he surrenders now, immediately, and he keeps his life, or he deliberates and Aaron kills him.
He has reason to believe the UnSub will try again, of course. Will keep hurting you until it sticks.
He goes home satisfied.
“Dad’s home!” you say excitedly, your movie long finished, your thighs numb and stitches stinging where Jack has leaned against you. You encourage him off of you as the front door closes, the cold air from outside rushing in.
“Honey?” Aaron calls.
“Yeah!” You stumble into a standing position, sure you look about as disgusting as you have since the situation began, promptly sitting back down as head rush hits.
Jack races for the door, meeting Aaron in the hallway with a whoosh. “Hey!”
“Hi, buddy, what are you doing?”
“We watched Finding Nemo,” Jack says, “and now I’m hugging you, duh.”
“Duh. Well, I need to talk to Y/N for five minutes. Can you wash your hands for dinner?”
“Yeah.”
“You okay?” he asks.
“I’m fine.”
You hear the sound of a light kiss, and then Jack rockets across the hallway and up the stairs. Aaron walks into the doorway, tie still knotted but with no suit jacket, and you know what he’s going to say before he says it. He wears a strange expression.
“You got him?” you ask.
He puts a white bag on the coffee table, looking down at you fondly. “I got him.”
“How did you find him?”
He crouches down in front of you. He’s so careful to be harmless to you now, so tentative. “You’re not the only woman he hurt. We dealt with him in the past. From the information you gave Emily during your interview, and the information he left behind, we found him… If you weren’t as brave as you are, I couldn’t have kept you and Jack safe.” He holds your knee. “Thank you.”
You stare at him. Staring, wondering what he means. “Brave?”
“Brave.”
“I’m a coward.”
He shakes his head. “No. You’re not.”
All you've done for days is cry and throw up and bleed, literally. You’ve ruined clothes and sheets, thrown up in his lap, terrified and aching. Each time was met with the same gentleness. A kiss on the cheek, or a hand rubbing your back. Is that bravery? You feel like a baby.
Aaron’s brow is relaxed. He takes your two legs into his hands, and he looks at you with a reverence that leaves you breathless.
“You’re hurt forever because of me,” he says quietly, you strain to hear him, “because of who I am, and what I choose to be.”
“How can you say that? It’s not your fault.”
“It wouldn’t have happened to you if I hadn’t missed his MO the first time.”
“You’re not putting the knife in anyone’s hand,” you argue.
“But it keeps happening.”
His hair shines dark and wet. It must be raining outside, the safe house walls are thick, the windows shuttered permanently, you haven’t heard a peep. You stroke it back from his forehead.
“Remember… when we first got together, and you told me you were sorry for how hard being with you could be. And I said it was okay, that it wasn’t hard, and you said it would be?”
“I remember,” he says, practically mouths.
“I was so afraid when...” You swallow roughly. “I still am. But not– not of you. Not of what you can do. When you told me it was going to be hard, I thought, well, it’s worth it, because I really liked you then and I love you now.” Tears collect in your eyes. Safe. I’m safe. “And you look after me, so– so–”
You stop as your voice turns to glass, worried you’ll make a fool of yourself and cry in his hands.
“I didn’t want this for you,” he says.
“Nobody wants this. Bad things happen to everyone, but who has someone like you to look after them?”
He breathes out heavily. “Please… don’t cry.”
You wipe your cheeks, taking a lengthy pause before you say, “I’m okay now.”
He looks at you in silence.
“Come and sit with me,” you say, scrubbing your cheeks, hot tears cooling on the backs of your hands. “Your knees.”
He actually smiles. It changes his entire face. “What about my knees?”
Aaron sits on the couch next to you atop Jack’s blanket, a bag of pretzels tipping between your leg and his. You attempt to rake his damp hair into submission as his fingers run against your thighs, fishing for pretzels to put back into the bag.
You’d like for him to grab you and kiss you harshly, give you one of his straight jacket hugs, some roughhousing, but you won’t get that from him until you're better, and even then, it’s up in the air. So much has changed.
But not everything.
“I love you,” you murmur, fingertips scratching down behind his ear to the back of his head.
He turns to you, sagging with relief and exhaustion. “Kiss?” he asks quietly.
You nod. He holds your cheek, and you close your eyes at the same time for a kiss. It’s not a lot, but you have time. He can give you another one when you’re both better recovered.
He pulls away. You open your eyes, finding his closed, his face downturned. “I love you.”
“I love you, too.”
“Was Jack good?”
“Jack’s always good.”
“Did the nurse have anything to say about your chest?”
“She said it’s healing okay. That I need to use, uh, scar patches when they start to scab.”
“I can get those.”
“I know, I knew you would.”
He gathers you up for a hug. For a moment, you think he’ll move on, that the end of your nightmare will kill his remorse, but he breathes in, nose wedged against your cheek.
“Do you think that tonight, we could pretend it didn’t happen?” You’d like to just sit with him, press your hand to his chest and doze. It’s the first night in a while that you’ll feel completely.
“Yeah. I can do that.” He hugs you rather tightly. “Do you want to see your present?” he asks, relaxing his grip.
“My present?”
He grabs the bag on the coffee table and places it in your lap. “I’m worried it’ll remind you of bad memories, but I wanted you to have nice things then, and I still do.”
In the bag, there’s a pair of pyjamas. Very different to the ones you’d been wearing when you were attacked, they were girly and sweet, soft in your hands, these are sturdy. Still soft, but thick. The shirt is short-sleeved and the pants cuffed at the ankles, a hoodie tucked underneath them, and a packet of minky socks.
“Thank you,” you say.
Thanks for everything, for saving you twice, for taking care of you at your worst, and for wanting you to have something comfortable to wear at the end of it. To have experienced an abjectly cruel battering will leave its marks in your forever, but you meant what you told him. He looks after you, and you love him.
He kisses your shoulder. “You don't need to say that.”
He doesn’t add anything else, his nose pressed to your shoulder, his hand on your hip. Whatever goes unsaid can be felt in the other’s touch.
˚‧꒰ა ✮ ໒꒱‧˚
thank u for reading!! it’s been a long time since I wrote a fic for hotch and it’s hard to write him being vulnerable but I hope this is alright anyways and that you enjoyed :D please consider reblogging if you did enjoy it (cos that way my fics get shown to more people <3) ❤️
#aaron hotchner x reader#aaron hotchner x you#aaron hotchner x y/n#aaron hotchner#aaron hotchner fic#aaron hotchner oneshot#aaron hotchner drabble#aaron hotchner imagine#aaron hotchner fanfic#aaron hotchner fanfiction#hotch x reader#hotch#hotch x you#hotch blurb#hotch drabble#criminal minds#criminal minds fanfic
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Any thoughts for WETnesday with Bucky?🤭🤭
Okay, Syd. I wrote this after work for Wetnesday and promptly fell asleep. So, I'm posting this on Thirsty Thursday! And that has to be Mr. Barnes before you two are married.
Dinner Plans
Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Female Reader
Summary: Bucky doesn't want to be late for dinner, but you don't seem to be in a rush to go.
Word Count: Over 2.8k
Warnings: Established relationship, quick unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it, lovelies), possessive behavior, a bit of humor and fluff, feels, Bucky Barnes (he's a warning, okay?).
A/N: I love this couple, okay? @targaryenvampireslayer and @starlightcrystalline, I hope you enjoy! ❤️ Not beta read and written on my phone, so any and all mistakes are my own. Please follow @navybrat817-sideblog for new fics and notifications. Comments, reblogs, feedback are loved and appreciated!
It was still early in the evening as Bucky got ready for dinner. Checking his watch once he put it on, he sighed. If he was late, Steve would give him a hard time. And if Steve gave him a hard time, Sam would only give him the gasoline to fuel the fire. Just the thought of it had his face shift to his grumpy stare you loved.
His gaze softened when you went to the vanity. Would the guys give him a hard time if he said he was in love and wanted as much alone time with you as possible? How being with you was like floating on a cloud and being pulled back down to earth all at once? He didn’t care if they’d call him out for being sappy. He sure as hell suffered enough in his life that he could afford to be appreciative of you and maybe a little selfish when it came to you.
But checking the time, he grumbled. “We were supposed to leave five minutes ago,” he said.
He would’ve rather gone to a hole in the wall kind of place or a diner to have dinner, but it wasn't his turn to pick the dinner out with some of the gang. Plus it was nice getting to dress up with you since you liked how he looked in suits. To be fair, you said he looked good in anything and he felt the same way about you. How you always managed to look like a goddess, he’d never know.
You hummed. “We still have a few minutes to spare,” you said, which he wasn’t sure how you knew since you hadn’t looked at the time. “And you are not dressed yet, so it’s not like we can head out the door.”
He paused to stare at you. “Neither are you,” he pointed out, licking his lips as you leaned forward a bit more as you applied your makeup. He shook his head after a moment, trying to snap himself out of the spell you always managed to put him under. “I’m bringing you one of my cardigans to put over your shoulders in case you get cold.”
Because the weather was nice for the evening, you picked out a sleeveless dress. He didn’t know if the restaurant would be cold though, and he didn’t want you shivering through the meal. You likely had something to match your dress, but putting one of his cardigans over you was like that extra touch of belonging to him in case anyone got any ideas.
“You just want one of your shirts draped over me like a big neon sign that says I’m yours and you don't want guys checking me out on my dress,” you said like you knew exactly what he was thinking. There was no reason to deny your words since it was the truth. “But I appreciate the thoughtfulness.”
“I do like my clothes draped over you,” he smirked. He liked having his smell on you, too. “But you know what I don’t like? Steve and Sam bitching if we’re late. It’ll spoil my appetite.”
“Aww, my poor super soldier,” you teased, smiling at him in your reflection and making his heart skip a beat. “If we’re late, you can just blame me. I won’t let them give you a hard time, okay?”
Bucky couldn’t blame you though. Not entirely. You were late getting in the shower thanks to him insisting on the two of you staying in bed. Serum stamina or whatever you wanted to call it, but he felt bad some days for his almost constant need. You didn’t seem to mind though.
“They won’t believe me,” he said, staring again when the strap of your bra slipped from your shoulder. “And baby, you know I adore you, but you need to quit distracting me so I can finish getting dressed.”
Ever since you moved in, you’d been a distraction in a wonderful way. He often found that he’d pause to look at photos or little touches you incorporated into the place, giving him a chance to reflect on memories you made together and even learn more about who you were before you met. Hearing your laughter or voice call to him from another room also made him drop whatever he was doing, too. Sharing a space with someone could be daunting, but it was easy with you, like you had lived together for years. It made him look forward to more.
“Me? Distracting you?” You turned your head toward him and gave him an innocent glance. You were anything but innocent. “I'm not doing anything.”
Bucky almost snarled. Like hell you weren't doing anything. Swaying your hips and prancing around in your lingerie before you sat to get ready, lingerie which barely covered your gorgeous tits and sweet cunt. He wanted to rip it to shreds or tear it off with his teeth. You wouldn’t mind, right? He could always get you more to destroy.
“Not doing anything? Look at you,” he said incredulously as you turned back to the mirror and pushed your bra up. He should’ve been holding your breasts. “Why aren't you wearing a robe?”
You tilted your head. “Well, you said before I got in the shower that we were in a slight rush, so I figured putting on the robe was a waste of time. At least I have my underwear on, though I know you’d rather I be naked.”
If Bucky had his way, you’d be naked all the time. At least, when you two were at home. Logically he knew he couldn’t have that at work, functions, or anything of that nature, but the image in his head was nice. “For such a rush you seem to be taking your time.”
“I'm not taking my time. I'm finishing my makeup,” you argued, carefully applying your lipstick. “Like it?” you asked, blowing him an air kiss. It was a pretty shade. It would look even prettier smeared around his cock.
He closed his eyes with a groan. Some days he felt like a caveman with the thoughts that consumed him. “You look beautiful,” he said once he opened his eyes. Like always. “Now get your dress on so I can show you off before I put the cardigan on you.”
“Show me off?” You slowly stood from your chair and gave him a generous view of your backside. His cock twitched in his pants, and there was no reason to hide the pure lust in his eyes when you turned to face him. “You flatter me, Mr. Barnes.”
He chuckled. It always did something to him when you called him Mr. Barnes. It was something affectionate, sweet. “I think you’re the one flattering me, Mrs.-” he exhaled before he could finish, and he heard the hitch in your breath across the room.
“What was that?” you asked breathily.
He adjusted the watch on his wrist and avoided your gaze. You were his girl, yeah, and the love you had for each other spoke volumes, but you weren’t his wife. Not yet. God, how he wanted you to be- for you to take his last name, wear his ring on your finger, be his partner in all aspects of life. He wanted it to be more than just a dream.
“I didn’t say…” He cleared his throat and put on a blank face, only because he didn’t know how you’d react. “Anything.”
Your eyes raked over him before you beckoned him forward with a finger. He swore no one would ever control him again after HYDRA brainwashed him, but you could’ve commanded him to do anything. It didn’t frighten him because you would never harm him, never take advantage of him. Taking him into your care and maintaining his trust was one of the ways you showed you loved him.
Once he stood in front of you, barely an inch away, you whispered, “Were you about to call me Mrs. Barnes?”
He swallowed hard, his heart racing. It was one thing to say you loved each other, to want a future together, but what if you weren’t ready when he popped the question? “I was,” he whispered back.
You smiled, not looking the least bit put off or afraid. He should've known it wouldn't bother you, especially with you being the one to say “I love you” first. “I think that has a really nice ring to it,” you said, your hands moving to unbuckle his belt.
“You think so?” he asked, forgetting for a moment that he was capable of breathing. “You like the idea of being my wife?”
Bucky would no doubt be the kind of husband who’d brag about you. He’d find ways to insert “my wife” in conversations just to let others know that you picked him out of everyone else on the planet. Not just that, he wanted people to know how proud he was to be your man and that he’d find reasons every day to be proud of you.
“I love it,” you confirmed, sighing when he ran his fingertips along your arms. “Makes my heart race,” you admitted. He could hear it. “Makes me wet.”
Bucky arched his hips and pressed up against you. “Baby, you’re gonna kill me,” he whispered, not stopping you as you unbuttoned his pants. He was thinking of just cancelling dinner so he could throw you on the bed and stay inside you for the rest of the night. “We need to-”
“Oh. Now might be a good time to tell you that Steve pushed the reservation back by a half hour,” you cut in, mouthing over his racing pulse. “He figured he’d message me since I’m better about checking my phone, and-”
Bucky picked you up with ease and tossed you onto the bed. Your wide-eyed expression as you bounced nearly had him busting out of his pants, and he didn’t hesitate to crawl over you and pin you down. Relishing in the moan you let out when he lightly bit your neck, he did it again a little harder. “No wonder you took your time and teased me,” he smirked when you squirmed beneath him. “My future wife.”
“My future husband,” you moaned, bucking your hips up. “Need you in me. We can be quick.”
You got a hand in his hair and forced his head up to yours, your tongue impatiently pushing into his mouth. He groaned in understanding, feeling just as desperate as you. Knowing how turned on you were at the thought of being his wife turned him on, and he could barely form a coherent thought as he took his cock out and gave it a couple of quick pumps.
“Say it again,” he demanded, shoving your panties aside and rubbing the head of his cock along your slit. He took his time earlier today stretching you, and he wanted nothing more than to feel you around him again.
And the way you reached between your bodies and gripped the base of his cock, he knew you wanted the same when you said, “Fuck me, my future husband.”
He eased in gently, making you whine. He thought he’d whine, too, for a second because of how good he felt. God, how good it would feel to hold your hand one day and feel his ring against your skin. “You okay?” he asked, dragging his thumb along your lower lip once he was fully inside you. You were tight still, so wet, and oh, he was going to fuck you and make it quick, but he wasn’t going to hurt you.
“I’m okay,” you whispered, starting deep into his eyes as you clenched around him with purpose and brushed his hair back. He tried to be still, tried not to thrust like a wild animal. “Are you?”
“I’m okay,” he promised, easing his hips back. “Just hold on while I fuck you.”
Your back arched when he slammed himself back in nice and deep, your cry bouncing off the walls. Here in the comfort of your home you didn’t have to smother any noises, didn’t have to keep quiet. He wanted to tell you how much he loved you, how you were the queen of his world.
Being inside you all he got out was, “You feel so fucking good.”
And because you could read him like no one else could, you tenderly smiled. “I love you, too.”
He threw his head back as you clutched his arms, determined to make you feel good, determined to show you how much he loved you even as he fucked you. “Gonna put you on your hands and knees after dinner. Make you watch in the mirror while I fuck you,” he groaned. “Can imagine it's part of our honeymoon.”
“Please!’ you moaned, trying to meet his thrusts.
Bucky grabbed your thighs to lift you higher, uncaring if he ruined his pants for the evening. Watching you tremble beneath his, a vision of ecstasy, he was happy to stay there forever. Wrapped up in you was where he always wanted to be.
“Gonna come,” you moaned, reaching up to pull his hair again, your body quaking. “Bucky, please.”
Bucky groaned. He hadn’t rubbed your clit how he wanted to. Didn’t get to tear your bra off and tease your nipples. He did promise to fuck you later though, and he’d do all those things and more. “Then come for me,” he smirked, leaning down to say against your lips, “Future. Mrs.. Barnes.”
You got impossibly tight and the flood of wetness that gushed around him triggered his own orgasm, a rush of heat filling him as he filled you. His mouth fell open as you clung to him, and he heard you moan his name as your eyes went glossy. He wanted the image of you getting off to taking his last name etched in his brain for all time. He wanted his name to fall from your lips again and again on your wedding night.
The cloud in his mind began to lift. You, his future wife, were beneath him, still shaking, still holding him like a lifeline. He didn’t want to let you go either. “Holy… shit…” you panted.
He braced himself above you, trying not to crush you as the euphoria slowly faded. It never really went away though. Not with you. “Holy shit,” he agreed. He stayed inside you, your sweet mewl making him smile as he kissed you. “Is this a new kink?” he asked, pressing his forehead to yours.
“Yeah,” you exhaled, touching his cheek. “New kink unlocked.”
Touching your lips with his once more, he chuckled. “You ruined my pants,” he teased. It wouldn’t have been the first time. The first time you rode his thigh and got your release all over it, he nearly came, too. “Good thing I have a few minutes to change.”
He cradled you close when he shifted to the side, making you moan again. “Yeah, well, you ruined my panties. Fair is fair.”
“I did,” he smirked, running his fingers along your spine. “Hey.”
“Hey what?”
“I love you,” he whispered, wanting to say it as often as he could. They weren’t just words, but a declaration, a promise.
“I love you, too,” you whispered back, tracing one of the buttons on his wrinkled shirt.
His lips brushed your forehead. He’d never get tired of hearing you say that. “If I asked you to marry me right now, would you say yes?”
He wouldn’t propose right this second. You deserved something more romantic. But in his heart, he just wanted to hear you say that you’d say yes.
You giggled, your eyes full of love. “I would say yes in a heartbeat,” you replied, kissing him gently. Your answer relieved him. “And I’d marry you anytime, anywhere.”
He raised an eyebrow. “But?” he asked, sensing a “but” in there.
“But don’t ask me right now, okay?” you smiled, in sync with his thoughts. “I mean, I’d like to think my pussy would make you propose now-”
“And it would,” he smirked.
You giggled again. “But ask me when I’m not expecting it… Whenever it feels right to you.”
“I will,” he promised.
“Looking forward to it.” You snuggled closer and missed his look of adoration. “Hold me for one more minute before we get ready to go?”
As if he could ever deny you. “I’ll hold you as long as you want,” he whispered.
He no longer cared if Steve or Sam gave him shit should they show up late. If you wanted him to skip dinner just to hold you, he’d do it. If you wanted him to surprise you when he proposed, he would. And no matter when Bucky asked you to be his wife, he’d make sure it was perfect as it could possibly be.
AHH! I love them so much. How do you lovelies think he proposed? ❤️ Love and thanks for reading! ❤️
Masterlist ⚓ Bucky Barnes Masterlist ⚓ Ko-Fi
#navybrat writes#bucky barnes#bucky barnes x reader#bucky barnes x female reader#bucky barnes x you#bucky barnes x y/n#bucky barnes fanfiction#bucky barnes fanfic#bucky barnes fic#bucky barnes imagine#bucky x reader#bucky x female reader#bucky x you#bucky fanfic#bucky imagine#x reader#james buchanan barnes#james bucky barnes#the winter soldier#winter soldier#sebastian stan#sebastian stan x reader#sebastian stan characters#a united front au#mr. and mrs. barnes#bucky barnes smut#bucky barnes x f!reader
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ROSIE!, alpha!simon riley x omega reader
in which captain price sends alpha simon on a much needed vacation to his secluded countryside cabin, but leaves out a most important detail- he has a live in omega caretaker to care for his little cabin when he’s away! and she’s the prettiest, sweetest little thing that simon ever did see..
warnings: alpha/omega universe, mentions/depictions of abuse, smut, pregnancy, kind of forced proximity?, ill add as i go...please note that i know NOTHING about COD but i am in love with the 141 guys and this has been rotting in my brain.
this one was kind of short, but heres part two! smut and rosie lore to come soon!
series masterlist here
part two: you ought’a wear sunscreen, lovie
Simon lay in the large cold bed of the guest room he had been provided about a week after his arrival to the cabin, wide awake. The sun was just starting to come up and he hadn’t yet slept, hadn’t even tried. How could he when you were in the room next to him snuggled up into your mound of blankets on the bed? He cursed John out when he had called him after his arrival. How had he left you out of the details when he’d coaxed him into coming to the cabin? ‘Forgoht ‘bout her, pretty little one, ain’t she?’ He had chuckled into the other end of the phone. ‘S’only for a couple o’months, LT, s’long as you’re nice to ‘er she’ll keep your belly full and your clothes clean.’ He hung up after that, and hadn’t picked up any of Simon’s calls or answered a message since.
Forgot about her, Simon scoffed just thinking about it. He didn’t believe it for a second. How could Price possibly forget about the shy, beautifully curvy, unmated, impossibly adorable Omega he paid to be a live-in housekeeper for the cabin he conveniently sent his unmated, typically uncontrollable problem Alpha to vacation in? He smelled matchmaking all over it and he hated it.
‘But it’s working.’ Simon grunted, rolling onto his side in hopes that his inner monologue would get the memo to shut up. ‘It’s working and you know it’ And goddess, he did. It was working. She was beautiful, and so deliciously plump and he wanted to kick himself for being an ass when he first spoke to her. He wanted to kick himself for wanting nothing more than to mark her, rub his scent all over her, keep her barefoot and fat and round with his pups. He wanted to kick himself for the way he felt his cock grow hard at just the thought of putting his pups in her. He was better than that, wasn’t he?
He wanted to kick himself for the way that he already felt protective over her, as if he had already mated and impregnated her. As if they were already married. He felt himself wanting to be no more than an arms length away from her and he barely spoke to her. She dropped a knife while she was loading the dishwasher after supper the night before and he could have cried when he heard her mumble and ‘ow’ and bend down to rub her foot. ‘Should’ve been me, should’ve been me, should’ve been me’ He had heard his wolf chant over and over in his head and he had to really work to remember that he was an extremely disciplined man because without barely a thought he almost launched himself over the kitchen island to make sure you were okay. His fist clenched at just the memory of it.
He could’ve cried when he heard your soft moan filter through the thin walls of the cabin, you were waking up and he would be subject to another day of breathing in your scent, of wanting to protect and hold you and not being able to.. ‘And why aren’t we able to? What’s stopping you?!” That voice again. That stupid stupid wolf trying to take over his rational sided mind.
What was stopping him?
Nothing physically, he presumed. Aside from himself…it was always himself. The memories of watching his Alpha father and how he treated his Omega mother..of not feeling like a good enough Alpha himself because he couldn’t always protect her. Couldn’t always stop him..how could he possibly be good enough to protect this sweet little thing that was being dangled in front of him? You didn’t deserve inadequacy. He doesn’t deserve you. You want to bury your ugly mug between her legs..she made you a fucking pot roast and homemade desserts and you don’t deserve her? He’d never wanted to shut the wolf up more.
You moved as quietly as you could, not wanting to disturb Simon in the room next door as you shuffled through the room, gathering fresh panties and a pretty little sundress for the day before making your way to the bathroom across the hall. The shower head spits out hot water almost immediately and you sigh, dropping your overly large sleep shirt to the floor as you step in, moaning as the steamy water rolls over your tense shoulders. You hadn’t been sleeping very well, images of your Papa floating behind your eyelids every time you closed them, causing you to toss and turn or wake up in a fright if you had managed to even fall asleep.
You hum as you wet your head, massaging shampoo into it as you try to scrub the images and dreams from your mind, leaving you in a better mood by the time you’re done.
By the time you step out it had been nearly an hour since you’d stepped in, your skin exfoliated and smooth, shining even. Your hair washed and conditioned, soft and silky and wrapped in a towel above your head where it would stay until you were ready to blow dry it in your bedroom, sat in front of your vanity. You take the time to lather your body in lotion, a cozy smelling one that moisturized your already smooth and shining skin before you slipped into your panties and tightened the little corset on the back of your sundress.
It was a white number, with little roses on it that fell to just above your ankles and showed off plenty of cleavage. The skin of your chest was already red from the sun the other day when you were out in the garden, tending to the vegetables while Simon lounged in the living room (though unbeknownst to you he had spent the whole time watching your every move out of the window next to the plush armchair he had taken post in, waiting for something to happen so he could jump to your rescue), you had forgotten your sunblock again and the hat you wore atop your head did nothing to help protect your delicate skin from the blistering rays of the summer sun.
A part of you wondered what Simon would think of the dress, and as you thought it your cheeks flushed, making you hurry across the hall back to your room to finish getting ready before he caught you, you could hear him rumbling around the other guest room, you were sure he’d be wanting the bathroom any moment now.
Another hour passes before you decide that you’re ready to leave the sanctuary of your room, hair braided and tied with a cream colored ribbon, glasses on your face instead of your normal contacts (your eyes were bugging you, your head pounding - which in hindsight probably was a warning that your heat was coming) and a bit of makeup splattered across your face, presentable to the public..to Simon..
He’s already in the kitchen when you hit the stairs, you can smell the coffee starting to brew and hear the clumsy sound of him tinkering around in there, muttering to himself, though what he’s muttering about you’re unsure, not able to make out the words exactly. “Simon?” You question, stepping down off of the final stair, headed for the coat rack to grab your purse and your big sunhat.
“Ye-” He choked on his own words and you turned to see if maybe he had burned himself with the coffee, not expecting to find him staring at you, wide eyed under his mask. You cock your head to the side, concerned, purse dangling from your hands as you make to step towards him. “You..uh..” He he clears his throat, closes his eyes for a second before looking at you again. “You look..pretty..” He says, and almost as soon as the words leave his mouth you feel your cheeks begin to heat, averting your eyes as you fidget with your skirt. “Did you need somethin’, Lovie?”
It’s your turn to stutter and choke now, and you do, opening and closing your mouth a couple of times before you remember what you had begun to say in the first place. “I was just going to see if you wanted to go into town with me?” He thinks we’re pretty! He thinks we’re pretty! Your wolf howls in your already aching head, causing you to wince just the littlest of bits. “I need to grab a few things from the market..thought maybe you might want to get out..” When he doesn’t respond right away you panic, and word vomit starts to come out, not even realizing you’ve cut him off from speaking. “I mean of course, only if you want to..it’s stupid of me to assume that you even want to leave, i guess you’re technically on vacation right? How silly to think that you’d want to leave the house..anyway i’ll just be gone a few hours..”
He’s got his back turned to you by the time you’re finished, fishing for something in a drawer. You dumb ditzy bitch! You’ve ruined it! Ruined! “You outght’a put on some sunscreen, lovie..” He says, turning around with a tube of it in his large hand. Oh! He’s so thoughtful! He’s so sweet! Providing for us like a good alpha! Can we thank him? Can we kiss him? Please, please, please!!! “S’long walk into town, s’awful sunny out..” Before you know it, his large palm is smathering a layer of the thick lotion onto your bare skin, grazing the top of your breasts. Your face is on fire, heat rushing to it, though you can’t look away from him, his brown eyes on yours as he works it in. “There ye’go, can’t have this delicate skin puckering up out there, can we?” His touch is lingering, caressing even, and you open your mouth to say something but before anything can even come out he’s opened the door, sun shining down as he ushers you out, hand going to your lower back as he steps out after you.
The walk into town was a long one, and while you typically didn’t mind it, it felt even longer with the presence of him by your side. A tall, silent shadow right next to you, and if you stood on the right side of him he did more sun blocking than your hat ever did. You talked enough for the both of you though, and though you were sure you were annoying him with your endless babbling about the things you needed to buy and why, he was kind enough to grunt and throw in the occasional ‘yeah’ or ‘wow’ in where it seemed needed. You didn’t mind, though you were finally slowing down on the word vomit once you neared town, you found yourself instinctually moving closer to his side, wanting nothing more than to just cling on for dear life as townfolk began watching the two of you.
You were familiar with most of them, you were an usual face having made many trips into the village since you’d been here, but something about the way some of the men stared at you was making your skin crawl. Was it because you were with Simon? Were they jealous? Or were they just being cautious because this was an Alpha they hadn’t seen before? They were used to you coming into town every now and then with John, but mostly by yourself, it was rare to see you with someone else, let alone another man. Your head pounded, and sweat began dripping down your face under the brim of your sunhat.
Your belly cramped, a low grunt coming from your chest as it did and suddenly, you have a revelation.
Heat, heat, heat, heat. You pouted, your wolf louder in your mind. No wonder she was reacting this way to him, you thought. It was just because you were due for your heat. You felt silly for not having tracked your cycle or paid attention to the dates well enough to realize it was time. Pups! Oh he could fill us with his litter! I bet his cock is nice and fat, get us nice and full! Your cheeks flushed as you tried to decipher the difference between your thoughts and hers, unsure of who thought what at that moment.
“Okay there?” He asks, bumping your shoulder with his elbow.
You look up and he’s already staring at you, eyes drawn tight under that damn mask. How was he not hot? “Just fine.” You smile, looking at him. “I have a few things to grab at the market..it’s just the next street over, can we go there first?”
He follows you silently, if he’s not right next to you, he’s trailing behind and in all honesty his strong, silent presence makes you feel safe and comfortable, at ease. You know you don’t have to watch your surroundings constantly while you’re out, he’s an Alpha, his natural instinct is to protect and he seems to do it just oh so naturally, holding his arm out to stop you when you’re about to cross a busy street, holding your hand gently once he deems it safe enough, ushering you to the part of the sidewalk farthest from the bustling street, his body shielding you if something were to happen..
He opened the doors of the market for you, got you a little buggy and though you insisted on pushing it, he refused, keeping your cute little purse safe in the childs seat once you had set it down. Simon followed along the aisles, watching you pout down at your little list and then stare up at the shelves, your frown deepening when they didn’t have a certain item and you had to settle for an alternative. You didn’t see his fists clenching around the mental handle of the buggy as he watched you, didn’t hear the internal battle he was having with his wolf about leveling the entire store because you were unhappy at their lack of a certain product.
It was when you were waiting in line for the butcher that he finally spoke again. You just wanted some chicken cutlets, and a couple of good steaks but your body seemingly had other ideas. Your heat was coming strong and fast, evident in the way that you whimper and nearly double over out of nowhere, grabbing Simon’s hand as you grab your lower belly, lips puckered and eyebrow furrowed.
“Al’righ, Rosie?” He asks softly, worried, looking down at you, his big hand is on the middle of your back, the other on your shoulder as he crouches down slightly, as if to bring himself closer to your level. He’d smelled you since about the time you had first whimpered walking through town, your scent making his mouth water more than it normally did, his wolf trying harder and harder to take control of him, now that you were clearly in pain though, his wolf was whining, crying for him to do something and he couldn’t just ignore it. You nod meekly, trying to suppress a sniffle, to discreetly wipe away the tears welling in your eyes. “No, you’re not.” His voice is gruff, and he cringes as it reaches his own ears. “Wots wrong, lovie?” He asks, gentler this time, quieter.
You look up at him, lips quivering and eyes watery and his body just wants to sag. Fix it, fix it, fix it, fix it, she’s sad, she’s sad i dont like it! What’s wrong with you? Why are you letting her be sad? Why is she in pain? If he could tell himself to shut up and it actually work, he would have, but dammit the beast was right. Why wasn’t he fixing it?
“Heat..”
It was whispered, but it was all he needed. “Okay, lovie, lets get the rest of the groceries and get you home.” Home. Not just his boss’s cabin. Home. A meek nod in response. He tucks you into his side, dropping his big beefy arm around your shoulders, tucking you into his side tightly as he gives a long hard glare to the staring Beta’s and Alpha’s lingering around, even the one behind the meat counter. Your face is buried in his rib cage, just under his armpit as you breathe in his scent to calm yourself down, but also to protect yourself from the stares of the other people. Other unmated omegas, even some of the mated ones staring you down as you burrowed into the side of the giant man, your scent marking the whole store. Why wouldn’t they stare? You were the stupid one who couldn’t keep track of your own cycles.
Simon does the rest of the shopping for you, slapping your list down onto the meat counter as he glares at the butcher, tells the man to make it snappy. “Need t’get this one ‘ome.” He says, his arm still wrapped tightly around your body, his voice just as tight as his grip as he talks to the grocers. You’re still clinging to his side, now shaking as the pain is coming quicker and quicker, when he makes it to the check out. He’s polite as he can be when you squeeze his hand, pouting at his gruff words and demands to hurry as he unloads the buggy, hands the cashier a wad of cash from his wallet while the bag boy works as fast as he can.
You can barely fathom the walk back home, can barely stand on your own two feet as the light of day shines down on you when Simon helps you step out onto the street some more. He’s kind enough to think ahead, hails a taxi that the town is just barely big enough to justify having and ushers you in, giving gruff instructions to the driver as he plops down into the seat next to you, grocery bags at your feet as you curl into his side.
“S’alright, Lovie,” He murmurs into our hair, hand rubbing up and down your bicep soothingly as you whimper again. “Get you home and into a hot bath in no time, okay? Get your nest all built up for you..”
This was going to be a long, long week.
taglist:
@wise-owl
#kara writes#cod#simon riley#alpha simon riley x omega reader#alpha simon#alpha ghost#simon ghost riley#john price#john soap mactavish#alpha simon riley smut#simon riley smut#simon ghost riley smut
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Wife's Revenge
Krystal Jung "Mrs. Soojung", "Vicky" Jang Wonyoung x Male Reader
Part of Legends series
Tags: anal reluctance, ass eating, belly bulging, (lots of) blowjobs, cheater, creampie, domination, DSLs, facial, fast-paced sex, good-flavoring holes, it girls, leg-shaking orgasms, (some) lesbian, prostitutes, recording, revenge, riding, sex toys, strip club, threesome, tied-up, voyeurism, wife/mistress, wigs
Word count: 9546.
It's yet another night where you have arrived late. The days go by, and it seems like each day you get home a couple minutes later than before. Your wife rarely sees you these days, just when you go to bed and get up.
But wives know when things are unusual; they always do. And it's no different with Mrs. Soojung, your beautiful spouse that is on the verge of turning 30, and just like that, it feels like you don't want her anymore.
At this point, most wives would have already confronted their man. But Mrs. Soojung behaves differently. Either she doesn't seem to care about your late-night escapades or she's plotting something behind your back. Either way, you feel like you'll know it soon.
Your wife's birthday is coming up soon. You have to buy something for her out of appeasement at least, but your head these days is on the much younger girl you have been going out with lately.
Too bad Mrs. Soojung knows it too.
One day, without you noticing, she picks up your phone and starts texting the girl you're dating behind her back, a very young woman in her early 20s that just goes by the name of "Vicky.".
"Meet me at my place," Vicky texts you—well, your wife, actually—who exchanges messages with her and gets to see your whole story of torrid texts and even a couple dick pics in between that you sent to Vicky.
Mrs. Soojung finally arrives at Vicky's place, finding the girl that her husband was cheating on her with just chilling by her bed. She has to hold herself back. She clearly wants to smack Vicky in two pieces, but shows some restraint because she knows it's not her fault; her husband is a prick and needs to be dealt with.
"Vicky, interesting, I used to have a friend called Victoria," Mrs. Soojung says, reminding herself of the times she used to be Vicky's age. "The smell of your perfume—it's the same my husband has been carrying for months," Mrs. Soojung tells Vicky.
"I'm just a professional; they come with the money; we give them sex; I can't think about the feelings of their wives. Your husband isn't the first married man that I had as a client—far from it, actually," Vicky answers.
Mrs. Soojung is truly impressed with the way Vicky carries herself. "How old are you?" she asks. "20," Vicky answers. Mrs. Soojung is surprised. She thought she would be much older, but at such a young age, Vicky seems to be a quite mature woman.
"You know, Vicky, my birthday is tomorrow." Mrs. Soojung says. "What gift do you want? Vicky asks. "Revenge," Mr. Soojung answers.
"For the right money, I can give you that," Vicky answers.
Mrs. Soojung hesitates but pays Vicky. The sex worker already has a plan drawn up in her mind. "Meet me at the strip club tonight," she says. "Here's your wig and your carnival mask," she continued, giving Mrs. Soojung her disguise.
Mrs. Soojung celebrated her birthday with you. The gift you gave her was rather unusual—fishnets. "I think you'll look very sexy in them," you told her. Soojung seemed to agree.
"Sorry, I have to go, late business meeting," you told your wife. "I wish I could stay for your birthday," you told Soojung. "It's fine," she answered. The plan was set in motion.
Soojung knew exactly where you were going. Vicky messaged her directly. "Get ready," she texted. Vicky picked Soojung up in your house, and the two rushed to arrive at the strip club before you could get there.
"You look beautiful in this outfit," Vicky told Mrs. Soojung, who was wearing the fishnet you just had gifted her, a blonde wig slightly different from Vicky's own, glasses, and a nice lingerie. She barely had any friends, and that prostitute of all people seems to be kinder to her than any person in her circle besides her sister. Soojung still had some mistrusting about Vicky but was clearly embracing her partner-by-accident.
Vicky was the first to leave the room; the two were backstage. Loud rap music played in the club's background. Vicky was truly an intimidating presence. Her tall and skinny frame got even better when she put her high heels on and prepared herself for another performance.
You were already sitting at the strip club watching the opening performances, throwing a couple dollar bills for the girls trying to make it, until the announcement that you were looking for was made.
"Ladies and gentlemen, we're proud to present another performance of the great Vicky Jang," the announcer said at the speakers. Vicky slowly climbed upstage, her high heels making loud sounds. She looked at you in the eye, took off the jacket she was wearing, and started her performance, flaunting her long legs as she made moves around the pole in the center of the stage.
Vicky's long legs were always a highlight of her performances. She sat on the floor and started spreading them in front of you. Her pussy was enticigly close, within reach of your hands. You started dropping the first dollar bills, but Vicky ignored them and just kept performing. Truly a pro, once she's onstage all she cares about is hitting her moves perfectly, and she was pulling one heck of a pole dancing before leaving closer to you as you put more bills on the stage.
Vicky's performance quickly turned into a solo show for you as she got on her knees and touched herself right in front of you. She leaned her head in your direction, showing her tall body for you, who nearly touched her mid-performance. More moves with her legs, and she climbed offstage, circling around you and then covering your eyes with her hands, before whispering some words in your ear.
"I know today is your wife's birthday, but the gift will be yours tonight," she told you.
Vicky uncovered your eyes, and a different blonde girl appeared on your sight. "Her name is Krystal," Vicky said to you. She gave you quite the welcome, pointing her high heels straight to your heart before climbing off the stage and sitting on your lap. You touched her butt and sensed the fishnets she was wearing, very reminiscent of the ones you had just gifted your wife.
Krystal and Vicky danced together on stage. It was the first time Krystal was performing at a strip club, but Vicky could tell she had some good stage presence, wondering if she had done any kind of performance before, as unlikely as it sounded for a typical housewife. Vicky climbed up the pole and went upside down, while Krystal went on all fours seducing you, before Vicky decided to pull a killer move.
Climbing down the pole, Vicky moved in your direction and wrapped her long legs around your face. You could feel the amazing smell coming out of her pussy. She was just the most beautiful woman in the world. You felt a little guilty but couldn't help but think of leaving your wife and marrying Vicky on some uninhabited island and living there with her forever.
Krystal massaged you from behind as you watched Vicky before making a move and sitting on your lap, shoving you in Vicky's direction right at the angle where the stripper's pussy touched your forehead.
Now things were going to heat up. Krystal unbuttoned your shirt, and the two started moving like crazy towards you. Both girls are ready to take on you at any second. Your heartbeat fastened like crazy. The girls took a couple pieces off their lingeries, and Krystal pushed Vicky towards your lap, where she started grinding on you. Krystal herself started grinding on Vicky and kissing the young stripper; she was so beautiful she couldn't help herself. Vicky truly activated some of her woman-loving instincts.
Krystal took the money you had left onstage and placed it on her fishnets. Her and Vicky headed backstage, plotting their next move. "He's on his knees already; it's time to attack," Vicky told your wife.
Vicky sent her friend Elizabeth to extract as much money as possible from you. "He wants to pay an extra thousand dollars to continue the session," Liz reported to her. "Not enough," Vicky responded. "Now he's offering two thousand," Liz said after another check. "We want more," Vicky answered. Krystal was truly impressed at how Vicky could easily fleece any guy; she was truly that girl.
"Five thousand," Liz then said. "Done deal," Vicky said, going back to you with Krystal. "Here's the money," you told Vicky, offering her the $5,000. "It's five thousand for her too," she said, pointing to Krystal. You were recluctant, but you just couldn't say no to Vicky. "Okay," you answered as the money was flying out of your pocket. Krystal was smiling, enjoining the way Vicky had you on your knees.
The girls began moving, kissing you as they sat around your lap; both took turns grinding on your lap as the three of you shared kisses, including some torried triple kisses. Krystal gave Vicky's butt a little spanking as the young prostitute was making out with you. The two then had a few intimate moments with each other as both of you kept tapping Vicky's butt before you couldn't resist and decided to join them again.
Krystal's bra nearly fell off as you moved more aggressively, before she decided to take it off and put up a show, making out with Vicky. "You wanna join us?" she asked. "Yes," you answered. "Then pay some more," she replied, quickly learning the teachings of Vicky.
Krystal spread Vicky's long legs and started eating the young girl's pussy. Vicky moaned softly as you kissed her and watched your wife dive in her pussy. "Eat that pussy, please," you told Krystal. As she was getting eaten out, Vicky reached into your clothed pants and caressed your cock. Krystal truly had a nice, plump ass, very fuckable, something you missed doing as Vicky had never allowed you in her ass and your wife hadn't done that in ages.
You took your cock off your pants, letting Vicky jerk it off as Krystal kept eating Vicky's pussy. Krystal quickly took notice of it and joined the young hooker. "It's so nice," she said. "We can suck it for some extra money," she continued, and you soon obliged to her demand.
Before Krystal could suck your cock, you dove into her already bare tits, sniffing and sucking them. For some reason, they reminded you of your wife, who was most likely sleeping at the moment, as the clock had already hit way past midnight. You kept kissing Krystal's tits and sucking them like a baby, prompting Vicky to also have some fun and take her bra off, allowing Krystal to grab your cock all by herself while Vicky's little tits entertained you.
Krystal sucked your cock, and you were already groaning. "Oh god," you said. You had been cheating on your wife for years and had yet to find a girl that sucked cock better than her, but now you had two, Krystal and Vicky, after searching for so long. "Damn, she's so good at this," you said to Vicky in between kisses.
"Yes, she's a longtime veteran of sucking the biggest cocks," Vicky said, praising Krystal before taking her turn on your cock herself. "You really stepped your game up after I praised your friend," you told her as Vicky made sure to give you a top-notch blowjob while Krystal had fun counting all those money bills you were leaving on their table.
"Oh fuck yes," you groaned as Vicky was hitting all the right spots. Krystal looked at her and got why that young girl had you on your knees. She was really good at that. Grabbing your balls, she added to the cock torture you had to endure, giggling as you tried to resist.
Krystal snatched your cock from Vicky's mouth and took some extra sucking of it, both girls fighting hard for that big shaft now but also cooperating a lot as Krystal handed your cock to Vicky multiple times for her to suck and bob her head all over it. "FUCK, FUCK," it was all you could scream as these two succubus drained your soul.
You laid your head on the sofa as you felt weaker than ever, while Krystal kept stroking your cock harder than ever. Vicky came in as you helped take her panties off while Krystal was devouring your dick like a demon. Vicky sat on your face as you sniffed her pussy, trying to cope with the increased pressure Krystal put on your shaft, the two kissing each other as they loved dominating you.
Vicky moaned hard as your tongue hit her folds. Krystal just kept doing what she was doing, engaging in countless deepthroats that were driving you insane. She then pushed Vicky's head against your cock, bobbing it on it as you two were now performing a 69. You pushed your hips upwards, attempting to fuck Vicky's face with the strength you had left, while savoring her pretty young pussy.
Krystal was in full control of your cock, stroking it as your tongue started to make Vicky cum; she loved the way the young girl moaned, inserting herself with some kisses between it, while never losing sight of your cock. Vicky collected some money while you turned your attention to Krystal, pulling her panties down and ripping her fishnets under Vicky's watch.
Vicky's seized the opportunity and licked Krystal's asshole. Her anus had long been a forbidden area for any stimulation, but maybe things were just being done wrong because Vicky's tongue made Krystal feel a sensation she hadn't felt in over a decade. Maybe she could open an exception for today because there was truly no bad thing Vicky could do; she was truly very skilled at eating any kind of ass.
"Ohhh fuck," Krystal moaned as Vicky kept eating her ass while strocking your cock. She nearly lost her breath as Vicky awoke her long, dormant anal folds. "AHHHHHHHH, FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK," she screamed as Vicky kept going, forcing her to turn around just not to have an anal orgasm.
Vicky showcased her talents, challenging Krystal as the two girls fought for your cock. "I want more; give me more," you told them as both licked your tip. "You want more?" Vicky asked. "Yes, I want everything; take all my money and give me everything," you answered.
"Alright baby," Krystal says, opening her legs and ripping the remnants of her fishnets as you slowly inserted your cock in her pussy. "OHHHHH, my fucking..." she moaned, unable to finish the sentence as you and Vicky teamed up and started licking her nipples. Krystal slowly bounced, getting louder and louder. It was the same cock she had been bounced on for years, to mixed results, but something about Vicky had truly awakened the beast inside her; that girl was truly incredible.
Vicky massaged Krystal's pussy as she kept bouncing it on your cock. Krystal kept moaning hard, overstimulated in a way she hadn't felt in years. "Don't stop, don't stop," you told her. And indeed, Krystal didn't stop, riding your cock faster as she slowly regained a long-lost confidence. Vicky was always by her side, helping her feel the most possible pleasure as her hands kept working on Krystal's cunt.
"Come here," you told Krystal, making her wig and mask nearly fall off and almost ruining her disguise. But she stayed put and took the maximum pleasure possible from your cock. Krystal kissed you and let you pound her in a pearly gates position, wondering why you had never tried it with her in bed. "Does he only try those kinds of positions on prostitutes?" she thought.
"JESUS CHRIST, AHHHHHHH," Krystal screamed as the teamwork between your cock and Vicky's hand put her closer to a huge orgasm. "AHHHHHHHHH, FUCKKKKKK," she kept screaming. "Come on, slut, bounce on that," you dared her. Krystal accepted the challenge and did just that. "YES, YES, YES, YES," Krystal kept moaning. It was the same cock that had fucked her for years, but Vicky's presence in that room had turned things in a way she could never expect.
Krystal explodes in a massive orgasm as she closes her legs and coats your cock full of juices. "Come eat that pussy from my dick," you invite her, but Krystal is so out of breath it's Vicky who takes the prize all by herself. Krystal instead makes a rather unusual decision, licking Vicky's ass, trying to counter pleasure with some disgust.
But damn, she was very wrong.
As Krystal's dive into Vicky's ass, a beautiful scent of roses penetrates her nostrils. "Wtf is that? Assholes are supposed to be dirty," she thinks. But Vicky is nothing like the regulars; she's a truly special girl.
Vicky keeps sucking your cock as Krystal shoves her ass in your face for her to eat her asshole out. What started as some rare moment had truly turned into a kink. You obviously happily took it; after all, if your wife never lets you eat her ass but a prostitute happily does it, then good for you.
"Seems like you really want to sit on that dick the way you're sucking it," you tell Vicky. "Of course," she answers, staying with it in her mouth all the time. Shortly after, Vicky sits her tight young cunt in your cock.
"Let me see, let me see." Vicky is already begging for your cock as she adjusts it into her entrance. "Wow, that's so hot," Krystal tells her as they kiss each other. Vicky lets out a soft moan as Krystal licks her neck, beginning her bounce on your cock.
"That's right, use that cock," you tell Vicky as she starts riding that dick. Her slow ride is like poetry in motion, her hitting the perfect spots on your cock while sharing kisses with Krystal under the lights of the strip club.
"Yeah, yeah, come on, keep going," you tell Vicky as she increases her pace, her riding getting sexier and sexier, while she keeps kissing Krystal at all moments. Krystal then drops down, kissing you and letting Vicky ride your cock all by herself, her moans getting louder and echoing all around the club.
Vicky now bounces really fast, prompting you to thrust upwards to meet her bounces. "Yeahhhh," she moans. "Twerk that ass on my cock," you tell her, and she does it perfectly, with an amazing pace that drives you nuts, Krystal looking at her eye to eye and getting quite impressed by her riding skills despite Vicky being very young.
"OH YES YES YES YES YES YES," Vicky says in a fast way that is nearly in sync with her bounces. She giggles, stretching her long arms into your torso and making sideways moves that get your cock throbbing even harder, before beding herself in the direction of Krystal's pussy and eating it out, allowing you to push up her cunt while she eats Krystal's.
"I love this; give me the taste of it, you way, letting Vicky ride you while she eats Krystal, and then kisses you to taste Krystal's amazing ice cream-flavored pussy while never ceasing to bounce up and down that big cock. "Come on, come on," you encourage Vicky as she rides you like a baddie.
Vicky is truly amazing and is exactly her energy that brings the best from you and Krystal; her licks in the other stripper's pussy making her moan hard and putting her on the verge of cumming; her bouncing on your cock making you feel blessed to have such an amazing girl to please you.
"AHHHHHH, AHHHHHHH, OHHHHHH," Krystal starts moaning as she pushes Vicky's face into her cunt, ready to explode at any second. Despite being buried on it, Vicky remains calm and collected, keeping a steady pace as she pleases your cock. "That's it, baby, come earn your reward and suck that dick," you tell her, leaving Krystal by herself to enjoy her moaning orgasms while Vicky tastes her cherry-flavored pussy from your cock.
But Krystal doesn't want you to give your whole attention to the young stripper, sitting on your face as she gives her pussy for you to eat out. The two girls now battle to see which one you like the most, but you just enjoy the ride and let them duel without giving them any clues over who's winning.
Both girls show why they are such great professionals, Vicky bobbing her head hard on your cock while Krystal grinds her folds on your face at a great pace. There isn't a second you don't go without being overwhelmed by these two beauties, panting and moaning all the time trying to survive.
"Licky my balls," you order to Vicky while Krystal jumps on top of you, takes your shaft in her mouth, and performs a 69. "Yeah, yeah, like that," you tell them, the girls sucking the soul out of you like a pair of crazy succubus. "This is so good; I feel so lucky having two girls fighting for my fucking cock," you tell them.
Krystal gets on her knees on the couch, allowing you to put your cock back in her pussy. Vicky gets by her side, and they kiss each other. "OH GOD," Krystal moans as you push your cock hard into her pussy without any breaks, grabbing her waist to take her at a fast pace, as she clings to Vicky to take the pounding you give her, but not without lots of moaning. Vicky kisses you and leaves Krystal all by herself, screaming. "AHHHH, AHHHHHH, YEAHHHHH, YEAHHHH," she says, her eyes rolling as you spank her butt.
As Krystal quickly gets out breath, Vicky quickly takes her pace, getting fucked similarly, but she's the one that advances into Krystal as you take your cock deep inside her, kissing the other strip in perfect sync with your thrusts, slowly lowering her head to eat Krystal out, giving amazing orgasms to her and making her moan all over the couch, as Krystal closes her eyes and her nipples get more and more erected while Vicky buries her face in her cunt.
Vicky looks at Krystal while you pump her hard, making the other stripper cum while her pussy gets stretched out. Krystal gets on top of Vicky's butt and licks get pussy as you keep fucking her, taking a couple turns to lube your cock with Krystal's mouth. "Lick that asshole while I fuck her pussy," you tell Krystal, who obliges and slowly starts falling in love with the taste of Vicky's butthole.
"Good girl, now suck it and clean that cock," you tell Krystal. "Look at you, such a beautiful and fuckable ass," you tell Vicky as you spank her butt and keep fucking her, kissing Krystal in a way that makes you remind of your wife. You then grab Vicky's hair. "Come here," you tell her, pushing her face into Krystal as they keep kissing each other and fucking her like an animal, making her cheeks clap hard and her legs work hard.
"Come back," you tell Krystal, letting her bounce on your cock while Vicky suck her fellow stripper's tits. "OHHHHH," Krystal moans loudly but accepts the challenge of bouncing on your big cock, even if it quickly leaves her getting out of breath. You put her body on the floor, switching to a piledriver position that allows for very deep penetration. "OHHHHH, OHHHHH, OHHHH JESUS CHRIST," Krystal screams as she is now upside down, you and Vicky looking from above at a very dominating spot while her back gets pressed to the floor at each pounding you give her.
"Let me work that fucking pussy, you slut," you tell Krystal. Vicky comes in, and Krystal learns about her magic hands. "OH FUCKKKKK!" she screams as soon as Vicky places her hands on her clit. You end up having mercy for Krystal, as she can barely stand a couple minutes in that position, switching your attention back to Vicky for another round of bouncing.
Krystal rims your asshole trying to get back on her senses after such a crazy pounding, while Vicky entertains herself using your cock as her playground. Krystal looks from above, amazed and trying to understand how such a young girl can be such a pro at dickriding, taking your big cock like nothing and pulverizing it as she impales herself on it. She looks at her cheeks and just watches your cock disappear between them, licking your balls as her admiration for Vicky only grows.
"FUCK, FUCK," you say as Vicky once again pushes you to the edge. You instincively spank her ass, but it amounts to nothing; Vicky just devours your cock, and her ride only gets more insane. "OH SHIT!" you scream as one of her bounces gets close to snapping your cock in half.
In the end, you have to shove Vicky to the side just not to cum, turning your eyes back into Krystal. "That's way too much," you tell Vicky, who just laughs. Krystal chimes in and sucks your cock, getting to know better of the cherry-like flavors of Vicky's pussy.
"Let me see you lick that pussy," you tell Krystal as she gets on her knees and eats Vicky out while you jerk off to the scene. Vicky opens her mouth wide and moans, enjoying the way Krystal attacks her folds. You really like the curves of Krystal's body and her well-shaped butt, enhanced as she's in primed position to get taken from behind.
"I love the way you lick that pussy," you tell Krystal. "YEAHHHH, YEAHHHHH," a trembling Vicky screams as Krystal keeps licking her. "Look at her face, so slutty, she is really enjoying it," you say. Your words encourage Krystal, who pushes further and dives her fingers into Vicky's wet fuckhole, thrusting them as if she had a strap attached to herself and pounding the young prostitute until her hands are completely covered of Vicky's juices.
"Don't hide her face; I wanna see her moans," you tell Krystal, who gets back down and dives back to eat Vicky out. You watch both and increase the pace of your masturbation, getting closer and closer to cumming. You can't resist the urge of Krystal's fuckholes staring at you and pushing your cock back in her pussy, fucking her as hard as you can and burying her face all the way down Vicky's vagina.
"Open your legs, Vicky, let me watch her lick your pussy," you command as you increase the pace against Krystal. The heat of her tightening cunt gets you even closer, as both girls are now moaning messes ready to explode at any second. Vicky stretches her feet as you lick them while pounding Krystal hard and making her beg for god, giving her hard spanks in her butt.
You push Krystal to the side and decide to lead Vicky to an orgasm yourself. "AHHHHHH, AHHHHHH, AHHHHHHH," she screams as if a baby is being expelled from her womb. As if this wasn't enough, you take your cock back in her pussy and pound it. Vicky just opens her legs and moans, Krystal coming from behind and stroking your shaft as you pound Vicky hard.
"Come on, come on, come on, suck it," you use Krystal's mouth as you lube your cock to fuck Vicky. Krystal jumps over and kisses the young stripper, and then you enjoy the animalesque way you two have sex. You switch back to Krystal, opening her legs and groping her tits, her clinging to Vicky not to let out loud moans as her nipples get even more erect. Very out of breath, her walls clench around your cock, forcing you to hold back, not to cum.
"Get down," you tell them, actually showing where you want to cum, jerking off your cock until you bust right at Krystal's face. Her face painted white while she swapped your sperm in her mouth with Vicky, and then taking your money home was the last thing you remembered before someone came from behind and knocked you uncounciously.
As you regain your sight, you find yourself blindfolded and unable to move your body. Your hands and legs are tied up to a chair. "Help me, help me, please," you say. "Please," you keep going. You can hear a pair of lips touching each other and kissing; wonder who is beside you. A pair of hands take your tie off.
"Show me, take control of him," a girl's voice says. Shortly after, you get smacked in the face, still blindfolded. "That's so funny," the woman who slapped you says. "Who's in charge now? Not you. Who's the boss? Not you," the woman says. "I'm so sick of your cheating ways," she continues.
You can recognize your wife, Mrs. Soojung's voice, but who's the other girl beside her? Why are they doing this? "Ohhh, baby, don't cry," Soojung tells you, enjoying the punishment she gives you. I guess that's what she wants for her birthday—punishing you after finding out you were with two girls at a strip club.
Soojung keeps giggling as she slowly starts taking your shirt off. Both girls massage your torso and spank it. The other girl rubs her little tits against you, making you wonder if you hadn't touched them yet; they surely feel familiar. "Tell us how nice they are," Soojung yells at you, as she also shoves hers down your mouth for you to lick before spanking you again for daring to do so.
"You're all yours; come with us," Soojung tells you as she keeps spanking your torso. The other girl films you as you stay tied to the chair. "I'm gonna fuck the shit out of you like a demon; punish you for cheating on me with those prostitutes," Soojung keeps saying. "Kiss her," the other girl demands as Soojung pushes you closer to her lips before spitting in your mouth.
Both girls kiss each other in front of you. "Kiss my ass, you worthless cheater," Soojung demands, and you oblige, kissing the clothed fabric that covers her butt. Soojung starts grinding on your lap, making your erection start to build up again. "Enjoy it and appreciate her," the other girl tells you. Soojung reaches with her hands, rubbing your cock while her tits rub against your torso.
"Don't you want this? Filming a fucking sex tape with your wife on her birthday?" the other girl asks, pointing the camera she's holding towards Soojung and you making out. You giggle, thinking it is indeed quite hot. "I've been waiting to do this for a long time," Soojung tells you. "But you never said that before," you reply to her.
Soojung pulls your pants down. "Look at how hot she is; oh wait, you can't see her," the other girl pranks you. Your cock comes up already throbbing from your underwear, with Soojung's fellow partner in crime coming to suck it first, giving you a sexy blowjob that also doesn't feel unfamiliar to you, but you, dumb as a rock, can't recognize where it comes from. Soojung then takes her turn, bobbing her head hard on your cock without using her hands.
"Perfect, lick it like an ice cream," the other girl says as Soojung savors the tip of your cock. She closes her eyes and enjoys every second of it while the other girl keeps filming it. "Tell her how good she sucks your cock," the girl demands of you, just as Soojung pulls of a crazy deepthroat.
"Do you love that?" the other girl asks. "Of course," you tell them. "I didn't hear it, louder," the other girl tells you, bobbing Soojung's head against your cock. "I love it," you answer just as the other girl now massages your balls and tries to edge you to the fullest.
"Oh fuck, fuck," you groan as the other girl takes your cock deep in her warm mouth. Her dick sucking lips push your cock to the limit, you having to push as hard as you can just not to cum at the spot. "You know it feels good, doesn't it?" Soojung asks. "I don't think I'll be able to resist," you tell her. "Poor boy," she replies, giggling.
The other girl finally takes your blindfold, and you recognize her at the spot, even though her blonde wig she usually wears is not there but rather her natural brunette hair. "Vicky?" you say shorlty after looking at your wife and wondering how she found out. "Wait, that stripper, Krystal, was you all along?" you ask your wife.
"Such a dumb boy, isn't he?" Soojung laughs as she asks Vicky. "Also, you can call her by her real name now, Jang Wonyoung, while you can call me Krystal now; since you had so many encounters with her, it seemed like she was your wife and I was your prostitute," a mad Soojung tells you.
Krystal deepthroats you again, showing she wasn't being out of character when she did it multiple times at that strip club. Wonyoung had made Krystal discover her long-lost potential of being a slut, and now she was going to unleash it to the fullest, like the angry wife that she was. Wonyoung spat on your dick and kept making Krystal push harder and harder, your wife answering every single call from that baddie slut.
Wonyoung and Krystal team up to suck the tip of your cock, making you have flashbacks from your time at the strip club, their tongues sending you over the moon as they run all over your veiny cock, giggling and enjoying edging you as hard as they can while kissing each other. Krystal then gets on all fours and lets Wonyoung lick her asshole while trash talking you. "Her tongue is so amazing in my ass. Why can you be as good as her licking my ass?" she asks.
Krystal moans loudly as she dives to suck your cock further while Wonyoung keeps licking her ass. As you three engage in that oral train, for the first time in years, Krystal thinks of having your cock inside her ass, given the amazing work Wonyoung's tongue is doing with it and making her desire for further anal stimulation, despite her longtime reluctance.
"A cunt massaging another," Krystal says as Wonyoung reaches lower and puts her fingers in your wife's pussy. "You got it right, I'm a cunt, and your husband is a massive asshole," Wonyoung replies. The chemistry between her and Krystal is unmatched; the two hardly have met each other, but Krystal loves how Wonyoung is able to pick the perfect spots in her body and stimulate her better than you ever could over all these years.
More and more, Krystal opens herself up for Wonyoung's touch, letting the young girl eat her out wonderfully. Krystal always enjoyed those kinds of lesbian fantasies but rarely let other girls eat her out, with a few exceptions such as her sister or Amber, which are very much part of her innermost circle. But that unknown girl was doing such wonders to her body that she didn't hesitate, letting Wonyoung's tongue run wild over her clit and make it squirt in front of you.
"Are you enjoying the show, baby?" Krystal asks you. "Look how sexy her tongue looks licking my beautiful pussy," she continues, praising Wonyoung at any chance she gets. "I think I'll become a lesbian; her tongue is so much better in my pussy than your cock," she continues, keeping the trash taking going. "And you can't do anything to stop it, baby, all tied up and just watching my cunt squirt all over her pretty face," Krystal continues.
"OH FUCK YES, YES, YES, DON'T YOU FUCKING STOP," Krystal moans as Wonyoung does her magic with her tongue, putting your wife on the verge of cumming and gushing all over her face while you can just watch. "AH, AH, AH, AH," Krystal moans loudly in a way that she hadn't done to you in a while. "You know what? I think she earned a reward," she says.
Krystal takes Wonyoung's panties off and dives to eat her pussy. She gets marveled at Wonyoung's incredible taste, quickly getting addicted the deeper she takes her tongue in the young girl's cunt. Wonyoung looks at you and sees you're jerking off to the scene. "You love watching it, slave," she tells you. The girls are soon scissoring each other and moaning very loud, leaving you in awe as their juices get the wooden floor incresingly slippery.
Krystal finger-fucks Wonyoung's cunt and teases her. "Do you want my husband's cock fucking you like that?" your wife asks her. "YES, PLEASE, DON'T STOP, EAT MY PUSSY LIKE THE FUCKING BITCH I AM," Wonyoung answers screaming, loving the quick but soft touch Krystal's fingers provide. Your wife goes crazier and crazier, putting Wonyoung's body on your lap while she eats her out and making your cock rub against the young girl's soft skin.
"Tell him where my tongue is," Krystal asks Wonyoung. "In my ass, I love it," Wonyoung says. Slowly but surely Krystal was opening up to kinks that she used to refuse, all because Wonyoung was so incredible she felt wrong for not using her to the fullest, getting enamored by the young girl and treating her like an it girl of sex.
Wonyoung shakes her ass cheeks as Krystal dives her tongue between them. It was what your wife needed to be fully convinced. She starts spanking the young girl's butt and gets more and more in love with it, shoving her middle finger up Wonyoung's anus just to hear her beautiful moans, and then pulling out to taste it. "Damn, this is the tastiest butthole I've ever seen," she says. "You know what it deserves for tasting so good? To sit on my husband's dirty fucking cock," she continues.
As soon as she gets Krystal's authorization, Wonyoung climbs on your lap, taking your cock up her ass in one go. The loud moan she lets out makes Krystal believe she won't be able to take it, just like she hasn't in many years. But that's not the case; far from it.
"OH FUCK!" Wonyoung screams as your massive cock impales her ass, but she's determined to bounce as fast as she can. Krystal watches her as a mix of both a motherly figure and a curious woman learning from a young slut. She can't resist and grabs Wonyoung's cheeks, pushing your cock deeper and faster up her tight asshole. Wonyoung moans are loud, but her determination to take your cock trumps everything else.
"FUCK IT, FUCK IT, FUCK IT!" Krystal screams as she spanks Wonyoung's butt, but the more she does it, the harder Wonyoung rides it. Maybe it's her young age; maybe she does it every night, but what a crazy rider Wonyoung is. Krystal had caught a glimpse of it at the strip club, but that was with her pussy; it turned out she could do both holes with ease and destroy any cock that goes inside of them with extreme ease.
"I wanna taste it," Krystal says, pulling your cock out and savoring the best flavor she had ever tasted from it. Good lord, how does Wonyoung's ass smell so good? Your wife was truly impressed; no wonder you were so addicted to cheating on her with that Vicky girl.
"I love how you enjoy tasting my asshole," Wonyoung tells Krystal as she resumes bouncing on your dick. Krystal now just watches; you're getting very sweaty as the young girl puts you on the edge. Krystal frees you from the chair, allowing you to carry-fuck Wonyoung while she licks your balls under both of you. "I FUCKING LOVE IT, FUCK ME, FUCK ME, FUCK ME," Wonyoung screams.
"OH, OH, OH, OH OH, FUCK, YES, YES, YES," Wonyoung moans as she starts orgasming. You put her on the couch and keep fucking her ass under a mating press while she grabs a sex toy and uses it to stimulate Krystal's own butthole, before Krystal takes it by herself and creams herself watching you fuck Wonyoung on the couch, but feeling a little jealous as it seems like your escapades with the long-legged girl have allowed you to build some quite good chemistry with her.
Krystal squirts herself as you choke Wonyoung before coming in to sit on the pretty girl's face, offering her pussy as a relief to the poundings you give her. "Can I taste more of it?" Krystal asks you, who obliges, but a little mad you're forced to pull out of Wonyoung's tight asshole, unleashing your fury against your wife's throat and pounding it relentlessly, way faster than you did to Wonyoung's ass.
Krystal gets really slutty, taking the poundings in her throat like a champ and licking your cock every time you take a break. Wonyoung eater her pussydown low, making your wife feel in heaven as you treat her like your bitch and clean your cock in her face. "More, more, more," Krystal demands, as just like the more she spanked Wonyoung, the faster she went, the faster you fuck her throat, the more she wants you to keep going.
Krystal finishes the facefucking session spitting on your cock and letting Wonyoung handle it for a bit as she lets you fuck her face and slap your cock against it, but not for long. "Put your cock in my fucking pussy right now," an intimidating Krystal orders, leading you to bring your fun with Wonyoung to an instant halt.
"YEAH, YEAH, YEAH, YEAH," Krystal screams as you pound her pussy while she's on top of the couch. Wonyoung adds extra stimulation, grabbing the toy Krystal was entertaining herself with and shoving up your wife's anus. "Keep going, baby, fuck that pussy, such a dirty fucking boy, aren't you? Going from her asshole straight to my cunt," she says.
You and Wonyoung compete to see who can fuck Krystal the fastest. Either way, both of you know she's gonna cum at any moment, so it's a win-win situation; you can claim it was your cock that gave her pussy an orgasm, and Wonyoung can claim she gave Krystal an anal orgasm with the sex toy. "Stuff both those fucking holes," Krystal demands from both of you as she receives a triple kiss.
"FUCK THAT PUSSY, FUCK HER HARDER," Krystal gives the command to you, who keeps pushing. It clearly seems your cock is losing the battle to Wonyoung's sex toy, so you just decide to put an end to it, pushing Krystal down the couch and obliterating her cunt like she was some hentai character that only existed to be a fuckhole. Wonyoung helps you by sitting on your wife's face and squirting all over Krystal's mouth, letting you use her wife as much as you can while her moans get muffled by the young girl's ass.
As you pick up the pace you pound Krystal's used-up cunt, you enjoy how much your cock bulges under her magnificent abs. It was a view that you loved every time you fucked her, but that had gotten rarer and rarer, but the sexy passionate missionary position you fucked her cunt in that couch was perfect for it to pop out again, with you toying with Krystal's insides and poking your cock in different angles at each thrust you gave her, particularly enjoying the ones that landed with the tip of your cock right at her belly button.
You pound Krystal like a fucktoy, watching her moans grow louder and louder and unable to get silenced under Wonyoung's ass. That's how it's supposed to be. She was probably finally telling you to go easy on her, like she did many times over those years, but this time you couldn't listen, so the louder she moaned, the harder you abused her cunt. But boy, you were really wrong.
"FUCK HER HARDER," Krystal says as she frees her mouth from Wonyoung's grinding pussy just for a second. Damn, when did your wife turn into such a slut?, you ask yourself, but after gathering your thoughts, fuck Krystal just like she wants it: hard, fast, strong.
"Let's make her fucking pussy cum," Wonyoung says, stretching her long arms right into Krystal's pussy. You follow suit, and both of you massage your wife's clit. Krystal starts growling before she announces. "I'M FUCKING CUMMING," Krystal says. "Then cum for me," Wonyoung replies, grabbing Krystal's beautiful face and kissing it just as Krystal lets out a massive geyser of squirt out of her cunt that surprises you, and so does Wonyoung, proud of the work her hands did on Krystal.
Krystal slides down the couch, her body rubbing against Wonyoung's as she reaches an orgasm that leaves her shaking on the floor. In spite of that, you just keep pounding her like she's just a sex doll built to give you the maximum pleasure. You push Krystal's body back up the couch, closing her legs by bringing them together and resuming fucking her pussy while Wonyoung puts her big hands in your wife's clit, you two doing the perfect teamwork to give Krystal the most shaking orgasms known to mankind. Her body trembles from head to toe, but you two just don't stop.
"Make that pussy cum, make that pussy cum," Wonyoung commands as you stay fucking Krystal. The young girl brings her massive Hitachi vibrator and puts it right in your hands to massage Krystal's increasingly throbbing clit, while letting your wife's moans echo through her tight pussy as she gets back to sitting on Krystal's face.
"USE THOSE TWO MAGIC WANDS TO MAKE ME FUCKING CUM AS HARD AS I CAN, FUCKKKK." Krystal screams as her face turns red, and she's nothing but a host of intense orgasms that would make the weakest girls beg for mercy. But Krystal isn't like other girls; she's a legend, an it girl, and they are built different; they are once-in-a-generation girls that can perform the most mind-blowing sex known to men.
"DON'T STOP, JUST FUCK ME, FUCK ME, FUCK ME," Krystal begs. "Fuck her harder; look how much she wants it," Wonyoung orders to you. "Give me that cunt," Krystal says, pushing the young girl's pussy against her face to cope with the heat your cock and the Hitachi provide against her own's. "You fucking love that, don't you?" Wonyoung brags.
"OH MY GOD, THAT'S SO FUCKING GOOD YESSSSSSSSSS," Krystal says as she explodes in another orgasm just as you give her ass another spank. She says a bunch of unrecognizable words, just having enough forces to stick her tongue out as if she had taken a massive electric shock, while Wonyoung grinds her pussy in her face. Her eyes only see a red light, her teeth ache, and the four walls of her pussy clench to unbelievable levels of tightness.
An exausted Krystal finishes her orgasm, but she still has strength to deliver the next order. "Fuck her pussy," she says in a commanding voice, pushing you to spread Wonyoung's long legs and take the plunge against her tight walls again. "You know what? Fuck her ass, fuck any of her holes," Krystal adds, grabbing the Hitachi and putting it in her clit just as she sits on the couch right above Wonyoung's pretty face.
"Squirt all over my face; cover it with your juices," Wonyoung tells Krystal with a smile as your cock finds her way into her pussy. You choke the young girl and treat her like your next toy, all under your wife's watch, the juices coming out of Krystal's pussy telling if you succeeded or failed in the quest she gave you.
"You're such a good boy; look at how much you love fucking my tight pussy," Wonyoung says as you two are now face to face. "OHHHHH FUCKKKKK," Wonyoung moans as you give her long legs some slapping. Krystal stays fixated, masturbating herself to the scene, showing her approval as her cold juices leak out of her cunt and land on Wonyoung's body, making the youngest moan again.
"Open your mouth, open your fucking mouth," Krystal orders as she delivers another squirt shower in Wonyoung right at it. You go harder, wishing for your wife to pull out another squirt show like that. But Krystal had different plans.
Krystal flips Wonyoung around and pushes the young girl's butt upwards. "Fuck my ass," Wonyoung commands, doing exactly what Krystal intended her to do; these two have indeed great chemistry. With just one leg on the ground, Wonyoung takes your anal pounding, while Krystal sucks her perky tits and spits on her face. "Fucking slut, you can't resist my husband's cock, can't you?" Krystal asks.
Wonyoung can't even answer, as Krystal just shoved her hands to massage the young girl's cunt while you fucked her ass. Every time you take a break from fucking her butt, Krystal comes in to bob her head on your cock, confirming her addition from Wonyoung's tasty butthole now runs rampant. " is all she can say. Every time you take a break from fucking her butt, Krystal comes in to bob her head on your cock, confirming her addition from Wonyoung's tasty butthole now runs rampant. As you keep fucking Wonyoung, Krystal, let's the young girl use her sex toy in her own ass.
"Fuck me, please fuck me, AHHHHHH," Wonyoung screams while Krystal herself moans hard with the Hitachi and the sex toy plugged in her holes. Your balls smash Wonyoung's throbbing clit as you take turns between her ass and pussy now. Krystal plugs a larger dildo on Wonyoung's mouth and connects it with her own pussy as both of you turn the young girl into the source of all of your pleasures. "Dirty little fucking bitch," Krystal says about Wonyoung as you shove her face into Krystal's pussy while fucking hers even faster, Krystal incorporating the jealous wife character to the fullest and spitting on Wonyoung multiple times.
Wonyoung and Krystal cum together as your cock and the dildo provide the pleasure they need, both sharing the ends of it in their mouths. But then you come with a surprise.
You put Krystal on all fours and tell her something you hadn't done in years. "I'm gonna fuck this ass," you say, spanking her butt. "If you shoved a couple toys on it, you can take my cock too," you continue. But to your surprise, Krystal this time gives you a very different answer.
"Yes, yes, please fuck my ass," she tells you. Watching you fuck Wonyoung's butt really turned her on. It's been nearly 7 years since she last took a cock in her ass, but now she's finally ready.
You shove your cock in Krystal's ass at the same time Wonyoung shoves the dildo in her pussy. "Fuck yes," Krystal moans, the prospect of getting double-stuffed by a cock and a dildo being very enticing to her. Wonyoung uses her spit to make both instruments slide easier into Krystal fuckholes. "YES, PLEASE, YES, FUCK ME," Krystal begs as she turns into an ultrawhore. "That's so fucking hot," Wonyoung says.
Krystal is all smiles as your cock pounds her ass. Maybe it's Wonyoung's presence, but her fears regarding anal sex seem to be completely gone. "That cock is so fucking good in my ass," she tells you. Wonyoung takes the dildo out, giving you free reign to pound your wife's tight asshole. "FUCK IT, FUCK IT, FUCK IT," Krystal begs as Wonyoung adds more spit and massages your wife's cunt, making her scream very loud in a way that can be heard way beyond the four walls of your house.
"Make her fucking cum, fucking make her cum," Wonyoung says, switching the order of a few words. Indeed, you do just that, making Krystal explode with her first anal orgasm in nearly a decade. "YES, YES, YES, MORE, MORE, MORE, FUCK ME HARDER, FUCK THAT ASS, DESTROY IT, PLEASE," she screams as Wonyoung spanks her butt and licks her anus at the same time your cock obliterates it. "FUCK, I'M GONNA CUM AGAIN," Kyrstal says as she squirts all over the couch.
"Let's clean this cock together," Krystal orders to Wonyoung, eager to have a taste of her own asshole after so many years. And damn, she had forgotten how good she tasted. "Wow, it's better than mine," Wonyoung says, complimenting your wife. The two it girls with good-smelling anuses polish your knob to the fullest, each girl licking one side of your shaft while taking turns to dive balls deep down your erection from time to time.
Krystal proves to be a kind wife, pushing Wonyoung to get her face fucked and taste more of your wife's perfect asshole. "You taste so amazing," Wonyoung says again as your balls get engulfed in her mouth and your cock impales it like a massive sword, Krystal making sure to push it harder until she makes Wonyoung gag.
"Looks like you like my asshole a lot, you fucking cunt," Krystal says. "Now how about my cunt, since you're also one?" she continues. "Wanna taste my cream-filled pussy?" she asks Wonyoung. "Of course," the young girl answers.
"Come here, both of you, please me," Krystal orders, getting herself on all fours and pushing your cock back in her pussy while she shoves Wonyoung's ass in her face to get turned on by the smell of her butthole. You take your wife's cunt hard from the start, her walls clenching further as Wonyoung's smell invades her nostrils. You spank Krystal's butt and drive her away from Wonyoung's ass, but no problem; she just stretches her hands right into the young girl's cunt.
Krystal gets her cunt hammered like it hasn't been in a while, you using her pussy as a jerkoff hole, you two trading spankings between butts, you on Krystal, her on Wonyoung. "Eat my ass," Wonyoung demands, Krystal getting double the pleasure once again.
"This is the hardest you can fuck me? Come on," Krystal says, daring you to push the pace even further. You do it just like that, attacking her pussycat at full speed. "Fuck me harder, give it to me," Krystal keeps pushing, her cheeks getting clapped hard at your increasingly fast thrusts.
You go full animalesque on Krystal, grabbing her hair and pushing her body onto the couch, prone-boning her as her face lands on Wonyoung's butt and uses it as a pillow, absorbing the crazy poundings you give her. She gets used like a fleshlight, and you are not caring how used up her pussy will be after it or whether she can walk afterwards; all you wanna do is destroy your slutty wife like she never had the chance for you to do before.
"Take his fucking cock, take his fucking cock," Wonyoung demands as Krystal gets absolutely destroyed. "AH, AH, AH, AH," it's all Krystal is able to scream, and soon her screams are joined by yours.
"FUCK FUCK, I'M GONNA CUM," you say. Seconds afterward, you fill your wife's pussy to the brim. Krystal remembers she's not on the pill, but it's too late. Your birthday gift to her will most likely be a baby. But in the end, she actually enjoys it, digging it to feed Wonyoung and thank her.
"Thanks, Ms. Jang; without you, this wasn't possible," Krystal tells the young girl. "I'm thankful too, Mrs. Soojung," Wonyoung replies. "You can call me anytime; by the way, you can just call me Wonyoung; I prefer it that way," she says, leaving.
The next day you wake up, it seems like finally your marriage with Mrs. Soojung will be restored back to the early days, until you receive devastating news from your wife's mouth.
"I'm filing for divorce," she says.
"Why?" you ask her.
"Do you really need to ask?" Krystal replies.
"But we had a great night tonight," you tell her.
"Not really, you only tried because of that Vicky girl, without her, all you can give me is very boring and vanilla sex," Krystal says.
"I promise to do better," you tell her.
"Empty promises, well, things will be easy for me; Vicky recorded everything we did last night in that room," Krystal says.
"Damn, this was all a trap, wasn't it?" you say.
"Dumb boy, like always, I just wanted to use you and take revenge for your cheating antics," Krystal replies.
Indeed, Krystal already had a new partner for herself.
"Hi," she said as Wonyoung opened the door. Truly an ending like the ones that happen in those rich lesbian fanfictions; they lived happily ever after together.
Well, not without some bumps.
A few days later, Krystal went to the bathroom feeling very nauseating, with Wonyoung coming to the rescue for her unwell partner.
"I think I'm pregnant," Krystal says.
#krystal smut#wonyoung smut#f(x) smut#ive smut#izone smut#female idol smut#girl group smut#kpop smut#male reader smut
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Creepy Roomie
Scaramouche x Reader *NSFW*
Warnings: Stalking, masturbation, stealing, scummy Scaramouche, obsessive behavior, DNI if this makes you uncomfortable!
A/N: updates have been late. This past year has been a whirlwind. I got married, moved, making plans for further education besides my bachelors, and working a full time job an hour away 10-12hr shifts. The life of an adult! Bleh. But I’ve had time (ahem-ahem-on my drives to work-ahem) to write as I get bored. I’m working in requests currently, but thought something short would suffice. Enjoy~
“Oh! That’s so nice of you, Scara. My knuckles have been so dry lately. Thank you!” Fuck. He was getting hard. His indigo eyes dropped down to the lotion bottle sitting in your hands, his mind racing with the idea of you applying it on your delicate hands. A months worth of jacking off and ejaculating into a tiny ass bottle was absolutely worth it to see you smear the combination of essential oils and his semen over your knuckles. “It smells nice and it’s so smooth. You’ll have to tell me where you got it, I may want more!”
He couldn’t handle it.
He quickly dismissed himself, brushing off your comment with a roll of his eyes before he retreated back to his room, slamming the door close and locking the door. His head spun, eyes darting down to the obvious tent now present in his loose basketball shorts. His fingers shook as he pulled his shirt up to bite the hem before sliding the front of his shorts down, blushing and groaning in embarrassment at the wet patch in his boxers from his leaky tip.
Scaramouche closed his eyes and slid his hard cock out of his boxers, sighing as his fingers traced along the engorged veins of his shaft up to the red tip, circling his thumb over the slit to smear his pre-cum around the tip. He sighed lewdly, starting to lightly stroke his cock, shuddering at the way he was teasing himself. He thought back to the way you so happily applied the lotion to your hands, commenting on its smell, how nice it felt. The smile on your face, the soft blush you had as you spread his semen on your hands.
“Fuck…!” He hunched over himself, his grip starting to tighten and slip his hand up and down his length faster. His tongue lolled out loosely, his thoughts rushing to find the memory of how your pussy tasted against his tongue. The multiple pairs of used panties he’d stolen from you had lost their initial flavor and aroma, but he still remembered the time he first snuck into your room to steal your panties, he couldn’t help but hump your pillow while he sucked the little wet patch of one and sniff a different pair.
Now, now, he’s no creep. He’s just… checking to make sure your juices taste right. All sweet and savory against his tongue. Make sure you didn’t have any odd smells, not that he would be able to tell, your scent always short circuited his brain into a horny mess. And cmon, we all know semen is actually a good moisturizer for the skin. At least that’s what he wants to believe. He read it somewhere! Honest! It’s not like he wanted to watch you smear his cum all over your body.
The hem of his shirt was getting wet with his saliva, his teeth gnawing the fabric trying to stay quiet so you wouldn’t hear his pathetic little virgin whimpers and moans. He looked up through hazy lust filled eyes, seeing a pair of your panties lying on his bed next to his pillow, a pair you masturbated in to be specific. Your noises were so cute, how could he not press his ear against the door and fist his cock until his balls were empty. His feet tumbled over each other as he reached out for them, his free hand clenching tightly to your panties as the pace along his cock never faltered.
Each pump formed a new pearl of pre-cum to leak from his tip, lubricating his hand and encouraging him to go faster. He was careful to wrap your panties around his cock, pushing the cute little stained patch against his tip to mix your juices together. The action was so lewd it had his stomach doing flips. A low and guttural moan slipped past his mouth, his chest rumbling with a deep growl as he felt his ball righten.
“Fuck, fuck, fuck, (Y/N)… I’m gonna cum, haa~” Scaramouche murmured, his breath beginning to become heavy, shuddering as he looked down at his bed, his mind fantasizing you sitting there, your legs spread with your fingers parting your folds to let him gaze upon your pretty pussy. Before he knew it he was rutting into his hand, imagining he was fucking into your pussy, his eyes glued to your sinful expressions and the way your breasts bounced with each brutal thrust he gave you. Before he knew it, he was cumming.
“M-Mmngh! Oho… fuck…! Ahh!” Ribbons of his hot seed spurted over his bed sheets, staining the silk sheets with his lewd juices. His chest heaved, his teeth slowly dropping the hem of his soaked shirt. His body shook as he collapsed onto his bed, not caring that his own semen was smearing against his clothes. His lips curled in a loving and blissful smile as his eyes made contact with a picture of you both on his dresser, one where you had been so excited about moving in with your best friend as collage roomies.
Don’t worry, you’ll be his one day. He’ll gather the courage to confess. But in the meantime… hell take his time enjoying and learning all there is about your body and your heart.
Thanks for reading! See you in the next 💜
#genshin smut#genshin impact smut#genshin impact scaramouche#genshin scaramouche#scara smut#scaramouche smut#scaramouche x reader#genshin impact x reader#scaramouche#scaramouche x you
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Kurkans Mate.
Kurkans Prisoner.
Yan! Ishakan x reader.
Part 3.
Manhwa :약탈혼 / predatory marriage
/ 약탈혼 (완전판)
: Adult Manhwa (18+)
Author/Illustrations : Saha / Hera(Art)
Word Count : 3,77 Word
Hello.. Neva again here, I hope you are well and happy and have a nice days, Is beens so longs i dont post any story, anyways, hope you enjoy my story love ♡.
might have some bad grammars, correct me if there are any mistakes in the words in the story I wrote. Anyways i hope you all enjoys my story,love.- Neva🦋🦋
-Kurkans Mate Pt. 1
-Kurkans Mate Pt. 2
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The sound of snorting and wind can be felt and heard, your body feels like people riding horses in general, it's normal because it's a horse and the warmth of a hand hugging you.
Wait, what? Horse and hand?!.
Your eyes that were closed suddenly opened wide, the night sky full of stars was the first thing you saw.
Then you saw it, the strange man you had helped in the forest and with his ungratefulness made Esmera your savior faint, and here you are now, kidnapped by a strange man named Ishakan!?.
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Ishakan while holding the horse's reins, he looked at you who looked at him as if Ishakan was a barbarian, where he just chuckled softly.
"Did you sleep well, rabbit?" The deep voice and full of temptation seemed to mock you.
"You?! How dare you kidnap me!? Are you crazy?" Growling and staring fiercely at the man behind your body.
Instead of getting an answer, you got a laugh, a straightforward laugh full of deep voice.
"Calm down, rabbit, why are you so fierce? I told you, you're my mate"
Ishakan looked at you with an amused look, and a grin around his lips?! You wanted to slap him so bad!
Of course, you didn't run out of ideas, moving right and left, screaming at him, which in the end was in vain and ended up with your throat hurting from screaming.
Ishakan saw you trying to get out of his grip, just chuckled in annoyance at your actions.
Ohh, how this rabbit is so small, so fragile, and soft, so in need of protection.
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Along the desert road at night, you spent your time contemplating, your family was all gone, your savior Esmera was knocked unconscious by the person you helped, and now you were being kidnapped by the person you helped ungratefully.
Meanwhile, Ishakan, he just grinned a little looking at you who had surrendered, Ishakan would never give you up to the world, you were the only Antrabeth who survived, his savior, his mate.
Ishakan had thought of many things he would do with you when he arrived at the palace, Bathing you, feeding you food and dates so that your body would be more fertile.
Marrying you and making you his queen, taking you here and there when he worked as a king.
Oh... how there were so many things he wanted to do with you.
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That night, a pair of two people on horses, passing through the desert accompanied by the night wind and the stars shining brightly in the beautiful sky there.
Without realizing it, Ishakan looked down, where he saw you, sleeping soundly, of course, you must be tired of screaming, struggling, even slapping him wanting to be released.
Chuckling a little, how full of energy this rabbit was. Ishakan's hands gently fix your sleeping position, close to the warmth of his body, wrapped in his soft and warm black robe.
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A soft pillow, the scent of roses all over the room, you increasingly bury your face in this soft pillow like a cloud.
Pillow...
Pillow....
Soft like a cloud...
Wait... what?! Pillow?!
Your eyes open wide, your body automatically sits up, your heart beats fast in panic!.
You were kidnapped! By the man you saved!. Looking around the large room, candles on special gold hangers, 2 gold sticks at the top have a shape like a cup that emits smoke, it must be the incense aroma you smell in this room!.
Luxurious carpets embroidered intricately, tall pillars covered in gold and intricate patterns, around the window silk fabrics move gently.
Around the bed you occupy, surrounded by colorful translucent fabrics such as yellow, red and dark colors.
This room is so luxurious, you swear even your family in heaven will not believe what you are experiencing right now!.
This room is even bigger than your family's wooden house in the Antra tribe!.
You accidentally look down at your hand, your previously white clothes that you wore before, have been replaced with intricate embroidery clothes, soft silk fabric, kurkans patterns.
Damn!, who changed your clothes?! You hope it's not the man who kidnapped you.
As fast as lightning, you stand up and run towards the window only to see that below the window is a lotus pond that you are sure is deep or not. It will be very clear if you jump your fate is determined.
Between dying or running out of breath from drowning! You are not even sure if there is a crocodile or a snake in there.
Turning back, only to be silent! There at a door. Standing a woman or... a man? Holding a tray of food?, You are not sure! Big body, face like a man, long and curly hair but wearing a dress?! Look at the biceps! You are sure you will die if you get hit by his/her fist.
You and the person at the door, both stared in silence. Only the sound of burning incense, the sound of the wind and the light blowing of the sound of the gold ornaments hanging on each window.
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The return of Ishakan after disappearing for more than 12 hours made the Kurkans palace experience an uproar because their king returned with a woman in his arms?!.
With blue hair like the sky, it clearly did not look like an illusion or a magic medicine to change hair color. So fragile and small! Very different from the people in the Kurkans tribe!.
Genin, Haban, Mura as Ishakan's close aides, could only stare doubtfully at Ishakan who walked past them casually!.
Mura looked at Haban and Genin, apparently he wasn't the only one who was confused!
"You two... did you know this would happen?"
Both Genin and Haban shook their heads.
"That blue hair as blue as the sky? Isn't the Antra tribe extinct?"
Genin asked Haban and Mura.
"Well they should have been extinct, I mean, 5 months ago their village was looted, mass murdered by the kingdom's knights and wizards"
Haban answered while grinning and getting a love punch by Mura.
"Judging from how His Highness held the woman... could it be that 3 months ago in the forest... was that the woman His Highness was talking about?"
Haban asked Genin, but the woman just stared doubtfully.
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That night Ishakan asked Mura and Genin and the Kurkans tribe to prepare for his wedding with his wild rabbit!.
The Kurkans tribe had never seen the woman Ishakan brought, they only thought that maybe it was Princess Leah de Estia. Because there were some of the Kurkans who were saved by Leah from slavery.
Genin was one of the people Ishakan asked to bring you date juice in the morning.
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.
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Holding a tray and walking so upright like a skilled warrior, Genin opened the door.
That's where she saw the woman who was kidnapped by Ishakan, with blue hair like the sky, looking at her who was silent.
The woman's eyes ... In Genin's entire life she had never seen someone with eyes or hair like that!
Princess Leah de Estia had snow-white hair and purple eyes but that was not uncommon, there were also some nobles who had hair and eyes like her.
But blue and eyes like the galaxy ... that was another case, a rarity.
Genin swallowed for the first time, the woman in front of her was smaller than herself, she was afraid that if she spoke loudly she might destroy the woman in front of her.
Walking to close the door and turning around, holding the tray slowly and placing it on the table.
Genin stared at the blue-haired woman, Child of nature, Antrabeth tribe, Tribe of 1001 nights, a tribe that goes against the laws of nature.
.
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Are you looking at a woman or a man ?! in front of you with a pounding heart!, the gender of the person in front of you is hard not to question!.
"Good morning Miss, I am Genin, His Highness Ishakan's aide, according to his orders, I will guard and guard you for 5 days before your wedding and His Highness Ishakan"
A woman's voice! The person in front of you is a woman!?.
Wait... what did she say just now? Married?!
"What?! Married!?!"
You stared at Genin in disbelief!.
"Sorry I refuse to marry!"
With a quick attitude, you refused.
"Unfortunately we Kurkans do not have the words no, refuse, or don't want"
Acting simply, Genin poured date milk juice into a glass and gave it to you.
You stared at the glass that Genin gave you in disbelief.
"This drink is not poisoned, it is made from milk and the taste of dates that His Highness Ishakan picked directly from the tree"
Genin realized your hesitation, said frankly.
You who do not feel good refusing other people's gifts, took the glass.
Genin herself can see, how small you are compared to her, your hands alone seem not half of her hands.
You drink the date juice slowly, the taste is unique, you have never drunk juice or milk like this. It is delicious, soft and sweet, but not too sweet.
"Dates are very good for fertility and sexual arousal, especially young dates, His Highness Ishakan chooses them carefully"
Genin said frankly.
You almost spat out the date milk juice that you drank!.
Fertility and arousal she said?!.
.
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The afternoon came, Genin, said that, while you were married to Kurkan, according to Kurkan tradition, both you and Ishakan were forbidden to meet each other, for 5 days Ishakan would welcome guests, this was the first day.
As for you, you were forbidden to meet guests, until the 6th day where the wedding ceremony began.
"After the wedding ceremony, Your Highness will spend 5 days and 5 nights with Your Highness, during that time, it coincides with the time of the full moon, the time of Kurkans heat"
You stared Genin in horror! No!! You don't want to marry the person who kidnapped you or even spent 5 days and 5 nights!!.
Feeling that you want to reject the marriage, genin for the second time in her life became melancholic.
Genin told that she had a human husband who she kidnapped, Genin was an aide to the king of the kurkans before Ishakan, the king was so cruel and very tyrannical, both Genin and Haban really didn't like how the king ruled.
Day and night Genin tried to find how to leave but unfortunately when she returned home, she didn't see his husband at home, but in the royal palace, the king tortured her husband, even when she begged the king still punished him.
You looked at Genin sadly. You didn't think that woman could be so strong.
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.
That afternoon you spent going to the garden where Genin had made sure there were no guests or kurkans around.
A soft silk dress with a soft ivory white kurkans pattern. This garden is beautiful, flowers of various patterns there are dahlias, pheonies, roses, and so on.
You don't dare to pick the flowers, you just touch them admiring how soft and beautiful they are, seeing butterflies flying around the flowers, you didn't think that there was a garden as beautiful as this in the heat of this palace ecosystem.
While the genin from her point of view, seeing how you touch the flowers afraid of damaging and hurting them, surrounded by butterflies flying around you, as if they were dancing and protecting you.
This is the first time Genin has seen the Antrabeth tribe. even though I've gotten to know you and talked to you, it still feels unreal, a tribe famous for its myths, suddenly extinct, but look here.
Maybe you are the only one who survived.
Along the garden path, the genin's heart is getting more and more anxious, At the end of the garden, for some reason the genin's feelings are getting more and more anxious.
You walk straight towards a large tree, there you see a man sitting in a wheelchair. With a blanket around his feet, the man looked at Genin and you, then smiled softly as he looked at Genin.
You looked at Genin and the man alternately, confused.
"Lady, this is my husband that I talked about earlier with you"
It turned out that the feeling of anxiety felt by the genin was her husband, she didn't expect her husband to be in the park too.
You looked at the man, smiled softly and greeted him.
"Hello, nice to meet you"
Being formal but friendly, the man just smiled and nodded weakly at you.
A strong wind hit you, well this is the desert, a location where wind and weather cannot be predicted.
The man's blanket fell right in front of your feet, your eyes automatically saw the blanket, bent down and picked up the blanket and looked at Genin's husband, you were stunned.
That man... he has no legs..
You were silent digesting what happened, Genin quickly took the blanket and put it back on her husband, afraid that her husband would feel uncomfortable with your confused gaze.
Silence fell over the three of you.
.
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Finally you were able to get out of the silence, walking back with Genin to the room you had previously occupied.
You didn't know that around the palace building in the Kurkans kingdom, there were many Kurkans servants and guards who saw you walking.
They had never seen blue hair like that, it was a very, very unusual color.
The antrabeth people who were believed to be a myth but 3 months ago were considered extinct, but there you were, maybe as the only remaining antrabeth tribe.
So beautiful and pretty, so small and fragile, they were sure that if they spoke loudly, you might be destroyed.
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.
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Tomorrow has arrived, you only have 3 days left before you are about to become part of the Kurkans, you want to run, go and return to Esmera.
But you don't know where the Esmera forest really is, you might die or end up being kidnapped in that barren desert.
During that day, you kept thinking about her husband Genin, seeing from how he smiled weakly, it was certain that he had no spirit of life.
Losing a leg, is a curse for humans who have previously experienced walking and running.
That night you reflected on yourself, in your hand was a small glass bottle complete with a lid.
You found it right on the dressing table of this bedroom, well even though initially there were contents in it, namely small round diamonds.
You thought back to the words of your father when you were 10 years old.
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• Antra Tribe, Northern Forest.
A dense and fertile shady forest. So warm when the sunlight shyly slipped through the gaps in the leaves and trees.
"But father why do we have to do that? What if the person we help ends up hurting us? instead?"
Your father, sitting in front of you, the two of you sitting on a woven rug made of wool, not much but good enough for a simple decoration.
"Do you know why our tribe is known as the tribe of nature's children?"
"Because we... are close to nature?"
Your young self tilted your head in confusion, your father just chuckled seeing how cute his daughter was.
"Not wrong, but not right either"
"Nature is the source of life for all living things in this world, nature gives rain to the land, the land gives grass to animals, produces delicious and nutritious meat and milk"
You listened to your father speak carefully.
"Forests, trees, leaves provide oxygen for living things, clean air, sunlight provides life resources for plants to grow."
"Nature is good, even though many humans or animals damage them, nature never reprimands them for what they do"
"We are known as nature's children because we are down to earth, we maintain our dignity as nature itself"
Your father saw you trying to understand him, chuckling softly your father continued he spoke.
"We follow nature, they give without receiving anything in return, nature gives to those in need, nature also doesn't care whether they receive it or not"
"Because that's nature, and we as the antra tribe, follow every aspect of nature, we will help those in need, and we don't need to be afraid if they torture or hurt us, nature is fair, they will repay the pain to creatures who love nature"
Chuckling at your confused expression, your father stroked the top of your head gently.
"Listen my sweet Apple bloom, one day you will find a situation where you see living creatures, who have shortcomings, suffering, restlessness, sadness, and loss of zest for life"
"I want, when that time comes, help them, as nature gives and loves, we the antra tribe also give and love"
Speaking softly and lovingly, your father stroked the top of your head.
"Because in truth, the blood that flows inside us, all aspects of our bodies, our tears, our hair are more than what people out there think, we are not a tribe that goes against the laws of nature, but a tribe that is like nature, our blood, hair or tears give and love just like nature, all aspects of ourselves will as we wish, 1 or more drops of our blood or strands of hair or tears, can change destiny, life, the imperfections of people who suffer."
"Understand my applebloom?"
You looked at your father increasingly confused, but could only nod your head.
Your father just laughed seeing you increasingly confused, patting your head affectionately.
Ahh ... how adorable his daughter is.
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1 drop of blood, then that's enough, at least the man's legs are back, but you're not sure, so you prick your index finger with a needle, making one by one the drops of blood fall into a small glass bottle.
3 drops should be enough.
Gently closing the glass bottle with the lid, you gently wiped your fingers so that the blood would not come out again.
You were not sure if this was the right decision, but you felt sad and sorry for Genin's husband, the man must have suffered a lot while he was alive.
Looking out the window, you stared at the beautiful shining stars in the sky.
Waiting for tomorrow, to give the bottle of your blood, to Genin for her husband.
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Tag list; @snowflakes666 @nerdygoateepeanut @blurryperrtymoonlight @luminethebest @scenicelixir @n4muqr @cannyyyyy @athena-roy @sirenetheblogger @thehopingfairy
©️Nymphea0 2024 ,OG story, Project Dark Manhwa Character Series.
Please dont steal my work, or use without my permissions, Always be good people Dear. Much love, Neva🦋🦋.
#obsessed#possesive#yandere#yandere male#yandere x reader#manhwa x reader#yandere manhwa#yandere manhwa x reader#predatory marriage#ishakan#Kurkans#ishakan x reader#yandere x darling#Nevaerah
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SINNERS
ITZY Yeji X Male Reader Smut
You sit quietly in the pew, trying to focus on the priest's sermon, but your mind keeps wandering to the stunning woman on your left. A really beautiful woman with porcelain skin seems to glow in the candlelight. You find yourself sneaking glances at her lips as she hums along to the hymns. You also notices a man sit next to her with a little girl on his lap. And then you realize they must be a family.
Get a grip, you scold yourself silently. She's married. Off limits.
But as the service drones on, you can't help but steal more peeks at the beautiful woman. The way her silky hair falls over her shoulders, the graceful curve of her neck, the cleavage beneath her modest blouse...
Your face flushes with shame and arousal. You shift uncomfortably, trying to will away the stirrings in your groin. This is wrong. I shouldn't be thinking about her like this.
Just then, the woman turns to you with a warm smile, her eyes sparkling. "The sermon are boring isn't it," she whispers conspiratorially.
You feel your cheeks burn as the gorgeous woman leans in close, her sweet breath tickling your ear. "Uh, yeah, a bit," you whisper hoarsely, trying not to stammer. Your heart races, pounding in your chest as you steal another glance at her thin, luscious lips.
Yeji giggles softly, her hand brushing against yours as she shifts position. "I'm Yeji, by the way," she murmurs, her voice low and sultry. "What's your name?"
Her touch sends electricity through your body, making your cock twitch in your pants. You swallow hard, struggling to maintain your composure.
You say your name a bit haltingly, your voice cracking slightly. "Nice to meet you Yeji."
Yeji smiles, her eyes roaming over your face appreciatively. "Likewise," she purrs. "You know, I've seen you here before. I always notice you sitting alone."
Before you can answer her question, she leans in even closer, her breasts pressing against your arm. You can smell her perfume, a heady mix of jasmine and vanilla that makes your head spin.
"Tell me something," she breathes, her lips barely an inch from yours. "Are you always this... distracted during sermons? Or is it just something about me?"
Her question hangs in the air between you, heavy with implication. You feel like you might faint, your heart hammering so loudly that makes you worried everyone in the church will hearing it.
You try to play it cool, but your voice comes out shaky. "What do you mean? I'm just... well, I'm not feeling too great today, that's all."
You shift on your seat, trying to will away the persistent ache in your groin. Damn it, not now. You pray silently, hoping Yeji doesn't notice the growing bulge on your pants.
"Yeah, must be coming down with something," You mutter lamely, avoiding her gaze. You can feel her eyes on you, studying your face intently.
Please, just drop it, You beg internally. I can't handle this right now. But even as you think it, you know it's a lost cause. Yeji has you under her spell, and there's no escape.
Yeji's eyes flick down to your crotch for a split second before meeting your gaze again, a knowing smirk playing on her lips. "Oh, I think I know exactly what you're coming down with," she teases, her voice dripping with innuendo.
She shifts in her seat, crossing her legs slowly and deliberately. The movement causes her skirt to ride up slightly, revealing a tantalizing glimpse of her smooth, creamy thighs.
Holy shit, you think, your mouth going dry. Is she seriously flirting with me right now? In church?
But even as the thought crosses your mind, you find yourself leaning in closer, drawn to her like a moth to a flame. Her scent fills your nostrils - a heady mix of perfume and something else, something primal and intoxicating.
"You know," Yeji murmurs, her hand coming to rest on your thigh. Her touch is electric, sending sparks of pleasure racing through your body. "I have a confession to make."
She leans in even closer, her lips brushing against your ear as she whispers, "I'm not happy in my marriage. My husband... he doesn't satisfy me anymore."
You glance nervously at Yeji's husband, who's sitting beside her with their daughter on his lap, fully focusing on the sermon, oblivious to his wife conversation with you. Turning back to Yeji, your eyes widen in shock and confusion.
"What... what do you mean?" You whisper hoarsely, voice trembling slightly. "You're not happy in your marriage? What are you talking about?"
You also glance around, worried that other congregants might overhear the hushed exchange between the both of you. Your heart pounds on your chest as you struggle to process Yeji's bombshell revelation.
Yeji's eyes gleam with mischief and desire as she leans in even closer, her breath hot against your ear. "Exactly what I said," she purrs, her hand sliding further up your thigh. "My husband... he's a good man, but he can't satisfy me the way I need to be satisfied."
Her fingers brush against the bulge in your pants, making you gasp involuntarily. You feel your cock twitch and harden under her touch, straining against the fabric of your pants.
"I see the way you look at me," Yeji murmurs, her lips grazing your jaw. "I know you want me. And I want you too. I want you so badly, and it hurts."
She presses herself against you, her breasts squishing against your arm as she grinds her hips subtly against your thigh. The heat of her body seeps through your clothes, making you shiver with anticipation.
"Meet me at the storage room in 5 minutes," she breathes, her hand cupping your hardness through your pants. "We can... talk more privately there."
With that, she pulls away, leaving you aching and desperate, your mind reeling with the implications of her words. You watch her turn back to her husband, plastering on a sweet smile as if nothing had happened.
Is this really happening? A beautiful married woman is trying to hook up with me? Your head is spinning, trying to process the incredible turn of events.
You watch in disbelief as Yeji gets up from the pew, murmuring something to her oblivious husband. She glances back at you, her eyes smoldering with desire, before sauntering down the aisle.
You adjust yourself discreetly, trying to ease the ache in your crotch. Your cock is rock hard, straining against the confines of your pants. You can't remember the last time you was this turned on.
As Yeji disappears around the corner, you take a deep breath, trying to calm your racing heart. This day was supposed to be a normal Sunday for you but then this is happening. Your mind is battling away - should you go or not?.
Seconds goes by, minute after minute, and you still can't make your choice. You glance at Yeji's husband and daughter anxiously.
Fuck, what do I do? You think to yourself, palms sweating. This is wrong, she's married. But god, the way she was looking at me...
You shift uncomfortably on your seat, your cock throbbing painfully in your pants. You know you should probably just stay put, but the temptation to following Yeji to the storage room is overwhelming.
Screw it, You decide finally, standing up on shaky legs. I'm going to see where this leads, consequences be damned.
You slip out of the pew, trying to act casual as you make your way towards the church annex where the storage room is located. Your heart pounding loudly in your chest, your steps quickening with each passing second, adrenaline pumping through your veins.
What am I doing? you think frantically, your mind a whirlwind of excitement and anxiety. This is crazy. I could get caught. Her husband could find out.
But even as the rational part of your brain screams at you to turn back, your feet carry you forward, drawn to Yeji like a magnet. You reach the door to the storage room, your hand trembling as you reach for the handle.
Taking a deep breath, you push the door open, stepping inside. The room is dimly lit, filled with dusty boxes and old furniture. But there, in the corner, stands Yeji, her eyes glittering with desire.
"I knew you'd come," she purrs, sauntering towards you. Her heels click on the floor, the sound echoing in the quiet room.
"I couldn't resist," you admit, your voice rough with need. "You're just... irresistible."
Yeji laughs, a low, seductive sound. "Flattery will get you everywhere, mister," she says, reaching out to trail a finger down your chest. "Now, why don't you show me just how irresistible you find me?"
Your breath catches in your throat as she presses herself against you, her hands roaming over your body. You can feel every curve of her, every soft inch of skin. It's intoxicating, overwhelming.
"Fuck, Yeji," you groan, your cock throbbing almost painfully in your pants. "You're driving me crazy."
With that, you crashed your lips against hers, kissing her with a hunger that steals her breath away. Yeji hands tangle in your hair, pulling you closer and deeper. You kiss her like a man starved, like she's the only thing that matters in the world. And for this moment, in this dimly lit storage room, she is.
Your hands roam greedily over Yeji's curves, feeling the smooth, supple skin beneath her clothes. You palm her breasts, squeezing and kneading the soft flesh, feeling her nipples harden under my touch. She moans into your mouth, muffled by the sounds of furious kissing.
You slide your hands lower, skimming over her waist and hips, gripping her ass and pulling her flush against you. You grind your rock-hard cock against her, letting her feel how much you wanted her, how desperately you need to be inside her.
"Fuck, Yeji," You groan, breaking the kiss to trail your lips down her neck. "You will be the death of me."
She gasps, tilting her head to give me better access to her sensitive skin.
You continue to explore Yeji's body with your hands and lips, reveling in the soft moans and gasps that spill from her mouth. Your fingers slip under her blouse, caressing the smooth skin of her back, tracing the lacy edge of her bra.
"Please..." she breathes, arching into your touch. "Touch me..." she whimpers needily.
Her words send a bolt of pure lust straight to your cock, making it throb almost painfully in your pants. You slip your hand around to her front, cupping her breast and squeezing gently. Her nipple is hard against your palm, straining against the thin fabric of her bra.
"I need you too, Yeji," you growl, your voice rough with desire. "I need to taste you, to feel you..."
With that, you drop to your knees in front of her, your hands sliding up her thighs to bunch her skirt around her waist. You bury your face between her legs, inhaling deeply. The scent of her arousal is intoxicating, making your head spin with want.
You nuzzle against her clothed pussy, feeling the heat of her through the damp fabric of her panties. She tangles her fingers in your hair, tugging gently as she grinds against your face.
"Oh yes.." she moans, her head thrown back in ecstasy. "Oh god, yes..."
You hook your fingers in the waistband of her panties and tug them aside, exposing her glistening pink folds to your hungry gaze. You lean in, running your tongue along her slit, tasting her essence on your lips.
She cries out, her grip on your hair tightening as she rocks her hips against your mouth. You lap at her eagerly, savoring the sweet nectar of her arousal, your tongue delving deep to stroke her most sensitive spots.
"Fuck," she gasps, her thighs trembling around your ears. "Don't stop, please don't stop..."
You have no intention of stopping. You're going to make her cum, to make her forget about everything except the feeling of your tongue on her pussy. You're going to ruin her just like she desired, you're gonna make her crave you like a drug.
And as you redouble your efforts, as her moans grow louder and more desperate. You pull away from Yeji's dripping pussy for a moment, looking up at her with lust-filled eyes. "Shh," You whisper urgently, reminding her where we are. "Don't be too loud."
She bites her lip, nodding in understanding as she tries to stifle her moans. You grin wickedly before diving back in, your tongue delving deep into her tight channel. You lap at her greedily, savoring her sweet taste and the way her thighs tremble around your ears.
"Mmmph..." she whimpers, her fingers tangling in your hair as she rocks her hips against your face.
You double down your efforts again, determined to make her cum hard on your tongue. Your nose brushes against her clit as you tongue-fuck her, the lewd wet sounds filling the storage room. You can feel her getting closer, her pussy clenching around your tongue.
"Give it to me Yeji," You growl against her sensitive flesh. "Cum for me, baby. Let me taste that sweet nectar."
Her whole body goes rigid, her back arching as she throws her head back in ecstasy. "Fuuuck!" she cries out, her pussy gushing around your tongue as she rides out her intense orgasm.
You lap it all up, drinking down her delicious juices like a man dying of thirst. You don't stop until she's trembling and whimpering. Her thighs shaking so much, threatening to giving up.
You pull back, licking your lips in satisfaction as you admire your handiwork. Yeji is sprawled against the wall, her chest heaving, her eyes glazed over with pleasure.
"Holy shit," she pants, a lazy smile spreading across her face. "That was... incredible."
You stand up, pressing yourself against her, letting her feel the hard length of your cock straining against my zipper. "Oh, we're just getting started, beautiful," you promise darkly, your hands sliding down to grip her ass.
Yeji's eyes widen as she feels the hard length of your cock pressing against her. She licks her lips, her gaze smoldering with desire.
"Mmm, I can't wait to feel that inside me," she purrs, grinding her hips against yours. "I want you to fuck me so hard, I won't be able to walk straight for a week."
You groan, your cock throbbing at her words. You reach down, undoing your belt and zipper to free your aching erection. It springs out, slapping against your stomach, already dripping with pre-cum.
Yeji's eyes widen as she takes in the sight of your impressive length. "Oh my," she breathes, her hand reaching out to wrap around your shaft. "You're even bigger than I imagined."
You hiss through your teeth as she starts to stroke you, her hand gliding up and down your length. Your hips buck involuntarily, seeking more of her touch.
"Fuck, Yeji," you groan, your head falling back against the wall. "That feels so good."
She smiles wickedly, her hand speeding up, twisting on the upstroke just the way you like it. "I want to make you feel good," she purrs, her other hand reaching down to cup your balls. "I want to make you cum so hard until you'll see stars."
Yeji sinks to her knees in front of you, her eyes never leaving yours as she reaches for your throbbing cock. Her small, delicate hand wraps around your thick shaft, barely able to encircle its girth.
"Mmm, you're so big," she purrs, stroking you slowly. "I can't wait to taste you."
You groan as she leans in, her hot breath ghosting over the sensitive head of your cock. Her tongue darts out, licking a bead of pre-cum from the slit. The sensation is electric, sending sparks of pleasure racing up your spine.
"Fuck, Yeji," You gasp, your hips bucking involuntarily.
She smiles up at you, her eyes glinting with mischief before she parts her lips and takes you into the wet heat of her mouth. You let out a low moan as she starts to suck, her head bobbing up and down your length.
It's almost too much to bear. The sight of a gorgeous woman on her knees, worshipping a cock, this is the stuff of every man's fantasies. You tangle your fingers in her hair, guiding her movements as she takes you deeper.
"That's it, baby," You groan, your voice strained with pleasure. "Suck my cock just like that. Fuck, you're so good at this."
Yeji looks up at you, her eyes watering slightly as she takes you to the back of her throat. She relaxes her jaw, letting you slide even deeper, until you feel the head of your cock bumping against the entrance to her throat.
You let out a guttural moan, your hips thrusting forward involuntarily. "Jesus, Yeji," You gasp, your fingers tightening in her hair. "You're amazing."
Yeji moans around your cock, the vibrations sending jolts of pleasure through your body. She bobs her head faster, taking you deeper into her throat with each downward motion. Her tongue swirls around the sensitive head of your cock, teasing the slit and lapping up the pre-cum that leaks from the tip.
"Mmmph... mmmm..." she hums, the sound muffled by your thick shaft stretching her lips.
Your head falls back, your eyes closing as you lose yourself in the incredible sensations. Yeji's mouth is pure heaven, hot, wet and perfect. You can feel your orgasm building, your balls tightening as she works you closer and closer to the edge.
"Fuck, Yeji," you pant, your hips thrusting shallowly as you fight the urge to cum. "I'm gonna... I'm gonna cum..."
She pulls off with a lewd pop, her hand stroking your shaft as she looks up at you with hooded eyes. "Do it," she urges, her voice husky with desire. "Cum for me, I want to taste it."
With a guttural groan, you let go, your cock pulsing as you shoot your load into her waiting mouth. She moans in delight, her tongue lapping at your shaft as she swallows every last drop of your cum.
You almost sag down to the floor, your chest heaving as you try to catch your breath. Yeji stands up, licking her lips as she savors the taste of you.
"That was incredible," she purrs, pressing herself against you. "But we're not done yet, are we?"
You shake your head, "Not even close," You growl, your voice rough with desire. You can feel your shaft hardening again, rising to attention as if begging for more of Yeji's touch.
"You're insatiable," she teases, her hand wrapping around your thick length and giving it a squeeze. You hiss in pleasure, your hips bucking into her touch.
"Only for you," you pant, your hands gripping her hips tightly. "I want to fuck you so hard, you'll be feeling me for days."
Yeji's eyes darken with lust, a wicked smile playing on her lips. "Then what are you waiting for?" she purrs, turning around and bending over a nearby crate. She looks back at you over her shoulder, her skirt flipped up to reveal her perfect, round ass. "Take me, make me yours."
You don't need to be told twice. You step forward, your cock throbbing with anticipation as you lined up behind her. You rub the head of your shaft through her wet folds, coating it in her arousal.
"Fuck, you're so wet," You groan, your fingers digging into her hips. "I can't wait to be inside you."
With that, you thrust forward, burying yourself to the hilt in her tight heat. You both cry out at the sudden intrusion, your bodies joining as one. You pause for a moment, savoring the feeling of her walls clenching around you.
"God, you feel amazing," You pant, your hips starting to move. "So tight, so perfect."
Yeji moans, pushing back against you, urging you to go deeper, harder. And you comply, your hips snapping forward as you begin to fuck the married woman with abandon. The storage room echoes with the lewd sounds of your coupling, the slap of skin on skin, the creaking of the crate.
"Yes.. yes.. yes..!" Yeji cries out, her fingers scrabbling on the rough wood. "Harder! Fuck me harder!"
"Shhh, be quiet Yeji," The faint voice of the priest on the mic reminded where we are right now, but you obliged her request, your thrusts becoming more forceful, more demanding. You lean over her, your chest pressed against her back as you piston in and out of her sopping wet cunt.
"Take it, Yeji," You growl in her ear, your hand snaking around to rub her clit. "Take my cock like you were made for it."
Yeji cries out, her body shaking with pleasure as you pound into her. "Yes, just like that!" she moans, her fingers digging into the wood of the crate. "Don't stop, please don't stop!"
You can feel her getting closer, her pussy clenching around your cock like a vice. You redouble your efforts, your hips slapping against her ass with each powerful thrust. Your fingers work her clit, rubbing it in tight circles as you bring her closer and closer to the edge.
"That's it, baby," you pant, your own orgasm building in your core. "Cum for me. Cum on my cock."
With a keening wail, Yeji's body goes rigid, her pussy spasming around your shaft as she cums hard.
You didn't slow down, not even for a second. You fucked Yeji even harder as she came, your hips slamming into hers with bruising force. You could feel her pussy clenching and fluttering around your cock, trying to milk you dry, and it felt fucking incredible.
The storage room was hot and stuffy, the air heavy with the scent of sex. The world outside faded as you continued fucking the married woman. You aware how taboo and sinful it is, to fucking a married woman in a church, but you didn't care. All you cared about was the feeling of Yeji's tight cunt gripping you, the way she moaned and writhed beneath you.
You angled your hips, hitting that spot inside her that made her seeing stars. "Fuck, Yeji," You gasped, your balls drawing up tight. "You feel so fucking good."
You could feel your second release is barreling down, your cock throbbing and twitching inside her. But you held back, determined to make her cum again before you let yourself go.
Your fingers finding her clit again, rubbing it in tight, fast circles. "Come on, baby," You urged, your voice strained with the effort of holding back your own orgasm. "Give me another one. Cum all over my cock like a good slut you are."
Yeji's body trembles under your touch, her pussy clenching and unclenching around your throbbing cock as you play with her clit. "Oh my god," she moans, her voice high and breathy. "I'm... I'm gonna... oh fuck!"
Her words dissolve into a wordless cry of ecstasy as she comes again, her pussy gushing around your shaft. You followed behind her, with a guttural groan you let go, your hips slamming into hers one last time as you bury yourself as deep as possible inside her.
"Fuck, Yeji!" You cursed, your cock pulsing as you fill her with your seed. "Take it all, baby. Take my cum."
Yeji's body goes limp, her forehead resting on the crate as she tries to catch her breath. You collapse on top of her, your cock softening, still buried deep inside her. Your chest heaving as you try to regain your breath.
After a moment, you pull out, watching as your combined fluids drips out of her well-fucked hole. You scoop some up with your fingers, bringing it to her lips. "Taste us," You murmur, your voice husky with satisfaction.
Yeji parts her lips, sucking your fingers into her mouth and licking them clean. "Mmm," she purrs, her eyes half-lidded with pleasure. "We taste good together."
You smile, leaning in to capture her lips in a deep, passionate kiss. You both stay like that for a moment, lost in each other, before reality starts to creep back in.
"We should probably get cleaned up," You murmur reluctantly, pulling away. "Before someone comes looking for us."
You both quickly fix your clothes and clean up any evidence of the tryst. You tuck your semi-hard cock back into your pants, wincing slightly as you do. It's still sensitive from the intense fucking session, the fabric of your pants feels rough against your skin. You zip up, trying to ignore the lingering ache in your balls.
Yeji smooths down her skirt and blouse, running her fingers through her hair to tame the wild strands. She looks flushed and satisfied, a secret smile playing on her lips.
"That was amazing," she murmurs, her voice low and husky. "I can't believe we're just having sex on church."
You grin, pulling her close for one last kiss. "Believe it, baby. And that was fucking incredible."
You both take a moment to catches breath, your hearts racing as you come down from the high of illicit encounter. "We should probably get back before they start to wonder where we went," You say reluctantly. "You go first, remember to look around first, I'll go after a few minutes".
Yeji nods, giving you one last heated glance before slipping out of the storage room. You wait a beat, your heart pounding in your chest as you listen for any signs of movement outside.
When you're sure the coast is clear, you step out into the empty hallway, your senses on high alert.
You slip back into the main sanctuary, you make your way to your seat, trying to act casual as you sit down again next to Yeji. She's engrossed in conversation with her husband and daughter, seemingly unaffected by what just happened between the both of you.
You glance towards church altar, realizing that the sermon is almost over. The priest is wrapping up his final points, preparing for the closing prayer. You try to focus on his words, but your mind keeps drifting back to the feel of Yeji's body, the taste of her on my tongue. You sneak a glance at Yeji, wondering if she's feeling the same way, are she's thinking about you as much as you thinking about her.
But she's all smiles and laughter with her family, the picture of the perfect wife and mother. No one would ever guess that just moments ago, she was on her knees in a storage room, worshipping another man's cock like it was her reason for living.
The thought of it sends a shiver down your spine, and you have to bite back a groan. As the congregation rises for the final prayer, you bow your head, your eyes squeezed shut. But you're not praying for forgiveness or redemption. You're praying for another chance, another opportunity to get lost in Yeji's body, to forget about everything else except the feel of her skin against yours.
It's a dangerous game you're playing, you know that. But you can't seem to stop yourself. Yeji has gotten under your skin, and you don't think the tryst memory you have with her in the storage room will going away easily.
The sermon ends and the congregation begins to disperse, chatting amongst themselves as they file out of the pews. You hang back, watching as Yeji gathers up her daughter and husband, leading them towards the exit.
You hesitate for a moment, torn between following her and keeping your distance. But the magnetic pull of her body, the memory of her taste on your tongue, is too strong to resist. You fall into step behind them, keeping a discreet distance as you follow them out into the bright sunlight.
As they reach the parking lot, Yeji turns to her husband, exchanging a quick kiss before ushering their daughter into the backseat of their car. You watch as she slides into the front seat, her husband climbing in beside her.
Just before he closes the door, Yeji glances up, her eyes locking with yours. For a moment, you see a flash of heat, of unspoken promise, before she looks away, her expression once again the picture of wifely devotion.
The car pulls out of the lot, and you're left standing there, your heart racing, your mind reeling with the possibilities of what might happen next.
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LOVE DROUGHT, JOE BURROW.
pairing⠀⁎⠀joe burrow x oc [chelsea brooks]. word count⠀⁎⠀26k.
summary⠀⁎⠀chelsea's life appears perfect. a beautiful home, a great job, and a valuable last name. leaving behind her life in atlanta to come to cincinnati presents new opportunities and new challenges in her marriage. the biggest challenge comes in the form of the handsome neighbor next door, every married inch of him.
author's note⠀⁎⠀don't do this ???? lmao. should really be named "joe and chelsea have an affair", happy ending! we love happy endings. i might have a part two in me, we'll see. takes place over a year give or take. this takes place in an alternate universe where joe never transferred to lsu/didn't go to the nfl, joe's "backstory" is entirely made up lmao, joe is 36, chelsea is 34, longest thing i've ever written in my life lol sorry? warnings⠀⁎⠀don't like it? don't read it <3 don't let your husband stop you from meeting your soulmate <3, infidelity, literally everyone in this story has questionable behaviors, several mentions of masturbation, mirror sex, infidelity as dirty talk?, booty calls.
Chelsea Brooks stepped out of her sleek black Mercedes, her Nike sneakers crunching the autumn leaves against the concrete driveway. She took a deep breath of the crisp, Cincinnati air, feeling the chilly breeze caress her cheeks. The house she and her husband, Terrence, had just bought was a beautiful monstrosity of stone and glass, a stark contrast to the warm, cozy homes of her Atlanta roots. She surveyed the quiet neighborhood, noting the perfectly manicured lawns and the welcoming porches that seemed to whisper tales of family gatherings and long summer nights.
Her husband, Terrence, was already inside, unpacking boxes filled with their lives from their old home. He was a neurosurgeon, a man of precision and order, and Chelsea knew that the chaos of moving would only add to his stress. But she couldn't help feeling a twinge of excitement as she approached the front door. The house was a symbol of their success, a testament to their hard work and their families' legacies. As she stepped into the foyer, she heard the distant sound of Terrence's voice, muffled by the walls that now stood between them.
The house was cool and unfamiliar, smelling faintly of paint and new carpets. The echoes of their footsteps made it seem like a cavernous museum rather than a home filled with love and laughter. The grandeur of their new abode was a stark reminder of the expectations that had been placed upon them since childhood. Chelsea and Terrence had worked their asses off to maintain the status quo, to be the poster children for "love" and "excellence". But as she looked around, she couldn't shake the feeling that something was missing. It was as if their lives had been painted by numbers and they hadn't had the courage to scribble outside the lines.
"Terrence, where are you?" Chelsea called out, her voice echoing through the vast, empty space.
Terrence emerged from the depths of their future dining room, sweat beading on his brow. "In here, baby. I'm just getting the last of the china unpacked. Your momma's gonna love that we finally have our own china cabinet."
Chelsea couldn't help but smile at his attempt to lighten the mood. It was true, their parents had been thrilled with their move to Cincinnati. It was a step up for both their careers and a chance to rub elbows with the upper echelon of society. But for Chelsea, the move had brought a sense of suffocation. She was an entertainment lawyer, used to the fast-paced, glitzy world of celebrities and sports stars in Atlanta. Here, she felt like a fish out of water.
"I brought lunch," Chelsea announced, holding up a bag from the deli they passed on the drive in. She set it down on the marble kitchen countertop and opened it, revealing hot sandwiches and a side of chips. "I know how you hate eating cold food, so I figured I'd be nice and get you something warm."
Terrence looked up from the box he was unpacking, his eyes lighting up. "You're a lifesaver, baby," he said, stepping over to give her a quick smile. His hand lingered on the small of her back, a gesture that was somehow both casual and possessive. "How was your first day at the firm?"
Chelsea shrugged, trying to keep the doubt out of her voice. "It was great. Met some interesting people. The office is nice, but it's going to take some getting used to." She handed him a sandwich and watched as he took a bite, his eyes closing briefly in satisfaction. "It's not Atlanta, that's for sure," she added, unable to hide the wistfulness that crept into her tone.
Terrence looked at her, his expression softening. "I know it's a change, but it's for a good reason. I'm making more money, saving more lives... we're in this together." He took another bite, then paused. "What do you think about the neighborhood? They got some crazy-ass houses around here."
Chelsea nodded, trying to muster some enthusiasm. "Yeah, it's nice. You saw the fuckin' three-story McMansion next door? I ran into the retired couple who own it, the Chens. They had their grandkids over, screaming and playing in the yard. It was cute." She took a bite of her cold sandwich, savoring the flavor of the turkey and avocado.
Terrence chuckled. "I'm sure it'll be quieter when they're not around." He wiped his mouth with a napkin. "Speaking of neighbors, I've heard the couple on the other side are pretty cool. The wife owns that fancy ass restaurant downtown. We should pop over there and introduce ourselves."
"Gianna Mora?" Chelsea's eyes widened. "The celebrity chef from that travel show? Are you for real, she's our neighbor?"
"That's the most excited I seen you all week," Terrence said with a laugh, his eyes sparkling at the mention of their famous neighbor.
"Well, it's not every day you live next to a celebrity chef," Chelsea replied, her curiosity piqued. "I've seen her show a few times. She seems really down-to-earth."
Terrence nodded in agreement. "Yeah, she's got that whole 'girl next door' vibe going on. Her and her husband, they seem like good people." He took another bite of his sandwich, his voice muffled slightly. "I think I saw him out jogging this morning. He got to be pushing six-four, 220 pounds, easy."
Chelsea felt a twinge of curiosity about the mysterious neighbor, Joe Burrow. She had heard Gianna's name often in the entertainment circles, but never knew much about her husband. The idea of a quiet, introverted man being married to a vibrant, outgoing celebrity was entertaining. She imagined him as a silent supporter, the rock that kept Gianna grounded amidst her culinary stardom.
The sound of the doorbell cut through her thoughts, and Chelsea wiped her hands on a spare napkin before walking over to answer it. She was surprised to find Gianna on the other side, her bouncy, jet black hair pulled back in a ponytail, a warm smile on her face. "Hey, I hope you guys aren't too busy," she said, her eyes scanning the still-boxed living room. "I just wanted to stop by and introduce myself properly. I'm Gianna."
Chelsea stepped aside, gesturing for Gianna to come in. "Of course, we've been meaning to do the same," she said, feeling a little guilty for not taking the initiative. "I'm Chelsea, and this is my husband, Terrence."
Gianna's smile grew as she stepped inside, her heels clicking against the hardwood floor. "It's so nice to meet you both," she said, her midwestern accent adding a layer of charm to her already bubbly personality. "I figured you guys might need a break from all the unpacking. Plus, I wanted to invite you over for dinner tonight. My husband Joe will be home from his business trip, and I love any excuse to mess around in the kitchen."
Terrence wiped his hands on his pants, setting down his half-eaten sandwich. "That's incredibly kind of you, Gianna. We'd love to come over."
Gianna's smile widened. "Perfect. How does eight o'clock sound?"
"We'll be there," Terrence said, flashing his most charming smile. "Looking forward to tasting some of that famous cooking of yours."
Gianna's eyes twinkled with excitement. "It won't be anything too fancy," she said, her cheeks flushing slightly. "Just a little welcome dinner for the new kids on the block." She handed Chelsea a business card with the address of her restaurant. "And if you're ever in the mood for something special, feel free to stop by the restaurant. I can always whip something up for you."
"Thanks for the invite, Gianna," Chelsea said, her eyes flicking to the paper before setting it down on the counter. "I'm sure it'll be amazing. We'll see you tonight."
As the door closed behind Gianna, Terrence turned to her. "You okay with this?" he asked, his eyes searching hers. "I know you've had a long week."
Chelsea nodded, swallowing the last bite of her sandwich. "Yeah, I'm fine. It'll be nice to get to know our neighbors."
Terrence leaned in closer, his voice dropping to a whisper. "And maybe get a little gossip on the local celeb scene," he teased, wiggling his eyebrows playfully.
Chelsea couldn't help but roll her eyes. "You just want to get closer to her recipes," she said, tossing a napkin at him. "But sure, let's get ready. I need to find something to wear that doesn't look like I just rolled out of a moving van."
"Wait, baby, hold on," Terrence called out, reaching for her hand as she moved to stand up. "I think we have to christen the house, don't you?"
Chelsea sighed, the weight of his words not lost on her. She knew what he wanted, and while the timing was less than ideal, she also knew it would be a quick and easy way to keep him satisfied. She nodded, a forced smile playing on her lips as she let him pull her back down to the couch. He kissed her, his hands moving to the zipper of her skirt. It was a dance they had performed countless times before, a routine that lacked the passion it once had.
As they undressed each other, Chelsea couldn't help but feel a pang of longing. Terrence was still the same romantic he had been in college, but that was precisely the problem. He had stayed the same while she had grown into a woman who craved more. More excitement, more adventure, more everything. But she pushed her thoughts aside as she focused on the task at hand, trying to find some semblance of satisfaction in their lovemaking.
Terrence, oblivious to her inner turmoil, whispered sweet nothings in her ear as he kissed along her neck. Chelsea closed her eyes, willing herself to feel something, anything, other than the coldness that had settled in her chest. She let out a moan, hoping to convince herself more than him, and he took it as an encouragement to go harder. The couch creaked under their weight as they moved in a rhythm that had become all too familiar.
Afterwards, Chelsea stood in the bathroom, staring at her reflection in the mirror. Her makeup was smudged, and she looked tired. She quickly cleaned herself up and slipped into the shower, letting the hot water wash away the feeling of emptiness that lingered. When she emerged, she found Terrence getting dressed for the dinner, his eyes lighting up at the sight of her.
"You look amazing," Terrence said, his eyes appreciating her figure as she stepped out of the bathroom. "Like you just stepped out of a magazine."
Chelsea forced a smile, wrapping a towel around her body. "Thanks, T," she said, her voice lacking its usual enthusiasm. She had chosen a simple black dress that hugged her curves in all the right places. It was a classic choice, one that she knew would make her look put together without trying too hard. She didn't bother with the lingerie Terrence typically encouraged her to slip on; it was just for show tonight.
They arrived at Gianna and Joe's home promptly at eight, the warm glow of lights spilling out from the windows. The scent of something delicious wafted from the kitchen, making Chelsea's stomach rumble. Terrence knocked on the door, and after a moment, it swung open to reveal Joe. He was dressed casually in a button-down shirt and jeans, his hair slightly ruffled as if hastily blow-dried.
"Welcome, welcome," he said, his eyes lingering on Chelsea a beat too long before looking at Terrence. "I'm glad you could make it. I'm Joe Burrow." He shook Terrence's hand firmly and then offered his hand to Chelsea. She took it, feeling a spark of something unfamiliar jolt through her at the touch. The two men exchanged a bottle of Terrence's homemade apple cider, as Chelsea attempted to moderate her heartbeat.
Gianna emerged from the kitchen, a vision in a flowy red dress that hugged her petite frame. She had a warm smile that seemed to light up the room, and her eyes were bright with excitement as she greeted them. "Come in, come in," she said, her accent a delightful blend of her midwestern roots and her PR training. "I hope you're hungry, I made some pozole rojo that I've been dying to share with someone other than Joe."
The four of them settled around the dinner table, the conversation flowing easily. Chelsea found herself drawn to Joe's deep blue eyes and the way his muscles flexed under his shirt as he reached for the bread. He was handsome in a way that was almost old fashioned, like a 1940s movie star who'd stepped out of the screen into their modern lives. And there was something about the way he talked, the quiet confidence in his voice, that made her want to lean in closer, to hear every word he said.
Terrence and Gianna talked about their work, the challenges of balancing their demanding careers with their personal lives. Chelsea listened, nodding along, but her mind kept drifting back to Joe. She could feel the tension between them, a palpable force that seemed to thicken the air in the room. It was as if they were the only two people there, and everyone else was just a blurry backdrop to their clandestine attraction.
Dinner was a delightful array of flavors and textures, each bite a testament to Gianna's culinary talents. But Chelsea had to admit, she was having a hard time focusing on the food. Her focus kept wandering to Joe, the way his strong hands moved as he reached for a tortilla, the way his voice rumbled in his chest when he laughed. She took a sip of the wine from the winery Gianna and Joe owned, trying to keep her cool. The conversation turned to their hometowns, and Chelsea talked about growing up in the bustling streets of Atlanta, the vibrant culture and the endless energy that had shaped her into who she was today. Joe spoke of his small-town upbringing, his voice filled with a hint of nostalgia that made Chelsea's heart ache.
Terrence excused himself to take a work call, leaving Chelsea, Gianna, and Joe to continue the evening. Chelsea felt a strange sense of relief, as if she had been waiting for this moment all night. The conversation grew more intimate, the three of them sharing stories of their college days and their early careers. Chelsea found herself laughing at Joe's tales of his college football days, his face lighting up with the memories. Gianna, ever the gracious host, listened intently, her eyes shimmering with pride.
As the wine bottle grew empty, Joe suggested they move to the living room, where a crackling fire and comfortable couches beckoned. Chelsea agreed, feeling the warmth of the alcohol spreading through her body, loosening her inhibitions. She across from Gianna whose head rested against Joe's broad shoulder, his wedding ring glistening as he rested his left hand over the back of the couch. Terrence joined them, his eyes glazed over with the fatigue of a doctor's schedule.
The conversation took a turn to their respective careers and how they had met their spouses. Chelsea and Terrence talked about their college romance, their paths diverging and then converging again in the world of law and medicine. Gianna shared her journey from culinary school to opening her own restaurant, which Joe had supported her through every step of the way. It was clear that Joe and Gianna had a strong bond, built on respect and a shared history. Yet, as the night grew late, Chelsea couldn't shake the feeling that Joe's eyes kept straying to her.
When Terrence finally stood up, yawning and checking his watch, Chelsea felt a jolt of disappointment. She didn't want the evening to end, not yet. But she knew she couldn't ask him to stay. "We should get going," Terrence said, "It's been a long day and I've got an early surgery tomorrow."
"Let's exchange numbers," Chelsea suggested, standing up and smoothing her skirt. "We should get together again once we're all settled in."
Gianna beamed, and the two women exchanged numbers while Joe quietly observed. Chelsea felt his gaze on her as she said goodbye, the intensity of it making her heart race. They stepped out into the cool Cincinnati night, the stars glinting in the sky above their heads. Terrence walked them down the sidewalk to their home, his hand resting protectively on the small of Chelsea's back.
The next few weeks saw Chelsea and Joe's paths crossing more often than not. They'd wave from their respective lawns as they mowed the grass or tended to their flowers. They'd bump into each other while out at their mailboxes, exchanging pleasantries and small talk. Yet, the charged energy between them grew with each encounter, the unspoken desire thickening like the humidity in the air before a summer storm.
Work kept both Chelsea and Joe busy, allowing their attraction to simmer under the surface of their daily lives. Yet, every time their eyes met, the electricity was undeniable. Chelsea found herself looking forward to these casual meetings, her heart fluttering as she anticipated their next encounter.
Chelsea closed out a huge contract with a professional basketball player about two months after moving to Cincinnati, feeling a high she hadn't experienced in weeks. As she pulled into the driveway, her heart skipped a beat at the sight of Terrence's car in the garage. He was rarely home before dark. She bounced into the house, her heels echoing through the grand entryway, and found him in the living room, surrounded by the last of their cardboard boxes. "Surprise," he said, his eyes lighting up with excitement. "I took the afternoon off. I thought we could finally get this place in order."
Their relationship had been chilly since the move, but Chelsea felt a spark of hope at his gesture. They worked side by side, unpacking and rearranging furniture, and when the last box was empty, they collapsed onto the couch, laughing and sweaty. It was the most relaxed she'd been around him in months, and Chelsea allowed herself to feel a flicker of affection for him.
"Thank you for helping me today," she said, leaning into his side.
Terrence grinned, his eyes meeting hers briefly before returning to the TV. "No problem. It's what we do for each other."
But as the days rolled into weeks, the spark didn't catch. The routine of their marriage resumed its monotonous cycle, and Chelsea found herself looking out the window, watching Joe jog past her house in the early mornings. His tall, muscular frame was a stark contrast to Terrence's slim build, and she couldn't help but wonder what it would be like to feel those arms around her instead.
"I'm all packed, Chels," Terrence called out from their bedroom, interrupting her thoughts. "Don't wait up for me tonight, I've got a full surgical schedule and an even longer flight. I'll be back in a week." He kissed her on the forehead and she nodded. Terrence would be attending a medical conference in London, leaving Chelsea to hold down the fort and entertain her best friend flying in from Atlanta for the weekend.
Chelsea watched Terrence's taillights disappear into the early morning sunlight, feeling a strange mix of relief and dread. The house was quiet, almost too quiet without his constant presence. She had the weekend to herself, but she knew the silence would only amplify her thoughts of Joe. But with her best friend, Jasmine, arriving that evening, she had no time to wallow in her illicit desires.
With a deep breath, Chelsea turned her focus to the impending weekend. She had plans to take Jasmine to all the local hotspots, including Gianna's restaurant. As they unpacked her luggage, Chelsea's phone buzzed with a message from Gianna, supportive of Chelsea's suggestion they all grab dinner together the following night at the restaurant.
That evening, as Chelsea and Jasmine lounged on the plush couch with a bottle of wine, both Terrence and Joe were the furthest thing from her mind. They laughed and reminisced about their old antics, filling the air with nostalgia. Chelsea had missed this, the genuine connection with someone who knew her before she became Mrs. Brooks, the high-powered, ultra-successful attorney. Jasmine was a reminder of the wild, carefree woman Chelsea used to be before the expectations of her family and marriage had tamed her spirit.
The next night, Chelsea and Jasmine got dressed to the nines for dinner at Gianna's restaurant. The scent of garlic and spices wafted from the kitchen, tantalizing their senses. As they waited for their table, Joe strolled in, looking as suave as ever in a tailored suit. Chelsea felt a jolt of electricity at the sight of him, and she knew that she hadn't been able to shake the attraction she'd felt that first night. She introduced Jasmine and the two of them chatted for a bit before Gianna whisked them away to show off the kitchen.
Jasmine leaned in to whisper, "Damn, girl, your neighbor is fine."
Chelsea rolled her eyes, "Really? I didn't notice."
The evening passed in a delightful blur of exquisite food and lively conversation. Gianna regaled them with tales from her show, and Joe shared stories from his corporate world. Despite their different backgrounds, Chelsea found herself drawn into Joe's world, his quiet confidence and sharp wit a refreshing change from Terrence's stoic nature. She couldn't help but feel a twinge of something she hadn't felt in a long time—desire.
As they said their goodnights, Joe's hand grazed Chelsea's arm, sending a shiver down her spine. She knew she was playing with fire, but she couldn't resist the allure of the flame. The following day, as Chelsea pulled out of the driveway to drive Jasmine back to the airport, she saw Joe outside, dressed in a suit again, presumably heading off to work. He waved and she felt her cheeks warm, the memory of his touch still lingering on her skin.
Days turned into weeks, and the tension between Chelsea and Joe grew thicker than the humid Cincinnati air. They saw each other in passing, exchanging polite smiles and lingering stares, but not much else. Chelsea threw herself into her work, burying her thoughts in contracts and negotiations, but Joe's magnetic presence was never far from her mind.
One sweltering afternoon, as Chelsea returned from a particularly grueling day at the office, she spotted Joe in his backyard, sweat glistening on his forehead as he tended to the garden. Her eyes lingered on his broad shoulders and strong hands. Before she could convince herself otherwise, she found herself walking over, her high heels sinking into the soft grass.
"I didn't know Mr. CFO had a green thumb," Chelsea called out, her voice carrying over the fence that separated their properties.
Joe looked up, a smirk playing on his lips as he wiped his forehead with the back of his hand. "It's one of the few things that keeps me sane," he responded, straightening up to give her a better view of his body. His white dry-fit pulled taut across his broad chest. "Gigi likes to grow her own herbs and somehow, I got roped into it."
Chelsea stepped closer, the heat from the sun matching the warmth that spread through her body. "I can see the appeal," she said, her eyes raking over his muscular physique. "It's therapeutic."
Joe nodded, his gaze lingering on her figure. "It's a good distraction," he said, the double meaning clear in his voice.
"I could use a distraction," Chelsea admitted, her voice low and sultry. She stepped back from the fence, work bag in hand. "It was nice to see you. Happy gardening."
Another five weeks passed, and Chelsea found herself getting ready for the annual fundraising gala for her firm. The event was a mix of high-profile clients and potential new business connections, so the pressure to make a good impression was high. As she slipped into her form-fitting black gown, she couldn't help the sinking disappointment flood through her when Terrence called to say he had to cover an emergency surgery. He'd miss the gala, leaving her to attend alone.
The hotel ballroom was a whirlwind of glitz and glamour, the air thick with ambition and expensive cologne. Chelsea felt both out of place and completely at home as she mingled with the city's elite. She had hoped to use the evening to put Joe out of her mind, but she couldn't shake the feeling that she was being watched.
Sure enough, when she turned to grab a glass of champagne from the waiter, she saw him standing by the bar, looking every inch the powerful CFO he was. His eyes met hers, and she felt a jolt of electricity shoot through her body. They hadn't talked since the day she saw him in the garden, but the heat was as potent as ever.
"Joe," she said, trying to sound casual. "I didn't know you were coming tonight."
He approached her, his smile wry. "Gianna had a last-minute filming gig," he said, holding up his own glass. "I thought I'd come to support a good cause. I didn't realize this was your firm?"
Chelsea felt her heart race as she took a sip of the bubbly. "It's a small world," she murmured, her eyes darting around the room. "But I should probably go mingle."
Joe leaned in, his breath hot against her ear. "Or you could stay here and mingle with me," he suggested, his hand brushing against her bare back.
Chelsea's skin prickled with desire, and she knew she was playing with fire. "I shouldn't," she whispered, trying to pull away. But Joe's touch was like a magnet, drawing her back in.
"Why not?" he challenged, his voice low and seductive. "We're just two adults enjoying a bit of conversation." His hand slid down to the small of her back, pulling her closer. The heat of his palm seemed to burn through the fabric of her dress.
Chelsea's resolve was slipping. The room felt too warm, the noise of the party a distant buzz. "Because we're both married," she said, her voice trembling slightly, "to two great people who don't deserve to be hurt."
Joe's expression grew serious, his hand lingering on her back. "You're right," he said, "but we're also two people with needs." His thumb traced small circles on her skin, sending shivers down her spine. "Needs that aren't being met."
Confusion flickered in Chelsea's eyes, the conflict between her desires and her conscience playing out on her features. "Gigi's drop-dead gorgeous," she said, her voice barely above a whisper, "and Terrence... he's a good guy. Why isn't that enough?" She practically scoffed at the thought as if scolding herself for being unfulfilled.
Joe's gaze grew intense. "It's not about what's enough," he replied, his hand sliding lower to rest just above the curve of her ass. "It's about what we want." His voice was a low rumble that seemed to resonate deep within her. "And I know what I want."
Their conversation was interrupted by a colleague of Chelsea's, breaking the tension like a knife through hot butter. She was torn, part of her relieved for the interruption, the other part craving Joe's touch. As she was dragged away to schmooze with potential clients, she could feel his eyes on her, watching her every move. The evening grew longer, the conversations more forced, and she found herself counting down the minutes until she could be alone with her thoughts.
When the event finally wound down, Chelsea made her escape to the hotel's lobby, her heels clicking against the marble floor. She was about to call for a ride home when Joe appeared beside her, his hand on her elbow. "Let me take you home," he offered, his voice thick with intent.
Her heart pounded in her chest as she weighed the consequences of her decision. With a deep breath, she nodded. They made their way to his car, the cool night air doing little to calm her racing thoughts. The drive was filled with tense silence, their eyes meeting every time they stopped at a red light. The anticipation was palpable, a silent crescendo building between them.
When they arrived at her house, Joe's hand lingered on the gear shift. "Thank you," she murmured, her voice thick with unspoken desire. He turned to her, his eyes searching hers.
"Chelsea," he began, his voice gruff with want.
With a surge of control, Chelsea moved to open the passenger door. "Thank you for the ride, Joe," she said, trying to keep her voice even. "I should get inside. I'm exhausted."
He nodded slowly, the tension in the car thick as they both knew what they were walking away from. "Alright," he said, his eyes never leaving hers. "I'll see you around?"
"Sure," she replied, her voice a soft sigh. "See you around."
The door clicked shut, and Joe waited until she was safely inside before driving away. Chelsea leaned against the door, her hand on her racing heart, feeling the weight of the evening's events pressing down on her. She knew she was playing with fire, but she couldn't deny the excitement that danced within her.
Her body felt heavy as she climbed the stairs to her bedroom, the memory of Joe's touch still electric on her skin. She slipped out of her dress and into her silk nightgown, her mind replaying the night's events in a dizzying loop. As she slid between the cool sheets, she couldn't shake the feeling of Joe's eyes on her, his touch, his voice. Her hand traveled down her body, tracing the same paths he had earlier. Her breath grew ragged as she reached her own release, moaning his name out loud into the darkness, the syllables falling off her tongue as if destined.
The next day, she found herself unable to concentrate at work, her thoughts consumed by Joe. The office felt stifling, and she couldn't help but wonder if he was feeling the same. She found her eyes darting to her phone, waiting for a message that never came. It was as if the universe knew she was teetering on the edge, and it was holding its breath.
When she got home, she was surprised to find a bouquet of flowers on her doorstep with a note that simply read, "All my best." She knew immediately they were from Joe, and the gesture sent a shiver down her spine. She brought them inside, placing them on the kitchen counter, and stared at them for what felt like hours, the scent of roses filling the room.
They kept running into each other, the tension growing with every passing encounter. They exchanged glances that spoke volumes, but neither made a move. The weight of their secret grew heavier with each shared smile, each lingering touch. It was a dance they both knew could end in disaster, but the music was too tempting to resist.
The next time she spoke to him was a Saturday afternoon in May. Terrence was out playing golf with colleagues, and she had spent the day cleaning from top to bottom. The house was finally starting to feel like home, but she couldn't ignore the emptiness that echoed through the halls. The sun cast a gorgeous glow over the neighborhood as she stepped outside to get some fresh air. She exchanged her usual business attire for a pair of shorts and a simple tank top, her freshly pressed hair pulled into a high ponytail.
As she sat on the porch swing, the sound of faint grunts and huffed counting from Joe's backyard caught her attention. Curious, she slid her sunglasses down the bridge of her nose to get a better look. She found him shirtless, a sheen of sweat glistening on his broad chest and shoulders as he worked through a set of push-ups. Chelsea couldn't help but admire the play of muscles beneath his skin, her gaze lingering longer than she intended.
Their eyes met, and Joe paused mid-push-up, a smirk playing on his lips as he held his hover over the shaded pavement effortlessly. He didn't bother getting up, instead continuing his workout, clearly enjoying the attention. She felt the heat creep into her cheeks and turned away, looking down as she pretended to examine the fence. The sound of his footsteps grew closer until he was standing on the other side, just a few wooden slats separating them.
"You know, I could use a spotter," he called over with a laugh, his voice low and teasing. "Or are you just here to admire the view?"
Chelsea rolled her eyes, though she couldn't hide her own smirk. "I wouldn't dare interrupt your workout routine, Mr. Burrow," she quipped, trying to sound more casual than she felt.
"Joe," he corrected, his voice dropping an octave. "And I could use the company."
The air thickened between them, charged with unspoken desire. Chelsea felt her heart quicken. She knew she should go inside, maintain the facade of a contented wife. But she didn't move. Instead, she found herself saying, "I make a kick-ass iced tea, if you're thirsty."
Joe's grin widened, and without missing a beat, he responded, "I'm parched. I'll be right over."
The moment Joe stepped into her kitchen, the air grew electric. Chelsea poured two tall glasses of iced tea, her hands shaking slightly as she handed him one. They clinked their glasses together in a silent toast, and she took a sip, the sweetness and coolness providing a brief respite from the heat building inside her. He drank deeply, watching her over the rim, his eyes never leaving hers. The silence stretched out, a taut thread ready to snap at the slightest provocation.
"Your house is beautiful," Joe said finally, breaking the silence as he scanned the open-plan living room. "I don't think I've seen it all put together yet."
"Thank you," Chelsea replied, her eyes following the trail of condensation down the side of her glass. "It's still a work in progress, not 100% what I want, but it's coming together." She took a deep breath, trying to ignore the way his presence seemed to fill the space, making the house feel both smaller and more alive than it had in months.
They made small talk as they walked around the house, Joe nodding and making the occasional comment about the decor, though his eyes never strayed from hers for long. The conversation grew more intimate as they sat down in the living room, the tension between them palpable. Chelsea's eyes flicked to the clock on the mantle, reminding her that she had a few hours before Terrence was due home.
"So, what's been keeping you busy?" Joe asked, setting his glass down on the coffee table.
"Coaster, please," Chelsea said with a smile, gesturing to the spot where his glass was leaving a ring. Joe's eyes followed her gesture and he chuckled, placing it on the provided coaster. "I got thrown into an image rights case last minute," she continued. "I've been in and out of court most days, so not much time for anything else."
"Sounds hectic," Joe said, leaning back into the couch, his muscular arms flexing under the fabric of his shirt. "But I'm sure you're crushing it."
"I try," Chelsea said, sipping her tea, her gaze lingering on the way his biceps bulged. "But sometimes, I wish I could just take a break from it all."
Joe leaned closer, his eyes searching hers. "What would you do if you could?"
Her breath hitched. "I don't know," she murmured. "Maybe just escape."
Joe set his glass aside and shifted closer, his knee brushing hers. "Where would you go?"
"Somewhere tropical," she said, observing the brown drink in her hand. "White sand beaches, clear water, and zero cell service. Terrence gets so antsy when he's away from work, I doubt he'd even come with me." She lifted her eyes to find Joe studying her, his expression unreadable.
"You deserve a break," he said, his voice dropping an octave. "Someone should take care of you."
The words hung in the air, and Chelsea's heart raced at the implication. She swallowed hard, trying to keep her composure. "I'm sure you're busy too, with the winery and your work."
Joe leaned back, a knowing smile playing on his lips. "Yeah, it's been a grind. But sometimes, you need to make time for what's important." His hand hovered over her thigh, and she felt the warmth of his touch pressing into her skin. She didn't move away.
The room grew quiet, filled only with the faint hum of the AC and the distant sound of a lawnmower outside. Chelsea's skin prickled with anticipation as Joe's hand slid closer to her, the fabric of her shorts the only barrier. She took another sip of tea, the ice cubes clinking against the glass, the sound amplified in the tense silence.
"What do you think is important?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.
Joe's hand stilled, his thumb tracing lazy circles on her thigh. "Well, I think taking care of yourself is pretty high on the list." His eyes never left hers, the intensity of his gaze making her feel both exposed and desired. "And maybe," he paused, his smile growing, "finding someone who enjoys taking care of you too."
Chelsea's breathing grew shallower, her eyes flicking to his hand, then back to his face. She knew what he was implying, and it was both thrilling and terrifying. "We're married, Joe," she reminded him, her voice strained.
Joe shrugged, his thumb continuing its tantalizing dance. "Doesn't mean we can't take care of each other."
Chelsea's resolve was wavering, the heat of his touch spreading through her like wildfire. She set her glass down on a duplicate coaster, her hand trembling slightly. "Joe..." she began, unsure of what to say next.
He leaned in even closer, his breath warm against her ear. "No one has to know," he whispered. "We can keep it our little secret." His hand inched higher, and she could feel the heat of his palm through the material of her shorts. "Tell me you don't want this."
Her eyes fluttered shut, and for a brief moment, she allowed herself to imagine a life where she could be with Joe, free from the shackles of her unfulfilling marriage. But reality crashed back down on her, and she took a deep breath, steeling herself. "We can't," she said firmly, moving his hand away. "We're married to other people, and we have to respect that."
Joe leaned back, his smile fading into a more serious expression. "I know," he said, his voice softer. "But I also know that sometimes, you need more than what you have."
Chelsea sighed, unable to deny the truth of his words. "Fuck," she whispered, feeling the weight of the unspoken agreement between them. They sat there for a moment, the air thick with unspoken desires.
Then she leaned in, her lips a breath away from his. "Fuck me," she murmured, her voice thick with need. "Here. Now."
Joe didn't need any more encouragement. He stood, pulling Chelsea to her feet, their bodies colliding in a frenzied kiss. His hands roamed her body, and she moaned into his mouth, feeling alive in a way she hadn't in years. They stumbled through the living room, knocking over a vase in their haste. Chelsea didn't care. All she could focus on was the heat of Joe's touch and the promise of the pleasure he offered.
They fell onto the couch, a tangle of limbs and need. Joe's hands were everywhere, pulling her tank top over her head and unhooking her bra with deft fingers. Chelsea's own hands were equally busy, her nails trailed down his back, feeling the power beneath his shirt. They were like starving lovers, desperate to devour each other, their clothes flying off in a frenzy of passion.
The couch creaked under their weight as Joe positioned himself over her, his erection pressing against her thigh. She wrapped her legs around him, urging him closer. His kisses grew more demanding as he kissed a trail down her neck, making her arch her back in response. His teeth grazed the sensitive skin of her collarbone, eliciting a gasp. The feel of his stubble against her skin was exhilarating, opposing the sleek smoothness she was used to with Terrence.
Chelsea reached down and fumbled with his athletic shorts, her heart racing. The fabric slid down his hips, revealing his hardened length concealed under his boxer briefs. She took him in her hand, stroking him gently. Joe groaned, his eyes closing as he felt her touch. His own hand found her center, and she was wet and ready for him. He teased her with his fingers, exploring her folds and finding her clit. She moaned, pushing herself into his hand, eager for more.
With a growl, Joe kissed her again, his tongue claiming her mouth as he entered her. Chelsea's eyes widened with pleasure, her body responding to him in ways it hadn't for Terrence in so long. He began to move, his thrusts deep and powerful. The couch protested with every movement, but the sound was lost in their muffled cries and gasps. Chelsea's breasts bounced with the rhythm, her nipples tight and sensitive. Joe's eyes were locked on hers, the intensity in them making her feel like the only woman in the world.
The room spun as Chelsea moaned out at the feeling of the stretch. She raked her nails down his back, urging him on. He responded, his strokes growing more erratic and his breathing more ragged. The friction between them was electric, each movement sending shockwaves of pleasure through her body. She willed him closer, pulling her into her sweet heat, as if wanting to embed his skin onto hers.
"Wait, do you have a condom?" Chelsea managed to ask breathlessly, the realization hitting her like a cold shower. Joe paused, looking surprised for a moment before nodding and reaching for his discarded pants. He fished out a foil packet from his wallet and tore it open with his teeth, sliding it onto himself with an efficiency that spoke of experience.
She couldn't bring herself to think too hard about the implications of Joe carrying a condom at the ready. Instead, she focused on the feeling of him sheathing himself and sinking back into her. The sensation was exquisite, filling a void she hadn't even realized existed. They moved together, their bodies syncing in a way she had thought was reserved for movies and romance novels. The passion between them was intoxicating, the air thick with desire.
Sweat glistened on their skin as Joe picked up the pace. Chelsea's moans grew louder, and she could feel herself teetering on the edge of a climax she hadn't experienced in years. Her eyes squeezed shut as the pleasure built, her toes curling into the plush rug beneath them. When it finally crashed over her, she called out his name, her voice echoing in the quiet room. Joe followed shortly after, his hips stuttering as he emptied himself into the latex barrier.
Chelsea's body felt like jelly as Joe pulled out and they both lay panting on the couch, their clothes in disarray. The moment of passion hovered over them like a cloud, leaving a heavy silence in its wake. Chelsea's mind raced as she stared at the ceiling, trying to comprehend what they had just done. The weight of their actions settled on her shoulders, but she couldn't deny the satisfaction that coursed through her veins.
They both knew they had crossed a line, and the guilt began to creep in. Chelsea sat up, smoothing her hair before reaching down to pull her underwear back up her shapely legs. She searched Joe's eyes for a sign of what was to come, but all she found was a mirror to her own tumultuous emotions. He stood and offered her his hand, helping her to her feet. They were silent as they redressed, the sound of fabric rustling and their hearts beating loudly in the quiet.
A notification pinged, echoing through the tense space. Chelsea's phone vibrated on the coffee table, and she reached for it almost instinctively. It was a message from Terrence, checking in on her evening. The irony wasn't lost on her as she typed out a quick response, playing the role of the devoted wife. Joe leaned against the arm of the couch, watching her with a mix of satisfaction and something else she couldn't quite place. His gaze was intense, his eyes dark with lust that hadn't fully subsided.
"We should probably talk," Joe said, his voice low and serious, breaking the silence that had enveloped the room.
Chelsea's head shook from side to side, her mind racing with the gravity of their actions. "What is there to talk about?" she replied, her voice thick with emotion. "We both know this can't go anywhere. We are married, Joe."
Joe's eyes searched hers for understanding. "I know, Chelsea. But I can't ignore this connection. And I don't think you can either."
"But we have to," Chelsea insisted, her voice trembling as she tried to convince herself more than him. She knew the rules of their social circles, the expectations of their families. A scandal like this would ruin everything they'd worked so hard to build. She stepped away, creating a physical distance between them as she tried to reconstruct the walls she'd allowed to crumble.
"I don't know what your marriage is like," Joe began, his voice gentle yet firm, "but I know mine hasn't been the same in a long time." His eyes searched hers, looking for a flicker of understanding. "And something tells me you're not exactly thrilled with yours either."
Chelsea's heart thudded in her chest as she took in his words. The truth in them resonated deep within her, making it difficult to maintain her stance. She knew he wasn't wrong, but admitting it aloud was another matter entirely. "It's complicated," she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper. "I can't just throw away everything I have with Terrence."
Joe nodded, his expression understanding. "I'm not asking you to," he assured her. "But I'm also not going to pretend that what just happened didn't mean something." He took a step closer, his hand reaching out to gently brush her palm to her warm cheek. "I want to see you again, Chelsea. I want to explore this—whatever it is—between us."
The warmth of his touch sent a shiver down her spine, and for a brief moment, she allowed herself to lean into it. She closed her eyes, feeling the weight of their situation pressing down on her. When she opened them, she found Joe's gaze still fixed on her, filled with a determination that she hadn't seen before. "Joe, we can't," she said, her voice a barely-there whisper. "This isn't right."
"I know," Joe replied, his thumb tracing the curve of her cheekbone. "But sometimes, things that aren't right feel incredibly right." His hand dropped, and he took a step back, giving her the space she needed to breathe. "Look, I'm not asking you to leave Terrence or for us to run away together. But we both know we can't keep pretending we don't feel something. If we can find a way to do this without hurting anyone, I think we owe it to ourselves to see where it goes."
Chelsea took a deep breath, her mind racing. The thought of being with Joe, of feeling alive again in a way she hadn't in years, was tempting beyond measure. But she was also a woman of integrity, and the thought of deceiving her husband and new friend was unbearable. She searched Joe's eyes, looking for any hint of doubt or insincerity. What she found instead was a man who was lost, just as she was, seeking solace in a connection that transcended their stagnant marriages.
"I think you should leave," Chelsea said finally, her voice trembling with the effort it took to keep her emotions in check. "I'm sorry, Joe, but we can't do this again. It's not fair to either of them."
Joe nodded, his expression a mix of understanding and disappointment. He leaned in and placed a gentle kiss on her forehead. "Okay," he murmured, "but you know where to find me if you change your mind." With a sigh, he pulled back, collected himself, and walked out the door. For a moment she watched him go, the ache in her chest growing with every step he took.
The days that followed were a tumultuous blend of guilt and longing. Chelsea threw herself into her work, burying herself in contracts and negotiations to keep her mind off Joe. But every time she saw his car pull into the driveway next door, her resolve wavered. The memory of their illicit encounter burned into her every thought, tempting her to abandon caution and explore the depths of their shared desire.
Terrence was increasingly more absent, a side effect of his new position that required frequent travel and long hours. Chelsea's mind wandered to Joe during the lonely nights, the quiet house a punishing reminder of the void in her life. Her fantasies grew more daring with each passing day, and she found herself craving the thrill of their clandestine meeting. She could practically smell Joe's cologne still. It was dark, musky, and filled her with a hunger that she had never felt with Terrence.
Work proved to be the only respite from the chaotic whirlwind of emotions Chelsea felt. Each day at the office was a battle to keep her thoughts from drifting to Joe, the way his eyes had lit up when they talked, the warmth of his touch, and the raw passion that had overtaken them that night. Her interactions with Gianna had become that much more painful, knowing she was hiding such a massive secret from her friend. The weight of their affair grew heavier with every shared smile or casual wave between their houses.
Chelsea couldn't help the scoff that escaped her as she read through the loophole-ridden contract displayed on her computer screen. The office had been buzzing as usual, the Monday morning rush bringing in a wave of new cases and clients. With Terrence being so busy with his new role, she had logged more hours in, catching the attention of a senior partner at the firm. He had, not so subtly, hinted at a promotion to junior partner on the horizon if she kept up her current pace.
So she dove head first into her work, the pile of legal documents becoming a welcome distraction from the tempest of guilt and desire that swirled within her. Her days grew longer, her nights lonelier, and with each passing hour, the walls she had built around her heart began to crumble.
Months ago she had known things with Terrence had grown stale, but now, with Joe's presence a constant reminder of what she was missing, the cracks in their marriage had become a chasm. The weight of her secret grew heavier with every encounter, yet she couldn't bring herself to confess.
Part of her knew that she was reluctant to confess because she was holding onto a bit of hope that things would change. That the infatuation she once held for the older, charming medical student would return. That the man who had swept her off her feet and promised her the world would remember that they had once been each other's everything. But with each passing day, she realized that hope was fading into the shadows of her reality.
If she was being honest with herself, the most disheartening part of her marriage was the fact that she couldn't tell if Terrence had noticed the change in her. His work kept him away more and more, and when he was home, it was as if he couldn't be bothered to see her, blind to the tumultuous emotions she wrestled with.
Maybe it hurt her so much because she knew he wasn't entirely oblivious. There were moments when she'd catch him looking at her with a hint of longing in his eyes, as if he knew she was slipping away but was too proud to ask why. There were others still when he would attempt to reconnect with her, hinting at their former passion with gentle touches and whispers. But it was only ever through sex that he seemed to try to bridge the gap between them, and even that had grown mechanical and forced.
The ringing of the office phone cut through her focus and Chelsea found herself eager to escape the claustrophobic walls of her thoughts. The caller ID revealed the incoming call from the reception's desk. "This is Chelsea Brooks," she answered in her professional tone, hoping it was a new client or an emergency that could occupy her mind and free her from the spiraling thoughts of her personal life.
The receptionist's voice was smooth, unknowing even, "Mrs. Brooks, there's a Mr. Joe Burrow here to see you. He said it's important and that he won't take up much of your time."
Chelsea's heart skipped a beat. She had told Joe to stay away, yet here he was, barging into her workplace like he had every right to be there. "Tell him I'm busy," she instructed firmly, trying to keep her cool.
The receptionist's voice returned a moment later, "Mr. Burrow insists it's urgent, Mrs. Brooks. He says he'll wait if you're busy."
Chelsea sighed, her hand tightening around the phone. She couldn't risk a scene at work. Not with Joe. "Send him in," she said, resigned to the inevitable.
Joe entered her office with the same confidence he had that day in her kitchen, his tall frame and broad shoulders seemingly swallowing the space. He closed the door behind him and leaned against it, his eyes locking onto hers with an intensity that made her squirm in her chair. His tailored suit hugged his body in all the right places, reminding her of the power she felt when he was inside her.
"I need to talk to you," he said, his voice a low rumble that sent shivers down her spine.
Chelsea took a deep breath, her mind racing with a hundred different ways to tell him that this couldn't continue. She had to end it before it destroyed everything she had worked so hard to build. "Joe, what are you doing here?" she asked, trying to keep the tremor from her voice.
He stepped closer to her desk, his eyes glued to hers. "Chelsea, I can't stop thinking about you," he said, his voice a mix of frustration and need.
Her chest tightened. She knew she should be firm, but the raw desire in his words made it difficult. "Joe, we agreed..." she started, but he cut her off.
"I know what we agreed," he said, his voice gruff with passion. "But I can't help it. When I see you with Terrence, it kills me. You deserve more than what he's giving you."
Chelsea felt the heat of his words, the truth of them burning through her resolve like a hot knife through butter. She swallowed hard, trying to find the right words to respond. "What about Gianna? Do you think this is what she deserves? For you to be here, showing up at my office, telling me you can't stop thinking about me?"
Joe took a step closer, his hands gripping the edge of the desk. "Gianna and I have our own issues, Chelsea. You know that. And I don't expect you to fix them. But I can't ignore what we have either. I can't let this go without knowing if there's something more to it."
Chelsea felt the weight of his gaze, the warmth of his body invading her space. The smell of his cologne, so different from Terrence's, was intoxicating. She wanted to lean into it, to let him take her again. But she knew she couldn't. Not here. Not now. "Joe, please," she whispered, her voice a plea for sanity. "Don't make it harder on me than it already is."
He stepped back, his expression softening. "I'm sorry," he said, his voice a mix of regret and apology. "I didn't mean to pressure you. I just..." He trailed off, his hand raking through his hair. "I miss you."
Chelsea's eyes searched his, looking for any sign of insincerity, but all she saw was raw need. She stood up, the need to keep distance between them overwhelming. "Miss me?" she repeated, her voice barely a whisper. "Joe, we can't. We're married to other people."
Joe stepped closer, his hand reaching out to her. "I know, I know," he murmured, his voice thick with emotion. "But we can't ignore this either." His hand grazed her arm, sending a jolt of electricity through her body. "I need to feel you again, Chelsea."
Her eyes searched his, looking for any sign of doubt or regret, but all she found was a deep, burning passion that mirrored her own. The room felt smaller, the air charged with a tension that was palpable. The sound of her own breathing was loud in her ears, her pulse racing with every beat.
"You don't have to give me an answer right now. But Gianna's in Europe filming for the rest of the week, and I'd like to talk, really talk, over dinner. Just us," Joe said, his voice low and urgent. "Swing by around 8, I'll cook. It'll just be us, no expectations, no pressure."
Chelsea hesitated, Joe's gaze holding hers. The room seemed to spin around them, and for a moment, it was as if they were the only two people in the world. She knew she should say no, that she should put a stop to this dangerous dance before it spiraled out of control. But the memory of his touch, the way he made her feel alive, was too strong.
As she opened her mouth to speak, Joe stepped back, giving her space. "Think about it," he said gently. "I'll be waiting for you, whether you come tonight or not."
The rest of the day was a blur for Chelsea. Her mind raced with thoughts of Joe, their passionate encounters, and the life she had built with Terrence. She tried to focus on work, but her mind kept wandering. She knew that going to Joe's tonight was playing with fire, but she also knew that she was already burned. The flame between them had never truly been extinguished, and she was drawn to it like a moth to a candle.
When 8 PM rolled around, Chelsea found herself standing in front of Joe's house, her hand hovering over the doorbell. She took a deep breath, trying to calm her racing heart. This was wrong, she thought. But then she remembered the emptiness she felt in her marriage, the lack of connection with Terrence, and the way Joe looked at her - like she was the only person in the world that mattered. She pushed the button and waited, her heart hammering in her chest. No going back now.
Joe answered the door, looking surprised yet pleased to see her. He was dressed casually, his shirt sleeves rolled up, exposing his muscular forearms. Chelsea felt a warmth spread through her body as she took in the sight of him. "I wasn't sure you'd come," he said, stepping aside to let her in. The house was filled with the aroma of something delicious cooking, and Chelsea's stomach rumbled in response.
They sat in the cozy dining room, the candlelight flickering across their faces. The dinner was simple yet exquisite, a far cry from the fancy meals they'd shared before. As they ate, Chelsea felt a sense of ease she hadn't experienced in months, a comfort that was intoxicating. The conversation flowed effortlessly, touching on their hopes, fears, and the paths that had led them to this moment.
For the first time in a long time, she laughed—truly laughed—at a man's jokes. The candlelight danced in Joe's eyes as he told her a story from his college days when he played quarterback for the Ohio State University before giving it all up to support Gianna's culinary dreams. But as the night grew later, the conversation grew heavier, and the weight of their situation settled on the room.
"Why do you stay with him?" Joe asked, his voice low and intense. The question hung in the air like the last note of a heartbreaking melody. Chelsea looked down at her plate, her appetite lost amidst the swirl of emotions. She knew he was referring to Terrence, but the question was more about her than her husband. She took a sip of wine, buying time to formulate a response.
"Because it's what's expected," she finally said, her voice barely above a whisper. "My family, Terrence's family... they've all imposed their idea of what our marriage should look like to be perfect." She paused, looking into Joe's eyes, searching for understanding. "And what we have... on paper, it is perfect. Successful careers, a beautiful home, the potential to have beautiful, intelligent children." She paused again, her voice thickening with emotion. "When I first met him, I just knew that we'd be here. I knew that I had to marry him. Because he was exactly what was expected of me, you know? From a good family, studying to be a neurosurgeon, it was all so destined. I couldn't say no."
Joe reached across the table, placing his hand on hers. His touch sent a jolt through her, a reminder of the passion that had been missing from her life for so long. "I gave up a lot to marry Gianna. My dreams, my career... all for her restaurant. With the show, it's like we're back in high school again. Everyone loves us, everyone thinks we're the perfect couple." He squeezed her hand gently. "But it's all just an act. I can't remember the last time we talked about anything real. Anything that wasn't about the restaurant or her show."
Chelsea felt a pang of guilt, recognizing the echo of her own discontent in Joe's words. "So why do you stay?" she asked, repeating his question from earlier.
Joe's gaze drifted to the floor, his thumb rubbing absentmindedly at the skin on her hand. "Honestly, I don't know what the alternative is," he said, his voice thick with unspoken pain. "We broke up for a year when we were in college because of my football dreams, and she was so angry with me. Our moms, they were devastated. They’ve had our lives planned out since we started dating in high school."
Chelsea nodded, her own heart aching for him.
"I've spent my whole adult life making Gianna happy," Joe continued, his eyes returning to meet hers. "I gave up football. I make appearances on her show. I work in finance because it helps keep her restaurant afloat. And now..." He trailed off, his voice heavy with the weight of his thoughts. "Some days I can't even tell if we're together because we truly love each other or because we're afraid of what everyone else would say."
Chelsea felt a knot in her stomach tighten. She knew the feeling all too well. Her own marriage had become a performance, a dance of appearances and expectations. "It's like you're trapped with no way out," she murmured, her voice filled with a sadness she hadn't realized she felt.
They sat in silence for a long moment, the weight of their confessions hanging in the air. Chelsea knew that she should pull her hand away, stand up, and leave. But she didn't. Instead, she leaned closer to Joe, her heart pounding in her chest.
"You wanna know something really fucked up?" Chelsea said, her voice laced with a mix of anger and desperation. Joe nodded, his eyes never leaving hers. "Sometimes, when I'm with Terrence, all I can think about is you. How you make me feel, the way you touch me, the way you look at me." She took a deep breath, her chest rising and falling. "And then I hate myself for it. I'm supposed to love him, to only think about him, to only want him. But I can't."
Joe leaned in closer, his eyes searching hers. "You don't have to justify how you feel, Chelsea," he murmured. "Gigi and I have been married for 11 years, and I feel like she barely knows me. But when you showed up on my doorstep, it was like the wind got knocked out of me. You're all I think about."
Their faces were so close that Chelsea could feel the warmth of his breath. "I don't want to hurt anyone," she whispered, her eyes filling with tears. "But I don't know how to stop wanting this."
Joe reached up and brushed a tear from her cheek with his thumb. "We don't have to decide anything right now," he said softly. "But we can't keep pretending."
Their eyes held for a moment longer before Joe leaned in and kissed her, gentle but urgent. Chelsea's body responded immediately, her hand curling into his shirt as she pulled him closer. The kiss grew deeper, their tongues dancing together as the heat between them ignited once more.
"Damn," Joe hissed under his breath, his hands holding Chelsea's face in his hands. His thumbs traced the line of her jaw as they broke the kiss, both of them panting. "I want you so badly."
"I know," she replied, her voice a ragged whisper. "This sucks."
They sat in silence for a moment, the weight of their confessions thick in the air. Chelsea's heart pounded in her chest, the guilt she'd been feeling for months now mixed with something new—relief. It felt like a dam had burst, releasing all the pent-up emotion she'd been holding onto.
"So what do we do now?" Joe asked, his voice hoarse.
Chelsea looked at him, her eyes filled with confusion and desire. "I don't know," she replied honestly. "I guess we have to figure out where this goes. If we can keep it just between us. Just for the time being."
Joe nodded, understanding the gravity of their situation. "Okay," he said. "But I need to tell you something." He took a deep breath, his gaze intense. "I'm falling for you, Chelsea. I'm falling for you so hard, I'm gonna do something stupid if I can't have you."
Chelsea's stomach flipped. She didn't know what to say. Her heart raced, torn between the love she had for Terrence and the fiery passion she felt for Joe. She took a moment, looking into his eyes, searching for answers. Finally, she spoke. "So have me."
The words hung in the air, and Joe leaned in again, capturing her mouth in a fierce kiss. His hands roamed down her body, pulling her closer until she was straddling him on the dining room chair. Chelsea moaned into his mouth, the sound echoing through the quiet house. They were lost in each other, their bodies moving in a dance of passion that had been building for so long.
As they kissed, their hands explored, pulling at clothes and unbuckling belts. The air was electric with tension, and the smell of their arousal filled the room. They managed to undress, Joe again reaching into his back pocket to retrieve a condom. They didn't bother moving to the couch this time; the chair was as good as anywhere. Chelsea wrapped her legs around him, and Joe pushed into her, both moaning desperately into each other's mouths.
The sex was raw and unbridled, fueled by their months of repressed desire. Each thrust sent waves of pleasure through Chelsea's body, and she could feel Joe's need growing more intense with every second. They moved together, their bodies in perfect sync, as if they'd been doing this for years. Joe gripped her hips tightly, guiding her movements, her hands tugged at his dark blonde hair, her nails digging into his scalp. There should have been a hint of shame in the way they were acting, but all Chelsea felt was a fierce craving that only Joe could satisfy.
The chair creaked under their weight, a symphony of passionate sounds that filled the room. Chelsea's moans grew louder, and she threw her head back, her breasts bouncing with each movement. Joe's eyes locked onto hers, and she felt a mix of power and vulnerability. They were risking everything for this fleeting moment, but neither of them could bring themselves to care. The pleasure was too intense, too all-consuming.
As their pace grew frantic, Chelsea felt the familiar tightness in her core that signaled an approaching climax. She bit down on Joe's shoulder to muffle her cries, her nails digging deeper into his skin. He grunted in response, his hands pressing harsh marks into her skin, as if he was trying to imprint every detail of this moment into his mind. The tension grew, coiling tightly inside her until she couldn't hold back any longer. She came hard, her body shuddering around him, and Joe followed soon after, burying his face in her neck and groaning out his release.
They remained intertwined, panting and trembling, for several moments. Unlike the first time, however, Chelsea allowed herself to bask in the afterglow. Joe's arms were strong and warm around her, his chest rising and falling in a rhythm that soothed her racing heart. She leaned into him, her cheek pressed against his shoulder, feeling the sticky warmth of their combined sweat. The guilt was still there, lurking at the edges of her mind, but it was dulled by the overwhelming sense of satisfaction.
Joe eventually pulled out, and they both stood, his hands reaching for her in an effort to redress her, his touch gentle yet still searing into her skin. Chelsea felt a strange mix of emotions: excitement, fear, and a deep-seated longing for more of what they had just shared. She allowed him to fix her clothes, her eyes watching his strong features, searching for any sign of regret or hesitation. But Joe's gaze remained steady, filled with a tenderness that she hadn't seen from Terrence in a long time.
"Thank you," Chelsea murmured as Joe tucked her shirt back into her pants, his hands lingering for a brief moment longer than necessary. The words felt strange in her mouth, a blend of gratitude and apology for what they had just done. He nodded, his thumb brushing over her bottom lip before dropping away.
They stepped out of the dining room, the air thick with their combined scents of arousal and the faint aroma of their lunch. Joe walked her to the door, his hand resting on the small of her back. As he opened it, Chelsea took a deep breath, trying to compose herself. The sun had set, casting a soft glow over the neighborhood. The sight of the quiet, suburban street was a stark contrast to the tumultuous emotions raging within her.
"Wait," Joe said suddenly, his hand on her arm as she stepped onto the porch. "Come here. Gimme a kiss."
Chelsea's heart skipped a beat, but she couldn't resist. She leaned in, her body colliding with his, and kissed him with the same passion that had just consumed them. It was a kiss that spoke of all the things they hadn't yet said out loud—their magnetism, their fear, and the understanding that there was no going back.
As they parted, Joe whispered, "I'll see you soon, okay?" His words sent a shiver down her spine, and she nodded, not trusting her voice to respond. With one final squeeze of her hand, he stepped back, allowing her to leave. Chelsea walked home, her mind racing with thoughts of Joe and what had just transpired. She knew that she couldn't continue down this path without consequences, but she couldn't shake the feeling that she was already lost in it.
That evening, as Terrence returned from work, Chelsea tried to slip back into her position, fixing dinner and asking about his day. But every time she glanced at him, she saw Joe's face, heard his voice, felt his touch. The guilt was a heavy weight that she couldn't ignore, and she wondered if it would ever get easier. Terrence seemed oblivious, his eyes lighting up when she asked him about his surgeries and consultations, hoping it would keep him talking, and keep her from thinking about the man next door.
The next two months passed in a blur of work, stolen moments, secret lunch dates, and heated exchanges between Chelsea and Joe. Each time they saw each other, the tension grew thicker, a palpable electricity that neither could ignore. Chelsea found herself looking forward to the nights when Terrence was at the hospital, the quiet house providing the perfect cover for their clandestine meetings. They tried to keep things casual, but every touch, every whispered word, felt like a declaration of something much deeper.
One evening, as the sun dipped below the horizon, casting a warm glow over the neighborhood, Chelsea received a text from Joe. "Can you come over?" it read. She felt a thrill of excitement and a stab of guilt. She knew she should say no, that she needed to end this before it spun further out of control, but she couldn't bring herself to do it. Terrence was away, again, off to San Francisco for a medical conference, leaving her with an empty house and an empty bed.
Chelsea slipped into something less than business casual, opting for a short, floral sundress that hugged her curves in all the right places. She knew Joe liked it—he had told her so the last time they were together. With a quick spritz of perfume and a final look in the mirror, she stepped out of her house and into the mild summer evening. The air was thick with the scent of freshly cut grass and the distant sound of the Chen's grandchildren running around in their backyard. She walked over to Joe's, her heart racing with every step.
When she arrived, he greeted her at the door with a smoldering look that sent her stomach into a frenzy. His tie was loosened, the first two buttons of his shirt undone, showing a hint of the warm skin she had come to yearn for when she was away from him. "You look gorgeous," he murmured, pulling her into a kiss that was anything but friendly. Chelsea melted into him, letting his arms wrap around her and his hands roam her body. They stumbled into the living room, their kisses growing more desperate, as if they hadn't seen each other in years rather than mere days.
The dinner they had planned remained untouched, forgotten in the face of their overwhelming need for each other. They made their way upstairs, shedding their clothes along the way, leaving a trail of fabric that whispered their secrets through the quiet house. In the guest bedroom, Joe's large hands turned her around to face the mirror, pressing her against him as he kissed her neck. Chelsea could see their reflection, their bodies entwined, and the desire in their eyes as Joe's hands cupped her breasts, teasing her already hard nipples.
"I love watching you," Joe growled in her ear as his teeth grazed the sensitive skin of her neck. Chelsea's breath hitched as his hands slid down her waist and around to the zipper of her dress. She felt the heat of his arousal pressing against her, and she knew that she wanted him just as badly. They had been playing this dangerous game for months now, and the thrill of it had only grown stronger.
"You're so down bad, Joey," Chelsea teased, her voice breathless as she reached behind her to run her fingers through his hair. He smirked in the mirror, his eyes dark with need. The room was dimly lit, casting a warm glow over their bodies.
"Call me that again," Joe responded playfully, his hand slipping down to her ass and giving it a firm squeeze. Chelsea giggled, the sound a stark contrast to the heavy lust in the air.
"Joey?" Chelsea repeated with a grin, watching his expression in the mirror. "Is that what you want, baby?" She could feel his body tense with every word, his grip tightening slightly. "Want me to call you cute little names?"
"Chelsea," Joe groaned, his voice strained with restraint as he shook his head, blue eyes squeezing shut in concentration. "What do you want to call me?"
Chelsea leaned back into him, her eyes locked on their reflection. "Joey. Baby. Mine." The last word was a whisper, but it held the weight of their unspoken truth. He audibly swallowed, his hands moving to unzip her dress, letting it pool at her feet. She stepped out of it, leaving her in nothing but a matching set of skimpy, lace lingerie.
"Want me to be yours?" Joe murmured into her ear, his breath hot against her skin.
She giggled, spinning around to face him. "I want a lot of things," she said, her voice low and seductive. She reached up and wrapped her arms around his neck, pulling him down for a deep, lingering kiss. His hands slid over her body, exploring every inch of her soft curves, as they kissed with an urgency that had been building for months.
The room was filled with the sound of their breathless whispers and the rustling of clothing as they undressed each other. The tension was palpable, a heady mix of excitement and guilt that only made the moment feel more forbidden and exhilarating. They tumbled onto the bed, their bodies entangled as they explored each other with hungry kisses and roaming hands. Chelsea felt alive in a way she hadn't in years, her skin tingling with every touch from Joe's rough, calloused hands.
"Get on your stomach, face the mirror, baby," Joe ordered, his voice thick with desire. Chelsea's heart skipped a beat as she obeyed, the coolness of the silk sheets against her skin making her shiver. Joe's strong hands gripped her hips, positioning her just right so that she could see their reflection in the full-length mirror. He slid into her from behind, their eyes locking as he began to thrust, slow and deep.
One hand steadied himself on the curve where her back met her ass, the other hand gripping the plush of her hip. She felt exposed, vulnerable, and completely owned in the best way possible. Each thrust was a declaration of his possession, a silent shout of possession echoing in the quiet room. Her cheek pressed into the cool silk as she watched their reflection. He looked so commanding, so powerful, and she looked blissed out of her mind. Her eyes met his in the mirror, the blue of his burning into hers, and she could see the raw hunger there. It was thrilling and terrifying all at once.
"Tell me you want this," Joe murmured in her ear, his breath hot and uneven. "Say it."
"I want this," Chelsea whispered, the words escaping her in a rush. "I want you."
Joe's eyes darkened, a smoldering intensity in his gaze that made Chelsea's knees wobble. He leaned over her, a thumb reaching underneath to tease her clit as he whispered, "Say it louder."
With a gasp, Chelsea's voice grew stronger, "I want you, Joe."
The room seemed to vibrate with the weight of her admission, the words echoing through the silent house like a confession whispered in a hallowed space. Joe's hand slipped away from her throbbing core, his touch replaced by the coolness of the air. He leaned back on his heels, pulling Chelsea up with him so she was fully exposed in front of the mirror, her body quivering with need. He wrapped his arms around her waist, his chest pressing against her back as he kissed her neck, his teeth grazing her skin. She could feel his arousal leaking into the condom, warming her insides as he pushed into her, setting a rhythm that mirrored the erratic beat of her heart.
Their eyes locked in the reflection, a silent dance of passion and power that neither could deny. Chelsea's hands gripped his forearms as Joe's hands roamed her body, teasing her nipples, pressing into her needy clit. Her moans grew louder, filling the room as Joe's strokes grew more demanding. She felt the tension coiling in her belly, her orgasm approaching, unstoppable and exhilarating.
"Fuck," she breathed, her voice a mix of pleasure and surprise. "You make me feel so good, baby. So, so good."
Joe's grip tightened on her hips, his movements growing more erratic as he neared his own release. "You're fuckin' everything to me, Chelsea," he grunted, his voice strained. "Look at yourself. Look at us."
Chelsea's eyes remained glued to the mirror, watching Joe's face contort with pleasure as he claimed her body. His words sent a shiver down her spine, a mix of euphoria and trepidation. This wasn't just a casual fling anymore; it was love wrapped in a dark, illicit embrace. They climaxed together, their bodies trembling and skin slick with sweat.
They collapsed onto the bed, both trying to catch their breaths, their hearts beating in a chaotic symphony. The silence was deafening, filled with the weight of their shared secret. Joe leaned back, his chest heaving, and for a moment, Chelsea allowed herself to believe that this was real, that they could somehow make this work.
"How do you manage to do that?" Chelsea panted, rolling onto her side to face Joe. "Every single time."
Joe smirked, tracing a finger along her jawline. "It's all you, darling," he said, his voice smoky. "You do this to me. You come around me and suddenly I'm like a man who hasn't had water in days."
Chelsea's eyes searched his, looking for a hint of regret or doubt, but she only found hunger and adoration. It was intoxicating, a feeling she hadn't experienced with Terrence in a long time. The guilt of their infidelity was a constant presence, but in the throes of passion, it was a distant echo. They lay there, their bodies entwined, basking in the aftermath of their love-making. The scent of their desire lingered in the air, a tangible reminder of their connection.
They tore away from each other reluctantly, Chelsea needing to make a quick run to pick up dinner before Terrence returned from his shift. As she slipped into her clothes, Joe watched her with a sense of longing that made her heart ache. They'd agreed to keep this between them, but the cracks in their façade were starting to show.
"I'll text you later," Chelsea murmured, kissing him softly before slipping out the door. The pout on his lips almost drew her back in, his blue eyes clouded over with sadness as she left. She stepped into the cool evening air, trying to ignore the feeling that she was leaving a part of herself behind.
Her mind raced as she drove to a local Italian spot. How had it come to this? She'd never been the type to cheat, had never even thought about it. Yet here she was, carrying the weight of a love affair she didn't know how to end. Her phone buzzed with a message from Joe, a simple "I miss you already," that sent a warmth through her chest she hadn't felt in years. She replied with, "I'll see you soon. Promise," and forced herself to focus on the mundane task of picking up dinner.
When she got home, Terrence was already there, the smell of antiseptic lingering. He greeted her with a squeeze to her arm and took the bag of food from her hand. As they sat down to eat, that pesky sense of apathy spread through her chest. She didn't want to be here, with him, going through the motions of a loveless marriage. Her thoughts drifted back to Joe, and she felt a pang of regret for what she'd left behind.
"Did you hear me?" Terrence's voice pulled Chelsea back to reality. He was looking at her expectantly, a question hanging in the air. She realized she'd been lost in thought, her eyes glazed over, staring into the distance.
"I'm sorry, what did you say?" she replied, snapping out of her Joe-induced trance.
Terrence raised an eyebrow, looking at her with a mix of concern and annoyance. "I don't know why I bother sometimes," he muttered under his breath. "I said I might be promoted to head of the Neurosurgery department. It's longer hours, but that's why we moved here. So we can both achieve our dreams."
Chelsea's eyebrows furrowed, an unsavory sense of irony coating her tongue as she responded, "More hours? Terrence you worked 90 hours last week, how many more can you possibly take on?"
"It's what I have to do to be the best," he said, noticing the weariness in her voice. "What about you? Any big cases coming up?"
"Don't change the subject on me, Terrence. How effective could you possibly be when you're working almost 100 hours a week?" Chelsea retorted, her voice laced with a hint of exasperation. She had been trying to bring this up for months, but he always had a new excuse or a new goal to pursue. She was never her husband's priority.
Terrence sighed heavily, his eyes searching hers for a brief moment before he turned away to grab a beer from the fridge. "You know I have to make my mark," he said, his back to her. "It takes hard work to be the best."
Chelsea felt a knot form in her stomach as she watched him, the coldness in her marriage starkly highlighted against the heat of her secret affair with Joe. "Yeah, I know," she murmured, trying to push down the resentment bubbling up. "But you're never home. You don't eat well, you don't sleep enough, and you're always stressed. That's not good for you and it's not good for your patients. What's the point of being the best if you can't even enjoy it?"
Terrence paused, his hand hovering over the fridge handle. He looked at her, his expression unreadable. "You don't get it, do you, Chelsea?" he said finally. "This isn't just about me. It's about our legacy, what we leave behind."
Chelsea rolled her eyes, feeling a surge of anger. "Oh, please. Legacy, huh? You know what our legacy is looking like right now? A tired, burnt-out doctor with a lonely, lawyer wife. Is that really what you want?" Terrence didn't answer, instead popping the cap on his beer and taking a long gulp.
"Does everything have to be about you, Chelsea?" Terrence said, his voice tight with frustration. "If you had a real, life or death job, maybe you'd understand. But you go drinking with celebrities and throw parties when someone signs their name on a dotted line. You don't know what real work is, Chelsea."
The room grew colder with each word, and Chelsea felt a sting of anger. She had worked hard to get where she was in the field, and she wasn't about to let him belittle her. "I'll tell you what's real work," she shot back, her voice rising. "It's trying to keep a marriage afloat when my husband is more in love with his career than he is with me. It's real work pretending to be satisfied with a man who can't even bother to make time for me! It's real work covering for you when your mother calls me every afternoon asking why you haven't spoken to her in a month!"
Terrence slammed the beer bottle on the counter, the sound echoing through the kitchen. "You think this is easy for me?" he yelled. "I'm trying to make a difference here, trying to be more than just another man with a fancy title! I'm doing this for you, Chelsea. For us!"
Chelsea's eyes narrowed, and she stepped closer to him. "Don't you dare say you're doing this for us. You're doing this for yourself and your ego! You haven't thought of me since we left our honeymoon. As a matter of fact, Terrence, tell me something. What's the name of my firm?"
Terrence's jaw tightened as he stared at her, unable to answer. The silence between them was deafening.
Chelsea took a deep breath, her chest heaving as her eyes began to cloud with tears. "Do you know what's pathetic?" she whispered, her voice shaking with emotion. "It's that I can't even be mad at you for not knowing the name of my firm. Because I've become so used to being second best in your eyes. I've accepted that your work comes first. That your success has to come at the cost of our marriage."
Terrence looked at her, his expression a mix of shock and pain. "Chelsea," he started, reaching out to touch her arm.
"Don't," she said, jerking away. "Don't touch me." She turned away from him, her eyes landing on the fridge, where their wedding photo stared back at her. They looked so happy then, so full of hope and promise. Now, it felt like a lie.
Terrence's silence was deafening as he took in her words. He knew she was unhappy, but he had always thought it was just a phase. That her passion would return once the dust of their new life in Cincinnati had settled. But now, hearing it laid out so starkly, he was forced to confront the truth.
"Chelsea," he finally managed, his voice thick with regret. "You know I love you. You're everything to me."
"No, I'm not, Terrence." she said firmly, her voice steadying. "If I was, you'd know what I do for a living. You'd know that my work isn't 'drinking with celebrities', you'd know that I was just going through the motions. That every day feels like I'm drowning in a sea of your ambition."
He took a step towards her, but she held up her hand. "Don't. You don't get to fix this with your charm. This isn't just about tonight."
Terrence stopped in his tracks, the weight of his wife's words sinking in. "If that's what you think of me, what could I possibly do to change your mind, huh? After everything I've given you?"
Chelsea faced him, her eyes glistening with unshed tears. "I'm not doing this with you, Terrence. After a full day of drinking with celebrities, I'm exhausted." Her voice dripped with sarcasm as she turned on her heels and stomped out of the kitchen, leaving Terrence standing there, feeling more lost than ever before.
The days that followed were tense and fraught with unspoken tension. Terrence tried to make amends, bringing her flowers—notably, the wrong ones—and making grand romantic gestures, but Chelsea remained distant, her heart and mind elsewhere. Her thoughts swirled with Joe's touch, his whispers, and the way he looked at her—like she was the only person in the world that mattered. At work, she threw herself into her cases, finding refuge in the cutthroat world where the only battles she could control were the ones she waged on paper.
When Terrence announced that Joe invited him, and a few of the other guys in the neighborhood, to go golfing the next weekend, Chelsea couldn't even bring herself to care.
The day of the golf trip dawned bright and early. Terrence was practically bouncing out the door, eager to bond with his new neighbor and escape the suffocating silence that had settled over their marriage. Chelsea watched him go with a mix of resentment and relief. As the door clicked shut behind him, she felt the weight of their unresolved issues crash down on her, but she quickly shoved the thoughts aside, focusing instead on her plans to spend the day with her friends, popcorn and wine.
The green of the gold course stretched out before them, the crisp spring air carrying the faint scent of freshly trimmed grass. Terrence felt a strange sense of relief as he swung his club, sending the small white ball soaring into the sky. The conversation between the men was light, mostly about their jobs and the neighborhood gossip. Joe was completely carefree, his Cartier sunglasses reflecting the sun's rays. Terrence couldn't help but feel a twinge of envy at how relaxed he looked, especially knowing that Joe's job required so much less of him than his own demanding career.
"Chelsea's been on my ass about my hours this past week," Terrence complained, taking a sip from his water bottle as they approached the next hole. "It's like she thinks I don't give a shit about our marriage."
Joe's grip tightened around his golf club, a smug smile playing on his lips. "Well, you know what they say, work is the best form of birth control," he quipped, watching Terrence's face fall. "But in all seriousness, man, marriage isn't easy. Sometimes you've got to make sacrifices for the girl you love."
Terrence nodded, his mind racing with thoughts of Chelsea. "Yeah, I know. I just... I don't know. The last time we had sex, she straight up couldn't orgasm. It's like she's not even into it anymore." He took a swing, the ball soaring through the air in a perfect arc before landing on the green.
Bryan, one of the other golfers, chuckled cruelly. "Maybe she's taking care of herself, man." The lewd remark hung in the air, gaining a few snickers from the group.
Terrence shook his head grumbling, "Chelsea? Nah, she's too... I don't know, too classy for that." He took a deep breath and downed the rest of his water, reaching in the cooler for a beer instead.
Joe felt a strange mix of guilt and triumph at Terrence's words. "Classy or not, everyone has needs," he said, trying to keep his voice neutral. Inside, his mind reeled with the memory of Chelsea's cries of pleasure just a few nights ago. He knew all too well the passion she kept hidden from her husband.
"See, if that was me, Chelsea wouldn't be able to think about leaving the bedroom. They'd have to do a wellness check on her to see if she was alright," Chris, another one of the golfers, chimed in, slapping Terrence on the back.
Terrence's eyes narrowed slightly, the conversation suddenly taking a turn he wasn't expecting. "I know, I know." He took a sip of his beer. "We used to be like that when Chelsea was in college." He chuckled, but Joe didn't miss the hint of sadness in his voice. It was the same sadness Chelsea had confessed to feeling in their own relationship.
"Maybe it's just stress," Joe offered, trying to keep his tone light despite the dark thoughts swirling in his head. "The move, the new job, all that can really mess with someone's head." He knew it wasn't just stress. He had felt it in her touch, heard it in her moans when they were together. The desperation and craving for something more.
"Personally, I don't think I've ever seen you even think about tapping that ass," Bryan, one of Terrence's golfing buddies, chimed in, nudging Terrence with a laugh. "Not even a kiss. Terrence, you gotta do better."
Joe's jaw clenched, the comment hitting too close to home. He shot a warning glare at Bryan, who shrugged it off, oblivious to the tension he had just stirred up. Chris, the more foul-mouthed of the two spoke up again, "I'm telling you, if she was mine, she'd be begging for it every night."
Terrence's smile didn't quite reach his eyes as he replied, "Alright, alright. Remember this is my wife we're talkin' about? Joe, you got any advice? Gianna's always skipping around all happy, I'm sure you've got some moves."
Joe's heart thumped in his chest. He felt like he was being goaded, and his mind raced with the desire to reveal all. Instead, he took a deep breath and replied, "Nah, man. I've only ever been with Gianna long-term, so I wouldn't know what to tell you." The lie tasted bitter on his tongue, but he knew the truth was too explosive to share.
The golf game continued, but Joe's mind was elsewhere. He couldn't help but think of the times Chelsea had whispered sweet nothings in his ear, her nails digging into his skin as she climaxed. The way she looked at him with a mix of adoration and hunger was something Terrence would never know. Despite the guilt, Joe felt alive in a way he hadn't in years.
Back at the office, Chelsea was busy wrapping up a case when her phone buzzed with a text from Joe. "You have fans," it read. She raised an eyebrow, not quite understanding the context. He followed up with a, "Your husband's golf buddies talked about you a lot today." A chill ran down her spine, and she felt a strange mix of anger and arousal. She texted back, "What did they say?"
Joe's response was succinct. "Doesn't matter. They'll never get to hear your pretty voice moan for my cock." The possessive undertone was unmistakable, sending a jolt of excitement through Chelsea's body. She quickly put her phone away, trying to compose herself before her colleagues noticed her flustered state. She was torn between the thrill of Joe's claim and the fear of their secret being exposed.
Chelsea stepped out of her downtown office building, the cool breeze of Cincinnati's early autumn brushing against her cheeks. The scent of freshly baked bread from the bakery across the street filled her nose, momentarily distracting her from the mountain of work emails waiting for her attention. She took a deep breath, letting the aroma mingle with the exhaust from the passing cars. It was a peculiar blend, but somehow Cincinnati was starting to feel more and more like home.
Though she was sure Joe had a lot to do with that, Chelsea couldn't ignore the comfort she felt when she thought of the city now. The two of them had been sneaking around for nearly five months, finding moments of stolen intimacy amidst their chaotic schedules. They had become experts at choosing the most discreet locations, the quietest times of the day, and the most unassuming town cars to keep their affair under wraps. As she walked towards their usual spot, a cozy Italian restaurant tucked away from prying eyes, Chelsea felt her heart race in anticipation of their lunch date.
Once a week, Chelsea and Joe met for lunch at the Italian restaurant. The hostess knew them by name and always reserved the same booth at the back, the one with the slightly faded red velvet seats that had seen better days but somehow added to the intimate charm of their secret rendezvous. The restaurant was typically empty this time of day, with a disinterested college student working the register and a tired-looking, middle aged chef peeking out from the kitchen. A soft murmur of Italian jazz would play, providing a backdrop to their stolen conversations. By this point, Chelsea knew the rotation of songs almost by heart.
Joe was already waiting, his tall frame bent slightly over the menu he always pretended to need to read. He was stubborn, alternating between his usual Margherita pizza and the chicken parmesan sandwich, but Chelsea knew he had it all memorized by heart. She slid into the booth opposite him, her eyes lingering on the strong line of his jaw, the way his tie was just loose enough to show a hint of the collarbone she was sure had a fading love bite where the bone met his shoulder.
"Hey, you," Joe said, looking up with a smile that never failed to make her stomach flutter.
Chelsea returned his smile, sliding the menu aside as she delicately placed her purse on the seat beside her. "Hi," she whispered, her voice soft and warm. "How was your morning?"
Joe leaned back, his eyes scanning the room to ensure no one of importance was within earshot. "The same as always," he replied with a hint of weariness. "Just trying to keep up with the numbers and the egos."
Chelsea nodded sympathetically. She knew the type; the kind of people who thought the world revolved around their next big deal or their latest acquisition. "Wish I could make it easier for you," she said, reaching across the table to squeeze his hand. Her wedding band felt heavy on her left ring finger, a constant reminder of the life she had chosen, or rather, the one that had chosen her.
Joe took her hand in his, giving it a gentle squeeze. "You do," he said, his voice filled with genuine appreciation. "More than you know."
Their conversation today was different from their usual lightness. There was a weight in the air, a heaviness that neither of them could shake off. It was as if the walls of their secret hideaway had grown thin, threatening to expose them at any moment. Chelsea felt a knot form in her stomach as she wondered if Joe was feeling the same way she was: trapped in a life that didn't quite fit.
"I've been thinking," Joe began, his eyes searching hers. "About us, I mean."
The words hung in the air like a question unasked. Chelsea felt the knot in her stomach tighten. "What about us?" she prodded, her voice steady despite the tumult in her chest.
Joe took a deep breath, his thumb tracing circles on the back of her hand. "I can't help but wonder if things might've been different if we had waited, if we hadn't married so young." His eyes searched hers, looking for a glimmer of agreement or a spark of hope. "It's funny, I feel like a dumbass whenever I think that if I had just waited, I could've found you."
Chelsea felt the air thicken as the gravity of his words settled between them. The what-ifs of life had always been a silent companion to their secret affair, but today, they were speaking louder than ever. "I know," she murmured, her eyes dropping to the table. "I've been thinking about that too."
The waiter arrived, a young man with a crooked smile and a notepad at the ready. They ordered their usual, the routine comforting in its predictability. As he retreated, Joe leaned in closer, his voice a low rumble. "Did I tell you much about my family?"
Chelsea tilted her head, trying to recall any details beyond the fact that he had worked hard to support them. "Not really," she said, intrigued.
Joe's eyes took on a distant look as he spoke about his childhood in a small town in southeastern Ohio. His parents had been high school sweethearts, just like he and Gianna, but they had struggled to make ends meet. His father had coached at the junior college while his mother held down two jobs to keep their heads above water. He had two older brothers, both of whom had moved away to escape the shadow of their hometown's limitations.
"They had big dreams for me," Joe said, his voice thick with emotion. "They pushed me to do better, to be better."
Chelsea nodded, understanding the unspoken burden of parental expectations all too well. "And football was your way out?"
Joe's smile was bittersweet. "Yeah, it was. I was okay at it. Nothing special, I had a couple of offers but I didn't want to be too far from my parents or Gianna. So I chose Ohio State, thinking I'd keep playing, maybe make it to the NFL." His eyes grew darker with the memory. "But Gianna was already set on becoming a chef, and she had this opportunity in New York to work under a big name. I couldn't ask her to wait for me."
Their food arrived, the warm scents of cheese and marinara sauce briefly interrupting the flow of their conversation. They picked at their plates, the tension between them palpable. Chelsea listened intently, her heart aching for the sacrifices Joe had made. Her own family had mapped out her life from birth: the right schools, the right job, the right husband. Terrence had been the perfect package, but she had never felt like she had made the choice.
"So what happened?" she asked softly.
Joe took a bite of his pizza, the cheese stretching like an elastic band before breaking with a satisfying snap. "I quit football," he said, swallowing before continuing. "I figured if I couldn't have it all, I'd focus on making sure Gianna got what she wanted. I transferred to NYU to be with her. That's when I started getting serious about finance. I figured if I couldn't throw a ball for a living, I might as well find another way to make some real money."
The bitterness in his tone was unmistakable. Chelsea reached across the table, her hand resting gently on his forearm. "It wasn't a complete loss," she said, trying to ease the tension. "Look at you now, CFO of a Fortune 500 company. I'm sure your family's proud of you."
Joe nodded, but his eyes remained clouded. "They are," he admitted. "But it's not the same. I gave up something I loved for… for what? A marriage that feels more like a business deal every day?" He took a deep breath, his gaze drifting to the window where passersby walked in pairs, oblivious to the turmoil inside the restaurant. "Gianna's always been the star, you know? And I've just… I've just been her plus-one, the guy who writes the checks and makes sure she's happy."
Chelsea's heart twisted at the raw honesty in Joe's voice. She knew all too well the feeling of being an accessory to someone else's ambition. "You said you retired both yours and Gianna's parents, right? That's a big deal, Joe," she offered, trying to remind him of his worth beyond his marriage.
He nodded, taking another bite of his sandwich. "It is," he said, his voice devoid of the pride she knew should accompany such an achievement. "But it's like… I don't know. Like I've spent my whole life doing what everyone else wanted, and now…" His voice trailed off as he took a sip of his water, the ice cubes clinking against the glass. "I just don't know if I have anything left for myself."
Chelsea felt a pang of guilt for her part in adding to Joe's burdens. "What about you?" he asked, his gaze back on her. "What would you have done if you weren't married to Terrence?"
She took a moment to consider the question, the weight of the words sitting heavily on her tongue. "I don't think I've ever really considered any alternative, honestly," she said, her eyes meeting his. "My parents had my life mapped out for me from the day I was born. They picked out everything. The perfect name, the perfect schools, the perfect career, and of course, the perfect husband. If it wasn't Terrence, it would've been someone just like him."
Joe leaned back, his expression thoughtful. "You were pretty young when the two of you got seriou-"
"I was a sophomore in undergrad," Chelsea interrupted, the words spilling out like a confession. "Terrence was in medical school, already the golden boy of our families. He was charming, ambitious, same frat as my Dad, everything my parents wanted for me. They didn't even blink an eye when he proposed on my birthday less than a year after we met. It was like they had been waiting for it."
Joe nodded, understanding the weight of familial expectations. "And do you think you'd have chosen differently?" His eyes searched hers, looking for a glimmer of regret or perhaps a hint of a road not taken.
Chelsea's gaze fell to the breadsticks on the table, her mind racing back to those college days filled with hope and promise. "I don't know," she said finally. "Maybe. But by the time I realized I didn't love him the way they wanted me to, it was too late. I was standing at the altar, reciting vows I didn't even believe in. Just holding my breath, hoping someone would stand up and shout their objections."
Joe reached across the table and took her hand, giving it a comforting squeeze. "You can't change the past," he said gently. "But you can decide what you want for the future."
Chelsea nodded, her eyes filling with unshed tears. "I know," she said, her voice wavering. "It's just hard to imagine a life without Terrence, without the life my parents worked so hard to set up for me. Anytime I try to imagine something different, it feels like I'm betraying them, like I'm throwing it all away."
Joe squeezed her hand tighter. "What do you think you'd be doing if you weren't married to Terrence?"
Chelsea took a deep breath, her mind racing with possibilities. "I'd probably still be in law," she said after a moment. "But maybe I'd be dabbling in politics, like I always talked about in college. Or maybe I'd start my own firm, one that focused on helping people who couldn't afford representation."
Joe's eyes lit up with genuine interest. Pausing to think as he observed the way Chelsea's eyes sparkled with the thought of a life untethered from her current reality.
"What about you?" Chelsea asked, eager to shift the focus. "What would you be doing if you weren't married to Gianna?"
Joe's gaze grew distant, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. "I'd probably still be in finance," he said. "But I'd be traveling more, see the world." He chuckled, a sound that was a rare treat in their secret meetups. "But more importantly, I'd be taking chances, you know? Investing in little start-ups with potential instead of playing it safe."
Their conversation grew quieter, their food forgotten as they shared more of themselves than they ever had before. The walls of the restaurant seemed to close in around them, insulating them from the outside world and the lives they had left at the door.
"Joe," Chelsea began, her voice barely a whisper. "What do you want from this?" She searched his eyes, desperate for an answer that could give her clarity in the chaos of their situation.
Joe took a moment to consider, his thumb still tracing circles on her hand. "I want to be happy," he said finally. "I want what everyone wants, I guess. To love and be loved in return. To feel like I'm living my own life."
The words hung in the air like a confession, and for a moment, Chelsea felt like she could see right through to his soul. "What does that mean for us?" she asked, her voice barely audible above the clinking of silverware and the muffled conversations of other patrons.
Joe took a deep breath, his grip on her hand tightening. "I don't know," he admitted. "But I don't want you to feel trapped, Chelsea. I want you to be able to explore those things you've always talked about. If we can help each other find happiness, maybe that's enough for now."
Chelsea felt a tear slip down her cheek. "It's just…" she began, her voice cracking. "I've never felt like I could disappoint my family. They've given me so much, and I owe them so much."
Joe leaned in, his voice gentle. "But what about what you owe to yourself?"
Chelsea's eyes searched his, finding a reflection of the same yearning she felt. "I just don't know how to do that without letting them down," she confessed. "My identity is so tied up in being the successful daughter, the perfect wife. What happens when I'm just… Chelsea?"
Joe's smile was kind, understanding. "You're more than that already," he said. "But I get it. Sometimes it feels like we're all just playing roles, huh?"
The waiter refilled their water glasses, oblivious to the gravity of the conversation happening in the dimly lit corner booth. Chelsea nodded, taking a sip to gather her thoughts. "To this day, I slip up and forget that I'm 'Mrs. Brooks' and not 'Miss Hayes'." She chuckled sadly. "It's like I'm watching someone who looks like me live a life I didn't choose."
Joe leaned in closer, his voice low and earnest. "I was just Joey Burrow, the kid who could throw a football pretty good. But then I became 'Gianna's husband' and I wonder if I lost myself in that transition." His eyes searched hers, looking for understanding. "I know we can't change who we are or where we come from, but maybe we can start making choices that feel more like us."
Chelsea nodded slowly, the weight of his words sinking in. "It's just…" she began, her voice trailing off. "What if we make the wrong choice?"
Joe's expression grew solemn. "There's no way to know," he said. "But I'd rather live with the regret of a risk taken than the regret of a life never lived. Gianna and I haven't been happy for a long time. I keep telling myself it's for the sake of stability, for Gianna's brand, but the truth is, I've been living for her happiness, not my own." He took a deep breath, his eyes never leaving hers. "I'm tired of pretending."
Chelsea felt a lump form in her throat. The honesty in Joe's voice was stark and raw, mirroring her own thoughts. "Terrence still doesn't know what it is I do all day," she said, her voice a mere whisper. "He's so caught up in his own world, he doesn't see me. I'm just another trophy for him to show off to his colleagues and family."
Joe nodded, his gaze never wavering from hers. "We both know what it's like to be someone else's accessory." He took another deep breath, as if bracing himself for what he was about to say next. "But I'm not going to lie to you, Chels. Being with you…it's the first time in a long time I've felt like myself again. It's refreshing. You're refreshing."
Chelsea felt a warmth spread through her chest, a warmth that had nothing to do with the room's temperature. "I feel the same way," she confessed.
"Then maybe," Joe began, his voice hopeful, "we could start making choices that lead to us being happy. Together."
Chelsea's heart skipped a beat, the implication of his words sinking in. The thought of being with Joe, openly and without fear of judgment, was both terrifying and exhilarating. She took a moment to process, her mind racing with the consequences and the potential joy that could come from such a choice.
"I've been holding off on saying this," Joe continued, reaching for his water after he quickly glanced at his watch. "But I love you. I know it's crazy, given the circumstances, but I think I have for a while now."
Chelsea's breath caught in her throat. Love? That was a word she hadn't dared to entertain in the context of their affair. She felt the weight of their secret pressing down on her, the fear of the consequences of admitting such a powerful emotion. But when she looked into Joe's eyes, she saw something that she hadn't seen in a very long time: genuine affection, untainted by duty or expectation.
"Joe," she said, her voice barely audible over the soft jazz playing in the background. "That's… I'm not sure how to respond to that."
Joe nodded, understanding the gravity of his confession. "You don't have to say it back," he said quickly. "I just wanted you to know. I need you to know that this isn't just about the physical stuff for me. You're more than that. You're the only one who gets it, who gets me."
The air grew thick with the unspoken words hanging between them. Chelsea felt the weight of his love like a warm blanket, comforting yet suffocating. She had never allowed herself to believe that someone could love her beyond her status or her marriage to Terrence. But Joe was different; he saw the real her, the woman buried beneath the layers of expectations and responsibilities.
"I… I love you too, Joe. I didn't know how to say it," Chelsea admitted, her voice trembling. The words felt strange on her lips, but also incredibly right. For the first time in years, she didn't feel like she was lying to herself or to someone else. "But I'm sure I do. You feel right."
Joe's smile grew, a warm light in the dim restaurant. He reached across the table and took both of her hands in his. "I know we're in a tough spot, Chelsea," he said, his voice earnest. "But I want us to find a way to be happy together. To build a life that's ours, not anyone else's."
Her eyes searched his, looking for any sign of doubt or hesitation. But all she saw was a man who had found something precious in her, something she hadn't realized she had lost until she saw it reflected in his gaze. Casting a quick glance around the empty restaurant, Chelsea leaned in, cupping Joe's face in her hands to kiss him. It was a soft, lingering kiss filled with a promise of a future she had never dared to dream of.
When they finally pulled apart, the silence was deafening. The realization of their confession settled over them like a warm blanket, both comforting and suffocating. "I need to get back to the office," Joe said, his voice husky with emotion.
Chelsea nodded, her eyes still locked on his. "Me too," she said, the gravity of their conversation still weighing heavily on her. They both knew that their lunch break was over, but the world outside the restaurant felt foreign and daunting.
They gathered their things and Joe helped her with her coat, his hand lingering for a moment longer than necessary on her arm. As they stepped out into the cold Cincinnati afternoon, the reality of their situation crashed down on them like a wave. They walked side by side, their hands brushing but not quite touching, the air between them charged with a tension that was no longer just sexual.
"I'll see you next week," Joe said, his voice a mix of hope and resignation. "It's about seven days too long, but I'll take what I can get."
Chelsea nodded, a small smile playing on her lips. "Seven days," she echoed, the number feeling both endless and insignificant. They stood outside the restaurant, the chilly breeze a stark contrast to the warmth they had shared inside.
"Yeah," Joe said, his eyes searching hers. "You'll text me when you get back to the firm?"
"I will," Chelsea promised, her hand reaching for her phone to ensure it was still there. The cold air stung her cheeks, reminding her of the world waiting outside their bubble. "And Joe…" she called out as he started to walk away. He turned back to her, the wind ruffling his dirty blonde hair. "Thank you."
Joe stopped in his tracks, his breath puffing out from his lips as he mouthed, "I love you," before turning back around. Chelsea watched him disappear into the crowd of people, feeling a pang of something akin to teenaged infatuation. As she walked towards her office, she couldn't shake the feeling that their lunch had irrevocably changed things. The weight of their confessions hung heavy in the air, a secret they both now had to carry.
The next month, Chelsea was whisked off to a work trip in Dayton. Her job required her to be there for a few days, and as much as she tried to focus on her work, her mind kept wandering back to Joe. She missed the way he touched her, the way he looked at her, the way he made her feel alive again. On the second night of her trip, she found herself in her hotel room, alone with nothing but room service and a bottle of wine for company. The silence was deafening, and she couldn't ignore the ache between her legs that Joe so effortlessly satisfied.
Manicured fingertips reached for her phone, tapping on Joe's contact with a sense of urgency. "Miss me?" he answered, his voice deep and smooth, like a fine whiskey. Chelsea bit her lip, her heart racing as she whispered into the phone, "I need to see you."
"Aren't you in Dayton this week?" Joe's voice held a hint of surprise.
"And?" Chelsea challenged, biting at her bottom lip. She could almost see the heave of his chest as he sighed through the phone. Suppressing a giggle, she waited for his response.
"Goddammit, Chelsea," Joe murmured, his voice thick with desire. "Send me the address, I'll be there in 45."
"Joey, it's an hour drive," Chelsea protested, her voice a blend of excitement and caution.
"I'll do it in 40, don't argue with me," Joe said firmly, his tone leaving no room for negotiation. "Just send me the damn address before I lose my mind."
The anticipation grew as Chelsea sent him the details, her heart hammering in her chest like a drumline. She took a quick shower to wash off the day's stress and slipped into a lazy pair of Calvin Kleins. The minutes ticked by like hours until finally, she heard the door to her hotel room click open. She took a deep breath and turned to face him, her eyes widening at the sight of Joe in a crisp suit, looking like a man on a mission.
"I came straight from work," Joe said, shutting the door behind him with a gentle click. He dropped his briefcase and shrugged off his suit jacket, revealing his broad shoulders and the muscular physique Chelsea craved. She stepped into his arms, and he kissed her deeply, his tongue exploring her mouth as if he'd been starving for her taste. Their kiss was desperate, hungry, and filled with the kind of passion that could never be contained within their marriages.
The room was suffocating with the scent of their desire as they tugged at each other's clothes, needing to feel skin on skin. Joe's hands were everywhere, tracing the contours of Chelsea's body with a familiarity that sent shivers down her spine. They stumbled backward to the bed, tearing away the barriers between them, leaving a trail of fabric scattered across the floor.
"So fuckin' needy for me, begging me to drive an hour just to fuck you?" Joe whispered in her ear as he pulled her closer, his hands cupping her ass as she wrapped her legs around his waist. Chelsea felt a thrill of arousal at his words, biting her lip to hold back a moan. He carried her to the bed and tossed her down onto the soft hotel comforter. He stepped back and took a moment to admire her, his eyes raking over her naked body as if she were a feast laid out just for him.
"Bless me," Chelsea murmured, her eyes locked on Joe's as he undid his tie with purposeful strokes. She watched as each button of his shirt came undone, revealing his chest, his abs, the V of muscle that pointed down to the bulge in his trousers. He stepped closer, kicking off his shoes and dropping his pants. He was already hard for her, and the sight made her wetter.
"You're so beautiful," Joe said, his voice thick with desire. He climbed onto the bed and claimed her mouth again, his hands roaming her body with a possessiveness that made her feel alive. He kissed her neck, her breasts, her stomach, and Chelsea arched her back, eager for his touch. His mouth found her clit, and she gasped as he flicked his tongue against it, sending waves of pleasure through her body.
Joe's skilled hands worked their magic as he brought her to the edge, her moans growing louder with each stroke. Chelsea's fingers tangled in his hair, urging him on, her hips bucking against his mouth. She felt herself falling apart, her orgasm building like a crescendo. And when it hit, she screamed his name, her body convulsing with pleasure.
He slid up her body and claimed her mouth in a bruising kiss, the taste of her own desire on his lips. Chelsea wrapped her legs around his waist, guiding him into her. He filled her completely, stretching her with his thickness. They moved together in a rhythm that was both familiar and new, a dance of passion and need that transcended their marriages. The sounds of their skin slapping together melded with their gasps and moans, echoing in the quiet hotel room.
It was uninhibited, raw, and absolutely everything Chelsea had been craving. With every thrust, Joe seemed to claim a piece of her she hadn't realized she had been holding back. She clawed at his back, her nails digging in as she matched his intensity. They moved as one, their breaths mingling in the air, their hearts beating a tempo of pure desire. The room was filled with the scent of their passion, the heat from their bodies raising the temperature of the space.
"I think you enjoy this too much," Joe murmured, his breath hot against Chelsea's ear as he drove into her.
"You think?" she quipped, her voice thick with sarcasm.
He smirked, his blue eyes piercing hers. "I know."
The truth of his words stung, but she didn't refute them. Instead, she pushed him down onto the bed, climbing on top of him and taking control. She set the pace now, her hips rolling and grinding against him, drawing out every delicious sensation. Joe's hands found her breasts, teasing and playing as she rode him, their eyes locked in a silent challenge.
"What? You want me to feel guilty about enjoying this?" Chelsea challenged, her voice low and husky as she rocked her hips against Joe's. "Want me to feel guilty—fuck, yes—about the way you get me so wet, so hot, so—" she gasped as he sank his teeth into the soft skin of her neck, "—so fucking desperate to feel you inside me?"
Joe's eyes darkened at her words, his grip on her hips tightening. "I could never ask you to feel guilty about that, baby. I know he isn't giving you what you need."
Chelsea moaned at his words, her hips moving faster as she neared another peak. "And her?" she panted, needing to hear him acknowledge it. "You ever fuck her like this?"
Joe's expression grew serious. "No, never." He reached up to cup her face, his thumb tracing the curve of her cheek. "I haven't touched her in months, baby. Not since I first saw you."
The confession sent a thrill through Chelsea's body, and she leaned down to kiss him hard, her tongue slipping into his mouth as she rode him with a newfound urgency. The truth was a heady aphrodisiac, making her feel even more alive and desired. She didn't want to think about the consequences or the pain they were causing. Right now, all that mattered was Joe's cock filling her up and the sound of their skin slapping together.
"I love you, Joey," Chelsea murmured against his lips, the words slipping out as he began to buck up into her.
He stilled beneath her, his eyes searching hers. "You can't just drop that shit, Chelsea," he breathed, his eyes fluttering shut as he attempted to hold off his climax. "You know what that does to me."
Chelsea felt a surge of power, her heart racing as she leaned back slightly to look down at him. "You're all I think about. I love you." Her words were like a drug, pushing him closer to the edge. He groaned, his hands clutching her hips, and she knew she had him.
"Fuck," Joe growled, his eyes snapping open. "I love you too. So much it scares me." His hands tightened on her hips, guiding her movements as he began to thrust up into her. The room was filled with their desperate moans and gasps, their bodies moving in a symphony of passion that neither of them had ever felt before.
Their lovemaking grew more intense, the emotions bubbling up inside of them fueling the fire between them. They were no longer just two people caught in a moment of passion; they were two souls confessing their love in the most primal of ways. Chelsea felt her orgasm building, her entire body tightening around Joe as he pushed her closer and closer to the brink.
"Chelsea," he moaned, his voice thick with lust and love. She could feel his cock pulsing inside her, and she knew he was close too. "Come for me," he demanded, his voice low and commanding. It was all she needed. With a cry that was equal parts pleasure and pain, she shuddered around him, her muscles clenching as she came hard.
Joe watched her, his own climax following close behind, his eyes never leaving hers. They held onto each other tightly as they rode the waves of pleasure, their breathing heavy and erratic. When it was over, Chelsea collapsed on top of him, her body feeling boneless and satisfied. They lay there for a moment, their hearts pounding in unison, their limbs tangled together.
"Joe," she whispered, her voice filled with wonder. He wrapped his arms around her, holding her close as he kissed her forehead. "I know," he murmured, understanding the unspoken question in her eyes. They had crossed a line that couldn't be uncrossed, and now they had to deal with the consequences.
The silence was heavy as they both thought about the future of their affair. The hotel room felt like a sanctuary, a bubble where the outside world couldn't touch them. But reality waited just beyond the door, and they both knew it couldn't last forever.
Joe pulled her closer, his thumb brushing against her cheek. "I know it's not my place to say, but maybe it's time to think about what you really want," he murmured. "You deserve to be happy, Chelsea. If you want something different, if you want more from your marriage, you should take it. Whether it's with me or not, I just want you to be happy."
Chelsea's eyes searched his, finding a genuine concern that she hadn't seen in a long time from Terrence. She knew Joe was right, but the weight of expectations and the fear of losing what she had built was too much. She leaned her forehead against his, whispering, "If I pull the trigger, everything changes. Our families, our reputations, our lives."
"But if you don't," Joe countered, "are you just going to keep living like this?" His voice was soft, but the question hit hard. Chelsea felt a knot form in her stomach, acknowledging the truth in his words.
She looked up at him, her eyes filled with a mix of love, fear, and indecision. "I don't know what's going to happen," she admitted. "But I can't keep lying to them, Joe. And I can't keep lying to myself. I love you, but I'm terrified."
Joe kissed her gently. "I know, and I'm scared too. But we can't keep going on like this. We need to make a choice." He held her tightly, feeling her warmth, her heart racing against his chest. The silence between them was heavy, filled with the unspoken truth of what lay ahead.
The Dayton trip came and went, leaving Chelsea fluttering from room to room, preparing her home for her parents' first visit to Cincinnati. She was a tornado of emotions, trying to keep her thoughts from drifting back to Joe and the love they'd confessed in that hotel room. She knew she needed to keep up appearances, especially with her mother's keen eye for detail.
The doorbell chimed, pulling her out of her reverie, and she took a deep breath, pasting on a smile before opening the door. Her parents swept in, her mother's arms wide as she greeted her with a tight hug. "Look at you, living the dream," she said, her voice filled with pride. Chelsea's father nodded in approval, shaking Terrence's hand firmly.
The four of them sat down for dinner, the tension palpable as they made small talk. When the doorbell rang, Chelsea's heart skipped a beat. She excused herself, expecting it to be a delivery or a neighbor. To her shock, it was Gianna and Joe. The celebrity chef was holding a bottle of wine, her perfectly manicured hand outstretched. "I saw your parents flew in. Thought we'd pop by," she said, her smile bright and genuine. Chelsea managed to keep her cool, inviting them inside.
Joe's gaze lingered on Chelsea, a silent apology in his eyes. She knew he could feel the electricity between them, the secret they shared threatening to crackle into the open. Terrence was oblivious, chuckling at something Joe said about golf as they settled into the living room. Naturally, Gianna dazzled everyone with stories of her latest television appearances and culinary adventures. Chelsea's parents were delightfully entertained, nodding along and sharing their own tales with their daughter's neighbors.
As the evening progressed, Chelsea's mother stood, requesting her daughter join her in the kitchen for a brief moment. None the wiser, Chelsea followed, trying to play it cool despite the knowledge that Joe was likely watching her leave.
In the kitchen, her mother's eyes searched hers, a stern look replacing her earlier smile. "I hope you know what you're doing, Chelsea," she whispered, the clinking of glasses from the living room a stark contrast to the gravity of her words.
Chelsea's heart skipped a beat. "Momma? What are you talking about?" she replied, feigning ignorance as she reached for a glass of water to steady her nerves.
Her mother leaned in closer, her voice low. "I've never seen you look at a man like that before, not even Terrence, the man who's supposed to be your husband. What are you doing with that man, baby?"
Chelsea froze, attempting to collect herself before responding. "Momma, I don't know what you think you saw, but nothing is happening. He's just a neighbor." She took a sip of water, trying to ease the dryness in her mouth.
Her mother's gaze was unwavering. "Chelsea, I've been married to your father for thirty-five years. I know love when I see it and I know lust when I see it. And let me tell you, honey, you don't got either one of those for Terrence." She paused, giving her daughter a moment to absorb her words before continuing. "And compared to the way you look at Joseph, I don't think you ever have."
The room grew still, the air thick with accusation and truth. Chelsea felt the heat rising in her cheeks but she kept her composure. "Momma, you're reading too much into it," she replied, trying to lighten the mood with a forced smile. "Nothing to worry about."
Her mother's expression softened, but the knowing glint in her eye didn't fade. "Look, baby," she said, taking Chelsea's hand, "I'm not judging you. But I am your mother, and I know you. I want you to be happy. And if that means making some hard choices, then maybe it's time for you to consider what truly makes you happy. I know I have put a lot of pressure on you to find a good man, to marry well, and I'm sorry. I really am. But that doesn't mean you should settle for someone who doesn't take care of you."
Chelsea felt the weight of her mother's words, and she couldn't help but look over at Joe, who was chuckling at a story Gianna was telling. His eyes caught hers briefly, and she saw a hint of understanding in them, as if he knew what she was feeling. She turned back to her mother, unsure of what to say. "Momma, I'm okay. Really. Terrence is a good man. We're just going through a rough patch, that's all. Don't worry about me."
Her mother squeezed her hand gently. "Chelsea, I'm not worried about you. I'm worried about you wasting your life on a man who doesn't make you feel like the way you should." She took a deep breath. "Your father and I, we have our problems, but we always make sure to keep the spark alive. And let me tell you, the way you look at Joseph? That's a spark that could light up the whole damn neighborhood."
Her mother pulled her into a tight hug, whispering into her ear, "Just remember, baby, you deserve to be happy. And if that happiness isn't with Terrence, then maybe it's with someone else. I will always be proud of you, no matter what." With a knowing smile, she released her and returned to the dinner table. Chelsea felt a mix of relief and fear wash over her. It wasn't the first time her mother had hinted at her dissatisfaction with Terrence, but it was the first time she'd ever suggested that Chelsea's eye had wandered.
The evening ended with polite goodbyes and promises of future visits. As Joe and Gianna left, Joe gave Chelsea one last lingering look that sent shivers down her spine. Terrence, blissfully unaware of the tension, collapsed into bed, falling asleep almost instantly. But as Chelsea lay in bed, her thoughts were consumed by Joe's words and her mother's warning. Was she really just going through a phase, or had she found something real? And if so, was it worth risking everything for?
The following days were a blur of work, social engagements, and secret glances. Chelsea and Joe danced around each other, the air thick with unspoken desires and fears. They didn't dare to text or call, not with their spouses so close by, but the silence between them was deafening. It was during one particularly stressful workday that Chelsea decided she needed to get out of the office. She drove aimlessly, her mind racing until she found herself parked outside Joe's office building.
Her heart pounding, she waited until she saw him emerge, his tall frame cutting a stark contrast against the grey concrete. He looked surprised when he saw her, but there was something in his eyes that told her he'd been expecting this. They decided to grab a quick lunch at a nearby café, choosing a secluded booth in the back. The conversation was stilted at first, filled with awkward pauses and forced laughter, but eventually, the dam broke. They talked about their marriages, their dreams, their fears, and their longing for something more. Chelsea felt as though she was peeling back layers of herself she hadn't realized were there, revealing parts she'd kept hidden even from her own husband.
"I hired a divorce attorney," Joe announced, his voice low and serious. "I can't keep pretending anymore, Chelsea."
Her eyes widened, and she took a sip of her iced tea, the condensation on the glass slipping over her fingers. "Okay," she breathed out. "Okay."
They sat in silence for a moment, the weight of his words hanging in the air like a thick fog. Chelsea felt a rush of emotions—relief, excitement, fear, and guilt. She knew that she felt the same way, that she couldn't continue living a lie, but the prospect of the truth coming to light was terrifying. She took a deep breath and leaned in, her eyes finding Joe's.
"Look, I don't expect you to leave Terrence today, or even a month from now," Joe said, his gaze focused on hers. "But I want you to know that I'm serious about this. I haven't seen Gianna in weeks, and when I do, it's for appearances only. Even if we weren't doing this," he gestured between them, "I would've ended it because neither of us is happy and I know she's just waiting for me to take the first step."
Chelsea's stomach twisted into knots. The thought of leaving Terrence and the life she'd built with him was overwhelming. Yet, she felt a spark of hope that maybe, just maybe, she could have the love she craved with Joe. She nodded slowly, her eyes never leaving his. "I'll think about it," she murmured.
They finished their lunch in near silence, the conversation drifting back to work and the mundane. It was a strange dance of normalcy in the face of a revelation that could shatter their worlds. When the check came, Joe reached for it, his hand brushing hers. The electricity that passed between them was undeniable. As they stood to leave, Chelsea felt a strange mix of excitement and dread.
They both retreated back to their own offices as the day wound down. As Chelsea drove back home, every red light, every stop sign, felt like a countdown to a moment that would change everything. When she pulled into her driveway, the house was dark. Terrence was still at the hospital. She took a deep breath, trying to calm her racing thoughts.
Once inside, she poured herself a glass of wine and sat on the couch, the same couch where she and Joe had first given into temptation. She couldn’t deny the thrill that coursed through her at the memory. But she knew that if she acted on Joe’s confession, she would be crossing a line from which there was no returning. The weight of their shared secret grew heavier by the second.
Her phone buzzed with a text from Joe, "You okay?"
Chelsea took a sip of wine, the liquid doing little to soothe her nerves. She responded, "Yeah, just processing."
Joe's reply was almost instant, "We don't have to rush into anything. I just needed you to know where I stand."
The gravity of Joe's words sank in. Chelsea knew that once they made this move, there would be no going back. The walls of her marriage, which had felt so stifling, now felt like a cocoon protecting her from the inevitable storm that lay ahead. But as she sat there, feeling the warmth of the wine spread through her, she knew she didn't want to be protected anymore. She wanted the raw, unfiltered passion that Joe brought to her life.
The next night, Chelsea had resolved to break the news to Terrence. She waited for him to come home from a short day of consultations, her heart racing as she heard his footsteps through the front door. She took a deep breath as she opened the door, a bit miffed but not surprised when he completely brushed past her, heading for their drinks cart without so much as a hello. He was always like this after a day of dealing with patients and their families—distant, cold.
"Terrence, can we talk?" she called out, her voice echoing through their grand foyer. He didn’t respond immediately, taking his sweet time to fix himself a whiskey on the rocks before finally walking into the living room and reaching for the TV remote. Chelsea bit her lip, steeling herself for the conversation she’d been dreading. She’d picked out her words carefully, rehearsing the speech in her mind a hundred times. But now, with him so disconnected, it was harder than she thought.
He took a sip, his eyes never leaving the flickering screen. "What is it, Chelsea?"
Chelsea took a step closer to him, her heart hammering in her chest. "I have to tell you something. It's important."
"Yeah, okay," Terrence said distractedly, his gaze still glued to the TV.
Chelsea took a deep breath, feeling a knot tighten in her stomach. "Terrence, I've been thinking a lot about us."
He finally tore his eyes away from the TV, looking at her with a mix of irritation and curiosity. "Chelsea, what is it?" The words were choppy, as if he had to force them out.
"I'm having an affair with Joe," Chelsea blurted out, the words leaving her mouth before she could second-guess herself. Terrence froze, the glass of whiskey halfway to his lips. For a moment, the room was silent, the only sound the low volume from the TV. His eyes grew wide, and his grip on the glass tightened.
"What the fuck did you just say?" Terrence's voice was low, a warning growl. He set the drink down hard on the coffee table, the ice clinking against the glass.
Chelsea swallowed, her throat dry. "I've been seeing Joe. We've been having an affair."
Terrence's face contorted into a mask of rage and disbelief. He took a step towards her, his hands curling into fists at his sides. "You what? How could you do this to me?"
"I'm sorry, Terrence," Chelsea said, her voice trembling as she took a step back.
"You're sorry? That's all you have to say?" Terrence's voice was a thunderstorm, his eyes flashing with anger. He took another step closer to her, and she could almost feel the heat of his rage. "How long has this been going on?"
"It just happened," Chelsea lied, her voice shaking. "I'm filing for divorce."
Terrence's eyes narrowed. "Don't you dare do this to me, Chelsea." He stepped closer, his towering frame looming over her. "We had an agreement, a promise to each other and our families."
"I know, but I can't help how I feel," she replied, her voice barely above a whisper. "I'm not happy anymore, Terrence."
"You're not happy?" Terrence's voice was incredulous. "So you go fuck your married neighbor? Do you hear yourself?"
Chelsea flinched at the harshness of his words, but she stood her ground. "It's not just that, Terrence. We've been drifting apart for a while now. We're not the same people we were when we met in college."
"You think I don't know that?" Terrence snapped, his fists clenching and unclenching at his sides. "Does Gianna know that you fucked her husband?"
Chelsea felt a pang of guilt stab at her. "I don't know, Terrence. That's on Joe to tell her."
Terrence took another step towards her, his breath hot on her face. "You're unbelievable. You're going to ruin everything we've built together."
Chelsea's eyes filled with tears. "I know, but I can't keep living like this. I need more than just a good last name and a nice house."
Terrence's expression softened slightly, but the anger was still a palpable force between them. "What do you want from me, Chelsea? What could I possibly do to fix this?"
"It's not about fixing, Terrence," she said, her voice firm but filled with sadness. "It's about accepting that we're not right for each other anymore."
Terrence's eyes searched hers, looking for any hint of doubt or regret. Finding none, he sighed heavily. "I don't know what to say. I just... I don't get it."
"You don't have to," Chelsea replied, wiping away the tears that had begun to trickle down her cheeks. "I just need you to understand that I'm walking away. I don't expect you to be okay with it, but I need you to respect my decision."
The silence between them grew thick, each one of Terrence's breaths seemingly louder than the last. Finally, he spoke again, his voice quieter, more measured. "What now, Chelsea? What's your plan?"
She took a deep breath, steeling herself for the inevitable. "I'm going to file for divorce. I booked a room at Marriott Downtown for a few days. I need some space to think."
Terrence's face fell, his eyes glassy with unshed tears. "And Joe? What about him?"
"What about him?" Chelsea challenged, her voice laced with defensiveness. "He's going to leave Gianna. He loves me."
Terrence scoffed. "Love? You think this is love? You're throwing away our marriage for a quick fuck and a few moments of excitement? That's not love, Chelsea."
Chelsea's eyes flashed with anger. "You don't get to define love for me, Terrence. You don't get to tell me what I feel. Even if Joe doesn't leave Gianna, I need to find myself again. This isn't just about sex. It's about connection and what I need to be happy."
Terrence stepped back, his chest rising and falling rapidly. "I can't believe this is happening." He turned away from her, his hand rubbing at his forehead. "Go to the Marriott, whatever. Just do me a favor and break the news to our parents yourself. Tell them what the fuck you did, yeah?"
With that, he stormed out of the living room, slamming the bedroom door shut behind him. Chelsea stood there, trembling, her heart racing in her chest. She had never seen Terrence like this before—so raw, so broken. The reality of what she had done began to sink in, and she felt the weight of their crumbling marriage pressing down on her. She picked up her phone, staring at the screen, Joe's contact staring back at her but she couldn't bring herself to press the call button.
Instead, she turned and walked out the front door, the cool night air hitting her like a slap in the face. The quietness of the neighborhood was eerie, a stark contrast to the tumultuous storm brewing in her soul. She wandered the streets, her thoughts racing. Was this love? Was she being selfish? Would she regret this? But with each step, she felt a sense of relief, as if she were shedding a heavy burden she had been carrying for too long.
The drive was a blur of streetlights and the occasional passing car. She couldn't shake the feeling that she was driving away from everything she had ever known and into the unknown. Her mind was racing with the consequences of her actions, the potential for scandal, and the pain she knew she had caused Terrence. Yet, as she pulled into the Marriott parking lot, she felt a strange sense of liberation. For the first time in years, she was making a decision solely for herself.
In the hotel room, Chelsea took a deep breath and picked up the phone, her hand shaking. She dialed Joe's number, the anticipation building with each ring. When he finally answered, she could hear the tension in his voice. "Hey," she whispered, "I did it. Terrence knows."
There was a heavy pause on the other end, and then Joe exhaled. It was a deep, relieved sigh, one that told her everything she needed to know about his reaction. "Are you okay?" he asked, his voice gentle and concerned.
"Honestly, yeah," she replied truthfully, "I think I've been holding this in for so long that it feels like a weight has been lifted. What about you?"
Joe took a moment before speaking, "It was weird, she didn't fight with me. Just said 'okay' and asked me to leave," Despite the tension in his voice, Chelsea couldn't miss the hint of relief. "But it's the right thing to do, I know it is."
"What's going to happen now?" she asked, her heart racing.
"I could come see you?" Joe suggested tentatively, "We could talk about it in person."
Chelsea felt a warm rush of excitement at the thought. "Okay," she murmured, "I'll be waiting." She hung up the phone and paced the room, trying to calm her racing thoughts. When Joe finally arrived, the tension between them was palpable. He looked tired, his eyes carrying the weight of the day's revelations. His arms were warm, strong, and comforting as he pulled her into an embrace.
"I'm sorry," she said, her voice muffled against his chest. "I didn't mean for it to go down like that."
Joe held her tighter, his breath warm against her hair. "It's okay," he murmured, "This is on me too. We both knew this wasn't going to be easy." He led her to the bed, his hand never leaving hers, and they sat down. The silence stretched out, thick and heavy with unspoken words.
"I want you to know that I'm all in," Joe said, his voice firm but gentle, breaking the silence. "Whatever happens next, I'm here for you. Romantically or otherwise."
Chelsea looked up at him, her eyes searching his for any signs of doubt. All she found was a fierce determination that mirrored her own. "I'm all in too," she whispered, her heart swelling with emotion.
They lay down together, their bodies fitting perfectly. Chelsea felt a sense of peace that she hadn't felt in years. Joe kissed her forehead, her cheek, her neck, before capturing her lips in a gentle, yet urgent kiss. The kiss grew deeper, more passionate, as their bodies began to move in sync. They made love slowly, savoring each touch, each caress, as if it were the first and last time. Their moans filled the quiet hotel room, echoing off the walls in sweet surrender.
Afterwards, they lay entwined, the silence between them no longer filled with tension but a quiet understanding. "On the bright side," Chelsea spoke up, a small smile playing on her lips, "I don't mind taking you to a firm event. Terrence never gave me the chance to introduce him to my coworkers."
Joe chuckled, the sound rumbling through his chest. "I guess that'll be our first official appearance together, huh?" He stroked her arm lightly, his thumb tracing circles on her skin. "I can't wait to tell the world you're all mine. That you chose me over all the other eligible married men out there."
"Stupid," Chelsea muttered, narrowing her eyes as Joe laughed at his own joke. "But true," she conceded with a smile, snuggling closer to him. "I can't wait to kiss you in public. Without hiding."
Joe's eyes grew serious as he pulled her closer. "We'll do it right," he promised. "I'll introduce you to my colleagues, my friends, my family. And we'll tell them the truth—that we're together because we love each other, no more guilt, no more anxiety."
The warmth of Joe's embrace washed over Chelsea like a gentle summer rain, soothing her raw emotions. She nodded, feeling the weight of her decision settle into her bones. As they lay together, the silence was punctuated only by their synchronized breaths and the muffled sounds of the bustling city outside. The reality of their newfound freedom both thrilling and terrifying.
#&. cassie writes.#joe burrow#joe burrow fanfic#joe burrow imagine#joe burrow smut#joe burrow fic#joe burrow fan fic#joe burrow fluff#joe burrow angst#joe burrow x oc#joe burrow x black!oc#black!oc#black!fem!oc#black female oc
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Welcome to the Crew: Home for the Holidays
Hey everyone! Here is an indirect sequel to Welcome to the Crew to celebrate American Thanksgiving. Please reach out if you ever want to borrow any concepts to include in your own stories. Always happy to collaborate.
“They’re going to love you.” Sarah reassured, “Don’t worry.”
Jack nodded and smiled warmly at his girlfriend as they approached the front door to her parent’s home. The two college juniors had been dating for a little over a year now, and Jack was still madly in love. He never met a girl quite like Sarah. They had been friends since their first year of college, and their chemistry was instantaneous. She was everything he could want- smart, funny, adventurous, and absolutely stunning. He imagined he would ask her to marry him one day.
“I’m not, honestly.” He said, adjusting his collar, “I’m just happy I get to meet your family. They sound like incredible people.” Sarah smiled, “And I brought a secret weapon.” He said nodding to the Pyrex in his hand, “No one can resist my mom’s mashed potatoes.” He flashed her a confident grin- clearly proud of himself, “I mean, I’m not sure how good they’ll be. First time I ever made ‘em.” He laughed.
“You’re such a dork.” Sarah replied, rolling her eyes.
She knocked on the door and was greeted soon by her mother, who quickly pulled them into a firm hug.
“Oh Jack, we’re so happy to finally meet you!” She said, “My little Sarah wasn’t lying, you’re so handsome.”
Jack blushed as she continued to sing him praises. Sarah was right- he didn’t need to worry. Her mother already loved him. She beckoned them indoors and they followed her into the kitchen. Jack felt himself salivating at the smell of the cooking Thanksgiving meal.
“Oh you brought a dish?” Sarah’s mom said, “What a kind thing to do.”
“Yeah of course. What kind of guest would I be if I showed up empty handed?” Jack smiled, “Do you need any...”
The sound of boisterous cheering and a cacophony of ‘let’s go!’ and ‘fuck yeahs!’ filled the air. Sarah’s mom groaned in embarrassment.
“They sure love their football.” she said, shaking her head, “And don’t you worry dear, I think we’ll be okay in here. Sarah’s aunt has been helping me out plenty.” She turned to Sarah, “You might as well introduce him to the boys.”
“It’s just down the hallway.” Sarah said, beckoning her boyfriend to follow.
“Oh Jack, you’re such a sweet young man. My Sarah is so lucky.” She gave him another hug.
Jack followed Sarah down the hall, where the sound of boisterous cheers became more audible. The young man remembered that Sarah had two older brothers, both of whom worked with their dad in some construction job. He just hoped they’d be as accepting of him as her mother.
“Don’t let them scare you.” Sarah said as they opened the door to the man cave.
“Oh shit, its Sarah!”
Her two brothers jumped up from the couch, nearly spilling their beers. Their massive beer guts jiggling as they stood, barely contained by their too tight t-shirts. They pulled Sarah into a tight hug, and Jack was afraid that these massive men might snap her in two. But when their drunken eyes landed on Jack, their smiles faded.
“Who’s this little guy?” One asked.
“This is Jack, my boyfriend.” Sarah replied.
“Looks kinda small.”
“Oh leave the boy alone.” Sarah’s dad said, still sitting on the couch, sipping his beer, “You like football?”
“I watch it from time to time.” Jack replied. He could see her brothers roll their eyes.
“Take a seat. Game is just getting good.” He continued.
Jack turned to Sarah, who rolled her eyes but gave him a nod. The young man smiled slightly and made his way over to the couch, where he was squeezed between Sarah’s dad and her two brothers.
“Tony, Al be nice.” Sarah warned, “That goes for you too, dad.”
The older man let out a deep chuckle that caused his massive gut to shake. He looked over at her and smiled, taking a sip of his beer. Jack watched as Sarah left and shut the door, leaving him trapped in the man cave. The young man shifting uncomfortably between the larger men, the smell of their B.O. and beers invading his nostrils.
“So, you’re dating our sister?” Tony asked, “You treating her well?”
“Of course.” Jack replied, “I...”
“You’re a bit smaller than her last boyfriend.” Al butted in, “God, Colin’s fuckin’ hilarious, you remember that guy?”
“Of course I do. I still go fishing with him.” Tony replied.
“Best pong player ever.” Al laughed, “Could outdrink all of us too, which is not easy.”
“He’s a hard worker.” Sarah’s dad contributed, “Glad I hired him.”
Tony nudged Jack, “You much of a drinker?”
“Not really.” Jack replied, trying his best to ignore their comments about Colin.
In fact, Jack never even tried alcohol. He never saw the appeal and Sarah seemed overjoyed to hear that he didn’t drink too. Seemed like a win-win to him. As for Colin, Sarah told him all he needed to know. He was an asshole- loud, boisterous, and immature. Someone he figured her brothers and father would enjoy.
“Not really? Aw come on, little guy.” Tony said, “Pops, grab him a beer.”
Jack tried to politely decline, but Sarah’s dad fished a beer from the cooler and tossed it to him. He caught it and inspected it closely. It was brown- the color of a football. Some guy in old football gear was on the front. But instead of holding a football, there was a can of Gridiron brew in his hands.
“I think I’m good...”
“Drink it.” Her dad said firmly.
Jack didn’t want to make a bad impression. And if drinking some stupid beer would win them over, then so be it.
“Just a sip.” He thought.
He opened the can and placed it to his lips. He could feel the cold liquid fill his stomach as he drank it. The taste nothing special, if anything, it tasted cheap.
“Oh shit dude, he just chugged it!” Tony laughed, “Let’s go!”
“Did I really?” Jack mumbled, realizing the can was empty, “I burrrppppppppppp.” Jack’s eyes widened and his face flushed with embarrassment, “Ugh I burrrrrrrrrppppppppppppp.”
“Fuck, nice one dude.” Al patted him on the back.
“Yeah, let that shit out.” Tony continued.
But Jack’s eyes were wide with terror. He felt like his entire body was heating up, sweat starting to drip down his face. His mind racing- he drank beer before and never had a reaction like this.
“I think I might be allerg... burrrppppppppppp.”
He could hear Tony and Al’s laughter fill the air. Sarah’s dad continued to stare at the game ahead of him, seemingly unbothered. Jack was hyperventilating now. And despite knowing he shouldn’t, he undid the buttons on his shirt and threw it aside, desperately hoping to cool down.
“Yeah, take it off bro!”
The button down wasn’t enough and Jack peeled off his sweat-soaked undershirt, revealing his lean, firm musculature from years of swimming. He let out a gasp as he watched his taut abs vibrating and his stomach churning, his youthful skin glistening with sweat.
“Please, I need help...” He gasped, closing his eyes tightly as his stomach churned.
He placed a hand to his abs, but instead of their normal firmness, he felt his hand sink into soft flesh. His eyes shot open and he looked down at the pudge that now hid his abs. Feeling the new softness, he let out a gasp as his stomach pushed out again. And again. And again. The growing mass that was once his hard-earned six-pack hung over his waistline, jiggling with each small movement. Jack’s eyes were wide as he pushed against it, almost as if he was willing it to retract.
“Oh my god...” He grunted, realizing as he looked over at Sarah’s brothers that his gut matched theirs, “No, no, no buurrppppppp.”
This time, his lean pecs plumped up with fat, sagging and resting comfortably on his new gut. He winced as adipose rapidly expanded in his legs, arms, and ass- covering his lean musculature in a healthy padding of thick fat proportional to his midsection. Even his once angular and handsome face puffed up with chub, rounding out his previously strong jawline.
“Lookin’ good beanpole.” Al laughed, poking at Jack’s new gut.
“Not much of a beanpole anymore.” Tony replied.
Jack looked back and forth between them, tears stinging his eyes, “Please... please stop this... I’ll do anythaaahhhhhhh.”
Jack scratched desperately at his chest and belly as a rush of testosterone was ravaged his body. His well groomed, light chest hairs darkened and sprouted into a matted, sweaty, curly bush. His dick hairs were not spared as they sprouted into an untamed, musky mess that quickly ascended his entire belly and joined his chest hairs. Jack flung his head back as hairs sprouted from his now round face, forming a messy beard. The young man groaned again as his skin sagged a bit more with age, growing more leathery with each passing second. He placed a hand on his hairy abdomen as he breathed heavily. In and out. In and out. Slowly, Jack opened his eyes, the horror of his ordeal being painfully confirmed.
“What....”
He had so many questions, so many horrifying thoughts. But then he saw it. On the TV screen. He watched as one of the players expertly maneuvered around the defense. Running down the field. The announcers freaking out, growing more excited. And when that player scored a touchdown, Jack jumped up from his seat.
“Fuck yeah, bros! Did you just fuckin’ see that!?” His boisterous yell shook the house and he fist-bumped Tony and Al, “Now that’s what I’m fuckin’ talkin’ about!” He collapsed back onto the chair and grinned, “I did the same shit in high school when I played, ya know.” He continued, “Could’ve gone pro too if I wanted.”
Memories of track and college quickly shifted to fit Jack’s new reality. His eyes dulling as years of education vanished and his IQ dropped considerably. The previously well-mannered young man vanishing into a sea of burps, sports, and lost dreams.
“Sure big guy.” Tony said, sipping his beer.
“No for real, dude. I...” His brain paused as he tried to remember details of his life, “Whatever, you’ll just have to believe me.”
The door to the man cave suddenly swung open, revealing the women of the house. Sarah in particular looked livid, her face morphing into a look of horror as she gazed upon the unfamiliar man sitting between her brothers.
“Jack?” Her eyes widened as she gazed upon her boyfriend, “Oh my god, Jack? Is that you?”
“What’s up?” Jack chuckled, “Grab me a beer, would ya babe?”
“Dad, you didn’t!” She shouted, “This is just like Colin.” She stormed away, tears stinging her eyes.
“Geez what’s wrong with her? Women, am I right?” Jack let out another burp, and fist bumped his bros as he stood and grabbed another can of his new favorite brew.
Sarah’s mom and aunt quickly went to go comfort Sarah. Meanwhile, the boys continued shouting at the TV screen, their burps and cheers echoing through the house- Jack remaining blissfully oblivious to the life he once lived. And as the game wound down, Sarah’s dad turned to him.
“So boy, you want a job workin’ for me?”
Jack was more than happy to accept.
#male tf#male transformation#mental change#personality tf#jock tf#dumber tf#age progression#weight gain tf#forced transformation
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