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gurugirl · 8 months

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Next Door Neighbors

Summary: You just wanted peace and quiet and Harry just wanted to jam out in his garage for his birthday. So you decide to confront your new neighbor but things don't go as you planned.

A/N: Here it is! Sorry I didn't get it out earlier but it's here now! Enjoy this little 🎈 Harry Styles Happy Birthday Treat 🎈xoxo

Word Count: 7.8k

Warning: 18+ only, smut

It was the perfect house with the perfect backyard in the perfect neighborhood. You’d hit the jackpot. Your first big girl purchase. A house with a lovely garden, two bedrooms, a lovely little kitchen with the perfect rays of light that shone in through the big windows all morning. And the neighborhood was nice and quiet where you could enjoy your weekends in peace reading to your heart’s content.

It was a huge upgrade from the apartment life you endured for years while you saved up for just this thing. And you’d finally found it. Things seemed to be coming together for you in life finally.

On Friday after you got off work, Zoya called, asking if you wanted to go out with the girls but you politely declined, “I’m just gonna stay in I think. I hope you don’t mind. Maybe next weekend, Zo.”

You had a bottle of wine tucked under your arm as you held your cell phone to your ear on your way to the checkout lane at the little neighborhood market a few blocks from your house. Your new house. The one with your name on the mortgage.

Your plan was to drink a little wine in your cute new backyard and read a book, just taking in the peace of your new place.

You turned on the twinkle lights over your back porch (your dad had helped you put them up into the trees) and sat down in your outdoor lounge chair with a glass of wine and the book you’d been looking forward to reading. The sun had just gone down and you could hear crickets. A perfect Friday night, in your opinion.

That is until you were twenty pages into your book and suddenly the loud racket of what sounded like obnoxiously loud live music playing from next door had you closing your book and standing up to investigate.

The closer you got the more you could hear the unmistakable sound of a live band playing, the pop of a snare drum, the trill of a guitar... You looked over the wood fence into the driveway of your neighbor’s home and couldn’t see much but you saw lights on inside of the garage and the loud ruckus of a homemade instrumental band.

You didn’t want to be one of those neighbors. One of those awful people who complained about everything their neighbors did. But this was ridiculous. It seemed they had no regard for any of the people that lived around them.

Walking back to what was supposed to be your little oasis you sat down and grumped to yourself about how rude some people could be. You’d give them one hour until you went over there and told them in person to lower the noise.

You’d only been living in your little house for a few days and this was your first Friday night. You had really been looking forward to a peaceful night at home. Not even your second glass of wine could calm you down.

You didn’t know why you were so mad about it. In your apartment, you were bombarded with noise from all the neighbors who shared a wall with you and the loud heard of elephants that lived above you.

But this? It was meant to be your sanctuary. Your place of solitude.

But you’d had it. When an hour had passed and you paced around your backyard getting up the nerve to walk over there you huffed and psyched yourself up as you made your way into the front yard of your neighbor’s house and could see three men inside the wide open garage. A drummer pounding away, and two men standing – one with a guitar and another with a bass.

You stepped into the driveway and clutched your cardigan closer to your chest as you appeared at the threshold of the garage and the music abruptly stopped when the tall one with dark curls laid his eyes on you.

“Hi. You’re the new neighbor,” he raised his hand from the neck of the guitar he had slung over his shoulder and smiled.

You instantly no longer were raging with anger when you heard his voice and realized this was the man you’d seen briefly the morning before as he got into his car. You imagined he was attractive but not this attractive. Tattoos along one arm, thick curls, plush pink lips, dimples…

“Uh… yeah. I just moved in next door a few days ago.” You looked behind yourself and back toward the men before continuing, “I was hoping you guys could–“

Your voice was cut off by the clash of a symbol then the hit of a snare before the drummer tapped his sticks together, “We’re in the middle of something here in case you didn’t see.”

“Hey… chill. Don’t be rude man,” the curly-headed man with the guitar shot a look at the drummer before looking back at you, “What were you saying? Sorry.”

You shifted on your feet, “I was wondering if you guys could keep it down. It’s so loud and it’s all I can hear while I’m trying to read.”

The guy with the bass guitar spoke, “Oh come on, lady. We hardly ever get to do this.”

Your neighbor began removing his guitar, lifting the strap over his head as he looked at the other two, “Let’s call it a night guys. That’s enough.”

The other two began to grumble as they packed away their things and your neighbor stepped out of the garage in front of you with his hand held out to you, “I’m Harry.”

You smiled and placed your palm against his, “Y/n.”

The drummer came up beside Harry, “Today’s his birthday you know. The only thing he wanted today was to jam out for a bit.”

Your eyes widened as you looked at Harry, “Oh. I didn’t know. I’m sorry… you–“

“Don’t worry about it. We had a good hour. I’m beat anyway. Long week at work.”

The bassist gave Harry a side hug, “I’m gonna head home. See you later, okay? Happy birthday, dude.”

“Oh. I should leave. I’m really sorry again,” you waved as you began to back away.

But Harry stepped in toward you, “Stick around for a minute okay?”

The drummer followed suit, bidding Harry a happy birthday and then getting into his car to drive away as you stood awkwardly at the edge of the garage until it was just you and Harry.

“I’m sorry. I feel really bad that they left. And it’s your birthday too? I’ll… do you want a bottle of wine or something? Let me grab you a bottle as a gift and an apology…”

Harry grinned at you and shook his head, “Mind if I come with you? I’d love to see the inside of the house. Never got the chance to see it before. That can be your birthday gift to me.”

You noted the smirk on his face, his confident posture, and then you realized he had crystalline green eyes. Something in the way he was looking at you gave you those ridiculous butterflies in your tummy.

“Yeah. Of course, Harry.” You turned and he followed behind you as you led him into your backyard, closing the gate behind yourself.

“This is the backyard. I’m gonna put in some flowers over there,” you pointed, “And maybe do something with the porch at some point.”

Harry looked around the backyard briefly before he put his gaze back on you as you opened up your door to let him inside. You were sure you were insane to be letting your neighbor, whom you did not know, into our house with you alone at night, but you only live once, isn’t that what they say?

“Kitchen,” you gestured your hand and then moved through into the living room where Harry trailed behind you and looked around.

“It’s nice. I like how big the windows are. Always was jealous of how big they are compared to mine.”

You looked up at him and smiled, “It’s one of the reasons I bought the place. The window in the kitchen overlooking the backyard kind of sealed the deal for me. Lots of great light comes in for most of the day.”

“I bet it does,” he kept his eyes on you and your tummy was still fluttering about.

“Over here is the bedroom,” you flipped on the switch, “It’s got its own full bathroom. Tiny but I like it.” You turned to move down the hall and flipped on the switch to the hallway bathroom, “Another bathroom, here,” and then moved to the final door, pushing it open to an empty room, “And at some point, I’ll furnish this. It’ll be like an office, guest room sort of thing.”

You turned off the light and looked back at Harry who was standing right behind you.

“Thank you, for showing me around.”

You felt your face warm up as you looked at him. You liked how he said your name. Liked how his lips moved around his words when he spoke.

“Of course. Um… do you want any wine? I was a glass and a half into a bottle if you want to finish it with me?”

That was an easy yes from Harry. You brought your glass in from outside and pulled out a clean one for your neighbor before pouring a bit of the burgundy liquid inside for him.

“Happy birthday, Harry,” you held your glass out to him and he tapped the edge of his glass to yours, “Sorry that I ruined it, though. I kind of feel awful.”

Harry shook his head, “Don’t be sorry. Like I said, it was a long week at work and we had a good hour anyway. Plus this is nice. Getting to know my neighbor,” he took a sip of his wine.

“How old are you today?” You took a sip of your wine as you watched him.

“30,” he sighed, “Grown adult officially.” He smiled.

You laughed at his remark and nodded, “Yes, 30 marks the official entry into adulthood. That’s my belief as well.”

You really liked Harry. He was easy to talk to and you decided he made you feel very comfortable.

“So, you’re a musician?” You raised your brows.

He shook his head and chuckled, “Well, I like to sing and play instruments. I’m not really great or anything. Just a hobby. Used to be in a band in college but then I realized I had to get a real job and figure out how to pay my bills and get along in life.”

You leaned your bottom into your kitchen counter and smiled at him, “Oh yeah. I know all about that. Would be nice if we could make good money just doing our hobbies so we didn’t have to get real jobs,” you laughed, “What do you do for work?”

“I’m an electrical contractor. Have a small business with three employees. It’s hard work but it pays well. Most of the time.”

You smiled. He continued to get more attractive the more he talked and the more you learned. It didn’t hurt that you could tell he was in incredibly great shape as well. He was tall, his shoulders were broad and his shirt stretched tightly over the lats at his back and hung loosely where his waist was, indicating a nice healthy build and upper body strength. His arms were lean muscle and even his thighs filled out the tops of his jeans so you understood it wasn’t just his upper body that was well-muscled.

You heard Harry chuckle as you darted your eyes back up to his. You’d been caught checking him out. You hadn’t meant to let your eyes scrape down his frame but… well. Here you were.

“And what do you do, Y/n?”

Harry kept his sight on you as he sipped from his glass. His sultry gaze was doing things to your hormones and making your heart pump a little harder behind your ribcage.

“I’m the general manager at SpendCo,” you laughed and shrugged, “Not a fancy job but I like it. Good benefits. Was able to save up for this place,” you gestured your hand around the kitchen.

“My job’s not fancy either,” Harry laughed, “But yeah. It’s steady work. A good paycheck.”

You nodded. You could relate in some ways. You’d gone to school for business but wound up working your way up from the bottom at SpendCo. When you started you were making just over minimum wage as a cashier, but now you worked in the office, Monday through Friday (no more weekends for you) and had shift managers and employees working under you. It felt good to be the boss.

“Wanna sit in the living room? Couch is brand new. In fact, I’ve hardly even had the chance to sit in it myself.”

“Yeah. Let’s break that couch in, Y/n,” Harry grinned as he nudged you with his shoulder.

Oh?

You laughed at his comment but decided to not take it the way you imagined he meant. Of course, he obviously meant just sitting on it and breaking it in that way. Certainly, there were no innuendos behind his words.

You didn’t have a proper coffee table yet so you pulled an empty bin with a lid to the front of the couch, “We’ll use this to put our glasses on. Still not done decorating or buying things I need, as you can tell.”

Harry sat his glass down on the plastic lid of the bin and pointed at your stereo setup next to the TV, “Can I put on some music?”

“Yeah, sure,” you smiled as you took another sip of your wine and watched your handsome neighbor get up and turn on your stereo and speakers. He pulled his phone from his back pocket and searched for the Bluetooth to connect and a song began to play over your speakers.

“Like Chris Isaak?” Harry asked as he sat down on the couch, right next to you, his knee knocking into yours.

“Yeah… I think. I’ve heard this song before anyway,” you smiled as you looked down at your thighs.

Harry leaned his back into the cushion and you felt him shifting next to you, his arm propped up on the back of the seat behind you.

“So where did you live before you moved in here?”

You turned your head to look at him before placing your eyes safely on the plastic bin, “In an apartment over in Roger’s Park. Nice little neighborhood. But I hated living in an apartment. Lugging groceries up three flights of stairs every time I went shopping. I mean I got used to it but still…” you laughed.

“Oh yeah. I know what you mean. I used to live in an apartment too. Actually also in Roger’s Park… but that was like five years ago.”

You peeked at him with your brows raised, “Yeah? You lived in Roger’s Park too? What area?”

“Off Grand near the big bus terminal.”

“Wait. For real? At Sheraton Oaks?”

Harry furrowed his brows and squinted, “Yes. Shit. Is that where you lived?”

“It is. 3rd floor. Apartment 10.”

Harry turned his body toward you, his thigh flush against yours, “No fucking way, Y/n. I lived in apartment 10,” he pointed his thumb at himself with a wide surprised grin on his face.

You shook your head and looked at him in disbelief, “That’s wild. How funny that two people who used to live in the same apartment at different times became next-door neighbors. What are the chances?”

Harry laughed, “Seems quite unlikely in such a big city.”

You and Harry sat facing one another in amazement as a new song came on.

“You okay?” Harry’s pupils ran over your features and you saw him looking at your lips as he poked his tongue out to wet his own.

“Yeah. Why?”

Harry softly smiled as he lifted his hand to your face and you felt the pad of his thumb press into your cheek, “You’re biting the inside of your cheeks. Just wanted to make sure you weren’t nervous or something.”

You puffed out a laugh and shook your head, “No. I’m not nervous. Sometimes I chew on the inside of my cheeks. Bad habit.”

Harry nodded shallowly with his eyes on you but he didn’t respond. Instead, he reached for his glass and took a sip of wine.

“So… um…” you glanced at him and shot your eyes to his hand that held the stem of the glass. His hands were nice and big and you noticed he had his nails painted, alternating blue and yellow.

“So, um… What? What were you gonna say?”

You gulped and forced yourself to look into his eyes. He was so handsome and you were beginning to get hot all over. He was too close (not that that was a bad thing), his thigh was solid against yours, and his eyes were drawing something out of you. He was alluring.

“I don’t…” you shook your head, “Forgot what I was gonna say.”

Harry pulled his lips into his mouth, a muted grin on his face as you watched dimples carve into his cheeks. Like he knew what you were thinking.

“I like this sweater,” he gestured toward your cardigan and you looked down at it. It was knitted with a cat playing with a ball of yarn on the left side.

“My aunt bought it for me for Christmas last year,” you smiled and as you brought your eyes up you noticed he was wearing a necklace but you couldn’t see the whole thing as it was tucked under his t-shirt.

He pulled at a button on your cardigan and cocked his head as he looked at you, “Are you sure you’re okay, Y/n? Do you want me to leave?”

Your eyes widened, “Oh no. This is nice. I… I’m okay. Honestly.”

“Okay. You just seem a little frazzled. Want to make sure I’m not doing anything that’s making you uncomfortable.”

You shook your head, “No. You’re great. You haven’t done anything to make me uncomfortable.” You bit your bottom lip into your mouth and tried to give off an air of calm and confidence like Harry was but he was something else. He was so incredibly attractive and the eye contact was making you slowly melt. You couldn’t help but let your mind wander to what it would be like to kiss him.

He grinned, one side of his mouth pulling upward, “I see.”

You watched as he took a deep breath and placed his wine glass back down before looking back into your eyes, “So, um… can I ask you a personal question?”

You nodded, “Yeah. Sure.”

“Do you have a boyfriend or…?”

Your brows raised upward, “Oh. Uh, no. No boyfriend,” you put your hands into your lap and fiddled with your fingers, “And, uh… you? Significant other?”

A breathy laugh fell from his chest as he shook his head, “Nope.” He popped the p as he responded.

You nodded and looked down at the hand that he’d placed over his thigh. His pinky was pressed into your leg. You were sure he was giving you some kind of signal. All the signs were there. His body language, eye contact, asking you about a boyfriend, and the nearness of him… He was so close you could smell the soap he used.

“Mmm…” you racked your brain to think of anything to say, “How long have you lived here?”

He licked his lips again, “Five years. Moved out of Sheraton Oaks and then bought the house next door.”

You smiled, “So that means I moved in right after you moved out.”

Harry slowly moved his hand further toward your leg and you felt his pinky and ring finger press into your leggings before subtly bending his pinky finger out to rub the fabric under his digit, “Sounds like we have a lot in common.”

“Yeah. Guess so,” you gave him a weak smile and looked down at his hand.

“Am I overstepping?”

You shook your head and looked up at him.

“No? What about if I kissed you? Is that too much?”

Your breath caught in your lungs as you kept your eyes pinned to his and shook your head again.

“No, it’s not too much? Or no you don’t want me to kiss you?”

You swallowed and your heart bounced around in your chest so wildly you could almost hear it, “No, it’s not too much.”

The smile on Harry’s face was soft as he looked from your eyes to your mouth, “It’s okay then? You don’t mind the birthday boy stealing a kiss from his cute neighbor?”

That pulled a laugh from you just as he hoped it would, “I’d like that I think.”

Harry slid his free hand up to the side of your neck, his thumb at the base of your jaw close to your ear, “Last chance to say no.”

You laughed again and placed your palm over the top of his hand that had fully moved over your thigh, “Kiss me.”

The slow movement of his face toward yours, the nudge of his nose to your skin, hot puffs of breath spreading over your cheek, soft lips brushing against the edge of your mouth, before he finally pressed his smooth pink lips against yours was alchemic. Something about him, about the way he handled himself and spoke to you and devoured you with his eyes… But with his mouth against yours, his thumb softly rubbing at your jaw, and his hand moving to fit his fingers between yours as he kept it pressed over your thigh you felt electrified.

And he tasted like mint and smelled like soap and his lips were smooth and moist against yours. Your Friday night had already turned out far better than you imagined it would.

Yeah. Making out on your new couch in your new house with your new neighbor was way better.

You slid the palm of your free hand up his shoulder and to the nape of his neck as his own grip on the side of your neck and jaw tightened the slightest.

But your mind was on his mouth. The heat coming from his touch. The way his tongue slid through your lips to beckon them open…

Harry pulled at your hand and urged you toward his lap. Parting your legs you sat down over the spread of his thighs, settling yourself as close to him as possible.

He slid his hands up your thighs and you felt ravenous. It was as if sitting in his lap made it so much more real. He was moving things along and you were keeping pace.

You pressed your tongue against his and softly rocked your hips down. As your pelvis tilted against Harry, he moaned into your mouth and it was the hottest thing you’d ever heard.

“Fuck. You still good?” He parted from the kiss, keeping his nose bumped against yours.

You breathed out a yes as you nodded and when you lifted your face your lips brushed against his and it started all over again. Lips smothered over lips and tongues wetly dragging against tongues.

Harry’s hands inched up to your hips and you pressed your fingers into the back of his neck, feeling his pulse, steady and strong under your skin.

He lapped over your bottom lip before sucking it into his mouth and then dropped his cushiony lips down to your jaw, peppering damp kisses under the space of your chin and over your neck.

You loved having your neck kissed. Not just loved it… you craved it. The feel of a man’s breath and mouth and tongue and nose against your pulse point and the delicate skin that wrapped over blood pumping through your arteries had your skin tingling.

Another rock of your hips down and you felt the obvious swell of something growing under his jeans. He hissed and you backed away from his mouth, not knowing if his sharp inhale was from pain or if he liked the slide of the fabric over your crotch pressing against him.

When you looked at his eyes he was a different man. His pupils had widened and his plush pink lips were wet and parted, nostrils taking in air heavily as you felt his fingers dig into your hips.

“Did I hurt you?” You brought one of your hands toward his jaw feeling the light scruff along the bone under your knuckles.

He shook his head, “No. Not at all. But I do need to reposition.”

You looked down between your bodies and moved back on his thighs to give him space but before your brain could connect to your motions you were reaching down for his button to unpluck from the thick jean fabric. He gently lifted his hips as you unzipped his pants and then you looked at him as you pushed the bottom hem of his shirt upward over the band of his underwear.

“You wanna help?” He spoke breathily as you nodded and pulled the elastic away from his skin with one hand and used the other to reach under the fabric. It was sparse hair and skin and then and then denser hair and warmth until you felt him tucked awkwardly to the side against his pelvis.

The small coo that fell from your mouth was involuntary as you wrapped your hand around him. Hot and thick in your hand. He inhaled sharply again when he felt your palm on his cock as you helped guide him upright.

Your breath was unsteady and shallow as you kept your eyes on Harry’s, “God, Harry.”

“What?” His teasing smirk gave away that he knew what. He knew his cock was big and watching your reaction to that was pleasing.

You gulped and peeked down at it, your hand still holding the fabric away from his hips. A swollen, smooth ruddy colored tip that matched the pink of his lips. The length of which pushed out from the top of the band and sat perfectly in between two fern tattoos at his hips along the bare part of his skin.

“It’s…” you looked back up at him, “It’s nice.”

Harry breathed out a laugh, “Nice? Why thank you.” He grinned.

But then you felt his fingers slide under your t-shirt, pushing the fabric up slowly until his skin was pressed into your sides. It felt like he was urging you to remove your shirt so you did. Pulling your cardigan off first you let it fall to the floor at Harry’s feet before you peeled your t-shirt off.

Harry was surprised to see you weren’t wearing a bra. It had been easy enough to hide under the knitted sweater you figured, so you never put a bra on when you went to confront him earlier. And of course, you weren’t wearing one. It was meant to be a quiet Friday night in. There had been no need.

He pushed his hands up your sides until his fingers were wrapped around your ribs with his thumbs pressing into the soft plump underside of your tits.

You watched him take you in. Your nipples were straining and goosebumps littered your flesh as he ghosted his thumbs along the sensitive tissue.

It felt like so much. You had never done anything remotely sexual with someone you didn’t know. But Harry was hot and you were turned on. So much so that you could feel the dampness in your panties.

You reached back to his chest, pulling at his shirt. You wanted to see more. Wanted to know what he looked like underneath it all. You knew he was fit. And you were positive there were more tattoos hidden away under the material of his shirt.

With his eyes on yours, he moved his hands away from your breasts and pulled his shirt off, taking the back and bringing it over his head at the front. You got a glimpse of the necklace he wore. A white gold cross that slapped against his chest when it caught on the fabric of his shirt as he removed it.

You had been right. His body was defined and strong. Bulky muscular pecs and toned abs. Inked skin from his clavicle to the butterfly under his pectorals and down to the ferns, where his cock poked out of the top of his underwear.

Pressing your palms over his pecs you smoothed your hands down over his nipples and to the butterfly tattoo underneath.

Harry put his hands on your hips again while you admired his torso and you felt his fingers dip under the waistband of your dark-colored tights. Another signal. A question seeking approval for more.

Drawing your eyes up to his you put your hands over his fingers and pushed the material down with him.

Of course, sitting in his lap hindered too much movement but he understood your hint as he pushed you up by your hips and you found yourself being moved off of his lap to your back on the couch.

“Still good, Y/n?” He looked at you with those dark pupils, an air of respectful authority. He made your skin boil.

You nodded, “I’m good.”

Harry began to pull at the stretchy fabric, bringing it down your hips and over your thighs til your knees were free and then he lifted your legs so he could get the leggings off your feet.

When your pants were on the floor, he still had your legs held upward, one hand at the back of your ankles and you peered down at him indulging in the sight of your skin at the back of your thighs and down to your bottom covered in your panties.

You saw a grin on his face as he brought your legs down before he stood up and pulled his jeans off his legs.

His body was so strong and masculine. He could easily dominate you, the thought briefly crossed your mind as you watched the muscles in his arms flex, his abs clench, and the sinew on his powerful-looking thighs bulge as he steadied himself one leg at a time until his jeans were off and he was only clad in his underwear with dark inky designs on his skin and even on his thigh.

He kneed himself down onto the couch, hovering over you as you naturally spread your legs to allow him space between your thighs.

And the feel of his hard shaft pressing over your mound before his lips dropped down to yours once again had you dazed. It almost didn’t feel real.

“So fucking hot, Y/n…” he whispered against your lips, “Made me so hard.”

You gasped when he rocked himself down over you, fabric rubbing against fabric until your arousal had seeped through your panties and began wetting his underwear.

He moaned and parted from this kiss, “You’re all wet.” He slid himself upward and then back with a grin. “You like that?”

You nodded with a moan.

“Yeah? What else do you want, Y/n? Hm? Want to get rid of these panties?”

You moved your shaky hands down your hips and pushed at the fabric to bring them down. All you wanted was him. Your hormones were screaming at you and all you could think about was his big cock and how it would feel sliding inside of you.

Harry laughed at how enthusiastic you seemed and moved back to help you remove your panties, “Okay. We can get these off. Mind if I lose my underwear too?”

You sat up and reached for the band of his briefs as he began to push them down until he was completely bare before you.

His cock hung heavy outward, pointing toward you, like it was beckoning to be touched so you did, reaching for him and taking your palm from his tip to his base until your hand hit the dark thatch of hair and then pulled back up to his smooth head.

“I want it. Want to feel it, Harry.” You looked at him as you pumped him again.

He groaned as he watched your small hand move along his length.

“Do you have a condom?”

You swallowed and paused your motions. You definitely did not have a condom. Which was quite unfortunate because that could only mean sex was not going to happen unless he had one and was willing to go to his house to get it.

Shaking your head no you frowned.

Harry licked his lips and trailed his eyes over your tits and down your tummy, “S’okay. Plenty of other ways to have fun.”

You whined as you looked down at your hand. You had really wanted to feel that big thing wrecking your insides.

Harry took your chin and tilted your face to look up at him, “What’s wrong?”

You inhaled and let go of his pretty dick, “I wanted to feel you so bad.”

He pressed his mouth against yours, soft reassuring kisses had your heart strumming in your chest.

“Well I would hate to disappoint you,” he grinned, “Want to go to mine? I’ve got condoms. We’ll just have to put some clothes back on.”

You nodded and pushed yourself up, quickly pulling your cardigan on and slipping your leggings back up your legs.

Harry liked how desperate you seemed. That was quite the ego boost. He put his shirt back on and pulled his jeans up but left the zipper down as he clutched the fabric to keep it up.

“Guess that’s good enough for breaking your couch in, yeah?”

You laughed and nodded, “Was a good first use for it I think.”

Harry laughed as he took your hand and you two made your way out your front door to his, hurrying over grass under bare feet and small chuckles until you were in the safety and privacy of his living room. He kept your hand in his until he got to his bedroom where he pulled his shirt off and you followed suit, ridding yourself of the annoying clothing you’d had to put back on.

But you knew it was going to be worth it.

Harry dug into his bedside table for a condom and laid it on top of the wood before looking back at you, “You still want this?”

You nodded and climbed onto his bed. The tunnel vision you had was keeping your mind from wandering too far off course as you watched Harry stroke his cock, long pulls up and down to his base as he crawled after you onto his bed.

You easily opened up your legs for him to fit his hips between and felt his warm cock slipping through your folds, rubbing against your clit.

“So slippery, Y/n.” You knew you were as he drove himself over your labia, smoothing his cock against your arousal back and forth.

A shaky moan fell from your throat and Harry grinned as he smeared his lips against your mouth.

He worked himself up and down, wetting the outside of his cock and his tip as he inched through your pussylips smoothly.

You loved his mouth. Loved how he kissed you. It was raw and felt like he gave a damn. Felt like he was enjoying your mouth just as much as you enjoyed his.

Finally, he pushed himself back and reached for his condom looking at you, “Do want anything else first? Or do just want my cock?”

You looked down at his hard dick with your arousal spread all over him and it was all you wanted.

“I want your cock,” your words were breathy as you looked up into his eyes.

“Yeah? A greedy little thing aren’t you?” Harry began to pull the condom over his shaft, pinching the tip as he dragged the rubber down as far as it would reach before settling himself back against your hips, pushing your thighs back slightly, “So desperate for it,” he nudged his cock down against your pussy and then slid it up to your clit teasingly, “Couldn’t wait to have me inside you. Insisted on it even,” he grinned as he tormented you with his wide girth slipping back and forth against your cunt.

You tilted your hips up and groaned, trying to get him to push inside but he continued his taunting movements, “Now, now… so impatient. I’ll give you what you want soon enough sweetheart. But today’s my birthday so I get to control the pace. Don’t want you getting all bossy with me.”

You moaned and slid your hands over his shoulders as you rolled your hips upward again, kissing his slit with your entrance but this time he placed a hand over your thigh and held you in place, “Is it that bad, Y/n?”

You nodded, “Please, Harry.”

“Mmm… love a well-mannered lady. You gonna be good for me?”

You sighed and you would have rolled your eyes if you weren’t so horny, so out of your mind desperate, “I’m gonna be good. Please.”

“Yeah? Cause once I slide inside of you there’s no turning back.”

You gripped his shoulders tight and groaned, “Please.”

The feel of his warm, heavy cock smeared against your clit was almost too much. In fact, you could probably come from that alone if given enough time.

“So sweet for me, Y/n,” Harry took the thigh he’d been holding down and brought your leg over his low back, smoothing his hand over your skin as he positioned himself at your entrance.

The moment you felt him pressing his bulbous head through your slick muscle you dropped your mouth open and moaned but then his mouth caught yours and the noises you were making became muffled as he moved his lips against your mouth.

You knew he was going to split you in half. The slow glide of his cock inside your warm walls was intense. Inch by inch he pushed in as his lips were wrapped around yours.

Holding onto his lats you lifted your hips against his as he slid back and then buried himself into the hilt. You gasped into his mouth at the ache of him nudging into your guts and then pulling back to his tip only to slide himself back in. Working you open slowly, he continued to drive into your cunt with gushy wet noises coming from your pussy as he stretched you open.

You appreciated him plunging in slowly and easing you into fitting around his cock properly. You liked the warmup but more than that, you needed him to destroy your pussy.

When he felt you bucking upward into him he parted his mouth from yours and sat back with his knees bent. You saw him watching the space where he was connected with your cunt as he continued rolling into you.

His abs were flexing as he steadied himself in and out. You gasped when he began to fuck into you a little faster, his cock sliding through your walls and bumping into all the slick bits on your insides.

A gurgled moan fell from your lips as he smacked his hips into yours. The patting of his balls against your ass came out in wet thuds. Your tits bounced with every long stroke into your tummy and he was panting as he let his eyes scan over your body and up to your pretty face.

“Taking me so well, Y/n. Making me leak into my condom already, pussy’s so good.”

You both moaned as he drove into you, his mattress under you giving way to the force of his thrusts.

“Feels so good, Harry…” you panted.

“Yeah?” He bucked inward and ground against you, swiveling his hips and you gasped at the deep press into your cervix.

His fingers were pinching into your thighs as he stuffed himself in and you gripped his forearms for leverage and lifted your neck to watch as his cock disappeared into your body over and over again.

His shaft was coated with your shiny arousal as he slid in and out, your pussy gripping around his skin perfectly.

Harry’s moans were growing louder as he continued fucking into you wetly, hips slamming against yours making his balls strike into your ass.

His thighs were flexing as he rocked against you while your body was shivering and feeling the bliss of getting an itch scratched that you’d been needing.

You felt his right hand release your thigh and then watched him press his thumb over your slippery clit.

You let out a pathetic cry of relief when he smoothed the pad of his digit in circles on your bud, “Yes! Oh god!”

Harry coughed out a moan as he watched your face twist up, “That feel good, Y/n?”

You focused your sight on his eyes and nodded, “Yes…”

The grin on his face could have been akin to something cocky but your brain was mush as you let him wreck you with deep strokes into your tummy, wet and sloppy, dripping arousal down your ass.

The springs in his mattress were bouncing in time with his thrusts and the wooden frame on his bed creaked when he jerked his hips forward into you.

“Just like that, huh? Pussy needed fucked, yeah?” Harry’s words were coming out tight and shaky. You could hear it in his voice how good it felt for him too.

He pressed down and moved his thumb deliciously over your puffy clit as his cock punched into your organs and tissue making you throw your head back and close your eyes arching your back upward.

Harry loved the sight; your sloppy wet pussy spreading apart for his cock as you arched your back like the sexy thing you were, soft tits swaying every time he buried himself in balls deep, lips parted, neck long and stretched out as you breathily moaned his name, “Hh… Harry…”

He could watch you like this all night. Stretches of skin covered in goosebumps as if you were cold, hard nipples at the center of your wobbly squeezable tits, soft tummy clenching, and wet pussy ruined and clenching around him.

The way he was smushing and circling his thumb over your clit had your head fuzzy and your heart racing. But then he leaned over you and pressed his other hand over your low tummy as he fucked into you, pushing against your insides and making the space he was invading with his cock feel tighter as he slid upward and nudged into your guts.

“Gahhh…” you let out a gasped moan when his hand pressed into your stomach.

“Does that feel good, Y/n?” Harry’s eyes were on yours as he drove himself into you.

You nodded and scrunched your brows upward when your insides began to twist with your pussy stretching around him indulgently.

Your legs began to quiver from the strain of your muscles as you felt your orgasm nearing. Everything he was doing to you set your body alight. You reached for his strong biceps and dug your fingers in tight gasping at the depth of him.

“Be good for me, honey… there you go,” he spoke through clenched teeth, holding back his release, “Right there, huh? Feels good like that?”

You whimpered with a nod as you pinned your eyes to his. The expression on his face was lusty and filled with need as he dipped into you, pasting his hips against yours now, only fucking inward, pressing solidly against your insides.

You cried out when you felt the small burst and snap of your orgasm and he quickly moved his hands from your tummy and clit, leaning his hips against yours before pressing his palms into the mattress on either side of your shoulders and angling his body so he could pound into you and fuck you through your orgasm. The way his pelvis smushed against your clit, hips grinding against you as he pulled back and then forced his way through your opening to bury himself deep inside sent you over the edge.

You clung to his shoulders as you spasmed around his fat cock, slipping deep inside of you with a wet squelch as he reared back to his tip before rutting into the hilt.

Your vision and hearing grew muted as you came so you couldn’t hear him clearly when he babbled off nonsense, “Shit! Squeezing the fuck out of me, honey! Oh my god, that feels good. So fucking hot. Gonna make me come so hard…”

Harry’s hips struck against you repeatedly until his balls constricted and tightened and then he was pumping into his condom, his muscles stiffening with his hips pressed into yours, mashing your body into the mattress underneath you.

He choked out a moan as his cock spurted his release, throbbing and twitching inside of you as you panted at how hard he’d come. The front of his thighs were pressed into the back of yours, holding you down with his hips as he drained every drop of his come into his condom.

Then it was silent. The sound of sex and moaning was quieted and the bed was no longer creaking and thumping.

Harry pressed his chest against your tits and you felt his plushy lips on yours again and you sighed against his mouth. Slowly your ears stopped ringing and you smoothed your hands up his strong back.

He pushed his face into your neck and his warm breath dampened your skin, “Happy fucking birthday to me,” he laughed.

You grinned with a tiny giggle and opened your eyes before running your fingers into his thick curls.

When he’d pushed himself up to look down at you, you couldn’t get over how adorably handsome your neighbor was. He was sexy as hell and yet so cute at the same time.

“You all right?” His raspy voice was quiet as he searched your face and brought a hand up to your temple, his thumb drawing over your skin.

The grin on your face should have told him as much as you nodded, “Very much all right.” You puffed out a laugh.

He laughed with you and smiled widely, dimples appearing in his cheeks, “Well, welcome to the neighborhood, Y/n.”

Raising a hand up to his jaw you nodded, a cheeky grin still stretched over your mouth, “And happy birthday to you, Harry.”

Part 2

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#harry styles #harry styles smut #harry styles x reader #harry styles imagine #harry styles fan fic #harry styles fic #harry styles fanfic #harry styles fiction #harry styles one shot #firstpost #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles writing #harry styles x you #harry styles x yn #harry styles fluff #harry styles x y/n #harrystyles #harry #harry smut

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knockoffheart · 2 months

Text

marketing manager for Victoria Neuman

warnings: smut, reader has female genitalia & is referred to as a girl, oral & fingering (r receiving), power imbalance — just incase (boss x employee), semi-public (almost caught but not really), Vic uses powers (reader is not aware), panty raid (aka Vic keeps your underwear), NO BODILY HARM, 18+ also.. i only kind of proof read this, schwoopsie.

You’ve been working for Victoria since the start of the campaign. She’s always been good with the public, her work with the FBSA ensured that — but a little more media outreach never hurt anyone. Your affair with the vice-president elect started only a few weeks ago. A few too many late nights with a few too many glasses of wine spurred on this new ‘relationship’. You aren’t sure what to call it, you’d like to think it’s more than sex, this type of relationship doesn’t easily lend itself to something more.

You’re first to arrive to the building, you click on the lights and make your way to your office. You open your laptop and look through your calendar, Victoria has claimed a considerable chunk of your morning for a meeting. You raise an eyebrow at this newly formed block in your schedule, your meetings normally take thirty minutes. You click through emails trying to see if you missed something from earlier. Your scouring leads you nowhere. You tap your nails against the desk impatiently. A knock at the door makes your head shoot up.

Victoria is leaned against the door frame, smiling. You tuck your hair behind your ear and smile back at her.

“I know I’m early, that okay?” Neuman asks, shutting the door behind her.

“Of course, Vic!”

She’s never been this early to a meeting before. You stare longingly at her perfectly painted lips, before snapping back up to her eyes. You catch a mischievous look on her face and unintentionally tilt your head.

Victoria has always been able to read you like an open book. It’s one of the many things she loves about you. She spends all day dealing with snobs who lie right through their teeth, coming back to you is like a breath of fresh air. She doesn’t think you could lie to her if you tried.

“You’ll have to forgive me for mixing business and pleasure,” Victoria saunters next to you and rests her hand against your cheek and you melt in her palm. She hums, “I just can’t get enough of you.”

She lends you a few seconds of sweetness before spinning your chair towards her. You place your hands on her waist and stare up at her. Neuman laughs at your blown out pupils and pets your hair. She loves the effect she has on you.

“You’d do anything for me, huh?” she teases. You nod and smile up at her. Victoria smirks and pushes you back into your desk chair. “Then, let me do this for you.”

She crouches down in front of you and pushes up your skirt, you gasp and reflexively grab her hands.

“V-Vic! Somebody’s gonna’ see…” you huff shakily and try to steady yourself in your chair. She rolls her eyes and positions herself under your desk, you don’t object as she slides your underwear off.

“Nobody will notice,” she kisses your thigh, “Besides, I’ve basically blocked out your whole day.”

She presses her mouth between your thighs. Her big brown eyes stare up at you as she tongues circles against your clit. You squeeze your eyes shut and run your fingers through her hair. She pulls her mouth away with a soft ‘pop’ and clicks her tongue.

“I didn’t say you could stop working did I?” she chides.

“Vi…” You raise your brows and stare down at her.

The look she gives you lets you know she’s serious. You let out a breathy sigh and remove your hands from her hair, placing them at your computer. Instantly, she’s back to toying with you.

She teases you at a fervent pace. You’re only able to open a tab before you drop your head down against your desk. Your thighs tremble together and you feel her force them apart. She spreads you open and laps up and down your cunt. You throw your head back and stare down at her, she leans away and the sight of her makes you whimper. What remains of her lipstick is smeared, her eyes are glossy and hungry, and there is a trail of wetness from her chin to your cunt.

Victoria lets out a breathy noise of satisfaction when she sees your face. She rubs messily at your clit. You choke back an exasperated cry and press your hand against your mouth. You whimper out a few pleas for gentleness as you squirm under her touch. She fakes a pout that instantly widens into a grin as she goes back to tonguing your core. You lean forward and try to focus on work, scared she might stop. You push back your hair and glare at your screen. Knock, Knock, Knock. A soft tapping at your door snaps you into reality, you try to wriggle out of Victoria’s grasp but she holds you down.

Your coworker, Hughie Campbell, enters.

“Hey! Got you a tea,” he places a to-go cup next to your computer, “Green, right?”.

“H-Hey! Yeah..” You shakily reach for the tea and take a swig.

“You seen Neuman around?” He stares back into the office, and holds up a small paper baggie, “Got her a breakfast sandwich thing—“

“Nope!” you blurt out, resting your head in your hand. It takes all your strength to maintain composure and force a smile.

“Weird. She’s normally like the first one her-“

“Hah- HA. Hahaha.” You play your moan off as a laugh and grit your teeth. “So unlike her! Crazy… Traffic probably..”

Your composure starts to fall apart, Victoria’s pace doesn’t slow. She sucks hard at your clit and starts to curl a finger inside of you.

Before Hughie speaks his next sentence, a small bit of blood dribbles out of his nose.

“Ah shit, great.” He grabs a napkin from the table and presses it to his nose, “If you see Neuman, give her the sandwich for me? Thanks!” He hurries out and shuts the door.

Victoria pumps in another finger and moans into your clit. She sucks and slides her tongue sloppily against you. Neuman’s neat, calculated demeanor disappears when she’s with you like this — she craves you, carnally.

“V-Vicky…” you cry and grip the arm rests on your chair. She pulls away with a pant and stares up at you.

“Go on, baby.” She bites her lip, “You’ve been such a good girl for me.”

She places her mouth back on your clit and quickens her pace. With that, you start to unravel. Your brows furrow and you feel your whole body trembling as you let go. You swear you black out and when you come to Victoria is placing kisses along your thighs. She pulls your skirt back down and slinks out from under your desk.

“Think I’ll keep these for now,” she dangles your panties in front of your face before tucking them in her pocket. Your face turns beet red, but you don’t protest.

She hands you your tea and sits on top of your desk, crossing her legs. She wipes her mouth with the back of her hand and takes a bite of the breakfast sandwich.

“This is the second best tasting thing I’ve had all morning.” She laughs and glances at your screen. All you managed to do was type ‘The’. She lets out an even bigger laugh and you smack her leg. “You’ve got to learn how to multitask.”

You sip your tea and roll your eyes, “Let’s see how great you are at it…” You tease.

“Oh, I’d love to.” She stands and kisses the top of your head before heading out, reapplying her lipstick in the hall’s mirror. She pokes her head back in to your room, “Check your schedule.”

You click open your calendar and see a new meeting.

Neuman’s Office, 1 on 1 Marketing Meeting @ 11am

| NEXT

authors note: woa!! thank you for reading & all the support!! — part 2 in the works!

[tip jar]

#victoria neuman smut #victoria neuman #the boys smut #the boys fanfic #wlw fic #wlw smut #victoria neuman x reader #victoria neuman x you #neuman #the boys victoria neuman #smut #fanfic

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livwritesstuff · 3 months

Text

for @steddie-week day 5 | exes to lovers

fully and completely inspired by @emchant3d's divorced dad's post [x] from a few weeks ago bc i did not once stop thinking abt it

tags: modern day, artist!eddie, finance guy!steve, steddie as rich gay divorcees, sort of an accidental parent trap situation

They were too young, Steve thinks in retrospect – married at twenty-three, their daughter born when they were twenty-five, and then divorced before his twenty-seventh birthday.

He gets to think retrospectively because in a few years it’ll be a full decade since the papers for that last bit got signed. Now, Steve is thirty-four and sweating his ass off in a red polo and crisp jeans, the stiflingly hot July sun beating down on him as he scans the perimeter of a crowded playground for a familiar head of curly brown hair – not his nine-year-old. He found Rosalind already, wreaking havoc on the jungle gym. No, he’s looking for his ex (-husband, technically, but Steve usually stops at ex; the -husband part just makes him sad these days).

It’s custody swap day, which is either his favorite or least favorite day of the week depending on who the swap is favoring.

Today it’s favoring him which is why he’s slowly making his way around the edge of a playground in Bushwick, keeping an eye out for his ex, Eddie.

“Steve,” he hears from somewhere behind him. Steve turns towards the sound and sees not that curly head of hair he’d expected. Eddie’s hair is completely buzzed (which, for the record, was not the case last week when Steve dropped Rozzy off with him) and he’s wearing a paint-splattered white t-shirt tucked into old jeans and all that combined is making it reeeally hard for Steve to pretend he’s not crushing hard on the guy he divorced eight years ago.

“Dude,” Steve started, eyeing Eddie’s hair (or lack thereof) as he made his way to the section of fence that Eddie was occupying, “What–”

“Yeah, yeah,” Eddie rolled his eyes, “Rozzy already hit me with all the good zingers so you’re too late.”

“No, I don’t –” Steve stopped, “It’s…not a bad look, just…you know. Why the change?”

Eddie looked away.

“Long story,” he replied as Steve remembered (yet again) that he doesn’t get full access to Eddie’s world the way he used to.

Luckily for Steve, Rozzy runs up to them and spares him from having to figure out a response for that.

“We should get pizza,” she says. Steve’s eyebrows fly up.

“We should get pizza?” he repeats.

“Please,” she adds, her eyes shining, “At Dad’s? And we play Mario Kart? Dad said I’m getting good at 200!”

“He said that?” Steve asked, and he glances over Rosalind's head to see that Eddie is making a so-so gesture with his hand.

He’s never been all that good at saying no to his daughter (or anyone), so it doesn’t take much more convincing on Rozzy’s part for the three of them to head off in the direction of Eddie’s loft, with a pitstop planned for the pizza shop down the block.

They actually have a nice time.

It’s true that Rozzy is getting better at 200cc – good might be a bit generous, but Steve’s fine with that (he doesn’t know if his ego could handle getting crushed by a fourth-grader).

Just as they’re finishing their second grand prix (the Star Cup, because Rozzy likes the dolphin race), one of the other kids in the building knocks on the door and invites Rozzy over for a sleepover, which Steve agrees to because he remembers the illicit kind of joy in a summertime Monday night sleepover.

Eddie doesn't show Steve the door after Rozzy's gone. Rather, he pulls a bottle of wine from the fridge – an expensive Sémillon he says was given to him by a client.

“So the art biz is still going well, I assume,” Steve comments as Eddie pulls two vintage wine glasses out of a cabinet and pours them each a healthy serving.

Conversation about work manages to sustain them through the first few glasses (Eddie actually remembered that it’s been just over a year since Steve left his dad’s Fortune 1000 for a CFO position at a marketing company that had just graduated from small to midsize status). They work through the second quarter of the bottle talking about Rozzy, and the third vanishes even quicker while Steve spills some of the latest Harrington family drama.

While Eddie is updating him on how Wayne is doing, Steve finds that he isn’t really listening, distracted in the way he can’t help but notice how Eddie’s paint-stained t-shirt is actually more like an undershirt, and a size too small for him, the torso and sleeves tight around lean muscle, and there’s a thin silver chain around his neck and a scruff of facial hair around his jaw, and –

Steve doesn’t immediately realize when Eddie stopped talking. When he does, when his eyes finally unstick themselves from the buzzcut and drop back down to Eddie’s, he sees that Eddie is staring at him too.

Eddie’s tongue darts out to wet his lip.

“Ask me again why I buzzed my hair,” he tells him.

“Why’d you buzz your hair,” Steve asks, because he’s obedient like that (and because he really does want to know).

“Steve–” Eddie stops, a giggly, wine-induced hiccup of a laugh slipping out before he shakes his head, “An entire can of paint tipped ov–” He cuts himself off with another half-hysterical laugh, barely managing to say, “Spilled on my head,” before he was completely doubled over, and Steve is laughing too because he can totally picture it and because he had a bit more wine than he planned to and this is honestly the first time that he and Eddie have hung out without their daughter in…Steve doesn’t even know how long.

“Steve,” Eddie says again when they finally both recover, and his tone is completely different this time around and there’s a vulnerability in his eyes that wasn’t there before and something is happening, something is happening, “Please don’t kill me for saying this, but…fuck, it’s really kinda pathetic how badly I still want it to be you and me.”

Steve thinks he tries to respond, but then he was too busy kissing Eddie to do anything else, too busy scraping fingernails over Eddie’s scalp, too busy choking back a moan as Eddie sucks his bottom lip into his mouth, too busy tugging Eddie’s shirt out of his waistband to shove a hand up underneath and finding that he’s built more solidly than Steve remembers from the last time they touched like this, but something is telling him that’s true about Eddie – true about himself too – in more ways than one.

And if Rosalind comes home the next morning ready to ask how she’s getting back to Daddy’s house only to find that he’s already there, stealing Dad’s mug out of his hand for a sip of coffee when his own is right there…that’s a conversation for another day.

part 2

#i have SO MANY Feelings about this #steddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #steddie week 2024 #literally incapable of writing them as anything other than girl-dads srry

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rafecameronssl4t · 2 months

Text

What is French for priceless? || Rafe Cameron x fem!reader

GIF by @baocean

Summary: Canon fic based on s3 ep 1 :)

Warnings: swearing, rafe being a dick but what's new lol

Word count: 1,640

MASTERLIST

divider by @h-aewo

Watching from the balcony, you watch the sleek car come to a halt in the driveway, its polished exterior gleaming under the afternoon sun. Rafe had mentioned earlier in the week that he was expecting someone from overseas to look at the cross. "To make a deal," he had said, a glint of excitement in his eyes.

You turn on your heel, only to come face to face with Rafe. His tall, imposing figure blocks your path, his piercing blue eyes scanning your face. "You good?" he questions, his voice low and laced with concern. His eyes search yours as you stare at him with an expression he can't quite decipher. Your brows are furrowed, lips pressed into a thin line.

"Fine," you reply in a monotone voice, unable to mask the skepticism you feel. The tension between you is palpable. You are wary of Rafe's dealings, especially the idea of bringing someone he barely knows to the house to inspect the cross.

Rafe's eyes narrow slightly as he gauges your reaction. "It's going to be okay," he says, attempting to reassure you. "These people are professionals. They know what they're doing." But his words do little to quell your unease.

You remember the stories you've heard about deals gone wrong, about the dangers of dealing with high-value artifacts in the market. Rafe, with his charismatic but unpredictable nature, often walks a fine line between legitimate business and dangerous ventures.

As you stand there, the man and woman approach the front door, their footsteps echoing on the stone pathway. You glance back at them, then return your gaze to Rafe, who is now watching you intently, as if waiting for you to voice your concerns. "I just hope you know what you're doing," you say softly, your voice tinged with worry. "This seems too risky, Rafe."

He places a reassuring hand on your shoulder, giving it a gentle squeeze. "Trust me," he says, a confident smile playing on his lips. "I've got this." You nod reluctantly, but the nagging doubt remains. As the front door opens to admit the visitors, you can't shake the feeling that this deal, like so many others before it, could lead to trouble.

"Again, thank you both for coming. I know it was a long way to travel. But I think what we have is..." Rafe trails off beside you, his voice filled with an enthusiasm that you find hard to match. You watch his profile as he glances at you, seeking your approval or at least some acknowledgment. "Is pretty worthwhile." He smiles charmingly, but you respond with a quiet sigh, unable to shake your apprehension.

"Yes, well, Michel is the most prominent antiquities dealer in the West Indies," the woman begins, her voice smooth and practiced. She is dressed in a sharp business suit, her demeanor exuding professionalism. You cut her off abruptly, your skepticism boiling over.

"How come I've never heard of him then?" you interrupt, your tone sharp. Rafe whips his head toward you, his eyes narrowing into a hard gaze. The tension between you is palpable, but you ignore him, focusing on the woman.

The woman pauses, looking between the two of you with a slight frown before Rafe intervenes. "I'm so sorry, my girlfriend is a bit tired. Still jet-lagged from our travels," he says, chuckling awkwardly. He places his hand on top of yours, a gesture meant to soothe, but it only makes you roll your eyes. The woman nods with understanding before continuing. "Unfortunately, he only speaks French."

"No English," Michel chuckles, a warm, almost apologetic smile on his face. He is a middle-aged man with round glasses and an air of authority. You turn your attention outside, feeling bored and restless.

"Yeah," Rafe chuckles, trying to lighten the mood. "What is French for priceless?" His attempt at humor falls flat as you turn your head back at his words, your expression unamused. You observe the three in front of you, feeling like an outsider in this high-stakes game.

When the cross is unveiled, Michel's reaction is immediate and visceral. His eyes widen, and his breath catches as he stares at the artifact, almost awestruck. You watch closely as he steps closer to the gold cross, his fingers twitching with the desire to touch it. His translator, looks on in amazement.

Michel says something in French, his voice filled with reverence. The translator turns to Rafe. "May he touch it?" she asks. Rafe smiles, clearly pleased with the reaction. "Knock yourself out, Michel." As Michel feels the intricate design under his fingertips, Rafe looks to you for some sort of approval. You only glare at him, still skeptical and unimpressed.

"He wants to know where you found it," the translator says. Rafe shrugs, shaking his head dismissively. "Don't worry about it. We got it. That's all he needs to know. It's here. It's for sale. So, who can we get to buy it?"

Michel takes off his glasses, his face serious as he speaks. The translator translates his words with care. "For a piece of this value, there are very limited buyers. An institution, a museum." Rafe nods along, understanding the implications, but he looks deflated.

"But, he has a client in Barbados who will be interested," the translator continues. You tilt your head at her words, alarm bells ringing in your mind. "Rafe," you say firmly, trying to get his attention. "This is already risky enough."

He, of course, ignores your protests, his focus entirely on Michel. The anticipation in the room is thick, almost suffocating. "This client will have lots of questions. He'll want to meet with you in person," the translator says. At these words, you can no longer contain your frustration.

You stand up abruptly, the chair scraping loudly against the floor. "Jesus fucking Christ," you mutter under your breath, casting one last look at Rafe before storming out of the room.

"Y/n, I don't have time for this, okay?" Rafe says in a dismissive tone, his impatience evident. "I gotta get to Bridgetown, I'm taking the boat." From the first floor, you watch as he places a black duffle bag on the ground with a sense of urgency.

"Come on, Rafe. You don't even know this guy," you reason with him, your voice edged with concern. Rafe removes his sunglasses, glancing at Michel's business card with a nonchalant air. "You can't just go out and try to make a deal, Rafe. That's so risky!" Your eyebrows furrow in disbelief as he leans against the railing, looking down at you with a smirk.

"I can't?" he retorts in a mocking tone, a sarcastic smile playing on his lips. "I know you think you know what you're doing," you call out as he walks back into your shared room, his presence filling the space with tension. "But there are people out there that know your dad is alive—no! Not just people, Pogues." You correct yourself, taking a sip of your drink, the frustration evident in your voice.

"Pogues, Pogues," Rafe mumbles dismissively as he packs a suitcase with determined efficiency. "Listen, they can't prove it, alright? They don't know where we are," he shrugs, walking back into the room again as you rub your forehead, already feeling a headache coming on.

"Your sister does!" you yell, the desperation in your voice growing. Rafe emerges from the room, his expression hardening. "Oh, Sarah does!" he calls out, a hint of mockery in his tone. "Listen, Sarah's not going to do anything, baby. She's too afraid, and if the Pogues show up, I'm just gonna handle it," he says in a calm tone, but his words do little to reassure you. You narrow your eyes at him, the anger bubbling up inside you.

"Oh, you'll handle it?" you retort, crossing your arms defiantly. "When have you ever handled anything for us, for your family? Huh?" Your voice grows louder with frustration. "Rafe, everything you touch turns to—"

Your words are cut off by the sudden sound of Rafe's hand slapping the wooden railing. "Hey! Hey!" he shouts, his eyes flashing with anger. You stare at him, shock evident on your face, as he takes a moment to calm himself down.

"Listen," he says, his voice now calmer but still laced with intensity, "I'm gonna sell the cross that I found, okay? That I saved, and when Dad wakes up—" You roll your eyes, shaking your head in disbelief as you take another sip of your drink. "-okay," you mutter quietly, barely listening.

"—he's gonna see that I took care of it. Not my fucking girlfriend," he says in a belittling tone, his words cutting deep. You scoff, maintaining a calm composure despite the sting of his words. "Sure, Rafe. Sure."

"So, why don't you go have yourself another Tom Collins?" he shrugs, pushing himself off the railing with an air of finality. "While I go make us all a shit ton of money, okay?" He speaks slowly, his words dripping with condescension.

Your grip tightens on your glass, the frustration boiling over. Without thinking, you hurl the glass toward him, but it hits just below where he was standing, shattering on the wall. Rafe looks down at the broken glass, a smug smile on his face. "You missed."

Your breath quickens, each exhale laden with a mix of anger and hurt. “Get. Fucked. Rafe,” you seethe through gritted teeth, your voice a dangerous whisper. Without waiting for a response, you turn on your heel and stride away, leaving him standing there with that infuriatingly smug expression. “Love you too, babe!” he calls out sarcastically, his voice dripping with mockery.

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occamstfs · 5 months

Text

No Need to Apply

Here is my 1K special! Though admittedly it is nothing much out of the ordinary- Thanks to everyone who submitted prompts but especially the anonymous suggestion that spurred this transformation of a desperate twink into a cocky slob! -Occam

Brock really needed a lucky break. He had been staying with his ex since they ended it, but now that he’s sleeping with someone it’s clear that Brock needs to get his own place. Unfortunately the market is not being quite so accommodating to his urgent needs. Given that he is now to be living alone it’s evident he also needs the place on the cheap. He had been denied all reasonable accommodations that he could afford and was beginning to contemplate moving back in with his parents when he suddenly received an email from an apparent realtor he’d never met.

It was an invitation to an open house at some ritzy downtown apartment that he was sure was out of his price range. Rather than just tossing it to his spam folder though, he finds himself looking at the handful of images with a voracity, whether it’s simple curiosity or a fantasy to have such clearly luxurious housing Brock reads through the whole listing. Reaching the end of the invitation and looking at the specs he finds the rent impossibly labeled as just under half his monthly paycheck.

Nearly spitting up coffee all over himself in shock, Brock’s eyes flutter to find exactly when and where this open house was. Surely the demand for this place would box him out but god wouldn’t it be nice to just check it out and dream. He sends an RSVP and far too quickly the realtor, Lucas, thanks him for his prompt response, wishes him well, and signs off saying see you soon. Brock went about the rest of his day as normal, if not a little cheerier than he’s been for some time as he keeps finding his mind drift to that almost-too-perfect apartment’s view over the city.

Fortunately off from work the next day, Brock took the bus to the open house, stopping by his favorite cafe that just so happens to be nearby. He grabs a drink and finds himself preoccupied with thoughts of what a convenience, what a windfall, this break would be. He heads inside and takes the elevator up to the suite and hesitates before entering at the door. Odd that there is no one else here, he double checks the room and floor and puts his ear to the door to see if perhaps other visitors are inside already.

In his untrained attempt to eavesdrop he puts his weight squarely against the door, pushing it open and stumbling in, nearly spilling his coffee over the pristine floors as he crosses the threshold into the apartment. Light streams in through the blinds, only magnifying the manicured state of the spotless room around him. The floor is clean enough to see his reflection, mouth agape, staring at how impossibly clean the apartment is. The only record at all that the place had ever been lived in is the furniture that had clearly been procured by someone of great means, though one lacking any critical eye or desire for design. He sees framed posters of some real red flag movies near a large TV and some sports trophies lined on a shelf. Brock can’t help but wonder what could cause someone to leave such personal artifacts behind and feels a chill in the air.

He wanders away from the entrance to stand at the large windows, his phone ringing as he takes in the view of his town. Answering without checking the ID he hears a man’s voice he doesn’t recognize. Though he knows this must be the mystery realtor on the line, “How do you like the place Brock?” he begins to reply before being cut off by Lucas, “Have you seen the view yet, it’s quite something else.”

Brock feels something flicker through his mind as he gazes at the city blocks around him, below him. His eyes briefly catch on his reflection in the glass, though not long enough to see his eyelids droop slightly as he is able to reply, a tad slower than he usually likes to project, “uhh, yeah I know right, how could I not apply to live here? It’s almost too good to be true right?” There is another chill in the air and his body shivers before tensing up, shocking him back to reality and awareness to something strange afoot, “Excuse me actually, I’m so sorry, how did you get my phone number?”

Lucas clicks his tongue and speaks with an almost sickly sweet tone, “Now Brock come now, what can I do to get you to move in today?” Shaking his head in shock Brock is immediately, regardless of the clear sinister air to this man, he really cannot afford to pass up this chance. He clams up as he clambors to express interest, “No I uh! Of course I want the place, just send the lease over so I can read through it.” There is a real weight to Lucas’ words as Brock hears them, the cloying tone impressing itself on his mind, “Wonderful! That is all I needed to hear!”

It is suddenly dark in the apartment, but wasn’t he looking out the window? He can’t tell if his eyes are open or closed but he cannot see. Brock tries to move his head around to see, to feel anything, he strains his mind reaching for any muscle to flex, any tendon to pull, limbs to controt. He loses track of time and reality as he sits in the darkness, trying to grasp anything beyond his own consciousness, unable to affect anything. He feels his right hand move in a familiar way then he feels a warmth, almost a burning, completely engulfs it. He can almost see the shine of a smile, stark perfectly lined teeth that seem eerily inhuman and suddenly there is once more light. He gasps, coughs, and spits up over himself. Immediately grateful that he can feel anything at all. After feeling his body, and seeing the world almost entirely like it was before he lost consciousness, besides a copy of some contract with his name signed at the bottom.

He takes deep breaths feeling his lungs stretch and he starts to read whatever he has gotten himself into in that stupor. He reads the first few lines before he loses where he was on the page. Going again he finds his eyes suddenly dry, doing an uncharacteristically heavy blink that he can’t quite recall ever doing before and as he wonders this he again forgets his work on the contract. He slams his hand on the thigh in a rare show of aggression and gives it one last go. Brock makes even less progress this time as he is almost immediately overcome by a headache. As soon as he looks away from the sheet though, it disappears.

Brock groans as he feels himself starting to lose control of his senses before he hears his stomach grumble, and he finds a purpose he can immediately resolve. He starts to the fridge, clearly something has happened, an episode or something, he can figure it out later, he just needs food in his stomach now. He doesn’t stop to realize that there should be no food in the fridge since no one’s been living there. Though he finds there is no need as in the fridge, under a note labeled: “To Help Moving In -Lucas,” Brock sees at least a week of prepped meals. The thought that this is bizarre beyond imagination, as well as the concern at his missing time, is immediately pushed from his mind as his stomach rumbles once more, his mouth watering as he sees his soon-to-be dinner.

Brock swiftly heats it up and begins to scarf it down, throwing something on the paying no mind or care to the thought that he’s using the account of whomever the previous tenant was. He quickly scans through seeing a handful of shows and movies that he wasn’t quite interested in before stumbling on a reality show he was watching with his Ex. He grimaces and almost loses his appetite as he thinks about his boyfriend for the first time in what feels like forever. He sets his meal down on the coffee table and crashes down onto the couch. He continues to stew in ire at his ex, palming his crotch as his feelings become more passionate. He rolls his eyes in irritation at himself and that jerk, he’s not going to masturbate to that asshole.

He reclines in the couch and hears the sound of paper shifting in the cushions, pulling it out he finds a crusted magazine lodged in the couch. What can he do besides shout “what the fuck” and toss it across the room. How could they have possibly missed that in their cleaning? Brock’s eyes shift across the room suspiciously, though he notices nothing amiss as the room is illuminated by only the television. He looks at his hand that grabbed the porn and blushes, wanting to joke about the absurdity to calm himself down. Though his body makes its priorities known once more as his cock pulses and he looks past to see the magazine once more. He did want to masturbate to anyone besides his ex right?

He shuffles to pick it up, the discomfort and anxiety from handling something covered in a total strangers cum only heightens his pleasure as he sits back down. He grimaces as he sees this is a real hetero-bullshit magazine, he quickly flips through to find something he can work with. His cock keeps demanding his attention as he flips through, almost impatiently pulsing as if to suggest he doesn’t need the magazine at all, just give it your attention. Though soon enough he finds an ad for some protein powder made to emasculate the reader into buying, that almost immediately helps him lose control.

Soon after he once more fades from consciousness, his cum joining the plethora of other stains in the magazine as he tosses it behind the couch. He finds himself in a darkness that this time feels almost familiar and pleasurable. He once more feels his hand, this time though it is wet and warm. He feels it scratching in briefs that are too tight, through pubes that are too thick. He hears snoring breaking through the silence of his sleep, but that can’t be right? He would know if he snores, surely that fucker of a boyfriend would have complained. He feels his head grow warm as if he’s got a fever, though he knows it is a rage. He feels his hand feel even tighter in his briefs as his cock begins to grow in them. He continues to think of every slight his ex made, every shortcoming he was made needlessly aware of, and of how much better things are going to be now.

The heat shifts from his mind through his whole body and as light begins to break through the windows. That is not what wakes him up though, rather it is the heavy scent coming from his now sweat stained clothes. He rolls off the couch onto his face, quickly removing his hand from his briefs to catch himself, landing the stinking hand too close to his face to not smell just how loud his underwear smells. He feels his clothes sit weird on his body as he starts to rise, while his shirt just feels like it’s hanging weird, surely from the sweat, it is impossible to not see how strained his underwear is. He groans as he feels them pull strangely before he just discards them and makes his way to the bathroom.

His eyes immediately latch onto his now exposed crotch, he does a double take as he notices that it seems distinctly larger. He also would have sworn that he shaved his pubes far more recently than it seems. He scratches through them, blushing as he sees dried cum flake off curls that are longer and thicker than he ever remembers them begin. Rather than hoping in the shower like any reasonable person would do he instead tosses on some boxers, not questioning why clothing that isn’t his would just be lying out, or why he would ever put them on. Instead choosing to focus on how right wearing them feels. He pulls them tight and turns wanting to see just how his ass and bulge fill them out, though is waylaid as his shirt blocks the view.

He sneers as he takes off the sweat-stained shirt and tosses it to the floor, stretching high as his reeking body feels the air on his skin. He smiles in shock as he sees the body he has now exposed, he sees hair spreading across his stomach and torso and sweat dripping off of pits that were sure to stain every shirt he is to wear from now on. Beyond that he feels a body that is indisputably powerful, where there wasn’t even fat on his body before there was now muscle accompanied with weight in all the right places. His eyes then trail down to see the weightiest part of him by far as it bulges even lower in his boxers.

He feels an urge to move, to flex, to stretch, fill him as he hungrily takes in every new change in his body. His eyes trace their way past muscles contorting to land on his face, seeing a jaw that could certainly do with a shave. He sees his eager grin begin to turn into a cocky sneer as he begins to stretch once more, trying to will his torso even longer, trying to force his body even taller. His voice grows even deeper to his barely-aware ears as he closes his eyes to stretch, not seeing his throat force itself thicker and longer. There is once again a flicker in his mind as Brock is in darkness once more. Where there was once discomfort and fear there is now only hunger and an eagerness to grow even more.

He feels an itch burn across his body. He feels his hands dig deep into his pits scratching as hair grows thick enough to hold an odor that would never dissipate. He smells as even in this dreamstate he raises his hands to his nose to give them a post-scratch whiff. He feels the same itch cry out from his chest and pubes, from his lower back and his ass. He feels himself move his jaw as it squares up, a rumble in his throat as he feels his groans grow even deeper. He feels his mind thicken and slow as his muscles flex in his sleep. His arms do rep after unconscious rep as he feels biceps that should not be rub against a chest that has never been there before.

Finally he wakes one last time, his hand as it apparently always is, shoved in his pants, once more barely fitting despite wearing the spacier boxers. Brock blearily looks to see lines of takeout containers covering his coffee table. He scratches his beard using the hand from his crotch and he deeply inhales, two birds one stone after all. He sets out to get started with his day, tossing over in his head if he should masterbate again or not, a stain from a wet dream clearly showing through his boxers. Instead he throws Drake on his speakers and starts getting an early workout in, seeing to every part of his body getting a pump as he feels the hunger in his crotch grow only more urgent.

Going about this workout Brock feels totally at home in this apartment. After all he’s lived here for? Uh? His mind empties as he looks around and sees weeks of piled up detritus and filth. He sees dirty clothes and cum stains on his couch. Looking past them there are his American Psycho and Fight Club posters, discarded underwear hanging off the latter, as well as the trophies he distinctly remembers winning back in college wrestling. He smirks and flexes tilting his head to sniff his pit. Beyond feeling at home in his apartment he also feels unequivocally at home in this, in his body, duh. He jumps to his feet with ease, his stomach rumbling as he once more goes to meet a basal need.

Throwing some of his favorite protein powder in a blender with some milk and eggs he hears his phone go off. There are a string of messages from some bitch asking him to come back and for the life in him Brock can’t remember who that little fucker is? Hearing his shake finish blending he stares at the profile picture of whoever this twink is as he starts to down it, wiping his lips on his sweaty arm as needed. The twink he doesn’t know calls him Brock and his eye twitches, ugh. Why is this dude calling him by his, uh? Is that his middle name? Or no he was Brock right?

He finishes the shake, tossing the blender onto the pile of dishes in the sink and his mind finds itself deeply conflicted. As ever though, his body is more than happy to assuage him, the phone vibrates once more and his cock begins to bring him clarity, demanding his attention once more. Brock’s a little bitch name. He smirks as he looks around at his sty of an apartment, not remembering how neat it once was. Peeking from under a particularly dirty dish there’s a contract that he remembers that he meant to have a look at.

Bringing it to his face however he simply can’t find the motivation to even start. Why worry about this when he can masturbate, or fuck maybe he can get that whiny bitch to come over? His eyes trail to the end of the paper and see his signature, written clear as day “Adam.” He guffaws at this, god how stupid can you be, he basically forgot his own name after that twink called him uh, whatever that bitch name was. He feels his crotch grow tight again, that is kinda hot though? He moans to himself, pawing at his crotch and texts whoever this man is his address and to come ready to fuck. Adam feels no real attachment to whoever it is, nor should he, a hole is a hole after all. Saying that thought he can’t help but feel this hole is due to be taught a lesson.

If you enjoyed this I also recommend @fredwkong's The Voice in Your Head which explores a similar idea in quite a unique and captivating way!

#male tf #mental change #masculinization #muscle tf #jockification #reality change #musk tf

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lee-laurent · 22 days

Text

Crushin' - Quinn Hughes

Summary: Quinn's crush on Brock's sister starts to cause some issues

wc: 7.8k

content: fluff, angst, kissing, grinding, mentions of sex but no smut, friends with benefits

notes: hi! i'm like working through writers' block rn. so... here is this i guess

Emma Boeser, known to those close to her as Emmy, had always been fiercely independent. Growing up as Brock's younger sister meant that she was no stranger to the world of professional hockey, but she had long ago sworn off any romantic involvement with hockey players. The glitz and glamour that others saw were just distractions to her--hockey players were trouble, and she had learned that the hard way. Now, she focused on her career, determined to make a name for herself that wasn't tied to her brother and his achievements.

Emma had secured a role in the Canucks' PR and marketing department, a job that she actually enjoyed going to. She was good at it too--organizing press events, managing the team's public image, and navigating the chaos of media day with ease. Her colleagues respected her, and the players knew she was off-limits, a professional boundary she had enforced since day one (one that her brother was glad to back up).

Quinn Hughes, on the other hand, was everything a star defenceman could be--talented, dedicated, and just the right amount of cocky. He had quickly made himself a name in the NHL, and his focus had always been on the game. Off the ice, Quinn was reserved, not one to seek out the spotlight unless it was absolutely necessary. But there was one person who managed to catch his eye every time, no matter how hard he tried to stay focused on his career--Emma.

Quinn had noticed Emma from the moment she started working with the team. She was striking, not just because of her looks, but because of the way she carried herself. There was something about her confidence and no-nonsense attitude that drew him in, even if he couldn't quite figure out why. They'd had only a few friendly interactions, but Emma always kept things strictly professional.

It was after a team gala that their relationship shifted. Emma had been working late, ensuring everything ran smoothly. Quinn had stayed behind, nursing a drink as the event wound down. He noticed Emma, finally off the clock and enjoying a rare moment to herself. She looked relaxed, maybe a little tired, but still as composed as ever.

"Long night?" Quinn asked, leaning against the bar beside her.

Emma glanced at him, a small smirk tugging at her lips. "You could say that. But it's part of the job."

He nodded, studying her face. She was always so put together, always in control. "You did a great job tonight. Everything went off without a hitch."

"Thanks," Emma replied, raising her glass slightly. "But I'm sure you're not hanging around just to compliment the event planning."

Quinn chuckled, appreciating her directness. "Maybe not. I guess I was hoping to get to know you a bit more... off the clock."

Emma arched an eyebrow. "Off the clock?"

"Yeah," he said, meeting her gaze with a confidence he wasn't sure he really felt. "No work. Just us."

She considered him for a moment before downing the rest of her drink. "Alright, Hughes. But let's keep this simple. No strings, no drama. Just... fun."

He agreed without hesitation, not realizing at the time how much more complicated things would become.

Emma wasn't one to complicate things, especially when it came to her personal life. Her rule was simple: no dating hockey players. The lifestyle, the endless travel, the pressure--they were all things she wanted no part of. But when it came to Quinn, that line had blurred.

What started as a one-time thing after a team event quickly turned into a series of late-night encounters. It was easy, convenient, and, most importantly, private. Emma liked the control it gave her--she could have what she wanted without risking her independence or her brother's wrath. And Quinn? He played along, meeting her in the middle of the night, leaving before dawn, and never asking for more.

Their relationship was built on stolen moments. Sometimes it was at his apartment, other times hers, but always with the same unspoken agreement: no one could know. Emma was strict about that, even more so than Quinn. The idea of Brock finding out was enough to make her heart race--not from excitement, but from pure dread. She knew her brother would lose it if he found out she was hooking up with one his teammates, especially Quinn, who was practically family to him.

For Quinn, those nights with Emma were a mix of heaven and hell. Being with her, touching her, was everything he wanted. But every time she slipped out of his bed, leaving him alone in the dark, it tore at him. He wanted more--he wanted her in his life in a way that went beyond just the physical. But he also knew that pushing for more could mean losing her altogether, and that was a risk he wasn't sure he could take.

At work, Emma was the epitome of professionalism. She was efficient, focused, and kept a cool distance from the players, especially Quinn. In meetings, she barely looked his way, addressing him with the same detached tone she used with everyone else. It was as if the Quinn who whispered her name in the dark didn't exist during daylight hours.

Quinn noticed, of course. He noticed everything about Emma. The way she would set her jaw when she was stressed, the little lines that formed between her brows when she was deep in thought. He noticed how she avoided his gaze during team meetings, how she never lingered when passing by him in the halls. It was like she had put up a wall between them, and no matter how hard he tried, he couldn't break through.

It was frustrating, especially when Quinn would catch a glimpse of the Emma he knew--the one who laughed at his jokes and leaned into his touch when they were alone. But at work, she was distant, almost cold, and it gnawed at him. He found himself wanting to bridge the gap, to make her see that they didn't have to keep pretending.

One afternoon, after a long practice session, Quinn saw his chance. Emma was standing by the rink, talking to one of the other staff members. She was dressed in her usual work attire, her hair pulled back into a neat ponytail, and her expression serious as she discussed logistics for an upcoming event.

Quinn approached her, waiting until the other person had walked away before speaking. "Emmy, do you have a minute?"

Emma glanced at him, her eyes narrowing slightly as if to warn him to keep things professional. "What is it, Hughes?" she asked, her tone brisk.

He resisted the urge to sigh. "I just wanted to go over some of the plans for the charity event next week. Thought we could grab a coffee and talk it through."

She hesitated, glancing around to make sure no one was watching. "I'm pretty swamped right now," she said, already turning to look at the iPad in her hands. "But I'll email you the details later."

"Come on, Emmy," Quinn pressed, lowering his voice so only she could hear. "It's just coffee."

Emma shot him a look that was both annoyed and pleading. "We can't, Quinn. Not here."

The way she said his name sent a shiver down his spine, but it also made his chest tighten with frustration. "It doesn't have to be like this," he said quietly. "We don't have to pretend."

She shook her head, tucking the iPad under her arm. "Yes, we do. I told you, this is how it has to be. We agreed."

"Yeah, well, maybe I'm not okay with that anymore."

Emma froze, her eyes searching his face for a moment before she looked away. "Quinn, please. Not here."

The vulnerability in her voice was new, something she rarely let slip. It softened Quinn's resolve, but only just. He nodded, stepping back to give her space. "Alright," he forced a smile. "I'll see you later, then."

Emma didn't reply, turning back to her work as if the conversation had never happened. But the tension lingered, heavy in the air between them.

As the weeks passed, Quinn found it harder to ignore the growing feelings inside him. He was falling for Emma, and he knew it. It wasn't just about the physical connection anymore, though that was still a big part of it. It was about the way she challenged him, the way she made him laugh, and the way she kept him on his toes. She was different from anyone he'd ever been with, and he couldn't shake the feeling that she was exactly what he'd been looking for.

But the more he tried to let her in, the more she pulled away. Emma was stubborn, and Quinn was beginning to realize just how deep her fears ran. She had been hurt before--by a hockey player, no less--and she wasn't about to let that happen again. No matter how much she cared for Quinn, she couldn't bring herself to break her rule.

Quinn found himself torn between respecting her boundaries and wanting to push past them. Every time they were together, he tried to show her how much he cared, how much he wanted more than just sex. He'd hold her a little longer, kiss her a little softer, hoping she'd see that he wasn't like the others. But Emma was like a fortress, and no matter how hard he tried, he couldn't find a way in.

One night, after a particularly grueling game, Quinn found himself lying awake in his bed, his mind racing. Emma had been distant lately, more so than usual, and it was driving him fucking crazy. He missed her, missed the way things used to be before his feelings got in the way. He knew he should be grateful for what they had, but he couldn't shake the feeling that he was slowly losing her.

He picked up his phone, scrolling through their old messages. Most of them were short, simple texts about when and where to meet. But buried between the lines was a connection that went beyond just physical need. Quinn could see it, even if Emma refused to admit it.

Without thinking, he typed out a message: Can we talk?

He hesitated before hitting send, his thumb hovering over the screen. Part of him was terrified of what she might say, of hearing the words he didn't want to hear. But he couldn't keep going this like, stuck in a limbo with no idea where they stood.

Finally, he pressed send and waited. The minutes ticked by, each one feeling like an eternity. He stared at the screen, willing it to light up with her reply. When it finally did, his heart skipped a beat.

I'm busy right now. Maybe later?

Quinn's shoulders sagged, the tension in his chest only growing. It wasn't a no, but it wasn't the answer he wanted either. He knew Emma well enough to know that "maybe later" was her way of putting him off, of avoiding a conversation she didn't want to have.

But Quinn wasn't willing to let it slide this time. He needed to know where they stood, needed to know if there was any hope of something more.

I'll wait. he replied.

Emma didn't respond, and Quinn didn't expect her to. He set his phone down and stared at the ceiling, trying to figure out what he'd say when they finally did talk. Part of him knew he should be careful, that pushing too hard might drive her away for good. But another part of him--the part that was tired of pretending--was ready to take the risk.

As the hours passed by, Quinn's thoughts continued to circle back to Emma. He thought about the way she smiled when she let her guard down, the way she looked at him when she thought he wasn't paying attention. There was something there, somthing real, and Quinn was determined to make her see it.

When his phone finally buzzed with her reply, his heart raced. But when he read her message, his hope deflated.

Can we just keep things the way they are? I'm not ready for more, Quinn.

He stared at the words, feeling the weight of them settle in his chest. It was exactly what he feared, but hearing it--reading it--still hurt more than he expected.

Despite the sting, Quinn couldn't bring himself to walk away. To put his phone down. Not yet. He knew that if he wanted to be with Emma, he'd have to be patient, to wait for her to come to terms with her feelings. And as much as it pained him to do so, he respected her wishes.

Okay, he typed back. But I'm not giving up on us, Emmy

There was no response, but he didn't need one. He knew it was going to be a long road, but he was willing to wait as long as it took. Because for Emma, it was worth it.

It was another late night in Vancouver, and the city was quiet outside Quinn's window. The game had been tough, a hard-fought win that left him physically drained but mentally wired. Emma had come over, as she often did after games, slipping into his place with the practiced ease of someone who had done it a hundred times before. They hadn't said much--there wasn't a need for words when they both knew what they were there for.

But tonight felt different to Quinn. There was a tension in the air that he couldn't shake, a weight pressing down on his chest as they lay in bed afterward. Emma was curled up next to him, a dull ache in her thighs, her breathing slow and steady as she started to drift off to sleep. Normally, Quinn would have let her, content to hold her in his arms until she inevitably slipped away before dawn. But not tonight.

"Emma," he whispered, his voice low and hesitant.

"Mmm?" she murmured.

There would be no going back. The words were there, waiting to be said, and he couldn't keep them bottled up any longer. "Can we talk?"

Emma's eyes opened, and she shifted slightly to look up at him. "About what?" she asked, her voice thick with sleep.

"About us."

She frowned, already sensing where this was going. "Quinn, we've talked about this. You know how I feel."

"No," he said, shaking his head. "We haven't really talked about it. Not like we need to." He reached out, brushing a strand of hair from her face. "Emma, this isn't just... physical for me anymore. It isn't just about the sex. I care about you. A lot."

Emma's frown deepened, and she pulled away slightly, sitting up in bed. "Quinn, don't--"

"Just listen to me, please," he interrupted, sitting up as well. He could see the walls going up, the defences she always put in place when things got too close. But he was determined to push through them this time. "I'm falling for you, Emma. I think I've been falling for you for a while now, and I can't keep pretending that I'm okay with this being just... whatever it is."

She stared at him, her expression filled with surprise and something else--something that looked a lot like fear. "Quinn, you know I can't--"

"Why not?" his voice raising with frustration. "Why can't we be something more? We're good together, Emma. I know you feel it to."

She shook her head, wrapping the sheet around herself as if it could protect her from the conversation. "It's not that simple, Quinn. You know it's not."

"It is that simple," he insisted, reaching out to take her hand. "We care about each other. We have fun together. The sex is incredible. We could have something real if you'd just let yourself believe it."

Emma's hand tightened around the sheet, and she looked away, unable to meet his gaze. "Quinn, I have rules for a reason."

"Rules?" Quinn scoffed, feeling his frustration boil over. "Emma, you're not living your life. You're hiding behind these 'rules' because you're scared."

She flinched at his words, but her expression hardened. "That's not fair."

"Isn't it?" Quinn pressed, his voice softening as he saw the hurt in her eyes. "Emma, I'm not trying to hurt you. I just... I want more. I want us to be more. But I can't do that alone."

There was a long silence, the air between them heavy with even more tension. Emma finally looked at him, her eyes filled with fear, doubt, and maybe longing. But then she shook her head, her walls returning.

"I can't, Quinn," she said quietly. "I'm not going to break my rules. Not for anyone."

Quinn's heart sank, but he forced himself to nod. He had known this was a possibility, that she might not be ready to take that leap with him. But hearing her say it still hurt more than he could've ever imagined. "Okay," he whispered. "I understand."

But the truth was, he didn't understand. Not really. Because he couldn't see why she was so determined to keep them apart when it was clear they could be so much more.

Emma could feel Quinn's words threatening to crack the carfeully constructed walls she had built around herself. She had always been so sure of her rules, so certain that she needed them to protect herself. But hearing Quinn say that he was falling for her, that he wanted more, made her question everything.

It wasn't that she didn't care about Quinn--she did. More than she had ever intended to when they first started sleeping together. But that was exactly the problem. Caring about Quinn meant opening herself up to the possibility of getting hurt, and that was something she couldn't afford.

"Quinn," she began, choosing her words very carefully. "I made those rules for a reason. I've seen what happens when you get involved with hockey players. The lifestyle, the pressure--it's not something I want stacked on top of my own work."

He frowned, clearly not satsified with her explanation. "But I'm not like that, Emma. I'm not just some random guy looking for a fling. I want to be with you, for real. Why can't you see that?"

She sighed, running a hand through her hair. "I do see it, Quinn. But that doesn't change the fact that it's a bad idea. We're too close to Brock, too close to the team. If things go wrong--"

"They won't," his tone was firm. "I know it's scary, but we can make it work. We can take it slow, keep it private if you want, but I can't keep pretending this is just about sex."

Emma bit her lip, her mind running a mile a minute. She knew he was right, that what they had was more than just physical. But admitting that, giving in to it, felt like stepping off a cliff with no idea if there was anything there to catch her. She had promised herself she wouldn't get involved with a hockey player again, and yet here she was, teetering on the edge.

"I can't," she said again, shaking her head. "Quinn, I can't risk it. I'm sorry."

The words felt hollow, even to her, but she couldn't bring herself to say anything else. She looked at him, hoping he would understand, but the hurt in his eyes told her that he didn't. Or maybe he did, but he wasn't willing to accept it.

"Fine," Quinn said, his voice flat. "If that's how you really feel, then fine."

He moved to get out of bed, grabbing his clothes from the floor. Emma watched him, her heart aching at the sight of him pulling away. She wanted to reach out, to tell him she was sorry, that she didn't mean it. But the words stuck in her throat, choked by fear and doubt.

Quinn dressed quickly, avoiding her gaze as he headed for the door. Emma felt a surge of panic as she realized he was really leaving, that his might be the end of whatever they had. She opened her mouth to say something, anything, but the door was already closing behind him before she could find the words.

And just like that, he was gone.

Emma sat in the empty room, the silence keeping her stuck in her spot. The bed still smelled like him, a painful reminder of what she had just pushed away. She curled up into a ball, pulling the sheets around her as if they could somehow shield her from the reality of what had just happened.

She had been so certain she was doing the right thing, sticking to her rules and protecting herself. But now, with Quinn gone, all she felt was an overwhelming sense of loss. She had never let herself get this close to anyone before, not since the last time she had been burned by a hockey player. But Quinn... he was different. And that was what made this so much harder.

The tears came before she could stop them, spilling down her cheeks as she buried her face in the pillow. She had told herself that she didn't need anyone, that she was better off alone. But now, she wasn't so sure.

Meanwhile, Quinn was walking the streets of Vancouver, the cold night doing little to cool the fire of frustration and hurt burning in his chest. He had laid his heart on the line, told Emma how he really felt, and she had shut him down. He knew she was scared, that her rules were her way of protecting herself, but it didn't make it any easier to swallow.

He kicked at a loose piece of gravel on the sidewalk, watching as it skittered across the pavement. He wanted to be angry, to blame her for being so stubborn, so unwilling to let him in. But deep down, he knew that wasn't fair. Emma had been through a lot, and her fears were valid. But that didn't change the fact that he was hurting, that he wanted more from her than she was willing to give.

Quinn found himself at a small park, the trees bare and the benches empty in the late hour. He sat down, his head in his hands as he tried to sort through all the feelings in his head. He had never felt like this before--so out of control, so vulnerable. And it scared the hell out of him.

But what scared him even more was the thought of losing Emma. He knew she cared about him. There was something between them. Something worth fighting for.

As he sat there in the dark, he made a decision. He wasn't going to give up on Emma, no matter how hard she pushed him away. He knew it was risky, that he might get hurt in the process, but he also knew that it would be worth it. Emma was worth it.

He stood up, heading back to his apartment. He wasn't going to let her fear dictate their future. He would give her space if she needed it, but he wasn't going to walk away. Not yet.

Because sometimes, the best things in life were worth fighting for. And Quinn was ready to fight.

The Canucks were on the road again, heading into a critical stretch of the season. This time, they were in a small city with a reputation for rowdy fans and intense games. The hotel was nice enough, but the schedule was grueling, leaving the players and staff little time to do anything but eat, sleep, and prepare for the next match.

Emma was there, of course, coordinating PR events and managing the team's image as she always did. She was good at her job--meticulous, organized, and (usually) calm under pressure. But this trip felt different. Ever since the conversation with Quinn a few weeks ago, she'd been on edge, constantly looking over her shoulder, half-expecting him to show up and push her again.

She'd managed to avoid him for the most part, keeping their interactions strictly professional. But then tension between them was palpable, simmering just beneath the surface. Emma threw herself into her work, hoping to distract herself from the nagging thoughts that kept creeeping in whenever she allowed herself a moment to breathe.

That night, after a long day, Emma retreated to her hotel room, exhausted. The PR duties had been endless, and she was looking forward to nothing more than a hot shower and collapsing into bed. She had just slipped into her pajamas, an XL Canucks t-shirt, when there was a knock at her door.

It was late--too late for any of the players or staff to be knocking at her door for work-related matters. For a brief moment, she considered not answering, pretending she was already asleep. But something compelled her to go to the door, her hand hovering over the handle as she took a deep breath.

When she opened the door, her heart sank and fluttered at the same time. Quinn stood there, dressed in a hoodie and sweats, his hands shoved in his pockets. His expression determined and vulnerable, and for a moment, she was at a loss of words.

"Quinn, what are you doing here?" she whispered.

"I had to see you," he replied, his voice steady. "Can I come in?"

Emma hesitated, glancing down the hallway to make sure no one was around. The last thing she needed was for someone to see them together like this. "Q, it's late. We can't do this here."

"I know it's late, but I don't care," he said, taking a step closer. "Emma, please. Just... let me in. We need to talk."

There was something in his eyes that made it impossible to say no. With a resigned sigh, she stepped aside, allowing him to slip into the room. The door clicked shut behind them, the sound loud in the quiet night.

Quinn didn't waste any time. As soon as they were alone, he turned to face her, his face serious. "I can't keep doing this, Emma. I can't keep pretending I'm okay with the way thing are."

She crossed her arms over her chest. "We've talked about this, Quinn. You know where I stand."

"No, we haven't really talked about it," he countered. "You've told me how you feel, but you haven't listened to how I feel."

Emma looked away, unable to meet his gaze. She knew what was coming next, "Quinn, please. Don't do this."

"I have to," he said. "Emma, I'm in love with you. And I can't keep pretending that I'm okay with this just being sex. Because it's not, at least not to me."

The words hit her like a punch to the gut, winding her and leaving her breathless. She had known this was coming, had seen it in the way he looked at her, the way he touched her. But hearing him say it out loud made it real in a way she wasn't prepared for.

"Quinn..." she began, but he shook his head, cutting her off.

"No, just listen to me," he pleaded. "I know you're scared. I know you've been hurt before, and I know you've made these rules to protect yourself. But Emma, you can't shut yourself off from the world forever. You can't yourself off from me."

Tears welled up in her eyes, and she blinked them back, determined not to let them fall. "It's not that simple."

"Yes, it is," he insisted, stepping even closer until he was right in front of her, his hand reaching out to cup her cheek. "It is that simple. We care about each other. We have something real. Don't you want to see where this could go?"

Emma closed her eyes, leaning into his touch despite herself. "I'm scared, Quinn. I'm scared that if I let you in, I'll get hurt again."

"You won't," he whispered, his thumb brushing away a stray tear that had slipped down her cheek. "I'm not going to hurt you, Emma. I promise you."

The dam broke. All the emotions Emma had been bottling up for months came flooding out in a rush. She let out a choked sob, her hands gripping the front of Quinn's hoodie as she buried her face in his chest. "I don't know how to do this," she admitted, her voice muffled by the fabric.

Quinn wrapped his arms around her, holding her tightly as she cried. "You don't have to know. We'll figure it out together."

For a long time, they stood there, wrapped in each other's arms as Emma let herself be vulnerable for the first time in years. It felt like the weight of the world had been lifted off her shoulders, but at the same time, she was terrified of what was to come next.

Finally, she pulled back just enough to look up at him, her eyes red and puffy from crying. "I don't want to lose you, Q. But I don't know if I can do this."

"You can," he assured her, his hand gently carressing her hair. "We'll take it one step at a time. I'm not going anywhere, Emmy. Not unless you tell me to."

She shook her head, her grip on his hoodie tightening. "I don't want you to go."

"Then I'm staying," he said, leaning down to press a soft kiss to her forehead.

The kiss was tender, a promise of what was to come if she could just let go of her fears. Emma felt something shift inside her, a crack in the armour she'd built around her heart. She looked up at Quinn, her heart pounding in her chest as she realized how much she wanted this--wanted him.

Without another word, she closed the distance between them, pressing her lips to his in a kiss that was different from all the ones that had come before. This one was slow, deliberate, filled with all the emotions they'd been holding back. It wasn't about lust or need--it was about something deeper, something that scared her just as much as it thrilled her.

Quinn responded immediately, his arms tightening around her as he kissed her back with the same intensity. The world outside ceased to exist; all that mattered was the two of them, alone in the quiet of the hotel room.

They moved together in perfect sync, their movements slower, more meaningful than before. It was as if they were discovering each other all over again, but this time with their hearts fully in it. Quinn laid her back on the bed, his hands reaching under her shirt. She shivered, his skin cold against hers. She gripped his hair, bringing his body closer to hers so that their hips were pressed together. There was no rush, everything felt slow and loving.

As they lay together afterward, their breaths heavy in the air, Emma felt a peace she hadn't felt in years. For the first time, she felt hope that a relationship could work for her. As she drifted off to sleep in his arms, her mind still buzzing with the emotions of the night, there was a small part of her that couldn't shake the fear of what was to happen next.

The soft light of the morning filtered through the thin curtains of the hotel room. Emma stirred in her sleep, the events of the night before replaying in her mind as she hovered between dreams and waking. She could feel the steady rise and fall of Quinn's chest, his arm draped protectively around her waist.

For a moment, everything felt perfect. Peaceful. But then she remembered that it wasn't just another night together. This time it was more intense, more meaningful. Emma knew she couldn't pretend it was just a casual hookup anymore.

Quinn was awake, too, his fingers gently tracing patterns on her back. He didn't want to move, didn't want to ruin the moment they were sharing. But he knew they couldn't stay like that forever. Sooner or later, they'd have to face the consequences of what they had become, and that thought terrified him.

"Morning," he whispered.

Emma tilted her head up to look at him, her eyes still heavy with sleep. "Morning," she replied, her voice barely audible.

They stayed like that for a while, just looking at each other, neither one wanting to be the first to speak about how things had changed between them.

"What happens now?" Emma finally asked, her voice wavering slightly.

Quinn hesitated, searching her eyes for any sign of doubt. "I don't know," he admitted. "But I do know that I don't want this to be the last time we wake up like this."

"I don't know if I'm ready for that," she confessed, her fingers absently tracing the outline of his collarbone.

"I know," Quinn said, his voice gentle. "But I'm not asking for you to be ready right now. I'm just asking you to think about it. To think about us."

Emma didn't respond right away. She wanted to believe they could make it work, that they could be more than just a secret. But the reality of their situation--of Brock, the team, and her own fears--loomed over her like a storm cloud.

Before she could find the words to respond, a sharp knock echoed through the room, shattering the moment of quiet intimacy. They both froze, their eyes locking as the sound registered in their tired brains.

"Emma?" Brock's voice called from the other side of the door. "You up?"

Panic surged through Emma's veins as she scrambled to sit up. This couldn't be happening. Not now. Not like this.

Quinn's eyes widened in alarm, his hand gripping the sheets as if to make sure he wasn't dreaming. "What do we do?" his whispered urgently.

"Shit," she cursed under her breath, her heart pounding in her chest. "You need to hide."

"Where?" he hissed, his eyes darting around the small hotel room. There was nowhere to go, nowhere that wouldn't immediately give him away.

"Just--" Emma was cut off by another knock, this one more insistent.

"Emma, you in there?" Brock's voice was more concerned now.

Her mind was racing, trying to come up with a plan. But before she could do anything, the door handle began to turn. Brock was coming in. Emma always gave him an extra key to use in case of emergencies. And her not answering him was an emergency in his mind?

Quinn barely had time to leap out of the bed, grabbing his clothes and diving into the bathroom just as the door opened. Emma could feel her heart in her throat as she watched him disappear, her pulse pounding in her ears.

Brock stepped into the room, his brow furrowed in confusion. "Em, what's going on? Why didn't you answer?"

Emma forced a smile, suddenly feeling like she was going to be sick. "Sorry, Brock. I was just getting up," she lied, pulling the covers a little tighter to her chest.

Brock's eyes narrowed, his gaze sweeping over the room before landing back on his sister. "Are you okay? You look... I don't know, off."

"I'm fine," she replied quickly, hoping her voice didn't betray the panic she felt. "Just tired, that's all."

Brock didn't look convinced, but before he could press any further, a loud clatter came from the bathroom. The sound of something falling, followed by a muffled curse.

Emma's blood ran cold as Brock's head snapped toward the bathroom door so fast he could've gotten whiplash. "What was that?" his voice was twinged with suspicion.

Her wind went blank, all possible excuses failing her. She couldn't come up with a single plausible explanation for the noise. All she could do was watch in horror as Brock took a step towards the bathroom door.

"Brock, wait--"

But it was too late. He was already pushing the bathroom door open, his eyes widening in shock as he took in the sight before him. Quinn stood there, half-dressed, his face covered in guilt and resignation. He had clearly tried to get dressed quickly, but it obvious what had happened. There was no hiding it now.

"Quinn?" Brock's voice was low, dangerous, as he turned to look at his sister, his eyes blazing with anger. "What the hell is going on here?"

This was exactly what Emma had been trying to avoid, the confrontation she dreaded from the moment she and Quinn had started whatever it was they were doing.

"Brock, I--" she began, but Brock cut her off, his voice rising with anger.

"How long has this been going on?" he demanded, his hands clenched into fists at his sides. "How long have you been sneaking around behind my back? Sleeping with my teammate?"

"Brock, it's not what you think," Quinn interjected, stepping forward, his hands raised as if he was approaching a wild beast.

"Not what I think?" Brock's eyes darted between the two of them. "What am I supposed to think, Quinn? You're in my sister's hotel room, half-naked, and you expect me to believe this is just a misunderstanding?"

Emma couldn't help the sense of guilt that was creeping in when she saw the hurt in her brother's eyes. This wasn't how she wanted him to find out, not like this. But there was no taking it back now, no undoing the mess they had created.

"Brock, listen to me," she started. "I didn't want to tell you because I knew you'd react like this. But it's not Quinn's fault. It's mine. I... I care about him a lot."

Brock's anger faltered, replaced by confusion. "You care about him? Emma, you've always said you'd never date a hockey player again. You've always told me--"

"I know what I've always said," Emma interrupted. "But things change. People change. I didn't expect this to happen, but it did. And I didn't tell you because I was scared of how you'd react."

Brock stared at her, "You should have told me, Em. You're my sister. I deserve to know what's going on in your life.

"I know," she mumbled, tears welling in her eyes. "I'm sorry, Brock. I never wanted to hurt you."

The room was silent for a long moment, then tension in the air thick. Quinn stood by the bathroom door, his heart heavy as he watched the siblings. He knew this wasn't giong to be an easy conversation, but it was necessary if he and Emma were going to have a chance of being together. They had to face this head-on.

"I just... I can't believe you didn't tell me," Brock said quietly, his voice tinged with sadness.

"I'm telling you now," Emma said softly. "And I'm telling you that I care about Quinn. This isn't just us hooking up. It's something more."

"You really care about him?"

"I do, Brock. I really do."

Brock glanced at Quinn, who stood there with a look of determination on his face. It was clear that he wasn't going to back down, that he was ready to fight for Emma if that's what it took. And as much as it pained him, Brock knew he couldn't stand in the way of that.

"Alright. But if he hurts you, Emma... if he breaks your heart, I swear--"

"He won't," she interrupted, "He won't."

Brock nodded, "Okay. But you two owe me an explanation. The whole story."

"We will," Quinn promised. "You deserve that."

Brock turned to leave, to give them some space. They had made it through the worst of it, but there was still so much unsaid, so many obstacles they would have to overcome.

The morning after Brock's discovery, there was still a tension in the air. The team was scheduled to leave the hotel soon, and Emma could feel the unease radiating from Brock as they packed up their things.

Brock waited until they were in the parking lot, away from the rest of the team, before he turned to Quinn. "We need to talk."

Quinn nodded, "Yeah, we do."

They walked a few steps away from the bus, finding a quiet corner where they wouldn't be overheard. Emma watched from a distance, she could see the stiffness in Brock's shoulders.

"What the hell, Quinn? You're supposed to be my friend. How could you go behind my back like this?"

Quinn swallowed hard, knowing that Brock had every right to be angry. "I didn't mean for it to happen this way. I never wanted to keep it from you, but Emma... we weren't really sure where we stood. I was trying to respect her wishes."

Brock let out a harsh laugh, shaking his head. "Respect her wishes? You're supposed to respect me, too. I trusted you, Quinn."

"I know. And I'm sorry. I hate that I hurt you, Brock. But I care about Emma. I care about her more than I've ever cared about anyone."

"This isn't just some fling to you, is it?"

"No. It's not. I know how it looks, and I know why you're pissed. But Emma means everything to me. I'm not going to hurt her, Brock. I swear."

Quinn could see the conflict in his friend's eyes, the way he was struggling to reconcile the betrayal he felt with the truth of Quinn's words. Finally, Brock let out a long sigh, ruunning a hand through his hair.

"I'm still mad as hell at you. But if you're serious about her... if you really care about her, then I guess I don't have a choice but to deal with it."

"I am serious, Brock. And I get why you're angry. But I promise you, I'm going to do everything I can to make this work."

"You better. Because if you screw this up, Hughes... if you hurt her, I'm coming for you. And nothing will stop me."

Quinn didn't flinch at the warning, understanding the protective instincts behind it. "I won't hurt her. You have my word."

Brock didn't say anything for a few seconds, then finally extended his hand. "Alright. We'll see how this goes."

Quinn shook his hand. It wasn't a full reconciliation, but it was a start.

Emma sat by the window on the back of the bus. The conversation between Brock and Quinn had gone better than she'd expected. Now, more than ever, she needed to decide what she really wanted.

As the bus rumbled down the highway, Emma continued to stare out the window, her mind drifting back to all the events that had led her there. She thought about the walls she had built around herself, the rules she had clung onto so tightly. They had been her armour, her way of protecting herself from getting hurt again. But now, she was starting to realize that those same walls were keeping her from something she truly wanted--something real with Quinn.

But could she really risk everything for him? Could she trust him not to break her heart, not to shatter her into pieces like she'd been before?

She thought about the way he had held her in the hotel room, the way he had looked at her with such sincerity, such unwavering care. He had been patient with her, understanding her fears even when she hadn't fully explained them. He had been willing to wait, to take things at her pace, and that meant more to her than she could express.

Emma knew that she couldn't keep running from her feelings, couldn't keep hiding behind her rules. If she wanted to be happy, really happy, she needed to take a leap of faith. She needed to let Quinn in, to trust that he would catch her if she fell.

She made her decision. She was going to give Quinn Hughes a real chance. It wouldn't be easy, but she was tired of being afraid, tired of letting the past dictate her future.

After they arrived at the next hotel, Emma waited until most of the team had gone up to their rooms before she approached Quinn. He was standing by the luggage cart, talking to one of the staff members, but when he saw her coming, he broke off the conversation, his eyes locking onto hers.

"Emma? Everything okay?"

She nodded, "Can we talk?"

"Of course. What's on your mind?"

Emma led him away from the group, finding a quiet spot near the hotel's entrance. "I've been doing a lot of thinking. And I've realized something."

Quinn nodded, urging her to continue.

"I've been scared. Scared of getting hurt again, scared of what might happen if I let someone in. But... I don't want to be scared anymore."

His eyes softened, and he took a step closer, reaching out to gently untangle her hands, holding them in his. "Emma..."

"I want to give us a chance, Quinn. A real chance. No more hiding, no more pretending it's just physical. I want to see where this can go."

Quinn's face lit up with a smile. "You have no idea how long I've wanted to hear you say that." He squeezed her hands, his thumbs brushing over her knuckles. "I promise you, Emma, I'm all in. Whatever it takes, we'll make this work."

Quinn leaned down to kiss her, a soft, tender kiss that held all the promises of the future they could create together. Emma knew she had made the right choice. She was taking a risk, but it was a risk worth taking.

Later that evening, as the team gathered for dinner, Brock found himself watching Emma and Quinn across the room. They were sitting together, not hiding their connection but not flaunting it either. He could see the way Quinn's hand rested protectively on Emma's knee, the way Emma leaned into him, a soft smile on her face.

He could see how much Quinn cared about his sister, how much Emma softened around him. It was becoming glaringly clear to him that this wasn't just some fling, that they were both very serious about making it work.

Brock let out a sigh, running a hand through his hair. He wasn't sure he was ready to fully forgive them, but he knew that he couldn't stand in the way of their happiness. If this is what Emma wanted, if this was what made her happy, then he would find a way to be okay with it.

He caught Quinn's eye from across the room, and for a moment, they just looked at each other. Then, slowly, Brock gave him a slight nod, a silent acknowledgment of the understanding they had reached earlier.

Quinn returned the nod. And as Brock watched Emma laugh at something Quinn said, her face lighting up in a way he hadn't seen in years, he realized that maybe, just maybe, this was exactly what she needed.

#lee talks ‼️#nhl imagine #nhl fic #hockey imagine #hockey fic #quinn hughes

279 notes · View notes

kaciebello · 7 months

Text

Wrong address

Masterlist Delivery Express ✿ Summary: The reader sees an opportunity to run an untapped market in Hogwarts. She just wishes people would put the proper address on it. Warnings: mention cigarettes, no use of y/n Authors note: English is not my first language, so I apologize for any mistakes beforehand. I want to spread this into a one-shot series. Proofread by me and me only (Ｔ▽Ｔ) • Previously: Left on delivered • Next part: Too many voicemails word count: 1.1k

notes to deliver: 365

It wasn't hard to find the Slytherin boys, usually you could hear them from miles away. That is why sometimes when they want to keep their business private, they sneak into the room of requirements. Not only was it soundproof, but no one just stumbled upon it. Most importantly nobody knows they hang out there. Or so the thought.

The giant door slides open revealing a makeshift sunroom. Nobody should have been able to find them there, yet they are not surprised when they see a certain Hufflepuff girl with a yellow bow in her hair. She was fondling a note in her hand looking at it confused. She steps into the room as a door closes behind her, making her way to the number of sofas in the room. The room senses her presence, makes sure there is room for her, and even goes as far as giving her a cup of tea.

“ What you got there mail girl?” asks Draco before closing his eyes and soaking up the artificial sun. Maybe he won't get sunburned from this one.

“ Note for one of you…” all attention was on her now. Curiosity reeks from the boys. They are not strangers to being delivered notes or letters from the girl. If anything, it became like a norm at this point. Not that they ever respond to any.

“Well dont keep us on the edge of our seats. For who?” Says Mattheo eager to open it and read it.

“That's the point. I don't know.” She says and sighs. Promptly burying her head in her hands. Eager glances are swapped for confused ones.

Various versions of ‘Why do you mean you don't know.’ leave the boys. She just looks at the note before speaking.

“ I usually have people write to who on the folded note. and you know, that system works! Sure, some people mix Fred and George but who wouldn't.” She pauses, thumbs of agreement. She fips the note. “ This one is addressed to ‘ the cute guy from Slytherin’.”

“Oh sunshine, isn't it obvious? Give me the note.” Theodor says reaching for it. Blasie stops him with a disgusted look. She knew this would happen.

“Like hell it's you, if anyone here is cute it’s me!” says Draco no longer behaving like a cat in a sun but one that is about to pull out its claws. One by one the boys got increasingly offended if they were not suggested by the others. The girl places the note in her lap and reaches for her tea. It was amusing to see her fight for the title of the cute boy in Slytherin. And some people say they are dangerous. Tooning them out, she looks around the room to admire it.

“Sunshine.” Says Lorenzo making her turn back to them and pay attention.

“ Give us the note.” He says, his eyes were a tad bit crazy. She shakes her head and places the cup on a table. Sometimes her friends scared her, not for the reason many people thought. Looking closely at all of them. They all had the same look in their eyes.

She gets up and swiftly moves to stand behind a sofa, making sure there is some barrier between her and them.

“Sunshine, give us the note,” he repeats extending his hand to her. She just takes a B-line to the door. A crashing sound behind her made her clutch to the note in her hand. A few steps before the door Mattheo appears and blocks her way. She knew better than to start backing up so she turned and made her way to the glass door that seemed to be leading outside. She however could never outrun 5 boys in their prime, no.

A decision was made right then and there. When she can feel Draco catching up to her, she ducks—Draco completely misses her and runs into the glass door. She however was already running to the fireplace. She was a few steps from it when Lorenzo jumped out of nowhere and tackled her on the floor. Making sure to turn them around so he sounded her fall. The note slips from her grip. The two groan on impact.

“Bro that was unnecessary.” She whines and rolls at her friend. Sitting her to him while he lies on the floor with a smile.

“Yeah, but I got the note…” He says and looks in the direction the note has fallen. His smile drops when he sees it. The note has landed in the fire just as the girl intended to. The sides curled and ashy, there was no saving it. A victorious cheer leaves the girl, while others groan in frustration.

Looking around the scene, some pillows were thrown on the ground. One chair was flipped over and was lying on its side. Draco was holding his nose as Blasie helped him up. Something told the girl his father won't be hearing about this one. Overall it looked like someone casted Bombarda in the middle of the room.

Turning to the friend next to her, making sure he's okay. He just waves his arm at her and jumps up. Before helping her up. In the meanwhile, the rest have sat down in their previous spots. Mattheo flicked his wand to clean the room up a bit.

Silence sat among the friends. A new batch of tea was made, and they all tried to figure out what just happened. The only sound in the room was the fire cracking, the remains of the note still visible. It's Blaise who breaks the silence.

“Um, that was…” He swallows the rest of his thought, opting to just nod his head.

“Man, we should have read it together, just aloud.” Says Theodor, pulling out his cigarette and offering it to anyone willing to take one. Nods and hums of agreement were heard from the boys.

“You know, the girl that gave it to me was very cryptic.” She says sipping on her tea and swapping the smoke away occasionally. Their ears perked up but they were still licking their wounds to pay proper attention.

“ She said, and I quote. ‘ You know who’ and winked before running away.” She pauses to take a sip before continuing. “ I think she wanted me to give it to the one I thought was the cutest” Lost in her thoughts, her gaze remained on ashes. She did not even notice that the chatter stopped.

Silence from the boys. Until.

“Well, who do think it's the cutest?” She just sighs at the question. Here we go again.

notes to deliver: 364

Tag list: @daisiesformylove, @klimovatereza-blog , @lafrone , @enfppixie , @rafegfs , @frogtape , @lovelyygirl8

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spncvr · 7 months

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waiting room | s. reid

summary: spencer can't seem to escape the girl in the waiting room

pairing: spencer reid x fem!reader

warnings: mentions of reid's addiction & tobias hankel, mentions of kidnapping and mass shootings (in, like, a joking way??) my terrible, terrible humour, ENGLISH IS NOT MY FIRST LANGUAGE LMAO, this is deffo terrible, pls tell me if i missed anything!!

a/n: ok idk if i wanna continue this and make it a series so lmk lol (also im on writers block so i literally can't come up with SHIT)

SPENCER REID WAS a pessimist.

At least, that’s what he’d call himself. His colleague, Derek Morgan would most likely (and by most likely, he means, definitely already has) call him an overanalysing introvert. But in Spencer’s defense, there has never really been a good reason to go out and “live your life”. Consider this:

Go to the new coffee shop? Mass shooting.

Go to the mall? A child gets abducted.

Leave the apartment for a short while? A stalker finds out where he lives, kidnaps him in his sleep, and, in a nightmarish turn, auctions off his organs to the bidder in the black market.

Besides, his life isn’t some John Green book. There were no life-affirming adventures or poetic moments of self-discovery awaiting him. Carpe diem? A fanciful notion for others, but for him, not so much. Sorry, Mr. Keating.

Yet life—or more accurately, bureau protocol— had its own plans. Ever since the Tobias Hankel incident, a visit to the psychologist wasn’t just a request but rather (unfortunately for him) an order. Which meant, he’d have to risk his entire life to get up and walk for ten whole minutes just to sit and wait, in this glaringly bright waiting room, when he could have stayed at home and read the new books he’d gotten from his team as a get-well gift.

Speaking of which, why the gifts? He was fine. Physically, at least. But really, when have you ever seen get-well-soon cards in an asylum? Well, alright, maybe he was being a little bit dramatic. A visit to the psychologist doesn’t mean he’ll be institutionalised—but then again, Spencer Reid was never one to wear rose-tinted glasses.

This is his third time in the waiting room, and she’s always there. He isn’t sure as to why she is, because, well, unlike himself, she was very clearly an optimist—and at least, from the looks of it, she hasn’t been kidnapped and drugged in the past month. But she's sitting there again, in the exact same chair for the past three weeks, along with a beacon of smiles where joy usually fears to trend. Maybe, he isn't as good of a profiler as he’d like to think he is.

“Dr. Reid?” the call of his name rips him out of his thoughts. He looks up to see the same kind woman he’s seen the past three weeks—not the one in the waiting room, no, he means his therapist.

Dr. Brown was easy to profile: She wore heels to make herself look taller, and she hated wearing glasses, apparent by how she would continuously place them atop her head instead of her nose. Her teeth were abnormally perfect, which meant, she’d had to wear braces when she was younger—which (from his humbling experience) means she wasn’t exactly the most popular at school. Perhaps, psychology felt appealing to her because she could help people like her.

“How are you?” she asks, her pen clicking.

Usually, he’d offer her a meek shrug. The kind that could win awards for its commitment to non-commitment. Besides, he’s not one to talk about how he feels—there isn’t much to say, anyway. And let’s face it, “How are you?” in the grand tapestry of human interaction is almost as genuine as a three-dollar bill. And, get this, the average person asks “How are you?” 6,739 times a year but only listens to the answer about half the time—well, okay, maybe those numbers might have been fabricated, but isn’t the sincerity behind the question also made up? But instead of telling her all this, he remembers what Hotch had told him, one, two, three weeks ago: that he ought to cooperate with Dr. Brown or the board won’t be happy. So, he kisses his teeth before he says:

“Fine. I’m fine.”

And the session went on.

PLS TELL ME IF I SHLD CONTIUE OR NOT LOLOLOL spam my inbox with ideas I BEG.

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hometoursandotherstuff · 3 months

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One of my favorites hasn't sold. The 1937 Art Deco masterpiece in Medfield, MA has been for sale since 2022 and has gone from $3.175M to $2.495 and this time it's been on the market 91 days. The 7bd, 6ba home also comes with the gray house in the inset.

Large entrance hall.

Modernist Art Deco fireplace. The owners blue statues are very impressive. I wonder what they're worth.

The star of the home is the staircase. It's like a piece of art itself with it's intricate lines and curved glass block walls.

The dining room and the beautiful floor is the room you see thru the window, walking to the front door. It looks like it has doors that can be closed either for privacy, or to make a smaller room.

The lovely sitting room. Note the tall wooden indoor shutters on the windows.

The floors are original and have been beautifully refinished. In this room, a long wrap-around cabinet unit is a built-in.

Around the wall is a continuation of this room with a fireplace, then more shelving.

The round window has a wonderful blue floor and room for seating.

The large kitchen is a blank slate and features professional appliances.

The primary bedroom is a nice bright room.

Right across the hall there's a bath.

Lovely remodeled bath with the original tub and two slightly different sinks.

There are so many details to this staircase. Aren't these glowing lights lovely at night?

How the rounded window sitting areas look at night.

This is so beautiful, it's a dining area, but also a conservatory off the kitchen.

There are rooftop terraces.

There are 8.79 acres of land that include this ranch home.

https://www.zillow.com/homedetails/70-Main-St-Medfield-MA-02052/57457038_zpid/

#art deco homes #old house dreams #houses #house tours #home tour

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archangeldyke-all · 11 months

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hello sevika lovers happy saturday! here's a nasty little smutty piece for you from me.

have a lovely weekend! love,

angel :)

men and minors DNI, i'll block tf out of u

modern au

sevika's some kind of high level exec. business owner with silco. he handles the marketing and she handles the numbers.

the two of you met years ago when her business was just starting to take off. silco had hired you to help design a logo for them, and in the process you'd spent quite a bit of time getting to know the duo.

for a few months, you met with silco and sevika once or twice a week to discuss and tweak your designs. after the first few meetings, silco started sending sevika to meet with you alone, sick of feeling like a third wheel during business meetings.

you weren't subtle about your infatuation with the woman, but you kept it professional--she was your boss after all.

after three months and dozens of meetings with sevika (most of which went hours over scheduled-- both of you getting too caught up in flirting and chatting to notice the time flying) you finalized the design and got your final paycheck.

you figured that that was the end of your little flirtatious fling with sevika, until a week later she's pounding on your door with a bundle of flowers hidden behind her back.

"sevika?" you asked, surprised to see the woman standing in your doorway.

"hi. uh. silco said my brooding was ruining the atmosphere at the office. told me to suck it up and go for it so..." you had no idea what she was talking about until she revealed the flowers to you and shoved them into your chest. "i was wondering if you'd ever like to get some food with me. you know. not for work."

"like a date?" you asked. she nodded.

you kissed her in response. (and she fucked you against your front door before trimming and arranging the flowers in a vase for you.)

anyways since then you've been inseparable.

she marries you the second she has some substantial money put away in her savings.

most days she's able to keep her work away from home, but come the end of every business quarter, work gets exceptionally busy for her and she doesn't have any choice but to sprawl out in her home office, crunching numbers and reviewing accounts night after night after night.

one of these evenings, you come home and find her hunched over her desk, glasses slipping down her nose, rubbing her temples.

for a few minutes, you simply admire her as she jabs at her calculator and shuffles through her files. eventually, she notices you, the tension in her shoulders melting at the sight of you. you saunter over to her and she grins.

"hi baby" you say, pressing a kiss into her hair.

"mmmh." she says as she buries her face into your tits, her arms snaking around your waist. you scratch her scalp, and you can swear you hear her purring.

"how much longer have you got?" you ask her. she groans into you long and dramatic, and you giggle, pressing kisses on her head.

"hour and a half, two hours maybe." she says. "why? you wanna distract me?" she looks up at you with a salacious smile. you laugh, flicking her forehead.

"get your work done and i'll give you a back massage." you say, pulling away from her. you gently push her glasses up her nose for her, leaning down to kiss her forehead. she sighs.

"fine." she says, shooing you away.

you go , stripping and putting on your jammies, (one of sevika's old t shirts and a pair of panties.) sipping on a large glass of wine after a long day.

you put on some soft music in the kitchen, whipping up a quick meal for yourself and sevika.

when you wander back into her office about half an hour later, she's so focused she doesn't even notice you.

you place her food beside a tall stack of folders, then pour her a big glass of whiskey from her bar cart. you press a quick kiss in her hair.

she hums, reaching out to grab your wrist, keeping you beside her as she finishes some calculation. when shes done, she sets down her pencil and looks up at you.

you pout down at your wife, tracing the dark bags under her eyes with your thumbs. "poor baby." you whisper. "workin' so hard."

sevika hums in agreement as she nuzzles into your touch. you laugh at her. "come here." she demands, patting her lap with one hand and pulling you toward her with her other

you comply, straddling her lap. her hands find your waist, while yours snake around her shoulders. "you think this chair can hold the both of us?" you ask as the chair lets out a pathetic squeak beneath the two of you. sevika doesn't respond, too busy pressing kisses into your neck and jaw. you hum, running your fingers through her hair.

"fuckin' miss you." she mumbles into your neck.

"'m right here, honey." you say. her hands begin to massage your hips.

"yeah but i haven't gotten to fuck you in weeks." she grumbles. this makes you cackle.

"we fucked this morning!" you say. you feel her smile against your neck.

"been so busy lately, been neglecting my wifely duties." she continues. you laugh again. she begins sucking a hickey into the flesh of your neck. "been neglecting you, huh?" she asks. you laugh.

"you're not getting anything from me until you're done with your work, babe." you say to her. she nips your skin and you screech.

"why not?" she asks petulantly, grip becoming tighter on your hips. you have to pull her away from your neck by her half pony.

"because you've got important things to do. businessy things. dinner things. things for silco. and if we start now, you know we won't stop until we're both asleep."

"you're more important than any of that shit." she whispers. you smile, pushing her back in the chair, slowly unbuttoning the top few buttons of her black silk button up for her, pushing her glasses up to sit on her head. the more you undress her, the harder getting off her lap seems.

her grip on your hips is so tight now you'd struggle to leave now anyways. she's got a cocky little smile on her lips, like she knows she's won, and you can't help but huff in annoyance.

with a grin, sevika pulls down on your hips as she thrusts up against you. you gasp when you feel a hard bulge in her pants.

"fuck, sev." you whisper. she grins as she begins to grind you down on her crotch. "when did you even put that on?" you ask with a giggle.

"kept it on after i fucked you this morning. wanted to remember the noises you made all day." you groan, pulling sevika's shirt out of where it was tucked into her pants, clawing at her abs. "so...?" sevika asks.

"what?"

"you gonna distract me for a bit, sweetheart?" she asks.

you roll your eyes but nod anyways, grinding small circles into sevika's lap as she grins up at you. "you're fuckin' annoying." you whisper down at her. she chuckles.

"you're the one who married me." you roll your eyes at her, before smacking at the grip she has on your hips.

"lemme go." you whisper. she pouts. you kiss her in reassurance, whispering in her ear. "not going far." sevika's grip doesn't relent, and you roll your eyes, biting her ear lobe. "come on baby. gotta get your dick wet before you can put it in me." you say, popping the button on her pants. she moans and lets go, hands flying to help you push her pants down. you giggle as she wiggles out of her pants, sliding off her lap and onto the floor between her legs as she pulls her strap out.

"fuck." she whispers at the sight of you. you lick your lips when her strap pops out of her pants, seven thick inches of purple silicone that never fails to make you scream. you don't waste time, both of your hands coming up to grip her thighs, pressing a kiss to the tip of the strap as your eyes flick up to catch hers.

sevika always loses her mind when you suck her strap, swears she can feel it, swears it's the hottest thing in the world to watch. she's cum from it a few times when she's particularly desperate, and it never fails to get you soaking fucking wet watching her fall apart above you.

sevika snakes a hand into your hair, gripping at the roots. she guides your head down the strap, and you keep your eyes locked on hers as you relax your throat and take her to the hilt.

tears begin to well in your eyes as sevika holds you down on her cock, and she waits until they fall down your cheeks before pulling you off to let you breathe. "shit baby, you're so fuckin' good at that." she whispers as you gasp to catch your breath.

you grin and spit on her strap, giggling as her hips jolt. you jerk the silicone up and down, pressing kisses on every inch of the shaft, soaking it in your saliva, never letting your eyes leave sevika's unless it's to close your eyes as you moan.

taking the strap back into your mouth, you begin to bob your head up and down, nasty gagging and squelching sounds starting up from between your lips. "g-god fuck." sevika whines. "shit listen to you. fuckin' gaggin' on it, huh baby?" you nod up at her. she tightens her grip on your hair and you relax, allowing your wife to control your movements as she begins to throat fuck you.

"f-f-fuck honey, shit." sevika grunts as she starts thrusting her hips up into your mouth. your clit is throbbing in your panties, and you're sure you've soaked them through by now. clenching your thighs together brings you some relief, but nowhere near enough.

when you snake one of your hands away from where you were gripping her thighs to rub between your legs, sevika groans.

"fuckin' touching yourself, baby?" she asks. you whimper, two of your fingers easily sliding inside of your sopping wet hole. "fuck, you're so nasty. getting off on this. shit is that you?" sevika asks when the wet sloshing sounds of your fingers massaging your inner walls start. you whimper around her cock in response. "jesus fucking christ." sevika growls. "get the fuck up here. lemme feel how wet that pussy is for me."

before you know what's happening, she's pulling you off her cock and back up into her lap.

your chin, neck, and the front of your t-shirt are soaked in your drool, a small puddle of your saliva's grown at the base of sevika's strap, which prods deliciously against your cunt as you get comfortable in her arms again. she hugs you to her chest, pressing kisses against you everywhere she can reach, into your hair, against the tear tracks on your cheeks, down your neck. she hugs your waist with one hand, and with the other, she pulls your panties to the side and starts rubbing your wet cunt.

"need something?" she teases as you twitch against her hold. you bite her neck and reach down to grab her wrist, pushing her fingers toward your hole.

"gotta stretch me out before i can take your dick, baby." you whisper. a shiver runs down sevika's spine. "and your fingers feel so much better than mine." you say. sevika groans and she slides her pointer finger into you. your thighs quake. "m-more i can take more, 'm wet enough for more baby." you gasp when she shoves a second finger inside you.

"feel good?" she whispers against your ear as you grind down on her fingers. she starts shallow thrusts in and out of your cunt, pushing against your g spot on each thrust.

"m-m-more." you whisper, orgasm creeping up on you. "another sev, please, you're gonna make me cum." she growls as she begins fucking a third finger in your cunt. the stretch stings, sevika's thick fingers bullying their way into your pussy, and you whimper and whine until her third finger finally slides in along side her other two. your pussy clenches, and her fingers press right up against your g spot, and you see stars.

"fuckin' cum for me." sevika growls. "cum on my fingers then i'll make you cum on my cock." you gasp. "fuck, you're soaking my hand honey." she whispers, grinding her fingers inside you as her palm rubs against your clit. you bite down on her neck, your thighs shaking, your back arching. "there you go baby, there you go. so perfect for me. such a good mouth. such a good cunt, baby, shit. takin' me so perfectly, you're gonna look so good all fucked out and dumb riding my cock."

you gasp and cum, her words going straight to your cunt. "fuckin' good girl, just like that. i fuckin' love you, holy shit, look at you." sevika babbles as you tremble in her hold. "shit baby. 'm gonna knock you up." she whispers in awe as you collapse against her, the last waves of your orgasm dying down.

you chuckle at her words, kissing her neck as you try to catch your breath.

sevika rubs your back with her free hand, peppering kisses against your head.

when you pull back to look her in the eyes, you melt. she's looking at you with a lovesick expression, the same expression she wore after the first time you kissed her, the same expression she wore watching you walk down the aisle, the same expression she wears every time you cum for her. you grin and lean forward to kiss her sappy smile off her face.

as you kiss her, you grab her wrist where her fingers are still buried inside you. you whine as you help her ease her thick fingers out of your cunt, the emptiness after the lovely stretch of your wife's fingers feeling foreign.

"you okay?" sevika asks against your lips. you pull away nodding. with a gentle tug, you bring her hand up to your face. sevika looks confused until you open your mouth for her-- lust quickly overtaking her features as she shudders.

she shoves her fingers in your mouth and the two of you moan simultaneously: you at the taste of your cum on your wife's fingers, sevika at the feeling of your tongue and lips sucking on her fingers.

"you're fuckin' nasty" she whispers, impressed. you chuckle around her fingers. you've been using the same few moves on sevika since you met, and she's just as shocked and turned on each and every time.

she shoves her fingers deep as they'll go, watching as your drool starts collecting and sliding down her hand and your chin, before pulling her hand away and smashing her lips against yours, shoving her tongue in her mouth like she was trying to get just as deep as her fingers were. one of her hands reaches back to grip your ass, the other snakes up your shirt to squeeze your tits. you reach behind you to guide her strap toward your cunt, huffing in frustration as you struggle to line her up right.

sevika pulls away from your mouth with a pop, spit strings connecting the two of you as she pulls away. you gasp for air as she reaches down to help you hold the strap up. "here you go baby." she whispers.

she's so sweet it almost makes you feel bad for what you're about to do to her.

almost.

you smile up at her, pressing a chaste kiss to her lips as she guides the tip of the strap inside you. the strap and your cunt are both so slippery that even with the two of you coordinating and guiding it, it takes a few tries to get it in.

when the tip does slide in, though, you both moan simultaneously. (you laugh a bit, because sevika can't even see the strap but she somehow knows it's inside you. she always swears she can feel you through it, and you're starting to think she really can)

her hands clutch at your hips, trying to be patient, but after so long together you can see the desperation creeping up on her. it's in the way her hold on you has become bruising, in the way her pupils are blown so wide she looks fucking high, in the way she's shuffling her feet beneath the two of you, trying to keep from thrusting into you. she's so sweet to you, so good, and you're about to break her poor heart, so you lean forward and give her a nasty kiss before pulling away and ripping your shirt over your head, determined to give her a good show.

sevika's gaze snaps to your tits, a grin growing on her lips, and you arch your back as you slowly sink down on her cock, giving her a good view of her slowly disappearing inside you.

your legs are shaking by the time you're sat on her lap, her strap buried inside you. "fuck-" you whisper. sevika gulps.

"you okay?" she asks. you close your eyes and nod, biting your lip and grinding tiny little circles against her. you both shudder at the movement.

you finally compose yourself, stilling your movements, taking a deep breath, and opening your eyes. your lovely wife is studying your body with a furrow between her brows, lip between her teeth, looking at you with the same intensity she was looking at her work earlier. though she looks much less bored this time. you gulp.

"sev." you whisper. her eyes snap up to yours. a nervous flutter flashes through your stomach when your eyes meet. sevika looks like she's gonna eat you alive. shit.

in an effort to placate her before you rip the bandaid off, you start gently scratching her scalp, running your fingers through her hair like you always do at night when you're trying to lull sevika to sleep. some of the tension leaves her body, she melts into her seat, sighing and blinking slowly at you. "sevika." you say, gathering your bravery, trying not to smile with nerves and betray yourself.

"yeah baby?" she asks. fuck. her voice sounds like sex.

you lean forward, pressing your body against hers, burying your head into her neck, pressing a gentle kiss there before nuzzling in and sighing. "you better hurry up and finish your work if you wanna fuck me before i fall asleep." you say.

sevika freezes. you close your eyes and bite your lip and wait for her to speak.

you hear the sound of her mouth opening and closing. like she's trying to talk but no words are coming out. you sneak a glance at her, and grin.

sevika looks shocked. her mouth is wide open, her eyes are widened in surprise, her brows reaching for her hairline. her hands are suspended in the air like she's not sure what to do with them.

you make the mistake of giggling, and her eyes snap to yours.

"you..." she whispers, eyes flashing from your cunt to your face to your hand still running through her hair. "are you serious?" she asks, dumbfounded.

you try your best to look innocent, widening your eyes, like who me? biting your lip in an attempt to hide your guilty smile. if the incredulous smirk sevika's face morphs into at the sight of you is anything to go by-- your attempt at innocence fails.

it's a stand off for a minute, sevika waiting for you to break, you waiting for sevika to get back to work.

you lean forward and give her nose a little kiss pulling her glasses back down and straightening them on her nose, tucking her hair behind her ears. "dont forget to eat your dinner too, baby" you whisper, settling back down against her shoulder.

your heart is pounding against your chest and your cunt is pounding around sevika's strap. you close your eyes, taking a shaky breath, waiting for her to react. for a minute, she does nothing, her hands suspended in midair.

then, she scoffs, sniffs, clears her throat, and picks up her pencil. the gentle scratch of pencil against paper fills the room and you grin in victory against her throat. she must feel the curve of your smile against her neck, because sevika scoffs and shakes her head above you, then she brings her free hand down on your ass with a resounding smack.

you gasp, your hips jolting in shock, causing you both to moan. sevika swallows hard, takes a deep breath, and gets back to scratching numbers behind you.

it takes you ten solid minutes to get your heart rate under control, but eventually, you and sevika start to sag into each other more and more. you sigh into her neck as the tension in your back slowly melts away, and she presses a gentle kiss against your scalp in return.

at one point, she stops writing, and takes a couple bites of her dinner, grunting as she does. she squeezes your ass and mumbles against your head "'s really good babe. thank you." you hum a happy sound and kiss her neck.

the hand on your ass starts to gently trace little numbers in your skin, which is so fucking cute it makes you a little dizzy. you have to bite your tongue to keep from kissing her senseless and breaking her focus.

your breath catches in your throat every other minute when sevika will intermittently claw your ass like a stress toy as she mutters under her breath, cursing her calculator, or a client, and occasionally just silco himself for "talkin' me into this fucking business shit." like she hasn't been doing 'this fucking business shit' for over a decade now.

she pushes her head into your hand when your scratching stops, like a cat demanding more attention. you giggle and begin to play with her hair again. she sighs sweetly in thanks.

eventually sevika snaps one folder closed and opens another. she jostles you a bit in the process. "sorry baby." she mumbles. you hum.

"'s okay."

"you're not falling asleep are you?" she asks suddenly, panicked, her grip on your ass tightening. you laugh.

"not yet."

"you tired?" she asks. you are, but nowhere near tired enough to fall asleep with sevika's cock buried inside you. still, you decide to tease her.

"a little."

"tell me about your day." she demands. you scoff, but start talking regardless.

you mumble against sevika's neck for a while she works behind you and hums and laughs at your words. after a while you trail off and run out of things to say, so sevika starts speaking in short little bursts between tasks and problems. what she ate for breakfast. the guy she watched step in dog shit this morning, how he almost caught her laughing. that she hates the arm exercises her new physical therapist gave her.

as time goes on, sevika's mindless groping of your ass becomes a little more intentional. her hips beneath you start shifting minutely, intermittent at first, but soon she's just grinding up into you. you bite your lip, trying to ignore her, but she just takes it as a challenge.

"i'm still trying to decide if i'm impressed or betrayed by your little stunt." she grunts out. you chuckle nervously.

"fuckin' dramatic." you whisper. "'m just trying to make sure you keep your job. like a responsible wife."

"like a tease."

"that too." you giggle.

suddenly, sevika's got both her hands on your hips, grinding you down onto her strap hard. you squeal.

"fuck sev!" you curse. "you--you've gotta do your work first." you say as your hands go flying down to grip her wrists. she grins at you.

"just finished." she growls.

you gulp, your cunt clencing, your heart rate picking up. you give up on trying to control the way sevika's grinding you against her lap, instead just holding your breath in anticipation of what she's gonna do to you.

"so whaddya think?" she asks. you whimper.

"'bout what?"

"should i feel betrayed or impressed?" you smile, leaning forward to kiss sevika.

"impressed. duh." you whisper against her lips. "got you to finish your work twice as fast." you say with a waggle of your eyebrows. sevika chuckles and shakes her head in amusement. she leans forward and gives you a sweet little kiss. you hum against her lips, only to screech when in a flash, sevika shoots up with you in her arms, setting you down on the desk in front of her, pinning your legs by up under your shoulders and looming down over you. you blink.

"dont make too much of a mess, baby, i gotta give these papers to silco tomorrow." is the only warning you get before she's pistoning her hips in and out of you at a brutal pace.

you scream and sevika grins.

"what'd you think was gonna happen, babe? thought you were gonna tease me like that 'n get away with it?" your hands flail, clawing at papers, before smoothing them out, then reaching up to claw at sevika instead. "huh?" she asks. you blink, then shake your head no with a chuckle. "no?" she asks, surprised. you laugh.

"knew i wouldn't get away with it. that's half the fun, sev." you whisper. she laughs and ducks down to kiss you.

"you're an evil fuckin' genius, baby." she says against your lips between panting breaths as she fucks you at a brutal pace.

your cunt is squelching between the two of you and sevika shakes her head in admonishment. "fuck did i say honey?" she spits. you huff. "told you not to get messy and you're already laying in a puddle." she growls against you.

"c-can't help it." you whine.

"no?"

"feels- fuck- feels so good baby." you moan. sevika growls, pressing one last firm kiss onto your lips before pulling away completely.

she pulls back, pulls her strap out of you, lets go of your legs, leaves you spread out and fucked open on the middle of her desk, whining and empty.

"fuck, you're pretty." she whispers. she grins down at you for a second, reaches forward to tweak your nipples, and then she's flipping you over.

you land on your stomach with a grunt, a shiver running down your spine as sevika presses your face down against her desk with one of her hands and guides her cock inside you with the other.

"fuck!" you gasp. sevika chuckles, starts fucking you with shallow little thrusts as she gropes your ass. "sevika." you whine.

"what's wrong baby?" she asks, chuckling as she watches you twitch and writhe beneath her.

"deeper, please." you ask. she hums, hitches one of your legs up on to the desk beside you, then slides all the way inside.

you whimper. the new angle makes her cock feel two inches bigger.

"that good enough for you?" sevika spits from above you. "huh? your greedy cunt finally satisfied baby?" she asks. you nearly cum at her words.

"sevika!" you gasp out. she laughs and starts grinding deep little circles into you.

"fuck. love watching your cunt clench around me like that baby. so fuckin' pretty. you're creamin' all over me baby, shit." sevika rambles. your eyes roll back in your head and you start rambling, desprate and needy.

"sevika, sev, baby, fuck me. please honey, fuck me hard and deep and fa-- ah!" you shriek as sevika starts fucking you. "oh fuck!" you screech. "fuck! just like that!" sevika presses down against your head and leg harder, pinning you to the desk as she picks up her pace.

she's growling behind you, but it's barely audible over your wailing and the smacking sounds of her hips meeting your ass, the squelching sounds that start back up between the two of you again.

"fuck." she whispers. you giggle when you hear it.

"feel good baby?" you taunt. sevika grunts. "god you're so deep, 'm not gonna be able to walk tomorrow." you gasp out. sevika leans down to begin biting at your back and shoulders, her thrusts getting sloppier the more you talk. you smile. "gonna cum inside this pussy, baby?" you ask her as sweetly as you can while swallowing back moans and whimpers.

sevika's hips stutter and she bites your shoulder, groaning against you. "gonna get you fuckin' pregnant." she whispers. you jolt against her at the words and she chuckles. "you gotta cum for me first, though." she whispers.

"'s gonna be messy." you choke. sevika coos down at you and you bite your lip.

"that's okay baby, you can be messy. i put all the important shit away. was just teasing you earlier."

"you're so mean." you whine. sevika grins, then pinches your clit.

"yeah, but it gets you so wet." she grunts. you gasp beneath her and she chuckles. "gonna cum?" she asks. you squeak, your thighs starting to shake. "i can tell. can feel this pussy clenching around me. fuck, you're so perfect baby." you gasp, your orgasm creeping up on you.

"sev--" you scramble and claw at the papers littering the desk, looking for something to hold onto as you start to fall apart. sevika presses kisses to your shoulder, cheek and back as she fucks you impossibly faster. "sevika i'm--!" you squeak out. sevika chuckles behind you.

"do it baby." she grunts.

with one final squeak you cum, soaking your thighs. "fuuuuck." sevika curses as she continues to fucking you until you're twitching.

she moves her hand away from your clit when you start to whine, sinking it into your hip as she starts drilling into your cunt with reckless abandon, chasing her own release.

you struggle to catch your breath, still so sensitive from your own orgasm that you cant do much but lay limp on the desk. "y-you gonna..." you gasp, "gonna cum sev?" you whimper. she grunts. "gonna cum inside me?" you ask. she responds with a grunt and a hand smacking your ass.

"f-f-f--" she says, clawing your ass.

"yeah, yeah, yeah, sev, cum inside me, please, want you to feel good baby."

"fuck!" she shouts as she cums, burying her cock deep inside you and grinding against your ass as she shakes. "shit, baby, fuckin' take it, just like that." she grunts. you hum happily beneath her as she twitches against you.

its quiet for a second as she catches her breath behind you, but then she flops forward, pinning you to the desk with her full body weight.

you giggle and moan as she nuzzles into your neck, breathing you in as she comes down from her orgasm. "fuck baby." she grumbles on top of you. you giggle.

"mmm." you hum beneath her. "i want a bath." you whisper. sevika grunts on top of you. you let her rest for a minute before speaking again.

"and a snack." you say. she huffs against you.

"sevika." you say after a minute. she hums. "if you run us a bath, i'll still give you that back massage." you offer. she lifts her head up in consideration. you chuckle.

"in the bath or in bed?"

"whichever you want."

"you making the snack?"

"if you help me walk to the kitchen and back."

it's silent as she considers your terms, then finally, she groans as she lifts off of you to stand. with a gentle pat to your ass, sevika pulls the strap out. you flinch, and she kisses your back in apology.

you stay melted to the desk as sevika undresses behind you, only moving once she finally reaches down to help you up.

she gathers you in her arms, pressing kisses to your face and head. you giggle against her.

"hi." she says with a sweet smile. you grin, leaning in to brush your lips against her.

"hey, sexy."

"thanks for the motivation." she whispers against your lips. you giggle.

"anytime, baby." you promise.

she seals your promise with a kiss.

#sevika x reader #lesbian smut #sevika #sevika arcane #sevika x you #sevika imagine #sevika smut #soft sevika #i want her so bad

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seat-safety-switch · 11 days

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One of the most confusing experiences of my life was when I was briefly working for that billionaire that got killed. I can't remember his name either. It keeps happening, right? Isn't that weird? In this case, it wasn't weird at all.

When all of it started, it was the usual kind of thing. My secretary got a call about a potential new client, and he came running into the workshop. Now, you have to understand two things: I like to work on my own, and I like to work with absolutely no interruptions. In particular, I especially do not deal well with surprises. I didn't fire him, because I think that "firing people" is a concept of the old, dead world of work. However, I think he knew that what he had done was wrong. And when his eyebrows grow back in, I'm sure he'll look appropriately contrite.

Turns out the client was an eccentric billionaire. He wanted me to hunt down a Plymouth Belvedere that had belonged to his grandfather. There was a considerable chunk of cash involved in it, and of course my per-diem was negotiated to be fairly close to my mortgage payment. I left immediately for the Inland Midwest. Yeah, that's a new name for me, too. Ever since the United Nations occupied Iowa, we've not been allowed to use the slur "Flyover Country" to refer to it anymore. That, and the surface-to-air missile batteries stationed at the border, are probably why my client didn't want to search for himself. Didn't stop me – I snuck in the back door, by driving down the interstate at a remarkable rate of speed in a clapped-out Dodge Dakota, just like the locals do.

Did I find the Belvedere? Absolutely not. It's folly to think that you could locate an individual car, even with my remarkable powers of shitbox deduction. Based on sampling the dirt (by taste, I'm not some kind of weirdo) I determined the 100-kilometre range in which it had once existed, but it was long gone. Likely pushed into the crusher sometime in the 80s.

This was not what my client wanted to hear, and he hired, on the spot, many functionaries to scream at me on his behalf. That contract was iron-clad, though, and I took my cash and left his endlessly-undulating office tower made entirely of seamless, perfectly-reflective mirrored glass. Temporarily made insane by sheer proximity to this much wealth, I immediately put the money into the stock market, and lost it. Turns out that the market responds poorly when one of their own is hit by an Iowan intercontinental ballistic missile. They had finally tracked down where I had parked that Dakota after raiding their strategic stockpile of Weber carbs on the way home.

I had to buy another car to get home, and it turns out that there was a pretty sweet Belvedere for sale nearby, not even two blocks from the smoking crater containing the singed molecules of the billionaire. Lucky find!

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siriusleee · 1 year

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LIKE BLOOD ON IRON

Historical Executioner AU

Summary: The executioner has always been an enigma to you - drawing you in. His sword drawing a line in the dirt as he made his way to the village center, and leaving back to his cottage on the outskirts of town. However, your curiosity can't stop the future your family has planned for you.

Warnings: mentions of blood, family dynamics, semi-forced marriage mention, implied age gap, future smut, future blood and gore.

Word Count: 6k

A/N: This is a three part series that I intend to be pretty long - at least 20,000 words. If you want to be added to the tag list, make sure you comment below. This is a historical fantasy, however, it is not magical. spotify playlist part two

His sword carves a gorge in the dirt, dust swirling in the sunlight left behind him. The sun threatens to fall before he makes it to the center of the village, but it doesn't dare fall before he gets the chance to finish his day's work.

You watch him from the window of your family's house, lucky enough to be close enough to the center that you can see him coming for ages. Your fingers dig into the windowsill; the wind - salty from the nearby bay- blows gently through, rattling the windows you threw open the moment your sister whispered that he was coming down the road. There are only moments before Mother will storm upstairs, chastising you for trying to watch what's going down below.

"It's not appropriate for a girl your age to see this," she'll say for the hundredth time, slamming the windows shut. The wavy glass will distort his features, and leave you nothing but a hint at his form, but even then Mother won't let you continue looking. She'll pull you downstairs into the kitchen with your two sisters and set you all to work.

"Your father and uncle will be hungry when they get home; you all pitch in," she'll say, pantomiming joy when just outside a man will lose his head - your father and uncle observing from the crowd. Father will come home grim, and not speak over the dinner that you and your sisters cooked, and will go to bed silent.

In the morning when you go to the market for whatever Mother needs for the day, blood will have stained the stones paving the center of the village. And the executioner will be back in his small cottage situated far away from everyone in town, not to be seen until he was needed again.

But this time, Mother takes longer. You hear her speaking sharply to your youngest sister, about how she needs to be more aware of her surroundings and stop sloshing all that damned water all over the place. Today you get the chance to see him come closer.

He's large and cloaked - you know from the village boys whispering that he has a mask on to cover his face.

"It's covered in ashes - smeared to look like a skull."

"It's to remind those on his chopping block that he is Death."

No one accompanies him on his journey to the dias that all the buildings spiral away from; every person that will be there is already waiting for him to arrive, breath held in their throats as they hear his approaching footsteps. You watch as each house he passes draws its shutters shut to him as if they could be next if they looked at him. The sea rages down past the docks, far enough away to be just a faint chorus as he approaches your house.

The tilt of his shoulders enamors you - he's enormous, but walks with a grace you can only wish to have. You don't need to be near him to know that the only sounds are the swish of his cloak against the ground, and the sword drawing against the ground.

You startle when Mother grasps your shoulder, letting out a gasping noise, but you don't turn away from the window. As if he could hear you, the executioner's head snaps towards you. You see just a hint of the white ash smeared across his mask before you're pulled inside. Mother throws you into the room with enough strength to cause you to hit the wall behind you, rattling the porcelain that sits on a nearby shelf. She slams the window hard enough that the glass rattles before slamming the storm shutters and latching them.

"What are you doing?" Mother's voice is venomous as she rounds on you, eyes burning. "You are going to humiliate this family acting the way you do."

"I'm sorry Mother," you appease, pulling at the wrinkles in your skirt and avoiding her eyes. "I was just curious."

"Your job isn't to be curious."

"Yes, Mother."

"How would your suitors think about you hanging out the window to watch something so grim?"

You close your eyes to hide the sudden anger behind them; your head stays down and you don't answer. Anything you say won't be good enough for her. It's the same every time there's an execution.

"Come - let's prepare dinner."

You follow, slowly. Inside the kitchen it's warm, and smells of honey and meat. Your mother gestures to a lump of dough that needs kneading and you roll your sleeves up. Your sisters, still eager to get a nice word out of Mother, patter around, stirring and checking on the baking. You know you were given the dough because everything else in the kitchen fails you.

Mother had been attempting to get you some proficiency in the kitchen, giving it her damnedest, curses flying out of her whenever you burnt something. For the past two years, she tried to no avail.

"At least you're a smart girl," she'd say with a sign. "And you can do books - you'll just have to hire someone who can cook."

For three years, your father and mother had been trying to find someone for you to marry.

"Seventeen is when I met your mother, and I courted her for three years to finally get her yes. And you're her elder by three."

The story sickened you.

You'd had some luck that not many wanted to court you - it wasn't unknown in the village that you argued with your mother and father. Everyone whispered behind your back about the time you tried to smuggle yourself on one of your father's cargo ships, bound for somewhere far away and exotic. They whispered about how you fought the sailor that found you tooth and nail, leaving him a scar down the side of his face as he dragged you to the deck. No one wanted a wife that wouldn't listen.

But still, some had come knocking.

Nice young men who would wait the years it took you to be ready to marry if you would just say yes. Nice young men who winked at your younger sisters across the dining table, who pressed flowers into Mother's hands, who clapped Father on the back at the end of the night.

Nice, young, boring men who wanted a boring wife to oversee someone else doing the cooking.

Nice young men who would want their wives on hands and knees cleaning during the day, tongue out at night.

Nice young men you detested.

You'd rejected each one that came knocking - fits that included screaming loud enough that the neighbors could hear, and a few shattered glasses. Once Mother locked you in your room and threatened to send you to a nunnery if you didn't stop screeching. But your father had called on them, spinning a web that you'd been intrigued by them and to come back for dinner again in a few weeks.

You'd been threatened with the nunnery and the whip if you misbehaved the next time they came back, so you sat there, unspeaking while the men spoke only to Mother and Father.

You're broken out of your reverie by your youngest sister, Lily. She presses against your side, tugging your apron to pull you down so that she can whisper in your ear.

"Mother is going to check on you tonight."

You give just a curt nod, eyes trained on Mother and your oldest sister, Maggie. They have their backs turned to you and Lily. Lily who has always hidden your secrets and you have hidden hers. Lily who knows you sneak out at night, climbing carefully out of your window onto the trellis and down where the horse is stabled. Lily who knows you spend all night swimming in the dark ocean, imagining the merfolk and monsters that linger there.

You press a quick kiss to her temple, a thank you for the heads up, as you begin shaping the dough into two loaves of bread.

The front door opens and the sound of your father's boots on the wood breaks through the kitchen. Mother wipes her hands on her apron, flour falling onto the dark blue skirt below, and leaves to say hello. Maggie follows closely behind, leaving you and Lily behind to finish dinner. Lily does most of the work, directing you on what to do to keep everything from burning.

When everything is finished, the two of you cart it to the dining table where Maggie straightens the plates to perfection. You hear the gentle hum of Mother and Father talking, no doubt about your antics in the window. There's an extra plate at the table.

"Who is this for?" You ask Maggie, skewing one of the spoons.

"Edward. And don't mess everything up." She reaches across to straighten the spoon.

Edward the apprentice tailor, her two-year suitor who no doubt will agree to marry before the end of the year. You feel relieved that tonight you will be ignored, you and Lily can eat at the end of the table in peace, whispering jokes to each other.

You leave to wash up in your room, scrubbing at the black dirt that you collected from the windowsill. You wonder if the executioner has made it home; if he drags his sword behind him or does he sheath it. Does it drip blood as he retraces his path?

Lily waits for you at the top of the stairs, and you lace your fingers together as you make your way down the stairs and into the dining hall. You pull faces at each other across the table, and stifle giggles into your napkins - ignoring the dirty looks Maggie sends to the two of you down the table.

Dinner is tortuously slow - when it's over and you're clearing off the table you can see Edward and Maggie in the hallway, pressed against each other in a way that would make Mother blush if she were to see it. You elbow Lily and point toward them, sticking your tongue out and pretending to puke. She laughs loud enough to catch Maggie's attention and the two of you scurry out of her line of sight.

After getting ready for bed, you brush out Lily's hair, perched on the bed you share. Her hair shines midnight beneath the brush, long and thick. The most gorgeous in the family.

"Can you braid it in two tonight?" She asks, trying to turn and look at you, but you turn her head forcefully back to the front.

"If you stay still I can. Keep wiggling little mouse, and you're going to have crooked braids."

Her hair slips heavily between your fingers as you cross one strand over another. You're wrapping a tie around the bottom of the first braid when she speaks again, this time in a whisper.

"Do you think being married would be terrible?"

You concentrate on the tie, measuring out each word before saying it.

"Why do you ask, my little mouse?"

"It's just - Maggie seems so eager to marry, and you're the opposite. Mother and Father seem happy."

"Well, Maggie and I are different people. Maggie is wonderful at this house stuff, and she wants that life. I want to explore, to see more. I want to fall in love with someone that isn't a pick of Father - someone…" You trail off, unsure of what you're trying to say. "Anyway, marriage isn't terrible for everyone. And if your marriage was, I would come and rescue you myself. Even if it means killing your husband. I'd sweep you out of that house, and back with me."

Lily giggles at the suggestion.

"You would end up under the executioner's sword then."

Inside, something twists at the idea of lying down, looking up at the broad man staring down at you.

"He doesn't scare me," you tell her, finishing the second braid. "Nothing scares me."

"Nothing?"

"Nothing."

The two of you settle into bed, Lily tucking herself into your side. Just as she said, in the middle of the night, Mother comes in, candlelight casting long shadows across the room. You keep still, pretending to sleep until she disappears. It's too risky to leave tonight, so you let Lily's warmth and soft snoring lull you to sleep.

***

The next night, you press your ear to your bedroom door. You can hear Father snoring faintly down the hall; the moon, directly overhead, tells you it's late enough to slip out. You press a kiss on Lily's forehead and slide your legs out of the window, skirts bunched up to keep from getting caught.

The trellis groans under your weight, but you're sure it won't break underneath you. You climb down, familiar with where to put your hands, where the spiders like to build their webs, and the weak spots - you drop the last few feet down to the ground. The horse nickers softly from her spot in the small stall she's in. The village is quiet, the only sound the whisper of the sea.

You keep to the darkest spots, the shadows even the night fears as you sneak through town. It's too hot for a cloak, but you still keep yours over your head, just in case anyone other than the spiders and bats is awake to see you. The closer you get to the sand, the faster you walk, pausing just once for a drunken sailor to slip past you without noticing you are hidden just feet away from him.

The port is small - bringing in just one or two ships - nearly all of them laden down with wool your father sells. But this time of year there is only one ship, here to pick up sailors that were on leave. It bobs gently across the water in the small port, the flicker of a candle seen sporadically. From this distance, any soldiers on it look like dolls in the distance. The air is cooler rolling off of the ocean, and the salt in the air sticks to your skin. Your bare feet hit the sand and you race to a spot hidden in a cove that separates the village from the ocean - a hidden spot used by couples in the town when they wanted to get away. But at night it was always empty.

Your toes dip in the water, and the bottom of your cloak gets soaked each time a fresh wave breaks on the sand. The water in the distance is still, reflecting the moon and stars. You let your cloak slip off of your shoulders, beneath you'd laced a dress up loosely, enough that if you were caught, you could feign innocence. It comes undone and pools at your feet. Your skin erupts in gooseflesh when the ocean air rolls over it - your chemise not thick enough to block out the wind.

You wade to your hips- the water is warm and still. Beneath your feet the sand shifts, shells sharp against your skin. You turn, making sure that you're still hidden from anyone who may be walking to the port at night, and when you're sure no one is there looking at you, you dive.

Your eyes burn in the darkness, moonlight filtering down just enough so that you can see your hand in front of your face. You push farther out into the bay, not resurfacing until your lungs burn from lack of air. Breaking the surface, everything is blurry, you fall back so that you're floating on your back until your eyes readjust and the stars come back in sharp focus. You float there, watching the subtle shift.

And all at once you feel it: someone's eyes on you. You flounder until you can get your feet underneath you, eyes straining to see the shore - you're farther out than you thought you were, toes barely able to scrape the sand below. You can see your dress and cloak, still pooled on the shore, but there's no sign of anyone nearby. Slowly, worryingly, you push towards the shore, until it's back to your hips. Your eyes never leave the shore, looking for someone there.

That's when one of the shadows ripples forward. You freeze your heart stuttering in your chest as you watch someone walk towards you - you can't think of what to do. Even if you screamed, no one would be able to hear you. You realize for the first time how foolish the venture is.

When the moonlight fully covers the figure, they stop feet from your clothes. Your hands clamp across your chest, the thin white fabric covering you completely transparent now that it's wet. Neither of you moves, and you realize that if you don't, they probably never will.

Hands still clamped across your chest, you walk to the shore. With each step it becomes clear just how massive the person on shore is - it has to be a man, you've never seen a woman that tall, that broad. You're in ankle-deep water when you catch just a glimpse at them beneath the hood of their cloak: white ash, reflecting in the moonlight.

Your panic increases tenfold, but you think if you move too fast, he'll move faster. Snatch you up. So as if he were a dangerous animal, you reach down and grab your dress from the ground, leaving it over your arm as you pull your cloak around yourself. Your eyes never leave him. He waits until you're completely covered before he turns to look at you - just the barest hint of flesh around his eyes.

"Don't you think it's dangerous to be out here alone?" His voice is gravel and honey, deeper than you'd expect. You wonder if it's that way because he doesn't get to speak often.

"It depends on who's out here," your voice wavers, but doesn't crack. He seems to like that answer, letting out a short 'hmm'.

"There's plenty of monsters out here in the darkness." He speaks but still doesn't step toward you. You tighten your cloak around you, wishing for once to be back in bed with Lily.

"The merfolk and the selkies are the only things I worry about." You take small steps backward as you speak, feet shuffling over the sand.

"I've seen worse lurking in the near forest," he says, suddenly stepping towards you. You trip over your own feet, but before you can crash into the sand, his hand is around your elbow, pulling you up roughly. You don't mean to, but you let out a small squeak at his touch and recoil away; he drops your arm as if it burns him.

"You should go home," he says, nodding his head back towards the village. "It's too late for you to be out."

"I think you and my father would agree on that matter."

You can't tell if it's a trick of the light, but you see the corner of his eye crinkle for just a moment.

"I'll walk you back up, then you are on your own to get home safely."

He walks ahead of you as he talks as if he expects you just to follow without saying anything. And you do, terror and intrigue mixing inside of you. His scent wafts to you in the wind, woodsmoke, and metal, and something sweet- like rotted wood. It flashes through you, just a second long - to bury your face in his cloak and take a deep breath. Your curiosity is raging inside of you, mingling with the apprehension of being near him - the same man Mother refuses to let you even look at through the window.

You slip on the sand and rocks behind him, his boots leaving footprints that dwarf yours. It takes just moments, but the two of you emerge out of the hidden crag and onto the soft grass that overlooks the ocean.

You're panting, your heart still beating erratically in fear of him, the executioner, here at night on a dark roadside, and no one to notice the two of you. He pauses, just long enough to throw a look over his shoulder at you - you recognize his silent instructions to hurry home. You take two small sideways steps, eyes trained on him as he walks in the opposite direction, to the small cottage situated between the forest and the sea and far away from where he found you. His exile - where he never ventures out unless called. As soon as he's far enough away, you turn and run.

When you make it back to your trellis you're out of breath, a stitch cutting your side open. You ready yourself to climb up, trying to catch your breath and remember his scent and the way he towered over you.

You wonder if he'd been there with you before, hidden in the shadows.

***

"What are you doing? Are you senseless?" Maggie's voice cuts through your thoughts, pulling you back to the present. Your fingers slip over the apples in your hand as she grabs your wrist, pulling you back towards her.

"You're supposed to stay with me and Lily; not wander off to do god knows what?"

Her face is pinched, angry - you jerk your wrist out of her touch.

"I'm sorry Maggie, I just got busy looking at the produce."

She gives you a look that says she knows you're lying, but you fall in step behind her anyway. You had been lost in thoughts of the executioner, of how his eyes shone in the moonlight and his smell. Her hair, lighter than yours and Lily's, is pinned up elaborately; she spent two hours in the mirror this morning doing it. She didn't have to say it, but you know she hopes to run into someone who will run back to Edward and tell him about how gorgeous his future betrothed was today in the market.

Lily slips her hand into yours, and you two trail behind Maggie - ducklings behind their mother duck. Lily had whispered to you this morning between bites of breakfast that Mother had set Maggie to watch you to make sure you didn't slip off. She couldn't catch you out at night, but she knew you were disappearing somewhere.

She'd been creeping into the room for the past two weeks, only to find you pretending to sleep beside Lily. You'd close your eyes, and bury your face into the pillow, trying to sleep, but instead filled with thoughts of the executioner. Wondering if he was out there standing in the same spot, the waves soaking the bottom of his cloak, the ash on his mask shining in the moonlight. Wondering if he was thinking about you.

"I'm going to take Lily to the butcher; it's stupid for all three of us to go to the same place," you say, winking down at Lily. Maggie stops and sighs, heavy enough that you can see her shoulders heave.

"Mother said for us all to go together."

"What trouble can I get into with Lily?"

You elbow Lily just before Maggie turns to level a suspicious look at the both of you. Lily speaks up for the two of you, trying to keep her face serious.

"I can keep an eye on her - no one will get into any trouble when I'm around."

Maggie rolls her eyes at the two of you, you can see her wearing down.

"Besides if we go to the butcher, then that means you can take the long way home. And pass the tailor's shop."

That gets her - Edward will be there, working with his father, and if she doesn't have to cart you and Lily around, the two of them can meet in the alley.

"Fine. But meet me at the end of the street and don't tell Mother."

"I would never think of it."

You and Lily watch her disappear into the market vendors before the two of you turn in the opposite direction.

"What do you want to do?" You ask, nudging Lily with your shoulder. "We have at least an hour of freedom."

"Let's go by the bakery; I want something sweet."

"Something sweet? You are the best baker in the house, all you do is eat sweet food."

The wind blows your skirts around as the two of you walk across the village, dodging loose stones and puddles. You're trying to jump from one stone to the other when Lily grabs your arm.

"Look!"

Thirty feet away from the two of you, in the middle of the street, the executioner stands. People shove themselves onto the sides of the buildings, straining to get away from him. He doesn't seem to pay anyone any mind as he walks. Lily pulls on your arm, trying to pull you to the side, away from him. But you're stuck fast to the ground; even from this distance, you can see him looking at you as he walks.

Lily whines your name, pulling harder on your arm. He gets closer, close enough that you can almost make out the wrinkles beside his eyes. His eyes catch yours - you can tell recognition sparks in them. You want to say something to him, but you know if you do, it will get back to your Mother. So you let Lily pull you away from him, closer to one of the buildings, but your eyes never leave him.

He passes by, nearly silent for such a large man, black boots shining in the sunlight.

"Why is he out?" Lily hisses in your ear as he passes. You pull your attention from his broad back to her.

"I'm sure he also has errands to run."

"He's so scary."

You watch as he disappears around the corner - wondering what he thought about you, about what he'd say if you stopped and spoke to him, say hello here in public. The thoughts stick with you as you and Lily duck into the bakery. You're stuck thinking about it as she bribes the young boy behind the counter to give her two sweet rolls for free, promising that she'll pay him back next time. The two of you eat them as you walk to the butcher's, honey coating your fingertips.

You watch the butcher wrap meat in brown paper, but your mind is on the executioner: on how he refused to look at you until you were dressed, how he walked you back to the edge of the village. It takes just a short walk to make it back home, Maggie waiting for you at the end of the street so that you can all walk in together. You notice the way one of the pins in her hair is gone, a single lock of hair falling.

Inside it's a commotion - the three of you come through the door to your Mother rushing past with an armful of clothes.

"You all took your damn good time! Hurry up and go get clean for dinner. We're going to have guests tonight."

You press yourself against the wall as one of the hired girls hustles past, a tablecloth in her hand.

"Who's coming? What is this?" You inquire, as your mother shoves a dress into your arms. You try to peer at her over the royal blue material.

"Your uncle is coming to dinner, and so is Jonathan." Your heart sinks. Jonathan. A suitor hand-picked by Father for you. You've barely digested the information before your mother whirls on you, hair in disarray and fire in her eyes.

"And you will not act like a brat tonight. You are twenty years old - nearly twenty-one. Your sister will be getting married this year and I intend to announce your wedding shortly after. You will dress like a lady and act like one or so help me, I will send you to the nunnery this time.

And you," she whirls to Lily, her chest heaving. Lily shrinks half behind you, "will behave also young lady. You and your sister will not make a fool of me tonight. Do you understand?"

The two of you nod in unison together, too scared to say anything else. Mother waves the two of you upstairs - you trip over the dress in your arms, slamming your shin into one of the stairs. You emerge at the top, cursing under your breath.

The two of you rush to your room - Lily's dress laid across the bed; you shake the one Mother shoved in your hands out, nose wrinkled. It's one of Maggie's old ones: dark blue and heavy, elaborate embroidery across the bottom.

"I don't know how she expects me to fit into this," you mutter, throwing it across the bed. Maggie, taller than you by an entire head and more willowy, had never been able to share dresses with you.

"What do you think Uncle is coming for?" Lily asks, emerging from the neck of her dress, turning around in a silent request for you to lace her up.

"Probably to ask Father for money for another stupid business prospect, just like the last time."

You lace her dress, loosely.

"Can you tighten it up?"

"Why do you need your dress tighter? You're thirteen."

"The other girls wear theirs tighter."

Lily pouts at you, and you sigh at her.

"Come here; I'm only doing it a little tighter. When you lace mine, make sure it's loose, if I can even get it on. I'll braid your hair for you."

You re-lace her, just incrementally tighter, and redo the braids you did for her that morning, pinning them up in the back. From below, Mother is yelling to hurry up! You get dressed in a hurry, and to your surprise, the dress slips over you, but you know lacing it up will be difficult.

When your mother comes up the stairs ten minutes later, you have your hands braced against the end of the bed; Lily is pulling with all her might to try to get the back to close.

"Go wash your face, Lily," she says, brushing her away and taking the strings herself.

You know what's coming next; you breathe in, and she jerks the laces tight - you can feel the boning squeeze your ribs.

"Does it have to be this dress?" You ask as your mother pulls the strings again. You press your hands to your stomach, trying to breathe better as Mother ties the back, tucking the strings so they can't be seen.

"Jonathan likes the color blue."

"And that means I have to be packed into this like a sausage?"

Mother sighs, pushing on your shoulders so that you sit on the end of the bed. Her hands are soft in your hair as she pulls it down, and twists it back up, pinning it into place.

"You could do much worse than Jonathan. At this point, he's the only man that will have you."

"Have me? Like I'm a cow."

She sticks another pin in your hair, nearly stabbing your scalp.

"No. Like you're a woman; you can't do everything in this life alone. Besides," she tucks the last piece of hair in, "he travels. You could go with him."

Your hands smooth down the skirt of the dress, picking at a loose thread.

"I want to travel where I want to go, not where someone is going to show me off."

Your mother's fingers are soft on your shoulders as she turns you so she can look at you.

"We don't always get what we want in life. Sometimes we just have to take what we're given. Come on. Your uncle is waiting downstairs to say hello."

She holds your hand down the stairs; at the bottom, your Uncle Henry stands - taller than your father and thinner but not nearly as imposing. He kisses you on each cheek before moving to Mother. You leave them to talk and take your place at the dining table. It's empty except for the plates already sat down. In the kitchen, you can hear the hired girl banging around. The sound grates at your nerves, and the dress itches at your back where you can't reach.

There's a knock at the door - it sounds like a funeral cannon going off. You try rearranging your face into a smile and push yourself up from your chair. You're sure you look more like you have an upset stomach. In the hallway everyone explodes into a chorus of greetings. A moment later, Jonathan walks into the dining room.

If you're being honest, he's not the worst pick that your mother and father could have chosen. He's never been rude or forward with you, and he's not horrible looking, but as he reaches you and takes your hand, all you can think about is how small they must be compared to the executioner's hands.

"Hello, Jonathan." You try to smile at him as he kisses your hand.

"Hello, darling."

He turns just in time to miss the grimace on your face - turning to shake your father's hand when your father walks in behind him. You take your seat, waving at Lily to come sit down beside you quickly.

Dinner passes slowly; you're barely able to eat anything from the rolling in your stomach and the way the dress presses into you. The conversation is flowery and fake - Uncle Henry laughing too loudly, Jonathan smiling to politely across the table. It sets you on edge; Lily can see it because she reaches under the table to pat your knee.

It comes to a boiling point when Uncle Henry begins to describe his new business of shipping items.

"We've got a new ship; smaller and faster than the ones usually used. It can't hold as much cargo, but it can sail routes in half the time. With just two of them we can double how much cargo we're moving out of ports."

Your mother is leaning into the conversation, no doubt to know what she's going to tell Father no to later, Father is enraptured by your uncles conversation, and Jonathan leans across the table, listening in.

"You know," Jonathan says, cutting into the conversation, "I think you'd have more success using them to ferry people. Imagine how much people would pay to get where they're going faster."

Uncle Henry points at him across the table, a grin spreading over his face.

"The boy understands."

"Of course he does," Father says, pausing to take a drink, "he's already got plans to take my daughter on a cross-oceanic trip after the wedding."

Your fingers falter on your glass, it nearly spills, red drops spattering across the table like blood.

"Excuse me?"

Everyone turns to look at you, and you get the feeling that there's a joke you haven't been let in on.

"Well," Father says, shifting awkwardly in his seat. Mother cuts her eyes at him, a look you don't miss. "We were going to discuss this later."

"Discuss what?" You ask, voice rising. "Because it seems as if the decision has been made for me."

Jonathan's gaze swivels between you and your father; you bunch the tablecloth in your hands.

"Calm down dear," Mother says, rising slightly from her seat, "we will talk about this later."

"No!" You yell, slamming your hands to the table and pushing yourself up. "We won't. Because I know how the conversation will go. I will be forced to agree. This is an ambush!"

Your cup spills, staining the table red. Everyone in the room seems to hold a collective breath. Jonathan moves to stand; you turn, knocking your chair over. Across the table, Maggie gives you a look of contempt - it's enough to push you toward the door.

Everyone calls your name; you can hear your uncle laughing behind you. Someone's hand grabs at your wrist, but you jerk yourself away without looking to see who it is. Outside it's dark; windows are lit up with candle light and fires flickering. In the distance lightning strikes, grey clouds rolling towards you.

You run, slipping on the grass, towards the cove. You scrape your hands, cutting one of them on a sharp rock as you scramble down. You ignore the sting, and the sound of fabric tearing. You land hard on the sand, scrambling to pull yourself upright.

Across the cove, you see a flicker of white and a shadow ripple.

#my fics #simon riley #simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley #ghost cod #ghost cod x reader #ghost #simon riley x you #cod x reader #cod mw2 #cod modern warfare #cod mwii #prompts #mw2 #ghost mw2 #cod ghost

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somanyratsinthewalls · 1 year

Text

2 Years Later (+18)

2 Years Later (+18) (Zoro x Reader)

Summary: You finally decide it's time to tell Zoro how you feel. Too bad he's a fucking idiot.

Pairing: Zoro x afab!reader

WC: 1500 OPE

Ageless Blogs and Minors DNI you WILL be blocked immediately

TW: angst, hate sex, vaginal sex, fingering, oral sex, romance, pining, pet names, once again so much plot with also porn, idk help!

“Stupid, stupid, stupid…”

Zoro muttered to himself as he firmly rapped his head on the back of the wall he was sitting against. He was out on the deck staring towards the bow of the Sunny, leaning up his back against the wall to the galley. How could he be such a fool? He hadn’t seen you in 2 years and he wasted the sweet moment of your reunion by accusing you of sleeping with someone you had met during your time away from everyone. Zoro let those insecurities of not be able to find you or protect you bubble up to the surface and he came off as an asshole instead of someone who deeply cares about you. Loves you, even…

But now here he was, alone, physically thrown out of your room and not daring to return. He couldn’t believe he wasted his big chance to confess and made you hate him in the process…

— 12 hours before The Fight —

Your stomach was in knots, couldn’t believe you were really about to see your crewmates again after 2 years. Everyone had been through so much, and so had you. You snapped out of your anxious thoughts and hitched up your backpack and made your way into the market on Sabaody.

You heard him before you saw him, the sound of his deep voice clearly frustrated with whoever he was talking with. You heard it in the marketplace and instinctively whipped around to see a pair of broad shoulders and the sparkle of 3 earrings above his left one. You flew towards him and instinctively wrapped your arms around his strong back, not missing how much larger he had become.

“What the hell? Why are-“ Zoro looked down, he knew those arms. Your arms, the ones he wished so often to place kisses on their soft skin… the ones he imagined gripping his biceps as he plowed into you…

“Y/n?”

Zoro din’t hug you back, but you didn’t expect him to. It wasn’t his style. You didn’t care, you liked him that way. But of course… you’d never tell him that…

— 2 hours before The Fight —

You were so excited to see everyone again, but also excited to celebrate with them. Your evening was filled with lots of delicious food and tons of booze. You gaze across the table at Zoro, catching his eye before he looked down at his glass. Now that he was no longer staring at you, he realized it was empty and rose from his stool to refill his cup. Maybe it was the alcohol or the endorphins in your brain from seeing your friends after so long, but you thought tonight would be the night you tell Zoro how you really feel. You rise from your own chair and follow him into the kitchen. You sauntered in and found your swordsman pouring himself another hefty glass of liquor.

“Some things never change, huh.” The words came out far more sultry than you expected, perhaps it was the booze talking.

“Hmm,” he smirked and lightly chuckled. “I could say the same to you, you haven’t exactly stayed sober all night.”

You laughed at his remark and sidled up to him putting your glass on the table next to his, gesturing to pour one for you as well. He silently nodded and poured you a large shot in your cup. You looked into each others eyes, and without breaking contact clinked your glasses together. You both take your drinks and you wince. He doesn’t.

“Come to my room tonight, Zoro. I have to talk to you about something.”

His eyes blew wide. What did you need to talk to him about? Had you met someone on your journeys? Were you going to break it to him that you were leaving the crew and running off with some pirate blow hard and nev-?

“Zoro?” You prompted him when he didn’t respond.

“Hmm? Uh. Yeah. I can do that.”

“Right. See you later then.” You smiled at him and returned to the festivities. Leaving him in the kitchen alone again. He poured himself another drink. He was going to need it.

— The Fight —

You paced in your room. You brushed your hair out, applied your favorite perfume, it was going to be perfect. Still imbued with a little liquid courage, you knew this was the moment you were finally going to tell Zoro how you feel. You had so much time over the past 2 years to think about your feelings for him.

He wasn’t the kind of man many women would fawn over. Of course he was handsome, but he had his quirks. Very little went though the brain rattling around under his green hair other than the thought of becoming the world’s greatest swordsman. But still, he always made a point to check in with you during hard battles, more than he did with anyone else. It was those little things he did that sparked your romantic feelings for him

*knock knock* he didn’t wait for a response, since the knob turned immediately following the second knock. He gingerly peaked his head in the door, “Y/n?”

“Hi Zoro, you can come in.”

He walked in and you sat down on your bed and patted the space next to you for him to sit.

“I prefer to stand.” He responded nervously. What the hell had gotten into him? He had sat next to you on your bed so many times before while you sharpened your blades together. He was so comfortable then, so strange now… What had happened to the laid back swordsman you knew? Had it really been that long?

“ok…” you started. Figuring you were in for a penny, in for a pound on this confession thing, you might as well do it. It was eating you alive. “Zoro… I know you and I care about each other, but it’s just been so long…” You were stumbling over your words, unable to meet his gaze. “Um.. and I’ve had so much time away from you… and I just can’t help that I just…”

“Who was it? Who is he?” Zoro raised his voice at you. He had never done that before in all your time sailing with him. You’d only even seen him do it at enemies or at Sanji during their fruitless arguments.

“Zoro what-? What are you talking about? Who is who?” You heart started pounding even harder and there was a pit in your stomach forming. He was upset with you? You hadn’t even said anything yet!

“The man that you’re leaving us for! Isn’t that what you’re here to tell me? Try and let me down easy when you tell me you’ve found some pirate asshole boyfriend and you’re shoving off with him at dawn?”

You were stunned. What the hell was he talking about? You had nothing of the sort. You spent 2 years training with a vicious crew of bandits. He thought you were on vacation and getting laid?

You scoffed. “You’re so fucking unbelievable.”

“I’M unbelievable? You’re the one abandoning m- us for some filthy low life bastard!”

“You’re delusional! Zoro you really think you were the only one who trained miserably hard for 2 years to try and make this crew better? You think I would sacrifice my loyalty to this crew for ANYONE? You think while you all broke your backs getting stronger, I was on a beach somewhere getting fucked? How DARE you accuse me of that. I thought I knew you, Roronoa Zoro, clearly I was wrong. I had no idea you were so fucking insecure. Get out of my room.”

Tears started welling up in your eyes and threatening to spill over. Zoro looked up at you. He really had fucked up this time.

“Y/n wait-“

“Fuck you Zoro.” You huffed out while you pushed him hard out of your room and slammed the door.

— Currently —

Zoro continuously beat his head into the wall he was leaning against, trying to ignore his feelings. “Fucking, stupid, idiot, moron…” he punctuated each with a slap against the wall. On the last one he felt something cradle his head…

“Seis fleur..”

Robin’s hands acted as a barrier between Zoro’s head and the wall.

“ You know this won’t help anything, swordsman.” Robin’s silky voice told Zoro off. “You need to go back down there and tell her how you really feel.” Her body appeared behind the mast in front of him. Her eyes were serious.

Zoro acted like he had no idea what she was talking about, but acting was never his strong suit.

“Just go. I don’t have time to hold both of your hands through all of this. You need to figure it our yourselves.”

Zoro realized what Robin was implying. She had already said something to you, clearly. He nodded and turned to face the hallway that included your door. He stood at your doorway for a few moments and took his last deep breaths before he opened the door without asking.

Upon barging in, he could see you sitting at the edge of your bed in a robe sobbing. You were crying over him. It broke his heart into one thousands minuscule pieces.. how could he let this happen? You saw him enter your room and you stood up to shove him out again.

Zoro immediately fell to his knees. He pressed his face into the wooden floor of your bedrooom. He laid his white handled sword on the ground in front of him The cherished blade that Kuina had left for him... his last hope to enjoy a happy life...

“Y/n… I am here to do nothing but apologize." Zoro spoke with his forehead touching the wooden floorboards of your bedroom. “You have shown me nothing but grace and mercy, far more than I deserve. You are the light at the end of my tunnel. You are the song of the sea against my hard-worn ship. I have thought of nothing but you over these two years. I simply love you so much that my largest fear is that you find someone else. I’m so sorry. I am immature and insecure, you were right. The thought of anyone taking you away from me again…” Zoro wracked a violent sob… unlike anything you’ve ever hear from him… “I just… I love you…”

He was knelt, sobbing uncontrollably at your feet. Your heart was the fullest it had ever been. He had never shown anything like this as long as you've known him. You looked at his pathetic form around your legs.

“Rise, Swordsman.” you firmly order.

Zoro took a few moments but eventually he raised his head and his body to meet your gaze.

“Roronoa Zoro… my heart…” your gripped his jaw in your hand. “… has always belonged to you…”

He couldn’t believe what he was hearing. You felt the same way? This whole time? He had spent 2 years being insecure for no reason?

You grabbed his face and kissed him with fervor. He grabbed your torso and flipped you over onto your back. Zoro exhaled deeply and kissed down the side of your neck to the sides of your breast. His hands experimentally squeezed and kissed at your nipples as you sighed and squeaked under his touch.

“Zoro I-“ You tried to get more out but he cut you off.

“Y/n let me make you mine forever, please.”

“Oh- okay…” your were apprehensive at first but his hands felt like a warm, comforting hug every time he slid them up and down the sides of your torso.

"Y/n.. I promise to make you feel good..."

"Zoro yes.. I trust you..."

He heard your affirmation and dove into your body like a man starved. He sloppily kissed and sucked at your nipples before he tore your panties off in one piece with his massively strong hand. You writhed underneath his touch as he slowly stroked his thumbs on the sides of your clit.

“Zoro please.. it’s been so long…” You begged for him. Your pussy was so wet and aching that even oblivious Zoro could tell you needed help.

He heard you begging for him and instinctively latched his lips onto your clit. He saw it throbbing, he needed to relieve it. You gasped loudly as he brings you to the precipice of pleasure. “Oh my god? Zoro I can’t! It’s incredible, please!” You could hardly believe that this man of few words was bringing you such intense sexual pleasure.. He was sucking and touching your sex at just the right pace that had you gasping and gasping under his hands and mouth.

“Zoro I promise I’m right there just a bit more PLEASE…” He heard your promise to him. His brain short circuited. All Zoro could think of was promising to make you cum. He craved the feeling of making you cum, he needed to know he was the man making you scream out in pleasure.

“Please sweetheart, cum on my face for me?” He was a man of few words, but these were the ones that finally sent you over the edge. You screamed and folded your body into yourself as you came against his lips. After a few moments, you tried to catch your breath.

“Zoro my love…” You choked out as you backed up and flopped against his chest.

“My sweet love, please let me prove to you how much you mean to me.”

You looked up at him hovering above you. He had one eye. You wondered why. It wasn’t right to ask right now. What happened to your tender swordsman over the past 2 years? He hadn’t mentioned his injuries. You hadn’t mentioned the massive scar over your left knee. Tonight wasn’t the night. Tonight was the night he proved to you he was the only man for you.

“okay…”

Zoro slipped off the rest of his clothes and resumed his position on top of you. He lined his cock up with your soaking entrance when he made eye contact.

“tell me this is okay…”

You gazed up at him. His always serious eyes... eye... god, fuck who took it from him? Mihawk? The government? He stared right into your soul but you still had so much worry for him..

“Zoro… please… I need you inside of me now…” Zoro heard your plea and slowly pushed his fat cock head inside of your drenched pussy. You moaned out loud, finally feeling your swordsman inside of you. It was a few brief, strained moments before his cock was fully seated inside of you. He tried his hardest to not make a sound but as soon as he bottomed out he released a long, drawn out sigh.

Zoro pulled his fat cock out of you at a painful pace, pushing it back in again. You eyes were slammed shut underneath him. “Baby please… I need more…” You whined, wanting more.

For the second time tonight he was told he was being too gentle. It was more than enough for him. Zoro grabbed your hips and spread them farther than he ever needed. His insecurity addled brain needed you to confirm his feelings before he could ever achieve release.

“You are mine. Tell me you are mine.”

“Roronoa Zoro…” You stopped bucking your hips in need, You grabbed his face with your right hand, ignoring the sparce and short hunter-green facial hair that grew on his chin. “I want every part of you. I want to belong to you. You’re my everything, love.”

Zoro lost it. He grabbed your hips and slammed them into his with reckless abandon.

“Zoro yes, more! It’s so good, just like that!” He was so fueled by your praise that he slammed into you like a jackhammer. He made no moans, just heavy grunts and sighs, just like you imagined he would.

“Oh my god honey yes, please just exactly like that! A little bit more!” You were shrieking on his cock at this point, drool forming at the corners of your mouth, just chasing your high. Finally your orgasm ran through your body and you wracked your tremors on Zoro’s cock.

“FUCK-“ you squeezed Zoro so hard with your gorgeous pussy that he pulled out too late and painted your clit and hole with his white slop.

He collapsed on top of you, never experiencing such a powerful orgasm in his life, nuzzling his nose into the valley of your full breasts.

“Tomorrow… love.. love you…”

And just light that, Zoro was asleep…

You laughed…

“Some things never change…”

#one piece #one piece anime #one piece fanart #one piece fanfiction #one piece live action #one piece netflix #one piece smut #zoro x reader #zoro x sanji #fanfic #one piece fanfic #nakama #one piece fandom #one piece zoro #zoro one piece #one piece x reader #one piece headcanons

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