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itneverendshere · 2 months ago

Note

can we get kelce's sister and bsf rafe first time saying i love uuuu

want your two hands on me like my life needs savin' - r.c (+18)

pairing: kelce's sister x hockey!rafe warnings: smut; fluff.

You didn’t plan to wear it at first.

The jersey had been sitting in your closet for a week—custom-ordered, stitched with Cameron across the back and that big captain “C” on the front.

It was a joke at first.

It’s not a huge deal, right? You just bought a jersey with his name on it, but it does feel like you’re wearing a piece of him. It’s softer than you thought it would be and when you tug it over your head, it swallows you completely.

#91. CAMERON.

You sit at the edge of your bed, legs bare, phone lighting up beside you with a text from Rafe. “Leaving the rink now. Be there in 20.”

Three little hearts at the end. He’s been doing that lately.

It’s only been a few weeks since you stopped pretending, the casual hookups turning into forehead kisses and falling asleep on FaceTime more often, lazy sunday morning spent together. You haven’t talked about it too much. It’s just been… happening.

You're his, he's yours.

Tonight, he’s crashing at your dorm after practice, a normal Friday thing now. Rafe’s been on fire lately, always pushing himself, and he’s been hinting at how tired he is, but still—when you think of him on the ice, you can’t help but smile. Cocky bastard, you think, and it makes your chest tighten with something warm.

You get him.

You glance at the clock—he’s almost here. And suddenly, there’s a flutter of nerves in your stomach. Is he going to notice? You’ve been asking yourself that all night. You already know the answer.

Rafe notices everything when it comes to you.

You can’t sit still long enough to wait. You hop up and head into the bathroom, turning on the warm light and grabbing your cleanser. It's automatic now—your little skincare routine—except your hand shakes a bit when you twist the cap off your moisturizer.

You feel ridiculous, getting butterflies over a guy you've known most of your life, but it’s Rafe, and this thing between you isn’t what it used to be.

He’s yours now, or at least, he’s becoming that.

You swipe on some toner and glance at your reflection. Your cheeks are warmer, your hair a little messy from tugging the jersey on, and the neckline hangs wide, exposing your collarbone. You press your lips together to stop the smile that creeps up anyway.

You want him to like it.

There’s a knock on your door, familiar because he always knocks, even though you tell him not to.

Your heart leaps as you scramble to dry your hands on a towel and dart out of the bathroom, your bare feet soft against the floor. You hesitate for a second before opening the door, your fingers fidgeting with the hem of the jersey.

Rafe’s still in his hoodie, hair damp from the quick shower he took at the rink, hockey bag slung over his shoulder. He’s already pressing a kiss to your lips— his I missed you without words.

“Hi, princess. Coach was on our ass tonight,” Rafe groans as he steps past you, already shrugging off his jacket first. “It’s like he thinks we forgot how to play defense overnight or somethin’. My legs are shot. I thought Kelce was gonna throw his stick at him.”

He tosses his bag toward the corner like usual and flops onto your bed with a heavy sigh, face first into the comforter.

You lean against the door, watching him grumble into your sheets like a kid who didn’t get picked for recess.

“He had us doin’ suicide drills for no reason,” his voice is muffled now, face buried in your pillow. “Said we were getting lazy. I’ve been skating since eight a.m.”

He kicks his legs a little like he’s tantruming, then flips onto his back with an arm flung over his eyes. You bite your lip to keep from laughing, arms crossed loosely as you inch closer.

God, he’s dramatic.

“He was bitchin’ about backchecking the whole time like—bro, maybe we’re not covering the zone because you keep changing the damn lines every game.”

Your smile breaks through then, no point hiding it. He’s completely unaware, sprawled out across your bed still half-talking into the sleeve of his sweatshirt. You know you should be listening to his complaints—he always gets like this after a bad practice.

You tug the jersey down a little, like that’ll somehow make it more noticeable.

“You done sulking?”

Rafe groans again, dramatically. “Never.”

You raise an eyebrow. “You sure?”

“Unless you’ve got food,” he mumbles. “Or a massage. Or—” He cuts himself off mid-sentence, goes eerily quiet as he lifts his arm off his face and finally looks at you.

You watch his eyes drag down, his brain needing a second to catch up. His mouth opens a little, only a sound coming out—a pleased grunt that makes your stomach flip.

“What,” you say innocently, pretending to adjust the sleeve.

You glance down, your bare legs brushing the edge of the jersey as you cross your arms loosely over your chest, a little shy all of a sudden.

Rafe props himself up on his elbows, eyes on you properly for the first time tonight.

“Is that…” His voice goes soft. “Is that my jersey?”

You try to play it cool, but there’s a smile pulling at your mouth. “You like it?”

“That’s my jersey.”

“Yeah."

“With my name on it.” He stares for a second, brain buffering. Then: “Baby.”

It’s not simply a reaction, it’s more of a full-body. He sits up, scoots to the edge of the bed, eyes dragging from your thighs all the way up to the bold white #91 on your chest.

That little captain “C.” His name across your back.

“You got that made?”

You nod, chewing on the inside of your cheek to hide the grin. He reaches out, pulling you in between his legs, fingers brushing the hem where it hangs past your thighs. Shit, the way he always looks at you—you don’t think anyone’s ever looked at you like that before.

“I wanted to surprise you,” you say, voice suddely meek. “Wasn’t sure if it’d be… dumb.”

He doesn’t say anything right away, but his hand lingers on your thigh, a little shaky, and when he looks up at you again, he looks wrecked. Not in the tired-from-practice way, but in the holy-shit-I’m-so-down-bad-it’s-physically-hurting-me way.

You’re still trying to play it cool, but inside you’re screaming. You’ve never had this before, this type of affection, someone who made your skin feel like it was buzzing just from how softly they touched you.

You’re not the type to get giddy over guys, you never have been. Boys have always called you pretty and meant it, but not like this. No one ever made you want to wear their name or feel soft.

“You’re wearin’ my fuckin’ captain patch.”

Your grin spreads.

“Fuck,” Rafe mutters, breath catching in his throat. He runs a hand through his damp hair, cheeks flushed and eyes glassy with disbelief. “You’re gonna kill me. You know that, right? Just—wearin’ my name like that?”

Your heart flips. “Too much?”

He laughs like you just asked if the sky was too blue, pulling you forward by the hem of the jersey, letting his forehead fall to your stomach, lips ghosting over the fabric like it’s sacred.

“No,” he mumbles. “Not enough.” He looks up at you with that lazy, crooked smile that always gives him away. “You look better in it than I do.”

“You’re just saying that ‘cause I’m not covered in bruises and hockey tape.”

He huffs a chuckle through his nose and leans in, pressing a kiss to your hand.

“No, I’m sayin’ it ‘cause it’s true. You look…” His voice trails off like he’s not sure what word to land on. You can feel his breath against your skin. His eyes flick up to yours again,. “…really fuckin’ cute, actually.”

You roll your eyes, playful. “That so?”

He nods like it’s obvious. “I should be mad.”

You tilt your head. “Mad?”

“You know how many fights I’ve gotten in over that jersey? I bled for that thing.”

You laugh, “Okay, relax, Captain Cameron.”

Your fingers instinctively thread through his hair, and you swear you feel him melt into it. His eyes are gleaming, but there’s something almost shy in the way he’s looking at you.

“Baby, I swear to God… I’m never recoverin’.”

You blink, stunned. “You’re being dramatic.”

Rafe looks up, dead serious.

“I’m not.”

He pulls you into his lap and you let him, settling with your knees on either side of him, the jersey pooling between you. His hands slide up your thighs, squeezing gently at the skin.

“I don’t know what I did to deserve this.”

You don’t say anything—only take in the way his lashes fan out, how his hands feel like they were made to hold you. The jersey slips even lower as you lean into him, trying to give him more to look at, and his fingers flex at your thighs again.

You trace his jaw with your knuckles. “You scored a hat trick last weekend,” you tease, “That’s gotta count for something.”

Rafe huffs a laugh, but he’s not paying attention to your words anymore. His hands travel up, brushing under the hem now, and your breath catches as his palms smooth over the tops of your thighs, slipping beneath the oversized fabric, thumbs pressing into your hips.

“You like it?”

“Way too much.”

You hum, smug. “Good.”

“You gonna wear it next game?”

“I dunno,” you say, feigning nonchalance. “Might be bad luck.”

He immediately looks up, scandalized. “Don’t say that. That’s slander.”

You laugh, and the sound makes him grin like a fool all over again.

“Guess we’ll see,” you murmur, leaning down just enough for your noses to bump. “Depends if you score or not.”

“Not enough,” he murmurs, “You sittin’ here, wearin’ this—lookin’ like mine—that’s… that’s what I want every day.”

You don’t even mean to kiss him first.

You tilt your chin the slightest bit, mouth already parting as you lean in—and Rafe meets you halfway. You both tend to forget how much you missed each other during the day.

You gasp into it when his tongue meets yours, Rafe hums low in his chest like you just did something to him. His hands are yanking you closer, gripping your skin, one hand slipping up your back beneath the jersey and pulling you flush against him.

The kiss is a little messy, but sweet. Your mouths move together like you’ve done this a thousand times, which you have. His tongue brushes against yours again, coaxing, until you’re the one deepening it, leaning into him, fingers curling tighter in his hair.

You tilt your head, giving him more, and he takes it greedily—lips parting wider, tongue stroking against yours, his hands still roaming, one slips around to your stomach, splaying wide over your ribs while the other cradles the back of your neck.

You moan quietly into his mouth, and he swears, “Jesus, baby…”

You think, for a second, he might lose it from just kissing you, yet you’re the one whimpering in protest when he pulls back, not meaning to—but it slips out, breathy and sweet, and it does something to him.

“I used to dream about this,” Rafe quietly confesses, thumb sliding under your chin, lifting it so you’ll look him dead in the eye. “You. In my jersey. Lookin’ at me like that.”

Your breath catches.

“I used to think—if I could just get close enough, if I could just have you—once—I’d be good. That’d be enough. I’d be fine.”

You blink at him, wide-eyed, lips still kiss-bitten, and you don’t even realize the way you’re looking at him until his thumb touches your cheek again, a crooked smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

You try to scoff, play it off, but your voice comes out all breathless, no one’s ever made you feel like being adored by you was some kind of miracle. You can feel the puppy-eed look on your face, helpless and a little (a lot ) in love, making you squirm in your skin.

“Don’t look at me like that, Cameron,” you whisper, nose brushing his, your fingers still curled in the hem of his hoodie.

Rafe huffs a quiet laugh, tucking his face into your neck, hiding his red cheeks.

“Can’t help it.” He kisses your shoulder, right where the jersey’s slipping down, then your collarbone, then just below your jaw. “You wearin’ my name,” he mumbles between kisses, “You know what that does to me?”

You bite your lip, grinning even though your heart’s doing that ridiculous flutter thing again. “Tell me.”

“Drives me fuckin’ crazy,” he breathes, mouth dragging up your neck, open and unhurried. “I already wanna fuckin’ worship you every time you let me touch you, but now? Wearin’ this?” His fingers tug at the jersey again, knuckles brushing just under the hem where your thighs part around his hips. “Lookin’ like you belong to me?”

You breathe a shaky giggle, threading your fingers through his hair again. “I do, though.”

His eyes flutter close as his palm slides between your thighs, thumb teasing lightly along the inside. He kisses you again, slower this time, you feel it in your knees, in your chest.

You tug at his hoodie, pouting when he doesn’t move fast enough. “Take this off.”

Rafe grins against your mouth. “Bossy.”

He shrugs out of the hoodie as you help him tug it over his head. The second it’s gone, your hands are on him, greedy palms smoothing down the ridges of his abs. You’ve touched him a hundred times, but it never gets old—he feels borderline feverish.

His hand is already slipping up your back again, this time under the jersey, dragging it torturously up your body until he’s got just enough of it bunched to see the edge of your panties.

“You’re so pretty,” he murmurs, thumbs grazing under the swell of your breasts. You tilt your hips without thinking, grinding against him, and Rafe curses under his breath, eyes fluttering shut. “Fuck. Do that again.”

You roll your hips slower this time, and his hands shoot down to grab your ass, holding you still as he groans into your shoulder.

“I’m tryin’ to make you feel good.”

His hands slide back up your thighs to hook around your panties and tug them down. You gasp when he slips between your folds, already slick for him, and he bites his lip at the sound.

“You like wearin’ my name that much, baby?”

You nod, unable to lie. “I like bein’ yours.”

You can feel him hard beneath you, pushing against your thigh, and it makes you squirm without thinking. Your body reacts before your brain can catch up—tilting your hips again, rocking down as he shudders beneath you.

You rest your forehead against his, breath shaky. “I can’t stop thinkin’ about you.”

“Yeah?”

“All day,” you whisper, your lips ghosting over his. “It’s like—I see you on the ice, and I just… I wanna make you feel good.”

You can’t stop thinking about the last time he was in your mouth—how he’d gone quiet, which Rafe never does, and then grateful, in that wrecked, stunned way he gets when you’re on your knees for him. You remember the weight of him on your tongue, the way he’d filled your mouth—your throat—how he tasted.

His hands start to move again, worshipping the skin there. “You’re already makin’ me feel good, baby.”

You shake your head, teasing your nails lightly down his stomach. “Not like that.”

“Y-you—fuck, you sure?”

You nod, nose brushing his cheek. “You’ve been workin’ so hard. You’ve been takin’ care of me... I wanna take care of you. All I’ve been thinkin’ about,” you murmur, “is gettin’ on my knees for you.”

He swears under his breath, “Jesus fuckin’ Christ.”

You lean in, lips at his ear, just brushing. “I can still taste you in my mouth sometimes. You know that?”

You start sliding off his lap, never breaking eye contact as you sink to your knees in front of him. The jersey sways around your hips, and Rafe’s pupils blow dark at the sight.

You press your palms to his thighs, spreading them just enough, and reach for the waistband of his sweats. He lifts his hips without a word, in a trance—and you free him, hard and flushed, already leaking at the tip.

You forgot how pretty he is like this, he’s so hard he’s pulsing, and all you’ve done is talk. You look up at him, wrapping one hand around the base, tongue darting out to taste him.

Rafe hisses, head falling back to the wall with a thunk.

“Shit—baby—don’t tease.”

You simply continue to brush your lips over the tip like a kiss, while Rafe’s hips twitch as he hisses through his teeth. You start with your tongue, kitten-licks over the head, catching the salty taste of him. You swirl your tongue around the crown slow, your spit mixing with his precum, lips shiny, mouth open like you’re hungry and still deciding where to start.

Rafe’s hand twitches like he might grab your hair—but he doesn’t. He fists the sheets instead, knuckles white.

“You said you liked when I took my time,” you murmur, thumb brushing just under the head.

“I—fuck, baby, I—” His voice catches, hips jolting like he didn’t mean to move. “You—you got no business bein’ that good at this—Jesus—” He cuts off again, panting.

He lets out a strangled noise when you flatten your tongue again, dragging it along his length as you bob your head, unhurried. Rafe’s breathing gets heavier, just needing to touch you. You pull off with a sticky pop, precum stretching between your lips and his tip, grabbing him by the base. A thick string of saliva lands right on the tip and drips down the length of him.

"Still with me?" you tease, all innocent doe eyes.

He looks down at you with his mouth open, like he’s not even sure where he is.

“Holy fuck,” he whispers. “Baby, what the—fuck.”

You giggle, wiping the corner of your mouth with your thumb, and go back, twisting at the base, your fist stroking in tandem with your lips. He lets out the dirtiest groan yet, hips lifting helplessly off the bed

You spread it with your tongue, lapping up your own spit, moaning filthy, tasting something sweet. You drag the flat of your tongue up the underside, slow as hell, then do it again, eyes fluttering like you’re savoring it.

Rafe looks like he’s about to explode, neck strained, chest rising. “You—fuck, you tryna—tryna suck the—soul outta me?”

You take him in, inch by inch, lips stretching around the thick head until it presses against the back of your throat. You sigh gutturally, and the sound destroys him, letting out a broken moan that sounds like it got torn out of his chest.

Rafe’s hips jerk, “Oh my God—fuck—” His whole body tenses when you hum in response, all innocent, tongue still teasing the slit. “I—I swear to God, you’re evil,” he chokes out. “That mouth—Jesus Christ.”

You pull back, let him slide out, then suck him back in, deeper this time. Your hands are on his thighs, steadying yourself, mouth sloppy and wide around him. You’re obscene with it—licking, spitting.

“Just wanna take care of you,” you whisper, mouth still wrapped around him.

You bob your head slowly, then faster, then slow again, dragging your tongue along the underside every time he slips out. Your hand strokes what you can’t take, the other trailing down to squeeze his thigh.

Rafe’s noises turn to curses.

“Shit—shit, baby, you’re gonna make me lose it—look at you, fuckin’—droolin’ on it, fuckin’ suckin’ me like that—you love it, don’t you?”

You nod with him still in your mouth making him groan louder, his hand tightening in your hair, not pushing, because he doesn’t need to.

You start to fuck your own mouth on him—faster, fluids spilling out the corners of your lips, dripping down your chin. You can hear it, the lewdest sucking sounds filling the room.

“Jesus Christ,” he growls, hips stuttering up into your mouth. “You want it all, huh? You want me down that fuckin’ throat?”

One of your hands dips between your own thighs, to relieve the pressure, but you don’t stop—don’t even slow down. You take him deeper, swallowing around him, until your nose is pressed to his stomach and your eyes are watering, tears tracking down your cheeks.

“Fuuuck—fuck, I’m gonna—baby—”

His thighs are shaking, both hands in your hair now, voice all broken.

“I’m—’m coming—fuck—’m comin’, don’t stop—”

You don’t. You hold him there, let him fuck your throat through it. He groans so loud it echoes, his whole body going taut as he spills down your throat, and you swallow every drop, moaning like it’s everything you ever wanted.

You stay there, mouth still around him, until he whimpers and pulls you off, chest heaving, eyes wild. You wipe your mouth with the back of your hand, still panting, on your knees, looking up at him like he’s the only thing in the world.

Rafe’s flushed all the way down to his chest—and you’re not even pretending to hide how pleased you are with yourself.

You lick your lips slow, watching him twitch, his hand flexing against the sheets, you know he’s fighting the urge to grab you and manhandle you like a doll. His eyes meet yours, you barely get a second to breathe before he’s tugging—hard—yanking you back up onto his lap like you’re oxygen and he’s suffocating.

“C’mere,” he mutters, voice gritty, desperate.

You straddle him again, dizzy from the sudden movement, but you don’t miss the way his hands go straight to your ass cheeks. His lips crash into yours, tongue and teeth and need—devouring the taste of himself off your mouth.

You grind down into his lap on instinct.

“Fuck,” he breathes, hands already sliding under the jersey, he has to feel your skin again. “You’re gonna ruin me.”

You laugh against his lips, dizzy.

“I thought that already happened.”

He growls low in his chest, you’re not helping by feeding the fire.

“You don’t get it,” he grabs a fistful of the jersey, just enough to mouth at your tits, hot and open-mouthed. “You—this—fuck. You’re mine.”

Rafe sucks one of your nipples into his mouth with no warning. His tongue is warm circling before he pulls back with a nasty pop, breath hot as he groans down your sternum. You can only take it, fingers tangling in his hair as he licks a stripe over your chest leaving it soaked.

“Please,” you whisper, aching. “Please, Rafe.”

“Say it again,” he begs into your chest, tugging your panties to the side like it’s nothing, unable to wait another second. “Say my name like that.”

You cry it out for him—Rafe—and it breaks him.

He doesn’t waste a second.

One hand hooks under your thigh, the other around your waist as he lifts you just enough to line himself up, and then—he sinks you down on him in one slow stroke that has both of you gasping like virgins.

You cling to him as your body stretches to take him, nails digging into his broad shoulders, forehead pressed to his. “Oh my God,”

“You were made for me,” he rasps, biting your jaw, your neck, sucking dark bruises into your collarbone, marking you up everywhere his jersey doesn’t cover. “My pretty girlfriend.”

You moan again, moving your hips slow at first. He’s swearing under his breath, kissing you like a man starved—open, desperate, the kind of kisses that make your head spin. He whispers filth between every one.

“Fuckin’ dream about this, baby,” he pants, forehead still pressed to yours. “Used to jerk off thinkin’ about you like this—wearin’ my fuckin’ name, grindin’ on my cock, makin’ all these fuckin’ noises—Jesus.”

You let out a breathy sound into his mouth, hips picking up pace, the sound of skin on skin echoing around the room. You’re soaked, clenching around him.

His thighs flex every time he thrusts up into you, his grip on your ass is ruthless—palms spread wide, pulling you down, guiding your movements with punishing control.

“Bounce for me,” he mutters, breath hot at your neck, voice soaked in affection. “Just like that. C’mon, baby, give it to me.”

You’re overwhelmed by the stretch of him, the way he fills you and stays there—so deep it’s hard to breathe. His hands slide from holding to gripping, then smacking, the sound echoing off the walls.

You yelp, melting when the sting fades into warmth.

“Fuckin’ perfect,” He soothes over the spot he just slapped with his big hand, rubbing circles over your skin like he can feel your heartbeat through it. “Look at that. Look how good you take it.”

Another spank, and then he’s pulling you forward, hands splayed across your ass as he presses you down to his chest, holding you there while his hips fuck up into you with brutal thrusts. Your chest presses against his, sweat-slick, and he wraps an arm around your back to keep you close.

His mouth is right at your ear now, breath ragged. “You want it harder?”

You nod helplessly, whining, and he snaps his hips up into you so hard you see stars.

You cry out, eyes rolling, clinging to him, knowing you’ll fall apart otherwise. He’s thrusting up into you in the meanest possible way, fucking you through your grind, relentless.

“You like that, baby?” he grits. “Like gettin’ fucked in my jersey? Showin’ everyone who you belong to?”

“Yes, Rafe—oh my god, yes—”

He sucks another bruise into your throat, tongue swirling over it. “Gonna make you scream my name, baby. Make you feel me tomorrow. You want that?”

You nod again, tears pricking your eyes from how good it feels, how deep he’s hitting, how much he’s giving. He slows his thrusts just a little, drawing them out, dragging the head of his cock against that spot that makes you twitch, again and again.

You're both gasping, foreheads pressed together, lips brushing, mouths open needing to taste each other to survive. Your hips falter, he helps you—guiding you, pushing you down onto him.

“You gettin’ tired, sweetheart?” he coos, kissing your neck between thrusts. “S’alright. I got you. You just hold on to me, okay? Lemme do the rest.”

And you do. You bury your face in his neck, clinging to his shoulders, completely at his mercy as he fucks up into you from below. Your jersey’s bunched at your ribs now, and his name is plastered across your back like a brand.

He notices, of course he does, and groans so loud it makes you clench around him. “Wearin’ this while I’m buried in you."

You’re both so touchy now, hands roaming without direction—his palms easing up your back under the jersey, yours dragging nails lightly down his spine.

You’re soaked, trembling, lips brushing his as you whimper, “Don’t stop—please, don’t stop.”

His eyelashes flutter, mouth open, breathing you in. “Couldn’t even if I w-wanted to.”

Sweat drips down his neck, and your lips chase it, tongue darting out to taste him. Rafe pulls back just to look at you, your kiss-bruised lips, the warm skin of your cheeks, the wet glint of your eyes as you roll your hips again and clench around him.

“Fuck,” he breathes, voice breaking. “You—baby, you feel so good—I can’t—”

You kiss him before he can finish, moaning into his mouth, your body knowing his better than you do. His hands stay locked on your ass, until your pelvis grinds against his and your clit drags along his skin just right.

His name leaves your mouth like a prayer.

You’re both glistening with sweat now, bodies slick where they slide together. His forehead touches yours again and again—kissing, bumping, anything to stay connected. Your jersey clings to your spine, stuck to your damp skin, and when Rafe fists it at the nape of your neck, it pulls taut across your shoulder blades.

And God, he loves that.

“Mine,” he whispers against your lips. “You fuckin’ mine like this.”

You nod, helpless, letting him rock you through it. “Yours,” you gasp, grinding down as he bucks up again. “Always.”

He whimpers, the kind of sound he’d be embarrassed to let anyone else hear.

Rafe’s hips stutter beneath you and his grip gets tighter, fingers digging into your ass so hard it might bruise. He smacks you again—muttering a curse when you moan into his open mouth.

You kiss down the edge of his jaw, tongue dragging a slow stripe under his ear. He’s never been more gone for someone. Never felt anything like this. Never had someone worship him while he was worshipping them right back, bodies moving like they were made to break together.

He’s trembling now, whole body taut beneath you, “Baby—fuck, ’m close—so fuckin’ close—”

You grind down harder, helpless, hips rocking against his in a broken rhythm that only makes it worse. Every thrust punches out a gasp, a spoiled cry from your lips. You can barely speak��too full.

“Me too,” you whisper, forehead pressed to his, lips brushing as you pant.

You cry out, voice broken as he hits that spot again, that devastating stretch that makes your toes curl, your thighs tremble. You’re so close you can’t speak—you can only moan.

"Rafe—Rafe—please, I’m gonna—oh my god—"

He shudders beneath you, arms wrapping tighter around your waist like he's trying to merge with you, eyes squeezed shut.

“I got you,” he pants, biting at your jaw. “Wanna feel you.”

Your mouth falls open into a sob. Your thighs start to shake, muscles locking, and that knot deep inside you snaps.

“Rafe!” You cry his name loud, high, breaking around him as your whole body shudders, cunt clenching around his cock. You’re still moving even as your orgasm hits you, making your vision blur and your breath hitch in your throat.

That’s what does it for him.

Rafe's mouth drops open in a silent gasp at first—then a guttural moan rips from his chest as he comes inside you, cock throbbing. You feel everything—the twitch, the flood, the way his arms crush you to his chest. Gasping your name into your mouth, into your neck, into everywhere.

“Fuuuck, baby—oh my god,” he creaks into your mouth, fingers digging into your skin like he’s clinging to it. He lets out the loudest, filthiest groan you’ve ever heard, voice cracking around it. “Fuckfuckfuck—I’m—oh my god—”

You’re still fluttering around him, your body’s begging for more, your breath hitching against his cheek. His mouth opens, panting against your throat. Your hips don’t even move anymore—you’re just meeting each other in tiny sex-drunk movements, his cock twitching inside you, your pussy clenching through the aftershocks. Your cries turn to nearly screams, his curses turn to pleas. He’s kissing you like he can’t stop, he doesn’t know where his body ends and yours begins.

Rafe slips one hand between your thighs again—gentle this time, soothing—just barely brushing where you’re still stretched around him. You kiss his cheek, anywhere your mouth can reach, both of you pulsing, spent. The air smells like heat and skin and you, and his name is still caught in your throat.

You lift your head, eyes meeting his—hazy, half-lidded, and yey, there’s that still that look, the spark.

He’s not finished with you, not even close.

Your smirk as you rock your hips again. “Didn’t get enough, huh?”

His voice comes out all fond, “You know what y’do t’me.”

And when his eyes flick down—between where your bodies are still connected, your thighs glistening, flushed, he sees himself leaking out of you.

He moans.

You grin, already rutting against him again, the ache building back up—needy. His cock twitches, still inside you, and he gasps—more sensitive now, but just as desperate.

“You gonna fuck me again?” you whisper, kissing the corner of his mouth. “Or you just gonna lie here and look pretty, baby?”

Next thing you know, you’re on your back—his hands sliding under your legs, pushing them open, wide, until he’s kneeling between them again, that jersey yanked up to your collerbones. You’re bare beneath it, swollen.

And Rafe’s obsessed.

He just stares for a second. “Wanna taste you first.”

You whine. “Rafe…”

He dips down—mouth already watering, licking his lips as he lays a kiss on your inner thigh, then another, then another. Worshipful. You feel his tongue drag a warm stripe up your slit, lapping up the mess you made together.

You’re gushing for it.

Rafe groan against you is filthy, his mouth already open and eating—slurping you up like you’re his last meal, nose buried in you, tongue fucking into your pussy like he’s never gonna stop. His fingers spread your lips, and he moans again when your clit pulses under his tongue.

"Fuck, baby… you taste like me." He grins against your cunt. “You know how hot that is?”

You cry out, hips bucking. He holds them down, forces you to take it.

"Hold still," he mutters. "Not done with you yet."

Your nails are in the sheets as he licks up every drop of you, sucks on your clit until your back arches, then presses two fingers inside you with a groan.

“Still so wet,” he pants, mouth hot on your inner thigh, licking between words. “So fuckin’ pretty like this. You ready for me again?”

“Please,” you whisper, voice cracking, needing him back inside you like air.

He kisses his way up your body—your belly, the curve of your breast, the side of your neck—then pushes inside you again, so fucking deep.

His head falls to your shoulder. “That's it…”

You wrap your arms around his shoulders, legs locked around his waist, jersey still bunched, stuck between your bodies. His thrusts start languid—dragging, making you feel every inch of him. The squelch of you echoing, your soaked pussy milking him already.

He’s kissing you again and you kiss him back just as hard, the first round wasn’t enough, you need more.

“Come again for me,” Rafe pants into your mouth, hips moving in that devastating roll. “You still got more in you, baby—I know you do.”

You don’t know how long he fucks you like that, long mean strokes that drag his cock over every sensitive nerve inside you.

Sweat beads down his temple, drops to your chest, and he leans down to lick it off—tongue heavy, and possessive in the best way possible. Then he sees your tits again, all flushed and bouncing, he groans like he’s gonna lose it, dropping his mouth to your chest and sucking.

His tongue circles one nipple, then he switches to the other, switching back and forth because he can’t decide which one he wants more, lifting them into his mouth like he’s starving.

“God, I missed these,” he mutters against your skin, voice wrecked. “So fuckin’ pretty. Can’t stop thinkin’ about ‘em.”

You arch up prettily for him, whimpering as he sucks bruises into the tender flesh, biting lightly just to soothe with his tongue after. Your body’s shaking again—overstimulated in the best way.

You’re grinding up to meet every thrust, your clit dragging against the base of him, and the friction makes your whole body twitch.

“Rafe—Rafe, I’m close—”

“I know, baby,” he pants, sucking your nipple deeper into his mouth, cock still fucking you deep and slow. “I can feel you.”

And he can—your walls fluttering around him, already starting to clamp down.

“C’mon,” he coaxes, full of that dangerous sweetness. His lips drag up your chest, your collarbone, nipping gently until he reaches your mouth again. “Wanna feel you fall apart again.”

You’re shaking beneath him, and his thrusts get rougher, quicker.

“You got it, baby. Just like that—fuck, that’s it—you’re gonna make me cum too—”

Your hands clutch his back, your legs lock tighter around his waist, and your head falls back with a cry.

“I’m—’m coming—fuck—!”

Rafe's still sucking at your tits, groaning into your skin as your pussy clenches around him, which does it for him. He spills inside you with a pained whine, deeper than anything you’ve ever heard from him.

He buries his face in your neck, biting down softly to muffle how loud he’s being. “Jesus—you’re gonna fuckin’ kill me—”

You both shake through it, still locked together, hearts thudding like drums. Your fingers are tangled in his hair, and his arms are wrapped tight around you.

He leans up—forehead to yours again, noses bumping. His voice cracks when he speaks.

“Never felt like this,” he whispers. “I swear to God… never felt like this with anyone but you.”

You blink up at him, glassy-eyed, fucked-out, and glowing.

He kisses your cheek, your nose, your mouth. Sweet, slow pecks that contrast the way he just ruined you.

“Yeah?”

Rafe nods, brushing your hair from your forehead. Your breath hitches again, but it’s not from the aftershocks this time—it’s from how he’s looking at you.

Your fingers glide along his jaw, thumbing a drop of sweat there.

“You look like you’re in love with me.”

“I am.”

It slips out before he can think better of it, but he doesn’t take it back or flinch. Just stares down at you with his heart in his eyes.

“Have been. just didn’t know what to call it ‘til I felt this.”

The words make your heart trip in your chest.

Oh my God.

It’s not like you didn’t know, you’ve felt it in the way he touches you, the way he looks at you when he thinks you don’t notice. You’ve heard it in every broken moan, every whispered mine, every time he reached for you like instinct.

But hearing it like that...Your eyes sting again—but it’s different this time. Don’t cry. Don’t cry.

“I’m gonna take care of you,” he says. “Swear it. However you’ll let me.”

You reach for him, cupping his face, pulling him down, “I love you.”

He lets out this tiny, broken laugh that turns into a kiss, full of everything that never got said before. His fingers lace with yours on the pillow, holding you. His lips press to your cheek, your jaw, your chest—thanking each part of you for loving him back. You feel his eyes get damp where they press into your skin.

“Hey,” you murmur, holding his face in your hands again. “You’re okay.”

Rafe curls into you—head on your chest, arms locked around you as your fingers thread through his hair, nails scratching at his scalp, and you feel his whole body melt against yours. He’s already dozing, soft breaths cooling the skin between your breasts, still inside you.

“Love you,” he mumbles into your skin.

“Love you more,” you whisper back, kissing the top of his head.

And he smiles in his sleep.

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slasher-fxcker · 10 months ago

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Slashers seeing their future S/O for the first time

Part 1

Including: Billy Loomis, Bo Sinclair, Jason Voorhees, Lester Sinclair, Stu Macher & Vincent Sinclair.

Warnings: Mentions of death, slashers being slashers. This page is 18+ Minors do not interact.

A/N: Okay this is my first post on here so any and all feedback is welcome! Also, there will be a part two, I will be including all the slashers I write for I just got a bit carried away and I thought it was a bit long for one part lol. Second part will include Michael Myers, Thomas Hewitt, Billy Lenz, Brahms Heelshire and Jesse Cromeans.

Billy Loomis:

· This was meant to be an easy kill for Billy. Some geek that showed up at a party he shouldn’t have been at, Billy had been watching him for most of the night when he saw his target getting ready to leave. He started heading to the closet he hid his Ghostface costume in when someone crashed into him spilling their drink all down the front of his shirt.

· Billy was in two minds about whether he should give them a piece of his mind or ignore their apologies and sneak away anyway. But as he looked up whatever reply he had planned got caught in his throat. When he looked into your pleading eyes he could immediately tell how bad you felt. He didn’t realise he was staring until he noticed you were waiting for a response.

· He regains his composure and brushed off your apologies, telling you not to worry about it. You seemed relieved and he couldn’t help but smirk at how you looked around the room frantically. “Lost something?” he finally asks you, “Am I that obvious?” you laugh before holding your hand out, “I’m Y/N, Randy’s cousin.” Billy seemed to stare at your hand for a second before taking it in his and introducing himself. Maybe just this once he’d let the target go and find something worth enjoying.

Bo Sinclair:

· Getting out of the beat-up truck Bo winced as he felt the pain in his arm of the wound that hadn’t fully healed just yet. Lightly holding the spot and remembering how one of the victims had cut him good with that knife. He sighed and shrugged the thought off before walking towards the dimly lit bar. Sitting down on one of the stools and ordering a beer.

· He soon becomes aware of a man groaning angrily at one of the nearby pool tables, “There aint no way you're winning again without cheatin’” he hears the man grumble. Bo’s fairly accustomed to the usual pool bets but what does surprise him is the feminine laugh he hears in response, he turns around to see you bent over the table lining up your next shot. He feels his throat dry up at the sight of the position you’re in and the teasing smirk that’s on your face.

· “Don’t be a sore loser Jimmy,” you laugh before sinking yet another ball into its socket. Bo can barely take his eyes off you as he leans back taking another sip of his beer. You and the man seem to go back and forth in arguing about the game, and he feels like he could watch you all night. The game is coming to an end with you clearly winning, before he even thinks about it Bo has downed the rest of his beer and is walking towards you. As you’re lining up your final shot Bo slams down a couple of bills on the side of the pool table, you look up at him and he flashed his signature grin at you, “I’ve got winner,” he says as he looks you up and down. You sink your last ball before turning back to him, “You’ve got it handsome,” she smirks. Oh, you were trouble, and Bo couldn’t wait to see how this night turned out.

Jason Voorhees:

· It had been a quiet week for Jason, no campers, no teens, nothing. He had been out collecting wood for the fire when he found a small stone, he liked collecting bits and pieces from around the woods. Small knickknacks to decorate the shabby cabin he called home. The stone had five points and could be seen as almost the shape of a star, what Jason didn’t realise was he had spent far too long invested in the stone to notice someone walking on the trail nearby. The snapping of some sticks broke him out of his thoughts as he saw a figure nearby.

· Jason quickly shoved the stone in his pocket before walking silently to a spot where he could watch the trail without being spotted. He watched you from afar for a while, seeing you look around you as you made your way down the path. The way you watched the nature around you with a small smile on your face made Jason feel a warmth inside him. He followed you all the way to the camp grounds. You seem surprised to find the open space on your trip. You sat down on one of the stone seats before unpacking some lunch for yourself.

· It wasn’t long before you had gotten up and were walking around the small opening. It was then that Jason heard you speak for the first time which caused him to tense in fear. “Hey there little guy.” That was it, you must’ve seen him. He froze as you stepped towards his hiding spot only to stop a few feet in front of where he stood, where he thought he was hidden by the shrubs. But you weren’t looking at him to his relief, he saw the small squirrel perched on a branch that seemed to have your attention. He felt himself relax as he noticed this before trying to silently move further to the other side of the clearing.

· To his surprise the squirrel hadn’t run away, he must’ve smelt the food in your hand as he stood hesitantly sniffing the air. “You hungry?” you asked him rhetorically before holding out a small piece of crust for the squirrel and placing it on the branch near him. Jason watched and couldn’t help but melt at your kindness, he heard the familiar voice in his head but this time the voice was calm, telling him you needed protection, you needed him. But how was he supposed to approach you. A few minutes passed and you turned back to your seat, walking over you noticed something had now been placed where you once sat. You picked up the small stone, noticing it was shaped like a star. You looked around for someone before looking back at the stone, a small smile on your face. It warmed Jason’s heart as he prepared himself to find you more gifts.

Lester Sinclair:

· Lester found himself almost zoning out as he drove down the all too familiar road, the predictability of the same turns and sights that he saw every day seeming to get on his nerves today. Until he noticed a car on the side of the road, he hated his part in this, he tried to just shut himself off from it and think of whoever the poor bastard was that wandered their way as just a stranger, a nobody with no identity. It helped that they were usually rude to him, at least that way he felt less remorse for them. He couldn’t see the person that was hidden under the hood, probably uselessly trying to figure out what was wrong with their car.

· “Looks like you could use a hand.” He didn’t expect the slight squeal from whoever was behind the hood before you walked out, “oh gosh you gave me a fright,” you giggled. Lester was trying to pick his jaw up off the floor and string a sentence together, you definitely weren’t the first young lady to come through these parts but he sure thought you were the prettiest. “Uh, sorry ma’am.” He gulped before wracking his brain for words, “I saw you stuck here and thought you could use a hand.” You sighed before closing the hood, “Unless you happen to have a fanbelt on you, I don’t think so,” He felt the slight dread creep up as he remembered the scenario, he hesitated before spilling his usual script about taking you to see Bo. Of course, you agreed, having no other option and climbing into his truck.

· Not long into the drive you spoke, “I’m Y/N by the way,” he nodded before realising you were waiting for a response, “Oh, I’m Lester,” he responded. “Lester,” you repeated with a smile, he couldn’t help the feeling in his stomach when you repeated his name. “Well thank you very much Lester, I definitely owe you one for driving me all this way.” The more you spoke the worse he was starting to feel, you seemed kind, you were nice to him which was a welcome change, you laughed along with him instead of at him, you didn’t deserve the fate that you were walking into. As you neared Ambrose he realised he couldn’t let you die, he didn’t know how yet but he would do everything he could to keep Bo from hurting you. He knew life was going to be anything but predictable with you around

Stu Macher:

· Stu groans when the bell rings, his least favourite subject and it was the first lesson of the day. “You coming Stu?” He looks at Randy as he seems to think it over, “Nah, we’ve got Evans, I don’t need another detention from that douche.” Randy just rolls his eyes as Stu starts walking in the opposite direction, he hears Randy grumble some smart-ass comment to himself as he walks away.

· Stu was about to turn towards the entrance when he heard you curse to yourself, he glanced at you before turning the corner. “Woah,” he stopped in his tracks before backing up back into the hallway and looking you over again. You must be new, he definitely would’ve remembered you if he had seen you before. You're too engrossed in the paper in your hands to notice someone coming up to you and leaning against the lockers. He puts on his cheesiest grin before getting your attention “Hey there,” you almost jump out of your skin as you drop your books.

· “Oh man I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you.” Stu apologises as he crouches down and begins to pick up your things, you join him in picking up your books, “No don’t be, I should’ve been paying more attention,” you give him a soft smile before standing back up as he passes you some of your belongings, “You must be new, haven’t seen you around here,” you just nod before continuing, “actually, i’m having some trouble finding my class,” he looks over the schedule you had been engrossed in. “Oh that’s actually where I’m headed, I can take you if you’d like,” he couldn’t help but smile at the way you beamed up at him as you agreed.

· The walk was filled with Stu making you laugh, as you neared the class he seemed to slow down and began talking to you again. “You know, I’d be happy to show you to your other classes if you need help finding them after this?” you agreed and he walked into the class with you. A big smile on his face even after being reprimanded by your teacher. “I thought you weren’t coming,” Randy whispers to him, “Yeah something changed my mind,” he replied, not taking his eyes off you. Maybe this class was worth showing up to.

Vincent Sinclair:

· Vincent had been in the museum, positioning his newest artwork. He stared at it with a slight tilt of his head, questioning every stroke, every pose and every colour. He couldn’t help it, he knew he was good at what he did but insecurity still nagged at every decision he made. He was in his own world when the creak of the front door broke him out of his stupor. Bo had told him a small group of victims would be heading down to the museum while he worked on ‘finding’ a fan belt for them. Vincent was quick to move to his usual hiding spots to watch them.

· Vincent hated how loud this group was, joking and making fun of his art. “You have to be pretty sick to make any of this.” One of the guys spoke up, Vincent immediately started thinking of how he would hurt this man. It wasn’t until a softer voice spoke up that he noticed the girl trailing at the back of the group, “Come on guys, don’t be so rude. Someone must have put a lot of effort into these.” It was then that Vincent could finally make out your form, you seemed quiet even when speaking up for him, defending his work. Vincent wished he could get a better look at you. The man scoffed, “Okay art freak.” Vincent saw the way you practically flinched at the insult before turning away from the group to go and look at some other pieces.

· Vincent felt angry, the man would definitely suffer. He made his way closer to where you were, staying hidden as he watched you from afar. He could tell the insult had hurt you and this only made him angrier. You seemed to pause as you squinted closer to the art work on the wall, brushing some dust off the framing. “Vincent,” you read the signature to yourself with a small smile on your face, Vincent stilled when he heard you. He wasn’t sure what it was but something about hearing you say his name struck a chord in him. He was more than intrigued by you, he felt drawn to you in a way he had never felt before. He wasn’t sure what this meant but whatever it was he knew Bo wouldn’t like it.

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1d1195 · 4 months ago

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Pucking Rookie III

Read Pucking Rookie here | ~8k words

From me: oops, more slow burn

Warnings: I have a feeling you will all be requesting a much FASTER update. Angst, fluff, shitty ex-boyfriend, the usual. Some violence which could b triggering. Please be kind to your mind.

Summary: Harry hates Kael. To be fair, most everyone hates him.

“Did y’bring your skates?” Harry asked. He was taking shots into the net for about an hour and a half at the time she had arrived. She was just a little over half an hour early to their practice. He paused to skate over to her. She was putting water bottles into place, clipboards, and other things that her uncle needed for a successful practice. Once everything was where it was supposed to be, she took her camera and took a practice shot of the ice behind Harry littered with pucks.

She frowned and looked away at her camera using it to divert his attention ever so slightly. Her cheeks turned the slightest shade of pink. “They’re in my car...”

Her unease wasn’t lost on Harry. “Do y’want t’go get them and I’ll help y’for a bit before practice?” He asked, leaning on his stick propped against the board.

She shook her head. “No thank you.”

He tilted his head at her. “C’mon, Rookie. You’re not going t’learn if y’don’t try.”

She sighed. “It’s not that... it’s just...” she looked up at him. “I’m still pretty embarrassed about it and I don’t want to do it here in front of everyone and everyone try to help...” She explained. “Like Uncle Charlie will give his two cents and honestly, I’ll be overwhelmed and I’m already nervous about it. The whole team watching would be even worse.”

Harry hadn’t really thought of that. But he wished he had because that meant that he could have a private lesson with her. One-on-one time with her was easily his new favorite thing. It happened a little more frequently since the night he followed her home. When he brought the used skates to her, she ordered pizza, and they played several rounds of Cribbage together. On a morning off from practice, he happened to be going by her place (of course going out of his way to be nearby) he did yoga with her before ordering breakfast to be delivered to her. Evenings where she worked at Louis’ he placed himself at his regular table and smiled at her as she came and went from kitchen to fluttering around the room waiting on everyone.

But on game days, whether they were home or away, she stayed her distance. He suspected she knew about his habits and his hookups. Which made him feel bad in a way he hadn’t worried about in ages. Harry was very comfortable with his sexuality. He liked having sex. He enjoyed making someone else come and yeah, he enjoyed that aspect for himself too.

But since he met the pretty photographer, he didn’t like it as much. Didn’t find it nearly as satisfying. Even though he wanted to.

Harry had a pond out behind his house. A pond that was very frozen in this chilly winter air. She hadn’t been to his place yet. Her pretty being all over his house seemed like a brilliant idea. It made him want her more.

Harry never wanted a girl the way he wanted her. For him it was always a one-night stand at their place, so he had the freedom to leave. They knew what they signed up for. But she invaded every little part of his mind. Thoughts of camera flashes and smiles. His picture on her fridge. The picture she texted him of herself that he saved as her contact photo. Her wearing Niall’s jersey. The cookies she made for her neighbors. Her rundown car. Her piece of shit ex.

“Would y’want t’come t’my place? I’ve got a pond out back.”

“I don’t know if that’s a good idea, Harry,” she admitted. Her voice was quiet, but she made direct eye contact with him. She always did, even if the conversation was difficult.

He frowned. “Why?” He asked.

“Because... you’re... you.”

“What’s that mean?” His eyebrows pulled forward as he tried to think through her logic before she said it.

“It means...” she looked at the ceiling like the answer would appear there. “I am not going to be seen with you at your place when you’ve never brought a girl home.”

He blinked. “How do y’know that?” She shrugged but busied herself with her camera taking pictures of the bench. She took Harry’s gloves from him and put them in a specific place. He felt utterly annoyed when he realized why she might have known. The frustration came over him before he could stop it. “Did your stupid ex tell you ‘bout m’reputation or something? Is that it? S’why y’don’t let me in fully? Y’think m’a piece of shit too?” He asked quietly. It sounded a little too accusing. He didn’t mean to. But it was unfair. Plus, he thought they were friends. The kind of friends like he was with Niall.

Because honestly, Harry didn’t think he could be good enough for her. Maybe he was projecting what he felt. She deserved a good boyfriend who would be able to devote all his time to her. She didn’t deserve someone that got a crummy five months to be in a relationship who had to worry allthe time about him because he had never had a steady girlfriend before.

She brought the camera from her face down to rest against her stomach on the strap around her neck. Once more, she looked him straight on. It was intoxicating. Brave. Beautiful, of course, always.

“I don’t think you’re a piece of shit, Harry Styles,” she said very clearly.

He blinked. “You don’t?”

“Why would I think that? Because you sleep with women who clearly want to sleep with you? You’re entitled to whatever you want with whomever you want as long as they fully consent, Harry. I don’t really give a shit. I just refuse to date a hockey player because an actual piece of shit cheated on me for who knows how long which I did not consent to. It’s obvious you’re charming, talented, intelligent, and very handsome,” she paused briefly, took a deep breath. “Any girl would be lucky to have you, Harry Styles. I just won’t be her.”

She brought her camera back to her face. She seemed unaffected by his stunned expression. He swallowed and it felt like a rock was in his throat. “That was an awful lot of compliments, Bunny,” he hummed. She continued taking pictures, but Harry saw the way her cheeks turned another shade of red under his gaze. He leaned closer towards her. “You think m’handsome?” he teased.

“A blind person would know you’re handsome, Harry. Don’t be a dick about it.”

“Charming?”

“Are you getting off on this or something? Is your ego not big enough?”

“I just didn’t know you thought that ‘bout me. I thought y’jus’ kinda tolerated me and m’overbearing presence.”

She rolled her eyes. “Why would I hate you?”

“No reason.”

But he answered too quickly. It was the reason that hung in the air over and over. She turned from her camera and caught his gaze again. “You’re nothing like Kael, Harry. I’m sorry if I’ve ever made you feel that you were,” her voice was extremely gentle, like she was speaking to someone with a baby napping in the room. It made him feel all over. Every cell in his body vibrating with emotion.

The breath he released was more relieved than when he found out he was being drafted to the Chargers. Harry wanted her all over his house. Wanted her in his room and not even for sexual reasons. He just wanted to see her there after any game. Wanted her to wear his jersey. Teach her to skate better. Hang any of her photographs in his house like a museum paying tribute to her talent. More than that he wanted pictures of her in his house—so many pictures of her.

On nights when the team had curfew because of early morning practice or a game the next day, she did not of course. Harry broke curfew almost every single day after learning where she lived. He asked her to move in almost every time he followed her home ensuring she got home safely in her crappy car.

You shouldn’t break curfew. You’ll get a big fine. Marc and Michael keep an eye on my arrival.

It’s fine. I have the money.

Harry was territorial about her and especially her safety.

Look, I don’t want to be weird, but we’re friends... Evander said you... had plans tonight with someone...

Harry wanted to kill his teammate. Who? He tried for the funny remark so he wouldn’t lose his fucking mind at the thought of her thinking about his late night hook up.

You’re ridiculous.

Making sure you get home safe is more important than having an orgasm.

...

Sorry, FRIEND. Thought we could talk about orgasms.

R I D I C U L O U S

😇

Go puck yourself Harry.

God, you’re hilarious Rookie.

Good night, Harry. Thanks for worrying about me. It’s... actually kind of nice.

Yeah, of course. Good night, Rookie.

Harry didn’t have plans that night. Not unless pining over his coach’s niece in the privacy of his own bed was a plan.

Charlie was currently taking his anger out on the guys, which was extremely unfair because they had no idea it was because of her. She wished she could have been surprised. Instead, she quietly took pictures, feeling bad for their poor lungs. They were breathing hard and heavy as they struggled with the conditioning drill.

“Five minutes!” Charlie snarled.

They all collapsed on the ice in their spots. Players on the bench were slumped and moaning in pain and they were already on a rest. She glared at her uncle holding two six-pack water bottle carriers as she stepped onto the ice. She nearly slipped twice. Harry didn’t even move to help her, which meant they were in really tough shape.

“Thanks Sweetheart,” Asher heaved.

“Coach, is something wrong?” Niall asked, chugging his water. Off to the side of the rink Callie was throwing up into a trash can. A quiet ‘pussy’ came from an equally green-looking Lang. Only Niall could get away with asking because he was the nice one of the group. But even still, Uncle Charlie silenced him with a glare.

“He’s mad at me and taking it out on you,” she rolled her eyes. “I’m sorry guys. Uncle Charlie, can you stop punishing all hockey players on my behalf?”

“Sweetheart, don’t,” he shook his head once paying no mind to the team that was half dead on the ice before him.

She sighed heavily. “You’re being mean, Uncle Charlie. It’s not their fault!”

“It’s the reputation they’ve given the game,” Coach Wheeler agreed.

“What reputation?”

“Uncle Charlie is mad he picked me up from my apartment. He’s not keen on where I live.”

“It looks like a meth lab.”

“My apartment is not a meth lab.”

“You have a drug dealer living on the first floor.”

“Michael is super nice! He watches my car and—”

“Jesus,” Niall murmured. “Sweetheart—”

“Don’t even bother, Horan. I tried everything. She is insistent, she doesn’t want a single hand out from anybody. Which is why you’re all paying the price. What kind of asshole makes someone as sweet as her—”

“Uncle Charlie, can we not air my relationship out in front of the whole team?”

“If we’re doing suicide sprints because of fucking Kael Crowe I want to be moved to the Lightning,” Callie groaned referring to the minor team affiliated with the Chargers. “What the hell, Coach!? Take it up with Crowe!”

Exhausted agreements resounded from the ground. “You all better treat women with respect. There is zero tolerance for it,” Coach Wheeler grumbled.

“Sweetheart, do something please,” Lang begged standing to where Callie was previously, vomiting promptly into the trash.

“Uncle Charlie, can you cut them a break? They didn’t cheat on me.”

“Oh, for the love of God,” Asher moaned. “Permission to cross-check when we play him?”

“Permission granted,” Uncle Charlie shrugged.

“Jesus,” she sighed and rubbed her forehead. Harry was still breathing hard, but surprisingly didn’t say anything. She was certain he would have something to say about Kael or her stupid choice. Everyone seemed to.

“First one’ll be for you, Sweetheart. Second one’s for me,” Asher winked.

“Why’d he pick y’up?” Harry asked quietly. It was interesting, it was the first thing he said after all the time spent trying to remember how to breathe. It was like he already knew the answer. He also didn’t rat her out for knowing beforehand about where she lived. Although she suspected he knew the punishment would be far worse if Charlie found out that Harry knew where she lived and said nothing.

“Car wouldn’t start,” she shrugged handing him a bottle of water. “It’s a piece of shit, but it’s all I can afford,” she admitted quietly. The conversation was just for the two of them. “I’m on a budget,” she reminded him.

Harry liked how open she was with him. When she told him and Niall that she couldn’t skate and that she got nervous about it, it was vulnerable in a way he didn’t expect. He liked how she said she wouldn’t date him (even though it broke a piece of him) and still managed to compliment him. Each time she mentioned she wasn’t swimming in cash made him feel like she trusted him. He thought of her cold apartment, her used skates, and her broken down car.

It was a shame she wasn’t going to like him as much after her next comment.

“Coach, if I let her borrow one of my cars while hers is in the shop, can we call practice early? I’ll drive her to and from games. Won’t let her out of my sight until she’s safely in the building.”

“I’m not convinced it’s a safe building.”

“Jesus Christ, Sweetheart, where are you living?” Niall sighed.

When Coach said the name of the building and the street just into the bad side of town, everyone moaned again. She shrugged. “It’s fine. It’s the right price and no one bothers me. I use you all as a threat.”

“Oh, for the love of God,” Callie groaned. “Coach, we’ll take shifts, anything. Make it stop,” he begged. Lang returned from throwing up in the trash can and took water from her.

“I don’t need shifts of you guys watching me,” she rolled her eyes. “No one bugs me, they know I work for the team and that I could have twenty scary hockey players there in a matter of minutes.”

Harry smirked. It was obvious he liked the sound of that. “Coach?” Harry prompted.

“Harry, I’m not taking your car, for God’s sake!”

“Oh you don’t have a choice, Sweetheart,” he snorted.

“Uncle Charlie! You’re not getting one of your players to babysit me!”

“Then you’re responsible for their lungs bursting.”

She pouted, glared at her uncle, and marched off the ice. Snagging her camera from the bench as she did. It was childish, petty, and made her look like an idiot, but she was too mad to care. Harry sighed. “Coach, she’s a grown woman... y’could have at least asked her if she was okay with that...” Harry reminded him. Charlie leveled Harry with a stare.

“She’s the best person I know,” Charlie explained. “That piece of shit Crowe never deserved her. It kills the whole family that she doesn’t see her own worth. We watched her take care of him and put her life on hold for him. She doesn’t let people take care of her. Maybe because she doesn’t know how,” he shrugged. “So if she needs tough love to do that, then so be it.”

Harry followed her off the ice. He walked slightly awkwardly on his skates but found her outside one of the offices sitting on a bench, putting her items away in her bag. “You’re not giving me your car,” she grumbled.

“Rookie,” he sighed.

“I don’t need you saving me! This is just like when you yelled at Kael.”

He rubbed the back of his head. “We’re friends, right?”

She glanced at him. “...yes,” she said tentatively.

“Y’know how y’always worry ‘bout me drinking water? Making sure I eat dinner? Texting me t’make sure I get home after following y’home?” She didn’t look at him and fiddled with the laces of her boots. “Y’can ignore me all you want, but s’what friends do. We care ‘bout you and want t’do all the nice things y’do for us.”

It looked like she was piecing together what he was saying. But not fully wanting to accept it. “You’re really going to let me borrow your car?”

He smiled.

“I guess I could... have a skating lesson... assuming your car is at your house?”

Somehow, he managed to smile wider. “Yeah, Rookie? Great... I’ll go change and tell Coach. Be out in a minute.”

“Don’t be weird about it, Harry. I don’t want anyone to think you’re my favorite. Because you’re not.”

He chuckled. “Sure thing, Rookie.”

Harry hurried to her side of the car and opened the door when they arrived at his house. She grabbed her stuff from the back—it was everything she had to pull out of her car and toss into her uncle’s when he picked her up. Harry grabbed his duffle bag, as well as a small bag of groceries of items she needed to make the hot chocolate she promised after the skating lesson. “M’gonna put this stuff away and sharpen your skates,” he said holding the pair by the laces tied together as he opened the door. “Here’s the key if y’want t’throw your stuff in the car,” he grabbed it off the hook near the doorway and then headed further into the house. With the key in hand, she headed back outside and unlocked an extravagant car she would never be able to afford. Sighing, she put her stuff in the trunk, locked it, and headed back toward the equally luxurious house.

To be fair, it wasn’t a mansion. It was a nice home. It was clear Harry took great care of it—or paid people to take great care of it. Following the sound of something scraping against the blade, she found Harry in his kitchen, sitting on a breakfast bar stool at the island. The kitchen was stunning. Marble countertops, white backsplash, black hanging light fixtures, white cabinets with black hardware. There were green curtains in the window. The appliances were all black. It belonged in a magazine. It was practically pristine.

The only thing she found interesting was Harry’s sink was filled with dishes. The dishwasher looked clean, it was open and completely full as well. How many dishes did a person living by themself have? She spun the key on her finger as she approached him, setting it on the counter. “When’s your birthday?” He asked randomly.

“February eleventh,” she blinked.

Harry smiled that really beautiful way of his. The one that made the dips in his cheeks deepen. His eyes seemed brighter. “S’near mine.”

“I know.”

“You keeping track of me Rookie?” He was full-on beaming.

“No, but I added everyone’s birthday to my calendar after Ray’s. Figured I would make treats if I had the time,” she explained. “I remembered yours because it’s in February like mine.”

“Can’t y’jus’ let me believe y’like me?”

She ignored him. “How do you do it?” She asked pointing to the skate.

He held the little tool out to her—a little rectangle with a space for the blade to slide between. “They don’t sell skates unsharpened, even used ones. So they’re already pretty good, but I feel better doing it myself. I wouldn’t want t’put y’on skates I haven’t ensured were good to go,” he explained and waited until she lined up the blade with the tool. “Jus’ stroke the blade in the same direction a few times. You’ll feel a little resistance. S’how y’know it’s working. The duller the blade the more resistance you’ll feel.”

“Like this?” She asked making sure she didn’t mess up her new skates.

“Yup, that’s good,” he monitored the motion.

“Thank you,” she murmured quietly.

“Course, Rookie. S’what friends are for,” he shrugged simply.

But it wasn’t that simple. Kael would never sharpen her skates for her. Wouldn’t even offer. It’s why she basically stopped skating—didn’t bother to continue because he didn’t care. He never asked if he could help teach her. There was no way he would willingly give his car to her either or offer to follow her home from a game. Most of the time they were at the same arena he didn’t go home with her. In case he wanted to go out with friends.

She felt the emotion building in her throat because she knew Harry had plenty of options. But she didn’t want to be an option. It wasn’t Harry’s fault. Honestly, it wasn’t anyone’s fault. It just wasn’t... the right time. She was too broken and fucked from her ex. Harry was too talented and charming to deal with a steady girlfriend and he shouldn’t have to. He was young, handsome, and had ample time in his career and life to have fun before he settled down.

“Ready?” He asked interrupting her sad thoughts. Harry was sweet—really sweet. The kind of sweet she always wanted Kael to be. She shook her head to rid herself of thoughts of how nice it would be to be Harry Styles’ girlfriend. It wasn’t going to happen. He replaced the guards on her blades. “Pond’s out back,” he told her gesturing to the back slider that led to a porch.

“Your house is beautiful,” she told him.

“Thanks, Rookie, love,” he smiled. “Mum was insistent it be my first investment,” he explained.

“Smart lady.”

“The very best,” he affirmed.

Nope, she wasn’t going to fall for a man who was kind and adored his mother. Not one bit.

The back deck overlooked a decent sized yard, but it was the pond that was by far the feature of it. She could picture beautiful sunsets, and she wished she brought her camera with her. There was a layer of light snow on the ground, the bare branches. It was like a Christmas movie scene. It left her a little breathless and Harry paid no attention to it. Totally used to the beauty of his own yard.

“Y’okay?” He asked over his shoulder. He noticed her pause as he continued walking toward the little pond. Harry kicked his boots off and put on his skates while sitting on a little wooden bench. They weren’t the pair he wore at the rink. These looked a little more worn in and scuffed. Well-loved, was the best description. He laced them quickly and expertly. It must have been second nature to him. With the guards still on his blades, he stood in front of her. “Put these on,” he handed her a pair of socks from his sweatshirt pocket. They weren’t the ones he bought her, which meant they were either his or another set he had bought her just for the occasion.

Nope. Not falling in love with him. Not at all.

“Your backyard is beautiful,” she said. “I wish I had my camera.” She untied her boots and stuck her feet in the skates. Almost immediately, Harry carefully hoisted her left skate between his thighs. He held her foot in her new-used skate (with the guard still in place) and tied the laces tightly.

“I can grab it after the lesson,” he offered and worked on the laces. “S’that feel good?” He asked. “Or is it too tight?”

“No, I don’t like my ankle to move.”

He chuckled. “Y’want it t’move a little, Rookie.”

She shrugged while he tied the other skate. Once done, he pulled the guards off and held his hands out for her to take. She took a deep breath and tried not to think about how large Harry’s hands were and wrapped around hers so easily. They were warm and comforting. He bent and took his own skate guards off. “I know y’can skate a little, so I don’t want t’push you,” he headed for the ice. “Jus’ do what feels comfortable.”

She barely skated at the rink. Skating on a pond seemed like a bad idea. Sitting on that little bench watching Harry? Maybe taking pictures of him as she did? That seemed like a good idea. Comfortable, to his point. “Is the pond deep?” She asked tentatively.

He frowned and waited at the very edge as she stood just off the ice. “Bunny,” he hummed gently. “I would never let y’get hurt, so no,” he promised. “S’not deep. S’very safe,” he assured her. “C’mon,” he held his hand out. Tentatively, she took it. Fortunately, she was used to him holding her elbow while she walked or skated around.

“Harry, I really don’t want to embarrass myself,” she warned.

“M’not going t’make fun of you, Bunny,” his voice didn’t have any teasing in it. Harry was dressed in a pair of black pants and a gray sweatshirt. He looked cozy and pretty as always. His voice was too soft and made her feel safe. Which wasn’t a bad thing except for her heart. “Jus’... take little steps. M’not going t’let you fall.”

It was becoming increasingly clear that it was too late for that.

She listened, taking small steps. Harry skated backwards while facing her, holding his hands out for comfort but not holding onto her. “You’re leaning too far forward, Rookie. Y’want t’keep your weight over your skates while y’step. S’going t’change a bit when y'take your steps but s’what you’re trying to maintain,” he explained. He watched her feet as she adjusted to what he said. “Don’t stare at your feet,” he offered kindly. “I know s’hard, but it’s tough on the balance,” they glided silently for a few minutes. “Y’okay,?” he asked glancing at her face. She nodded. He smiled gently. “Okay,” he took hold of her hands again and tugged her gently. “When y’stop, just tilt your foot inward just a little,” he used his own feet to demonstrate. “You’re doing great, Rookie,” he promised. “Feel easier on the figure skates?”

She nodded. “Yeah, it’s definitely easier to balance.”

He grinned, excitement covering his features and all she had done was take fifteen little steps or so. “Okay let’s keep going. We’re jus’ going t’focus on keeping y’comfortable today. Getting used to the balance and stopping,” he continued facing her and skating backwards as he pulled her.

“How do you skate backwards?” She asked.

“You gotta walk before y’can run, Rookie,” he chuckled knowingly. She rolled her eyes.

“I meant you, Harry.”

He shrugged. “I’ve been skating m’whole life.”

“Since you were three and before you could walk?” Most every hockey player she knew had the same story. Skating was more important than walking. It was romantic in a way. A first love of sorts. Harry seemed no different in that respect.

He nodded with a shy grin. “Something like that.”

“You’re very graceful.”

“You’re so forthcoming with the compliments today, Bunny. S’nice,” he pulled her toward him. She wasn’t really skating since Harry was just guiding her, but it felt nice to be on the ice without fear of making a fool of herself. “Try stopping.”

“I’m supposed to be skating not stopping Harry.” He smirked and looked at her pointedly. So she executed her little stop and Harry’s smile brightened.

“Lovely, Rookie. Do you want t’try on your own?”

“Sure,” she sighed feeling defeated before starting but it was the only way she’d get better. Harry let go of her hands but stayed the same distance from her (which was no more than five inches away). She took little steps moving at a glacial pace. She really wondered how she could have been using the wrong skates for so long. It felt so much safer and easier to be on the figure skates than it ever had been on hockey skates.

“You’re doing great, Rookie,” he assured her. She felt embarrassed because she was in her late twenties and Harry was treating her like a child. Not his doing, though. It was in her head it felt that way.

But they skated for a while quietly, just listening to the gentle cutting of the blades on the ice. Harry put his hands out just in front of him as a gentle reminder he was there, letting her have the comfort of grabbing him if she needed.

Naturally, her toe hit a divot in the ice at that moment which made her lose her footing. Harry snagged around her waist quickly to keep her upright. “Whoops,” the entire front of his body was pressed to hers. “Y’okay?” She nodded, not wanting to think about how nice Harry was and how warm his body felt. She pulled away as quickly as she could once she regained her footing. “The ice doesn’t get resurfaced like the rink,” he admitted shyly. Like it was his fault.

“You don’t own a Zamboni?” She gaped. “I can’t believe it!”

He chuckled, moving away from her slightly. She couldn’t believe how much colder it felt even though he only held her for no more than forty seconds. “Do y’want t’keep skating?” He asked.

“Yes,” she nodded. Because honestly? She didn’t want to leave just yet.

Eventually, they got off his little ice rink. She didn’t fall thanks to Harry catching her two more times around the waist. Each time she sent an electric current right through her heart. He was gentle, kind, and encouraging. Imagining him doing the same thing with his baby niece made her ovaries ache so much she had to think about anything else.

“Did you have a dinner party?” she asked pointing to his sink.

“No,” he sighed. “I jus’ hate dishes,” he shook his head.

“Do you want—”

“Don’t you dare,” he glared at her and headed down the hall toward another room. She smiled and shook her head.

“I don’t know how I’m supposed to make hot chocolate with a mess in the sink,” she called.

“Don’t make it then!” He sounded far away. She couldn’t believe he stayed at her tiny little apartment when she could hardly hear him from a few rooms away. “We can go out t’get some or we y’can jus’ stuff from the dishwasher, Rookie. But don’t touch the sink!”

She rolled her eyes and shifted, through the clean dishes, pulling a sauce pan from it. Harry returned with a bag. “Can you get me chocolate chips, sugar, and cocoa powder? I don’t want to dig through your cabinets—what’s that?”

He looked at her pointedly. “Y’can go through the cabinets,” he shrugged. But it was starting to feel a little too domestic. Now they were at Harry’s house which meant she was done for. At least when they were at her place, she wasn’t subject to the overwhelmingly intoxicating scent of Harry. He found the ingredients and placed them on the counter. “Open it,” he shrugged.

It was a large bag from the pro shop at the arena. She peered in and then looked up at him. “Harry.”

“S’not a big deal, Rookie. Don’t make it a big deal,” he suggested. “What do y’need for whipped cream?”

Inside the bag were jerseys. Langford, Calloway, Asher, and Styles. Her heart felt too warm. Her eyes stung a bit over the thoughtfulness yet again. Skates, jerseys, socks. Harry was too sweet. He wasn’t fighting fair. “Sugar, vanilla, and heavy whipping cream...” she mumbled. Swallowing the emotion she felt, she opted for a joke. “No Horan?”

“He already got his turn,” he grumbled slightly bitter.

She looked at the jersey brushing her fingers over his last name. “It’s too much, Harry.”

“I get a discount,” he shrugged. “On behalf of the team, throw out all your Glacier Wolves stuff,” he grabbed the next set of ingredients and eyed her from across the kitchen island. “What?”

“Even the sweatshirt I’ve worn so much I’ve got it to maximum comfort?” He pressed his mouth into a line and stared at her pointedly. “Alright I’ll throw it out, you’re so bossy.”

He smirked and turned to the stove, turning the dial to light the burner. “Okay Rookie, time for my lesson. Show me how t’make hot chocolate.”

It felt like Harry was becoming her very best friend, which scared her. Kael took up so much of her life it left her very little room for friends. The friends she did have... ended up not liking her and talking behind her back. “Hey Rookie,” Harry smiled entering the locker room to drop his stuff for game day photos. “Ugh,” he sighed looking at her jersey and the smile melted.

“Hi, Harry,” she waved with an impish grin.

“Hi Sweetheart,” Asher greeted. “You look beautiful today,” he cooed.

“Shut the fuck up, Asher!” Harry yelled from the other side of the door. Asher winked at her and headed inside the locker room.

“He’s so jealous,” Callie shook his head. She smiled, shook her head, but she could feel her cheeks heating up with color. “Nice jersey, Sweetheart!�� He shouted, no doubt enjoying his number on her this time. Only she knew that Callie would be more extra about it than Niall ever could be.

“You can shut the fuck up too,” Harry growled from near the door.

“He must not think I look beautiful,” she laughed quietly.

“Oh Jesus,” Lang snorted filing inside.

“What did she say?” Harry asked.

“Nothing,” Lang chuckled.

“Those are fighting words, Sweetheart,” Niall chuckled heading in after his team.

After the game day pictures were posted to the appropriate social media outlets, she headed inside the arena. She filed down to her spot near the other media. She smiled and waved to people she had been chatting with regularly. They all greeted her as if she was a real media presence and not just the coach’s niece with a camera.

She took a few pictures of the empty ice adding it to her mental portfolio of this sports series she was looking to do. It was peaceful for a moment, the images forming in sequence, her ideal lighting. The way everything would come together to tell a story. It was something she was really excited about—

“Hey, baby.”

She didn’t turn immediately. Surely, she misheard. Her body felt a wave of anxiety run over it. She didn’t flinch, didn’t turn. For several seconds, she focused on her breathing and nothing else. A minute. She just needed a minute to collect herself. Turning slowly, she smiled politely.

“Kael.” His feet were on top of the seat in front of him. Some of his teammates were milling behind, a few rows back of him. He looked relaxed and uncaring of how fucked up it was that he was there. Coming up to her while she was alone. “You guys are in town early,” she stated.

He nodded, standing up and heading to her. She busied herself by inspecting her pictures making sure they looked okay on the screen. Her hands were shaking. Not because she was worried about what Kael might do but because she was angry. Kael was her least favorite person and he made her uneasy because of all the fucked-up things she let him do to her. “Nice jersey. Sleeping with Calloway?” He asked, sweeping his hand across the top of her back. It made her want to crawl out of her skin.

“No,” she clenched her jaw. She wanted to leave as little to the conversation as possible. But she couldn’t. Because Kael didn’t own any part of her privacy anymore. Part of her wished she was sleeping with Callie if only to rub it in his face. But she couldn’t pretend that any more than she could say she didn’t have a crush on Harry. “Not that it’s any of your business.”

“Right, sure...” he smiled slowly. “You look beautiful, baby. Even in an ugly jersey.”

She loved this jersey so much. The only jersey she would love to wear more than Callie’s, was Harry’s. Not that she would ever say that. “What can I say, orange and blue just wasn’t my color,” she shrugged. “And Kael? Stop calling me baby.”

He put his hands up. “Just wanted to say hi... I’m in the area today... tomorrow and the following day, too... thought you might want to catch up.”

“Sweetheart!” Uncle Charlie called.

She turned looking at her uncle, Ray, Callie, Niall, and a couple of the younger players staring at her from across the ice. “That’s my cue,” she said making her way back the way she came.

“You work for the team?” He asked, surprise evident in his voice.

“Yup.”

“Good old Uncle Charlie helped you out?” He wondered.

“Uh-huh.”

She walked around the edge of the ice noting every pair of eyes of The Chargers following her.

Kael followed her as well. “Do you want to get dinner, love?” He asked.

“I have to work tonight; thanks though,” she said over her shoulder wishing she could have cut across the ice. It would have been nice if she could have shown him that she could skate a bit now.

No thanks to him.

“What about tomorrow after the game?”

“Working again,” she shrugged.

“Lunch?”

“Busy.”

She was much closer now to her uncle and the guys. Their gazes felt warm on her, so she looked at her camera as she walked.

“C’mon, baby. You’re the one that wanted to talk.”

“To get my stuff back, Kael,” she sighed without looking at him. God she wanted to be done with the conversation. Why couldn’t he take a hint?

“Technically it’s my stuff.”

Ugh. That would do it. She spun on her heel. He was right behind her so now they stood only inches apart. This was the guy she seriously saw herself marrying because they had been together for so long. She was going to have children with him. So many days and nights spent at his arena wearing ugly orange and blue. Taking care of his every need and not asking for anything in return. All the other things that she didn’t even want to think about let alone speak into existence. Putting her life on hold for him because he deemed himself more important than her hobby. Now, he was going to continue holding her stuff hostage? Just for some weird power trip?

No. Not anymore.

“I don’t want anything you bought me, Kael,” her tone was biting. Teeth clenched. “I want my stuff back.”

He snorted. “Then go to lunch with me, baby,” he grinned sweetly.

“Hey Kael, we need her for pre-game pictures,” Charlie came up behind her putting a hand on her shoulder gently. She shrugged it off, she was independent, goddammit. She didn’t need her uncle or a hockey team to defend her in front of Kael. He already thought she was weak. She didn’t need to prove him right.

“I am not negotiating for my stuff,” she told him, her tone still angry.

“Sweetheart,” Charlie grabbed her shoulder a little more securely.

“Hey Charlie, sorry. Just trying to catch up with our girl here,” he smiled charmingly at her uncle. She rolled her eyes and marched around Charlie, toward the tunnel back to the locker room. “Tell Callie he’s a lucky man, baby,” he shouted.

“Fuck you Crowe!” Callie was immediately moving toward him as she pushed past. “You’re a piece of trash!”

“Hey!” Ray yelled. The other players yanked him back and away from one person who could fuck up the simplest of things with just a couple words. Kael smiled walking back the way he came. Like he didn’t cause a scene or anything.

Callie got three penalties in the first period. Lang had to talk him down because he wanted four. But that would have been bad for the team, and they weren’t even playing Kael.

Harry was fuming, bouncing his knee as he sat seated in front of his locker. “I hate that stupid prick,” Callie growled. She was seated on a chair outside the locker room looking at her camera. It didn’t seem to bother her much that Kael was around. Or maybe she was just continuing to be brave. It was kind of hot the way she stood up to him outside the ice rink. He wished he had known. He would have loved to have punched Kael. He was lucky Harry didn’t hear until he heard Callie yelling.

They lost the game one to nothing. No one blamed Callie because the goal wasn’t even during his penalties nor when he was on the ice. “I can’t wait for the game tomorrow,” Asher sighed. “Still allowed to cross-check?” He asked looking at Charlie and Ray.

Ray shrugged. “If you must.”

Harry wanted to strangle him. The moment he heard one of the younger players say Crowe’s name, he wanted to run to her, shove her behind him, and punch his stupid fucking face. “Harry?” Niall asked quietly from beside him.

“Yeah?”

“You good?” He asked.

“Yup,” he nodded.

“Look, he’s just trying to get a rise out of her,” he explained. “Maybe you.”

“He doesn’t know I like her,” he mumbled.

“You do like her?” Niall chuckled. “I knew it.”

He rolled his eyes. “Shut up.”

“Everyone decent?” Her voice called.

Harry perked up hearing the voice of the sweet girl he was falling for rapidly by the second. She entered holding a hand over her eyes. “You’re good, Sweetheart,” Lang assured her.

“Bummer,” she muttered dropping her hand. Harry smirked despite how mad he was as a quiet chuckle sounded throughout the room.

“Gross, Sweetheart. They’re my players,” Charlie shook his head.

“Well, you and I have the same taste in men then, Uncle Charlie.”

Another round of laughter. “You okay?” Charlie asked leaning against his office door.

Harry was staring, Niall beside him staring as well. The whole team was watching to be fair. “Yeah... he was just... hovering, signing autographs and stuff...”

“Fuck him,” Callie growled. She glanced at him briefly. Harry wanted to kill him for getting her attention today in the form of his jersey on her. It shouldn’t have been such a concern for Harry, but it was. He liked her so much and it was so unfair he wasn’t good enough for her. At least he was the one that bought the jersey for her.

“It’s not a big deal,” she shrugged looking anywhere but someone else’s eyes.

But it was a big deal, Harry was fuming in his seat. His leg still bouncing.

“What did he say to you?”

“Nothing,” she shook her head.

“Sweetheart, if—”

“Can someone walk me to my car?” She asked.

“I can!” Callie chirped.

She frowned. “Callie, really, any other day. But... with the jersey—”

He frowned. “I hate Crowe.”

“Join the club,” Charlie said.

She sighed. “I’ll walk you out,” Harry quickly tossed a sweatshirt over his practice shirt and a pair of sweats on over his compression shorts.

They didn’t speak as they walked to her car. Harry’s car. She put her belongings in the back seat. “I took the night off. I’m pretty exhausted,” she told Harry leaning against the driver door. “So you don’t have to worry about me.”

But he did. Because it seemed to be the only thing he did. “Oh. S’nice,” he murmured. “Are you… do y’want company or are y’jus’ going t’bed?”

“Probably just bed,” her voice was tired. “Maybe Marc and I will watch a game so he can study.”

At least there was one man in her life he didn’t have to be jealous of. “Well, we have an early curfew anyway,” he mumbled. “Do y’want me t’follow y’home?”

She shook her head. “No. Thank you.”

“Anytime, Rookie,” he gave her arm a squeeze. “Let me know when you’re home,” Harry ushered her into the car and let her go on her way. He headed back for the arena feeling fairly defeated. But at least she was safe.

Eliana lived close by and expected very little of Harry. She was a nice person. She was a nurse at a local hospital and had hours that lined up with Harry’s every so often.

Harry was a fucking mess.

“Are you okay?” She asked

No. He wasn’t. He wanted the pretty photographer. Wanted to know she was home safe. Wanted to go to her apartment and wake Michael and Marc up and murder them for not protecting her when they said they would. Even though she was in all reality probably fine.

“Sorry,” he murmured. “I’m gonna go,” he rubbed the back of his head awkwardly. “It’s not you.”

She smirked. “I didn’t think so, Harry. I hope you’re alright.”

“Jury’s out.”

She rolled her eyes, pulled the covers up to her neck. “Just lock behind you please.”

Harry tried calling her. Not even caring how ridiculous he was. He was past the point of caring. He couldn’t even sleep with someone else, and he’d done nothing more than hold her hands or her elbow. He refrained from cuddling her at their sleepover beyond feeling the heat of her body while she slept.

Harry had called her every hour since he walked her to her car. Hopefully she was just asleep. She did say she was exhausted. Maybe if he drove by and saw her car, he would feel better?

Taking a deep breath, he shook his head. He couldn’t follow her like that. It was different that first time. He never intended to follow her into her apartment building. His rationality left him because he was so worried about her. Now that he was okay with her living arrangement, he didn’t want to look insane.

A drink. One drink and he would be home by curfew. Something to take the edge off. Make him forget about his worry.

Harry parked in the first available spot at The Locker Room. He waved to the regulars, said hello to some fans, and headed to his usual table. Force of habit. “Hey Harry,” Louis smiled bringing Harry a drink. “Didn’t know you were coming in; she figured you had curfew.”

He tilted his head at Louis, his thumb pausing on her name in his message threads once more. “Hmm?” He hummed. “She’s... here?” He asked.

“Yeah,” Louis pouted slightly. “She’s been here since five,” he hummed like it was obvious.

“Hey, Louis!” She called from the other room. Her voice hitching slightly in alarm.

Why would she lie? Louis raced to the other room. Harry followed quickly because the apprehension in her voice was enough to bring all his worry immediately back to the forefront of his mind and he expected the worst truly. Because she didn’t seem to be very scared of anything. She lived in a seedy part of town and worked with violent hockey players.

So what could be in the main room that would make her sound so worried? A drunk guy who was getting into it with another person? A handsy guy who thought she was pretty? A girl who didn’t like her decision to cut her off?

None of his thoughts had considered it might be Kael. Who had her wrist pinned to the top of a table, his hand wrapped tightly around it keeping her in place.

Harry’s vision turned red.

She gaped meeting Harry’s gaze. “Oh fuck,” she whispered.

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bartonomy · 3 months ago

Text

A LITTLE BIT OF SCANDAL WITH A PINCH OF DEFAMATION

PAIRING Sirius Black x gn!reader

SYNOPSIS someone has made it their personal mission to ridicule the eldest black sibling in the school newspaper’s anonymous Spotlight column and the entire school is entertained- except Sirius

WORD COUNT 1.6k

CONTENT WARNING none

library.

Sirius Black was not used to being the butt of the joke.

Sure, he and James pranked their fellow students on a near daily basis, but that was different. That was lighthearted fun. This? This was targeted character assassination.

He sat at the Gryffindor table, scowling at the latest edition of The Hogwarts Weekly, which had just been delivered alongside breakfast. The familiar bolded headline made his stomach twist with dread.

“Weekly Spotlight: Sirius Black’s Hair Routine- Does He Secretly Use Veela Shampoo?”

Sirius groaned, dragging a hand through his obscenely perfect hair as James curiously peered over his shoulder.

“Oi, that’s a glowing review compared to last week,” James said, snatching a piece of toast. “At least they’re acknowledging the effort you put into looking devastatingly handsome.”

Sirius shot him a glare. “‘Effort’? You think I try to look like this? Mate, I was born like this."

James smirked. “Well, according to the article, you wake up two hours early just to what was it again?, ‘whisper sweet nothings to your reflection’?”

Sirius slammed the newspaper onto the table and huffed. “I do not whisper to my reflection.”

“Mate, I’ve seen you wink at yourself in the window.”

“That’s different,” Sirius muttered or rather pouted.

Across the hall, students were already whispering, chuckling at the latest installment of the rather brilliant writer's ongoing takedown of Sirius Black.

“This has gone too far,” Sirius grumbled. “I need to find out who’s behind this.”

James perked up. “Are you saying…” His eyes gleamed with mischief. “We have a mystery to solve?”

Sirius nodded, expression grave. “We’re going to catch this Quilly and when we do, I swear they’ll regret ever picking up a feather.”

James grinned. “Sirius, my dear friend, we are now game on.”

Sirius and James took their new roles as amateur detectives very seriously.

They started by interrogating their classmates.

“Did you write this?” Sirius demanded, waving the newspaper in the face of a startled Ravenclaw.

The boy blinked. “I- I don’t even read the Herald.”

James jotted something down in a small notebook. “Suspicious.”

Sirius nodded in agreement. “Very suspicious indeed.”

The Ravenclaw scurried away.

Next, they turned to analyzing past articles for clues. They sat in a corner of the common room, parchment and numerous past articles spread out before them. James tapped his quill against his chin. “Alright, let’s think, who would have enough access to the dumb things you do on a daily basis?”

Sirius frowned. “That’s the problem. I’m incredibly popular. People are always watching me.”

James snorted. “That’s one way to phrase it.”

“Alright,” Sirius huffed. “Who works on the Weekly?”

“Dunno,” James admitted. “It’s all pretty hush hush. They don’t like revealing their sources.”

“Cowards.”

James scanned the common room, eyes landing on Remus, who was curled up in an armchair, nose deep in a book.

“Oi, Moony,” James called. “You’re a Prefect. You know things. Who writes for The Hogwarts Weekly?”

Remus didn’t even look up. “Confidential.”

Sirius groaned. “Oh, come on.”

Remus finally closed his book and sighed. “Look, if the Quiller keeps their writers anonymous, they have a reason for it. Besides, maybe if you stopped embarrassing yourself on a daily basis, they wouldn’t have so much material.”

James laughs at that. Sirius glared. “You’re useless.”

Remus smirked. “And yet, I sleep soundly at night.”

The following week, after a failed (lazy really) gathering of information, he slammed the latest issue of the newspaper onto the Gryffindor table, sending toast crumbs flying.

“This- this is an attack on my dignity!” he declared, glaring at the offending article.

James, who was in the middle of buttering his toast, looked up eyes wide. “What is it this time?”

Sirius scowled. “See for yourself”

James took the paper from him, eyes scanning the latest Spotlight column.

“Sirius Black: Smooth Talker or Walking Disaster?”

Once again, Hogwarts’ resident Casanova has graced the halls with his effortless charm- or so he thinks. Witnesses report that Black’s attempt to woo a Hufflepuff sixth year ended in catastrophe when he tripped over his own shoelaces and knocked over an entire suit of armor.

Eyewitness testimony claims Black tried to play it off, stating, ‘The armor was clearly in love with me. It fell at my feet.’

Sources remain skeptical. "

James barely suppressed a laugh. “I mean… it does sound like something you’d say.”

Sirius groaned, dragging a hand down his face. “That’s not the point! Who is this menace? Who keeps writing these slanderous lies?”

Remus, who had been reading over James’ shoulder, snorted. “They’re not lies if they actually happened.”

Peter nodded. “Yeah, you did say the armor was in love with you.”

Sirius huffed. “That’s not- that’s beside the point!” He gestured wildly. “This mystery writer has been humiliating me for weeks! It's blasphemy!”

His first suspect was the rather scary friend of his.

“Marls,” Sirius said, sliding into the seat across from her. “Where were you last Tuesday at precisely 7:42 PM?”

Marlene raised an eyebrow. “Why?”

“Because,” James said dramatically, “that was the moment the Weekly was printed. And we think you’re the mysterious Quiller.”

Marlene blinked. Then she burst out laughing.

“Oh, I wish I was them,” she wheezed, swiping away stray tears. “Whoever that is? Brilliant. But sorry to disappoint, Black. It’s not me.”

Sirius squinted. “Hmm. You do like writing…”

“I like writing about things that matter,” Marlene said dryly. “And you? Do not matter.”

Sirius gasped bewildered. James patted his shoulder. “Tough break, mate.”

The second suspect was Lily, much to James' dismay. They were walking towards the library, discussing a way to question the red head without being hexed first. A few third years were discussing the newest paper rather enthusiastically by the grand fountain in the hall, much to Sirius' annoyance.

“She’s clever, she hates you, and wants to get back at you by attacking me,” Sirius reasoned. “Sounds like our girl.”

James frowned. “Yeah, but she’d just tell me to my face that I’m an idiot.”

“…Good point.”

The next and last suspect was Mary.

“She’s always laughing like a Hippogriff whenever a new column drops,” Sirius muttered. “Maybe too much.”

They set up an ambush outside the Herbology classroom, waiting for Mary to slip up.

After an eternity (20 minutes) of lurking in the corridor, she finally came into view.

Sirius and James leaped out from behind a suit of armor.

“Confess, Macdonald!” Sirius yelled.

Mary screamed, punched James in the stomach, and stormed off.

“…Not her,” James wheezed.

After several more failed interrogations, the case was going cold.

“We need bait,” Sirius decided. James raised an eyebrow. “Bait?”

Sirius grinned. “We stage an event! Something so ridiculous that the mystery writer has to cover it. Then, we watch to see who’s taking notes.”

James rubbed his hands together. “On Sleakeazy's Hair Potion, Pads, you're brilliant .”

Thus, the Great Staircase Incident was born.

It involved Sirius pretending to fall dramatically down three flights of stairs (which bloody hurt), James pretending to rescue him, though his acting skills were not very convincing and Peter shouting rather pathetically, “Oh no! Sirius Black has tragically lost all coordination!”

The entire school gathered to watch.

James and Sirius carefully scanned the crowd. Who was watching too closely? Who looked too interested? Sirius’s eyes locked on a familiar face.

You.

You stood near the back, arms crossed, an amused smirk playing on your lips. You weren’t laughing as loudly as the others, and there was something… calculating about your expression.

Sirius nudged James. “ Mate, I have a hunch.”

James followed his gaze. “You think it’s them?”

Sirius squinted. “I don’t know… but they're suspicious.”

James smirked. “Only one way to find out.”

You were finishing the next article in an empty classroom when the door slammed shut behind you.

You jumped, quill flying from your hand and the remaining ink splattered across the wooden floor.

Sirius Black stood in the doorway, arms crossed, smirking like a mad alchemist who has just discovered a breakthrough that would put him on a chocolate frog.

“Got ya.”

Your heart pounded. “Pardon?”

He strolled toward you, eyes flicking to the parchment on your desk. The column draft written halfway done. You lunged for it- albeit a little too slow.

Sirius snatched the parchment, scanning the words. His grin widened.

“Well, well, well,” he mused. “Looks like the mystery’s solved.”

You swallowed hard. “…I have no idea what you are talking about, Black. Have the countless detentions with Filch mushed up your brain?”

Sirius tapped the parchment. “The ruse is up, Quilly, We both know that you were the one defaming me for, what, six months? Rather impressive, little feather.”

You crossed your arms. “So, what now? You're going to expose me? Hex me?”

"Oh yes, I will definitely prank you for that", he tilted his head. “Though for the second part... it depends.”

“…On?”

A slow smirk spread across his face. “On whether you let me help write the next one.” Your jaw dropped. “What?”

Sirius winked. “If I can’t beat you… I might as well join you.” And just like that, the biggest mystery at Hogwarts took an unexpected turn.

#sirius black #sirius black x reader #sirius black fluff #sirius black drabble #sirius black headcanon #the marauders #sirius orion black #the marauders x reader #the marauders x you #sirius black x you #first wizarding war #marauders era #james potter #james potter x reader

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aliwritex · 4 months ago

Text

oscar thoughts: college student!reader riding his thigh 18+ 1.6k

notes: he’s a bit clueless in this and it was caused because of this pic. it’s quite silly but i like this don’t be mean

Chess at a house party. Sure, it wasn’t exactly a party and it wasn’t a house. But chess wasn’t really in your plans for the end of semester gathering. Fine, it wasn’t a gathering either, something in between. Your apartment was full of classmates, most of them, dancing, talking or having a drink. But in the corner of the living room sat your roommate and two of his friends, playing chess.

“What are you doing? This is an excuse to not use our brains and you’re ruining it.”

“Oh, come here, you have to play Oscar, he’s too good. Think you could beat him though.” your friend said, pulling you back by the hand.

“Scott, I’m not gonna play chess when I’m hosting a party”

“Cmon, everyone’s set and having fun, have a game, please, Oscar’s feeling a little out of place.”

You were familiar with Oscar, he was friends with Scott, your roommate, and you’d met him a couple times, he was nice, polite and hot. So you sat down, watching the boy replace the pieces to the right spots.

“Best of three?”

“For what?”

“Don’t know yet, i’ll decide while we play” you teased and watched him nod and sign at the table, letting you know you had the white pieces.

Oscar won the first match, you the second, gathering low cheering from your two friends that watched.

“Right, if I win this one, I get to take you to my room for ‘seven minutes in heaven’ or more” you teased.

Said and done, you won the last round. Maybe he let you but you didn’t mind. You both got up and you took his hand in yours, guiding him to the other side of the apartment as your friends cheered on him.

You sat him on the bed and he just stared up at you.

“Are you a virgin?” you bluntly asked the boy and watched him blush uncontrollably.

“I- what? No!”

Watching him stutter made you smile. You walked across the room, taking off your shoes and looking around your vanity for a clip to hold your hair up.

“You sure act like one” you told him through the mirror “relax a little”

Oscar could swear he got a peak of your underwear when you bent over to do so.

“Seeing I’m the winner, think I'm gonna claim my prize. And I’ve wanted to do this for a while”

Your confession made him choke on his breath as he watched you walk over to him. Your finger reached out for his chin, making him lift his head, brown eyes staring up at you through lashes. You kissed his pouty lips, sitting on his thigh. Your action knocked the breath out of his lungs, he could not respond to your kiss for a second.

“C’mon, don’t be so shy”

You guided his hands to your waist, under your flowy shirt. They were cold and slightly shaking but the touch felt good, reassuring. Your short skirt had bunched up around your hips, allowing you to feel his thigh muscles right against your underwear as you kissed. Your hands dived into his already messy hair as your tongue made it into his mouth.

His thumbs caressed your sides softly, a tentative touch that showed him getting more confident. His hands then reached up your back, lifting your shirt to expose your stomach and allowing him to catch a glimpse of a tattoo he didn’t know about, it made him curious.

“What do you want me to do?” he asked when your lips left his to explore his neck.

You chuckled at his question and slowly pulled away from him “Just sit here for me, yeah? Wanna use you for bit”

Your lips met his again and your hands dropped to take his to your hips. Then you started to move.

You had a particularly thin pair of panties on that allowed you to feel the texture of his shorts against your skin as your hips dragged forwards. You moved back, arching your back and letting his hands follow your hips. When you bucked forwards again Oscar understood what you were doing and he was in shock. But as soon as he recomposed himself he spread his legs further, making his shorts ride up.

Then the only thing separating you was your underwear but he took care of that too. His hand carefully and slowly met your middle, tucking your panties to the side. You groaned when you felt your wet lips meet his thigh, his cool skin contrasting with your middle.

Your hips moved faster and the pleasure made your head fall back, letting Oscar watch your body moving, in awe. He could feel your thigh muscles flexing beneath his hands as you moved and he was watching the way your breathing became ragged.

Your hands left his shoulders for a second, just to pull down the straps of your top, it made your boobs fall out of it, right on his face. Then you were back at it, hips moving fast, hands grabbing his shoulders, tits on his face and occasional pretty moans, you were putting on a show for him.

And it was working. He was watching like he didn’t want to miss a second of your performance. And you could feel his hard cock pressing against your knee when you moved. You couldn’t lie, it felt powerful to have him like that, under you, watching so mesmerized. You would love to concentrate on his face to see his reactions but you were already feeling your insides tighten.

Moans started coming out of your lips with no filter, you knew the music in the apartment was loud enough that only Oscar would hear them. Your thighs tightened around his and almost stopped you from moving. You were about to lose your high when his hands met your hips again and helped your movements.

You squeezed his shoulders tightly when you came, legs also tensing up around his till he was trapped. He made sure to keep his eyes on you as you did, watching your face contorting with pleasure, head thrown back and mouth open, a strangled moan making its way out.

He sighed when your head finally dropped to his shoulder and your body relaxed on top of him.

“Didn’t know you had a tattoo” he whispered to the side of your neck as his thumb caressed the mark on your stomach.

“I don’t go around showing it to everyone. Maybe you could see all of it some day though.” you teased as you pulled away, kissing his lips quickly.

A string of wetness connected your cunt to his thigh when you got up, the view making him groan. He watched from the bed as you pulled your straps back up and your skirt down but instead of straightening up your panties you took them off. You thought about it for a second before throwing them on his lap.

“You sort yourself out,” you told him through the mirror again as you let your hair down this time, now allowing him a view of your wet cunt when you bent over, “see you outside”

Oscar just watched you walk out of the room, he couldn’t say anything, just throw his body back on the bed and think about what happened.

He was left a mess, lying on your bed as you got back to the party. He wandered what you meant by ‘you sort yourself out’ after giving him your panties.

Surely you hadn’t meant for him to jerk off, right? He definitely thought about it, looking at the thin fabric in his hand he imagined how good it would look and feel to have it wrapped around his cock, your slick rubbing on his sensitive skin. But he stopped his thoughts.

No, what you meant was that he should take his time and calm down and come back outside, not jerk off to your panties and take them home.

He sighed loudly, almost a grunt, and looked down at his shorts, still very visibly tented. He tried to take his mind elsewhere but even your room was making him lose his mind. Your smell was everywhere, he first thought it was just the sheets so he sat back up but it was in the air – sweet perfume mixed with your own scent and the result was perfectly you.

He had left his phone outside so he couldn’t do that to distract himself. So he started singing, the first song in his head, threw himself back onto the bed and closed his eyes. It was just a hum at first, then some of the lyrics but a minute later he was singing and tapping his foot to “Life is a Highway” from the Cars soundtrack.

So when you walked back into your room to grab your shoes you caught Oscar tapping his foot on your carpet, lying back on your bed and singing to the ceiling. He sat back up immediately, eyes blown wide as you looked a him for a second before bursting into laughter.

“What the hell are you doing?”

“I- I was trying to distract myself” he pouted, lying back on the bed “‘t’s not going down”

You chuckled at him and it only made his cock twitch. “I thought you were gonna… you know…”

“So you did mean that”

“Yeah, I gave you my underwear, I thought that was implied”

“Right, I didn’t want you to think that I was a creep” he confessed.

“Awn. You��re really sweet. I shouldn’t have been so mean to you”

“You can always make up to me” he tried.

“Yeah, not now though, Scott said we’re low on drinks” you told him as you put your shoes back on “Can you drive me to get some more?”

“Sure, give me a second”

#oscar piastri x reader #oscar piastri smut #a writes

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