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deathofacupid · 2 months ago

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꩜ CURSED ENERGY? NAH... CURSED DICK!

MY ANACONDA DON'T... — forget vanilla. with them, sex isn't just good, it's transcendent. it's not like there's room for improvement, but go big... or go home, right?

꩜ satoru gojo, suguru geto, kento nanami, choso kamo, toji fushiguro, ryomen sukuna.

warnings — áfab!reader. óverstimulatión, dégrading, dúmbification, sqúirting, breedíng. dóm!characters. bóndage (geto's). unprótected séx. blood (sukuna's). inappropriate use of cursed technique + jujutsu. lemme know if i missed anything! 3.2k+ words.

(呪術廻戦) : note — i think i've forgotten how to write fluff now </33 divider credits to @/cafekitsune !

꩜ SATORU GOJO

the way satoru finds that spot… it’s like he’s got a sixth sense for it, beyond even those eyes. the insistent grind of his hips, the precise angle his thick cock takes as it buries itself deeper. it’s a language your body understands entirely.

“satoru! fuck,” you gasp, head arching back against the worn headboard. it’s so good it borders on agony, a delicious overload that makes your vision swim.

“ah, shit, pretty,” he grunts, his voice roughened with lust. “you’re taking all of me. look at that, huh? so fucking tight.” each powerful thrust has the head of his cock slamming against that sensitive nub deep inside, a relentless pressure that steals the air from your lungs.

all that exists is him – the slick heat, the straining length, every vein and ridge a searing imprint against your slick, yielding flesh.

it’s unnerving, almost invasive, how intimately he seems to know your body, mapping its secrets with a casual expertise. and with those all-seeing eyes, it’s foolish to think he doesn’t.

a wave of dizziness washes over you, coherent thought dissolving into a haze of pure sensation. the faint throb of his teeth marks on your neck is a distant hum against the overwhelming now – the relentless pounding, the feeling of being stretched and filled beyond capacity with each savage push.

the bed-frame creaks in protest with every thrust, the small room thick with the wet, smacking sounds and the friction of skin against skin. the remnants of their last bout, his slick warmth, are still trapped inside, each subsequent invasion driving it further, staking a deeper claim.

he’s not just moaning; it’s the most pornographic thing you've yet to hear, the most obscenely beautiful sound you’ve ever heard. he's whining like a bitch in heat, really.

“no, d- don’t stop,” you plead, your inner muscles clenching instinctively, milking him with desperate urgency.

“mm, not gonna stop,” he bites out, leaning down to press a hard, possessive kiss to your swollen lips. “but you gotta try not to squeeze so damn hard, sweetheart. i might just lose it.”

a mumbled apology escapes your lips, barely intelligible. you’re right on the edge, that familiar release beckoning with dizzying speed. you never stood a chance against him.

never with the way he fucks you, zeroing in on that core of pleasure with an almost cruel precision.

a strangled cry tears from your throat, breath hitching in ragged gasps. “i’m—"

"—i know,” gojo grinds out, cutting you off, his own breath coming in short, sharp bursts. “fuck, me too.”

when he comes, it’s a violent shudder that consumes his entire body, thick ropes of his seed erupting deep inside you. he collapses against you, burying his face in the crook of your neck, riding out the tremors of your own shattering climax.

then, he pulls back slightly, those piercing blue eyes locking onto yours, raw and unguarded. “you know,” he says, his voice still thick with the aftermath, a tenderness in his gaze, “i think we should get married.”

꩜ SUGURU GETO

veiny, thick tendrils of cursed energy snake around you, binding your wrists to the cold metal of the bedposts. they pulse with a subtle, unsettling warmth, a living restraint.

you don't even bother to struggle; experience has taught you the futility. instead, you brace yourself, a strange mix of resignation and fierce anticipation settling in your gut for whatever suguru is willing to give.

the cursed energy is as unyielding as any rope, maybe even tighter. you can already feel the pressure points, the faint burn that promises bruises blooming beneath your skin in the morning.

a small price, you think, a ridiculously small price to pay for the brain-scrambling, mind-numbing oblivion he can deliver.

a very, very small price indeed.

"what a good girl," he purrs, his breath ghosting across your face as he peppers light, almost clinical kisses across your forehead and cheeks. "thought for sure that little whimper earlier meant you were about to tap out."

you huff, the sound catching in your throat and breaking into a shaky whimper despite yourself. "i— i can handle it," you insist, squeezing your eyes shut against the onslaught of sensation already building. maybe focusing on your breathing will help. just a little.

geto clicks his tongue, a sound that vibrates with amusement. "i have no doubt." you can't decipher if it's genuine or laced with his usual condescension. he has a habit of that, a detached superiority that somehow only amplifies the raw intimacy of his fucking.

if your mind isn't already a hazy mess, you might ask him if he even realizes he's doing it. actually, no, you wouldn't. you like it.

"think you can even take some more?" he's baiting you, you know it. everything with suguru is a subtle power play, a quiet competition. it's the same for you, a bad coincidence, you'd said. him? he voiced it as "being made for each other."

"y— yes, fuck!" the word is a desperate gasp as his thick cock slams into you, a raw, visceral connection that steals your breath. his hand slides down, fingers grazing against your slick folds, teasing the swollen nub of your clit. always the deliberate tormentor.

you want to tangle your fingers in the silky length of his hair, to pull him closer, but the pulsing restraints hold you captive. a frustrating, exquisite helplessness.

"cute lil' pussy," he chuckles, his voice a low rumble that vibrates against your ear. does he even realize how devastatingly beautiful he looks in moments like these?

his long, dark hair cascading around his face like a fallen angel, a sex-driven, lust-fueled angel bathed in the dim light.

he bucks his hips, a deep, guttural sound escaping his throat as he drives into you. your slick, aching hole does its desperate best to accommodate his size, that initial stretch always taking a painful, exquisite moment. by the time you adjust, he is already impatient, fucking you with a controlled ferocity that borders on brutal.

but you can never stay truly upset with him when it comes to this. he just… thrusts the discomfort away, slamming into your wet heat with a possessive intensity that drowns out everything else.

"sugu— 'm really close," you inhale, sharply, the words broken by a sharp intake of breath.

"yeah, princess?" he murmurs, his voice softening slightly, a flicker of something akin to tenderness in his dark eyes. "can feel you."

he finishes soon after, a series of deep, shuddering thrusts that wrack his body. but not before he ensures you follow, his fingers relentless on your clit until you cry out, your own release a messy, shuddering wave.

within a blink, the pulsing tendrils of cursed energy dissolve, leaving behind only the faint red marks on your wrists. he leans down, pressing a soft kiss to the irritated skin, a smug wink flashing in his eyes.

꩜ KENTO NANAMI

nanami's great at sex. always has been. you didn't even think the guy could get better at it. and yet, here he is, showing you just how much more mind-numbingly good he can be.

with those long, surprisingly gentle fingers, he's got your jaw cupped, his thumb stroking your cheek as he murmurs, "can you feel me, darling?"

it's a stupid question, obviously you can feel him. every ridge and vein of his thick cock is pressed against your tight cunt, and you've never felt this stretched, you swear.

nanami just adores how your mouth falls open, your brows all scrunched up in that adorable little frown as his fat tip hits your sweet spot. his other hand slides down to your belly, pressing just lightly, like he's staking his claim. he's prideful, is what he is.

his thrusts are so controlled, so damn rhythmic it's almost hypnotic. every movement has a purpose, a precise intention. there's nothing sloppy or senseless about the way he's fucking you. it's like he's engineered your orgasm.

"oh, fuck," you gasp, your fingers digging into the solid muscle of his back, trying to hold on as the pleasure threatens to swallow you whole.

"feels good, no?" he asks, his intense gaze locked on your face. honestly, you wouldn't have pegged him as the type to need his ego stroked, but the look in his eyes says otherwise.

you want to answer him, but your eyes roll back in your head, and you're practically useless, just a whimpering mess under his ministrations.

nanami lets out this low chuckle, pressing a wet, sloppy kiss to your forehead. the bastard knows exactly what he's doing to you.

you can feel that 7:3 ratio thing he probably has going on in his head, even if he's not consciously counting. seven deliberate slides in, each one stretching you further, followed by three slightly shallower, teasing movements that keep you right on the edge.

your breath hitches in your throat, and you drag your nails down his solid back, leaving little trails of sensation. "i- i can't…" nanami just ignores your incoherent mumbles, because he knows you don't even know what you're trying to say. you're just strung out on the feel of him.

the slams of his hips against yours get a little less controlled, a little more urgent, but still with that underlying precision that's so distinctly him. you can feel the tension coiling in him, like a tightly wound spring about to snap.

"oh, love, i can feel – fuck – you clenching around me," he grunts, rutting his cock deeper into you. you're desperate for the release that's building, every muscle in your body contracting as you moan and whimper.

nanami lets out a low groan, his usual composed mask finally cracking as he follows you over the edge. his movements keep up, a little less methodical now, until he's shuddering against you, filling you with his hot, precise load.

he finally stills, resting his forehead against yours, his breathing a little ragged. "god, i love you," he murmurs, a rare hint of pure satisfaction in his voice.

seven minutes (and three seconds) in heaven.

꩜ CHOSO KAMO

choso's stamina isn't just a flex; it's a goddamn superpower. the kind that leaves you wondering if he has some extra hearts tucked away somewhere. "monster-like" feels polite; "relentless" is closer to the truth. you're pretty sure your boyfriend can fuck through the apocalypse and still ask for another round.

his face is buried deep between your tits, the wet heat of his mouth a brand against your skin. his moans are thick and muffled, vibrating against your chest as he rides you, each thrust a deep, insistent press.

hours blur into a sweaty, tangled mess of limbs and desperate gasps. the digital clock on your nightstand glows a mocking 2:47 a.m. you feel like you've been wrung out and hung to dry, utterly, deliciously drained. meanwhile, choso looks like he's just finished his warm-up.

"ngh, baby," he groans, his voice thick with need. "i'm… fuck, i'm gonna cum." you've lost count of his "gonna comes" hours ago, each one a lie that somehow still manages to feel good in the moment. your own orgasms have been a dizzying parade, each one pulling another ragged whimper from your throat.

"oh, choso…" you whimper, your back arching instinctively as he hits that sweet spot. your fingers tangle in his loose, messy hair – those ridiculous space-buns have long since surrendered to the friction. you're probably pulling too hard, but the only sound he makes is a deeper groan of pleasure.

a shaky sob escapes you. "i… god, i can't." your muscles are screaming, every nerve ending raw and overstimulated.

"s— sure you can," he breathes, his lips trailing wet kisses up your neck. "last… last one, i promise." his voice is husky, laced with a desperate edge that almost sounds believable.

except, choso is a liar when he's this deep inside you. the second his hot load pulses into you, you can feel him twitch, his cock hardening again with infuriating speed.

and yeah, you love his blood manipulation, you really do. knowing it keeps him safe out there, facing whatever cursed shit he has to deal with — that's everything.

but this? using it to recycle his blood, straight from his balls to his dick, so he doesn't "waste time" getting hard again? you want to argue that the downtime is the only thing keeping you from dissolving into a puddle of pure sensation. the break is essential.

you need it like you need air.

"choso, please," you hiccup, a pathetic little sound.

"please what, baby?" he mumbles, finally lifting his head to press soft, wet kisses to your tear-streaked face. "please, more?" his eyes are dark and hungry, pupils blown wide.

"no! no… not more," you murmur, squeezing your eyes shut against the fresh wave of sensation building in your core. you can feel another orgasm clawing its way closer, and the traitorous part of you, the part that is addicted to his touch, actually wants it.

he barely waits a breath after his last shuddering release before plunging back into you, his movements insistent and demanding. "oh, but you're doing so good," he insists, his words broken by ragged gasps.

"this is it, okay? j— just this last one, baby." he sounds like he's begging now, his voice thick with desperation, and in your hazy, pleasure-addled state, you almost believe him.

but then you are coming again, that familiar, overwhelming rush consuming you, and he is coming too, his body bucking against yours, and… he is a goddamn beautiful, stamina-blessed liar.

꩜ TOJI FUSHIGURO

yeah, toji doesn't have some fancy cursed technique to whip out in bed. so what? you think that ever stops him from getting exactly what he wants?

hell, no. the dude might be a deadbeat dad and a general pain in the ass, but when he commits to something – and he's definitely committed to you – he goes all the way. a real thorough bastard, that one.

right now, he has you locked in this brutal-as-hell mating press. your knees are practically glued to his sides, and his arms are like iron, squeezing you so tight you can feel his damn heartbeat against your own.

his fingers aren't just holding on; they're digging in, promising a nice little collection of bruises for you to discover later. a reminder, you figure.

his thick cock is stretching you open, filling you up in a way that makes your vision blur and your head spin. "you're a goddamn slut, you know that?" he grunts out between these rough, possessive kisses that leave your lips swollen.

"tell me," toji breathes, his hot breath ghosting over your ear, sending shivers down your spine despite the heat building between your legs. "you know what you are."

your head flops back, heavy and useless. all that matters is the feel of him buried so deep, the relentless back-and-forth stealing your breath and any semblance of thought.

you can taste blood where you're biting your lip, but the pain is just a background hum to the overwhelming pleasure.

"a… slut," you manage to choke out, the word sounding needy and desperate, already begging for the next brutal slide.

toji lets out this low groan that vibrates right through you, a sound that screams you're mine. his grip tightens even more, his thumbs now pressing hard into the slick, tender flesh of your inner thighs, spreading you wider, making him feel impossibly deep. it's almost violent, the way he handles you, but every rough touch sends these crazy sparks of sensation shooting through you.

he pulls back just enough to lock his dark, intense gaze on yours, and you can practically see the possessiveness burning in his eyes. "mine," he bites out, like it's the only truth in the universe. then, he slams back into you, and your nails dig into the hard muscle of his shoulders, clinging on for dear life.

the air's thick with your ragged gasps, the wet, slapping sound of your bodies grinding together, and you just know he's getting off on how tight you are, how you clench and tremble with each savage thrust.

one calloused hand leaves your side to roughly cup your breast, his thumb teasing your nipple until it's hard and aching. the other hand stays glued to the wet heat of your thigh.

"beg for it," he mutters, his voice low and rough, a total taunt.

a shaky cry escapes you, right on the edge of a sob. "please, toji, p— please…"

he lets out this low chuckle, a rumble against your ear. "yeah, yeah." and even though he acts like he doesn't give a shit half the time, he's always a sucker for you. the heat low in your belly coils tighter and tighter. your back arches, and you writhe against him, desperate for that release.

and when you finally come, it hits him just a few brutal seconds later. his hot load pumps into you, coating your insides, and toji groans, a deep, animalistic sound as you squeeze every last drop out of him.

"damn, ma," he breathes, his forehead pressed against yours, shoulders relaxing.

relaxing; only for a moment, because then you know the cycle will repeat.

꩜ RYOMEN SUKUNA

it's no surprise sukuna is rough. he's sukuna. taunting, malevolent, deliciously so. a razor's edge of threat underlies everything he utters, a constant hum of danger that can be playful or genuinely menacing. except in this space, beneath him, it is always, undeniably, intentional.

you are splayed out, limbs heavy and unresponsive, reduced to a whimpering, slick mess under his gaze. his crimson eyes, sharp and predatory, burn into yours, pinning you down more effectively than any physical restraint.

he trails a long finger down the inside of your thigh, the touch surprisingly light, yet you still flinch, a tremor running through you. a faint, red line blooms in its wake, almost imperceptible.

"feel that, flower?" he rumbles, his voice a low purr that vibrates through your bones. "better listen close, wouldn't want you ending up in little pieces."

you know, somewhere in the haze of arousal and fear, that it's a hollow threat. he wouldn't destroy what he so possessively claims. yet, the fear still coils in your gut, sharp and thrilling.

terrifying, yes, but you wouldn't have it any other way.

his thick cock stretches you open, every inch a deliberate invasion. you can feel the head press against something deep inside, a hard knot pushing so far in it creates a visible bulge in your lower belly. the slick heat of him fills you completely.

then comes the unsettling, wet sensation of a tongue, not from his mouth, but from lower down, sliding between your slick folds.

"'kuna— can't..." you whine, which he whole-heartedly disregards. it traces a path of hot, insistent licks, right up to your swollen clit, leaving a shimmering trail of his spit.

"what a messy girl, huh?" he rasps, his voice thick with the effort, as if you aren't completely consumed by the feeling of him inside you. your only response is a helpless groan that vibrates against his skin.

your eyes squeeze tighter, the pressure building again, that familiar knot of another orgasm clawing its way up. your inner muscles clench around his shaft, slicking him even further as you squirt onto his thick length, milking him with each involuntary spasm.

it isn't long before his own ragged breaths fill the air, his hips bucking against yours as he empties himself inside, filling you to the brim with hot, pulsing pleasure.

"maybe," he says against your ear, a low murmur, "if you're lucky, next time i'll let you take both."

❛ all works belong to deathofacupid, do not steal/plagiarize/repost. ❜

tagging jazz (@jeonwiixard) + mia (@mia-can-yap-too) cus they wifey <33

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sschmendrick · 1 year ago

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The need to get more muscular cause it's all I can do to hope having a chance at getting better at a sport I love but can't practice for a while vs the deep fear of going to the gym because I don't know how to do shit there and i am terrified vs how heavy my body feels in general even more so after gaining muscle when the sport I want to practice needs me to be light and quick on my feet and jump high

#starting to believe there is no good answers there #what i lack in speed and reflexes I would have to compensate for with technique but i can't train my technique so I gotta work on my physiq #but then my speed gets down and i need even better technique. What the hell am I supposed to do then

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1d1195 · 5 months ago

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Pucking Rookie I

~8.4k words

From me: here she is. gonna be at least one more part (probs 2) sorry. I didn't mean to do a series. I just can't shut up and I introduced too many fun characters. I don't know a lot about hockey so a lot of this is probably unrealistic.

Warnings: douchey ex-boyfriend, a little violent (it's hockey after all)

Summary: When the assistant coach's niece comes to take pictures of the team, her lens isn't the only thing capturing Harry Styles heart and soul on and off the ice. Harry wants to win her over more than he wants to win the entire league championship. (Although it would be nice to rub it in her ex's stupid face if he won that too).

The rink was chilly even with the appropriate clothes on. Despite the fact she practically lived in ice arenas for the two years, it never ceased to catch her off guard with how cold it was. To be fair, she was a lot closer to the ice this time around. Her camera pressed into the little glass cutout, her eye checking the visual before she clicked the shutter.

Quickly she pulled away as two of the guys pressed against the glass right next to her. “Hey Sweetheart,” Noah Ashford smiled briefly as he skated off in the other direction. She rolled her eyes. Uncle Charlie, assistant coach of The Arctic Chargers, warned the entire team that his niece was taking residence at the rink and would be part of media photos, headshots, and would be submitting to all major sport reporting outlets. The team was told without question, not to bother her in any way.

Naturally the group of twenty twenty-something year-old hockey players were going to do nothing of the sort.

Captain Evander Langston swished almost gracefully over to her. He stopped in front of her with a puff of ice at his feet. “Do you think I have a good side?”

She shook her head with a smirk and looked over the photos she just took in the last three minutes. “Probably not the left. You’ve been checked into the board over there about five times this practice alone.”

He put a hand on his chest. “Sweetheart, you wound me.” Sweetheart was the name Uncle Charlie called her in front of the whole team during the introduction and so it was the only thing any of them paid attention to from their coach. “Don’t say that in front of the others,” he pleaded quietly.

“I would never, Cap,” she smiled kindly.

He returned her grin with his own. “You call me Cap, and I’m going to have a problem with Coach’s rule, Sweetheart. But I know we’re all going to like having you around to keep us in check.”

“Lang, you better not be flirting when your technique needs work!” Kian Calloway shouted across the ice where he slapped a puck into the open net from the blue line.

“You better not be flirting, period, Lang!” Uncle Charlie called.

“Yeah!” Callie repeated to his captain. She had gone over the nicknames with her uncle before starting. Lang, Asher, and Callie were easy and as some of the major stars of the team, it made sense she would chat with them most. “If anyone is going to flirt with her, it’s going to be me!”

“I’ll sit you for less, Callie,” Charlie warned.

She couldn’t help but laugh. But she didn’t mind the attention nor care. It was adorable. Like a group of puppies looking for attention. With a shake of her head, she made her way around the glass and boards for another angle of the players on the ice. She wanted shots of the goalie. Niall Horan seemed much too nice to be a hockey player but perhaps that’s why he was the goalie. He was the first one to introduce himself and he didn’t seem to have the temper that the other players did over trivial things (like tying skates together or putting salt in someone’s Gatorade). Niall blocked shots from his teammates as if it was nothing but breathing. In a way it was stunning, nearly beautiful.

Hockey was violent, yes. But there was beauty in it, too. The way players skated backwards, cupped the puck on their stick. The speed, agility, and gracefulness required to stay standing. It was all really beautiful, and she was excited to be up close this time around. For the last two or so years she had been in a box cheering for her ex-boyfriend, right forward for the Glacier Wolves, Kael Crowe.

To be completely honest, she should have known it wouldn’t have worked out. Among the cheating, the belittling, and all the other things that were, in hindsight, an abysmal part of dating him, the orange and blue coloring wasn’t her favorite. The Arctic Chargers black and silver jerseys were much more her speed. Kael was her boyfriend of years and years but once he made it to the majors three years ago, things were very different.

“You can come on the ice, Sweetheart, we’re almost done!” Asher said.

Even though she had dated a hockey player for nearly a decade (most of which took place during college) she couldn’t skate. Uncle Charlie tried when she was younger to teach her, but the balance and coordination was not in her wheelhouse. She longed to skate better. Figure skaters were so dainty and beautiful as they glided on the ice. She was neither of those things and almost dreaded getting on the ice in the boots she was wearing. If she fell in front of her uncle, it was embarrassing. She could only imagine how embarrassing it would be in front of an entire professional hockey team.

“One second!”

She wanted to prolong the agony. Plus, with her fragile camera it seemed like a death sentence to send her out there. Even if it was what she was getting paid to do. It wasn’t the most lucrative job she had, but it was what she wanted to do most. She was grateful for the opportunity and hoped it would kickstart into something more. Photography was a major passion for her. Pictures of anything. Her computer was filled with pictures of the sun and sky from the summer. Snowy days in the winter. Pictures of her parents’ dog. Her uncle’s kids on birthdays. She was the official photographer of family weddings and more. But it wasn’t steady. A lot of her post-college young life had been put on hold to dote on Kael. Something she regretted but couldn’t do anything about now.

Uncle Charlie was kind to help her out and she thought starting now was better than never starting at all.

“Styles is that you?!”

“Yeah, yeah, don’t piss yourselves in excitement,” the voice was right beside her.

“You better be fucking cleared before touching this rink,” Ray Wheeler, head coach and another surrogate uncle to her was a bit gruffer in his delivery to the players than Charlie most of the time.

The man beside her slapped his hand, paper held pressed to the glass. “Doctor-cleared for takeoff,” he called. A round of cheers went up and she snapped another picture of the excitement, ignoring the one and only Harry Styles beside her.

Harry Styles was Kael’s rival. The same draft class (although begrudgingly, Kael would admit Harry went first), and almost the same position—left forward. Fortunately, they were in different conferences, so they only ever played one another twice a season. Unless they made it to finals which hadn’t happened yet. But in her opinion, it was only a matter of time. Harry made headlines for his skill and ability, fitness, and overall dominance on the ice. He was protective of his best friend in goal—he and Niall were a pair like no other. Which meant when they did play each other, Kael knew exactly how to get under Harry’s skin.

“Who are you?” He asked.

Harry wasn’t here for her formal introduction to the team. Before she could open her mouth, Uncle Charlie was there. “That’s my niece Styles. She’s off limits so just make your way to the locker room.”

“Ah,” he smiled.

It should have been noted that in addition to skill and ability, fitness, and dominance on the ice, Harry was one of the most beautiful men she had ever seen. His eyes were green which sure as hell meant God was in fact a woman because no man would know to make Harry even more beautiful with forest green eyes. He was tall, even taller on skates. His skin glowed in a way that should have been illegal when she spent half an hour dousing her face in ten moisturizing products each night to achieve the same look and Harry spent most of his time indoors on an ice rink. Was it the chill that made his cheeks pinker? Would she get the same glow working here all season? She could only hope.

But it was that smile that did her in. His straight teeth peeking out from his lips. The dimples. The arrogance behind the expression. The pink curve of his upturned lips went right through her as he grinned at her.

“Nice t’meet you,” he held his hand out.

“Hands off!” Charlie shouted again.

Harry chuckled as she took his hand with an eyeroll introducing herself. “I’m your photo media specialist, if you will.”

“Excellent,” Harry grinned. “Let me know if y’need me t’pose a certain way,” he winked.

She shook her head and Niall skated up to the side. “Hey Sweetheart,” he said.

“Hi, baby, I missed you,” Harry answered with a grin. Niall shook his head flipping his friend off which made her giggle. Niall remained focused on her.

“Your Uncle said you might need help walking out here.”

“Oh, do we have a skating rookie on our hands?” Harry asked. Her cheeks felt hot under the assumption. Even though it was accurate.

“I suck at skating,” she shrugged. There wasn’t any use playing it off—they would know in a matter of seconds. “I get too nervous and lose my balance,” she admitted.

They both tilted their heads at her. She knew that vulnerability wasn’t something seen on the ice. It seemed almost trivial to admit, but she knew it clearly threw them for a loop. “I can walk you out,” Harry offered with that sinfully delicious smile.

“Coach said he was going to rebreak all of your fingers if you touch her."

“Oh, please let me walk you out,” Harry practically bounced with excitement.

She worried her eyes were going to remain in the back of her head from rolling them so much, but she supposed that would come with the territory with working for a group of boys. “Thank you, Niall. I should be okay. Just don’t let anyone laugh at me too much if I fall on my butt.”

“We don’t want you t’fall on such a pretty asset, Rookie. Are y’sure I can’t help?”

She ignored Harry, keeping her eyes on Niall. “No one will laugh,” he assured her, a smile toying at his lips as he slipped his helmet back on. “I offered, but she’s stubborn like you, Coach!”

The laughter that ensued was a good distraction for her to make her move. She unlocked the rink door and stepped onto the ice following behind Niall. Each step was carefully taken, knowing the traction of her winter boots were better than any other pair of shoes she owned but would never compare to the blade of skate.

Three little steps was about as far as she could go it seemed. Right as her footing was about to be lost on her and send her to the hard ice, a hand caught her elbow and kept her upright. “Rookie, love,” he tisked. “I told you I could help.”

She looked at him briefly knowing that his good looks got him any girl he wanted. She heard the rumors of the string of girls he had (perhaps one for every city he visited) and she knew of every bad thing that Kael had to say about him. But the kindness of him to catch her was sweet. Even she couldn’t deny that. Kael merely laughed each time she fell, it wasn’t mean spirited per se, but it was almost like he was glad she couldn’t skate. A way to be better than her.

God, she wished she had taken the hint a lot sooner.

Harry’s skates weren’t even tied yet. “Jus’ wait,” he said and knelt to lace them up. She had to imagine he rushed to get out here just knowing she wouldn’t make it across the ice.

Once tied, Harry held her elbow again and skated so effortlessly beside her barely moving as he glided alongside her. No one paid attention to her slow steps, and she could feel Harry’s grip firm but not hard on her arm. Almost sensing when she was going to misstep before she did. It made her heart skip a beat.

No. She couldn’t think like that. She wasn’t going to fall for another hockey player ever.

“M’teaching m’niece t’skate. I can teach you,” he shrugged. It wasn’t arrogant the way he said it. She was sure anyone else that knew she was in their mid-twenties (especially someone with a famous hockey player for an ex-boyfriend of eight years, and famous major league hockey coach for an uncle) would expect her to be able to skate. Instead, one of the top players in the league was at her elbow barely acknowledging that it was weird. Perhaps the vulnerability she mentioned to him and Niall really meant something to him. Or maybe she was just reading into it—which she definitely shouldn’t have been reading into it.

“It’s a real shame you won’t have that hand to play with after all, Harry,” Uncle Charlie shook his head.

“Don’t worry, Uncle Charlie, I can handle a group of boys,” she rolled her eyes again, earning a bout of laughter from the group. But she knew that Uncle Charlie was worried about Harry specifically. He was a lot like Kael. In another life, Harry would have been a weakness for her. But not anymore. She was done with hockey guys.

“M’jus’ making sure she doesn’t fall. Sad y’couldn’t teach her t’skate. Some uncle you are,” he shrugged casually.

The group laughed again, and she smirked. Charlie ignored the childish behavior of his players but rubbed his middle finger on his nose like he had an itch aimed for Harry “They’re all yours, Sweetheart. Just tell them where you want them. They’ve all been instructed to listen carefully unless they want to do suicides tomorrow at practice, so be honest if they don’t listen. Or lie if you see fit,” Uncle Charlie remarked making everyone groan. “Harry, go get your gear she needs individual pictures too.”

His eyes flickered to Niall for several seconds. Right as he released her arm, Niall now stood beside her and waited for direction. He didn’t hold her elbow like Harry did, but it was clear there was an unspoken message they shared telepathically. That little flutter in her chest made it’s appearance once more solely because Harry was kind to her about her inability to skate.

No, she wasn’t going to fall for it.

She wasn’t going to fall for the hot left wing of her uncle’s team just because he offered to teach her to skate and didn’t make fun of her because she couldn’t.

Nope. She wasn’t.

Not even a little.

Right?

The boys were decidedly sweet. Despite the fact it was like trying to wrangle a group of twenty toddlers into one spot. They sat nicely for their headshots individually, but once she tried to get them into various poses and group shots with their respective lines it proved a little more difficult. (Don’t even get her started on how the whole team shot went).

Harry stood beside her while she took pictures of everyone but him. His presence was comforting in a way she didn’t want to admit so readily. It had been less than an hour since she spoke to him. When he returned with all his gear in place, he held a small rug that the coaches often used to stand at center ice and call drills. He laid it before her feet, and she didn’t have to worry as much about falling. Niall was her test subject in front of the goal. When she wanted to get another angle, Harry scooped up the little mat and held her elbow and let her guide while he slid alongside her at a pace that was much too slow for a professional hockey player. But Harry didn’t seem to mind.

“Can I see?” He asked while the others skated around, messing around at the other end of the rink. She was now at the bench where she was safe from slipping. Harry leaned over the rail, dropping his gloves onto the wooden seat beside her. She offered her camera to him. Carefully he cradled it, like he knew it really was precious to her. Silently, he looked at the little screen. A smile grew on his face as he admired how his pictures came out. “These are awesome, Rookie.”

“Thank you,” did her cheeks feel warmer from the compliment? She smiled softly as he looked through several photos of himself. Harry Styles was lucky he didn’t have a bad side. Not that she would tell him that.

“How come y’didn’t do this for Crowe’s team?” He asked clicking through photos of his teammates.

She blinked, the smile melting from her face. “You know about me and Kael?”

“Well, yeah. S’the whole hands-off talk Coach gave us. Said you’re done with hockey players,” Harry shrugged one shoulder, his gaze focused on the lines and group shots on the screen of her camera. “Fortunately for me, I don’t consider your ex a real hockey player,” he smiled at the screen. “But I haven’t told Coach ‘bout that loophole jus’ yet.”

She snorted and shook her head. The flirty comment was cute. She could admit that. Plus, a dig at her shitty ex made her feel a little lighter. But she wasn’t going to fall for Harry’s easy-going charisma.

If she repeated it to herself enough, it would stick.

“I will not be dating real and-or imaginary hockey players,” she told him.

“At least give me a chance t’change your mind, Rookie,” he offered.

“No, thank you,” she shook her head politely. He frowned. She laughed softly. “You genuinely look down by my answer.”

“Hell yeah,” he scowled. “Y’take pretty pictures and y’wrangled this ragtag group,” he sighed almost dreamily. “And you’re absolutely beautiful t’boot.”

That made her smile, at least. He was an expert flirter. “Thank you, Harry. I appreciate that.”

“Enough t’let me take you on a date?”

“No.”

“Ugh.”

She laughed again. “Thank you for helping me around the ice,” she said graciously. “I’ll tell Uncle Charlie you were a perfect gentleman after he left.”

“Rookie, love, you’ll ruin m’reputation,” he called after her as she made her way around the rink toward the exit.

Her apartment was not in the nice part of town. To be fair, it was only just over the border from the nicer side. From her place she could see the bar she would be working at on the days she wouldn’t be at the rink. She hadn’t told Uncle Charlie about it because she knew he would be pissed if he saw where she lived. But it was the right price and honestly, the other tenants weren’t bad.

She suspected one of her neighbors on the first floor was... an entrepreneur... for his... small business. Michael was very wary of her at first, but she was lucky because he wore a hockey jersey the day, she met him, Callie’s number and name on the front and back. She hadn’t gone to the rink yet because she was getting a lot of her things and affairs settled. That evening she moved in, she got him tickets to a home game through her uncle (along with a dozen cookies to welcome herself to the building). To his credit, Michael looked weary that the tickets were fake, but the cookies were good. They weren’t special seats or anything, but they weren’t bad seats either. He knocked on her door the day after the game and it was clear she wasn’t going to have any issues with her neighbor. “That was cool. If you need anything, I got you,” he assured her with a grin. “That car you got, I’ll keep an eye on it for you when you’re not around... you’re too sweet to be living here.”

She smiled. “Thanks Michael.”

On the second floor lived an older couple. They kept to themselves, but she was sure to give them a dozen cookies as well and offered to shovel out their cars when it snowed. But once Michael saw her out there shoveling, he joined her as well. She brought a hockey stick autographed by the whole team for their grandson. She couldn’t wait to hear how he enjoyed that Christmas gift.

Her neighbor on the third floor just down the hall was Marcellus. He went by Marc and told her that he had a boyfriend and if she had an issue with that, it was too fucking bad. The previous tenant must have been a piece of work. She laughed at him, handed off her dozen cookies and shrugged. “If he breaks your heart, I have a team of hockey boys who can take him on,” she giggled.

So, Marc loved her too.

She wouldn’t be jogging around the neighborhood any time soon, but it was nice she wouldn’t have to worry about her car being stolen (although good luck to anyone who tried to get that piece of crap to start without a prayer), or getting robbed on her way into the building.

Inside her little studio apartment was a small kitchen. There was enough space for a small loveseat, a bed, and TV. She had a coffee table and a counter to sit at for breakfast. The bathroom was surprisingly spacious and modern for a rundown studio apartment building.

After a full day at the rink, she was chilly. A shower was just what she needed before she ventured into the cold again. Letting the hot water soothe her cold neck and back was so nice. While her hair air-dried, she transferred and then sifted through her pictures on her laptop. The edits she made were small. The lighting and shadows only needed to be adjusted a little. She loved the natural look of the of the players in their element.

She forwarded the photos to Charlie for approval, and he would send them to the higher ups for printing.

They look stunning, Sweetheart. Incredible job.

Grinning she looked over the photos she took of Harry again. He was by far the best-looking guy on the team (not that the others weren’t good-looking but alas). Even in the photos where you couldn’t see his pretty face, there was a presence that made him look more attractive. It was obvious he was a good player. His talent was evident in the photos, and she was proud of herself for being able to capture it.

There was a knock on her door. She padded quietly across the room, peeked through the peephole to see Marc, before she opened it. “Hi,” she smiled.

“You have to teach me hockey,” he said. “This man is obsessed, and I don’t even know what you call the ball.”

“Puck.”

“Exactly.” She laughed. He glanced around her apartment. “Your talents are wasted on this run-down place—holy hottie, who’s that?”

Her computer screen remained on Harry’s smiling individual photo. Dimples on full display and looking intense but happy. “That’s Harry Styles.”

“I think I’ll like hockey after all.”

Shaking her head, she sighed. “Listen, I have a shift I have to get to, but there’s a game on tomorrow afternoon, come over and we’ll watch it, and I’ll teach you,” she offered.

“Bring flashcards of the players. It’ll make me more interested.”

She tied the apron around her waist as he sifted through the photos. “God damn, is this what all hockey players look like?” He asked.

“Bye Marc,” she pulled his arm and pushed him toward her door. “See you tomorrow.”

The Locker Room was a local restaurant owned by Louis Tomlinson. It was a hot spot for the players to go to on off days and after a win (they refrained from going after a loss unless absolutely necessary). The fans that went were not allowed to be aggressive about the players, but after a while, they got used to seeing the players so often, it became a nice place to be themselves.

Asher and Lang were playing darts while Niall and Callie focused on a game of pool. Harry sat back sipping his beer analyzing his contacts looking for the hookup he wanted for the evening. They had curfew at midnight since there was a game tomorrow evening which left him with ample time to peruse his list, meet up with the girl, and get home by midnight before he turned into a pumpkin.

“Who’s the lucky lady tonight?” Louis asked clapping a hand on Harry’s back.

“Haven’t decided yet,” he chuckled.

“Well, when the new waitress comes over, you are not to make her uncomfortable. I already warned her.”

“I would never,” he rolled his eyes, still scanning the names.

“Uh-huh,” Louis nodded. “Of course. Tell your teammates too. She’s off limits.”

“What’s up with every new girl being off limits in our life?” Callie asked.

“Coach won’t let us date his niece and you won’t let us date the new girl,” Niall explained to Louis for clarification.

“Fortunately, it’s the same person, so you don’t have to lose out on two girls.”

Harry pulled away from his screen to admire the pretty girl he met at the rink earlier in the day. His grin grew. “Oh, Rookie, it’s you,” he cooed.

“Oh Jesus,” Louis sighed. “Watch out for that one, love,” he patted her on the back.

“So, I’ve heard,” she smiled.

“Is she ours?” Asher asked excitedly.

“As long as you don’t torture her,” Louis shrugged.

“We would never!”

“Eleanor refuses to set foot back here because of you all.”

“Hire meaner waitstaff.”

“Best of luck, love,” Louis shook his head.

“What can I get you guys?” She asked sweetly.

“Uncle Charlie doesn’t pay you enough that you have to slum it here?” Lang asked.

“I heard that!” Louis shouted.

Harry was...quite taken. From the moment he laid eyes on her. The concentration on her face as she took pictures, the way her hair was pinned up, how bundled she was. Her smile was sexy. The quips that spilt from her mouth perhaps even sexier. Harry was certain she was a dream because good things at the rink consisted of goals, interviews, and the pizza from the snack bar. Not a pretty girl with an expensive camera and his assistant coach as her uncle.

Now her hair was still pinned back, an apron tied around her waist, and the black and silver uniform as homage to his own. Harry wanted her draped in the number eleven and his name on her back ASAP.

It was cute she couldn’t skate. Cute how passionate she was on day one taking pictures. She wasn’t flustered by their rowdiness, or their annoying nature. Harry knew that she was used to hockey boys—had to be if her ex was one of the top forwards in the league (although Harry didn’t recognize that too often). He liked how she didn’t take shit from them but was still kind. She was funny, creative, and lovely.

And he only saw her in action for a short time.

But it was enough to make him put his phone away and not think about hooking up with someone tonight. His focus would be on her waiting on the team and (hopefully) getting to know her more so he could rationalize falling for someone so out of his league and someone so off limits.

“Hi Rookie, love,” Harry smiled as she approached his table. She took orders from the other four hanging around.

“Hi Harry,” she answered.

“M’happy to see you again.”

She nodded. “It’s only been a few hours, Harry.”

“S’too long t’go without seeing your pretty face,” he assured her.

She rolled her eyes, but Harry noticed how her cheeks flushed with color. “What do you want to drink?” She asked instead.

“Are you on the menu?”

“Does that work on other girls?”

“Yes.”

“It’s probably because of the hockey thing you have going on. I promise it wouldn’t work if you weren’t a professional,” she shrugged.

“Good thing m’very professional,” he continued, his voice flirty.

“I’m putting down whatever the other guys said,” she shook her head and headed off to get the drinks.

“Harry, don’t bother her. Coach said she’s off-limits,” Niall reminded him while Callie took his shot.

“Yeah, she doesn’t strike me as one-night-stand material,” Asher murmured focusing on his dart going directly into the board.

“Mmm,” Harry sighed. In the brief interaction he had with her, he kind of figured that too. In fact, given she had been with Crowe for nearly a decade, he imagined she didn’t have too much experience dating other than her ex. Not that he would force her—or any woman. Like he said they all knew what they signed up for. Harry wasn’t great at the whole relationship thing. He was constantly traveling with the team. Practice most days, games most nights. Relationships were often one-sided and tiresome. It wasn’t fair to expect someone to wait for five months of the year to have a relationship.

One-night stands were better for him.

But he could at least ask her if she was willing to try him out. God, knew he wanted to try her out the second he looked at her.

“Your drinks,” she announced setting them on Harry’s table. He eyed her as she set the drinks down from the little tray in her arm. “Do you guys want food?” She asked.

“Are you on the menu now?”

“Jesus Christ,” Lang shook his head.

“You’re embarrassing us, Styles,” Callie sighed.

“Chicken wings, you said?” She asked scribbling on the pad of paper in her hand. “Great choice. Do you want anything else?” Harry smiled, opened his mouth to speak but she turned immediately. “Not you,” she said over her shoulder and sauntered over to the pool table. Lang and Asher chuckled to themselves at Harry’s strike out.

“You’re our hero, Sweetheart,” Asher sighed dreamily.

When Harry was on the ice there were zero thoughts of anything but slicing up the ice with the blade of his skate. He thought about the opponent across from him. The puck sliding across the ice and into the net. Protecting Niall in goal if anyone dared to lay a hand on him.

But now when they had timeouts, or when he was waiting for the puck to come up to him, he saw the pretty girl with her camera lens pressed to the glass, or in the cut out for the press. Her little badge draped around her neck looked so cute. Everything about her was cute and dainty.

Crowe was a fucking idiot to let her go.

Which made him wonder why he chose to break up with someone so pretty and witty. Creative as well.

Fuck. Coach was going to kill him.

But she really stood her ground. In the month that she had been part of the team, she seemed damn near impervious to Harry’s flirting. Harry worked hard to make her blush (which he could see was easy) but it took a lot to make her speechless. It was obvious Crowe didn’t treat her well. It seemed like Harry’s attention to her was the only time she had been shown affection. That alone pissed him off and made him hate him more. It was like she had never been told how pretty she was. Even when Harry wasn’t actively flirting with her, when he complimented her hair or how her pictures came out, she seemed completely off-guard.

What a fucking dick.

Harry once more wondered why they broke up. He still hadn’t figured it out. There was no way she wasn’t the perfect girlfriend. Especially for a hockey player. For all the reasons Harry didn’t date, she knew precisely what she was getting into and did it anyway. But she doted on his teammates as if she was dating all of them (there was no other way to describe it.) She always had extra tape for sticks. She walked with her cross body filled with supplies for hangovers, minor injuries, and the like. When she waited on them at Louis’ place, she knew their orders and had them ready almost like clockwork for when they arrived.

“Styles!” Coach Wheeler called. “If you’re not going to practice, you can sit out!” He shouted.

Shaking his head, Harry tried to rid his mind of the team’s photographer. The coach’s niece. His pretty waitress.

The star of all his dreams as of late.

“Sweetheart, where do you want us?!” Lang called.

She was on the bench, waiting to take some gameday photos. Today she was wearing skates, which made Harry nervous. He knew if she went down, she would protect her precious camera and he didn’t blame her, but it he hated the thought of her getting hurt. “Just by the—” She sighed, closing her eyes mid-sentence and she put her phone to her ear. “Stop fucking calling,” she snapped and then put her phone in her pocket again. “By the goal,” she cleared her throat.

The team stared at her. “Do you have a stalker, babe?” Asher asked.

“No,” she snorted and looked at her camera. She took a test shot of the empty net to make sure everything was set. She stepped tentatively onto the ice, more graceful than the last time she did. But Harry glided over to her quickly. He didn’t touch her, but he was more than ready to catch her. She ignored his presence, not in a mean way at all. Not an ounce of her was mean. Which is why it was so surprising she had that much malice in her voice on the phone.

“Everything okay, Sweetheart?” Charlie asked.

“Yup,” she popped the ‘puh’ sound.

She slid forward very carefully. “S’kind of shooting yourself in the foot here, Rookie. Figure skates have a better blade for beginners. S’harder t’skate on hockey skates for what you’re doing.”

“Oh, I was always told a hockey blade was thicker, so it was better.”

Harry shrugged. “S’not really that big of a deal in m’opinion. Figure skates have a longer blade, better for y’balance. Charlie set y’up with those?” She shook her head.

“No,” her voice was quiet.

“You bought hockey skates on your own?”

“Can you go stand with your team?” She asked dodging his question. He frowned.

“Yeah, sorry, Rookie, love,” he skated off but whistled at his younger teammate, Garrett, the third string forward for his position. Harry tilted his head in her direction and Garrett went over to her, standing way too far away in case she did fall.

“Who got her the skates?” He mumbled to Charlie. He shrugged.

“Not sure. Probably Kael. I would imagine he got a deal from his sponsors.”

God Harry hated him.

Mila was someone he saw on a semi-regular basis. Which meant she knew the drill. After their win, they would do their thing. Harry would stay until she fell asleep—because he wasn’t an asshole; and he wasn’t too proud to admit that he liked cuddling. Even if it was only for a little while—and he would send a text the next day to make sure she felt okay. There was no breakfast, no awkward small talk. Just sex. There was no setup to get feelings hurt or hearts broken. Harry was too busy for a girlfriend, and he would make for a shitty boyfriend.

It was cold when he left her place, and he blew into his hands for warmth when he as he headed to his car. There was a text on his phone from an unknown number.

Thought you would want to see the picture that’s on the front page of the sports section for tomorrow :) There was an impressive picture of Harry’s game winning goal. It wasn’t time sensitive but it was the one that broke the tie. The rest of the team held off the offensive line for the remaining ten minutes of the game.

Thanks, Rookie. I’m going to send it to Mum. She’ll print it for the fridge. How’d you get my number?

Kian gave it to me. Is that alright?

Who?

Callie 🙄 You should really learn your friends’ names. Is it okay I have your number?

Of course it’s alright. Just surprised YOU asked for it. Didn’t know you would want to talk to me so bad. You could have asked me yourself.

Sorry, I think have the wrong number.

He chuckled to himself while his car warmed up. The seat heater was heaven on his stiff muscles. Harry liked the cold—he had to being a hockey player. But it was her funny wit that warmed him from the inside out. Are you all still at Louis’?

Yes. Niall and Noah are about to break the air hockey machine.

Who?

🙄 Asher. Sorry. Jesus.

I’ll be right there, Rookie.

The next time the team won, Harry looked at the message from Layla asking if he wanted to come over to celebrate. He didn’t really want to. The guys were headed home because they had an early flight and there was no celebrating. Which meant that the pretty girl he wanted to celebrate with wasn’t going to be out and about either. She wouldn’t be doting on his drunk teammates. Wouldn’t be stopping their stupid fights about who’s turn it was to play her in darts. She wouldn’t be making sure they all made it home safely in the Ubers she ordered.

But Harry couldn’t just hang out with her either. There was no reason. She was basically his teammate and he couldn’t figure why she was so guarded. At least not beyond whatever it was she was dealing with Crowe.

“Is he still calling?” Niall asked looking at her phone the bench while she looked at her camera. Her hair always fell so perfectly as she watched the screen.

“Who?” Lang asked.

She sighed. “It’s just Kael.”

“Why?” Callie asked.

She shrugged. “I would have to answer to find out. Which is the last thing I want to do. I need a new phone number; I just haven’t gotten around to it. My schedule conflicts with most regular business hours so I could go to the store.”

“Charlie, you can’t spare her to give her a day off?” Asher asked.

Her uncle rolled his eyes, flipped him off, and continued practicing with the second and third stringers.

Harry sat beside her and peeked over her shoulder at her photos. “Do y’have any non-hockey photos?” She nodded and picked up her phone that was still showing Crowe blowing up her phone with calls and texts. “Why don’t y’block him, Rookie?” She swiped his notification away and she opened the web browser. It was currently on a recipe for carrot cake cupcakes. “Those look good,” he smiled.

She smirked. “It’s Ray’s birthday next week. Carrot cake is his favorite. Figured I’d make you all cupcakes.”

Harry thought she was too sweet for him. Someone with a lineup of women didn’t deserve her sweetness. Someone who was meeting Arya at her place after practice because he could didn’t get a girl like her. Him meeting Nyla after tomorrow’s away game three states away didn’t get someone like the pretty photographer.

Kael’s name kept popping up. “Y’probably never had t’block anybody before,” Harry said quietly. “D’you know how?” He hoped he didn’t sound condescending. But he had the unfortunate pleasure of blocking someone every now and again.

“I know how,” she laughed softly. “It’s just... with Kael, it’s likely to be a thing, you know?” She shrugged. “It’s easier to ignore him.”

“It probably gives him hope,” Harry frowned.

She held out her phone to him and shrugged. “That’s not my problem. I’ll see him in a couple weeks when we’re up North,” she reminded him. “Hopefully by then he’ll get the message; or I’ll have to talk to him in person.”

Harry took her phone and admired the portfolio of photos she displayed for him. The website was all black making her images pop. She was so talented. There were babies and weddings. There were family portraits and just general landscape shots. All of differing but equal beauty and perfection. Natural. Lovely.

Harry swiped away Kael’s name again and clicked on the menu item of the about section.

Two side by side pictures of the pretty girl next to him were on the screen. One with the camera in front of her eye, the other a sweet smile on her face camera in front of her like a prop. Behind the Lens... Thank you for browsing. If you like what you see, I’d be happy to quote you for any need. I have experience in just about any area of photographing. Thank you for letting me part of you day!

Too sweet for someone who was going to never be able to settle down because of his job. No matter how much he wished she could be part of his day.

Kael’s stupid name popped up again. Without another rational thought, Harry answered the call, pressed the phone to his ear, and skated off knowing she couldn’t go after him.

“Finally, baby,” Kael groaned.

“STYLES HOW DARE YOU!” She screamed.

“Crowe, nice t’hear from you.”

“Who the fuck is this?” He growled.

“HARRY!” She was on the ice in her ever-present boots. They weren’t great for walking on ice. She slipped immediately but Lang was right nearby to help her up. Harry was going to feel guilty about that for ages.

“None of your business,” he shook his head. “She doesn’t want y’calling anymore.”

“What the fuck? Put her on the phone!”

“No,” Harry said defiantly. “She doesn’t want t’talk t’you. Ever. Stop calling y’piece of shit.”

Lang looked at Harry wildly as he glided with the pretty girl clutching to his arm. She smacked Harry multiple times on the arm and chest making the coaches laugh. “Give me the phone!” She snapped.

“Give her the phone!” He repeated. “Listen to her!”

“No, y’don’t deserve her,” Harry stepped out of her reach where she lost her balance as she lunged for him. She fell again catching her hands. Thank God she didn’t have her camera. Lang helped her to her feet again and Harry felt a wave of guilt wash over him again. “Y’didn’t appreciate her, her talent, or anything. Y’didn’t get her the right skates, and I don’t know what y’did t’piss her off so bad, but y’not getting her back,” Harry said it so casually. But every word was meant for her.

“Is that you, Styles?” Crowe snarled.

“Bye Crowe, see you in a month!” He said cheerily handing the phone off to her.

She nearly fell again despite holding onto Lang. “What the hell, Harry!”

“I got rid of him,” he shrugged. “You’re welcome.”

Her face was beat red with embarrassment. Her hands had to be cold from the fall. But she still looked adorable as always. Even with a sour expression, she was sweet. Pretty beyond belief. Wide eyes, soft skin, even her nose was cute. She glared at him and spun on her heel. “Get me away from him,” she snapped.

Harry sighed, feeling bummed he pissed her off too much. Lang shook his head at Harry as he helped her back to the bench. She packed up her things and left.

But he couldn’t help but notice that her phone had stopped ringing.

She was still mad at him a week later. If she ignored his flirting before, this was an entire new level. She hardly acknowledged his presence. He missed her. In a weird way. He enjoyed bugging her, but perhaps it went to far. It was an invasion of her personal life that he wasn’t privy to, and he didn’t really have any right to deal with her ex-boyfriend.

That didn’t mean anything he said wasn’t anything but the truth.

“Hey Rookie,” he said as she entered the room to get their drink orders for the evening.

“Hi everybody,” she grinned at everyone in turn and glared at Harry.

“Boy you pissed her off,” Niall chuckled.

He shrugged. “Worth it,” because it was. He hated Kael before, he hoped he got the clue.

“You know she had to talk to him, right?” Callie asked. Harry’s head snapped up from his phone screen looking at his contacts once more. Harry wasn’t sure he could pinpoint it exactly but his evenings with the women in his phone were leaving him less and less fulfilled. He wasn’t looking for any grand pronouncements of love. That wasn’t his thing. But the idea of spending the evening with someone didn’t give him the same excitement as it used to.

It was probably the day he met her. But it was sinking in more over the week she had barely spoken to him. “What do y’mean?” He frowned.

“Crowe? She had to talk to him after that stunt you pulled.”

Harry glowered at the table. “Why?”

“Because he wouldn’t stop blowing up her phone and he was threatening to come to her if she didn’t just talk to him. Why do you think she didn’t come with us on the plane the next day?”

Harry felt like a jerk. “Oh.”

“She hates you,” Asher reminded him.

He rolled his eyes. “She could have told one of us,” he mumbled. Harry would have sat outside her apartment waiting for him.

“I don’t know if you noticed Harry, but she’s pretty private,” Niall sighed leaning on his pool stick. “I know you meant well, but it kind of fucked up her day.”

Harry pouted. He met her gaze as she brought their drinks out.

And if she spilled Harry’s on him, well, he supposed he deserved that.

Harry was a great hockey player, a great friend. A great brother and son. Not to toot his own horn but he thought he truly was the World’s Best Uncle like it said on the T-shirt Gemma had got him when she told him she was pregnant. He was still pretty humble all things considered; always looking to improve. Coach Wheeler was one of his favorite mentors (right after his mum) and he strived to do better by them.

He was bad at Chemistry in school. He wasn’t good at Sudoku. Most recently he felt like he was bad at having sex. The thing he had going with the women he knew didn’t seem to be working for him the way it used to. There was an awkwardness to the hookups when he left. He wasn’t mentally present in the moment.

Harry was pretty certain he would be a shitty boyfriend.

He needed her forgiveness, or the other remaining areas of his life were going to get worse too.

Most notably, he was shit in practice. He worried he was going to be demoted to second string.

Harry arrived early to practice, putting goals in the net two hours before everyone else arrived. He would have to pay to resurface the ice twenty minutes before practice officially started. But he hoped that she was going to show up early with her carrot cake cupcakes. He anticipated she would be just one short. Which Harry deserved on top of everything else too.

Fortunately, she did arrive early.

“Hey,” he waved.

She ignored him, set the cupcakes down on the bench and pulled out her camera. She fiddled with it, wiping the lens off with a cloth, and took some test shots of the ice.

“Rookie, love,” he sighed and skated over to the bench.

“Yes, Mr. Styles? Can I help you?”

“C’mon, Rookie, I’m sorry,” he frowned. “I was just trying to help.”

She rolled her eyes and ignored him. “You must get whatever you want all the time.”

He frowned. “No, I don’t actually,” although from her perspective he could see what she meant.

“Well, me either, so if I’m going to be miserable. So are you.”

He snorted, shook his head. He stepped off the ice and sat on the bench beside her. “I’m sorry, Bunny. Really. I hated that he was bothering you. I didn’t mean t’make it worse, honest. I would have done the same for m’sister or any one of the guys’ girls.”

“I am an adult Harry. I’m independent and I can handle my own shit. You shouldn’t have done that.”

“I understand. M’sorry, really. I won’t do it again. But m’sick of y’being mad at me. S’been no fun this week without skating you around, grossly overtipping you jus’ so you’ll spend extra time with us,” he smiled shyly at her.

She sucked her lip into her mouth. For a moment she looked at her lap, obviously thinking something over. “How’d you know he bought me the wrong skates?” Her voice was quiet.

Harry blinked wondering how long she had that question locked and loaded. He shrugged. “I asked Charlie. He said he didn’t. So, I assumed it had to be him.”

She sighed and looked up. “He said figure skates would make me look like try-hard. Hockey skates would make me look more like I belonged on his arm,” she explained. “I didn’t know. I would have...” she shook her head. “It was eye-opening when you said that, and it hurt... and I took it out on you. I shouldn’t have. I’m sorry too.”

Harry sighed with relief. “You don’t have t’apologize,” he promised. “I’m sorry. Seriously.”

“Apology accepted.”

Harry grabbed her shoulder and squeezed lightly. “Thanks Bunny.”

She wrinkled her nose at him in distaste. “I don’t like Bunny.”

“Oh...” his smile grew by the second. “Y’don’t Rookie, love?” He chuckled standing up and getting back on the ice. “Y’probably shouldn’t have told me that,” he winked and skated off.

“There’s no cupcake for you!” She called.

“That’s okay, Bunny!” He shouted back with a grin and sank a shot from half-ice.

Maybe Harry would be a shitty boyfriend, but he was going to be her best friend instead.

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shoeistars · 1 month ago

Text

adrenaline rush !

incl. isagi, bachira, kunigami, reo, nagi, barou, rin, shidou

ʚଓ outline. there’s something different about the way he fucks you post match

ʚଓ w. 18+ content, minors dni, pro!characters, fem!bodied, read at your own discretion as I don’t do individual tagging for element of surprise

isagi !

It’s always the same. Not to say that Isagi had boring sex game— no, there is zero truth to that. Win, lose, draw, he had this primal feel to him once all was said and done on the pitch. Sweaty, a little flushed in the cheeks and ears, total tunnel vision because the one thing he wants after a game is a warm and wet pussy to sink into.

The hotel bed didn’t stand a chance, really. It has probably seen its fair share of fucking, has likely withheld many bumps and breaks. Each thrust caused an annoying creak to echo into the air, a small little cry for help that fell on deaf ears. He wasn’t the type to settle for a quick fuck but home was miles away and he was an impatient man. The walls were blank, the sheets wrinkling and coming undone from each corner of the mattress, bunching right underneath your spent body as he works you out further.

“Is there a reason why you’re bein’ quiet?” The rough cut of Isagi’s voice questions into your right ear, body mounted on top of yours as if to mimic that sweet and victorious moment of a predator capturing his dinner. There’s a rhythm to his hips as he plows you from behind, not quite hitting deep and merely focused on speed alone.

His hand, the one not curled loosely around your throat and threatening to cut off your oxygen supply, kneads at the crease of your hip meeting your thigh. It would feel like a rather loving touch if he weren’t battering into your guts to chase his own high. It goes off course and dips between your thighs, pawing gently at the mound of your hot cunt before introducing his middle and ring finger in a slippery dance against your clit.

“That’s fine, you don’t gotta say a thing,” He drawls on, choking on a groan at the feeling of you pulsing so delicately around his cock. That egoist that the field loves to see so much shines through even hours after he’s left the grass, after he’s ditched the cleats. It seeps out of his pores, it leaves his throat in the form of snark and cockiness. You’ve always told him how much you adored it when he got into his flow, anyway. “This pussy tells on you every fucking time.”

bachira !

Endorphins flooding his brain, Bachira can barely see straight. Every single win under his belt has felt the same, gave him that same smile and that familiar rush. There was nothing like reaching the tip of the iceberg and collecting yet another accomplishment in his career. He’s always been the type to celebrate by stretching the party, by chasing drinks and good food and enjoying company.

One of his favorite ways to celebrate a good and clean win is to have you spread out on the bed. As much as he misses his funky room back at home, the one filled with colors and his personality— the provided living quarters would have to suffice. Door locked, plenty of activity going on just outside. Bachira wasn’t himself if he weren’t living on the very edge.

Lips suctioned to your pussy, he can only smile at the feeling of sharp tugs assaulting his long hair. He’s still damp with sweat but you never seemed to mind, surely not when he was sucking you up like his last meal. He’s gotten the hang of going down on his girl after plenty of years, twisting and turning his tongue against your throbbing clit with technique. “Meguru, don’t stop,” you mewl rather loud, thighs twitching and toes curling against his shoulders.

“So loud,” he snickers against your pussy with glossy lips and lidded eyes, moaning softly against your folds before he’s pulling back to spit a thick glob onto your hole. His thumb dips down to smear it along your lips, biting his own at the erotic view before pushing the mess right back into your cunt. “Fuck, that’s pretty.”

The beautiful thing about a man as patient as Bachira was that he could do this for hours, sucking and licking and kissing. Nothing got him harder than getting you off, than suffocating in your cream and your scent. He had time.

kunigami !

Blue Lock as a whole ruined your boyfriend. He was never the same, never would be. There was a lack of spirit in him that was once his one unique quality. Everyone who knew Kunigami grew to adore him because he really was just a friendly face. Now, soccer and everything to do with the sport only brought out this nasty side to him.

The first time you were able to reunite was messy. Post game, he would normally stick to something easy. Nice dinner reservation, a little bit of harmless fun afterwards. That Kunigami was left in the goddamn dirt, replaced with someone who still loved but in such a drastically different way.

He was mean. Of course, you’d adapt. He would still remain loyal and considerate, would still make sure you were taken care of after all was said and done. There was just an animalistic dominance to him in the bedroom that was so unrecognizable to what once was. He was ferocious in the way he guided you down to your knees, slapping his thick and heavy dick against your cheek once, twice, three times for good measure.

Grunts and groans filled the room, never a quiet guy. The old Kunigami was gentle and even a bit timid but the way he fucks your face now is the opposite. Spit dribbling down your chin, throat nearly bulging with the head of his cock, gags so forcibly loud that they’d be leaving your voice hoarse. Your hands are shaky as they attempt to curl around the thickness of his quads, begging for a break. The sight only makes him scoff.

“Make me cum,” He demands, quiet yet filled with a sharpness that made you squeeze your thighs together. “Earn it.”

reo !

The time and place doesn’t matter— Reo will always be a sucker for missionary. He’s a yearner, he loves so deeply and a hundred wins could never compare to watching your face when he’s laying it down good. The furrow in your brow, the scrunch of your nose. Bliss always looked best on you and he just wouldn’t be him if he didn’t spoil you rotten.

Stupidly expensive chain dangling right in your face, the metal swaying with each hard thrust. Reo hasn’t blinked once since getting you on the leather sofa, focused on what you respond best to. Not a single twitch could go unnoticed by him and he’d be damned if he doesn’t get your cross-eyed, if he doesn’t get you singing by the time he’s done making a sloppy mess of you.

“So cute,” He whispers sweetly, a little tipsy from the after party that the two of you returned from just shy of an hour ago. Your makeup left messy trails and streaks all over but he’d be lying if he said it didn’t add to it all. Liquor staining his lips, he can’t help himself from diving down for a needy little kiss. Lips sliding against yours, just a ghost of a touch, almost missing and pecking at the corner of your mouth instead.

Your legs ache from how high they’re settled, heels propped on his shoulders. He’s gotten big since his first big steps at chasing a professional career, the protein doing what it was supposed to do. Your ogling of his physique was cut so short as he snuck a hand between your legs, circling at your clit with percision. He had a one track mind and that was to get you squirting, to get you feeling just as good as today has felt for him.

“Show me how wet this pussy gets for me,” Reo punctuates his plea with faster circles, deeper thrusts, unable to help the satisfied grin that tugs at his lips when you only grow louder. “Make me proud. Nut on my dick, know you can do it.”

nagi !

Not a lot of things come to impress Nagi Seishirou. He’s hard to capture the attention of, going through life with simplicity and preferring to stick to his guns. It was a shock to everyone who knew him when he landed a girlfriend in the first place. The same guy who disregarded everything that required the bare minimum amount of attention managed to score? It was almost too good to be true.

It was fair to assume that after years of learning how to be present, how to be a fair and decent boyfriend, he could never go back. Not after getting a taste of you, not after feeling the highs that you managed to pull straight out of him like a puppet to your string. You opened so many new doors, you were good for his mental.

The best way to spend a good night is to make it even better. Your thighs straddle his, the fancy little number you wore for such a big game ridden up and out of his way. Pussy leaking like a faucet, the sounds of you bouncing your hips is embarrassingly loud in the backseat of your car. The two of you just couldn’t wait.

“Look so good tonight, baby,” He practically slurs, pussydrunk and successfully knocked from all of the theatrics of the night. He can never seem to think straight once you’re on top of him like this, tits bouncing right in his face, wrapped around him like a serpent. “Know that? Did I already tell you? I’ll tell you a million times.”

Oh, how he would. He would do whatever the hell you want if you’d just stay like this, wrapped around him like a vise, squeezing him hotly. You were his dime piece and he’d be an utter fool to not bend at your every beck and call.

barou !

Naturally, his first order of business after hours of playing on the same standing grounds as a bunch of sweaty neanderthals is to hit the showers. There’s nothing that he hates more than the way his jersey sticks to his back like glue, the skin of his forehead dewy. What he wasn’t expecting was his little plus one to trail on in after him, clothes long ditched as you slot yourself into the tiny compact stalls of the stadium’s complementary showers.

You know him by now. You know that whether he ate a loss or devoured a victory that he wasn’t much of a talker after exerting himself in the hot sun. Nearly running on empty, this was the one and only time that the stupidly buff man was dead silent. Zero complaints left him as he wrapped a wet palm around the nape of your neck, brushing lazily at the hair there with his thumb, angling upwards until he could latch his lips to yours.

Slow kisses and gentle touches, there wasn’t much energy left for a rough fuck. Barou was a thorough lover at the end of the day, showing his gratitude of your endless support by making your pussy soak him sloppy. The sensuality made up for the lack of output, so tender and passionate in ways that screams his love without making him verbalize it. God forbid he ever did that.

“Oh, I know,” he purrs against your swollen bottom lip as he sinks in, sheer strength keeping you held in his arms, back against the cold tile of the shower. Your hearty whimpers bounce off of the walls and he swears it’s his favorite sound. It’s always a challenge to take such a thick cock and he’s nothing if not a gentleman. “It’s so deep, huh? You’re taking it so well, though.”

It always makes him bite back a grin of pride when your nails claw at his shoulders, leaving nasty marks into the meaty flesh— a last resort at gathering your bearings before he fucks you so out of your mind that you threaten to pass out every single time. The sounds are filthy as he pours every last bit of his effort into you, tiring you out to match.

rin !

Soccer invokes plenty of strong emotions out of Rin as a whole. The pitch is the one place where he can unleash everything, where it genuinely counts. Post match? He gets rather passionate, in his feelings, raw and open like a fresh cut. It’s clear that he puts his full effort into every little detail of his day, that he considers everything a waste if not done to the fullest.

Simply put, if you aren’t shaking purely from overstimulation and pleasure, he isn’t done. A man akin to a machine, stamina blessing him with several rounds in the tank, there’s no telling just how long he’ll keep you in the same position. Body pressed into the bed, twitching against the wrinkled sheets, weakly holding onto a pillow as your final saving grace.

“Shit, that’s it,” He hisses as soon as he feels the tight, hot grip of your cunt wringing him. It’s the fifth he’s managed to pull out of you, keeping you perfectly bent until you physically give out. Times like these, sweat glistening down your back and thighs quivering as if they’re ready to snap are his favorite.

A hand reaches until it hits skin. It runs along the nape of your neck, sticky and dewy yet so intimate. His fingers dip down to cup your chin, light in the way he forces you to look over your shoulder. Your eyes connect and it has you breaking all over again, doing your best to keep them open as you cum almost on instant. Balls clapping your swollen clit with the sheer angle he’s hitting, so deep in your guts that it hurts. You didn’t stand a chance against him.

No, you were the love of his goddamn life. The one person he looked for in a room full of people, the only one who’s seen every inch of his body. He could never be worthy of you if he couldn’t fuck you to sleep with ease.

shidou !

Shidou on the field and off of the field are arguably the same person. Still eccentric, still too inappropriate for his own good. He brings levels of excitement that are otherwise hard to reach and truly, it’s difficult to keep up with him. Marching to the beat of his own drum and seeking fulfillment is what gives him his drive, its fuel for his fire.

The hospitality was his favorite part of the Blue Lock journey. He outperformed majority of the selected players and he was rewarded in turn, given luxuries and spoiled to the nines with catering and amenities. His suite was huge and he’s already fucked you in every corner of it, every surface. It’s not his until it’s tainted with him, after all.

“Shit, I needed this after today,” His voice rasps in your ear, the hard plastic edge of the hot tub that he’s got you bent over successfully digging into your ribs. Bubbles and suds clap into the air with each thrust, water gently rocking into a splash as it spills past the confines and drips onto the concrete of the balcony. It was a beautiful night after a beautiful win and nothing could make this better for him. “Water’s so warm. Do you like it too? Huh, gorgeous?”

When a dick that long was forcing itself into you, in and out like a sick song, kissing your cervix with each hit— words were hard to come by. Moans and gasps rupture from your throat as you try to muster a nod, grasping at the slippery corner of the hot tub for dear life, his pelvis smacking against the globes of your ass hard enough to sting.

He stops, so cruel and mean, dick still fully lodged in your walls. Pressing deep, hugging your aching sides and tugging you into his chest, he plants sloppy wet kisses along your cheek. “C’mon,” Shidou sneers with a smile, downright evil in the way he brings a hand up to grip your face between his fingers. “Good girls speak when they’re spoken to.”

#bllk smut #bllk x reader #isagi smut #bachira smut #kunigami smut #reo smut #nagi smut #barou smut #rin smut #itoshi smut #rin itoshi smut #shidou smut #blue lock smut

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