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imorynn · 1 month ago

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── ꨄ︎ 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐝𝐞𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐯𝐞 𝐢𝐭 ( a. amberg)

── ꨄ︎ pairings : avis amberg ✘ fem!reader ── ꨄ︎ word count : 5.5k+ ── ꨄ︎ warnings / mentions : SMUT , fluff and bit of plot, gift giving, face sitting, overstimulation, oral ( avis receiving ), soft!dom!reader, strap usage ( reader using ), sub!avis, praise, cunnilingus, smudge of orgasm denial, fingering, romantic shittttt bc im fucking delusional

── ꨄ︎ tags : @multifandomme @multixfan @nutritionat @ephemeral-love-4

── ꨄ︎ dividers by : @cafekitsune !!!

a/n : DOES IT REALLYYYYY have to be one day of love when it can be the entire month ( ignore the fact that we're abt to end the month, ZIP it before I start swinging all sleep deprived ). ENJOYYYY bc I pulled 4 all nighters while doing personal art projects and now I am going to crash hard <3333

── VALENTINE’S DAY was a celebration Avis Amberg never thought she would revisit — certainly not like this. Not with a fervent devotion that poured unbidden from her every touch, nor with someone whose gaze held her as though the universe itself revolved at her feet. It simply was never meant for women such as Avis Amberg.

Or so she had convinced herself through the decades — each February fourteenth arriving like a hollow echo of what could have been.

Once upon a time, she had celebrated it with girlish enthusiasm, basking in the thrill of passion and romance, the holiday had been a canvas for her to paint her devotion in vivid strokes.

She had forgotten feeling like this. A melancholy of unspoken longing had always lumbered, it had always been this way ever since she was with… well, him. Decades were spent enduring his neglect and it had drained her of that hope to feel, to experience. The extravagant dinners and impersonal gifts he offered in the past were all exhibitions, vacant deeds to maintain appearances rather than tokens of affection.

Those years had extinguished something in her — bit by bit, day by day, until she believed there was no longer such purpose for such a superfluous day. For Avis, Valentine’s Day had become a performance — one she no longer cared to attend.

And then came you, rekindling that long-forgotten flame.

You were far from anyone she had ever encountered, youthful and unjaded by life’s cruelties. There was a vehemence in the way you treasured her, solely not for her beauty or her appellation, yet for the very profundity of her existence.

You worshiped her, something she had not thought she craved for until she got a taste of it, greedily consuming every droplet of whatever you provided. You did not see Avis Amberg, the former starlet or the long-suffering wife of Ace Studios’ kingpin; you saw a woman that longed to be cherished. And in return, she found herself rekindling the capacity to love, wholly, impenitently.

From the moment her eyelids fluttered open, the day unfurled exceedingly just for her. Her bedroom, once upon a time a mere retreat for sleep, had transformed into a haven of serenity, soaked in the gentle hues of dayspring's gold as it poured through extensive windows.

“Good morning, my love,” a soft peck had been met with her temple while she had blinked away the dosage of sleep. Your eyes were brimming with childlike enchantment as you stared down at her, as if the entire day ahead were a present waiting to be unwrapped. Breakfast awaited for her in the dining room, fruit glistening, pastries warm, tea rich and hot — just how she liked it.

Humming, Avis had simply reached for your hand and held it, her thumb circling the skin there with a smile upon her lips, auburn locks nestled against the elegant line of her clavicle.

“You’ve been busy, haven't you?” she mused, tone still soaked with rest, yet undeniably teasing when her gaze swept over you, your flushed anticipation, the way your body all but reverberated with the desire to please.

Your cheek lifted. “Just trying to give my love everything she deserves.”

That earned you the warmest gaze she always gave when it came to you. Lips puckering to linger on yours in a sweet kiss, fingers stroking the angle of your jaw.

Then, with the refined elegance of a woman who always knew what she wanted, she pulled away and shifted, fingers still tangled with yours when she moved to straddle your chest. Her robe, a silk, lush red, loosely tied, pried open just enough to display the velvet skin of her cleavage.

“But you wouldn’t mind if I took my time waking up first, darling?” she murmured and tilted her head, amusement flickering those pretty browns when she rolled her hips forward, just enough for the heat of her to press into you.

You gave her a cheeky smile, her fingers carding through your hair. “None at all.”

Flutters within her flowing core, damp lace between her thighs. Desire blazed from your gaze and searing palms curved over her ass beneath robes. Even through silk, she felt the force of your teasing smack against her thigh before yanking her down to your salivating mouth.

You worshipped her, a queen seated upon her very own throne carved by flesh, blood, and bones. Valves of heat trickled down the base of her spine and slithered into the pit of her stomach with every lap, every slurp, every soft suction you gifted.

Desire drove your tongue, lapping at the dripping seam of her cunt; prying open the puffy folds and you indulged in more of her slick cascading from her hole.

She almost choked on a moan of pleasure when you squeezed her rear, her clit kicking against the press of your nose as you sealed your mouth over her plump cunt.

A constellation of tears clung to the edges of her fluttering lashes, flaming sparkles swirled in her vision. “That’s it, baby, fuck…”

Vocals were stinging within her throat and she struggled to breathe, thighs constricting around your head while your hands curled over her hips, controlling the slow, gyrating motions created as they escalated.

The gentle suckle of your lips coaxed the knot in her stomach to unfurl, your own veins flooded with white hot bliss and her nerves frayed. A blistering moan puffed against her searing skin as her juices spewed, translucent weaves webbing your fervently moving lips, dribbling down your chin as you drank up her intoxicating fill, lovingly coaxing her to ride out her orgasm.

Your hands slid her hips down to your stomach, propping yourself up in order to capture her ecstatic features entirely in your mind. For a second, all she could do was breathe, her chest rising and falling, fingers twisting over your shoulders. Eyes fluttered open, gaze heavy-lidded when she looked down at you with a fulfilled smile.

“That’s a way to start the day,” she serenaded in her exhalation, stroking back a few damp strands of hair from your forehead, her thumb then sweeping across your cheek. “You spoil me, darling.”

You turned, pushing a kiss into the center of her palm and paralleled her expression. “That is exactly what I intend to do this entire day.”

The hours passed in a blur of ecstatic indulgence. You had arranged everything meticulously, ensuring she needed only to follow your lead, already tinkering ahead of time for her to not be needed in the studio. A decadent breakfast — her favorite — enjoyed on the balcony overlooking the fine greeneries and lush flowers of her garden. A leisurely afternoon spent exploring a curated selection of vintage records and rare books you’d sourced, each one chosen with her particular tastes in mind.

And then, as the sun dipped below the horizon, the pinnacle of your plan unveiled itself.

Even though you had made it clear today was to spoil her endlessly, Avis spared no expense, of course. She never did when it came to you. She was not the type to hold back, and Valentine’s Day was no exception. A new dress in your preferred hue, tailored to your every dip and curve. A box of imported confections that dissolved like velvet on the tongue. A cord of dazzling pearls clasped around your neck by her own fingers, her lips brushing the slope of your collarbone as she breathed out just how stunning you appeared sporting them.

And apart from the luxury, there was a heartfelt sincerity woven through her generous gestures in which reminded you that this was not just some display of wealth. It was love, fervent and deeply rooted.

Now that fervent love was awaiting to be unleashed with her gloved hand clasped atop of yours, opening the door and allowing for her to step in first. The household had been empty for the night, seeing as you paid the staff generously to give you time alone with Avis, and Claire had been out and about on a romantic rendezvous with her boyfriend, so everything had been greatly set in plan.

“After you, love.”

Her lips, lacquered in a shade of wine, tilted upward in an alluring curve, only for it to widen and chuckle at the feel of your palm squeezing and gently pushing at the clothed curve of her ass. “What surprises await for me now, hmm?”

You tapped her lower back, motioning for her to go upstairs. “You’ll see.”

A flawless brow rose at the light laugh erupting from you, and her hand pried away from yours. She clutched at her bouquet of crimson roses you had gifted her, the point of her nose brushing along their floral leaves, inhaling their aroma.

As she sauntered forward, she could not help but tilt back and look at you. It was still there, that lovesick smile. The smile lingered on your kiss-supple lips, hiding behind the faint stain of her ruby lipstick there as well, clogging her brain at the notion that you were hers.

You were studying her figure intently, no doubt making a mental list of all the places your lips would caress once you got to the bedroom. The jacket cinched at her waist, its sharp lines softened by the trim that rested over her shoulders. Her matching skirt hugged the plump curve of her hips, ending just below the knee, the sway of it graceful with every step.

She came to a stop at the front of the doors. Turning, she came chest to chest with you, and she sighed deeply. Overwhelmed at that stare of adoration when you became her line of vision. Overwhelmed at the way you nudged your nose across the bridge of hers, inhaling her with fluttered eyelids, and that made one of the two moan.

You gave a small laugh at the way she felt foreignly bashful, because of course she was the one who moaned. The simplest acts of affections done by you will always draw a reaction out of Avis. “You are crushing my roses now.”

Hazed eyes, seemingly only aware of her and that flushed demeanor that went perfectly with the rust wine of her outfit, fluttered quickly down to the flowers in her hold, yet the proximity with Avis was not lost. Your forehead brushed hers, murmuring, "Don't worry too much ... there's more of them in there."

Avis glowered, eyes darting between yours when you reached for the door and pushed it open, motioning for her to go in. She stepped further into the room, and her breath seemed to catch, her gaze darting to every delicate detail you had so thoughtfully arranged.

Velvet-soft petals lay scattered like whispered promises across the floor and the vast expanse of the bed, their rich hues a striking contrast against the crisp linens. Candles adorned every surface, standing in elegant stillness, their wicks unlit yet their scent lingered in the air.

For a long moment, nothing was uttered by her. The soft click of the door closing behind her felt distant — her focus entirely enraptured by the romantic beauty laid out before her. Her breath slowed, her chest rising and falling in measured anticipation as her eyes traced the scattered petals, the curve of the bed, candles sparking to life as you moved around the room, lighting them each.

When she finally moved, it was hesitant, as though afraid to disturb something sacred. The pads of her fingers brushed along the edge of a petal on the bed, and it was soft, so soft, that it drew a tremble from her.

"You did all this for me?" There was wonder in her tone, but beneath it, something sounded a little fragile.

"Well, it wasn’t that much trouble," you started as you lit the final candle, words spewing out a tad bit faster than your thoughts could catch them. "The staff was kind enough to help — truly, they were wonderful. I just had the idea, but they made it happen, and—"

Her dark-aligned brown irises softened, and it was enough to make you string together the rest of your sentence. " I just wanted everything to be perfect for you."

The words disintegrated on your tongue when the soft click of her heels echoed through the space. She set her roses upon the table in front of the windows and then stood front of you. Her hands slid along your jaw, angling your face just enough for her lips to kiss yours.

She captured every ounce of breath from your lungs and caged them within her ribcage. Molding, desirous, loving. "What did I ever do to deserve you, sweetheart?"

The longer you gazed at her, the more you discerned just the way she adored you, the way she was still reconciling herself with being adored in return. How much she missed this type of love, just how much she needed you as you her. Yearning for her was an all-consuming feeling, your entire being craved her in any moment, that yearn amplified beyond reason when she looked at you like that, it surpassed understanding. "Simply exist."

She tried stifling her giggle, letting you pull her close and connected your lips, desire spilling out of you and into her, discarding her from clothing.

The gloves were the first to go — your fingers sliding them off one by one until bare skin burned against yours. Then your hands moved to the buttons of her coat and silk beneath, slipping them free slowly, savoring every inch of skin you uncovered. Avis mirrored you, her touch just as flaring, just as desperate, and soon you were both shedding the every top layer that kept you away from basking in one another's entire blaze.

Her heartbeat grew unrelenting when you made her sit at the hem of the bed, her body sizzled into your frame while tucked beneath her soft jaw was your head, the twines of your hair grazing her warm-toned flesh with every movement of you burrowing deeper into her neck. “You are breathtaking, Avis.”

Two of your fingers had been raised to trace down her spine, tips soon straying from its path to outline every exposed ridge and valley of her back, to follow every speck and slope. The lingers of your torturous ascent elicited a shiver from your lover, an elicit you hoped for.

"Hm, do that again." Her request did not surprise you. She reveled in your touch without a shame in her bones. Avis longed for your hands on her being and you could never deny her, so you of course obliged. That hum of approval from her she only ever gave to you, it was what you were after, it was what you basked in. To provide. To grant her what she deserved.

Your nose stroked down her clavicle, softly moving over the skin there while your digits stalked her side, sliding to the swell of her breasts, descending, sliding the stockings down the curve of her thighs, rolling them down. The slip followed soon after, leaving her in lace and warmth and the gentle flush spreading across her chest.

You created a seamless transition from tender graze to demanding massage between her legs. There was a moan, a low one, it expanded inside her with a plan to free itself. And it was the reaction you sought after, your intentions made known when you smiled against her.

“Y/N.” Her voice was of warning, one you did not pay regard to. “Don’t tease me.”

Your giggle reverberated through her and you tilted your head towards her, “I didn't do anything.”

She pulled you closer, lips becoming fervent, rougher. Her hips wounded into your touch and you could tell she was in need of direct contact. Your lips mapped along the lines of her neck, trailing open-mouth kisses along it.

Breathing you in was second nature. Three distinct scents intermingled on your person: the waft of your fragrance, the expensive one she bought for you because she knew it would pair perfectly with the second one, your natural essence. The last one, unyielding lust paired perfectly with the prominent aromas.

She loved them all, embracing it all as you slipped your fingers into her tailored skirt. “Lift your hips for me.” low, rough, a hushed command. Your voice dipped into that tone you knew unraveled her. Without hesitation, she obeyed — lifting off the bed and offered herself up to your hands. The skirt dragged down, fabric whispering against her skin as you bared more of her to your gaze, your fingers grazing every curve. Cool air struck her most delicate, making her gasp and quiver alike. “You’re a damn sight, Avis.”

Your warm remark tugged a bashful chuckle out of her, one that immediately morphed into a low moan when you stroked two fingers from her swollen nub to her awaiting hole.

Plummeting in and out of her at the most excruciatingly slow pace known to an aroused and desperate woman, known to mankind, taking time to bask in her oasis, to sweep and press along her walls with your wandering finger pads. Your strides elongated, digits slick as they shoved within her warm cunt.

Your way with her was both something that made her adoration grow for you, The way you took your time with her, always, always. The flat of your palm nudging her swollen clit with each thrust. Digits extending inside of her that made her crave more.

“Fuck…” You inhaled deeply, her rich fragrance whirling within your lungs, hoping to keep it there as your only source of oxygen, letting your tongue slowly lap down the length of her neck before allowing your teeth to so subtly sink into the junction there.

You were fond of leaving your mark upon the older woman; it drove you both mad, the idea that you could nip at her skin so lovingly, that you could trap the textured skin between your lips and leave feverish blemishes behind, blending with the boldness of petals beneath her. Scattered across the flesh of her neck, continuing its descent from her collarbone to bosom, and uniquely crafted by your mouth and no one else's. Body, existence tethered completely to you. “You're drenched, Avis.”

All she could manage to release was a honey dipped moan as she allowed her head to bow back when she hitched her hips into your hand, pace slowing down — fucking hell, how and why did you slow down even more? — until your thumb soothed over her eager clit, each caress more gratifying than the last. “Am I making you feel good?”

She nodded, breaking the potent eye contact to shut her eyes tight. She was heaving, so consumed by pleasure and completely overwhelmed by amber heated lust blown into shards, piercing, and wanting to deliciously seep into her every bone, every nerve. Something only you could ever conjure within her.

“No, uh uh, keep those eyes on me, hmm.” You hovered over her naked body, her chin gently clasped between your thumb and forefinger in order to lower her eyes, so brown and abyssal, towards yours. “There we go, Avis … just let me see those pretty eyes. Please, momma?”

Your digits were still carving deep into the soft velvet hush of her walls and when you spoke in an almost sweetly deriding manner, she released a sigh that prolonged into a whimper, right into your parted lips.

You were aware that she yearned for you to kiss her senselessly, she was feening for your tongue to be down her throat, but your mind had been fixated on another route. You kissed her, something more fleeting to describe it as a peck, and it made her huff, consumed by pleasure and completely overwhelmed by lust and exasperation.

“Darling, I need more. Please, give momma more.” Her aerated speech met your grinning mouth. Your head shake created a spark of friction that she wished would flicker into a blaze and consume her to the core.

“I know, I know, love. I am going to give you more, just be a little more patient with me, okay?” Her palm clipped to your nape and yours once more found her soft soaked mound, pushing so deliciously. It had her hips rocking forward into a rhythm you so easily recognized and synchronize with.

Auburn locks were free from their habitual up-do, curling at the swell of her heaving chest, alluring, hypnotizing you closer and before you knew it, your lips and teeth collided there with her bare breast, suckling her so sweetly, so leisured it tormented her. With every carnal swirl and flattening of your tongue around her nipple, leaving oozes of thick spit behind before switching to the other.

Avis remained filled as you tore yourself away from her soaked front in order to slide down and between her legs, knees burying into the rich rugs beneath you, keeping her own apart while you watched her nectar spilling slowly from ripened blossoms, absorbed into the silk sheets beneath.

“Sweetheart, you’re killing me …. do something, for God’s sake, please!” A beseech assisted her words, unfurling her body in response, and you grinned at the sight.

She was never one to beg — always one to command, but somehow, it was you who had coaxed her to the edge, filling her to the brim with a yearning that stripped her of pride and left only need.

You allowed your middle finger to push through dampened folds, stopping at her clit, and proceeded at a torturous pace. You wanted to make her wait for it, push her even more to beg for it, the shadowed depth of your irises spoke enough.

Your hand emerged to your mouth, tasting her, your favorite flavor, dissolving and becoming one with your taste buds. You never hesitated to display just how much you relished it, and in other situations, she would have you utter to her just how much you liked momma’s taste.

Your gaze remained fixed on her, hot, unbreakable, and you slowly drew your finger out of your lips before sucking it back, each pull igniting the hunger already coiled tight within her.

You marveled at the way you had the ability to unravel someone such as Avis, at the way you left her drenched in desire, pure and lustrous, moaning into your mouth that she belonged to you, body and breath. It happened often, and each time, you still could not fully grasp the depth of your own power over her.

Your gazes locked, a silent rope yanking tight between you as she watched you lean down, blow a soft breath, and eat her out. The sight alone was a decadence, but the sensation, goodness, the sensation was something beyond earthly.

Your tongue lolled out, wide and flat, before your head moved forward and licked a bold stripe from above her spasming hole, slowly up to her nub, creating the motions in a relentless tempo, building, coaxing her toward that precipice with each stride and press. She was opening, trembling, clutching under the luxury of your mouth.

You added your digits once more into the mix, into the soaking heat of her, filling, stretching, curling just right. You hummed into her cunt, fingers accelerating, beckoning her orgasm forth. “You’re close, love? Gonna come around my fingers?”

Your words had opened the floodgates of ecstasy within her. You could feel her convulsing around your fingers. “I wanna make you happy.”

You added another one and she palmed at her tits as you pumped her. She breathed in deep, matching your rising chest. Your eyes carried something, it was hard to decipher at first, but when you spoke, her smeared mouth twitched in familiarity at your words.

Your mind… your mind had already drifted to the secret she kept, the one you had both indulged in before. The items she kept so discreetly tucked away — elegant, carefully hidden, but not unknown to you. Of course Avis Amberg, well connected and wealthy, had connections to such items.

Her lower lip curled its way between her teeth while the ends hoisted into a soft grin, “Yeah? What do you wanna do to make momma happy?”

“Avis…” you rasped, “I want to use one of your little secrets on you tonight.”

You did not miss the flicker of excitement that sparked in her eyes — lustful starvation and something even softer beneath it. “Which one?” she breathed out, hands running through your hair.

You grinned a bit, pace escalating, hardening between her thighs and you murmured against her stomach, “The one that lets me fuck you properly.”

The sound she made was somewhere between a gasp and a moan, her body already arching toward you and you seized that in uttering more words, suckling softly at the skin. “I want to fuck you, wanna make momma feel so good.”

“Hmm, yes, yes, shit, baby do whatever you want—” You felt it, the etchings of her awaiting orgasm. It was right there, so close she imagined tasting it. Yet it never came. You had committed your first act of cruelty of the night, the one she did not expect especially tonight; you had denied Avis Amberg her release.

Your fingers left her squirming hole and were brought up to her parted lips, stopping the spills of retorts and moans. “Not yet.”

Frustration colored her features, but she eased when you pecked her lips, once, twice, and retracted. You retrieved the toy from her dresser; the contents were just as you remembered: delicate silk ties, polished glass, smooth shapes made of fine materials, and your fingers brushed over it — dark, sleek.

She could not help the breathless laugh leaving her at your anticipation, biting her lip before muttering a soft, “Come here.”

You stood before her, and she scooted at the edge of the bed, her hands hot and sure as they slid along your waist. She helped you, steady and practiced, the leather straps sliding around your hips, fingers adjusting the buckles, brushing against your skin teasingly as she worked.

When it was finally in place, her hands remained at the front of your abdomen, and her chin tipped up to look at you, dark lashes fluttering. “You wear it well, darling.”

Your kiss deepened, murmuring against her mouth, "Lay back for me."

You reached your hand between both your bodies, gripping the lathered dildo, and positioned it at her sopping entrance as she sprawled herself open with two fingers. One more glance and her eyes spoke more than enough. "I'm ready for you."

You obliged, and the feeling of you entering her was overwhelming, the stretch burning only slightly. You moved in gently until the entire length of the strap pushed inside her wanting hole.

“Oh fuck!” The cry jumped from her throat to your ears. It was enough to ignite the flame within you, one that blazed brightly. Your thrusts angled as her breathing picked up. Digits flexed around her hips, pushing into the impressionable sensitive flesh with your thumbs as you fucked into her in a measured pace.

Wet lips caught hers for a passion-filled kiss and both of her legs hooked around your hips. “How does that feel?”

All she could manage were incoherent slurred babbles. Carmine nails chafed your back, pulling you closer than humanly possible, and her stiff peaks penetrated into your breasts. Wielding power to make Avis feel every single divot as you fucked her amplified your own lusty desires.

“I need you to speak when you are spoken to. Can you do that for me?”

You did not believe it possible that Avis could get any wetter, but my, she was full of surprises. Her juices lubricated your drilling, making your job easier as you pulled back completely before shoving back in.

“Y-yes, yes — I-it's perfect, you're making momma feel so good.” You smiled then at how her face crumbled, your pounding lessening its pace, however you did not lose its hard impact. "B-baby, go faster, please—"

“Not yet, love. I want you to feel everything I'm giving you.” You continued your slow, languid jolts, and she wanted to wail. The deeper you plummeted, the higher she unraveled — each nudging stroke drawing her closer to that edge, closer to the place where she felt most at home. She belonged here, beneath you, cradled in your arms, her body yielding so perfectly to yours.

“You know why I'm doing this? Hmm?” You burrowed your face into her perspired neck, gnawing the spot lightly, tongue slowly gathering every individual droplet that it made her moan straight into your ear.

The action steadied you somehow, allowing you to dive the dildo in further, to hit her bundle of nerves deep within. This angle was new, but held the same severity.

"Because you deserve it, Avis," You pulled out, filling her up once more without warning. "You deserve all good things. You're so fucking perfect for me. You know that, right?"

The tip of her nose brushed the side of yours as she nodded, but that did not satisfy you. "Words, momma. I need to hear you."

How good you were to her. How she wallowed in that dominating side you had, besides always wanting to take care of her with your affections. Avis would never tire of it. "I-know that, y/n, I'm perfect for you—"

"That's right, yes you are—" You grunted at her words, rocking in and out of her cunt and finally speeding up. Every jerk of your hips drew her orgasm near and she latched on to that feeling, that ceaseless yank.

"You're gonna come, love?" Lips wrapped around her nipple, nipping at it.

Fingernails practically sliced the skin at your shoulder blades. The jolting pain caused you to hiss, combining with the lustrous joy you were experiencing. “Yes! Make me come, baby, I need it—”

An ocean of thoughts swam through your hazed mind, not a single one of them a coherent one. There was never a moment when you did not believe Avis Amberg was stunning, a single glance at her and you were ruined and drenched, but fuck, when she came? All kinds of things it did to you, bringing forth moans from your throat.

Her moan was boisterous, booming, certain to startle those outside of these four walls, the entire household even. It made you come seconds after her, your forehead collapsing to her swaying breasts.

You gently pulled out of her and heard her shudder out a soft moan, immediately missing the feeling of being filled. Soft kisses were nuzzled between her breasts, gently moving aside her disheveled curls to ascend your kisses over her collarbones and shoulders as you soothed her.

“I know, love, I know.”

Words were caught in her throat, vision yet to return to its normalcy. "B-baby, I-I-"

You only shook your head and sweetly kneaded her hips. " 'T's okay. Would you like a massage? Does that sound good to you, Avis?"

Her head fell back against the cushion, still catching her breath. Her hand lifted in the air before giving you a loose flick of her wrist that indicated a 'yes'.

You chuckled and leaned down, placing a kiss on her cheek, then her mouth. "I adore you."

Avis huffed out a chuckle and watched as you got up. "And I love you, sweetheart. Thank you ... for taking care of me."

You settled back onto the bed with her preferred soothing oils, and you simpered at her soft expressions. "oh, just wait till you see how I take care of you even more later."

She hummed at the feel of your lips latching on her neck, already anticipating for that later to inch closer. "Momma."

"How does it feel having me deep inside you, hm?" It was a rhetorical statement this time — Avis could not form a response, not with the way you had her positioned, in her request. Arms were stretched out against the mattress, hands rumpling the sheets, the side of her face embedded in the pillows tucked beneath, the soft material smudging the remains of makeup.

Yet you enjoyed hearing Avis struggle as your strap tunneled into her cunt from behind, so you queried her again, a tinge of firmness. “You didn't hear me, momma?”

Avis gasped something out of place and you chuckled before dragging the girth's expanse back into her in rapid strokes. The third orgasm of the night was reaching its peak, and you made sure it dragged out as long as it could the last round. This time, you decided to be fair, fingers snaking their way from her hip down to her clit and rubbed generously.

"it feels great — Fuck! O-oh, keep going! c-close—"

"We're almost there, momma. Almost there. Fuck, just look at how well you take my cock." Her depths enveloped you so perfectly, gushing, gliding, squelching louder at your salacious speech.

Your spine curved, breasts pushed against her upper back and your arm looped around her middle to hoist her up a bit. Just sufficient enough for your lips could soothe the flushed shell of her bejeweled ear. "Come on, give it to me."

Her fingernails dug into the sheets at this angle, cheek mushed against plushness, and Avis was unraveling with you inside her, knocking with full force against the spot that spiraled her.

You kissed the slope of her shoulders, lips tracing over each freckle stroked by time and crease carved within her flesh. She gasped, threading through each individual letter of your name, and she sank into the mattress. Your touch followed, avid fingers squeezing over the swell of her ass, crest of her hips, tremble of her thighs, soft slope of her stomach, hushed praises sinking into her bones.

Panting, she tipped her head back, gaze slipping over her shoulder, half-lidded. As you pried out of her fluttering hole, kisses still being delivered upon her skin, her hand reached back to tug on your hair in hopes to get your attention. "Darling."

Your smile was second nature when you stared into those whiskey irises, knowing exactly what she wanted. Your neck bent, lips coming down to meet hers sweetly, considerately. The kiss was lingering, exactly what she anticipated as she spoke an 'I love you'. The gentleness of it, the affection that powered it.

You pressed one more kiss to her smiling mouth, and you knew there was nothing you would not give her, no part of yourself you would not offer. Because Avis Amberg deserved this, all of it. The softness, the fervency, the love. You would spend every moment you had making sure she never forgot it.

#live love avis #avis amberg hollywood #avis amberg x reader #patti lupone #Avis Amberg smut #patti lupone x reader #𝐢𝐫𝐲𝐧 𝐰𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐞𝐬 ── 🎐ᝰ.

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obaex · 10 months ago

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four - hockey player!ex!rafe cameron (pt. 2)

summary: with the stakes of your relationship on the line, can rafe pull off the impossible to win you back?

word count: 6k 🫣

a/n: i love you all for the love on this lil' series!! ♡ toxic hockey rafe has me in a chokehold, so i promise this will not be the last you see of him!! apologies in advance, you will basically be attending a full hockey game here, i tried my best to explain all the lingo!

(part one)

The arena was packed even though you were there early, arriving alone because the other girlfriends and wives were always late, which simply wasn't in your DNA.

Your dad was a coach growing up, so you spent countless hours in empty rinks, arenas and stands; his rule for games was that you were in your seat early enough to see the starting lineup and the national anthem, no exceptions. Truth be told you liked being there when the lights went down, when the music amped up, you loved the anticipation of a new game.

You didn't mind sitting in the cold seat, hands wrapped around a cup of hot chocolate that you got from the same concession stand every time. Hockey players were notoriously superstitious and by extension now you were too; just like they had their pregame rituals, so did you: same parking spot in the VIP lot, same hot chocolate from the same concession stand, same seat in section 106. You were in the lower bowl of the arena, a few rows back from the ice, facing the bench, nearly eye-level with the team.

You let your mind wander and tried not to think about Rafe but it was impossible, this place was Rafe to you; from the feeling of the cold air on your cheeks and fingers, to the damp and crisp smell of the ice and the sounds of the fans and ambient pregame music, all of it was a part of your love story, all of it was him. Surprisingly, it didn't hurt like you thought it would, rather it felt like coming home after a semester at college, foreign but familiar.

You swiped at your phone, a nervous tick, even though you knew there wouldn't be anything there, which was a good thing, Rafe needed to be focused on the game, so you slid your phone into the cupholder next to you and resorted to tapping your heeled foot nervously.

The seats around you filled quickly and sure enough the other girlfriends and wives arrived just as the lights were dimming, offering cheek kisses and sympathetic hugs, well aware of your situation. Your best friend Morgan slid in next to you, pulling you into her side.

"It's selfish, but I'm glad you're here" she said, loud enough to be heard over the music and the announcer as her brown eyes traced your face sympathetically.

"I'm fine" you lied with a forced smile. Totally fine you thought. Not the love of my life who broke my heart then skated over it trying to win me back in the middle of the semifinals.

You decided to keep all of that to yourself, because truthfully it was ridiculous. It was juvenile. And it was never going to happen. And you didn't want it to happen anyway, you reassured yourself. Right?

You shook your head as you turned your attention to the starting lineup as Rafe's name boomed over the loudspeaker, the cheering noticeably louder from the crowd. He was a fan favorite, beloved for his fast and aggressive style of play. He wasn't afraid to two-hand someone when the referee wasn't looking, to stand up for his team, to battle for the puck. He was chippy, gritty, and he's on the first line tonight you thought to yourself, a spot reserved for the very best players, putting them in the best scoring position. But surely that's not in any way related to our deal... you mused.

You stood on your tiptoes to see him over the crowd in front of you. He was standing at center ice under the spotlight, his helmet tucked under his arm as he shuffled side to side on his skates, face unsmiling, focused as he looked between his feet and the empty ice in front of him. Your heart leapt uncontrollably at the sight of him; God he's beautiful you thought as your body hummed in recognition and longing, completely betraying you.

The tension and animosity in the arena were thick. You had faced the opposing team a few times in the regular season and it did not end well.

As in, you'd lost every time.

As in, Rafe left the last game with a five-minute major penalty and a black eye after an all-out brawl.

Now the fans were itching for a rematch and you were simply hoping for everyone to leave in one piece. That was the difference between being a fan and being someone who cared deeply for the boys on the ice, it wasn't a spectacle to you anymore. You watched as Rafe's wingers Nick and Andrew stood beside him, followed by two defensemen and your goalie as the national anthem wrapped up.

Everyone took their seats as the lights came back on and the music came on again too, urging the fans around you to cheer, and for you to resume the incessant tapping of your foot as you leaned forward in your seat, laser focused on the guys lining up for the faceoff.

"Girl, you good?" Morgan asked, taking in your nervous energy.

"Hmm?" you responded distractedly, barely glancing at her. "Yeah, yeah m'fine" you said.

You were always more into the game than the other girls, but that didn't account for the clear tension and anxiety rolling off of you in waves, nor the way you were immaculately dressed, which didn't go unnoticed either.

Rafe skated to center ice, equally sized with the opponent at faceoff as the referee dropped the puck. It had barely clattered to the ice before Rafe had gained possession, shouldering his opponent out of the way and barreling towards the offensive zone with a burst of energy like a gunshot that had the crowd almost immediately back on their feet, pulling you along with them.

"OK, I'm sorry, what is happening here?" Morgan said as she watched him.

He was a man possessed, head down, focused, ignoring his teammates as they called for the puck to set up a play, like he was trying to do it all himself. Like he was trying to score. He flipped the puck towards the goalie, who blocked it and possession shifted as he skated backwards on defense, your heart settling in your chest.

Rafe always played with intensity, but with the way he was playing now, he wouldn't make it through the first period. You thought there would be a reprieve on defense, but he was diving for the puck, playing to steal rather than defending his zone. He looked like a maniac.

Until it worked.

The crowd was back on their feet as he and Nick had a breakaway two-on-one, both of them racing towards the net together with only one defender standing between them and the goalie, the rest of their teammates striding to catch up with them. Nick called for the puck, slapping his stick on the ice, but Rafe deked the defender, faking him out before approaching the goalie and tipping the puck into the small pocket over his shoulder, swishing it effortlessly into the net.

The arena erupted as the goal horn blared and you found yourself jumping up and down, overcome with excitement and emotion. You could physically feel your heart beating. This is totally normal you thought. It's totally fine to score a goal in the first two minutes of the game, on his first shift, against the toughest team in the league.

You watched players pile on him in celebration before they all skated back to the bench, bumping fists with their team before taking a seat on the bench. Your eyes were glued to him, and his were on the jumbotron above center ice, watching his own replay before the coach approached him, grasping his shoulder angrily, and you could imagine why. He had been reckless, he had been lucky. Rafe nodded, but ultimately shook him off and refocused on the resumed play. Players zoomed in front of you and your eyes zipped to follow them before you glanced ever so briefly back at Rafe, who was unmistakably looking at you and smiling.

You swallowed to hide the emotions on your face, not giving him a single inch as you focused on the play.

You loved watching hockey, but it felt different when Rafe was on the ice, like he was a magnet, the only thing you could focus on, and his next shift was no different. He was playing like a madman and within seconds you could hear the coach shouting. Rafe turned up emptyhanded this time and the coach was visibly angry as Rafe skated to the bench, going so far as to yell back at him, which had you holding your breath; you had never seen him do that before.

Nick reached for Rafe's shoulder to calm him down and then they started bickering back and forth. Your attention was now split between the two of them and the action on the ice when you saw Nick physically rear back at something Rafe had said, the motion grabbing your full focus. Nick covered his face with his gloved hands, looking back at Rafe and then repeating the motion before he glanced up at the stands, at you, and shook his head, resigned. Were they talking about you!?! you thought. Had Rafe just told him what's going on?

You were so caught up that you missed the play as the other team scored. The game was tied 1-1. The arena echoed with boos as their bench erupted in cheers. You looked up at the clock: 2 minutes left in the first period.

Rafe and Nick got onto the ice for their last shift and the second the puck dropped, they were off as a duo, Nick's intensity now matching Rafe's own; they were bodying guys, tag-teaming as they raced into the offensive zone. Nick had the puck and passed to Rafe, and almost immediately Rafe was cornered by two extremely large defensemen who pinned him to the boards as they tried to steal the puck. But he wouldn't relent, throwing his elbows and trying to wiggle free, desperate and angry as the buzzer sounded for the end of the period.

And yet they didn't let him go. The crowd started shouting and everyone was on their feet as Rafe dropped his stick, turned and grabbed them both by the front of their jerseys, shoving them as the benches emptied and other players joined in, piling on top of one another until you lost sight of Rafe in a mess of limbs, equipment and jerseys. You were craning to see over the ecstatic fans, egging on the fight as the referees raced to break it up, pulling bodies off of one another until they reached Rafe.

His helmet had come off and as the referees skated him towards the locker room, he was shouting at the opposing team who skated after him, riling each other up before he yanked himself out of the ref's grasp and marched off the ice through the tunnel.

Period 1: Game Tied. 1-1.

You let out a deep sigh before collapsing back in your seat. You took a shaky inhale before exhaling and you felt a set of eyes on you.

You turned to see Morgan looking at you with an eyebrow arched.

"You're really going to sit here and act like you don't know what's going on? I know that boy texts you his every thought."

You opened your mouth, an excuse, a lie ready before she interrupted you.

"-- And I KNOW you didn't block him like you said you were going to, so don't try me. What the hell is going on?"

You bit your lip at that, glancing between her and the ice where the zamboni was running clean lines across the cold surface.

You gave a halfhearted shrug, "You know how much he wants to win, how much this means to him."

She doubled down her glare.

You sighed, avoiding her gaze before looking back to her.

"I made a deal with him" you nearly whispered.

A few of the other girls snuck by you both, causing you to shift in your seats as she leaned in and whisper-shouted at you:

"I'm sorry what!"

"If he scores four goals tonight, I said I'd get back together with him."

"You're joking" she said flatly. "Please tell me you're joking."

You pursed your lips with a small shake of your head.

"The two of you" she said as she let out an exasperated laugh. "Unbelievable. You can't stay away from each other and yet you’re willing to bet the stakes of your relationship on a game. I can't" she said, throwing her hands up in defeat.

She paused, getting serious for a moment.

"Are you sure you even want to get back with him, is that really such a good idea hun?"

"Morgan, he's never going to score four goals, it's like, impossible."

"Are you watching the same game I am?" she said emphatically. "Cause your mans sure is gonna try and you better ask yourself what you're going to do if he does."

There was a whisper of truth to what she was saying. It was probably impossible, but not completely out of reach. And what would you do? Your heart trilled. You would be ecstatic the devil on your shoulder said. You would be screwed said the angel.

Your phone buzzed in the cupholder next to you and swiped it open.

You grasped at your phone. Rafe never had his phone between periods, none of the players did, it was basically sacrilegious. They had just enough time to get treatment, catch their breath, hydrate and listen to their coach and he was on his phone!? You put yours down and tried to rearrange the smile creeping onto your face as you saw the teams rejoining the ice for the second period.

Just like before, Rafe was off like a rocket, but the other team was on to him this time, doubling his defensive coverage, making it nearly impossible for him to skate, let alone make a play. He had put a target on his back with the fight at the end of the first period, so even when he didn't have the puck, you could see the other players go after him, a stick in his skates, a slash at his side, heads turning to chirp at him as they lined up for faceoffs. But he didn't slow down for a moment, battling twice as hard now, coming back to the bench after each shift uncharacteristically exhausted, heaving with his elbows on his knees.

You watched him and felt overcome with emotions as the realization hit you: Rafe wasn't good at expressing himself, he wasn't a 'feelings' person, he didn't always know what to say, which is why sometimes words came better to him over texts when he had more time to think about it. But hockey? Hockey was his language. He couldn't tell you how sorry he was, how much he wanted to fight for this, but he could show you. He could play for you, he was playing for you, putting his body on the line, trying his all-out hardest, not a single person in the arena could deny that as they watched him tonight. He wanted this. Badly. Which meant he wanted you, badly. You felt a flush of warmth in your cheeks that had nothing to do with your lukewarm hot chocolate as you watched him slide up the bench for his next shift.

You looked up at the jumbotron. There were only 12 minutes left in the second period, and the game was still tied at 1-1.

What were you going to do if he scored four goals?

What were you going to do if he didn't? felt like the more pressing question. He was running out of time. If something didn't happen now, he would have one period left to score 3 goals, and that was simply not going to happen. I shouldn't have made the number so high you thought guiltily.

Your eyes glanced back to the ice as he clambered over the boards in the midst of a shift change. He was skating methodically, not slower, but maybe more strategically and you were sure his energy was waning even if it didn't look like it.

Suddenly, Nick picked the puck off an opponent and Rafe raced to skate with him, crossing into the offensive zone with several of their teammates. Nick had a wide open shot, and he brought his stick back for a slapshot before turning at the very last moment and passing to Rafe who had positioned himself near the goalie. The puck banked off his stick and ricocheted into the goal.

You were on your feet again, jumping up and down in Morgan's arms as the boys piled onto each other. The crowd was alive again as the team took a 2-1 lead, 5 minutes left now in the second period.

Morgan looked at you, shaking her head before shouting something you couldn't hear over the crowd. You shook your head back before she leaned in closer.

"Is Nick in on this shit?" she yelled.

You looked at her, confused.

"Why else wouldn't he take that shot? It was wide open."

The idea of Rafe recruiting his best friend and linemate into this made you lightheaded and giddy. As you looked back at the bench, the two of them were shoulder to shoulder, looking right at you and Nick waved, a goofy little smile on his face for the briefest of seconds before his attention returned to the game.

Period 2: Eagles winning. 2-1.

The period ended and you spent the last intermission glued to your seat as everyone around you got up to get food and drinks, your mind spinning.

One period. Twenty minutes left for Rafe to score 2 goals. It was still nearly impossible, but didn't feel as insurmountable as before and you still weren't sure what you wanted the outcome to be. You were staring into middle space, questioning your entire relationship when your phone buzzed again in your cupholder. You swiped it open.

Two hearts.

Two goals.

You smiled widely, rolling your eyes before giggling like a little girl. You wanted to respond, and your fingers lingered over your screen, but he still had no business being on his phone, and what could you possibly say anyway?? "Nevermind!! Let's get back together despite all the shit you put me through!"

Ugh.

The third period was simultaneously the slowest and quickest 20 minutes of your life.

Rafe was battling, and the other team battled back, getting chippier and chippier as the teams exchanged penalties and breakaways, but the score stayed the same. You could feel the crowd's excitement at the prospect of scraping through this game with a one-goal lead; a good enough result to make them happy, but you couldn't deny the disappointment you felt as you were playing an entirely different game.

As time whittled down you felt yourself getting emotional as the odds were stacked against Rafe, stacked against both of you. Ten minutes. Eight. Five. Three. You could feel the familiar burn of tears behind your eyes as your foot continued to tap, eyes glancing anxiously between Rafe, the bench, the players and the jumbotron that counted down the time unceasingly.

Morgan reached for you, winding her arm around yours and grabbing your hand, a sad smile on her lips. You both knew this wasn't going to happen. There was just no way. You could sense that Rafe could feel it too, he was getting more and more desperate, scrambling after the puck, making sloppy mistakes that made you feel guilty, the most so when the other team scored… tying the game.

And then what felt like the final twist of the knife: with less than 1 minute left, they scored again, capitalizing on the dashed morale of the Eagles to take the lead 3-2. It was like someone sucked the air out of the arena. Rafe was on the ice, on his knees and all of the players looked so defeated.

Fuck fuck fuck was all you could think as they regrouped with their coach to come up with their last play, their last chance to tie the game. You leaned forward, desperately trying to read lips as if you could somehow decipher the plan. The ref blew the whistle and the coach sent guys on the ice, leaving Rafe behind, and your stomach dropped: he wasn't even going to get a chance.

Rafe argued and you could see him yelling and gesturing wildly as the coach yelled back. The ref blew the whistle again and you knew they were dangerously close to getting a delay of game penalty. A ripple of confusion went through the crowd as they watched the argument unfold and you wished you could sink into your seat and disappear.

The coach shouted something that seemed final before Rafe took one look at him, ignored him and skated onto the ice, swapping with Nick who slid onto the bench, head bowed, ashamed, as the coach berated him.

At this point, Rafe had been on the ice way longer than he should have, he was making mistakes, and now he was putting his career, his contract on the line as he stepped up to take the faceoff.

The puck dropped and the battle ensued as the teams fought back and forth. Their team took a shot on goal that had you holding your breath as the time ticked down.

There were less than 20 seconds left as the puck rebounded towards Rafe and he guided it with his stick, taking off down the ice faster than you'd ever seen him skate; in just three strides he had nearly covered the length of the rink, leaving all of the other players trailing behind him as he squared off with the goalie.

"Ten! Nine! Eight!" the crowd shouted.

You were on your feet, grasping Morgan's arm for dear life, certain you were leaving a mark as you continued to hold your breath.

Rafe shot the puck and it hit the goalie's leg pad, but bounded right back to him.

"Three! Two!"

He shot again and the goalie fell forward, but the crowd behind the goalie erupted and the official lit the lamp behind the goal - he had scored.

The puck had slid between the goalie's legs and Rafe exploded with energy, ripping down the ice and jumping into the glass in front of you as his team piled on top of him and the crowd went ballistic as fans threw their hats onto the ice to celebrate his hat trick - three goals scored.

You were jumping and screaming with the other girls, a few tears escaping your eyes in relief and excitement, overwhelmed at the entire situation.

Three goals.

He'd scored three damn goals, a new career record for him. And now they were in overtime.

Period 3: Game tied 3-3. End of regulation play.

"Wait! Wait! What the hell happens now!?" Morgan asked breathless, looking to you as the only girl that knew a thing about the rules.

"Overtime" you huffed, trying to calm yourself. "Another 20 minutes, first team to score wins."

"Was that part of the deal?" she asked.

"It wasn't not part of the deal?" you said. "We didn't really get into specifics" you laughed, rolling your eyes.

You glanced at the bench as both teams hydrated and listened to the coaches. Rafe's teammates were still all over him, smacking his helmet, arms slung around him. The coach said something to him and he put his hands up in surrender as he sat on the bench and his teammates took the ice.

Your eyes were glued to Rafe but unlike before his didn't meet yours and for a second, you didn't know how to take that. You craved that acknowledgement from him, but you also recognized the look on his face; he was totally 100% focused, eyes fixed on the action on the ice. He wants to win you thought. Or maybe his focus was for something else.

Within a few minutes, his line was up and they jumped on the ice. He was playing smart now, conservative, concentrated and gathered, a stark difference from before. He was strong on defense, backing his team up as they played perfectly off of each other, which paid off when Nick stole the puck and shouted as he passed the puck up the boards to Rafe who sprinted after it, just a stride in front of a defender.

"Oh my god" you heard Morgan mutter as everyone stood to their feet and even though the roar of the crowd was deafening, you swore you could hear every scrape of Rafe's skate against the ice, the clatter of the puck as the play moved in slow motion to the beat of your heart.

Another stride and Rafe was alone in the offensive zone, the defender just a hair behind him.

Was this really happening? Was he about to end the game, to score a fourth goal?

Another stride and he was eyeing the goalie, lining up his shot.

He maneuvered his stick and just as he was about to shoot, the defender dove, thrusting his stick in Rafe's path, causing them both to tumble onto the ice and into the goalie, the puck sliding away, abandoned as the refs blew their whistles. No goal.

Rafe was down for only a second before he stood up, grabbed his stick and swung it with full force, snapping it in half over the boards in front of him in rage and frustration, causing the fans behind the glass to jump and spill their beer on each other.

Two of the refs were frantically skating towards him, waving their arms and blowing their whistles, but your eyes drifted to the head referee who was standing next to the officials box, watching a small computer screen, a replay. Almost immediately he nodded, handed back the screen and raised his fisted hands over his head and crossed them and you let out an uncontrollable shout of excitement as you grabbed for Morgan.

"What! Oh my god! What is going on!!?" she shouted back, and all you could do was laugh and shout as you jumped up and down and pointed to the referee.

"You are the ONLY ONE HERE who knows what that means!" she shouted. "What does it mean!!!?"

"A PENALTY SHOT!" you shouted back.

Your eyes shot back to Rafe who had clocked the same thing and was skating back to the bench. The equipment manager handed him a new stick and now the arena was abuzz with the same information as the announcer explained that Rafe would have the chance to score one on one against the goalie, with all of the other players off the ice. A golden opportunity.

The fans were ballistic. You could barely hear yourself think, could barely process your emotions as you struggled onto your tiptoes again to see over the raised hands and jumping fans as Rafe skated methodically to center ice, alone.

He skated back and forth, side to side with crisp turns like a predatory shark before he stopped at center ice, hands on his stick on his knees, eyeing the goalie before his head turned slowly and he looked right at you. Even amidst the chaos, you could see his signature smirk before he refocused and gathered the puck in his stick.

He was going to score.

You just knew it. You knew by the look on his face, by the stride of his skates, by the confidence in his gait.

"He's going to score" you said out loud, quietly, to yourself, a revelation before you turned to Morgan who was solely focused on the scene unfolding on the ice. You tugged on her sleeve, desperate for her to understand the weight of what you had just said.

"He's going to score, Morgan" you said, louder, matter-of-factly.

"Well SHIT I hope so!!!!" she shouted back without looking at you, now completely wrapped up in the game.

She didn't understand.

He was going to score.

And that meant he was going to be yours again.

Your eyes found the ice and you watched as he approached the goalie, goading him out of the goal, faking him out before wrapping the puck around his leg and tipping it upward.

The goalie dove backwards at the last minute and 15,000 fans held their breath as his gloved hand extended, brushing the edge of the puck, causing it to wobble, but without enough force to change the course of fate as the puck swooshed into the net.

The goal lamp lit up.

The goal horn sounded.

And if you thought the arena was loud before, it reached a new level as fans screamed, shouted, jumped up and down and embraced each other.

You felt realization ripple over you, your gaze stuck on the ice. Stuck on the image of the goalie flat on his back, defeated. Stuck to Rafe who had ripped his helmet off, discarded as he let out a roar of victory before getting bombarded by his teammates who piled on him in celebration.

End of OT. Eagles win 4-3.

Morgan yanked you into her by your shoulders, hugging you and jumping up and down, but an unexplainable calm had settled over you, gluing your feet to the ground.

You should be excited, you were, but instead you felt like you were having an out-of-body experience. What the hell had just happened? Rafe had scored four goals, had led his team to the finals. Had he done it for himself? Of course. But wasn't a part of it for you too?

You turned and looked back at the ice, desperate to catch his eye, to talk to him, to figure this out as chaos rained around you. The players skated to center ice with their sticks raised to salute the fans before skating away, Rafe leading them quickly into the tunnel without so much as a look at you. Not even a cheeky smile or a blown kiss, which you used to get after every game. What the fuck.

Morgan shook your shoulder.

"Babes, now what?!" she asked, excited, curious, anxious.

You looked at her, lost. You had no idea. Did you text him? Were you just back together again? How did this work?

The lights dimmed as the announcer drew the crowd back in to introduce the three stars of the game - recognizing the three standout players of the night. The third star was your goalie, who stopped an unimaginable number of shots and you cheered for him as he skated solo onto the ice in a spotlight, taking a spin around the ice before tossing a t-shirt into the crowd to an excited fan.

Your heart was hammering in your chest, your mind incapable of thinking of anything but Rafe. You grabbed your phone. No new texts. The players were all in the locker room by now. Sure, they were partying and celebrating, but if he had time to text you in the middle of the game, couldn't he text you now??

Nick was the second star of the game and you glanced up from your phone to see him doing the familiar skate around the ice, waving to Morgan who blew him a kiss back, but you glanced back at your phone, willing a text to appear, opening and closing your texts, refreshing the app, messing with your wifi. Surely it was the internet connection you thought, now desperate to hear from him.

"Come on Cameron" you murmured to yourself.

"Okay, what is he doing?" you heard Morgan laugh and you looked down to the ice to see Nick still circling around, backwards, forwards, pumping up the crowd who roared around him as he gathered a t-shirt to throw. You were thrilled for him, really, but you resumed your focus on your phone. Should I turn it off and turn it back on again? you thought.

The lights dimmed further and the deep voice of the announcer reverberated, "Ladies and gentlemen, your first star of the game, with an unprecedented four goals, including your game winner--"

"Uhhh YN" you heard Morgan say.

But you were too distracted, too afraid to look away from your phone in case you missed a text coming through.

"--Rafe Cameron!!!" the announcer said, the spotlight shining on the tunnel, and your eyes shot up at the sound of his name, only to find the ice empty.

You felt Morgan tug harshly on your sleeve and when you finally looked back to her your stomach barrel-rolled and your heart shot into your throat.

Standing unmistakably next to her in the aisle was Rafe, still fully suited in his gear and pads, towering over everyone like a giant, his skates traded for his training shoes. Pieces of his hair were clinging to his forehead and his face was rosy with exertion, sweat dripping down his temple in rivulets.

He was smiling confidently at you, and unlike the last time you had seen him in your car, his eyes were unwavering and transfixed on yours, even when the fans around you turned around and noticed he was there, even when phones were whipped out and shouts and cheers went up, he ignored them; he only had eyes for you.

"How--" you started to say, your phone completely forgotten as he started to nudge his way past the people at the end of your row to walk fully into the seats next to you.

"Ohmygod, ohymgod" Morgan was saying as she clambered out of the way of his bulky frame and suddenly he was towering in front of you.

He was breathing heavily; with how quickly he made it up here it was no wonder he had been sprinting off the ice and into the tunnel. His face searched yours, eyes twinkling, flitting over your lips, searching for a sign, a signal, a hint of how you were feeling. And you weren't sure you could have expressed it even if you could form words.

He leaned down next to your ear and you could feel the sweat and the heat radiating off of him.

"That was four" he said, breathless and husky before pulling back, but not as far as before, his nose brushing yours.

The spotlight was sweeping the empty ice, looking for him as the announcer tried awkwardly to fill the air time, wondering where he was.

All you could do was meet his gaze, staring into his crystal blue eyes.

And all you could see was your Rafe.

Sure, he had his issues, but you knew he was sincere, you knew he was trying and you acknowledged that despite everything he was probably the love of your life.

"We didn't agree on overtime goals" you said loudly back at him to be heard over the crowd.

For a moment you could see fear, panic and a hint of hurt cross his face; if you didn't know him as well as you did you wouldn't have seen it, it was nearly indetectable. But he took one look at your sly smile, your blushing cheeks, your eyes rimmed with tears.

"C'mere" he said roughly, ignoring you as his warm and sweaty hands that smelled unmistakably like his gloves grabbed your face and pulled you towards him as his lips enveloped yours, engulfing you, bold, brazen and completely unabashed as he full on made out with you, chaotically, his tongue slipping into your mouth, even when you tried to wiggle away, more out of a sense of decorum than anything as a feeling seeped through every inch of you like he was mending every wound in your body.

He was sweating all over you at this point, but you didn't care. You could feel it dripping on you. You could taste it in his kiss, mixed with the tang of yellow gatorade and your fingers grasped for purchase on his jersey as you tried to balance yourself against the force of him pressing into you.

The crowd around you erupted, as the flash of pictures being taken lit the two of you. He was unrelenting and you could feel yourself flushing as much from his attention as from the heat radiating off of him. It definitely went on longer than it should have, longer than any right-minded couple would have made out in front of thousands of fans before he paused just long enough, his lips still hovering on yours and said through a growl, "You're mine, baby."

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