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solxamber · 2 months ago

Note

Waaaah Cuteness aggression was so cool! Could you make a part 2 with Malleus, Rook, Lilia and Jamil? Thos Boys deserve all the love there is and I think the scenario would be funny. xD

Hope ur well and drink some water 💕

Cuteness Agression with: Malleus, Rook, Lilia, Jamil, Riddle, Leona

Part 1 with: Idia, Cater, Octatrio

a/n: requests are closed but the concept was so cute that i can't control myself lmao and added Riddle and Leona cause i'm down bad. and thank you and i will <3

Malleus Draconia

Malleus Draconia was intimidating to most people. To you, however, he was simply too cute for his own good.

His regal demeanor, the way his eyes gleamed in the moonlight, the slight tilt of his head when he was curious—it all triggered an overwhelming, uncontrollable urge to smother him in affection. Of course, being in a relationship with the crown prince of Briar Valley came with expectations. Decorum. Restraint.

You ignored all of that entirely.

The first time it happened, you’d been walking together through the gardens late at night. Malleus was pointing out constellations, his voice low and melodic, when he glanced at you, his lips curling into a soft smile.

“Do you not find the stars enchanting?” he asked, his tone gentle.

It wasn’t the stars that enchanted you, though. It was him—his sharp features softened by the glow of fireflies, his kind, unguarded expression.

“Uh-huh, yeah, stars,” you said distractedly, before grabbing his wrist. “Malleus, come here.”

His eyes widened slightly. “Is something the matter?”

“Yeah. You’re too cute.”

Before he could protest, you dragged him off the path and into the shade of a tree.

“What are you—”

“You’ll understand,” you muttered, cupping his face and smothering him in kisses.

His breath hitched at first, his body stiffening, but he quickly melted into the affection. “Child of man, I—”

“Kisses now. Talking later,” you said, planting another kiss on the tip of his nose.

When you finally pulled away, Malleus looked utterly dazed. His cheeks were faintly flushed, his pupils blown wide, and for once, he seemed at a loss for words.

“…You are quite... spirited,” he managed after a moment. “I was unaware my presence inspired such... fervor.”

“Fervor? I call it love,” you said with a grin, pressing one last kiss to his jaw.

Malleus chuckled, the sound warm and low. “If this is your way of expressing love, I find it most agreeable.”

It became a regular occurrence after that. Anytime Malleus did something you found unbearably endearing—which was often—you’d whisk him away for a smothering session.

When he brought you a bouquet of perfectly arranged roses with a rare flower from Briar Valley nestled in the center? You kissed him until he forgot how to form words.

When he tilted his head in that adorable, inquisitive way, asking, “Why does Sebek insist on shouting so often?” You had to physically restrain yourself from dragging him into the nearest alcove right then and there.

Even when he was just being his usual princely self, you couldn’t help it. The way he carried himself with quiet dignity, his cloak billowing behind him like something out of a fairy tale—it all made your heart practically explode.

One particularly memorable moment occurred in the middle of a ceremony. Malleus, dressed in his ceremonial robes, stood tall and composed, his expression serene. But then, he caught your eye from across the room and gave you the tiniest smile.

That was it. Your brain short-circuited.

You grabbed his hand the moment the ceremony ended. “Malleus. Now.”

“Is something urgent?” he asked, tilting his head.

“Yes. You’re too cute and I’m about to lose my mind,” you whispered, dragging him behind a pillar.

“Child of man, we are still in public—”

“Shh,” you said, cupping his face and peppering kisses all over it.

Malleus froze for a moment before sighing, his hands settling on your waist. “You are relentless,” he murmured, though his tone was fond.

“And you love it,” you replied, grinning against his cheek.

“…That, I cannot deny,” he admitted, pressing a gentle kiss to your temple in return.

Despite his initial confusion, Malleus seemed to delight in your affection.

One evening, as you sat together in the Ramshackle lounge, he watched you with a soft, amused expression. “Do you truly find me so... endearing?”

“You have no idea,” you said, grabbing his hand and lacing your fingers together. “You’re the cutest thing I’ve ever seen. It’s criminal.”

Malleus chuckled, his thumb brushing over the back of your hand. “Then I shall endeavor to remain... criminally endearing for you.”

The sincerity in his voice made your heart skip a beat. “You’re too perfect,” you muttered, leaning in to kiss him again.

“And yet, it is I who am fortunate,” Malleus replied softly, holding you close.

If anyone had told you that the fearsome prince of Briar Valley would be so utterly smitten with your relentless affection, you wouldn’t have believed them. But here he was, letting you smother him in kisses without a single complaint.

To Malleus, your love was as enchanting as the stars he so often spoke of. And to you, he was the brightest star of all.

Rook Hunt

Rook Hunt was accustomed to being noticed. Whether it was the way he carried himself with theatrical elegance or the poetic way he spoke, most people couldn’t help but take notice. But you—you were something else entirely.

You didn’t just admire him; you practically vibrated with cuteness aggression every time he flashed that dazzling smile.

The first time it happened, you and Rook were in the woods behind Pomefiore. He’d just finished a long-winded, flowery description of the autumn foliage, his emerald eyes sparkling with enthusiasm, when he turned to you with an expectant smile.

“Mon trésor, do you not find it magnifique?” he asked, gesturing to the fiery canopy above.

You didn’t even look at the trees. “You’re magnifique,” you blurted, already grabbing his wrist.

His brows lifted. “Ah? What is this sudden passion?”

“You’re too cute, Rook. I can’t take it,” you said, pulling him behind a cluster of trees.

“Ah, je suis flatté! But—” His words were cut off as you cupped his face and started pressing kisses all over it.

“Do you have any idea how unfair it is to look this good all the time?” you muttered between kisses.

Rook, to his credit, didn’t resist. Instead, he let out an amused laugh, his hands settling on your shoulders. “Ma chérie, you honor me with such fervent affection. I am truly overwhelmed!”

“Good,” you said, kissing the tip of his nose for emphasis.

When you finally pulled away, Rook’s cheeks were flushed, and his grin was impossibly wide. “Quelle passion! You are truly a marvel, mon amour.”

“Yeah, yeah, whatever,” you muttered, dragging him back to the trail. “Just stop being so cute, or I’ll do it again.”

“Ah, a most delightful threat!” he said, his laugh echoing through the woods.

It became a regular occurrence. Anytime Rook did something you deemed unbearably charming—which was often—you’d whisk him away for a smothering session.

When he recited impromptu poetry about the way the sunlight danced on your hair? You grabbed his hand and dragged him into an empty classroom.

When he surprised you with a bouquet of hand-picked wildflowers and a heartfelt sonnet? You tackled him onto the nearest bench and kissed him until you were both breathless.

Even when he was just lounging in the Pomefiore lounge, reading a book with his legs crossed in that infuriatingly graceful way, you’d have to physically restrain yourself from interrupting him.

One particularly memorable instance occurred in the Mostro Lounge. You were sitting with Rook and the rest of your friends, enjoying a rare moment of calm, when Rook leaned over to whisper something in your ear.

“You look radiant tonight, mon amour,” he murmured, his breath warm against your skin.

That was it. Your brain short-circuited.

“Rook. Come with me,” you said, grabbing his hand.

“Ah, but our companions—”

“They’ll survive,” you said, dragging him out the door.

When you reached a quiet hallway, you pushed him against the wall and immediately started peppering his face with kisses.

“Mon dieu,” Rook gasped, though his grin was nothing short of delighted. “You are relentless, ma chère!”

“And you love it,” you said, punctuating your words with a kiss to his cheek.

“That is true,” he admitted, his hands resting lightly on your waist. “Your passion is as boundless as the stars themselves.”

Rook, ever the romantic, seemed to thrive on your bouts of affection.

One day, as you sat together on the steps of Ramshackle Dorm, he turned to you with a curious expression. “Tell me, mon amour, what is it about me that inspires such... ferocity?”

You paused, considering his question. “Everything,” you said finally. “The way you talk, the way you smile, the way you somehow make everything look effortlessly elegant. It’s infuriating, Rook.”

He laughed, his eyes shining with amusement. “Ah, to be adored so fiercely—it is a privilege I do not take lightly.”

“You better not,” you said, leaning in to kiss him again.

Rook sighed contentedly, his arms wrapping around you. “Mon trésor, your love is a treasure beyond compare. To be the object of such affection... I am truly blessed.”

If anyone had told you that Rook Hunt—Pomefiore’s poetic, theatrical huntsman—would enjoy being smothered in kisses at every opportunity, you wouldn’t have believed them. But here he was, grinning like the Cheshire Cat as you showered him with affection.

And honestly? You wouldn’t have it any other way.

Lilia Vanrouge

You always thought you had a pretty good handle on your emotions. Calm, collected, rational—those were the words you’d have used to describe yourself. But then, Lilia Vanrouge entered your life, and with him, your sense of self-control promptly packed its bags and left the building.

How could anyone expect you to act normal when he was that cute?

It started innocently enough. Lilia had been helping you tidy up Ramshackle Dorm one evening. He was humming some cheerful, old-timey tune while he dusted the bookshelves, floating effortlessly in the air as if gravity was just a suggestion.

You were trying to focus on organizing a stack of books, but every time you glanced up and saw his wide, mischievous grin and those bright, playful eyes, your heart would squeeze painfully.

Finally, you snapped.

“Lilia,” you said, your voice a little too tight.

“Yes, my dear?” he replied, flipping upside down mid-air to look at you.

“Come here,” you said, setting the books down with trembling hands.

“Oh?” He tilted his head, curious, but floated down to meet you. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” you said, grabbing his hand and pulling him towards the couch. “You’re just too cute, and I can’t take it anymore.”

Lilia blinked, utterly bemused, as you pushed him onto the couch and immediately started peppering his face with kisses.

“My, my!” he laughed, his voice lilting with amusement. “What brought this on?”

“You!” you said, punctuating your words with more kisses. “You’re adorable! How am I supposed to function when you’re like this all the time?”

Lilia laughed again, a sound so warm and joyful that it only made your aggression worse. “You’re quite passionate, aren’t you?” he teased, his hands resting gently on your shoulders.

“You have no idea,” you muttered, before resuming your assault on his cheeks.

From that day on, it became a regular occurrence.

Any time Lilia did something you deemed unbearably adorable—like floating upside down while carrying a tray of tea, or singing one of his nonsensical little songs—you’d drag him away to smother him in kisses.

Lilia, of course, thought it was hilarious.

“Is this what the you'd call ‘cuteness aggression?’” he asked once, as you squished his cheeks between your hands and kissed the tip of his nose.

“Yes,” you said, not pausing in your efforts.

“Fascinating!” he said, his crimson eyes sparkling with mischief. “I didn’t realize I had such an effect on you.”

“Oh, don’t act like you don’t know exactly what you’re doing,” you grumbled. “You’re impossible, Lilia.”

“And yet, you adore me,” he said, grinning cheekily.

You sighed, exasperated but hopelessly smitten. “Yeah, yeah. Don’t let it go to your head.”

One day, you were sitting in the Diasomnia lounge, trying to read a book while Lilia floated lazily around the room. He wasn’t even doing anything particularly remarkable—just flipping through a magazine—but every now and then, he’d let out an amused hum or a soft chuckle, and it would send your heart into overdrive.

Finally, you couldn’t take it anymore.

“Lilia,” you said, standing up abruptly.

“Yes, my darling?” he said, peering over the top of his magazine.

“Come here.”

He raised an eyebrow, a teasing smile already forming on his lips. “Feeling overwhelmed again?”

“Just shut up and come here,” you said, grabbing his wrist and dragging him out of the room.

Sebek, who had been studying at the nearby table, sputtered indignantly. “Human! What are you—”

“Later, Sebek,” you said, waving him off.

Once you were alone in the hallway, you wasted no time. Pulling Lilia close, you buried your face in his neck and started pressing kisses along his jawline.

“Goodness,” Lilia said, though his laughter made it clear he wasn’t exactly complaining. “You really are incorrigible, aren’t you?”

“You love it,” you mumbled, your voice muffled against his skin.

“That, I do,” he admitted, wrapping his arms around you.

Lilia might have been a centuries-old fae with countless stories and secrets to his name, but in your eyes, he was just your incredibly cute, endlessly lovable partner. And if that meant you had to drag him away for impromptu affection sessions on a regular basis, so be it.

Besides, judging by the way he always laughed and kissed you back, you had a feeling he didn’t mind one bit.

Jamil Viper

It started as a typical day at NRC: chaotic, mildly life-threatening, and somehow made worse by your inability to contain yourself whenever Jamil Viper was within a 10-foot radius.

You’d known for a while that Jamil was attractive—his sharp features, calm demeanor, and the way he moved with quiet precision made it hard to miss. But it was the little things that tipped you over the edge. Like the way his hair swayed when he walked, or how he absentmindedly hummed while chopping vegetables in the kitchen. The final straw? The rare moments when his lips would quirk into a tiny, private smile.

Every time you saw him, the urge to grab him, kiss him senseless, and smother him with affection became overwhelming.

And today was no different.

You were sitting in the lounge at Scarabia, watching Jamil supervise a group of first-years trying (and failing) to prepare a dish. He leaned against the counter, arms crossed, an air of quiet authority radiating from him.

But then it happened.

He sighed, shaking his head as he stepped in to salvage the mess. His hair swung over his shoulder, catching the light, and the faintest smile tugged at the corner of his lips as he muttered something about "how hard is it to chop onions properly?"

Your brain short-circuited.

Before you knew it, you were on your feet.

“Jamil,” you said, your voice slightly too loud.

He looked up, one eyebrow raised. “What is it?”

“Come with me,” you said, grabbing his wrist and pulling him towards the hallway.

“What—hey, wait a second,” he protested, glancing back at the confused first-years. “I’m in the middle of—”

“Later!” you said, dragging him into an empty corridor and shutting the door behind you.

“Do I even want to know what this is about?” he asked, crossing his arms and giving you a skeptical look.

You didn’t answer. Instead, you cupped his face in your hands and started peppering kisses all over his cheeks, nose, and forehead.

“Wha—!” Jamil stiffened, his ears turning red. “What are you doing?!”

“You’re too cute, and I can’t handle it!” you declared, kissing the tip of his nose for emphasis.

“...Cute?” he repeated, his voice a mix of disbelief and exasperation.

“Yes, cute!” you said, moving to his jawline. “How are you this adorable and this oblivious? It’s not fair!”

“Oblivious?” He frowned, though the pink dusting his cheeks betrayed his flustered state. “I’m not—this is ridiculous.”

“You’re ridiculous,” you countered, wrapping your arms around his neck and pulling him into a tight hug. “Ridiculously cute.”

Jamil groaned, though you could tell he wasn’t actually upset. “You’re impossible,” he muttered, his hands resting hesitantly on your waist.

“And yet, here you are, letting me smother you with affection,” you teased, pulling back just enough to plant a kiss on his lips.

That finally broke him. He let out a soft laugh, shaking his head as his arms tightened around you. “I don’t know what I’m going to do with you,” he said, though there was a warmth in his voice that made your heart flutter.

“You could start by kissing me back,” you suggested cheekily.

“...Fine,” he said, his lips curving into a small, genuine smile before he leaned down to kiss you properly.

Over time, Jamil got used to your random bursts of affection—well, as much as someone like him could get used to it.

One afternoon, he was studying in the library when you walked in, spotted him, and immediately felt the familiar wave of cuteness aggression wash over you.

“Jamil!” you whispered loudly, earning a warning glare from the librarian.

He looked up from his book, his expression wary. “Don’t even think about it.”

“Too late,” you said, grabbing his hand and pulling him out of his chair.

“Do you have any self-control?” he asked, though he didn’t resist as you dragged him into the nearest empty study room.

“Not when it comes to you,” you admitted, grinning as you pushed him against the wall and started kissing him all over again.

“You’re incorrigible,” he said, though his voice was softer now, his hands resting on your shoulders.

“And you’re perfect,” you replied, kissing the corner of his mouth.

Jamil sighed, but the faint smile on his lips betrayed his true feelings. “You’re lucky I like you.”

“Oh, I know,” you said, leaning in for another kiss.

And despite his grumbling, you could tell he didn’t mind one bit.

It was a quiet morning in Scarabia, the kind where the golden sunlight filtered through the ornate windows, casting patterns on the tiled floors. Jamil had just finished his early chores and was enjoying a rare moment of peace, sitting at the dining table with a cup of tea.

You, however, had other plans.

You had woken up early, groggy but immediately aware that Jamil wasn’t beside you. After a quick search, you found him in the dining room, looking effortlessly handsome as he sipped his tea. His hair was still slightly damp from a morning shower, and the soft lighting only made him more unfairly perfect.

It hit you like a tidal wave: the urge to smother him with affection was too strong to resist.

Jamil glanced up as you approached, a slight smile tugging at his lips. “Good morning,” he said.

“Morning,” you replied, trying to keep your voice steady. But the way he tucked a strand of his hair behind his ear, paired with the serene look on his face, made you snap.

Without a word, you pounced.

“Wha—hey!” Jamil barely had time to set his tea down before you climbed onto his lap, wrapping your arms around his neck. “What are you doing?”

“You’re too cute!” you declared, pressing kisses to his temple, cheeks, and jawline.

“It’s seven in the morning,” he said, exasperated but not pushing you away. “Can’t you wait until I’ve had at least one full cup of tea?”

“Nope,” you said, smiling against his cheek. “You’re cuter than tea, and I need my morning dose of Jamil.”

He sighed, though the corners of his lips twitched upward. “You’re insufferable,” he muttered, his hands instinctively finding their way to your waist to steady you.

“And yet, you’re still letting me do this,” you teased, brushing your nose against his before planting a firm kiss on his lips.

“Because if I stop you, you’ll just pout and make it worse,” he said, though his voice was tinged with amusement.

“Exactly,” you said smugly.

Jamil shook his head, a quiet laugh escaping him. “You’re unbelievable.”

“And you love it,” you shot back, peppering kisses along his jawline.

“Unfortunately for my sanity,” he admitted, finally giving in and pressing a soft kiss to your forehead. “Yes, I do.”

You beamed, your heart swelling at his rare show of affection. “See? This is why you’re the best boyfriend ever.”

“Am I?” he asked dryly, though there was no hiding the warmth in his tone.

“Absolutely,” you said, pulling back just enough to look into his eyes. “And you’re lucky I like you.”

The words, a playful echo of what he often said to you, made him chuckle softly. “I suppose I am,” he said, his gaze softening as he leaned in to kiss you again.

The moment was perfect—quiet, intimate, and filled with a warmth that lingered long after you finally let him finish his tea.

Leona Kingscholar

It was midday, and Leona had naturally gravitated to his favorite pastime—napping. The way the golden sunlight filtered through the windows, casting a glow on his skin and tousled hair, made him look like a scene out of a painting.

You should’ve left him alone, let him nap in peace.

But no. You weren’t strong enough.

“Leona,” you whispered, crouching beside the couch where he lay sprawled out.

One eye cracked open, his voice a low, lazy rumble. “What d’ya want? Can’t a guy nap in peace?”

“Not when you look this cute,” you said, voice strained as you wrestled with your cuteness aggression.

His eye narrowed suspiciously, but before he could move, you pounced. Your arms wrapped around his shoulders as you planted a flurry of kisses on his face, starting with his cheek, then his forehead, then the bridge of his nose.

“Oi! Get off, you crazy herbivore!” he protested, but his laughter betrayed his words.

“Not until you stop being so perfect!” you declared, squishing his face between your hands to kiss him properly.

Leona groaned, but he didn’t push you away, even as he tried to keep up the act of annoyance. “You’re lucky I like you,” he muttered.

“And don’t you forget it,” you teased, giving him one last peck before finally letting him breathe.

You had spotted him in the dining hall, casually sitting at a table and picking at a plate of meat with that trademark nonchalance. His ears twitched slightly at the sounds around him, and he occasionally flicked his tail, his every movement smooth and effortless.

It was unfair, really.

“Leona!” you called, practically running to him.

He glanced up, raising an eyebrow. “What now? Can’t I even eat without you harassing me?”

“Nope,” you replied with a grin. “Not when you look this cute.”

“Don’t start—”

Too late. You grabbed his wrist and tugged him out of the chair, ignoring his grumbling as you dragged him to a quiet corner.

“Are you serious?” he asked, looking half-annoyed and half-amused.

“Dead serious,” you said, cupping his face and peppering him with kisses. His ears flattened slightly as his cheeks flushed, but he still didn’t stop you.

“You’re so embarrassing,” he muttered, though the small smile on his lips betrayed him.

“And you’re adorable,” you shot back, pulling him into a hug.

“Yeah, yeah,” he said, resting his chin on your shoulder. “Just don’t expect me to say it back.”

Leona had taken you to a quiet spot to watch the stars, a rare moment of tranquility for the two of you. He lay back on the grass, one arm behind his head, as he pointed out constellations with a lazy smirk.

You were trying to focus on the stars, really. But the way his voice rumbled when he spoke, the way his tail lazily swished back and forth, the way his eyes glimmered like jewels under the moonlight—it was too much.

“Leona,” you said softly, turning to look at him.

“Hm?”

“You’re too cute.”

His eyebrow twitched. “You’ve gotta be kidding me.”

“Nope,” you said, sitting up and leaning over him. “I have to kiss you or I’ll explode.”

“Sounds like a you problem,” he teased, but he didn’t move as you leaned down to kiss him.

The first kiss was soft, then the second, then the third. Before you knew it, you were practically smothering him with affection, and Leona was laughing—actually laughing—as he let you do as you pleased.

“You’re unbelievable,” he said, his voice warm with amusement.

“And you’re perfect,” you replied, grinning down at him.

“Yeah, yeah,” he muttered, pulling you down to rest against his chest. “Just stay here, you crazy herbivore.”

It was early morning, and Leona was still in bed, sprawled out like a lazy lion as usual. You had come to wake him up, but the sight of him—sleep-tousled hair, slightly grumpy expression, and one arm draped over his eyes—made your heart practically burst.

“Leona,” you said, shaking his shoulder gently.

“Go away,” he grumbled, pulling the blanket over his head.

“Nope,” you said, yanking the blanket off him. “You’re too cute, and I can’t deal with it.”

“Not this again,” he groaned, but before he could stop you, you climbed onto the bed and started kissing him awake.

“Oi! Quit it!” he protested, though his laughter made it clear he wasn’t actually mad.

“Never!” you declared, peppering his face with kisses. “This is what you get for being adorable.”

“You’re insane,” he muttered, though his arms came up to wrap around you.

“And you love it,” you replied, grinning as you kissed the tip of his nose.

Leona sighed, but there was a small smile on his lips as he pulled you closer. “Yeah, I do. Now let me sleep, you menace.”

Riddle Rosehearts

Riddle Rosehearts prided himself on composure, discipline, and always adhering to the rules. He was Heartslabyul's steadfast leader, a paragon of order in a sea of chaos. But there was one thing he had no preparation for—you.

Your habit of getting cuteness aggression whenever you saw him was the one thing Riddle couldn’t figure out how to manage. Every time you dragged him away to smother him in affection, it left him flustered, red-faced, and utterly disarmed.

It started innocently enough that day. You’d been helping with the tea party preparations, setting out the sugar cubes in neat stacks, when Riddle appeared to check the arrangements. As always, he was dressed immaculately, his little crown on his head, and his expression firm as he inspected the table.

That’s when it hit you. The way his eyes narrowed slightly in concentration and how his gloved fingers adjusted a teacup ever so slightly made your heart explode.

You couldn’t take it anymore.

“Riddle,” you called, voice dangerously sweet.

He paused, glancing at you over his shoulder. “Yes? Is something—oh!”

Before he could finish, you grabbed his wrist and tugged him toward the maze, ignoring his startled protests.

“W-What are you doing?” he stammered, struggling to keep up as you dragged him down a secluded pathway.

“You’re too cute, and I can’t handle it,” you declared, finding a quiet spot among the roses.

Riddle blinked at you, completely taken aback. “I—What are you talking about? That’s absurd!”

“You’re absurdly adorable,” you corrected, cupping his face in your hands. His cheeks were already dusted with pink, and you knew you were about to make it worse.

“Stop this at once!” he tried to say, but his voice faltered as you peppered kisses all over his face. His cheeks, his forehead, the tip of his nose—you didn’t leave an inch untouched.

“Hey—” he spluttered, his hands hovering awkwardly by his sides as if unsure whether to push you away or pull you closer. “Th-This is highly improper! We’re supposed to be preparing for the tea party!”

“We can’t have a tea party if I’m dying from how cute you are,” you countered, pulling back just enough to give him a cheeky grin. “This is life-saving first aid.”

Riddle’s lips parted, clearly about to deliver a stern lecture, but the words never came. Instead, he sighed, his shoulders slumping in defeat. “You’re impossible,” he muttered, though his voice was softer now.

“Impossible to resist?” you teased, leaning in to kiss the corner of his mouth.

His face turned an even deeper shade of red, but this time he didn’t argue. Instead, he let out a small, exasperated laugh, shaking his head. “You’re utterly ridiculous.”

“And you love it,” you said confidently, wrapping your arms around his waist.

“I—” Riddle started to protest, but he stopped himself, glancing down at you with a reluctant smile. “Yes, I suppose I do.”

His quiet admission made your heart do somersaults, and you couldn’t help but squeeze him tighter.

Later, when you finally returned to the tea party preparations, Trey gave Riddle a knowing look as he noticed the slight smudge of lipstick on his cheek.

“You look like you’ve been... preoccupied,” Trey said lightly.

Riddle cleared his throat, hastily wiping his cheek with a napkin. “Nonsense! Everything is perfectly under control.”

But as he adjusted his tie and avoided your amused gaze, you could tell he wasn’t fooling anyone.

Riddle was meticulously organizing the Heartslabyul ledger, his brow furrowed in concentration as he sat at his desk in the library. His diligence was admirable, but it was also your doom.

The way his fingers adjusted his pen with precision, his lips pursing in thought, and the faint pink tint on his cheeks from the afternoon sun streaming through the windows—he was just too much.

You didn’t stand a chance.

“Riddle,” you whispered conspiratorially, sneaking up behind him.

“Hmm?” he replied absently, his focus not wavering.

You leaned closer, your lips near his ear. “I’m going to lose my mind if I don’t kiss you right now.”

That got his attention. His hand froze mid-stroke, and he turned to you with wide eyes. “Excuse me?”

You didn’t give him a chance to argue. Gently grabbing his shoulders, you pulled him into your arms and planted a flurry of kisses on his face. One on his temple, one on his cheek, and a quick peck on his lips for good measure.

“You—” he gasped, his voice tinged with both embarrassment and delight. “This is a library! Have you no sense of decorum?”

“None whatsoever,” you admitted, grinning as you pressed another kiss to his nose. “You’re way too cute when you’re working. It’s unfair.”

Riddle tried to glare at you, but the way his lips twitched upward betrayed him. “You’re insufferable.”

“And you love it,” you said smugly, brushing your nose against his.

He huffed but didn’t push you away. “You’re lucky I have a soft spot for you.”

The sun was barely peeking over the horizon when you wandered into the Heartslabyul common room, groggy and still rubbing sleep from your eyes. You hadn’t expected anyone to be awake yet, let alone Riddle, who was already immaculately dressed and sipping tea by the fireplace.

The sight of him, with his perfectly styled hair and composed demeanor, made your heart flip. How could someone look so poised this early in the morning?

“Riddle,” you mumbled, walking up to him in a daze.

He glanced up from his tea, eyebrows raising slightly. “Good morning. Did you sleep well?”

Instead of answering, you plopped yourself onto the couch beside him and buried your face in his shoulder. “You’re too cute. It’s unfair,” you grumbled.

“Is that so?” he said, his voice carrying a hint of amusement.

You nodded against him, your arms snaking around his waist as you pulled him into a cuddle. “I need compensation for the emotional damage.”

“Emotional damage?” he repeated, chuckling softly. “And what form of compensation do you require?”

“Kisses,” you declared.

He sighed, though there was a fond smile on his lips. “You’re impossible.” But he leaned down anyway, pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead.

“See? You do love me,” you teased, snuggling closer.

“More than you’ll ever know,” he admitted softly, his hand coming up to stroke your hair.

One lazy afternoon, you found Riddle tending to the roses in the Heartslabyul garden. He looked so peaceful, carefully snipping away stray thorns and inspecting each bloom with the utmost care.

You stood there for a moment, watching him, before the cuteness aggression hit you like a brick wall. His sleeves were rolled up, exposing his forearms, and there was a soft smile on his lips as he admired his work.

“Riddle!” you called, jogging over to him.

He turned, surprised by your sudden enthusiasm. “Yes? Is something the matter?”

“Yes!” you said, grabbing his hand and dragging him to a secluded corner of the garden. “You’re too cute, and I can’t deal with it!”

“Wha—?!”

Before he could protest, you wrapped your arms around him and began peppering kisses all over his face. His cheeks turned as red as the roses around you, and he looked utterly flustered.

“We’re in public!” he hissed, though he made no real effort to escape your grasp.

“Then stop being so adorable,” you teased, pulling back just enough to look him in the eyes.

He sighed, clearly torn between exasperation and affection. “You’re so infuriating,” he muttered.

“But you love me,” you replied, grinning.

“I do,” he admitted, his voice soft as he leaned in to kiss you properly. “Far more than I should, considering how insufferable you are.”

“Aw, you’re so romantic,” you teased, squeezing him tightly.

Riddle simply rolled his eyes, though the small smile on his lips said it all.

Masterlist ; Part 1 with Idia, Cater, Octatrio

2K notes · View notes

1d1195 · 13 days ago

Text

Pucking Rookie II

Read Pucking Rookie here | ~8k words

From me: sloooooowwwwww burrrrrrrnnnnnnnn

Warnings: angsty, fluffy, douchey ex-boyfriend, a little violent

Summary: Harry is one of the most annoying people she's ever met. It's unfair he's talented, hot, and way nicer than her ex.

“So getting to the side of the ice before the puck is there is offsides?” Marc asked.

She nodded watching the Warriors center faceoff against the Bears on her TV screen. They were in the third period with only five minutes to go and the defenseman from the Bears was in the penalty box for a foul against the center. She thought it was a death sentence. “Correct.”

“They have that in other sports,” he sounded like a child remembering a fact from preschool. She smirked.

“Yes,” she laughed. “Are you sure you want to date this guy?”

“I want to date his dick,” Marc shrugged. She snorted and shook her head.

“Fair enough.”

Her phone lit with a message from Kael. He wanted to see her when she was in town with The Chargers. It was the last thing she wanted to do, but it would have been nice to get some of her stuff back. If he kept it.

“Are you speaking to Harry again?” Marc asked.

It was impossible to keep the smile from growing on her face. She rubbed a hand over her mouth to hide it. “Yeah...” she nodded. “It’s kind of hard not to talk to anyone on the team.”

“The fact you went a whole week without talking to that hot as hell man is beyond me. You’re a better woman than me.”

She snorted. They were coming down to the final two minutes and the goalie skated to the bench and another player glided across the ice. “So, when the team is down by a goal or two, they send the goalie off the ice so they can get another scorer in position. But it leaves the goal open. It’s risky.”

“You are seriously doing that team a disservice by not dating them,” he murmured. “If I was into women I wouldn’t let you out in public. You’re so perfect.”

She laughed. “I am not perfect.”

“Babe, you are stunning, you know hockey, and you make the best cookies I’ve ever tasted.”

“It’s not enough,” she told him sipping her water and standing up. But sure enough, The Warriors scored without their goalie in the next. She had to get to the rink for the night game. She smirked, wiggled eyebrows at Marc, and turned off her TV.

“You should bet money on these things.”

She put on her regular outfit for a night of taking pictures at the rink. Her hands had to be free (and yes, they would freeze) but she wore a thick sweatshirt below the jersey. It had Niall’s name on the back. She figured he was the least likely to make a big deal of wearing someone’s name on her back. She honestly hoped no one noticed that she picked it. She didn’t want to make it seem like she had a favorite on the team. Because she didn’t. And it definitely wasn’t Harry Styles.

Truthfully, she stole Niall’s old jersey out of the bin in the locker room. It got ripped in a game where someone got a little too irritated with Niall’s good goal tending. There was a significant tear along the seam because Harry was the first one to get to Niall when the incident occurred. Harry accidentally tore at it while trying to get his hands on the opponent and wound up in the penalty box for two minutes because of it.

She spent part of the following evening sewing it carefully back together while watching a movie on Netflix.

Once her winter boots were on, she slipped her camera bag and press pass over her shoulder and neck respectively. She was ready for the evening. Marc walked her down to her car. They both waved at Michael who was pacing outside while smoking a cigarette. “Hey Sweetheart,” he called. Michael was about five years younger than her and way too grumpy for his own good. But he often perked up on her behalf. “Good luck to the team.”

“Thanks!” She smiled as if she had any responsibility for how well they did.

Marc made sure she got in the car safely and winced when her car took two turns to start because of the cold. Once assured her car would remain running, Marc went to Michael’s side and bummed a cigarette from him as she pulled out of the lot in front of the building. What a weird little family she was creating in a weird part of town.

Her car seemed angry that it was being asked to do its job, and she worried that one day it was going to die on her way there. If it did, she was nervous it would be a thing and Uncle Charlie would be pissed. She could see it now. But instead, she listened to her music, stopped to splurge for a coffee made by someone else, and headed to the rink.

At the very least, she was happier than she had been in a very long time. There was no weight around her worrying she wasn’t the perfect girlfriend, the perfect arm candy for her hockey boyfriend. She didn’t worry about looking weird or awkward. She felt more like herself behind the lens, at the rink, and at The Locker Room, and at her apartment with her new friends than she had in years.

Maybe she didn’t need any of her stuff back from Kael. If she never spoke to him again, then she would be okay.

“Niall you lucky motherfucker!” Asher yelled.

She wasn’t paying much attention as the boys finally arrived for their game. She was in the middle of a conversation with Uncle Charlie as she went over the pictures she was planning to submit to the news outlets, looking over the tiny screen in her hands. She showed off her non-athletic photography skills. This included the senior pictures she took of her cousin (Charlie’s daughter), and she told him which ones she thought were best. This naturally led to discussing the holidays. Her hope was he was willing to carpool to her parents’ house. It was selfish, mainly because she didn’t think her car would make it the three-hour drive out of the city. Not that she was going to tell him that.

But the boys interrupted before she could get that far. She turned, smiled brightly at her team of restless twenty-something-year-old puppies. She set her coffee on the ledge of the window of an office for one of the team assistants and gave the boys a proper wave. “Are you all ready for gameday?” She asked.

But no one was paying any attention to her greeting. Instead, their gazes were focused on the number on her body. The black-and-silver-lettering and logo was riveting it seemed even though it was on all their own jerseys as well.

So much for it not being a thing. “Sweetheart, I’m honored,” Niall chuckled. Were his cheeks pink in embarrassment? That was cute—he looked so nervous. Niall was adorable. She could see why Harry was so protective of him. In the time she had gotten to know him, she seriously didn’t know how someone so sweet and nice could be roped into a rough and tumble sport like hockey.

“What?” She asked curiously, hoping that if she acted confused, they wouldn’t make it a bigger deal than it needed to be.

It seemed there was little chance of such a thing. “You’re wearing my jersey,” his grin remained shy and so, so adorable.

Well, maybe she could use it to her advantage. “Well, don’t tell the others but you’re my favorite,” she winked.

But it wasn’t quiet and everyone heard it. The gasps and scoffs of disbelief echoed loudly as they entered the locker room to drop some of their stuff. First there would be game day entrance photos, the boys looking dressed in not quite formal but not so casual attire. The stuff that made hearts throb to look at them (and other organs throb if she was honest). They would pose as if they hadn’t already walked in, and no one would know except for them.

Niall turned a shade redder and headed in. “Don’t break my goalie,” Charlie warned.

“I would never break Niall!” She pouted petulantly at her uncle. “Why are they all up and arms about the jersey? It was free and I fixed it. Is it not allowed?”

He shook his head. “Don’t worry about it, Sweetheart,” he chuckled. “It’s just a dumb hockey-guy thing,” he patted her on the back and headed into the locker room.

“Harry’s running late,” Lang said as he returned with just a duffle bag and an overpriced water bottle that was part of his sponsorship deal. “Hit some traffic or something. So, you might not get his game day entrance,” he told her with a shrug.

She nodded. “That’s fine,” she shrugged and snapped a picture of him while he wasn’t really focused, testing the lighting and frame once more now that she had a subject. “There’s enough of you guys to suffice as eye candy for the day we probably won’t need everyone’s picture.”

Lang laughed, covering his mouth. “Sweetheart, please say that in front of Harry while I’m around and you’re wearing that jersey,” he begged. She frowned unsure what he meant by that specifically. Instead, she shook her head and began ordering the captain and his teammates around to get the first part of her evening’s tasks done.

Harry showed up just as she took the last shot of the team walking into the locker room. He was pouring the last bit of his protein shake into his mouth while she examined her camera once more and sipped her coffee that she left on the ledge of the window. There was so much more activity back by the locker room as game time approached. There were team doctors, athletic trainers, assistants, and more milling around.

Harry hated being late. It messed with his pre-game rituals. But there wasn’t anything he could do about traffic. Plus, Hayden lived on the exact opposite side of the city. He really shouldn’t have bothered with trying to sneak a quick hook-up in before the game. But he needed something to take the edge off and nothing was working.

Granted the hook-up left him feeling unsatisfied as well. Although it wasn’t Hayden’s fault. She was lovely, truly. It was all Harry’s brain. Something was off and he couldn’t quite place it.

But one look at the pretty photographer wearing the number thirty-one on her body reminded him that he was much more aware of the issue than he was willing to admit. He blinked hoping his eyes were mistaken. But no, the name Horan was on her back.

“Rookie!” He called.

What the fuck was he going to say? It didn’t even make sense for him to be mad. She didn’t do anything wrong. God, Harry was an idiot. She was off limits. For all he knew she had one of everyone’s jersey and was going to rotate through.

It was probably not a good sign that she looked up when she heard that nickname, right? It wasn’t good to get used to knowing it was Harry calling her the moment she heard his teasing. But right then, Harry didn’t look teasing. His gaze was laser-focused on her torso (and not the way she would expect him to be focused on her chest). “Hi Harry,” she smiled, sweetly; hoping vehemently that this wasn’t about the jersey. “Do you want a game day photo?” She asked gently holding her camera up.

“What the fuck are you wearing?” He snapped.

This hoping thing ain’t shit. She thought. Glancing down at her outfit once more, she frowned. “I thought I looked cute,” she pouted.

Harry was all but half a foot in front of her. “You’re wearing Niall’s jersey.”

“It’s from the locker room, it was going to get thrown out, so I just sewed it,” she shrugged. “Is that not allowed? No one said anything.”

He seemed to bristle but settled at the same time. She really didn’t get what the big deal was. “S’fine,” he grumbled. “Y’do look cute. You always look cute,” he rolled his eyes and pushed the locker room door open with a little too much power. She shook her head and heard laughter from behind the door.

“Boys are weird,” she sighed and headed for the tunnel to get to the ice.

She texted Michael from her car when she got back to the apartment at one in the morning. It was dark, cold, and she had a weird feeling as she pulled into the small lot. He hurried out yawning as he did. He was wearing only shorts, a t-shirt, and slippers. “Oh, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you,” she frowned and hurried to the front of the building. He waited patiently for her to lock her car.

“S’fine, Sweetheart,” he shrugged and yawned.

“Thank you,” she said gratefully. She really needed to find a new place, so she didn’t have to bother them. But she swore she could feel someone’s eyes following her as she closed the entry door to her building. Michael headed down the first-floor hall to his place without another word. She stopped at her small little mailbox, locked on the inside. Only a slit in the wall from the outside to get in. It was all junk and bills. She didn’t give her address to anyone. Not even Uncle Charlie had her real address. She mentioned some apartment complex on the good side of town. But when pressed, she immediately diverted and asked if he would be okay with shipping her Amazon packages to his house. It did the trick, fortunately. Her parents didn’t think much of it either because they knew Charlie was keeping an eye on her.

It was all she could afford after not working much because of Kael and his weird obsession with making sure she played the proper part of picture-perfect hockey girlfriend. This was a sketchy part of town, and she knew it and didn’t like living here either. But what could she really do? Making friends with Michael and Marc was easy and she was lucky. So very lucky to have people keep an eye out for her when she got home late and felt like she was being followed.

So, when she turned to the stairwell behind the little mail room and saw the very angry hockey player outside the door of her building peering through the glass, she practically jumped back a foot and immediately and nearly screamed.

She clamped a hand over her mouth and pressed the other one to her heart, dropping her mail in the process. “What the fuck are you doing?!” She whisper-screamed opening the door.

“What the fuck are you doing here?” Harry hissed stepping inside. He gathered up her mail handing it to her. He continued glaring as he took in the run-down place. “Do you live here?”

“Yes!”

“Rookie, this is not a safe area. Why are y’living here?”

“Because I can afford it? What kind of fucking question is that?”

Harry looked so good having just played a grueling game that included overtime and a shootout. His hair was still damp from his shower. His face glowing that way he managed to do in the dead of winter that was so unfair to her. He smelled good—too good. He wore a black hoodie, black pants, and black sneakers. Like he was trying to blend in with the night. The only not good-looking thing about him at the moment was the sour expression on his otherwise extremely pretty features. The furrow between his eyebrows looked angry. The green of his eyes appeared darker, almost black to match his clothes. His mouth was pressed in a flat line.

But even angry, Harry looked hot. He had been angry all evening. Since he set foot in the arena. He didn’t relax when they all went to The Locker Room either. He hardly spoke to Niall and barely acknowledged his good goal tending. “Does coach know you live here?”

She shook her head. “Harry, shut the fuck up. Why did you follow me home like a creep!?”

“Because s’one in the morning and y’said y’were exhausted and that your car was a piece of shit! I was making sure y’made it home. I didn’t know home was even scarier!”

“Hey babe, everything alright? Michael texted you would be on your way up and to keep an ear out.” Marc called as he approached them descending the stairs.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” she whispered and rubbed her temples.

“Holy shit,” Marc gaped.

“Harry, this is Marc,” she introduced the pair, but lacked any enthusiasm. “He’s my neighbor.”

Harry glared at him—even though he didn’t deserve it. “Hi,” he said curtly.

“I’m fine,” she told Marc. “Harry followed me home.”

“Great game today, man,” he looked awestruck; no longer concerned about her well-being at all and entirely concerned about the beautiful man in front of him. “That was a bogus penalty in the second period.”

“I said the same thing,” she nodded in agreement hoping it would remind Harry that she made her own little place here and he didn’t need to worry. That he was her friend.

Harry softened just a little. His shoulders untensed ever so slightly. “Thanks,” he nodded curtly, trying to remain polite to a fan when he wanted to shake the sweet photographer. “Rookie, show me your place,” he ordered.

“Michael and I keep an eye on her,” Marc offered sensing there was a deeper issue.

Harry eyed him up and down and then turned back to her. “Show me your place,” he repeated.

“No!”

“Jesus, babe, show the hot man your apartment!”

She pressed her fingers to her forehead and slid them down her nose and over her lips as she spoke. “Marc,” she sighed. “Go away.”

“Huge fan,” he held his hands up in surrender and made his way upstairs.

Harry was staring at her in disbelief. “You’re not living here.”

“Harry,” she sighed.

“I’ve had a shit day, Rookie. Don’t fucking test it,” he snapped and headed up the stairs figuring he would find it on his own because he would just know? She shook her head.

“Third floor,” she mumbled following behind him. He sighed with relief from ahead of her.

“Take that stupid fucking shirt off,” he said once the door was shut.

“Why are you so angry today?” She shed her camera carefully setting it on the small table. Then her badge. She dropped her keys on the table too. Quickly, before he could get angrier, she rid herself of the jersey and her hoodie.

Harry sighed again, relieved it seemed of what she didn’t know. Without broiling in irritation over his friend’s name all over the girl he had a massive crush on, he was able to focus a little more. Glancing around he inspected the small place. It was cute, adorable even. Just like her.

She bent to take her shoes off. “Do you want water or something? You’re so keyed up... Maybe you want a sedative?” She rolled her eyes at him.

He snorted. “Pass,” he continued looking around. “S’nice, really,” he murmured

“It is,” she agreed. “I don’t plan on staying here forever, but it’s what’s affordable right now. Not all of us make seven figures a year for their talent.”

He ignored her and wandered around the little rooms she had. On all of her walls were more photos she had clearly taken. It didn’t take much for him to figure out her style. It was natural and lovely. “S’cold in here.”

“Heat’s expensive,” she remarked. “Do you want some tea?” She asked.

He shook his head. “No, thank you, Rookie,” he mumbled relaxing more as he inhaled deeply. Everything was so intoxicatingly her in this room. It smelled so good. She smelled so good. “Is Marc in love with you?” He asked offhandedly.

“Not unless I identify as a man, which I don’t.”

He smirked, unable to hide the amusement. She was so funny, it was unfair. Beautiful, talented, kind, and funny. She was made in a lab and meant to tempt every one of Harry’s desires. “What ‘bout the guy that walked y’in?” He picked up the book that was on her coffee table and read the back of it, wondering what kind of books she was into and if she liked the same things as him. He set the book down carefully.

“Michael? No. He’s a baby.”

“He’s taller than you,” he murmured.

“He’s not in love with me. Well, actually, I do make him cookies. So maybe,” she shrugged.

He shook his head wishing he could focus on his own questions. But she was too quick and Harry was too tired.

On the wall of her living room was an array of small frames. Probably fifteen or so four by six photos that his mom would have put in a photo album. He recognized Charlie and Ray. A man he could only assume was Charlie’s brother and her dad as they looked like twins with different hair and eye coloring. Girls in their teens, a dog that never seemed to age even though the family around it did, and her gorgeous smile.

There was also a stupid fucking picture of Niall on her wall beside a team photo which made him want to yank it down and stomp on it like a psychopath.

Poor Niall did nothing to deserve Harry’s wrath. The team teased him the moment he went into the locker room telling him all about how she said Niall was his favorite. It wasn’t surprising. Niall was nice and sweet. He didn’t hook up with a bunch of girls nor did he go from city to city hoping to be entertained by a different girl. He was a nice guy. Probably the kind of guy she did deserve. Especially after whatever it was that Kael did to arguably ruin his life by losing her. He barely congratulated him on his saves in the game. Didn’t even buy him a drink at the bar either. To Niall’s credit, he didn’t take it too harshly. Merely smirked at him as he glared. Knowing it really had nothing to do with him at the heart of it.

But the picture of his best friend on her wall just made him grumpier all over again. It didn’t help that Harry was exhausted. He dreaded having to drive home this late. Especially when he was mad on top of everything else. But having seen where she lived, he was glad he followed her home. Didn’t care that it was creepy. It would have made him insane to know she wasn’t safe.

There wasn’t much he could do but turn his attention to her kitchen so he could avoid the stupid picture of his stupid friend who he didn’t like very much at present.

Right there on the fridge door was one of her family photos—clearly taken at a wedding or something. A quick glance showed she wasn’t in it which made him sad. How often was she left out of pictures because she was always the one taking them? Beside her family was the side-by-side duo picture of herself that he saw on her website. A photo of her parents’ dog next to that. A couple landscapes of the ocean and sun.

Right in the middle of all her photos was a picture of Harry.

He swore time stopped. All his anger towards Niall disappeared. Why was he on her fridge? It was the picture of when he scored a goal, from one of the first games she photographed this year. The one she sent him the first time she texted him. “Why’s this on the fridge?” He asked, straightening it alongside the others it. There was a magnet on the back and Harry felt his chest constrict a bit knowing he wasn’t on the wall, but he was in her house. She cared in some way enough to put him among her pictures of family and friends.

She shrugged. “I put all of my favorite pictures on the fridge,” she said it so simply. It wasn’t a big deal to her. The pictures belonged there and that was it. It just was.

His heart sincerely skipped a beat. Like if he were a cartoon, a graphic of a little heart monitor would appear in a cloud bubble, and it would show an irregular rhythm representing the way she made him feel. His gaze flickered to her briefly, but he was worried he would stare and never look away. He cleared his throat and looked toward her wall of photos. “What ‘bout the wall over there?”

“Those are nice pictures too, but I don’t really look at the wall much. It’s behind me when I sit on the couch, you know...? The fridge however,” she had a smile in her voice. “I love snacks and cooking and baking. So, I’m in the kitchen a lot. So, I like to look at my favorites.”

Harry felt softer. Relieved. Less mad and annoyed than he’d been in hours. Maybe even days if he was honest. Harry was one of her favorites. Even if she didn’t mean he was her favorite and merely the photo.

“Bunny?” He asked softly staring at the other half dozen or so of her favorites.

She didn’t miss a beat answering to the nickname that she didn’t really like. But she did really like the way it sounded when Harry said it. “Yeah?”

“Would y’ever wear my jersey?” His voice was quiet, he felt stupid for asking. The question wouldn’t leave his brain until he said it. Whatever the answer was, he had to ask it.

She frowned and sighed. Harry hated that. It seemed like a terrible question, and he was dreading her answer immediately. “I hate to say it, Harry, but I can’t afford a Styles jersey.”

He rolled his eyes. “Would y’wear it?”

“Of course I would, Harry. You’re my friend just like Niall is. And Asher, Callie, and Lang. I really only wore it because you guys were throwing it out.”

Harry rubbed a hand on the side of his face. He could live with that. “Alright.”

“Did I miss something?” She asked. But he knew how perceptive she was. She had to know how much it bothered him that she wore his friend’s name and number on her body today and not his. She had to know he had a crush on her. Even if he couldn’t do anything about it.

“Nope,” he shook his head not wanting to get into it further.

“Are you sure I can’t get you something to drink?” She asked again. “You seem really out of sorts...maybe you need something without alcohol?”

“Sure,” he sighed. She could give him whatever she wanted. She wouldn’t be able to tell, but he was relieved now. He didn’t need anything else. “Tea would be nice...” She nodded, gently nudging him out of the way to get a pitcher of water from her fridge. “Can I stay here?”

“You want to stay in my crappy little apartment? After you went on and on about how unsafe it is?” She questioned filling the kettle on her stove.

Fair point, Bunny. “M’exhausted, Rookie. I told you I had a bad day.”

“I see that,” she pouted and scanned him up and down. “Of course you can. You have to take my bed though; the couch is too small for you.”

He shook his head. “M’not kicking y’out of your bed when I barged in.”

“Well... it was... kind of nice that you made sure I got home safely. I’m glad it was you, but I was pretty nervous... so if it wasn’t you...” she shook her head and looked at her hands wringing them awkwardly. “I’m sorry you got stuck here,” she pouted.

More of him softened somehow. It seemed impossible that she could make him feel any softer. He was certain he never felt softer than when she said that his picture was one of her favorites. The way she spoke was so gentle.

“I fall asleep most nights on the sofa anyway,” she shrugged, unaware of the thoughts rolling through Harry’s head. She probably hadn’t a clue how she made him imagine her adorable body curled into the small sofa with a blanket around her. What it would be like for him to come home from a game and find her snuggled into a sweatshirt with his cologne on it, the TV playing the post-game highlights, and her hands tucked under her cheek. Did she snore? Harry ached to know.

God he was fucked. How did she walk into the arena and do that? Harry thought of nothing but hockey and hookups. Now he wondered if she snored at night.

She carefully poured the hot water into a mug with The Charger’s logo on the outside and dipped the tea bag in and out a few times letting the water do its thing. She slid it across the small counter before she poured her own mug. They stood silently for a moment, sipping tea.

“I might have something of Kael’s for you to sleep in.”

“I’d rather die than sleep in that piece of shit’s clothes.”

She smirked around the edge of her mug and shook her head. “Are you cold?” She asked.

He shook his head. It was cold but he wasn’t cold. He would be fine with a few blankets. A warm body beside him would be good too, but he wasn’t sure he could convince her.

She put her mug in the sink and went to the bathroom without warning. After a few minutes, she returned. Her face was washed of makeup, her hair pulled back, and she wore a pair of sweatpants instead. She grabbed a pillow off her bed. “Normally I’d change your sheets, but... It’s too late. I hope you don’t mind.”

Wrapped up in sheets, blankets, and pillows that smelled like her? Fine by him. “S’fine, Rookie. Thank you.”

She grabbed more blankets from under her sofa cushion; a space for storage hiding in plain sight. She placed them at the end of her bed and then went to the sofa. “Make yourself at home,” she offered. “Night, Harry,” she yawned and settled into her pillow and blanket, nuzzling into the warmth just as he imagined, her hands tucked under her cheek.

“Night, Rookie,” he mumbled and climbed into her bed. He was practically asleep before he was fully settled.

It couldn’t have been more than a couple hours later—it was still very dark out. Her bed was warm, soft, and smelled so fucking good he thought he might sew himself into the sheets just so he never had to leave. But it was undeniably cold. Even in his hoodie and sweats.

He glanced across the room and could barely make out the shadow of his pretty crush curled into the sofa. She looked chilled and Harry felt so immensely guilty. He got out of bed, his feet nearly stinging on the cold floor. Without more thought he scooped her up. His arms looping around the back of her knees and the other around her waist. He tried to move her without jostling her too much. Her head fell toward him, pressing into his chest as he carried her back to the bed. He settled her under her sheets and blankets. He wanted nothing more than to cozy up to her, but he wasn’t going to ruin the progress he made that night. Instead, he slipped between the sheet and blanket, draped the pair of them in the other blankets.

She sighed loudly in her sleep. Like she was comfortable.

Harry didn’t think there was anyone cuter than her.

Harry woke up to her burrowed into his side. He didn’t dare move. If she wanted out, she would have to make the move. There wasn’t anything that would get Harry to remove himself from her warm body in the same bed as him. It was almost too warm, but well worth it.

“Jesus,” she whispered suddenly and scooched back in the bed. “Harry!” She hissed.

He smirked. “Good morning, Rookie,” he yawned. “Sleep well?”

“How did I get here?”

“Y’must have tucked yourself in with me,” he smiled.

She rolled her eyes, shook her head. “Shut up,” she mumbled.

“Y’jus’ looked cold,” he shrugged. “S’plenty of room.”

She sighed. “Well thanks, it was cozy,” her cheeks turned red. “Do you want something to eat?” She asked, immediately pivoting from their little late-night cuddle.

“Y’make breakfast too?”

“It’s actually my favorite meal...” she trailed off pushing the covers off. “I love going out to breakfast,” she got out of bed and grabbed a sweatshirt from her dresser. Harry sensed there was more to that, but as soon as he saw her sweatshirt, all previous thoughts left his mind.

Niall’s number and name on her body made him mad.

The words Glacier Wolves across the front in it’s hideous font was going to send him to an early grave.

“No,” he shook his head immediately. “Take it off.”

“You’re awfully bossy about my outfits, Harry,” she rolled her eyes. “It’s cold. I need a sweatshirt.”

Harry pulled the one he was wearing off. “Here.”

For a moment she eyed it. Harry couldn’t figure out her expression or the pause that lasted as she examined it. “Harry it’s like ten degrees out,” she pulled the hem down and walked toward her bathroom again.

He pouted, grumbling to himself as he put his clothing back on. “M’burning that,” he mumbled.

“I heard that!”

Harry left after breakfast. He didn’t bug her about her sweatshirt. But he did beg her to turn the heat on for a little bit. He helped her with dishes and not once did the conversation feel forced, awkward, or like there was a lull that lasted too long. He watched her take pictures of her food, then the way the light streamed in through the window, so it hit her coffee table just so. She adjusted her book to an open page and set a hot cup of tea beside it.

With a couple of snaps, Harry watched her while biting into his toast. “Can I see?” He asked.

“It’s nothing special. I just take random pictures sometimes for practice,” she explained.

He wiped his hand on his leg and held it out expectantly for the priceless equipment. It felt weird, awkward. Tentatively, she handed it to him. Not only had she captured the beauty of the early morning in her little place, she took another picture of Harry drinking tea in between bites.

He smiled. “Aw, Rookie, me?” He teased. She didn’t say anything, looked anywhere but him while her pink cheeks spoke for the emotions she was feeling. “M’not sure why but m’still really impressed,” he tabbed through the pictures she took on the little screen.

She must have faced the camera backwards because her pretty smiling face with the ice rink as back drop behind her illuminated the screen. Harry loved everything about the photo. It had her and his beloved hockey rink. “Can I have this one?” He asked.

“I was going to delete that,” she blushed. Harry frowned.

“No way, Rookie, y’look adorable. Let me have it, y’got me on your fridge.”

She looked away shyly, nodded silently. “I’ll text it to you.”

Harry was unbelievably talented and attractive. He could outthink his opponents on the ice and he was sweet enough to make sure she got home safe. Carried her to bed in the middle of the night to keep her warm.

It wasn’t fair that she couldn’t have him. Even if it was her own doing.

Around ten or so, Harry had to head out and she hated to admit it, but she really missed him almost the moment he left.

The following day she headed to practice taking pictures for the team’s social media posts. Ray and Charlie were at the center of the ice waiting for the team to file out of the locker room. She took a picture of her uncle and surrogate uncle. Then she setup for some detail shots while waiting. The score book and pen on the bench. A stick propped up behind the bench. She laid flat on the ice and got a shot of the coach’s shoes on the center of the ice.

“Hey Sweetheart!” Callie called from across the rink—first one on the ice. Ray threw a puck at him, and he shot it into the net. Charlie threw another and he pushed the puck back and forth near him. “Laying down on the job?”

She snorted, shook her head with a smile. “Come here!” He glided over and stopped in front of her without getting ice all over her and her equipment. “Put your stick flat on the ground,” she ordered. She reached out and touched the puck and pushed it in front of the slight bend at the end of his stick. “Take your helmet off, and your gloves.”

“You gonna tell me to take more of my uniform off, Sweetheart?” He teased but followed her directions.

“You wish.”

“I do wish, Sweetheart, I do.”

She shook her head while centering her view on the shot she wanted. “Don’t move.”

“Yes ma’am,” he sighed dreamily. He was enjoying her bossing him around too much and she couldn’t help but smile while she clicked the shutter taking several of the same photo.

“Okay, thank you,” she carefully maneuvered so she would flop awkwardly back on the ice. Callie immediately grabbed her camera and then took hold of her arm to help her up. Once righted, she brushed the ice off the front of her body. She was quite chilled from lying on the ground for so long. Plus her apartment was cold, naturally her car’s heater was chilly, and it felt like she never quite got out of the cold ever because of it.

“Can I see?” He said excitedly.

She turned the camera to show him. Her teeth chattered a little more than usual. Callie put an arm around her shoulders to add some warmth. He was tall and lean like most other hockey players. And undoubtedly attractive too. “You’re pushing it, Kian,” she shook her head but didn’t mind how warm he felt.

“No one calls me Kian except my mother, Sweetheart,” he reminded her. “You’re cold. Don’t read into it,” he took the camera from her and thumbed through the photos pressing the buttons beside the screen to view them. “Wow,” he murmured. “That’s so cool, Sweetheart. It looks really beautiful.”

She blushed with pride and ducked her face. “Thank you.”

“You know... I’m not sure what he did, but Kael is an idiot to lose you,” he affirmed clicking through more of the photos. “Can we take one?” He asked.

“Yeah, sure,” she turned the camera around and pointed where Callie needed to look. He squeezed around her a little tighter as she clicked the shutter. He immediately took the camera back and examined the photo. “Cute, Sweetheart,” he grinned and continued flipping through all her photos. Including the ones from her breakfast with Harry the day before. “Ooh... what’s this?” He cooed. “Did you and Styles have a sleepover?!” He gaped.

She took her camera back. “No,” she didn’t even blush. It wasn’t his business. She didn’t want Charlie to hear.

And she definitely didn’t want Harry to hear.

Harry slid onto the ice his eyes zeroing in on his teammate’s arm wrapped around her almost immediately. She felt a little awkward knowing that he seemed to be a bit territorial about her even though it wasn’t really within his right. He glowered at the puck that Charlie tossed to him, and it sailed almost immediately into the net from where he stood. “I can’t compete with him, Sweetheart,” Callie frowned. “Please tell me you don’t actually like Styles.”

“I like all of you, Kian,” she rolled her eyes, tearing her eyes away from his broody skating.

“But you like me most, right?” Asher appeared seemingly out of nowhere.

“She likes you least,” Lang said assuredly skating by just as quick. She laughed and shook her head.

“I like you all equally,” she promised.

“Bull shit, you can’t sell a twenty-way-tie!” Asher frowned.

She loved her little family away from her real one. This team made her feel more loved and appreciated than Kael ever did. It was eye-opening in so many ways. Was it just because she took pictures on the team? Would they behave this way if she was just a girlfriend? Or the coach’s niece without special treatment? She got special treatment from the other girlfriends and wives of the Glacier Wolves simply because she was Kael’s girlfriend.

At about the same time she started to feel drained by her relationship (the last six months before it ended), she overheard two of the significant others talking about her in the bathroom. While she was using the bathroom... They said Kael was an idiot to stay with her. She was a leech and nothing more. For three years she had been nothing but a good girlfriend. She attended every game, catered to Kael’s workout schedules, practice schedules. She monitored his calendar and made sure his stunning, penthouse apartment was cleaned. She hosted parties for his teammates. For three years post-graduation she didn’t take photography gigs, skipped family parties, and let her degree sit on a shelf unused to it’s full potential.

Maybe The Chargers boys were just being kind because she was the coach’s niece. Maybe her skill really was subpar. Wasn’t she really just a leech in a new way now? Her uncle got her this job and they didn’t really need her.

Kael fucked her up good. Made her feel worthless. He didn’t value her skill and made her believe she wasn’t good enough in any part of her life. “Hey Sweetheart?” Callie asked, giving her a squeeze, bringing her mind back to the present. “You good?”

She nodded. “Sorry, just daydreaming.”

“About me?!” Asher grinned. She smiled. At least for now, this family she had was sweet. She wanted to believe they valued her for her and savor it for however long she could.

While the boys practiced, she went to the locker room and tidied up, brought the dirty uniform hamper to the laundry room, and brought the clean laundry back. She took more detail shots without the boys around. It was fun to get them in the shots, like the ones she took with Callie. But ever-like puppies, it was easier to get pictures without them milling around eagerly. She took some really nice shots of their locker space. With the right lighting, it would look like they were ready for battle—she could see it in her head, and she couldn’t wait to get the shots of their numbers alongside equipment on her computer to play with the settings.

But after about an hour of that, she ran out of things to do. She sauntered back to the rink and watched from the bench. Ray and Charlie stood at the center dictating where they should go and what to do next. It was mesmerizing. The beauty and graceful agility these tall, lean, padded men exuded was incredible.

“Take a picture it will last longer!”

The team burst into laughter as Callie called out to her. She shook her head but certainly did just that.

“Hey Sweetheart,” Niall grinned coming over during another break. “Heard you had Harry over. Hope he wasn’t too much trouble.”

She smiled. “No, he was good,” she assured him. “It was nice he followed me home. To make sure I was safe.”

“Yeah, he’s decent like that. His sister Gemma made him a real gentleman,” he agreed. “He didn’t like you wearing my jersey,” he told her.

“I’m well aware.”

“I won’t say no if you wear it again.”

She laughed. “Will do.”

“Want to make him madder taking a picture?”

“Maybe tomorrow, Kian made him pretty mad today with that one already.”

“Who?” Niall furrowed his eyebrows. She shook her head and silently laughed. “Is that what the silent treatment was for?” Niall asked with a laugh and skated off to rejoin his team.

At the end of practice, she took shots of them leaving the ice, the empty net. In her head she had a series of photos. The sequence of a hockey game and maybe she would put it into motion one day. She sat on the bench looking at her camera screen and sifted through some of the multiples she didn’t need.

“Hey Rookie,” Harry said softly.

She looked up and smiled. “Hi, Harry.”

Dangling from his fingers were a pair of figure skates. All white, pink guards, pink anterior cushioning, and pink laces.

“I got you these.”

She blinked. “Why?”

“To practice.”

“Harry, I cannot accept that. I know how much ice skates cost. Those have to be close to 400 dollars.”

He shrugged. “That’s what a good pair cost.”

“Harry, I can’t even stand on the ice. Return them. I’m not taking a 400-dollar pair to ruin because I can’t even stand still while wearing them... And they’re practically giving me blisters from just looking at them. I don’t have the right socks..." Harry looked disappointed and he frowned. "But... that... that was very sweet of you,” she added. Because she hadn’t said thank you yet, and it was sweet. It was extremely thoughtful of him. “Thank you,” she added gratefully. “That was so nice of you.”

“Do you like Callie?” He blurted.

“Do you think I’m in love with every man I meet?” She countered.

“You two looked cozy,” he mumbled.

“I was cold,” she admitted. “He offered his jersey, but I didn’t want a repeat of the other night,” she quipped. Harry smirked and looked away from her. “I’m not dating hockey players, remember?” She grabbed her camera and bag ready to leave the rink.

“Yeah...” he sighed, rubbed the back of his head. “I know, Rookie.”

There was a knock on her door later that evening. She assumed it was Michael asking if she had baked anything after feeling a bit on the munchier side of life. It probably wasn’t Marc because he had a date with the hockey lover. But maybe it was an early night for them, so who knew.

Instead, Harry was there. A pair of skates dangling from his fingers once more. The guards were still pink, there were scuffs on the toes and heels. The interior was cushioning was a light brown. “They’re a good brand. Used, so they didn’t cost a lot. But full disclosure, they were the most expensive used pair I could find because m’not gonna let y’skirt on the quality because of the cost. They won’t hurt your feet with blisters being brand new.”

Harry, with used ice skates, was the last person she expected to see. There was a tug in her chest where her heart would have melted for Kael to do something as kind as that. But she couldn’t fall in love with Harry. It was just a bad idea. He was a celebrity. There were millions of women he could choose from.

“Have you had it with dragging me around the ice or something?” She asked.

He chuckled and shook his head. “No, but... I want t’help you, Rookie. Y’should know how t’skate. Think of the pictures y’could take even if y’jus’ learn t’skate a little,” he shrugged.

That tug in her chest felt an awful lot like Harry worming his way into the center of her universe. But she didn’t want to do that again. Not really. She didn’t want to dote on Harry the way she did only for it to backfire on her. She still had a lot of time, but she felt behind. Kael made it so she didn’t have tons of money. She ‘didn’t have to worry about it’ because he made plenty. But it wasn’t about money. It was about her independence and now she felt like she literally paid the price. “I got y’some socks too,” Harry added.

Goddammit.

She was going to fall in love with him.

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