thank you guys so much for 250 followers! it means the absolute world to see so many people enjoy my writing, whether it be through likes, reblogs, comments, ect. as a treat and overall thank you, i have decided to do a follower special. it's pretty self-explanatory, all you have to do is choose one prompt from any of the lists below, as well as a player. i will be taking requests for this special from 21st may to the 31st of may 10th june :)
smut prompt list 1
smut prompt list 2
smut prompt list 3
or…
fluff prompt list 1
fluff prompt list 2
fluff prompt list 3
the players! (the names that are crossed out already have several requests in my inbox!)
thomas harley
jason robertson
wyatt johnston
mikko rantanen
justin hryckowian
mavrik bourque
lian bichsel
logan cooley
sean durzi
macklin celebrini
will smith
michael kesselring
ukko-pekka luukkonen
jack quinn
fraser minten
sidney crosby
nathan mackinnon
connor mcdavid
cale makar
brad marchand (tired of pretending bro isnt hot)
rasmus dahlin
nick schmaltz
or...
luka doncic
jared mccain
anthony edwards
victor wembanyama
rui hachimura
tyrese haliburton
jj redick (i know he doesnt play anymore but he's fine asf i couldnt resist)
austin reaves
jalen brunson
josh hunt
example request
"can i get smut prompt 7 from list 1 with _?" or "can i get the fluff prompt: zipping or buttoning their jacket for them from list 3 with _?"
requests here!
ukko-pekka luukkonen smut
fraser minten smut
macklin celebrini fluff
victor wembanyama smut
willmack smut
will smith smut
sean durzi smut
will smith smut
nathan mackinnon fluff
sidney crosby smut
michael kesselring smut
justin hryckowian fluff
thomas harley smut
logan cooley smut
brad marchand smut
again, thank you guys so much, it truly means so much to me how interactive everyone is, i love my moots and everyone else i have interacted with, i'd love to do it more! ♥️
sidcros or brad marchand + car sex. like you keep riling him up all night. and he wants to take you home and give it to you. but you keep it up in the car and he just has to pull over and fog the windows up HOTTT
brad marchand + smut prompt nine (0.9k words)
brat4brat, also it’s really the both of you riling each other up, public sex?, teasing (bro thinks he’s funny), very brief mention of a foot/heel fetish (hear me out okay? 😭), size kink, belly bulging
The interior of the car feels like you're swallowing glass.
Hot, condensation clouds the windows, encapsulating you inside. No one can see in; you can hardly see out. The blinkers press into your back; they make that rhythmical sound that pierces the warmth. Brad sits beneath you with the smuggest grin and spread legs. The cat with the cream, a king among peasants. His crown tilts the more weight you force down onto him.
You didn’t think your brilliant plan would end up with you here, expanded over his lap, slowly grinding into his bulge at his pace. He’s always been annoying, probably the most annoying person you’ve ever met, but that's why you love him. Others don't; in fact, they often despise him. It's provocative to all except you; that’s the worst part of it. It’s hardly you he annoys. Unless he’s horny, or something along those lines. Then you become the apple of his mischievous eye that he can’t help but bite down on.
You wanted to try it and get back at him by doing what he does to you each day. Dinner was supposed to be your first attempt. You dressed up nice. Too nice. The dress was one size smaller than you usually wore. Bought with his money, not that he cared. The straps were thin, barely able to hold your braless tits. Yes, braless. Your Hail Mary, the one thing that would always work if everything else fell short. Then it was the heels.
The red-bottom stilettos that cost more than the first-ever down payment you put down on your first car. Christian Louboutins. Brad called them "Louies". They had to be his favourite of what you wore; most nights you did wear them, and you ended up having them on all night when he had you in bed.
He spent half of the evening in the restaurant, restless. He wouldn’t sit still, not even when the sommelier was busy pouring large glasses of Sauvignon Blanc. You let him shift around, eyes watching over your glass as he cracked his knuckles three times within thirty seconds. How cruel you were, doing this to him. He leant in and whispered it over beef Wellingtons. Glaring with pointed eyes as you smirked. At some point you raised a leg and pressed the toe of your heel into his crotch. He chokes on his drink; customers from other tables turn to look, but he brushes them off with flushed cheeks.
“Quit it," he implores, but uses the palm of his hand to push your shoe further into his pants. You feel it as he turns hard, twitching under your foot. You spend the rest of the night like that, and he manages to hold himself together when scratching a pen over the cheque.
But now you’re really done for, legs looped over the leather seat of the driver's side. He's under you, self-satisfied like the way you see him all the time.
“You’re not very nice to me, eh?” Far nicer than he deserves, but of course he doesn’t realise it. You grate down onto his length again, shivering as it shoots waves of pleasure up your brain.
“Do you really want me to be nice?” You push down harder and nip at his jaw until he’s coaxed into unbuckling and pulling down his slacks. “Are you sure you deserve it?”
He laughs into the crown of your hair, aiding you in tugging down your underwear with prying hands. The moment you're guided onto his length, it’s like a gust of wind passes over you. All the thoughts rush to your mind at once, but most of them remain unanswered. How did you get here? When did he pull over and pull you onto him? You know why it happened at first, but why did you do it? Was it worth it?
He’s a lot bigger than you, far stronger. You’re caged into the steering wheel, back pressed up against the horn; one wrong move and it’s making that ear-piercing sound. In width it’s like he’s a brick wall, plains of muscle and power engraved into his flesh, leaving mounds to run your hands over. It’s hidden behind the cruel disguise of his white shirt; you want to bite the buttons off with your teeth. None of it compares to how big he is inside of you when your legs begin to ache with how long they've been in this awkward position.
“Look, look at that.”
You do and nearly pass out at the sight. His cock bulges through the skin of your stomach, poking out with each thrust. It would seem like it’s painful, but nothing feels better than right now. His hand presses into the protrusion, and you fall into his arms. The shape of him is unequivocal; not even you can deny the truth.
“That’s all me inside you, yeah?” He pulls out a few inches and then thrusts up fast. "Does that feel nice?”
He moves faster now, leaving no time for you to brace for it, hips snapping up with erratically controlled speed. You're crying into his skin now, beads of pleasured tears dampening his skin. When he comes, it happens only seconds after you; every pulse feels like energy falling away, exposing the hollow shell of hunger. Brad stays buried in you for a few minutes, twitching and shaking whenever you involuntarily squeeze down.
hihi! I came upon your account and saw your 250 follower special. congratssss 🥹!! Can I get smut prompt 16 from list 2 with Logan Cooley?
logan cooley + smut prompt sixteen (0.7k words)
reminds me of when knies asked him what spf he uses and he said “sunscreen”
honestly not really that smutty :( like it couldve been nastier but i kept it simple, dry-humping, heavy petting?
It was a quiet day by the poolside. Empty for all except you and the needy boy trapped on the lounge chair to the left. The warm water laps over the stone edge; it takes only a few minutes to dry into the rock as the sun is staunch in its ability to heat the area. You lie sideways on a towel in the grass, knees hiked up to rest your feet under them. A pair of soft pink sunglasses sits over your nose, and a flax beach hat is halfway off your head. You're too sleepy to fix it; the sun is too powerful to even urge a single movement.
Logan’s been growing more and more restless by the second.
That cheeky thin bikini you slipped on was really doing a number on him; a bulge strained in his swim shorts. At first he started making these sighing sounds like a neglected puppy. When that didn’t faze you, he moved on to more physical attempts, poking your stomach until you swatted him away and fiddling with the delicate strings that hold your nylon blend bikini together. You complained at that point and assumed he got the memo. How wrong you were.
“Sunscreen. You need sunscreen," he breathes, like the words alone took the life out of him. You could use a refresher; it’s been a few hours since you last lathered your half-naked body up with the greasy salve.
“You do it for me then," you mumble, turning over to lie on your front. He makes a bewildered noise; you hide your smirk in between your folded arms. The sunscreen in question sits by your beach bag, cap open, lotion melting in the reflection of the sun coming from the water. He moves slowly as if your words weren’t intended for him. Like a prey animal sneaking around a predator, Logan reaches for the small thing and stares. Pretty blue eyes that have dilated double in size flick back and forth between you and the oily bottle.
A faint touch to your spine. You feel it, just barely. His fingers glide down the skin that protects the bones that keep you upright, levelling over the fabric of your swimsuit. He’s breathing heavily; you can feel the warm currents seep out and hover over your skin. Goosebumps rise in the wake of his touch; you arch your back upwards just a smidge to keep his hands on you. He whines again, this time deeper and more telling. Carefully, he shuffles closer to you until he’s able to pull one leg over your waist. Straddling your waist now, he rotates his hands over your bare shoulders, squeezing the skin there as it ripples under his touch. You snort, and he shushes you seconds after. You can feel the way his bulge presses into the small of your back. He’s hard, and not without reason.
“Please,” you hear whispered behind you; it’s enough to get you to move.
“What, baby? What do you want?”
"You," he confesses, cheeks blushed a bright red. Both from the heat of the sun and the way your skin looks as he touches it. “Please.”
You lift yourself up and turn to lie on your back again, legs slipping open and over him as he crawls closer to lie between you. His chest rests vertically against yours, the plains of his chest rubbing up against your tits as he grinds into you gradually. You let him suffer for a moment, hips bumping awkwardly into yours as he tries to get himself off in his tightened swim shorts.
He’s moaning into your neck now, mouth opening and closing around the sweat-dampened skin of your collarbone. His teeth graze over, and you nearly push him off, but he just pushes you further into the towel and ground.
“Oh god,” his hips turn erratic, “I’m going to cum, please—”
He can’t even finish the stuttered string of words before he finishes himself. His movements become spasmodic and shy as the light fabric of his shorts turns darker in colour. Logan curses again into your skin after coming to an almost complete halt. The previously heightened pleasure that was pooling in your gut disperses as he stops; irritation replaces the warmth. You can’t bring yourself to be honestly mad, though; after all, you still have enough time left in the day to get your lick back.
hiiii congrats on now 300 followers! i would love smut prompt 13 on list 2 with either harley or wyatt (your choice!!). tysm 💞
thomas harley + smut prompt thirteen (0.8k words)
boy who runs warm 🤝 girly who runs cold
pnv unprotected, fire analogies, most annoying and cheeky bf ever eye roll
It was bound to happen.
The weather was anticipated to turn bad hours ago; it was your fault you were so overconfident. All flights out of the town were grounded. The roads were closed, and the pavement was milled over with so much snow and ice you could slip over by taking one step out the door. Now you couldn’t even make it out the door. The snow is close to reaching the handle at this point; the lock is likely frozen shut. You mentally commend your genetic ancestors for discovering and harnessing fire, because without it you surely would’ve frozen to death.
And of course, Thomas is fine.
He’s hardly said a word since you got to the rented cottage; he just watched. Watched with those slow-blinking eyes, spectating you like it was funny, like your frustration was the most amusing thing there was to do. That only ended up with you growing more annoyed, less at the snow entrapment and more at your oh-so-quiet boyfriend who sits awfully content on the sofa. He doesn’t even seem fazed when you step around the couch to tower over him.
“What’s wrong?” he asks with his arms crossed over his chest. The woolly sweater he has on nearly breaks you, but you stay strong.
“How are you fine right now? It’s freezing.”
He nods in agreement, your statement just serving as a way to contract noise in the space. You grumble and fall down onto the cushion besides him. His arm folds from his chest and coils around your shoulders, tucking you nicely into him and the crevice of the seat. It’s then that you understand why he’s so zen. He’s warm. Skin tepid with natural heat that wafts off of him like the fire stoking in the place in front of you. You crawl deeper into him, hands slipping under the edge of his sweater and splaying across the firm plains of muscle where his stomach is. How rude is that? He’s been withholding his own body heat from you this whole time. Instead of sharing it with you, he’s been watching you struggle like it’s his favourite movie.
“I hate you," you lie, burrowing into his chest while swinging a leg over his lap until you fit right into him like a puzzle piece. He scoffs, tucking a hand between your thigh and his.
“Liar. You love me.”
“Barely.” No, entirely. He just doesn’t need to know how much. You pick at the pilling of his sweater; he rubs his hand down your shoulder in slow currents. It’s quiet for a moment, but then he pokes his finger into the fat of your thigh hard enough to make you squeal.
"Quit," you glower, kissing him once on the scruffy skin of his chin. You kiss him again in the corner of his mouth, and then again, and again, until you're wrapped up in one another and can’t even remember what he did to annoy you. It happens lazily. At a natural speed, you don’t even realise your top is peeled off until you feel his hands reaching for the clasp of your bra. Despite how cold the weather has turned outside, the space between you is warm. The fire blazes; wispy flames dance in the blackened space, and wood crisps up and leaves an orange glow through the room. Tom is cosier than any flame, though. He ignites the distance that’s inevitable and pulls you in like it’s the easiest thing he can do.
"Tom," you whisper into his mouth; he bites at your skin until it stings. “Keep me warm." He will; you don’t even need to ask because you know it’s the one thing he’ll always do, “Safe.”
Every mark he presses into your skin burns with that aching need for something more. He dips his head lower until it can rest freely on your collarbone; auburn curls graze over your bitten flesh. There’s reason in his hands, and it finds purpose by swirling deep flourishes over your clit until you're shaking. There’s habit in the way he doesn’t stop no matter how badly you try to buck away, because he knows.
His cock pushes into you slow, every ridge and vein gliding over your spongy walls until he’s at the hilt. He still doesn’t say much, but his breathing pattern grows uneven the more your hips move over him. His hands don’t stop moving all over you, down your back, over your waist, through your hair. It’s never-ending and overrides all of your senses until all you can focus on is him.
Your pelvis grinds down on him until it leaves that sticky sweaty residue on his inner thighs. It’s gross and makes a crude sound each time you bound down onto him, all squelchy and wet. His cheeks heat up, bright red over his nose. You guide his head to rest on your sternum by his hair; he lets it happen.
“Oh—” You don’t let him finish the muddled train of sounds. You tug at his dampened tresses hard enough to release a pained noise.
It’s hot. Sweat beads on your temple as your movements turn sloppy. The fire burns brighter, literally or figuratively; you don’t know. There’s not much room left in your resolve to be caring about the fire behind you; all of it’s on the one in you.
can i get prompt 1 from fluff list 1 with justin hryckowian 💞
justin hryckowian + fluff blurb (0.8k words)
food for the 4 justin hryckowian fans (me) in the rpf realm, but i actually really like this one lmao
fluffyyyy, brothers bff, diverges from the prompt a little bit, mention of some steamy times
On a scale of one to ten, how annoyed were you? One being not that bothered by it at all and ten being completely fucking frustrated.
Probably a ten. Or even a fourteen.
Mavrik’s been irritating you all day. Not like a typical older-brother-annoying way. Today it’s much worse. Much more focused. Like he has a purpose finally, other than hockey. You thought you’d never see the day he excels in something other than shooting pucks into nets; it just sucks that the one other thing he’s good at is pestering you.
“Would you fuck off? Please? Kindly?”
He just laughs and sticks his tongue out at you when your back is turned. You’re busy making lunch, some protein-filled heap of meat and vegetables that he’ll eat no matter what just because you made it. It’s a late lunch; he didn’t come back home till after the time anyone would think was suitable. Justin came with him, and since then he hasn’t stopped watching you. Eyes flicking back and forth between yours and your hands on a chopping board, or over the stove. Your brother hasn’t noticed yet, which is dangerous, because you know the moment he does, Justin is screwed. Literally? Metaphorically? Either way his pretty little head will soon be on a spike.
Mavrik doesn’t know. You’ve managed to keep it a secret for this long, but if your boyfriend doesn’t quit looking at you like you hung the moon, he’ll soon discover the secret. The secret. The hidden truth. The one thing you weren’t supposed to do as per his protective brotherly rules. He didn’t want you anywhere near his teammates, at any stage of his hockey career, but sometimes things don’t always turn out the way you want. God, he’ll kill you and Justin and then maybe himself if he ever finds out. He nearly has found out, several times. Once you had to hide Justin in your closet with his jeans halfway down his thighs, with kiss-bitten lips. It was stupid, but so thrilling at the same time.
Something slimy hits the back of your neck, and you squeal. Turning suddenly, you glower at the only suspect, and he bellows out a laugh. His hand points at Justin besides him, who sits there with a blank face.
“It was him!”
"No, it wasn't," you press, but look questionably at the supposed suspect. He shakes his head, soft curls brushing over his forehead as he raises his hands in protest.
“No? It wasn’t me, baby—”
Oh, he’s really done it now.
Mavrik stops laughing. Your heart plummets to your ass, and Justin just blinks with wide eyes. “What did you say?” he asks, turning on the stool to face a shell-shocked Justin. The food on the stove bubbles over; steam pours into the air as it burns. None of you move, none of you breathe.
"'Baby', you know? Like, you're being a baby. Childish.” he tries, but Mavrik just gapes at him. It’s so beyond silent in the kitchen now. You can hear everything from the television playing in the unit over to your heart beating in your chest. Then, Mavrik moves. You squint your eyes in preparation, but he doesn’t move aggressively like you thought. Instead, he turns and steps off the chair. You both watch silently as he walks to his bedroom and breathe out when the door shuts behind him.
“Are you crazy?” you question, cheeks hot enough to rival the surface of the sun. Justin whines lowly with glossy eyes, like a kicked puppy. It would be endearing if not for his previous fuck-up.
“I’m sorry, okay? I wasn’t thinking.”
You feel bad, just for a moment. The way his face pales into a saddened, pleading expression. But then before you can even think about comforting him, Mavrik marches back through the room, and you both freeze up again. He walks past the kitchen counter. “We are going for a run,” he says, nodding towards the shaking leaf of a boy. “Forget lunch. We need to talk.”
Before anyone can protest, the front door slams behind him. Justin moves at an exhilarated speed, slipping his shoes on clumsily. Just as he’s about to travel out the door with your brother, he runs up to you and wraps his arms around you. You gasp into the hug, hands at your sides, until he whimpers again. They circle around his waist, digging into the cotton fabric of his shirt.
“Don’t forget about me, okay?” he mumbles into your hair, pressing a long kiss to the crown of your head. “I want roses at my funeral."
You laugh into his chest, tilting your head up to mouth at his jaw, “He’s not going to kill you.”
“You don’t know that. If I don’t make it back, just know I loved you.” The hug lasts longer than it should've. Mavrik will bound his way back into the house again soon with murder in his eyes if he doesn’t hurry up. You lean up further to take his lips into yours. The kiss is slow and time-wasting. Worth it though, even if your boyfriend comes back a different, more terrified man.
congrats on 250!!! could u do prompt n6 from smut list 2 with michael kesselring 🩷
michael kesselring + smut prompt six (0.6k words)
mutual masturbation, almost subby kess, word vomit about stupid shit like the universe i really need to stfu sometimes
“Show me, show me how you touch yourself when you think about me.”
He whispered the words, the most quiet he’s ever been, but it still sounded so loud. Somehow you heard the words through the loud beating of your heart; somehow he heard it too, cheeks blushing a dark red. His knee brushes over yours in the small confined space; he shifts closer to rest it there entirely.
Your legs are spread apart just enough to reveal your cunt, fluttering with want. He mirrors you, sock-covered feet just shy of the outsides of your bare thighs. It’s cramped; he’s too lanky to ever be this small, but somehow it just works. Your back is angled to rest up against the door; the wood centres you to the earth, and you’re not sure how stable you'd be without it. Michael keeps you steady too, his swarming presence, his smell, his eyes as they trace over your half-naked form.
You feel peeled back. Like the casing of an orange, the fresh fruit lay bare and awaiting for him to devour. He observes you as such, a darkened gaze scanning over the most intimate. His cock sits heavy in his hand, but it feels less repulsive as it would be in any other scenario. Instead of some offputting display of male pleasure and control, it’s a collision of devotion. Like two galaxies merging into one, stars form and thrive as it happens.
Typically that takes hundreds of billions of years to happen; fortunately for you, Michael’s only been your boyfriend for a year, and you’re already fused together like Earth and Theia.
A sound leaves his agape mouth. A wrinkle of hunger, it takes over his senses like adrenaline. Your speed picks up, fingers grinding over your clit until you can’t stop shaking. He slicks his hand down at a pace you can’t quite keep up with, callouses catching bulbous veins until those noises start pouring out of him uncontrollably.
Suddenly you stop, hand stilling at your quivering flesh as he chokes. But he stops too, the both of you unmoving now as you peer into each other's eyes. Michael’s expression scrunches up in disappointment; he’s clearly unnerved at the abrupt ending of euphoria. You smirk, small and hardly noticeable.
He notices.
“Why’d you stop?”
“Why’d you?”
He grumbles and tries to start jerking off again, but you kick the corner of his thigh. His eyebrows string together, bottom lip jutting out in some childish way of showing contempt. You like teasing him, pulling at the strings that bind his restraint together until they start to fray and snap. The end result is always worth it, even if afterwards you’re unable to walk properly for a couple days.
You start moving again, hand slipping down low enough to slide a finger in. He mumbles something incoherent, but you’re sure it was something along the lines of desperation and greed. The pleasure blinds you for a brief second, eyes fluttering to the back of your head as you tilt it back against the wooden door.
He flicks the edge of his foot against your thigh in protest; he always needs your eyes on him to finish. He must be close then; his strangled pace grows ragged as he exhales with deep bursts. You’re close too, that verge of desire only moments away. You’ve taunted him with the brink of release enough today; it’s been over an hour since you first sat down across from him. It's only fair to give him what he wants. He’s been good today anyway; he hasn’t tried anything else you’d deem punishment worthy.
He finishes with viscous spools of cum that hit the margin of your shin, coating the skin with a sheen of eroticism. It’s gross, honestly; maybe you’ll convince him to clean it up later with his tongue. You come only seconds after, hips shifting erratically as that bundle of nerves is urged out of its confinements. Your eyes lock with his once more and his cheeks hollow out.
He looks spent, weariness washing over him as his eyes close slowly. You could always go a little longer, so that means he can too.
