ā”; maya. 23. she/her. paris based ā§
ā”; formula 1, football & hockey own my heart (probably a little too much)
ā”;dms are always open !! feel free to talk to me about anything <3
ā”; english is not my first language, so there might be grammatical mistakes here and there (feel free to correct me, but please be kind) ā”
ā”; psychology major
ā”; this blog is meant to be a safe and comfortable space for everyone
ā”; this is my only blog!! (there have been fake ones imitating me, so if you see one of those that is not me)
masterlist
who i write for
macklin celebrini, will smith, beckett sennecke, fraser minten, sidney crosby, connor bedard, the hughes brothers, fraser minten, juraj slafkovsky, arber xhekaj, leo carlsson, william eklund, ryan leonard, ben kindel, nathan mackinnon, matt rempe, lukas reichel, gavin mckenna, michael misa, sam dickinson, the off campus boys, lando norris, joe burrow, fernando mendoza
I read your NHL Players React fics like 10 times now and I finally wanted to request one myself and I was thinking something about you getting into an argument and wanting to sleep on the couch
NHL Players React
description: How different players would react to you wanting to sleep on the couch after getting into an argument with them.
The silence in the living room is thick and heavy after your argument, each word you both threw at eachother still hanging in the air. Macklin is standing by the window, his back to you, running a hand through his already messy hair.
His shoulders are slumped, the usual confident energy completely gone, replaced by a defeated posture that makes your chest ache despite your anger. You turn away from him, your movements stiff as you walk to the spare closet and pull out a blanket and a pillow.
"What are you doing?" he asks, his voice small and unsure, cracking slightly on the last word.
You don't look at him as you arrange the items on the couch, plumping the pillow with more force than necessary. "I'm sleeping out here tonight."
The words land like a physical blow and you hear his sharp intake of breath. When you risk a glance at him, his face has completely crumpled. The fight drains out of him instantly, replaced by a raw, wounded look that makes him look years younger.
"No. Please, don't." He crosses the room in three quick strides, his hand gently but insistently catching your arm. "Don't sleep on the couch. Please." His eyes are wide and glassy, filled with a desperate, panicked plea.
"I know I was an idiot. I'm sorry. I'm so, so sorry." He pulls you into a hug, burying his face in your hair and you can feel the tremor running through his body. "I can't... I can't sleep without you. The bed will be so cold and empty. I'll just lay there for hours thinking about how I made you mad enough to leave our bed, how I fucked up." He's practically vibrating with distress, his voice thick with unshed tears.
"Please come back to bed. We don't have to talk, you don't even have to look at me. Just... please don't leave me alone out here. I hate this. I hate that I made you feel like you needed to get away from me."
Connor Bedard
You're in the middle of the bedroom, yanking a pair of sweats out of a drawer, when Connor speaks from the doorway. He's been watching you, his expression unreadable and carefully blank, a stark contrast to the heated words exchanged moments ago.
"Where are you going?"
"The couch," you say, your voice clipped and sharp as you pull on the sweatpants. "I need some space."
He flinches like you've slapped him. He just stands there for a moment, looking utterly lost, his usual awkwardness amplified by the emotional weight of the moment.
"The couch?" he repeats softly, his voice barely a whisper. "But... why?" He takes a hesitant step into the room, his hands shoved deep into his pockets. "Is it... is it because of what I said? I'm sorry. I didn't mean it. Not like that."
He looks down at his feet, then back up at you, his blue eyes filled with a painful vulnerability that's impossible to ignore. "I don't want you to sleep on the couch. It feels... final. Like you're giving up on me. On us."
He swallows hard, his Adam's apple bobbing in his throat. "Can't we just... can't we just lie down? I'll be quiet. I won't touch you if you don't want me to. I just... I can't stand the thought of you out there alone while I'm in here. It feels wrong. It feels like I'm being punished and I know I deserve it, but I don't want you to be uncomfortable."
He looks so genuinely heartbroken and out of his depth that your resolve wavers. "Please," he adds, so quietly you almost miss it. "Stay with me. We'll figure it out in the morning. Just... don't go."
Quinn Hughes
The argument hangs in the air, sharp and unresolved, the echoes of your raised voices seeming to bounce off the walls. You turn your back on Quinn, who's standing rigidly by the window, his knuckles white where he grips the frame.
You head for the door, your movements stiff with unresolved anger. "I'm sleeping on the couch," you announce, your voice cold and final.
He doesn't move. He doesn't say anything for a long, tense moment. He just stares out the window into the darkness, his jaw clenched tight. The silence is more unnerving than any further argument would be. When he finally speaks, his voice is low and flat, devoid of emotion. "Don't."
You stop, your hand on the doorknob. "Don't what?"
"Don't sleep on the couch," he says, finally turning to face you. His eyes are dark, stormy, and filled with a deep, simmering pain that's more unsettling than any outburst would be.
"We're not doing that. We don't run away from problems in this house." He walks toward you slowly, his movements slow and heavy. "I'm angry. You're angry. Fine. But we go to bed angry. Together."
He stops in front of you, his gaze intense and unwavering. "I'm not letting you hide from me. And I'm not letting myself hide from you. We're a team. We face this, even if it's uncomfortable. Even if we're just lying there, not speaking. We're doing it in our bed."
It's not a request, it's a quiet command, born from a place of deep-seated fear that this distance between you will become permanent. "Come to bed," he says, his voice softening just a fraction, the first crack in his armor. "Please. Don't let this fight be bigger than us."
Fraser Minten
Tears are stinging your eyes, blurring your vision as you angrily grab a pillow from the bed. Fraser is sitting on the edge of the mattress, his head in his hands. He looks up when he hears you moving, his expression a mixture of hurt, confusion and dawning horror.
"What are you doing?" he asks softly.
"Sleeping on the couch," you mumble, not wanting to meet his gaze, ashamed that you've both let it get this far.
He's on his feet in an instant, crossing the room to you in a few long strides. He doesn't try to stop you with angry words or demands. Instead, he gently takes the pillow from your hands and sets it back on the bed. He takes your hands in his, his touch warm and careful, grounding you.
"Hey," he says quietly, his voice gentle and full of sorrow. "Look at me."
When you finally lift your head, his eyes are full of regret. "I'm so sorry. I hate that we fought. I hate that I hurt you. I hate seeing you cry, especially knowing I'm the cause." He brings one of your hands to his lips, pressing a soft, lingering kiss to your knuckles.
"Please don't sleep on the couch. The thought of you out there, alone and upset because of me... it's breaking my heart." He pulls you into a gentle hug, his chin resting on top of your head as he strokes your back. "I know you're mad and you have every right to be. But can we please just go back to bed? I promise I'll give you all the space you need. I'll sleep on the floor if that's what you want. I just need to know you're okay. I need to know you're with me."
He holds you tighter, his voice a fragile whisper against your hair. "I love you. Please don't leave me. We can fix this."
Will Smith
The argument ends with you throwing your hands up in frustration, a final, angry "Fine!" hanging in the air. "That's it, I'm done," you declare, your voice trembling slightly as you turn and storm out of the bedroom. You head straight for the couch, grabbing a throw pillow and hugging it to your chest as you sit down, your back to the rest of the room.
The silence that follows is heavy, broken only by the sound of his quiet footsteps. You expect him to say something, to argue more, but he doesn't. He just stands there for a moment and you can feel his eyes on you. When he finally speaks, his voice is soft and thick with an emotion you can't quite place.
"Don't go."
You don't turn around. "I'm not going anywhere, Will. I'm just sleeping out here tonight."
"Out here isn't our bed," he says, his voice barely a whisper. He takes a hesitant step closer. "Please... just come back to bed. We don't have to talk. I just... I can't sleep without you there. It feels wrong."
His quiet vulnerability makes your chest ache, but the anger is still too fresh. "I can't be in there right now."
He's quiet again and you hear the rustle of fabric as he sits down on the edge of the armchair nearby. "Okay," he says, his voice cracking slightly. "Okay. But... don't sleep on the couch." He takes a shaky breath. "You take the bed. I'll sleep out here. It's fine. I'd rather it be me out here than you. I don't want you to be uncomfortable. I don't... I don't want you to leave."
You finally turn to look at him and the sight of him makes your breath catch. He's sitting on the very edge of the armchair, his elbows on his knees, his head in his hands. He looks completely broken, his broad shoulders slumped in defeat. When he lifts his head, his eyes are red-rimmed and filled with a raw, pleading sorrow.
"I was an asshole," he says, his voice thick with unshed tears. "I'm so sorry. The thought of you out here alone because of something I said... it's killing me. Please, just... let me be the one on the couch. Let me be the one who's uncomfortable. I deserve it. Just... don't leave our bed. Don't leave me."
a/n: this is a scheduled post! š¤ if you've messaged me recently/asked me something in my inbox, please don't be surprised if I haven't replied yet. I'll answer as soon as I can!
The arena buzzes with energy as you settle into your seat, pulling Will's jersey tighter around you. The number 2 stretches across your chest, a proud declaration of who you're here to support.
A stranger slides into the seat beside you, offering a friendly nod that you return with a small smile.
"Big fan?" he asks, gesturing to your jersey.
"The biggest," you reply, turning your attention back to the ice where Will is warming up.
Throughout first period you exchange casual comments about the game. The stranger knows his hockey and you find yourself enjoying the conversation. During intermission, you're laughing at something he said when the crowd suddenly roars.
"Looks like we're famous," he says, nudging you slightly.
Confused, you glance up at the jumbotron and freeze. There you are, larger than life, with a heart-shaped frame around your faces. The words "KISS CAM" flash beneath. You shake your head frantically, pointing at Will's name on your jersey.
"I'm with him," you mouth, but the stranger leans in anyway. You recoil just in time, his lips grazing your cheek as you turn away. Anger flashes through you.
"Hey..." you start, but a sharp bang against the glass interrupts you.
Will stands just behind the barrier, his stick slammed against it. His expression is murderous, eyes locked on the guy beside you. Even from here, you can see the tension in his jaw, the way his shoulders have squared with rage. He's never looked this angry before.
"Get the fuck away from her!" he yells, his voice distorted by the glass but the fury is unmistakable, making the man beside you shrink back in his seat.
The second period begins with Will playing differently, More aggressive, less controlled. He takes a penalty for roughing, which is so unlike him because he always keeps his cool on the ice. But tonight, he gets into a scuffle near the boards, shoving a player twice his size before the refs separate them. Your stomach twists with guilt.
Halfway through third period, a player from the opposing team slams Will into the boards, a clean but hard hit and Will just snaps. He drops his gloves and throws himself at the guy, a whirlwind of flailing fists and pure rage. Itās a clumsy, desperate fight and the refs are on them in an instant, pulling a blood-lipped, heaving Will away and sending him straight to the penalty box.
Your heart hammers against your ribs, a sick feeling of dread washing over you. This is your fault. Will never fights. Never.
After the game, you wait near the players' entrance as instructed. When Will emerges, his anger is palpable even through his exhaustion. He pulls you into a tight hug, scanning your face.
"Are you okay? Did he hurt you?" His voice is low, intense.
"No, I'm fine. Will, I'm so sorry..."
"Not your fault," he cuts in, his eyes darkening. "I'm going to find out who that guy is. He won't be allowed back here again. Nobody touches a woman without her permission. Especially not my woman."
The car ride home is heavy with silence. Will stares out the window, jaw clenched, lost in his thoughts. You reach over to rest your hand on his thigh, but he doesn't seem to notice.
At home, he remains distant as you both shower and change. You find him sitting on the edge of the bed, staring at the floor. You approach slowly, wrapping your arms around his shoulders from behind.
"Will? Talk to me."
He doesn't turn at first, just stares at the wall, his knuckles white where he grips the edge of the bed. You can see the muscle working in his jaw. When he finally speaks, his voice is rough.
"I can't... I can't stop seeing it." He finally turns to look at you and his eyes are dark with a pain that makes your chest ache. "The way he looked at you. The way he touched you. You looked so... so uncomfortable." His gaze drops to your lips, then back to your eyes. "It's burned in my head. Him trying to kiss you. His hands on you."
He stands up, running a hand through his hair in agitation. "God, it makes me sick. I want to erase it. I want to erase his touch from your memory, from your skin." He stops in front of you, sinking to his knees so he's looking up at you. His hands hover over your thighs, not quite touching, like he's afraid to.
"Please," he whispers and the sound is so broken it's almost a sob. "Let me. Let me erase it. Show you that you're mine. That I would never... I would never make you feel like that for a second. I love you so much. I love you so much it hurts."
He finally rests his hands on your legs, his thumbs stroking the fabric of your leggings gently. "I need to show you."
You nod, your own throat tight and leans up, pressing his lips against yours. It's soft, almost reverent. A slow, deep exploration that's less about claiming and more about worship. He kisses you like he's trying to memorize the shape of your mouth, like he's trying to pour every unspoken word, every ounce of his devotion, into the space between you.
One of his hands slides up to cup the back of your neck, his fingers tangling in your hair, holding you gently but firmly.
He presses a soft, open-mouthed kiss to your jaw, then another to the sensitive skin just below your ear. His hands trace the lines of your body with a possessiveness that's comforting, not frightening.
He's not marking you as a territory to be owned, he's reminding you and himself, that this is real, this is safe, this is love.
His mouth moves to the curve of your neck, and he seals his lips around your skin, creating a firm, pulling suction that sends a jolt of heat straight through you.
You gasp, your fingers tangling in his hair as he holds you steady, his mouth working against you. He pulls back slightly, admiring his work, before moving to another spot just below it and doing it again. And again.
"Now everyone will know," he murmurs against your neck, his voice thick with emotion. "When they see you, they'll see my marks. They'll know who you belong to. And most importantly, they'll know you're loved."
a/n: this is a scheduled post! š¤ if you've messaged me recently/asked me something in my inbox, please don't be surprised if I haven't replied yet. I'll answer as soon as I can!
I wasn't sure if I wanted to say anything or just quietly disappear for a little while but I didn't want to leave without explaining why I suddenly went silent sooo.... I'm (once again) back at my fav place (the hospital) because my body just hates meš The plan is to stay here until my blood test results come back and if everything looks okay (hopefully š¤) I'll be able to go home in a few days again.
I'll still post the two finished fics I had scheduled for tomorrow, but after that you probably won't hear much from me for a little while. Maybe I'll get some writing done like I did last time, it really just depends on how the new medication affects me... and whether I'm absolutely loaded up on painkillers or not š
To be honest, I think I need a little break anyway. The amount of negativity I've been dealing with lately has become a bit too much and I can feel that it's starting to affect me more than I'd like to admit.
I also wanted to let you all know that I'm turning off anonymous asks for a while because of that.
I've been told to kill myself multiple times now and I thought I'd been pretty open about how much those messages affected me. I genuinely thought I'd left that behind, but today someone (or maybe several people) decided it would be funny to start doing it again.
And let me tell you, it isn't funny. It isn't "just the internet" and it isn't something you simply laugh off five minutes later.
Messages like that stay with you. They make you question yourself, they make you dread opening your inbox and they turn something that used to bring you so much happiness into something you become scared of. They don't disappear when you close the app. They stay with you, they replay in your head and they make you wonder what you did to deserve that kind of hatred.
So if the person (or people) sending these messages are reading this: if you don't like me, that's okay. You don't have to. Please just block me, unfollow me or ignore me entirely. Please do anything except send messages telling another human being to kill themselves. It's incredibly cruel and no one deserves to read things like that
please more of dad!fraser being a total girl dad!!!!
His Girls
pairing: Fraser Minten x female reader
description: Fraser and your daughter have a fun day dull of glittery nails, Disney movies and painting lessons.
TW: Fluff.
masterlist
The first thing you're aware of is the warmth. And the solid arm of Fraser that is wrapped around your middle, pulling you back against his chest. His breathing is a soft, steady rhythm against your neck as he presses a single kiss against the back of your neck.
"Mornin'," he mumbles, his voice thick with sleep. "Wanna stay like this all day."
You laugh softly, turning in his arms to face him. His hair is a mess, his eyes still half-closed, but the smile he gives you is so full of love it makes your chest ache. "As tempting as that is, someone's going to wake up soon and demand pancakes."
He groans, burying his face in your hair. "Fine. But you stay put. I'll handle it."
True to his word, he's out of bed a few minutes later and you can hear the familiar sounds of him moving around the kitchen. The sizzle of bacon, the clink of a whisk against a bowl. It's your favorite soundtrack. You're dozing again when the bedroom door creaks open.
Before joining you back in bed, Fraser tiptoes into your daughters room, his attention immidiately on the small lump under the dinosaur-themed comforter across the room. He kneels by her bed, his voice a soft whisper.
"Good morning, Princess Aurora of the Pancake Kingdom. Your royal breakfast awaits."
A giggle escapes from under the blankets. "I'm not sleeping," a small voice announces.
"Oh really?" Fraser feigns shock. "I thought you were a hibernating bear cub. Should I go get the honey?"
Another giggle, louder this time. "No, Daddy!"
"Then perhaps you'll grace us with your presence?" He pulls the covers back gently and your daughter sits up, her hair a wild halo around her head. Fraser scoops her up, peppering her face with kisses as she squeals with delight. "There's my girl. Let's get you dressed for our royal feast."
He carries her to the changing table, his voice a constant stream of gentle praise as he helps her into a sparkly tulle skirt and a shirt with a glittery unicorn on it. "Look at you! The most beautiful princess in all the land. Mommy's going to be so impressed."
He carries her to your bedroom after picking up the tray of pancakes and settles her between the two of you. "Breakfast is served," he announces proudly.
The three of you eat together, a tangle of limbs and syrupy fingers. Fraser keeps an arm wrapped around you, his thumb stroking your side, while he helps your daughter navigate her pancake with a plastic fork.
Later, as you're getting ready to leave for coffee with friends, Fraser corners you by the front door, pulling you into a proper kiss. "Have fun," he says, his forehead resting against yours. "We'll miss you."
"I'll miss you guys too," you say, smiling. "Try not to spoil her too much."
He grins. "No promises."
Once you're gone, he turns to his little girl. "Alright, boss. What's on the agenda for today?"
Your daughter taps her chin thoughtfully. "Nails."
Fraser nods seriously. "Excellent choice. Though I should warn you, my nail-painting skills might not be up to your professional standards. Your nails are very tiny."
She just smiles mischievously at him. "No, Daddy. I wanna do yours!"
Fraser's heart swells. "Mine? Sure, why not. Show me what you got."
An hour later, he's sitting at the kids' table in the living room, his hand spread out as his daughter meticulously paints each of his nails a different shade of sparkly blue. He's trying to hold still, but he can't stop smiling.
"There," she says, holding up his hand to admire her work. "Done."
"Absolutely perfect," he agrees, admiring his glittery nails. "Now, what's next?"
"Movie!" she declares, running to the TV. "Frozen!"
They settle on the couch, a pile of blankets between them. Fraser knows this movie by heart, could probably recite the entire script from memory. When Do You Wanna Build a Snowman starts, he doesn't hesitate.
He scoops her up, using her small hand as his and they sing together, his deep voice harmonizing with her high, enthusiastic one.
After the movie, your daughter declares it's time for art. Fraser lays out newspaper on the kitchen floor, setting up the watercolor paints and a stack of paper.
"What should we paint today?" he asks.
"A castle!" she says. "And us!"
So they paint. Fraser helps her draw the turrets of the castle, then lets her go wild with the colors. He paints three stick figures in front of the castle, a princess with a crown, a tall man with glittery blue nails and a woman with long hair.
"That's Mommy," she says, pointing to the figure.
"It is," Fraser agrees. "And that's you, the princess. And that's me."
She looks at the painting, then at him, her expression serious. "We're a family."
Fraser's throat tightens. "Yeah, sweetie. We are."
When you get home a few hours later, the house is quiet. You find them in the kitchen, sitting at the table, admiring their artwork. Fraser's nails are still a glittery mess and there's a smudge of blue paint on his cheek.
"Look what we did!" your daughter says, running to show you the painting. "And look at Daddy's nails!"
You take in the sparkly nails, then the painting, then the look of pure pride on your Fraser's face. You can't help but tease him. "Well, well. Look at you, Mr. Manicure. I leave you alone for a few hours and you come back with a whole new look."
He just laughs, pulling you into his arms. "Hey, anything for my girls." He kisses you, a soft, lingering kiss that tastes like home. "I missed you," he murmurs against your lips.
"I missed you too," you say, your heart so full it feels like it might burst. "Looks like you guys had a productive day."
"The most productive," he says, his eyes crinkling at the corners as he looks at your daughter, who's now proudly showing off her glittery nails to match his. "It was the best day ever."
Can I request will smith x macklin celebrinis twin! She and mack are visiting will in the summer and sheās been teasing him non stop. He ends up teaching her how to deepthroat him and like really smutty
Just a little more
pairing: Will Smith x celebrini!reader
description: Teasing your brother's best friend has never been so much fun, until he decides to teach you a lesson.
TW: Smut, MDNI, deepthroathing, cum swallowing, teasing, dominant Will, best friend's sister.
masterlist
The Boston summer heat clings to your skin as you sprawl across Will's couch. You're focused entirely on your brother's best friend and on the way his eyes keep darting toward you every few seconds.
You've been torturing him for days, wearing short skirts that ride up when you sit, accidentally brushing against him in the narrow hallway of his apartment and bending over to pick up things you've deliberately dropped, showing him your lacey panties.
"Comfortable?" Will asks, voice strained as you shift positions, letting your skirt hike up another inch.
"Very," you purr, stretching your arms overhead. "It's so hot in here though."
Macklin's in the shower and you've been counting down these moments alone with Will all week. The sexual tension between you has been thick enough to choke on and you're tired of playing games. Of him not giving you what you secretly wish for.
Will stands abruptly, adjusting himself not so subtly. "I need a drink. You want something?"
"Just water," you say, watching his retreating back. When he returns with two glasses, you accept yours with a sweet smile. As you bring it to your lips, you tilt it just enough for a trickle of cold water to escape, running down your chin and dripping onto the thin fabric of your camisole.
"Oops," you whisper, setting the glass aside. You slowly trace the path of the water with your finger, then bring that finger to your mouth, sucking it clean with an exaggerated moan.
Will's jaw tightens, his gaze fixed on your mouth. "You're pushing it."
"Am I?" you ask innocently, sliding your finger from your lips with a wet pop. "I was just thirsty."
"Bullshit," he growls, setting his glass down with a thud. "You've been acting like a brat all week, wiggling that ass in my face, accidentally touching me every chance you get. What do you want from me?"
You stand slowly, water dripping down your shirt. "I think you know what I want."
Will crosses the space between you, backing you against the wall. His hands pin your wrists above your head. "You're such a fucking tease, you know that?"
"Maybe someone needs to teach me a lesson," you breathe, heart racing.
"Not someone. Me," he growls before crushing his mouth against yours. The kiss is hungry, demanding, his tongue claiming yours as his free hand slides down your side to grip your ass.
You moan into his mouth, grinding against him. "Willā¦"
"Shut up," he orders, pulling back slightly. "You wanted this. Now you're going to get it."
He leads you to his bedroom, pushing you onto the bed. The mattress dips beneath you as you look up at him, your heart pounding against your ribs. He just stands there for a moment, his eyes roaming over your body.
"Stay just like that," he murmurs. "Don't move a muscle."
You watch as he slowly unbuttons his shirt, revealing the smooth skin and defined muscles of his chest. His eyes never leave yours as he lets the shirt fall to the floor, then moves to his jeans. The sound of his zipper lowering seems impossibly loud in the quiet room.
"You've been driving me crazy all week," he says, stepping out of his jeans and kicking them aside. "Walking around in those tiny skirts, showing off your little panties every chance you get. This ends now."
He approaches the bed, completely naked now, his arousal obvious.Ā "Get on your knees, baby."
"You look so fucking good like this," he murmurs, tracing a finger down your throat. "Such a good girl if you want to be."
"Please," you whisper, reaching for him.
He catches your wrist. "I don't think so. You've been teasing me for days. Now it's my turn." He moves closer, positioning himself at your mouth. "Open up."
You obey instantly and he slides just the tip past your lips. "That's it. Just like that."
You swirl your tongue around him, earning a low groan. "Fuck, your mouth feels so good around my cock."
He pushes in deeper, testing your limits. You take him eagerly, hollowing your cheeks as you suck.
"Look at you," Will praises, fingers tangling in your hair. "So eager for it. All that bratty attitude disappears when there's a cock in your mouth, doesn't it?"
You moan around him, eyes watering as he hits the back of your throat.
"Too much?" he asks, though he doesn't pull back.
You shake your head slightly, trying to take more.
"Good girl," he murmurs. "You're going to learn to take all of me today."
Will begins to move, shallow thrusts that gradually deepen. "Relax your throat, baby. Breathe through your nose."
You try, but gag when he pushes too deep.
"Shh... I know, I know," he says, wiping a tear from your cheek. "But you wanted this. I know you can take more of me, cause you're a good girl."
He guides you through it, teaching you to relax, to breathe, to take him deeper each time. "That's it. Just a little more, baby."
Your jaw aches, tears streaming down your face, but you're determined to please him. When you finally take him to the root, his praise makes it all worth it.
"Fuck! Look at you," he groans, hips stilling. "Taking every inch like you were made for it."
He pulls back slightly before thrusting deep again. "I'm going to ruin you for anyone else."
You're a mess, drool dripping down your chin, eyes blurred with tears, but you've never been more turned on. Your hand drifts between your legs, but Will catches it.
"No," he says firmly. "You don't get to touch yourself. You only get to feel what I give you."
"Please," you whimper around his cock.
"You're dripping for me, aren't you?" he asks with a smirk. "Such a dirty girl, getting off on having your mouth used like this."
He picks up his pace, fucking your mouth in earnest now. "Don't move. Just let me use you."
You hollow your cheeks, your tongue working frantically along the thick vein on the underside of his cock. You can feel him swelling, the head impossibly hard as it nudges the back of your throat. His rhythm falters for a beat, a deep groan rumbling in his chest as he pulses against your tongue, a delicious twitch that tells you he's close.
"You're going to be a good girl and swallow every drop," he tells you. "You're going to take it all."
When he finally comes, you do as he says, swallowing everything he gives you. He pulls out slowly and you gasp for air, face flushed and messy.
"Beautiful," Will murmurs, cupping your jaw. "I love how you look with my cock in your mouth."
He leans down to kiss you, tasting himself on your tongue. "Next time you tease me, remember this. Remember that I won't waste any time putting that bratty mouth to good use."
girl i am SO sorry but I need another one of the "Teammates/Friends are shocked when they find out reader left these scratch marks on his back" fics because they are SO good, please do one for Connor I am BEGGING
Little Tiger
pairing: Connor Bedard x female reader
description: You're known as Connor's sweet and soft-spoken girlfriend so when his teammates discover the marks you left on him, they're shocked to realize there's more to you than meets the eye.
TW: Sexual references, teasing, scratch marks, established relationship.
masterlist
The air in the gym is thick and humid, smelling of sweat and metal. The rhythmic clank of weights and the grunts of exertion fill the space as Connor finishes his last set.
His muscles burn, a satisfying ache that tells him heās pushed himself hard enough. The black cotton of his shirt is soaked through and clinging to his skin. With a disgusted grimace, he peels it off, using the dry hem to wipe the sweat from his face and chest.
"Finally ditching the swamp rag, Bedsy?" Frank calls from across the room, where he's re-racking his dumbbells.
Connor just tosses the shirt into his gym bag without a word, turning to grab his water bottle. That's when he notices it. The silence.
It's not the usual post-workout lull, it's a sudden, heavy stillness that makes the hair on his arms stand up. He turns back around.
Frank, Alex and Oliver are all staring. Not just looking, but gaping. Oliverās mouth is actually hanging open a little.
"What?" Connor asks, his voice tight with confusion.
Frank is the first to recover, a slow, wicked grin spreading across his face. He points a finger, not at Connor's face, but at his torso. "Holy shit, man. Did you get attacked by a bear or something?"
Alex steps closer, his eyes wide with a mixture of shock and amusement. "Dude. Your back looks like a roadmap." He traces a line in the air with his finger. "And these little purple ones... are those...?"
Connorās stomach drops. He forgot. He completely forgot about last night, about the way youād dug your nails into his shoulders as he drove into you, about the desperate, open-mouthed kisses youād pressed against his chest and neck when you were lost in pleasure.
A hot flush creeps up his neck. "Shut up," he mumbles, turning away slightly, a futile attempt to hide the evidence.
"No, no, no," Oliver says, circling him like a shark. "We're not gonna shut up. This is gold." He whistles low. "I knew your girl was sweet, but I didn't know she was... feral."
"Leave her out of this," Connor snaps, his tone sharpening. The awkwardness is quickly being replaced by a surge of protectiveness.
"Hey, hey, we're not making fun of her," Frank says, raising his hands in mock surrender. "We're impressed. Little miss 'please-and-thank-you' has a set of claws on her." He waggles his eyebrows. "And you, Bedard. You must be doing something right. Looks like you were giving her the full-body workout."
The comment is crude, but itās laced with a grudging kind of respect. Connor feels a flicker of pride beneath his embarrassment. HeĀ hadĀ made you fall apart. HeĀ hadĀ been the one to draw those sounds from your lips, to make you lose control like that.
"Seriously, though," Alex chimes in, leaning against a weight rack. "How does someone so shy... you know..." He makes a vague gesture with his hands. "Did you have to teach her?"
Connorās jaw tightens. "That's enough."
"What? It's a legitimate question!" Oliver laughs. "I'm picturing it now. All blushes and stutters until you get her going, then BAM." He slams his hand on a bench for emphasis. "Out comes the tiger."
Connor just grabs his bag, slinging it over his shoulder. He doesn't want to hear anymore. He doesn't want them talking about you, picturing you, reducing your passion to locker room jokes.
But a small, smug part of him preens at the implication. They might see you as this delicate, innocent girl. But he knows the truth. He is the only one who got to see you like that, the only one you trusted with that side of yourself.
Youāre waiting in the parking garage, leaning against your car and scrolling on your phone when Connor emerges from the elevator. Your heart does its familiar little flutter. Heās so handsome, all broad shoulders and easy confidence.
He gives you a tight smile in return, his eyes darting nervously toward the glass doors of the gym exit.
"Hey, you," you say softly, pushing off the car to give him a quick kiss. "How was it?"
"Good," he says, his voice a little strained. "Tiring."
Before you can ask more, the doors slide open again and out spill Frank, Alex and Oliver, their laughter echoing in the garage.
"Well, well, well," Frank drawls, his eyes landing on you. "If it isn't the tiger herself."
Your brow furrows in confusion. "The what?"
Oliver grins, winking at Connor. "Don't play coy. We saw the scratches."
Your face floods with heat. Your mouth opens, but no words come out. You know exactly what they're talking about. The memory of last night, of your nails scraping down Connorās back, flashes in your mind.
You want the ground to swallow you whole.
"I... I don't..." you stammer, your cheeks burning.
"Aw, look at her," Alex says, his tone teasing but not unkind. "She's all shy again. Hard to believe you're the one who tried to flay Bedsy's skin off."
Connor steps forward, putting himself slightly in front of you. His arm wraps around your waist, pulling you into his side. It's a protective, possessive gesture. "Alright, that's enough. Go find your own rides."
"We're just saying hi to the champ," Frank says, holding up his hands. "Good to know you've got a good grip on things... and on him."
They're still laughing as they walk away, leaving you standing there, mortified. You bury your face in Connor's chest, wishing you could disappear.
"I am so sorry," you whisper, your voice muffled against his shirt.
He just holds you tighter, one hand stroking your hair. "Don't be," he murmurs into your hair. "They're just idiots."
You pull back to look at him, your eyes wide with embarrassment. "But they know! They saw... everything."
A slow, smug smile spreads across his face. He leans down, his lips brushing against your ear. "Let 'em look," he whispers, his voice low and proud. "Now they know I'm doing my job right.
I love your writing girl! I know you have a lot of requests so please take your time and donāt ever feel rushed. The fact that you take the time to write all of these and get them out so fast is insane and I know Iām not alone in saying thank you! I just had an idea after seeing Jack at the ESPYS (that suit was incredible) and wanted to send it in. Iām just imagining helping him get ready beforehand and telling him how good he looks. He would be so smiley and blushing and just the cutest thing. Seriously absolutely no rush at all and I canāt wait to read everything you have coming! ā¤ļø
Red Carpet Ready
pairing: Jack Hughes x female reader
description: You help Jack get ready for the ESPYs.
TW: Fluff, kissing, established relationship.
masterlist
The steam from the shower clings to the bathroom mirror as you lean against the doorframe, watching Jack towel-dry his hair. He's humming some tune you don't recognize, moving his hips in time with the silent beat. It's adorable how he gets lost in his own little world.
"You know, for someone who's about to walk a red carpet in front of hundreds of cameras, you seem awfully relaxed," you tease.
He grins at you through the mirror, his eyes crinkling at the corners. "Why wouldn't I be relaxed? I've got you here to make sure I don't embarrass myself."
"As if you could ever embarrass yourself," you scoff, pushing off the doorframe to step closer. "You could show up in sweatpants and still look like a million bucks."
Jack turns, dropping the towel around his shoulders. His hair is sticking up in every direction and he has that post-shower glow that makes him look years younger. "That's not what my stylist would say."
"Your stylist doesn't have to live with you," you say, reaching up to smooth down a particularly stubborn tuft of hair. "I, on the other hand, have to look at your face every day. Not exactly a hardship, by the way."
His cheeks flush slightly as he catches your hand in his, bringing your knuckles to his lips. "You're just saying that."
"I'm not," you insist, tilting his chin up so he has to meet your gaze. "You're ridiculously handsome, Jack Hughes. It's actually kind of annoying how good-looking you are."
The blush deepens, spreading across his cheeks and down his neck. "Stop it," he mumbles, but he's smiling that shy smile you love, the one where he ducks his head but can't quite hide his pleasure.
"Never," you declare, leaning in to press a quick kiss to his lips. "Now, let's get you dressed before I decide to keep you all to myself tonight."
The suit is hanging on the closet door, a sleek navy number that you know will bring out his eyes. You help him into the shirt, your fingers brushing against his as you button it up. He watches you the whole time, his expression soft.
"You're really good at this," he says as you smooth down the collar.
"At what? Buttoning shirts?"
"At making me feel like the luckiest guy in the world," he replies, and your heart does that little flip it always does when he says things like that.
By the time you've helped him into the jacket and tie, he's transformed from the goofy, towel-draped guy from the bathroom to someone who looks like he belongs on magazine covers. You step back to admire your handiwork, whistling softly.
"Well, damn," you say, circling him slowly. "Jack Hughes, you clean up nice."
He laughs, spinning once to show off the full effect. "You think?"
"I know," you correct, stopping in front of him to adjust his tie. "The cameras are going to love you tonight."
"They're going to love you more," he says, his hands finding your waist. "You're going to be the most beautiful person there."
"I'm not the one nominated for anything," you remind him, though you can't help but preen at his words.
"Doesn't matter," he insists, leaning down to kiss you properly this time. "You're my good luck charm."
The kiss is soft and sweet, tasting of mint and the faint hint of coffee from earlier. When you pull apart, he's smiling that full, genuine smile that still makes your stomach flutter.
"You're going to be amazing tonight," you tell him, smoothing down the lapels of his jacket one last time. "And I'm going to be cheering so loud for you."
"Only if you promise not to cry," he teases, though his eyes are serious.
"No promises," you say, standing on your tiptoes to kiss his cheek. "Now go out there and make me proud."
He nods, taking a deep breath before heading for the door. At the last second, he turns back, his expression suddenly shy again.
"Hey," he says softly. "Thanks forā¦ well, for everything."
"Always," you reply and you mean it. "Now go get 'em, Hughes."
hi! could i request fraser and a girlfriend who doesnāt get along with her family well. lets say she goes to lunch or something with them bc theyāre in town and when she gets home sheās in tears because it was horrible.
Safe Harbor
pairing: Fraser Minten x female reader
description: You return from a painful family lunch in tears and Fraser is there to piece you back together.
TW: Emotional distress, family conflict, mentions of verbal/emotional neglect, established relationship.
masterlist
The key turns in the lock with a hollow click that echoes the emptiness in your chest. You step into the apartment, the warm, familiar scent of Fraser doing little to soothe the raw ache spreading through you.
As the door clicks shut behind you, a sob tears from your throat, ugly and ragged. You slide down the door, not even bothering with the lights and let the tears you've been holding back for two hours finally fall.
It's always the same. The same restaurant, the forced smiles and the casual criticism that slices deeper than any knife could.
"Hey, I was just wondering..." Fraser's voice cuts off from the living room doorway. He takes in the sight of you crumpled on the floor and his entire demeanor shifts in an instant. He's across the room and kneeling in front of you before you can even try to wipe your face.
"Hey, hey, look at me," he says, his voice a soft, urgent murmur. He gently cups your face, his thumbs sweeping away the tears. "What happened? Are you okay? Did someone hurt you?"
You just shake your head, another wave of sobs wracking your body. You can't form the words, not yet. It's too humiliating, too pathetic. How do you explain that your own parents spent an hour systematically dismantling your life choices? Your job, your apartment, your relationship with him, all of it laid out on the table for their quiet judgment.
Fraser doesn't push. He just gathers you up, shifting so he's sitting on the floor with you tucked between his legs, your back against his chest. He wraps his arms around you, pulling you into a tight, secure embrace.
He rests his chin on the top of your head and just holds you, letting you cry it out against his chest.
"It's okay," he murmurs into your hair. "I've got you. Just let it all out."
You cry until you're hollowed out, until the only thing left is a headache and the damp spot on Fraser's t-shirt. When the shuddering finally subsides, you take a shaky breath.
"They were justā¦" you start, your voice hoarse. "They were just so them."
He hums in understanding, his hand tracing soothing patterns up and down your arm. "What did they say this time?"
You shrug, feeling the familiar wave of shame wash over you. "The usual, I guess. Dad asked if my job was still that 'little project' of mine, said it was cute I was still playing office." You take a shaky breath, the words tasting like ash in your mouth. "And Mom... she looked at me and asked if I was happy living like this. Said it was a shame I'd 'settled' for someone with a 'dead-end' dream. Said she just hoped I had a backup plan for when it all fell apart."
Fraser tenses slightly beneath you, but his voice remains even. "And what did you say?"
"Nothing. I just sat there. Like always." You pull away slightly to look at him, your vision blurry. "They don't see me, Fraser. They see some version of me they've invented, one that's constantly failing. And I just let them. I just sit there and take it."
His expression softens with so much love it almost hurts to look at. He frames your face with his hands, his gaze earnest and unwavering. "Hey. Look at me. That's their shit, not yours."
He shifts, turning you to face him fully. "You hear me? The person I see is the strongest person I know. You're brilliant at your job. You built this beautiful life for yourself. You walked away from their poison and you made something amazing. And you love me, which makes you the smartest person I know."
A watery chuckle escapes you. He smiles, brushing a stray strand of hair from your forehead.
"I'm serious," he continues, his voice dropping to an intimate whisper. "You are the most loving, supportive, incredible person I have ever met. Everything about you is good. So when they say those things, they're not talking about you. They're talking about themselves. They're projecting their own miserable bullshit onto the one person who doesn't deserve it."
He leans in and presses a soft, lingering kiss to your lips.
"Let's go get you comfortable," he says, standing and pulling you up with him. He leads you to the bedroom, his arm a steady weight around your shoulders. He peels your clothes off you like they're contaminated and pulls one of his oversized hoodies over your head. The scent of him immediately envelops you, a shield against the outside world.
He gets you settled in bed, pulling the comforter up to your chin before climbing in beside you. He turns on the bedside lamp, casting a warm glow around the room and then just looks at you.
"You know what I see when I look at you?" he asks, his fingers tracing the line of your jaw. "I see my future. I see the person I want to come home to every single day. I see the person who makes me better just by being around. Their opinion means less than nothing. Because they don't know you. Not the real you. But I do."
He leans in and kisses your forehead, then your nose, then the corner of your mouth. "And I think you're perfect. So perfect."
You shift closer, burying your face in the crook of his neck. His arms wrap around you, holding you together. "I love you," you whisper, the words feeling fragile but true.
"I love you more," he whispers back, his lips pressing against your hair. "Always and forever."
Iād love to see a Quinn Hughes x gf reader fic where reader and Quinn are sitting on the couch watching a movie or something and then she asks Quinn if she can be on top and ride him and heās like shocked at how forward sheās being and gets turned on and then heās like yeah and they start making out and reader straddles his lap and then she rides him and then heās like maybe we should do that more often or something ykwim
also Iāve been requesting a few things I recently found your account like a month ago and binge read everything and get so excited every time you post and I donāt want to reveal my account when requesting but Iām gonna start using this emoji š¦ so maybe youāll know itās meš«¶š»
omg hii, I'll be looking forward to seeing that butterfly more often!!!
More Often
pairing: Quinn Hughes x female reader
description: Sometimes Quinn forgets just how straightforward you are.
TW: Smut, MDNI, unprotected sex, heavy making out, established relationship.
masterlist
You're curled against Quinn's side on the couch while Family Feud plays on TV. Quinn's arm is wrapped loosely around your shoulders, his fingers tracing small circles against your upper arm.
"Name something you do before going to bed," Steve asks dramatically, leaning toward the camera with exaggerated intensity.
"Brush my teeth," Quinn answers immediately, a small smile playing on his lips as he glances at you. "Gotta keep these pearly whites camera-ready."
"Having sex," you pipe up without missing a beat, earning an exaggerated eye roll from Quinn.
"Of course you do," he teases, nudging you playfully. "Can't go one night without it, can you?"
"Hey, at least I'm honest about my priorities," you retort, poking his side. "Unlike Mr. 'I Need My Eight Hours Of Beauty Sleep'."
"Beauty sleep? I'm a professional athlete," he protests, though his eyes crinkle with amusement. "Recovery is essential."
"Sure, recovery," you mock, leaning against him. "Is that what we're calling you getting old?"
His cheeks flush slightly. "Brat."
The commercial break comes on, filling the room with promises of products you'll never buy. You shift slightly, moving to straddle his lap without really thinking about it. His hands instinctively come to rest on your hips, thumbs stroking gently over the fabric of your leggings.
"Getting comfortable?" he asks, his voice low and warm.
"Always with you," you reply, leaning in to press a soft kiss to his jaw. "Can I ask you something?"
"Anything," he says immediately, his eyes soft as they meet yours.
"Can I be on top tonight?" you ask, your voice clear and direct. "I want to ride you."
Quinn's eyes widen slightly, his breath catching. It's not that you've never been forward before, but sometimes you still catch him off guard.
A slow smile spreads across his lips, his hands tightening on your hips as he pulls you closer. "You really don't waste time, do you?" he murmurs, his voice dropping in that way that always makes your stomach flutter.
"Why beat around the bush?" you retort with a grin. "We both know what I want."
"Yeah," he breathes, his voice thick with desire. "Whatever you want, baby."
That's all the encouragement you need. You lean in, capturing his lips in a passionate kiss. His tongue slides against yours immidiately, claiming your mouth as his.
His fingers tangle in your hair pulling gently as he deepens the kiss. You're grinding against him now, feeling his growing hardness through the layers of clothing between you.
"Quinn," you gasp, breaking the kiss to catch your breath. "Need you now."
He nods, his eyes dark with lust. "Then take what you need."
You don't even bother with the zipper on his jeans, just pop the button and yank them down his hips. He kicks them off frantically while you shove your leggings to your knees, not bothering to take them all the way off.
You're already soaked, feeling your wetness run down your inner thigh as you straddle him again.
His cock is thick and already leaking for you. You wrap your hand around the base, feeling the frantic pulse under his skin. But instead of sinking down, you press just the swollen tip against your slick folds.
You drag it up and down, coating him in your wetness, teasing your clit. He lets out a choked sound, his hands flying to your hips to grip you tight.
"Fuck, don't tease," he grits out, his hips bucking up, trying to get inside.
You just smirk, circling your entrance with his tip, mixing your juices together until he's glistening and you're practically dripping down his cock. Finally, when he's cursing under his breath, you line him up and start to sink down.
The first inch slides in easily as your body opens to take him. You're so wet it's pathetic, the sound of your pussy swallowing his cock filling the room. You go slow, feeling every thick ridge as you lower yourself. He's pulsing inside you, and you can feel him dragging against your walls.
When he's halfway in, you pause, rolling your hips to take him deeper. "God, you're so fucking tight," he groans, his head falling back against the couch cushions.
You push down the rest of the way in one smooth motion, taking him to the hilt. The sound you make is half-sob, half-moan as he bottoms out, pressing so deep you swear you can feel him in your fucking cervix.
You can feel him throbbing inside you, so deep it's almost painful. You look down and see the way your bodies are joined, how you're stretched around his thick cock.
"Move," he begs, his voice wrecked. "Please, baby, move."
You rise up slightly, then slam back down, the slap of skin on skin echoing in the room. His answering groan is pure filth and you know this is going to be exactly as messy and desperate as you need it to be.
"Holy fuck," you gasp, your head falling back as you fully seat yourself on him again. The feeling of him so deep, so thick, steals the air from your lungs. "Fuck, Quinn... you're so... you feel so good." You roll your hips, grinding down just to feel that incredible stretch again.
"Shit," he groans, his hands tightening on your hips, his fingers digging into your flesh. "Look at you, taking every fucking inch." His voice is a low, wrecked rumble. "Made for me, weren't you? This perfect pussy was made to stretch around my cock."
You start to move faster now, rocking your hips in a rhythm that makes stars appear behind your eyes. Each roll of your hips sends waves of pleasure through your body. When he hits that special spot inside you, you clench around him, earning another groan from him.
"Like that?" you ask, already knowing the answer.
"God, yes," he pants, his thumbs stroking circles on your hip bones. "Just like that, baby."
You pick up the pace, bouncing on his lap now. His hands guide your movements, sometimes urging you faster, sometimes slowing you down to prolong the pleasure.
"Look at me," he commands and you force your eyes open to meet his. "So beautiful riding me like this."
His praise sends a fresh wave of arousal through you. You lean forward, capturing his lips in another kiss as you continue to ride him. His hands slide from your hips to your ass, gripping the fleshy mounds as he helps you move faster, take him even deeper.
"God, that's it," he praises, his eyes glued to where your bodies are joined. "Ride that fucking cock. Show me how much you love it."
The coil in your stomach tightens, your orgasm building with each thrust. You're close, so close and Quinn can feel it too.
"Come for me, baby," he murmurs against your lips. "Want to feel you come all over my cock."
That's all it takes for you to cry out his name, your body convulsing around him as waves of ecstasy wash over you. He follows you over the edge a moment later, his own release a hot, deep pulse inside you.
You collapse against his chest, both of you panting heavily. Quinn's arms wrap around you, holding you close as you both come down from your highs.
After a few moments, you shift to look at him, a lazy smile on your face. "Maybe we should do that more often," he says, his voice husky.
"I think that can be arranged," you reply, leaning in for another soft kiss.
Imagine riding sub!Mackās thigh (his legs are so pretty omg)
Take the Edge Off
pairing: sub!Macklin Celebrini x female reader
description: You come home after a brutal day at work and Macklin's more than eager to let you use him to relieve all your tension.
TW: Smut, MDNI, thigh-grinding, subby Mack, established relationship.
masterlist
After arriving home, you immediately drop your keys into the bowl with a clatter that seems too loud, your shoulders slumping under the weight of the day. Every muscle in your body is coiled tight, a knot of stress that refuses to loosen.
You walk into the living room and find Macklin on the couch, scrolling through his phone, but he looks up the instant you walk in. His whole face lights up, a hopeful, eager expression that makes your chest ache. He tosses his phone onto the cushion beside him, sitting up straighter.
"You're back," he says, his voice soft. "Bad day?"
You just nod, too tired to even form the words. You kick off your shoes, not caring where they land and make your way toward him.
He pats his lap, an open invitation. "Come here."
You don't need to be told twice. You collapse onto the couch beside him and he immediately wraps his arms around you, pulling you close. His warmth seeps into you and your heart feels a little lighter already.
"What can I do?" he whispers, his voice cracking slightly as his lips tremble against your hair. "Anything. Please, just tell me what you need."
You turn in his arms, your faces inches apart. His eyes are wide and glassy, his entire being focused on you, waiting for you to tell him what he can do to help. To make you feel better.
You close the distance, pressing your lips to his.
It starts soft, a gentle press of your lips against his, but it doesn't stay that way for long. You need more. You part his lips with your tongue, sliding inside to taste him.
He makes a small sound, a soft gasp and then he's melting against you, his body going pliant as he surrenders to the kiss. He lets you take the lead, his tongue meeting yours hesitantly at first, then with more confidence as you guide him. It's wet, messy, the kind of kiss that steals your breath and fogs your mind.
Without breaking the kiss, you maneuver yourself onto his lap, straddling his thighs. His hands come to rest on your hips, his grip loose, waiting. You can feel him growing hard beneath you, but he doesn't do anything about it.
You pull back just enough to speak, your lips still brushing against his. "I want to ride you," you breathe, the words slightly ragged.
His eyes widen, a flash of excitement crossing his face. He nods enthusiastically, almost frantic. "Yeah, yes, okay," he babbles, his hands already moving to the waistband of his shorts.
But you stop him, your fingers wrapping around his wrists. "No," you say, a smirk playing on your lips. "Not like that. I want to ride your thigh."
His breath hitches, a choked, desperate sound. His eyes, wide and glassy, go dark with a new kind of desire. "Oh," he whispers, the word barely a puff of air. "Okay. Y-yeah. We can do that."
You can feel the heat radiating from his skin even through his shorts. You start to rock against him, a slow, careful grind that has you both gasping. Your hands find his legs, your nails digging into the hard muscle of his thighs and he shudders. You can see his cock straining against the fabric of his shorts and he lets out a broken whimper as you let one hand graze over the obvious bulge.
"Fuck," he breathes, his head falling back against the couch. "Th-that'sā¦ oh god, yeah."
You lean in, capturing his lips again in another sloppy, desperate kiss. Your hips move with more purpose now, finding a rhythm that has your clit rubbing against the hard muscle of his thigh. With every roll of your hips, you can watch him twitching against his shorts, a needy, helpless rhythm that matches your own.
"Take off my skirt," you command, your voice husky.
He fumbles with the button, his fingers shaking so much he can't get it undone. You have to help him, your hands covering his as you guide them. Finally, the zipper gives way and he's tugging the fabric down your hips. His knuckles brush against your skin, sending sparks of pleasure through you.
"And my panties," you add, your voice barely a whisper.
He hooks his fingers into the waistband, slowly dragging the lace down your legs. His eyes are fixed on the space between your thighs, his pupils blown wide with desire.
You settle back onto his thigh, the direct contact of skin on skin making you both cry out. You're already so wet, your arousal slicking his leg, making the glide of your body against his effortless.
"God, you're soā¦ so wet," he breathes, his eyes wide with wonder. "Is thatā¦ is that all for me?"
You just nod, too lost in the sensation to speak. You start to move again and he flexes his thigh, the muscle hardening beneath you, adding an extra layer of pressure that sends a jolt of pleasure straight to your core.
"Yeah, just like that," you gasp, your nails digging deeper into his legs.
His hands roam, tracing up your sides, his thumbs brushing against the underside of your breasts before sliding back down to grip your hips. He's trying to help, trying to guide you, but his movements are clumsy and uncoordinated.
He's so turned on it's physically painful for him, his breath coming in ragged pants.
"God, you're soā¦ so beautiful like this," he forces out, his voice strained. "Allā¦ all desperate and needy. For me."
You can feel the pressure building, a tight coil in your stomach that's about to snap. You move faster, your hips bucking wildly against his thigh.
"Please," he begs, his hands tightening on your hips. "Let meā¦ let me help. Let me make you feel good. Please, I wanna be good for you."
"You are so good, Mack," you praise, your voice thick with pleasure. "Such a good boy for me."
He whines, a high, desperate sound that goes straight to your clit. "Yeah? I'mā¦ I'm good?"
"So good," you confirm, grinding down harder. "You feel incredible. Your thighā¦ fuck."
His hands grip you tighter, his knuckles white. "Iā¦ I canā¦ I can flex more? If you want? Justā¦ just tell me what you need. Anything. I'll do anything."
You just moan in response, your movements becoming more erratic. He takes that as encouragement, flexing his thigh in a steady rhythm that matches your grinding and it pushes you closer and closer to the edge.
"That's it, baby. You're doing so good," he praises, his voice cracking with emotion. "So fucking good for me. Look at youā¦ using me to get off. It'sā¦ it's the hottest thing I've ever seen."
You cry out his name, the sound raw and unrestrained. "Macklinā¦ it'sānnh...you feel so good."
He whimpers, a high, desperate sound that makes your toes curl. "Youā¦ you feel amazing too. Soā¦ so wet. All over me. It'sā¦ fuck. I can feel howā¦ how close you are. Please, baby. Please come for me. I need you to come for me."
His words dissolve into a string of incoherent babbles, a mix of curses and praises that's the most erotic thing you've ever heard. He's so lost in it, so completely consumed by his desire for you, that he can barely form a coherent thought.
"Please," he begs again, his voice cracking. "I wannaā¦ wanna feel you come. All over my leg. Please, baby. I'mā¦ I'm so hard for you. It hurts. Just please... use me. I need you."
You can feel yourself getting close, the pressure building to an almost unbearable intensity. "Mack," you gasp, your head falling back. "Please, don't stop."
"I won't," he promises, his voice a desperate whisper. "I won't stop. Not until youā¦ until you come all over me. I wannaā¦ wanna feel it. Please, baby. I need it."
That's all it takes. The coil in your stomach snaps and you're coming, crying out his name, digging your nails into his legs hard enough to leave marks. He holds you through it, his hands steady on your hips, his thigh flexed to give you the pressure you need.
When it's over, you collapse against him, your body limp and sated. He wraps his arms around you, holding you close, his heart pounding against your chest before pressing a soft kiss against your forehead.
hi! i love your writing sm and its always fascinated me how you write for so many players yet theyre still characterized so well. i was curious if there are certain players you find easier or more enjoyable to write vs those that you feel are more difficult?
thank you so much!! š„¹ i honestly feel like my characterization is all over the place sometimes š i swear i'll write a player one way in one fic and then in the next fic it's like i'm writing their evil twin??
i think the easiest player for me is definitely fraser. i just see him as such a sweet, gentle, genuinely kind person, so writing him comes really naturally to me. i actually think i'd struggle to write him completely differently because that's just so firmly how i picture him?
it's kind of the same with sid. i don't think i could ever write him the way i sometimes write mack, where he might be really subby in one fic and then much more dominant in another. i just don't personally see sid that way, so it's hard for me to write him outside of how i naturally imagine him. maybe i'm just a little stuck in my own interpretation, though and i'm really sorry if someone sees him completely differently!!
the hardest ones for me are probably will, mack and connor. i feel like everyone has such a specific idea of what their personalities are like and i always feel this weird pressure to meet those expectations š does that make sense??? personalities are just so layered and that's what makes people interesting, but with those three i sometimes struggle to keep a consistent characterization or to make them feel authentic in a way that satisfies both me and the reader.
so hearing you say that you think they're characterized well honestly makes me really happy!! because most of the time I don't feel like i doš„¹š¤
Hi lovely! I have a request where Hughes!reader has been friends with benefits with Trevor zegras for a while and she finds out sheās pregnant while at the lake house and they have to tell her brothers and theyāre not happy with them
Fractured Reflections
pairing: Trevor Zegras x Hughes!reader
description: You and Trevor face the fury of your brothers when they discover your unplanned pregnancy.
TW: Angst, pregnancy, family conflict, emotional distress, overprotective siblings.
masterlist
The second pink line appears with terrifying clarity and your hands start shaking so badly that you nearly drop the plastic stick.
You're pregnant. You and Trevor. A baby.
The words echo in your mind as you lean against the bathroom door, trying to breathe through the panic rising in your chest. Outside, you can hear the muffled sounds of your brothers laughing with Trevor on the deck of the lake house, a sound that usually brings you comfort but now feels like a countdown to an explosion.
You'd bought the test on the supply run into town yesterday, hiding it in the bottom of your beach bag while Trevor distracted Jack with some ridiculous story about a fan at the grocery store. Now, standing here in the small bathroom that smells faintly of lake water and your mother's favorite scented soap, you wonder how you're going to tell the man who's been your casual hookup for the past year that he's going to be a father. And worse, how you'll tell your brothers.
Taking a deep breath, you wrap the test in toilet paper and hide it deep in the bathroom trash can before opening the door. Trevor is the first to notice you, his smile faltering slightly when he sees your expression.
"Everything okay?" he asks, his brow furrowed with concern as you approach the group.
You shake your head slightly, trying to communicate without words. "Can I talk to you for a minute?" you manage, your voice barely above a whisper.
Trevor stands immediately, following you toward the house. "What's up?" he asks once you're out of earshot of the deck.
You lead him into the kitchen, your hands trembling as you turn to face him. "I'm pregnant," you blurt out, the words feeling foreign and terrifying on your tongue.
Trevor's face goes pale, his eyes widening in shock. "What? Are you sure?"
You nod, tears welling in your eyes. "Just took the test. It's positive."
He runs a hand through his hair, pacing the small kitchen space. "Wow. Okay. Wow. That'sā¦ that's big."
"Tell me about it," you say with a weak laugh, wiping at your eyes. "And we have to tell them." You gesture toward the deck, where your brothers are still laughing, completely oblivious to the life-altering conversation happening just feet away.
Trevor stops pacing, taking your hands in his. "We'll figure this out together. Whatever you want, however you want to handle this, I'm with you."
You nod, grateful for his support even as your stomach churns with anxiety about what comes next. "We should tell them now. Better to get it over with."
Hand in hand, you walk back onto the deck, where Jack and Quinn are now arguing good-naturedly about who caught the bigger fish this morning. Their smiles fade when they see your faces.
"What's wrong?" Quinn asks immediately, his protective brother instincts kicking in.
You take a deep breath, squeezing Trevor's hand. "We have something to tell you guys."
Jack's eyes narrow as he notices your joined hands, his gaze flicking between you and Trevor. "What's going on?"
"I'm pregnant," you say, the words coming out stronger this time.
The silence that follows is deafening. Jack's face hardens, his jaw tightening as he processes your words. Quinn just stares, his expression unreadable.
"Pregnant?" Jack finally says, his voice dangerously low. "With him?"
"Jack," you start, but he cuts you off.
"How long has this been going on?" he demands, standing up so quickly that his chair scrapes against the deck. "Are you guys together? Because last I checked, you were just 'friends' who occasionally disappeared together at parties."
"It's not like that," Trevor tries to explain, but Jack rounds on him.
"Don't talk to me," Jack snaps, his finger pointing dangerously close to Trevor's chest. "I told you to stay the fuck away from her."
"Hey," Quinn says, finally speaking up as he stands between Jack and Trevor. "Let's all calm down."
"Calm down?" Jack laughs humorlessly. "My little sister is pregnant by one of my closest friends who swore nothing was going on between them and you want me to calm down?"
"I didn't say that," Quinn says. "I am just as mad as you are, but yelling at them isn't going to change anything."
"Then what is?" Jack demands, throwing his hands up in frustration. "Pretending this is fine? Pretending we're happy about this?"
"Jack, man, I am so sorry you had to find out like this. I swear I..."
"Shut the fuck up," Quinn says, his voice dangerously quiet as he points at Trevor. "I trusted you. I vouched for you. I told Jack to back off because I thought you were a good guy who respected our family."
"Quinn, I do," Trevor starts, but Quinn cuts him off with a sharp laugh.
"You secretly slept with our sister, get her pregnant and hide it from us. That's your version of respect?" Quinn steps closer, his presence intimidating even to you. "Do you have any idea what you've done? Not just to her, but to our friendship? To our family?"
"It wasn't planned," you say, stepping forward. "It just happened."
Quinn turns his anger toward you and it hurts worse than Jack's outburst. "It just happened?" he repeats, his voice dripping with disappointment. "You're not a teenager, you know how this works. You're not some naive little girl who doesn't understand consequences. Or maybe that's exactly what you've been pretending to be while sneaking around with him."
The words hit you like a physical blow and you stumble back a step. "Quinn, that's not fair."
"Fair?" Jack chimes in, sensing an ally in Quinn. "You want to talk about fair? How fair is it that we have to find out like this? That you've been lying to us for who knows how long?"
"I wasn't lying," you protest, tears streaming down your face. "I just didn't think it was any of your business who I was seeing."
"Wasn't our business?" Quinn asks incredulously. "You're a Hughes. Everything you do reflects on this family. And you decide to get involved with him, of all people, in the most casual way possible and you didn't think that was our business?"
"He's your friend!" you shoot back, your own anger rising. "How is this different than any other relationship I've had?"
"Because he's not just some guy," Quinn says, his voice rising. "He's Trevor fucking Zegras, who has a reputation for being exactly the kind of guy who doesn't take anything seriously. And you let him treat you likeā¦ like one of his puck bunnies."
"That's not what this is," Trevor says, stepping forward. "I care about her."
"Do you?" Quinn challenges, getting in Trevor's face. "Enough to be a real father? Or is this just another mess you'll walk away from when it gets too complicated?"
"I'm not walking away," Trevor says firmly, despite the tremor in his voice. "I wouldn't do that to her or to the baby."
"Words, Zegras," Jack spits. "That's all we ever get from you. Empty fucking words."
The argument escalates, voices rising as accusations fly across the deck. You're caught in the middle, trying to defend yourself and Trevor while facing the united front of your furious brothers.
Finally, Quinn throws his hands up in frustration. "I can't even look at you right now," he says, turning away from both you and Trevor. "Both of you. I need some air."
He storms off toward the path that leads to the lake, leaving Jack standing there with his arms crossed, glaring at Trevor. "This changes everything," Jack says quietly. "I can't even look at you right now."
hi do you know when reqs will be open again? love ur work :)š
hi!! š«¶ thank you so much š
the goal is to reopen requests this Sunday! i'm just writing a little slower than usual at the moment, so i'm not getting through my request list as quickly as i normally would. because of that, it might end up taking a little longer??? (i hope not)
i'm really sorry it's taking so long, i promise i'm working through everything as fast as i can and i can't wait to open requests again!! I really need some new inspiration š¤
Imagine getting rejected by Mack and Will takes the time to confess to you how he feels?
Angst to fluff plz
His Loss, My Gain
pairing: Will Smith x female reader
description: After Macklin rejects you, Will is there to pick up the pieces while finally admitting his own feelings for you.
TW: Angst, rejection, heartbreak, fluff.
masterlist
The rain taps against your car window as you run your hands through your hair for the hundredth time. Tonight's the night you're finally going to tell Macklin how you feel.
You've rehearsed this conversation a thousand times in your head, but now that you're actually in front of his apartment complex, every word feels wrong.
When you knock on his door, your hands are trembling so badly you have to clasp them behind your back.
"Hey!" Macklin's face lights up when he sees you, completely oblivious to the emotional storm brewing inside you. "Come on in, I was just about to order some pizza."
You follow him inside, your stomach twisting with nerves. "Mack, can we talk for a minute?"
His cheerful expression dims slightly as he senses your seriousness. "Sure, everything okay?"
You take a deep breath, the words tumbling out before you can stop them. "I've been wanting to tell you something for quite some time now, but I was always too scared to actually say it. But I just can't do this anymore, I need to tell you. Mack...I have... I have feelings for you. Romantic feelings. And I know this might complicate things, but I couldn't keep it to myself anymore."
There's silence, long and heavy, as Macklin processes your confession. His friendly smile fades, replaced by something that looks uncomfortably like pity.
"Oh," he finally says, running a hand through his hair. "Wow. Iā¦ I'm flattered, really, but I don't see you that way. You're like a sister to me."
A sister. The word lands like a punch to the gut, knocking the air from your lungs.
"Oh," you manage, trying to keep your voice steady. "Okay. Yeah. I understand. No problem, I get it. Really."
"I hope this doesn't make things weird between us," he continues, completely missing the devastation on your face. "We're still friends, right?"
"Right," you choke out, already backing toward the door. "Friends."
You practically flee from his apartment, not even bothering to wait for the elevator as you take the stairs two at a time. By the time you reach your car, tears are streaming down your face, blurring your vision.
Before you know it, you're speeding down the street only to come to a halt twenty minutes later. You blink, the haze of heartache clearing just enough to recognize the brick facade, the familiar stairwell leading up to a second-floor apartment.
Will's place.
The realization hits you with the force of a physical blow. You hadn't meant to come here. You hadn't even thought of it. But here you are, parked outside his building like a lost puppy seeking shelter.
Before you can talk yourself out of it, you're out of the car, the cold rain immediately soaking through your thin sweater, but you barely feel it. You're up the stairs, your hand raised to knock on his door before you've even registered the movement.
The door flies open before your knuckles can make contact. Will stands there, his expression initially one of casual welcome that instantly shatters into alarm. His eyes sweep over your rain-soaked, trembling form.
"Oh my god, come here." He doesn't wait for an answer, just reaches out, his hands firm and sure on your arms as he pulls you inside. "You're freezing. What happened?"
He kicks the door shut, maneuvering you gently towards the center of his living room. He's frantic with care, grabbing a blanket from the back of his sofa and wrapping it securely around your shoulders, his hands rubbing your arms, hoping to warm you up.
"Iā¦" you start, but another sob chokes the word off. All the hurt you've been holding in spills over and you're crying in earnest, great, ugly, heaving sobs that shake your entire body.
"Hey, hey, it's okay," he murmurs, his voice infinitely gentle. He doesn't push, just guides you to the sofa, sitting beside you and pulling you into his arms. He holds you as you cry, one hand stroking your hair, the other rubbing soothing circles on your back. "Let it out. I've got you. Just let it all out."
You cry until you're empty, until the sobs subside into hiccups and your head is pounding. You're a mess, soaked and sniffling against his shirt, but he doesn't seem to mind. He just holds you, a steady, warm presence in the storm of your emotions.
"Want to talk about it?" he asks softly when you've quieted.
You take a shaky breath. "I told him. I finally told him how I feel."
Will's arms tighten around you almost imperceptibly. He's quiet for a moment, just letting you breathe. "And?" he prompts gently.
"He saidā¦" you have to force the words out, each one a fresh humiliation. "He said I'm like a sister to him."
Will sighs, a deep, sad sound that rumbles in his chest. He just holds you a little tighter. "Oh, sweetheart," he whispers, his voice thick with sympathy. "He's an idiot."
A wet, broken laugh escapes you. "He's not. He's justā¦ not interested."
"Then he's a blind idiot," Will murmurs, pressing a soft kiss to the top of your head. The gesture is so natural, so comforting, it makes your heart ache in a completely different way.
"Any guy who gets the chance to be with someone like you and doesn't see itā¦ he doesn't deserve you. He never did."
"You're just saying that because you're my friend," you mumble into his chest.
"Maybe," he admits softly. "Or maybe I'm just tired of being the one who's had to watch you light up every time he walked into a room. Of being the one who's had to listen to you talk about him for years, of hoping one day you'd turn around and see what's been standing right next to you the whole time. So maybe I'm saying it because I've been in love with you for years, and it's physically painful to watch you give your heart to someone who doesn't know its value. "
Your breath catches. You pull back just enough to look at him, to see the raw, unguarded honesty in his eyes. The tears well up again, but this time they're born of shock.
"Willā¦"
He smiles, a small, sad, beautiful smile. "Yeah. It's stupid, I know." He gently tucks a stray piece of wet hair behind your ear. "I never said anything because I didn't want to mess things up. Your friendship means everything to me. And it always will. But seeing you hurt like thisā¦ I can't just stand by anymore."
The words wash over you, healing wounds you didn't even know you had. All the late-night conversations, all the shared jokes, all the times he'd dropped everything to be there for you, it wasn't just friendship.
It had never been just friendship.
"Will," you whisper, your hand coming up to cover his where it still rests on your cheek. Your heart is hammering against your ribs, but for the first time all night, it's not from pain. It's from possibility.
"Iā¦ I don't know what to say."
A slow, hesitant smile spreads across his face, full of fragile hope. "Then don't say anything." He leans in, resting his forehead against yours. "Justā¦ stay here with me? Let me take care of you tonight. We can figure out the rest tomorrow. Or next week. Or next year. I don't care how long it takes."
You close your eyes, breathing in his familiar scent, the warmth of his skin, the safety of his arms as he gently pulls you into a hug. You nod against his shoulder, a silent agreement.
The rain still beats against the windows, the storm outside mirroring the one that just passed through your heart. But here, in the circle of Will's arms, there is a quiet calm. A warmth that feels like coming home.
this probably is a weird request but can you write something about how the reader likes to hit connor bedardās biceps? and i mean like they can be just sitting on the couch watching a show or something and the reader grabs his bicep like a hotdog and chews on it. yes im projecting and yes i have an oral fixation and want his bicep to be my chew toy. and yes i thought of this after seeing that one specific picture of his black shirt STRAINING around his gigantic bicep. thank you loveee
Arm Candy
pairing: Connor Bedard x female reader
description: You can't keep your mouth off Connor's biceps during movie night.
TW: Smut, MDNI, oral fixation, thigh-grinding, biting, reader is obsessed with Connor's bicep, cocky Connor, teasing/mocking, established relationship.
masterlist
You're laying in Connor's bed watching a Football game, your head tucked into the warm space where his shoulder meets his chest with his arm wrapped securely around you.
Every time he shifts slightly to get a better view of the game, you feel the thick, solid curve of his bicep flexing against your cheek and shoulder. It's a constant reminder of the strength coiled in his body and a familiar restlessness begins to stir deep within you.
You try to focus on the game, you really really do, but your attention keeps snagging on the muscle pressed against you and all you can think about is tasting him.
You love the feel of him in your mouth, his fingers, his neck, his cock, but your absolute favorite, the thing that makes your mouth water, is his bicep.
It's just so big, so solid. The perfect thing to bite down on.
You nuzzle your head against him, pretending to seek a more comfortable position. Your lips brush the skin of his arm and you have to suppress a shiver.
You press a soft, lingering kiss there, then another. Glancing up at his face, he seems engrossed in the game. Feeling more confident, you part your lips and let your tongue dart out, tasting the salty warmth of his skin before you suckle lightly, a gentle, almost chaste pressure.
A low chuckle vibrates through his chest. "Find something interesting over there?" he asks, his voice laced with amusement. He doesn't even look away from the TV.
Heat floods your cheeks. "No," you mumble, trying to pull away.
His arm tightens, holding you firmly in place. "Don't stop on my account," he teases, finally glancing down at you. His eyes are dark, a cocky smirk playing on his lips. "My girl gettin' restless? Need something to chew on, baby?"
The mocking tone should embarrass you, but it only sends a jolt straight to your core. He flexes the muscle beneath your lips, the hard mound becoming even more prominent. "Go on," he murmurs, his voice dropping a register. "It's all yours."
That's all the permission you need.
You sink your teeth into the firm flesh, not hard enough to truly hurt, but with enough pressure to satisfy the craving. A soft groan escapes him at the feeling of it.
You bite and suck your way across the expanse of his bicep, leaving a faint trail of pink marks in your wake. He flexes again, the muscle jumping under your attention.
"Fuck, look at you," he growls, his free hand coming up to tangle in your hair. "Marking me up like I'm your favorite chew toy. So desperate for something in your mouth, aren't you?"
You can only whine in response, your mouth busy, your body growing wet and pliant. You're lost in the sensation, the need, the sheer taste of him.
With a smooth movement, he pulls you onto his lap, facing him. The new position presses you even closer, his hard cock a thick ridge beneath the thin fabric of your shorts and his.
"More comfortable for you," he murmurs, his hands roaming over your back, down to squeeze your ass. He tilts his head, his lips finding the sensitive skin of your neck. He presses sloppy, open-mouthed kisses there, sucking and nipping while you continue your assault on his bicep.
The feeling of his lips on you, combined with his hard cock pressing against your pussy leaves you a whiny, needy mess, grinding down against his lap to seek more friction.
"Shhh, I know," he soothes, though his smirk is anything but comforting. The asshole knows exactly what he's doing to you.
"I know what you need." His hands hook into the waistband of your shorts and panties and in one fluid motion, he pulls them down your thighs. "Lift up for me."
You obey without thought, letting him strip you bare. He guides you, settling your dripping pussy directly onto his thick thigh. He's only wearing a pair of loose shorts and the rough texture of the fabric against your sensitive folds makes you gasp.
"That's it," he praises, his hands gripping your hips. "Let me make you feel good, baby. Let me fuck you on my thigh like the desperate little thigh you are."
He begins to move you, a slow rocking motion that drags your clit against the hard muscle of his leg. Your arousal drips out of you, coating his skin and shorts, leaving a slick, wet mess.
Your hands fly to his biceps for purchase, your nails digging into the firm flesh as he controls your movements. He flexes the thigh beneath you, the muscle hardening even more, creating a perfect, ridged surface to grind against.
"God, look at that," he mocks, his eyes glued to where your bodies are joined. "Making such a fucking mess on me. So wet, so desperate to get off on my thigh. You love this, don't you? Love being moved around however I want?"
You're a babbling mess, unable to form a coherent thought. "C-Connorā¦ Iā¦ pleaseā¦" The plea is a broken, pathetic sound, but you can't help it.
Your entire world has shrunk to two points of overwhelming sensation: the thick thigh pressed directly against your bare, leaking pussy and the thick, solid bicep under your desperate fingers.
"Please what, baby?" he teases, flexing his bicep again. "Need this in your mouth again? Can't even focus on chewing me 'cause you're so close to coming already?"
He's right. You try to lean in, to sink your teeth into the offered muscle, but you're too far gone. All you can manage are small, desperate suckles, your lips latching onto his skin as your hips buck wildly against him.
Connor loves it. You can see it in his eyes, the pure satisfaction of having you completely undone for him. It's a specific, smug kind of triumph. He loves that he doesn't even need to fuck you, doesn't need to use his hands or his mouth to turn you into this desperate, babbling mess. All it takes is his body and the sheer, physical power of it. He gets off on the fact that you're this wrecked, this close to coming undone, all because of his biceps and his thigh.
"That's it," he growls, his voice strained with his own arousal. "Keep marking me, baby. Show everyone who I belong to. Soak my fucking leg. I want to feel you dripping down my skin."
Your orgasm washes over you as yu cry out his name, your pussy gushing your release onto his thigh, soaking his skin and shorts.
You collapse against him, boneless and with trembling legs, your face buried in the crook of his neck as you struggle to catch your breath.
Connor holds you through it, his movements slowing to a gentle rock as he murmurs praises into your hair. "Good girl," he whispers, pressing a soft kiss to your temple. "So beautiful when you fall apart for me."
