SAATW,YMSKS

18~Lia~lover of SKZ~swiftie

[thatonegirlonhere]

Red Lights

Bangchan x F! Reader

I’ve got an ideaaaaaa 🎶one shot. pure panty soaking, thigh clenching, smut. Eat a snack, drink some water, put a towel down, and get ready to read the moment that inspired Red Lights ❤️🖤

TYSM FOR 300 FOLLOWERS OMG!! ❤️🖤❤️🖤

(Also I just got in a car crash and my car is totaled so looks like there’s gonna be a LOT more stories coming your way😭😭)

Content warning: multiple rounds, multiple orgasms, semi-public sex, hair pulling, light choking, unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it folks!!), light bondage, degradation.

word count: ~2300

Master list

Lmk if you want to be added to my tag list ☺️

MDNI 18+⚠️⚠️

The studio was dim, lit only by the glow of the monitors and the scattered LED panels Chan always kept on for ambiance—blues and reds bleeding over the soundboards like heat and rhythm made visible.

You perched on the edge of the leather couch in the corner, trying to stay quiet while he finished up some mixing. He had been at it for hours, shoulders tense, brows furrowed as he clicked through layers and loops with that intense focus he always wore when he was working. You’d come by with snacks and a quiet kiss on the cheek, not expecting to stay long—but when he’d looked over his shoulder and asked you to stay, how could you say no?

Now, it was well past midnight. The air in the room was thick—bass still vibrating faintly through the monitors, but most of the work had faded into background noise. His fingers slowed, his posture relaxed, and when he finally turned to face you, it was like something shifted in the atmosphere.

“You’ve been so patient,” he said, voice low and rough. “Just sittin’ there… lookin’ like that.”

You blinked. “Like what?”

His smirk was lazy but laced with heat as he stood and crossed the room in two strides. “Like you want something.”

You opened your mouth to answer but he was already kneeling between your legs, strong hands pushing your thighs apart as his lips brushed your inner knee. “You want me, baby?”

You nodded.

“That’s not good enough.” His fingers dug into your hips, voice lower, darker now. “Say it.”

“I want you.”

“Want me to do what?”

You bit your lip, heat pulsing between your thighs. “Touch me.”

“Oh, I’m gonna do more than that.”

He leaned in and kissed you, slow and deep, his body pressing you back against the couch as his hands slid up your thighs under your skirt. You gasped into his mouth when his fingers traced over your panties—already damp—and he groaned at the feeling.

“You’re soaked, baby. Sitting here all night while I worked, so fuckin’ good for me. You deserve a reward.”

He didn’t bother pulling them down—just pushed the fabric to the side and ran two fingers up your slit, spreading you open, teasing the slick around your folds. His touch was careful, practiced, but when he slid them in without warning, your back arched off the couch.

“F-Fuck—Chan…”

“Yeah?” he whispered, kissing your throat, your jaw, your cheek. “Let me hear you. Let me hear what you sound like when I make you fall apart.”

He curled his fingers just right, hitting that spot inside you with precision, and your legs shook. He kept working you open, his lips now latched around your nipple through your shirt, sucking until you whimpered, thighs trembling around his head. And then his mouth was trailing down, past your stomach, dragging your panties fully off.

“Lay back,” he growled. “Let me taste what’s mine.”

You obeyed, panting, eyes glazed over, as he spread your thighs and buried his face between them.

Oh god.

His tongue was magic—slow swipes through your folds, flicking your clit, then flattening against it with firm, rhythmic pressure that made your eyes roll back. He moaned against you like he was tasting the best thing he’d ever had, one hand holding your thigh down and the other buried in yours, fingers interlaced, grounding you while he ruined you with his mouth.

“Please,” you gasped, hips rocking against his face.

He pulled back, lips and chin glistening. “Please what, baby?”

“I—I want you. Need you inside me.”

That was all he needed.

He stood and undid his jeans with one hand, cock springing free—hard, leaking, flushed at the tip. You reached for him but he grabbed your wrist and pinned it above your head.

“Not yet,” he murmured, dragging the head of his cock through your folds, teasing your clit until you were writhing. “I’m gonna take my time with you.”

He eased in slow—inch by inch—stretching you, filling you so perfectly your eyes fluttered shut.

“Fuck, you feel unreal,” he groaned, gripping your hip. “Tight little pussy’s gripping me like you missed this.”

“I did,” you choked out. “Fuck, I did.”

Chan started moving, hips rolling in slow, deep thrusts, grinding his pelvis against your clit every time he bottomed out. The angle, the pressure, the sound of skin slapping and wetness and his growled curses—it was all too much and not enough.

He leaned over you, forearms on either side of your head, forehead pressed to yours.

“Look at me,” he commanded, voice rough. “Wanna see your face when I make you cum.”

You held his gaze—barely—until he shifted his angle, his cock hitting that sweet spot with every thrust and your orgasm crashed over you without warning. Your whole body tensed, and you cried out, back arching as he fucked you through it.

“Good girl,” he praised, kissing your temple, thrusts growing erratic now. “So fuckin’ good for me. Gonna fill you up. You want that?”

“Yes, please—inside, please, please—”

With a deep groan, Chan buried himself to the hilt, grinding his hips as he came, hot and thick, spilling into you while whispering your name like a prayer.

He didn’t move right away, just kissed you—slow and messy—his body heavy against yours.

Eventually, he pulled out gently, swiping a hand between your legs to watch his cum drip out.

“Fuck, look at that,” he murmured, almost to himself. “You’re so pretty like this.”

You laughed softly, still breathless. “You’re gonna make me wanna come to the studio more often.”

He smirked. “That was the plan, baby.”

⸻

The air was thick with sex and sweat, your skin still tingling from your first orgasm, thighs trembling as you tried to catch your breath. But Chan wasn’t done. Not even close.

He watched you with a dark, hungry gaze as you lay boneless on the couch, legs parted, his cum dripping out of you onto the leather.

“You good, baby?” he murmured, brushing his knuckles down your cheek.

You nodded, dazed. “Yeah… so good.”

But then his eyes dropped, watching the mess between your legs with a little hum of satisfaction.

“Still so wet for me,” he said, dragging his fingers through your folds again, gathering the mix of your arousal and his cum. “Think you can take another round?”

You didn’t even hesitate. “Yes.”

That was all he needed.

He stood and grabbed you by the hips, helping you off the couch, his voice low and commanding in your ear.

“Bend over the soundboard.”

Your eyes widened slightly, but the look he gave you—possessive, dominant, full of heat—had you obeying instantly.

You pressed your palms to the edge of the console, bent forward with your back arched, ass perfectly on display for him. The LED lights reflected off the sleek equipment, casting a red glow over the scene. Chan stepped up behind you, dragging the head of his cock through your soaked folds again.

“I should leave you like this,” he murmured darkly. “All needy and dripping, whining for me.”

“Chan…”

“You love being used like this, huh?” He gripped your ass, squeezing hard enough to leave marks. “So fuckin’ filthy for me.”

And then he shoved in with one smooth, brutal thrust.

You cried out, eyes rolling back as he filled you again, deeper this time, the new angle hitting everything just right.

“Fucking hell,” he groaned, hips snapping forward. “You take me so well.”

He set a brutal pace, slamming into you with no mercy, the wet sounds of your bodies echoing off the padded walls. His hand slid up your back, fingers tangling in your hair as he yanked your head back, forcing your back into a sharper arch.

“That’s it,” he growled. “Let me hear you.”

You moaned loud and shameless, bracing yourself on the console as he pounded into you. His other hand reached around your front and slid up to your throat, applying just enough pressure to make your breath hitch.

“You like that?” he whispered against your ear. “Being bent over like this? Getting fucked where I make music, where I work?”

“Y-Yes—fuck, Chan—”

“Good.” He fucked you harder, hips slamming into your ass. “Gonna cum for me again?”

Your body shook, legs barely holding you up. You were close—so close it hurt—and he knew it.

“Touch yourself,” he said. “Rub that pretty clit for me. Wanna feel you cum on my cock.”

You reached between your legs, fingers frantic on your clit while Chan kept pounding you from behind, his cock hitting that same devastating spot again and again.

It was too much.

Your orgasm hit like a freight train, legs giving out, body spasming around him as you cried out, face buried in your arm, shaking from the intensity.

“Shit, that’s it—fuck, you’re so tight when you cum—”

Chan cursed under his breath and slammed into you one last time, holding you there as he spilled inside you again, deeper this time, his cum leaking out around his cock and dripping onto the damn soundboard beneath you.

He stayed there, panting, both of you soaked in sweat and sex.

“Holy shit,” you breathed.

“Yeah…” he chuckled, breathless, hands still on your hips. “This soundboard’s never gonna be the same.”

You giggled weakly. “You’re cleaning it.”

“Mm-mm.” He leaned over your back, brushing his lips against your ear. “I’m gonna record a whole song about this night and put it in the album. Only we’ll know what it’s truly about.”

You turned your head to look at him, eyes still half-lidded, glowing in the red light. You were already ruined.

Legs shaking, lips swollen, inner thighs slick with sweat and his cum—but Chan wasn’t finished with you. He had that look in his eyes. The one that meant he was far past control. Possession was driving him now. Lust and love blurred in the glow of LED reds.

⸻

“You still standing, baby?” he asked, brushing your hair from your face.

“Barely.”

“Good.” He grinned. “Let’s see how long that lasts.”

He grabbed your wrist and pulled you toward the vocal booth. The door clicked shut behind you, the muffled quiet of the padded walls suddenly making your own breathing feel deafening. It was small in there—tight. Cramped. Hot.

You felt the air shift.

He turned to face you, slowly—his bare chest gleaming with sweat, his cock still half-hard and twitching between you both, already starting to stiffen again.

He crowded you against the glass wall, mouth crashing into yours with a brutal kiss that left your head spinning. Tongue and teeth and need. He pressed into you, and you could feel his cock hardening again against your thigh.

“Turn around. Hands on the glass.”

You obeyed instantly, pulse hammering in your ears. The glass was cold against your palms, a shocking contrast to your flushed, overheated skin.

Chan stepped behind you, kicking your legs apart gently with his foot, running his fingers down your spine.

“I should’ve brought cuffs,” he growled. “But maybe we can improvise.”

You gasped as he grabbed a long red cable hanging in the booth—one used for XLR hookups—and wrapped it loosely around your wrists, securing them behind your back.

“Just enough to remind you who you belong to,” he murmured against your neck, nipping at the sensitive skin.

Then his hand slid down, between your legs, fingers gathering the slick that hadn’t stopped leaking from your core since round two.

“Still so wet for me. You love this, don’t you?”

“Y-Yes…”

“Getting used in my studio… tied up in my booth like my personal fucktoy?”

You moaned, arching back into him. “Please, Chan…”

He lined himself up again—no teasing this time—and drove into you in one rough, punishing thrust. You choked on a cry, forehead pressed to the glass as he filled you completely.

“Fuck, yes,” he groaned. “Tight little pussy just begging for more.”

His thrusts were savage now—bruising, deep, one hand braced on the wall beside your head, the other tangled in your hair, yanking your head back so you couldn’t look away from your own fucked-out reflection in the glass.

“You see that?” he hissed. “Look how wrecked you are. How good you take me.”

You whimpered as his cock dragged against every sensitive spot inside you, the angle perfect. You couldn’t move—your wrists bound, your body pinned between him and the wall.

The mic above you was live—he’d turned it on, you realized. The faint red light blinked as he fucked you.

“Chan—”

“Let them hear it,” he growled. “I want the whole world to hear how good I make you feel. Every breath.”

His free hand snaked around your front again, pressing down on your lower belly as he thrust in even deeper, the pressure sending your nerves into overdrive.

“Gonna cum for me, baby?” he whispered against your ear.

“Y-Yes, please—fuck, please—”

“You sound like a song, you know that?” His pace picked up. “Every cry, every breath… you are music.”

He bit your shoulder, hard, and you shattered—legs giving out, body going limp as you screamed his name into the mic.

The sound echoed in the tiny booth, bouncing off the padded walls. Your orgasm rolled through you like thunder—deep, endless, raw.

Chan cursed and followed seconds later, slamming into you one last time, burying himself to the hilt as he came, thick and hot, filling you again until it dripped down your thighs.

You both collapsed against the glass, panting, skin sticking together in the humid air. He carefully untied your wrists and turned you around, kissing you softly now—tender, breathless.

“Holy shit,” you whispered, still shaking.

Chan just grinned and reached for the mic switch. “This recording…”

Your eyes widened. “Chan—did you really—?”

“Mmhm.” He kissed your cheek. “I’m keeping it. Maybe a song about how I can’t keep my hands off you.”

He paused.

“Red lights. Tied hands. That sound like a theme to you?”

Your mouth dropped open. “You’re insane.”

“And you’re my muse.”

Thank you for reading!!

tag list : @quaxing-lour @chryssi-kitten @kkd1021

[skz-lia-lantsov]

My face the whole time 😮😮😮🫢🤭😮😮😮🫢🤭

[capquinn]

(i re-read the ‘this is how you greet daddy’ blurb again.)

buggy watching Quinn talk to cub while he’s still baking in moms belly and being so intrigued she has all these questions and when she gives it a try, cub kicks and bug is just amazed at that. so now it’s a daily occurrence that bug and quinn talk to the baby when quinn gets home.

(bug would probably turn it into a competition, like “daddy, i bet i can make baby move before you!” UGH!)

It starts with curiosity.

Bug is always watching — soaking in every little thing, her sharp little mind piecing together things before she even knows how to ask about them. And lately? She’s been watching Quinn.

The way he talks to your belly, the way his voice softens when he does it, his big hand spreading warm and steady over where her baby brother is growing. Sometimes he’s casual about it, murmuring something without even thinking, a sleepy "hey, little man," when he crawls into bed at night, or an absentminded "be nice to your mama today, okay?" when he feels a particularly strong kick. Other times, he’s intentional. Like when you’re both curled up on the couch, and he leans in close, resting his cheek lightly against your bump, whispering things Bug can’t quite hear.

At first, she just observes, her head tilted in that thoughtful way of hers, brow furrowed like she’s considering something.

Then the questions start.

What are you doing?

Does he know what you're saying?

How does he hear you?

Does he talk back?

Can I try?

And of course, she tries.

She scoots right up to you, small hands settling clumsily on your belly, her whole body warm as she presses in close, her voice dropping into a whisper.

"Hi, baby brother. It’s me. Bug. Your big sister."

And then, as if on cue, there’s a kick.

"Did he…?" she trails off, barely above a whisper, waiting for confirmation.

And when you nod, smiling, her whole face lights up. She gasps, spinning around to Quinn, completely astounded.

"Daddy! Did you see that? He knows me!"

Quinn laughs, hand smoothing over her hair as he nods. “I saw.”

"He heard me!" she exclaims, voice bubbling with excitement, but then her expression shifts, turns suddenly serious as she whips back around, pressing both hands firmly against your belly like she’s trying to catch him in the act.

"Do it again, baby," she demands, voice dropping into something softer, more coaxing. "One more time. Please?"

You bite back a laugh, glancing at Quinn, who’s watching her with that soft, affectionate look he always gets when Bug is like this — when she is so earnest, so full of belief in the world around her.

"He’s not a puppy, Bug," Quinn teases, nudging her gently. "He’s not gonna listen to commands."

"But he heard me before!" she insists, her little brows furrowing in concentration.

She shifts, trying different angles — pressing her cheek against your belly like she has seen Quinn do a hundred times before, tapping her fingers lightly, even giggling, like maybe if she’s happy, the baby will be happy too.

And then — another little shift beneath her palm. A tiny kick, softer this time, but there.

Bug gasps, giddy now, turning to look at you with so much joy it makes your chest ache.

"He likes me!" she declares, voice full of pride.

"Of course he does, baby," you murmur, brushing a hand over her hair. "You’re his big sister."

"Best big sister ever," Quinn adds, leaning in to press a kiss to the top of her head.

Bug beams, glowing, her hand still resting over your belly, like she’s never letting go.

"I can’t wait till he comes out," she sighs dreamily.

And from then on, it’s constant.

Before bedtime, when she’s curled up between you and Quinn, fingers lazily drumming against your bump as she sleepily tells her baby brother about her day.

In the morning, when she groggily leans against your side, rubbing the sleep from her eyes she mumbles, "g’morning, baby brother."

And when Quinn talks to him, she always joins in like the two of them are having their own little conversation, like it’s completely normal for all three of them to sit there, Quinn and Bug chatting away, like the baby can actually respond.

"You know, little man, your sister is gonna boss you around all the time," Quinn teases one evening, pressing a lazy kiss to your bump.

"Am not," Bug huffs, adjusting her position so she can rest her cheek against your belly as she sprawls out over the sofa. "I’m just gonna help him. I gotta teach him."

"Yeah?" Quinn grins, settling in beside you. "Teach him what?"

"How to draw," she says confidently. "And how to share. And how to eat ice cream fast before it melts."

"All the essentials," Quinn murmurs, eyes soft as he watches her.

"And I’ll tell him about all the stuff he’s missing out here, so he’s ready when he comes out," she adds, giving the bump a little pat. "Don’t worry, baby. I got you."

And Quinn?

Quinn just looks at you, his expression warm, his fingers tightening ever so slightly over your stomach — like he can feel it, the shape of his family growing beneath his touch.

It doesn’t even stop when Quinn leaves for a road trip. If anything, Bug takes her job even more seriously in his absence.

Every night, after she’s had her bath, after she’s been wrapped up in her softest pyjamas, she climbs up onto the couch beside you, pressing in close like she always does. And without fail, her little hands find their way to your belly, fingers splayed wide like she’s trying to hold onto him the way she would if he were already here.

"Hi, baby brother," she murmurs, soft and warm. "Daddy’s not here tonight. He had to go away for work but it’s okay ‘cause I’ll tell you everything so you don’t miss anything."

And she does.

She fills him in on everything.

"Today at preschool, we learned about the ocean. Did you know sharks have so many teeth? Like, more than me, even. But don’t worry, there’s no sharks in the bath, I asked."

And then, when she’s all caught up on her day, she moves on to Quinn’s.

"Daddy had a game tonight. He didn’t win, though." She sighs, dragging her palm slowly over your bump. "I think he’s sad about it, but that’s okay. He’ll win next time. Maybe if you were here, he’d win more ‘cause he’d have two of us cheering for him."

You smile, smoothing a hand over her hair, listening as she keeps talking and talking, the baby shifting beneath her palm like he’s listening, too.

"I miss him, but you’re here. And mommy, too." She pauses, her fingers tracing absentminded little patterns over your belly. And then, after a beat, so soft and so certain, "she misses daddy a lot but she gets to hug me and you, so it’s okay."

There’s a little kick beneath her hand, just a tiny one, but it’s enough.

Bug gasps, delighted.

"See?" She grins up at you. "He knows what I’m saying."

And that’s just how it goes.

Every night until Quinn comes home, Bug curls up beside you, hand resting against your belly, filling him in on everything because if daddy can’t be here to talk to him, she will.

But when Quinn finally comes home, it happens the same way every time.

The front door creaks open late at night, and before he even has a chance to set his bag down, Bug comes bounding down the hall, feet pattering against the floor, launching herself straight into his arms.

Quinn catches her with ease, lifting her effortlessly, his arms wrapping around her because he’s needed this just as much as she has. She clings to him, small fingers gripping his hoodie, her face tucked into his neck, and he breathes her in, swaying her gently like he never wants to let go.

And then his gaze lifts, searching for you.

You’re there, waiting, just a few steps away, a quiet smile playing on your lips, warmth written all over your face.He doesn’t hesitate — one arm still wrapped securely around Bug, the other reaching immediately for you, tugging you into him, pressing his lips to your temple.

"Missed you," he murmurs, voice quiet, just for you.

"Missed you too," you whisper back, your hand finding its familiar place on his chest next to Bug's, fingers curling lightly into the fabric of his hoodie.

But then, just like always, Bug leans back, pressing her hands against his cheeks, turning his face toward her, blinking up at him seriously.

"Say hi to baby brother."

Quinn huffs out a laugh, shifting Bug higher in his arm before reaching down, palm pressing warm and firm over your belly, settling against the spot where your baby already knows him.

"Hey, little man," he murmurs, thumb stroking absently over the fabric of your shirt. "You miss me?"

Bug nods enthusiastically, still latched onto him, her little hand coming to rest beside his. "We told him all about your games, daddy. Even the ones you didn’t win."

"Oh, great," Quinn groans playfully, pressing his forehead briefly to hers. "Bet he loved that."

"He did," she says confidently.

And then, right on cue, a little shift beneath his hand, a small, familiar kick, like a quiet 'welcome home.'

And just like always, Quinn smiles, warmth settling deep in his chest, his world clicking right back into place.

[luckycharm12]

I think maybe you need to be stopped, take a break or something

Cuz you’re breaking my brain with every single one of your amazing thoughts

Genuinely how do y’all come up with such immersive content 😭😭

I love you and hate you at the same time 😘😘 pls take the reigns of my life I trust you with everything

[capquinn]

if you’re handing over the reins, just know we’re taking the scenic route through delusional suburbia where dad!quinn is shirtless in grey sweats, swaying on the spot with a baby in his arms, and smiling at you like you hung the moon. no breaks in sight!!! <3

[skz-lia-lantsov]

Wait....maybe I do want 2 kids 😭😭😭

[doodleddaisies]

I see no difference

[skz-lia-lantsov]

My shaylaaaaaaaaa 😭😭😭😭😭😭😭

[lina-lovebug]

Nikolai Lantsov spicy headcannons

- Nikolai knows that he was born the second son, the bastard, and he had no chances of ever being King

- So he made his ventures elsewhere and proved himself in other ways, especially in the bedroom

- He knows how to get you riled up before bed, whispering in your ear, his hand on your thigh during a meeting and slowly trailing upwards

- and when you mumble to him that you're in public, he says "I can't help it, love, you're fun to mess with"

- this man eats pussy like it's a fucking competition

- and he's the only one competing. Against who? Himself

- his hands gripping your thighs as they shake, your head thrown back, your back ARCHING-

- even after you've orgasmed, his tongue is relentless to get you screaming his name all over again

- "your thighs are shaking so much, love," He says with a grin, keeling your legs apart as he presses soft kisses against your skin

- he doesn't enjoy quickies because he relishes being inside of you

- he wants to take his time with you, draw his hands over ever inch and memorize every little thing that makes you say his name and his name only

- "shit, just like that" "fuck, you're so wet" "you feel so fucking good"

- he loves whispering in your ear as he pounds into you and your nails along his back only encourage him

- afterwards, he always keeps a cloth and water bowl by the bed to clean you both up and kiss your forehead, lips, stomach, thighs

- especially the thighs cuz there's usually always bruises the next day

- and he cannot wait until the day is over so he can toss away his crown, pick you up, and lay you down so he can do it all over again

[skz-lia-lantsov]

WHERES MY NIKOLAI 😭😭😭😭

[hvghes-ur-d4ddy-deactivated2026]

this edit. 🧎‍♀️

(not mine, all credits go to @luvsnemo )

[skz-lia-lantsov]

I put this edit on my IG story's a few weeks back, and she watched actually watched them 😅

[wannabehockeygf]

nah bc will smith liking older women is literally something i think abt consistently

“You can ask smitty about that”

What do u mean macklin. WHAT DO YOU MEAN.

[skz-lia-lantsov]

Crys 2 years younger then him 😭😭😭😭😭

[wannabehockeygf]

i've been watching a lot of very talkative young babies on tiktok recently (think rustyn) and I had this thought of clay's baby having a sudden language explosion.

clayton’s exhausted. two weeks on the road, game after game, shitty hotel beds, long flights—he’s dead on his feet. but none of it matters, not when he’s standing at the front door, key in the lock, knowing you and his little boy are just on the other side.

he barely gets the door open before there’s a loud gasp.

“daddy home!”

and then there’s a blur of chubby limbs, a wobbly little run straight toward him, and clayton barely has time to drop his bag before his son barrels right into his legs.

“whoa, bud,” clayton laughs, scooping him up, arms tightening around the solid weight of him. “man, you got even bigger, huh?”

but the second he looks down, he realizes—something’s different. the baby’s looking at him, all big blue eyes and a huge smile with tiny teeth, and then—

“daddy! you comed back! i missed you so much! mommy say you at work but you taked too long. but you here now! i happy!!”

clayton freezes.

what. the fuck.

he pulls the baby back just slightly, staring at him like he’s never seen him before. “…what did you just say?”

the baby giggles and pats clayton’s cheeks with both hands. “you hear me, daddy! i say i missed you so much! i say you taked too long!”

clayton’s mouth opens, then closes. then opens again.

“what the fuck,” he breathes.

the baby gasps, eyes going wide. then, in the same breathless tone, he parrots, “what da fuck.”

clayton nearly drops him. “oh, shit.”

“oh, shit,” the baby repeats, then claps his hands. “funny words!”

clayton groans, running a hand down his face as he tries not to laugh. “jesus christ.”

“cheesus cwist,” the baby mimics, nodding solemnly.

clayton chokes.

and that’s when you finally walk in, stopping in the doorway with an amused little smirk. “oh, good, you’re home. and corrupting our child already, i see.”

clayton turns to you, wide-eyed. “when the hell did he start talking like this?”

“oh, he’s been doing it for a few days now,” you say casually, stepping closer to press a kiss to his cheek. “woke up one morning and decided he had a lot to say. i figured i’d let you find out for yourself.”

“daddy say funny words,” the baby informs you, grinning. “he say—”

clayton slaps a hand over his mouth. “okay, buddy, let’s not repeat those anymore, yeah?”

the baby blinks up at him. then, muffled against his palm, mumbles, “okay, daddy.”

clayton sighs, setting him down. the second he’s on his feet, he takes off in a clumsy little run, narrating to himself as he goes. “i runnin’! i so fast! zoom zoom!”

clayton watches him go, then turns to you, still looking completely bewildered.

“seriously. what the fuck.”

from across the room, the baby yells, “what da fuck!!”

clayton groans.

[skz-lia-lantsov]

STOP I LOVE RUSTYN AND ADDIE AND BRADY. THIS WAS SO CUTEEEE

[nedeljkovicsaysno]

“Went to the beanpot with Mack and then went to Arizona with Mack…and Delly”

—William Charles Patrick Smith on what he did for the break

[skz-lia-lantsov]

WILLIAM CHARLES PATRICK SMITH 😲😲😲

[iibratzbaby]

OH MY GOD???

why is he smiling like that 😭😭 (also, they’re all wearing uniforms so im guess this is from his school back in toronto, so either middle school or like freshmen or sophomore year)

[skz-lia-lantsov]

DUDEEEE HE LOOKS SO OUTTA PLACE 😭😭😭 HE LOOKS LIKE HES WAY TO YOUNG TO BE THERE 😭😭😭

[sweetestdesire-deactivated20250]

What do you think Jack’s reaction would be to walking in on you and Luke fucking?

Realistically, a very big “What the fuck?” moment before slamming the door shut and complaining about how he’d have to bleach his eyes to unsee what he just saw. He’d also make lewd jokes to Luke later on just to get a reaction out of him, but he’d actually be internally scarred and could never look at you both the same again. However, if you’re allowing me to be whimsical about this, Jack would definitely stand there and watch, but it could go two ways.

Jack would either one, continue standing there just to get a good look at you, and he’d absolutely keep the mental image of you in his mind and make his way back to his room to rub one out, or two, he’d make a comment about how Luke would need to put his back into it and would announce that he could fuck you so much better. He’d love it when he’d see you get so flustered at being caught in such a position, but he’d be so nonchalant about it.

[skz-lia-lantsov]

What position...we're we innnn....😭😭😭

[bewaryofpity]

IT'S NOW OR NEVER - L. HUGHES

[3.9k] luke was raised a gentleman and by the third date you are worried why he hasn't kissed you yet or three times luke was too scared to kiss you and one time you took matters into your own hands.

warnings: none ! this is so corny; unedited

.

1.

When Luke asked you out on a date, you were expecting something more traditional for a first date — a movie, maybe a dinner in a cute restaurant, even just a cafe date. But this?

“A baking class?” You couldn’t help but mutter to yourself this morning, eyebrows furrowed as you reread Luke's text. It had taken him a lot of courage to ask for your number a few nights ago, his awkward stance endearing, and he seemed like a guy who would choose a more practical option. Maybe you took his shy personality for granted.

Now, standing in the intimate studio filled with the hum of conversation from other couples gathered around their cooking stations, you weren’t sure what to think. It made you laugh a little because everyone around you already seemed to be a couple, and you and Luke were not… yet.

“Thought it might be fun. I hope you’re ready to be amazed by my baking expertise.” He smirked, his voice playful as he was standing by one of the sleek stainless-steel countertops beside you, finishing tying his apron.

You glanced at him with a smile. He was already rolling up his sleeves and looking at the recipe card in front of him with determination. There was something sweet about how out of his element he looked and you had a feeling his “baking expertise” was going to be revealed as a lie very soon.

The instructor introduced the recipe for a lemon tart which was slightly more challenging than you expected for a beginner’s class. Soon, you took the lead, carefully mixing the dough for the crust while Luke squeezed fresh lemons, their tart aroma filling the air. When it came time to roll out the dough, Luke tried to help, but the dough stuck to the rolling pin and tore when he tried to lift it into the pan. 

“Let me show you,” you said, after noticing his frustration, your tone gentle but amused. You guided his hands, showing him how to roll evenly and use a bit of flour to keep things smooth. Luke nodded along your words as you explained your moves, but he was more focused on the way your fingers brushed his than on the technique. 

While the crust baked, you left it up to Luke to make the filling. He whisked eggs and sugar with ease, his biceps peeking through his sweater, while you worked on zesting lemons and occasionally stealing glances at his cute concentrated face, though his arms were really distracting.

The filling came together quite nicely for your first attempt. It was a sunny yellow mixture that smelled like summer, and when it was time to pour it into the crust, you handed Luke the bowl so you could spread the filling evenly. The tart was finally ready and you placed it gently into the oven, before you started cleaning up your station, working side by side with an easy rhythm.

It wasn’t long before you dished the tart to start decorating it. As you reached for the thin slices of lemon to arrange them on top, Luke gently ushered your hand away.

“Leave the decorating up to me.” He said with a grin. You raised an eyebrow but stepped back, curious to see what he’d come up with. He placed the lemon slices with a deliberate precision that made you smile, adding sprigs of mint and finishing it off with a dusting of powdered sugar. He did have some baking expertise after all, you thought.

By the end of the class, the instructor encouraged everyone to take a bite of their creations, and you and Luke found yourselves amazed by your work. The crust was buttery and crisp, the filling perfectly balanced between tart and sweet. Your eyes widened at the first bite, and Luke couldn’t help but feel a surge of pride.

“This is actually pretty good.” You admitted. Luke grinned, savoring his own bite and the way your amusement seemed to radiate off something so simple.

You bid your goodbyes to the instructor on your way out, taking the leftover tart with you, leaving half to Luke. 

“Thank you for tonight. I had a really good time.”

“Me too,” he said with a smile. “Where did you park?”

“Oh, I took a cab here.”

“I’ll drive you home then, if that’s okay with you.” 

You tried to wave him off, not wanting to bother him since it was getting late already and you knew he had practice the next morning. But he insisted, and you didn’t have it in your heart to say no one more time, not when he gave you those puppy eyes.

The drive back to your apartment was quiet, the radio playing softly in the background. When he halted the car at the stoplight, Luke stole a glance at you as you gazed out the window, your profile illuminated by the streetlights. You looked peaceful, yet he wished he knew what was going on in your head, because turmoil had started to rise in his. Doubts started to cloud his thoughts, what ifs and maybes worried him, and he truly couldn’t mess this up because he already knew you were the woman of his dreams.

When you pulled up in front of your building, Luke turned off the engine and hesitated. He wanted to say something meaningful, something that would let you know how much he’d enjoyed the evening, but the words felt clumsy even in his head. You unbuckled your seatbelt and turned to him, your expression expectant but soft.

“Thank you.” You said softly.

“Don’t worry about it.” 

He wanted to reach for your hand, to bridge the small space between you, but his fingers stayed gripping the steering wheel. You lingered for a moment, your gaze dipping to his mouth and then back up to his eyes. He felt the air shift, a subtle invitation, but his nerves got the better of him.

“Goodnight,” he said instead, his voice steady but quieter than before. You blinked, a flicker of something unreadable crossing your face, and then you smiled, small but sincere.

“Goodnight, Luke.” You said as you stepped out of the car. He waited until you’d reached your door and waved at you before driving away, his chest tight with both satisfaction and regret.

Inside your apartment, you set down the box of leftover tart and leaned against the door. The evening had been lovely, better than you’d expected, really. Luke had been sweet and playful, your laughter easy and unforced, which was a rare occurrence after many past failed dates with other men. But as you replayed the moment in the car, you couldn’t help but feel a twinge of disappointment. You’d wanted him to kiss you, you felt the possibility hovering between you, but nothing happened and maybe you read this all wrong.

Still, you reminded yourself that first dates were just testing the waters, the first step towards something more and if your intuition about Luke was right, then there was nothing to worry about. After all, the best things were worth waiting for. 

2.

A message asking you for a second date came much sooner than you expected. You were looking forward to seeing Luke again, but hockey kept him busy and you were stuck with texting, which was fine, except for the fact that you missed him a lot. 

After the baking class, you had spent days replaying moments in your head — the way he smiled at you, the way he hesitated when he dropped you off. Something about him intrigued you, and you couldn’t wait to peel back another layer of him.

And that was how you found yourself walking to Central Park on a Tuesday afternoon, the air crisp and golden, autumn leaves falling delicately from the trees. Luke stood by the entrance, holding a picnic basket in one hand and a rolled-up blanket in the other. He waved as you approached, his face lighting up in a way that made your heart skip. Oh, this can’t be real, you thought. You loved parks, picnics even more so and how Luke figured that out, you didn’t know. This was just your second date and he had already done more than any guy you ever dated. 

“Hi.” You said shyly.

“Hi! Let’s go before they steal our spot.” He grinned, grabbing at your hand, not really leaving time for conversation. 

You walked together through the path leading towards the open patch of grass, the sounds of the city muffled by the rustle of leaves and the laughter of children playing nearby. 

“This okay?” He asked, spreading out the blanket. He busied himself trying to lay everything nice and neat to calm his nerves, but you could see the flicker of nervousness in his movements.

“It’s perfect.” And you meant it. The secluded spot he brough you to was beneath a sprawling oak tree and it felt like a little world carved out just for the two of you, despite the other couples around you.

Luke unpacked the basket with care and you were stunned by how thoughtful he had been. The sandwiches wrapped in wax paper, the container of pasta salad, fresh fruit, and the small box of cookies, were all things he prepared himself. You could tell, they weren’t perfect, but the fact that he took the time out of his already tight schedule to do something nice for you made your heart flutter.

“You’re really raising the bar here,” you said, taking a seat, legs criss-crossed. “Future dates are going to have a hard time living up to this.”

“Well,” he said, sitting down across from you, “I figured I should go big early on. Keep you interested.”

You giggled, and the sound seemed to relax him. The two of you settled into an easy conversation, eating and talking about everything and nothing. Luke told you about hockey, or at least tried. You weren’t familiar with the sport and what he was explaining didn’t make much sense to you, but he looked too cute to interrupt his nerd moment. You learned he played with his brother on the same team, something he wasn’t expecting on his draft day. You on the other hand, couldn’t say much about your boring 9 to 5 job, but when you mention your love for books, the conversation went lively again after he admitted Harry Potter was the last book he ever read.

“You’re lying!”

“Am not! I just can’t find anything interesting to read.”

Luke leaned back on his elbows, his gaze drifting to the trees overhead. The sun was starting to lower, the afternoon melting into evening, and the golden light deepened into the rich hues of a sunset.

After a while, Luke suggested a walk to stretch your legs, and you strolled along the park’s quieter paths, your shoulders brushing occasionally. When the sun dipped low, painting the sky in shades of orange and pink, you both stopped by a small hill to admire its beauty. The city’s skyline stood silhouetted against the glowing horizon, and the moment felt almost too perfect to break with words. He sat beside you, close enough that you could feel his warmth, but he didn’t reach for your hand or lean closer, and his hesitation was endearing but also maddening. 

As the sky darkened, you realized it was time to head back. The walk to your apartment was quiet, but not uncomfortably so, though the silence felt loaded, as if you were both aware of the unspoken undercurrent between you. When you reached your building, Luke paused, his hands in his jacket pockets.

“I had a really great time today.” He said, his voice steady but soft.

“Me too.” You replied, wishing you could find the words to tell him how much. 

The moment stretched and he didn’t move. No leaning in, no reaching out, just the same gentle smile that had greeted you at the park, the same smile he gave you in the car last time. Your eyes never left his, hoping he would see the glimmer of hope on your face.

You hesitated, heart thudding, because if he wasn’t going to take the step, maybe you had to. So, gathering your courage, you leaned up and kissed him on the cheek, letting your lips linger just a second longer than was strictly casual.

“Good luck for tomorrow’s game, Luke.” You whispered, stepping back before you could second-guess yourself. He was surprised, a blush creeping on his ears and mouth hanging slightly open. It made your stomach fill with butterflies, maybe this would finally make him understand your intentions.

“T-Thanks, goodnight.” He finally said, his voice a little lower now. He watched you go, and when you turned to close the door behind you, he was still standing there as if he was rooted to the spot.

Inside, you leaned against the door, lips tight in a smile and your cheeks warm. The kiss hadn’t been bold or dramatic, but it was enough to get your point across, or at least you hoped it was. But for now, you were content to let the memory of the day feed the warmth in your chest.

And maybe, just maybe, the next time he’d finally close the distance.

3.

It wasn’t really a date, or at least that wasn’t the intention, but Luke texted you hours after his game finished with the classic “you up?” text and you ended up in the cold Prudential Center at midnight.

He couldn’t sleep after winning the game, the adrenaline pumping in his body despite his head being tired. He felt a bit ashamed to send such a cringey text, but his fingers moved before he could actually put some thoughts behind his words, and luckily you responded like it was no big deal.

The familiar scent of ice and cold air greeted you as you walked through the quiet halls, no crowds, no buzz of pre-game energy. It was dead silent. It was completely empty, the polished ice gleaming under the bright overhead lights.

“It’s just us?” Your voice echoed slightly.

“Just us.” Luke added, his hands tucked casually into his jacket pockets. “Figured it’d be more fun this way. No pressure, no audience.”

You stared at him, momentarily stunned. The gesture was unexpectedly thoughtful, and it made your chest tighten in a way you weren’t quite prepared for. You mentioned your desire to learn how to skate as soon as he told you he played hockey, but you were too nervous to hit the outdoor rink, not trusting yourself with loads of careless people around you equally as awkward.

“You know I don’t skate.”

“Yeah,” he said, flashing a boyish grin. “I’ll teach you, that’s why we’re here.”

He handed you a pair of skates he borrowed from one of the guys’ girlfriend, and helped you lace them up. His fingers brushed yours as he tightened the laces, sending a shiver up your spine that had nothing to do with the cold.

When you stepped onto the ice, you wobbled immediately, gripping the edge of the rink for dear life. Luke was already gliding effortlessly, his movements smooth and confident. He skated over to you, holding out his hands.

“Trust me.”

Hesitantly, you let go of the barrier and placed your hands in his. His grip was steady, grounding, and he guided you onto the ice with patience, your hands probably squeezing him uncomfortably tight.

“Just take it slow,” he said, moving backward as you shuffled forward. “One foot at a time. You’ve got this.”

And you tried your best though you weren’t doing much work, instead being slowly dragged by Luke’s hands. You couldn’t help but laugh at yourself, your movements awkward and unsteady, but he didn’t seem to mind. He kept his eyes on you, his expression encouraging and soft.

He guided you in a slow circle around the rink, his hands never leaving yours. The cool air nipped at your cheeks, but the warmth of his touch and the sound of his voice kept you focused.

“See? You’re a natural.” He said, his grin teasing.

“You’re doing all the work, Luke.”

“Pff, what? No, I’m not.”

You laughed at his silly remark, your head dropping on his shoulder and resting there. You turned your head to respond, and his gaze caught yours, your breath catching in your throat. His face was just inches from yours, his eyes filled with warmth and intent. The world seemed to narrow, the rink fading away until it was just the two of you, the quiet scrape of your skates the only sound.

Your heart thudded as you slowed to a stop, your hand still in his. His gaze dropped briefly to your lips, and you felt a flicker of hope.

“Hello? Is anyone still here?”

But before you could say or do anything, a voice called out from the edge of the rink. And just like that, the spell shattered, and you stepped back instinctively, the perfect moment slipping away from your fingers. Luke turned his head toward the voice, his jaw tightening slightly.

“Though everyone went home.” He mumbled, his tone even but quieter than before.

Swallowing the lump of disappointment in his throat, he helped you off the ice, steadying you as you stepped onto solid ground. He helped you unlace your skates, his movements were slow as if to buy more time to spend with you.

On the way out, Luke apologized to the staff for the trouble, forgoing a decent excuse as to why he was here. It was obvious anyway.

The drive back to your place was quieter than you’d expected. The silence wasn’t uncomfortable, but it felt heavy. And when he pulled up in front of your apartment, your fingers hesitated before unbuckling your seatbelt. You didn’t want to leave the car without doing something, anything, to push the boundary that seemed to hold him back. But you felt the familiar mix of hope and frustration swirling in your chest, so you let it go.

Once you stepped foot in your apartment, you leaned against the door, your heart still racing. Luke was sweet, thoughtful, and attentive in so many ways, but the question of why he still held back, why he hasn’t kissed you yet lingered in your mind.

You glanced out the window, watching as his car idled for a moment before driving off. The night had been special, probably the best out of the two other dates you had, because it was spontaneous, because he thought of you when he couldn’t fall asleep, because he remembered something you told him in passing. And it was the kind of date that would have been perfect if only he’d closed the distance between you.

You wondered if this was worth it all, if you should instead give up and tell him things aren’t working.

+1

You needed answers. After that night at the rink, you gave yourself a pep talk and mustered all the courage you could find in yourself to finally make a move. So you invited him over, telling him to drive straight to your apartment after his week-long roadie.

He made himself comfortable, changing from his suit into some sweats he had in his duffel bag, and was now sitting beside you on the couch, trying to explain the hockey game in front of you. In all honesty, you couldn’t understand a single thing. You tried watching sometimes, but the rules never stuck.  

“Wait, why has the game stopped?”

“It’s icing.” Oh, of course. “Did you already forget what that is?”

“Yes.”

He threw his head back, a giggle escaping his lips, and you couldn’t help but join him. His eyes crinkled at the corners, the warm light of the room catching the green flecks in his irises, making your heart flutter in a way you couldn’t ignore. You kept your gaze on him, watching as he stretched one arm across the back of the couch. He turned to look at you, catching you staring before you could pretend otherwise.

“You okay?”

You hesitated for a beat, your fingers fidgeting with the edge of your hoodie. Here goes nothing.

“Why haven’t you kissed me yet?”

The words tumbled out before you could overthink them, your voice softer than you’d intended. His eyes widened slightly, the smirk fading from his lips as he blinked at you. For a moment, the only sound was the low commentary from the game on TV, but you barely noticed. All your attention was locked on him, on the way his face shifted from surprise to something more unreadable.

“I mean,” you continued quickly, feeling a rush of nerves. “I just... I guess I’m wondering if you’re waiting for a specific moment or if I’m reading this wrong —”

“You’re not reading it wrong.” He interrupted, his voice shaking just slightly. He shifted in his seat, his arm dropping from the back of the couch to rest on his knee. 

“I like you too. I just —” He paused, his gaze flicking to the TV for a second before meeting yours again. “I just didn’t want to make you uncomfortable. My mom always told me not to kiss a girl on the first date, but then I felt like it was never the right moment. I wanted it to be special.”

His words made your chest tighten in the best way, a soft warmth blooming under your skin. You hadn’t expected that answer, but it was so him. Thoughtful. A little cautious. Mama’s boy.

You turned towards him, your knees lightly pressing into his thigh. You reached out to place a hand on his own, his skin was warm under your touch, and you could feel the slight tension in his muscles. You looked at him for a long moment, your gaze searching his face when he kept looking at the ground. Then, slowly, a small smile curved your lips. Your hand moved to cover his, your thumb brushing over his knuckles.

“Well then, can I kiss you?”

His head shot up, breath caught in his throat for a moment processing if he heard you right. From the day he met you, he thought you were the most beautiful woman he had ever laid eyes on. You were confident but not cocky, quiet but not necessarily shy, attentive and smart. And he was obsessed, to the point he would kiss the ground you walked on.

You smiled at him, your heart feeling like it might burst from how full it was. That was all the encouragement Luke needed. He leaned in slowly, your mouth immediately meeting his halfway, your eyes fluttering closed as his lips finally pressed on yours. His lips were soft, softer than you imagined and you couldn’t get enough. 

Luke kissed you until he couldn’t anymore, and when he pulled away, his forehead resting against yours, you were both catching your breath.

“I’m sorry I made you wait.”

“It was worth it.”

He chuckled softly, pulling back just enough to look at you. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” You squeezed his hand, still tangled with yours. “Can I kiss you again?”

“Please, stop asking and just do it.”

And so you cupped his jaw to kiss him again, not as long this time but just as breathtaking.

[skz-lia-lantsov]

THIS WAS SO CUTE. I LOVE THE IDEA OF DOING SMT TGR THEN JUST SITTING AT A TABLE FOR DINNER

[puckingtea3-deactivated20250212]

CANCEL PUCKINGTEA2.

Send in any tea or experiences you’ve had with her. Twitter and tumblr hockey have had enough and it’s time to expose her. 🤡 ( if you have anything regarding her minions goaliegossip and penaltybox-gossip you can also submit) they’re equally insane.

DMS AND ANONS OPEN FOR EVERYONE. SUBMIT AND SEND WHATEVER YOU WANT IN, IF YOU WANT TO BE KEPT ANONYMOUS PLEASE TELL ME AND I WILL KEEP YOU ANONYMOUS.

She’s made racist and ableist comments, Doxxed players and is a bully.

[puckingteaa-deactivated20250404]

Imagine having this much time on your hands. Love my fans! I see you @knecht4lover 😍😍

[knecht4lover]

Girl that is not me but okay 😭

[skz-lia-lantsov]

Dude...pucking tea needs to get a life, she's so immature, and she's out here, pretending she's all cool, and such a baddie....bitch u just look stupid

[be4chywritez]

shot to the heart (and the nose) | luke hughes

luke hughes x fem!reader

You come home from college and Luke is smitten...maybe a little too smitten

beachy’s masterlist🐚

requests are open!

part two!

Growing up next door to the Hughes family meant one thing—hockey was a religion.

It was loud, it was competitive, and it was everywhere. If the Hughes brothers weren’t on the ice, they were playing in the driveway, tracking in mud from the lake, or tossing pucks against the garage door until Ellen threatened to take their sticks away.

And you?

You were the neighbor kid. Not quite in the mix, but not completely out of it either.

Your families were close—vacations together, barbecues in the summer, Christmas parties in the winter. You and the Hughes boys had spent years at each other’s birthday parties, running through sprinklers, roasting marshmallows, and competing over who could eat the most popsicles before Jim made you all go inside.

But if hockey was the Hughes brothers’ thing, quiet was yours.

Luke, in particular, had always been the opposite of quiet. He was the one making up rules for backyard games, the one yelling over everyone else, the one who would get so frustrated when you’d rather sit and watch than dive into the chaos.

He never bullied you for it, not in the way other kids might have, but he pushed—nudging you toward the action, insisting you could keep up, making sure you weren’t left out.

Jack and Quinn weren’t much different. Jack, the natural show-off, would always try to impress you (even if you weren’t watching), and Quinn, forever the responsible older brother, would make sure you didn’t get completely trampled by their energy.

Then, of course, you all grew up.

You spent high school buried in books and extracurriculars, aiming for an Ivy League acceptance letter. Luke spent it on the ice, chasing the NHL dream.

By senior year, your friendship had faded into nothing more than polite nods and see you at Christmas waves across the room.

And then you left for college.

Luke got drafted.

Life moved on.

Coming home after months at school was weird.

The air smelled the same, the roads felt the same, but you didn’t feel the same. Maybe it was the time away, or maybe it was the fact that being home again made you realize just how much things had changed.

The car rumbled up your street, your mom chatting about how good it is to have you back while you stared out the window.

And across the driveway, in the Hughes' kitchen, three heads turned in unison.

Jack was the first to react. He dropped his sandwich. Fully dropped it. “Holy shit.”

Quinn, still chewing, furrowed his brows. “What?”

Luke didn’t say anything, just stared.

Because there you were, climbing out of the car—same face, same features, but different.

College had done something to you. Or maybe you’d just grown into yourself.

Jack nudged Luke’s arm, grinning. “Dude. You seeing this?”

Luke was seeing it. That was the problem.

You were tan, your hair was different, your shorts were short, and fuck, had your legs always looked like that?

“Oh my god,” Quinn muttered, leaning against the counter. “Luke, close your mouth.”

Luke snapped his mouth shut, scowling. “Shut up.”

Jack just smirked. “Bet she still won’t talk to you.”

Luke rolled his eyes, but for once, he didn’t have a comeback.

A few days later, you were walking up your driveway when you spotted Luke in his front yard.

He had his shirt on this time (unfortunately so) wearing a Team USA tee with the sleeves cut off, and ripping shots into the net with a ridiculous amount of force.

You should’ve known better.

Really, you should have known better.

Because one second, he was shooting.

And the next—

Crack.

Right to the face.

“Holy shit!”

Luke dropped his stick so fast it clattered against the pavement. In seconds, he was in front of you, hands hovering like he wasn’t sure if he should touch you or not.

“Oh my god, oh my god, I didn’t see you,” he rambled, eyes darting between your nose and your expression. “Are you—holy shit, you’re bleeding.”

You groaned, pressing your fingers to your face. “Luke. What the fuck.”

“I swear I didn’t see you—”

“No shit.”

Luke winced. “Okay, yeah, that’s fair.” He ripped his shirt off in one smooth motion, bunching it up before carefully pressing it against your nose. “Here, hold this.”

You blinked. “Did you just—”

“Sacrificed my shirt for you? Yeah.”

“Oh, so chivalrous.”

Luke huffed out a laugh, tilting your chin up slightly to examine the damage. His hands were warm, calloused from years of hockey, and being this close to him was… distracting.

His eyes flickered over your face, studying you.

“You look… different,” he murmured, almost like he hadn’t meant to say it out loud.

You swallowed. “So do you.”

Luke smirked. “Yeah?”

And that was when you realized—he was still holding your chin.

And smiling at you.

And looking so unfairly good doing it.

You exhaled sharply. “Quit smiling at me.”

Luke raised an eyebrow. “Why?”

“Because I feel weird.”

For a second, he didn’t say anything.

And then—

His grin widened, slow and lazy. “Huh.”

You narrowed your eyes. “What?”

“Nothing,” he said easily. “Just thinking I should smile at you more often.”

You groaned, shoving his chest. “Oh my god.”

Luke just laughed, but then his expression sobered. “C’mon, let’s go inside. Mom’ll kill me if I leave you out here bleeding.”

Before Luke could even pull you up, the door to the Hughes house slammed open.

Jack and Quinn came speed-walking—borderline running—toward you, eyes bouncing between Luke, you, and the blood dripping down your face.

Jack, of course, spoke first.

“Oh my god, did Luke hit you?”

You groaned, still pressing Luke’s (formerly white) Team USA shirt to your nose. “You say that like he didn’t just slapshot a puck into my face.”

Quinn sighed, looking so unimpressed. “Jesus, Luke.”

Luke, still crouched next to you, lifted his hands in exasperation. “I didn’t see her! I was just—”

Jack cackled, pointing at Luke like he’d just won the lottery. “You obliterated her!”

“Jack,” you deadpanned. “Not helping.”

Jack waved you off. “No, no, because this is insane. You come back from college looking totally different, and the second Luke sees you, he shoots his shot—literally.”

Luke groaned, running a hand down his face. “Jack, I swear to—”

Jack ignored him. “I mean, I knew he was gonna lose it when he saw you again, but this—this is next level.”

Luke shoved him. “Can you shut up?”

Quinn, ever the responsible older brother, rolled his eyes. “Alright, let’s get her inside before she passes out in our driveway.”

Jack smirked. “Or before Luke confesses his love again.”

Luke shoved him harder.

You just sighed.

The moment you stepped into the house, the familiar warmth of the Hughes home hit you—laundry detergent, whatever Quinn had been cooking earlier, and a faint trace of hockey gear.

And then—

“Oh my god!”

Ellen practically flew down the stairs, eyes zeroing in on your face.

Jim followed behind her, frowning. “Jesus, what happened?”

Jack, still very much enjoying the situation, grinned. “Oh, you know. Luke saw her for the first time in, like, a year and immediately tried to take her out.”

Luke groaned. “That is not what happened.”

Ellen, ignoring them, cupped your face as gently as she could, careful not to touch your nose. “Sweetheart, oh my gosh! You’re hurt!”

Jack, ever the instigator, added, “She is hurt, but also—she looks amazing, right?”

Ellen’s eyes flickered over your face—well, the parts of it that weren’t covered in blood—and beamed. “Oh, honey, you are stunning! Look at you! College has done wonders for you.”

You blinked. “Uh—”

Jim raised an eyebrow. “Ellen, she’s bleeding.”

Ellen waved him off. “Yes, yes, I see that, but look at how grown up she is!” She turned to Quinn. “Quinn, tell me she doesn’t look gorgeous.”

Quinn, handing Luke an ice pack, huffed out a laugh. “She does.”

Jack smirked. “Luke sure thinks so.”

Luke whipped around. “Jack, I will actually—”

Jim chuckled, finally stepping in. “Alright, El, let’s fix her up before we start matchmaking.”

Luke, still looking like he desperately wanted to disappear, guided you to the kitchen table and sat you down. “Okay, let me—uh—yeah, just—” He fumbled with the ice pack, hands slightly shaky.

You raised an eyebrow. “You okay?”

He swallowed. “Yeah. Just—quit looking at me like that.”

“Like what?”

“Like—” Luke exhaled sharply. “Like that.”

You smirked. “Why?”

“Because I can’t stop messing up my sentences when you look at me like that.”

For a second, he didn’t say anything.

And then—

Jack howled. Quinn raised his eyebrows.

Ellen gasped like this was the best news she had heard all day.

Jim sighed, rubbing his temples. “Jesus Christ.”

Luke groaned.

And you?

You just smiled.

It was going to be a great summer.

part two!

[skz-lia-lantsov]

OKAY BUT LIKE WHY WAS THIS SO FRICKEN CUTEEE 😭😭😭

[rowdydevs-nhl]

hi! idk if you’re still accepting jack thots but what do u think abt reader being spent and tapping out or like safe wording to jack? *squeals*

*squeals back* I'm accepting whatever I can get and I LOVE this 🤭💕🩷 thank you!!!!

+18 -> smut | play fighting, dom!jack, rough sex, choking, tap out/safeword

𝓙𝓪𝓬𝓴 𝓗𝓾𝓰𝓱𝓮𝓼 𝔁 𝓯𝓮𝓶𝓪𝓵𝓮 𝓻𝓮𝓪𝓭𝓮𝓻

"Jack, stop, please,” you whine, pushing him off as he smiles at you wickedly.

"What? Thought you liked when I played with your tits, baby," he asks as he wraps his arms around your waist, squeezing you tightly, only to let his hands creep higher, doing it again. You throw back your elbow, jabbing his abs, making your act of aggression laughable.

"I'm tryin’ to watch this, Jack. C'mon," you plead as he wraps you up a little tighter in his arms.

"On an off night?" He asks through a teasing laugh. "Lookin' this fine? You fuckin’ kiddin’ me?"

"Leave me alone, or I'm gonna kick your ass."

"Woah... Wait, baby. We scrappin'?" He chuckles through a raspy laugh. "You're gonna kick my ass?" He asks as he points to himself with a taunting smile.

"Mhmm…” You mutter as you sink into the couch, crossing your arms over your chest. “And I'd win, too.”

“Woahhh… Those are fightin’ words, princess,” he hums against your soft skin, kissing along the column of your neck. And, just when you think he’s about to let it all go, his teeth sink into your skin, making you squeal.

“Fuck, Jack!” You chide.

“That’s what I'm tryin’ to do,” he laughs. “Well, I'm not tryin’ to fuck me. You get it,” he mumbles as he grabs for you, pulling you onto his lap. “Tryin’ to fuck this pussy.” Smack. He slaps your clothed sex making you slug his chest back.

You roll your eyes, letting out a frustrated huff, turning over your shoulder to put your favorite show on pause.

“The attitude—” He scolds as he pinches you this time. You shove him, making him throw his head back dramatically. “Bully.”

“Enough—”

“You on your period or what—” He asks and ducks, covering his face, saying something stupid he knows will fire you up.

"So, are you gonna do anything, Hughes? Or, are you just gonna sit there like a bitch—" He cuts you off, lifting you off the couch and over his shoulder, walking with you to his room.

"What's up your ass today, princess?" He chuckles. "Not me. Not yet, at least.”

"I just wanted to watch my show and relax with you," you sigh.

"Mhmm… Yeah. Sure. Is that why you're wearin’ that set I bought you, pretty? Just wanted to sit around? It’s almost like you wanted this to happen,” he mumbles, calling you out completely as he kicks his bedroom door shut, slamming the lock with a smirk before flicking his backward cap to the side.

"Maybe," you whisper, fighting back a smile as Jack lies on the floor.

“What… What are you doing?” You giggle as you lower yourself, straddling his lap, resting your hands on the chest of his crisp white t-shirt.

"You’re kickin’ my ass, I guess? I'll even give you a leg up,” he smiles.

You circle your hips on his rock-hard bulge through his sweats. "How are you already hard?" You tease.

"I got hard when I saw you’re bra pokin’ out of your shirt," he answers with a boyish smile, making you roll your eyes as your cheeks heat up. "So, are you gonna do anything, princess, or are you just gonna sit there like a bitc—" You cut off his words with a decent slap to the cheek, making his mouth fall open in disgust.

"That hurt," Jack spits.

"No shit," you retort, delivering another slap, causing him to gasp playfully.

"Didn't think you had it in you, baby," he taunts. Reaching around, smacking your ass rougher than ever, making you scream. Your hands bind around his throat, squeezing tightly, making him return a crooked smile.

“Goddamn, you're lucky my brother’s not home… Hate for him to hear what a slut you are for me.” He quickly rolls you to your back, your hands still firmly wrapped. The veins in his neck protruded, that same smile still slicked on his lips. He grabs your wrists, pinning them against the carpet with a bruising grip.

Jack releases his hold, sitting on top of you, giving you his full weight as you wriggle and protest. "Damn, pretty. You're kind of a pussy," he rasps as he moves his hands up your body slowly, landing on your neck, taking his turn gagging you.

You release a choked moan as he starts to grind himself into you, nudging your clit with each roll of his hips. His hands trail back down your body, rising slightly on his knees as he plays with the band of your pajama shorts.

"Where are you goin', huh?" Jack grunts, giving you just enough room to flee. You crawl away, only for Jack to grab for you, pulling you back as well as your shorts off your body. He smacks your bare ass, holding you in place as he yanks his sweatpants down.

"Jack!" You squeal, fighting away from him with minimal effort this time, hoping for this outcome all along.

"What?" He snickers. "Think I won. Just claiming my prize." He groans as he clutches his hard cock in his fist, running the tip through your soaked folds.

You scream as he slams his long, thick dick deep. “Fuck!” You wail, mouth hanging open as he circles his hips nice and slow, forcing himself as deep as possible, making you exhale a deep breath.

He starts to pound into you, making you cry out in pleasure, feeling him deep in your guts. You take hold of his wrists, his hands steadying your hips, clawing into the fat of your ass. Jack spreads your cheeks, coaxing his cock in slower as he feels you tighten around him again.

"Bounce for me and I might show you mercy," he slurs, gripping and jiggling your ass before letting you take control. You throw yourself back on Jack’s thick length, skin clapping against skin.

Your legs tremble, causing him to chuckle darkly as he watches you go weak on his dick. "Please," you whimper, knowing he won't let you cum until he hears you beg.

"Tell me I won and that you wanna cum. C’mon, tough girl. Be a good girl and ask for permission.”

"Jack—" He winds up, slapping your thigh harshly, making you cry. "Please let me cum. Fuck. You win. You win." You sob Jack’s name as you gush around his cock, your entire body shaking as he keeps you standing through your climax.

"Oh, I won,” he laughs cruelly. “I know I fuckin’ won. I didn't say ‘you could cum’? What are you doin’, huh?” He huffs, tugging your hair, pulling you close, back pressed against his heaving chest, Jack not letting you come down from your orgasm before he starts working on your next. “We got new problems now.”

One arm wraps around your throat in a chokehold, squeezing tightly while the other arm binds around your waist. "I’m sorry."

"No. Not enough," he sneers, constricting your airway with his biceps. Jack starts rocking in and out. You can feel every ridge and curve of his cock as he gives it to you, slow and deep, making your eyes roll back. You feel yourself getting lightheaded at the lack of air, but Jack doesn't let up his hold. "Beg."

"Please, Jack. I fucking need it—" you pant wearily, your voice trailing off as you feel your orgasm building again, vision fuzzy, mind muddled.

"Baby? You got awfully quiet. You a'ight?" He asks smugly, his pretty face pressed against your cheek.

"Please, baby. I’m sorry I came. I—I should have listened. You won. Please. Fuck! I’ll do anything. Anything you want—”

"Mmm…” Jack chuckles. “You tappin' out, princess? We just got started. We gotta toughen you up a little bit."

“Penalty. Sh-Shit—”

“Our safeword?" He mocks against your ear, teeth scraping lobe as he draws out, slamming his cock back into your pussy as he loosens his hold on your neck. You let out a cry of pleasure, your cracked sob filling the room as he throws his hips into you rapidly. “You really want me to stop?”

“No,” you sniffle, answering quickly as fat tears tumble down your cheeks. "S’too much, Jack," you whimper. “I couldn't breathe.”

“But you want my dick?” He asks.

“Yes! Yes. Don't stop—” You babble.

Jack tosses you to your back, quickly tugging off his shirt. Your eyes follow the indentations of his abs to his deep v-lines, so distracted by his body that you gasp again when he ruts himself in again. "Fuck. You're so tight, baby," he moans lowly.

You can feel him stretching you out, a sharp pressure between your thighs. He continues pounding you into the floor, breasts bouncing with each thrust. He lifts your t-shirt, exposing your lace-clad tits, before slapping one.

"Stop, Jack!"

"Oh please…" He chuckles as he sees the want in your eyes. Jack moves his hands under your neck, propping your head up so you can see. "Bet my little slut wants to watch. Don't you?" He teases, but he's right.

You watch as your soaked pussy swallows up his dick, hitting the right spot each time. "Fuck, y/n. Look at you taking me so well," he burns, his slick bangs and forehead pressed against yours as he runs his tongue along his plump bottom lip.

A familiar heat builds inside you. You close your walls around him, gripping him harder. Jack's brows knit tight.

"Mmm... I love when you do that shit," he moans. His lips crash into yours, messy kisses as the two of you fight for air.

"If you cum before me, Jack, I win," you pant against his lips, feeling him smile along yours.

"You already fuckin’ lost. And, when has that ever happened, baby?" He breathes as his fingers meet your clit making your thighs tremble uncontrollably. “Oh shit… That’ll do it, huh? You're fuckin’ pathetic. You're gonna cum. Aren't you?" He groans. "I can tell."

"—M'not"

"You're not?" He pouts teasingly as he moves his fingers quickly, your orgasm within reach, completely cock-drunk. "Say. It."

"M'just… Fuck, daddy—"

"M'just what?" He mocks your fucked-out tone. “Tell me shit I wanna hear, and I’ll think about it...” You shake your head rapidly, trying your best to hold back your pleasure, tapping out against his bicep. "Ugh, fuck. That's my girl. Cum for me. Yeah? Cum on my cock."

Your walls flutter around his cock, waves of your finish crashing down on you again and again as you call out his name as he floods you with his seed.

You can feel his dick throb inside you, your body milking every last drop of him. His fingers dig into your hips, muscles clenching as he fucks out the last bit of his pleasure and yours.

"Mmm, baby," he groans. "I won."

[skz-lia-lantsov]

I'm....such a s!ut for Jack Hughes 😪

[rosees3ray]

reblog if it's okay for your mutuals to message you and create an actual friendship, not just interactions

[bedmints271]

HE LOOKS SOO GOOD JESUS CHRIST

[fiapartridge]

i NEED someone to write an imagine about the sharks auctioning off a date with will and his gf starts betting but gets beat out by like toffoli or mack or something LOL

[skz-lia-lantsov]

STOP OMG YESSSSSS 🤣🤣🤣🤣

[teex]

nhlers on an off day (source: findlayhats)

[skz-lia-lantsov]

WAIT BUT WILLMACK DO NEED IT HAHAHHAHAH