Summary: Sometimes Arber forgets just how big he is when he just wants to cuddle his girlfriend.
Word count: 573
Arber makes no secret of his return home. Not just in terms of is entrance, he gives y/n a count down warning before he's home.
Y/n smiles looking at the texts, she love hearts each one but never bothers with a worded response knowing that's not what he's sending them for.
She hears the door open and click shut, bags set to the side before she sees his shadow over her and his large body drops down on her, expelling all the air from her as all 240lbs of man weighs presses her into the sofa.
"Arber." Y/n groans from underneath him. No matter how much she braces herself for the impact, nothing actually stops her from being crushed under him.
"I missed you so much." Arber states, intentionally ignoring her whine for help. "Are you ok under there?"
"I'm being crushed-Arber, I can't breath." Y/n wheezes as he lifts his head from where he'd nuzzled into her neck, moustache tickling her skin as it always did and she almost misses it as his head lifts.
"Fine." Arber sighs then leaning down and kissing him a couple times before he rolls to the side and wraps his arms around her, holding her tight enough that it makes sure about no difference to her ability to breathe. "Better?"
"You don't know your own strength." Y/n grunts but it's not really a secret that she is happily smothered by her boyfriend.
"Maybe I just love hugging my girlfriend."
"To death, yeah I can feel that." Y/n giggles before she looks up at him. "I hate the fact you always dress so well sometimes."
"Why?" Arber laughs really not expecting.
"Because I have to deal with seeing other women thirst after you."
"I don't care about those women...so long as you thirst after me." Arber states before rolling back onto her, squeezing the air from her lungs again. "I dress well for you really."
Y/n doesn't even bother groaning his name at the fact he's crushing her again.
"Sorry baby, but I just love feeling you all squished with me."
"I'm beginning to realise that."
Y/n wiggles her arm free and raises it up to gently push his dark hair back.
"Sometimes I think you're just so oversized for me."
"Oversized?" Arber frowns definitely beginning to think that's something to get offended by.
"Arber, you are just a huge man."
That makes a smug smirk take over his face and he presses further down on her.
"Only you would manage to make that into a complaint of some sort." Arber states while y/n grins up at him. "I love you, baby."
"I love you too, baby." Y/n smiles cupping his face and smiling as he leans into her touch. "Never did I think you'd be so cuddly."
"Why?"
"I was stupid." Y/n shrugs while he hums.
"Can you deal with me staying like this?"
"Yeah, only because it's your favourite way to cuddle." Y/n laughs deciding to just accept her fate and honestly after the initial crush, it's not that bad. Although sleeping like this might just give her back issues, she'll get concerned about that later.
Arber does end up falling asleep on top of her and y/n manages to reach his phone, since her own is not in arms reach, and capture some photos of videos just for the memories.
Summary: you’re dressed as a happy little tree. Your NHL enforcer boyfriend is Bob Ross. And you’re about to make a complete fool of yourself at the team Halloween party — all because you can’t let someone kill a spider. But somehow, that’s the moment he falls even harder
The air in the apartment is thick with the scent of coffee, acrylic paint, and a low-humming current of anxiety that is entirely your own. It’s the last Friday in October, and the city of Montreal is settling into a crisp autumn evening outside your window. Inside, it’s chaos. Or, your version of it.
“Just … hold still,” you plead, dabbing a brush with brown paint near Arber’s temple. “A happy little cloud lives right here. It needs a friend.”
Arber, who can stare down a man twice his size on the ice without flinching, is trying very hard not to flinch as you paint his face. He’s sitting on a stool in the middle of the living room, a massive canvas of a man squeezed onto a piece of furniture meant for a kitchen island. He’s already wearing the light-blue button-down and jeans. The pièce de résistance, a curly brown wig that defies gravity, sits on the coffee table, waiting.
“Babe, I don’t think Bob Ross had clouds on his face,” he says, his voice a low rumble. He tries to look at you, but you gently turn his head forward again.
“It’s about the essence of Bob Ross, not a literal interpretation. He was a vibe. We are channeling the vibe,” you explain, concentrating. “The vibe is peaceful. The vibe is happy. The vibe is … slightly off-center clouds.”
He lets out a soft chuckle. “The vibe is my girlfriend is a weirdo.”
“Your adorable girlfriend is a creative genius,” you correct, stepping back to admire your work. You’re already in costume, a carefully constructed cylinder of fabric painted to look like tree bark, with branches covered in fabric leaves extending from your arms and shoulders. You are, in no uncertain terms, a happy little tree.
His eyes, when they finally meet yours, are warm and crinkling at the corners. “Yeah, that too.” He reaches out, his large, calloused hand gently touching one of your leafy branches. “You sure you’re good with this? Meeting everyone at once? It’s … a lot.”
Your heart does a little nervous flutter. You’ve been dating for six months, a whirlwind romance that started with a chance meeting at a dog park and has since become the most stable, comforting part of your life. But it’s been your secret world. Just the two of you. Tonight, that world cracks open. “I’m sure. I’m just not sure they’re going to get it.” You gesture between the two of you. “Bob Ross and a happy little tree. It’s a bit niche.”
“They’re hockey players, not art critics,” he reassures you. “If they don’t get it, who cares? As long as I get to go home with the tree.”
He stands up, towering over you even more than usual. The sheer scale of him is something you’re still getting used to. He’s a mountain, and you are, quite literally, a tree. He leans down and kisses you softly, careful not to smudge the face paint.
“Okay, time for the hair,” you say, grabbing the wig. “Prepare to achieve peak zen.”
He groans good-naturedly as you wrestle the wig onto his head, tucking his dark hair underneath. You spend a few minutes fluffing the synthetic curls until they form a perfect, round halo around his head. He looks in the mirror, turning his head from side to side. A slow grin spreads across his face.
“Okay,” he admits. “This is pretty good.”
“Pretty good?” You scoff. “You look like you’re about to paint a masterpiece and tell me there are no mistakes, just happy accidents.”
“C’mon,” he says, grabbing the painter’s palette and giant brush that complete his costume. “Let’s go show ‘em some happy accidents.”
***
The drive to Nick Suzuki’s house is a blur of city lights and the low thrum of the radio. Arber’s hand is on your thigh, his thumb drawing lazy circles, a silent anchor against the rising tide of your nerves. You’ve never been good in big crowds. You prefer quiet corners, one-on-one conversations, the calm intimacy of a shared silence. A team party is the antithesis of all of that.
“You’re thinking too loud,” Arber says, glancing over at you.
“Am I?”
“Yeah. Your leg’s vibrating.” He gives your thigh a gentle squeeze. “Hey. Look at me.”
You turn. His face, framed by the ridiculous wig, is deadly serious.
“You don’t have to perform. You don’t have to be anyone but you. They’re gonna love you,” he says, his voice soft but firm.
“But what if they don’t?” The words are small, barely a whisper. “Arber, your job is … it’s aggressive. It’s your whole persona. The Sheriff. And I’m … me. I rescue spiders from the bathtub. I make you drive a mile out of the way to avoid hitting a squirrel. What if they think I’m just … some weirdo hippie who doesn’t get it?”
“Then they’re idiots,” he says simply. “And I don’t play with idiots.” He pauses, pulling up to a curb in front of a sprawling modern house thumping with music. “Besides, you being you … that’s the whole point. That’s my favorite part. You’re my peace, you know?”
His sincerity washes over you, warm and reassuring. You lean over and kiss his cheek. “Okay, Sheriff. Let’s do this.”
“That’s Bob Ross to you,” he winks, killing the engine. “And you’re my happy little tree.”
The door swings open before you even knock, and you’re greeted by the grinning face of Cole Caufield, dressed as a very convincing Maverick from Top Gun.
“Well, well, well,” Cole says, his eyes dancing with amusement as he takes in your costumes. “If it isn’t the man himself. Arber, my guy, you look … surprisingly peaceful.”
“Happy little clouds, man,” Arber says, clapping Cole on the shoulder. “Cole, this is Y/N.”
“I finally get to meet the mystery woman!” Cole’s smile is infectious. “It’s awesome to meet you. The costume is elite. Top tier.”
“You too,” you say, your voice a little shaky. “You have the need … for speed?”
Cole throws his head back and laughs. “She gets it! See, Arbs? She’s a keeper. C’mon in, everyone’s in the back.”
He leads you through the house, which is packed with people. It’s a sea of clever costumes and loud chatter. You spot a Ken and Barbie (Kaiden Guhle and his girlfriend), a surprisingly detailed duo of Buzz and Woody, and someone who appears to be a giant inflatable T-Rex. Your tree branches snag on a doorway, and Arber’s hand is immediately on your back, steadying you, guiding you through the crowd.
He leans in, his breath warm against your ear. “See? You’re a natural.”
You’re not so sure. Your heart is hammering against your ribs like a trapped bird. You keep your hand firmly clasped in his, a lifeline in the overwhelming social ocean.
You’re introduced to a whirlwind of names and faces. Nick Suzuki, the host and team captain, dressed as a wizard, gives you a warm, genuine welcome. His wife, Caitlin, dressed as a matching witch, pulls you into a brief, friendly chat about your costume. Josh Anderson, Jake Evans, Brendan Gallagher — they’re all kind, curious, and seem genuinely happy to finally meet you.
The initial fear begins to subside, replaced by a low-level hum of social anxiety, which feels like a significant improvement. You find a relatively quiet spot near the massive glass doors that lead to the backyard, sipping on a cup of water and just observing.
Arber stays glued to your side, one arm draped possessively over your leafy shoulders. He’s laughing and joking with his teammates, but his attention keeps snapping back to you, a constant, silent check-in. “You good?” He’ll murmur, and you’ll nod, and he’ll squeeze your shoulder before turning back to the conversation.
“So, Y/N,” Juraj Slafkovský says, looming over you with a goofy grin. He’s dressed as a Viking, complete with a horned helmet and a giant plastic axe. “Arber never says anything about you. Is secret. We think maybe you are not real.”
You manage a small smile. “I’m real. Just … quiet.”
“Quiet is good,” he booms. “Arber is not quiet on the ice, eh?” He nudges Arber with his elbow. “He is big man, big punches.”
You feel a familiar pang of discomfort. You know it’s his job. You respect his passion, his dedication, his role as a protector for his team. But you will never, ever enjoy the violence of it. It’s a part of him you’ve compartmentalized, a room in the house of your relationship that you rarely enter.
“Yeah, well,” Arber says, his tone shifting slightly, sensing your mood. “That’s on the ice. This is real life.”
“So what do you do?” Kaiden Guhle asks, joining the small circle. His Ken costume is immaculate, down to the rollerblades hanging around his neck.
“Oh, um,” you start, suddenly feeling self-conscious. “I’m an archivist at the McCord Museum. I mostly work with old photographs and documents. Preserving things.”
“Preserving things,” Kaiden repeats, nodding thoughtfully. “That’s cool. So, like, the opposite of what he does.” He jerks a thumb at Arber. “He mostly just breaks things. Faces, mostly.”
The guys laugh, and you force a tight-lipped smile. It’s a joke. You know it’s a joke. But it scrapes against something raw inside you.
Arber’s arm tightens around you. “Alright, lay off, guys. She’s not here for a hockey lesson.”
The conversation shifts, and you gratefully fade into the background again, listening to them talk about an upcoming road trip, a new restaurant, a terrible movie someone saw. You focus on the feeling of Arber’s hand on your back, the solid warmth of him beside you. He’s your island.
An hour later, you’re feeling more settled. The initial shock has worn off, and you’ve found a comfortable rhythm. You’re having a surprisingly deep conversation with Caitlin about historical preservation when a sudden shriek cuts through the music.
Everyone turns.
One of the younger players’ girlfriends is standing on a chair, pointing a trembling finger at the wall. “Oh my god, oh my god, kill it!”
You follow her gaze. Clinging to the white wall, just above a framed print of the Montreal skyline, is a spider. It’s not small, a decent-sized wolf spider, its long legs frozen in place, likely terrified by the sudden noise and attention.
“I got it!” Juraj announces, already rolling up a magazine from the coffee table. He strides toward the wall with the determined look of a man on a mission.
And that’s when your body moves before your brain can even process the decision.
“No, wait!”
The words are out of your mouth, sharp and clear, cutting through the party chatter. You push through the small circle of onlookers, your leafy branches rustling. You plant yourself between Juraj and the wall, holding up your hands.
“Don’t hurt it,” you say, your voice firm.
The room goes quiet. A dozen pairs of eyes are on you. Juraj freezes mid-swing, the rolled-up magazine held aloft, looking bewildered.
“It’s … a spider,” he says, as if explaining a complex scientific concept.
“I know,” you say, your eyes fixed on the small, frozen creature. “It’s just scared. It’s not going to hurt anyone.”
A few snickers ripple through the room. You can feel the heat rising in your cheeks, but you don’t move. You can feel Arber’s gaze on you, heavy and unreadable.
“Dude, just squish it,” someone says from the back.
“No,” you repeat, more softly this time. You turn your head slightly to look at Juraj. “Please. Just let me get it.”
He looks from you to the spider, then over to Arber, as if seeking guidance. Arber’s expression is placid, calm, but his eyes are locked on you. He gives Juraj a nearly imperceptible nod.
Juraj lowers the magazine, looking deeply confused but compliant. “Okay …”
You turn to the group. “Does anyone have a cup? And a piece of paper?”
A stunned silence hangs in the air for a second before Caitlin, bless her, snaps into action. “Yeah, right here.” She hands you a plastic cup and a stiff cocktail napkin.
You take a deep breath and approach the wall slowly, as if approaching a frightened animal. “It’s okay,” you murmur, more to the spider than to anyone else. “I’m not gonna hurt you.”
With practiced ease, you place the cup over the spider, being careful not to trap any of its legs. It scurries inside, and you smoothly slide the napkin underneath, sealing the exit. The entire room is watching you, a silent audience to the strangest party entertainment they’ve ever witnessed.
You turn around, holding the cup carefully. “I’m just going to take it outside.”
You walk toward the glass doors, a procession of curious hockey players parting before you like the Red Sea. You slide the door open, step out into the cool night air, and walk to the edge of the manicured lawn. You gently lower the cup, remove the napkin, and tip the spider out onto the grass. It scurries away into the darkness, disappearing into the safety of the night.
You stand there for a moment, taking a deep breath of the crisp air, the adrenaline slowly starting to fade. You just made a complete and utter fool of yourself. In front of the entire Montreal Canadiens roster. You, the enforcer’s girlfriend, just stopped the party to save a spider.
You close your eyes, bracing for the walk back inside. For the jokes. For the weird looks. For the moment Arber tells you it’s time to go home.
When you turn around, he’s standing right there, in the doorway, blocking the view of everyone else. He’s still in his full Bob Ross costume, the painter’s palette in one hand, the absurd wig slightly askew. But the look on his face is anything but a joke.
His eyes are shining under the porch light. He’s not laughing. He’s not embarrassed. He’s looking at you in a way that makes your breath catch in your throat. It’s a look of pure, unadulterated adoration. It’s awe. It’s love, so potent and so raw it feels like you could reach out and touch it.
He doesn’t say anything. He just steps forward, closes the distance between you, and wraps his strong arms around you, pulling you into his chest. He holds you tight, his chin resting on the top of your head, nestled amongst your fabric leaves.
“That’s my girl,” he murmurs into your hair, his voice thick with an emotion you can’t quite name. It sounds like pride.
You bury your face in his shirt, the smell of his cologne and the faint scent of acrylic paint filling your senses. “I’m so sorry,” you whisper. “I just … I couldn’t let him kill it. I know it’s weird.”
He pulls back just enough to look down at you, his hands framing your face. “Don’t you ever be sorry for being you,” he says, his voice low and serious. “Ever. You hear me?”
You nod, your eyes stinging with unshed tears.
“That,” he says, his thumb gently stroking your cheek, “was the hottest thing I’ve ever seen.”
A small, watery laugh escapes you. “Rescuing a spider?”
“Having a heart that big in a world full of people who just want to squish things,” he clarifies. “Yeah. That’s the hottest thing in the world.”
He leans in and kisses you, a deep, reassuring kiss that melts away all the anxiety and embarrassment, leaving only the warm, solid certainty of him. The party inside, the music, the team — it all fades away until it’s just the two of you, standing under the vast autumn sky. Bob Ross and his happy little tree.
When you finally walk back inside, hand in hand, the atmosphere has shifted. No one is laughing. The jokes have stopped.
Cole is the first to speak, a wide, genuine grin on his face. He raises his cup in a toast. “To Y/N,” he says, his voice carrying across the now-quiet room. “The official Spider-Whisperer of the Montreal Canadiens.”
A round of appreciative chuckles and murmurs follows. Juraj walks up to you, looking sheepish.
“Sorry,” he says, rubbing the back of his neck. “I do not think. I just see spider, and … you know.”
“It’s okay,” you say, giving him a genuine smile. “Most people would have done the same thing. Thank you for stopping.”
“Is no problem,” he says. “My girlfriend, she would like you. She also saves the bugs.”
From that moment on, something changes. The players don’t just talk at you anymore, they talk to you. They ask you questions about your work, about your life. They see you not just as Arber’s girlfriend, but as a person — a person with a fierce, if unusual, conviction. They see the woman their enforcer, their protector, has chosen to love. And in your quiet strength, they seem to understand something essential about him, too.
***
The drive home is quiet. The city lights are a soft, comforting smear outside the window. You’ve taken off your leafy branches, which now sit in the backseat, and Arber has finally removed the wig, running a hand through his flattened hair.
You’re leaning your head against the cool glass of the passenger window, replaying the night in your head. The anxiety, the introductions, the spider. Especially the spider.
“You’re thinking loud again,” Arber says, his voice soft in the enclosed space of the car.
You turn to look at him. His profile is illuminated by the passing streetlights, strong and steady. “I’m just processing.”
“Good processing or bad processing?”
“I don’t know yet,” you admit. “Are you mad?”
He glances at you, his brow furrowed in genuine confusion. “Mad? About what? About you being the kindest person I’ve ever met? Why in the world would I be mad about that?”
“Because it’s weird, Arber. It’s not normal. Your teammates are these … titans. These gladiators. And I just stopped their party to hold a funeral procession for an arachnid.”
He’s quiet for a few blocks, navigating a turn. When he speaks again, his voice is low and thoughtful.
“Do you know what it’s like to have my job?” He asks.
The question catches you off guard. “I mean … I have an idea.”
“No, not really,” he says, not unkindly. “My entire professional life is about controlled aggression. It’s about intimidation. It’s about walking a line where, on one side, you’re protecting your guys, and on the other side, you’re … you’re hurting someone. For a living. You have to build walls around yourself. You have to find an off switch, or that stuff will eat you alive.”
He pulls to a stop at a red light and turns to face you fully.
“When I met you,” he continues, his gaze intense, “it was like … I don’t know. It was like all the noise in my head just stopped. You’re so gentle with everything. The way you talk to my dog, the way you water your plants, the way you get sad when you see roadkill. You move through the world trying not to leave a scratch on it.”
He reaches over, his fingers tracing the line of your jaw.
“Tonight, when you stood up for that spider … that wasn’t weird to me. That was you. That was everything I love about you, all in one moment. You have this … this relentless gentleness. And I need that. It’s like an anchor. It reminds me of the person I want to be when I take off the uniform.”
The red light turns green, but he doesn’t move. The car behind you honks, a short, impatient blast.
“You’re my peace, Y/N,” he says, his voice barely a whisper. “Don’t you get it? You’re the place I get to go to get away from all the noise. The last thing I would ever want is for you to be more like that world. I want you to be exactly like you.”
Tears are welling in your eyes again, but this time they aren’t from anxiety or embarrassment. They’re from a place of such profound love and understanding that it fills your entire chest.
He gives you a small, soft smile, then turns his attention back to the road and continues driving.
When you get back to the apartment, you shed your costumes in a pile on the floor — a deconstructed forest scene of bark and leaves and a curly brown wig. The night air drifts in through the open window, carrying the distant sounds of the city.
You’re standing in the middle of the living room in your jeans and a t-shirt when Arber comes up behind you, wrapping his arms around your waist and pulling you back against his chest. He rests his chin on your shoulder, and you both stand there for a long moment, just breathing in the quiet.
“So,” you say softly, leaning your head back against him. “They know your secret now.”
“What secret?” He murmurs against your hair.
“That the big, scary Sheriff is dating a pacifist tree-hugger who saves spiders.”
He chuckles, a low, warm sound that vibrates through your entire body. “Good,” he says, his arms tightening around you. “Now they know why I’m so damn happy all the time.”
He turns you around to face him. The last traces of his Bob Ross face paint are smudged on his temples, and his eyes are full of a quiet, steady love that makes you feel seen, truly and completely seen, for exactly who you are.
“There are no mistakes,” he whispers, leaning in to kiss you. “Just happy accidents.”
And as you kiss him back, you know, with a certainty that settles deep in your bones, that stumbling into his life was the happiest accident of all.
Everyone was wearing a suit and I was wearing some random ninja costume. I was so—super comfy. I was wearing my normal shoes not any dress shoes so I was—it's good! Might lose [ the team-building competition ] next year again, ha!
—Juraj Slafkovský, Montreal Canadiens, The Rebuild, "In the Mix"
Warnings: smut, size kink, counter sex, mirror sex, multipe uses of good girl, edging, unprotected p in v, crying from pleasure, aftercare.
"Look at how tiny you are baby" Arber whispers in your ear, he has you pinned against the counter with his arm wrapped around your waist as he fucks you from behind.
"So gorgeous taking my cock like a good girl" Arber says nipping at your earlobe.
You head falls back against his shoulder as he continues pounding into you, your moans grow louder as he watches you get closer.
"Head up baby watch yourself as you cum" Arber commands.
You lift your head and make eye contact with Arber in the mirror, "Good girl" Arber says before reaching down and circling your clit.
You moan as you struggle to watch yourself in the mirror, "Arber I'm close."
Arber groans in your ear as he feels you clenching around him signaling your impending release, "Squeezing me so fucking tight baby, hold it I'm almost there."
You moan as you struggle to keep from cumming, "Arber I can't" you say as tears start falling from holding back your orgasm.
"Cum on baby, cum for me" Arber says.
You moan as your body starts convulsing with the power of your orgasm, Arber groans before stilling inside you and filling you up.
Arber slowly pulls out causing you to whine, he carries you to the bathtub and runs you a bath before placing you in the warm water. He goes and gets you both some clothes before he joins you in the tub, "you okay baby?"
"Yeah I am" you reply.
Arber helps you get cleaned up and in some comfortable clothes before carrying you to bed where you immediately fall asleep, Arber kisses the top of your head before drifting off as well.
— Macklin Celebrini, Will Smith, Connor Bedard, Arber Xhekaj, Matt Rempe, Juraj Slafkovsky
After being away from home you welcome your NHL boyfriend back
⤷゛⊗ˎˊ˗ warnings blowjob, cum in mouth, cum in face if you squint, raw sex (tap it pls) , brief pussy slapping, brief pussy rubbing, sit in face, cum on stomach, oral (f & m receiving), fingering
ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ request thank u for considering my ask. it isn't anything super crazy or kinky, I was just thinking what the guys reactions would be when they come home from a game, that was either very good or really bad, and reader asks them to just sit back and relax and let them take care of them to switch things up a little. obviously you don't have to write this if it's not your thing, or you can twist the scenario to your liking 🤗
𑣲⋆𐙚 ̊ autor's note ⋆⭒⋆ Hello!! the more I try to write sub!players the more I notice is not my thing 🥲 however I'll keep trying if I have the chance but I'm definitely more comfortable writing smut with sub!readers . I hope that you like this one tho <33
「 SJS 」 ⋯ MACKLIN CELEBRINI ⌣ 🧶
Two weeks had passed since Macklin had left to play the away games, and the results had been far from what they’d hoped for. You knew him well enough to realize he’d come home not only tired and worn out but, above all, disappointed in himself, and you were determined to make him feel much better.
As soon as he walked through the door, you went to greet him.
"Hi, sweetheart" he said.
"Shut up" you told him. He looked at you with a hint of surprise as you made him leave all his things at the door and led him into the living room.
Once he was seated on the couch, still without saying a word, you knelt down between his legs. This caught Macklin’s attention, and he sat up slightly.
"Babe, you don’t have to—"
“I told you to shut up. You’re going to let me do whatever I want" you watched him swallow hard as he nodded slightly. “All right, then lie back again and let me make you come”
Without wasting any time, and with his help, you pulled down his pants and underwear until his cock was free—already half hard—and without waiting much longer, you took it into your mouth.
First, you licked it from top to bottom, making it fully erect and coating it with your saliva, and then you kept bobbing your head while your tongue circled the tip nonstop. Macklin had his eyes tightly shut and his hands were trying to grip the couch without much success; he also started letting out little grunts, which encouraged you to suck it faster.
"Do you like it like this?" you asked him, and Macklin opened his eyes just a little to say yes in a whisper.
You guided his hands to your hair so he could grab it and control your movements.
"Fuck, don’t stop"
You could already taste his cum in your mouth from the drops that were starting to escape, and at that moment you took his cock so deep that it touched the back of your throat, making him let out an intense moan of pleasure. With your free hand, you started massaging his balls and realized he was shivering a little.
"Fuck, Y/n, I can't hold it" he said.
Slowly, you pulled his cock out of your mouth and started jerking him off with your hand.
"Cum, Macklin" you said as you opened your mouth, stuck out your tongue, and rested the tip of his cock on it while you kept jerking him off.
His hands, still in your hair, squeezed tighter and tighter until finally you felt his cum splatter on your tongue and across your face; you closed your mouth slightly around the tip and let him cum completely in your mouth.
"My God, you’re perfect"
「 SJS 」 ⋯ WILL SMITH⌣ 🧶
Will had gotten home a little while ago after being away for a couple of weeks for the away games they had to play. At that moment, he was in the shower, and your impatience to have him all to yourself was growing by the second. You needed to be with him, to talk to him, to touch him, to sit next to him, to hug him, to kiss him—but above all, to finally quench the fire you felt between your legs, you needed to fuck Will as if it were the last time.
You considered yourself a patient person, but right now you couldn’t wait for your boyfriend to finish his “routine,” so you decisively headed to the bathroom. Trying not to make too much noise, you went in and started undressing to join him in the shower.
"Honey, is that you?" You didn’t answer; you were too focused on getting undressed as quickly as possible. "Y/n, are you there?"
Just as he finished asking for the second time, he saw you appear at the edge of the shower. Will’s eyes instinctively drifted to your bare tits; he couldn’t help but stare at you.
A little smile escaped you. “Do you like what you see?” you asked him in a teasing tone.
“After two weeks, what do you think?”
With nothing more to say, you moved closer to him and wrapped your arms around his neck as you initiated a passionate kiss that intensified with every passing second.
With his hands grabbing and squeezing your tits non-stop, you pressed your pelvis against his while trying to grind in circles for more friction, without much success, which was driving you crazy. Without warning, you turned around, rested your hands on the shower wall, and stuck your ass out. You turned your head slightly to look at Will and said
"Fuck me now, I need you"
"Wait, let me go get a condom"
"Will, come on, I don’t care about the condom—either you put it in right this second, or I swear to God you won’t touch me for another week"
Without needing to be asked twice, Will grabbed his cock with his hand and, moving closer to you, began searching for your entrance; once the tip was inside you, he thrust hard, making you let out a deep moan. He placed one hand next to yours on the wall and grabbed your hip with the other to control his thrusts.
"Faster" you begged him.
He kept thrusting hard but increased his speed.
"Fuck Y/n, you’re driving me crazy"
The scene was obscene, to say the least; your moans intertwined, the occasional groan escaping now and then, the water still running, and both Will’s balls slapping against your pussy and your ass against his pelvis emitting rhythmic, erotic sounds that only made the temperature in the room rise.
For a little while longer, Will kept thrusting, making his thrusts feel deeper and deeper inside you, changing his rhythm to the beat of your commands. It didn’t take long for you both to come, his cum sliding down your legs until it hit the shower floor.
"Shit Y/n, I’m hard again"
"Dry off quick and let’s go to bed, you have to fuck me in other positions"
"Damn baby, you’re going to kill me. What’s gotten into you?"
"I’ve missed you so much, I'm just welcoming you back"
「 CHI 」 ⋯ CONNOR BEDAERD⌣ 🧶
Over the past week, you’ve been watching the Hawks’ games on TV; they were playing on the road, so the only way you could see your boyfriend Connor play was through the screen.
Things haven’t gone well for them… Not at all.
You knew that when he got back to Chicago, Connor would be disappointed and sad, among many other emotions, and you hated seeing him like that. That’s why, the moment he walked through the door of the apartment you share and you saw how exhausted he looked and the disappointment in his eyes, the first thing you did was ask him if he needed anything
"Connor babe, are you okay? Do you need anything?" He looked at you for a moment, still, really thinking about how to answer. His expression changed—it was very subtle and almost imperceptible, but it did, and you noticed. You knew him well; he needed something, he wanted something, and yet he told you,
“It’s nothing, Y/n, I’m fine. Just a couple of crappy games—that’s all. I’m tired.”
You moved closer to him, and he instantly wrapped his arms around you, planting a peck on your lips and adding,
"I’ve missed you."
"Me too," you replied, giving him another little kiss. "Connor, really, whatever you need, just tell me. I want to help you." He nodded, and as you pulled away from him to go back to what you were doing, Connor tightened his grip on you—not hard, but enough to make you stop.
“Actually, there is something,” he said, and with a subtle nod, you encouraged him to continue. “I haven’t stopped thinking about you all week…” He paused briefly. “And there’s been no way to get you out of my head.”
He didn’t have to say anything else for you to understand what he meant, so without saying a word, you led him to your room and sat him on the edge of the bed.
“Leave it to me, okay? You just enjoy yourself,” you told him as you stood up in front of him.
You started undressing for him, not dragging it out too long but still making sure Connor enjoyed it. Standing in your underwear in front of him, you walked over and sat down on one of his legs.
“Take off your shirt,” you demanded, and without a moment’s hesitation, he pulled it off and tossed it where your clothes were.
His hands moved to your tits, grabbing them over your bra and giving them little squeezes. Without waiting any longer, you took your bra off too, and Connor kept fondling your naked tits.
You stood up from his leg and, with your back to him, began to pull down your panties, leaning forward more and more so that your crotch was increasingly exposed to his view from behind.
Connor was a dirty player in bed, so you weren’t surprised to feel him tap your pussy a couple of times with his hand, making you let out your first moan.
Once you were completely naked, you looked back at Connor, and as you knelt in front of him, he pulled down his pants, exposing his cock—already fully hard—to the air.
You started sucking him, moving up and down, trying to take the whole thing into your mouth, running your tongue from his balls up to his red, sensitive tip. After a while, before he could come, you stopped.
“Lie down in the middle of the bed,” you asked him, and he obeyed without hesitation.
You straddled him, effortlessly taking his cock deep inside you, and began moving up and down. both of your moans mingled throughout the room, and even though you were starting to get tired, you didn’t stop; you bounced gently on his cock, making your tits bounce nonstop, which drove Connor crazy—he didn’t know what else to do with them, he grabbed them, sucked on them, played with your nipples...
"That’s it, Y/n, damn, baby, you’re fucking me so good." You knew Connor was getting closer and closer to coming, and the confirmation came when he grabbed you by the waist, dug his legs into the bed, and brutally started thrusting in and out of you at an insane speed.
It didn’t take long for him to stop, leaving his cock fully inside you and the sensation of something hot against your walls. You moaned at the sensation, and Connor found your clit to massage it so that you, too, would reach orgasm while he came inside you.
Once he was done, you let your whole weight fall onto him, and Connor wrapped his whole body around you as the two of you came down from the high. He kissed your head several times as he moved down, searching for your lips, and said to you,
"This is exactly what I needed. You’re perfect, my love. Thank you."
「 NYR 」 ⋯ MATT REMPE⌣ 🧶
As soon as Matt walked through the front door, his expression changed to one of utter confusion—everything was turned off, there wasn’t a sound to be heard, no lights were on, and the TV was off. It was strange, very strange; Matt knew full well that you were home—less than an hour ago he’d called to let you know they’d arrived in New York, and you’d told him you were waiting for him at home, eager to see him. So why did it seem like no one was there?
“Honey?!” he called out, “Where are you?”
With no answer, he left all his things in the entryway and, feeling a little worried, headed to the room you share.
As soon as he opened the door, Matt stopped dead in his tracks, took a couple of breaths, and let out a sigh—not one of relief at having found you, but something deeper, a sigh of desire, of not knowing what to do with what was right before his eyes.
You were waiting for him on the bed, completely naked. From where he stood, he could see the glistening wetness of your pussy.
"Holy shit, Y/n, how could you do this?"
"What are you waiting for?"
You didn’t have to say anything else for Matt to slowly approach you, taking off his shirt and pulling down his pants, his cock almost fully erect. He grabbed your ankles and pulled them so you were right at the edge of the bed, lifting your legs slightly so your ass was pressed against his pelvis, and he started rubbing his cock all over your pussy, coating it with your juices and making it get fully hard.
It didn’t take him long to enter you, slowly and carefully, placing your legs over his shoulders and leaning on top of you, resting his hands on either side of your head.
With one of them, he gently caressed your face. “My girl, you’re so good to me.”
“Matt, move, for God’s sake,” you said desperately.
He picked up speed then, and started thrusting into you fast and deep, without stopping for a second. Matt sat up a little and started stimulating your clit while continuing to move inside you. Your orgasm came immediately, making your legs tremble even as they rested on his shoulders.
“Another one,” Matt said to you. You were already on the verge of overstimulation, so the only thing that came out of your mouth were incoherent words.
And even as he kept thrusting nonstop, fast and still rubbing your clit, it didn’t take long for you to reach your second orgasm while he pulled his cock out of you and came all over your pussy and stomach.
“God, that was perfect. You’re perfect,” Matt told you.
“Welcome home,” you replied as you pulled him toward you to kiss him.
「 MTL 」 ⋯ ARBER XHEKAJ⌣ 🧶
It had been a couple of hours since Arber had gotten home after spending two weeks on the road with the team, playing away games. Things had gone pretty well for them, and you could feel it in the air. After he got home and took a shower, the two of you had unpacked his suitcase, and now you were on the couch with the TV on, chatting nonstop as you caught up.
"Well, listen, I've been thinking," you began to say after a while of talking.
Arber looked up, rolling his eyes a little, but with a playful tone. "Let's see, woman, what have you come up with now?"
"Well, you've been gone for two weeks," you said, as if that fully explained what you meant. Arber waved his hand for you to continue. “Well, you should give me something—as a welcome back.”
“Me?! You should be the one giving it to me—I’m the one who left.”
"But you guys haven’t stopped winning, and I was here all alone, missing you," you said, putting on a sad face to go along with the act.
"I missed you too."
"But you were with the whole team, celebrating the victories, and I was here all alone."
"You already said that."
"Arber, cooperate, please," you insisted, still in a playful tone.
"Fine, fine, what do you want then?" he said, raising his hands as if accepting defeat.
"Will you let me sit on your face?" you asked, moving closer to him, while Arber stood still, processing your request.
"Is that it? Is that what you want?" You nodded eagerly, moving even closer to him. Arber smiled and rolled his eyes again, amused. "Well, come on, let's go."
You jumped to your feet, and Arber chuckled softly again as he followed you into the bedroom.
Once there, still joking around in a playful mood, Arber undressed and helped you do the same.
"One condition," he told you before doing anything, "you have to put on one of my shirts"
Without saying a word, you hurried to the closet to grab one of his Habs shirts and put it on before returning to his side.
Arber looked you up and down, letting out a sigh as he thought about how hot you looked and how lucky he was.
Without waiting much longer, he lay down on the bed and encouraged you to position yourself however you wanted on top of him. Once you were comfortable with your legs on either side of his head, you looked down and nodded at him to let him know you were ready. Without further fuss, he grabbed your thighs with his big hands, letting your body relax on top of him, and opening his mouth, he began to cover every part of your center, moving up and down along your pussy. sometimes focusing more on your clit and staying there for a while, sucking and playing with it with his tongue, other times pressing his mouth against your entrance, pushing his tongue in as far as he could.
You don’t know how long you stayed like that or how many orgasms she made you have, only that you were a jumble of moans and meaningless words and that there came a point where Arber just kept telling you how well you were doing.
「 MTL 」 ⋯ JURAJ SLAFKOVSKY ⌣ 🧶
As soon as he got home, Juraj told you that you’d be celebrating that very night. Their last few away games had gone really well, so now that you were back together, he wanted to share his joy with you.
“How?” you asked when he told you about his plans.
“You’ll see,” he replied with a mischievous smile. “You’re going to like it.”
Before nightfall, you’d decide to go out, enjoy the day, have a drink, and grab a light dinner at the first place you came across.
And once you got back home, before the front door had even closed all the way, your boyfriend was already on top of you, cupping your chin so your face was facing his and he could kiss you more easily.
The kisses grew more intense, and Juraj’s hands roamed all over your body through your clothes—though that didn’t last long, because if there was one thing your guy was, it was desperate, so it didn’t take long for the clothes to start coming off.
“Is this how we’re going to celebrate?” you asked between kisses.
“Do you have a better idea?”
"Not at all, I couldn’t imagine anything better than this."
He clumsily carried you into the living room, and once you were both completely naked, he had you lie face-down on the couch, sticking your butt out, while he knelt down—and thanks to his height, he was perfectly positioned at your center.
Your breathing was heavy, and even without him touching you, with every subtle movement Juraj made, little moans began to escape your mouth.
He started playing with your clit with his hand, applying pressure and making circles as he massaged it, spreading your juices all over your pussy, and occasionally penetrating you with several fingers. Until, after teasing you a bit, he pressed his tongue against your cunt, starting to drag it up and down, causing your moans to grow louder and louder from the stimulation until you were letting out little screams.
"Juraj, please," you begged him, not knowing what exactly you were asking for.
The first orgasm came quickly, and with a simple, "Again," your boyfriend kept eating your pussy, this time slipping his fingers inside to finger you nonstop. By the time the second orgasm hit, your head was spinning and your legs wouldn’t stop shaking, to the point that Juraj had one arm wrapped around your waist to keep you from falling over.
“That’s my girl, well done, ” he said as he helped you turn around on the couch, so you were sitting up. Juraj stood up and, standing in front of you, looked at you with eyes full of fascination. Then he leaned toward you and began to lift you into his arms. “Come on, we’re not done yet. We’ve already celebrated; now you have to welcome me home,” he said as he headed toward your bedroom.
