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Imagine a Will Smith x Hughes!Reader where they are in a secret relationship because her older brothers are very overprotective and then one day one of them finds something suspicious that makes them suspect that something is going on between you and Will
Dirty Little Secret
pairing: Will Smith x Hughes!reader
summary: You and Will navigate a secret relationship, constantly hiding from your overprotective brothers, until one of them finds a clue that threatens to expose everything.
The text message lights up your phone, hidden beneath your pillow. Willy-Wonka: Miss your face. See you after practice?
Your heart does its familiar little flip, a dangerous combination of excitement and anxiety. You type back quickly: Only if you bring coffee.
A moment later: Deal. And maybe a kiss if you're lucky.
You smile, tucking the phone away just as your bedroom door creaks open. Luke peeks his head in, his hair a mess from his post-practice nap.
"Mom's asking if you want to come to the store with us," he says, his eyes scanning the room with that casual-but-not-really surveillance he and your other brothers have perfected since you were fifteen.
"Can't," you lie smoothly. "I've got a massive paper due tomorrow. Need to stay in and work on it."
Luke nods, accepting your excuse without question. "Alright. Don't wait up."
As soon as he's gone, you let out the breath you've been holding. This is your life now, a carefully constructed series of lies, omissions and near-misses, all to protect the one thing that feels real and right.
You and Will have been together for three months, a whirlwind romance that started with a chance meeting at a Boston hockey game Quinn had dragged you to. Will had spotted you and somehow, amidst the chaos of fans and family, you'd found a moment alone. The connection was immediate, electric.
But telling your brothers? That was a non-starter. Quinn had declared when you left for college that no hockey players were allowed near you. Jack, ever the dramatic one, had threatened to "personally vet and eliminate" any potential suitors. And Luke, sweet Lukey, had quietly promised to always have your back, which you knew meant he'd be the first to report any suspicious behavior.
So Will became your secret. Stolen moments in empty hallways at the arena, late-night drives when your brothers thought you were studying with friends, carefully coded text messages that would mean nothing to anyone else.
"Hey," a voice whispers from outside your window. You turn to see Will grinning at you, two coffee cups in hand. "Delivery service."
You rush to let him in, your heart racing. "Coast is clear," you murmur, pulling him inside and into your arms.
His lips find yours, soft and familiar. "I've been thinking about doing that all day," he says against your mouth.
"Me too," you admit, your fingers tangling in his hair. "But we have to be quick. They'll be back from the store in an hour."
Will nods, his expression understanding. He knows the rules as well as you do. No sleepovers. No leaving evidence. No public displays of affection anywhere near your family.
"College visits are the worst," you complain later as you sit on your bed, sipping the coffee he brought. "Quinn's been grilling me about my social life all morning. He thinks I'm spending too much time 'focused on academics' and not enough 'having the full college experience.'"
Will chuckles. "If only he knew."
"If only," you agree with a sigh. "Sometimes I wish we could just tell them."
"We will," he promises, his hand finding yours. "Eventually. When the time is right."
But you both know the time might never be right. Not with three overprotective hockey players as brothers.
The next few weeks pass in a blur of secret meetings and close calls. Once, you and Will had to hide in a supply closet when you heard Jack's distinctive laugh echoing down the hallway. Another time, Luke almost caught Will sneaking out of your room at 3 AM, saved only by the fact that Luke had stopped to pet the neighbor's cat.
You're getting sloppy, you know. The thrill of your secret relationship is making you take risks you wouldn't have dreamed of three months ago.
Like the necklace Will bought you for your one-month anniversary. A delicate chain with a small 'W' charm. You wear it constantly, tucking it beneath your shirts whenever your brothers are around.
"Is that new?" Quinn asks one morning at breakfast, his eyes narrowing as he reaches for the chain.
You pull away instinctively. "Just something I picked up at the mall. Nothing special."
Quinn doesn't look convinced, but he drops the subject. Still, you can feel his eyes on you throughout the meal, his protective instincts clearly triggered.
The real trouble comes a week later. You're rushing to get ready for a "study session" (actually a coffee date with Will) and in your haste, you leave your laptop open on your desk, your chat with Will still up.
You're already halfway to the coffee shop when you realize your mistake. Your heart pounds as you fumble for your phone, ready to call Will and cancel, to rush back home and close your laptop before anyone sees.
But it's too late.
When you return hours later, your laptop is closed, sitting neatly on your desk. Everything looks normal, too normal. You scan your room, trying to detect any sign of disturbance, any clue that someone has been here.
And then you see it. On your bulletin board, where you've pinned various photos and mementos, is a small, folded piece of paper that wasn't there before. Your hands tremble as you reach for it, unfolding it with dread.
It's a printed screenshot of your chat with Will. The "Can't wait to see you tonight. Love you" message is highlighted in yellow. Below it, in Quinn's neat, blocky handwriting, are four words that make your blood run cold:
would you be open to write something for gavin mckenna? maybe something with him moving to toronto and reader is one of the first people he meets, maybe at a coffee shop or something and he´s immediately intrigued
New Beginning
pairing: Gavin McKenna x female reader
summary: When newly drafted Gavin McKenna walks into the coffee shop where you work, his immediate intrigue leaves you blushing.
CW: Fluff
The little bell above the door of "The Daily Grind" jingles, a sound as familiar to you as the hiss of the espresso machine. You're wiping down the counter, lost in the afternoon lull, when you look up and your breath catches. Standing there, looking slightly overwhelmed and impossibly handsome, is a guy you've never seen before. He's tall, with a messy mop of hair and a kind of quiet confidence that seems to radiate from him.
He approaches the counter, his eyes scanning the menu board with a focused intensity. "What's good here?" he asks, his voice a low, pleasant rumble. "I'm new in town. Don't really know my way around yet."
You offer a friendly smile, your professional persona kicking in. "Well, that depends on what you're looking for. If you need a serious caffeine fix, I'd recommend the black eye. If you want something a little sweeter, the maple latte is a customer favorite."
He considers this for a moment, his eyes crinkling at the corners as he looks back at you. "Maple latte it is," he decides. "Seems appropriate for Toronto."
"Good choice," you say, turning to the machine to start his drink. "Anything else for you?"
"Just a name for the cup," he says, leaning against the counter. "It's Gavin."
You grab a marker and scrawl his name across the paper cup. "Gavin," you repeat, testing the name on your tongue. "I'm guessing you're not from around here."
"Is it that obvious?" he asks, a playful grin tugging at his lips. "Is it the accent? Or the lost puppy look?"
"Little bit of both," you tease, your own smile widening. "Where are you from?"
"Whitehorse," he says. "Just moved here for… work."
You nod, expertly steaming the milk. "Well, welcome to Toronto. It's a great city, once you get used to the chaos."
"I'm looking forward to it," he says, his eyes watching your every move. "So far, the coffee shops are a definite improvement."
You feel a blush creep up your neck and you focus on pouring the latte art, a simple heart that you hope looks more professional than you feel. "Here you go," you say, sliding the cup across the counter. "One maple latte for Gavin."
He takes the cup, his fingers brushing against yours, sending a small jolt through you. "Thanks," he says, his eyes lingering on yours. "So, do you work here a lot?"
"Mostly weekdays," you reply, trying to sound casual. "Why? Planning on becoming a regular?"
"Maybe," he says, his smile widening. "If the service is always this good."
You laugh, shaking your head. "You're smooth, Gavin from Whitehorse."
"Is it working?" he asks, his tone light and teasing.
"Maybe a little," you admit, your cheeks flushing a deeper shade of pink.
He takes a sip of his latte, his eyes never leaving yours. "Well, I'll have to come back and work on it then."
The bell jingles again and a small group of customers walks in, breaking the spell. "I should let you get back to work," he says, though he makes no move to leave.
"I should probably, you know, do my job," you reply, a playful glint in your eyes.
"Right," he says, finally taking a step back. "Well, it was nice meeting you…?"
"Y/N," you supply, realizing you never told him your name.
"Y/N," he repeats, and the way he says it, with that slow, easy smile, makes your heart skip a beat. "It was very nice meeting you. I'll see you around."
With one last, lingering look, he turns and walks out the door, leaving you staring after him, a stupid, lovesick grin on your face.
The rest of your shift passes in a blur, your mind replaying the conversation, the way his eyes crinkled when he smiled, the warmth of his hand against yours. You're cleaning up for the day, the shop empty and quiet, when the bell jingles again.
You look up, and there he is. Gavin. Standing in the doorway, a nervous energy about him that's completely at odds with his earlier confidence.
"Hey," he says, running a hand through his already messy hair. "I know this is probably going to sound crazy, but I couldn't stop thinking about you. And I was wondering… if you're not busy… if you'd maybe want to get dinner with me sometime?"
You're so surprised you almost drop the rag you're holding. "Dinner?" you ask, your voice a little breathless.
"Yeah," he says, his cheeks flushing a little. "Or coffee. Or whatever. I just… I'd really like to get to know you better. Outside of this coffee shop."
You consider him for a moment, his earnest expression, the hopeful look in his eyes. You know you should say no, that you know nothing about this guy, that getting involved with someone new is complicated and messy. But as you look at him, standing there in the fading afternoon light, you can't help but feel like this is the start of something good.
"I'd like that," you say, a slow smile spreading across your face. "I'd like that a lot."
His relief is palpable, his shoulders relaxing as a wide grin spreads across his face. "Great," he says. "Great. So, how about Friday? I know this little Italian place near my apartment…"
hey i just wanted to let you know that someone stole one of your stories and posted it as her own. the user is kathyleewrites (or something close to that). its pretty messed up so I thought you should know
hey, thank you so much for messaging me about this! I heard a lot of her already (i think her old account was kathrinesblog or something like that) where she took other writer's fics as well, which is why I already blocked her, so it sucks that she somehow still copied one of my fics.
if you can, I would advise you to block her as well.
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Hi!! Love Team Dinner. Would you ever do a part 2 for it?
Team Dinner Part 2
pairing: Will Smith x female reader
summary: After teasing Will relentlessly under the table at a team dinner, he takes you home to teach you a lesson in control.
CW: Smut, dominant/submissive dynamics, edging, orgasm denial, rough unprotected sex, spanking, oral sex (f receiving), established relationship.
Part 1
The back of your knees hits the edge of the mattress and Will lets you fall onto the soft duvet. He stands over you, his chest heaving, his eyes dark with a predatory hunger that sends a shiver of anticipation through you. He strips off his jacket, then his shirt, revealing the lean, toned physique you know so well.
"On your knees," he commands, his voice low and rough.
You comply, rising to your knees on the bed, your heart pounding with excitement. This is what you wanted, this intensity, this dominance that he usually keeps so carefully leashed.
"Hands behind your back," he continues. "Don't move them."
You clasp your hands behind your back, arching your back slightly, presenting yourself to him. His eyes sweep over you, appreciative, possessive.
"Such a disobedient little thing," he murmurs, stepping closer to run his thumb over your lower lip. "Thought you could get away with teasing me like that in front of everyone? Making me hard while Coach was talking about face-offs?"
He pushes his thumb into your mouth and you suck on it obediently, your tongue swirling around the digit. His eyes darken at the sight.
"Oh, you want to be good now? After being so bad earlier?" He withdraws his thumb, replacing it with two fingers. "Suck."
You obey, taking his fingers deep into your mouth, your tongue working them as you would his cock. He watches, his breathing growing heavier, his free hand moving to palm himself through his pants.
"Look at you," he growls. "So eager to please now. But you don't get to decide when this ends. I do."
He removes his fingers from your mouth, trailing them down your neck, between your breasts, over your stomach. He stops just above the waistband of your panties, his touch maddeningly light.
"Please, Will," you whisper, your body trembling with need.
"Please what?" he asks, a cruel smirk playing on his lips. "Please touch you? Please make you come? Like you almost made me come at that table? In front of my coach? My teammates?"
He leans down, his lips brushing against your ear. "Two can play at that game, baby."
His hand finally slips beneath your panties, his fingers finding you slick and ready. But instead of giving you the relief you crave, he teases, circling your clit without ever quite touching it, parting your folds without entering you.
"Will," you beg, your hips bucking upward.
His free hand comes down hard on your ass, the sharp sting making you gasp. "What did I say about moving?"
You force yourself still, your muscles trembling with the effort. "I'm sorry."
"No, you're not," he contradicts, his fingers finally making contact with your clit. "Not yet. But you will be."
He begins slow, deliberate circles, building a fire in your core that threatens to consume you. Your breath comes in ragged gasps, your hands clenching behind your back as you struggle to maintain control.
Just as you're about to tip over the edge, he stops. You whimper at the loss, your body aching with need.
"Please," you beg. "I need to come."
"Not yet," he says simply, his fingers resuming their maddening torture. "You brought me to the edge how many times at dinner? Three? Four? I think we'll start there."
He brings you to the brink again and again, each denial more agonizing than the last. Your body is a live wire of sensation, every nerve ending screaming for release. Tears of frustration stream down your face, your pleas becoming increasingly desperate.
"Will, please," you sob. "I'll do anything. Just let me come."
"Anything?" he asks, his voice dark with promise.
"Yes," you gasp. "Anything."
He withdraws his hand, and you almost cry at the loss. "On your back. Hands above your head. Don't move."
You scramble to obey, lying back on the bed with your hands gripping the headboard. He strips off his remaining clothes, his cock hard and demanding as he kneels between your legs.
"Look what you did to me," he says, wrapping a hand around his length. "All night. Hard as a rock. Unable to think about anything but this sweet little pussy."
He positions himself at your entrance, rubbing the head against your slick folds. "But you don't get it yet. Not until you've learned your lesson."
He shifts lower, his shoulders pushing your thighs apart as his mouth descends upon you. His tongue parts your folds, exploring your most intimate places with an expertise that leaves you breathless. He finds your clit, sucking it into his mouth, his tongue flicking against the sensitive bundle of nerves.
Your back arches off the bed, your hands gripping the headboard so tightly your knuckles turn white. "Will, please," you beg, your hips bucking against his face.
His hands hold you down, his grip firm as he continues his assault. "Stay still," he commands against your flesh. "Take what I give you."
He brings you to the edge again, your body trembling with the effort of holding back. Just as you're about to come, he stops, lifting his head to look at you.
"Please," you whimper, tears of frustration streaming down your face. "Please, Will. I need to come."
"Not yet," he repeats, a cruel smile playing on his lips. "One more time."
He lowers his head again, his mouth and tongue working you into a frenzy. This time, when you reach the edge, he doesn't stop. He pushes you over, your orgasm crashing over you with an intensity that leaves you breathless, your body convulsing as pleasure courses through you.
But he doesn't stop. His mouth continues its assault, pushing you higher and higher, into a second, more intense orgasm that leaves you screaming his name, your body trembling uncontrollably.
Only then does he lift his head, his face glistening with your arousal. He moves up your body, positioning himself at your entrance.
"Ready for me?" he asks, his voice thick with desire.
You can only nod, your body still trembling with aftershocks.
He enters you slowly, filling you completely in one smooth thrust. You gasp at the sudden fullness, your legs wrapping around his waist as he begins to move.
"Fuck, you feel so good," he groans, his pace quickening. "So tight, so wet. This pussy was made for me, wasn't it?"
His words are filthy, degrading and they only fuel your desire. Each thrust pushes you closer to the edge again, your body responding to his every movement, every word.
"Come for me," he commands, his hand moving between your bodies to rub circles on your clit. "Come all over my cock like the desperate little slut you are."
His words push you over the edge, your third orgasm crashing over you, even more intense than the first two. Your body convulses around him, your cries filling the room as he continues to thrust, chasing his own release.
With a guttural groan, he buries himself deep inside you, his release hot and pulsing. You can feel each spurt, each pulse of his cum filling you, claiming you, marking you as his.
For a moment, you both remain still, panting heavily as you come down from your highs. Then he slowly withdraws, gathering you into his arms and pulling you against his chest.
"Lesson learned?" he asks, his fingers tracing patterns on your back.
You nod against his chest, your body still trembling with aftershocks. "Lesson learned."
"Good," he says, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead. "Because next time, I won't be so lenient."
Text messages between you and your boyfriend Lando.
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pairing: boyfriend!lando x fem!reader
contains: fluffff, estabilished relationship
authors note: hiii <3 i got this idea and i'm going to make it into a series, i'll try to make it for most of the drivers x first up is lando, hope you enjoy!
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summary: Quinn surprises you with the perfect birthday.
CW: Fluff, smut, oral sex (f receiving), fingering, established relationship.
You wake to the scent of coffee and the soft sound of rain against the window. Before you can even stretch, Quinn is there, a tray in his hands full with your favorite breakfast foods, a single perfect rose in a small vase beside the plate.
"Happy birthday, my love," he murmurs, setting the tray across your lap. His eyes are soft, filled with an adoration that makes your chest ache. "I have today all planned out. No need to lift a finger. Just let me take care of you."
The day unfolds like a dream. After breakfast, he takes you on a walk through your favorite park, the rain having softened to a gentle mist that makes the greenery seem impossibly vibrant. He holds your hand the entire time, his thumb stroking circles on your skin, pointing out small beauties you might otherwise miss.
Your favorite café is next, where he has already arranged for them to make your special order, the one they only make when the ingredients are just right. He watches you eat with rapt attention, as if your enjoyment is the most captivating sight in the world.
"I could watch you all day," he says, reaching across the table to tuck a stray hair behind your ear. "The way your eyes light up when you taste something you love… it's my favorite thing."
Afterward, he leads you to the bookstore you love, telling you to pick out whatever catches your eye. "As many as you want," he insists when you hesitate. "Nothing makes me happier than seeing you surrounded by stories."
By the time you return home, your arms are full of books and your heart is full of love. The apartment is transformed, fairy lights twinkling in every corner, the scent of vanilla and sugar filling the air. On the dining table sits a cake, slightly lopsided, with frosting that's clearly homemade, but the most beautiful thing you've ever seen.
"I tried to make it from scratch," Quinn admits, a slight blush on his cheeks. "It's not perfect, but I made it for you."
Tears prick at your eyes as you pull him into a hug. "It's perfect because you made it."
The evening continues with a reservation at the most romantic restaurant in town, where Quinn has arranged for your favorite bottle of wine to be waiting. Throughout dinner, his hand finds yours across the table, his touch constant and reassuring.
"You know," he says as you share dessert, "I used to think love was about grand gestures. But being with you has taught me it's about the small things. The way you laugh at my bad jokes, the way you hum when you're cooking, the way your nose scrunches when you're concentrating. I love every single thing about you."
By the time you return home, you're floating on a cloud of happiness and wine. Quinn sweeps you into his arms the moment the door closes, carrying you bridal style into the living room.
"Quinn! What are you doing?" you laugh, wrapping your arms around his neck.
"Carrying my birthday girl," he replies, his eyes dark with emotion. "You've been on your feet all day. It's time I took care of you."
He sets you down gently on the plush rug in front of the fireplace, where he has lit more candles. The flames dance across his face as he stands before you, his hands reverently cupping your face.
"You are the most beautiful person I have ever known," he whispers, his lips brushing against yours. "Inside and out. I want to spend the rest of my life celebrating you."
His kiss deepens, slow and passionate, his hands trailing down your body to the hem of your dress. He lifts it over your head, his eyes never leaving yours as he drinks in the sight of you.
"Perfect," he murmurs, his hands tracing the curve of your hips. "Absolutely perfect."
He sinks to his knees before you, his fingers working at the buckle of your shoes. "I've been wanting to do this all day," he admits, slipping each shoe off and pressing a kiss to your ankle, then your calf. "To worship you the way you deserve."
Once your shoes are off, he lifts you again, carrying you to the bedroom where he has scattered rose petals across the duvet. He lays you down gently, his body hovering over yours.
"Tonight is all about you," he says, his voice thick with desire. "Let me show you how much I love you."
His lips find yours again as his hands explore your body, learning every curve and dip. Then he begins to kiss his way down your neck, your collarbone, your chest, each touch a prayer, each caress a testament to his devotion.
When he reaches your stomach, he looks up at you, his eyes dark with hunger. "I've been dreaming about this all day. Tasting you, feeling you come apart under my tongue."
He continues his journey south, pressing open-mouthed kisses along your hips, your thighs. His hands part your legs gently, his eyes fixed on the lace covering your most intimate place.
"So beautiful," he murmurs, his fingers tracing the edge of your panties. "Already so wet for me."
You arch your hips as his mouth covers you through the fabric, his tongue tracing your slit, teasing your clit through the lace. The sensation is exquisite torture, building a fire deep in your belly.
"Quinn," you gasp, your hands finding his hair. "Please…"
"Patience, my love," he chuckles, the vibration sending shivers through you. "I want to savor every moment."
Finally, he hooks his fingers in the waistband of your panties, slowly pulling them down your legs. His eyes never leave you as he spreads your legs wider, his gaze hungry and worshipful.
"There she is," he murmurs, his breath warm against your sensitive flesh.
And then his mouth is on you, his tongue parting your folds, exploring every inch of you. He starts with long, slow licks from your entrance to your clit, savoring your taste, learning your responses.
"You taste like heaven," he growls against you, his hands gripping your thighs to hold you open. "I could stay here forever, just worshiping you with my mouth."
His tongue finds your clit, circling it slowly before sucking it gently into his mouth. Your hips buck off the bed, a cry escaping your lips as pleasure courses through you.
"That's it, baby," he encourages, one hand releasing your thigh to slide two fingers into your tight heat. "Let me hear you. Let me know how good I make you feel."
He curls his fingers just right, finding that spot deep inside that makes your toes curl. His tongue continues its assault on your clit, alternating between broad licks and focused flicks, driving you higher and higher.
"Quinn," you gasp, your hands tightening in his hair. "Don't stop. Please don't stop."
"Never," he promises, his voice muffled against your flesh. "I'll never stop making you feel this good."
He adds a third finger, stretching you, filling you completely as his tongue works its magic. The stimulation is overwhelming, pushing you closer and closer to the edge.
"Come for me, baby," he commands, his eyes locking with yours as he looks up from between your legs. "I want to taste you. I want to feel you come apart on my tongue."
Your orgasm crashes over you, intense and all-consuming. Your back arches off the bed, your body convulsing as waves of pleasure wash over you. Quinn doesn't stop, his mouth and fingers working you through your climax, prolonging your ecstasy until you're a trembling, whimpering mess.
When you finally come down, he gently withdraws his fingers, replacing them with his tongue, lapping up your release like a man dying of thirst. He worships you with his mouth, cleaning every drop, his touch reverent and adoring.
"Perfect," he murmurs, finally pulling away to press soft kisses along your inner thighs. "Absolutely perfect."
He moves up the bed, gathering you into his arms and holding you close as you recover. Your body still trembles with aftershocks, your mind fuzzy with pleasure.
"I love you," he whispers against your hair. "More than I can ever say."
"I love you too," you reply, your voice still breathless. "That was… incredible."
He chuckles, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead. "That was just the beginning, my love. I plan on spending the rest of your birthday and every day after showing you just how much you mean to me."
Could I request Beckett Sennecke and it starts as dating app hookup (doesn’t have to be actual smut tho lol idk if u write that) but u caught feelings and so you try to cut it off bc that’s exactly what the two of you agreed wouldn’t happen and he’s confused abt why you’ve just stopped talking to him and it can definitely have angst but I do want a happy ending
Undefined
pairing: Beckett Sennecke x female reader
summary: What starts as a no-strings-attached hookup with Beckett turns complicated when you catch feelings and try to cut ties with him.
CW: Smut, unprotected sex, angst, friends with benefits.
The first message from Beckett is simple: "Your profile says you like hockey. Hope that's not just to get matches." It's cocky, a little arrogant, and exactly the kind of line that would normally have you swiping left. But his pictures are devastatingly handsome, dark blonde hair that falls into his eyes, a smile that's equal parts charming and dangerous and the kind of athletic build that promises stamina.
"It's not," you reply. "But I prefer my hockey players in person rather than on TV."
Three days later, he's at your door, looking even better than his pictures. The agreement is clear: this is sex, nothing more. No sleepovers, no expectations, no feelings. Just two people satisfying a mutual need.
"Rules?" he asks as you lead him to your bedroom.
"No feelings," you say immediately. "This is physical. That's it."
"Deal," he agrees, his eyes darkening as he looks at you. "And no sleeping over. I'm not a cuddler."
"Perfect," you reply, though something inside you twinges at his words.
The sex is explosive, better than you've had in years. Beckett is attentive but dominant, his hands and mouth exploring every inch of your body as if he's mapping you for future reference. He finds your spots with an ease that feels both thrilling and dangerous.
"God, you're responsive," he groans against your neck as he drives into you, his rhythm punishing and perfect. "I knew you'd be like this."
Your nails dig into his shoulders as you meet his thrusts, your bodies moving together in a dance as old as time. When you come, it's with a cry of his name, your body convulsing around him as he follows you over the edge.
True to his word, he leaves shortly after, with nothing more than a casual "See you around" tossed over his shoulder. You tell yourself you're relieved, that this is exactly what you wanted.
But then he messages you two days later: "Free Thursday?" And you agree.
And so it begins, a pattern of late-night texts, sporadic hookups, mind-blowing sex. Always at your place, never his. Always him leaving before morning. Always maintaining that careful distance.
Months pass and the lines begin to blur. You find yourself looking forward to his messages, saving your best stories to tell him when he's over. You notice small things, the way he furrows his brow when he's concentrating, the little scar above his left eye, the way his laugh transforms his entire face.
Worse, you notice the way he looks at you sometimes, like there's something more behind his eyes than just casual desire. The way his fingers linger on your skin after sex, as if reluctant to let go. The way he sometimes falls asleep beside you, despite his rule against it.
You're in trouble. Deep, serious trouble.
The realization hits you one night as you watch him dress after another round of incredible sex. He's humming to himself, a contented smile on his face and your heart aches with a love so intense it takes your breath away.
This wasn't supposed to happen. This wasn't part of the deal.
"I have an early morning," he says, leaning down to kiss you. "I'll text you."
But you know you can't answer. Not anymore.
The next day, you block his number. You delete your dating apps. You throw yourself into work, into friends, into anything that will keep your mind off him.
For a week, it works. Then there's a knock on your door. You know who it is before you even look through the peephole.
"What the hell?" Beckett demands when you open the door. "You just disappear? No explanation?"
"This was supposed to be casual, Beck," you say, using his nickname for the first time. "No strings attached."
"So you just cut me off without a word?" he asks, his eyes flashing with hurt and anger. "After months of… whatever this was?"
"It's better this way," you insist, though your voice trembles. "Clean break."
"Bullshit," he retorts, running a hand through his hair in frustration. "Something changed. I know it did. Just tell me what happened."
You can't. You won't admit that you broke the cardinal rule of your arrangement, that you developed feelings for the one person who made it clear he wasn't looking for anything more.
"Please leave," you say instead, your voice barely above a whisper.
He studies your face for a long moment, his expression softening. "This isn't about the rules, is it? This is about you."
Your composure cracks, a tear escaping down your cheek. "Please, Beck. Just go."
He does, but not before you see the understanding dawn in his eyes. The realization that this isn't about him leaving in the mornings or not calling you his girlfriend. This is about you protecting yourself from more heartbreak.
Two weeks pass in agony. You miss him with an intensity that surprises you, the sound of his laugh, the feel of his hands on your skin, even his annoying habit of leaving wet towels on your bathroom floor.
You're at a coffee shop near your apartment when you see him. He's with friends, laughing at something someone said and for a moment, your breath catches. Then his eyes meet yours across the crowded room and the smile fades from his face.
He excuses himself and approaches your table, his expression unreadable.
"Can we talk?" he asks, his voice gentle.
You nod, gesturing to the empty chair across from you.
"I've been thinking about what you said," he begins, his hands fidgeting with a sugar packet. "About how this was supposed to be casual."
"I shouldn't have just disappeared," you admit. "That was unfair to you."
"No, you were right," he says, surprising you. "We had rules. Boundaries. And I think… I think I broke them first."
You look up, confused. "What do you mean?"
"The no sleepovers rule," he explains. "I started falling asleep at your place. Not because I was too tired to leave, but because I didn't want to."
Your heart races as he continues.
"The no feelings rule," he says, his eyes meeting yours. "I told myself I was keeping it, but I wasn't. I started looking forward to your messages. I started saving stories to tell you. I started imagining what it would be like to wake up beside you every morning."
"Beck," you whisper, tears welling in your eyes.
"I was scared too," he admits. "This arrangement was safe. No expectations, no disappointments. But it wasn't enough. Not anymore."
He reaches across the table, his hand covering yours. "I don't know how to do this. The relationship thing. I'll probably mess it up a lot. But I want to try. With you."
A tear escapes, sliding down your cheek. "I caught feelings too," you confess. "That's why I ended it. I was scared you didn't feel the same."
He stands, pulling you up with him, and wraps you in his arms. "Feel the same? God, I think I've been halfway in love with you since our first hookup."
You laugh through your tears, burying your face in his chest. "You're such an idiot."
"Your idiot," he corrects, tilting your chin up to kiss you. It's different from your other kisses, slower, deeper, full of promise rather than just passion.
"Come home with me?" he asks when you finally part. "My place this time. And tomorrow morning, I'll make you breakfast."
You nod, your heart so full it feels like it might burst. "I'd like that."
As you leave the coffee shop hand in hand, you realize that sometimes the best things in life are the ones you never saw coming, the ones that break all your rules and change your life in the most wonderful ways.
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omg i´m obsessed with your will & mack smau, would you also do something like that with connor? but maybe someone comments something mean and he stands up for her? thank you so much
Fight for Her - CB
pairing: Connor Bedard x female reader
desscription: Connor posts you on his Instagramand stands up for you in the comment section.
liked by youruser, nhlblackhawks, fraseminten, and 221,842 others
_connorbedard couple wins.
View all 38,247 comments
random WAIT... IS THIS A HARD LAUNCH???
random HE POSTED HER????
random player of the game and then ice cream with your girl 😭
random that's so boyfriend coded
youruser proud of you 🤍
_connorbedard thanks pretty girl
random HE SAID PRETTY GIRL???
random CONNOR BEDARD EVERYONE
random slide 3?????????
random respectfully looking away
random slide 2 she's actually unreal
random she's pretty but she kinda looks basic
_connorbedard good thing no one asked for your opinion
random CONNOR LMAOOOO
random HE ACTUALLY REPLIED
random that's how you defend your girl 👏
_fraseminten finally
_connorbedard relax
random NOT FRASER BEING INVOLVED 😭
nhlblackhawks cutest couple
liked by _connorbedard, nhlblackhawks, adamfantilli and 1,775 others
youruser still my favorite view.
View all 24,992 comments
random the way he's looking right at her 😭
random he definitely knew exactly where she was sitting
random she's wearing his jersey 🥹
random this is so cute
_connorbedard always find you
random HELLO?????
random "always find you" I'M DONE
random she gets way too much attention for just dating him
_connorbedard weird thing to be upset about dude
random HE'S SO QUICK 😭
random he's never beating the protective allegations
adamfantilli bro is whipped
_connorbedard don't start.
random 😭😭😭
random they're honestly adorable
random i love your hair girl
liked by youruser, fraseminten, mackcelebrini and 368,903 others
_connorbedard needed this.
View all 29,184 comments
random vacation dump!!
random slide 2 belongs in a travel magazine
random she looks so happy
random campfire nights >>>
youruser best trip ❤️
_connorbedard because of you
random cute 😭
random she's way out of his league
_connorbedard she is
random WAIT THAT'S ACTUALLY SO SWEET
random HE ADMITTED IT
fraseminten finally touched grass
_connorbedard unfortunately
random LMAOOO
random they look so peaceful together
random i hope people leave them alone this vacation
iked by mackcelebrini, nhlblackhawks, fraseminten and 1,624 others
youruser happy birthday baby 🤍 (be nice to him everyone... he's only three apples tall.)
View all 445 comments
random THE FIRST TWO PHOTOS 😭😭😭
random SHE DID HIM SO DIRTY
random THAT SIDE EYE LMFAOO
_connorbedard i'm revoking your camera privileges
youruser no
random relationship goals honestly
random he's actually tiny 😭
random she could've picked better pictures...
_connorbedard who are you to tell her what to do??
random 🥹🥹🥹
fraseminten finally someone humbled him
youruser i have so many more if you want some
fraserminten please
_connorbedard blocked
random LMAOOOO
random i love how comfortable they are together
nhlblackhawks happy birthday, connor! 🎉
liked by youruser, nhlblackhawks, franknazar14 and 303,118 others
_connorbedard birthday was alright i guess.
View all 40,871 comments
random DID HE CROP HER FACE OUT 😭😭
random THIS IS HIS REVENGE
youruser unbelievable
_connorbedard deserved
random LMAOOO
random pickleball date 🥹
random hand holding picture is so cute 😭
random NOT THE 67 CAKE
random i'm crying that's hilarious
franknazar14 that was my idea
random she's honestly annoying
_connorbedard talking about yourself?
random MIC DROP
random protective king
mackcelebrini justice for the cropped girlfriend
youruser thank you mack
_connorbedard stay out of this celly
random 😭😭😭
random this might be my favorite birthday post ever
random the cake is actually so funny
random they act like best friends first and it's adorable
summary: Will helps you conquer your fear of flying.
CW: Fluff, kissing, anxiety, established relationship.
The automatic doors of the airport slide open with a whoosh and the sheer scale of it hits you like a physical force. The cavernous space echoes with a cacophony of rolling suitcases, overlapping announcements and the hurried footsteps of thousands of strangers. Your hand tightens instinctively around Will's, your knuckles turning white.
"Hey," he says softly, stopping beside a pillar and turning to face you. His other hand comes up to cup your cheek, his thumb stroking gently. "Look at me. Just breathe."
You try, but the air feels thin, your chest tight. "It's so… big. And loud. And everyone knows what they're doing and I just…" You trail off, feeling overwhelmed and foolish.
"First time for everything," Will says with an easy smile that doesn't quite hide the concern in his eyes. "And lucky for you, you've got the best tour guide in the business. We'll take it one step at a time, okay? No rush."
He doesn't move, just stands there with you, letting you acclimate to the environment. His steady presence is an anchor in the chaos, his hand warm and firm in yours. After a moment, the initial wave of panic subsides, leaving you feeling slightly more grounded.
"Okay," you nod. "One step at a time."
"Good girl," he praises, leaning in to press a soft kiss to your forehead. "First step: check-in. Follow me."
He leads the way to the airline counter, his long legs creating a path through the crowd that you can follow safely. He handles everything with practiced ease, checking the bags, getting the boarding passes, confirming the gate number and explaining each step as he goes.
"See? Nothing to it," he says, handing you your boarding pass like it's a trophy. "Now we just have to get through security."
Your anxiety spikes again at the mention of security. You've heard stories, about long lines, strict rules and invasive procedures. Will seems to sense your hesitation.
"It's just a metal detector and an x-ray for your bags," he explains, his voice calm and reassuring. "Take off your shoes and jacket, put your laptop and liquids in a separate bin. Easy peasy. I'll go first so you can see exactly what to do."
True to his word, he moves through the process smoothly, waiting for you on the other side with a encouraging smile. You follow his instructions, your heart pounding as you walk through the metal detector, but it beeps. A uniformed agent waves you aside for additional screening.
Your eyes find Will's, wide with panic, but he just gives you a subtle thumbs-up. "It's just the underwire in her bra," he says to the agent, his tone casual. "Happens all the time."
The agent nods, performing a quick pat-down before clearing you through. As you rush to Will's side, he wraps his arm around your shoulders.
"Told you it was nothing," he says, steering you toward the gates. "Now the fun part, finding some food and doing a little shopping before we board."
He finds a quiet corner in the food court, away from the busiest thoroughfares. "What sounds good? Burgers? Tacos? Or do you just want a coffee and a pastry?"
You opt for the latter and he returns shortly with two steaming cups of coffee and a chocolate croissant, which he places in front of you.
"For my brave girl," he says, his eyes twinkling. "First airport trip and you're doing so well. I'm so proud of you."
"It is a lot," you admit, taking a sip of the coffee. "Thank you for being so patient with me."
"Always," he says simply, reaching across the table to take your hand.
As if on cue, the boarding announcement for your flight echoes through the terminal. Your stomach clenches again, but Will's calm demeanor keeps your panic at bay.
"Time to go," he says, gathering your trash and disposing of it before taking your hand again. "Last leg of the journey before we can relax."
The gate area is crowded, but Will finds you two seats together, away from the main flow of traffic. He pulls out his phone, putting in one earbud and handing you the other.
"Music helps," he explains. "Drowns out the airport noise." He selects a playlist of soft, calming songs and you close your eyes, letting the music wash over you.
Before you know it, they're calling your boarding group. Will stands, pulling you gently to your feet. "Ready for your first flight?"
You take a deep breath, nodding. "With you? Yeah."
The boarding process is smoother than you expected, with Will guiding you through the crowd and onto the plane. He finds your seats, window for you, aisle for him and helps you stow your carry-on before settling in.
As the plane begins to taxi, your nervousness returns, your hands gripping the armrests. Will notices immediately, covering your hand with his.
"Just like a bus, but with wings," he whispers, leaning close. "A little bumpiness at takeoff, then smooth sailing. I promise."
The engines roar to life and the plane accelerates down the runway. Your eyes squeeze shut, your breath catching in your throat. Will's thumb strokes the back of your hand, a steady, rhythmic motion that grounds you.
"You're doing great," he murmurs. "Almost there. Just a little more…"
With a lurch, the plane lifts off the ground, your stomach dropping as you ascend rapidly. You keep your eyes closed, focusing on Will's voice and the feeling of his hand in yours.
"Open your eyes," he says softly. "Look."
You crack one eye open, then the other, gasping at the sight outside your window. The world below is shrinking, the airport and city spreading out like a map. Above, the sky is a brilliant blue, the sun bright and warm.
"Wow," you breathe, your fear momentarily forgotten by the beauty of it all.
"Right?" Will grins, his relief evident. "And that's just the beginning. Wait until we're above the clouds."
As promised, minutes later, the plane breaks through a layer of clouds, revealing a breathtaking landscape of white peaks bathed in golden sunlight. It's like another world, peaceful and serene.
"It's beautiful," you say, turning from the window to look at Will. "Thank you for bringing me here."
"Thank you for trusting me," he replies, his eyes soft. "And for facing your fears. I know that wasn't easy."
He leans in, pressing a gentle kiss to your lips. "The rest of the flight is easy. Just sit back, relax and enjoy the view. I've got you."
summary: You ignore Jack after his toxic confession, but when his brother Luke shows up at your apartment to talk, Jack arrives at the worst possible moment.
CW: Emotional distress, jealousy, toxic Jack again, verbal conflict.
Part 1
Three days of silence. Three days of ignoring Jack's texts, letting his calls go to voicemail. Each buzz of your phone is a small betrayal of your resolve, a reminder of the raw, angry words exchanged in that arena hallway.
You've been replaying it all, the venom in Jack's voice, the shock of his confession, the cold fury that surged through you in response.
A knock on your door pulls you from your thoughts. You're mid-way through making pasta, the sauce simmering on the stove. Through the peephole, your see Luke, standing in your hallway, looking uncharacteristically serious.
You open the door slowly. "Luke? What are you doing here?" He runs a hand through his hair, a gesture so similar to his brother's it makes your chest ache.
"Can I come in? I just… we need to talk."
You step aside, gesturing toward your small dining table. "I was just making dinner. If you're hungry…"
"Actually, that'd be great," he says with a weak smile. "Haven't eaten yet." You set another place at the table, pouring him a glass of wine. The silence stretches, but it is not uncomfortable.
"Jack's been miserable," Luke finally says, swirling the wine in his glass. "I mean, next-level miserable. Barely eating, snapping at everyone. He won't talk about it, but I know it's about you."
You push pasta around your plate, appetite gone. "He was horrible to me, Luke. The things he said… how he acted toward you. It was so toxic."
"I know," he says softly. "He can be… intense. Especially about you. He's been in love with you for years, you know. It's been eating him alive."
Tears prick at your eyes. "That doesn't give him the right to treat me like property. Like I did something wrong by wearing your jersey."
"He knows that now," Luke says. "He's just… not good at expressing things without turning them into a disaster."
You reach for the wine bottle at the same time Luke does. Your hands collide, knocking over his glass. Red wine spills across the table, splashing onto your white shirt.
"Shit!" you both say simultaneously. Luke grabs napkins, dabbing frantically at the mess. "I'm so sorry."
"It's fine," you say, though the shirt is ruined. "I'll just change." When you return in a clean top, Luke has already cleaned up most of the spill. He shrugs off his own sweater, offering it to you.
"Here, in case you're cold." You accept it gratefully, pulling the soft fabric over your head. It smells faintly of his cologne.
"The thing is," you say slowly, settling back at the table, "I have feelings for him too. I always have. But I hated how he talked to me. How he acted toward you, like you were some kind of rival."
Luke nods understandingly. "He's an idiot. But he's my idiot brother. And he loves you more than he knows how to handle."
"Maybe I should talk to him," you admit. "Tell him how I feel, but also that his behavior was unacceptable."
"I think that's a good idea," Luke says with a small smile. "He needs to hear it from you."
You're about to respond when another knock sounds at your door. You glance at Luke, then at the clock. It's nearly ten. "I'll get it," you say, rising from your seat. "Maybe you can start with the dishes?"
Through the peephole you see Jack, looking even more wrecked than when you last saw him, his split lip now a dark scab. You open the door a crack. "Jack? What are you doing here?"
"I need to talk to you," he says, his voice rough. "Please. Can I come in?"
"Now isn't a good time," you say, your hand on the door to keep it from opening further. "It's late. I'll call you tomorrow."
His eyes narrow. "Why won't you let me inside? What's going on?"
"Nothing," you say quickly. "I just have company."
"Company?" he repeats, his voice dropping dangerously. That's when you hear it from the kitchen, the clink of dishes, Luke muttering something softly to himself. Jack's face transforms. Recognition, then disbelief, then pure, unadulterated rage. He shoves past you, stepping into your apartment with enough force to make you stumble back.
"Luke?" he calls out, his voice like ice. Luke appears in the kitchen doorway, wiping his hands on a dish towel.
"Jack? What are you doing here?"
Jack's eyes scan the apartment, taking in the two wine glasses on the table, the half-eaten meal. Then his gaze lands on you, really lands on you and his expression darkens further. He recognizes the sweater you're wearing.
"Is that your sweater?" he asks Luke, his voice dangerously quiet. Luke looks down at your attire, then back at his brother.
"I spilled wine on her shirt. I offered her mine."
Jack lets out a bitter laugh. "Right. Wine. That's what we're calling it now?"
"What are you talking about?" you ask, your voice trembling.
"I'm talking about this!" he gestures wildly between you and Luke. "I pour my heart out to you, tell you I love you and three days later you're fucking my brother?"
"Are you serious right now?" you exclaim. "Jack, I'm not sleeping with Luke!"
"Don't lie to me!" he yells, his face turning red. "I see how it is. I finally tell you how I feel and you run straight to him. Was this your plan all along? Playing us both?"
"That's enough, Jack," Luke says, stepping forward. "You're being an asshole."
"Stay out of this!" Jack rounds on his brother. "Of course you'd defend her. You're getting what you want, aren't you? The girl I love, wearing your clothes, eating dinner with you while I've been going out of my mind."
"Jack, listen to yourself," you plead, tears streaming down your face. "Nothing happened between me and Luke. He came here to talk about you. To help me figure out how to fix things with you."
"Fix things?" Jack scoffs. "The only thing that needs fixing is whatever's broken in you that makes you think it's okay to lead me on then fuck my brother behind my back."
"I'm not leading you on!" you cry. "I told you I had feelings for you too! But you ruined it, Jack! You ruined it with your jealousy and your anger and your possessiveness!"
"Because I love you!" he shouts back, his voice cracking. "Because the thought of you with someone else, especially him, drives me insane!"
"Get out," Luke says, his voice low and dangerous. "Get the fuck out of her apartment, Jack."
Jack turns to face his brother, his chest heaving. "You don't get to tell me what to do. Not here, not now."
"I'm not asking," Luke says, stepping between you and Jack. "You've upset her enough. Leave."
For a moment, it looks like Jack might physically push past his brother. Then, all the fight seems to drain out of him. He looks at you, really looks at you and something in his expression shifts, rage to anguish to despair. Without another word, he turns and walks out, slamming the door behind him. The sound echoes in the sudden silence, leaving you shaking with sobs in Luke's protective embrace.
"I'm so sorry," Luke murmurs into your hair. "He's just… he's not himself right now." You nod against his chest, tears soaking his shirt.
"I know. But that doesn't make it okay." Luke holds you tighter, rubbing soothing circles on your back.
"I know. And I'm sorry you had to go through that." As your sobs subside, you pull away slightly, wiping at your eyes.
"Thank you, Luke. For being here. For defending me."
"Always," he says with a small, sad smile. "That's what friends are for."
But as you look at the closed door, at the remnants of your ruined dinner, you can't help but wonder if anything between you and Jack can ever be fixed after this.
hiii I saw that you write for Fraser and I wanted to ask if you could write something about him and reader getting into a nasty fight and reader wants to sleep on the couch that night
Empty Space
pairing: Fraser Minten x female reader
summary: After a fight with Fraser you decide to sleep on the couch.
The slam of the bedroom door echoes in the small apartment, a final punctuation mark to the ugly words that passed between you. You stand in the living room for a long moment, your chest tight with unshed tears, the silence pressing in on you. Going back in there feels impossible.
Without making a conscious decision, you find yourself pulling a throw blanket from the back of the armchair. The couch is lumpy and uncomfortable, but it's neutral territory. You arrange the pillows just so, creating a small nest away from him, away from the tension that still crackles in the air. You lie down, facing the back of the sofa and curl into a tight ball, willing sleep to come and rescue you from the ache in your chest.
Hours later, Fraser stirs in bed. The space beside him is cold, empty. He reaches out, his hand patting the mattress in search of your warmth, but finds only rumpled sheets. Panic, sharp and sudden, pierces through him. He sits up, his eyes adjusting to the darkness. "Babe?" he calls softly, but there's no response.
The apartment is quiet as he slips out of bed, his bare feet silent on the cool floor. He checks the bathroom first, then the small office, a growing dread tightening in his stomach. Then he sees it, a familiar blanket peeking over the arm of the couch.
He finds you there, curled up, your breathing soft but uneven in sleep. Even in the dim light from the streetlamp filtering through the blinds, he can see the tension in your shoulders, the tear tracks glistening on your cheeks. His heart clenches painfully. The fight replays in his mind—the careless words, the stubborn pride, the way he'd watched your face crumble. It all seems so stupid now, so meaningless compared to the sight of you sleeping alone, seeking comfort anywhere but with him.
He sinks to his knees beside the couch, his hand hovering over your hair, wanting to touch you but afraid to wake you, afraid you'll flinch away. "Hey," he whispers, his voice thick with regret.
Your eyes flutter open, and for a moment, confusion clouds your gaze before memory returns. You shift away from him slightly. "Fraser?"
"What are you doing out here?" he asks, his voice barely audible. He reaches out, his fingers gently tracing the line of your jaw. "The bed's empty without you."
You sit up, pulling the blanket around you like a shield. "I just... I needed some space."
His expression crumbles. "Space? From me? In our own home?" He looks around the small living room, at the inadequate couch, the thin blanket. "I hate this. I hate you being out here. I hate that we fought and this is where you ended up."
"Well, I wasn't exactly welcome in our bed," you retort, the hurt still fresh.
"That's not what I meant," he says quickly, his voice desperate. "I don't care if we're fighting. I don't care if you're so mad at me you can't even look at me. I still need to know you're there. I need to fall asleep knowing you're next to me, even if we're not touching. The bed feels wrong without you. The whole apartment feels wrong."
His words chip away at your anger, revealing the raw emotion beneath. "Fraser..."
"I'm sorry," he continues, his eyes pleading. "I'm sorry for what I said. It was stupid and I didn't mean it. But I'm even more sorry that I made you feel like you had to sleep out here, alone. I can't... I can't do this. I can't be in a fight where we're in separate rooms. It feels like you're already gone."
A tear escapes and rolls down your cheek. He catches it with his thumb, wiping it away gently. "Don't cry," he murmurs. "Please don't cry. I can't stand it when you cry because of me."
"I'm not crying because of you," you whisper. "I'm crying because I didn't want to be out here either."
His shoulders slump in relief. "Then come back to bed. Please. We don't have to talk. We don't have to touch. We don't have to solve anything right now. Just... come back to bed. Let me hold you, even if you're still mad at me. I need to hold you."
You look into his eyes, seeing the sincerity, the love, the desperate need for you that transcends the anger of a few hours ago. You nod slowly.
He stands up, holding out his hand to you. You take it, letting him pull you to your feet and lead you back to the bedroom. He doesn't let go of your hand as you both slide under the covers. He turns to face you, gently arranging the pillow under your head.
"I love you," he whispers, his hand finding yours in the darkness. "Even when I'm being an idiot and we're fighting, I love you. That never changes."
"I love you too," you whisper back, the tension finally leaving your body. "Even when you're an idiot."
A small smile touches his lips. "Fair enough." He tugs you closer, wrapping his arms around you and pulling you against his chest. You rest your head on his heartbeat, steady and reassuring beneath your ear. The fight isn't forgotten, but it no longer matters. What matters is this, this space between you, filled not with anger, but with love.
"Better?" he asks softly, his lips brushing against your hair.
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
✓ Live Streaming✓ Interactive Chat✓ Private Shows✓ HD Quality✓ Free Actions
Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
summary: You decide to punish your whiny boyfriend Will during a team dinner by teasing him under the table.
CW: Smut, mdni, public teasing, orgasm control, power dynamics, established relationship.
The restaurant buzzes with conversation and clinking cutlery, but all you can focus on is Will's perpetual sigh from beside you. He's been insufferable all day, complaining about practice, about his equipment and about the weather. When Coach announced the mandatory team dinner, Will's dramatic groan was the final straw.
Now, as you sit between Will and his teammate Mack, you decide enough is enough. If he wants to act like a brat, you'll treat him like one.
"Everything okay, babe?" you ask, placing your hand innocently on his thigh under the table.
"Fine," he mutters, pushing his vegetables around his plate.
Your fingers begin slow, deliberate circles against his dress pants. "You've been quiet."
"Just tired," he replies, but you feel him tense beneath your touch.
Mack leans across you. "Smitty, you still coming over to watch tape tomorrow?"
"Yeah," Will answers, his voice slightly strained as your hand drifts higher.
Your fingers trace the growing bulge in his pants, applying just enough pressure to make him shift in his seat. When the waiter comes to refill water glasses, you increase the pressure, watching with satisfaction as Will chokes on his response.
"You alright, man?" asks Misa from across the table.
"Fine," Will manages, shooting you a warning look that you pointedly ignore.
As conversation flows around you, you become bolder. Your palm rubs firmly against his length, feeling him harden beneath the fabric. His hand covers yours under the table, attempting to still your movements, but you push against his grip.
Coach's voice cuts through the noise. "Smith, I need to talk to you about your power play positioning."
Will nods stiffly, his knuckles white where he grips the tablecloth. "Yes, Coach."
Your fingers work at his zipper, slowly, carefully, until you can slip inside. His sharp inhalation is masked by a burst of laughter from down the table. When your hand makes direct contact with him, his whole body goes rigid.
"Your face-off percentage has been stellar this month," Coach continues, oblivious. "Keep that up."
You begin slow, deliberate strokes, base to tip, using his pre-cum to ease your movements. Will's breathing grows ragged, his free hand clenching into a fist on his thigh.
"You listening, Smith?" Coach asks.
"Yes," Will grits out, his voice tight. "Face-offs. Power play. Got it."
His teammates are deep in discussion about tomorrow's game against Vancouver, but Will is barely present. His hips make an involuntary thrust into your hand and he quickly coughs to cover the sound. You smile sweetly at him as if nothing is happening.
"Will, you're looking a little flushed," notes the team's nutritionist from two seats away. "Feeling okay?"
"Perfect," he bites out, glaring at you when no one's looking.
You pick up the pace, thumb circling his tip, feeling him twitch in your palm. His thighs tense, his breath coming in short, controlled bursts. He's close, you can tell by the way his jaw clenches, by the desperate look in his eyes as he pleads with you silently.
As dessert menus are passed around, you feel him begin to pulse in your hand. His orgasm builds and right at the edge, you slow to a maddening crawl. He almost whimpers aloud, quickly covering it with a cough into his napkin.
"Smitty, you want dessert?" asks Mack.
"No," Will manages, his voice hoarse. "I'm good."
You continue your slow torture, bringing him to the edge again and again, each time denying him release. His face is flushed, a thin sheen of sweat on his brow. When Coach finally announces they can leave, Will practically shoots up from his seat.
"Nice to see everyone," he says through clenched teeth, grabbing your hand and pulling you toward the exit.
The car ride home is silent, his knuckles white on the steering wheel. The moment the apartment door closes behind you, he has you pressed against it, his mouth hot and demanding on yours.
"You're going to pay for that," he growls against your lips.
"I'm counting on it," you reply, already working at his belt buckle. "Someone needed to teach you a lesson."
He lifts you effortlessly, carrying you to the bedroom as you laugh against his mouth. "Oh, I learned my lesson. And now it's my turn to teach you yours."
summary: Connor returns to his hometown during the off-season and runs into you, the childhood friend he secretly had a crush on but never had the courage to approach.
CW: Fluff, friends to lovers, kissing, mutual pining.
The North Vancouver community center hasn't changed much in the years since you've been away for college. The same scuffed floors, the same faint smell of chlorine from the nearby pool, the same bulletin board cluttered with local announcements. You're scanning it for a yoga class when you hear a familiar voice.
"Hey, is that...?"
You turn and freeze. Connor stands there, taller and broader than when you last saw him, but with the same slightly awkward smile that used to make your teenage heart flutter. His Blackhawks hat is pulled low, but you'd recognize those eyes anywhere.
"Connor Bedard," you say, a grin spreading across your face. "Look what the cat dragged in."
He laughs, rubbing the back of his neck, a nervous habit you remember well. "Yeah, back in town for a bit. How have you been?"
"Good," you reply, stepping closer. "Just finished my second year at UBC. You know, studying boring stuff while you're out there being an NHL superstar."
Connor's cheeks flush slightly. "I wouldn't say superstar. More like just... really fast and good at skating."
You laugh. "Humble too, I see. Some things never change."
The conversation flows easily, as if no time has passed. He asks about your studies, you ask about his season. When he mentions the pressure of playing in Chicago, his shoulders tense almost imperceptibly.
"It's... different," he admits. "Good, but different. Sometimes I miss just being able to walk around without people staring."
"Must be tough," you say sympathetically. "Though I have to admit, seeing your face on billboards is pretty weird."
His flush deepens. "Yeah, my mom has way too many of those cut out. It's embarrassing."
"You want to get out of here?" you ask suddenly. "I was just about to grab some ice cream from that place by the water we used to go to."
Connor's eyes light up. "Yeah, absolutely. Let me just..."
He trails off, fumbling with his phone as if checking for messages. You hide a smile at how endearingly awkward he still is around you.
The walk to the ice cream shop is filled with comfortable silence and occasional small talk. When you reach the counter, Connor insists on paying.
"I make big money now, remember?" he says with a grin. "I can afford two scoops of ice cream."
You roll your eyes. "Wow, big spender. Don't go crazy now."
You find a bench overlooking the water, the late afternoon sun glinting beautifully. For a while, you just eat your ice cream and watch the boats go by.
"Remember when we tried to build that raft here?" Connor asks, pointing toward a small cove. "It sank within five minutes."
You laugh. "And you blamed me because I didn't distribute the weight properly. As if ten-year-old you knew anything about physics."
"Hey, I was a smart kid," he protests, but he's smiling.
The conversation drifts to more serious topics as the sun begins to set. He talks about the loneliness of being away from home, about the weight of expectations.
"You know," you say softly, "you don't have to pretend with me, Connor. You never did."
He looks at you then, really looks at you, and the intensity in his eyes makes your breath catch. "I know. That's why I always liked talking to you."
The air between you shifts, charged with unspoken history. He sets down his ice cream and turns to face you fully.
"There's something I never told you before I left for juniors," he says, his voice slightly unsteady. "I had this huge crush on you. Like, embarrassingly huge."
Your eyes widen. "Really? I had no idea."
"Yeah, well," he rubs his neck again, "I was kind of awkward around you for a reason."
You reach out and place your hand on his arm. "For what it's worth, I had a crush on you too."
Connor's face lights up, a genuine, unguarded smile that makes your heart skip a beat. "Seriously?"
"Seriously," you confirm. "I just figured I wasn't cool enough for the hockey prodigy."
"You were always cooler than me," he says, his voice soft.
He leans in slowly, giving you time to pull away if you want to. You don't. When his lips meet yours, it's tentative at first, then deeper, sweeter than you'd imagined. His hand comes up to cup your cheek, his thumb stroking your skin softly.
When you finally pull apart, the sky has turned pink and orange above the water.
"Wow," Connor breathes, his forehead resting against yours.
"Yeah," you agree, your heart racing. "Wow."
He smiles, that same slightly awkward smile that first caught your attention years ago. "So, uh, I'm in town for another month..."
"Good," you say, leaning in for another kiss. "Because I think we have a lot of lost time to make up for."
As the sun sets over North Vancouver, you realize that sometimes the best things in life are the ones that were right in front of you all along.
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