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[cailinsblog]

i swear im in love w your posts and your account 😭 the way you write the drivers feels rly accurate, i had an idea for an au after i saw that video w the papaya boys looking down at the camera w their helmets on so maybe something about reader telling the drivers to 'sleep' w them only wearing their helmets 🙂‍↕️hehe no pressure 🧡

THE HELMET STAYS ON.

FORMULA ONE DRIVERS X READER

Summary: Begging the drivers to nail you with their helmet on. And they do.

Warnings: Pure smut, Y/N usage, P in V, foreplay, reader has a tongue piercing in one of them, hair pulling, blowjob, the whole nine yards. Basically really filthy. Also not proofread because it was embarrassing enough just writing this.

Featuring: MV1, DR3, LN4, CL16, CS55, OP81

This video. Oh my days. I have nothing appropriate to say.

One more before I sleep. I’m kind of scared to post this, this is my first super out there post.

(Do feel free to request risqué stuff idm!)

MAX VERSTAPPEN - MV1

“Let me get this straight,” Your boyfriend stood in front of you as you sat, prettily perched on the edge of the bed with an innocent smile, despite what you just asked. “You,” He pointed to you. “Want me,” and then to himself. “To fuck you. With the helmet on.” He raised both of his brows.

You looked off to the side, and then back at him, nodding. “Sounds about right, yeah.” You confirmed. He couldn’t believe what he was hearing, but with a sigh… He reluctantly gave in. Anything for his beloved girlfriend, I guess.

“M-ahhh-x,” You groaned out his name, nails desperately clawing at his bare back for some sort of leverage. Your legs were quivering as he slowly thrusted into you, his hips moving in such a hypnotic way. Even off the track, his pace was consistent, apparently.

All of his skin was exposed, every last inch, except for his face. It was covered by his iconic helmet design, the visor pulled down to conceal the expression in his eyes. You were certain they were darkened with lust, but had no proof of it.

His hands gripped your waist, hoisting you up to get an even deeper angle. Your legs wrapped around him weakly, trying to pull him in closer. At this point, you could barely move them.

He brought his helmeted face down closer to your ear, the sound of his voice deliciously muffled by the soft casing surrounding his head, “You asked for this, lieverd.” You whined out at his typical pet name, which sounded so dirty now. You were unsure if you’d ever be able to see your boyfriend in an innocent light ever again.

Your hands grabbed both sides of his helmet, mouth drawn open in an ‘O’ as you weakly moaned for him. The sweet sounds motivated him further, allowing him to draw out his final thrusts. He pulled out, hands stroking his length as you pressed soft kisses to the surface of his helmet.

He came on your stomach. With one hand, Max lifted the visor while the other gentle traced a heart onto your cum-coated belly.

—

DANIEL RICCIARDO - DR3

“Danny?” You came out of his bedroom one day, finding him relaxed on the couch. He leaned his head over to look at you, motioning for you to continue. In your hands was the cause of confusion— His old racing helmet. The last one he ever wore, to be exact.

It was a black helmet with a sparkly flame that shined different colors depending on the lighting. You remembered him wearing it in Singapore, the last race he ever competed in. It probably held a lot of special memories. “Do you use your old helmets for anything? I see you have a few in our room.”

“Hmm, nah. Mostly just decoration.” He shrugs and turns to sit with one leg folded underneath him, the other hanging over the edge of the couch. His elbows were propped on the back as he stared at you. “Why?” He smirked almost like he could see the gears turning.

“Wanna have sex with one on?” The answer was always yes.

It wasn’t quite what you were expecting, in the best way possible. Nothing could have prepared you for the animal that your boyfriend would become upon exploding this new area of your sex lives.

He had one of your legs pushed in the air, resting over his shoulder, which allowed him more space to thrust experimentally. The other laid on the side of his thigh, your hips held up by his free hand to get a better angle. You propped yourself up on your elbows, head slightly angled down while you stared through damp lashes.

“Fuck, Danny…” You whined, your hips twitching with a little gasp. He groaned, his head falling forward until the helmet was carefully pressed against your forehead. His grip on your raised thigh was tight, practically digging into your skin to keep himself from going feral.

“Feel that?” He muttered, his voice enveloped in the cushy walls of his helmet. The hand that held you up at the waist circled around, palm pressing down on your stomach to emphasize the slight bulge. He cursed under his breath, his hips stuttering and his dick twitching. “Shit.”

He leg your leg fall against the mattress as he carefully slipped out. One hand massaged your sore folds, bringing you to your peak just as he reached his. You both climaxed together, your thighs painted with his arousal.

He carefully lifted the helmet, still panting as he looked down at the mess he made. “Satisfied?” He asked, voice hoarse. You grinned, eyes droopy.

“Very.”

—

LANDO NORRIS - LN4

There was something special about Lando in his signature green helmet. The helmet itself was bland, but it was his staple. When he wore it, it was unimaginably attractive to you.

You tried to ignore it, but during one of his week long breaks, you decided to address the issue upfront. It was a hard topic to approach, so you figured now was a good time to be as blunt as possible.

“I want to fuck you while you wear your helmet.” Literally. As blunt as possible.

He looked taken aback, and rightfully so. His eyes widened, and his mouth fell open. “What?”

“You heard me.”

“Why…” He asked next. It was hard to discern what sort of face that was supposed to be. Confusion? Disgust? Arousal? All three at once?

“Because it’s hot.”

He fell silent, and then pulled you into his room where the helmet in question sat, like it was ready for this moment.

“Not so confident now, are you?” His husky voice murmured in your ear. You were currently bent over with your hands against his bedroom door to support yourself, your ass stuck out against him. All while your legs trembled. If one of his hands wasn’t supporting you under your stomach, you’d have collapsed by now.

Strong hands gripped your hair, tugging your head backwards to get a good look at your fucked out expression, and your stretched neck that was littered with deep purple marks. All you could do was softly cry out in pleasure as a reply to his question, which earned a dark chuckle from your boyfriend.

“Regretting your choice yet?” You shook your head with teary eyes. You couldn’t see his face, cloaked beneath the secrecy of a bright green racing helmet, but you knew for a fact he was smirking. Every thrust was carried out confidently, sending a resounding smack through the room. The sounds were sticky from the buildup of arousal.

“Laan,” You drawled out his name, eyes twitching as you struggled to keep them open. You could feel another orgasm approaching— Just one of many for the night. “P-Please—”

“Please what?” Another tug of the hair, making you whimper. “Use your words, pretty.”

“Let me cum,” You whined, your voice trembling. He continued silently for another thrust or two before the hand on your stomach traveled down to massage your clit, sending you over the edge. You squealed out, lurching forward to rest against the door.

He pulled his throbbing length out, releasing onto your back. With a heavy, satisfied sigh, Lando scooped you up and gently laid you on his mattress, littering your aching body with kisses upon the removal of his helmet.

“You did so good for me.”

—

CHARLES LECLERC - CL16

Charles and you had been together for a while, and it was safe to say you knew your way around each other’s bodies. However, neither of you quite knew the other’s mind.

It was hard to pinpoint the specific kinks and such. If you were both paying attention you could figure out the little things you liked— For example, Charles liked kitten licks on the tip, and he loved you in red lingerie. And you liked sensual sex with romance and eye contact.

However, there was something you had never been able to admit until now. “Can you keep the helmet on for tonight?” He blinked at your question, already half naked and hovering over you, who was… Entirely naked.

“Keep the helmet on?”

“Yeah. Just to try it out.”

It didn’t take much convincing.

The entire experience changed when the helmet came on. Maybe you were expecting him to take a dominant stance, but it seemed as soon as the mask came on he was a whining and stuttering mess.

Charles was propped up on his elbows as you straddled his hips, grinding yourself further onto his impaled cock. He couldn’t even form a sentence, just desperately grip your hips and occasionally involuntarily thrust up into your tight heat. He was thankful for the helmet, actually. That way you couldn’t see his pathetic expression.

“Feels good,” You praised, your voice like honey. He squeezed the fat of your hips tighter, both of his index fingers anxiously tapping against your skin. He wasn’t normally so… Submissive like this.

You reached out, lifting the visor of his helmet to unveil his eyes. Just his eyes, that’s all you could see, but they told you exactly what you needed to know. With furrowed brows and a watery gaze, he made direct eye contact with you.

His hands traveled to find yours, squeezing them tight while you rode him. He could barely ground himself, but your steady presence certainly helped. “Y/N-” He finally managed to splutter out, his legs twitching and his hips jerking.

“Shh, you’re okay,” You whispered, moving your hips faster. “You got it, you’re doing great.” At your praise, he seemed to lose it, spilling deep inside you.

His body collapsed against the mattress, leaving you to carefully lift his helmet and brush his damp hair away from his eyes.

—

CARLOS SAINZ - CS55

You came home from a stressful day to your boyfriend standing in the dining room, examining his racing helmet under the light. “What are you doing?” You questioned softly as you set your things down on the table.

Her flinched, but relaxed as soon as he realized it was just you, and there was no need to be worried. “Just thinking.” You raised your brow as if asking ‘about?’ He showed you the helmet, and you just shrugged with a lack of understanding. “I want to fuck you with it on.”

You blinked at his forwardness, your gaze shifting from the helmet, and then to him. “If you’re comfortable with it, I don’t mind.”

Sex with Carlos was typically slow and sensual, just what you needed after a long day.

Not this time.

He had you folded in ways you didn’t even know were possible. Your knees were pressed to your chest, hands gripping the sheets as he fucked into you in your folded position. He hovered over you, one hand on the headboard and the other on the curve of your ass.

He grunted, but most of the noise was coming from you. “C-… Carlos!” You yelped, surprised by the change in tone. Your eyes twitched, threatening to roll back into your skull. You tried to swallow your moans, but it was impossible to keep silent.

He suddenly grabbed both of your hands, bringing them up to hold your own legs back. He busied his digits with your hole. Two fingers circled your needy clit, making your legs ache and shake. The other two slid right in with his cock, plunging in and out in a rhythmic manner.

“Feel good?” He questioned in that thick accent, ensuring your comfort over all. You couldn’t form a coherent response, leaving you to just nod a silent yes.

It seemed like ages he toyed with your poor hole, but finally he pulled free and let himself release onto your stomach. You let your legs fall to the mattress, twitching occasionally. Both of you panted as he removed the helmet, sweat dripping from his forehead. His hair was beautifully messy.

“That was…” He trailed off.

“Hot,” You finished for him.

—

OSCAR PIASTRI - OP81

You had been giggling to yourself all day as you stared at your phone. It was beginning to make Oscar anxious as he automatically assumed the worst. With sudden steeled courage, he decided to confront you.

“What have you been looking at? You haven’t stopped laughing at your phone.” His tone was calm, but inside he was slightly panicked. That is, until you turned the phone around to show him an edit. Of himself.

He had seen a few of them. Ever since him and Lando filmed that video showing off their helmets, the fans had been going crazy. “What about it?” He tilted his head, not unlike the way he did in said video. Your ovaries basically exploded.

“Do you have your helmet?” He nodded. “Put it on.”

Well, you didn’t have to tell him twice.

This… Wasn’t exactly what Oscar had been expecting. He knew you had something filthy in mind, but to suck him off while he was wearing nothing but his helmet was a little absurd, even for you.

Thankfully, he accepted the freak in you.

Your tongue darted out to give his tip a little lick, the cold metal of your tongue piercing making him twitch. He shuddered, a deep groan leaving his lips. Without even thinking, his hands grabbed the back of your head. However, he relaxed before making any sharp movements, and let it rest there for now.

You experimented further, plump lips encasing his whole tip, cheeks hollowing experimentally. He groaned, head tilted back momentarily. You looked at him through your lashes, giggling around his length when he peered back down, the movement unbearably attractive in your eyes.

You placed your hands on his thighs to balance yourself, and slowly took more of him in. He tried to keep quiet, but he could only bite back so many groans before they started to flood out. As your pace increased, his grip on the back of your head did, too.

Eventually, you weren’t even moving anymore. He was just full on face fucking you to get himself off, and you didn’t care. You let your mouth be used by your boyfriend, whose hips were jerking in and out in a spontaneous rhythm.

He finally came to a stop, his length twitching as he pulled it out. Half of his seed was shot onto your face, while the rest was expertly aimed for your mouth.

He was breathing heavily as he lifted the helmet, peering down at you with a heaving chest. “Holy shit.”

That was by far the most emotion anyone had ever gotten out of him.

[cailinsblog]

I was on the big screen!!! Best 2d game ever. It’s my 18th birthday

[cailinsblog]

no lube, no protection, all night, all day, from the kitchen floor, to the toilet seat, from the dining room table, to the bedroom, from the bathroom sink, to the shower, from the front porch, to the balcony, vertically horizontally, quadratic, exponent, algorithmetic, while I gasp for air, scream and see the light, missionary, cowgirl, reverse cowgirl, doggy, backwards, forward, sideways, upside down, on the floor, in the bed, on the couch, on a chair, being carried against the wall, outside, in a train, on a plane, in a car, on a motorcycle, the bed of a truck, on a trampoline, in a bounce house, in the pool, bent over a counter top, against the window, have the most toe curling, back aching, leg shaking, dick throbbing, fist clenching, ear ringing, mouth drooling, ass clenching, nose sniffling, eye watering, eye rolling, hip thrusting, earthquaking, sheet gripping, knuckles cracking, jaw-dropping, hair pulling, mind boggling, soul snatching, over stimulating, vile, sloppy, moan-inducing, heart-wrenching, spine tingling, back breaking, atrocious, gushy, creamy, beastly, lip biting, nail biting, sweaty, feet kicking, mind blowing, body shivering, orgasmic, bone breaking, world ending, blackhole creating, universe destroying, devious, scrumptious, amazing, delightful, delectable, unbelievable, body numbing, bark-worthy, can't walk, head nodding, soul evaporating, volcanic erupting, sweat rolling, voice cracking, trembling, sheets soaked, hair drenched, flabbergasting, hip locking, skin peeling, eyelash removing, eye widening, pussy popping, nail snatching, spectacular, hair ripping, show stopping, magnificent, unique, extraordinary, splendid, phenomenal, malforming, mouth watering, 360 degrees, skin on skin, in the fridge, in the closet, on the ceiling, heavenly 😊

[cailinsblog]

AHHHHHHHHHHH

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[cailinsblog]

Sünneli | N. Hischier

summary: when nico holds his baby girl for the first time, it feels like the world has rearranged itself around her. she was born with the sun, slipping into the world as it woke, and before he even realises it, he's giving her a name that feels like it was always meant to be hers... pairing: nico hischier x reader content: dad!nico, fluff word count: 1.3k note: i finally birthed my teeny tiny dad!nico au. hope u enjoy cutie pies <3 ↪masterlist

⋆⋅☆⋅⋆

The hospital room is quiet, bathed in the soft golden light of early morning, the world outside just beginning to wake. The air is still, thick with the kind of hush that lingers after something monumental, something life-changing.

Just a few hours ago, his entire world shifted.

His baby girl was born.

The night had blurred into dawn, exhaustion hanging heavy in the space, but Nico? He doesn’t feel it. He hasn’t stopped looking at her since she was placed in his arms, like his body physically won’t let him look away.

He’s completely wrapped up in her, holding her with a care so instinctual it’s like he was made for this. She’s so small, so impossibly new, her features delicate and soft beneath the warm glow of the sun spilling through the window. His hand — large and steady, his grip still carrying the faintest tremor of disbelief — rests over her tiny back, his thumb tracing slow, gentle strokes against the fabric of her swaddle.

His voice is barely a whisper when he speaks, so soft it barely carries beyond the space between them. He murmurs to her in Swiss, the words slipping from his lips low and full of quiet awe.

"Du bisch so perfekt," he breathes, his lips brushing against the top of her head, lingering there for a moment as if he can’t quite believe she’s real. You are so perfect. "So schön, so klein…" So beautiful, so small...

He rocks her without thinking, the motion smooth and rhythmic, his body moving on instinct to soothe her, to keep her close. Her tiny breaths are warm against his chest, her little mouth occasionally forming sleepy, barely-there movements, like she’s dreaming. Like she knows she’s home. And Nico thinks he could stay like this forever — just holding her, memorising the weight of her in his arms, the way she feels right there, pressed against his heartbeat.

For the first time since she arrived, the room feels still. The tension, the exhaustion, the rush of the last few hours — it’s melted into something softer now, something full and quiet and settled.

He lets out a slow breath, glancing over at you, expecting to find you asleep at last. But you’re awake—exhausted, yes, but completely wrapped up in the moment, watching him with an expression so full of love it makes his breath catch.

He doesn’t say anything, just holds your gaze, his arms tightening ever so slightly around the tiny bundle in his chest, like he’s silently sharing this feeling with you. You both stay like that for a moment, bathed in the soft glow of dawn, the weight of everything settling between you.

You look so tired, but there’s a warmth in your eyes, something Nico knows he’ll carry with him forever. You fought so hard to bring her into the world, gave everything to make this moment possible, and now you’re here, looking at him like he’s holding the most precious thing in existence. Because he is.

His lips twitch into the softest smile, small but full of love. He shifts slightly, adjusting your baby girl against his chest, as if to say, "look at her. Look what we made."

And he doesn’t have to say it out loud — because you are looking. And you see it. See him. See the way he’s holding her like she’s the most fragile, most important thing he’s ever touched. See the way his whole world has clicked into place, like this is who he was always meant to be, like fatherhood isn’t something new but something he was always waiting to step into, something written into his very being.

You watch as his lips part, like he wants to say something but can’t quite find the words. Instead, he exhales softly, voice barely more than a breath.

"Thank-you."

Two simple words, but they wreck you.

It’s the way he says them — quiet, thick with emotion, like they hold everything he can’t put into words. Like he’s not just thanking you for this moment, for the little life curled against his chest, but for everything. For every day you spent carrying her, for every exhausted breath, for bringing her into the world, for changing his forever.

His heart swells, stretching wide, impossibly full, spilling over with something bigger than words, bigger than him. His breath shudders, his throat tightens, and before he can stop it, his eyes burn with the threat of tears.

He blinks quickly, tilting his head slightly, gaze shifting toward the window as he tries to steady himself, to catch his breath.

The early morning light spills into the room, golden and soft, stretching across the floor, casting warm edges over the bed, over you, over her. The world outside is waking slowly, painted in delicate hues of pink and orange, dawn easing into full daylight.

But even as he stares out at the horizon, he can still feel her — the gentle weight of her against his chest, the warmth of her tiny body snug against his.

And somehow, that makes it worse. Makes it more.

Like the feel of her, the reality of her pressed so close, amplifies everything. Every emotion swells, raw and overwhelming, catching in his throat. His love for her, for you, for this moment — it’s too much and somehow not enough, all at once.

He glances down again, eyes still damp, heart still aching, and there she is. So small. So new. So impossibly perfect.

And it hits him.

She was born with the sun, slipping into the world as it woke, as if she already belonged to it.

And then, without thinking, the words just come, soft and instinctive.

"Mein Sünneli."

He doesn’t even register that he said it — too caught up in the way she stirs slightly against him, making the tiniest, warmest little sound. His heart aches with it, with how much he loves her, with how much he already belongs to her.

It isn’t until you speak — your voice quiet, amused, full of warmth — that he blinks, finally glancing up at you.

"Sünneli?" you repeat, the word unfamiliar on your tongue, tilting your head slightly as you shift against the pillows, exhaustion still weighing on you.

His brows furrow for a second, like he’s trying to replay the moment in his head, and then it clicks. He glances back down at her, at the way the first light of the morning spills over her tiny, perfect features.

A small, breathy chuckle escapes him, barely there. His fingers brush gently over the fine, downy hair on her head, his voice nothing more than a whisper as he answers.

"Little sun."

He looks back at you then, something so tender, so unshakable in his expression, like there is no other name in the world that could ever fit her the way this one does.

"She’s my little sun."

And that’s it. From that moment on, she’s Sünneli.

It comes so naturally, like it was always meant to be hers. He calls her that again later, when the room is quiet and still, just the soft hum of the world outside, the warmth of her tiny body resting against his bare chest. His fingertips trace the impossibly small curve of her hand, following the gentle rise and fall of her breaths, and the word falls from his lips like second nature, like a prayer whispered just for her.

He says it the next morning too, when she stretches in his arms, letting out the tiniest, sleepiest sound that destroys him, her little face scrunching up before settling again. He presses his lips to her head, breathes her in, and murmurs it against her soft skin.

And every single day after.

Sometimes it’s Sünneli, whispered into her hair as he rocks her in the quiet of the night. Other times, it’s Sunny, slipping easily into English, spoken with a soft smile as she blinks up at him, eyes round and curious, tiny fingers wrapping around his.

No matter which language, no matter how many years pass, it never changes. Because from the moment she entered the world, she was his — his light, his warmth, his brightest, warmest thing.

His little sun.

[cailinsblog]

16.11.24 Jack casually stripping next to Nico while he does his interview 😅 (x) moments before this clip

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"so, i chose to stay silent"

The face i stay silent with :

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OHHHH EVERYONE SHUT THE FUCK UP NOBODY MOVE

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I would let this man do unspeakable things to me

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IM SOAKED BYEEEEEEEEEEEEEE

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https://x.com/hischiersdevils/status/1882105798299636009?s=46

SO MANY PEOPLE SENT ME THESE EARLIER BUT IM JUST NOW GETTING OFF OF WORK TO FREAK OUT ABOUT IT

i want them to be live photos so badly…i need to see the profession of this endeavor of his

[cailinsblog]

The reader surprises her boyfriend with a jacket with his number on it. Something like that with Philipp Kurashev?

Sorry I got to this so late but I hope you like it

Number 23 | Philipp Kurashev

Philipp kurashev x reader

It was a chilly Saturday evening in Chicago, and the United Center was buzzing with excitement. The Blackhawks were facing off against a fierce rival, and fans filled the stands, eagerly awaiting the action. The energy in the arena was electric, a buzz that seemed to vibrate through the walls as the teams warmed up.

Philipp Kurashev was getting ready for the game, slipping on his jersey, adjusting the straps on his skates, and making small talk with his teammates. But his mind was elsewhere, as it often was when he knew she’d be in the stands. Y/N, his girlfriend of nearly a year, had promised to be there, as she always did.

Philipp hadn’t told her yet, but today was special. The game itself, yes—but also the little surprise he had for her.

As he stood in front of his locker, tying his shoes, his eyes briefly flickered to the locker next to his. There, hanging neatly, was a jacket. Not just any jacket—but one that he’d had specially made for her. A navy blue leather jacket with his last name stitched across the back, just above the number 23. His number. The same number he wore proudly on the ice every game.

He’d been thinking about it for weeks. He wanted to get her something meaningful, something that would show how much she meant to him—something that would make her feel like a part of his world, the world that was so often consumed by hockey. And so, when he’d found the jacket, he couldn’t resist.

It was simple but stunning—sleek, timeless, and bold, just like Y/N.

Philipp smiled to himself as he finished tying his skates. He couldn’t wait to see the look on her face when she saw it.

---

Y/N was sitting in her usual spot, a few rows behind the Blackhawks’ bench, her eyes scanning the rink. She loved being here, loved the energy, the adrenaline that filled the arena. But more than anything, she loved watching Philipp.

He had always been humble, calm, and collected, but when he was on the ice, he transformed into something different. There was a fire in him, a hunger to win, to succeed, to prove himself. And it was contagious.

Y/N had never been into sports as much before meeting Philipp, but hockey, especially Blackhawks hockey, had quickly become something she looked forward to. It wasn’t just about the game—it was about Philipp’s dedication, his passion, and the way he looked at her after every shift, like she was the reason he played.

She smiled to herself, her fingers nervously tugging at the sleeve of her jacket. Today, she wore the new one Philipp had given her for her birthday, a gift she’d been so excited about. The jacket was made just for her, customized with his last name and his number. She felt like a part of his world when she wore it. She was proud to wear it, especially tonight, when she knew Philipp had something important to prove.

The game began, and she leaned forward in her seat, excitement building as the puck dropped.

---

It was a tight match, both teams playing at their best, back and forth, trading chances. Philipp was skating hard, digging deep into every shift, trying to make an impact. He could feel the tension rising as the game progressed—every pass, every shot, every hit mattered. The Blackhawks were trailing by one goal with just under five minutes left in the third period.

Philipp wasn’t going to let this opportunity slip away. He wanted to make something happen. The crowd was roaring, the energy almost unbearable. He could feel the weight of the moment as he skated down the ice, eyes scanning for an opening.

It came. The puck was passed to him just inside the blue line. With a quick flick of his wrist, he sent the puck toward the net. It wasn’t the hardest shot he’d ever taken, but it was perfectly placed, just past the goalie’s outstretched glove, and it found the back of the net.

**Goal.**

The crowd erupted in cheers, the arena shaking with applause. But as the team celebrated around him, Philipp’s eyes immediately sought out the one person who meant everything to him.

Y/N.

She was standing now, her face lit up with a mixture of pride and excitement. And then, in the chaos of the celebration, Philipp raised his stick in the air and pointed directly at her.

It was subtle—just a small gesture, a quick nod of acknowledgment—but to Y/N, it felt like the world had stopped for a moment. Philipp had just scored a goal for his team, but it was the gesture for her that made her heart race.

His smile was wide, his eyes locked with hers, and she swore she saw a flash of something deeper there.

“**That one’s for you.**” His lips didn’t move, but she could read him like an open book. His actions spoke louder than words.

Y/N’s eyes welled up with tears of happiness. She waved back, mouthing a quiet “I love you,” even though she knew he couldn’t hear her over the roar of the crowd.

---

After the game, the Blackhawks had pulled off a thrilling comeback, winning 4–3. Philipp had been named the second star of the game, and the locker room was filled with high-fives, laughter, and celebration. But Philipp’s thoughts weren’t on the win—it was on Y/N.

He walked into the locker room, trying to keep his cool, but he couldn’t help the smile that spread across his face when he saw her waiting for him near the exit. She was still wearing the jacket he’d given her, and it only made his heart swell even more.

“You were incredible out there,” she said, pulling him into a tight hug. She could still feel the electricity from the game, from the moment he’d pointed at her. But this moment—holding him in her arms—felt even more magical.

Philipp pulled back slightly, looking down at her with a soft smile. “I’m glad you liked it. The goal, I mean.”

Y/N laughed, her eyes glistening. “Liked it? I think I might’ve *fainted* when you pointed at me. That was the cutest thing ever.”

Philipp’s cheeks turned a little pink. “I wanted you to know that goal was for you. I don’t always say it, but you’re the reason I play the way I do.”

Y/N’s heart melted. She had always known Philipp had a fire for the game, but hearing him say it made everything feel even more real. She took a step back, pulling the jacket’s collar up so he could see his name and number on it. “I’m proud to wear this. I want to support you, always.”

He grinned, his heart full. “I think you wear it better than I do,” he teased, brushing a strand of hair from her face.

Y/N laughed, playfully rolling her eyes. “You’re such a dork.”

But Philipp didn’t care. He was happy. He had everything he needed right here with her.

“Let’s go home,” he said, his hand gently taking hers. “I’ve got a celebration planned. You and me.”

Y/N raised an eyebrow. “What kind of celebration?”

“Something small. Just us. With maybe a little more pizza than we should have,” he said, his eyes twinkling mischievously.

Y/N chuckled, leaning up to kiss him softly on the lips. “Sounds perfect.”

And as they walked out of the arena hand-in-hand, Philipp couldn’t help but feel like he was exactly where he needed to be. On the ice, playing the game he loved, and off it, sharing moments like this with the woman he loved.

For Philipp Kurashev, life was about more than hockey. It was about the little things—the moments with Y/N that made everything feel like it was meant to be.

And as he glanced over at her, smiling in her jacket with his name on it, he knew it was true: he was scoring for her, always.

[cailinsblog]

baby fever with lane hutson pleaseeeee 🫶🏻

Sorry I got to this so late but I hope you like it

Baby Fever on the Ice | lane Hutson

Lane Hutson x reader

It was a crisp evening in Montreal. The Canadiens had just wrapped up a tough practice session, and the players were trickling out of the locker room, still buzzing with the adrenaline of a hard-fought workout. Lane Hutson, the young star defenseman who had quickly made a name for himself on the ice, walked toward the parking lot, his mind still on the drills and plays they'd run that day. But as his eyes swept the crowd, they landed on something that instantly distracted him from the usual rush of post-practice thoughts.

Y/N, his girlfriend of two years, was sitting on a bench near the rink's entrance, holding a tiny bundle in her arms. The bundle, as it turned out, was the newborn daughter of one of Lane's teammates, Cole Caufield. The baby, wrapped in a soft pink blanket, looked so fragile, so innocent, and Y/N was cradling her with such care and tenderness that it was impossible for Lane to ignore how much the sight affected him.

He slowed his pace, his heart skipping a beat as he approached her, the image of Y/N holding the baby creating a fluttering feeling in his chest. There was something so natural, so beautiful about the way she looked with a little one in her arms. She was smiling, her eyes soft, and she whispered sweet words to the baby, who was looking up at her with curious eyes.

“Hey, beautiful,” Lane called out, his voice softer than usual. He had to admit that the sight before him had taken him off guard.

Y/N looked up at him, her face lighting up with a warm smile. “Hey, Lane! How was practice?”

“It was good,” he replied, taking a few more steps toward her. “But... I think I just found something a little more distracting than my practice today.”

Y/N raised an eyebrow, amused, but then her gaze followed his, landing on the baby. “Oh, you mean her? She’s so sweet, isn’t she?”

Lane nodded, his gaze not leaving the baby in Y/N’s arms. He felt an unfamiliar tightness in his chest, an overwhelming desire to hold her, to protect her. But it wasn’t the baby he was thinking about. It was Y/N. The way she was holding her, so effortlessly, so tenderly—it made Lane realize just how much he wanted that. He wanted a family. He wanted *this*.

“You’re amazing with her,” Lane said quietly, sitting down next to her on the bench. He couldn't take his eyes off of Y/N, his mind swirling with thoughts he hadn't fully processed before.

Y/N chuckled softly, glancing at him. “Well, she’s not my baby, but I think it’s safe to say I could be a good mom one day,” she teased, gently rocking the baby in her arms.

Lane smiled, but it was more of a thoughtful expression than a playful one. “Yeah,” he murmured, “I can see that.”

Y/N noticed the shift in his tone. She glanced at him, her expression softening. “What’s on your mind, babe?”

Lane took a deep breath, running a hand through his hair. “I don’t know, I just… I’ve never really thought about it before. But seeing you with her, it’s like everything just clicked. I’ve always thought about focusing on my career, you know? But I also think about… *us*.”

Y/N’s eyes softened with understanding. “You mean like, a family?” she asked, her voice gentle.

Lane nodded, his heart racing. “Yeah. I mean, I’ve always loved hockey, but…” He paused, trying to find the right words. “I guess seeing you with her, it made me think about having that with you one day. A little one of our own.”

Y/N’s smile widened, and she shifted the baby a little, handing her over to Lane. “Here, hold her for a second.”

Lane hesitated at first, but when Y/N placed the baby in his arms, a rush of emotions hit him. The weight of the small baby, the warmth of her soft body against his chest, was something he hadn’t expected. It was instinctual. Protective. A feeling so deep that it almost overwhelmed him. He gazed down at the baby, whose tiny hand was wrapped around his finger, and he felt a surge of emotion.

“Wow,” Lane whispered, staring down at the baby with wide eyes. “This is… unreal.”

Y/N chuckled softly, watching the scene before her. “I know, right? It’s a lot to process. But I can see it in your eyes—you’re a natural.”

Lane looked up at Y/N, his gaze intense and full of emotion. “I want this,” he admitted, the words spilling out before he even had a chance to think about them. “I want to be a dad, someday. And I want you to be the mother of our kids.”

Y/N’s heart skipped a beat, and she bit her lip, her eyes sparkling with affection. She knew Lane had always been focused on hockey, and to hear him talk about their future like this… it made everything feel real. Like it wasn’t just about the present, the games, the practices—it was about building a life together, one that went beyond the rink.

“I’d love that, Lane,” she said softly, her voice thick with emotion. “I’ve always dreamed of a family with you.”

Lane’s eyes softened, and he gently handed the baby back to Y/N. “I think we’re ready for that, whenever the time is right. I want to build something with you. A family. It feels like the next step, you know?”

Y/N nodded, her heart full. “I think we’re ready, too. Whenever that time comes, we’ll be amazing at it. I know it.”

They shared a quiet moment, gazing at each other with a mixture of love, excitement, and a little bit of nervousness. But Lane’s heart felt full in a way it never had before. Hockey was his passion, but Y/N and the idea of building a life together, a future with kids, was something he now craved with the same intensity.

As the baby let out a tiny coo, Y/N kissed the top of her head, smiling at Lane. “You’ll be the best dad ever, Lane. I know it.”

Lane grinned, a sense of peace settling over him. “I’m starting to believe that too.”

The two of them sat there for a while longer, wrapped up in the warmth of the moment. The future felt promising, full of possibilities, and for the first time in a long while, Lane Hutson felt like he had everything he ever wanted.

And that wasn’t just a dream anymore. It was a vision of what was to come.

[cailinsblog]

When a fanfic writer puts a nickname you think Is icky in their smut fic

[cailinsblog]

It could cause earthquakes

[cailinsblog]

begging - Chris Sturniolo

summary: when chris gets home after filming, he is the most desperate youve ever seen him, he is literally a horny, clingy, wreck. after a lot of begging you finally give him exactly what he needs.

contains: sub!chris, smut, needy!chris, teasing, overstimulation, fluff.

-----------------------------♡----------------------------

6:14pm

i lay down on the couch in my pink pyjama set, curled up as i scroll through my phone. suddenly my head perks up as i hear the door unlock.

chris walks through the door, throwing his bag down and slipping off his shoes.

"hi chris!" i call out from the living room,

chris lets out a small whine in response, instantly dragging his feet over to the couch. i smile up at him as i open my arms, chris instantly flops down.

he lands ontop of me with a small grunt, instantly cuddling into me. he rests his head on my neck.

"you tired?" i whisper softly,

chris shakes his head, "no..." my eyebrows furrow as i run my nails up and down his back.

"do you feel sick?" i ask, his head shakes again.

"whats up with you then?' i mumble,

chris shakes his head, refusing to anwser.

i stay silent for a few moments, waiting for him to respond.

"can you touch me..?" chris whispers, pulling his head away from the crook of my neck to look into my eyes.

"so thats what this is about yeah?" i giggle,

his cheeks flush but he doesn't stop, "please- 'm so horny." his tone is somewhat desperate, a small whine in his voice.

"im tired chris, not today." i whisper, still rubbing his back.

"but- please, i've- i've been needy all day for you 'n i wasnt home at all today- please." he rambles, staring into my eyes with half lidded eyes.

"chris baby, i told you that im tired, maybe tomorrow yeah?" i mutter,

chris lets out a high pitched whine, clutching onto my shirt with balled up fists.

"i can't wait- please i just need you so bad ma, please, seriously." he babbles on, his grip on my pyjama shirt getting tighter.

i let out a small laugh, but he instantly cuts me off.

"stop! 's not funny!" he groans, burying his head in my chest.

i keep up my smirk,

"baby, just go upstairs and sort yourself out okay?" i speak softly, gently rolling him off of me.

"i cant- i wont be able to cum without you." he says, slightly panting now.

i stay silent, just staring at him.

i can't even deny the fact im getting more and more turned on by the second, looking at his completley flushed face, and the red tint spread across his cheeks from how embarrassed he is, looking just so pathetic begging for me like this.

i continue to just look at him, split between wanting to go to bed now and just giving him what he really, really wants.

chris burys his head back into my stomach.

"look at me." i whisper, he shakes his head.

i pull his head away from me, and grab his chin, tilting it up so he has to look at me.

he has teary, glassed over eyes.

a smirk tugs at my lips, almost in shock.

"are you about to cry?" i grin,

"no! im just! im so frustrated!" he grumbles.

"hey, fine, cmon." i whisper, standing up off the couch and grabbing his hand.

he stands up on shaky legs as i drag him to the bedroom, his eyes lighten immediately as he sees what is going on.

he suddenly has more of a spring in his step, and the tears in his eyes have gone.

i pull him into the bedroom, pushing him down onto the bed.

he looks up at me, staying silent and still.

“don’t get all shy on me now chris.” i speak, referencing his frozen figure and wide eyes.

“sorry.” he whispers, clutching the bedsheets.

“go on, take everything off f’me.” i tell him, folding my arms over his chest.

he nods frantically, instantly reaching down and fumbling with his belt buckle, throwing it across the room to the floor.

he unbuttons his jeans with shaky hands, sliding them down his legs before reaching for his shirt, which he throws off aswell.

he sits on the bed in his boxers, a sheepish expression on his face.

i can tell his cock is tucked into his waistband of his boxers, proving he’d been hard for a while.

“how long have you been hard.” i scoff, staring down at him,

he wipes a few strands of hair out of his eyes before speaking, “too long.” he mutters.

“let me take care of you, yeah? boxers off.” i tell him,

he tugs down his boxers and his erection springs out, his tip tapping his stomach, smearing his precum against the pale skin.

his tip is raw and red, it almost looks borderline painful.

i crawl onto the bed between his legs, resting my head on his thigh.

his dick sits straight up right by my face,

chris stares down at me, his eyelids heavy and lips a dark pink.

his loose hairs stick to his forehead as he lets out shallow breaths.

“please.” he mutters under his breath, his hips bucking up and his dick brushing my cheek.

i shake my head, placing a firm hand on his lower belly to hold him down to the bed.

“no, no squirming.” i mumble,

“i need it so bad- please- i’m so sore.” his voice cracks,

i grin slightly at his plea,

“please!” he raises his voice, his tone high pitched,

“please what..?” i decide to tease him a little bit more.

“please- please touch me, please- i’ll do anything baby.” he pants,

“finee.” i whisper, dragging my nails up and down his thighs,

i finally wrap my fingers around his stiff cock, i can feel his throbbing in my hand.

“i want your mouth- i need your lips.” he breathes,

“good boy, telling me what you want.” i grin,

i pump him a few times, my fist clenched tight around his length.

i drag my thumb up the long vein which travels up his dick, eliciting a loud moan from him.

my lips part as i stick my tongue out, gently licking up the underside of his cock, from his base to his pink raw tip.

he lets out a cross between a sigh and a whimper, the pleasure getting to him.

i finally wrap my lips around his tip, his eyes roll back into his head as he arches his back off the bed.

“oohh my godd..” he breathes, a smile on his face as his jaw falls slack.

i swirl my tongue around his tip, gathering the salty precum in my mouth.

his hands travel up to my hair, his long fingers intertwining into the strands.

i gently take more of him down my throat, gagging as he hits the back of my throat

“fucking- so- good” he gasps out,

i pick up my pace, bobbing my head up and down on his cock,

chris squirms on the bed, his hands tightening in my hair as he lets out strings of curses.

“i’m gonna cum- i’m gonna cum- please i’m so close-“ he babbles,

after a few seconds i pull off of him, edging him completely.

he looks down at me with wide eyes, almost looking like he could burst into tears right there.

“that’s not fair- that’s not fair!” he pants,

he reaches down and grabbing his cock in his own hands.

i instantly pull his hands away, shaking my head.

“but- ‘s not fair!” he says with a loud whine.

i sit up, rubbing his cheek, “i know it’s not fair, but i wanna ride you yeah?”

his eyes light up somewhat, but he still looks pissed.

i peel off my tank top, following with my tiny pyjama shorts.

i sit naked infront of him, he throws his head back.

“it hurts- i’m so hard it hurts.” he whispers,

my nipples harden at his words, the dampness between my thighs getting more prominent.

i shift up and i straddle his waist,

his hands reach up and grab my waist, his fingers digging into the skin.

i sit fully bare on his waist, my arousal dripping onto his skin.

he lets out a trembling breath, staring up at me piercingly.

i sit up on my knees before shifting back,

i reach down and grab his length, positioning his tip right at my entrance.

his head throws back, his fingers digging painfully hard onto my skin,

after a few seconds, i finally sink down onto his tip,

chris lets out a pathetic whimper as his hands fly down to the matress, his hands balling up the sheets.

i sink further, and further down before bottoming out.

my stomach fills with a familiar warmth, i let out a shaky moan as my stomach feels heavy and warm.

“thank you- thank you- thank you so much oh my god-“ he whines, his legs shaking subtly.

i start to bounce on his length, the stretch burning, in such a good way.

chris seems to be enjoying it as much as i am, his eyes trained on my tits as he fights to keep his eyes from rolling back into his head.

“i lo- love you so much- god you feel incredible.” he rambles out, his voice croaky and cracking.

he hands fly up to my breasts, squeezing them as he moans loudly.

“i’m so close already- i need to cum-“ he whispers, his hands sinking into my tits.

i bite back a smile at how hard he’s gripping me, it’s almost painful but i decide to not comment on it, instead just grabbing his hands and moving them to my waist.

i clench around him, the warmth spreading through my abdomen as i feel myself get closer.

“please let me cum- i need to- please—“ he breathes,

he arches his back off the bed, his head tipping back

his brown locks fall over his face, also spreading against the matress.

he sinks his teeth stupidly hard into his bottom lip, so hard to the point i can see blood drawing.

i feel my chest tighten as pleasure overwhelms me, my cheeks burning and my legs aching from the effort.

a loud moan rips out of me as i clench around him again, tighter this time.

i feel my orgasm crash down on me, riding it out to the best of my ability before flopping down on his chest.

i feel chris follow right after me, spurts of white filling my insides.

the room goes partially silent, only filled with our panting from both of us.

i slowly pull off of him, my whole body feels like it’s on fire.

chris’s cum leaks out of me onto the bedsheets, but i can’t be asked to care about that right now.

“i love you.” he breaks the silence, wrapping his arms around my back and rolling us over so he’s ontop of me.

i mumble a vague, ‘love you too’ as i hold him ontop of me.

after several minutes of laying like this he finally breaks the silence.

“i don’t think you understand how good that felt..” he whispers,

i grin tiredly, with a small hum.

“why did you have to make me wait so long- i think that’s the worst pain i’ve been in all year.” he whispers,

“i liked watching you beg!” i giggle,

“shut up- shush.” he laughs, his face going red.

“you were all, ‘pleasee i’m so soree let me cummm’.” i tease him,

he clasps a hand over my mouth, “i hate you.” he grins.

-

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